Chapter Text
“I woke up one morning to know that I had gone
Finally taken the step and jumped right off the wall
When you come to call on me that's why my eyes are glazed
I've been with the devil in the devil's resting place
I am loathed to say that I have been to stay
I've been with the devil in the devil's resting place
When you ask to drink of me I think out on the case
Look down to my aloe cup and take myself a taste
Bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze
If you must drink of me, take of me what you please
I am loathed to say it's the devil's taste
I've been with the devil in the devil's resting place
Water won't clean you, water won't clean you
You only hold yourself to the things you do
Come up here to speak to me and hold your face to mine
Any man can hold my gaze has done his job just fine
You just sold your life away to be with me tonight
Hold your head against my chest, I think you'll be just fine
I am loathed to say it's the devil's place
I go with the devil where the devil rests his face
I've been with the devil where the devil rests his face
Water won't clean you, water won't clean you.”
(Laura Marling- Devil’s Resting Place)
Dean Winchester hadn’t been absolutely sure about many things during his lifetime but there were two things he knew for certain. One: you should always keep a bottle of scotch and a gun with you wherever you went. And two: if he wouldn’t be able to make some progress with the case he was working with, his skull would split open from overthinking. Good luck and godspeed, Dean Winchester. What a glorious ending would that be for a noble hunter. Defeated by his own inadequacy.
Dean rubbed his temples again. His mind was filled with different dates and names and locations. He had been tracking the demon in question for over two months now and still nothing. He had literally gone nowhere. He hadn’t left the motel room he was currently living in except for the occasional visit to the grocery store and to the local bar when the case got the best of him and he felt in need for a nice cup of blackout drunk.
The demon he had been after was one sneaky son of a bitch. Dean had first noticed something was going on when there had been a small town after a small town in the rural areas of Kansas suffering from the same types of ritualistic sacrifices. Dean had been trying to locate the cause. First he had suspected a witch or a coven but there was something weird about the sacrifices. Something almost familiar but still Dean hadn’t been able to pinpoint what it was.
It took him some time to figure out it was the numbers. The sacrifices came in sixes and threes; six victims in three different places. Six men killed on a cemetery. Then a mile away six children nailed to trees. Then another mile away six women gutted over a makeshift altar. Dean hadn’t thought about the numbers until the same thing happened in another town. Then it clicked. Six, six, six in total, then a change of scenery and style. Then another six, six, six. And the pattern continued.
When Dean had figured out the mystery pattern, it was much easier for him to look up similar occurrences and hit up the lore with the newfound information. And boy did he find it. It was a series of ritualistic sacrifices which were meant to work as some kind of a kick start for the next phase. Unfortunately, there were no remaining scriptures of what the hell the next phase was supposed to be. But Dean was able to find the end results. If performed right, all the phases would result with the gates of Hell not only opening but vanishing all together, bringing the Apocalypse and Hell on Earth. Quite literally. It would mean the end of the world and the end of mankind.
Dean had tried to consult anyone he could reach who might know something about the whole ritual but so far he had jack squat and he was becoming desperate. The other hunters and priests and other specialists of the supernatural seemed to know exactly as much about the ritual as Dean. The longer Dean tried to track down someone who might have some information about the ritual the more desperate he got. The world could end any minute and there would be nothing Dean could do to stop it and it was driving him crazy.
So Dean went to the local dive bar. He sat there and drank and stared at the amber liquid in his glass, totally lost in his thoughts. He refused any company, even a very beautiful blonde with legs up to high heavens. That moment Dean knew he would have to lower his standards when it came to research methods and rely on desperate measures. He couldn’t keep running in circles and just wait for the hellfire to reach the soles of his shoes.
So Dean drove back to the motel and collected some stuff he knew he would need. He hated himself already for what he was about to do but he kept repeating ‘desperate times, desperate measures’ in his head like a mantra. It didn’t make him feel much better though. He took one last look at the motel room. He would come and get the rest of his stuff later on. If there was a later on for Dean.
Dean threw the duffel in the trunk of the Impala and stuffed the Kurdish knife into the waistband of his jeans. He might need it where he was going. Dean slid into the car and drew off. He made a quick pit stop at the local cemetery before heading towards his final destination.
Dean parked the car at the side of a deserted road and got out. He opened the trunk and rummaged around for a while before he found what he was looking for. A small metallic box. He emptied the graveyard dirt from his pocket into the box. Then he added his real driver’s license, the yarrow and the bone of a black cat. “Poor kitty”, Dean whispered as he closed the lid of the box. Then he took a can of spray paint and closed the trunk.
When Dean was ready with the paint job he did on the ground he stood up and threw the empty can into the ditch. Then for a moment Dean just stood there and admired his work. The almost full moon on the sky was the only thing lighting the scenery, otherwise everything was pitch black. Dean felt a shiver run down his spine. A bad feeling. Then Dean shook his head, as if that would make all his doubts go away. He tried to blame the shivers on the eerie feeling of the crossroads.
At that exact moment Dean felt a familiar but still unpleasant sting in his chest. Here he was again. Standing alone against all odds, no one by his side, trying to catch all of Hell’s most devious creatures with his bare hands. Dean stared at the moon like it could magically provide him with company. His mother had died when he was just a child and his father had passed away few years ago. After that there was no one but Dean to hold up the fort and continue the Winchester family name and hunter bloodline. And just like for the past two years, it was only him standing up against hell again.
“Through Hell and high water”, Dean muttered to himself. It had become somewhat of a mantra for him, a reassurance before he ran head first into the fight. Dean was a born and raised fighter, a soldier true to his cause until his last breath. Usually keeping himself busy worked and if he occasionally felt in the need of some human touch, he could always get drunk and find company for the night. Until the day light presented him with the gruesome reality.
It was just him, his gun, Baby and the open road. Dean lived by the gun and he had prepared to die by the gun. Most of the time he was able to tell himself that this was the only lifestyle that suited him. But sometimes, just sometimes, he looked at the empty seat next to him and almost reached his hand out, longing for someone to reach back and take his hand in theirs. Someone to fight the fight with him, side by side until the very end.
Dean shook his head again, trying to rid his mind of such sentimental crap and focus on the task at hand. Dean knelt at the middle of the crossroads and dug a small hole in which he buried the metal box in. Then he got up and made sure he still had his knife. “Through Hell and high water”, Dean whispered one last time. Like a prayer before the devil came knocking. Which it kind of was.
“You called?” a man’s voice said behind Dean which caused Dean to spin around and reach for the knife. And there it was. Dean didn’t know what he had expected but not what he was seeing at the moment, that’s for sure. The man seemed to be around the same age as Dean, in his late twenties, maybe a bit younger if you took a closer look. He was tall, taller than Dean, way over six feet. A shoulder-length warm toned brown hair framed his face beautifully. And something on top of those silky locks which Dean wasn’t quite able to see because of the darkness surrounding them. Broad shoulders and muscular arms. Narrow waist and long, lean legs. No, this was most certainly not what Dean had had in mind when he had imagined a crossroads demon.
The man’s striking hazel eyes shined almost amber in the moonlight. ‘Apparently it is true what they say, the devil does come as everything you’ve ever wished for’, Dean thought to himself and hated himself instantly. ‘Get yourself together, Dean. That man can tear you into pieces in a heartbeat, you have to be alert and prepared’, he scolded himself. The demon tilted his head, eyeing Dean up and down and Dean’s gaze lingered on the weird accessory on the man’s head, trying to make out what it was in the darkness of the night. Then it hit him. It was a crown. A crown of thorns.
“You actually have something you want from me? I have places to be, deals to make. Can’t have your pretty face taking my whole night. Even though it truly is very pretty”, the demon said, accentuating his words with a slow smile. Now it was Dean’s turn to smile devilishly. “Oh, I don’t think you’re going anywhere until I want you to”, Dean said and motioned at the devil’s trap the demon was standing in.
Unfortunately, noticing that he was standing in a devil’s trap did not have the desired effect on the demon. Before Dean had time to react, the demon had taken two huge steps and walked out of the trap. Dean’s mouth dropped open. That was not supposed to be possible. He had read everything he had been able to find about crossroads demons. They weren’t supposed to be capable of getting out of the trap. The demon crossed his hands over his chest and smiled at Dean. “Any other cool tricks I should know about? You should know, I am not a patient man. You might wanna get to the point before I get bored and decide to decorate this trap with your intestines, doll face”, the demon said, staring at his nails like talking to Dean was the most tedious thing he had ever had to endure.
Dean composed himself again. He was now holding the knife in his hand. That got the demon’s attention. “Is that a Kurdish knife? Nice. Those are quite rare. Maybe you do know something after all. Well tell me, what is it that you want? Riches and more riches? Your enemies tortured for all eternity? Rule the world? Those are the most common ones, along with sex and good looks but looking at you I would throw a wild guess you are not in the need of either, doll face”, the demon said, his voice tempting and rough. He stared at Dean’s body and licked his lips.
“None of the above actually. I need information on a certain demon”, Dean said and observed the demon’s immediate reaction. Years of interrogation had thought him that the knee-jerk reaction usually indicated how the rest of the conversation would go. The demon just raised an eyebrow, looking only very mildly interested. “Well that’s just boring. But then again I don’t think I’ve ever met a hunter I would have found even mildly interesting”, the demon said, straightening the crown of thorns on his head. ‘What a weird accessory’, Dean thought to himself again.
“There is a demon I’ve been tracking for a while now. He’s been doing ritualistic sacrifices of the Beast, Gathering of the Sixes I think it’s called. Well I haven’t been able to find him nor can I find a person, living or dead, who would know what the next part of the ritual is. All I know is that the aim of the whole thing is to…”, Dean explained but was cut off by the demon. “Bring Hell on Earth”, the demon said, looking much more interested now. “So you know about the ritual?” Dean asked and felt a flicker of hope spark inside himself. Good, finally he was getting somewhere.
“Yes, I am very much aware of it. It’s called ‘The Rise of Gehenna’. And the Gathering of the Sixes is just the beginning, believe me”, the demon said, sounding oddly grim. Somehow Dean had assumed the demon to be thrilled about the events. Didn’t every demon want Hell to break loose and all its inhabitants to roam free on Earth?
“So any advice on how to stop it?” Dean asked even though he knew that was a bit far-fetched. But he was desperate. “Who’s the demon who is doing this? What name do they go by?” the demon asked and took a step closer to Dean. They were now both standing inside the devil’s trap. Dean had the Kurdish knife in such a tight grip he could feel the handle chafe his skin to the point it almost teared open.
“Gremory”, Dean said. That was one of the only things he knew for sure and even that was only because he had been able to interrogate a witch who had worked as an accomplice for the demon on one of the sacrifices. When Dean said the name, there was a fast expression on the demon’s face until he was able to compose himself again. “You know him?” Dean asked. There was a weird expression shadowing the demon’s handsome features.
“Her. And yes, I know her”, the demon answered, sounding like he was gritting his teeth. Dean was feeling pleased. This was going way better than he had assumed it would. “So you know how the ritual continues?” Dean asked, feeling anxious. He felt like he was close to solving the case. “I happen to have read the handbook, yes”, the demon answered, looking like his mind was somewhere else entirely. Dean raised an eyebrow.
“Handbook? There’s a book for it?” Dean asked, his heartbeat speeding up. “The Lesser Key of Solomon”, the demon answered and Dean’s mood dropped. Of course. The demon had been just playing with him. If Dean hadn’t been so damn excited, he would have noticed that there was something weird about the way the demon just gave Dean all the answers even though he wasn’t even bound by the devil’s trap. He could have just left Dean high and dry and disappear since the trap seemed to hold no power over him.
“I have the Lesser Key of Solomon in the trunk of my car. I’ve read it through about a hundred times. Not once does it mention The Rise of Gehenna or anything like it”, Dean said, gripping the knife tighter again. The demon just rolled his eyes. “Humans. Just because you have one version of something you think you hold all the answers. Ever stop to think that maybe the books you own might have been longer and some parts just got lost over time? Lesser Key of Solomon is actually a huge grimoire and the parts humans have the access to aren’t even one tenth of the whole book”, the demon said, getting all of Dean’s attention again.
“But you have access to it, right? You can get it for me?” Dean asked, feeling something bubble inside himself again even though he knew how naïve and stupid he sounded. Talking to a demon like it was a reasonable human being. If his father had seen him at the moment, he would've kicked Dean’s ass to Hell and back. The demon laughed at Dean. “Yeah, sure let me just make a quick visit to Hell’s library and use my card to lent you a copy of it, dear. What the fuck do I look like to you, human, Amnesty International? The Red fucking Cross? This ain’t no charity work, pretty. I’ve already told you much more than you deserve for free. Now it’s time to talk business”, the demon chuckled. The sound made shivers run down Deans spine and gave him goosebumps.
“I don’t make no deals with demons. I’m not that stupid”, Dean said through gritted teeth. The demon laughed menacingly. “Oh, doll face, I’m gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse”, the demon replied with a bad Godfather imitation. Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah right, let me guess, you make me a nice promise and when I turn my back you stab me with my own knife? No thank you, I have seen enough demon deals to know they never end well”, Dean said, slowly backing away. Since he would get nothing more out of the demon he might as well leave.
The demon gave him the stink eye and snapped his fingers. With a soft rustling sound, a parchment appeared into the demon’s hand. “You know how demon deals work right? Everything that is written on the paper I must obey. After the deal is sealed I cannot back away from it nor can I break it”, the demon said. Dean nodded. He had seen enough demon deals to know that the demon was telling the truth. Once sealed, neither of them could break or change the deal unless they both agreed on it.
“Read it”, the demon said, handing Dean the small piece of parchment. Dean eyed the demon up and down before slowly taking a step forth and quickly grabbing the piece of paper from him. He glanced at the parchment quickly, while keeping an eye on the demon at the same time. To Dean’s amazement the parchment consisted only of two sentences:
'I will accompany the hunter in question with his hunt of Gremory and help him stop the Rise of the Gehenna with all the knowledge that I possess and after that I will leave and leave the hunter alone forever. I will under no circumstances hurt the hunter in question and I will protect his life with all my power.
Sam.'
“Why?” was the only thing Dean could muster. The demon, Sam, gave Dean an evil grin. “Because I have a bone to pick with the bitch”, the demon answered. Dean contemplated on the options. He read the words over and over again in his head but wasn’t able to find a loophole. At least not one that would be worse than the other option; if he didn’t agree he would be right back to where he had started. Jack with a side of squat. So slowly Dean nodded.
“Okay. I agree”, Dean said, his heart hammering in his ears and his gut telling him he was about to make the biggest mistake of his life. The demon grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Well isn’t this just my lucky day. Come here, doll face. Show me that you mean it”, the demon cooed. Dean swallowed hard and took a few steps until he was face to face with the demon. He still had a firm grip on the knife just in case the demon was able to escape from the contract like he had escaped from the devil’s trap.
The demon just smiled, a self-satisfied grin playing on his lips once again. Then he placed his hand on Dean’s cheek and even though Dean tried to act like it had no effect on him, the sudden feel of cool skin against his cheek made him shiver. And even though he had decided to keep his eyes open just in case the demon had a trick up his sleeve, when the demon’s soft lips touched Dean’s own, he closed his eyes. It was very brief kiss, only a couple of seconds, just a gentle peck on the lips but it almost knocked Dean off his feet. ‘It’s the contract’s power coursing through my body, nothing more’, Dean’s inner voice tried to convince him.
Dean opened his eyes and took a step back and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. The demon kept smiling the same, self-satisfied smile as before and lifted the parchment he was holding in his hand in front of his face to observe it. Dean looked at his own hand. The parchment had doubled so that they were now both holding a copy. “Well, I must say that was a very pleasant way to seal a deal. We should do it again sometime…”, the demon lifted the parchment to his face and read the name that had formed on it during their kiss. “Dean Winchester”.