Ok, so here's what's up.I have been so incredibly busy with school it's insane, so the gap between this chapter and the next might be even worse than the one that just happened. I'm sorry about that, and I will try as best as I can to write it asap. Thank you for being the most patient readers I could ask for 3

[Sam's P.O.V]

It's been a couple of hours now. Sam had been sitting in the bunker the whole time, just waiting.

Sitting on the edge of Dean's bed, Sam kept his head down, trying to avoid looking at his surroundings. Seeing his clothes thrown in a pile in the corner, the small assortment of knives on the bedside table, with a photo of their mother and father, Dean and Sam propped against the lamp behind them. Looking at them... It felt like Dean was truly gone. That Castiel would fail and Dean would be stuck in Hell...

No. Cas would pull through. He always does. Dean will make it. He always does.

With a heavy sigh, he pulled himself to his feet and walked out of the room. Slipping into the kitchen, Sam leaned against the counter and hung his head in frustration and despair.

Dean will be fine. He'll be back soon. Him and Cas. Everything will be fine. Everything will -

Sam's thought was cut off by a soft quiver that ran through the bunker. He stood up straight, waiting to see if he needed to put a gun.

"Sam!"

Sam gasped, then followed with a huge sigh. Cas. Sam ran out of the room and began sprinting down the bunker hallway toward Dean's room. As he slid into the doorframe, his mouth dropped at the sight of his brother.

Dean was lying peacefully on the duvet, with Cas standing to the side. Cas was gasping and completely out of breath, but he nodded at Sam. "It worked. He's alive."

Sam was relieved, he was, but he couldn't erase the look of shock and pain on his face. The state Dean was in was absolutely horrible.

Actually bodies were never meant to be in Hell. There were scorch marks all over Dean. Blistering spots that were an ugly shade of red thrown on places across his face didn't hide the fact that his eyes were incredibly sunken in. It looked like he had been awake for weeks. His hair had lost it's shine, and was now a musty yellow colour. The bones in his face and hands were much more exaggerated. He had lost a lot of weight. By the looks of how cracked his lips were, Sam was guessing he was relatively dehydrated as well. But the thing that worried Sam most was the Mark. It was gleaming the dark red it shines whenever it begins to control Dean.

"Cas," Sam muttered, "Grab the flask on the dresser."

"Why would I -"

"Just grab it for me!"

Cas hesitantly reached over and grabbed the flask, and promptly handed it to Sam.

Sam unscrewed to top and, cautiously flicked some of its content onto Dean's unconscious body. The moment the liquid touched him, he flinched. Not much, but enough for Sam to notice.

His heart lurched and he dropped the flask.

"Sam," Castiel said apprehensively, "What was that liquid?"

"Holy water." Sam muttered sternly under his breath.

Cas was taken aback by this information. "That's impossible!" He declared, "I would have known if Dean was possessed. His vessel would have been lighter, easier to drag out of Hell."

"And," he continued, "He didn't convulse in pain. There was no smoke."

"He flinched, Cas!" Sam argued. "The holy water should have had no effect on him whatsoever, but he flinched. We need to -"

The discussion was cut short when a pained cough came from the bed. Sam's eyes snapped down and saw Dean blink his eyes open, and the immediate pain that flooded through them a moment later. Sam quickly glanced over at Cas and shook his head, signaling not to mention the holy water.

"Dean! Hey -" Sam rushed over to his brother and threw his arms around his neck. "It's good to see you." There were tears threatening to spill out of his eyes, but he held them back, knowing that this might not entirely be his brother.

Dean inhaled sharply, visibly wincing. Sam pulled away, aware that the embrace hadn't been the best idea.

"Sorry, I'm sorry." Sam apologized.

Dean said nothing, simply nodding. He had fixed his eyes on the Mark, his hand firmly grasped around his upper arm.

Cas and Sam exchanged confused expressions before turning towards Dean.

"Dean," Castiel began cautiously, " are you alright?"

Again, Dean nodded without saying a word. He still wouldn't look either in the eyes. Abruptly, Dean threw himself off the bed and, using the night table as support, tried to stand up.

"Woah Dean," Sam exclaimed as Dean began wobbling violently. "Can you just sit back for one minute? You just went through Hell, quite literally."

Dean glared up at Sam with hostile eyes. Sam felt as though he was looking into the eyes of a stranger. These eyes had no glimmer amusement whatsoever. There was no snarkiness, no sarcasm or even the slightest ounce of compassion. Any and all emotion was drained from his eyes. There was nothing left but, well, nothing.

Dean roughly shoved Sam to the side and stumbled out of the room, collapsing against the wall in the hallway.

But he didn't stop there. Sam and Cas followed him as he practically dragged himself towards the garage.

"Dean, can you just stop?!" Sam exasperated. "What is so important that you have to go now?"

Dean simply shook his head and continued forward.

Castiel couldn't watch his friend do this any longer. He stepped forward and grabbed Dean's left shoulder, stopping his slow pace. Dean immediately attempted to shake off Cas' grip, but he was too weak. He barely had the strength to walk, let alone escape an angel's grasp. "Dean. Stop."

Dean pushed forward in an attempt to break free, using all of his remaining strength. The adrenaline faded and the exhaustion finally hit him. Without even a wisp of strength to keep his eyes open, Dean slumped forward in Castiel's arms.

Cas looked over at Sam with an extremely concerned expression. "What," he emphasized, "was that?"

Sam was at a loss for words. He wanted to say that this was normal; that Dean had just come back from Hell and was expected to be slightly delusional, but not this. He wasn't anything like this the last time he went to Hell. He'd had his regular cocky, smug attitude, even if he felt like absolute shit inside. But this... Sam didn't know what to call it. He wouldn't talk, he wouldn't even take a minute to acknowledge what either Sam or Cas was saying. He just jumped up and started throwing himself towards the door. It was almost like he was looking for something... And then there was still the holy water issue...

"Let's just get him back to his room," Sam decided, brushing off Castiel's question.

-0-0-0-

Dean blinked his eyes open, and a wave of searing pain rippled through his arm. The red gleam of the Mark pulsed as the devil wriggled around beneath it. His head was pounding and every muscle in his body felt like liquid. He could barely remember what had happened early in the day when he came back. He had woken up, felt the agonizing sensation in his body, and knew she had to get Lucifer out of his body. He had thrown himself off the bed, and there were muddled voices around him. The ringing in his ears was too loud to make out any noise. The throbbing in his head made his vision too blurry to make out the figures creating the noise. Despite using all the remaining strength he had, something had held him back once he got in the hallway. That's when everything went fuzzy. He couldn't remember anything else.

The pounding in his head had demolished just enough that now he could see faint details. He was back in his bedroom at the bunker. Someone was in the corner, slumped over in the chair. Despite his fuzzy vision, Dean knew it was Sam. Who the hell else has legs that can stretch out enough to block the path to the door?

Abruptly, Dean practically threw himself off the bed. As long as Sam stayed asleep... He just needed to get the freaking devil out of his arm!

Shakily, he stumbled out of his room, thankful that Sam had left the door open. He collapsed onto his knees once he reached the end of the hallway. Knowing that Sam might have heard the thud his body had made against the cold tiles, he feverishly pulled himself back into his feet and took large, desperate lunges towards the garage.

After what seemed like hours, he made it to the impala. Propping himself up in the driver's seat, Dean stopped for a moment to catch his breath. His head had cleared slightly, enough to see relatively clearly. But apparently not enough to think clearly.

What was he supposed to do? He couldn't just try to release Lucifer without a vessel, o

therwise he might just stay trapped in his freaking arm. Or worse. But he couldn't just set Lucifer free in someone's-

His thought was abruptly cut off by a ripple of pain the flowed through his arm. Screw it, he gave up. He turned the keys in the ignition and rolled out of the bunker.

-0-0-0-

Sam's eyes fluttered open, feeling slightly groggy. Did I pass out?

His gaze instinctively shifted over to the bed. His heart practically stopped when he saw the empty sheets. The door beside him was no longer ajar, instead being wide open.

"Shit!" Sam hissed under his breath. He sprung up rapidly from the chair and flew into the hallway. Barren and still. There was no sign that Dean had even walked through there.

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit!" Sam muttered continuously as he rushed to the library, then to the kitchen and then to the garage; hell, Dean was gone.

That wasn't the only thing missing.

Sam threw his hands up in exasperation when he saw the empty place where the impala once rested.

"Dammit Dean!" He shouted at no one in particular. Sam didn't even remember falling asleep, and now his brother had slipped out of grasp. Again.

"Cas!" Sam called, his voice echoing off the concrete walls of the garage. "Cas, I need you. Dean's gone!"

"What happened?"

Sam spun around and saw Cas rushing through the hallway door. He had been resting somewhere in the bunker, and hadn't heard all the noise that had been happening.

"Dean. I woke up and he was gone." Sam replied. "The impala's gone. There's no trace as to where he went -"

"Sam." Castiel interrupted. "Did you notice the glow?"

Sam paused, confused as to where this question came from. "The glow?"

"Yes, the glow." Cas insisted. "In Dean's arm. Right underneath…"

"The Mark of Cain," Sam concluded, his head dropping in defeat. He had seen it. Just for a brief second, but he had seen it. He had wanted to think it was nothing. Dean was safe, that's all that mattered. He shouldn't worry about something so minor. "What was it?"

Cas hesitated, almost like he didn't want to believe it himself. WHatever he suspected, it must be truly bad.

"Cas," Sam repeated, much more urgency in his voice.

Sighing, Cas glanced at his feet for a moment before raising his head to look Sam straight in the eyes.

"In Purgatory," Cas cautiously began, "when Dean was helping the vampire -"

"Benny," Sam interrupted, slowly starting to put all the pieces together.

"When Dean was helping Benny," Cas corrected, "Benny was not able to escape without concealing himself behind someone who is not intended to live in Purgatory. In other words, he needed a vessel." He paused again, not wanting to share his theory, for fear that it might actually be true.

"Cas, what?" Sam persisted. The longer the pause became, the more worried Sam felt. The anxiety was nerve-wracking. It was almost impossible to stand still. He was shifting from one leg to the other. Dean was out there, and he was going to do something stupid. Something so incredibly stupid, and Sam was here still trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do.

Cas broke the pause finally after what seemed like several agonizing hours. "When Benny's spirit was in Dean's arm, it glowed." Cas glanced back down at his feet. "The same glow that was coming from his arm when I brought him back."

Sam's heart plummeted. Dean had been in hell. The demon that sent him there because the 'true King of Hell was waiting for him. Why else would Lucifer need Dean unless. . .

"Oh my god," Sam uttered, shaking his head in utter disbelief. Cas grimaced as Sam came to the same conclusion that he had. "Dean brought Lucifer back."

-0-0-0-

Dean was standing behind a small, suburban house, quivering at the immense pain that was flowing through his arm. He wished that he could be anywhere but where he is now, about to do something that was nothing like what he was about to do. But his throbbing arm was blocking any rational thoughts from entering his mind. All he could think about was getting Lucifer the hell out of his arm, and now!

A shadow moved behind the closed curtain inside the home, and Dean ducked behind a miniscule bush at the edge of the yard. A young man was standing in his living room. He was just standing there, unmoving. If Dean was going to do this, he had to do it now.

-0-0-0-

Carter stood by his phone, listening to the missed messages he had received while he was at work. As the second message came to an end, he heard a bang coming from his back door. Carter remained perfectly still, listening attentively for a sign that someone had possibly broken in. When silence rang through the air, Carter cautiously inched his way towards the back door to investigate.

The door was wide open. There was no sign that it had been forcibly thrown open. Carter glanced around the back room very slowly. Just as his gaze reached the back corner, a man seemed to emerge from the shadows and hastily marched towards him.

Carter fell backwards and scrambled against the opposite wall. The look on the man's face was filled with bloodlust and mercilessness. Carter's breathing sped up as he noticed a knife in the man's left hand.

"Please," Carter pleaded, throwing his hands up in defense. "Don't do this. I promise I won't tell anyone about this."

The man didn't even hesitate to answer. "I have to."

The blade was thrust forward and Carter had only a moment of pain before everything faded away.

-0-0-0-

The man lay lifeless on the floor in front of Dean, a pool of blood beginning to form around his feet. Despite the pain racking his body, he was still able to feel the guilt over killing this man, this guy who was completely innocent.

As a wave of agony tore through his arm once again, Dean cried out, unable to hold the devil back. He brought the knife to his arm and slashed it across the burning red surface. He winced slightly, and uttered the incantation.

"Anima corpori. Fuerit corpus totem resurgent"

A trail of gleaming red light sprung from his arm, and floated down towards the corpse of the man. Dean could feel every molecule of the soul leaving his arm, and it felt like what he would imagine it would feel like to be having his arm ripped off by some creature. Fighting to stay conscious, Dean watched as the soul fly into the corpse's mouth and the body convulsed. The entire thing seemed like a scene straight out of The Exorcist.

The last bit of soul escaped from Dean's arm, and he fell forward, collapsing onto his knees. Dean, despite all his efforts, was shaking from the whole experience. As he tried to catch his breath, a cool hand rested on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Dean." A sinister voice came from above. "I really appreciate this."

Dean gazed upward and saw the corpse of the man, reanimated in front of him, a sickeningly charming smile smeared across his face. Seeing the dead eyes made the realisation of the situation set in.

Lucifer was free. He was back on earth. And it was all Dean's fault. More people are going to die, countless are going to be injured, and it was all his fault.

"Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but I have some business I need to attend to." Lucifer sneered, right before vanishing into thin air.

Dean remained still, trying to comprehend the gravity of the situation. Suddenly, he felt a buzzing coming from his jean pocket.

He pulled out his phone and say Sam's name illuminating the screen. Dean, not knowing what else to do, answered the call.

"Dean!" Sam's voice sounded frantic on the other end of the line. "I've been trying to call you for an hour! Where are you? Are you okay?"

There was nothing Dean could say that could possibly make up for what he just did. There were no words to express the regret and guilt he felt deep inside him at this moment.

"Dean!"

"Sam," Dean's voice began, slightly too wavering. "I screwed up. I screwed up big time."