Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own them.

All grammatical and spelling errors are mine though.

AN: I probably should have at the very beginning, but this story isn't meant to be an action fic. I think of it more as a slight character study on a 'What If' storyline. It's basically an insight into Dean's demon lifestyle, and yes, most chapters will be fillers. Updates may become slower so please, bear with me.

It hadn't gone that badly after all. Well, Dean wasn't sure if he would ever get all the blood out of his right ear or if broken ribs could heal after being twisted in a certain direction, but all in all, it could have been a lot worse.

Dean ended up having to report the disaster to Alastair who had, by now, reluctantly taken a meatsuit. To Dean's surprise, the white eyed demon took the setback fairly well. But then Lilith's personal assistant, Igath, decided to join the party which was the reason why Dean was still painstakingly yanking out the staples firmly embedded in his arm. The ugly bitch's idea of amusement just so happened to be attacking people with a staple gun.

While it had been an extremely unpleasant situation, it was nowhere near as bad as getting exorcised. Since Crowley had the Colt under lock and key and Ruby's knife seemed to be the only one in existence, the only thing demons had to worry about were exorcisms.

Getting exorcised was both painful and unpleasant. Not to mention that getting sent back to the Pit usually meant that you screwed up big time and worse things were waiting for you down under.

But your first exorcism was a little like initiation. Apparently, you were also a nobody in the Pit until you got exorcised. In a way, it was sort of like Hell's twisted form of demonic hazing.

Dean ended up getting exorcised only a few days after he got out of the Pit by a stupid mistake on his part. He seemed to have a knack of getting himself into sticky situations. Dean ran into a hunter and an old friend, Mark, who had been off the grid for several years at that point. Mark had been laying low for a while and hadn't heard the news of Dean's death.

They ran into each other at a bar and Dean made the rather foolish decision of accepting a drink. In his defense, it had been a long day and beer was beer. But that was when everything went wrong.

Flashback

Dean doubled over in pain, his insides searing with agony, steam issuing from his mouth as his eyes turned pitch black. He was on the ground writhing as the poison spread through his body, trying to cough up the combination of Holy Water and beer he just foolishly drank.

It was a rookie mistake. He should have seen this coming. "C'mon Dean!" he thought angrily to himself, "What the hell were you thinking? All the hunters of the world are now your enemies!"

Mark approached slowly, a malevolent expression on his face. Dean vaguely saw him raise his foot off the ground and felt a sharp flash of pain before he succumbed to unconsciousness.

It was difficult to wake. Every fiber of his being pushed him toward the never ending blackness that was oblivion. It was like his body knew that consciousness would only bring him more pain, that awareness wouldn't do him any good.

He groaned and blinked several times before managing to focus on the scene in front of him even though Dean was pretty sure he knew what this was all about. He looked around, taking in the boarded up windows, plastic containers of what was undoubtedly Holy Water, bags of rock salt, and an extremely pissed off Mark standing off to the side.

Wincing slightly, he tried to move but realized quickly that he was bound tightly to a sturdy wooden chair. Looking down, Dean saw a devil's trap drawn in paint underneath him. Well this was one big pile of shit that he got himself into.

"You know," Mark said, breaking the silence, "I really hate demons. But the damn things are always underestimating us. Good for us, but very, very bad for you. Just how stupid do you think we are?"

Before Dean could retort, Mark picked up one of the containers and flung its contents over Dean. He howled in pain as his skin steamed at the contact with the Holy Water. It was like being splashed with boiling acid, the water eating away at his skin. Panting heavily, he looked up to see that Mark had moved directly in front of him, now holding a bag of rock salt.

"You see," Mark said, while dissolving the salt with the Holy Water, "I may have been on 'shore leave' for a while but that certainly don't mean I can't do my job anymore. Nice try, possessing one of my friends. Gotta give you points for creativity."

Dean groaned internally. This wasn't going to be easy to explain. He couldn't exactly explain to Mark that he made a crossroads deal, died, went to Hell, and became a demon all in the span of a few years. There was no way Mark would believe that, even if he was out of commission for a while.

Mark proceeded to dump the salty Holy Water over the demon's head. The burning sensation intensified, if that was even possible. Some had gotten in his mouth and nose, and he choked and coughed, the water searing his throat. He gagged, trying to get as much of the burning liquid out of his sinuses as he could.

Still snorting out Holy Water, Dean looked down at the devil's trap and cussed silently. Sometimes, inexperienced hunters forgot that devil's traps could be washed away easily with Holy Water; unfortunately, it looked like Mark had used waterproof paint.

Mark noticed Dean's trail of thought though. "Nice try. But you aren't getting out of there. Believe me. You're screwed, buddy," the hunter said, grinning.

"Have fun in Hell," Mark said before reciting the Latin exorcism. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Omnis Satanica potestas."

Dean writhed in agony. His body felt like it was tearing into two, like a gigantic hand was slowly peeling him apart, ready to fling him back to Hell as soon as he was in two pieces.

Dean's body jerked involuntarily as the chair legs scraped against the floor. "Omnis incursio infernalis adversii." Mark continued, as Dean slammed his shoulders into the back of the chair. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that a tiny layer of paint had been scratched off the devil's trap, right where the chair leg had scraped the floor.

Dean rocked the chair back and forth, trying the break the devil's trap. All he needed was one little line in the symbol's paint and he was free. Mark ignored Dean's struggles and read even louder, "Omnis congregation et secta diabolica," He was almost there, just a little more... "Ergo, draco maledicte ecclesiam tuam."

"Got it!" Dean rejoiced internally. With the devil's trap broken, he tore the ropes in half, the severed bindings falling on the floor. Dean couldn't help but feel a rush of satisfaction at the astonished look on Mark's face before Dean carelessly snapped the hunter's neck, his body falling, now lifeless, to the floor.

Dean straightened getting ready to leave as he suddenly noticed a man standing in the doorway, his expression murderous. "Shit," Dean hissed under his breath. It was Ted, Mark's best friend. He'd been so stupid to think that Mark had been alone.

The two stared at each other for one long second as fury darkened Ted's face. Before Dean could make a break for it, the hunter had shouted out the rest of the exorcism. "Secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos!"

Dean howled and dropped to his knees as those last few words broke the tenuous hold he on his body. He felt himself ripping into two, as a crushing force extracted his essence from his body.

The hunter watched as the column of thick black smoke shot upward from the body, coiling angrily like a storm cloud before dissipating into thin air.

The force seemed to hurl Dean backwards, enveloping him in a constricting hold until he felt the all too familiar scorching heat that he had grown so accustomed to in the past year.

End Flashback

Fortunately, it didn't take too long for him to retrieve his body. It hadn't started to decompose yet and for that he was thankful. He did have to do a little bit of digging in order to recover his meatsuit. And that was why he now had a binding link carved on his upper arm as a result of his first and hopefully last exorcism.

Because of the recent mission's failure, Dean had good amount of time to kill as it was standard with failed assignments. Dean wandered around aimlessly, lost in thought.

What were the angel's plans? It almost seemed as though Heaven had ulterior motives. While they were at a disadvantage, an angel could easily kill most demons with a single touch. It didn't seem likely that Heaven would let forty three of the Seals break that easily. And what was up with Castiel's warning for Sam? He obviously wanted the message to come from Dean as Castiel or another angel could have easily delivered the message themselves. So what was Heaven hiding?

Dean suddenly realized that he was standing outside someone's house. It was easy to lose track of where you were going while lost in thought. It had happened to Dean several times before. Once he had ended up in Quebec, and another time he found himself in the middle of Caracas.

It took Dean a second to gather that the house he was standing next to was extremely familiar. He peered through a nearby window. It looked almost exactly the same except for the multitude of beer bottles littering every surface.

"Well Bobby always drank he was stressed," Dean muttered to himself. He couldn't stick around. Bobby would be a whole lot angrier than Sam was if Dean decided to pay the old man a visit.

Taking one last look at the house, Dean turned to leave but before he could do so, he heard the sound of a shotgun being cocked and a voice ring out, "I don't know who the hell you are or who yer tryin' to fool, but you'd better get off my porch before I blast ya full of buckshot!"

I don't want to beg for reviews, but I do admit that they make me want to update quicker. Hint, hint.