Two Hours Earlier

It didn't surprise Dean that nobody wanted to leave. They'd seen what happened when they broke the rules; they didn't want to deal with the punishments that often followed. In the end, it was that same fear that motivated them. Dean and Meg had had power before, but joined together their orders were law. Once Dean made it clear they had no choice in the matter, the Demons moved quickly enough. Sunny said that the Angel would lower their food soon, just an hour by her count. Dean was glad they wouldn't have to wait too long to put his plan into action. Like he'd told Meg, it wasn't that he didn't know how to escape before, it was just that he'd never thought about it. Like the other Demons, he'd been too worried about the consequences.

Dean was different than the last time he'd been down here. Now he remembered. He remembered what freedom was like and he wasn't going to go back without a fight. He'd fought off Alistair for three years. He could handle an hour and an Angel.

By the time the Angel opened the hatch to lower down the box of food, everyone was in position. Dean, the healthiest of all the Demons in The Pit, was on top of the haphazard pyramid they'd constructed. They needed a ladder and all they could use was themselves. He stood on top of two other Angels making him tall enough to reach the ceiling. Dean had to scrunch down a bit so he didn't hit his head, but it gave him the perfect amount of height for what he had to do.

Dean had only a moment's warning before the hatch opened. A loud creak sounded as the handle was turned. Then, a bright light shined into The Pit. Dean knew for a fact that the light the Demons believed to be the sun was actually just a spotlight the Angels had set up.

The Angel's silhouette appeared and the box was lowered down. Quickly—because who knew just how much time they had before the hatch was closed and latched again above their heads?—Dean reached up through Perdition's gate and grabbed the Angel. He pulled roughly and the Angel unwittingly fell into The Pit, into the hands of the Demons who all wanted a piece of him.

Dean left them to their devices while he grabbed the lip of the doorway and hauled himself up. He wasn't expecting there to be a second Angel in the room with him, but all of a sudden, a set of hands was working to shove him back down. Dean fought. He latched onto the Angel's leg, using the man to pull himself out further. He ignored the punches and jabs aimed at him, intent on just getting out.

It took much longer than he expected, but Dean was out. Once he was free, there was nothing to stop him from taking the Angel down. This time, he didn't plan on leaving him to the Demons. He wanted information. From the blubbering look on the Angel's face, he wouldn't even need to resort to violence to get it. He did, however, have a pit full of angry Demons that he needed to free and he couldn't do that without subduing the Angel in his hands. Dean punched once, twice, and the Angel went slack in his arms.

One problem dealt with, Dean moved on to the next. When Cas freed him, there had been a ladder somewhere. Dean looked around the room, spotting a roll-up ladder on a shelf to his far right. He attached it to the ceiling—there were hooks drilled in the perfect spots for it—and lowered the ladder into The Pit.

He could hear the loud screaming of the Angel from below and knew that the Demons wouldn't be able to hear his instructions over the noise. Dean did the only thing he could do. He lowered himself back into The Pit.

The Angel wouldn't last long. There were bites and bruises and lacerations where Meg had sliced with the sharp scalpel. There was too much blood to save him, not that Dean would have even tried. Had he not been thinking about how he would have to serve jail time, he would have killed the Angel himself.

"Quiet," Dean commanded. The room was instantly silent. "Leave the Angel. It's time to leave. Cherry, line everyone up same as check-ups. You will each climb the ladder, one at a time. I will go first. Meg will be last. No arguments and move fast. Now," he barked when they all just stood there.

Dean climbed back out of The Pit and was pleasantly surprised when, as soon as the ladder was unoccupied, another Demon began his ascent. While Demon after Demon climbed up the ladder, Dean rifled through the Angel's pockets. He pulled out the man's wallet, pocketed the bills—one hundred sixty dollars—and waited until the last Demon climbed her way out of Hell.

"Last, Doc?"

Dean smiled at her. "How about a peace offering? I got you a present."

Meg smiled sweetly.

Dean hardened his voice. "Stand against the shelves."

All of the Demons, excluding Meg of course, moved to the far side of the room, leaving her and Dean almost alone with their Angel. Dean kicked him hard in the side. The Angel jerked awake, but still looked dazed. Dean kicked again and this time the Angel coughed and spluttered, but woke up completely. Meg covered his mouth with her good hand when it looked like he was going to scream and held the scalpel to his throat. It was awkward because of the makeshift tourniquet, but effective.

"Nuh-uh-uh," she said sweetly. "No speaking until mommy tells you."

"What are you going to do?" Dean asked her.

"I'm going to burn the whole thing to the ground."

Dean knew she didn't mean it literally. She was going to do what they'd discussed and take down the cult. The Angel in her hands would tell her everything she needed to know to find the leader and Meg had the skills to make them suffer. "Give them a lash from me," he said.

"You aren't staying?" she asked.

"I have a dozen Demons to take care of," Dean said, motioning to the wall where the wayward men and women stood in various stages of filth. "You probably won't have much time. I'll stall for a while, but I'd give you an hour, two tops, before the FBI is knocking down the doors of every Angel involved in this little project here. Oh," Dean said, remembering the cash in his pocket. He pulled out a hundred and handed it over to Meg. "And you'll need some cash to get you wherever you're going."

"Thanks. And I won't need that long." Meg pocketed the cash. "Angel boy here is gonna tell me everything I need to know. Isn't that right?" she asked him, sliding the scalpel up to rest just under his eye.

The Angel looked at the silver blade and nodded frantically, just far enough away from it to keep from stabbing his eye.

Dean smiled at the scene. "Let's go," he ordered.

For the second time, Dean climbed the stairs to exit the basement. It led directly outside, more of a cellar than a basement, though the exit was close to the original building. On Dean's first trip out he hadn't been paying much attention to the surrounding area. He'd been too focused on Castiel and where the Angel had been leading him, not where he was coming from. This time, though, he looked at street signs—Lawrence and Kripke—so that he could lead the team back here.

Also unlike his last escape, it was daytime. He was used to the brightness of the sun since he'd been able to spend so much time in it, but the others weren't as lucky. Many of them covered their eyes completely, the rest shut them tightly or held a hand over their forehead to shadow their squinted eyes. Dean realized he couldn't lead them through town like this. Not only were they covered in filth and blood and malnourished nearly to the point of starvation, but they also couldn't see two feet in front of them in this light.

There were vehicles parked up and down the street, but Dean saw one that he could definitely use—an old Chevy Silverado. It wasn't meant to seat a dozen people, but Dean didn't really care about vehicle safety at the moment. He had more pressing concerns, like just how much shit would hit the fan if an Angel caught the Demons out of The Pit. They needed to get gone, now.

It took some doing, but Dean was able to get the truck started. He fit seven Demons, himself included, in the cab, but he was forced to lay the rest down in the bed. It would be dangerous, probably fatal if they crashed, but it was a hell of a lot better than leaving them down in The Pit. He'd already left them behind once. He wasn't leaving them again.

Dean drove until he found freeway and continued on for a half hour before pulling over at a random fill-er-up joint. He waited another hour to give Meg some time to do what they'd planned on. Glancing at the clock and deciding that he'd given her a large enough head start, he grabbed a single from his pocket and asked the clerk for quarters. It took him a moment of staring at the phone before Dean remembered the number he wanted to dial.

Just as Prentiss was wondering where the Demons were, her cell phone buzzed. "Prentiss," she answered.

"Did anyone ever tell you that it's weird you answer your phone with your name?"

"Dean?" Prentiss asked.

"Yeah. I'm at Schuster's Gas-N-Go off of the I-84. Have a dozen Demons with me who need some help. Can you send some guys our way?"

"Hotch and I can be there in twenty minutes," Prentiss answered.

"Awesome." The phone lady prematurely instructed Dean to insert more quarters so he added another. Stupid payphones. "Can you bring a few ambulances with you? Or a fire truck or something? I wasn't kidding when I said the Demons need help."

"Already done," Prentiss said. "Don't worry, Dean. We'll be there in no time."

It was only fifteen minutes later that Prentiss and Hotch arrived at the gas station, three ambulances in tow. Dean told the Demons who were worst off to ride in the ambulances. Despite their fear of the EMTs, they obeyed without hesitation. Dean was sure the EMTs would have no trouble with them. The doctors, on the other hand, might have their hands full with the Demons. It isn't easy making the transition back to regular life when you've spent the last who-knows-how-long in a cage.

Prentiss stared at Dean sadly and Dean realized that he was still only half clothed. He'd always been careful to hide his scars from the team before, but now she was getting a peek at them firsthand. They were nothing like they were in the pictures she'd seen. She thought that the photos had been bad enough, but now she could see the different textures of his skin where it used to be smooth. There were plenty of long, straight scars from where Alistair had sliced. His back was covered in whip marks. The worst ones, though, were the burn marks that peppered his entire torso, slipping even lower where she couldn't see them beneath his jeans. The long-healed flesh was pebbled and angry. It was painful just to see the scars. Prentiss wondered how Dean had lived so long with the amount of damage he'd taken. Dean wasn't surprised when Prentiss threw her arms around him. He was surprised, however, when Hotch also wrapped him in a hug. Granted, it was much shorter, complete with manly back slaps and all, but it was still a hug. Dean had been sure the man had given up on him. From the single gesture, Dean could see that he'd been wrong about thinking the team would give up on him. It was nice to know they hadn't.

He rode with them back to the hospital—his third visit in just under two weeks—while the rest of the Demons rode in either an ambulance or a squad car. All of them were going to the same place, but Dean was sure he wouldn't ever see them again. It wouldn't be good for them to know that the man who'd caused them so much pain was staying in the same hospital. It probably wouldn't do any good for them to know he was on the same planet, but there was only so much he could do to appease their minds. Staying as far away as possible seemed the best thing to do.

Dean drifted off on the ride to the hospital. Prentiss had to knock on his window to wake him when they arrived and he appreciated the save. He'd been in the middle of a nightmare—one of his worst ones—and the knocking came just in time. He gasped, sitting straight up in his seat, and concentrated on remembering who he was. He was Dean Winchester. He had a brother, Sammy. He was not a killer anymore. He didn't have any reason to torture anyone ever again. He wasn't in The Pit. He'd gotten out. When his breathing returned to normal, he walked with Prentiss and Hotch into the emergency room. He had a few new scrapes, but it was nothing compared to his previous state.

Prentiss and Hotch left him alone with the doctor while she checked him over. His old wounds weren't infected and his new cuts would heal well on their own. He'd gained a little weight and was well on his way to being healthy in every way but his state of mind. Dean knew the agents planned on sending him to a hospital—a more permanent one this time—to help him. He didn't know whether it was for the best or not, but he did know one thing. He wouldn't let them lock him up again.

When the doctor finished, Dean feigned sleep until the agents were forced to leave him alone to do their jobs. He knew they would be back and he wouldn't have much time, but even a few minutes would have been enough.

Dean grabbed the small pad of paper and pen that sat on the table next to his bed.

Sammy, he wrote. I'm sorry about this, but I need some time to sort things out. Don't worry, this vacation's temporary. Promise. See you soon. Dee.

Dean changed into his clothes. Someone had thought to put them in a bag on the guest chair and he was forever grateful that he wouldn't have to run in his hospital gown. In the muss of the emergency room, it was surprisingly easy for Dean to slip past the two suits who were supposed to be guarding him. With a silent apology to his brother and the team of profilers he considered family, Dean strolled away from the hospital and out into the sunlight he could never seem to get enough of. He didn't know where he was going just yet, but he did know that, wherever he ended up, it had to have a lot of sun. Maybe he'd go to Arizona and see the Grand Canyon. He'd always wanted to go there. He'd just never had the chance.

Now, though, the whole world was open to him and he had the one thing that would let him appreciate it: freedom.