Losing You

The House

Locating Crowley was straightforward. Find a demon. Interrogate it. Kill said demon. Rescue you.

The Winchesters knew that utilizing a summoning spell or Crowley's contact information on their phones wouldn't bring him to them. Any communication on their part would be ignored or dealt with by an onslaught of more demon henchmen like the one they previously encountered at the motel. So they circumvented all of those complications and went straight for their most useful tool: capture and torture.

It didn't take them long to find a pathetic, scraggly demon that could be drug back to the bunker. They knew that crossroads demons were easiest to capture since they were so often exposed. It took them all of two hours to locate an active crossroads, two more to drive there, and less than an hour to set up their trap, which consisted of demon cuffs and holy water.

They allowed a washed out, forty-something year old man who was still dressed in his office slacks and tie to place his objects in the self-dug hole, hoping for a hot wife and a sports car. Much to the man's surprise, the demon that appeared took the form of a college aged frat boy instead of the femme fatale of his fantasies. Sam and Dean sent him running after the demon showed up, though. The man hadn't even expressed his wishes yet. Sam and Dean's guns were enough to scare him off. The demon's flash of black eyes was just an extra element of fun before Midlife Crisis bolted, his dirty knees quaking.

The unsuspecting demon was possessing a young man who was decent in strength, but much smaller in both height and muscle than either Winchester. It was easily rendered helpless by a shower of holy water that caused him to wail and flail long enough for Dean to secure the shackles from the bunker onto its wrists. It was helpless after that, trapped by salted iron and etched-in devil's' traps. Sam and Dean shoved him into the back seat of the Impala and they drove home with Sam seated next to the demon, the colt prodding him in the side should he attempt anything stupid.

At the bunker, it took only the tools of the trade to extract an answer from the demon.

The sniveling creature attempted a die-hard attitude at first, staying silent except to give them cheek, but it quickly became apparent that he valued his own existence over loyalty to any hellish regime. It didn't take Dean long to pull some answers from the man, using a unique combination of salt and holy water strategically injected into choice veins. He took some liberty with demon blade, too. Sam stood as a heavy presence in the room while Dean did his work, waiting in case any more persuasion was needed to convince him to speak. Sam would've been more than willing to take his turn with the black cloud that dared to stand between him and you. It would've been all too easy for him to relentlessly punish the creature.

After maybe an hour of torture, the demon finally choked out an answer with bloody coughs in the form of an Arizona address.

"Th-that's where she's been living." He hacked up more blood, the mess dribbling down onto his shirt and pants as he doubled over, wheezing. "That's a-all I know, I swear."

The demon looked up at Sam and Dean with glazed over eyes, hunched over in the seat, the whites of his eyes visible as they rolled back into his head and he waited for his release. Dean gave him one, just not the type he expected. It came in the form of the demon blade thrusted into his chest and a display of orange and red lightning sparks shooting throughout his body. That was probably more forgiving than the punishment he surely would've received under Crowley for betraying him.

After they exited the dungeon with concrete answers, leaving the body slumped in the chair, Sam could breathe. He was so close to seeing you again. There was a rush of exhilaration that passed from his head to his toes as he imagined holding your beautiful face in his hands once again. As he packed his bags for the drive to Arizona, thinking of the reunion, tears flowed out of his eyes, causing him to wipe his cheeks with the back of his hand while he looked down at his clothes with blurry vision. Packing some of your own clothes amplified the anticipation. As his fingers grasped the fabric that had once been in contact with your skin, he felt like some part of your presence was still there, egging on his hope. It made you feel that much closer to him.