Dean felt different. He felt incredibly different. He felt amazing.
It was confusing and exciting at the same time. He was just waking up, but he wasn't groggy. He was lying down, but he was ready for battle. In the back of his mind, he had a feeling that he had died again; and yet, he did not feel any of the usual symptoms. He almost felt like he had when he woke up after Hell, but entirely the opposite at the same time. Dean knew his limbs should feel heavy and his head should be pounding with a migraine to rule all migraines, but that was not the case at all. He was full of energy. His senses were singing. His head was clear. His blood was surging. Dean felt odd with all these new sensations coursing through his body.
Dean felt good.
But someone was talking above him, and it was ruining everything.
His eyes snapped open, and his knuckles tightened around the Blade in his hand. He took a deep breath through his nose, and let it out slowly. Sulfur. The room reeked of sulfur. Or maybe that was just him. He took another deep breath. Yes, the sulfur was coming from him, but not only him; it came from the figure above him, too. The figure he wanted to shut up. Crowley. The King of Hell. The one who had gotten him into this mess to begin with. Listening to Crowley whine about feeling the way he feels and howling at the moon, every event from the past night returned to Dean's memory. He had died again. The mark had kept him alive – so to speak.
Without a moment's hesitation, his head rolled to face Crowley, and his Blade was at the demon's throat. "What did you do to me?" he asked low and menacing.
"I did not do anything," Crowley said, eyes wide, hands up. "I swear. I meant it when I said that I didn't plan on this. I didn't know there were repercussions to the First Blade. I mean, obviously there were – let's face it, nothing like this, this powerful, comes without a price –"
"Shut. Up," Dean commanded, and Crowley fell silent. Dean sat up in one smooth motion and backed the demon against the wall. Crowley didn't fight, just went with him, and Dean took notice. "Are you afraid of me, Crowley?" he asked with a laugh in his voice.
"W-well, I wouldn't say 'afraid'," Crowley stuttered, "but, um, intimidated, sure."
"Intimidated?" Dean mocked. He twitched his hand holding the Blade just to watch Crowley jump.
"Yes, intimidated, you bastard!" Crowley hissed. "You're a Knight of Hell now! You're like Abaddon except five times worse because you were a Winchester first! If you hated me when you were human, you probably abhor me now."
Dean froze. "I'm a Knight of Hell?" So that's why he felt so incredibly powerful.
"Well, you not only died in possession of the Blade but also with the bloody mark! I don't actually know how this works, but I'd bet anything that you're a Knight of Hell now, yeah."
Dean took a step backward, but did not quite release Crowley. "So that makes me above you on the food chain, doesn't it?" he asked coyly.
"Above me?" Crowley sputtered. "Never! I'm the king!"
"Yeah," Dean scoffed, "the king who has no subjects."
Crowley made a face and tried to protest, "Why, you little –"
Dean continued, ignoring him. "Crowley, really. You organized Hell – who does that? It was scarier when it was a mess. Believe me, I would know. Few people liked you then, and no one likes you now. Come on, man, you helped us Winchesters how many times now? Why, what did you call us the other day? Oh, that's right, 'practically besties' – who even says that? You fought Abaddon, the born leader of Hell. You got addicted to humanity! What kind of a softy are you? Surely not a demon king. I could go on."
"You insufferable ass!" Crowley cursed. "And what? You think you can just usurp me like that? Dethrone me? Force my abdication? Not a chance."
"Oh, I don't mean to take the throne away from you, Crowley." Dean shuddered for emphasis. "Uhg, never, just, ew. All I want is to continue killing every demon I cross paths with, but that's the usual. If that means using my new intimidation, then so be it."
"Ooh, do your best then," Crowley shuddered sarcastically.
Dean narrowed his eyes at the challenge, enraged by Crowley's change of heart. The demon had just been afraid of him; why was he mocking him now? Dean thought about everything demons had ever done to him with their freaky powers. Did he have those now, too? Well, he'd never find out if he didn't try. He already had Crowley trapped against the wall, what else could he do? He could choke Crowley; that could be fun. But how? When he was a ghost that one time, it had been all about concentration, so he concentrated. He focused on Crowley's neck and imagined it closing in on itself. When nothing happened, he tried lifting his hand and pretending that he was physically fulfilling his goal.
"Oh, grow up," Crowley rolled his eyes. "What are you trying to do? Kill me with the force, Darth Vader?"
"I'm concentrating," Dean growled through gritted teeth.
"Oh, yeah, I can tell," Crowley mocked him. "Well, at least you've got one part down. Look at you, squirrel, not at dumb as I thought you were."
Crowley shoved Dean back a few steps and angrily adjusted his jacket. He brushed his fingers over his shoulders and sighed heavily. Dean sat on the bed again and watched him with interest. Crowley paced in front of the bed with his head pointed down somewhat in thought.
"You really don't want my throne?" he asked stopping to face Dean.
"Dude, no one cares about that throne but you," Dean deadpanned.
"Then what do you want? You really want to continue on as you were? That's insane! You're a demon now! You should want to kill and possess and torture. It's only natural!"
"What's natural to me is killing demons and other monsters. That's all I care about."
"You're going to kill your own kind, then? You do realize you're one of us now, right?"
"I don't care," Dean said with a laugh. "When I was vampire for a day, I spent the day killing vampires. You said it yourself, Crowley: all of my senses and urges and thoughts and feelings… they've been… heightened, and I've always had the urge to kill demons."
"Well, you've got quite a few things to learn before you can go back to it, then," Crowley said.
"Do I now?"
"You want to try and choke me again?" Crowley asked mockingly. Dean only narrowed his eyes. "So you catch my drift then?"
"Where are you going with this Crowley?"
"To a proposal: I'll teach you how use your new demonic abilities and avoid all the new things that can kill you, if you help me reassemble my kingdom."
"You want me to be your personal bodyguard? Please!" Dean scoffed. "And what new things can kill me? It's not like I was invincible before. I've been killing demons since I was five, I think I'm aware of what can kill me now."
"Not a personal bodyguard, you simpleton! A partner!" Crowley corrected angrily. "And if you're invincible now, I dare you to eat a good ol' salty bacon cheeseburger."
"Son of a bitch!" Dean cursed. He hadn't thought that far yet.
"So…"
"No!" Dean exclaimed. "No, I won't be your partner! How about this: you teach me everything I need to know, and I don't kill you?"
"I'm a crossroad demon at heart, Dean. I don't make empty, stupid deals."
"Me keeping you alive is not an empty deal to me."
"Raise the damn stakes, Dean!"
"Well, what does 'reassembling your kingdom' even mean then?"
"Killing my opponents. Showing the rest of the demon community that we're allies. Pretending to be allies. At the very least, making some appearances for me. Be my right hand man, Dean, come on! You know you want to," Crowley persuaded.
Dean huffed out a breath and shook his head in disbelief. Never in his life did he imagine these events would unfold. He was about to reply with another sarcastic comeback when Crowley held up a finger and tilted his head down as if listening to an announcement over a high school loudspeaker.
"It would seem that your brother is now threatening my life if I don't show up to his summoning. I should probably go calm him down. You continue pretending to be dead. When I come back in here it'll be with him, and we'll 'resurrect' you, alright? Peachy. See you soon!" With that, he disappeared and Dean barked a curse at the empty room.
"Like Hell I'm going to pretend to be dead," Dean scoffed. "The red-eyed bastard!"
Dean stopped. He repeated his words slowly in his head as a sudden thought occurred to him. He ran to a mirror and gasped at the sight of his eyes. Black. Solid, glossy, gleaming black. He knew he should have expected it, but the sight still shocked and intrigued him.
So, he really was a demon. The power coursing through his body was exalted at the fact. He felt good, really he did; however, there was a small part of the back of his mind that protested. It was unsure and insulted. It was outraged. It didn't want to be a demon.
"If I didn't know you, I'd want to hunt you!" His own words echoed back to him.
Well, well, wasn't the situation reversed now? But Dean had wanted to hunt himself for a while now anyway, hadn't he? Ever since he came back from Hell, something hadn't been right with him. He'd been a bit unhinged, never mind how he'd been completely off the rails after Purgatory. Not that it mattered now. Now he didn't have hinges at all, did he? He might as well take that deal with Crowley now. It'd be better to learn how to use his new abilities from someone else than on his own. Besides, making appearances as an intimidating force would not be a horrible thing. It could even be fruitful. If Crowley did manage to get back on top, everyone would know it was Dean's doing that got him there. Moreover, he'd be even closer to Crowley than ever, so if he ever wanted or needed to kill him, he'd surely be able to.
Dean blinked. He didn't know how long he had been staring at his reflection, but he had to move now. There was noise on the stairs. Light, calm footsteps followed by heavy, frantic ones. A brogue was trying to soothe a screamer. Something was said about everything being okay, and hadn't you sworn you wouldn't care if your brother died again anyway?
Dean shook his head and tried to clear the black out his eyes. It took some time, but the old green and white came back eventually. Even though he was running out of time, he took another moment to sigh in relief and appreciate the color of his irises. They'd probably be a rare sight, but for now, they were a pleasant sight for sore eyes.
Laughing at his own stupid pun, Dean stalked out of the bathroom down the hall until the footsteps were echoing away from him. He found himself in the kitchen, and sat staring at the refrigerator hopelessly. He wasn't hungry. Shouldn't he be hungry? He just woke up from the dead. Every other time he did this, he woke up hungry. But, no, he didn't want food; he wanted to stretch his legs. That was a good idea, right? A long walk, some fresh air, a chance to clear his head – it'd be good for him. Dean climbed the stairs to the door of the bunker and tried to turn the handle, but the skin of his palm practically burnt off when he touched it. He cursed under his breath and tried to regain control. Apparently, he wasn't getting out anytime soon.
The footsteps came toward him again, and he felt a new urge – one to hide. He couldn't let Sam see him like this. Not just yet. It would destroy his brother and maybe him, too. Dean leapt off the platform and landed silently on all fours. Then he crawled under the main table just in time to avoid Sam and Crowley walking through the room.
"You will fix him!" Sam was shouting, dragging Crowley roughly by the upper arm.
"I keep telling you, I can't fix him, Moose! He's dead!" Crowley cried, futilely resisting. The demon still thought Dean was playing along and pretending to be dead in his room so he wasn't fighting Sam. He thought he was in control of this game, but Dean would make sure he wasn't.
Once they passed, Dean came out from under the table and snuck through the corridor to the old control room. There he slid down the wall, bent his knees in front of himself, and cradled his head in his hands.
"What am I gonna do?" he whispered to himself. "I can't hide forever. Sam'll find me if Crowley doesn't sniff me out first." He sat in pity and thought for moment. "Should I call Cas?" he randomly thought. "He might know what to do, being an angel and all... Can I still call Cas?" he corrected himself depressed. "Oh, come on! Why couldn't I just die this time?"
As if in answer, the mark on his forearm singed his skin. He realized that he was still holding the Blade when he looked hopelessly down at it. It was asking him to kill again. No, it was telling him to kill again. At the mark's not-so-gentle reminder, the demon inside Dean came to life again. His vision sharpened, and he knew his eyes had turned black again. A shiver went down his spine and his hair stood on end. Why was he moping around, feeling sorry for himself like a coward when he could be taking advantage of the brat he called a brother and the demon who thought he was taking advantage of him?
While he stood to present himself proudly to Sam and Crowley, loud, insistent pounding nearly broke down the door. His new senses told him it was an angel. His new survival instincts told him to run.
