Dean Winchester enjoyed the shadows. He had been raised in them since he was four years old. He flourished in them, winning pool or poker games, wooing women, or hunting monsters. The shadows seemed to embrace Dean as one of their own, they were old friends who always seemed to find each other.

Dean stood in an old biker bar, in the embrace of his old friend, a pool stick in his hand. He watched as his burly, tattooed opponent took his shot and sunk several balls. Dean straightened as he realized it was his turn and took his position over the cue ball.

This pool game wasn't like the normal ones Dean usually played. It wasn't about getting money to keep himself and Sammy alive. No, this game was about getting drunk and forgetting all that had happened in the past few days. He and Sammy were constantly fighting, which was why he had left the bunker not long after the incident with Magnus. He didn't need Sammy to find the First Blade or Abaddon. All he needed was Crowley, and Crowley needed him too. For the first time in a long time Dean felt as though he had the upper hand against Crowley.

Dean lined the pool stick with the cue and took the shot. All of the remaining balls ran into the holes. The biker fished in his pocket for the money that he then handed over to Dean. Dean nodded his thanks and headed to the bar where he put the money down for a beer. The young bartender brought him his drink and leaned on the bar, staring at him.

"You should keep that money. Take your girlfriend somewhere nice," she smiled. Dean's green eyes slowly rose so they met the bartender's blue ones.

"Don't have a girlfriend," Dean told her, no emotion evident in his voice.

"Shame," she pouted, adjusting so her low cut top showed a little more cleavage. "You look like you know how to show a girl a good time."

Dean shook his head, his eyes retreating from hers. "Nah, I'm nothing but trouble."

A smile formed on the bartender's lips. "Still, trouble can be fun."

"Clara!" a biker yelled, catching the bartender's attention. Offering Dean a small apologetic smile, she turned to her other patrons and Dean watched her leave.

"Beautiful specimen," a British voice smiled as a newcomer appeared on a stool next to Dean, who rolled his eyes at the demon's entrance.

"Thought you weren't talking to me," Dean grumbled, raising the beer bottle to his lips.

"My boys haven't seen you lately."

Dean shrugged. "Don't care for babysitters."

Crowley glared at the hunter. "In case you haven't noticed, Squirrel, we are in this together."

"I'll find Abaddon, don't worry about it."

"Oh, but you see, Squirrel, I am. I don't think you're motivated enough." Dean's green eyes ticked to Crowley's face.

"I'm gonna kill Abaddon, and then I'm gonna kill you," Dean growled.

Crowley sighed dramatically. "Ah, yes, the brotherly vendetta against all things evil." Crowley looked around. "Where's our dear Moose?"

"At the bunker," Dean deadpanned, taking a sip of the beer.

"And your guardian angel?"

"In the wind," Dean replied, refusing to look at the demon and so continuing to stare at Clara, the bartender.

"Trouble in paradise, Squirrel?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Shouldn't you be, I don't know, anywhere but here?"

"Temper, temper. I only came to talk."

"You've been talking for about five minutes."

"If you would stop interrupting me this would take less of your precious time!" Dean glared at the King of Hell and crossed his arms, leaning against the bar. He inclined his eyebrows showing the demon that he was ready to listen.

"I ran into a friend of yours a while ago. Unfortunately we weren't able to chitchat long, but she did want me to give you this." Crowley dug in his overcoat before pulling out a small slip of paper and placing it in front of Dean.

He was surprised to see it wasn't paper but an old photograph. It was black and white but the image was clear to make out, of course Dean knew it by heart, but this was not the photograph in its entirety. He stood in the photo, a grim expression across his face. He didn't want to come across scared or anxious or any of the other emotions going through him at the time. So instead he looked indifferent.

Dean had his arm draped over a young woman. A blonde twenty-something who had her whole life ahead of her. Instead of Dean's indifference, her brown eyes held a dim sparkle, as though she believed that they would all survive.

The photo had haunted Dean, who knew he had gotten rid of it long ago.

"How-" He turned to face Crowley, but the demon had vanished.