He couldn't remember his name. He couldn't remember the sun or the sky or what it felt like to love somebody. He was in Hell; he couldn't remember what he'd done to deserve it either.
He knew he hadn't always been there because there was a vague recollection of contentment in his soul that was just vivid enough to make every experience in Hell that much worse. He remembered guilt and regret, like the first time he'd cut into another soul, but he didn't feel them now. The years passed in a haze of blood and gore and fire. He tortured freely and he was good at it. Alistair said that meant he was becoming a demon; a thought that gladdened him.
Then the whispers began just as he remembered them from before; whispers about him and who he was before. Demonic gossip seldom reached the ears of people it wasn't supposed to but he had ways of making people talk and he soon heard talk of a terrible being that was fighting its way through Hell. An angel and it was said that he was its prey.
Not long after he the rumors began Alistair introduced him to a demon named Crowley. Crowley was a cross roads demon who was known for getting the juiciest deals, and he was to go with him. He knew why Crowley was taking him, to protect him, to hide him from the angel that was hunting him, but he did not trust the sarcastic demon with a sly look in his eye.
He did not look forward to the work of a crossroad demon, for he was neither charming nor sneaky. Torture had suited him, there were no illusions about who was torturing whom, but he soon learned that controlling the cross roads entailed in depth trickery. Crowley took it upon himself to improve his charge's deal making ability; after all Lilith would have his nuts if they didn't make the quota.
Time spent with Crowley increased as time passed, even as he grew accustomed to life as a cross roads demon, and he thought fondly of the elder demon in a way he never had of his mentor Alistair. The time spent with him in Hell was much less Hellish than the Hell he remembered. Crowley did not pick the flesh from his bones instead he caressed it.
Over time the affections shown to him by Crowley became just that. Affectionate. The demon's advances had been rough at first; a carnal and violent pleasure. It was a pleasure that suited his lust for blood and the need to feel flesh under his nails. Yet as time passed he found himself longing not for the sex, not for the blood, but for Crowley.
He sought him out when there was no sex to be had or deals to be made, and Crowley did not send him away. Then the caresses had begun. Touches so tender and light that he could almost miss their sensation, though he relished the way they burnt through him like an invisible fire, so much warmer than the real thing. For years he hid with Crowley as a cross roads demon and for all that time the two were lovers. Passion for each other replaced their desires for blood and chaos.
Then came the angel, his wings smoldering from the hellfire he flew through and his eyes smoldered with a holy fire. He wrenched the man away from Crowley. "Dean Winchester you are to come with me and be raised from perdition." Grasping him tightly on his arm he pulled Dean up and out of Hell.
Crowley watched his ascent with mourning knowing that when Dean remembered who he was he would no longer be his.