Dean was still trying to get the image of Castiel kissing Crowley out of his head as they were led along a long, white-walled corridor by a young, enthusiastic demon with curly hair, black eyes, and an official-looking suit. This was Hell, they had been told, but none of them were quite sure how they'd got there. All they knew was that there had been some sort of demonic ritual involved, and that they were to stick close by their guide at all times. Their guide was one of the few who actually knew, Crowley said, where the Cage was. His name was Beelzebub.

This wasn't like the Hell Dean remembered. He didn't even recognise it. He'd been preparing himself mentally for the flashbacks, but they didn't seem to be coming, which, all things considered, he supposed was a plus. He was more worried about Sam. He'd tried to convince him to stay behind ("Remember what happened last time you remembered the Cage?") but Sam wasn't having any of it. It was his fault, as far as he was concerned, that Adam was in there, and he wanted to be the one to pull him out.

This Hell was people waiting quietly in line, and the further they went down the corridor, the more corridors splintering off there seemed to be. Some of them had people lining up, others did not.

"It wasn't like this when I went in through Purgatory," said Sam.

"That was the basement," said Beelzebub. "We save that for, uh, special cases."

Neither Sam nor Dean needed to ask what 'special cases' meant. It was where Crowley had been keeping Bobby, after all.

The further into Hell they travelled, the sparser the lines seemed to become. They travelled up and down staircases for what seemed like hours until they were totally alone and began to feel very enclosed, and Dean started to suspect that the demon wasn't trying to lead them anywhere at all. He whispered his fears to Sam.

"He has to. I read every word of Crowley's contract, like you said. He's definitely taking us there."

"Can they break those contracts?"

"I don't think so. They'd have to go to a lot of trouble to find a loophole."

"What are you whispering about?" whispered Cas. Sam explained.

"Hey, B," said Dean. "We gonna be much longer? My feet are starting to hurt."

"Of course they are, you're in Hell," said Beelzebub. "Don't be such a little bitch."

They continued walking, taking turns left and right until they reached the top of a tall staircase. Below, the walls of the corridor seemed to be made entirely of stone. It appeared to stretch on for miles into the darkness, and from what Sam, Dean and Castiel could see, there were demons stationed every few feet. Beelzebub motioned for them to move down, and they did. Their guide remained at the top of the staircase. The demons guarding the corridor didn't move. They just watched.

"I can already tell this is going to be fun," murmured Dean, as they began their walk. The demons' stares were crawling up his spine.

"This isn't fun at all," muttered Castiel. "I feel tainted just being here – and I'm a fallen angel."

Sam wasn't saying very much. "You can wait here if you feel like it, Sammy," said Dean. "You've come this far – we can go and get Adam out."

"No," said Sam, looking straight ahead. "I need to do this, Dean."

There was no talking Sam out of it, so the three of them talked no more as they headed towards the end of the corridor. What they saw when they got there was a large metal gate, with another two demons standing guard outside. They stood aside when the three of them approached, though – they'd obviously been informed of the situation.

"Thanks, guys," said Dean, flatly, fumbling for the lock on the gate, which was a literal metal lock down here. Sam smiled a tentative smile while Dean unlocked it, and Castiel's face remained impassive. Dean pushed the gate and it swung open. The three of them exchanged looks, and then they stepped inside.

/

Inside the Cage, Adam had resigned himself to teaching Michael what Twitter was.

"And people use this to gather... followers?" he said.

"Yes," said Adam. "That's what they call them."

Michael's brow furrowed. "Only God should have followers."

"Or me," said Lucifer, who was leaning against the bars on the other side of his cell, dangling his arm out and looking bored. "I have followers."

"Do you actually believe that to be a persuasive argument for your cause, or are you just really stupid?" asked Michael.

"I'm not saying it's an argument for anything, I'm just saying I have them. Do you have followers, Michael?"

"Of course I don't," said Michael. "Only our Father—"

"And every blasted human on that Earth, or so it would appear."

"Guys, can you not do this again?" said Adam, who was beginning to become exasperated with their constant bickering. It wasn't even particularly angelic – they behaved like regular humans, and it was irritating more than anything else. "Look, Michael, I'll show you how to re-tweet something..."

"Then can you show me how to work Instagram?" whined Lucifer. "I'm bored."

"Yes, I'll show you how to work Instagram, Lucifer."

"What do you want to use Instagram for?" said Michael. "You've been looking at these same four walls for the last billion years."

"Michael, shut up."

"No, why don't you shut up? You're always begging for attention, and this should be my time. In fact, this is my vessel. You have no right to speak to him at all."

"This is my Cage," said Lucifer, mocking Michael's tone. "Why don't you get out?"

"Believe me, I would if it were possible," sighed Michael.

"I think we all would if it were possible," Adam muttered under his breath.

"The most inconveniencing thing about having that for a brother," said Michael seriously to Adam, jerking his head in Lucifer's direction, "is that nothing I can post on your social networking sites can discredit him any more. He has already fallen as far is it is possible to fall."

"I can hear you," said Lucifer. "I'm like six feet away."

"You said something about re-Twittering?"

"Uh, re-tweets, yeah..."

At that moment, the gate swung open.