So, little change from my usual pace: this chapter, like the last chapter, still takes place in Hell. Thank you all for reading up until the very end!

John had seen her, blood dripping down her mouth, wild and dark. He had watched her eyes darken, not fully, demons were not so easily formed, but dark enough to show her ravaged soul to the world. He turned away as he watched Crowley wrap his hands around her waist, hoist her onto the blood covered table.

And worse than watching the child he saved once turning into something irreversible and cruel, was how Crowley was looking directly at him as it happened. The demon smirked at him as he walked around the table, winked at John as he gripped her ass and breasts roughly. He had Hannah on her back, legs spread before John turned away.

He was going to be sick.

He couldn't walk back out into Hell, even though the rack was a definite improvement to what he was watching now. He craved the years when he was spread out and open to the whims of the damned; not because he liked the pain but because he could bear it. He had been bearing pain since Mary had opened her mouth to scream, choked on her own breath and nothing came out besides the blood from her waist. Pain, he could handle. He was fucking good at it. His whole damn, cursed life was preparing him for eternity of this torture because Sam leaving, a phone call from Sam telling him that Dean was dying, his sons all grown up and so strong together, without him was worse than this. Rip his guts open, he didn't care.

But watching Hannah turn, knowing it was because of him, all because of him, was the worst torture he could think of. He had saved her once. Perhaps he should have let her die, thirteen years ago, because at least then she'd have her whole soul in Heaven. She'd never know the blood on her hands or the feel of a demon, spreading her open. She'd never wait for him, wait for something that would never come.

He couldn't leave Crowley's Hell, but he could look at the door, facing away from the conference room. His palms were itching, salvation in torture was just outside his reach.

He heard Hannah stumble to the cubicle, looking for him. Her footsteps were uneven, drunk, and John was vaguely reminded of the nights Dean would stumble into their motel room, smelling like a long night of trying to forget the day. She stopped short behind him, closer than she would if she were sober. The feel of a pure soul inside her was new and she hadn't gotten her sea legs yet. He felt her hands on his shoulders and had to resist the urge to shove her off of him. She had no idea how far off the reservation she was. She was still childishly innocent about Crowley's intentions and motives. She still thought she loved him.

"Come keep me company," she pleaded, pressing her breasts into his back. She rolled her hips against him, "I'm lonely."

"Hannah, no."

"C'mon, it doesn't count if you don't come. Did you see me with Crowley? He said you saw us. Said you looked mad. Don't be jealous, John. It'll be different when you're out of here. We can be together out there."

"Hannah…"

"You can call me 'kid' if you want," Her hands went to his hips clutching them sloppily in her inebriation. "I kind of like it."

"Off. Of. Me. Hannah." John pried Hannah's fingers from his hips, much to her vocal chagrin. "I did see you and Crowley. Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

"I wanted it to be you. I always just want it to be you." She sighed. John turned to face her and had to step back from the metallic, blood stench of her breath. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused.

"You're drunk, Hannah."

"I feel so good John. I want to feel good with you." She slid her hand over her body, between her breasts and then down between her legs. She rubbed herself there and closed her eyes slowly. "God, I want you to touch me again. Don't you want to touch me?"

Hannah blinked lazily in the harsh florescent light, looking at him through glazed eyes. John's stomach clenched as he remembered her at sixteen. Touching herself. She had been so beautiful simply in her hunger. She had been so innocent, so unsure. He had wanted her then. Wanted to climb on her and make her feel desired and special. She had been. She had been so special.

And now she was just… pathetic. A crack whore who didn't realize she wasn't sexy anymore. She was sloppy with the stolen soul pulsating though her. She had ripped another person's most intimate essence apart and was horny with the after effects. She wasn't that sixteen year old girl anymore. John didn't know what this thing before him was.

Hannah stopped stroking herself as she registered John's disgust.

"John, don't look at me like that." She said, crinkling her brow to focus, "I love you. I did this for you."

"No, you didn't. You ripped that soul apart for you. You weren't thinking about me."

"Well, what do you want from me? I did it so you don't have to. I did all of it for you."

"I NEVER ASKED YOU TO DO THIS." John roared, and Hannah's eyes filled with tears again.

"I just… love you."

"Find new words Hannah, because this, whatever it is, it isn't love. Not for me."

"I don't know what to do." Hannah said, "I don't know how to make you like me."

She was crying again, messily, drunkenly and John reached forward. She had no idea what she was becoming. She still didn't understand what she had done. And John couldn't go back in time to when she was sixteen and turn away. He couldn't save her from this anymore. He was cold. He wasn't heartless.

She sniffed wetly into his shirt as he stroked hair, resisting the urge to pull away from her.

In the cubicle a few yards away, the phone rang.

John was the one who grabbed Hannah's hand as they stepped out into the pit, though he did so purely on instinct as to not lose her.

The normally silent pit was chaos as every soul in Hell pushed against them on the narrow ledge, climbing up. John followed their movements to the very top squinting before he saw… stars. He took a shaking breath. He never thought he'd see stars again.

Crowley appeared behind Hannah. He glanced up at the hole in the ceiling before shouting to be heard over the din.

"You've got less than two minutes I figure." He shouted to the two of them.

"What is that?" Hannah called back to him.

"Freedom, love. Just like I promised. Just a little Hellgate in Wyoming. John knows what I'm talking about."

Hannah turned to John expectantly. John stared back up at the precious night sky, feeling sick with the implications.

"Sam wasn't the one to open it." Crowley continued, "Shame, I lost some money on that. But, no matter, he's up there. With his brother. Probably trying to close the gate as fast as they can, so, I'd hurry if I were you. This sort of thing only happens every few hundred years."

Hannah ignored John's conflicted expression. She didn't know about Sam and Lucifer and all the horrible things he had hoped Sam would somehow be strong enough to fight off on his own. Sam had to be the exception. The one to tell Lucifer and destiny to go fuck themselves because John couldn't live with the idea of his son being stolen away from him like that. Hannah locked her fingers with John one last time and cast a questioning but hopeful look over her shoulder at Crowley.

"Be free, my little starfish. Your debt is repaid. Now, hurry, love. Hurry."

Hannah was dragging John suddenly, part weaving and part crashing through the other desperate souls seeking release. Hannah cursed at the slowness, looking frantically up at the sky. A soul tried to creep past her, blurry and dark. Hannah shoved it off the narrow ledge. With a scream, the soul fell and kept falling down, down into the pit. Hannah didn't stop moving kept shoving and pushing.

The higher they got, the more congested the pathway became until Hannah and John were only connected by their fingertips. A pushy soul got between them, wedged it's way in as it bullied to the front. John reached forward, grabbed Hannah's hand again, but it was too late; the soul had already committed an unforgivable offense.

With a yell, Hannah grabbed the other soul by the throat. It was blurry and flickering before Hannah cast it off the edge of the path, hissing like a feral cat when it lashed out at her. All the souls around them watched silently as Hannah threw the soul down to the bottom the pit and waited with held breath until the shrill scream died, whether from finally meeting the bottom of the pit or from simply getting too far away was impossible to tell. There was a single pulse before another demon cast a different soul off the ledge. A horrible clash broke out in Hell at the entrance to the world; demons and souls alike, clawing at each other, shoving like some sort of homicidal stampede. Hannah grabbed his hand and kept dragging him upwards, stopping twice to sink her teeth and nails into a soul that was too slow or simply too unapologetic about being in her warpath.

The demons had the distinct advantage in Hell, and when John looked down, he saw more souls like his own heading downwards than the scarred souls like Hannah's. Then, suddenly, in the midst of the filthy war, John felt a breeze. He could see the wood of the doorway. He heard the familiar voice of Ellen, his friend, over the chaos and he couldn't tear his eyes away.

Hannah puled his head down, her eyes wild with delirious joy.

"We did it!" she yelled into his ear, "I told you that we'd do it! I love you John."

John looked her over, from her bloodstained mouth to the skin and bits of soul matter under the beds of her nails. Her brown eyes, once a little small but shining with… impossible, stubborn, pushing, yelling, loving, happy Hannah… were black.

And she had done all of it for him.

John grabbed her face in his hands in a primal gesture of possessiveness. He claimed her mouth, sticking his tongue between her lips and tasting all the iron and sin she had become. Hannah was stiff in his arms for a moment, in sheer shock, before she locked her arms around his and kissed back with youthful abandon.

"Oh, oh, John, John… John…" she whispered, her eyes shining with happiness, "You love me?"

John took his hands from her face and placed them on her hips. She beamed up at him expectantly, like a child, waiting for their promised Christmas present. So much of it was Hannah.

But the rest of it was a demon.

John shoved with everything he had and Hannah stumbled a bit, her eyes wide with confusion until her foot met the edge of the ledge. It was too late, she was already too far pitched backwards to catch herself. She kept that hurt, childlike face on him as she went over the edge. And it was just another burden John would shoulder, the lost soul of a girl he saved once.

There was a cackle of laughter and a slow clap from beside him and John turned to glare Crowley into his second life.

"God, even I couldn't have planned it better than that." He said, wiping an amused tear from his eye. "Good show, chap, good show."

"You did this. You did all of this?"

"Hello? Demon."

"Did I ruin your endgame? Sorry about that," John snarled.

"Oh, how cute. You think I did this all just to piss you off? No, no, the memory of her, of everything she did, all those little mistakes that added up to ruin a poor, young woman's soul? The fact that you will carry this guilt for the rest of your existence is just a cherry on top of a delicious dessert. I honestly don't give a rat's about you. But her? What a gem." Crowley placed a hand gently on John's shoulder and guided him to look over the ledge into the pit, "I brought home the Pitbull, but you?" Crowley gestured to the rusty spikes and chains on the walls, "You made the bitch mean. Thank you for that."

John swallowed dryly and Crowley grinned again, pointing lazily up to the hole in the ceiling where souls and demons were still rushing past him on their way out.

"Out you get. Azazel is up there is he is very upset with Sam killing his favorite little psychic pet. They've got the Colt, but your boys need their Daddy, I'm sure." John looked at him skeptically, "Oh, I'm here to make sure you get out. She made a deal, after all. You don't need to worry about me. But… " Crowley pointedly flicked his eyes to the pit before turning back to John, "How long do you think it will take her to scrap her way out of there? She's a natural. But, you probably don't need to worry. Hannah is a merciful sort. Live and let live kind of girl. Definitely one to let water be under the bridge and all that. I'd sleep with an eye open, if I were you. She's only going to have one thing on her mind and, honestly, I'm eager to see just what she can do when she's got all her - what did you so colorfully call them?- Her demon stripes."

John looked back into the pit before Crowley grabbed his coat.

"Cheers, John." He said, before John was cast up and out of Hell at last.

The gates shut and Crowley left the hundreds of demons, shoving against the door uselessly. He walked down the stairs, practically whistling with his good mood. The lower he got, the hotter Hell burned but it hadn't been so long since Crowley was down here himself. It was a demon's right of passage and his little starfish was waiting for him.

He heard a scream, and chains being rattled, rock walls being smashed against, but that was normal for this low in the pit, where there were no gloves and no rules. There was another yell, followed by a smash and a moment of silence. By the time he got down there, the pit was as peaceful as a battlefield after the war. Blood on the walls, painted in sporadic streaks , some of it growing brown and rust colored with age. He got to the bottom and had to struggle to stop smiling as he walked slowly towards the last ripped and maimed soul standing.

"Hannah?" He asked softly and the demon turned to him, her eyes black, her hair bloodstained and feral. "Hannah, my pet. I saw everything."

"I loved him."

"I know, I know. Come. Lets get you cleaned up," Crowley said kindly, and he slipped his arm around her scarred shoulders, leading her up the stairs, smiling the whole way.