Title: Popsicles in Hell

Author: rons_pigwidgeon

Fandom/Genre: Supernatural / romance

Pairing (s): Dean/Cas, Dean/ a whole lotta other randoms, unrequited Castiel/Hannah

Rating: NC17

Word Count: 36k

Warnings: explicit gay and het sex, possible rape (depending on your personal definition and perspective) dub-con, violence, minor character death, mild spoilers from the pre-season promos for season 10

Summary: Dean is off the rails in a big way, and Sam and Cas are determined to do whatever it takes to get him that takes them on some unconventional paths, so be it. Meanwhile, Dean is living it up with Crowley. That is, until he gets wind of Sam and Cas looking for him. Alternative Season 10.

Notes: This was written over the summer and finalized while the first few episodes of season 10 were airing. I included what I could from the promos, but I had not actually watched any of season 10 before I finished writing this story, so any resemblance to the season is purely inference on my part. So really, spoilers are minimal. And Dean is a demon for a whole hell of a lot longer in my story than he was on the show.

Extra warnings: I warned for Rape/Non-Con just in case what happens between Dean and the prostitute might trigger someone. I don't think it's technically rape so much as dub-con, but just to be on the safe side. His first kiss with Cas could also be considered dub-con at best. I'm sure there are more things I should warn for and am not remembering. Please let me know if you find anything.

On a happier note, this story was written for the TeamFreeWill Big Bang, and includes art by clotpoleofthelord. Or at least it will when the artist sends it to me so that I can update with it. So basically, check my tumblr at ronspigwidgeon for an update with art. Hopefully today.

When Dean opened his eyes, his first instinct was to swing. He knows if Crowley hadn't been waiting for it, the Blade would have torn Crowley's chest open and Dean would currently be bathing in the King of Hell's blood rather than glaring at him. He's mildly annoyed that Crowley managed to grab onto his wrist and hold him back.

"Now Dean, be reasonable. Do you really want to kill the guy who just helped you become the demon you are today?" Crowley asks, giving Dean one of his 'be sensible' looks.

Dean snarls at him and rips his wrist out of Crowley's hand. "Fuck off, Crowley. I need a drink. Is Sam still here?" He stands, forcing Crowley back to make room for him, brushing his clothes off.

"Moose is still in the dungeon, attempting to summon me for retribution. As much as I enjoy seeing a Winchester in pain, I suggest we leave before he comes back and sees his dear older brother for what he really is."

"Let's roll, then." Dean doesn't wait for Crowley to follow before leaving the room and heading for the exit.

Crowley hurries after him, looking pained. "Don't you want to change your clothes first? You look as though you've been mauled by a bear."

Dean glances down at his bloodied, torn shirt and jeans and shrugs. "What, you don't think the bartender will serve me like this?" he asks with a smirk, holding his t-shirt away from his skin to better show the holes. "I bet he will if I show him this." He holds up the Blade with a wicked grin, his black eyes glittering in the incandescent light of the hallway.

Crowley rolls his eyes and shoves at Dean's shoulder, pushing him towards the exit. "All the powers of a demon and you still have the subtlety of an angry bull. I like to go under the radar, much easier to swindle people out of their warm and fuzzy souls that way."

"And I care about getting people's souls why exactly?"

Crowley looks like he is deeply regretting having undertaken this endeavor. "Souls are power. The more you have of one, the more you have of the other. You want power, don't you?"

Dean flicks the Blade up, spinning it in his hand and showing it off to Crowley. "I got this. Way I see it, there's plenty of power right here."

"You are a Neanderthal. Not all power can be won by violence."

"Oh, I bet it can be. You just haven't found the right kind of violence yet. Want me to show you?" He flashes a vicious smile over the edge of his blade and doesn't miss the uneasy way Crowley looks at it. He opens the door to the garage, indicating with the Blade for Crowley to precede him out. Crowley eyes the Blade before stepping into the cavernous room, the only light coming from the hallway until Dean turns on the overheads to reveal a fleet of classic cars that has Crowley immediately distracted.

"So many beauties, and yet the littlest angel drives a pimp mobile."

Dean doesn't answer. He walks towards the Impala without even looking at anything else in the room, pulling his keys out of his jeans pocket and twirling them on his finger. Crowley follows, getting into the passenger's side when Dean opens it for him. The Blade is sitting next to Dean's leg, and Crowley's eyes trail it as the car purrs to life. Dean peels out of the garage and down a narrow passageway to a garage door that begins to open as they approach. Dean speeds up as they turn onto the road, and soon the Impala's headlights are the only thing visible in the night.

/

Castiel has only just settled in a conference room with a group of his fellow angels, intent on making plans for opening the gates once more, when he hears Sam 's voice in his head. "Cas, if you can hear me, I need to talk to you. I know you've probably got a lot on your plate right now, but it's an emergency. Dean's… just get here. Please."

Castiel clutches the table, knuckles white, holding back the floodgate of emotion welling inside him. He had hoped Metatron was merely attempting to distract him so that he might win, but the despair in Sam's voice confirms his worst fears. He stands. "Excuse me, but I have an urgent matter to take care of. I will be back momentarily. Please do not wait for my return to begin." A few angels, including Hannah, look as though they might protest, but he does not let them. He slips out of the room and pulls his phone from his coat pocket. Sam's number is the third on his list. It only takes a moment for Sam to answer.

"Cas, hey."

"Hello, Sam. I apologize for being unable to come. I am still in Heaven, and as you know, my wings are gone."

"Yeah, you okay?" Castiel recognizes stalling when he hears it. He decides not to call Sam out on it.

"I am fine, Sam. Metatron is in prison and all of the angels now know who he is and what he is capable of. What has happened on Earth?"

He can hear Sam swallowing with difficulty and hears the tears in his voice. "Cas, Dean's…"

Cas interrupts him. "I know, Sam. Metatron told me. I'm sorry." Cas feels the gaping pit of sorrow opening in the place where his beat-less human heart lives, but his Grace does not allow the tears he so desperately wishes to shed.

"I've been trying to call Crowley. This is his mess. He's gonna fix it."

"No, Sam. You have to let it go. Dean would want you to let it go."

"Fuck that. I'm not letting him die because of a douche-bag demon, Cas. There has to be a way."

Castiel rubs at his temple and tries to stay calm, but he cannot hold back the way his voice falters. "He is already dead, Sam."

"Not good enough. There has to be something we can do. Crowley tricked him into taking that Mark. This is his mess. He needs to clean it up."

"I agree that Crowley is to blame for this, but there is little we can do at the moment. Let it go. Let Dean go. It's what he would want."

"No," is all Sam says before the line goes dead. Castiel knows better than to call again. Hannah is waiting for him at the door, Eremiel and Dumah standing in formation behind her. He has a sense that no matter how many times he tells them that he is not a leader, they will look to him without fail.

"What are we going to do, Castiel?" Hannah asks.

"I don't know. What do you think we should do?"

"Open the doors of Heaven and let the lost souls in," she answers without hesitation. She has been thinking about it. Perhaps it will be easier than he anticipates to convince her and his other brothers and sisters to learn to govern themselves.

"Then, we shall do that. I will help you, but then I must return to Earth. Dean Winchester is dead, and I wish to attend his funeral."

"And your Grace?" Hannah asks with a look of concern.

Cas clenches one of his fists inside his sleeve, pushing away his worry about the situation. Metatron was correct, as was Hannah. If he does not replenish his Grace, he will die and soon. He ignores the voice in the back of his head that whispers that with Dean gone, there is no reason he cannot go as well. "I will figure that out on my own. Let's get to work."

/

Dean is ten sheets to the wind and fucking vibrating with kinetic energy. Crowley is at the bar, chatting up a gorgeous blond who doesn't look interested, but it doesn't appear to be stopping Crowley any. They'd stopped on their way here to buy Dean a new outfit, at Crowley's insistence. Dean didn't like the shirt, but the jeans fit okay, a little tighter than he's used to, but he can deal. He thinks he might be done wearing Daddy's hand-me-downs anyway. Some crazy bitch is singing a horrible rendition of the Spice Girls on stage, and if she didn't have massive tits and a top two sizes too small, he'd have taken her out by now. An agonizing minute later the bitch is done, and Dean is hopping onto the stage, not bothering to use the stairs and completely disregarding some douche trying to go ahead of him. "Hey!" the guy says, glaring.

Dean flashes his black eyes at the guy with a wicked grin, and he backs the fuck up real quick. Dean programs the song he wants and grabs the microphone, tapping out the first notes of the song as he waits for his time to sing. "She was a fast machine,

She kept her motor clean,

She was the best damn woman that I ever seen,

She had sightless eyes,

Telling me no lies,

Knockin' me out with those American thighs—"

"BOO! You suck!" someone yells from the back. Dean ignores him and keeps singing, but the heckling gets louder and more obnoxious as the song goes on. Finally, at the declaration that Dean sounds like a 'fucking fag', Dean loses his patience. He jumps off the stage and storms over to the heckler—a fatass in a dirty Cardinals t-shirt. The guy stands, smirking. "Oh, did I huwrt your wittle feewings?" he says.

Dean doesn't bother responding. He decks the guy, putting all of his new strength into it. They guy is instantly laid out flat and his jaw begins swelling almost immediately. "Fuck you, asshole," Dean says, spitting on him. He left the Blade in the car, or he would have sliced the guy's giant belly open and bathed in his blood.

There's a lot of shouting and a bartender is coming out from behind the bar. Dean's being hit by the guy's friends, yelling at him and calling him all sorts of horrible things. Dean grins at them, letting them all get a good look at his black eyes. It has the reaction he was hoping for, and many of the friends step back. The bartender doesn't notice, only shoves people out of the way to get to Dean. "No fighting, Rambo. Get the fuck out of my bar before I call the cops," he says, grabbing onto Dean's sleeve at the shoulder and attempting to drag him towards the door. The guy's pretty built, but Dean's stronger, and he doesn't budge.

"Why would I want to do that? I was having fun."

"Out. Now," is all he gets in answer. Dean snarls at the guy, baring his teeth and giving the guy a good look at his face. The guy takes a step back, shouting, "Jesus fucking Christ! What are you?"

It is at this moment that Crowley appears behind Dean and grabs onto his other arm. He is strong enough to contend with Dean, and he pulls him away slowly. "I'm very sorry about my friend, here. He was raised by wolves and hasn't had his shots this week. We'll be leaving now,"he says, giving Dean a stern look.

Dean allows himself to be dragged away, glaring at the bartender as he goes. Once outside, he snatches his arm away from Crowley and turns the snarl on him. "What'd you do that for? I was about to kick the shit out of that guy."

"Yes, and convince everyone in that bar that you are possessed by a demon. Could you possibly show a little discretion? I didn't get to finish my scotch."

"Suck my dick," Dean says, baring his teeth and black eyes.

"Would that prevent you from acting like a moron? Because I'm not above it, you know." Crowley snaps back.

Dean drops the act. "No thanks, I'm good. Let's go to that place up the street. They've got strippers."

Crowley can't argue with that. "Now that sounds like a lovely idea. Can we keep our… status to ourselves this time, please? I would rather not be kicked out of a strip club. It's embarrassing."

Dean rolls his eyes at him and walks away. They soon find themselves at a table in the VIP lounge with two strippers on their laps. Dean grabs the brunette grinding on his's breasts and squeezes a little squeal out of her. She doesn't seem to mind, even though she told him no touching before she started. He glances over at Crowley to find him whispering in his stripper's ear. Dean can only imagine what he could be saying. Dean pulls his brunette back onto his chest and plays with her nipples, pinching them and tugging at them until he hears her breath catch. She grinds a little faster on his cock, dropping her head back onto his shoulder with her mouth stuck open.

"Wanna take those panties off and go for a ride?" he asks.

She squirms in his lap, giggling. "That's extra, baby."

"Extra, huh? Well, whattya know, I got extra right here." He thrusts his hips up to meet her, and she giggles again. He watches her lift up off his lap and pull her g-string down her thighs. He pussy is hairless and well-used. Dean opens his jeans and pulls out his dick, stroking it a few times while he watches her. She spits on her hand and uses it to wet his shaft, using a strong grip to hold him in place as she slowly slides over him. Inside, she's warm but way too loose. If he'd been human, he'd be worried about disease, but now he can fuck whoever he likes without consequence. He grabs her thighs and drags her down the rest of the way in one swift movement, causing her to cry out in what sounds like pain. He ignores the sound and guides her back up to slam back down again. The pace is fast and harder than Dean's ever liked it before, but he has her coming quickly, shaking over his cock and squirting warm liquid all over the floor in front of them. He makes her ride him for longer, until he comes, not even bothering to pull out despite her protests.

The chick jumps off him as soon as he lets her go, grabbing her clothes and glaring at him. "Jesus, buddy, you better not have gotten me pregnant."

Dean raises an eyebrow. A wad of money hits the woman square in the bare breasts. "Thank you for your services, darling. Be a doll and send another girl in?" Crowley says from across the couch. Dean turns to see Crowley's stripper on her knees in front of Crowley, blonde head bobbing up and down over his lap. The brunette flips him off and storms out, muttering to herself. Dean grabs the bottle of whiskey from the table and takes a swig.

When the new one comes in, she's wearing a black wig and her bright blue eyes remind Dean of Cas. He grins and pulls her on his lap before she can ever say anything. "Hey there," he says.

"Hi. I'm Bambi, what's your name?" the woman asks, her voice warm and smooth like melted butter.

"Dean. Nice to meet you, Bambi. You gonna dance for me?"

"I'll do whatever you want me to do, baby." She rocks her hips over his lap, and Dean is pleased to see that his new abilities include an awesome refractory time. He grins, reaching out to grip her hips. She doesn't protest.

/

Despair is threatening to take over, but Sam doesn't want to let it. There has to be something, some way to bring his brother back to him. As he walks down the long hallway to get to the dorms, his has to snicker at his own hypocrisy. Not six months ago, he had been furious with Dean for not letting him die, and yet now here he is, in the exact same position, and doing exactly what he told Dean he wouldn't do. He understands now, though. It's easy to let go when it's yourself you're letting go of, but it's a lot harder when it's your brother, the only family you have left in this world.

He starts to smell it four doors down from Dean's room, rotten eggs. As he gets closer, the smell becomes strong enough to turn his stomach. Inside the room, it's overwhelming. There are piles of it everywhere, in the corners of the doorway, in the chair, on the floor next to Dean's bed. In Dean's bed, which is missing a very important object. Dean, his body is missing.

"Crowley," Sam growls, digging in his pocket for his phone and immediately calling Cas back.

"Sam, are you alright? I told you I will be there as soon as I can be. I hope you are not doing anything you will come to regret."

"He's gone, Cas. I don't get it. I think Crowley might have taken him. There's sulfur everywhere, even the bed, and the Blade's missing. Why would Crowley take him? What the hell, Cas?"

"I don't know, Sam. Let me settle a few things here, make sure that Metatron is secure in his cell, and I will be there to help you. We will find Crowley and find out where Dean's body is, I promise."

"You said that before. Why isn't he dead?" Sam asks, finally registering that Metatron is in prison and not laid out somewhere with a blade in his chest.

There is a deep sigh on the other end. "I promised the other angels that there will be no more killing of angels. We have imprisoned him and do not intend to ever let him out again, but he remains alive. I know you would rather him be executed, but I have to let my brothers and sisters make their own decisions. He will be punished for his crimes."

Sam isn't happy, but he reluctantly agrees. He would rather the bastard be dead, but he has bigger worries than taking on Heaven to do the job himself. As it stands, if Metatron escapes, Dean's death will have been for nothing. Sam can give Cas a few days to make sure that doesn't happen. But he won't wait around idly. He's going to find out all the information he can in the meantime. He's not letting Crowley get away with his brother's body. "Okay, Cas. Just get here when you can."

"I will see you soon, Sam."

Sam hangs up with a clench of his jaw. He spends an hour picking over the room, looking for clues. The only one he finds is the sulfur. He decides not to waste any more time, and goes to his room to pack a bag. He starts dialing hunters as he packs, and finally catches Darrel Gleesen as he's gets to the garage.

"Sam, is that you?"

"It's me, Darrel. I need you to do me a favor. If you catch wind of any demons, try and trap them for me. I need information, and they're the only ones who can give it to me."

"You and Dean messin' with demons again? I try to stay as far away from those sons a bitches as I can."

"I know Darrel, but this is important. Dean's dead."

There's a hush on the other end of the line. "Dean's dead?"

"Yeah, it's a long story, but I think the King of Hell took his body, and I need to know where to find him to get it back. Can you help me?"

"Sorry to hear that. I knew you boys were into some heavy shit, but I never thought that kid would kick it. I'll do what I can, Sam, don't worry."

"Thank you. Call me if you get anything. And spread the word for me, please."

"Will do. Good luck."

Sam hangs up, and it's then that he notices the Impala is gone. He stands in shock for a minute, uncertain what to do. Why would Crowley take it? He's never shown a particular interest in it before, and it wasn't as though he needed to drive anywhere. Sam tries to think of reasons for Crowley to take the car, but finds none. Crowley isn't one for trophies, and there were a lot more valuable cars in this garage than just the Impala, not that Crowley has ever expressed a need for cash. There's an Aston Martin that looks right out of one of the original Bond movies not five feet from Sam. No, the only person he can think of who would be likely to take the Impala is Dean, but that's impossible. Dean's dead.

Sam decides to put those thoughts away for the moment and grabs a set of keys from the key box to another car, an old Rambler. He's already dialing another hunter as he pulls out of the spot and leaves the Bunker behind.

/

Dean goes through three more strippers before he gets bored and decides to go downstairs to raise a little hell. There's a bachelorette party on the main floor, and it only takes him a second to decide to crash it. "Hello, ladies," he says, sliding into an empty seat next to the bride, as her half-shirt states. They all take one look at him and start giggling and falling all over him.

"Hi, I'm Linda," the bride tells him, swaying towards him.

"Looks like you're about to get married, Linda. That true?"

Linda stares at him with the glassy-eyed stare of the very drunk. "How did you know that?"

Dean tugs the hem of her crop-top, making sure to brush his fingers over her soft, toned stomach. "It's right here on your t-shirt, Linda."

She looks down at it and giggles. "Oh, haha! I forgot! Yes, I'm getting married tomorrow!" she squeals, holding her drink up in a toast to her fellow ladies, who all whoop and holler back at her.

"Sounds like the perfect reason to celebrate. Round of shots on me," Dean says, waving over a waitress in a tiny nurse costume. The group all cheer. The first round of shots is quickly followed by a second and third. The ladies were already drunk when he got there, but by the time he's ordered the forth round, a few of them aren't really coherent, which is fine, because neither is Dean.

Dean feels a warm hand on his back and hot breath on his neck. "I'm not getting married tomorrow," a woman says in Dean's favorite tone of voice.

Dean turns to meet the sultry eyes of an Indian woman sitting on his other side and smiles his sex smile. "That right?"

"Neither am I!" says a giggly man across from them. Dean glances at him and finds a cute little twink grinning at him. He smiles back, looking him up and down.

"Yeah?"

Linda grabs his arm to get his attention again. "I'm not married yet," she says. Dean grins at her.

"What a coincidence, neither am I. How about we find a hotel room and celebrate?"

Linda nods so hard Dean's surprised her neck doesn't snap. "Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. I have a hotel room down the street."

Dean stands, taking Linda's hand to help her up as well. "Shall we?"

"But what about me?" the twink says, sticking his bottom lip out.

"And me!" the Indian woman parrots.

"Who said you weren't invited?" Dean croons, leaning over the Indian woman's chair and flashing a flirty smile Twink's way. He leans over the woman's head to announce to the rest of the table. "Anyone else wanna join us?"

Two other women jump up from the table to join them, while the remaining two women give them all scandalized looks. Dean puts an arm around Linda and the Indian woman and leads them towards the exit, the rest of his entourage trailing behind them.

He wakes the next morning buried under a pile of naked bodies with dried come in uncomfortable places, but he hasn't felt as good since… ever. A clearing of a throat across the room grabs his attention, and he finds Crowley sitting in a lounge chair twirling the Blade in his hand. "I see you enjoyed yourself last night. Well done."

Dean grins and stretches his arms over his head, arching his back to work out the kinks in it. The twink he fucked three times last night shifts to the side, mumbling in his sleep. A brunette he doesn't even remember coming with them curls up next to the twink without waking up. She has a bruise on her ass the exact size and shape of Dean's hand, and Dean takes a moment to admire his work. "It was alright," he says to Crowley, crawling over the Indian woman to stand and stretch some more. He ignores the appreciative look Crowley gives him.

"I'm glad. Clean up and we can get on our merry way. I have so much more to show you."

Dean grunts and heads for the shower, stepping over two more naked bodies on his way. He flicks his hand behind him as he reaches the door and the Blade shoots into it. "Don't touch my things," he says without looking back.