Chapter Text
Dean stopped in his tracks. His body became stiff and rigid, and he could not take one more step. He recognised this feeling; he’d had it six months ago when his house had been on fire.
Something was not right.
“Sam?” Dean called, turning slowly. The thunder was still loud, but all else was still.
“Sammy?”
Dean stepped into his brother’s room and attempted to turn on the light. Nothing. Dean tried to turn it on several more times but the power must have been cut off by the storm.
“Sammy?” Dean said again. “Are you all right?”
He listened out for a sound. “Why aren’t you crying?”
He looked over at the cot. Sam couldn’t have fallen asleep so quickly, could he? Not with the storm so loud and him being so worked up. Dean swallowed, and he found that his throat was dry. As he walked slowly towards his brother’s bed, he found himself dreading as to what he might find when he reached it.
He found the bedding crumpled and unruly. Putting a hand to it, he swallowed once more as he prepared to unfold the whitened cloth. The thunder was deafening, and Dean’s heart was pumping in his ears. Gritting his teeth, he pulled back the covers to find—
Absolutely nothing.
The cot was empty. Sam was gone.
“Sammy!”
Dean immediately turned around and surveyed the nursery, desperately hoping that his brother had just climbed out of the cot and had wandered to the other side of the room—although he knew this was a fool’s dream. Sammy was long gone; he could feel it in his gut.
Something caught his attention—a rattling at the window. As he turned to look, he thought he heard a stifled cackle erupt from behind him. He whirled his body around, and he swore that he could see two shadows disappearing behind the door. Before he had the chance to chase them, he heard from behind him the nursery window blasting open, and the ferocity of the storm showering him with rainwater.
A white snowy owl with startlingly blue eyes appeared from the outside and soared in, it’s wings momentarily flustering Dean, almost making him lose balance.
That owl…
And then, the creature was no longer an owl. It was a man.
He stood in front of the window, his hands behind his back. He was taller than Dean, though not by much, and in stature he was rather slender and refined, although no one could deny the authority he upheld. His face was young, but his eyes—bright blue and dazzling—had an air of wisdom to them, alluding the sense that he had seen and done things that many others could never even dream of. His hair was the colour of a raven’s feather, the same shade of black that he wore over his shoulders in a long, flowing coat. His shirt, trousers and boots were black also, as if he had somehow been swept up into the night sky and his clothes had been dyed by the stars. His lips were pink and full, and were smiling at Dean in a way that sent a shiver down his spine.
Dean needed no introduction—he knew who this man was.
“I know you,” was all he said. He sounded a lot braver than he felt, and he was thankful for it.
The blue-eyed man smiled again.
“Yes,” he said simply. “I’ve been watching you for many years.”
His voice was deep, but soft—comforting, in a bizarre way, and yet eerily terrifying at the same time.
“So,” said Dean, clearing his throat, subconsciously trying to sound older than his seventeen years. “The stories were all true, then,” he uttered, almost more to himself. “But how—?”
The blue-eyed man held out a hand, and Dean immediately fell quiet.
“It all came down to this day, Dean.”
He did not know how to answer that. This was all… so fucked up; there was no other way he could describe it. All of those stories his mother used to tell him when he was a child—they weren’t stories—they were real!
“Please,” whispered Dean. “Please, I want my brother back.”
“But you said the words,” the blue-eyed man said, matter-of-factly. “There’s no going back.”
“But I didn’t mean it!” dejected Dean.
“Oh, you didn’t?” The blue-eyed man smirked. “Somehow I find that very hard to believe.”
Dean sighed. He didn’t have it in him to argue.
“Please,” he said again. “Where is he?”
The man look annoyed for a moment. “Don’t play dumb, Dean, you know very well where he is.”
The blue-eyed man was right. Dean had heard the stories. He knew where his brother was being kept.
“Please give him back to me. Please.”
The man widened his eyes, in either surprise or frustration, Dean didn’t know. His blue irises were illuminated in the dark room, only getting brighter when another flash of lightening erupted from the sky.
“But why? I’ve finally given you what you want, Dean—your freedom! You can leave this town, escape your father forever!”
The man took a step closer towards Dean, and the boy flinched. The blue-eyed man smiled kindly, and spoke in a whisper. “You’re free.”
Maybe he saw it that way, but Dean shook his head.
“I can’t go. Not now.”
The man sighed, although he seemed sad more than anything else.
“Forget about the baby, Dean.”
Dean shook his head again, slower.
“I can’t.”
The blue-eyed man opened his mouth as if to say something, but changed his mind. He looked as if he were about to turn around, but stopped. Instead, he held out his hand.
“I’ve brought you a gift.”
And with that, a glass ball appeared, resting perfectly in his palm. The blue-eyed man looked down at it fondly.
“What is it?” Dean asked. He was looking at it wearily. Although it was beautiful, he did not trust anything this man were to offer him.
“It’s a crystal,” he said, and he looked at it again with the same fondness. “If you look into it, it will show you your dreams.”
He held out his hand farther.
“If you allow it, I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”
Dean looked at the crystal. It was beautiful, and pure—but it was not enough.
“I can’t accept.” Dean said, tearing his eyes away from the crystal ball. “My dreams mean nothing if I can’t have Sam back.”
The blue-eyed man swung his hand back and the crystal disappeared. He looked angry, but he spoke slowly… with control.
“You’ve changed your tune. Sam’s the reason your mother is dead, is he not?”
Dean looked up at the man, ashamed. The man spoke again.
“He has done nothing for you, except take away everything you’ve ever loved. He has got what he deserves.”
Dean shook his head. “I understand what you’re trying to do for me, but please, he’s just a kid.”
The man scowled, again opening his mouth as if to say something, and closing it as he changed his mind. He turned away from Dean slowly, and stood with his back to him. For one horrible moment, Dean thought the man was leaving—rejecting Dean’s last plea for his brother’s return.
Instead, the man asked Dean a question, his voice deep and as soft as velvet. It reminded Dean of Mary’s; the soothing tone of it sending ripples down his spine. It was rather ironic, feeling safe and comforted by a man who had just kidnapped his baby brother.
“Do you know who I am?”
Dean frowned slightly.
“You’re the Demon King."
With that, the Demon King turned around quickly, and Dean’s heartbeat quickened.
“In the first War I was known as Castiel.”
“The first War?” Dean asked, but Castiel waved a hand dismissively, as if there were more important things to discuss.
“If you are so sure of who I am, Dean,” said Castiel, “then why do you defy me?”
“I’m not,” said Dean defensively. “I just—“
But before Dean could finish, he felt the force of four arms around him, subduing his struggling form. The creatures giggled in his ears, and he could sense the overwhelming stench of rotting flesh.
Castiel looked at Dean. He had no warmth in his eyes.
“Do you see those creatures, Dean? They are my slaves. They will do anything I ask of them.”
Castiel looked away, and peered out of the window, his hands grasped behind his back.
“You have no idea the power I possess. You cannot even comprehend it.”
“I can suck the soul right out of your body without a second’s thought. I can create storms that decimate entire cities. I can make lovers rip each other’s throats out for my own amusement. I can—,” Castiel sighed, and looked at the floor.
“I can do many things, Dean,” he said, shaking his head slowly, as if the power he welded was a burden to him. “But I am just. I am fair.”
He turned around. “Crowley?”
Dean looked to his right. A chubby man with dark hair walked cheerfully through the nursery door, his black eyes glinting as he smiled warmly at the king.
“Yes, sire?”
Castiel looked over at Dean, who was staring at Crowley’s bright black irises.
“Dean, this is Crowley, my second-in-command, if you will.”
Crowley smiled at Dean.
“Pleasure to meet you, darling,” he said, holding out a hand. “Dare I say, it’s an honour to be meeting you in the flesh, at last.”
Dean stared.
From behind Crowley, Castiel sighed theatrically, and glared at the two demons that were holding down Dean.
“Demons!” he said, “our guest can’t shake Crowley’s hand if he has his own barred behind his back, can he?”
The two demons giggled, and immediately let go of Dean.
“Sorry, my love,” the first demon said, and chewed absently at its fingernails.
Castiel did not bother hiding the look of disgust on his face, although he ignored the two creatures to address the black-eyed man.
“May I ask you a question, Crowley?”
“Anything you want, my Lord!” said Crowley, placing a hand on his heart, although Dean doubted it had a beat.
“Am I a fair king?”
Crowley feigned surprise. “Only the fairest of them all!”
The two demons behind Dean giggled eagerly.
“I only ask because our friend here is so distrusting of me.”
Crowley gasped in mock horror, “but you’re the most trustworthy king I’ve ever met!”
The two demons behind Dean laughed again. They were making a mockery out of him, out of his pain. At that point, he did not care that he was standing in a room with three demons and a king that could kill him without lifting a finger—Dean was pissed off.
“Listen, Castiel,” he said, and the two demons immediately grew quiet. “I’m getting tired of your bullshit! Now, you either give me back my brother, or you better kill me right now, ‘cause I swear to God I’ll—“
“You’ll do what?” asked Castiel. He was smiling.
“I’ll…” Dean’s voice trailed away.
Castiel smiled again; he was enjoying himself. “Listen, Dean, if you’d just let me finish, I was about to address how we could solve our little predicament, in a fair, completely unbiased way.”
Dean glowered. “Oh yeah, and how would that play out?”
With a flick of Castiel’s hand, a roll of parchment appeared, tied closed with a black ribbon—the same shade of the demons’ eyes.
“I am a fair king,” started Castiel, and Dean rolled his eyes. Castiel ignored him. “And I like to solve problems by making deals—deals that both parties can agree on.”
“Deals?” asked Dean, a little cautiously.
“Correct,” nodded Castiel. “Crowley, if you’d do the honours.”
With that, Castiel handed the roll of parchment to Crowley, who took it in his hands readily. He cleared his throat.
“I, Castiel, King of Demons, and ruler of the Land of Lost Souls, hereby allow Dean Winchester, son of Mary, to travel through my Labyrinth on his quest to collect his brother, Samuel Winchester, who is currently residing in the king’s castle.”
Crowley stopped reciting for a moment to clear his throat once more.
“If Dean Winchester is unable to reach his brother within three mortal days, Samuel will be turned into a demon, and Dean will be trapped in my Labyrinth as a Lost Soul forever."
"Does Dean, son of Mary, accept this deal?”
With this, all eyes were on Dean. The two rotted demons giggled and whispered to each other behind him, and Crowley stared at him expectedly. Dean remained silent for several moments.
“Er, Dean,” said Crowley. “Now you either say ‘I accept the King’s deal,’ or ‘I do not accept the King’s deal.’”
Dean looked at Castiel, who was smiling kindly at him. God, he couldn’t wait to wipe it off of that self-righteous little prick’s face.
“I accept the King’s deal,” he said, staring down at Castiel with every ounce of loathing he could muster. Castiel’s face faltered slightly—but only for a moment. Recovering just as quickly, he clasped his hands together, and nodded decidedly at Dean.
“Oh, isn’t it nice the rain has stopped!” came Crowley from Dean’s right, and, looking out of the window, Dean saw that the blackened night of his desolate hometown had vanished, to reveal a night unlike anything Dean had ever seen before.
Dean was staring out at Castiel’s Land; the Land he had only heard in stories when he was a little boy—the Land of Lost Souls.
The sky was neither light nor dark. It was colourless, and yet it was not, in a way. It was murky, Dean decided, like a swamp.
He took a step forwards. There was no wind, or smell, or anything. It was as if Dean was looking out at a picture and nothing more.
“You won’t be able to beat me,” came a voice in his ear. It was Castiel. As he turned around, the nursery room, and all of it’s inhabitants, save for Dean and the King, had gone. They were both standing on a small hill, right on the outskirts of Castiel’s realm. In a bizarre, sickening thought, Dean’s mind wandered to the hill that he had spent all those years on, watching the sun go down back home.
This place was nothing like that. Not even close.
Dean glared at the blue-eyed man. What an arrogant, needy little bastard he was. How did he have it in him to be a King when he was so pathetic?
“I have to try,” he said, and he meant it.
Castiel walked over to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Do you see that castle?” Castiel asked, pointing past Dean’s ear. Dean turned around.
Indeed, he saw the castle. It was nothing more than an ant’s home, now, although it loomed high over the Labyrinth’s walls. Castiel’s world was a desolate one. There was no speck of sunlight in that murky sky; no sense of life anywhere, be it plant or animal, demon or no. The world was quiet here, and Dean wasn’t sure whether that gave him comfort or sent a warning down his spine.
“That is my home,” Castiel continued. Dean could feel his breath on his face, and it made him feel odd. “You will find your brother there, that is, if you can reach him.”
Dean looked over at the Labyrinth that guarded Castiel’s castle. It was impossible to make out a direct route, for there were so many twists and turns. It looked endless.
“It doesn’t look that far,” said Dean, hoping to sound more confident than he felt.
Castiel chuckled. “It’s not the distance that should worry you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asked accusingly.
Castiel only laughed once more. “You’ll find out soon enough…”
Dean felt Castiel’s hot breath on his neck, and he tried to ignore the tight knot that was forming in the pit of his stomach. He turned his head slowly, half expecting the King to still be there, but, along with Crowley, and Sammy’s nursery, Castiel had disappeared as well.
Dean looked out at the Labyrinth once more.
“Three days…” he whispered into the emptiness. It was too late to turn back now, even if he wanted to.
Picking up his feet, Dean walked promptly down the hill, trying his best not to think about the horrors that surely awaited him inside the King’s Labyrinth.
Somewhere, amidst the walls of a mighty castle, guarded by creatures with eyes as black as coal, a blue-eyed man stared into his crystal ball, and caressed the figure inside it softly—a kind, contented smile painted on his lucent face.
Everything was going according to plan.