"What are we waiting for?" Dean shook off his hand. "That bastard Crowley—I'm going to make him hand over the password."
"How are you going to make him talk if you go?" Sam said urgently. "We need to figure something out."
Dean stopped.
Wu Heng looked at them and sighed. These two brothers—he should give them a happy reunion.
"I'll take you there."
He raised his left hand. The Hell Mark in his palm flashed, and the air in the side hall began to warp like crumpled paper. A few seconds later, they were standing somewhere else.
This was the deepest part of Hell.
There was no light, no sound—only absolute darkness. The air was cold, cold as an ice cellar, cold as a graveyard.
Crowley was locked in a cell with iron chains wrapped around his wrists, ankles, and neck. There was absolutely no chance of escape.
His hair had turned grayish white, and all the luster had faded from his skin. His exposed face looked as old as dried orange peel.
When he heard them, he raised his head.
Upon seeing Dean and Sam, he froze for a moment, then smiled. That smile looked especially glaring on his disheveled face.
"I knew you'd come."
His voice was hoarse, but his tone was still Crowley's—punchable, smug, and always calculating.
He tried to straighten up and used his one free hand to tidy his filthy collar.
Dean stepped forward. "Was the soul lock on my mother your doing?"
Crowley looked at him. "Yes!"
Dean clenched his fists.
"But you have to listen to my explanation—"
"Explain what?" Sam's icy voice came from behind him. "Explain why you tampered with my mom?"
"But I gave you hope too, didn't I?" Crowley looked at Sam, mouth open as he was about to