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Dean was not a researcher. Sure, he did what he had to do, he'd learned enough to get by, but he didn't have the mind for it like Sam did. He'd always been able to figure out what he needed to about monsters and ghosts, but Hell? That was an entirely new level of research. He didn't even know where to start.
So he called Bobby.
"If I wanted to know about how to get in and out of Hell, who would I talk to?"
Bobby's voice was gruff on the other end of the line. "Someone other than me."
"Bobby, come on. Can you point me in a direction or not?"
"What, you left something down there?"
"Bobby."
A sigh. "I don't know how legitimate they are, but I can send over some starting points."
"Have I ever told you that you're my favorite?"
"Dean."
"Yeah?"
"If you do get down there again, you'd better come back, ya hear?"
"Yessir."
The line clicked, and Bobby was gone. A few minutes later, Dean had a list of libraries and people half a page long. Not a lot, but hopefully enough.
Alright. Time to hit the books.
"You can't."
"I mean, it's starting to look that way."
Lana Harker, the latest on Dean's list, rolled her eyes. "You can't. You go down there, every demon and hellhound in the place will know. You'll be stopped in seconds, and I doubt they'll let you go on your merry way back topside. That's like sending an escaped convict to talk with the warden."
"The fucking King of Hell told me to meet him, Lana. I think I'll get some kind of pass."
"And what happens when the King of Hell gets his hands on you? You're already as close to demonic as you can get without tripping over that line, and I got a feeling you know that. What if he pushes you over?"
Dean shrugged. "I got an angel that seems to care that I don't go darkside."
"And if your angel can't get to you?"
"Then I turn demon, I guess."
"Dean. Your apparent willingness to throw away your life for a meeting with a powerful entity who would probably rather torture you for all eternity than talk aside, you can't go to Hell. But—" she continued before Dean could protest. "There may be a way to summon him to you.
"I haven't even been able to summon a crossroads demon in weeks, how am I supposed to summon the King of Hell?"
"Well, maybe you can't. But maybe he really does want to meet, and you summoning him leads him to you. On your turf."
Dean sat down heavily on the oversized armchair he'd been offered. He fell way too far down into it, but he refused to show his surprise.
"If I were to do it. If I were to do it, what would I need?"
Lana grinned, something between relief and triumph. "I have almost everything here. All you need is the bone of someone who is certain to be under his roof."
Dean sighed. "Fine."
It was harder than it needed to be to find someone who was definitely in Hell. Sure, he knew of others who were down there for the same reasons he had been, but there had to be someone whose bones were a little closer, right?
But he didn't actually know what could damn someone to Hell.
He visited a couple of churches, stood in the back through a couple of sermons, but didn't find much. He doubted people were actually sent to Hell for being gay, but apparently that was the big point of contention. None of them seemed to talk about much else.
Alright, ten commandments. Thou shalt not steal, but he didn't think every petty thief in the world got damnation. Commit adultery? That was... hard to judge. Bear false witness? That would take some digging to find.
He felt like an idiot when it finally occured to him.
Thou shalt not kill.
No way he wouldn't be able to find a murderer. They were everywhere. He'd just need to find one who had been dead long enough to be bones.
Easy.
Okay, maybe not easy. But it ended up doable. Margaret Bilt, small-time serial killer, no chance of innocence. Her nephew had seen her kill a guy. She'd pled guilty.. Her parents had been freaked out when she'd butchered squirrels as a child. Perfect.
Her grave was a little bit more of a challenge. Apparently she'd had some kind of cult following right after her death, and she'd gotten a little extra posthumous security after they'd tried to sacrifice a girl in front of her tombstone.
But nothing he couldn't handle. The fact that he'd had to flee the scene when the police showed up was a non-issue. He had a finger. That was all he needed. It was nice to leave the refilling of the grave to someone else for once, anyway, and they hadn't even seen his face. The perfect crime.
Yes, the perfect crime, commited so that he could summon someone he wasn't entirely sure wasn't the Devil. He'd burn that bridge if he came to it. It was fine.
He had a plan, he had a trap, it was fine.
It was fine.
It happened nice and quick. He drew the symbols, he said the spell, he lit the ingredients on fire, and when the fired died there was someone inside the devil's trap.
What he managed to catch wasn't the Devil or King of Hell, though, Dean was sure of that much.
"Meg."
She regarded him coldly. "Dean. The King doesn't enjoy being summoned like a pet."
"Yeah, well, he told me to meet with him, and I can't get into Hell without the entire place hunting me, so I don't really know what else he wanted me to do. If he wanted to talk so bad, he coulda found me himself, by the way."
Meg grimaced. "I'll take you to him."
"Do I look like an idiot?"
She studied him, like she was actually debating it.
"No, Meg. I'm not going with you to meet the King of friggin' Hell."
"You went through all this trouble, and now you won't talk to him?"
"I'll talk to him. What I won't do is follow a bitch who betrayed me down to the prison I escaped."
She smirked. "Was it really betrayal if I was never on your side?"
"You pretended to be Sam's friend in order to use him as bait. I call that betrayal."
"Hmm. I happen to know he's gotten over it."
That took a quarter of a second to process, in which time Dean's mind entirely switched tracks. "You've seen Sam? Where is he?"
Meg took a step back and Dean realized he had gotten closer, toes of his boots just outside the devil's trap. She laughed nervously. "Woah, tiger. He's fine. As fine as he can be."
"What the hell is that suppsosed to mean?"
Her shoulders fell just a bit, betraying what seemed a whole lot like exhaustion. "Dean. Just let me take you to the King."
"Where is my brother, Meg?"
"The King will explain everything, I promise. But it's not my shit to tell."
Dean worked his jaw, teeth grinding against each other smoothly. He couldn't trust Meg. He knew that. He couldn't trust the nameless King of Hell, either, yet he'd gone through a whole lot to contact him simply because he'd sent that note. A note, like something a high schooler would pass. "Do you want to make out under the bleachers? Yes or No?"
The King and his spies had left him alone. There was no reason he should still be so obsessed with finding him. Yet there he was, talking to Meg inside a devil's trap meant for the guy.
Well, in for a penny.
"Fine."
What was possibly the dumbest chance Dean had ever taken took him to a place that looked a lot cleaner than he'd expected.
"This is Hell?"
"This is the King's castle."
"In Hell."
"No, in Missouri."
Dean raised an eyebrow at him.
"We are in the King's castle. In Hell. Any more inane questions?"
"I'll keep you posted."
She glared at him, but led him through the halls. When he complained about how big the place was, she scowled. "I got us as close as is allowed. We have to get through the circle of wards closer to the throne room on foot."
"Big circle. Paranoid, much?"
"Only idiots aren't paranoid."
Finally, they came to a set of huge double doors.
Suddenly, Dean's palms were clammy. Meg noticed his hesitation.
"What, getting cold feet now?"
"Shut up."
"I'll take you back if you want. The King will be disappointed, and you won't find out what happened to your brother, but I'll take you back if you ask."
"Shut up."
She laughed. "Just say the word."
"Open the doors, Meg."
She shrugged. The handles were two giant iron rings, and she took hold of them and swung both doors open in one motion, shoved him in, and closed them again. If he were anywhere else, he would have turned right around and pounded on the doors until they opened again. But he didn't.
No use showing weakness to the King of Hell, after all.
He started forward.
The throne room was more of a hall. Lined with pillars, sconces lit with bursts of sparks when he walked past them. He could barely make out the throne, gleaming dully on a dais forty feet back. As he got closer, the sconces lit more and more of the person atop the throne. Dean paused fifteen feet away, his legs refusing to take him any close. He heard a sigh from the throne and then the King snapped his fingers, and the rest of the candles and sconces in the room flared to life.
Dean blinked for a moment before he could entirely believe his eyes. The King of Hell was wearing his brother. His brother! He stalked forward, fear forgotten, practically snarling.
"Give him back you sonovabitch."
"Dean—"
"Now!"
A deep growl came from the foot of the throne, and Dean finally noticed the two hellhounds lounging there. One was relaxed as the King's—Sammy's!—hand scratched it's ears, but the other's fur stood on end as it growled.
The King, in Sam's voice, sighed. "Down, Darling."
The hellhound settled, still baring it's teeth at Dean but no longer poised to pounce.
"Give me back my brother you—"
"Dean, it's just me."
"Sure it is."
"I'm not lying. It's really just me."
"Prove it."
Another sigh."No one is so stupid as to take your brother from you, Dean. I've learned that down here. They fear you, more than any mortal."
"Prove it," Dean hissed.
"Dean Joseph Winchester. My big brother. Idiot, warrior, hunter, did I mention idiot? You practically raised me, man. I know everything about you. What could I say that would make you believe me?"
Dean looked at that man who claimed to be his baby brother. He looked regal, on his void of a throne. Obsidian and sharp, with a velvet cushion so black it practically absorbed the firelight that lit the room. He looked... well, he looked like a king. A crown of—what was that, iron?—shone dull against his hair. He wore a suit, dark green and tailored. Sam hadn't had a well-tailored suit in his life, and Dean would have expected it to look odd.
But it didn't. It just looked like Sam.
He looked further, with the eyes that hadn't entirely vanished when Cas had healed him.
Still just Sam.
"Okay. Okay, I believe you. But the longer I'm down here, the more demons will catch wind. We gotta get out of here."
"I'm not leaving."
"What?"
"This is mine. All of this. I do not need to be rescued from my castle, Dean."
"So?"
"So, I have a responsibility!"
"Is it what you want?"
Sam tilted his head, looking at Dean oddly as his eyes glinted in the firelight. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, is this promotion forced or taken?"
"Ah. Taken."
"Well then!" Dean grinned. He'd already made a few stupid decisions today, what was one more? "Any chance you could use an advisor or something?"
Sam's brow furrowed and he slowly stood. "Dean. I can't ask that of you."
Ask you to stay in Hell. Ask you to stay with me. Ask you to leave your home. Ask you to play for the team you've spent so much time fighting. Dean could imagine a lot of things that Sam might have thought he was asking.
"You're not asking. I'm offering. Can't be too many demons you can actually trust. Well, here's one."
"You aren't a demon."
Dean shrugged. "Yes and no."
Sam frowned and his eyes flicked up and down Dean's body, like he was looking for something. He seemed to find it pretty quickly, because his face went slack. Before he could say anything, Dean cut him off.
"Halfway cleansed. Cas did as much as he could."
"Cas?"
"Castiel. He's—"
"The angel?"
Dean raised an eyebrow. "So you know about angels. That saves some time. Castiel raised me from perdition and shit."
He hadn't noticed the faint hope that had been creeping across his brother's face until it abruptly dropped. "Then I can't trust you any more than any of my demons."
"What? Sammy, what are you—"
"You're working with Heaven, Dean! You're working with Heaven, and I am the King of Hell!"
"Woah, I'm not 'working with' anybody. I didn't ask Heaven to save me, or whatever. I haven't even seen Cas in months. But you need me. Look at you, you're alone and paranoid, and I've only been here for fifteen minutes but it kinda seems like it's messin' you up!"
"It's not paranoia if—"
"—if they're actually out to get you, yeah. But I'm not, Sam. I'm your brother, for fuck's sake. And I'm starting to get that maybe that doesn't mean as much to you now as it used to, but it still means a helluva lot to me."
It always would. Sam was his baby brother. Long before his dad had brought his opinions and fears into the mix, Dean had known he would always protect Sam. That it was his job. Look out for his brother.
His brother, who, despite his evident regality, sort of looked like he was about to cry.
"Sammy—"
"It does. It does mean a lot to me. It means so fucking much to me, Dean. But if I've learned anything, it's that it doesn't matter how much it means to me if I can't be sure...if I can't—"
"Sam."
And... Oh. Oh shit, the King of Hell was crying. Not good, not good.
No. Dean's little brother was crying. That he could deal with. He closed the distance between them with long strides. The hellhounds at Sam's feet did nothing, and once he was sure they weren't going to rip into him for getting too close to their master he ignored them and threw his arms around his brother. With a sob, Sam took a hold of Dean's jacket in his clenched hands and pressed his face into Dean's shoulder.
Dean ran one hand up to the nape of Sam's neck, rubbing circles into his baby hairs with his thumb, and let his little brother shake apart against him.
Not for the first time. Not for the last.