Static - Section Seven

[glasslogic]

Chapter Fourteen

Mercenaries of the shrine,
Who are you to speak for god?
With haughty eyes and lying tongues,
And hands that shed innocent blood.
                                ~Strange Fire, Indigo Girls

The trip was long, and complicated by having to find a detour where more than a mile of I-40 had crumbled into the ground, taking over a hundred cars and trucks with it. Unable to do anything to help except try and deal with the source of the problems, Sam gritted his teeth and pressed on. It was after midnight the next day before he approached the property listed on the card. Sam pulled off the road about half mile away and continued on foot. He tried to be stealthy, but after spending the past year with Dean, he understood just how clumsy even his best efforts were. Still, he wasn’t going to walk up to the front door without even trying to do some reconnaissance.

The house was... not what he expected. Sam stared up at the elaborate mansion from his position crouched in the prickly bushes on the wrong side of a fifteen foot iron fence. Armed guards in suits patrolled the gate and Sam didn’t know as much about cars as Bobby or Dean, but he was pretty sure the one sitting in the driveway cost as much as most people’s houses.

After an hour of observation during which nothing interesting happened, Sam debated his options. He could hang out in the bushes indefinitely, but there was little advantage in it. Whoever lived in the house was well guarded and unlikely to randomly go for a walk alone in the woods where Sam could grab them for a private chat. He was certainly at the right place; even at this distance, he could feel the demonic nature of the men standing watch.

With an inward shrug, Sam brushed the dirt off his knees and walked as casually as he could to the driveway. The security there watched him but didn’t seem alarmed by his approach. Sam fished the business card from his pocket.

“My name is Sam Winchester,” he called through the bars of the gate. “I was invited.”

The demons glanced at each other and one of them spoke into the edge of his jacket for a moment, then nodded to the other, and they stepped back. The gate ground slowly open. Sam waited for instruction, but the guards ignored him. After a moment of indecision, Sam walked past them and towards the mansion.

The front doors were taller than he was by a good five feet and there was no doorbell. Tired of feeling awkward, Sam raised a hand to knock on them, but one swung open soundlessly before his skin could touch wood. The mousy woman standing there had a wide-eyed look of nervousness and Sam could feel that she too was a demon. She pointed one hand down a marble hallway and scurried away. Sam felt the reassuring weight of the gun under his jacket and the knife at his back, and headed down the hall. The entire situation was making his skin crawl and he was seriously rethinking his decision to do this alone.

The finely appointed study with its dark woods and leathers he found at the end of the long hallway was an interesting change from the high polish and shine he had seen in the entrance, but all of Sam’s attention was drawn to the man standing by the fireplace watching him with open appraisal in his eyes. He was some inches shorter than Sam himself, with a stocky build and a receding hairline. The expression on his face wasn’t threatening and he held a brandy snifter in his hand instead of a weapon.

Sam found none of it reassuring. The energy emanating from the demon in front of him easily made it one of the most dangerous of the kind he had ever encountered, behind only Azazel and Lilith herself.

And Dean. But his brother didn’t count in this estimation. No other demon felt like that.

“Ah. Mr. Winchester. You must have flown to reach me here so fast. I wasn’t sure you were going to accept my little invitation at all. So pleased you could join me.” The demon sank into a horribly expensive looking leather chair with a smug, expectant expression.

“Who are you?” Sam demanded.

“I’m a... concerned party of the current situation. I have it on the very best authority that you know all about that, so I won’t go into boring rehashments right now. You can call me Crowley.”

“Crowley,” Sam repeated. “Aleister... Crowley. Really?” he asked incredulously.

The demon shrugged. “No. Maybe. Does it really matter to you?”

“You said you had the Colt. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

“A young man with focus; I like it. I do, as you say, have the Colt.” Crowley took a sip of his drink, watching Sam thoughtfully.

“How did you know I was looking for it?”

Crowley walked over to the massive desk and took a seat. “Spirits are horrible gossips, but they are in the same business I am.”

“And that is?’

Crowley smiled, and in its curve, Sam could see the inhumanity of his nature. “Information. Secrets. Bargains. I am the King of the Crossroads demons, Samuel Winchester, and I’ve heard your name before.”

Sam struggled hard against the desire to rip Ruby’s knife from its sheath at his back and lunge across the desk. It was a Crossroads deal that had cost Dean his human life, and Crossroads demons that had literally laughed in Sam’s face when he begged for any chance to redeem his brother from Hell. Crowley’s smile spread wider as Sam fought to keep his internal conflict off his face.

“Surely you aren’t still caught up in old times?” Crowley drawled. “It’s a brave new world we have to deal with now. Even your dense, modern population is starting to clue in that things aren’t just business as normal outside of their safe, little houses these days. Too many demons, not enough holy water, as they say.”

“You made the deal with Bela,” Sam guessed tightly.

Crowley shrugged. “Any demon can make a deal. My people are just a little more... dedicated, to the process. That particular incident you mention was a personal favor to Lilith, she of the raving fanaticism and scorched earth policies about disloyalty. She asked me to remove the Colt from the equation, and remove it I did. Little details about who, and when, and where -- inconsequentials. I have the Colt, and you want it.”

“I won’t make any deals with you,” Sam spat.

Crowley drained what was left in the glass. “Mate, I think you’d crawl on broken glass using your intestines as a bridle if that’s the price I set for the gun. So let’s not be waving our bravado about just yet, not when we’ve a world to save.”

“We?”

“Of course,” Crowley responded, faint surprise coloring his tone. “What did you think this meeting was about?”

“I...” Sam blinked. “Why would you want me to have the Colt? Why contact me at all? The only thing I want it for is to kill other demons.”

Crowley shrugged. “You think demons are some big, happy family that all want the same goals?”

“No.”

“'No' is right. Oh, there’s a certain level of crazed fanaticism at the top, but all of them kind of grew up together, you could say. They have some grand dream of glory days and a figurehead to lead us all down the path into domination and other boring sorts of things.”

“Boring?”

“Certainly. How dull would things be if the entire planet was nothing but brimstone and corpses? I personally find humanity quite entertaining. And exploitative, of course.”

“And these new demons are more powerful than you,” Sam surmised with a thin smile.

“Yes. They are," Crowley admitted without a trace of shame. "I’m comfortable here and I have no desire to be chief bootlicker after they’ve done fought it out amongst themselves to be top dog. If they do manage to actually spring Lucifer, that would be even worse. I have... other ambitions.”

“So you’ll send me out as some kind of assassin to pick them off?”

“Do I look completely stupid to you? You’d have the life expectancy of a blow fly if you tried something like that. Not to mention everyone knows where the Colt is and I’d be crucified for Lilith’s amusement for the rest of the millennia. Or longer. No one willingly subjects themselves to that.”

He refilled his glass and motioned for Sam to sit. Sam grudgingly took a seat on the edge of a leather sofa, starting to feel stupid standing in the middle of the floor while the demon lounged at ease.

“Do you know how I got to my position? I’m not particularly ancient as demons go. I’ve come quite far in my brief time below.”

“No,” Sam said impatiently when Crowley seemed to be actually waiting for an answer. “Do I care?”

“It’s a strange phenomenon in Hell," Crowley mused. "No one there is very curious about things either. They only care about power and suffering, but few have the patience to seek those things in any but the most brutal and obvious ways. Even the strongest, the most ancient among us, lack certain subtleties. It’s a rare and dangerous demon that can see beyond their immediate gratification.”

“But not you.”

“Hardly. I’m... curious, about all sorts of things. All sorts of secrets. Secrets like what really keeps the demons bottled up behind the Devil's Gate.” Crowley snapped his fingers and the windows and doors slammed shut. Magic made the hair stand up on Sam’s skin and he had the sudden feeling of being trapped in a smothering box. The temperature seemed to rise ten degrees and sweat broke out on his skin.

“I know what you really want the Colt for. And it has nothing to do with killing off a few piddling demons, not when you can banish them all. ”

Sam said nothing, tensed to act.

Crowley smiled. He held up the glass in his hand as if admiring the liquid by firelight. “Nothing to say?”

“What do you expect me to say?” Sam demanded in a tight voice.

“I don’t expect you to say anything.” Crowley slammed the glass down onto the desk. “I expect you to take the Colt, and yourself, out to that miserable cemetery and do something about the plague of demons currently ruining my investment opportunities. I’ve grown accustomed to a certain way of life, and I don’t appreciate having it interrupted. Anyone interested in carving an earthly niche for themselves and the power to make the crossing is already here. With one action, you can send then all packing back to Hell without even enough strength to scream. Their enemies will enjoy that. You win, I win, everyone on this benighted planet wins.”

Sam frowned, seeing a logical fail with Crowley’s plan that he didn’t believe the demon had overlooked. “It would banish you too.”

“Hardly. I have some holdings in the Pit as well. Modest, compared to what I enjoy here, but suitable for a brief vacation. I have no intention of being caught in the destructive blast of what you plan to unleash. I will simply return once it’s over and pick up the pieces.”

Something else occurred to Sam. “You said the Ward is keeping the Gate closed. If I break it...”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Not closed. The door keeps it closed, moron. The wards carved inside just keep everything bottled up in Hell until the door opens. The Ward you’re after beefs them up enough that even more powerful demons can’t saunter though; we have to will ourselves across the planar divide -- and I can’t tell you what a pain in the ass that is. At the moment, those demons inclined to make the trip are already here, enjoying an unprecedented feast at the expense of the population. After you wipe out the current infestation, you’ll still see the occasional crossover -- but not any worse than what you hunters have dealt with for centuries. Just close the crypt back up behind yourself after you retrieve your little trinket and all will be well.”

“The banishment is only good for a hundred years,” Sam pointed out cautiously.

“I know.” Crowley shrugged. “But in a hundred years without anyone looking over my shoulder and finding other annoying things for me to do, who knows what kind of kingdom I can build? And don’t think I don’t know your grand plan in all of this either. Do you really think you can dismantle the Rendering? Bring an end to all of the suffering in Hell and the demons that thrive on it?” He raised an interested eyebrow.

Sam shrugged. “I’m going to try.”

Crowley raised his glass in mock salute.

“The angels have been moldering in the Pit for longer than even I can fathom. I would wish you luck with your quest, since you haven’t a prayer, as they say, in Hell. It’s certainly odds I’m willing to play for a chance to run these smug bastards off my turf.” He drained his glass again.

“The Colt?” Sam asked, wanting to be far away from demonic intrigue and Crowley’s smug appraisals.

“I want your word, first. No changes of plans, no backing out. And if you get caught, you swear blind to Lilith that you stole it. She won’t find incompetence as interesting as treason.”

“I told you, no deals.”

“Then no Colt,” Crowley said flatly. “I told you what I am; I don’t give things away without a fully enforceable understanding. I want your promise that you will take that gun and do everything in your power to send every demon on this planet packing back to Hell, and you’ll do it without mentioning my name.”

“And if I do?” Sam demanded.

“You think I’m going to demand your soul to decorate my palace in Hell?” Crowley shook his head. “I think you’ve spent too much time with your brother for that to be interesting to me for long. I have a better place for your soul if you try and wriggle out.” He reached into a drawer of the desk and pulled out two things: a black gun case and an empty mayonnaise jar, Hellman’s label still attached. “We can keep that pesky thing in here, all nice and shiny. Like a glowing paperweight.”

“You can’t be serious,” Sam said flatly.

“Serious as Hell,” Crowley replied with the smile Sam had seen on the face of almost every used car salesman he had ever encountered. “I’m certainly willing to give it a try, anyway.”

“I don’t think my brother would take that very well.”

Crowley shrugged again. “I don’t have the impression your brother is in much if a state to care about it one way or another. I don’t even know why he’s still hanging around here at all. Hopefully he will leave soon; he’s bringing down the tone of the whole neighborhood. But first things first; do we have a deal?”

Sam’s gaze darted between the empty jar and the gun case. He had no idea if it was possible for Crowley to trap his soul like that, but it really didn’t matter anyway. “Fine. You give me the Colt, I’ll do my best, and your name stays out of it.”

“Excellent.” Crowley rose from his chair and walked around to the front of the desk.”Come here, then.”

“What for?” Sam asked warily.

“Come now, Samuel. You’ve been around too long not to know how deals are sealed.”

Sam didn’t know why he even bothered arguing about things like that anymore, but he couldn’t physically force himself to walk over to the demon by the desk. He settled for staying sullenly on the couch until Crowley crossed the deep pile rug and sat next to him with a sardonic smile.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d be this shy after all that rumor says you’ve been up to,” Crowley remarked.

“Shut up,” Sam growled.

“You haven’t got a lofty leg to stand on, and we both know it. Now lean down a bit and cooperate; we both have better things to do with our evening.”

There was nothing inherently offensive in the warm, dry lips that pressed against his own, or even the tongue that swept into his mouth, firm and demanding his compliance. Crowley tasted like Brandy, and Sam held still, letting the demon deepen the kiss to his satisfaction. Then something unexpected happened and suddenly the kiss was the last thing Sam was focused on; Dean was in his mind, and his brother was pissed. All Sam could see was gray, and all he could taste was rage. He was suddenly aware that the screaming wind he heard wasn’t just in his head and the sound of shattering glass exploded in his ears.

Crowley let go and shoved Sam back as if his touch burned, and Sam’s eyes flew open. The finely appointed study looked like a tornado had ripped through; rugs and furnishings smashed and scattered. Only the corner where Sam sat was untouched -- the couch, the desk, the mantle behind it. With the demon no longer touching him, the fury in Sam’s mind wavered and retreated, sliding easily back into the corner he thought of as Dean. His brother’s awareness wasn’t entirely gone, but Sam could ignore the quiet seething for now.

On the couch in front of him, Crowley’s eyes narrowed as he looked around the room before his gaze came back to rest on Sam, a question in his eyes. For his part, Sam just wanted to wipe his mouth and find something to drink to wash away the sensory memory of the kiss, but wouldn’t give the demon watching him the satisfaction. He met Crowley’s eyes instead with the defiance that was his family’s number one stock in trade.

Crowley smiled faintly, realizing Sam had no intention of explaining the sudden whirlwind of destruction.

“Right, then. No more kisses for you, mate.” He rose and crossed to the desk, Sam following on his heels.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Crowley pulled the Colt from the lined interior of the case and held it out to him. Sam wrapped his fingers gingerly around it, having trouble believing that anything in this mess could come so easily to him, but the cool metal and the weight were real. He checked the cylinder.

“I think you overlooked something in our deal,” Sam said coolly.

“Oh?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. Sam leveled the Colt at his head. “Ah, yes. I thought that might come up.”

A low growl rumbled from somewhere around the middle of Sam’s back and hot breath ruffled his hair. He froze.

“What can I say?” Crowley spread his hands. “I have a thing for dogs. Hell Hounds are my particular breed of choice.You were just leaving, I believe?”

Sam stalked to the doors, stepping carefully through the wreckage, and wrenched one open.

“And, Sam?” Sam turned back reluctantly. Crowley held up the mayonnaise jar meaningfully. “Don’t forget our agreement.”

~~~~~

“You made another deal with a demon?!” The incredulity in Bobby’s voice was as clear on the phone as it would have been in person. Sam had no problem imagining the expression on his face. It was almost four a.m. and he was well on his way to Wyoming. He didn’t know the name of the town he was driving through, but it was eerily deserted, even for the dead of the night.

“What can I say, Bobby,” Sam grumbled. He had driven hours before making the call until he felt up to enduring the lecture he knew would be coming. “He had an agenda; it works out with mine. I wasn’t going to argue with him. It’s not like he asked for anything but that I do what I’m going to do anyways, and not broadcast his involvement to the countryside. Big deal.”

“You should have shot him.”

“I thought about it. His pet persuaded me otherwise,” Sam growled.

“Pet?’

“Hell Hound. Maybe more than one.”

“Fine. You’re on your way to Wyoming?”

Sam was watching the surrounding streets uneasily and missed the question. Even the bars were dark and silent. “What?”

“Wyoming,” Bobby repeated. “You’re on your way to the Gate?”

“Oh, yeah. Late tomorrow, probably.”

“Are you okay, Sam? You sound a little distracted.”

“I’m fine. It’s just... a little weird around here.”

“Weird how?” Bobby’s voice sharpened.

Sam sighed. “Weird like I need more sleep and less stress.”

“I’ll meet you at the cemetery. Don’t do anything until I get there.”

“What are you going to do for me, Bobby? Catch demons as they come streaming out of the Gate?”

“I’m going to watch your back, you damn fool, to make sure nothing takes a stab at it while you pursue this hare-brained scheme.”

Sam smiled despite himself. “Thanks, Bobby.”

Bobby snorted and hung up.

But without the phone call to distract him, the creepy feeling that something just wasn’t right was even stronger, and Sam patted his jacket where the Colt was tucked to reassure himself of its presence.

On the bridge up ahead, Sam could see fog starting to roll in, but the only detours would add almost an hour to his travel time. It was late, he told himself. It was normal for there to be no traffic. He called himself a coward and pressed on. When streetlights began blinking off just as he reached the center of the bridge and the engine shut down, he called himself worse things.

Sam tried his cell phone, unsurprised when it was dead. He waited for a few minutes in the car but... nothing happened, and so reluctantly he climbed out.

“Hello?” he called into the fog. He could still see the bridge rails and the sky overhead, but any glimpse of distant lights or signs of life were obscured.

“Hello?” he tried again, but nothing answered. Sam was just about to try walking off the bridge to get away from whatever weirdness was happening when something disturbed the mist and he spun. About twenty feet away from him stood a woman in a khaki skirt and a button-up. Her blond hair brushed her shoulders and her shoes were sensible flats. She looked like she had been dropped off from a casual outing at the mall, but there was nothing casual about the power Sam sensed pouring out of her. He knew exactly what this was.

“You are an abomination,” it spoke in a remote voice that offered Sam little hope it would see reason.

Sam backed away from the angel slowly as it advanced on him one step at a time. He almost stumbled on the edge of the sidewalk but managed to keep his balance instead of sprawling helpless to the pavement, which was already an improvement from the last time an angel had called him out.

“You and your accursed family bring only misery and pain to those around them, and now you work to visit even more upon the world.”

“Look, uh, I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but--”

“My brother has counseled patience in this matter, and I know he has rendered you aid. But no more. You have the key to the Devil’s Gate, which you have already seen opened, and mean to open it again.”

Its eyes were glowing now and Sam flinched. “It’s not like that! I have to open the Gate. There’s a Ward inside I have to use to send the demons back!”

Something faltered in its countenance for a moment, and Sam thought he had reached it, but then its chin lifted and his heart sank.

“No one has seen the Ward you speak of since before humans even came to this land. Not even angels know where it has gone; it is convenient that you would claim to know that it lies in a place that will spill forth demons across the land.”

“The demons are already here!” Sam yelled at the angel. “A few more won’t make a difference, and when I find it, I can send them all back! I’m telling you the truth! Where else could it be that angels couldn’t find it?!”

“The Great Maelstrom, the Gate of Stars, Merete’s Labyrinth, the Cape of Sorel, in the Palace of Keys, the Cry--”

“Oh.” Sam blinked. “I’ve, uh, never heard of any of those.”

“There are a multitude of places the Ward could be hidden from angelic sight. It has never been a quest of ours to find it.”

“But it isn’t hidden in any of them; it’s in the Devil’s Gate. It’s... doesn’t it make sense?!” he asked desperately. “Its power is helping to stop demons from slipping through the Gate.”

“The stone of the crypt was carved by angels from rock our Father made sacred. If the stone was laid bare across the Gate itself, it would be enough to hold Hell back; the Ward is unnecessary.” Its tone was implacable, but Sam had to imagine the only reason he wasn’t already smeared across the concrete was that it didn’t really want to destroy him; it just seemed to think it had to.

“Maybe the lesser demons,” Sam insisted. “But with the Ward inside, even the strongest can’t just come through. Just... give me a chance. If I’m wrong, then you can slam it shut and turn me into a grease spot then.”

“You know that already the demons are gathering to usher across the army that waits. They believe they will have the power soon to destroy the crypt and open the gate themselves; they would know that would not be possible unless Lucifer himself lent them power to that task, not if the Ward is there.”

“They don’t know it’s there,” Sam insisted. “Just like you didn’t. Someone, somehow, put it there almost twenty thousand years ago, and it’s been holding them down ever since. They don’t know, but I do, and I need this chance to buy time so I can free the angels in Hell. Isn’t this what you want? What you all want? Your precious balance back?”

It watched him for a moment and Sam clung to hope. He remembered what Castiel had said about the division in Heaven, the confusion and the discord. That having the angels in Hell trapped disturbed the Order. It was why he had helped Sam at Illchester, and why he had answered him just weeks ago. Castiel still believed that a restoration was possible; Sam just had to hope this angel did too.

“No. No,” it finally said. “I stood by and did nothing while the demons wrecked misery and shattered Seals because I believed the Apocalypse would bring our Father back to us, to right Order and restore harmony to our ranks. But that chance is gone, and without that hope... I have shepherded these people too long to allow you to visit this destruction on them. Destruction will come, but not at your hand.”

“I’m not trying to free demons!”

It seemed awkward to promise to send back any he might release along the way, and he knew the angel wasn’t listening anymore. Power was building in the air. Sam pulled the Colt out of his jacket. He pointed it at the angel, hoping his father had been right about it being able to kill anything, but the brilliant light pouring out of its host was making it hard to aim, or even look at. Before he could pull the trigger and just hope he hit what he was trying for, lightning blasted into the bridge, throwing him from his feet and sending the Colt skittering across the asphalt. It landed only inches away from a very familiar form.

“Castiel,” Sam gasped, using the bridge rail to get back on his feet.

Castiel did not turn or make any sign of acknowledgement to Sam, all of his attention on the angel he was facing.

“Do not do this,” he warned.

“I have no choice. This should have been done years ago. He is an agent of Entropy, and would bring more Chaos to this World.”

“Entropy is not our enemy, and he is a living man. He is free to make his choices, and acts in matters with which we are forbidden to interfere.”

“What is forbidden?” the angel cried. “Our Father is gone; who shall gainsay our actions if we choose to take them?”

“Sam, go,” Castiel ordered.

Sam, eyeing the Colt, took a few steps forward.

“I need the--” was as far as he got before the building power spiked and he was thrown backwards as the titanic forces of two angels slammed into each other. The air caught fire and scorched his lungs even as the bridge he had been standing on exploded into rubble. Time seemed to freeze for Sam for a heartbeat; he was aware of all things for that singular second, before a chunk of concrete caught his temple and all he was aware of was black. The last image he registered that followed him down in unconsciousness was the sight of the Colt by Castiel’s feet, melted into a silvery puddle of metal by the spell-rending fury of angelic rage.

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Comments

[glasslogic.livejournal.com]

This whole bridge is very bad for Sam's blood pressure *solemnly*