Hey y'all! So if you tell me some things you'd like to happen, I'll think about including them! Also, you can add some small moments that work with the plot and if they'll fit, I'll work them into the plot. As always, please review! Thanks :)


Dean took the demon's proffered hand. He shook once, then let it drop.

"What's the plan?"

Crowley's grin light up maliciously.

"Well you'll be happy to know Castiel is currently enjoying the finest my kingdom has to offer, so there'll be none of this 'traipsing into heaven' nonsense."

Dean flinched. He remembered Hell's 'finest' all too well. "Well that's too bad. I kinda liked the idea of kicking down the pearly gates. But let's get him out, I want him rare, not well done. But I want proof."

"Well, I'm almost insulted, Dean," purred Crowley in a hurt voice.

"Shut up."

"Fine. Let's take a trip back, shall we?"

"To?"

"His funeral."

He pulled what appeared to be a small compact mirror out of his coat.

"Have to adjust your makeup first?"

"Oh, aren't you just adorable. This mirror has powerful magic on it. Almost like time-based TV, if you will. We can replay any moment, check the present, or speed on forward. I'd get your tissues ready."

Dean leaned in, looking into the mirror. He saw Sam standing by an open grave, a simple pine box lying near.

"He didn't give him a hunter's funeral? That bitch."

"Shhh, you'll miss the heartbreaking speech."

They watched in silence for a moment. By Sam's last remarks of 'he's bad', Dean felt tears biting at his eyes. He willed them back, biting his inner lip. When he'd thrown the last shovel of turned earth onto the grave, Sam collapsed, sobbing into his hands.

"That's not proof," said Dean, turning away.

"No, but this is. Let's see what's happening now."

They looked back in. It was the same scene, almost. Sam was gone, the lighting different. A bird had landed in the distance and a squirrel was meandering around. Suddenly, a ring of what Dean could only describe as dark flashed around the grave, pulsing out like a mushroom cloud. In moments, the serene landscape was blackened and burned, some trees still glowing with deadened fire. For a minute, nothing happened. Then, the earth started to shift. The new grave seemed to collapse in on itself for a moment, then a dirty, bloodied, and very alive Castiel crawled out of the grave. He pushed his way out of the soft earth then fell onto the dark, burnt grass, panting. He gasped and his hand flew to his abdomen. He ripped the still-bloodstained shirt away from the area, revealing an angry pink scar. His hand relaxed. It was then Dean noticed the pure terror in his eyes.

"How long?"

"I beg your pardon?" Asked Crowley.

"How long was he down there?" Queried Dean softly.

"Only a few hours, dear. Barely a day."

"You know what I mean. Not our days. Downstairs time, how long?"

Crowley looked at the mirror. Castiel was still on the ground on his back, staring into the sky. Tears rolled down his face.

"Almost a decade."

Dean swallowed hard, biting the inside of his cheek.

"Did he break?"

"Dean, no need to be beating yourself up. I need a general who's in one piece, not lovesick."

Dean knew the answer already. The King of Hell did not coddle people. He knew Cas must've broke, and broken bad. He asked again anyway.

"And you'll have one, as soon as I'm soulless. I asked you a goddamn question, you son of a bitch. Did he break? Did you have him skinning innocent souls down there?"

Crowley looked into his eyes. "Yes. He broke."

Dean looked down, breathing heavily. "How long did it take?"

"About a month."

Self-control sapped, angry tears fell from Dean's eyes. He muttered darkly, "Dammit, Cas…"

"Well, you know your angel's safe and sound in this dimension. Are we ready?"

Dean turned and looked straight into the demon king's eyes. He took a deep breath and thought,

"Goodbye, Sammy. Goodbye, Cas. I hope I never see you again."

He took another breath, readying himself. He spoke.

"Yes."

Crowley placed his hands on both sides of Dean's face.

"Sorry if this stings a bit."

Dean was on the ground in less than a second. All his time in Hell seemed as though it'd been summed up into one second, then it happened again and again. Inhuman screams ripped through his throat as he writhed on the ground. It felt like his body was burning as the soul was scorched out of him. Then it was over. So was Dean Winchester.

Crowley, who'd been standing at a distance looking respectfully away, looked at him. A small "Ah" escaped his lips. Dean stood.

He stretched out his limbs, hearing small pops in his joints. He felt like a thousand pounds had come off his shoulders, and his mind was opened to a whole new world. His imagination soared through thoughts he'd never dreamed of having before. Dark musings swarmed him and he said his first word as something other than human, and the last threads of good slipped from him.

"Damn."