With Cast Iron Blood
Title: With Cast Iron Blood
Rating: PG
Genre: Gen
Spoilers: No Rest For The Wicked, most of S3.
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Warnings: None.
Notes: So much thanks to krisd81 and twasadark for betaing!
Ruby was waiting for him when he arrived, blonde and irritable, all sharp edges and nervous energy.
"Have you got it?" she asked without preamble, tapping one booted foot on the soft graveyard earth.
Two months of searching, two months too long, but he had the Colt now. He held up the gun for her inspection. "What do we do now?" he asked.
"Well," Ruby said, "You'll need the Colt, for a start."
"It'll be enough?"
"It'll be a start," she said. "Depends if they're in a bargaining mood."
He hesitated, and she blew out a frustrated breath. "Look, either you use the gun and open the damn gate, or your brother spends eternity in Hell. Your choice."
-
She had an incantation - Latin, one he had never heard before, and he vaguely recognized the symbols carved into the stone of the mausoleum, but then the gate was open and Ruby was pressing the Colt into his hands and he- he was in Hell. Getting into Hell wasn't as difficult as he expected. He stepped forward into the yawning darkness of the crypt, and then he was there. He fell, he remembered that, but it made sense. You had to fall, to get into the pit. He found himself laying on his back in the mud, watery dirt squelching between his fingers and plastering itself to his back. When he reached up to wipe the dirt off of his face, he realized that it wasn't water turning the ground to mud; it was blood.
The air was as muggy as a Southern afternoon, thick with eye-stinging sulfur and smoke, and everything was black and grey, mud and rock as far as the eye could see and no one anywhere for miles. No one that he could see, at any rate: there were clouds off in the far distance, black and roiling above the washed-out landscape. Demons, he thought.
He had made it. Now he had to find his brother. He began walking towards the clouds.
-
It was easy to lose track of time, in Hell. There was no sun to track through the sky- there was no sky, for that matter. He counted his steps. At five hundred and fifty three (or perhaps five hundred and twelve; it was impossible to keep an accurate count) a man came along and walked beside him.
The man was tall and bright, the brightest, cleanest man he'd ever seen. Handsomest man he'd ever seen; but of course the Devil would be handsome. "You've come a long way," he said, without breaking stride. The Devil's legs were long. Miles long. Still, out here, it was no trouble to keep up.
"What's so important you came all the way down here?"
This was it, this was his chance, he could fix everything and save his brother, and damn himself for eternity. So he stopped, and turned to face the Devil himself, eye to eye just like he had faced the demon at the crossroads.
"I want my brother," he said.
"You want to make a deal?" the Adversary asked. He smiled a little; his eyes glinted with amusement. "You know you can make a deal with the Crossroads Demon? Or, hell, any old demon you can call up, really. What's so important you came all the way to see me?"
His brother had gone bad, screaming and shitting himself, blood everywhere and barely a scrap of skin left to hold him together; his brother had died for him, and there wasn't anything he wouldn't do to get him out of his deal. His brother had made the world's stupidest deal; killed one of them and damned both; he was going to kill his brother all over again if -when they got out of here. He thought of his brother, and steeled himself.
"Your demon fixed it so there's no backsies- I can't make a deal to save my brother." Hell, his idiot of a brother had probably included that little clause. Fucker. "She wouldn't deal, so I decided to come straight to you," he said.
"I've got this gun," he said. "I've got this gun, and I'll give it to you if you break my brother's contract. I'll give it to you, and I'll stay. I'll take my brother's place if you'll just let him go. He doesn't deserve this."
The Devil was silent. Could've been years; could've been a moment. "You have the Colt," he said, finally. "You walked into Hell, and you have the Colt, and you want to trade it in for your brother. I've heard that one before," he said.
Oh, God. "He's all I've got-"
"Heard that one before, too."
"Please-"
"You really willing to stay? Really? You know what they'll do to you? There's fire, and knives, and more pain than you can conceive. I promise you that. You really want that?" The Devil watched him steadily and there was something like sympathy behind his eyes.
Fuck. He'd do anything for his brother. "Yes," he said, and he meant it, soul deep.
"I'll stay."
"And you'll give me the gun?"
He dug into the inside pocket of his jacket, and pulled out the Colt. It was heavy in his hand, a graceless lump of metal and magic that had to be worth at least one soul. Just one, dear God. He could shoot the Devil, he thought, and a smile flitted across the Devil's face as the thought came to him.
"Been looking for this forever," the Devil said, holding the gun up to the nonexistent light and sighting along the barrel. A smile curled across his face. "Never found out where it got to, after-" he looked up from the gun, smiled wide.
"You would really go to Hell for your brother," Lucifer said. "Well."
Something heavy curled in his gut.
"My brother Dean went to Hell for me, so I went down to Hell for Dean," Lucifer said. "Pulled him out of the fire with my own two hands and brought all the legions of demons under my control. I know where you're at, and, you know- this once..."
-
Asher woke up in the motel, curled around Michael's sleeping body. They had the Devil's own luck. Just this once.
Rating: PG
Genre: Gen
Spoilers: No Rest For The Wicked, most of S3.
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Warnings: None.
Notes: So much thanks to krisd81 and twasadark for betaing!
Ruby was waiting for him when he arrived, blonde and irritable, all sharp edges and nervous energy.
"Have you got it?" she asked without preamble, tapping one booted foot on the soft graveyard earth.
Two months of searching, two months too long, but he had the Colt now. He held up the gun for her inspection. "What do we do now?" he asked.
"Well," Ruby said, "You'll need the Colt, for a start."
"It'll be enough?"
"It'll be a start," she said. "Depends if they're in a bargaining mood."
He hesitated, and she blew out a frustrated breath. "Look, either you use the gun and open the damn gate, or your brother spends eternity in Hell. Your choice."
-
She had an incantation - Latin, one he had never heard before, and he vaguely recognized the symbols carved into the stone of the mausoleum, but then the gate was open and Ruby was pressing the Colt into his hands and he- he was in Hell. Getting into Hell wasn't as difficult as he expected. He stepped forward into the yawning darkness of the crypt, and then he was there. He fell, he remembered that, but it made sense. You had to fall, to get into the pit. He found himself laying on his back in the mud, watery dirt squelching between his fingers and plastering itself to his back. When he reached up to wipe the dirt off of his face, he realized that it wasn't water turning the ground to mud; it was blood.
The air was as muggy as a Southern afternoon, thick with eye-stinging sulfur and smoke, and everything was black and grey, mud and rock as far as the eye could see and no one anywhere for miles. No one that he could see, at any rate: there were clouds off in the far distance, black and roiling above the washed-out landscape. Demons, he thought.
He had made it. Now he had to find his brother. He began walking towards the clouds.
-
It was easy to lose track of time, in Hell. There was no sun to track through the sky- there was no sky, for that matter. He counted his steps. At five hundred and fifty three (or perhaps five hundred and twelve; it was impossible to keep an accurate count) a man came along and walked beside him.
The man was tall and bright, the brightest, cleanest man he'd ever seen. Handsomest man he'd ever seen; but of course the Devil would be handsome. "You've come a long way," he said, without breaking stride. The Devil's legs were long. Miles long. Still, out here, it was no trouble to keep up.
"What's so important you came all the way down here?"
This was it, this was his chance, he could fix everything and save his brother, and damn himself for eternity. So he stopped, and turned to face the Devil himself, eye to eye just like he had faced the demon at the crossroads.
"I want my brother," he said.
"You want to make a deal?" the Adversary asked. He smiled a little; his eyes glinted with amusement. "You know you can make a deal with the Crossroads Demon? Or, hell, any old demon you can call up, really. What's so important you came all the way to see me?"
His brother had gone bad, screaming and shitting himself, blood everywhere and barely a scrap of skin left to hold him together; his brother had died for him, and there wasn't anything he wouldn't do to get him out of his deal. His brother had made the world's stupidest deal; killed one of them and damned both; he was going to kill his brother all over again if -when they got out of here. He thought of his brother, and steeled himself.
"Your demon fixed it so there's no backsies- I can't make a deal to save my brother." Hell, his idiot of a brother had probably included that little clause. Fucker. "She wouldn't deal, so I decided to come straight to you," he said.
"I've got this gun," he said. "I've got this gun, and I'll give it to you if you break my brother's contract. I'll give it to you, and I'll stay. I'll take my brother's place if you'll just let him go. He doesn't deserve this."
The Devil was silent. Could've been years; could've been a moment. "You have the Colt," he said, finally. "You walked into Hell, and you have the Colt, and you want to trade it in for your brother. I've heard that one before," he said.
Oh, God. "He's all I've got-"
"Heard that one before, too."
"Please-"
"You really willing to stay? Really? You know what they'll do to you? There's fire, and knives, and more pain than you can conceive. I promise you that. You really want that?" The Devil watched him steadily and there was something like sympathy behind his eyes.
Fuck. He'd do anything for his brother. "Yes," he said, and he meant it, soul deep.
"I'll stay."
"And you'll give me the gun?"
He dug into the inside pocket of his jacket, and pulled out the Colt. It was heavy in his hand, a graceless lump of metal and magic that had to be worth at least one soul. Just one, dear God. He could shoot the Devil, he thought, and a smile flitted across the Devil's face as the thought came to him.
"Been looking for this forever," the Devil said, holding the gun up to the nonexistent light and sighting along the barrel. A smile curled across his face. "Never found out where it got to, after-" he looked up from the gun, smiled wide.
"You would really go to Hell for your brother," Lucifer said. "Well."
Something heavy curled in his gut.
"My brother Dean went to Hell for me, so I went down to Hell for Dean," Lucifer said. "Pulled him out of the fire with my own two hands and brought all the legions of demons under my control. I know where you're at, and, you know- this once..."
-
Asher woke up in the motel, curled around Michael's sleeping body. They had the Devil's own luck. Just this once.