This chapter and its demon are dedicated to .xXHellfireXx. who should be able to tell why. Hope you enjoy! I have a few entries for the contest but could definitely use more!

Part 3: The Duke of Hazard

Dean should have known there was nothing to worry about. He had a bombshell on each arm and the looks he was getting as they made their way around the party had nothing to do with thinking he didn't belong. Even if his normally suave demeanor hadn't been enough to make him look good in his tux—which he was starting to realize he looked damn fine in actually—the girls would have helped him fit in purely by association.

After two days of organizing and preparing, Dean was fairly confident that he understood the plan they had come up with. The alias part was easy; no one Shiarra introduced him and Sarah to suspected that he was anything other than the real Crispin Webb. Jo was doing her part with some of the technical aspects, Sasha was already on the roof, and Sam was hiding out on scaffolding outside the 14th floor—just outside the wards—watching through Dean's eyes for signs of their demon. That was probably the only thing Dean didn't like about this plan: Sam was in his head. And he was being way too chatty for a disembodied voice.

'Dean, will you keep your eyes on the crowd and not the buffet for two seconds,' Sam's voice came over loud and clear, as distinctive as if Dean were wearing an earpiece, which he wasn't.

He had almost opened his mouth to reply before he reminded himself yet again that he did not need to talk out loud for Sam to hear him. 'I'm frickin' starving, okay? I haven't gotten a plate yet and Shi keeps moving us further from the food. I'm just trying to blend. Normal people do eat at these things, ya know.'

'Normal people don't eat like you do,' Sam snarked back.

'I'm supposed to be eccentric,' Dean defended.

In response Dean actually heard Sam sigh mentally. 'Shiarra's introducing you to someone again, Dean. Pay attention.'

Right. Pay attention. 'It'd be a helluva lot easier if someone wasn't barking in my ear the whole time,' Dean thought, not necessarily meaning for Sam to hear him but not caring either that his brother probably would.

He turned his eyes more directly forward then and saw that Shiarra was indeed introducing them to another rich and important looking man in the middle of his mid-life crisis, at least if the 20-something blonde beside him was any indication. Sarah was already shaking both of their hands.

"And of course my client's work should speak for itself," Sarah was saying, "Mr. Shaughnessy, this is Crispin Webb, recently returning with some new work after a…small hiatus." Sarah smiled tightly, her words coming across perfectly as the glossed over explanation of an agent about what might have been her client's most recent bender.

Dean gave a wry smile and reached to shake the man's hand, then his date's. "Hey. And which well-to-do art guy are you?" Dean heard Sam groan in his head but ignored it. He knew what he was doing; if he fit in too well no one would think he was the reclusive Crispin Webb. Crazy, psycho zombie painter that the guy was.

The man, Mr. Shaughnessy, was giving Dean a placating smile. "I'm the Project Manager for the Public Art Program," he said, "Were you thinking of lending your skills to one of our new building projects? It's always our goal to have more murals than graffiti around the city." He laughed at what he must have thought was a joke, and a pretty damn good one too.

Since Shiarra and Sarah both managed to laugh politely, Dean forced one of his own and gave the man's back a firm pat. "Hey, who knows," Dean said, "I've just finished a few new paintings. Been looking for some projects to keep me busy. Might even move to the city. We should keep in touch. Even some pro bono work would help get my name back in the public ear right?"

'It's not him, Dean,' Sam's voice said flatly.

Damn it. Dean gave the guy's back another pat. "Miss Blake here's all over getting me into less self-serving work. Good causes, ya know. I'm sure she could set something up some time." Dean flashed a smile at his 'agent' and tried not to grimace visibly. They had only been at this fundraiser for half an hour but Dean already felt like they must have talked to at least thirty people, all brief, fake-sincere conversations, and boring as hell.

Mr. Shaughnessy expressed a mild sort of interest in Dean's—that is, Crispin's—offer and then promptly turned to Shiarra who, like everyone else, he seemed to know fairly well. At least to the best of his knowledge. "Shiarra, always a pleasure," he said, as if he meant to take his leave of them, but then couldn't help adding, "I'm surprised though. Isn't there usually a worthy date on that arm? Not to belittle Mr. Webb, of course, but it seems his arm is already taken."

Dean took that as his cue to reattach to Sarah and he once again took her arm with an acknowledging smile. He couldn't help it, he really couldn't, when his gaze drifted over and then down the length of her form-fitting midnight blue gown.

'Dean,' came Sam's harsh, warning tone.

'Hey, man, that was for you,' Dean defended, 'Just letting you enjoy what you can, me being by her side and you hanging from fourteen stories and all. And, hey, I'm sure she'll let you help her out of that dress later if you—'

'Dean!'

"Actually, here he comes now," Shiarra was saying, having explained that her date had been detained and would be late to the party. Dean looked over as Shiarra snatched the newcomer's arm and pulled him into the group, unable to keep the smirk he had already been wearing while teasing Sam from growing wider. "Charles," Shiarra continued to Mr. Shaughnessy, "This is Robert James, a dear friend."

The two older men shook hands and Dean had to hold back a chuckle at the thought of Project Manager Charles Shaughnessy having no idea that he was actually shaking hands with hunter and scrap yard owner, Bobby Singer.

Though Dean did have to admit that Bobby looked damn good in his tux too, and yet also slightly naked without his customary ball cap.

"Fine party you boys throw," Bobby said, "Already had my eye on some pieces while walking in here that would be worth adding to your fundraiser for. I see you've already met young Mr. Webb." Bobby glanced pointedly at Dean and Dean gave a subtle shake of his head to say, nope, not our demon.

After a few more pleasantries, 'not their demon' number who knew by now was on his way over to the buffet table with his young blonde—where Dean would much rather be—and the group was able to take a moment to touch base.

"Jo got in place, no problem," Bobby said, having used himself as decoy to help Jo break into the controls for the service elevator, hence his late arrival since he had to change into his tux, "She'll ride up to join Sam once she's done, check in to finish the traps there, then up the rest of the way to Sasha on the roof. I'm still thinking this is one risky plan, Sam," he said at Dean, knowing as they all did that Sam was eavesdropping, "Your powers I trust. The traps, sure. It's getting our guy up there that worries me."

'That's why we're not trying to trick anyone all the way up to the roof,' Sam said, which Dean then repeated aloud for the others, 'The offices start on the 16th floor. The mechanical level is just below that. We can do this.'

They took a brief moment to collect themselves and then Shiarra was saying, "Well, word should be spreading fairly fast about Crispin. We can split up now. Bobby and I will do our best to point potentials in your direction. Just let us know when you find the bastard. Shall we?" she smiled at Bobby, both of her delicate looking arms wrapped tightly around one of his.

Bobby was very much enjoying himself, Dean could tell, but he still had to comment before they could get away. "So, uh, Shiarra, you're not worried that all your high class friends might think you're a gold digger for being with a guy so…slightly older than you?" he chose his words carefully. Of course Shiarra was only twenty-five in appearance, and actually passed for early thirties in this crowd, but none of them knew she was really…damn, Dean really needed to figure out this broad's age one of these days.

"Darling," Shiarra began, leaning into Bobby all the more, who really was eating up all of the attention, "I have plenty of my own money not to need to sleep my way to any more, something that is well known among these people. Besides, they won't be surprised. I often favor men of…higher quality," she batted her eyes at Bobby none to subtly at all, "Do be careful," she added then before stealing the elder hunter away.

"That could be dangerous," Dean commented as they left.

Sarah just laughed. "Let them enjoy themselves. Once we find that demon the party will be over pretty quickly for us anyway. Sam," she said in a softer whisper—Dean was really hating being a three-way radio, "You still don't sense anything? Even through Dean?"

Sam explained that the hex bags creating the wards around the building were causing too much interference, and Dean passed the message along. Sam was certain, however, that once he saw the demon, even using Dean as a looking glass, he would recognize it for what it was.

Now that the crowd was hopefully buzzing with the news of Crispin Webb's return to the art world, some of their prospects should start coming right to them. Dean also had Sarah to play agent and introduce him around as Shiarra had. At some point they were bound to run into their demon.

"Sarah?" came a voice from off to their left, "Is that Sarah Blake, Daniel's little girl?"

Both of them turned and Dean saw another middle-aged rich looking gentleman dressed to the nines. This man was balding and grey, even throughout his beard, but looked distinguished even more so because of that. He also had surprisingly honest and friendly blue eyes considering so much of this crowd seemed disinterested in genuineness, at least in Dean's opinion.

He approached them with open arms toward Sarah and pulled her in for a hug, something she didn't seem at all averse to. "Goodness, it is you," the man said happily as he embraced her, "How have you been? How's your father? I haven't seen you in…well, at least five years, I think. What a lovely woman you've grown into." He released her only to hold her out in front of him, smiling like a proud uncle or grandfather.

"Cecil," Sarah was practically beaming and clearly surprised, "I…I'm wonderful. My father too, still in New York, manning the auction house. How have you been? I think you're right, it's been five years at least."

"Oh, same old, same old for me, enjoying the west coast still," Cecil replied, "When I still had my gallery in New York I can remember a very young Sarah Blake dancing about the studios." He laughed heartily, full-throated like a man twice his size.

Sarah blushed and laughed with him, looking for the first time a little at home being back in her high class lifestyle. "Well, I only do that on the weekends these days," she joked, "Cecil, I'm sure you've heard of Crispin Webb. I'm representing him now to get him back to a more community-based presentation of his work. Crispin," she said with stress on the name to remind Dean of his alias, "This is Cecil Ballard, a dear friend of my family's."

Dean couldn't resist sending a mental message to Sam as he shook Cecil's hand. 'It's not him, is it?' he asked.

'No, Dean. Just a normal guy.'

'Right,' Dean thought, 'Coz that would have been way too convenient.'

"So you knew Sarah growing up, huh?" Dean spoke aloud to Cecil, "She's quite a pistol, ain't she? Couldn't imagine a better agent. She knows her art as good as her dad, that's for sure. Probably better now since she actually handles work from the living these days," he laughed.

Unlike most of the other people Dean had attempted to joke with, Cecil actually laughed in reply. "So true. Why I used to tell Daniel how much he was missing out in art on that account, but the auction house is good business. Sad thing is, of course, you never know how quickly art from the up and coming will becoming art from the recently deceased." Cecil started the laughter this time, full-bodied and rumbling.

Dean liked this guy.

"So tell me," Cecil went on, "I've seen some of your work in LA. What do you consider your style, modernism or remodernism? There did seem to be a certain hidden spirituality in your work that harkened back to Childish and Thomson. At least to this old man's eye anyway," he smiled.

Crap. Maybe Dean had spoken to soon if this guy was about to inadvertently blow his cover. Dean appreciated art. He could look at some of the work around him on this floor even, the paintings and sculptures, and see things he liked, but he knew next to nothing about forms and terms and periods. "Uh, well…" he searched his brain for an answer. Then he searched Sam's but the kid's response was that he hadn't seen an example of Webb's work so he couldn't say. So very helpful.

"To be honest, Cecil," Sarah thankfully jumped in, "Crispin continues to deny any label in relation to his work. He embraces what he considers the true meaning of contemporary art, that labeling work before its time invokes far too much influence on today's artists. Something I tend to agree with and one of the reasons I've enjoyed working with him so much." She smiled warmly at Dean and Dean was halfway to hugging her for that amazing rescue.

"Exactly," Dean was able to continue, "I say, do what you do and be who you are. Maybe that's something new altogether, maybe it's something already classified, but if you try and tell me today what I am, I might never get to discover what the truth really is. And that…would be a real shame." Dean felt a strange pang in his chest after he had said that and wondered if it was Sam. Damn kid always did read too much into things.

"Eloquently put, Mr. Webb," Cecil nodded, sincerely impressed, "Perhaps I will have to keep my ears open for you. Maybe some of your work will be featured in our next fundraiser. In the meantime, I don't suppose you would mind if I stole this fetching woman away for a moment. There are a couple of other old friends of your father's in attendance tonight, my dear, who I am sure would be just as thrilled to see you."

Splitting up with Bobby and Shiarra had been part of the plan; being knocked down to a solo adventure, however, was not. Dean tried to think of a reasonable reason to either tag along or keep Sarah with him, but his mouth was still fumbling for words when Cecil was already leading her away. Sarah looked back apologetically, holding up a finger to say that she would only be gone one minute. Dean supposed that allowing her to be stolen a moment was better than thinking up some lame excuse.

Besides, he could look around a bit and still keep Sarah in his sights. It also gave him an excuse to finally snag some food and champagne.

'Dean, at least keep your eyes peeled. If we spot the demon we're going to have to act quickly to get everyone together again.'

'Got it covered, Sammy,' Dean had already snatched up a plate and started filling it with baby quiches and a couple of unknown things he was more than willing to try. At least he knew what caviar looked like so he could avoid that. 'I can see all three of them from where I am. Sarah in that group of geezers. Shiarra and Bobby over by that framed quilt thing talking to another couple. If I have to beeline, I can do it. Now will you shut up for two seconds and let me eat? This is a good chance to people-watch.'

'Sorry,' Sam huffed, not sounding at all sorry really, 'I'm just worried that people-watching won't be enough. That's why we planned this alias, remember? Talking to people gives me a much better look at them.'

Dean had filled his plate with an acceptable and not quite excessive amount of food and snatched up a glass of champagne from the end of the table. 'I'll take a peek in the other room quick,' he offered, since they had yet to make it clear of the main gallery, 'The one setup like a ballroom for dancing. That should be easier for eyeing people than the crowd in here anyway.' He caught Sarah's eye and made a motion towards the door to the ballroom. Sarah nodded.

'Not too long a look,' Sam said, 'You know what usually happens when we split up on hunts.'

'I end up saving your ass?' Dean thought back with a grin. He passed a lot of ceramics on his way to the ballroom that to him looked more like medieval bongs than artwork. 'Ah, come on,' Dean said when Sam didn't respond, 'I know it's just as often the other way around. Hell, lately you've been too good at saving my ass. Ease up on my manhood a little.'

As Dean made it into the ballroom, seeing a good amount of couples dancing to jazzy music out on the floor, he leaned back on the nearest wall and watched, sipping champagne and munching some of the nondescript hors d'oeuvres. He was actually a little disgruntled at his brother since he thought Sam would at least laugh at that last bit.

'Come on, Sammy, lighten up,' he said. There still wasn't a response. 'Sammy?'

"Hello, Dean."

Every nerve in Dean's body gave a jolt. That was not a voice that ever made him feel comforted. He turned, champagne in one hand, plate in the other, quiche still being chewed, and saw a woman that he could admit put both Sarah and Shiarra to shame tonight.

It was Malak. And he jokingly thought of Jessica Rabbit as he took in what the demon was wearing—thankfully, the female version. It was the dress and gloves and heels perfectly, only the entire ensemble was black. The dress sparkled like Sarah's with a million tiny black stars. It shaped a heart over her chest and hugged her trim form. There was even the red hair of course, the pale blue eyes, screaming at him, 'temptress'. The perfect pale skin was enticingly displayed with the way the dress was backless almost too low to still be considered classy. With her heavily darkened eyes and red lips too, Dean could admit that his jaw dropped.

"Oh, you flatter me, Dean," Malak grinned with a dismissive air, walking up and plucking the plate and champagne flute from his hands to place them on a nearby table, "We should talk. Come. You do know how to dance properly, don't you?" There was mischievousness in her tone as always as she grasped his hand and began to lead him out onto the dance floor.

Finally, Dean snapped back to his senses. "Hey. What happened to Sam? If you did—"

"I haven't done anything to him. I'm merely blocking your little mind trick for the moment. Wouldn't want him overhearing our…private time," she said, unwilling to let Dean go as she abruptly yanked him closely into her body, placed one of his hands on her bare lower back and brought the other up for a proper dancer's hold.

The song playing was one Dean knew fairly well from his occasional Frank trip, especially with Sasha being such a huge fan of the Chairman of the Board, as well as Michael Buble who sounded so eerily like him. Dean didn't see much point in refusing Malak unless he wanted to publically scorn a beautiful woman who was currently attracting most of the attention in the room. So he decided he had better just go with it and avoid a scene. It was lucky for Malak that Dean knew how to two-step better than Sam did.

All of me - why not take all of me
Can't you see - I'm no good without you

Take my lips - I want to lose them
Take these arms - I'll never use them

Your good-bye - left me with eyes that cry
How can I - ever make it without you

You took the part - that used to be my heart
So why not - why not take all of me

"You're kidding me, right?" Dean sneered, hating how hot he thought Malak looked in that incredible black dress with hair so perfectly coifed that 1940s dame way and so crayola red like Sasha's, "Private time? I don't want private time with you. Please tell me this hunt hasn't just been some game of yours, or I swear…"

"Oh, there's a demon from the Devil's Gate here," Malak said in her slightly gruff, Lauren Bacall voice, "He can't sense me of course. I'm not allowing that. Just thought I'd drop in to check on your progress. You're doing rather well, you know. Shame for this roadblock. Tell me. Do you really think you can finish off all the demons in the short amount of time you have left, Dean?"

If Dean wasn't keeping himself amused by imagining Jack Nicholson—ever dance with the devil in the pale moon light—he might have spun Malak right into the live band. "You know I really don't get you," he said, pulling closer to better whisper and still be heard. Their proximity made Malak's smirk widen. "You tell me I'm doing well. Then you tell me I'll never make it. I don't know if you want me to win or lose in this."

"Dean, haven't you heard that life is about the journey?" she whispered back with a clear taunt.

"So…what? You don't care whether or not I go to Hell just so long as I keep fucking things up in your favor along the way? No matter what you may think of my brother, Malak, he's never going to fight on your side. I don't care what the bigger, grander scheme is beyond him."

Malak seemed somewhat annoyed with Dean's petulant tone. Dean had already realized as they continued to dance that although he appeared to be leading she was the one guiding their steps. "You should call me something more appropriate for this venue. 'Malak' calls too much attention," she said, ignoring Dean's protests.

This was getting ridiculous; Dean needed to get back to the hunt. "So what should I call you?" he played along, hoping to get rid of the demon that much faster, "You went with the chick suit again, so you wanna be…what? Lucy?" he snarked. One of these days he was bound to get a rise out of her.

But as always Malak merely grinned back at him. "Do you think you will have accomplished something if you manage to piss me off?"

"It would certainly feel like an accomplishment," Dean grumbled.

The song they were dancing to had long since faded into other jazz pieces. Dean realized that Malak's subtle leading had brought them into a mostly empty corner. Her eyes, blue and strangely hypnotic, swept over Dean's tux-clad form. She leaned into him and said, "You don't care what happens to you. I know that. Sam is the same. He doesn't care what happens to him in all this. Even the incubus would sacrifice everything to save either of you. That's a rare thing. Useful too…in the end. You'd like nothing more than to all be together. You really should be more grateful then that I am striving so hard to ensure that that is exactly what happens."

Fire burned in Dean's gut to hear the smug assurance that she already had them in her clutches. "Now you listen to me," he said without fear, breaking their dance and grabbing Malak by the shoulders, "I know there's nothing I can do but accept your damn help when you give it, trickery or not, or I might have already failed at this. But you're not getting any 'thank yous'. Not for cryptic warnings. And not for bringing Sam back after Meg either."

Dean expected another smirk or smart-assed comeback, but he did not expect Malak—for the first time since he had met either gendered version—to look suddenly concerned and take a step back. "Bring Sam back?" she repeated, "What are you talking about? I'm not about to give away anything for free if Sam gets himself killed prematurely. Rules, Dean. You'd have to make another bargain for that. Or someone would. I can assure you, however, that I wouldn't be too thrilled about repeating myself."

"Wait," Dean held up a hand to stop her, concerned himself now, "You saying you didn't bring Sam back? Meg almost killed him. He was one step from goodbye forever and he said your voice spoke to him when he was brought back. Who else could that have been?"

If Dean didn't know better he would swear there was something like panic in Malak's eyes that mixed suddenly with venomous hatred. "Never you mind. I didn't see that. I assumed Sam was left alive. I can't be expected to watch you every second, you know."

"But you do. You always know what's going on. So if you don't know this…" Dean wished he could grin and enjoy Malak's discomfort, but he was worried now too, "Then that means someone kept it from you. Jesus, just how many sides are we dealing with in this damn war?"

Malak huffed and crossed her gloved arms over her chest. "Just the usual two, Dean," she said haughtily, "But within that there can be many differing agendas. Why do you think I want you to return my poor, wayward children home to me? They're getting a little too arrogant for my tastes."

"Like Meg?" Dean pressed. The other couples around them were still dancing but as large as the party may be Dean still felt secluded and alone whenever he was with Malak.

"Still trying to figure out the truth," Malak taunted him, regaining her usual confidence and ease, "Why Sam was tapped? Why you're so…necessary? The grand, unknown plan? Don't worry, Dean, I'll show you," she said, stepping back into Dean's body. He flinched on instinct like he always did when Malak got especially close to him. This time took the cake, because her Jessica Rabbit dress and perfect body pressed in against him, her lips leaning up towards his ear as she breathed, "When you're mine, Dean…I'll show you."

A shiver shot through Dean's body and he had to close his eyes. He knew that when he opened them again Malak would be gone, and the demon didn't disappoint. There wasn't even an impression or silhouette left of the redhead in the black dress. Dean was alone in one corner of the dance floor. He really, really hated it when she did that.

But now Dean had another mystery. How many other players were there? The two sides Malak mentioned meant good and evil, Dean figured, but was there some other demon just as powerful as Malak? That wouldn't exactly make much sense if Malak really was the Devil, but then who's to say any lore on earth about the hierarchy of Hell had any real truth to it. That didn't explain why this mystery demon would use Malak's voice though, unless it was just to throw them off.

Dean's not ready yet.

Dean shook his head. He didn't have time for this now. They were in the middle of a hunt and he had already taken too long in the ballroom. The bitch had also made him lose his champagne and food, god damn it.

'Dean?' came Sam's voice suddenly, enough to make Dean jump as he was making his way around the outside of the ballroom back to the door. It took quite a bit of effort to appear outwardly as if he was fine when inside his head he was frantically speaking to his brother.

'Damn it, Sam, you about gave me a heart attack!'

'Me? You went off the radar for ten minutes!'

'It wasn't me,' Dean tried to explain, 'I had a little run in with our favorite demon queen, looking way too hot in the I'm-just-drawn-this-way kinda way, and insisting on dancing with me while spewing more annoying bullshit in my face. I'll fill you in later. What about you? You okay?'

'Wait. Malak? You mean Malak? She's at the party?'

'Later, Sam,' Dean persisted, 'I have to get back to Sarah and check on everyone.' Dean was back at the doorway between the ballroom and main gallery in moments. He paused briefly to check if his food and champagne were still on that table, but apparently the waiters here were way too good at their jobs.

Just as Dean turned to actually enter the gallery, his shoulder bumped into another man headed the same way. "Whoa, sorry, dude," Dean apologized, patting the man on the back. He was older again, like most of the male half of this crowd, but certainly better taken care of than most. He was trim and fit, handsome, Dean supposed, with dark hair and eyes and an olive complexion. His perfectly trimmed mustache and goatee gave him an especially exotic look.

"Just as much my fault," the man replied, "Excuse me." He headed on through the gallery while Dean stopped to survey the room and better track down his companions.

'Okay,' Dean thought to Sam, 'Sarah's still over there. And I think—'

'Dean, wait.'

The stress attached to that utterance made Dean pause immediately mid-sentence and ask, 'What is it?'

'That man you just ran into.'

Dean jerked his head to follow after the trail of the dark-haired man, who appeared to have stopped at a group of younger women. 'Mr. Euro-trash?' Dean questioned, even though the man hadn't seemed to sport any sort of accent, 'What about him?'

There was barely even the barest pause before Sam said, 'Him. It's him. He's the one. He's our demon.'

Fantastic. Well, at least that solved Dean's problem of feeling like he had wasted the past ten minutes.

Cutting through the crowd straight for Sarah, Dean should have known that 'I'll only be a minute' never actually meant that. As soon as he reached her, he expressed deeply his regret in having to steal her away but explained that the 'person' they had been waiting to arrive finally had and they really needed to talk to him. Sarah got the message loud and clear and the two of them immediately went in search of Bobby and Shiarra.

Lucky for them, the older couple was just around the bend of one of the archways, partially hidden but not all that far off from where Dean had last seen them. They were just parting from yet another conversation with the art-savvy when Dean and Sarah rushed up to them.

"Show time," Dean said.

"I still can't believe it's Vincent," Shiarra was saying as they prepared to have her introduce them to their discovered demon, "Everybody loves Vincent. He's the Curator for goodness' sake. And has been an acquaintance of mine for years."

Dean couldn't resist allowing a small smirk. "And by acquaintance you mean…"

"Dean." This time it was Sarah who spoke to him warningly. She gestured ahead at the possessed body of Vincent Morgan, Curator for the Public Art Program and therefore colleague of Charles Shaughnessy, who he was currently chatting away to without the presence of the blonde bimbo. "This is our best chance, all the better that you know him, Shiarra. Do we have to worry about a date tagging along to complicate things?"

At that Shiarra released a derisive laugh. "Vincent never brings a date. It would spoil his chances to pick up someone new."

"Bachelor?" Bobby asked.

"Yes, I think he might be between wives again," Shiarra replied thoughtfully, "Well then. Introductions I can handle. Even convincing him to make a quick trip up to his office. It's the afterwards that worried me. Dean, do you still need to put that charm on him so Sam can get into the building?"

It had been a major priority to solve that problem so Sam could actually be in the building before they started springing traps. Dean had a tiny charm attached to Velcro that would dampen the demon's senses without him even realizing. Sam would be able to get off that scaffolding and climb to the 15th floor, blending perfectly with the signature of the hex bags.

Or so they hoped.

"No problem," Dean assured the others, "Let's get this over with." He eyed the demon determinedly as they made their way through the crowd. To him the bastard was just one more stop sign keeping him from a free life. Dean almost wished he could see what Sam saw that told him, demon.

'No you don't,' whispered through his mind.

"Vincent, darling," Shiarra started in, "I do hate to interrupt any boy's club time, of course, but I do think you've been trying to elude me." She grinned wide and presented her cheeks for what seemed a customary greeting of European kisses. Dean remembered how Shiarra had once explained to him that hunters and sex demons were really conmen in arms.

"Speak of the Devil," Shaughnessy said, moving to allow the four of them into their conversation, "I was just telling Vincent about young Mr. Webb's presence at the party. Your friends Mr. James and Miss Blake as well," he finished introducing.

As was usual with demons living a persona, Demon Vincent didn't give himself away at all. "Actually, Mr. Webb and I already met," he smiled at Dean, "My apologies again."

Dean couldn't have been given a better opening. "Totally my fault, man. I hope I didn't bang up your shoulder too bad," he said with a laugh. Then reaching out towards Vincent's shoulder—charm cleverly palmed—he gave the man a friendly pat to stick the Velcro to his tux. The charm was small and black and should blend in well enough for their purposes.

'Sam?' Dean thought to his brother then as he fell into conversation with the others.

'I'm going for it,' Sam replied, 'Watch him closely for any sign that he might feel my presence. If he doesn't, I'll meet up with Jo and we go ahead as planned.'

That sounded easy enough, but then so did this whole plan whenever they were just talking about it. Vincent hadn't noticed Dean's covert placement of the charm though, and as Dean watched it didn't seem that the demon had sensed anything of Sam either. All they had to do now was get Vincent to the mechanical level where Sam was waiting for them.

Shiarra was handling that part brilliantly. "Oh, please, Vincent, just for a few minutes," she said, hanging off the demon's arm the way she had been hanging off of Bobby's all night, "Sarah is a dear friend. You know I wouldn't ask otherwise. And I do so adore Crispin's work. Now I know it was presumptuous of me to send along his new paintings to your office here, but I'm only asking for a moment's time for you to have a look at them." Of course all of that was utter bullshit.

"The prestige of this building and its city would make it an honor for Crispin's work to be displayed here at your next function," Sarah continued on behalf of her 'client', "We think his new style would be most suited for you. I know how the Public Art Program thrives on local talent and Crispin wants to be just that, a return to his home state."

The demon, continuing to play the part of Vincent Morgan flawlessly, seemed hesitant enough that Dean feared they might have already lost him when he suddenly said, "Well, I suppose it is at these very functions that the most beneficial deals are often made. I can spare a few minutes. Charles, will you be joining us?" he asked Mr. Shaughnessy.

Damn it. The demon had chosen the perfect host for their purposes, even helping give them the best excuse for whisking him away by being the Curator, but an audience would in no way benefit their cause. Dean quickly nudged Shaughnessy before the man could respond. "Hey, uh, not to put a damper on things, pal, but I think your friend over there might be trying to get away." Dean indicated the young blonde that had been accompanying Shaughnessy this evening who was currently across the room flirting with one of the few younger men at the party.

To his credit, Mr. Shaughnessy managed to quiet his sudden scowl and smiled politely at the group, "Another time perhaps, Vincent. If you'll all excuse me," and then swiftly made way for his misbehaving date.

"Well then," Vincent said to the others, "We wouldn't want to miss anything important by waiting until later. Why don't we head up now and see what we can do for each other?"

Bingo. Dean also liked their odds right now as it would be him, Sarah, Bobby, and Shiarra against one demon. They also had Sam waiting on the mechanical level where every possible trap they could think of was set up, and Jo had set up even more after finishing her work on the service elevator, which of course was their next task.

Shiarra made the suggestion, back to hugging Bobby's arm—which the elder hunter seemed rather pleased about—by explaining that it would help them avoid any crowds or questions if they took the service elevator instead.

"I didn't realize you had that much sway, my dear," Vincent said with a sly grin. The demon certainly played the smarmy, attractive older gentleman rather well.

"Please," Shiarra said dismissively, "I have sway with everything in this city."

Of course that wasn't entirely true, and there was no way to be sure whether or not Jo had been successful until they tried this. She had spent half an hour working on getting the service elevator's key code changed to the one they had agreed upon. The moment came when they reached the elevator and Shiarra typed in 'VALKYRIE', Shiarra's own suggestion and what she considered a rather sharp-witted joke.

They could all breathe again when the elevator gave its customary 'ding' and opened before them. "You see, Vincent, we'll make much better time without distraction this way. 16th floor, isn't it?" Shiarra said, eyeing the others to be sure that someone distracted Vincent while she pressed '15' instead, a floor only accessible through the service elevator since it was strictly for maintenance.

"Now, I believe," Sarah began, gently taking Vincent's arm and speaking in a calm, swaying voice, "That Shiarra aided me in sending over three of Crispin's recent paintings. I do hope the most recent is among them. A sort of tribute to the city itself. I'm sure it will sway you if nothing else does."

'Okay, Sammy,' Dean thought, one ear on the conversation as he talked to his brother, 'We're on our way up. We'll be there in seconds. No sign he suspects a thing. Has Jo started for the roof yet? I don't like the thought of Sasha being up there alone. Damn wards and being too risky to use cell phones. Can't believe this demon might actually be able to eavesdrop by—'

'Wait, Dean, go back,' Sam interrupted, sounding suddenly concerned, 'I wasn't watching. I had to set more traps after I got up here. They weren't ready. You're already in the elevator? How? I haven't seen Jo at all. I don't think she made it.'

'What?' That didn't make any sense. Jo had had more than enough time and the elevator code had been changed just like they planned. If Jo hadn't set that up then…

Dean's eyes snapped to Vincent. The demon was playing it cool, playing his part perfectly because he already knew the truth. He was on to them.

Ding. The elevator stopped and opened on what was obviously a mechanical level and not the first floor of offices. Vincent didn't look at all put out or surprised though, which was the final clue that they were already screwed.

Dean only got out half a warning, a cut off cry of, "He kno—!" before being suctioned back against the elevator wall just like everybody else. Like everyone other than Vincent that is.

"You know, I'm disappointed," the demon began, casually rolling up the cuffs of his nice tux and carefully loosening his bowtie as if he were merely returning home after a long day, "So much hype for so easy a prey. I thought you Winchesters came with a warning." Vincent smiled smugly over at Dean.

The nice—or maybe not so nice in this situation—thing about the service elevator was that it wouldn't move again until someone somewhere else called for it. That wouldn't be easy seeing as how the code had been changed. That kept the doors open. But then again Sam was somewhere out on that level waiting for them. Not being able to sense Sam might be the one thing that wasn't an act with this guy.

'Sammy,' Dean called. As far as he knew they were still synched, and even though he didn't receive a response back from Sam, Dean knew his brother had heard him.

"So," Dean tried, a little strained since he was once again pinned to a hard surface. He really hated the demon force-hold thing that every demon above the lowly grunts seemed to be so good at. "That whole…'reputation precedes us' thing…actually worked against us this time, huh? What gave us away, my…rugged good looks?"

Vincent clearly wasn't concerned with Dean, or the others who were remaining quiet only because they were all desperately trying to think of a way out of this. The demon stepped over to Dean's side of the elevator, looking him over completely unimpressed. "And you think we're arrogant," he scoffed, "Just because every demon topside is smart enough to know the faces of the Winchesters doesn't mean you're anything worth fearing. I am nothing like those other lowly examples of my kind. I sensed you coming a mile away. Did you think my wards only offered me protection?"

"No," Dean admitted readily, "But I do think…they're doing a fine job…of messing with those senses now." Dean glanced over at the elevator door just in time to see Sam's long arms reaching inside to yank Demon Vincent out of it.

They fell from the walls of the elevator as soon as Sam had a hold of the bastard. This guy may be powerful but he was spread thin with all of his wards and couldn't defend himself and hold all of them stationary at the same time.

"Find Jo!" Dean called to the girls as he pushed up onto his feet, "Bobby, help me!" There wasn't time to even be sure the others were listening to him before Dean was out of the elevator after Sam and the demon.

They hadn't gone far, just outside the elevator doors, but they were already grappling impressively. Jo had set up devil's traps throughout the level, but she was supposed to have added more outside the elevator entrance as well, among others, that clearly had never been made.

Focusing on the fight before him now and leaving Jo to the girls, who immediately darted off further into the level in search of her, Dean thought of what little help he could offer Sam. He looked to Bobby. With a shared nod, the two of them flanked the viciously fighting pair and each pulled out their hidden flasks.

A few flicks of their wrists later and Dean's stomach sank to the depths of his gut. Upon impact the double hit of holy water didn't sizzle. Dean assumed Malak was immune to such things, of course, but the only other demon Dean had visibly seen escape the affects of holy water had been the Yellow-Eyed Demon.

Who in Hell was this guy?

A good shot knocked Sam several feet on his back to skid across the floor. Vincent turned with a grin then, his face and parts of his tux wet but otherwise fine. "More than you bargained for, boys?" he taunted them. With nothing more than a wave of his hand, he threw Bobby across the room and right into Sam on the floor. But when he turned to Dean he merely huffed and began moving in the direction of the girls.

If this guy actually thought he could ignore Dean then he didn't know shit about the Winchesters. Dean wished Sam's power would have more effect right now, but they had already anticipated that most of them wouldn't as long as the demon was still inside the barriers of the building. They had to go along with the original plan, even if there were a few less devil's traps along the way.

Dean hadn't brought a gun, too risky at a party like that with only a tux to hide anything, but he never went anywhere without his ankle blade. He retrieved it from its sheath and dove after the demon, stabbing a firmly planted blow with the knife right into Vincent's thigh. The host could live through that.

While Vincent snarled and whipped around to push Dean away, Dean couldn't help noticing that he wasn't thrown halfway across the room like Bobby and Sam. "Whatsa matter, Vinny?" Dean grinned, seeing in his peripherals that Bobby and Sam had recovered and were coming up to flank him, "You're not scared of…Malak, are you? Since you're so smart, I guess you know I'm a favored toy of the Big Bad's. Kind of makes it hard to get an upper hand in the fight, huh?"

Vincent snarled again, plucking the knife free and throwing it at Dean's feet. The wound was probably already healing for the demon. "Vacation time isn't freely given, you know, even among those of us with real power. Everything's about the mission, the ultimate goal. Well I needed a break. And that mishap with the Devil's Gate was just the opportunity I needed. Malak will forgive me for that when I return, brutal as my punishment may be, but I won't lie. It would be a very different outcome if I dared harm you," he sneered, clearly not a fan of Dean, or any of them, "But that doesn't mean I don't have the upper hand."

Once again, Bobby and Sam flew backwards while Dean remained fine. There was a railing not far away that went all throughout the level, as most of the area was piping and heating ducts and other important structural aspects to the building, leaving only an area around the elevator and several walkways that were actually safe. Another good throw like that and Bobby and Sam might fly right over the railing. It wasn't a long drop, but there were a lot of pieces of machinery to not so nicely break their fall.

It was also dark, dark enough that the devil's traps were less obvious to the naked eye. That's why Dean had sent Sarah and Shiarra together, in case the succubus accidentally found herself trapped in one. Dean couldn't risk Sam getting caught ceaselessly either.

Dean picked up his knife. "There are plenty of other non-lethal places I can stick this, buddy," he said, ignoring Bobby and Sam for now since he knew they were okay.

"You think you can trick me into one of those?" Vincent replied, pointing a ways away at one of the devil's traps on the ceiling.

"Who knows, maybe I'll get lucky and you'll just trip," Dean shrugged.

Then he was moving forward, right at Vincent like a linebacker with his knife brandished. He knew where he needed to get this guy eventually; it was just a matter of maneuvering and any devil's traps along the way could prove useful.

But before Dean could actually plow into the guy, Vincent caught Dean's wrist and spun him too easily away from him. Anyone else would have tried to pull Dean in for a hold, but this guy wanted Dean out of the fight completely. Good luck; Dean wasn't going to make that easy.

Turning and steadying his footing, Dean caught sight of sparks flying from Sam's fingertips at Vincent like bolts of lightening. The melting power, TK, strength—all of that would work fine. It was the mojo and demon control that wasn't going to be cooperative. Dean could see that Sam was trying anyway, maybe trying to sway Vincent's mind just enough to get him into one of the traps. Vincent wasn't at all struggling though, just aptly dodging Sam's attacks one after the other.

"Where's Jo?" Sam yelled suddenly, advancing on Vincent while Bobby tried to block the demon by coming from the other side, making the three of them a triangle around him.

"Who?" Vincent sneered, "You mean that little girl trying to play mechanic? I caught her as she was trying to change that code of yours. Doubtful she would have managed it. I had to completely start over so you wouldn't catch wise before we got here. I know a few things about mechanics, you see. And goodness, I may have been a bit rough with that girl," he said with mock concern, always moving, searching for the best way around or through the circle of hunters trying to box him in, "Maybe those other lovely ladies of yours will find her in time, maybe they won't."

Light flashed in Sam's eyes and suddenly they were yellow. His arms shot out and Vincent was pushed back towards Bobby. Then Sam was rushing forward before the demon could get his bearings back, hands sparking with electricity and heat. He grabbed Vincent's shoulders and singed right through that nice tux down to the skin.

Still able to feel pain even if he could quickly heal, the demon screamed but couldn't collect himself fast enough before Sam had pushed him back with all his strength towards the closest trap.

For a moment Dean thought they might have the bastard, but before Vincent actually tumbled back into the trap, his feet stopped, gripped, pivoted like an animal and he was fine. He leapt to the side and rolled just out of reach of the trap's hold.

Sam and Dean weren't the only ones with tricks up their sleeves, however. Bobby was closest to the demon now, and while Vincent was still mostly on the ground, he pulled out his hidden weapon—two steaks of Palo Santo wood. They wanted to keep the host alive, of course, but they also had a priority to stop the demon. Bobby compromised by stabbing the steaks one into each of the demon's shoulders, immobilizing him.

There was something almost eerie about seeing Bobby in action like that while wearing a tux, but maybe the elder hunter thought the same thing about Dean. Only Sam was in his customary jeans and layered shirts.

The hunters gathered around the demon that was now pinned. "So, you're some high roller down south, huh?" Dean said, "Guess we gave you a little more of a run for your money than you were expecting. Just who the hell are you anyway?" It annoyed Dean especially that the bastard still had Vincent's dark but otherwise normal human eyes. They had yet to go all and out black.

Then Dean saw why. As the demon looked up at them, not admitting defeat but smiling proudly, he allowed his eyes to flicker to their true state—a sickly mottled green. "Vapula, Duke and loyal follower of our Lord," he said.

Dean honestly had to mull that one over for a moment. "Uh…what?" he finally snickered, "Vapula? Dude, seriously, you're pulling my leg with that, right? That's like some bad Transylvanian knockoff or something."

"Dean," Sam said with the same kind of warning he had used several other times that evening, so that Dean had to wonder if his brother was still speaking to him inside his head. Sam's mouth had definitely moved though and when Dean looked at him, Sam was leaning in close. "If he's telling the truth, Vapula is one of the 72 demons accounted for in the Goetia. The Lesser Key of Solomon." He raised his eyebrows to stress his point.

Several gears clicked into place for Dean. "You mean the book the devil's trap and shit comes from?"

That couldn't be good.

Bobby had already taken a step back when Dean looked down again at the demon. Vincent—or rather Vapula—was still smiling, still sure of himself and unimpressed with the hunters trying to get the better of him. What was even worse was that the Palo Santo steaks were starting to melt.

"My turn," hissed the demon.

Suddenly, it was as if a thousand tea kettles were going off at once, valves opening and pipes bursting all throughout the floor. Distantly, Dean heard the surprised shrieks of Sarah and Shiarra, reminding him that they were still out there looking for Jo. And in eveningwear, he thought with disgust. If nothing else, they had to make sure that this bastard didn't try to go for the girls again.

There was steam and water everywhere, making it almost impossible to see. Dean recognized the shapes of Sam and Bobby still near him, but there was no sign of Vapula on the floor. "Sam! Bobby!" Dean called over the symphony of machines.

"I know!" called back Bobby, "Stay near the walls!"

'Dean.'

Dean whipped around at the sound of Sam's voice, steady and clear inside his head where no one had to yell. Sam was still right next to him, yellow eyes prominent and glowing. 'Jesus, Sammy,' Dean thought back, 'Warn a guy first. You sense this Vapula guy anywhere?' It was getting increasingly harder to see.

'Everywhere,' Sam answered gravely, 'That's the problem. Vapula's like the…the patron saint of machines in Hell. He was never a witch. He was one of the first demons men and women made pacts with to become witches. He taught mechanics and science, Dean. This is his building with all these wards following him. He can probably control every machine on this floor.'

Shit. That was more than bad, it was deadly. Everything on this floor was a machine. 'Can you synch with Bobby too? Talk at him? Anything? We can't let this guy get to the girls.'

"Bobby!" Dean yelled aloud, motioning over the silhouette of Bobby Singer.

It took Sam only seconds to be able to speak to Bobby mentally the way he was with Dean, something Dean knew startled the older hunter as Bobby's eyes went very wide. He wasn't as used to Sam's powers or the yellow eyes.

It wasn't a conference call though; Dean couldn't speak to Bobby directly or hear him, but they had a link and that would have to be good enough as they split up to track the demon down.

The only weapon Dean had was his knife, which at the most would only buy him a little time. This poor guy's body had already been beaten enough as it was. 'Think of it this way, Sammy,' Dean thought as he made his way slowly left—Bobby heading straight from the elevator and Sam right, 'This'll make it easier for us.' The steam and water was making Dean sweat, his nice tux damp pretty much everywhere.

'How will this make things easier?' Sam asked shortly.

'Because. We figured a regular devil's trap wouldn't hold this guy anyway, not inside the building. That's why we came up with this plan, remember? We just gotta lead him to the right spot. He's practically heading right there on his own. So don't start getting all—"

'Dean!'

Dean turned, even though the sound of Sam's voice had come from inside his head and not any actual direction.

'Bobby says Vapula just passed him. He should be right in front of you any minute.'

Well that was just perfect since all Dean could see in front of him was more steam and smoke, and a little of the platform he was standing on. At least that awful noise had died down after the pressure was released. One thing Dean could be certain of though was that if the demon passed Bobby then there had to be another walkway ahead that ran perpendicular to his.

'The window's that way, Dean,' Sam said, 'I'll hurry around the other way to cut him off with Bobby.'

'No. Let me take him alone. We already know he won't risk hurting me. And if you come around from behind we won't be able to back him into the right spot. There are devil's traps all around here. Catch up from where you are and be ready to have my back.'

There was a moment of silence. Dean was almost to the intersection of walkways, he could see it. He knew Sam was doubting him but damn it, he was in charge and he knew what he was doing.

'Just do what I tell you,' Dean commanded.

A moment later Dean was at the crossroads and not at all oblivious to the irony of that either. Vapula should be coming from the right. Straight ahead of Dean led further into the maintenance area—more pipes, machines, and steam. To his left was the window Sam had climbed through from the scaffolding, open and huge, looking out at the city. The platform led straight to it. Dean could see it now easily through the haze because the window was where all of the smoke and steam was trying to escape.

Standing as still as he could right in the center between all four pathways, Dean listened for sounds of Vapula's approach. He didn't trust that it would be signaled by running feet and he was right. The last of the tea kettle noise had waned enough that Dean heard movement above him just in time to look up. A loosening cylinder of piping was spiraling towards him from the ceiling. Dean swerved to avoid it but his footing slipped from under him on the now wet metal walkway, landing him hard on his back. The piping came to a thunderous stop inches from crushing him.

Usually, Dean was afraid of falling, not things falling on him.

"You may be off limits, Mr. Winchester," came Vapula's voice from somewhere above Dean, "But there is no such stipulation on your brother or any of your friends. Tell me then, Dean, where is that incubus of yours, hmm?"

Nearly crushed or not, Dean was going to get up. Now. He strained his neck, able to see Vincent Morgan's expensive black shoes just behind his head. He didn't think. He grabbed onto those ankles and pulled himself between Vapula's legs, giving himself just enough room to roll back, slam his legs up into the demon's above him and coz the bastard to fall over backwards with a crash. No one threatened Dean's baby.

'Dean, we're almost to you,' said Sam, 'Do you have Vapula in position yet?'

'Thirty seconds,' Dean replied confidently. He was already getting to his feet while the demon was still snarling and trying to clamor back onto his.

"You fool!" Vapula spat at Dean, apparently a little protective of Vincent's body since he had a gash on one of his arms now, "You think I can't see all your devil's traps?" he gestured wildly to several of them, more visible being this close to the window. There was also a larger platform by the window where even more traps had been drawn, except for right in front of the window where Sam had come in.

"You can see them," Dean didn't deny, "But can you avoid them?" He didn't need his knife; Dean charged like he had before, only this time it didn't matter if Vapula sidestepped him or pushed him away as long as Dean got the demon to back up where he wanted.

It was almost too easy. Vapula was concerned enough with not causing too much harm to Dean that he merely grappled rather than throw Dean aside. Every time Dean tried to push, trip, or manhandle Vapula into one of the nearby devil's traps the demon managed to avoid it, backing them closer and closer to the window. Dean actually almost got him into one of the traps then which might have been good enough, but their real plan was better.

Just in front of the window, Vapula finally used physical and mental force to throw Dean off of him onto the floor. Dean smiled up at the demon, sore but successful. He could hear Sam and Bobby approaching.

"What are you grinning about?" the demon growled, his mottled green eyes as vibrant as the crossroad's demon's and YED's, "I am a Duke of Hell. I command legions. I am not so easily dispatched as you might think." The demon roared then, truly roared, and with the smoke and steam still billowing out the window past him, for a moment Dean saw what appeared like a shadowy lion with wings overlapping the form of Vincent Morgan.

"Right," Dean huffed, still kicked back on the floor and unwilling to be spooked, "So you decided to possess the Curator for Public Art for a little while and have some wine and cheese and a few nice suits? I'm trembling in my Brooks Brothers over here."

Vapula's eyes flashed brighter and again flickered the image of a smoke and shadowed lion.

'Any time now, Sammy…'

And it was just then that Vapula's eyes rose up past Dean to where Bobby and Sam had finally arrived. The demon was not deterred, but merely smiled sinisterly. "I've been kind until now because of how much I've enjoyed my vacation. No more. You didn't really think these devil's traps could catch me, did you?"

Dean looked up above him and could see Sam grinning, only slightly out of breath as he said, "No, actually. We didn't. Probably wouldn't have done us much good anyway, seeing as how your powers extend to the whole building. Well, except for the roof," he reminded the demon, "Haven't you ever heard that too much defense isn't always the best way to win? Take the defense away…and you can't do anything." Sam's hands shot out towards the window and Vapula, great Duke of Hell that he was, actually ducked. But the only thing that happened was a red light flew outwards into the night and headed straight up.

The demon turned back to them and snarled, "What are you firing now, parlor tricks?"

"Nope," Dean said, finally getting to his feet, "A runic spell. A runic devil's trap to be exact. Funny thing about them versus the normal kind is that as long as they're above or below you it doesn't really matter how many floors are in between."

Mottled green eyes sprung wide. Vapula charged at them but immediately came upon an invisible barrier stopping him from going more than a few feet. A devil's trap written in glowing red on the roof was holding him captive outside the realm of his powers. He might as well have been on the roof himself. Dean was sort of glad the demon wasn't though, because this way all Sasha had to do up there was make sure nothing broke the lines of the trap.

"All yours, Sammy," Dean said.

"Bobby!" came a sudden female voice calling over the hum of the machines, "Sam! Dean!" It was Sarah, running towards them down the ramp. She was as damp as the rest of them after Vapula's attack.

Sam kept steady on the demon, much as he might have wanted to turn. He had to maintain a very firm hold on the spell that had been cast some 50 floors above them. Dean and Bobby, however, moved to meet Sarah. "What is it?" Dean asked, concerned that Shiarra wasn't with her, "We're about to send this bastard back where he belongs. Did you find Jo?"

As she came to a stop in front of them, it was clear that Sarah was out of breath and that she had run the entire way in search of them, probably following the tell-tale sound of their voices that echoed so well in this place. She nodded. "Shiarra stayed with her. She's still unconscious. That asshole had her tied up near an exhaust pipe, as bad as being locked in a garage with a running car for Christ's sake. She's alive but we need to get her out of here."

"Where are they?" Bobby asked, having the same fondness for Jo as he did for all the hunter 'kids', knowing their parents as well as he had and in Ellen's case still did.

"We moved her back by the elevator."

Bobby immediately turned and headed off. It looked as though Sarah would follow but she hesitated, her concerned dark eyes straying to Sam. Dean of course couldn't help turning back to look at his brother as well, and was a little upset actually that the demon was still standing there, mottled eyes gleaming, like nothing was wrong. "Get a move on, Sammy," Dean chided, walking up next to his brother again, "Send this guy to Hell already."

"I've been trying," Sam said with much strain. His eyes were lighter, the color fading and unifying into a single bright white. Even that didn't seem to be enough though—Sam at his strongest—because Vapula merely stood there smirking.

"How long do you think you can hold me in this thing, hmm?" the demon said, "You're right that a regular devil's trap would hold me even less because of the wards around this place. The runic spell was a nice touch, but if you think you're strong enough to use those powers on me than you really are a fool."

The frustration was building in Sam, dampness from the steam and Sam's own sweat making his face look slick and fatigued. He was pushing with all of his powers and trying to maintain the spell. Vapula was right; Sam couldn't keep at that for long. He wasn't all-powerful.

It was then that Dean noticed Sarah was still with them and hadn't gone after Bobby. She came up on Sam's other side, eyeing the demon with the most extreme distaste.

"He's lying," she said, "This has nothing to do with him being more powerful than you, Sam. He's afraid. Why? Why would he be afraid of you if he thinks he's so much stronger?" Dean flinched when he saw that Sarah was reaching into Sam's jacket for the Colt they had said they would only use as a last resort.

"Whoa there," Dean tried, peeking around Sam and giving Sarah the 'I surrender but please listen to me' hand gesture, "Don't go all Sarah Connor on us, okay? There's a guy in there that doesn't deserve to die if we can save him."

But Sarah just shook her head, already aiming the gun and looking even more disgusted. "No there isn't." She didn't look at Dean, just continued staring at the demon as Sam was, frozen as if she too couldn't dare move for fear of the spell failing. "Think for a minute. Sam's powers should work if the devil's trap is working. So then it's just a matter of figuring out what kind of demon can beat an exorcism. Malak maybe, just for being what he is. And if a demon had a lock, the way you said Meg did when she possessed Sam. But there's only one other way besides those. I've seen it before. It's the only explanation."

Now Dean was hesitating too because Vapula looked scared. Even Sam seemed to understand what Sarah was getting at because his at first confused expression had turned into the same concentrated look of disgust.

Then Dean got it too. He had never come across a case himself, but he had heard of it. Of course he had heard of it. The very idea made his stomach turn.

"Without a lock the only other explanation for a demon who can resist exorcism," Sarah continued, cocking the hammer on the Colt.

"Wait!" Vapula cried.

"Is a willing host."

Sharpshooter indeed, sniping or up close, because the shot fired true, right into the demon's forehead where it crackled like a thunderstorm and crumbled the combined sinners to the floor.

Sam gasped as if he could finally breathe again, able to release the devil's trap and stop concentrating so damn hard finally. He also allowed his white eyes to return to their normal hazel.

The disappearance of the devil's trap would signal to Sasha that they were either successful or in real trouble, so he should be flying down to the window any minute. In the meantime, the brothers turned to Sarah, who lowered the Colt, having it in one hand, while she brushed the hair from her face with the other.

"You figured that one out without batting an eyelash, girl. Not that I ever doubted it," Dean grinned at her, "But you are officially awesome."

Once Sasha joined them and they returned to Shiarra and Bobby with a still unconscious Jo, Shiarra worked a little succubus magic and hearthed the lot of them back to her apartment. Her true home was now that very loft and not the planes of her native home among sex demons. Shiarra then volunteered to drive Jo to the hospital since she knew the city best, and if the poor girl had carbon monoxide poisoning then she would need medical treatment no matter how minor a case it may be.

They learned later that Jo would be fine and had woken up on the ride to the ER, but she would still need to stay overnight. Of course she had insisted that everyone get rest at Shiarra's; she didn't need anyone sleeping on waiting room couches just because she needed to be kept for observation. Knowing that she was probably sorer about being caught by the enemy than anything, they obeyed.

Everyone seemed to split their different ways after that, into showers and bedrooms, through the kitchen or kicked back on the sofas and chairs. After Dean's shower—he was too wired to sleep yet—he found Sasha out on the balcony. It was freezing in Dean's opinion, but the incubus was out there without a jacket, just in a plain black T-shirt and jeans, watching the city. Dean supposed the redhead was mulling over the fact that he hadn't gotten to see any action, but as things usually went Dean knew that if they hadn't placed someone on that roof then something for sure would have gone wrong.

"Sleepless in Seattle? Or playing out some other sappy romance that has someone staring off a balcony?" Dean joked as he opened the sliding door to join his friend.

Sasha glanced over his shoulder at Dean, a small smile perched on his lips as he leaned on the railing. It was a sturdy railing and at no risk of breaking off—not that it would matter for Sasha—but Dean still had no plans to lean on anything that was that close to a four story drop. "Just thinking," Sasha said, "It's good we got this guy. We can get back on track now. Sam already senses our next target. It'll be nice to…get back into a rhythm." There was tension in Sasha's shoulders, much as the incubus was slouching.

A sigh spilled from Dean's lips before he could help it. He sidled up to Sasha and slid an arm around the other man's waste, feeling how warm the redhead always managed to be just naturally. Dean was freezing, still a little damp from his shower, and was currently shirtless and in only thin sleep pants. "Come on now, it's gonna be okay. I know we lost a few days on this one but…we'll make it. And shouldn't I be the one who's wallowing? I am the one with the death sentence, you know?" He tried to grin coyly but Sasha wasn't smiling back at him anymore.

"I wasn't even there tonight. I mean…I was there, but I didn't do anything."

"There were seven of us," Dean reminded Sasha, "How much did you expect to stand out on this one?"

The incubus tossed him a frustrated look even though he was leaning into Dean's hold. "You know what I mean, Dean. I know there are a lot of us on this, and that's a good thing. But I want—need to be there. When it's the last demon, just one more left to get rid of before we save you, I need to be there to see it finished. I need to see it for myself and know I'll never lose you."

Dean pulled Sasha away from the edge of the balcony and turned the incubus into his body, holding him closer so he could reach up and touch that pale, pretty face. "You won't lose me. Ever. Not to Hell or anything else, you hear me?"

At last Sasha found a bit of that smile again. "That sounded kind of like a proposal," he teased.

If only for that returned smile, Dean managed not to grimace. "I'm not getting down on one knee, got me? But I'm not…running from forever anymore if we actually manage to get it. I know what I want. That's you. But let's work on making that an option first before we start handing out 'save the date' cards, okay?"

A boisterous laugh escaped Sasha. "Now I know you watch too much Opera if you know what 'save the date' cards are."

"Wise ass," Dean grinned, already pulling the incubus in for a kiss to quiet that pretty mouth and put it to better use. Whenever Dean doubted, whenever he felt the old fears sneaking up on him, even just a simple kiss from Sasha was enough to remind him why he loved everything about loving this man. The soft lips, the slight flick of a tongue, then a sudden deep press that made Dean want to devour everything in Sasha he could taste.

"Ahem."

Dean was really starting to hate that utterance. He pulled away from Sasha to find his love grinning, and when he turned to look at Shiarra standing with a hand on her hip in the doorway, her grin was much the same. "I know it's your house and all, but you could still knock or something," Dean said.

The succubus was in a fashionable nightgown and robe, shimmering and alluring but still tasteful enough for company. The nightgown was a pale blue, the robe matching but darker. She would have looked ready for bed if she wasn't so wide-eyed. "My apologies. I was only coming to ask if you boys wanted to join us. Bobby and I were going to have a nightcap."

That got Dean to raise an eyebrow. "Now this thing between you and Bobby…"

"Would you like to join us or not," Shiarra went right on, ignoring Dean's question, "It is getting rather late."

Know when to pick your battles, Dean figured. He looked to Sasha and could tell that the incubus was pleased at the idea of spending a little more time with his aunt before they left in the morning. Of course Shiarra had insisted that she would join them eventually, but Dean really didn't want to add any more members to their already bursting team. "Sure, sure," he said, "You ask Sam and Sarah? They still up?"

A sly smile touched Shiarra's lips and she leaned a little more into the doorframe. "They did only recently retire but I don't think disturbing them would be a good idea."

"Why not?" Sasha asked.

It was then that Dean realized Shiarra was holding something. Something midnight blue that had at first blended in with her robe. It was Sarah's dress. "Because this," she said, holding it up, "Barely made it into the bedroom." With that and a pointed look tossed at both of them, Shiarra turned and began to make her way back towards the kitchen.

Sasha was laughing when Dean's mouth finally caught up to his brain cells. Really, there was only one thing to say. "That's my Sammy."

tbc...

A/N: Another doozie. Phew. That one was a pain to write but I hope it turned out okay.

To answer Haley's question, a reverse pentagram doesn't HAVE to be in relation to any direction, it just depends on who draws it and how. However, the one over Seattle would be in relation to North. If I ever forget a question from someone who I can't PM, please try asking again as sometimes I forget. :-)

Spent all day on this, must give attention to hubby. P.S. deangirl1's entry for the contest-well, one of her entries-can be read right here on FF, so go read it! Love you!

Oh, and everything about Vapula is true. You can thank Hellfire for requesting him. Of course I took some liberties. :-) But seriously, Google him.

Crim