Hell's Greatest Weapon

Chapter 35: Hey, Jude

The monitor was beeping.  It wasn't a very loud sound, wasn't something you were usually irritated by, but there's a sort of sharpness that envelopes the tone of the sounds when you're in the hospital because someone you love might be dying. Any passerby would likely not even notice the sound, the beeping that kept track of the heartbeats, but you didn't have that pleasure.  No, as you sat at the side of Dean's bed, staring up at his frighteningly still face, at the nasal cannula that was stuck in his nose to keep him breathing, you were surrounded entirely by the silence every few seconds immediately after the monitor beeped.  Beep. Beep.  Beep.

It was a steady heartbeat, so you figured that was good.

All the while you were staring at Dean, trying to chase the tears from your eyes, the memories of Death, of Metatron, of Cain flashed through your mind and you tried to come to terms with what you seemed to already know, but were unwilling to accept.  You looked at Dean, at the situation you put him in, and thought on how to fix it.

You supposed it was time, anyway.  After thousands of years roaming the earth, wreaking havoc and spreading evil, you supposed it was time. 

Metatron knew what the cure was to the Mark. Death knew.  There was a chance that Cain knew, though you knew he never would have gone through with it.

You never truly considered it to be an option until you realized that there were no other options.  This was it. This was what it came down to.

Years of living as the greatest creature on earth, and this was what you were deduced to.

Sam walked into the room and you were torn from your fixed state of concentration just as he handed you a cup of coffee and nodded toward Dean, trying to hide the tears that were obviously brimming his eyes.  "How's he doing?"

"I don't know," you shrugged, taking the coffee from Sam before taking a quick drink.  It was hot, it scalded your tongue and throat as you drank it down, but the pain was hardly anything in comparison to that which plagued your stomach, your arm, your back.  "He hasn't done anything, yet."

Sam nodded and sat down on a chair against the wall behind you; you knew he wanted to sit by his brother, that he would have done anything to sit where you were, next to the bed, but he was too polite to say anything about it.  Too passive, almost.  Accepting his want without needing to hear anything, you took the opportunity to stand and turn to the youngest Winchester before excusing yourself and walking from the room.  Almost immediately after you turned the corner outside of the room you heard Sam's feet shuffle as he sat by his brother and your heart shattered all over again.

Crowley had been yelling at you for hours, but it was easier to ignore him now than ever before; after leaving him on hold for several hours, however, you figured it was time to have a conversation with the demon.

You walked down the hallway of the hospital and tucked into an empty room when no one was looking, turning and closing the door behind you in the process.  The door didn't lock normally, so you used a mental surge to jam it, at least long enough for you to have the conversation with the king of Hell that you knew needed to happen.

You told Crowley your location and within seconds he was standing in front of you, his arms crossed over his shoulders and his eyes low, wicked.

"You killed my mother."

"Your mother helped kill me, Crowley," You said, surprised by the simplicity in your voice while you turned and sat on one of the chairs against the wall.  "I think it's fair enough."

"She's my mother."

"She was a nuisance."

Crowley laughed and rolled his eyes, his voice taking on a more irritated and mocking tone as he said, "Well she didn't actually kill you."  Silence fell between the two of you as you bit your bottom lip and looked at the demon, and after a few seconds of simply staring at you, Crowley raised his eyebrows while narrowing his eyes.  "You didn't call me here to let me yell."