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Welcome to Hell

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“Evening Moose”

Crowley stands in the centre of the room Sam Winchester had summoned him to. He studies the devils trap on the floor of the dungeon, but inwardly sighs in relief when he notes that it is broken. They won’t be trapped.

“You know why you’re here” Sam says, his voice raw from crying and his two fists clenched at the sides of his towering and intimidating frame.

“Yes, I believe I do” Crowley replies, placing his hands into his pockets.

Sam looks annoyed briefly, and clenches his jaw. Crowley could see the man had been crying, and for a long time at that. 

“Well?” The hunter asks, still appearing to be annoyed, and not at all in the mood to be dealing with the King of Hell. 

“You have to ask Moose, I’m not a mind reader”

Sam sighs, before bringing a hand to his face and roughly wiping away a tear that had managed to escape from one of his red bloodshot eyes.

“My soul for Dean, bring him back”

“Ah see now this is a typical Winchester ending.” Crowley sighs, walking towards Sam but avoiding his eyes. Instead, the demon studies the collection of artefacts in front of the Hunters feet. “He dies, you bring him back. You die, he brings you back. Rinse and repeat …Don’t you ever get sick of it?”

“Enough Crowley.” Sam growls, reminding the King of Hell just exactly who he was talking to “Can you do it?”

“Don’t need to.” Crowley says quietly, but before Same has a chance to question the Demon, a light gust disturbs the room, and a figure appears in the doorway.

“Cas” Sam gasps, making his way over to the Angel, relief apparent on his heartbroken face.

“Evening Castiel. And what brings you here?” Crowley says, trying to sound as nonchalant and normal as possible.

“Where is he?” Castiel asks Sam, his voice rough with emotion. It was impossible for the Angel to cry, no matter how much he wanted to, but Sam could see the upshed tears behind the eyes of his friend. 

“Upstairs, but wait Cas…” Sam reaches out to grab the Angel, enveloping him into his arm in a warm embrace, his tears running unimpeded from his eyes onto Castiel’s trench coat.

“I can help, I still have some Grace left …” Castiel says quietly into Sam’s ear, trying to sound confident, but his cracking voice betrays him.

The raw emotion makes Sam feel worse, and he shakes his head into Castiel’s shoulder.

“No, it’s too late. He’s gone.” The Hunter says.

“No.” The Angel says in response. 

“Cas ... ” Sam sighs, releasing the man to look at his face. The Hunter frowns when he notes Castiel’s expression. He appears no longer sad but ... confused.

“He’s not … he’s...”

Suddenly, a figure appears beside Crowley in the centre of the room.

“Sorry boys, Deans with me now.”

Crowley sends a sad smile to Sam, but Castiel cannot stop staring at Dean’s face. His pitch black eyes are cold and unknowing. The first blade is clutched in his right hand, and his plaid shirt is covered in congealing blood that the Angel sickeningly realises is his own.

Crowley clicks his fingers, and the two men disappear from the room, leaving a shocked Angel and Hunter.

Castiel just stops, staring in shock at the place where Crowley and Dean had disappeared. He counts three of Sam’s breaths before the man turns and walks over to the corner of the room.

“Sam …”

Castiel’s consolation is interrupted when Sam bends down, clutching his stomach, and is violently sick. The Angel stands still in the centre of the room, just staring at Sam as his heart breaks.

Castiel is sure that if it was possible, he would be violently sick too.