One year later

The room was dim, a meager slither of light peeking through the drab, patterned curtains as the Winchester brothers slumbered fitfully in the shabby hotel room. The room was soundless except for the dull echo of the clock on the wall and the rumble of a car passing in the night. A tall lamp flicked on, the sudden glow disorientating the two boys who shifted and squinted against the harsh light.

"What the hell?" Dean mumbled incoherently before his eyes focused on the figure in the room and he swiftly pulled the demon blade from beneath his pillow. Sam stood up stiffly, his hand poised on the pistol in his grip, his eyes hard but knowing the salt round would do little to harm the King of Hell.

Crowley smirked in amusement, "Hello boys."

"What are you doing here, Crowley?" Sam wondered out loud and the King shrugged and scratched his chin, "Hmm, guess you don't want your friend back as badly as I thought."

Sam and Dean eyed each other warily before turning back to the demon encroaching on the small space. Crowley eyed the dingy room with repulsion, "Where's that sorry excuse for an angel? I'd assume he'd want to be here for this."

As if on cue, Castiel appeared with the flutter of wings, his eyes hard and his stance rigid. He eyed Crowley levelly, "Where is she?"

He only smiled and raised his eyebrow, "Don't get your panties in a twist, angel wings."

"Damnit, Crowley!" Castiel erupted, his tone dangerous and enough to even startle the King of Hell, just slightly.

Crowley rolled his eyes, "You Angels are always so impatient."

He clicked his fingers with a dark smirk and she appeared out of thin air, her hands drawn up to her face as if protecting herself from viscous blows, her body covered in grime and her dark waves matted haphazardly to her head.

As if suddenly realising the light from the small room was not fire licking at her skin, she hesitantly lowered her arms and gazed about her warily, her eyes dull and lacking spark. When she finally met Castiel's blue orbs, she blinked furiously, as if unbelieving he could possibly be here with her before she managed to choke out, "Cas?"

He reached out to touch her and she threw herself forward, gripping onto him like a life line as she let out ragged, stunned breaths, her eyes alight with shock and confusion. Castiel clung to her tightly, his hands tangling in her matted locks as he tried to comfort the hell in her mind.

She shook wildly and wrapped her fingers around the soft hairs at the back of Castiel's neck, "You're here. You're finally here."

She continued to mumble incoherently, short ramblings of fire and pain, of loss and loneliness. Of shapes in the dark, of bloody skies and acid rain. And that was when Castiel knew for certain, knew the light in her amber irises had all but faded, sputtering like flames caught in the eye of a storm. Knew her soul was tainted with torture and pain and he was hopeless, unable to ease her suffering.

Castiel knew then, in his heart, that Lyra would never be the same.

Fire and ice,

Splinters in time,

Let's drown in the beat of the heart,
Let's drown in the ache of the Earth,

Let's sink to the endless fire,

Til it becomes desire.

Lyra slumped wearily against the bonnet of the Impala, rubbing her wrists out of habit, as if she'd still find herself shackled to the fires of hell, hear the screams erupting around her, feel the blood boiling in her veins. Her heart was racing wildly and she closed her eyes and stilled her breathing before releasing it slowly, trying to find some semblance of calm.
They were parked in a small clearing with trees lining the narrow winding road, sickly moonlight casting eerie shadows across the red dirt beneath her shoes. Lyra knew why Dean had brought her here, why he hadn't spoken a word to her the entire twenty minute ride from the motel to this random spot on the side of the road. But somehow Lyra was still not ready to face what lay ahead.

She scuffed her shoes in the gravel and peered up into the vast abyss above, its surface rippled with the twinkling of stars and the eerie bulge of the waxing moon. Lyra looked up when Dean handed her a small silver flask and she met his emerald eyes as she took a few steady gulps of the cheap whiskey before returning it to him with a small thankful smile.

They stood there for several moments, neither moving or speaking, both content to listen to the sounds of night and watch the shadows stretch as the buzz of the liquor numbed their senses. Finally, Dean shifted against the bonnet of the Impala and cleared his throat, "How long did you last?"

Lyra was silent for several moments because she answered meekly, "78 years."

Dean nodded slowly, considering. She knew he had only lasted 30 years but somehow, knowing she would be stuck down there for 120 years in Hell made her will stronger, made her steady her resolve until she could take no more.
Lyra could recall the moment she gave in, the moment the pain tore her soul to shreds. She had tried with everything she had to fight against it, to continue on just one more day, one more week. That it would somehow get easier. And yet it never did and she crumbled beneath the agony and took to torturing those poor souls, knowing she had been one of them. Knowing she could never go back.

Lyra sighed deeply, "I can still hear them, all of them. Every time I close my eyes, it's like I'm back in the pit."

Dean turned and met her eyes, seeing the same haunted defeated in her face, the slump of her shoulders and the way she twitched nervously, as if each sound reminded her of a cracking whip or a helpless wail.

Dean nodded and swallowed hard, "I know, Lyra. And I'm not gonna lie to you, you'll never get over this. You can't come back and pretend you didn't see what you saw or do what you did. But you can bury it in the furthest corner of your mind and move on."

Lyra licked her lips nervously and dipped her head, wringing her hands together with that same nervous twitch, "How do you go on, knowing what you know?"

"Kill as many evil sons of bitches as I can." Dean responded without pause and Lyra met his eyes again, "Does it help?"

Dean hesitated and darted his eyes away, his voice almost lost to the night, "A little."