Dean drives hell for leather, not caring that the dirt road is rough and the suspension in his Baby isn't the greatest thing in the world.

"Come on, come on, come on…" he murmurs, eyes fixed on the road ahead, engine revving. Then he finally arrives. Squealing to a stop, Dean jumps out almost before the car has stopped moving, hits the ground running. Grabbing a box out of his pockets, he fills it with the skull of a black cat, a few other things, and a photo of himself, burying it in the dead centre. Whirling around, he shouts "Oh come on already. Show your face, you bitch!"

The demon slut flashes her red eyes and stares at him. They always seem to suit themselves to his past tastes. Big tits, sure, what guy doesn't like those? But the dark hair, changeful, capricious eyes you could lose yourself in, that skin… With a start, Dean realises that all the girls he's had a thing for, had a fling with, the ones he checks out in seedy bars, superficially, they resemble Sam.

Another reason to get Sam back.

This revelation throws him off his game too much. He's losing; the demon holds all the cards and she knows it. Dean's life is a bargaining chip, his immortal soul, and it's supposed to be something that's kind of in demand. The Winchesters have never been loved by the demonic powers that be, and, by God, this was giving them eternity to play cat and mouse with him. Why the hell wouldn't they take the goddamn bait? Dean starts to panic. Five years, five short years, that's all he wants. He knows he can work with five years, to ease Sammy out of the game, get him a place in society, and work out how to stop him from sacrificing himself for Dean when Dean gets taken for a one way ride to Hell.

One. One year is all he's going to get. But by now, he doesn't care. He grabs the demon, the bitch who has the nerve to look like his baby brother Sammy, and kisses her the way he kissed Sam's prom date in a fit of jealous pique, pure, utter sex. And, although Sam's always been the nerdy one, and Dean could never deal with Shakespeare, one line echoes in his head.

"Thus, with a kiss, I die."

Over a hundred miles away, Sam wakes, gasping for air.

Dean drives hell for leather back to him, not caring that the dirt road is rough. Flicking on the radio, he grins lopsidedly, rolls his eyes, scrolls down the windows and hollers the lyrics. "I'm on the highway to hell!"