The Good Fight

Summary: Post 9x23. Dean wakes up in the bunker when he is supposed to be dead. His new demon status opens up a whole new can of issues that the brothers and their wayward angel without wings have to deal with.

Basically what I think season 10 might look like with eventual Destiel and lots of plot, heavily influenced by the theories floating around tumblr.

Author's Notes: I couldn't stop myself - this just came pouring out of me! This is unbeta'd, which shall be remedied as soon as possible.

Title from "The Purge". Near the end, Dean says Sam and he should be "fighting the good fight", which I found very fitting for this fic.

Chapters are structured like episodes. I have the entire fic outlined, eleven chapters have been written and there will be 22 in total. Including a "mid season catastrophe", so buckle up :)

Warning: Destiel is endgame!

xXx

Episode One: The Good Fight

For a moment, Dean is completely disoriented. He's pretty sure that he died and yet here he is, in his bed in the bunker, feeling… strange. An echo of a memory, or a dream maybe, lingers in the periphery of his thoughts but it is gone before Dean can hold onto it.

All that remains is this strange feeling.

And pain, but after the pounding he took from Metatron, that doesn't come as a surprise.

Dean stumbles out of bed and into the bathroom. He sways a little on his feet, grips the sink to steady himself before he looks up to seize up the damage in the mirror.

Black eyes stare back at him and Dean's blood runs cold.

xXx

The ingredients still are salvageable; all that the ritual needs is a flame to ignite it. Sam flicks the burning match into the bowl, hands clenching into fists as he awaits Crowley's arrival.

"Moose. Colour me not at all surprised."

"Cut the crap, Crowley."

"Someone's angry."

Sam growls, not caring in the least about how mad he must appear. Nothing matters now, nothing except Dean.

"This is all your fault. You're going to get him back, or I swear to God –"

Crowley cuts him off, voice eerily calm. "I'm not going to do anything since there is nothing that needs to be done."

Sam spies a bottle of holy water on the shelf and is about to grab it and fling it at the son of a bitch in front of him, when a loud crash echoes through the bunker.

Sam's heart stops and he is out of the room immediately, trying to locate the source of the sound.

He clatters to a halt in the hallway that leads to Dean's room.

The bed is empty.

"Dean?!" he calls out, distantly aware that it might not be the wisest thing to do but his brother's damn corpse is missing and he is allowed to make some stupid decisions.

"Sammy?"

Dean. Dean is alive and talking, sounding incredibly freaked out judging by the quiver in his voice, but the important thing is that he's not a cold body for Sam to burn, that his brother is still here, still breathing, still –

They stare at each other; Dean standing amongst shards of glass with freshly bloodies knuckles from where they broke the mirror, Sam outside the bathroom, blinking at his brother.

Black eyes return his gaze. There is no emotion in them but the face surrounding them shows signs of confusion and surprise, signs that Sam can read perfectly because he spent a lifetime reading them.

Signs that he thought he would never, ever see again.

Sam closes the distance between them in two wide strides, glass crunching underneath the heels of his shoes as he pulls his brother into a crushing hug. He thought he shed all the tears he is capable of shedding yet even more fall now as he feels Dean's rapid heartbeat against his chest.

Something is wrong. It takes a second for Sam to realize what it is, though when he notices that Dean is rigid in his arms, isn't returning the hug at all, Sam releases him immediately.

When their eyes meet again, Dean's are back to their usual, vibrant green.

"How…" Sam has a hard time finding the right words. "How are you feeling?"

"Fucking weird," Dean grunts, eyes glancing back to the broken mirror.

"Your eyes," Sam blurts before he can help it, though maybe it's better this way or else they'd spend days ignoring the elephant in the room.

"I've got no idea, man." Dean draws in on himself and a shiver runs through his body. "I'm sorta… detached."

Sam swallows around the lump in his throat. "We should make sure. Crowley's still in the other room."

Dean's face transforms suddenly, features contorting into a grimace. "Did you do this?"

"No!" Sam throws his hands up. "He appeared and then I heard you in here and I swear, Dean, whatever's going on, it wasn't me!"

"Why did you summon him, then, if not –" Dean stops abruptly, what little is left of his color draining from his face. Without another word, Dean pushes past Sam, flees the bathroom and rushes down the hall, through the main area and into the storeroom.

Sam chases after him and almost collides with him because Dean is standing in the doorway, rooted to the spot.

"What the hell, Crowley?"

The King of Hell merely smirks.

Spurred into action, Dean paces, restless, and runs a hand through his hair. He notices something on a shelf and goes for it.

Holy water.

"Dean," Sam cautions but it's no use. His brother decided he'd do something and he'll see it through so Sam can but watch as Dean snatches the plastic bottle, unscrews the top and holds out his arm.

Dean's painful gasp resounds through the room. Sam flinches at seeing his brother in agony again so soon, while Crowley looks entirely too amused for his liking.

"Can you feel it, Dean? The difference, the liberation from humanity?"

"I feel weird as fuck," Dean snaps, rubbing at the reddened skin of his forearm.

"But how's this possible?" Sam finally asks. The King of Hell doesn't answer with words; instead he glances at Dean's forearm where part of the Mark is visible, standing out starkly against pale skin. "Didn't you think this was vital information you could have shared BEFORE we set out to kill Metatron?" Sam bellows, his blood is boiling and his patience wearing thin.

"I only heard rumors, nothing definitive. But apparently, it doesn't matter if you kill yourself with the Blade like Cain or some flappy angel bashes your skull in. The Mark won't let you go."

"So I'm a fucking demon now?"

"A Knight of Hell, actually. My knight." He sends a toothy grin their way.

"What're you sayin', that I work for you now?!"

Crowley rolls his eyes, pointing his thumbs at himself. "King of Hell. Ruler of all demons."

"Screw this!"

"I might not have made you, boy, but don't think for one second that I can't unmake you," Crowley warns in a dangerously low tone that chills Sam to the bones.

"Wait, wait!" he intervenes, stepping between Dean and Crowley but mindful not to disturb the devil's trap. Shit, could he trap Dean in one now? Can Dean be summoned?

"I'm sure we can find some kind of compromise."

Both Dean and Crowley stare at him, one still confused, the other surprised.

"Don't tell me you want to continue this thing of yours, what was that catch phrase?" Crowley muses. "Saving people, hunting things?"

"Of course!"

"Don't be daft. Your brother isn't your brother anymore – remember the good old days, moose? The ones where you were missing your soul? No remorse, no emotions, with humanity just a dirty little splotch in the corner of your rearview mirror?" Sam's jaw snaps shut. "And the Blade won't cease to affect him; he's a killer, a demon, the same thing you swore to hunt." Like flicking a switch, Crowley's tone becomes flippant suddenly. "And not to forget, my employee of the month."

"We can work around this," Sam insists.

"How can you be so sure your brother even wants to hunt his kind anymore?"

Sam's mouth runs dry and he seeks Dean's eyes, looking for reassurance. Yet Dean's eyes aren't as expressive anymore as they used to. If Sam hadn't known Dean since he was born, he might not even have noticed the change, but as it is, it is glaringly obvious. Shadows of emotions, nothing more.

"What do you want, Dean?" he whispers, almost pleads.

Dean's brows furrow, he opens his mouth as if to speak only to close it again. More shadows flicker across his face until his expression gives over to frustration. Dean makes a sound between a growl and a cry, sounding entirely lost, before he flees the room.

"He always had a way with words, didn't he?" is Crowley's comment.

Since the King of Hell is still safely inside the trap, Sam intends to follow his brother, yet the other demon calls him back.

"Leave him be. First day as a demon – can be a tad disorienting. No worries, Moose, he'll be back to spiffing in no time," he adds sarcastically.

"We can make this work."

"You're not listening," Crowley chides. "Dean still has the Mark. Dean needs to kill or it will kill him."

"He can kill demons, like we always do."

"That's what, one kill a week? Won't be enough, Moose."

"He's not joining you in Hell."

"It's where he belongs."

"He's my brother, he belongs with ME!"

Silence falls over the room. Crowley remains unimpressed and cold panic fills Sam's veins. He can't loose Dean. Not twice in one day. Not like this.

"I got that from the deal you were trying to make. Out of curiosity, what would you have offered me? Your soul for his, just so that he'll break you out of hell again after, feeding the cycle of brotherly sacrifice?"

Sam bites his tongue. Literally. It's a good way to quell the anxiety threatening to overcome him.

"You can't let go of each other, can you?" Crowley shakes his head, a faint smirk playing around his lips. "Good thing that I like you, boys. You keep me on my toes. I give you 48 hours to figure yourselves out."

Sam tries his best to keep his shoulders from sagging in relief. He succeeds, but Crowley is attentive; he probably noticed anyway.

"Fair enough."

"I'll give you a call." He looks at Sam expectantly and when he doesn't react immediately, he rolls his eyes. "If you don't let me out within the next two seconds –"

Sam hurries to break the circle and before he has even fully straightened up, Crowley has vanished.

xXx SUPERNATURAL xXx

The first thing Dean's eyes land on is the bottle of whiskey on the table, empty glass sitting next to it just waiting to be refilled. Dean does exactly that, downing one shot, then another and it still burns at the back of his throat. At least that hasn't changed, even if the entire game has.

Dean Winchester, Knight of Hell. Ain't that screwed up.

And damn confusing, if he's being honest. He's always thought demons are pure evil, only interested in maiming and wreaking havoc. Shouldn't he feel different? Because right now he sure as hell doesn't feel like evil incarnate.

Dean scratches his lower arm through the open plaid shirt that's still blood-stained.

Inside his head, everything's where it's supposed to be. He still has all his memories, shit, even Sam's face when he found him, stabbed and beaten, where Metatron had defeated him, is etched into his mind.

Dean remembers his dying words, knows the memory should make him… experience something but it's like he has a theoretical idea of what he should feel but the actual feeling is… not actually happening. If he really needed, he could probably convince himself that his heart clenches in his chest when he thinks about it…

Dean shakes his head. Too much introspection for one guys who's supposed to be dead anyway.

Wait a minute.

He's a demon now. Demons have powers.

The first thing Dean tries is bend a spoon with his mind because, come on, that's like the entry exam for telekinetic folk. It's also fun, he thinks as he bends the deformed spoon back into shape.

Next on his list – teleportation. He zaps into the main area and back into the kitchen, lips curling into a smile at how little effort it took. Now he can pay Cas back for all the times that he's –

Fuck. Cas.

What had Sam said? That he's fighting with Gadreel, trying to get into Heaven… That has to be where Metatron flew off to.

Dean knows he should panic. Be worried, something. At least the emotions are there, though only like a distant echo. They're not clouding his judgment – otherwise he'd already be running to Sam, grabbing his arm and dragging his ass to the Impala in order to find out what happened.

"Dean?" his brother's voice comes from the doorway. "Are you… what are you…"

"I'm testing out my brand new demon powers," Dean tells him, seizing the opportunity and teleporting so that he's right behind Sam when he reappears a split second later.

"Boo!" he whispers in Sam's ear and his brother jumps about a foot.

"Damn it, Dean, that's not funny!"

"I think I'm hilarious," Dean shoots back with a cocky smile.

That earns him Bitchface number seven for a moment until Sam sobers up and his tone turns serious.

"How're you feeling?"

"Like I said, weird as fuck."

"Are you still… you know?"

"Me?"

Sam shrugs for lack of any better way to get his point across.

"Basically, I guess. Everything's distant."

"How?"

"Fuck, Sammy, I don't know, okay? Enough with the Dr. Phil crap already."

"Well, sorry, but Crowley's given us an ultimatum." When Dean raises an eyebrow, Sam elaborates. "We've got 48 hours to figure out what we wanna do."

"Alright."

Silence falls. Dean knows what Sam's gonna ask next so his thoughts drift, trying to come up with an answer.

"What do you want to do, Dean?" Sam's voice is so soft that Dean barely catches it.

That's one hell of a question. He scratches his arm again, drawing Sam's attention, but before his brother can say anything else, Dean draws in a breath as he remembers something.

"Missouri."

"What?"

Dean draws a deep breath. "That's where Cain lives. And grows corn," he adds with a snort. "Might give us some answers."

He decidedly doesn't mention the promise he gave the man.

Meanwhile, Sam's thinking, probably calculating how long it'll take them to get to Iowa from their area of Kansas, and maybe even wondering if Dean's got an ulterior motif.

"Alright."

"That's it? Alright and you're packing?"

"Crowley said the transformation can be confusing and if talking to Cain helps, then why not? I'm swimming just as much as you are, buddy."

Buddy. The word leaves a bitter aftertaste and it takes a second before Dean makes the connection.

"Why'd you summon him anyway?" Sam grits his teeth. "'cause as far as I know, you wanted to make a deal. But you know what's odd? I remember you telling me that you'd let me die, that you wouldn't be selfish and get me back. Remember that, do you?" Sam's eyes drop to the floor. "What changed?"

His brother swallows hard, his lower lip trembling slightly. The pang of guilt surprises Dean – it's not distant at all but right there, just like it always was when he did something that upset Sam or made him cry when they were younger.

Damn, this shit is confusing.

"How can you even ask that? You died, in my arms, again. And I just couldn't…" Sam trails off but Dean knows what he was going to say nevertheless.

xXx

"Why the fuck did I have to demon-proof my car!"

Dean curses again under his breath and kicks at his baby's front wheel. At least salt doesn't affect him, which they found out as Dean crossed the threshold leading to the garage without any problems.

"Hang on," Sam placates him and sweeps up the foot mat to break the devil's trap painted underneath the foot mat, forming an ellipse all around the car's interior.

"Can't even get to the guns in the trunk 'cause of that fucking devil's trap," Dean grouses, anger bubbling up in his chest. The urge to dig in his backpack for the blade is growing stronger by the second, as if it calls out to him and wouldn't it feel good just to hold it again?

"Dean!"

His head whips around and he sees Sam gesturing to the open driver door.

"Let's go."

When Dean slides inside the Impala seat, he calms down slowly until he almost feels human again. His girl has always been special, no wonder she's the place he feels most at ease, Dean muses as he relishes the feel of leather against his back, even if it's only through his clothes.

It's the middle of the night so Sammy dozes off soon after Dean pops in a tape and speeds down the I-70 without thinking too much. It's surprisingly easy, turning his brain off, enjoying the simple pleasure of being on the road, completely free of worry if he ignores the echoes of emotions in his head.

A few hours in Dean realizes that he doesn't feel exhausted at all, not even a bit tired.

Huh. Demons don't sleep.

Then it hits him.

Demons don't need to eat either.

Well, just 'cause they don't need to doesn't mean they can't. Dean's seen lots of them in diners, eating what they didn't know was their last meal before he ganked them.

Pie is saved, after all.

It's early morning when they're approaching Cain's house, having stopped at a gas station to refuel and get Sammy some breakfast. At Dean's "Not hungry", his brother looked like he wanted to ask if he's fine before understanding flashed across his face and he turned around quickly.

Cain's house is still in tact, as are the cornfields surrounding it.

"He really likes corn, doesn't he?" Sam wonders out loud and Dean chuckles, comeback already on his lips when he senses something. More somethings.

He swings his bag around, opening it quickly and grabbing for the blade, still inside the cloth Sam wrapped it in last night.

"What the hell, Dean?"

"Something's wrong," he grunts and advances. There's still fabric between his hand and the weapon but he can feel the Mark tingling in anticipation.

He breaks down the door after casting a glance at Sam, who seems to have resigned himself to follow Dean's lead, Ruby's knife at the ready.

He doesn't find anything until he's in the kitchen, where five people are eating breakfast. No, not people. Demons, his mind supplies before Dean sees any black eyes. Okay, and that might be because he's actually seeing their true faces, too.

If he thought that scarecrow in Indiana was ugly, he has no words to describe what's in front of him now. Deformed… revolting. And doesn't raise that some questions about himself, which he immediately smothers mentally.

"Who the fuck are you?" one of the demons asks, a tough looking lad with a tattoo covering his arm.

"The last thing you'll see in this life," Dean shoots back, releasing his hold on the cloth and catching the blade with his left hand when it rolls out. His Mark must be glowing now, judging by the identical horrified expressions on the demon's faces.

They make a run for it, but Dean slides furniture in front of the doors, feeling the remnants of Cain's warding still in place. It's easy to follow the path, then, and barely with any conscious effort Dean stops the creatures from smoking out and escaping.

"What do you want?" the older of the two woman snaps, her voice trembling in fear.

Oh, how Dean's likes that.

"Where's Cain?"

When no one answers, Dean takes another step towards them. He senses Sam at his back, taking in the scene unfolding in front of him.

"We got no clue, okay?" the youngest say, raising his hand. "He up an' left, so we squatted!"

"Seriously, we didn't even get here until after he was gone!" the first guy adds.

"Well, thanks for your cooperation," Dean drawls. "Now to the fun part."

He passes the blade to his right hand and lunges forward, the demons scurrying out of his way but they forgot Sam, who, by the sound of it, buries his knife to the hilt in the first demon that comes his way.

Dean decapitates the woman with one clean cut, moves onto the next one with speed and then zaps at the other end of the room where the youngest ran to and stabs him in the back, purple light filling the room.

He turns around but the last one is already dead at Sam's feet.

Dean nods curtly, then rounds the living room, looking for anything that might clue him in to Cain's new location, but most of the personal stuff is long gone, including the photograph of Colette.

Cain said he'd call. Maybe Dean's not meant to find him on his own. Just then his eyes fall on a map hanging on the wall and he's pretty sure that thing wasn't there the last time he visited.

"Sammy, over here!" he calls, switching the blade to his left hand once more. He instinctively knows what to do. The map is cold when he presses his palm against it, almost unnaturally so. It heats up under his touch, though, and Dean waits.

"There!"

Dean's head snaps back and he follows his brother's line of sight to a single, glowing red dot.

"Iowa." That's maybe a five-hour drive from here. "Alright, let's go."

"Dean?"

"What?"

"Could you, uh, drop the blade?"

Dean glares but since he's about to get behind a wheel, it's only sensible so he bites back his protests. When he passes a cupboard with glass front and sees the black eyes in his reflection, Dean flinches a little. He can guess why Sam's so wound up.

xXx

When they stop at a diner a few hours later, because Dean heard his stomach growl, Sam is still shaken.

Seeing his brother fighting demons at superhuman speed, black-eyed, moving furniture with all but his mind, the Mark standing out starkly against his skin and the blade bloodied by its victims, was overwhelming.

Dean has always been a brilliant fighter, yet his heightened abilities take it to an entirely different level. The brutality of it both has Sam in awe and chills him to the bone.

"What can I get you, gentlemen?" The waitress sounds chipper, which isn't surprising since they're the only customers.

Sam orders water and a salad, his blood running cold when the woman turns towards his brother. Demons don't eat, technically.

"Soda and a slice of pie, darlin'. I saw you offer apple with ice cream?"

"Sure thing. Coming right up!"

Once she is out of earshot, Sam narrows his eyes at Dean across the table.

"Dude, just 'cause demons don't need to eat doesn't mean I'll give up pie! That ain't happening."

It is so typically Dean that some of the apprehension drains from Sam's body and he can actually relax for the remainder of their stay in the diner.

"So what's Cain like?" he asks as they are speeding down the road again.

Dean gives he kind of shrug he always gives when he doesn't want to talk about something. Well, if Dean thinks he'll let it slide, he's got another thing coming. He won't walk into the home of the Cain and be unprepared.

His brother probably senses his eyes on him and heaves a sigh. "I don't know. He was pretty laid-back. Didn't want to fight, saying he's retired now. Likes being left alone."

"So he won't be happy to see us."

"Nah, I think we're good." That off-handed tone makes Sam straighten up in his seat.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"What? Nothing."

"Why're you so sure Cain won't chase us off the moment we get near him?"

"Come on, he gave me the Mark – "

"Exactly! He's done with that crap, so why're you so sure, Dean?"

"'cause I made a promise!" Dean finally shouts, eyes suddenly black and the shock of it has Sam twitch noticeably yet Dean doesn't seem to care about his reaction right now.

Sam swallows hard, gathering himself again. "What promise?"

"He made me swear that I'll kill him when I'm done with Abbadon."

"Wha – why?"

"'cause he made a promise to his wife never to kill again and that night he did so that Crowley and me could make a run for it, that's why."

It all slots into place then. "And he's still a Knight of Hell, so only the blade can kill him."

"And the blade's useless without the Mark. A golden star for Sammy!"

"It's not my fault you never told me the entire story!"

"Well, know you know so stop bitching about it."

Needless to say, the rest of the drive passes in silence, except for Led Zeppelin playing over the speakers.

xXx

Sam shouldn't be nervous. He really shouldn't – he met Lilith and the devil himself, countless angels and dragons, so Cain from the Old Testament really shouldn't be that big a deal.

Still, his palms are a little sweaty when they pull up to the house somewhere on the outskirts of Iowa City. It looks similar to the one in Missouri with an equal amount of cornfields surrounding it. The sun is shining bright and a bee flies past Sam's ear.

Despite everything, Dean and he still make a great team. They are in tune with each other, Sam following the slightest flick of his brother's wrist as they round the house once, yet there is no one in sight.

When they return to the porch, the front door is open.

They exchange a brief glance and Dean advances first, blade back in his bag but it is hardly the only weapon he has on himself and even if they won't harm a Knight of Hell, it'll be enough for regular demons.

"Dean. Sam. I was expecting you." The unfamiliar voice belongs to a man standing in front of a sofa in what has to be the living room. There is a tray of tea or maybe coffee and cookies on the low table between the couch and the two armchairs.

It is all very, very strange.

"Cain." Dean nods but doesn't sit down.

"Hello," Sam offers for lack of anything better to say.

Cain doesn't answer him, merely looks him over with a piercing stare whose intensity makes Sam slightly uncomfortable.

"Sit. I'm sure you have a lot of questions."

The man leads by example and Sam follows. Only Dean remains upright, his expression distorted in a defiant glare.

"Yeah, like what the hell is going on with me?"

Cain doesn't raise his voice when he replies, and Sam starts to understand what Dean meant with 'laid-back'. "I certainly recall that you wanted to be spared the warning labels. All you cared about was having a way to kill Abbadon. I heard you succeeded."

"That bitch is dead," Dean growls, "but what's happened to me?"

"What do you think, Dean?"

Sam watches as Dean's jaw snaps shut and decides it is time to intervene before Dean gets even more riled up.

"It looks like he as become a demon, but – I always thought you need to die and go to hell first?"

"True. For all but one."

Sam feels his eyes widen. "You mean, you –"

"The same happened to me. I got the Mark and when I died, it didn't let me go. I became the first Knight of Hell."

"Is that why Dean's still," Sam hesitates briefly, "mostly himself?"

Dean growls from where he is pacing behind the armchairs but Sam's eyes are focused on Cain, who nods gravely.

"Usually, demons are souls that have been tortured in hell. Lucifer handpicked the other Knights that way. That didn't happen to us. It means we still have some humanity left in us, but it's distant. You need to work to keep it, or you'll lose yourself in what the Mark wants you to be."

"Ain't that great? Can't even become a demon the normal way," Dean grumbles, extremely annoyed by the sound of it.

At that, Cain rises, walking over to where Dean is staring at a picture of a woman, the name 'Colette' filling the bottom third of the portrait.

"I told you the Mark comes at a great cost –"

"Well, good for you –"

"But I also said we are very much alike." Cain steps forward, almost into Dean's personal space. "I wouldn't have given you the Mark if I hadn't deemed you worthy, Dean. Or strong enough not let yourself be ruled by it."

"How?"

"You have people in your life that will keep you in touch with your humanity." Cain doesn't mention any names, but Sam knows exactly whom he is hinting at. "Don't lose yourself in the bloodlust, no matter how good it feels. Don't repeat my mistakes."

"Well, a little late for that."

Cain raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"Now, I believe you have a promise to fulfill."

"Wait," Sam cuts in, jumping to his feet. "I still have a few questions."

"Oh, did I mention my brother's a big nerd?" Dean mocks from his place near the picture.

The other man merely smiles indulgingly, so Sam breathes in deeply before he begins.

"What are Dean's weaknesses? We already found out the devil's trap is one of them, but he's got no problems crossing a salt line. We should know; I don't wanna cause him unnecessary harm." He can feel his brother's eyes on him throughout his brief speech.

"The only way to kill Dean is with the First Blade, but I guess you already put that together yourselves. Angel blades cause great harm but not death, neither will any other weapon, except maybe Death's scythe but no Knight has ever come up against that in a fight," Cain explains slowly. "Holy fire and holy water will hurt, nothing more. But yes, a devil's trap will even keep Dean out. Or in."

Sam nods his thanks, processing the news.

"Now, I'm not here to give lectures. Dean, it's time you pick up the blade."

There is no moment of hesitation, just swift movement as his brother retrieves the weapon and follows Cain through the back door into his garden, framed by cornfields and Sam can even see several bee houses to their left.

Cain comes to a stop next to a patch of recently deterred ground in front of a gravestone. Sam assumes it houses his wife and that it used to be in Missouri, yet given that he still has a picture of her on his mantelpiece, Sam isn't surprised that Cain went to great length to move her final resting place with him.

"Any requests?" Dean asks, blade in hand and eyes darkening.

"Stabbing me should suffice."

Dean nods grimly and twirls the blade in his hand but Cain's eyes find Sam's in that moment.

"Your brother told me when we first met that you don't give up on family. I hope for Dean's sake that you return the sentiment."

"Can we stop with the chick-flick moments already? I thought you wanted me to kill you."

Cain turns around again with a smirk. "Then do it." Dean reaches back. "And Dean? Thank you."

He rams the blade into Cain's heart, much like he did with Abbadon and Sam has to shield his eyes from the light emanating from Cain's body as the wind picks up and makes the crops move with it.

The Father of Murder falls to the ground, limp and lifeless, while Dean wipes the blade off, breathing heavily. He makes for the front gate immediately after that, weapon still in hand.

"Shouldn't we burry him?"

"Leave him for the bees, man. I'm sure he'd have loved that," Dean calls over his shoulder and sure enough, the first bee is already buzzing around the corpse.

Sam casts one last look at Cain before he turns on his heels and follows his brother back to the Impala.

xXx

Castiel is swept up in the ensuing chaos. More portals have to be built, their brothers and sisters still on Earth have to be informed so that, one day soon, every angel has returned home.

As good as it feels to have accomplished his mission, Castiel can't quite appreciate the festive mood, can't cheer with the others, can't celebrate their triumph.

The moment an opportunity arose, Castiel's feet carried him back to Metatron's office where he has been staring at the floor ever since.

He doesn't know how much time has passed yet he can't tear his eyes away from the bloodied angel blade on the plush carpet.

Dean's blood.

Castiel clenches his hands into fists, barely holding himself back from storming out and ending Metatron's life after all.

The last time he saw Dean was in the bunker, when Castiel locked him up with no words to spare for him – nothing, not even a goodbye.

And now… Now all that's left is for him to visit Sam, express his condolences because that is the social protocol in situations like this, is it not? He should also explain what has transpired in Heaven and that soon, the remaining angels will be able to return home.

Yes. Castiel should take his leave.

If only he could tear his eyes away from the dried blood on the angel blade.

xXx

End Notes: I get that demon!Dean is a controversial subject since there are still lots of unanswered questions. However, I believe he is indeed a Knight of Hell and will reference the SPN Wikia to make this fic as closely to canon as possible.

So this is my interpretation of what Dean is now. I've seen lots of theories over the past few days, some very, very pessimistic, some saying Dean won't stay a demon for long. Let me just say: There won't be a quick miracle cure for Dean in this fic.

(Besides, a) if Sam cures Dean, he'll complete the demon trials after all and die; b) if Dean isn't a knight, he could be exorcised but even then, his human body is mush, so that wouldn't help either, really; c) Knight of Hell Dean makes for a much longer plot arch and is so much more fun^^)

Let me know what you think?