Chapter Text
Things weren’t going well.
Donatello was now… in a hospital. Permanently.
There was no longer a TV for the Dean Cave. Fortress of Dean-itude. Still not sure about that.
Cas was off on his own. Again.
They did manage to get the Blood of a Holy Man, so that was good. And Fruit from the Tree of Life, very good.
But now…
Now Dean had a new problem...
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot! I come in peace! Parlay!”
...now Ketch was standing in his bunker.
“Why the fuck shouldn’t I shoot you?” Dean snapped, his gun raised alongside Sam’s.
“I have information! Information you desperately want,” Ketch said in a rush, shaking his empty palms at them.
“Yeah?" said Dean. "Alright, talk.”
“...And you won’t kill me?”
“Yeah, I ain’t promisin’ you shit.”
Ketch sighed and rolled his eyes.
Dean just hardened his glare. “Spill.”
Ketch drew himself a little taller. “In exchange for asylum," he said.
“What?”
“I'm offering you information, in exchange for refuge.”
“You're offering me information in exchange for me not shooting you—"
“What are you running from?” said Sam.
Dean’s lip curled.
Ketch’s eyes darted between them. “Asmodeus," he said.
They both narrowed their eyes at him.
“I saw things I shouldn't," Ketch explained. "Made some regrettable enemies. And this is the safest place on the continent. So I'm offering you information in exchange for ref—”
“Heard you the first time,” said Dean.
Ketch pursed his lips.
Sam looked him up and down. "What kind of information?” he asked.
Ketch glanced between them again. They could clearly see the gears turning, options being weighed.
“You need archangel grace," he finally said. "And I know where to get it.”
“Of course you do,” Dean nodded sarcastically.
“So, asylum?” Ketch tried.
“No, you know what, why the hell should we believe a single thing you say?” Dean burst, jabbing with his gun and shifting his weight. “Last time we saw you, you were happy to tell us you work for Asmodeus. This could be one of his shitty-ass plans.”
“Please,” Ketch rolled his eyes again, “this is far too convoluted for him to think up. I worked for Asmodeus, but that contract has been breached— far too literally I might add— and I now come humbly to you, seeking as—”
“I heard you the first five times,” Dean growled through gritted teeth.
Ketch grimaced. “...in exchange for that information and whatever else I can offer.”
“Whatever else?” said Sam.
“Oh you're not seriously considering this,” Dean snapped.
“Well I have been told I'm a bit of a cute hoor.”
Both Dean and Ketch slowly raised an eyebrow at him.
“It’s— nevermind.” He turned his attention back to Ketch. “Look, you've got to give us something more concrete than that. Something that shows us you're not here to trick us.”
Ketch looked between Sam and Dean once more. He locked eyes with Sam and slowly said, “I'm going to put my hand in my right pocket.”
Sam nodded.
Ketch gingerly reached into the right pocket of his jacket and produced a familiar-looking syringe and a vial, coated in the remnants of a glowing residue.
“Asmodeus has the Archangel Gabriel held captive in Hell.”
Sam and Dean stared at the vial.
“He’s dead,” Sam said.
“Or is he?” Dean corrected.
“Um, he’s not.” Ketch raised an eyebrow at them.
Dean glared at the syringe and the vial. He huffed through his teeth and grumbled, “Alright, you watch him. I’m gonna make a call.”
Sam nodded and adjusted his position, gun still trained on Ketch.
Dean slowly backed away, only lowering his own gun once he got around the corner. He pulled out his phone and reluctantly dialed.
It picked up on the second ring.
“It’s been ages since you called.”
“I don’t have time for an argument, Crowley, is the Archangel Gabriel in Hell?”
“Oh, I’m doing fine, thank you, how are you? ”
“Crowley.”
“How would I know that, I’m not even in Hell. And you know that. Or have you stopped listening to me again? Though I suppose you never really started— ”
“Crowley!”
“All I do is give and give in this relationship, it’s starting to feel very one-sided. I mean really, what about me? What about my needs? ”
Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What do you want?”
“I— I beg your pardon?”
“What do you want?”
The other end of the line went silent.
“Crowley?”
“Are you telling me I went through all that shit for you and Moose and all I had to do was withhold a little information?”
“I’m hanging up.”
“Stop. I’ll tell you what I want later. Having you in my acknowledged debt is almost a reward in itself.”
Dean sighed again. This was definitely gonna come back to bite him in the ass. “Is the Archangel Gabriel in Hell?” he asked again.
“Hm? Oh. Yeah. Has been for months.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Well let’s see: a) I was dead, b) I was rather annoyed with you, and c) you never asked. ”
“Whatever. Thanks.”
“A ‘thank you’? Is it my re-birthday? ”
“Okay, see, you've already used that joke and now I am hanging up.”
Dean shoved his phone back into his pocket and returned to Sam and Ketch. “Well, his story checks out.”
Ketch stared at him. “Who on earth could you call that could corroborate that?”
“Not sure they’re on Earth, and I’m definitely not telling you.”
Ketch rolled his eyes. “Of course.”
“So our next move is obvious,” Sam said, holstering his gun. “We need to get Gabriel out of Hell.”
“Oh no, not we, I’m absolutely not going back there.” Ketch pulled out a chair at the map table and sat in it resolutely, setting the syringe and vial on the table.
“Yeah, because we want to go back there," said Dean.
“Well, why not just send your angel?”
Dean slammed a hand on the table, leaning well over Ketch, “Alright, you smarmy dick,” he growled, “first of all, he’s not ‘our’ angel. We're not ‘sending’ him anywhere.”
Ketch nodded, tight-lipped and slightly wide-eyed. “Duly noted.”
“And second, he’s not coming with, anyway.”
“What?” said Sam. He glanced over at Ketch, “Could you give us a minute?”
“Oh, of course, please,” Ketch said with a gesture at the doorway.
Sam took Dean by the arm and led him out of the map room to the library, only speaking when they were well out of earshot. “What the hell do you mean we’re not bringing Cas?”
“Can’t bring someone who’s not here, Sam.”
“So we’ll wait for him, Dean.”
“Why? He doesn’t wait for us.”
Sam dropped his head to the side with a heavy glare. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”
Dean huffed sharply, running a hand roughly through his hair.
“We should at least talk about this with Cas,” Sam continued. “This is big.”
"There's no point—"
"Why not?"
“Because— Because I’m not bringing him to another fucking plane of existence, alright? We can do this. In and out, just like the selkies.”
“We absolutely needed Cas’s help to save the selkies.”
Dean shifted his weight to the other foot. “Okay, then, just like the Holy Blood.”
“Are you serious? That was the messiest case we've worked in years! It would have been a hundred times better with Cas!”
Dean grimaced. “Okay, but—”
“Right now, we don’t even know how we’re going to get into Hell again; the Reapers sure won't want to deal with us after what happened to the last one who got us in, but Cas probably knows a way, heck he might even be the only one who can go.” Sam looked pleadingly at Dean, ”Look, we need to at least talk to him. We're not going to make stupid decisions just because you're pissed at him for some reason.”
“I'm not—!”
“I don't care what you're about to call it,” Sam held up a hand, ”and I don’t want to get involved in it. So we'll wait for Cas and see what else Ketch has to offer.”
“Oh, so he shows up with a present and now you trust him?”
“Oh my g— Of course not, Dean! We're going to use him and then we'll kill him. For real this time.”
Dean ran a hand over his mouth and scowled.
Sam sighed. “Look, it's late, let’s just sleep on it, alright?”
“Do I look like I’m about to drop off to sleep?” Dean snapped. Then he winced, “Sorry.”
Sam just sighed louder. “No, you don’t look like you could sleep, Dean,” he had to answer.
Dean bit his lip and stole a glance at the amulet around Sam’s neck, sitting on top of his shirts as always.
Sam rolled his eyes. “What?” he asked reluctantly.
Dean snorted despite himself. “I still can’t believe you told that mob boss his decór was tacky.”
“I had to, Dean, he asked if I liked it!” Sam whined.
Dean bit his cheek in an effort to control his smirk. He utterly failed. “We should have gotten you that thing years ago.”
“Fuck you,” Sam said, pointing in his face as he moved past him.
Dean just smiled after him. “I’m gonna call Crowley again, see if he can get us into Hell.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Sam waved him off and went to rejoin Ketch.
Ketch was literally twiddling his thumbs when Sam returned. “Oh, good. Have we reached a consensus?” he asked.
“We’ll talk about it more in the morning," Sam answered, "come on, there’s plenty of spare rooms.”
Ketch grinned as he stood from his chair. “Ah, if we can find them, right?”
“What?”
“You know,” Ketch made a vague gesture, “because the rooms move around?”
“How did you know about that?” Sam asked as he took them toward the hallway that usually led to the bedrooms.
“Well I’m tempted to say: ‘I’m definitely not telling you that’,” he droned, imitating Dean’s midwestern accent through a scowl, “but the truth is all of the Men of Letters facilities are like this. You get this much magic in one place and really anything can happen.”
Sam ticked his head to the side, “Huh," and led Ketch down the hall.
“So,” Sam started as he opened a door, hoping it was still the supply closet. Fortunately, it was. “No matter what we decide here, you’re not going to help get Gabriel out?”
“Oh I’ll gladly help,” Ketch corrected. “I’ll gladly help you with almost anything in exchange for refuge. I’m just not going back there. And ideally, not out of here at all.”
Sam considered that as he pulled some bedsheets from the closet and handed them over. “Anything?” he asked.
“Almost anything," answered Ketch.
Sam couldn't help that his mouth twitched with a smile. “How are you at forging documents?”
———
Crowley sat at a table, looking down at his phone.
“And three... two... one…”
The phone rang.
He smirked, and picked it up. “Yes?” he answered.
“We need to get into Hell.”
———
“You only call when you need something.”
Dean rolled his eyes, “Can you get us in or not?
“Of course I can.”
Dean turned on the spot, looking around. Usually this was when Crowley did his best to give him a heart attack. “...But?”
“But I’m a smidge busy right now.”
“With what?”
“Tch. Please. ”
Crowley hung up.
Dean drew back from the phone, giving it an incredulous scowl.
"Well fuck you, too," he said, and stalked off toward his room.