Quiet Apocalypse
Azazel smirked as affectionately as he could as he looked at his two marvels, his two prize horses. Oh, taming them hadn't been easy, hadn't been at all: they were wild, and strong, and beautiful, refusing to bow down to him, to anyone. But the years eventually weakened humans so much faster than demons. Especially humans standing alone against a world that slowly but surely swallowed them up. Then you just had to wait the right amount of time, and then...
He trailed a loving finger up a bare thigh, tenderly caressed an equally bare shoulder, and stood by the head of the bed, just watching with eyes of pure fire. Two bodies, two brothers sleeping entangled on the bed, recently restored bodies resting peacefully. Amazing what demonic rituals can do, really. But even as they looked to all the world to be in the prime of their youth, their bodies smelt good of the earth of their graves, and the slightest hint of sulfur on their breath showed that the Winchesters were on the good side now.
His side.
And his side never had it so good.