Disclaimer: I owe nothing! Clearly… also English is not my first language, so I'll be ever so grateful if someone would like to be my beta.

They parted like the red sea, kneeling one by one as their king passes throw, his hands floating over their bowed heads, some of them he even stop to pet, skim his long, strong fingers throw their hair, like a master to his pet, a lover to a beloved, like a big brother to his little brother to chase the dark shadows away. His movements are steady and strong, his feet are sure and his head held up high, his king among his kind, an extraordinary among the ordinary.

Maybe he's imagining it but the air around them seems to become hotter and hotter, and with a grim sense of humor, Sam wondering if there slowly moving down into hell. But the ground isn't shaking, there are no flames burning him alive, no horrible smell of burning flash, no blood saddening screams and pieces of broken souls laid to waist on the ground. There is only the lying quit before the storm.

He wonders if he should run; take advanced as the demons around them being distracted by their new king looking at him with wonder and awe. He snorts to himself; even condemned and corrupted, his big brother has this affect, apparently it extent to human and demon alike.

He glances to the angel standing to his right, trying to single him that they need to get out, only finding him equally enthralled. His blue eyes are blown wide, and if Sam could look closer he'd bet he'll find his pupils had redoes into slits. His cheeks are rosary red and his chats rises and falls like his panting, which won't be a surprise…

Grate the world as they know it is ending and this is the moment that Castiel chooses to let his lust for his brother make it self known. Sam can't help it, he rolls his eyes because seriously? Now? Well, he think, it not like they have anything left to lose and that thought make his hart sink, no there is nothing indeed.

He tries to make his lags move, to get closer to his friend but he quickly realize that he can't move, his body is rotted to the floor, there is no escape and regroup, no liking the wounds and mallow in self blame. Well, he think grimly, at least is solved the question about running.

Ha, so this is how is going to die this time, no fire and brimstone, no part of a diabolic plan gone wrong. No this time his going to die by his own hands, well his brother's, if you want to be technical about it… yes, he has no illusions, he knows that he has a big part in his brother demonic coronation. He wonder if it will be fast a quick swift to the neck or he'll draw it out, take pleasure in Sam's pain. Not once in his life, he considered, not once in all his thoughts of how he'll die, that it will be by the end of Dean Winchester blade.

And that a scary thought is it? Be the subject under his brother rage. Because Sam knows him, have seen him at his best and his worst, had seen the poor bastards, human and supernatural alike, that had the unfortunate run with his brother fists or gun. The realization makes his body shakes, and a sickly anticipation washed over him, like a cold ice water splash, slipping into his bones.

His horrible inner thoughts of death were interrupted by his big brother deep voice and for a moment he thought, 'Dean you big jerk, you didn't even let me contemplate on my death in silence'. He rolls his eyes on himself, good one Sam, no wonder he calls you bitch.

He shifted his eyes from his brother strong back his brother new BFF, Crowley. For all of his planning, all of his canning ways the person that outsmarted the devil himself, and if Sam really honest with himself, outsmarted him and his brother numeral times, Sam bet that this is not the outcome that wished for.

Well… Sam has been wrong in his life… because Crowley willingly kneeling at his big brother feet, his head held high and his gaze is unraveling as he says in a strong voice, filled with pride "my king".