Author's Note:

The following will be an alternate version of season 10 and beyond, if Dean had only stayed a demon. Some events will basically stay the same, and I will list the episodes in the author's note of each chapter.
Destiel rated M in the future.

Enjoy!

Sam twisted the bottle in his hands. The beer in the dark glass had long grown warm, but Sam didn't really seem to notice. His right thumb was absently picking at the torn corner of a label Sam hadn't stopped to read. He had found himself once again sitting on the floor of Dean's room, as he had every passing day since the body had vanished. Empty beer and liquor bottles littered the carpet around him, left over from his previous days of self-destruction.

Sam found that the pain was much more manageable when he was where he felt closest to Dean. The near constant IV drip of alcohol didn't hurt the cause either. He winced every morning when he first saw the mess he had created of Dean's sanctuary, hating himself for disrespecting the one room that had been a cherished safe zone to his brother.

Sam's drunken gaze drifted around the room, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You really did nest when we found this place, didn't you?" It was the first time that Sam could remember Dean unpacking his things so completely. He had pictures of their mom on the nightstand, books thrown haphazardly on an actual bookshelf. Sam was pretty sure Dean even had a secret stash of Busty Asian Beauties hidden in here somewhere as well. Sam chuckled at the idea. They were both well past 30 at this point.

"Why you still feel the need to hide your porn, I'll never know." Sam's stomach dropped as the words left his lips. "You felt the need…" He corrected himself, realizing that it was the first time he had erroneously used the present tense to refer to his brother since Metatron had murdered him.

Sam's knuckles were white as he gripped the forgotten bottle in his hands. Anger and rage pulsed through his veins, burning away the whimsical air that had taken hold of his mourning. Hatred emerged once again, his ever-present companion since the loss of his brother. They had lost each other before, but this time was different. He had tried his usual plan of attack: summon a demon, make the deal. However, Crowley had never come. Sam wasn't even sure what he would have offered the King of Hell, had he shown.

Defeated once more, Sam had turned tail and headed back to the body, to begin prepping Dean for burial. His world had been shattered when he returned, only to find his brother missing. In his state of shock, Sam hadn't cried. Hell, he downright forgot to even call Cass until Dean's phone had rang the first time. He found himself instead drowning in a perpetual bottle, ignoring the sorrow that endlessly seemed to be verging on smothering him.

Deep down, he knew what his problem was: without a body to salt and burn, he had no way to truly mourn the loss of the last family he had. He knew it was foolish and crazy, but without a body, he found he still harbored an insane hope that Dean was out there somewhere. Rationally, Sam knew his brother was dead. He had held his lifeless corpse in his arms until long after the flesh had run cold. He had hefted the dead weight of it into Baby.

Once the body disappeared, however, he found the nagging hope biting away at him during every sober moment he had experienced since. That was probably the actual reason he had stayed drunk these last three weeks, if he were being truly honest with himself. Because if he were sober long enough, he found, the hope would only last so long. Then the suffocating wave of despair would roll over him. It had been so thick that he had nearly passed out from the weight of it. That had been the first morning after Dean had died. Ever since, Sam had refused to tempt that demon inside himself again; every moment since had been spent with a drink in his hand.

The radio had been playing idly since days forgotten at this point, but just then, Zep's "Traveling Riverside Blues" began to wind its way through the room. Sam's lips just barely managed to turn up at the sound of one of Dean's favorite songs. He poured a shot of beer out for his brother, not caring that he was soiling the carpet, and then lifted the bottle in the general direction of the sky. "Here's one for you, Big Brother. Wherever you are," Sam whispered to his childhood companion, protector, and best friend.

He brought the bottle to his lips, but the warm liquid did little to soothe the hurt inside him tonight. For some reason, the skunky flavor of it felt like the final stab to his gut. With a broken outcry of anguish, Sam threw the still mostly full bottle at the radio. The glass shattered, but the now soaked radio kept on playing, taunting him. Sam did what he had not done since the night his brother had passed.

He cried.

Cass sat alone at a table in McKinney, Texas. Emporium Pies was the latest stop on his journey, The Drunken Nut his most recent conquest. Every day since Dean's death, Cass had visited a different pie shop, trying one pie at each location.

He told himself that, with his dying grace quickly fading away, he had nothing better to do with his time left on Earth. But secretly, he knew better than that. Eating these pies, even surrounded by others enjoying the desserts, he felt close to his lost friend. He always left a single piece behind, untouched. He knew Dean would never be there to eat that final slice, but like Sam, he held an insane hope. It was completely unjustified and absurd, he knew that. But no one ever claimed hope was rational.

Cass looked up from the table, glancing around at nothing in particular, when it caught him. He stood up so quickly that his chair fell backwards, scaring several other customers and staff, but Cass was too busy heading to the nearby window to give a damn.

Separated by a mere pane of glass, he stood staring at a car he would recognize anywhere: Baby. There she sat in all her beauty. Cass was not even concerned that it could be a look alike - Baby possessed a unique energy about her that Cass could not describe. He theorized that it came from all the years of love Dean, like his father before him, had given to her. Cass just stood there, ignoring everything around him, wondering where she had been these past weeks. Baby had disappeared the same night that Dean's body had.

"If Baby is here..." He had not finished muttering to himself before his eyes locked onto her driver, who was currently placing a to-go order at the counter. Dean. But it could not be. Cass knew that Sam would not make a mistake like thinking his brother was dead when he really was not.

As he grabbed his sack of pie from the counter, Dean's attention followed a beautiful blonde walking past him. As his eyes followed her movements, Cass saw something in them that nearly knocked his legs out from beneath him.

Dean's eyes were black as coal.

Sam sighed as he perused the bunker's refrigerator. One irritating side effect of his constant drinking, besides the daily hangovers of course, was the reality that had begun to set in. What scraps were left had long since gone rancid. Slamming the door, Sam began to accept that today might be the day that he finally left the bunker.

He leaned against the counter, letting his new life wash over him fully for the first time since his brother passed. He pulled the phone from his pocket, reading the date on the display. Forty-three. That was the number of days his brother had been dead. Forty-three days that Sam had been alone in this world. Dean should have been long buried by now. He would have been, had Sam been strong enough to stay sober and find his body.

Anger boiled within Sam's gut, both at the situation and himself. He squeezed the phone in his hand, his grief growing to a breaking point. He hurled the phone at the nearest wall, shattering it into about forty or fifty pieces. It rained down onto the tile of the kitchen - and onto Cass' shoulder. Sam hadn't realized that the angel had returned. Strangely enough, Cass didn't seem to notice the electronic fragments clinging to his overcoat, nor Sam's outburst for that matter. He just sank into a chair at the table, looking more exhausted than Sam had ever seen him.

"Cass. I didn't know you were headed back," Sam sat across the table from Cass, his concern for the angel a momentary distraction from his own pain. The look of pure anguish on Cass' face shook Sam to his core. "Is something wrong?" Sam barely contained the hysterical laughter that threatened to consume him. Everything was wrong. The better question was whether anything would ever be right.

Cass looked up from the table, as if he were just now noticing that Sam were in the room with him. There was a pain in his eyes, which Sam understood only too well. If anyone had been as close to Dean as he was, it would have been Cass. But what concerned Sam was the fear he saw there, too. It almost felt as if the angel was afraid to tell him something. He couldn't imagine how things could get any worse than they already were.

"Sam." The gravelly voice he knew so well was thick and labored. Yep, Sam knew he was about to find out just how much worse life could get. "I saw the impala yesterday."

Sam let out a half-hearted chuckle to mask his pain. "Not one to soften the blow, are ya, Cass?" Sam waved his hand dismissively as Cass attempted a response. Squaring his shoulders, he proceeded, "Did you find the demon joy-riding around in her?"

It was an assumption, of course, but Sam believed it was a smart one. Based on the fact that only Crowley would have thought to steal both Dean's body and his Baby, Sam wagered that he was right on the money.

Boy, life just kept on kicking however, as Cass sighed and continued, "Yes, Sam, I did." When he didn't immediately continue coming forth with the details, Sam found himself growing anxious. He stood and made his way to retrieve the only consumable left in the fridge: beer.

After popping the cap and swallowing a swig, Sam began to realize Cass wasn't going to continue on his own. "Cass?" The angel met his gaze. "It was one of Crowley's guys, right?"

"No, Sam." Cass' stare seemed to plead with Sam, begging him to understand what he was not saying.

Sam's arm froze as he went to take another swig. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

Cass gave him a soulful look, agony in his eyes. "It was Dean."

Sam nearly dropped the bottle for the rage that filled his chest. "Crowley has one of his cronies using my brother's body… as its meatsuit?!" He didn't wait for Cass to respond before he began to head toward the garage.

"Sam, wait." Cass called after him, his voice still weak as before.

Sam spun on his heel, his rage boiling over toward his only remaining friend. "What I want to know is why you even came back here. We could have met up, wherever you were. We could have rid that demon from my brother's body by now. I'd have my brother's body back by now if you had just called me the moment you found the bastard!" Sam took a step towards Cass, finally releasing all the pain and sorrow he had kept locked inside over the past forty-three days.

Cass stood, holding up his hands in surrender, approaching Sam the way one would a frightened animal. "It was not a demon in his body, Sam," Sam opened his lips to speak, but Cass pressed forward. "It was Dean. He was the demon, Sam." Cass paused, allowing Sam time to process the information.

"But… he can't…" Sam's legs trembled below him, and Cass moved toward him, realizing where this was headed. He grabbed Sam around the shoulders, just a moment before his legs gave way beneath him. They stumbled, the forgotten bottle dropping to the floor, and Cass lowered Sam back into the chair he had left moments before. Cass sat back down at the table, resting his head in his hands.

"How, Cass?" Sam voice was weak, trembling with an uncertainty that Sam rarely exhibited. His hand shook heavily as he ran it through his hair, a nervous habit that did little to pacify his fears. Cass sighed, both their pain and his dying grace really beginning to take their toll on his will to continue. Nevertheless, by the looks of Sam, Cass knew that he needed to be the strong one through this. Sam honestly looked worse than Cass had ever seen him, even having witnessed the aftermath of the trials. Cass pressed on, however, knowing Sam would not let it go until he had every detail, no matter how bad it would be for the both of them.

"Honestly, Sam, I'm not completely sure. The best guess I have is that The Mark is to blame for this. There were rumors that Cain made a deal with Lucifer, but that may not have been the complete truth." Cass paused, allowing the thoughts he had been harboring to process themselves in a clear manner. If he did not concentrate, he found his grief would take him down spirals of despair. "I have begun to believe that The Mark cannot be killed, thus when the host dies, The Mark protects the vessel by creating a new demon to reside within it."

"A new demon?" Sam's eyes jumped to Cass, a sudden clarity in them that Cass found unnerving. "So it's not my brother in there?" Cass could have wept at the blind hope he saw in Sam's eyes. It almost broke his resolve to have to be the one to take that hope away.

"A demon is made through the tainting of a human soul. The Mark seems to taint the soul of its vessel in order to preserve itself. The demon is your brother."

Sam stood, quickly pacing the length of the table. The hope in his eyes had transformed itself into something much more dangerous, something more unhinged. "But that's all just a guess, right? It might not be -"

"Sam!" Cass cut Sam off before he could ride the crazy train any further. His tone must have done the trick; Sam sat back down, though his eyes still troubled the angel. "Sam. Of all the souls I have encountered during my time here on Earth, I would know both of the Winchester brothers anywhere." They were his only true friends, upon the Earth or otherwise. "The soul I looked upon may have been tainted and charred black by The Mark, but it was definitely Dean." Cass tried to convey his sympathy and sorrow to Sam. He knew this would be a devastating revelation for Sam to process, as he too felt the same grief.

Sam placed his head in his hands, wishing he could just ignore the angel's report and just make it all disappear. He was trying his hardest not to lose it completely, and he wasn't sure how much more of his resolve he had left. He sighed, running his hands through the long hair that Dean would be threatening to cut, if he were still the same Dean Sam had grown up with.

His brother. A demon.

"Well, Cass," Sam took a deep breath to steady his voice and calm his nerve. He had to hold strong for what was about to come. "You know what this all means, don't you?" Cass raised an eyebrow, but did not speak. He seemed to be frozen by Sam's sudden resolve. Sam's voice turned low and deadly with a certainty he did not feel.

"It's time we hit the road for a hunt."

Sam let the engine idle as he sat alone in the car, staring at the dive bar ahead of him. The sign proclaimed the seedy establishment to be The Blue Bird, "Home of the World's Best Curly Fries". Sam seriously doubted that. This place was even a bit low for their standards, but it was where his brother's trail had gone dead. Sam hadn't wasted any time leaving the bunker after Cass had given him the rest of the details.

Sam sighed in a mix of frustration and weariness, wondering just what had brought them both here. How could it have come to this? He was hunting his brother, for God's sake. He just couldn't wrap his head around the feeling. It had always been the two of them against the world. Now it felt like the world had taken his brother and left him to drown.

With a heavy heart, Sam killed the engine. There was no point in prolonging the torture ahead. As he approached the bar's entrance, he caught the sounds of a mediocre band and someone doing horrible vocals. His eyes read a sign on the door as he pulled the handle, "Wednesday - KARAOKE NIGHT" written in sloppy handwriting on it. And wouldn't you know it, just Sammy's luck - it just had to be Wednesday.

Sam didn't wait to be seated, but instead strode past the hostess station with determination - that is until he spotted his target at the bar ahead. Dean. His brother was laughing over a beer while perched on a barstool next to none other than Crowley himself. Sam ducked into a well shaded booth as his resolve took a harsh blow. Sam had expected to find Dean here, but he hadn't expect to find his brother.

A waitress came to take his order, which he kept simple with just a glass of water and a house salad. His tone was short and clipped with her, but that was to be expected, given the circumstances. She surveyed him as if he had three heads before sauntering off toward the kitchen.

Sam couldn't believe his eyes as he watched the demon next to Crowley. Dean looked more alive and at ease than Sam could remember since they kids. Even then, Sam could still remember Dean being too old for his skin, always on guard to protect his younger brother. But that all had been stripped away, and Dean didn't seem to be carrying that constant weight on his shoulders anymore. If Sam hadn't known better, he would swear his brother had identical twin. It was just downright unnerving to watch him laughing it up with the King of Hell.

The guy on the karaoke stage was butchering some Kenny Chesney hit, which seemed to leave Dean no choice but to heckle him into oblivion. But even Sam had to admit that, demon or not, there was no malice in Dean's actions. He was just a guy in a bar, having the time of his life. Dean simply looked, for lack of a better term, free.

The man hung his head as he left the stage, which Sam realized held the band he had heard earlier, playing backup for the poor souls who tried to perform for the drunks in the crowd. Sam had been so wrapped up in Dean that he hadn't even noticed the band when he first arrived. He shook his head, trying his damnedest to get it back in the game.

What appeared to be one of the bar's waitresses, maybe the one who served him but he couldn't remember, took the stage next, a mischievous grin playing wildly on her young face. "I'm calling you out, Dean Winchester!" She laughed into the mic, causing Sam to choke on the water he had been sipping. "For the last week all we've heard from you is heckles. It's time you got up here and showed us what you got!" She stood on the stage, tapping her toe in a mockery of a clock, waiting for his brother to approach. She'd be waiting a long ass time, if Sam knew his brother.

"Like hell he'll ever…" The words froze as he caught sight of Dean approaching the stage. In all their years working on the family business, Dean had professed a deep-seated hatred of karaoke. He had always claimed that it was where washed up rock wannabes went to die without dignity. While Sam believed that was well, he knew it was only a half-truth for Dean. While Dean could sing along to the radio with the best of them, Sam knew Dean secretly possessed quite a substantial amount of stage fright.

Yet there went his brother, no look of dread in his eyes, instead an old playful shimmer that Sam had long thought dead. Dean whispered something to the band before approaching the mic, a deadly prowl in his hips as he walked. He shot a lecherous grin to the waitress as she took his spot on the bar stool. Dean closed his eyes for a moment and looked to be steadying himself. Sam realized his breath was shallow as he waited to see what the demon would do.

Dean's voice slid smoothly through the air as he began acapella in his rendition of Styx's Renegade. Sam's jaw went slack as he listened to his brother sing, not believing what he was hearing. He knew his brother liked to sing along with the radio, and in the shower at 3 am (much to Sam's disdain), but he never knew that Dean was good. He belted the lyrics with abandon, perfectly reaching even the highest of notes. He showed no hint of insecurity as he performed.

And that was the moment when Sam began to wonder whether his brother would be better off remaining in his new state of existence. He just seemed so free and happy, more so than Sam could ever remember.

But as quickly as the thought came to him, he dismissed it. He knew his brother. His true brother. Dean wasn't meant to be a demon. He was a hunter, deep down to the core of his soul. He wouldn't want to ever be left in this state; no matter the cost it would present to remove him from it. Sam knew Dean would approve of his plan, if the tables had been turned around. His gut pushed him out of the chair he sat in, leaving him to abandon his untouched and wilted salad. He wound his way through the tables to stand by the stool Dean had occupied. Rude and abrupt, he chased away the waitress, who shot him a nasty glare as she retreated to the kitchen. Yes, she was definitely the one who he had encountered before. Under any other circumstances, he would feel ashamed of his mistreatment of her. But he didn't have time to waste on a simple woman's feelings right now. He was all business as he turned to Crowley, who seemed just now to be aware of his presence.

"Moose." He wore a bored look of amusement as he addressed the younger Winchester. "What brings you to this less-than-fine establishment?" His tone was perfectly cordial, but his eyes told Sam that he was poised to call his goons at the first sign of trouble.

"You know why," Sam had to control everything inside of himself to keep from punching the King of Hell right in the jaw, knocking the attitude right off his face. "I've come for my brother."

"Does it look to you," Crowley tilted his chin in a way of acknowledging the sight before them, "like Dean wants to leave?"

Sam's gaze drifted back to the stage as the music ended, meeting his brother's face for the first time in just under a month. His stomach dropped as brown eyes met endless black.

Dean felt his heart race as he took a breath, just before he began his song. He couldn't believe he was about to do this. But as the words began to leave his lips, he couldn't contain the grin that came with them. He let the music consume him, taking him far from the dank little bar he was in.

He still couldn't wrap his head around the new state of himself. He would have never had the guts to do this sort of thing before. Then again, he wasn't the same man he was just a month and a half ago. No, that Dean had been human. Not a black-eyed monster of the night: A Knight of Hell.

He still wasn't sure what to make of it all. He kept waiting for it to all go downhill, but he had begun to believe that he might have missed a bullet this time. He still felt like himself, where it mattered most. Sure, he had been freed by the transformation; he would admit that in an instant. The weight he had borne since he carried Sammy from the burning house all those years before had been lifted off his shoulders. For the first in his life, he felt like he wasn't on the edge of suffocating.

He of course still missed all those that had been lost since the beginning. But their loss had become a manageable ache, rather than a throbbing that never ceased to have him on the verge of sinking to his knees.

Ash, Ellen, and Jo.

Rufus. Bobby.

Kevin and Mrs. Tran.

His dad and his mom.

But most of all, he missed Sam and Cass. Even though they were still alive as far as he knew, they might as well be worlds away. It wasn't as if he could go back now. What would he even be able to say once he waltzed back into the bunker, back from the dead and soul blacker than soot? Somehow, he found Crowley and the dive bar scene much easier to handle. Sure, the food sucked and the music was both kinds: Country and Western, but at least the women hadn't been half-bad. But they never quite filled the whole his two best mates had left. Dean knew Sam would never be able to understand this new state that he was in. It just wasn't worth the heartache.

Dean pushed down his longing for his brother, focusing on the lyrics of his song. As the final notes played, his eyes searched the crowd, pleased as he noted the generally pleasant consensus he saw there. However, he found himself floored when his eyes passed from Crowley onto brooding shoulders he would recognize anywhere.

Sammy had found him. How he had missed that Moose of a man in here, he would never be able to say. Sam turned towards him at that moment and Dean felt his eyes shift to black. His breath caught in his throat as he forced his eyes back to their natural green. While many in the bar knew what he was, he continued to play it safe, a lifetime of hunting being hard to break. He knew he should head off the stage and confront the spiritual demons in the room, but for the first time since he had died, he actually felt fear. He had avoided this confrontation for as long as he could, and now that his brother had tracked him down, he wasn't ready to face him.

In a moment of profound cowardice, Dean retreated to the back of the stage to speak with the band. After informing them of his next song choice, he returned to the mic, squaring his shoulders. He passed a soulful stare to his brother, willing him to understand. He looked away and spoke into the mic, addressing the rest of the bar.

"If no one has any objections, I'd like to sing one more." While he hadn't been looking for their approval, he found a healthy amount of enthusiasm sent his way, even hearing a catcall from the kitchen. He looked back to Sam again, just as the music began to play. "This one goes out to my little brother."

He closed his eyes then and let the music take him away.

Sam sat frozen on the stool Dean had left cold, not knowing whether an unseen force or his own shock held him there. When Dean spoke, Sam's stomach twisted in a strange mix of happiness and apprehension. He couldn't help but feel overjoyed seeing his brother alive before him. He had to repeatedly remind himself that it really wasn't his brother up there. It couldn't be.

It was a demon.

As the second song's notes began to work their way through the air between them, Sam studied the demon on the stage that looked like a distant memory. Not only was the song not of Dean's usual "Greatest Hits of Mullet Rock", Sam was decently certain that it was still playing on current hits lists. Sam didn't know the name or the lyrics, but he was sure he had flicked past the tune a time or two when Dean had actually relinquished the radio dial.

When I was a child, I heard voices…

As the words traveled to him from his brother's lips, he gained the understanding that Dean was attempting to send him a message. This specific song seemed to be an ode to their current situation - or more appropriately, Dean's.

Don't you ever tame your demons. But always keep 'em on a leash.

He got the message Dean was projecting his way. Dean would not be saved by using any sort of cure. He wanted to stay the way The Mark had made him. The problem that lay before Sam was a killer:

Could he live knowing what his brother had become?

Dean prayed silently as he sang, willing his brother to understand. He would not be subjected to the cure. He was still himself where it counted, just a free man after a lifetime of self-loathing. Not only was his demon existence a cure for that affliction, Dean had made a startling discovery during his first week of new life: The Mark had become a non-issue. He felt no hint of the perpetual blood lust he had come to loathe since taking it onto his arm.

His first few days as a demon had been relatively quiet, but eventually an old follower of Abbadon's had come for Crowley. As per the usual for the King, Dean had been left to do his dirty work. Fearing the worst, he had taken down the demon with more ease than he cared to admit. That was when he had found his complete acceptance of his new state. Without the lust of The Mark, he ironically felt more human than he had in a long time.

He knew that a single song would never be able to convey everything that he wanted to say to his brother, but he vowed he would make amends the moment the final words left his lips.

When I was a man, I thought it ended…

As the final verse began to pull itself from his lungs, Dean felt his stomach contort in both fear and anger. Sam somehow had disappeared from the crowd without his notice. The King of Hell was also nowhere to be found, he discovered. He internally cursed himself for losing himself so deeply to his internal musings. He scanned the room, willing the song to end as quickly as possible. The fear in his gut stemmed from a concern for his brother; the anger knowing that he was most likely somewhere with Crowley.

The final notes of the band were still reverberating through the amps as his boots hit the sticky cement. He quickly approach Cyndi at the bar, who flashed him a seductive smile. If only he had the time to use those lips the way he had several times over the past week. He cut her off before she could make him an offer he couldn't refuse.

"No time tonight, Cherry Pie," he said gruffly. He had nicknamed the waitress that on their first night here after catching her hips bouncing through the tables to the tune. She hadn't seemed to mind. In fact, she had decided to show him just what it meant to taste so good he could cry from it.

"Where did Crowley run off to?"

It couldn't have been more than three minutes since Crowley had pulled Sam into the alley, but boy had he made good use of his time tonight. Sam's jaw was aching something fierce from a solid right hook he hadn't known Crowley to possess. Gone was the usual banter the King of Hell loved to dish, instead replaced with an almost crazed need to bust Sam into bruised and bloody pieces. Crowley made quick work of Sam's body, but he didn't miss a chance to deliver a few psychological blows while he was at it.

"Did you think you could come here, into my territory," he kneed Sam in the gut to accent his possession of the bar, "and just take Dean away with you?" For the first time in years, Sam felt legitimate fear in the face of Crowley. The demon seemed to seethe with anger, an unhinged quality flashing in his eyes. His sudden fear was likely due to the sudden remembrance that Crowley was not their ally. He was the King, first and foremost. He had been so frequently of use lately that the threat had nearly disappeared. But Sam had no problem seeing it now. Two of Crowley's goons stood nearby, aiding Crowley by holding Sam immobile in the air.

"Dean doesn't care about his little whelp of a brother anymore. Why do you think he came so freely when I called?" Sam winced, at both the blow Crowley dealt to his stomach and the harsh reality he had yet to face. Crowley's words were echoes of the ones his fears that taunted his mind whenever he had dared stay sober. "Dean's shaken himself from your pathetic grip on him. He's living it up here in ways he never could when he had to keep his eyes on you." Crowley hooked him hard across the jaw, grabbing Sam's long locks in a single move that trapped his gaze on Crowley's face. He struggled to breathe around the blood that was pooling around his tongue. Crowley lifted his arm to strike him again, but paused to send more verbal assaults into Sam's face, his breath so close Sam could smell the liquor on it. "Squirrel has finally discovered his true nature. He's no longer your brother; he's mine."

Sam felt Crowley's shoulder shift to strike, but a familiar clearing of a throat gave him pause. As Crowley glanced over his shoulder to the newcomer, Sam's heart leapt with an unfathomable hope, believing his brother was finally coming to save him from the demented agony Crowley was making his personal vendetta to dish upon him. However, as Crowley stepped back to reveal his handiwork to Dean, Sam's stomach sank, his heart faltering. Dean's eyes were cold and menacing. He felt the weight of it come crashing down on him, and he sank down into the psychic grip the nameless demons held on him. There was no doubt in his soul that Crowley's words were spot on.

"What do we have here?" Dean's voice was a tone Sam didn't recognize, a cold and disconnected emptiness that shook him to his core. The karaoke had filled him with a hope he hadn't admitted he held, but that was gone now, burned away by the body standing before him. He resigned himself to the fact that he was about to die. His brother was not standing before him. There was only a demon set to kill.

"I was just regaling our dear Moose here with some stories of your new adventures these past weeks. Explaining your true nature." Crowley punctuated the word with another blow to Sam's torso, breaking several ribs in the process. Sam struggled to pull in oxygen, as he begged with his eyes that Dean would to come to his rescue. But Dean made no move to stop Crowley's abuse, staring lazily at the scene before him. "Care to give him a demonstration?" Crowley's evil grin was met with a flash of black eyes and a devilish smirk from Dean. Sam knew he only had moments left on this earth.

"Certainly." With a simple flick of his wrist, Dean sent the two goons smoking out of their meatsuits into the air around them. Another sent them pooling into the ground, leaving a scorch mark where they hit. With the loss of their grip on his body, Sam tensed himself as best he could for the incoming impact on the pavement, but it never came. Instead, he felt as if a hand was slowly lowering him down and backwards against the building. The eyes he met in his brother's skull were still black as coal, but he swore they begged for his trust in that moment. Sam pressed himself against the wall as Crowley spun to face Dean full on with a violent hiss.

"What do you think you're doing?" He stepped closer to Dean in a menacing gesture, but Dean appeared unstirred by the aggressive tone. He even seemed to be just a bit amused by the turn of events.

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear to you, Boris," Dean slowly, methodically walked a perimeter around Crowley, who was quickly looking more uneasy by the second. If Sam didn't know better, he would think Dean was pushing Crowley farther away from him. "You do not want to make me angry." Sam would have laughed at Dean's inappropriate pop culture reference if the situation had been any less dire on his end.

"Watch you tone with me boy." Crowley's eyes thinned in anger at Dean's arrogance, but Dean stayed calm beneath the glare of the demon before them. "You're a demon. I am the King of Hell. You forget who owns you."

"And you forget what makes me who I am." Dean's voice turned deadly and Sam watched as the First Blade seemed to materialize within his brother's grasp. "I may be a demon. A Knight of Hell, to be precise. I would have to be dead not to notice certain upgrades I seem to have been gifted with." Dean flexed his neck and shoulders, as if he were loosening himself up for a good old-fashioned schoolyard brawl.

Sam was sure now of one thing, however; Dean's pacing was slowly moving Crowley as far away from the battered Winchester as possible. He began to cling to a renewed sense of hope that he hadn't been mistaken in the bar, that his brother was still in there. With his next words, Sam was given his answer.

"But above all, you have neglected one little, yet important, fact about my true nature, as you put it. I am a Winchester. First and foremost. And one truth will always and forever rule my soul, no matter how tainted or charred it becomes." His free hand flying out in front of him, Dean slung a telekinetic blast at Crowley, nearly knocking the elder demon off his feet. "No one fucks with my family."

Crowley's eyes flashed red in warning. His voice shook with an undeniable power. "Knight or not, boy, I made you and I can end you!" Dean chuckled at the threat they both knew held no value at this point. He brought up the arm that held the Blade in a quick motion, while Sam watched his brother in awe. He couldn't believe what he was seeing with his own eyes. Dean seemed so in control of himself that it left Sam dumbfounded. Crowley's body flew through the air, hitting the brick building hard enough to crack the wall behind him. Dean kept him suspended in the air, several feet from the ground.

When Dean's next words left his lips, no amusement was left to be found. "You best remember who I am, you pathetic little vermin. I only followed you because I worried about the people I love." Dean spared a glance back to his brother, who saw concern wrinkling the skin around his black eyes. "I may be a demon now. There's no evading that. But I am not one of your playthings. I am what you fear most." Dean slowly approached Crowley's hanging form as he spoke, bringing the Blade up to his throat. Sam swore there was true fear in Crowley's eyes now. "And most importantly of all: You are no king of mine." He flung Crowley away with an almost disinterested stare. "Go find yourself a new whore for the night." Crowley looked up from the ground where he landed, his eyes burning with unspent rage. But Dean ignored it all with a cool smirk. "I'm sure there are still a few left that haven't crossed that Daddy complex driven regret off their bucket list."
With that Dean turned away to face Sam as Crowley slowly picked himself up off the pavement. "This isn't over, Dean," Crowley threatened, though he seemed to be retreating back into the bar from where Sam was sitting.

"Don't threaten me with a good time." Dean's eyes never left his brother's face as he threw one last insult at the demon's back. He portrayed a perfect picture of boredom, which Sam knew would only anger the King more. Sam knew it was all a facade, however, sensing the tension that boiled just below the surface of his brother's skin. He was poised and ready to strike at a moment's notice.

The elder brother bent down to survey the younger, concern again playing on his features as he took in just how much damage Crowley had dealt. As his eyes clicked back into their natural green, Sam's mind just seemed to be unable to take it. His brother seemed to be exactly as he had last seen him, protective and strong. His body seemed to shut down in that moment, completely devoid of the energy needed to keep his eyes open any longer.

He was pretty sure he heard Dean say his name before total darkness overtook him.

"Sammy." The name left Dean's lips like a prayer as he saw his brother's body slump into unconsciousness. He sighed as he began checking his brother over. Crowley really had done a number on him. A busted upper lip, broken ribs, a probable concussion. Maybe more. He stood and lifted Sam's body over his shoulder. He grunted under the weight, letting out a weak chuckle. Even as a demon, his brother really was a Moose.

He headed toward the lot where he had left Baby parked, whispering to a brother who couldn't hear him, "Let's go home, Sammy."

Author's Note:

Thanks for reading all!

Please let me know what you think, good or bad!

Songs: Renegade by Styx & Arsonist's Lullaby by Hozier