Author's note: It's my birthday. To celebrate, I decided to upload two chapters. Want to mae a special day even more special? Leave a review!

He walked around the house, looking for a weak spot. There was sure to be one – a house this size couldn't be completely protected. There was always something, a small, apparently insignificant point from which one could work –

There. A small crack right over a window. If he could make it bigger, if it go down to the windowsill –

He'd have to change its directions. But that was easy enough.

Slowly, he began enlarging the crack, moving along the texture of the wall, making sure it was deep enough. It wasn't difficult, but time-consuming. He could have cracked the whole wall if he wanted to, but he didn't want to risk them hearing him.

He felt a presence behind him. For a moment, he thought Dean Winchester had found him, but then he heard whoever it was take a step towards him and there was only one who could walk like this – softly, and yet strongly, making your skin crawl.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded gruffly.

"Making sure everything goes smoothly" he answered, his voice impossibly soft and slimy. "This is important".

"I can take care of one hunter".

"You didn't sound so sure of yourself in Hell" he whispered.

It was what he always did, torturing even without a rack.

He turned around. Alastair grinned. The master torturer had been the right-hand man of their boss for quite some time. He was the only one who knew who their boss was. Only the demons who worked for him were aware of that, though.

There was a glint in his eyes, even stronger than when he watched souls bleed in Hell, and Daniel – his name was the only thing he knew about himself when he woke up downstairs so long ago, being tortured, aside from the fact that he was a demon – wondered if he was here not only to make sure he did everything right, but also because of Dean Winchester.

Not only had Alastair failed to make the Righteous Man take up a blade – which could have been seen as an accomplishment in a way, because his torture had broken Dean Winchester too fast, had caused him to enjoy torturing souls from the moment he took a knife in his hand, no longer righteous – but he also hadn't made a demon out of him.

There were demons that hadn't been created by Lucifer, but were forged out of human souls. Normally, one couldn't tell the difference between one like Daniel, who had come to life in Hell one day, and one who had been tortured until it broke and became a demon, joined a much better club, really. Dean Winchester though –

No one knew exactly what had happened. Alastair never spoke of it, and no one would ever ask. But from what one could piece together from gossip, one minute Dean Winchester, who had been a demon for years and it was believed had forgotten that he had ever been human, just like every soul that had been turned, was torturing his victims as usual, and the next he was gone.

That in itself wasn't unusual. Demons were gone once they had found their way out of Hell. Sure, it was a little strange that he had managed to slip past Alastair, but other than that, it had even been a satisfactory development. Every demon who knew anything had waited, waited for Dean Winchester to do something. He had been a hunter, a very good one, and he would make a great demon. Many had seen his work in Hell, others when he had still been human.

They expected great things.

What they didn't expect was nothing.

Dean Winchester was a great torturer, Alastair had made sure of that. He had never expressed remorse, he had seemed to enjoy his work, at least that was what the demons who had seen him said. He had never shown to possess any outstanding powers, but someone like him could easily wreak havoc if he chose to.

Alastair had created a demon that had fled.

There were many who were pleased by this, Daniel one of them. He didn't know why, but Alastair's face, the true face one could always see behind the meat suit, reminded him of Hell more than any other.

Fire. Blood. Pain. Screams.

It was almost like he could feel the hooks in his skin again.

He forced himself not to look away.

"Why don't you take care of Sam Winchester?" he asked. "I would think that was important too".

Alastair clenched his teeth, and Daniel realized that he had been forbidden to do so. He suppressed a smile.

"We have to focus on the ritual" he replied, his voice as smooth as always. "Sam Winchester quit. He won't be of any use to us".

And yet he wanted to go to him, Daniel thought happily. Alastair wanted to tear him to shreds because his brother had humiliated him, but he wasn't allowed.

If only Alastair wasn't here. The knowledge that he was angry would make his assignment even better. But now he had to take him with him.

"You are slow" Alastair remarked, and Daniel felt hot, strong anger surge through his borrowed veins.

"I didn't want to wake them".

Alastair smiled. He had obviously decided that Daniel would have to pay the price for his bad mood.

He had no knife, so he had to torture him through other means.

He probably wouldn't allow him to kill either of them, Daniel reflected darkly as Alastair continued to widen the crack, much quicker than he could have done.

He was surprised at his desire to kill Alastair as he watched him moving his hands. He had never felt this disgusted at another demon before. Something about the torturer, though –

The window sill cracked. The salt line in the house was broken. Before he could do anything, Alastair drew a knife out of his pocket.

There was no longer any anger in his eyes, only mirth.

"Shall we?" he asked quietly.

Castiel woke with a start. It was still dark outside, and he didn't think he had slept for long.

He was completely awake. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

Something wasn't right.

The impression was overwhelming.

He slipped out of the bed, as quietly as possible, and felt around for his gun. He was weirdly relieved to find it was still where he had left it, and he gripped the handle and drew it towards him.

He hesitated before taking the salt he had bought at a small shop halfway to Sioux Falls out of a pocket of his trench coat. He had felt silly at the time, and he still doubted that it would do much good, but he might as well take it with him.

He couldn't say what had woken him up. But he didn't just wake up like this, not unless he had a nightmare, and he would have remembered.

After he had opened the door a few inches, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he knew.

Someone was in the house.

There was a slight stir in the air, unlike the homely feeling that, despite the threat over their heads, he'd come to know this evening.

He gripped his gun tighter and moved out of the room. They had had an instructor on the academy once who had insisted that they had to know how to move noiselessly and had forced them to sneak up on him countless times. They had all hated him, Balthazar considering shooting him when he turned his back, but Castiel had found himself grateful for the lessons he'd drilled into him several times during his career, and this was another one of those times.

The guest bedroom was downstairs. He had heard Bobby walk up the stairs after he they had said goodnight.

It was dangerous to go up without having checked the rest of the rooms on the first floor or the basement. Whoever was in the house could easily cut him off. But Bobby was upstairs.

Castiel forced himself to walk up as slowly as possible. Every time he made a noise – and the stairs were old and prone to creaking – he waited with baited breath before he took another step. Bobby could be long dead when he found him, but he wouldn't be of any use to him if he was attacked before he reached him.

He had finally arrived at the top of the stairs when he heard it.

Or rather, them.

Two voices he hadn't heard before. They were coming from a room to his right.

One of them sounded normal enough, like countless suspects Castiel had interviewed.

The other –

The sound was muffled through the door, and yet it sent a shiver down his spine. It was smooth, too smooth.

He crawled forwards. Standing next to the door, he could understand what they were saying.

"Do we have to do this? We don't have much time, Alastair" the normal voice hissed.

"We have all the time we need" the other intruder answered. "No one's coming to look for the old drunk, and if they are, we'll deal with them. We can take it slow. Enjoy ourselves. I am sure you would want to hear about your boy, Bobby. How he screamed. How easily he broke. How I sliced and carved and diced him into a new animal – "

Bobby didn't answer, but Castiel had felt Dean's and Billy's powers. The hunter was unable to move.

At least he was still alive.

There were at least two demons. And one of them had tortured Dean in Hell.

His worry that he would tell Bobby what Dean had become, had already more or less done so, was quickly replaced by a blinding hate when he realized what the demon's words meant. He had tortured Dean.

Castiel resisted the temptation to barge into the room, but only just.

He needed a plan.

If he could separate them –

He was pondering this problem, and what he would do once he did, when he heard Alastair resume the conversation.

"If you think we should save time, go take care of the other one."

Castiel acted quickly, on impulse. He stood to the side of the door where the hinges were, so he would be hidden by it when the demon went into the hallway.

As soon as he saw his head, he threw the salt at him.

So far he had only seen demons who looked like humans except for their black eyes. The intruder did too. But the moment the salt touched his skin, he screamed, blisters appearing on his face.

Castiel briefly thought about the man he was possessing, but pushed the pity aside as he hit him on the head with his gun, stunning him, and pushed him aside, entering the room.

Bobby was pressed against a wall, not moving. Alastair was standing in the middle, smiling. He looked pleased that Castiel had come.

"I am glad you could join us" he said, advancing towards him.

Castiel knew it wouldn't do much good, but he still fired his gun. Alastair hadn't paralyzed him; maybe he didn't think it was necessary. Maybe he wanted to play with him.

The wound bled, but he wasn't affected much. It did make him slightly unsteady on his feet, however, and Castiel tackled him while pouring salt over his face.

Alastair didn't scream, his face didn't betray any discomfort, but Castiel knew he was hurting him, and the pleasure he felt at that knowledge would have shocked him in any other situation.

He grabbed Alastair's chin and forced his mouth open, dumping the rest of the salt in his throat.

Again the demon didn't make a sound but Castiel watched his mouth beginning to bleed.

He was yanked away from Alastair. Bobby could move again.

"Come on, you idjit".

He ran to a cupboard and threw it open. It contained an arsenal similar to the ones Castiel had seen at the victims' houses.

Bobby shoved a sawed-off shotgun into his hand and picked up one himself.

"Basement" he said before taking off with surprising agility, and Castiel followed.

At the door, he heard movement behind him and turned around, shooting a round into Alastair's shoulder.

This time there was no mistaking the pain in the demon's expression.

He ran into the hallway, the other demon conscious but writhing on the floor, a wound in his stomach.

Bobby waited for him at the top of the stairs.

Castiel rushed to meet him, and together they made their way downstairs, both of them looking back to see if they were followed.

Bobby followed a strange course, with twists and loops, and Castiel only realized they were walking through devil's traps and other sigils when he saw one painted on the ceiling.

Once they had reached the basement, Bobby pulled open an iron door and gestured for him to get in.

He didn't need to be told twice, and a few seconds later, the hunter had closed the door behind them.

"What – " Castiel began to ask, still trying to catch his breath.

Bobby had led him into something like a panic room. The walls were made of iron, there were many books about lore on the shelves, and he was certain the cupboards contained enough to sustain them for some time.

"No demon's gonna come in here" Bobby said, slapping his hand against the wall.

"How long – "

"A few weeks. Don't think it'll take this long, though. We have enough weapons here to blast them away".

He paused before continuing, "Thanks, kid."

"You're welcome" Castiel answered, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. "What do you think they'll do now?"

"Search the house. They'll find this room soon enough".

"And what then?"

"Capture them, if we can" Bobby said matter-of-factly. "One of them might be able to tell us what's going on." His face darkened. "And I wouldn't mind teaching the creepy one a few lessons in manners".

Castiel pretended to check his shotgun, but Bobby knew immediately.

"Did you hear?" he asked gruffly. "What he said about – what he said about Dean?"

"Yes".

Bobby said nothing. Castiel looked away, his gaze sweeping over the walls painted with symbol after symbol, and he wondered if the hunter had built the room after what had happened to Dean. What had made him go to Hell –

He suddenly realized that he had never thought twice about why Dean had gone to Hell. He knew, of course, why people were supposed to go to Hell. He knew that they had been wicked and were thought to deserve the punishment they got. But Dean had been a hunter. And even now there was something good in him, something that had made him safe Castiel. He couldn't have been damned because of things he had done. The agent felt sure of it.

"It wasn't like – he didn't deserve to go to Hell". Castiel was surprised at how defensive Bobby sounded. Everything – the demons who waited outside, the ritual they were trying to complete – seemed to lose its significance when compared to the reputation of Dean, the boy he had lost.

"He sold his soul to save his brother".

Castiel had quickly read over the page describing demon deals in one of the books he'd found, and he wished he'd gone through it more carefully. But it fit better with the image he had of Dean. He had sacrificed himself for his brother.

Bobby looked at him, a challenge in his eyes, but Castiel made no attempt to deny what he had said. He simply nodded.

Despite everything, Bobby seemed relieved.

"We better get to work" he said, opening a cupboard.

Dean told himself that it was stupid to get nostalgic, and yet his heart beat faster when he found himself at Singer's Salvage Yard.

He walked by the cars, carefully checking there was no demon nearby, being assaulted by images from times long ago; he and Sam, running around playing tag because Bobby had decided they should have a day off; fixing cars with him; a day a few weeks after Sam had left for Stanford, standing at his porch, feeling lost, Bobby hugging him and giving him a beer; the last attempt to save his life, Bobby there for him –

Dammit, he had to focus. The two would be dead if he didn't focus.

If they weren't already.

And it would all be his fault.

When he came to the house, he almost screamed when he realized he couldn't get through the front door. Damn Bobby and his security.

But this might mean they hadn't got in yet.

He searched the exterior of the house.

When he found the crack in the window sill, he cursed and made his way in, careful to dodge any trap that Bobby had laid out. He remembered how most of them were, and even if he didn't, he knew the old hunter well enough to find them before he stepped in.

If the broken devil's trap hadn't been enough of a clue, he would have known as soon as he had set foot into the house.

He could feel the other demons; two of them. That meant, of course, that they could feel him too.

He drew out the knife that Ruby had carried. If he was lucky, they'd think he was there to help them and he would be able to overpower them.

At least that was what he thought until he entered the hallway and heard one of them talking in the basement, telling the other one to see who had just arrived.

He would have recognized him anywhere.

His strange way of pronouncing things –

And just like that, he was back on the rack again.

Daddy's little boy isn't as strong as he wanted to be. As strong as he should be. How does it feel, Dean, to disappoint him even after you are dead? After you are both dead?

He didn't cry. He never cried, never screamed. He was strong. He wasn't like you.

I know you want to. I know you want to take that knife, to have it stop. I know you want to inflict pain. Take the offer. You have nothing to lose.

Yes, that's it. Carve her up nice and slow. You will both be here for a long time. Make sure she feels it.

Do you think you would care about her if you were still human?

He wanted to rip Alastair to shreds, but controlled himself. He had to find Cas and Bobby. There was a chance they were still alive. The old man knew how to kick ass.

Maybe they had escaped? But running wouldn't do any good. Alastair never stopped once he had decided on his next victim. And Bobby wasn't one to run away from his own home.

The house was quiet, too quiet. Perhaps they were –

Dean walked into the living room and tried to understand the relief that swept through him when there were no bodies. He turned around and was in such haste that he almost missed a sigil. He could quickly change directions before he got stuck, but it was a reminder to be more careful. Bobby had made this place almost demon-proof.

Really, if he'd paid a little more attention to his walls –

Dean remembered where the guest bedroom was – he had spent more than one night there – and entered.

Cas had definitely slept there, and he hadn't had enough time to dress himself. Dean left, registering that he had put his trench coat over the chair in the same way he'd always hung up his jacket when he'd been too lazy to put it in the cupboard.

If they had escaped, Bobby was more likely to run into the basement then up the stairs.

Just as he was moving down the stairs, he heard a sound from the next floor and decided to check there first.

Bobby's bedroom door stood open; there was blood on the floor. Dean almost cursed as he took a few steps towards it.

He heard them talking.

"They have locked themselves in the basement. They will come out eventually".

He should have gone to the basement and checked on Cas and Bobby, but hearing this voice was too much and he barged into the room.

He came face to face with Alastair and another demon, whose face –

Dean knew this face.

He was the one who had made it into what it was. It had been one of the first souls to become a demon under his hands.

He had tortured him, hearing his screams, taking pleasure from them, from the blood that was running over his hands.

A faint echo of the self-loathing he had always carried around with him as a human came back to him.

The man – demon – didn't seem to remember him. Like so many, he believed he had woken up in Hell after being created.

Not to remember the demon who had sliced him into a new animal. It didn't sound bad.

Dean looked at Alastair. He wore the same grin he always had, downstairs, moving towards him with a new instrument in hand.

"Alastair".

"Dean. How nice to see you again."

"Glad to see you too" Dean replied, looking at Alastair's true face, the face that was grinning and sneering and threatening at the same time. He didn't know how he could see both the meat suit and the true face, but he would have preferred to have his human vision back. It was bad enough to see his own face when he saw into the mirror, let alone his torturer's.

He took out the knife.

Alastair eyed it.

"Really? No foreplay? No enjoyment? You disappoint me, Dean".

He had disappointed many people, but disappointing Alastair was a pleasure. He moved towards him.

The demon was gone and behind him in an instant.

He was thrown against the wall but managed to hold on to the knife. Alastair was stronger than him. And he didn't know if Bobby and Cas were still alive.

He should leave.

He didn't.

He launched at Alastair, ignoring the other demon. It was a mistake. He tackled him and tried to pry the knife from his grasp. Dean managed to turn them around, so that he was on top; he didn't know where Alastair was, but couldn't care at the moment.

He raised the knife and looked down on the demon.

Looked at the face that had been human when he had first laid eyes on it, before the man had screamed and screamed and he had cut and cut –

For a moment, he thought he wouldn't be able to do it. But then the thing under him snarled, and he saw the monster that this man had become, the monster that was just like Dean, and he would be the one to put it down.

He plunged the knife in his heart without hesitation.

He jumped up, but Alastair wasn't there, and he knew he had gone to the basement.

He rushed out.

"Alright, let's give them Hell".

Castiel nodded. They had decided to open the door. It was better than waiting.

Alastair was standing in front of them, but Bobby fired a shot before he could paralyze them. Castiel fired another round in his chest. The hunter had explained that they should take turns shooting him so that he didn't have time to use his powers.

They fired until they could see the demon's ribcage split open.

There was a noise, someone running, stopping, Cas thought he heard someone cursing.

Alastair looked down at the wounds before smiling at them, something evil in his gaze.

"See you".

White smoke went out of his mouth, and Alastair – no, the man he had possessed, fell down on the floor. He was dead.

Castiel kneeled beside him, swallowing. He had killed an innocent man.

"I'll take care of it" Bobby said. "Look after the other one".

He didn't want to leave him alone, but they didn't have much choice.

He quickly checked the first floor, then ran upstairs.

The first thing he saw was Dean, staring angrily at a devil's trap that had been painted on the ceiling.

"Dean?"

"Hey, Cas" he greeted him, far more calmly than his expression would have made the agent expect, "would you mind?"

He pointed at the devil's trap.

"Damn Bobby and his wards".

"There is another demon – " Castiel began.

"I killed him. Get me out of here. Before..."

Dean stopped and Castiel turned around.

Bobby was looking at the demon, clutching his shotgun. His knuckles where turning white.

"Dean?"

Author's note: Since it is stated in the series that demons can't remember being human, I figured they must rationalize what they see in Hell. Also, I love Bobby.