"Let's take a howl at that moon." The voice was smooth and full of temptation, yet distant-as if it was at the end of a long, dark, tunnel. He was so comfortable, almost peaceful, but there was a twinge in his chest that kept him from completely giving in. Why, when he was finally done and at peace, did he want to run to that voice calling him back? Something was being pressed into his hand. A burning sensation worked its way into his hand, as if it had been numb and was regaining feeling, but more intense. This was like a flame licking his skin and working into his bones. Again, he heard that tempting voice: "Feel what I feel." Is this what the voice felt? Did he have this same fiery, pure power flowing through his own veins? He didn't want to leave what was left of death's cold embrace, but this felt so right, and he wanted more. "Open your eyes."

With that command, Dean knew he couldn't die-not yet. Not when he was at his strongest, not that he was now without weakness. He felt his eyelids open, and he found himself staring at the ceiling of what had to be his room. However, everything looked darker, outlined in smoke, and so starkly contrasted that it should have been hurting his eyes to look at anything. He knew he was still staring at the ceiling, because he could see glittering Enochian wards like those that he had painted. Then what was the rest of it? It appeared that he was staring at a sturdy oak table, just like the one that was in the main room of the bunker.

"That's because it is the one in the main room, Squirrel." The English accent, no longer loaded with sultry temptation, gave away who the voice belonged to.

"Call me Squirrel again, Crowley," Dean sat up, "and I'll shove this through your face." He looked down at the First Blade, illuminated red and wreathed in flames. He looked to Crowley, and saw him for who he truly was for the first time-The King, in all of his sadistic glory.

"I see no manners have been born. Surprise, surprise." The demon did not seem to be in his usual black suit, but cloaked in smoke and ash, his face horrific and disfigured with glowing crimson eyes. As much as it should have, the sight did not give Dean pause for any reason at all. "So now you see what every other demon and angel sees when they look at me. If you'd been able to see past my pretty vessel's face any earlier, I'm sure you and your giant of a brother would have killed me long ago."

"Do I look the same?"

"No, you're considerably uglier than I. "

"Very funny." He glanced around his room, unable to focus on just one object without seeing through it into another room. "Is this what everything looks like all the time?" He asked.

"No, just shut your eyes off and things will return to normal, though you will come to want to see everything in a higher quality." Crowley leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and looking at Dean expectantly, awaiting the inevitable question.

"What do you mean, 'shut my eyes off'?"

There it was. Every time, without fail. Crowley rolled his eyes, wondering why the attitude hadn't changed along with the creature. With a sigh, Crowley picked up a small mirror and threw it on the bed. "See for yourself."

Dean, one eyebrow cocked in question, picked up the mirror and looked down. What he saw should have shook him to the core. Staring back at him was not the strong, masculine face and hazel-green eyes of Dean Winchester. Instead, a face, twisted in terrible and impossible angles, outlined in smoke and ash reflected. And in that face were a pair of eyes as black as a moonless night sky. "So, I'm a demon now…" He looked down at his arm, the Mark of Cain burning brightly against his skin, and to the First Blade, still gripped tightly in his hand. With a wonderful realization, he turned a smiling face towards Crowley. "Not just a demon, am I, though? I'm a knight." And sitting before him was his king.

"Enough of your self-admiration, Dean," Crowley extended his hand in an inviting gesture, knowing that the once-hunter would not resist the coming offer, "You want to know what you're capable of, correct?"

Dean smiled, more than thrilled at the opportunity to test his new limits-if he even had limits. "Yes."

"Good. First, I'm being summoned by your brother. It would seem he'd like to bring you back to life."

Dean laughed at the thought of Sam lighting the flame and desperately calling Crowley's name. It embarrassed him to know he had once been that pathetic. "Take me with you."

Sam's voice could be heard swearing as Dean walked behind the king. Normally, he would have sped up to check on his younger brother, but to be honest, he didn't care. He should've, but he didn't. And that was liberating.

"Crowley, where are you?!" Sam ran his hands through his hair, grabbing the back of his head in frustration. The demons could hear his knees hit the floor and a deep, sorrowful moan hum through his lips.

Crowley stopped just behind the doorway, turning slowly to Dean. "Would you like to do the honors, or shall I?" He gestured to the door.

Dean, who had been looking down the hall with his new vision, comparing to what it looked like when his eyes were human, locked his eyes on Crowley. His eyes glittered wickedly in the low hall light. "It would be my pleasure," he growled as he stepped around Crowley and into the doorway. He looked at the figure of a man kneeling on the floor, his face buried in his hands. He did not cry, but simply rocked back and forth, still moaning in agony. For the first time, he saw straight into Sam-the torture he had endured the past nine years echoed in his very soul. So that's what a human soul looks like, Dean thought. It was golden for the most part, but outlining it was still a smoke-more than likely a result of the demon's blood. Dean sucked in his breath in a sharp hiss as his eyes burned from seeing the small amount of remaining grace, blinding in its purity. Obviously, Castiel had not removed all of it. He suddenly realized he could no longer see the colors, but instead the now rigid back of Sam. Dean looked down, realizing that the temporary blindness must have forced his vision to change. He heard Sam swear under his breath in astonishment.

"…Dean…?" The name was carefully said, as if speaking Dean's name would make him disappear.

If only Sam were so lucky.

A smirk tugged at Dean's lips as everything became crisp again. Oh, the timing was too perfect. He raised his head, his jet black eyes shining. The smirk grew into a grin, then a sneer as shock and horror shot into Sam's eyes like a bolt of lightning.

"Hey, Sammy."