Author's Note: I love me some dark, twisted characters, and to be honest, the weepy and broken Dean that they displayed in this episode wasn't really my thing. So, I wrote me some seriously Dark!Dean, and I hope you enjoy it!

Just a quick note, if you were following my website or my brand new tumblr, you would have known this story was coming! Follow me for updates about the different things I'm working on!

Lyrics in the beginning are from 'To Know That You're Alive' by 'Kutless.'

"Will the situation… bring you around?

The black of night is closing in around you;

The crippling fear moves in as they strap you down.

Will you let a moment get the best of you?

Will this situation bring you around?

When the blood stains dry,

Will it bring you around?

Will it pass you by?

Right now, you're bruised and bleeding;

I see the hurt within your eyes.

I know your pain is for a reason;

You need to feel just to know that you're alive.

The days have turned to weeks but it's not over;

The bandages rewind you to where you've been.

These memories will remind you;

When life takes you out, will it bring you around?

When it's said and done,

Will it bring you around?

What will you become?"

"You aren't… even supposed to know… how to do this…"

Dean tisked and shook his head, running an old shop rag over the latest addition to his arsenal. "Maybe not, but you're on the floor, and I'm polishing my new angel blade. So, that's how that turned out."

"It was… Anna, wasn't it?" Castiel struggled to get air into his lungs, trying to recover from the near exorcism but severely limited by what they had done to him. "You had to have… angelic assistance… This magic has been dead… for millennium…"

Standing up, Dean walked over to the nearby minifridge and pulled a beer out. "Hey, don't discount Sammy with a laptop." Technically not a lie, especially considering the work Sam had poured into their latest collection of theories.

"Dean…" Shifting no more than an inch, Castiel tried to get his hand into a position where it could push against the ground. "This isn't going to… end well for you… you have to know that."

Dean pursed his lips, twisted the cap off, and took a swig, shaking his head as he swallowed. "Nope. I don't know anything like that. I don't fall in line just because the guy cracking the whip is twice my size. It's kinda un-American." He took another drink and walked over to the motel bed, plopping down and directing a curious look toward the floor. "So, so sorry."

Blue eyes stared back at him, half-lidded but blazing. "You… don't sound sorry…" Castiel tried to push himself up, but he made it about two inches before he was dropping back down again.

"Probably 'cause I'm not, but that's just a guess." Dean shrugged his shoulders.

"Dean… let me go…" Eyes closed, fluttered, and were forced open again. "I don't want to have to fight you…"

Dean let out a heavy sigh, and for the first time since they made the capture, he let some genuine emotion shape his face. "Look, Cas. I like you. I thought after the Samhain thing, maybe we were on the same page, but you made it pretty clear that orders trump all. You were going to kill Anna, and she's not a stranger in a small town, she's family. I can't trust you not to turn on me just as fast." He shook his head and let out another sigh, taking a break from speaking only to drink again. "Basically, with everything that's at stake, you can't be running around. You know me better than any other angel, and I can't let that kind of intel stay with Heaven. Especially knowing you'll sing along to whatever tune they play."

Castiel took a shuddering breath. "I'll get out… eventually…" He grit his teeth, and it clearly angered him that he couldn't control his vessel.

"If we let you, yeah." Dean set his beer on the nightstand and clapped his hands, rubbing them together. "Come on, let's get you back on the bed. Maybe this time, don't try to get up as soon as you feel the tiniest bit of control coming back."

Castiel only glared at him, but Dean paid it no mind. He got his arms around the body on the floor and hauled Castiel up onto the unoccupied bed. He gave the angel a patronizing pat on the head and grabbed his beer, plopping onto his own mattress with a contented sigh.

"So, Cas, tell me how these next few weeks are gonna go." Dean gestured to the room with his bottle. "By which I mean, tell me what you plan to do. You don't actually have any control over the next… week, month, year… however long I decide." He took a drink and pointed to Castiel. "But we're gonna be asking questions, so what are you gonna do about that?"

"I won't be answering." It was the only thing Castiel had managed to say solidly in hours, his voice thick with anger and indignation.

"See, I think you will." Dean smirked. "Do you have any idea how good I am at what I do, Cas? Do you know how high I ranked on the list of tormenters after just ten years on the job?" His grin expanded when he saw the brief flicker of fear in Castiel's eyes. "I did warn you, Cas. I told you not to send me in there. I told you that you wouldn't like what came back out."

Castiel watched him carefully, his expression blank, but he couldn't hide anything completely. Not with eyes so bright and open and intense. He felt fear—maybe not a primary emotion, maybe he didn't even know he was feeling it, but it was there—and Dean wondered when, if ever, Castiel had been so helpless.

"Your body is pretty weak." Dean stretched and yawned. "You should get some sleep. You're gonna need it." He took another drink and then, upon realizing the bottle was almost empty, downed the rest. Oddly, even though he had consumed it—and its predecessors—much faster than he should have, he didn't feel drunk. He didn't even feel tipsy.

Castiel glared slightly, but he wasn't capable of holding the expression for long. His body was weakened, just like Dean said, and with all the sigils they had drawn on him, there wasn't much his angelic power could do about it.

Dean got to his feet and took the bottle to the nearby table, grabbing his phone from his pocket when it started to vibrate. "Don't wander off, Cas." He laughed at his own joke and flipped his phone open, stepping out onto the balcony. "Hey, Sam, how's it coming?"

"Do you think I should get food for him just in case?" Sam answered the question with a question. "Like, applesauce and other foods that are easy on the stomach?"

"How should I know? You and Anna designed the sigils, not me." Dean leaned against the railing but immediately straightened up when it wobbled under his weight. "Maybe get protein shakes or something. I don't think we'll need him humanized long enough for him to really need food but…"

Sam sighed on the other end of the line. "I should be done soon. How is he?"

"I think he's at least a little scared, and he already thinks you're the devil incarnate, so you'll probably freak him out just by walking in the room, especially since he can't move."

Sam snorted. "He doesn't seem like the kind of guy who gets freaked out, Dean. We only got the jump on him because you let Alistair out of his chains long enough to nearly exorcise him."

"Yeah, but we did get the jump on him, and he's paralyzed now. He has a lot more to be afraid of now than he did then." Dean lowered his voice on the off chance someone heard him and didn't have enough of a record to keep from calling the cops. "Bobby said he has the panic room ready, and I can start right away." He was dying to start right away, actually, but he tried to cover it up by pushing the conversation along. "How much do you think we're going to be able to get out of him?"

"I don't know. I'm still really hoping we'll be able to pressure and scare him enough to make him talk." Sam paused, and his tone had changed when he spoke again. "Not that you don't know exactly how to get whatever we need from him."

"You might get lucky." Dean wet his lips, already feeling a little jump in his chest at the thought of cutting into someone. "He hates being talked down to, and if there's one thing we do well, it's sass."

Sam chuckled softly. "Yeah."

There were a few seconds of silence, and then Dean cleared his throat, pushing that desire for blood back down where it came from. "I, uh… I scared you, didn't I?"

"Yeah." Sam didn't hesitate, and that hurt more than Dean thought it would.

Dean wet his lips and looked down at the sidewalk below. He shook his head slowly, huffing out a low breath. "I was in Hell, Sam. Did you really think it wasn't going to twist me up inside? Turn me into something new?"

Sam's jacket rustled against the phone. "I thought… I thought what you did in Hell scared you so bad you were afraid to… I didn't realize you… I thought…" He struggled with his words for a few more moments, and then he let out a soft sigh. "I don't know what I thought."

Dean chuckled bitterly, a cold smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "You thought I was weak. You thought you were the only one who could get the job done." He laughed again, mirthless and worn. "Oh, Sammy… Next time I try to protect you, just believe me, alright?"

"I will." Sam was silent for a moment. "Dean, are you…? I mean—"

"No, Sam." Dean shook his head despite the fact Sam couldn't see him. "I know I seem a little unhinged, but I won't start cutting up everyone in sight. This is about achieving a goal. Everything I do will be methodical and pre-planned, and there is no amount of manipulation that could make me think about innocents the way I think about my toys." Because Dean saw everyone who went under his knife as a toy, and he knew it was wrong, but he also couldn't stop it. "I won't lie and say I'm still the me I've always been, but I am still the me you've been with since I got back."

"Are you?"

Dean couldn't express in words how grateful he was to hear Sam snapping at him. Did the disbelief hurt? Yes. But knowing his little brother was too afraid to talk back would have hurt so much more.

"Yes, I am. But the stakes and the rules have changed. I have to make some choices I've been able to avoid up until now. It's not like I haven't thought about using what I learned in Hell to get what I want since I've been back, I just never needed to." Dean looked over his shoulder at the door to their room, a slight twinge pinching his chest. "I don't want to hurt him, Sam. I mean, don't get me wrong, Cas can be a real pain, but his only crime is blind obedience and maybe a bit of spinelessness when it comes to his superiors. It sucks, because I would really rather have a turn with that piece of work, Uriel, but it is what it is."

Sam sighed softly. "I know what you mean." More rustling in the background. "Castiel doesn't have that same… arrogance. If he finds something about humanity to be stupid or weak, he acts more confused than self-righteous. Not always, but…"

"Hey. Stop making me feel bad before I even get him on a table."

Sam snorted. "Fine, fine." He paused. "Dean?"

Dean hummed but gave no verbal response.

"If I tell you to stop… if I tell you you're going too far—"

"I'll stop, Sam. I swear, I will stop." Dean hated that Sam even had to ask, but he was also incredibly grateful to know someone would have the guts to pull him back. "I promise, Sam. I'll be honest, if we were in Hell… then no, but there are parts of that me I left down there. There are big parts of who I was and what I did that I couldn't pull back out if I tried. I will stop if you tell me to, Sammy. I will."

Sam was quiet for a long time, and then he took a quick breath. "Okay." He changed the subject in less than two seconds, clearly uncomfortable. "I've been thinking about the sigils."

"What about'em?" Dean glanced around and made sure he was still alone.

"Well, we know we have to burn them onto him, otherwise they won't last. Could we use the branding as part of the interrogation? I mean, if it has to be done either way, we might as well put it toward the interrogation… maybe it'll make us both feel a little better. Knowing we're trying to inflict as little pain as possible."

Dean tilted his head slightly, a smirk curling his lips. "Hell is so lucky we weren't down there together. There wouldn't be an Alastair or Lucifer or anybody else. We'd be running the show."

Sam laughed weakly. "I'm… going to take that as a compliment, I think."

"You should." Dean looked over his shoulder at the door again. "I don't want to leave him alone for too long. Finish getting what you need and get back here."

Sam didn't say anything at first, but then there was movement and a reply. "You're right. Even with the sigils Anna put on our ribs, I would really feel a lot better if we were at Bobby's, inside the angel wards. If we need to make another run, we can make it after we get there."

"You got it." Dean turned to face the door, but he didn't move toward it. "Should I pack your stuff for you?"

"Yeah, you better." Sam was moving more on the other end of the line. "We can't afford to screw around. I'll be there as soon as I can—fifteen minutes, maybe?"

"Got it. See you soon." Dean snapped the phone shut without waiting for an answer, and he took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and pictured the coming days, pictured a body splayed out on a table, blood spilling onto the floor, and he felt a thrill run through his veins.

Take a deep breath. You can't let it get in your head.

But how? He had been craving it since he first woke up by his own grave, and killing monsters quick and clean didn't do the trick. It had to be bloody, and twisted, and excruciating. Now he finally had a chance to feed the beast, and he honestly thought he could stop himself? Just because it was wrong? Just because Sam asked?

It's not like I didn't warn them.

Shaking off the thoughts of his next high, he grabbed the doorknob and let himself in, immediately noticing the lack of a Castiel. Unconcerned but cautious, he slipped into the room and shut the door behind him, slowly approaching the beds. It took all of four steps to find Castiel lying on the floor in a heap.

"Well, it looks like that was about as successful as the first twenty times you tried it." Dean shook his head disdainfully and crouched down. "Did it make you feel better? You know, moving all of two feet and winding up on the floor, paralyzed and in pain, just as helpless as you were a minute earlier? I feel like it would be pretty empowering."

Castiel glared viciously but said nothing, shoulders heaving as he struggled to keep oxygen in his body. It was something Dean figured he wasn't used to; angels probably didn't need oxygen under normal circumstances.

"I think I'll leave you there for now. Can't fall if you're already on the ground, right?" Dean tousled Castiel's hair with a mocking smile. "You better get used to it. Those sigils aren't going anywhere." He grabbed Sam's duffel bag and started packing anything in the motel room that wasn't his own. "If you're good for us, we might let you move again, but… well, you never know. I might change my mind."

"Dean—"

"Of course, if you tell me what your psychotic family is up to, maybe we won't need to paralyze you at all. We won't let you go, of course, but… there's a big different between being grounded and being immobile." Dean zipped the bag, ever thankful for Sam's masterful, light-traveling skills. "What do you think, Castiel?"

"I won't tell you anything…" Castiel opened his mouth to speak again, but he choked on air, struggling to breathe for a moment. "You—you know I won't."

"Do I?" Dean set Sam's bag next to his own and then opened the fridge, pulling out the last two beers and a bottle of Coke. "I know I was one of the best tormentors in Hell. I know Sam is the Boy with the Demon Blood." He left the kitchen area and rejoined Castiel on the floor. "I know you and your family have threatened me and my family for the last time." He grabbed Castiel by the hair. "I know I'm fed up, I know I'm tired of getting the runaround from the Halo Patrol, and I know I'm not the kind of guy you want to have on your bad side." He trailed his other hand down Castiel's cheek, fingers digging into the sharp jaw and pulling his head up at an odd angel. "I know what I'm capable of." Dean relaxed his hold on Castiel's hair while simultaneously turning the grip on his chin to steel, fingers trailing gently through the dark locks. "Most of all, I know by the time I'm done with you, you're going to tell me everything Heaven has planned, whether I ask for the information or not. That's what I know."

Castiel struggled weakly, trying to pull his head away to no avail. To his credit, his fear was once again only visible in his eyes—his jaw was set, his body was still, and his gaze, while poorly hiding fright in striking shades of blue, was unblinking, unwavering, and narrowed by spite.

"Oh, Cas." Dean laughed softly. "You're in so far over your head."

"If you think… Heaven will stand idly by… while you and—"

"Heaven has no idea where you are. They don't even know you're missing, and they aren't going to find you, so…" Dean gently stroked the messy hair, smirking when Castiel squirmed uncomfortably from the contact. "You picked a vessel with very telling eyes, and do you know what I see? I see someone who knows Heaven isn't interested enough in his wellbeing to drop everything and find him now."

"Heaven has larger concerns."

Dean only smiled, carding a hand through Castiel's hair again, fingers trailing down and massaging the back of his neck a little more vigorously than was necessary. "You know…" he went from massaging to gripping, the vertebrae creaking under his hold, "…they aren't your family, Cas."

Castiel bared his teeth, showing more emotion in five seconds than he had in the entire time Dean had known him. "Think what you will of my—" despite his rage, he still had to gasp for air, "—character, but don't think for a moment, that I am too—stupid to see what you're trying to do." He practically spat the words, lips pulling back in a snarl. "Heaven had—had its way with me long before you took your first breath."

Dean was surprised to hear Heaven had tortured Castiel, but he took it in stride and worked it into his manipulation. He thought Heaven was a detached, uninvolved family, not an abusive one, but he could easily work with either.

"Ooh, it 'had its way.' You do know that's a euphemism for sex, right?" Dean slipped his hand from Castiel's chin and slowly pushed it against the spasming throat. "We had that in Hell, but I never thought angels would play by the same rules."

"That isn't—" Castiel choked, Dean's hands effectively cutting off his air and taking his voice.

"That isn't what you meant?" Dean thumbed the soft skin of Castiel's neck, feeling the muscles fight under his interlocked fingers. "So, you don't know how well you hold up under that kind of torture, huh?"

Castiel froze, immediately realizing his mistake, but if he had any train of thought regarding what to do next, it was quickly derailed by the lack of oxygen. His eyes screwed shut, and he pulled on his head with what little strength he still had.

Dean eased up enough to let some air slip through, a low chuckle rising in his throat. He had no intention of utilizing sexual torture—unless Castiel was unresponsive to literally everything else—but knowing the power such a threat would have was helpful.

"Didn't mean to tell me that, did you?" Dean pressed down on Castiel's throat again. "So desperate to defend your handlers, you slipped up and revealed a weakness." He tisked and shook his head. "Castiel, this is only day one. I expected better from you."

Castiel's fear began to creep outward from the color of his eyes, slowly affecting the shape until they were just a tad wider, his brows just a bit upturned, and his pupils just a smidge dilated.

"I understand why, though. It's probably hard for someone like you, so used to being untouchable, to be this restrained." Dean finally released Castiel's head, fingers moving to tug the angel's shirt open. "Let's see what we have here. Well, this one binds your wings, so you can't fly… this one keeps you from calling out to your dudebros… this one saps your strength, this one keeps you bound to this vessel so you can't bodyhop, this one paralyzes you… hmm, is there anything you can do right now?"

Castiel glared at him, but it was weaker than before, and Dean could practically see the reality of the situation sinking in. So, Dean pushed him a little more.

"Do you want to know my favorite one? It's right here." Dean traced the outside of the sigil on the lefthand side of Castiel's lower back, a smirk curling his lips. "This one is very special. It lets you keep your invincibility, meaning you still can't die unless there's an angel blade involved, but it takes away all your other protections. So, all those lovely things you didn't have to worry about before… pain… bleeding… infection… disease… broken bones… torn muscles… blackouts… you'll heal faster than a human, but at a snail's pace compared to what you're used to."

"There is no such sigil," Castiel spat, muscles tightening in a futile attempt to move away from Dean's touch.

Dean chuckled softly. "I told you not to underestimate Sammy with a laptop." He reached into his back pocket and grabbed his pocketknife, flipping the blade out and tracing the tip along Castiel's skin until it was exactly where Dean wanted. "Now, this is an experimental sigil, and you seem fond of breathing, so I won't hurt your lungs; but let's see what happens when I do this."

Dean slowly pushed the knife into the lower, left-hand side of Castiel's abdomen, moving steadily until it was taken in up to the hilt. Castiel opened his mouth, face twisting up in pain, but he didn't make a sound. His teeth slowly came together, air pushing and pulling through the gaps as he panted.

Dean wiggled the blade just a bit to loosen things up and then slid the knife back out as slowly and carefully as he had pushed it in. Blood rose up from the incision and began spreading across Castiel's skin. Dean smiled, and even though he knew there wasn't enough blood for him to smell it yet, he could remember how it smelled, and he knew it was coming.

"Well, look at that. It hurt, it bled, and it isn't healing. You better hope we got our calculations right, otherwise an injury like this might just go all the way and kill you."

Castiel took a deep breath and schooled his expression, slowly letting air out through his nose. By the time his lungs had deflated, he was perfectly calm again, and Dean had to admit he was impressed.

"Dang. You weren't kidding, were you? You really have done this before."

Castiel didn't respond—wouldn't even look at him—and Dean immediately recognized the behavior as a dissociation technique. That wouldn't do.

"But you still won't talk. They must have you whipped."

That got through, and there was a faint twitch above Castiel's left eye.

"Maybe we can get you a collar. You're probably more comfortable on a leash." Dean smirked. "Heaven's Pet, isn't that right?"

Castiel glared.

Dean's grin expanded. "So, they use physical torture to keep you in line, but they don't play the verbal game." He reached out and combed his fingers through Castiel's hair. "They do emotional manipulation… make you think you deserve whatever brand of Hell they're dishing out… but they don't humiliate you." He took the fabric of Castiel's shirt and pressed down on the wound to staunch the blood flow. "I guess they thought it would be counterproductive." He grinned like the devil he was embracing, briefly wondering what the him of past years would think of who he had become. "So, you don't like it when you're told what a good boy you are? I thought for sure you'd love that kind of praise. Because you are such a good boy, Castiel. Such a good boy for Heaven."

If looks could kill, Dean would have been dead a hundred times and counting.

"I can tell it won't take me long to map your buttons." Dean stroked Castiel's hair again. "You've told me so much already." He let out a soft sigh and got to his feet, pulling the comforter off the motel bed and tucking it around Castiel's body. "You really should get some sleep. Sam will be here soon, and then we're taking a drive, and after that… well, you won't be sleeping for quite a while."

Castiel only glared, but Dean could see the underlying confusion in his eyes. Castiel didn't understand the blanket, didn't understand the head-touching. Part of Dean wanted to play on that, wanted to back Castiel into a corner and give him Stockholm Syndrome as the only way out; however, that was a part of him born in Hell, and the part that got to make the decisions didn't want Castiel's brain to be twisted any more than necessary. Dean would do whatever it took to protect Sam, of course, but he didn't want to form the kind of sick bond with Castiel that he had formed with some of his victims in Hell.

Because Dean had gotten several 'residents' to request him as their tormentor, even though there were things he would do to them that some of the other torturers wouldn't. They asked for him simply because they would get little scraps of comfort and affection throughout the session, and they were so desperate that those tidbits made the doubled severity of the torture worth it. Dean had made them crave his kindness above all else, made them bend to his will completely and irrevocably, made them beg for the torture in exchange for a few kind words and a hug or a kiss. They loved Dean, and Dean owned them in every sense of the word.

Dean didn't want to own Castiel. He just wanted to keep Sam away from Heaven and Hell, and no matter what the professional in his head was saying, Dean didn't want to break Castiel to do that. He wanted Castiel to be able to walk away and recover, somehow, someway, someday.

Dean heard a knock at the door and straightened up. "What's the password?"

Sam's voice was muffled by the barrier. "Open the door, Dean."

"Nope, that's not it." Dean got to his feet even as he spoke, answering the door with a cheeky grin. "Want to try again?"

Sam smacked him on the forehead and then directed Dean's attention to the parking lot below, where the Impala was still running. "I don't want to waste time. I'll get the bags, you get Castiel."

Dean held up a finger. "Actually. How about I get the bags?" Sam could have done it himself, of course, which was why the offered trade served as a silent order.

Sam picked up on it right away, and he went along with whatever Dean was planning. "Whatever works, man." He shrugged and pushed past Dean into the motel room, making a beeline for the lump on the floor. "Let's just get out of here. If I see one more drug deal going down in an alley, I'm going to check myself into rehab just to be safe."

Dean snorted. "I hear you." He threw his duffle over one shoulder, Sam's over the other, and grabbed their drinks. "Keep the blanket, and be careful with his side."

There were rustling noises, probably Sam looking underneath the comforter, and then a low whistle. "You decided to test the sigil, huh?"

"Yup." That was a lie—they had already tested the sigil on a willing Anna—but Dean was fine with Castiel thinking they were unconcerned by the thought of accidentally killing him. "Worked like a charm."

"Sweet."

Sam continued to move after that, but Dean was already out the door on his way to the steps. He wanted Castiel to be alone with Sam for a little while; wanted to let the angel sweat and get an idea for who he feared more.

How now shall we play?

Sam pushed Castiel's shirt aside and reached into his jacket, pulling out a latex glove and slipping it onto his right hand. He placed his left hand on Castiel's side, using his thumb and forefinger to pull the wound open slightly, and then he gently pushed the middle finger of his other hand into the hole.

Castiel screwed his eyes shut and grit his teeth, something like a groan pushing out against his will. He quickly restrained the noise and focused his breathing, a mask of calm washing over his features.

Sam kept pushing, eventually getting his finger all the way in, and then he began to prod lightly in each direction. "Hmm. It doesn't feel like you've healed at all, so that's working right." He pushed a little harder, locating the edges of the slice with a curious hum.

Castiel maintained his lack of verbal reaction, but his eyes began to water with the continued, unrelenting pressure. He panted softly, forehead pressed into the motel carpet.

"It's okay," Sam soothed, knowing Castiel would assume every kind word that came from his lips was a lie. "I'll be done soon."

Castiel glared at him, eyes glassy but scathing.

Sam smiled back, not entirely evil, but devilish enough to convince.

"Well, Dean was right about the sigil working." Sam shed the glove and stuffed it into his pocket, wrapping the shirt and blanket tightly around Castiel's body. "We'll check it again when we get where we're going." Even if Castiel couldn't contact other angels, there was no reason to tell him any more than he needed to know, so he didn't mention Bobby's. "You think you can hold onto me, or are you too weak?"

It was said softly, a genuine question that needed answering, but it was also a taunt, a subtle reminder of the helpless nature of Castiel's situation. Based on the hatred in Castiel's eyes, the implications did not go unnoticed.

"I'll just hold on tight." Sam smiled and pulled Castiel into his arms, struggling at first but eventually lifting the limp body from the floor. "Geeze, you're tiny." Except for the part where he really wasn't.

Castiel remained silent, but the crease in his brow said he was still in pain.

"Easy, easy." Sam walked out the door, trusting Dean had grabbed all they needed. He carried Castiel along the front balcony and then down the steps, smiling slightly when he felt Castiel tense. "Relax. It's just a staircase; I won't drop you."

Castiel growled under his breath, but it didn't last long.

Sam chuckled in response, and the smile lingered on his lips until he was easing Castiel into the backseat of the Impala. Castiel glared the entire time, his gaze occasionally flickering down to watch Sam wrap the seatbelt around his waist.

"There we go, little guy." Sam gave him a couple firm pats on the back, as if he had just finished putting a toddler down for a nap, and then he shut the door, joining Dean at the trunk.

"Dude, that was weird." Of course, Dean had to make a comment. "Little guy?"

"It was forced infantilism." Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "You said he doesn't like condescension. I figure some babying terms and gestures will be helpful. Especially because, compared to him, we're the babies."

Dean smirked to himself, and Sam got the idea he was once again fantasizing about the two of them ruling Hell. Sam didn't like the thought nearly as much as Dean did, and it bothered him that Dean was so readily embracing his corrupted behavior.

I was so stupid. Sam swallowed briefly, wondering if Dean knew just how much he had scared Sam; if Dean knew what had been going through Sam's head when he walked into that chamber.

Sam tried not to think about what Dean was like in Hell, but when he did—or rather, when he had before—he always pictured Dean as this solemn, mission-oriented tormentor. Like hunting, the torture was just a job he did because it had to be done, day in and day out.

But when Dean had heard Sam come in—when Dean had looked over at him with a bloody knife in one hand and a bottle of holy water in the other—his lips had been split with a grin, wild eyes blazing with ecstasy and thrill.

Sam would never forget that image for as long as he lived.

"You can play house if you want, but if you start giving him pacifiers and teddy bears, we're going to have a serious sit-down talk." Dean shook his head and made a face. "There are websites for that, man."

"Ew, Dean, it's not a kink." Sam gave Dean a shove and walked around to get in the passenger side. "Seriously, just… don't."

Dean threw his head back and laughed, getting behind the wheel and giving the keys a twist. "Whatever you say, Sammy. Whatever you say."

Just like that, they were back to normal, as if Sam hadn't just been struggling not to have flashbacks about his own brother; as if Sam wasn't genuinely afraid he had missed his one chance to pull Dean back from the edge by having his head shoved so far up his backside he missed the human meltdown happening right in front of him.

Just like that, they were back to normal.