The hellhound had rocked him violently with its pounce, wrenching his shoulder from its socket. It had dug its wicked claws into his stomach, tearing into his flesh. It had chewed into the meat of his shoulder and ripped the skin. Then, it had simply stopped, jumped down from his still swinging body, and returned to its master's side. After that, Dean had been left to bleed. He didn't know how long he'd been hanging there, or how long the creature would wait to return. He suspected it was a demon. What else could control hellhounds? Yet, it still hadn't shown itself to confirm that suspicion.
The only sounds in the cavern were the steady drip, drip, drip of Dean's blood to the stone below, and his breath, coming in ragged gasps. The pain was excruciating, but Dean Winchester had been to Hell. He doubted anything this creature could do would compare to the tortures he had survived there at the hands of Alastair. There he had been ripped apart, only to be reborn and ripped apart again and again. There he had felt true agony. Of course, this time was different, here he was flesh and blood, here he couldn't be glued back together again good as new, here he could die.
After what seemed like hours he had finally stopped swaying back and forth and a new sound began to echo around the cavern with him. It was a muffled whimper. He squinted into the darkness beyond the torch's flickering orange light. Nothing seemed to move there, nothing but the darker shadows cast by the dancing fire light.
"Hello?" he called, voice hoarse and strained. "Is anyone there?" He heard the whimper again, still muffled. "Who's there?" He called again.
A figure stumbled into the light, a woman. Her back was to him and he could see her arms bound behind her at the wrist. A gag was tied around her head, softening the whimper that still emanated from her throat. She was stumbling into the pool of light, her gaze fixed on the darkness before them both. As she came closer, her foot caught a stone and she toppled backwards onto the cavern floor just inches in front of where he hung. When her eyes met his, full of fear and pain and confusion, Dean felt his heart plummet into the soles of his feet. "No!" He cried. "No, no, no, no, no, no!" He knew her. He thought he'd saved her from himself. He thought she was safe. She was supposed to be safe. "Let her go you bastard!" Dean shouted into the darkness. "Let her go!"
Dean thrashed, he struggled, he fought like a madman. To be free, to save her, to stop what he knew was about to take place. Drops of scarlet spattered her face and she began to scream through the gag. His voice echoed through the cavern, joining with her terrified screams in discordant harmony. "I'll kill you, you son of a bitch! I'll kill you!"
Sam let the door of the bunker slam behind him as he entered. Every attempt for help had failed. Even Crowley had ignored his pleas, stating simply that he was busy and to "piss off". He climbed down the stairs and dropped the two duffel bags near the map table, then pulled out his laptop and attempted to search for Dean's phone again. He knew the GPS was on, but the phone was either destroyed or somewhere it couldn't be traced. He'd prayed to Castiel repeatedly, begging him to help. He'd called the King of Hell and begged to know what demon had captured his brother. He'd even summoned a crossroad demon and tried to torture it for information. Nothing. No leads, no signs, no evidence of Dean anywhere.
He ran a shaking hand over his face. He was exhausted. It had been two days since Dean's disappearance and he hadn't slept. He needed to eat, shower, and sleep. He moved into the kitchen and fixed himself a sandwich, playing the attack back over in his mind, trying to remember some elusive detail that might lead to finding his brother before it was too late.
They'd been asleep, something had woken him, a soft whooshing sound he thought. He'd opened his eyes to see a shadow looming over his bed. He'd cried out to wake Dean, been thrown to the floor. Wait! A shadow was looming over his bed! Sam ran from the kitchen and into the library, leaving the sandwich half-made and forgotten. Adrenaline pumped through his system. He knew those shadows, remembered fighting them before.
Thumbing through the files of the Men of Letters he quickly found what he was looking for. A file marked "Daeva". One side of the folder held an all too brief description of the creatures. It was all the information the original Men of Letters had written on this particular brand of demon.
Daeva – Zoroastrian demon whose name translates to "Demon of Darkness". Invisible. Summoned. Moves through shadows. Savage and animalistic. Very Strong. Can be seen by the shadows they cast. Can be dispelled with extreme light. No known method of destruction.
Clipped to the other side of the folder was a page that Sam had added himself, a page that told of the brother's own encounter with the shadow demons.
"There has to be a way to track them." Sam told himself. He tossed the nearly empty file down and began a fervent search of the Men of Letters records. There had to be something here, some way to find Dean, something he could do. He searched for hours, finding nothing, energy waning. His stomach growled in protest and he stopped only long enough to retrieve the forgotten sandwich from the kitchen, eating as he searched. As the sun rose above the bunker and the birds began their morning songs outside, Sam Winchester received his only lead. A text message from 666, coordinates to an unknown location and a name "Malleaphar".