Smoke

Sam startled at Hannah’s hand on his arm. Turning, he found the angel shaking her head, looking concerned.

“Sam, there’s nothing here we can use. I saw the pulse around Dean as they went. He transported them. He did this.”

“The plan was to end them,” Sam said. “Not jump into bed with them.”

Hannah glanced away, looking back a moment later with a frown.

“Perhaps Dean and Castiel have a plan beyond what we’ve decided.”

“There shouldn’t be a plan we don’t all know about,” Sam said, leaning a little to bring himself closer to Hannah’s height. “How do you know Dean hasn’t just…just been turned. You didn’t see him when he was a demon before. He tried to kill me. Me. He sold his soul for me. Did you know that? And he tried to… Fuck.”

Sam turned around, taking three long steps away from Hannah, his hands pushed into his hair.

“If he’s really gone dark-side,” Sam said, “then we could have just lost all of them.”

“Bela and Castiel are there, too,” Hannah said. “They’re survivors. Castiel is one of the best tacticians I’ve ever known. Bela knows how to plan almost anything to her advantage. If Dean has turned, and we don’t know he has, they’ll see this mission completed.”

She sounded so certain. Sam knew certainty, knew how it felt in his gut, and he knew how often it blinded or misled.

“What if they don’t see the mission the same way?” he asked. “Might not be to Bela’s advantage to get Dean and Cas back up here. She’s not exactly Dean’s biggest fan, and she barely knows Cas.”

“She knows me,” Hannah said. “She’ll come back to me. And she’ll do her best to bring them with her.”

But Sam knew someone’s best didn’t always mean squat, not when the stakes were high. Hell, sometimes even when it was meant to be a cake-walk. There was every chance not everyone would make it back. Not alive.

********************************************

Castiel went where Dean told him to, crossing the plain at Dean’s side. He didn’t try to catch Dean’s eye, or talk to him. The demons around them might be pretending to accept him, for Dean’s sake, but Castiel had been in too many situations where those on his side would turn on him given even a slight chance, and he knew the signs. These demons would strip him from Dean’s side and consider it a service to their new king.

He didn’t know about Bela, either. She’d kept her distance until Dean called, coming to his side when summoned and from then on giving every appearance of being in her element. She was the one who’d provided the lamp, who’d suggest this plan. Perhaps this had been her aim all along.

It felt like subjective hours had passed by the time they reached the sharp upsweep of rock Dean had commanded they head to. By then, they had a crowd walking with them, the eddies of satisfaction, relief, delight, clear in each demon, whether they wore a human form or not.

So far, no-one had given any indication that they were against Dean or his impending reign. Castiel found it hard to believe. There would be snakes in the grass, wanting to take Dean down.

Gates in the rock creaked open at Dean’s gesture, the smirk on his face making this almost obscenely easy.

Inside, the space became a cavern carved in symbols that made Castiel want to tear off his human skin and escape. They were old sigils, twisted and corrupted and banned in Heaven, and he was surrounded by them. Dean expected him to stay here, surrounded by them.

Unless Dean was faking.

“Home sweet home,” Dean said, drawing Castiel’s attention from the symbols and down to a carved stone seat. “What do you think, Cas? You want one the same?”

And Dean lifted his hand, fingers twitching.

“No,” Cas said. Blurted out, really.

Dean raised an eyebrow.

“No?” he asked, as though not quite able to believe that. He sounded amused, just, but Castiel would have to be very stupid indeed not to notice the darker current. “You just say ‘no’ to me, Angel?”

If Dean was play-acting this, he was doing a disturbingly good job. Castiel had never been good at acting, but he needed to find a way to play this right. He lowered his eyes, bringing his wings in close and dimming his Grace. A show of subservience could make him a target, but it might also secure him solid footing.

“I shouldn’t have a throne like yours,” he said. He had to take a moment before going on, his throat working around the title. “My king.”

He watched Dean through his eye-lashes on his human vessel, through every working eye on his true-form, and saw Dean throw back his head and laugh.

“You know, I like that. You knowing your place.” Dean pointed at Castiel and it was all too clear he’d like to be pointing with a knife. The wrist movement, the way he held his fingers, made one almost visible. “We’ll have to see how else you can show me you know it.”

And he winked. Castiel saw several demons smile, heard them laugh their approval. If he had to play this role, truly, then he would, but he made note of every demon which showed pleasure at Dean speaking to him that way.

“For now, I see your point. Maybe something fitting of your status.”

Dean gestured and a second seat emerged from the ground, growing up from the rock and forming into a plainer version of the throne, with fewer carvings. It still held sigils Castiel wished weren’t there, and it still had a high back which would put the central symbol above Castiel’s head when he sat.

He needed to know where Dean had learned those sigils. When Castiel sat in that chair, it would hold him. Tether him. That didn’t seem like something Dean would do if this were part of a con.

“Have a seat, Cas,” Dean said, sweeping his arm out in invitation.

With the collected gaze of hundreds of demons on him, and Dean giving him no sign of a way out, Castiel glanced at Bela to find her looking just as expectant as any other demon. He couldn’t tell if it was faked.

“Very well,” he said.

And took the seat Dean had made for him.