A/N: EEEEEEEE, I am overwhelmed by you guys! Thank you so much! :D I am glad you are on board, and hope you'll enjoy this story the way I see it. :)

And for any of you who's following Stand Still and Breathe, it's been updated and is almost complete. That's getting very hard to write too, thanks to the finale. I am wondering if I'll ever get over that now. It's been two weeks and I still want to curl up and die. Guh.

Anyway, this is unbetaed, in case you guys don't know. I'd ideally get a beta's help, but I'm gonna try to finish this before the new season begins and I don't want to unnecessarily burden someone with deadlines when it's not even a challenge.

Thank you, as always, to SPNxBookworm for being an amazing person and a constant motivation. :)

Two: Recognising and Realising

The lights flickered around Dean as he moved closer to the mirror. He had several wounds on his face, but he couldn't feel a single one. He grimaced as the skin around them began to heal, suddenly, flesh inching closer, as though there was an invisible suture passing through them, sewing them up.

He was a demon. A fucking demon. This wasn't a joke or, as far as he could tell, a dream. Because he had died — and he knew it, and he hadn't wanted to come back because the Mark was doing strange things to him. He hadn't eaten in days… had had the urge to kill and harm and his temper hadn't been very good either. Plus, he had felt very strong, and more determined than ever. And he was still feeling the same thing, except it was all a lot more in control.

Should he have known that it was all leading him to… this?

Dammit, Sam was going to kill him. Literally. Dean should have listened to Cain. Cain had warned him about something — probably this — but then, killing Abaddon had been too darn important.

"So, Squirrel, need me around yet?"

Crowley's voice made Dean look around from the mirror, but he didn't flinch. His reflexes were sharp without the added weight of alarm, and it felt it awesome. This would be so useful in a hunt. Gutting those fuglies was going to be as easy as crushing a bug.

Dean flexed his fingers as he frowned at Crowley. "I thought I told you to fuck off."

"Oh, stop flirting before I blush," said Crowley with a smug grin, taking a step forward. "Tell you what? I'm the only one who is going to be able to give you an inkling of an idea—"

"I don't need you here," said Dean, interrupting him.

"And what about when Moose tries to kill you? When that boyfriend of yours caresses your forehead just to smite you?"

He couldn't argue with that. They might actually do that. Although Cas wasn't Dean's boyfriend — fuck Crowley very much. He growled slightly, clenching his fists, and annoyed that Crowley had the upper hand.

"You can daydream about angel phalluses later," the demon said, interrupting Dean's thoughts. "Right now, if you want this to go the correct way, you have to listen to me."

"And do what?" Dean cocked an eyebrow.

"Come to Hell with me."

Dean snorted. "You've got to be kidding me."

Crowley smirked. "Oh, believe it or not, Squirrel, Hell's your home now."

"Sure," said Dean. "And it's gonna be swell when I assassinate the king too."

"Such snark," Crowley responded in a drawling voice, putting his hands in his pockets and coming closer still, until his face was inches away from Dean's. "But you know what?" He tilted his head, "I know what you feel right now, Dean Winchester. Deep down, you're scared."

"Scared, my ass," Dean sneered. It was the truth. He could feel the strength, the power building up inside him and he knew that if he wanted, he could kill Crowley this instant. But he also wanted to listen to what the bastard had to say.

"You're not scared of me," Crowley replied, "no. But there's always someone lurking in your mind, whom you're scared for. Concerned, more like." He paused. "Your little Samantha. You're wondering if he'll listen. If he'll understand. If you're dangerous to him in any way. Funny how some things — some people stick even when you turn into a demon, eh?"

Dean just prevented himself from swallowing nervously. Everybody knew what he and Sam would do to protect each other, but he didn't want to prove it to Crowley right now. Instead, he glared at the demon. "I just want your intestines on a stick, Crowley," he said, and courage came back as easy as breathing. "And you know what?" Dean continued, fingers curling as he eyed the First Blade on the bed. "You're the one who's scared. And you're the one who should be scared."

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "You need me."

"Don't be so sure about that."

"So you're saying you don't you want to know what happened? Why this happened? About how this whole thing will work?"

Dean blinked at the demon. His fingers curled more, craving the Blade, but another voice in his head told him that he needed to control his urge. Once Crowley had served his purpose, Dean could, and would kill him. And, oh, he was going to make such a wonderful job of it — torture the son of a bitch and rip him limb-from-limb until—

He shook the thoughts away and glanced back at Crowley. The bloodlust would have to wait. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked Crowley.

"If you're willing to take my advice," the demon replied, "you should come with me."

"Never."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "And we're back." He huffed a sigh. "I'm going to be an altruist here, Squirrel, and let you know that it will be detrimental to your baby moose and your angel if you continue to stay. Well, they'll try to kill you first, yeah, but even if both of them decide that the power of their love can sort it all out between you and somehow keep you human, they'll be wrong."

Dean tilted his head. "I ain't gonna hurt them."

"Keep saying that to yourself," Crowley replied, "but you're thinking that now, because you're a new demon. Souls take thousands of years to get demonised, and yours — it's been twisted in a mere few months. Your change to forgetting your humanness — to becoming evil is going to be just as quick. Who you recognise now as your brother right now will just be another human you would enjoy gutting — another prey you would want to push that Blade into and carve like you did all those souls—"

"Shut up!" Dean snapped.

"Touched a nerve, did I?" Crowley asked him smugly.

"I'll never hurt him," Dean snarled.

"We'll see about that." Crowley paused, and looked at Dean calculatingly. "Your need to kill is much more in control right now, isn't it? Than when you were human? You can quiet all those voices that coax you to kill. And you feel good, even though you wouldn't mind ripping a few heads off."

Dean didn't reply, but Crowley's smile grew wider when he realised he was right. He continued to talk, and he sounded annoyingly amused. "This new, brilliant feeling you have, I'm afraid, is just temporary. You are stronger than you were as a human, so your cravings are still muted. Once you get adjusted to being a demon, though, it will come back. And it will take you over."

"You wanna bet on that?" Dean asked him.

"My best scotch," Crowley replied smoothly.

"Not good enough."

"Not my problem," Crowley shrugged. "I know I'll win anyway." He grinned, and spoke in a low, sing-song voice. "Dean Winchester, Knight of Hell. Who knew I'd ever get to say that?"

Dean's eyes widened. "Wait. What, Knight—?"

"Thought you'd have figured that out," Crowley said with a wink of his eye. And with that, he was gone.

Dean let out an exhale as the First Blade flew into his hand, and he caressed the hilt, a vague hunger growing in the pit of his stomach. He thought about what Crowley had said. Well, that bastard could lie all he wanted, but Dean knew that he was in control. He would be in better control of himself as a demon.

However, right now, he needed to talk to Sam. Without getting killed first, that is. Although is he was really a… Knight… Sam wouldn't be able to kill him.

Dean Winchester, Knight of Hell.

Crowley's voice continued to linger in his head, loud and unwavering.

~o~

The sound of a running engine shook Sam out of his reverie as he waited in the Impala, which was still parked at the crossroads. He looked up to see a familiar car approach him, bathed in the weak light from the crescent moon and running smoothly along the lonely road. Sam opened the door of the Impala and it groaned with a familiar creak as he shut it. Castiel stopped his car a few metres away and switched off the engine before getting out of the car.

Sam blinked at him, walking forward with his hands in his pockets. Castiel's face mirrored the devastation that Sam felt, as he started to walk forward too. They stopped, staring at the road between their feet for several minutes before Castiel spoke up.

"He's at the bunker?"

Sam nodded. He cleared his throat. "You wanna…?"

"I would like to see him, yes," Castiel replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "How did—?" he swallowed audibly, "You saw…?"

Sam nodded again, clenching his fists against the rage inside him. "Metatron. He used the blade. Right into Dean's h—" Sam shook his head, unable to say it, as his eyes burned. He sniffed. "Is he dead?"

"Metatron?"

"Yeah."

"I've put him in prison." Castiel paused. "I hope you understand, Sam. We need him for questioning about the spell that he used to cast us out. He needs to be alive for us to get some information. However, we'll gladly let you kill him once we're done."

Sam nodded, quiet menace resonating in him as spoke. "I'll rip his lungs out."

"And I won't object," Castiel replied. "I'll explain it to the others."

"They hated Dean. They wanted him dead," said Sam bitterly. "So no offense, Cas, but their opinions mean shit to me."

"Hannah apologised," Castiel replied. "You should understand that they were being misled."

"And you?" Sam asked Castiel. "You had picked up the blade. Would you have killed him?"

Castiel did not even take a heartbeat to reply. "No. Your brother meant more to me than you think, Sam. And I know he meant the world to you."

"Yeah," Sam scoffed, staring at a wilted bush on the side of the road. "Try getting that message across now. He probably died thinking I didn't give a shit about him and—"

"He never thought that," Castiel replied.

Sam snorted. "I know him, Cas. You know what he said to me when I was trying to help him when he'd been stabbed?" He looked into Castiel's eyes and continued, when his friend didn't reply, "He said he thought I was okay with him dying." Rage filled Sam again and he grit his teeth to stop himself from shaking. "Because I'd told him that I wouldn't save him if he died."

"You didn't say that."

"No, I didn't. I meant that I wouldn't let him get possessed. But he thought I would let him die."

"You must understand," Castiel said. "He trusted you, Sam. He cherished you. Even when you weren't on the best of terms, he knew you wouldn't abandon him."

"Yeah, right," Sam whispered, shaking his head and blinking against the stinging in his eyes as he looked back at the Impala. The car's black body gleamed in the moonlight, and for a moment, Sam almost saw Dean sitting at the wheel, stroking the dash and grinning.

She's gorgeous, isn't she, Sammy?

And yes, it was a gorgeous car. It was home. Comfort. Family. Dean.

"Sam?"

Sam turned to his friend. "You chose him, though. Over them all." He paused. "Thanks. I think he really needed that. After all the shit I said to him… you're the person he should have trusted instead of me, you know? I just keep screwing with his faith in me."

Castiel didn't reply to that but continued to look at Sam brokenly, tears gathering in his eyes. Sam realised then that his own eyes were wet. He blinked rapidly and ran a hand through his hair. "We should get back to the bunker. I'd summoned Crowley and if he decides to show, I don't want him tampering with Dean's—" he swallowed, "Dean."

Castiel sniffed and nodded, before cuffing at his eyes. Sam turned away, unable to grasp the fact that his tough-as-nails friend had tears in his eyes. He had never thought he'd witness this, and his heart missed a beat.

"I'll come with you in the Impala," said Castiel in a slightly shaky voice. "I can pick up my car later."

Sam nodded and walked to the car, listening to Castiel follow him, and once they'd sat inside, Sam turned on the ignition. The Impala growled to life.

Look at her purr! Oh, baby, you're all mine.

Suddenly, Sam couldn't breathe. He gritted his teeth and forced his lungs to work to pull air, but they didn't follow his command. Unable to bear it anymore, Sam killed the engine and scrabbled at the door handle to unlock it. He needed to run, to get out, to do something—

"Sam."

Sam found the handle, pulled up the lock, and threw the door open, before falling out on the rough ground. His palms scraped against the cold asphalt, dirt sticking to them, but he didn't care. The cool air lashed at his face, making his skin sting. He still couldn't breathe.

The car's doors creaked again, and boots thumped against the ground in swift footsteps. There was a hand on his shoulder. "Sam."

"N-No…" Sam gasped, his vision tunnelling. The hand on his shoulder clutched him tighter.

"Sam, you have to breathe."

"No…"

Sammy.

Sam struggled, a dry sob escaping him as everything started to dissolve into blackness. His heart beat rapidly, thumping loudly against his chest. His shoulder was going numb and he could vaguely hear Castiel saying something.

Sammy, come on. You gotta breathe, man.

"Sam, please don't fight me."

Sammy.

"Sam."

Sammy, breathe.

"Let me help you."

Listen to Cas.

"Sam, please."

In, out. In, out.

Sam coughed. "D-Dean."

That's it. Very good.

"Yes, Sam, you are doing well. Take another breath. You are okay."

He opened his mouth, taking in a gasping breath as he felt Castiel's hand on his back. His shoulder hurt from where the angel had grasped him and slowly, his vision began to clear as he breathed, even and steady, feeling Castiel crouch right behind him, his hand still on Sam's back, offering support and comfort.

Sam started to hear the crickets again. His palms were gritty with dirt and Sam cleaned them on his jeans. He was shaking all over. His breaths were mercifully steady, but were still coming in short gasps. He turned back to Castiel, who got down to his knees, his hand firm on Sam's back. Castiel's lips twitched ever so slightly.

Sam turned away, took a sharp breath of air and buried his face in his hands before relinquishing control over a new round of tears.

~o~

It took a while to calm Sam enough and persuade him back into the Impala. The drive from there, to the bunker was silent. Sam had insisted on driving, but Castiel didn't object, for he didn't want to upset Sam any more. They were, as such, having a hard day.

Castiel thought of what Sam had said to him. About choosing Dean over the angels. About Dean needing it. This had never occurred to him when he had put the blade down, and when his followers had walked away, leaving him alone with the Winchesters.

After Sam had left, Dean had clutched on to Castiel and kissed him — a kiss that felt good and right in every way, and Castiel had sensed Dean's gratitude while they kissed. After that, Metatron had spelt out loud for Castiel what he felt for Dean. Castiel didn't want to disagree, but then Dean wouldn't probably be very accepting if he knew, so he was glad that what Metatron had said was just his secret.

He now wondered if the kiss meant that Dean reciprocated what Castiel felt, or if it was just one of those spur-of-the-moment things that humans often tended to do, and if Dean had just felt overwhelming gratitude and affection. Castiel hadn't known what to think at that time, since he hadn't come to terms with his own emotions towards Dean until Metatron made it evident. However, Castiel hadn't known that Dean had actually understood his decision to stand by him as Castiel choosing him over everyone else. He hadn't given it so much thought while siding with Dean — he just knew that Dean was the one he'd always choose.

Later, Castiel had asked Dean if they'd be enough to take down Metatron, and Dean had said they would. And indeed, they were.

If only he had found the angel tablet a few minutes early…

It was no use dwelling on what he couldn't change, and Castiel knew that, but he couldn't help it. Dean shouldn't have died. It shouldn't have happened. And yet, Castiel realised that he should have, somehow, expected it. One of the three of them always died when they fought together like this. There was no way he was used to it, though.

Sam pulled into the bunker's garage in a short while. With much trepidation, Castiel started to walk up with Sam. He didn't want to see Dean dead. And yet, he had no choice. He wanted to pay his respects, and talk to Dean. Perhaps, talking to a corpse wouldn't be the best idea but humans did that and maybe come of the weight would be lifted off his chest if he spoke to Dean.

He wondered if Dean's soul was wandering about the place where he'd been killed, since the souls weren't going to Heaven anymore. They'd have to force the information out of Metatron — make sure Heaven's gates were open to everyone, like they had been before, without the need of a special portal. And then, in a few short months, if he didn't do anything about his grace, Castiel would die too. But, well, Dean would be back by then because he would help Sam locate Crowley and reverse this mess.

For now, however, Dean was dead.

Castiel didn't realise that he'd reached the library, until he heard Sam's voice next to him. "What the hell?"

And when Castiel shook out of his reverie, he knew why Sam had said that. Standing before them, with their back to them, was Dean.

Castiel swallowed, happiness filling him. Dean was alive.

~o~

Sam knew he was dreaming. Or had Crowley come while he was gone and fixed Dean, knowing it was in his best interests to do so? He walked forward, not believing his brother hadn't heard him and Castiel enter, but hoping that he wasn't dreaming like he'd thought. Dean was alive. Alive. Standing before him… a little weird, but here… and…

"Sammy."

They could always recognise each other by the mere sound of their footsteps. It was something they'd gotten used to after having hunted together for so long. They knew how to be in sync, to sense each other in obscure ways, and ever since they'd been like this, Sam had never screwed up in a hunt by being confused between Dean and the monster when he couldn't see them. Dean had been equally proficient.

Happiness and relief filled every inch of Sam, and he wanted to bound forward and pull his brother into a hug and apologise, oh, apologise so much. Tears sprung in his eyes for the umpteenth time that day. Sam wanted to swear to Dean and let him know that he would never ever abandon his brother, and that Dean's life was very, very important to Sam, that they'd be brothers no matter what, and that he'd do everything that Dean said, even bring him all the pie in the world just because he was so grateful Dean was alive.

But there was something stopping him.

Sam sniffed. "Dean?"

Dean moved a little, back still to Sam. "Sam… you — it's me, okay?"

"Yeah, I know that," Sam replied to him. Because yes, he hadn't tested Dean with salt and holy water and all that, but this was Dean. Sam just knew it. It was an innate thing. However, there was something off about Dean, and Sam could sense that too.

He took a deep breath and raised his hands slightly to look non-threatening. "Turn around, Dean. Tell me what's wrong. I know it's you and I won't hurt you."

"Okay." Dean nodded slowly and obeyed him. And all Sam saw were his pitch black eyes.

~o~

"No, please—"

Castiel watched, horror rising in him as Sam pulled the angel blade out of his jacket with a growl. "Get out of my brother!" he said, going ahead with the weapon. And Castiel agreed. The demon possessing Dean would pay.

"Sam," the demon said, reluctantly raising an arm and spreading his palm, so that Sam stopped in his tracks. The demon kept his hand up. "It's me. It's me, okay? Drop that knife."

"My brother was not a demon," Sam snarled, and Castiel's eyes briefly fell on Dean's outstretched arm, where he could see the Mark, red and evident on pale skin. And he remembered the lore he had heard — about Cain, and about the First Blade. He would have to confirm the truth with his brothers and sisters, of course, but if the legend was right…

Castiel looked into Dean's eyes, going beyond his physical visage and glimpsing at his soul. He had raised Dean from Perdition and he could recognise his soul anywhere and even now, as he saw it, twisted and maimed, he knew instantly who this was.

Sam was fighting against Dean, struggling against the demonic powers holding him back, when Castiel spoke. "Sam, I can see his true face. This is, indeed your brother."

And Sam looked back at him, jaw dropping, hand going slack as the blade slipped out of it, and eyes growing wide. There was silence, only to be broken by Dean's whispered voice as he lowered his hand, leaving Sam free to move again.

Black eyes moved to Sam, menacing and emotionless, but betrayed by Dean's voice, which was heavy with relief. "It's me, Sammy."

A/N: Reviews? :D