I had intended for this chapter to be super long and cover both Sam and Dean but Dean's section is kinda tedious to write (but not to read, I promise) and resisting all attempts to capture it in words. In lieu of that, please enjoy this short, albeit dark, chapter.

Thanks so much to Jycarter2013, YellowEyedSam, and HuggablePan for the reviews! To everyone who has so kindly taken a moment to say something, your reviews and continued interest in this story do so much to help keep me fighting all the bullshit life has to offer! Thank you!

'Comfortably Numb' lyrics belong to Pink Floyd. No copyright infringement intended.

Time ebbed around him like he was a smooth stone in a lazy current. His surroundings were moving too slowly to make sense but he found it soothing. Muted colors swirled in his vision, though he could have sworn his eyes weren't actually open. A familiar melody drifted through the dense haze swimming around him. He reached out and felt through the empty fog, grasping for something he wasn't even sure was there.

'There is no pain, you are receding / A distant ship's smoke on the horizon / You are only coming through in waves / Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying / When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse / Out of the corner of my eye / I turned to look, but it was gone / I cannot put my finger on it now / The child is grown, the dream is gone / I have become comfortably numb'

An impish grin spread across his being. Were they playing that because they knew that's how he felt? It was too fitting to be a coincidence. Or was he putting too much thought into it, like always? Like, like he always said he did… His brain shied away from that beloved name, that familiar face; it stabbed an ugly, excited ache through his very soul, and no, he couldn't do that now, he was finally freed of all that, right?

What was freedom anyway? Even when he was living the life he thought he wanted, doing… something… God, why did it feel so hard to think? Digging for memories felt like a colossal excavation and all he had were his battered hands. Like a rainbow, the closer he thought he got, it seemed the same distance away. And what pot of gold was waiting for him? All he had, his only possession in the world, was his 'no' to Lucifer. It was the sole decision he had agency over and he gripped it tight to himself. He forced himself to relax though, the damn angel hadn't even shown himself recently except for a few whispers here and there. Enough from the devil to know that his supposed maker wasn't angry or concerned, just waiting patiently. Two could play that game. If this is what his existence was now, a blurred carousel of soft sound and whirling lights and blunted sensation, then he could hold out just as long.

What's eternity if time is meaningless?

Minutes or years later, he couldn't tell, movement ceased and then he was being moved. Funny how he was moving earlier but it wasn't really him moving, but now he was moving and it felt different but the same? That didn't really make sense though, right? Did it matter if it did? Who's to say that– his wispy train of thought was knocked off its rickety rails as his body formed a puddle on the ground. What was he doing here? Why was he—

A sharp sliver of pain pierced his neck and the violence was alien to him. Pain had erased itself from his being and its reintroduction was vicious. Itchy heat forced its way through his body, conquering inch after inch of vulnerable terrain. Abruptly, clear memories clawed at his mind and disfigured his perception. This was not some street drug they were giving him, this was demon blood. Injected directly into his bloodstream. Had he known he would never be the same after this moment, he may have fought harder. As it was, the best he could muster was a faint whimper as the fingers of darkness shoved their way inside his soul and gripped him tight, hurling him into a short-lived freefall. He crashed into something solid, something that felt like safety, but he knew it was an illusion. He was on the precipice. He wavered at the edge for a moment, begging for gravity to be merciful just this once. And then he was moving again.

Frenzy wracked him as he realized he was sliding down towards the ever-present river of dancing fire that hid inside him like a parasite, feeding off his soul. Numb hands scrabbled for something, anything, to slow his descent but the only purchase they found was hardened rock coated with something slippery and warm. Flames reached out and caressed his feet, tugging him towards the infernal abyss. All he could do was helplessly watch as the sanctuary of the canyon wall drifted away from him and churning lava slithered around his body, eager to seal his fate. He tried staying afloat but it was like a current was dragging him down, beckoning him towards what he had always resisted. Some part of him intuitively understood that to give in was a betrayal of everything he held dear, but another part just didn't care anymore. He was tired, worn down, broken beyond recognition. He flailed for a few more seconds before closing his eyes and allowing the fiery riptide to pull him under.

Heavy weight pressed in around him and forced him to expel the air from his lungs. Panic infested his mind as he struggled for air, his lips parting involuntarily to inhale the corrupting ichor. He knew he should be afraid as the liquid filled his lungs but he was instead suffused with the sensation of being home. It was not an emotion he had ever consciously felt and it both elated and confused him. Comforting warmth stretched through him as he breathed in deeply. The more he explored the feeling, the more he recognized the drastic effect of his forced decision. The desire for the familiarity of the towering plateaus of his ego was gone. Purged from him was his shame, his fear, his frailty. Gone was his benevolence, his empathy, his humanity. These things lingered deep within him, though they felt like nothing more than an echo of a distant shadow. Something new had been forged in the molten core of his inescapable corruption.

This was his moment of surrender. He knew that when he next opened his eyes, the world would not recognize the being within.

Pulling the demons had seemed effortless but his body clearly felt otherwise. He lowered his hand and tried to step towards a tree for support. His gait faltered and he sagged to the ground just short of the trunk. Footsteps crunched behind him and he awkwardly turned his body so that his back was against the tree.

"You're getting better every time, freak."

He stopped brushing away the tiny pebbles and fragments of wood pressed into his palms and looked up, a savage smirk on his face.

The two hunters recoiled in surprise, fear erupting on their faces.

"What the fuck?!" Tim gasped at the same time Reggie exclaimed "His eyes!"

Though he couldn't see himself, he had a firm idea what they were talking about. He had felt the shift in his soul, felt the fire consume of the last of his resistance, felt his internal landscape melt away and reshape itself. Yet even though he expected it, almost rejoiced in it, there was still something in him that flinched at hearing it said aloud.

"Why are your eyes black?" Tim half-whispered, half-interrogated.

He rose to standing and Tim trained a gun on his head.

It was uncharted territory for him but maybe he could use it to his advantage. He cocked his head to the side as if he were just an inquisitive puppy, not some demon-killing pet. No, not a pet, a monster. And they were prudent to be afraid of him. He had never tried his demonic powers on humans, but his psychic powers, a lifetime ago, had worked on objects. Why wouldn't the same be true now?

He squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest in new-found defiance, the pulsing thrill of the blood singing under his skin making him cocky. "Did you really think something like this wouldn't happen? That I wouldn't snap? That your physical, emotional, and psychological abuse would have no impact? That fending off Lucifer was an easy task? You fucking bastards!" He began to raise his right arm, funneling his energy towards his fingertips. "I'm gonna make you pay for—"

His threat was abruptly cut off as Tim emptied an entire clip into his face, his index finger still frantically pressing the trigger until his captive's body slumped to the forest floor.

"Fuck!" Tim screamed at the top of his lungs before trying to calm himself by taking a few deep breaths.

"What the hell do we do now?" Reggie asked, visibly shaken by the unexpected turn of events.

Tim tucked his gun into his belt and pulled out his phone. "Fuck if I know," he spat. He punched in a number and angrily smashed the dial button. "Stupid prick better answer," he growled.

"Who?"

"Oh, thank fuck, Creedy. You need to get your ass to Fort Collins. We got a problem."

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