A/N: "Season Four."

It was unlike anything he had ever known. His ears were clogged with screams and snarling and cursing and the grinding of teeth together. Momentarily he was overwhelmed with it all. With the noises and the choking stench of sulfur and blood and decaying flesh. The edges of his wings were singed as he hovered in the vast expanse that was stretched out before him. His handsome, lean form was shrouded in a blinding pale light that cast long writhing shadows all about him. The battle was still taking place, his brothers and sisters were crying out- their voices sharp and piercing, at such a high pitch that if they were on earth, glass would shatter- as they fought. He knew that he had to move quickly. With the barest movement of his wings, he shot forward, winding through the long tangled coils of chains fashioned like great spider webs. Over the voices of his brethren, their fallen siblings, and the souls in torment, he heard on in particular that gave him pause. Turning his head, he shot in the direction of the voice and found the one that he sought. He cried out to the others, his voice causing the chains to shiver as he shot downward like a comet and grasped the soul by the upper part of his arm at his shoulder. As soon as his skin touched the soul, the chains shuddered and crumbled and he shot upward. His search for the soul's body was tedious, but quick. When he appeared in the dark, damp space cluttered with dirt, he frowned, peering down into the coffin at the scarred, mangled body that the soul belong to. Still gripping the soul with one hand, he stretched out his other and pressed the pads of his first two fingers to the body's forehead. The body's skin immediately became smooth and perfect, showing no bruising, no scars, nothing except the mark of his hand where he had grabbed his soul from the abyss. He carefully placed the soul back into the body, watching as it settled inside and the body took its first coughing breathes. Satisfied, he shot directly upward through the dirt and exploded through the surface, instantly leveling the grove of trees that surrounded the small, isolated grave. For a moment, he hovered there then his form shot away, leaving a trail of light behind him like a shooting star before it faded into nothing.

Dean coughed until he was able to catch his breath, and he slowly opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by darkness. He shakily reached one of his hands to the right pocket of his jeans and pulled it out, fumbling to open it. When it was lit, he saw that he was in a small space, just barely enough room for his body, enclosed by wood. A coffin. He gasped for more air and tried to cry out. "Help!" His voice cracked as he yelled it, and it only came out as a whisper. He coughed a few more times. "Help!" He tried again. He started to pull away at the wood above him, and as he tore a piece away, dirt began to fall through, filling the coffin and spilling over top Dean.

Finally, after much digging, he dragged himself out of the ground. His knuckles were red and bloody from pulling himself through the dirt. He gasped as he crawled out of the hole, and laid upon the dead grass, laying on his back for a moment as he tried to catch his breath. He slowly stood up, wincing in pain a little, as he looked around to see the area around him was surrounded by dead and fallen trees.

He walked and walked and walked until he reached a small shabby gas station. It appeared to be deserted, and there was a closed sign hanging on the door. He knocked a few times before pulling the jacket that was tied around his waist and wrapping it around his fist. He punched through the glass of the door with his covered hand and reached through to open the door from the inside. He headed for the bathroom of the small convenience store and quickly washed off his face. After he splashed water on his face, he looked at his reflection in the mirror, and tugged up his tight black shirt and looked at his chest, memories flooding back from when the Hellhounds shredded it to pieces. But now, there weren't even scars, it looked like it had before the Hellhounds. He let the shirt fall back over his chest and then, seeing something under the edge of the left sleeve of his shirt, he curiously pulled it up, and saw a large red handprint welted over his arm.

After he left the bathroom, he grabbed a bottle of water and gulped down the entire thing. Then he grabbed a plastic bag and began to fill it with various snacks off the shelves. When he reached the magazine rack, a copy of Busty Asian Beauties caught his eye, and he grinned a bit, grabbing it and flipping through the pages quickly, then throwing it in the bag with the rest of the items. He headed for the cash register, fumbling with the buttons until he was able to open it, and he pulled all the cash out, taking it as well. A newspaper was laying on the counter, and he picked it up. At the top of the page it read September 18th. 2008. "September?" He muttered to himself.

The lights flickered and hummed as the bright form landed on the roof of the building. The fluorescent lights began to shake. He folded his wings and tilted his head. "Dean." He said, his voice just over a whisper. "Dean Winchester." Instead of the quiet words, his voice reached Dean's ears as a shrill, piercing screech. Cans of soup rattled together and tumbled off of the shelves. The glass of the lights shattered along with the windows. The glass shot inward, raining down in little crystals on Dean and the rest of the store.

Dean fell to his knees, covering both of his ears with his hands as glass exploded around him. Blood dripped from his ears and he fell over to his side until the noise finally subsided.

His eyes were ringing as he stepped outside and stepped inside the old phone booth, dialing the first number that came to mind. "I'm sorry, the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected or is no longer in service." He hung up, and tried another number.

"Hello?" Bobby's voice said on the other line.

"Hey Bobby. It's Me."

"Me? Who's me?"

"Dean." His reply was met with the sound of the dial tone. He put in another quarter and dialed Bobby's number again.

"This isn't funny," Bobby's voice immediately snapped. "Call again and I'll kill you." After he finished speaking, the dial tone blared in his ears.

Dean held the phone away from his ear for a moment and then hung it up, looking around, unsure of what to do next. He spotted an old car parked to the side of the dust road, arching a brow.

Bobby walked through the house, grumbling to himself as he moved to the door and pulled it open. He stared for a moment at the person at the door then took a step backward, reaching behind himself to the waistband of his jeans. He then yanked out a knife, giving a cry as he lunged forward.

"Bobby. It's me, it's really me!" Dean said as he began to wrestle with Bobby. He finally managed to break free and he stepped back halfway across the room. "Your name is Bobby Singer. You became a hunter after your wife died, you're about the closest thing I have to family," he said, putting his hands out in front of him in defense.

Bobby hesitated a moment, looking Dean up and down, his brows furrowing a moment before he rushed forward again, brandishing the knife.

"I'm not a shape shifter!"

"Then you're a revanen!" Bobby yelled in return.

Dean wrestled the knife away and stood back, holding the knife up. "If I was either, could do I do this, with a silver knife?" He said with a nod as he cut into his arm with the knife, wincing a little.

Bobby stared at him a moment, watching the blood run down Dean's arm. He stepped forward and spread his arms, pulling Dean into a firm hug. He patted his back then pulled away, looking Dean over again. "Good to see you, boy." He said with a small smile. "How are you back?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, I just woke up in a pine bo-"

Before he continued, Bobby threw holy water onto him. When nothing happened, he shrugged a little.

Dean spit out some of the water and stared. "I'm not a demon either, you know."

"Well, can't be too careful," Bobby said.

"Well I know whatever it is that brought me back, it left me a little souvenir," Dean said, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt to show Bobby the mark.

Bobby's eyes narrowed as he stepped forward and took his arm, studying the bright red handprint. "I've never seen anything like this."

"Some… presence flew past me up at a fill up joint. Whatever did it, it's some bad mojo, I can feel it," Dean said with a nod. "So where's Sam, Ella, and Oshea."

"I haven't really been in contact with them in a while," Bobby released Dean's arm and looked up at him.

Dean arched a brow and picked up a half empty bottle of Smirnoff off the table. "What's with the liquor store, your parents out of town or something?"

"These past couple months haven't been easy for either of us," Bobby said with a frown, taking the bottle away from Dean.

"Why'd you guys bury me anyway?" Dean asked.

"Well, Ella and I wanted you salted and burned, regular drill, but Sam and Oshea wouldn't have it." He said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes some. "They said you'd need a body when they brought you back."

"Think either of them probably made a deal? Whatever left the little present on my arm could have been a demon, you know. Riding me out. Keeping up with their side of the deal."

"We should go and find them," Bobby said with a nod.