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Dean wakes up in Hell and starts screaming. His whole world's nothing but pain and fire, sulfur stench crawling up through his nose and a red haze behind his eyes even when he squeezes them shut. There's something slimey trickling down his belly and he's afraid that it's his guts and Sammy where are you, you promised.
When that gets old, he turns his head fractionally to stare at the person who's holding the knife to his nuts, blinks a few times, and rasps, "Oh hell no, sweetheart. I don't think so."
Bela Talbot, or what's left of her, nearly drops her weapon in surprise. "Dean," she enunciates, "What a pleasant surprise."
She still sounds like she's trying to put on an accent to sound smarter, even with half her face flayed off and her eyes flickering black. Dean bares his teeth. "If you put that down right now," he says, "I won't let Sam kill you when he busts his way down here."
"Still living in a fantasy world then, are we Dean?" She leans forward to trace the knife up his side in one long lick of pain and grins. "Nobody's coming for you, you know. Dear Sammy is probably beside himself with grief about now, poor boy."
A little part of himself wants to believe that; if Sammy doesn't come, that means Sam's safe. If Sam doesn't come, it means he's decided not to use his power and that's more comforting than he can say.
The hooks drag at his shoulders. Dean closes his eyes in defeat. Who's he fucking kidding? Of course Sam's coming.
"So you see," Bela says, totally and completely missing the point of it all because she's a nasty bitch who never did a thing for another person in her whole goddamn life, "Nobody's coming. You might as well enjoy your time with me; I'm rather nice compared to some down here."
Dean's eyes snap open. His hands are pinned above his head, but Bela, stupid goddamn Bela, was never a hunter and she's too close for safety. Her safety. Dean hauls himself up by using the hook in one arm and plants his foot on her face to get the leverage he needs to get them out.
The one in his belly tears with a warm, squishy rush, and, oh, yeah, those're his guts festively decorating his boots now, awesome, but it works. Bela goes down under his boots, squealing in sudden pain even as adrenaline starts to work and Dean can barely feel that wound at all.
He snatches the knife from Bela even as his body is conveniently healing, and grins. "Sweetheart," he croons, "Some people were just not made to hold sharp toys. You're one of them."
Bela makes this ridiculous little squeaking noise when Dean plunges the knife into her forehead. He doesn't let it bother him.
Hell's vast and it smells like sulfur, but aside from all the chains and wailing damned, it's actually not all that bad of a place. Dean realizes that says something about his expectations in life, but, whatever, it's not like he's got much of a choice right now.
Hell also, unfortunately, doesn't have exits with convenient red signs pointing the way out.
"Dean, Dean, Dean," someone says. "Really? You're trying to pull a Houdini act on Hell? When in the history of the world has that ever worked?"
Dean shrugs his shoulders and taps his newly freed sword against the heel of his boot. The sword was from some idiot wanna be torturer; there're apparently a lot of them in Hell. As soon as you take their toys away, they start screaming and gibbering for mercy.
He may or may not have a horde of souls following behind him. They're kind of pathetic and kind of useless, but every time he hauls a soul off the racks, it trails along after him like a three-legged puppy. He hasn't had the heart to send them away yet.
The demon tsks. "You're never going to get out, you know," it says. "Not until you're one of us, at least, and then we'll let you out to have some fun with your baby brother."
Dean snorts. "If you think Sam's gonna sit topside and wait for me to get out, you're seriously stupider than you look, fuckface."
"Time here passes differently than up there, Dean-o," the demon says. It drifts closer, some kind of monstrous construct of blood and bone and something that makes pain screech across all of Dean's nerves. "By the time sweet Sammy finds a way in, well, you'll be ready to greet him with bright black eyes. How about we get started on your little entourage, huh?"
One of the souls behind him moans dejectedly. Dean points a finger at it without turning around and snaps, "You just shut the hell up."
The demon snickers at him and the souls moan a little more. Dean's mouth twists as he sucks on his teeth. "Fine," he says after a moment, "Fine, you get over here, ugly, and you take me down and then you can get on with your whole torturing schtick."
"Gladly," the demon says.
Dean knows that exorcisms aren't gonna do diddly squat down here and he's pretty sure his sword, while nice for cutting his way through rank and file idiots, is not gonna cut it for a full blown demon. Doesn't stop him from taking a swipe at it anyway.
The demon's entire body pulls in and away from the tip as the demon hisses in outrage. Dean absently flips it off when it starts in on his momma and feels the dozen or so souls behind him all draw their collective non-existent breaths.
"Where did you get that?" the demon spits.
He tilts his head, hefts the sword again. It's dark mottled grey and it has the disconcerting ability to burst into flames when he's least expecting it, but it's still just a sword.
"Huh," Dean says. He waves it at the demon again, mostly just fucking with it, and is pretty damn surprised when it the tip of it catches the demon in what he's charitably gonna call its gut and. Well. See, Dean's carved up plenty of shit in his time, but this is the first time his weapon's actually whooshed into flames and started barbecuing the demon as it shrieks.
Dean twists his sword contemplatively, and grins when the demon starts wailing. "You guys might wanna think about not having shit that hurts you on hand. Friendly suggestion, fugs."
Turns out that it's pretty damn easy to hack a demon to pieces if you have a flaming sword. Awesome.
"Hi Ruby," Dean says. She's easy enough to recognize, strung up and ugly as sin. Dean leans against one of the chains, hooked through her thigh and running straight up into eternity. "Fancy meeting you in a place like this."
Ruby garbles blood between her teeth. "Please," she manages, "Dean, please."
Dean takes a minute to savor the feeling of this bitch begging, then toes at her vaguely head shaped area with one shoe. He'd been kind of disappointed to learn that you couldn't make something's head explode if you hung them upside down long enough, but it's still kind of entertaining anyway.
He'd made sure good ol' Gordie had a grand old time with it.
"So, here's how this is gonna go down," Dean says when he's sure she's listening. "I'm going to get you down. Up. Whatever. You've gonna find a way to slither out of this shit hole because, let's face it, that's what you do, and then you're gonna go look after Sam."
He squats down and thoughtfully brushes a trickle of blood away from where her nose might have been before she was turned into a demonic blood-sicle. "You listening?" he prods.
The entire gelatinous mass of her shivers. "Yeah."
"I'm pretty sure you're workin' for someone," Dean says lightly. One of the souls hiding behind him offers him an axe, but Dean waves it away. He's not gonna need it. Besides, his sword is strapped to his side by a nice strip of demon leather, so it's not like he's weaponless if Ruby decides to be stupid and attack.
She doesn't. Ruby's got no eyes at this point because there's a hook going straight through one and the other's hanging by the optic nerve halfway down her cheek, but she gives the impression of a deer in the headlights.
"That's what I thought," Dean says.
"Wouldn't hurt him," Ruby grinds out, "He's the messiah, wouldn't hurt him."
"Shut your mouth," Dean says pleasantly. "He's my brother before he's your demonic Boy King, so you shut your mouth and just listen." He leans in close enough that she should be able to feel him breathing on her, even through the masses of gore, and smiles brightly. "You fuck my brother over and they'll be no place in the goddamn world you can hide from me. I'll crawl out of here and I'll find you. You get out, you help Sam do whatever the fuck he wants to do. We clear?"
"Clear," Ruby moans.
Dean nods to one of his good little soul minions and rolls his eyes when it laughs as it pulls the hooks out of Ruby. It's freakin' hard to find good help down here, of the not-insane variety. His best bets are to get at the Crossroad Demon victims before anyone else does, but even those guys are a little fucked in the head most of the time.
Still, his minions are mostly loyal shits, even if they are buckets full of crazy, and Sam's gonna need something to work with when he finally hauls his ass down here.
"You could go back you know," Ruby says. She's pulled herself mostly back together; it's a pretty damn fugly package.
Dean sniffs derisively. "Yeah, and what if the stupid kid ends up down here and I've gone topside? I don't think so, sweetheart. You go and you tell him I'm waitin' for him, if he still wants me."
There aren't any mirrors in Hell, but Dean's pretty damn sure his eyes aren't green anymore. It kind of bugs him; chicks used to seriously dig his eyes. He scrubs a hand over his eyes, shrugs when Ruby calls him a vain bastard.
He leaves his palm draped across his eyes when he hears her turn around and start stomping away. "Ruby?" he calls. The footsteps stop. Dean contemplates the insides of his eyelids before his mouth quirks up. "Don't you put a hand on my brother. I'll know. And I'll fucking kill you for it. Sam's mine."
The sudden influx of souls into Hell isn't really all the surprising. Dean rolls his eyes because he's pretty sure he's always going to be cleaning up Sam's goddamn messes, then starts to organize it all.
It's pathetically easy to tell which souls are here because they're murderous, kiddy fucking whack-jobs and which ones are there because they just weren't quite fit for the other place. It has to do with the stains trailing in their wake, with the way they open eyes that are already almost demon-black.
"Yeah, no," he says. The soul on the hooks continues whining and begging for mercy, but Dean can just about see the hollow-eyed remains of a little girl if he stares hard enough into it. He's Hell's regent right now, he is not letting this filth run around. "You stay up there. Enjoy your eternity full of torture, dude, you've earned it."
"Dean," one of the souls calls, "Dean, please, please, Dean, please!"
Dean rolls his eyes. Oh, sure, everyone wants a piece of him now that he can pull them off the rack. He crooks a finger at one of his soul minions and deposits a particularly wicked looking knife into its hand. "Go nuts on that one," he says, pointing, before he turns away to look for what's calling him.
The kiddy-killer soul starts shrieking behind him; his minion starts humming a cheerful counterpoint. Dean smothers a grin. Fucking minions.
"Dean," the soul calls again.
"What?" Dean snaps, spinning again.
It's a hunter, and not a very good one to end up down here. Dean has to squint to figure out who the fuck it is, because there's half a hook buried in the dude's cheekbone and it's been... hell, Dean doesn't know how long it's been. He's been down here a while.
"Reggie?" Dean finally asks. He leans against one of the dangling chains and hears a howl of anguish come from a lower level. "Hey, dude, long time no see. What the hell are you doin' down here?"
"Dean," Reggie moans, "Please."
"Swear to God, it's like souls only know two words down here," Dean mutters. He reaches out and rips the hook out with a total lack of concern. He flicks the eyeball off after a second, grins when it hits something down below that starts wailing. "What do I get out of letting you down, huh?"
"Your brother," Reggie gibbers, "Gotta stop him, gotta kill him, save everyth--"
Dean re-inserts the hook by way of mouth and gives it a tug for good measure. "Don't you talk about my brother that way," he says pleasantly. He twists the hook, yanks until the entire top of Reggie's head cracks off with a crunch, and tips his head back to survey the rest of his new recruits.
"Anyone else a hunter that wants to screw with Sam?" he asks. Dead silence. As silent as Hell got, anyway. "No? Good."
Reggie's head is starting to come back together already, so Dean hands the chain to Max Miller. "Go nuts," he says.
Max blinks big black eyes at him and smiles. "'Kay," he says easily.
Dean's been in Hell for what feels like decades by the time he stumbles across an area with chains so thick he can't even wedge the tip of his sword into them. He scratches his head, rolls back his shoulders.
It looks like something's trying to keep this in. Dean's first instinct is to crack it open like an egg, but there's gotta be a reason it's here. And he really, really does not want to release something bigger and badder than he is with no Sam down here to back him up.
He backs away from it and goes to find one of the high level demons.
"That," he says, pointing with his sword.
Alastair pulls in about half of his tentacles and then eyes Dean with a look of such distaste that Dean's gotta grin and salute. "The King of the Bottomless Pit," he spits. "Prince of Lies, the Morning Star, the--"
"Would it have killed you just to say Satan?" Dean interrupts.
The demon looks like it wants to tear his throat out. That's alright; Dean's already killed it once with a rusty spoon and he'll do it again if Alastair pisses him off. He raises an eyebrow and cocks his head, inviting, but the demon just hovers before snorting.
"You humans--"
"Former human," Dean says cheerfully.
"You humans have your God. We have our Deceiver."
"We don't really keep our God locked up in heaven," Dean points out. "Why the bondage gone wrong? He forget his safe word?"
"Your brother's going to free him," the demon says.
Dean sucks on his teeth before letting one side of his mouth tick up in a smile. "Yeah, no," Dean says, "I don't friggin' think so. Lucifer gets free, where's that leave me and Sam? I'd rather rule in Hell than serve in it."
"The seals haven't broken," Alastair says snidely. "But when they do, it's not going to be up to you, mudmonkey."
Dean kills him again for the hell of it, this time using his awesome flaming sword. He's discovered that when he kills with the sword? Shit stays dead. It's a Godsend down here and one he's planning on exploiting for all he's worth.
Sam wouldn't have liked Alastair anyway.
He turns away from the dying mass of demon and stomps towards his minions. There's gotta be one in there somewhere suicidal enough to attempt the rise from Hell. He needs to warn Sam about these seals.
Ava's been gone a long while by the time Dean gets his next little surprise.
"This is not what we allowed you here for," something says.
Dean's pretty sure looking at it full on's gonna turn out to be a big fucking mistake; there's bright white searing his eyes as it is. He wraps one hand around the nearest chain, tugs to see if its occupied, and then swings it around to lean against so he can face... whatever that is.
He keeps his eyes firmly closed.
"Glad to know I'm still screwin' up someone's plans," he says.
"We need you to break the first seal," the white light says. "It has to be you."
"Dude, if you're talking about the seal holding the Devil in, you can go screw yourself." Dean frowns. "No way in hell am I letting that fucker out."
The light gets flares brighter for a moment. "You're the vessel, it has to be you!"
"I'm not anybody's vessel," Dean says, making air quotes around the last word. He misses Sam all of a sudden, so fiercely that he has to curl around his belly to make sure he didn't accidentally stab himself. Sam was the one who had to deal with idiots like this douchebag; Dean's the one who got to shoot them when they didn't listen.
He may be a fucked up almost demon in Hell, but he still has a place with his brother, if he'll ever get here and what if Sam really isn't coming?
"I can get you out of here," the light says. "Return you to your body, your brother, if you just break the seal, Dean. Sam needs you. We'll have to kill him if you don't reign him in soon."
Dean doesn't want Sam to die, but judging by the sudden influx of souls into Hell, if his baby brother does bite it? They're gonna be together again. Dean'll just have to keep an eye out for him.
So he shrugs and says, "You gotta do what you gotta do, man. But," he adds, "You touch my brother and you have to know I'm gonna come after you."
"I'm an angel of the Lord," the light says woodenly. "You couldn't harm me if you tried."
"You sure? Because you hurt him and I'll really try."
"The divine cannot be hurt by the profane," the light says.
Dean flaps a hand at it. "Hey buddy, you're the one that needs this profane person to do something for you."
There's a small pause. It's almost like talking to one of his really fucked up minions, the ones who have been tortured so long they can't even find their toes, let alone hold a weapon. It takes 'em forever to track what you're saying and respond to it.
If Hell's taught him anything, though, it's taught him to be patient. Dean swings one foot and sways in place until the light says, "You have Micheal's sword," in this hilariously sullen voice.
Dean doesn't open his eyes to look at his sword, but he raps the hilt with his knuckles and offers the light a hard grin. "Mine now, dude. I found it fair and square."
"Only the true vessel could hold his sword. You were never meant to become this, Dean Winchester. You must fulfill your destiny by releasing the seal; only then can you return to earth."
"I'm actually doing okay down here," Dean says. "I'd rather be a demon than some vessel any day of the week. Though, hey, thanks for the offer. "
"This isn't how it is supposed to be," the light says urgently. "This isn't how my Father wrote it."
"Word of advice, buddy," Dean says, "Following Daddy's orders gets you, well, here." He gestures widely with one palm, eyes still firmly shut. "Get over it."
Looks like it's time to send someone else up to Sam.
Contrary to popular believe, Hell isn't very hot most of the time; it's more of a I-may-need-a-sweater-but-maybe-not temperature. The only time it gets really hot is when Dean decides he wants to try boiling acid on a few of the more obnoxious souls.
He doesn't ask where the acid comes from. It's not worth thinkin' about. It's just always there when he needs it. Perk of being regent to the Boy King? He doesn't know.
Anyway, Hell's pretty temperate. Dean's making a funky kind of acid mist by boiling something that eats through his chains. It's pretty freakin' awesome is what it is, and Weber is really appreciative of his efforts, if the screamin's anything to go by.
The ambivalent temperature suddenly drops about fifteen degrees and all of the wailing, screaming, pleading background noises stop. Just like that. Even Weber stops paying attention to him, his face turning upwards.
Far be it for Dean to not follow the crowd. He looks up, watches the way the upper level suddenly splits open so light can pour in. "Oh, that can't be good," he says.
A couple of his minions whimper, cowering away from the... is that sunlight? Real, honest to God sunlight? Doesn't matter. Some of the demons are making a mad rush for that rift and while Dean doesn't generally mind the idea of a little mayhem on earth, he's not letting a bunch of demons out to go play if they aren't loyal to him or Sam.
He catches sight of Meg making a beeline and thinks, for a split second, that whoever is responsible for letting that bitch off her chain is dead meat. Then he plants his feet in Weber's gut and uses it as leverage to heave himself up.
Like hell is he going to let Meg run around topside.
She's got a headstart on him, though, one that's big enough that she turns around to scream obscenities, laughing. Dean grits his teeth and contemplates throwing his damn sword at her retreating form, except...
She never makes it.
A long stream of light whips out to incinerate her. She doesn't even have a chance to scream, doesn't slow down, is there one minute and just gone the next. Ash drifts down into the lower levels and Dean has to grab at hanging souls to keep himself from drifting through it. Ick. No thanks.
"Dean?" a voice calls and it's not his minions and it's not a stupid frickin' soul too dumb to know he's not gonna listen to "please." It's not anything in Hell and that's why Dean starts grinning so hard his face hurts.
He's tangled up in chains, his feet on some stupid fucker's head, and it suddenly all means jack diddly squat because that's Sam.
"Long time no see, Sammy," Dean says.
Ava and George are at Sam's back, flanking him, and Dean's happy about that; that's what he sent them to do. Fucking Ruby though, she's at Sam's side like she's an equal, like she has the right. Dean bares his teeth in a smile and says, softly, "Move," listens to the way Sam laughs like home when she scrambles out of the way with a noticeable tremble in her hands.
That's his place.
It takes a second to untangle himself and pat whoever it was he stepped on on the shoulder. "See you got my presents," Dean says, nodding towards his demons.
Sam offers him a grin through the strands of his hair. "Yeah, they were helpful," he says.
Dean's fingers twitch, but he refrains from pulling on that hair. It's too damn long and it makes about half of him want to cut it and the other half want to grab it and yank. "I meant them to be, sparky."
"Thanks."
Sam's not looking at him. Dean's fingers twitch again, but this time it's because he wants to hurt something. He's spent fuck knows how long down here, making sure it's as nice as Hell can get in case Sam wants to visit, and his goddamn brother can't even look at him.
He might be a demon, but that shit's still enough to hurt his feelings.
"Sam?"
"This isn't really how I pictured this going," Sam admits. He waves to Hell, which, okay, it's not pretty but Dean's done the best he can, and then he makes a half-hearted gesture to his own face. "I killed Lilith. Your not going to like how."
Dean crowds into Sam's space, close enough that Sam rears back. Hah, personal space was not for demons. "Yeah?" he asks. "Sam, look at me."
Sam deliberately looks down and away. "No," he says with a half-smile.
Seriously? "Seriously?" Dean asks. He snaps out a hand, the one not busy grabbing the nearest chain to anchor himself, and hauls Sam in by the scruff of his neck. "Seriously, Sam? I spend forty years in Hell, waiting for you, and you think your eye color is going to be the straw that breaks the camel's back?"
Sam's neck goes hot in his grasp. Good. Fucking idiot. Dean rattles a chain, yanks hard to hear the sudden scream of agony, then has to rub at the back of Sam's neck apologetically when his brother does this little flinching thing.
Right, not everyone's been in Hell long enough to take it out on the natives. Got it.
"The last time I saw you, you were pretty adamant about me... staying human," Sam finally offers. His eyes are still hidden under the too long fringe of his hair, so Dean lets go of the chain and grabs the curls with his fingers, pushes them back and off.
His brother refuses to look up at him, but that's fine. He can still see what Sam's trying to hide. Sam's eyes are solid white. It's cute. Kind of creepy, but cute (Dean's probably not the best judge of "cute" right now, since he's pretty sure he'd think Sam was cute if he'd come into Hell covered in exploded spleen and, okay, no, cute is not the word he'd use if he saw Sam covered in guts. Hot would do it. He takes a moment to savor just how fucked up that makes him).
Dean rubs at one of Sam's cheekbones and grins. "At least yours are a different color, dude," he says lightly. "Mine are minion-black."
Sam's eyes snap up. Dean patiently lets him look his fill, hand cradling his brother's face, and sees the exact moment Sam wants to start apologizing. "Don't even start, Sammy," Dean says. "I kind of dig Hell, alright? I've been takin' care of the place for you."
Sam makes a big show of looking around. "I can see that," he says.
"Yeah, it's homey."
Sam won't let him string Ruby back up. Dean sulks about it for a couple of minutes before he remembers who he does have strung up like a pinata. He's kind of scared Sam's gonna lose his lunch when he sees him, because, well, Sam's apparently a lot more delicate than Dean is and his sensibilities, whatever the fuck those are, are easily offended by Hell, but Sam starts smiling.
"Is that who I think it is?" he asks.
"Depends," Dean says. He gives the hook a friendly rattle, one hand on Sam's back to catch him when he flinches backwards from the sudden scream. "Are you thinking that it's the guy who killed you?"
"Jake."
"Dude, I don't need to know his name," Dean says with a frown. It doesn't make it any harder to torture the idiot, but there are a lot of idiots in Hell and if he doesn't even know his minion's names, he sure as hell doesn't want to know this guy's. "Anyway, thought you might like to know how he's doin'."
Sam huffs a quiet laugh under his breath. "I wasn't really worried about him," he admits.
"Pfft, whatever. You know you're getting a kick out of it." Dean leans forward to nose at the back of Sam's hair; it's ridiculous, like Sammy forgot to cut it off because he was too busy, and it makes his stomach flip in really interesting ways.
"Dean," Sam says very carefully. Dean hums in response. "What are you doing?"
"Pretty sure I raised you better than to ask stupid questions like that." He goes right ahead and helps himself to the long stretch of Sam's neck, even if he has to go on his toes and haul on a chain for a little bit of leverage so he can lean over Sam's shoulder.
This time, Sam doesn't flinch at the screaming. Could be because he's too busy swallowing compulsively and gaping like a fish, who knows. "Uh," Sam manages.
Dean feels the vibration of it against his teeth and grins. "Something wrong?" he asks. Sam's got a twelve o'clock shadow like you wouldn't believe but Dean's actually had his lips scraped off before, so it's not bothering him.
Besides, it's making Sam squirm.
"Dude," says Sam.
"Dude," Dean mimics snidely. He twists his fingers in Sam's belt loops and pulls him backwards, snug against Dean's chest. "You gonna finish that sentence?"
"What the fuck?"
"Oh, what, you'll enter Hell for me but you won't kiss me? That's kind of insulting, Sammy."
"What? Why would you even--what?" Sam sputters. "Are you trying to guilt me into having sex with you?" he demands.
"Demon," Dean says automatically, then licks a strip up the side of Sam's neck to give his ear a sharp bite.
Sam squeaks. Honest to God squeaks. "Oh my God, Dean!"
"Pretty sure he has nothing to do with anything down here, Sammy."
"I'm not having sex in Hell!" Sam hisses.
Well, if that's the only objection he's gonna raise... "So let's blow this joint," Dean says. He steps back and spins Sam around, throws an arm across his shoulders to point at where sunlight is still streaming in from topside. "The minions can take care of Hell for a little while."
"You have minions," Sam says faintly.
"What, did you expect me to sit down here whining?" Dean knocks his shoulder into Sam's then has to lean over and bite at his jaw because it's there and he's so fucking happy. "Dude, does that sound like me?"
"No," Sam says, and he hesitantly tilts his head to give Dean better access. Dean takes shameless advantage of it. "You're more of a go-getter."
"Damn straight I am."
It turns out that Sam's actually powerful enough to get around the little problem Dean forgot about, namely the fact that he doesn't have a body anymore and doesn't really want to do the whole black demon smoke shit until he finds someone worth possessing.
("I took out Lilith," Sam says with an eye roll, not that Dean can see it. The white eyes are gonna take a little getting used to. "If her underlings could bring someone back from the dead, why wouldn't I be able to fix your body?"
Dean shrugs. "Gettin' a little full of yourself there kiddo," he says and then feels up his new-old body shamelessly.)
Later on, when Dean's nosing his way down Sam's belly, feeling hot and lethargic in the sunlight, Sam tangles his hands into his hair and says, "I conquered the world for you," in this shocked small voice, like it's just sinking in.
The horizon's smeared with low-hanging smoke blowing in from the east. Dean can smell the tell-tale char of human flesh on the breeze and there's a ring of dead hunters all around them. Stood in the way, Sam had said, milky gaze direct and straight-forward, and even as a demon Dean had mourned a little bit for his baby brother.
The grass is still green, though, and prickling against all his brand new skin and the sunlight is strong enough that he's gonna have new freckles in another ten minutes. The wind's got a better smell under the flesh, just starting to make itself known, and Sam's spread out under him like a gift, like a sacrifice.
Dean sinks his teeth into Sam's hipbone, hides a smile against the curve of it when Sam jerks. "I conquered Hell for you," he says, "I think we're even."