A/N: This was an idea I had after watching Season 9's "Blade Runners." But since Season 5 is my favorite (back when Team Free Will was whole and not evil, or insane, or hating each other), I've decided to set it as an AU Season 5. Just because the show writers didn't think of some of this stuff until later, doesn't mean it wasn't going on. While elements from Seasons 8 and 9 will appear, major revelations (such as the existence of the Men of Letters and Dean & Sam as legacies) will not be revealed to the characters.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or its characters, or the English language. Though sometimes I might take some Shakespearian liberty and make up my own words.

Chapter 1: A Lead

"Seriously, nothing? No earthquakes, flash floods, locusts?"

"No, Dean." Sam leaned away from his laptop and the online news articles he'd been scouring for the past two hours. Frankly, he was happy not to have found any mention of apocalyptic events occurring in the past couple days. Every time he did only served to drive the nail in deeper on his guilt.

Dean knocked back a swig of beer. "So, the Devil's taking a siesta? Good on him."

Sam shrugged. "I don't know." What he didn't say was maybe Lucifer was working on something big, and that's why he'd gone quiet. But speculation would do them no good, so Sam kept his worries to himself. Dean had enough on his shoulders, what with his little brother having loosed the Devil on the world and started the Apocalypse. Then there was the fact that the angels wanted Dean to kill Lucifer by agreeing to be a vessel for an archangel, and that certainly wasn't going to happen. So if they could take a moment to pretend the world wasn't ending…

As though Fate had been waiting for just the moment when that thought entered Sam's head, Dean's cell phone rang.

"Hey, Cas," his brother answered mildly.

Sam turned back to his research, thinking he'd missed something; the angel hardly ever called with good news.

Dean straightened. "Really? Okay, we're in Elk Grove, Montana, Sunspot Motel room 123."

Before he could even hang up, a swish of wings sent some napkins fluttering off the dinette table onto the floor.

"Hey, Cas," Sam said, and leaned over to retrieve them. "What's up?"

Castiel opened his mouth, but paused and his eyes did that squinting thing when he was trying to decode human vernacular.

"Cas has a lead on the Colt," Dean jumped in before the angel could respond with something off the mark like "the sky," or "the ceiling."

Sam perked up. "Really?"

Castiel nodded, forgetting Sam's original question and focusing on the matter at hand. "I have discovered that the Colt ended up at an underground auction and was sold to the highest bidder."

Sam blinked. "An auction? So, the Colt is with some fanatic gun collector?"

"Not quite." He did a customary eye sweep of the room's peach and green striped wallpaper, beige bed covers, and the two empty bottles of booze sitting on the dresser that Dean had already consumed. The angel's gaze lingered a moment on the beer before turning to note the one in Dean's hand. He didn't comment, however, but continued, "The patrons of these auctions are demons and other…beings. And the items for sale tend to be rare magical artifacts."

Dean made a low noise of disbelief. "Why have we never heard of this before?"

Castiel cocked his head and frowned as though it were obvious. "The time and place of the auctions is a carefully guarded secret. Entrance is by invitation only, as I understand." His shoulders lifted in a barely perceptible sigh. "I'm afraid in order to find out who acquired the Colt, we'll have to attend one of these gatherings."

Cas seemed displeased by the idea, but then, Sam also didn't relish the thought of walking into a demon-run auction house full of the kinds of things he and Dean had spent their lives hunting.

"So we're supposed to waltz into a demon-infested auction and ask for information on a demon-killing gun?" Dean said, echoing Sam's sentiments. "Yeah, that'll go over well."

"We'll need to procure an invitation first," Cas said matter-of-factly.

Sam's brows lifted. "How are we supposed to come by one of those?" This lead was becoming more and more far-fetched by the minute.

"There's a crossroads demon," Castiel said slowly. "By the name of Crowley, who is reportedly a regular attendee."

Dean clapped his hands together. "Great, so we summon him, wrangle an invitation, and then gank the son-of-a-bitch. Two for one."

Sam looked at the stoic angel. "You sure about this, Cas?"

"If you insist on this plan to kill the Devil, then we need the Colt."

Sam glanced at Dean. Whatever reservations his older brother may have had weren't enough to keep the spark of hope from his eyes. That alone made it worth the risk for Sam.

"Okay." He closed his laptop. "Let's summon a demon to get us into a demon auction."

Dean grinned. "Easy as pie."

Castiel's brow furrowed. "I've witnessed a few human attempts at making pie. Some were quite disastrous."

Dean rolled his eyes, and Sam almost smirked, but the truth was that with their lives, Cas's comment was probably closer to the truth.

Two hunters and an angel stood at an intersection on an isolated stretch of dirt road, prepared to summon a crossroads demon. Sounded like the beginning of a bad joke to Dean.

He scuffed his boot through the dirt, covering the customary box they'd buried, and stepped back to wait. They'd spray painted a devil's trap across the road, and Ruby's knife was tucked in the back of Sam's jeans. As soon as they got what they needed, they'd rid the world of another demonic SOB.

A cicada's chirping had provided a musical backdrop to their work, but now that it was done, the night had fallen eerily silent. That's when the demon popped into view. He was a few inches shorter than Dean, with a rounded, slightly receding hairline, and wore what looked like a fancy business suit with a red tie.

Dean looked around in confusion. "You're Crowley? What's with the used-car salesman meatsuit? I thought you guys preferred hot chicks?"

The demon glanced down at the devil's trap he stood inside, yet seemed unperturbed by it. "Ah, Winchesters," he spoke with a British accent. "I suspected you would come calling eventually."

Dean and Sam shot each other questioning looks. What did that mean?

Dean pulled his shoulders back. "We need you to get us an invitation to a demon auction."

Crowley's brows lifted. "Is that so? You think you'll find the Colt there?"

The boys exchanged another wary look. Sam's fingers twitched as his hand slid slowly toward the knife. This demon seemed to know too much right off the bat.

"How did you—" Castiel started.

"I hear things," Crowley interrupted. "You want to stop Lucifer; the Colt is one of the few things that can kill him."

Dean cleared his throat. "Right, so whip us up an invitation and we'll promise not to kill you."

Castiel's perpetual frown deepened at the lie, and Dean shot him a quelling look before the angel could say anything. Cas looked away, staring into the darkness. At least the angel was getting good at reading those facial expressions.

Crowley scoffed. "What do you take me for, some low-level berk? The minute I give you anything, Moose over there," he nodded to Sam, who snorted at the moniker. "…Is going to stab me with that demon killing knife of his." Crowley reached up to smooth his jacket. "And I just finished getting blood out of this suit."

Dean and Sam looked to each other again, and then at Cas. How were they going to force the demon to cooperate?

"I have a better idea," Crowley continued amiably. "As it turns out, there's an auction scheduled in two days. I'll text you the address to meet me at that morning and we'll all go together, you as my guests."

Dean snorted. "We're not stupid either. You'd lead us right into a trap."

Crowley cocked his head and nodded thoughtfully. "Normally, yes. But I have a vested interest in seeing Lucifer defeated, so at the moment, our purposes align."

"Why would you want Lucifer dead?" Castiel asked skeptically.

"I'm a crossroads demon; I make deals in exchange for souls, and I'm damn good at it. The Apocalypse is bad for business."

Dean jerked his head at Sam and the two walked a few paces away. Cas followed, keeping his body angled so the demon was never fully out of sight, despite being secure in the trap.

"What do we do?" Sam asked.

"I don't know, man. If this is our only shot at getting the Colt…" Dean shook his head. Making deals with demons was never a good idea, but if it helped them take out something bigger and badder…and really, what could be worse than the Devil and friggin' Apocalypse?

"Don't see as we have much choice."

"Dean, he's a demon—"

"I know that, Cas. But he wants the Devil iced as much as we do."

"He could be lying."

"If I may," Crowley called.

The three of them turned toward him.

"I will tell you that I know who has the Colt. The pompous ass out-bid me when it appeared for sale." The demon's blase expression hardened for a brief moment.

Dean growled and marched back up to him. "Why didn't you say that first?"

"That's not what you asked."

"Who has the Colt?" Sam demanded.

Crowley gave a dramatic sigh. "Honestly," he muttered to himself. "Giving you that still leaves me with no bargaining chip. Not that a name would do you any good, as no one, not even me, knows where to find him. He only shows his face at the auctions."

Dean rolled his eyes; they were getting nowhere. Maybe they should just stab Crowley in the throat and try to find another demon who could get them into the auction. But would they before the one set two days from now? That didn't leave them much time…

"Besides, you need me," Crowley said. "Even with an invitation, you can't just show up at an auction. You'd be killed on the spot." He rolled his shoulders. "But as my guests, you'll be protected. Provided you control your ape urges and don't stab anyone." His gaze rolled pointedly to meet Dean's, and the hunter felt a chill creep up his spine as he wondered whether the demon could read minds.

"So," Crowley said. "Do we have a deal?"

"I ain't kissing you," Dean blurted.

Crowley smirked in amusement. "Don't be so squirrely. Though I would think such a binding contract would put your tiny minds at ease regarding my potential betrayal."

Castiel stepped forward threateningly. "They're not making any deals with you."

"Fine," the demon sighed in exasperation. "A gentleman's agreement then. I get you into the auction and make sure none of the clients eat you. Unless of course, you make a move first. Then you're on your own."

Sam shifted nervously, expression tight. Dean didn't like it either, but what choice did they have?

He scuffed his boot over the spray painted dirt, breaking the devil's trap.

Crowley grinned. "Alright then, we'll be in touch. Oh, you might want to start driving to Colorado." With that, he winked away.

The cicada took up its droning once more.

"Right," Dean said with false cheer. "Like there's no way this couldn't go horribly wrong."