DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Although I wish I were brilliant enough to create these precious boys.

A/N: Many thanks to SPNxBookworm for her help and support with this fic!

So I'm legitimately traumatised by that finale. I was shocked for several hours, until, that very night, I decided that I'd need to write to get over hellatus. So here it is — my very own season 10 fic.

This will probably become AU by the time we're a few cons in but this is just my interpretation of some stuff, and then me trying to cope with hellatus and all the emotional damage.

I know that Dean as a demon will be different in everyone's mind but I honestly hope he's not downright evil. It's good to read on fanfic, sure, but on the show, which I watch for the concept of SamnDean, I want Dean to still identify what's important to him. I'd like to see a struggle. I'd like to see him trying to pull himself out of it and realise what he is. That, according to me, would be a better adventure than watching Dean as a villain because we all go through this in our life — identifying ourselves and our inner demons, and it's something we can relate to.

So this story might not be exactly what you imagined, but this is what I'd like out of season 10. I'm going to try and figure out demon!Dean with this. I'm going to explore how things would change between him and Castiel, and him and Sam. I want to see if I can write Dean's other side convincingly.

This story is warned for sexual situations, swearing and mentions of PTSD.

The primary pairing in this fic is Destiel, but equal focus will be given to Sam, Dean and Cas. This is also a sequel to my one-shot, 'One Man', but you don't need to read that to get this. It works well as a standalone too.

And if you've read all that, thank you! Here's hoping you'll like this fic. The title has been taken from the Imagine Dragons song, 'Demons'.

One: Inner Demons

"Ain't that a bitch!"

The words reverberated in Sam's head as he braced for Crowley to appear before him. He knew that Dean had been far more hurt than that when Sam had said he wouldn't save him — but in the end, Dean had just decided to let it go because they — Dean — had been running out of time. And he had let Sam know that they were okay, in his own, snarky way. After all, there are a number of things that siblings exist for — the fist fights, the ridiculing, and finally, having each other's backs. But sometimes, you hurt the very people who are closest to you. It might have been by mistake, of course, but sometimes you're so hurt, you want the other person to know, to feel how much they hurt you. It's only fair.

But that is not okay when the person before you dies, thinking, until about five minutes before his death, that you meant it all.

Sam knew what he had meant when he had spoken to Dean after the Pishtaco hunt — he knew exactly what he had meant and he also knew how Dean misinterpreted his words; but in those last moments, Sam had narrated a white lie to his brother. Because he wanted Dean to fight. He didn't want Dean to give up, or to die.

Which, in retrospect, was exactly what Dean had wanted when Sam was dying all those months ago.

However, this was different. It wasn't that Sam didn't want to save Dean — that he didn't value Dean's life. It was just that under the same circumstances, had Dean wanted to die, Sam would have let him, albeit reluctantly. Dying was better than being possessed, and Sam knew that from experience.

But Dean never understood, and even if Sam did succeed in somehow bullying Crowley into bringing Dean back now, Dean probably would never understand why Sam was so hurt at being manipulated into being possessed by Gadreel. After all, Dean had never felt black smoke cram itself down his throat. No one had used his body to kill innocent people. He hadn't been possessed by the devil, and he hadn't been in the Cage for a couple of centuries, tortured out of his mind.

Dean also wasn't the one who had killed Kevin with his own two hands.

It was not that Sam had wanted Dean to experience any of it. He had only wanted Dean to understand — because… well, they were brothers, and there was really no one else in Sam's life who he thought, would comprehend him better.

They were brothers. Until Sam decided to sever that. And until Dean died.

No. No matter what happened, Dean would always be Sam's brother. No matter where they went, or how things ended, they would always be brothers. Because this was definitely something Sam had lied about — that he didn't want to be brothers with Dean anymore.

"I'm proud of us."

Sam and Dean had done everything that regular siblings did, and then some more. They'd saved the world together — more than once. They'd fought evil, protected innocent people, lost their own lives without blinking an eye, and these were things that you didn't just find someone saying they'd experienced with their sibling.

There are some great things about going to sleep every night, knowing that someone is watching your back, but there are also some bad consequences to living in close quarters like this. Letting in a third person becomes hard, and between two people, things tend to go sour sometimes.

Sam wished he hadn't let his and Dean's relationship degrade like that. He knew that his anger was justified, and he had been pissed that Dean wasn't apologising or even realising the real problem, but maybe he, Sam, should have let it go. Maybe he should have just spoken to Dean about it.

"All right," their father would say when they fought as kids. "You two need to talk this out. I'm not driving about with you fighting in my backseat. No one's allowed in the Impala until you sort this. And I'm not interfering. It's your fight, so you'd better figure it out for yourselves."

John Winchester was far from a perfect father and there were few things that he hadn't messed up. This was one of them. Maybe, if Sam had remembered his father's advice, this wouldn't have happened.

Funny, he'd never thought he'd agree with his father on anything. But things changed, and things were so different now, Sam craved the old days. At least it was easier to smile then. And now, with what their lives had come to, they were mostly just braving pain and smiling through tears. There was nothing else. There had never been anything else in a long, long time.

~o~

Dean was lying on something amazingly soft and familiar. There was no pain, which was funny, because he knew he had been stabbed. And really badly, because it had fucking hurt like a bitch. He remembered Sam desperately trying to get him to hold on, and he remembered giving up, but he didn't know what had transpired after that. However, right now, this felt good. This felt different. It almost felt like—

Death.

He was dead. There was no other explanation for it. Because Dean knew agony, and what he was feeling, it was the opposite of that. He was calm and relaxed. Damn, dying felt good. After all that crap he'd been through, this was really nice. And that was when he registered two other things: the smooth hilt of the First Blade, and a voice nearby, talking to him. A familiar voice, which spoke in an all-too-familiar accent.

"Listen to me, Dean Winchester," said Crowley, "what you're feeling right now – it's not death. It's life."

What?

"A new kind of life," Crowley explained.

Well, if he was alive, why wasn't he breathing? Why didn't he have the urge to breathe? Why did his body feel like a bunch of clothes he had thrown on — like gloves tightly enclosing a hand, but not actually part of the hand? Like he had borrowed someone else's body to reside in for a while? Why did it feel so foreign to him, and yet like his own?

Well, Crowley was full of crap. If this wasn't death, Dean didn't know what else it felt like. He had died many times after all, and he knew what this was. Only in death could he feel so strong. So peaceful. So… detached.

"Open your eyes, Dean," Crowley continued. Dean wondered if he could do that. Because he could feel his eyes and his eyelids, but it also didn't feel like they belonged to him anymore. It was as though he were wearing a prosthetic.

"See, what I see," Crowley urged him. "Feel what I feel." He paused. "Let's go take a howl at that moon."

Dean had no idea what he was talking about. But he wanted to open his eyes now, to ask Crowley to fuck off, if nothing else. He wanted to be left alone.

So he opened his eyes. And saw Crowley smile triumphantly.

~o~

Sam waited for a long time.

Crowley didn't appear.

Sam's jeans rubbed against the floor as he shifted about on his knees, trying to see if the demon was hiding behind him, enjoying his desperation, because he didn't put that past Crowley. However, there was no one. The sneaky son of a bitch probably didn't want to answer questions now.

Well, tough. Sam was going to make sure that Dean was walking and talking by the end of the day and Crowley was just going to have to come.

After swiping away the wetness in his eyes, Sam tried the summoning spell again. The dungeon reeked of sweat, vomit, and burnt matches. Sam was reminded of his time in the panic room, and he shivered. He shouldn't have locked Dean up. Maybe he should have told Dean, coaxed him, somehow, to not touch the blade… and Sam knew it wouldn't have worked, but he felt like he had lost precious time with his brother. But a couple of hours wouldn't have made a difference. Sam had spent majority of the last few months being an asshole to Dean, and that was never going to come back now.

Fatigue set into Sam's body — so deep, so terrible, he could barely stay on his knees anymore. He faltered and fell down to his haunches, holding out his palms behind him to support his body. His eyes burned and his throat constricted painfully, but he reined it all in because he didn't have time. Not now, he told himself. However, he was tired — so tired. And it wasn't just physical.

He swallowed, tried the spell again, and waited. He was aware that demons could show up any time after they'd been summoned, and that it didn't need to be immediate, but Sam wanted that bastard demon to appear now because he needed Dean to be alive right now, and there were no two ways about it. And he waited and he seethed. He cursed under his breath. But no matter what he did, a while later, Crowley still hadn't appeared.

Sam stood up and swayed, his legs partially numb from being in one position too long, and remembered Dean on his bed, in his room. Sam needed to clean his brother's injuries. He had already removed Dean's jacket and wiped away the blood, but that wasn't nearly enough. He needed to stitch his brother up because—

He didn't know why. He just knew that he couldn't stand the thought of Dean lying there, broken irreparably. Sam couldn't get himself to see Dean like that.

He realised that once Dean came back, the injuries would be healed, but he, Sam, needed to do this. He needed to give Dean the time and attention he had denied all along, only because he'd been angry about the Gadreel fiasco. But Sam also needed to find Crowley, and right now, Dean being alive again was important. Since Crowley hadn't appeared at the summoning, Sam was going to track him down and drag him back to the bunker. Either ways, Crowley had to, just had to bring Dean back. Sam didn't care how. Crowley owed them. He owed Dean for killing Abaddon.

~o~

Dean's eyes didn't feel sticky like he thought they would. Instead, when he opened them, everything around him seemed sharper than before. Like he'd needed glasses all along and had finally gotten them.

Although he still felt detached from himself, his senses were heightened. But not in that terrible way like they'd been when he was a vampire. He was just… more aware.

Also, he realised that he was in his room, with Crowley by his side.

Okay, this was weird. He couldn't be in Heaven because souls weren't going there anymore and even if they were, Crowley definitely wasn't the good memories. So was he in Hell?

"Ah, I knew it," said Crowley, interrupting Dean's thoughts. "Oh, Squirrel, we're going to have so much fun."

Dean finally found his voice. "I'm in Hell."

The demon frowned. "Well, you could actually go there whenever you want."

"What do you mean?"

Crowley smiled. "What I mean, Squirrel, is that you and I are on the same team now."

"I'm not dead?" Dean asked him.

Crowley shook his head. "Technically, no."

Dean pushed himself to a sitting position. Crowley wasn't making sense. Where was Sam? That idiot had better not traded his soul or done something stupid when Dean had expressly told him to leave it alone.

"It's not Moose, if you're wondering," said Crowley. "Although he did try. I think he's still waiting for me in that vile dungeon of yours."

Dean clutched the First Blade. "What's happened to me?"

The King of Hell shrugged. "Just the Mark of Cain."

Dean narrowed his eyes as he clutched the Blade tighter and began to move towards Crowley. The demon took a step back. "You might want to think twice before you use that on me, genius, because it's possible that I'm the only one who has answers around here."

Dean stood up. "I'll pass, thanks."

Crowley smirked. "Really? I'll still do you a favour, though." And with a snap of his fingers, he was gone.

Dean stood there, holding the First Blade and staring at thin air that was Crowley moments ago. What had that asshole meant to say just now? Why the fuck would Dean need him?

That was when Dean caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror that hung in his room. And hell if he believed what he saw, although it explained a lot of things about how he was feeling.

Dean's eyes were black.

He licked his lips and did the first thing that came to his mind. "Sam!"

~o~

As Sam left the bunker, he thought he heard his brother's voice calling out to him and had an urge to rush to Dean's room. But then he remembered his situation, and his throat constricted painfully as he headed to the garage. Dean was dead. Dean couldn't be calling out to him.

The backseat of the Impala was bloody and Sam knew he'd have to clean it before Dean got pissed. Dean didn't like anything staining his baby — even if it was his own blood. Sitting inside the car made Sam feel sick, but he clutched the steering wheel and let out a deep breath. His throat was still clogged, but he controlled himself because now was not the time to grieve. And Sam would have chosen another car from the garage for what he was about to do, but he wanted to make an announcement when he approached Crowley. The demon had to know who exactly he was fucking with, and why it wasn't about to work.

Sam found a crossroads pretty soon. He went over to the trunk and took out Ruby's knife and a can of spray paint. He had never drawn such a big Devil's Trap all by himself and it would take a while to do it alone, but he wouldn't waste time.

The moon shone from its place high in the sky, and the road sparkled black in the night. Sam had bent over, ready to start, when his phone rang. He hesitated and thought about ignoring the call, but when he pulled his phone out and saw who it was, he took it.

"Cas."

~o~

Castiel stared at the blood-stained angel blade in his hands, sickness rolling in his gut. If Metatron was telling the truth, this was Dean's blood. And if Dean had been stabbed so deeply anywhere in his body, there was no way he was alive.

No. No. This couldn't be. Sam would have called. He would have said something.

But if this was true, it was also possible that Sam's grief was so intense, he just wasn't able to call.

Castiel's chest felt unusually heavy, and his eyes were starting to burn. He clenched his fists and looked into Hannah's scrutinising eyes as he put the blade aside. She looked sympathetic. "Are you going back to Earth?"

"Yes," Castiel replied, "I'm afraid I can't wait."

She sighed. "Is it true, what Metatron said? About—?" She didn't continue.

"I don't know," Castiel replied. "But I will contact Sam."

Hannah's eyes softened. She hesitated. "Brother, I must apologise."

"For what?"

"I pushed you. Against him. I — we shouldn't have doubted you."

Castiel knew exactly what she was talking about. He could still remember those moments, with Dean's eyes looking into his. Castiel had lifted the blade, but had dropped his hand when he had realised that he couldn't kill Dean. Dean was far too important to him to let go of like that. And he had realised that he would hold on to Dean, no matter what. From here and now, it was Dean that he would choose.

He remembered Dean's palms, firm and calloused against his cheeks, his forehead leaning against Castiel's, and then the brush of his lips. It had been a strange moment and Castiel didn't quite know what had made Dean act that way. He had wanted to ask — after everything — he'd hoped he could talk to Dean about it if he was willing. But that moment had never come.

Castiel wondered if he'd ever find out now.

He pushed himself up from his chair and nodded at Hannah. "I must leave."

She smiled sadly. "Take care."

~o~

"Sam, where are you?"

Castiel's voice sounded sad and worried from the other end. Sam wondered if he knew about Dean. But then again, maybe he'd met Metatron.

Sam stared at the can of spray paint in his hand. "I'm okay," he replied, not really answering Castiel's question. "Did you get Metatron?"

Castiel didn't say anything for a moment. "Metatron is in prison. Sam, is Dean—? Is he—?"

The angel's voice sounded so forlorn, so broken, Sam had to take a deep breath to keep himself together. "He's at the bunker. Cas—" his voice cracked, and all his attempts at shepherding himself were thwarted as tears filled his eyes, "Cas, I d-don't know…" Sam said, as the levee broke again. "D-Dean…" he couldn't speak further as he clapped a hand over his mouth to try and control himself. He had no time for this, and yet, the tears kept streaming unchecked, like they had a mind of their own.

"I'm coming," Castiel replied. "Where are you?"

Sam took his time to answer. "I'm n-not—" he sniffed, biting at his quivering lip, "I'm not a-at the b-bunker." He dragged his sleeve across his eyes and tried to take deep breaths, but they shuddered too much. "C-Cas, I don't—" he swallowed, "I can't w-with Dean…"

"Sam," said Castiel in a placating voice, "Listen to me. Don't do something that your brother wouldn't like."

"No!" Sam cuffed angrily at his tears. He clenched his jaw and forced his voice not to shake. "It's all Crowley's fucking fault. If you think I'm letting this go—"

"We'll find Crowley," Castiel promised. "But I just need you to listen to me. Don't do anything yet. Please wait for me. I want to see Dean." His voice cracked at the last word, and Sam blinked against his moist eyes, realising for the first time that Castiel was probably just barely holding it together.

Sam sniffed. "Cas?"

"Please." Cas sounded even more broken, if possible.

Sam nodded, not realising that Castiel couldn't see him. "Okay," he said, squeezing his eyes shut against the last of the wetness. "I'm-I'm at this crossroads… I don't want to go back just yet and—"

"I'll meet you there," said Castiel. "Give me the exact location. We'll go back to the bunker. Together."

"Okay," said Sam, sensing the silent comfort and support that Cas was offering. The angel had really learned how to be human. "Okay," Sam repeated. There was silence.

"Sam," said Castiel, breaking it, "take care"

Sam nodded again, and swallowed. "Thanks, Cas. You too."

A/N: Thank you for reading! Reviews would be awesome. :)

Review response:

annburgum: Well, Jensen just confirmed that he's confident that there will still be some DEAN in the demon and that's all I need to get me through the night. :) Season 10 will be a less cheesy version, haha. And a better version, no doubt. :) Well, fanfic is to indulge, so I'm gonna be doing just that. :p I hope Dean doesn't become human too soon! And I agree with Jared. I've missed Sam this season. But I also need some things to be sorted out. I will definitely continue to write. Thank you for the review! :)