Waking up blind is an altogether worse experience than selling one's soul to the devil, and Dean Winchester has experience with the latter. He blinks, can feel his eyelids open, but still there is nothing but darkness, fathomless, endless, devastating darkness. Hell is not all that he expected. He was thinking more along the lines of brighter, hotter, with a promise of pain.

As deaths go, his was not pleasant, teeth, claws, acidic saliva, and then suspended from hooks and chains in endless swirling darkness, screaming out in agony to his brother, begging for help, release, anything. Knowing he's done all of this for Sam. He isn't sure how long he was on the hooks, hanging like a cow carcass in a meat locker, but then comes the darkness, and he's floating in it. Fucking floating, and who floats in freaking Hell anyway? Apparently Dean Winchester does.

He thinks he might remember closing his eyes as his body finally went numb to the pain of the hooks pulling and tearing him apart, felt something thick, oily, and vicious slipping and oozing up along his body, covering him, coating him, and when he'd opened his mouth for another scream of Sam's name, he figured it would slip inside of him, but it hadn't, instead his body shuddered, and while he couldn't feel anything anymore he had the sensation of falling, falling into vast, dark nothingness.

At any rate he's floating and trying to catch his breath, and he's surprised to find that he's actually inhaling air. He's breathing. Maybe this necessity to breathe is his mind's way of deluding him that maybe, just maybe he's still alive. It is Hell. Who knows how things are run down here?

Time has no meaning, at least not one that's clicking with him at the moment. He's not sure how long he's been here. It could be minutes, hours, days, weeks, years. He just doesn't have a damn clue. He only knows that it feels like forever, and he's forgetting things, and while he doesn't age (well, he doesn't think he's gotten older), he's grown colder. He thinks that's odd growing cold in Hell. So far there has been no hellfire to speak of. Then again, there could be levels. How should he know? It's not like he's been given the grand tour or anything.

He really begins to notice the cold when something coils about his left ankle, twisting up his calf in the darkness. The sensation is so intimate he trembles at the cold violation. It slithers its way further up his body, tightening around his abdomen, up his chest, something wet and thin, a forked tongue, flickers at the hollow of his throat, burning hot and he can smell sulfur.

He opens his mouth in the first scream since falling into this nothingness, and that's when it slips inside of him, unholy fire tearing at his gut and roaring through his veins, burning away all that's left of his humanity, and bringing with it memories that are familiar, of a time long ago, and this is an awakening.

Slowly the fires fade to ash and when he opens his eyes they are black as pitch, and he's surrounded by blazing rock and poisonous pits of ash and sulfur. His black eyes widen at the sound of a familiar voice.

"Hello Dean. It's been awhile."

"You," he growls, and then he slams her back against one of the jagged rock walls, baring his teeth at her.

She lets out a bitter laugh. "Didn't take long at all with you, now did it? Guess you didn't have very much humanity left."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you, Ruby. Just one for now, but I'll expect begging later."

His hand tightens around her slender throat and his eyes flash blinding white, and she barely manages to wheeze out, "Sam."

He releases her and she lets out a relieved cough, and looks up at him with wide black eyes. Her voice is filled with awe as she speaks.

"All this time they thought Sam was our demon Jesus, our Lucifer born again human for Michael's redemption, but we were wrong. You're Lucifer and Sam… Oh shit."

"What about Sam?" Dean snarls.

Ruby swallows thickly before replying, "Sam's in a hell of a lot of trouble."

Dean reaches for her throat again, and she shrinks away. "Take me to him and if you're lying or this a trap, I'll make Hell look like a vacation."

"I'm on your side here. Sam needs all the help he can get, especially if they figure out who he really is before we get there."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Dean asks, blinking, and when his eyes open they are green, like when he was human.

Ruby sighs. "You're Lucifer. Sam was Heaven's diversion. You are the Demon Lord and Sam is an angel. Azazel fell for the trap and thought Sam was you. When you sold your soul for him you basically came home and gave him the Devil's protection, but you have to prove you're the Devil, Dean Winchester. I can take you back up there, but we have to hurry. Sam doesn't have much time left. He fell from grace when you died. You're his only protection and you're not doing him a whole hell of a lot of good down here."

"How long has it been?" Dean asks gruffly.

"Nearly five years, and Gideon has him and that hunter buddy of yours, Singer, nearly cornered. There's only so much Loki is stepping in, even if he does like your brother."

He nods. "Lead the way," he says, and then he grabs her arm. She gives him a sharp look. He raises a brow at her and then continues, "Will I have to possess someone up there?"

She snorts. "You have form and can grant us form, but if you really want to you can. And be careful when we get up there, because if you feel threatened you'll release your wings."

"Wings? That's it. I'm calling bullshit."

Ruby rolls her blues eyes, blinks and when her eyes flutter open they are black. "You were a fallen angel, genius. Just wait and see. Don't say I didn't warn ya."

Dean snorts, because seriously? Not that he's buying the whole he's The Devil thing, but wings? Yeah right. That's taking it a little too far in his humble opinion.

----------

Time is getting short, seems like six years comes and goes in a blink of an eye when you're in the middle plain, the place with life and animals, the greatest animal of all, man. Time in Hell dragged along much, much slower, but some of that might have to do with the company kept there. The surrounding endlessness, pain, torture, and nothing left to do but think. Dwell on the past and take apart every moment that led to the point of making that one final deal.

There are two things he remembers most about that moment, saying goodbye to his oldest son and warning him about the thing Sam was becoming. He thought that might make the difference. He underestimated Sam, he always did.

Now Dean is paying the price, but not for long. His deal has been amended. All he has to do is stick with the original plan and Dean will be released from his deal and spared the memories, and the lingering wrath of Hell. With any luck Dean can forget Sam, maybe forget about the life of a hunter, have a wife and a couple of nice, safe, normal kids. Everything that Sam stole from the both of them. Family. Family is something John gave up on the moment his wife died, the moment his youngest son stole all hopes and illusions from him and deprived Dean of a mother.

Every moment he ever traced back to that moment, watching Mary bleed and burn on the ceiling that night, it's all tied up with Sam. Sam is the source of it all, the one that Yellow-Eyed son of a bitch wanted to bring down his reign of terror. Sam is something to either be allied with or he's meant to be destroyed. John will try the first option, but he's hoping he gets the pleasure of carrying out the second option. Knowing Sam, John will be his executioner. John really wouldn't have it any other way. Not after putting together all the pieces, knowing Sam is the reason for Mary's death, he's her killer, and Azazel was his weapon of choice. Sam, who corrupted Dean, and convinced Dean to make that damn deal, sell his soul for a devil. That's what Sam is, a devil, if not The Devil.

John's always been good at one thing, hunting down evil sonsabitches and this is a hunt like any other, just with some higher stakes, his freedom and Dean's chance at a real life hang in the balance. This time John won't fail. After all he didn't strike that final deal and claw his way up out of Hell just to fuck this one up.

----------

Any other time and Dean would probably find this amusing. He barely spares a thought to the idea that the whole state of Indiana apparently hates him, or maybe Indiana is just Hell on earth. How should he know? Oh wait, he's supposed to be The Devil. At the moment, the Devil don't know shit aside from Samuel Winchester is in trouble yet again.

One thing Dean is certain of, and will always be certain of, is that Sam is a magnet for trouble.

He shakes the clinging dirty from his shoulder, and he thinks maybe this whole giving form to demon's is a little trickier than Ruby explained, because while they both have bodies (and Ruby's really not all that bad on the eyes with her blonde hair and the blues eyes and the nice rack that he remembers from when he first met her) they lack clothing.

She rolls her eyes at him and shakes her head.

"I can't believe you found a gateway to this plain through a grave. Only you Dean Winchester."

Dean rolls his eyes. "It's not like I know exactly what I'm doin' here!"

"That much is obvious, genius!" she snaps back and then sighs. "At least we have bodes and don't have to go hunting down a couple of meat suits. I guess it could be worse. Okay, first thing we find some clothes, then a ride and we head out to Lawrence, Kansas."

"Why Lawrence?" Dean asks, suspicion in his voice as his eyes flood with inky black.

Ruby narrows her eyes at him and growls, "Because that is where Sam is, and speaking of Sam, he's not half bad. He's a whole helluva lot less annoying than you are. I still can't believe you're The Devil, or maybe I can considering you're a colossal pain in the ass. So how about we get this show on the road and go save Sam's ass…again. I swear I'm making a career out of getting that boy out of deep shit!"

Dean shoots a glare down in her direction as he snatches her upper left arm in a bruising grip. He leans down, his face in hers, his breath hot, his glare livid, and he snarls, "Just keep in mind one thing, bitch. You're here to help me out. One wrong move on your part and you're going to suffer for it in the worse corner of Hell I can find. Sam is mine. You remember that."

"Does this mean you're gonna piss on him when we find him to stake your claim? I have to tell ya, Dean, that's kinda kinky. I mean I've heard all about your reputation, but seeing it in action, now that's something to look forward to," she replies with a smirk.

He gives her a shove forward as he releases her arm and adds, "You just better prove you're useful."

She looks a little miffed at that comment and then says, "I seem to remember a time when I kicked your ass. You remember, right before your stupidity got me jumped by Lilith and you in Hell. Oh and by the way, you're still a dick."

Dean just flips her off as they make their way through the dark cemetery, and Dean's never been one for nostalgia, but seeing the stars wink above his head, and feel the breeze run across his bare flesh…well it's good being free and on his own terms again. He takes in a deep breath of fresh, sweet air, just to prove the point to himself, and that's when he notices the subtle changes in himself.

He picks up on the faint scent of life all around him, his vision is plain, it's almost as bright as daylight, but he's fully aware that it's not. He looks up again at the sky, and he's amazed at how bright the sky is with the stars and moon, and there's even a star with rings around it. No. That's not right, it's a planet. He can hear the prowling of night animals in the distance, and his hackles rise as he feels eyes on him as he follows Ruby over the wall of the cemetery and through the surrounding woods.

He feels the earth beneath his feet, thrumming with life and power, ancient power that humans overlook and take for granted. So much for the taking, and he realizes now why so many humans are held in contempt by his fellow demons and the supernatural. They overlook the freedom they have, destroy the power that lies in wait for the taking. Such an ignorant species. He shakes the thought away. Fallen angel or not, he's also known what it was like trapped in a meat suit.

He stiffens at the sound of rushing wind, a roar of metal and tires on asphalt. They are nearing a road. Dean looks to Ruby for answers. She seems to know a little bit more about their current location than he does. All he knows is Indiana. Beyond that? He's pretty much lost.

"Where in the hell are we?" he asks.

Ruby snorts. "Bourbon, Indiana, and we're not too far from the outskirts of town. Way I figure, the first house we come to, we break in, get some clothes and go from there. That sound like a doable plan to you? Or you got a better one?"

"Maybe you're more useful than I've given you credit for," Dean replies with a smirk, and that smirk rumbles into a chuckle at Ruby's huff of annoyance, and he has to admit that the pale, silvery light of the moon makes her skin glow, and maybe the form she claims he granted her is kind of hot. Okay, so there's no kind of about it. He's pretty good with the whole granting form thing.

As it is, he's starting to sense things that are a little beyond what he's used to, but it ties in with the senses he gained as a hunter while he'd been human. It's those senses, instincts, that have been sharpened and magnified, and it's an advantage for saving Sam's ass. Dean Winchester, maybe The Devil, most definitely an eternal optimist. Maybe he can add motivational speaker to his repertoire later. Naw. He hates bullshitting big crowds without proper compensation. For now he'll just settle for bitching out Sam when he finds him.

----------

Bobby Singer knew five years ago that burying Dean's body was a mistake. Still, he hadn't expected Sam would be capable of burning the body and salting it right and proper. Then again, at the time, the soul had clearly departed, as claimed souls always do. Burying the body wasn't a problem for what was left of Dean Winchester's earthly remains. It was a problem in how Sam Winchester handled it.

Now he finds himself in a cemetery in Lawrence, Kansas, he's at the edge of the cemetery, near the gate, being held back by the force of Sam's abilities, psychic abilities that have grown since that Lilith bitch claimed Dean's soul. Bobby is shouting about how this is wrong, dead things should remain dead, but this isn't really about bringing Dean back, it's about saving Dean's soul, freeing him from Hell. He can understand, really he can, but he's exhausted every source he has trying to find a way around the deal, breaking what's left of Dean's soul out of Hell. The price is always too high, and there's never a guarantee that it'll work.

He's kept a close eye on the last remaining Winchester these last five years, and he's watched Sam grow stronger, colder, faster, and slip further and further into the darkness. It's gotten to the point where he doesn't even recognize much of the boy Sam Winchester use to be, and that's what scares Bobby the most. He's failed John and Dean. He's failed all the Winchesters, because Sam just isn't Sam anymore.

At the sight of Sam kneeling before the headstone of Dean's grave, he wants to look away. He never wanted to be a witness to Sam's damnation, and here he is with a front row seat. He can't tear his eyes away as Sam sets fire to tangent, spicy herbs in a black bowl made from onyx. He feels the weight of his years bearing down on him as Sam begins to chant in a language that not even Bobby is familiar with, and then he watches in horror as Sam holds out his left arm, his sleeve pushed up to expose the arm from wrist to elbow. Sam picks up a long, curved blade, runes etched into the gleaming silver blade, and carved into the ivory bone of the hilt, as he draws the blade across the pale flesh of his left arm.

Bobby feels bile rise in his throat as the blood drips freely from the wound, sizzling in the fire as it mingles with the burning herbs in the bowl. That's when a jolt of energy passes through the air, pressing Bobby harder against the fence before the energy is gone and then he's falling forward, landing on his hands and knees, his hat blown off from the aftershock of whatever Sam's just done.

For now he could give a damn about the hat, stopping whatever the hell this is, is more important. He strides across the cemetery, hell bent on beating the shit out of Sam, maybe knocking some sense into that damn fool head of his. It wouldn't be the first time a Winchester needed some sense beat into them. He pauses near the tree by Dean and Mary's grave, stops stock still at the figuring emerging from the darkened woods just past the back of the cemetery gates.

The figure draws closer, stands tall, something about the way he moves otherworldly, and yet familiar. Bobby narrows his eyes on the man as he approaches, knowing he's possessed. The man looks to be in his forties, still in good health, dressed in work boots, a pair of well-worn blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and a beat up brown leather jacket. His face is rugged, handsome, sporting a bit of five o'clock shadow, and he moves with the grace of a hunter, and there's something so familiar about him.

The man smiles as he finally reaches Dean's headstone. His smile is cold and calculated, almost a snarl it's so feral, and Sam rises to his feet, a good three inches taller than this man. Bobby knows nothing good will come of this, but he can't seem to find his voice at the moment.

"Well, well, Samuel Winchester summoning demons for favors? My, my how the mighty have fallen," the man says, and he let's out a chuckle as he blinks and when he reopens his eyes they're black as pitch, and he asks, "So who gave you my sigil?"

"Kataras," Sam replies coolly.

The demon snorts. "It figures, but do you know my name?"

"Doesn't matter if I do. I want to know your price," Sam grinds out.

The demon lets out a snort, and his mouth widens into a smirk, one that hits Bobby hard in his gut and makes him think of Dean, apparently Sam gets the same impression as he says, "It can't be… Dean?"

The demon throws his head back and laughs. "Hardly, boy. Now what's my price for what, Sammy?"

"I want to make a deal, free my brother's soul, and you can have whatever you want from me. Can you do that?" Sam asks.

The demon smirks and shrugs. "It's a possibility. But it would cost you your soul, right here, right now, no waiting period. He comes back and you leave with me, straight into Hell. You won't be allowed any contact with him, but you'll be allowed to see that he's free and roaming around up here, just to know your deal is good."

Bobby finally finds his voice, "Dammit Sam, this is crazy! Dean wouldn't want this for you! He fought too hard to bring you back and keep you alive! You can't pay him back like this! Who knows what'll be left of him if he comes back now!"

"I don't care! He'll be alive!" Sam growls, and Bobby takes a step bad at the fierce look in Sam's eyes, and then Sam returns his attention back to the demon, but something has apparently spooked the demon as he tilts his head, and then looks anxiously back toward Sam. He turns back toward the woods at the far reaches of the cemetery and races toward them as an icy wind picks up and slices through the air. Bobby is thrown back into the tree by Dean's grave, Sam is thrown onto his back on the ground, and the fire in the black bowl is blown out.

Bobby blinks and then his mouth falls open in shock as he watches a familiar figure leap over the wall of the cemetery and come running over. He's kneeling next to Sam's unconscious form, and then Bobby notices another figure, a woman this time, with fair skin and blonde hair fast approaching. He swallows thickly as he lets out a croak that sounds an awful lot like Dean before the darkness sweeps across his vision and he just pitches forward into numbing unconsciousness, right along with Sam, and he can't help the stray thought about Sam being a damn fool idjit, it's not the first time, and it's surely not going to be the last, at least Bobby' hopes not.

----------

His body aches all over, but he doesn't feel the sharp grinding ache of broken bones or the burning tear of any cuts or stab wounds with stitches tugging at them, so all in all, he's waking up after what can be termed a very successful hunt. That's a nice change of pace. He groans and stiffens a little, feels safe as he begins to stretch and shift in the really crappy, cheap motel bed, but he's stayed in worse places.

It's kind of funny how he doesn't remember how he got back. Can't really remember much from the hunt. His eyes flutter open and the first thing he sees is Dean's smirk, and Dean reaches out toward him, a familiar, warm, calloused finger slipping down his cheek and across his jaw, caressing. He blinks a little, fuzzy thoughts surfacing in his mind, and then his face scrunches into confusion as he says, "Dean? What? I had the strangest dream, you wouldn't believe me. You were…"

Dean's brows rise, and he says, "Well, come on Sammy, spit it out. It's not like you to be speechless."

"Dead, you're…" Sam says, and his eyes widen as he continues, "Christ!"

Dean winces, his eyes clouding over in a deep, bottomless obsidian hue. Sam jerks up and scrambles up the bed, and finally he gets a look around the room. He notices Ruby smirking in the far corner of the room, her right hand behind her, and if Sam had to guess he'd bet on her hand caressing the hilt of one of her homemade demon slaying blades.

Then his eyes land on Bobby Singer, tied to a chair and looking very uncomfortable in his seemingly unconscious state.

"Bobby, you okay over there?" Sam calls out in the hopes of waking the older man, and maybe it works if the slight groan and tug of Bobby's shoulders is anything to go by.

Aside from looking constipated (which is usually Bobby's expression where Sam is concerned these days), Bobby looks all right, he's breathing steady, and when he comes around, he'll probably be real pissed, and judging from the way Bobby's starting to move and fidget they are all about to find out very soon.

"Bigger damned idjit than your daddy and brother put together," Bobby grumbles as he slowly lifts his head and then his eyes widen at the sight of Dean, in the flesh, standing between the cheap double beds in the motel room, Sam on the left one, his back against the wall, staring around like a damn fool instead of doing something. So much for all those years of training John put the boys through. Then again, John probably never expected his boys to be as dumb and stubborn as him. Bobby is once again reminded of how underestimating and overestimating Winchesters is bad for one's health.

"Dean?" Bobby says, and Dean raises a brow at the confusion and suspicion in Bobby's voice, and then Bobby's eyes narrow in suspicion. "Can't be! Damn demon left before Sam could strike a deal with it! You're some double, a doppelganger, shapeshifter! Can't be Dean Winchester!"

Dean snorts. "What makes you say that?"

"Because Dean Winchester is dead, and it's high time his damn fool brother accepts that!" Bobby growls out, and then his head is forced back as a blade is laid across his throat, just below his Adam's apple, and Ruby says, "Give me the word, and I'll make him grin bright and bloody from ear to ear."

"No," Dean hisses, and Ruby tilts her head at him, but pulls the blade clear of Bobby's throat.

"What a shame. I was kinda looking forward to a little bloodshed, but you're in charge, boss," she bites out, almost a little sullenly.

Sam's labored breathing catches Dean's attention and he spins around to put all of his focus on his little brother. He is taken back by the sight. It's almost as though he's seeing Sam for the first time, golden touched skin, bright green eyes, strong muscles, floppy brown hair, too long but it still suits him, and it strikes Dean hard in the gut. He stalks closer to Sam, notices the minute trembling in his younger brother, can smell the fear of him, and something familiar, something that brings Dean to his knees.

He takes Sam's hand, draws the top of it across his stubbled jaw, and then shifts his face enough so that his lips brush tenderly against the warmth of Sam's right hand. Need wracks through Dean's bones, rushes through his blood, and coils dark and wanton in his gut. Seeing Sam now, even in this state of fear and uncertainty, he knows that Sam is all that ever mattered, all that ever will matter. Sam is the embodiment of everything Dean is, his humanity.

Dean gets back to his feet and then he brings a knee down on the mattress, crawling his way up the bed. Sam's eyes lock with his, and his movements are smooth, predatory, graceful, that of a cat's as he gets closer and closer, until their faces are inches apart and level. Dean swipes his tongue across his lips, sees Sam quivering before him, wary, but still trusting, still so trusting, and as he's about to lean forward to clear the small space between them until finally they are joined the spell is broken.

Bobby knows enough to cut through to the important stuff in a pinch, and this right here, he figures, is a damn tight pinch.

"Exorcizo te, immundissime spiritus, omnis incusio adversarii, omne phantasma, omnis legio, in nominee Domini nostre Jesu Christi eradicare…"

Ruby's shriek is just background noise to the boiling in Dean's blood and the rushing of his ears, the darkness in his gut roiling through his blood stream, and then his back arches, a scream tearing from his throat as something burning and cutting rips its way through the flesh of his back. His shirt and jacket are in tatters of ripped cloth on the bed, his chest heaving with the effort to breathe and regain the upper hand, while struggling against the new, heavy weight on his back.

He rolls his shoulders, hears the wet flapping of something, feels strange movements and shifting in his back muscles, and he shivers when Sam reaches out, touches something behind him, except Dean can feel what he's touching, and when Sam lowers his hand, Dean can see vicious puss-like fluid tinged with blood, slimy and thick covering Sam's hand.

Sam swallows thickly and looks at Dean in awe. "What have they done to you?" he asks, and Dean hears the last thread of innocence torn in Sam's voice, almost like Sam's finally shattered that one last time. This time it's Dean's fault and he hates himself for it.

"Christ!" Bobby says from his chair, finally speechless enough to stop mid-exorcism. Dean flinches at the name of the Father's son, his eyes filming over black as he eases off of the bed, trying to adjust to the new weight at his back, and slowly he flexes, and his eyes widen as he realizes what that weight is. He rolls his shoulders, concentrates and then the wings that erupted from his back are gently flapping around him. He flaps them harder, the sludge and puss slapping against the wall as his wings dry and spread wide. He furls the right one close and around him, examines the black feathers, so silky and connected to the thin skin spread between the small, thin, delicate bones spread from the wide set of jointed bones that connect the wings to Dean's back.

"Can't say I didn't warn you, Dean," Ruby says with a smirk, and Dean hates that the bitch was right, but dude, all he can think about is the fact that he has fucking wings. How cool is that?

"Dean?" Sam asks, his voice small, pleading, wanting Dean to be real, and wanting to know what the hell is going on.

"Sam," Bobby says, "That's not your brother! That's the Devil himself! Lucifer, his wings stained black from his betrayal of God!"

Dean snorts. "It's not that easy Bobby. I am Dean Winchester, but before I was Dean, I was the Fallen, and how pathetic. You believe in a god who's name you dare not speak. Call out to Him, Yahwe, or Jehovah, but if you beseech Him in my presence, dare to use his name."

Dean stumbles then, his legs give way beneath him and he falls to his knees. He clutches at his head, his hands pressing hard against his skull, fingers digging deep, almost like he's trying to rip his head open as memories, curses, wars, bloodshed, sin, despair, regret, hate, and love surface and tear away at him.

He throws his head back, a scream once more tearing from his throat until arms circle around him, a face pressed into his neck, tears warm and salty dripping to the heated flesh of his collarbone and down his chest, and his wings curl around him and Sam, Sammy who holds him through all this pain. As his wings curl around them, his arms encircle Sam, holding his younger brother just as tightly as Sam clings to him, and not only is Dean filled with peace from Sam, he's filled with want, need. Sam is his, his for the taking, and it's his right to claim him. Samuel, one of the fold of Seraphim, the last of his innocence stripped away in his fall to Dean's arms, in his descent to bring the Devil peace.

"I tried so hard to get you back, Dean. I don't care what you are. I'm just glad you're back," Sam whispers brokenly against Dean's neck, his mouth warm and wet with tears against the tender flesh of Dean's neck. Dean tilts his head down, his lips catching Sam's forehead as he replies, "I called out to you, screamed for you to find me. Was never a doubt in my mind that you wouldn't. I just got tired of waiting and found my own way back. No more deals. You're mine, and no one else's, and we'll settle this as soon as I get rid of Bobby and that smug little bitch who's got the hots for you."

Sam's eyes widen and he pulls back in horror. "No! You can't! Bobby… He's family!"

Dean blinks, his eyes green once more, and he rolls them and sighs. "I meant setting them up with their own room or getting us a room. I'm not gonna kill Bobby, now Ruby on the other hand… Depends on her attitude and usefulness."

----------

"Gideon, or should I call you John?" the old man says, a crooked smile twisting his face, and his eyes glowing red as he continues, "Your time grows short. I always thought you were a man of your word. You promised me Sam. I've given you six years to deliver him. There's not much time left. Dean's freedom, release from Hell, and chance at a real life are on the line. Your continued freedom is on the line."

John looks up, a snarl clearing from his curled sneer as he grits his teeth and responds. "I know damn well what's at stake, what Sam stole from me and Dean just by being born. How he killed Mary. I nearly had him at the cemetery, but he had Singer with him, and there was something…"

The old man raises his brows and with an indulgent smile, like a grandfather speaking to an imaginative child, he rolls his hand in a flourished gesture and says, "Continue."

"Something came to the cemetery, something powerful, threatening. It wanted him as much as me, and I knew I couldn't take it. I retreated to regroup, rethink my strategy."

The old man nods, blinks his glowing red eyes and then snorts. "Something more powerful than what you've become? There hasn't been a demon on the surface with that kind of power since young Samuel did away with Lilith. What could frighten the great John Winchester, make him turn tail and run?" the old man hisses, and then smirks and shrugs his old, bony shoulders. "Not that it matters, either you will get Sam to sell his soul to you, or you're bound to me in servitude until I see fit to have leave of you."

John swallows thickly, gives a stiff nod. "I'll bring you Sam. You just remember your end, Agares. Dean is free, with no memories of Hell or Sam or the supernatural. He can be normal, live a good life, a life he was meant to have before Sam came along."

"It's not my end you should be worried about," Agares replies, and then a shiver slips up his worn and weathered spine, but he's careful to cover it, and John Winchester doesn't know the wiser.

Agares turns from the fallen human, melts away into the darkness of the shadows, and when he's alone in the comfort of the shadows he reaches out for the thread that had connected him to Dean, assured him of Dean's presence and current location in Hell, a thread that's grown thinner in recent days, and now has finally snapped all together. Still, there's no need to bring this up with John. All that matters is obtaining Samuel Winchester, he'll make his excuses to John if the time comes.

Read Chapter Two of Two of TempestQuill's Soiled Reverence