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Back From Hell	By : KagetsuAsame Category: Supernatural > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2622 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own anything regarding the Supernatural universe and I do not make anything from the writing of this piece of fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Here’s part 2 and we begin with a chunk in hell, enjoy!
            Dean had awakened with Alastair's face in view, a smile on his lips, "In hell it is all about ownership, possession." Alastair circled slowly, his fingers sliding over Dean's naked shoulder, "For instance, you belong to me. We need to be sure everyone knows that."
            Dean twisted in his bonds, strapped securely to the rack, "Sorry buddy, I don't belong to anyone, especially not some asshole demon."
            He smiled indulgently, "I own you, Dean Winchester. You belong to me and I need to make sure that everyone knows it." He moved to a large cart off to the side, "I'm going to mark you and no one will ever forget that you are mine."
            He jerked as Alastair picked up a blade and a bowl, "Keep that away from me." He hissed lowly.
            There was that indulgent smile again. He slit his wrist, holding it over the bowl, "We mark with blood. Blood shall be my ink, a blade my tool, and your body shall be my canvas." He dipped the blade into his blood, bringing it to Dean's shoulder, "Deep breath, this is really going to hurt." He smirked darkly, the blade sliding easily into his flesh.
            Dean screamed, his head jerking back. The rack had him firmly in place, unable to move. The demon hummed a tune as he began to carve, sliding the blade in a swooping line across his shoulder. Alastair's blood stained his skin black, branding him, seeping into his body, marking his soul for eternity with Alastair's mark. The blood scorched through him, it ached and burned and cut deeper than the blade. He couldn't stop the tears from sliding down his cheeks, couldn't imagine a pain worse than what was being inflicted upon him. The blade swept down, the blood swirling over his pectoral, around his left nipple. It was an eternity before the demon had finished, the bowl was empty, clean of every last trace of corrupt blood.
            "Shh, there, all done." He lapped the tears from his cheeks, "Now you bear my mark and no one but me will touch you again."
            The mark swirled over his left shoulder, pectoral, and scapula. It danced around his nipple, Alastair had seemed to know where each sensitive place would be, where to slide the blade to cause the most pain. The mark throbbed, black and angry against his skin, burned into his soul. He bit back a cry of pain as Alastair ran his fingers over it, worshiping the mark on his skin.
            "Dean, my perfect little soul, this is how we begin your time in hell. Are you ready to continue or I have another offer for you. You can step off the rack, pick up the blade, and your pain will end."
            "Why don't you stick that blade up your ass?" He gasped out, shoulder throbbing.
            The demon smiled, "Let us begin."
-Break-
            Dean knew what he had to do. He had to find the demons in service to Lilith and kill them all, at least send them back down to hell where they belonged. There was something else though too, that handprint on his right shoulder, he had to know who was responsible for that as well. The psychic they had seen, Pamela, had lost her eyes trying to see who was responsible. That left attempting to summon it, a large part of him wasn't sure he wanted to do that either. Then there was the matter of the Colt. Sam refused to tell him how he got it and Ruby wasn't any help either. He was suspicious of his brother. After Azazel's death Sam's powers had disappeared and now they were back, stronger than ever. Both Ruby and Sam were keeping things from him, important things, and he was determined to get answers.
            He stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection. There wasn't a single scar on his skin aside from that handprint. His protection tattoo was the only ink that adorned his flesh but he felt like there was something missing. His first days in hell were slowly coming back to him. He remembered meeting Alastair and being branded but that mark was gone. He felt like it was still there, sliding under his skin like blood, and yet there was nothing to see. It wasn't like Alastair's mark had been small either, it had covered such a large expanse of skin that no one could have missed it.
            His fingers moved up to the scar on his right shoulder, touching it slowly, "Who the hell are you?" He asked softly, staring at his reflection.
            "Castiel." The name was like a whisper in his mind and yet there was no one there.
            He whirled, back pressing against the motel room sink, "Show yourself." He hissed, his voice demanding.
            The lights flickered, spasming under the onslaught of energy this Castiel was putting out. Dean's knuckles were white from gripping the sink so tightly as he steadied himself, waiting for the creature to appear. A man with dark hair, a suit, and tan trench coat stood before him.
            "All I had to do was ask? It's really that easy? I figured demons were more of the summoning required type." He felt helpless, there were no weapons here, for once he was unarmed.
            "I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition." He stated, eyes fixed on Dean's.
            "Why me? I'm no one, what makes me so special?" He hissed lowly, "Who are you to decide that I was to be raised from hell? There are better people than me down there I'm sure."
            "I am an angel of The Lord and God has commanded that you be returned to the living. We have work for you." His gaze didn't waver, looking down on him as though he was less, as though Dean wasn't really all that important.
            He shook his head, letting out a snort of derision, "Wow, you're really scraping the bottom of the barrel, aren't you? Couldn't find anyone better?" His fingers tightened on the sink further, anger bubbling up from the lack of answers and the way Castiel was looking at him.
            "You have a destiny to fulfill, Dean Winchester." He moved closer, "I pulled you out of the pit and I can put you back in, just remember that." With those final words he disappeared.
            Dean's lips parted in a roar of frustration as he whirled, his fist crashing into the mirror, "Here I thought angels were supposed to watch over you, guardians my ass." Blood dripped from his knuckles, slipped down the shattered cracks of the mirror before sliding into the white porcelain of the sink.
-Break-
            Blood dripped down his chest, flowing in tiny rivulets over his skin. The silver blade flashed in the hellish glow, catching the yellows and reds and reflecting them onto Dean's skin. He barely held in his cries, his teeth catching his lip to hold back a whimpering cry that threatened to escape his lips. Alastair had changed form again, his features were sharper, more angular. His skin was pale, hair a deep brown, almost black, and his eyes were still that empty white. The red of Dean's blood stood out in stark contrast on the white dress shirt. His shiny black shoes were dulled by blood. He hummed softly, the blade sliding down over his ribs, tracing each one, the skin splitting like butter beneath the gleaming silver.
            "Your skin splits so easily, your blood shines like rubies, oh Dean, you are a treat." He purred lowly, finishing the last rib, "I want to see inside, any objections?" He cocked his head to the side, smiling at him, a fresh splatter of blood on his face.
            Dean gasped softly, "I think you'll be disappointed. Not much to see in there that you haven't before."
            "Ah, but Dean, I haven't seen yours. That makes it different and I just can't wait to see inside you." The blade flashed, catching the reflection of Dean's terrified green eyes.
            A shout of pain escaped his lips as Alastair dragged the blade from between his clavicle down to his belly button. The skin split, blood pouring from the wound. He laid the blade aside, fingers going into the wound, sinking in and prying the wound open to reveal shining viscera and gleaming bone. He hummed as Dean screamed, his hand sliding up beneath his ribs, pushing aside muscle and vein to get at his prize. Dean's breath stuttered, his scream cutting off as Alastair wrapped his hand around his heart.
            "The great thing about hell is that you bleed, you cry, and you can live as I tear your heart from your body to show to you." He jerked hard, yanking the heart down from its place and holding it in front of Dean's gaze, "Come now, take a bite."
            Dean coughed, blood splattering from his lips, over his chin, "Go fuck yourself, asshole." He spit a glob of blood at his tormentor, hitting his cheek.
            Alastair shook his head, bringing the heart to Dean's lips, "Take a bite and I will let you rest." He stroked through his hair with bloody fingers, "You will get a reprieve for a few hours, no pain." His body shook as his lips parted, his teeth sinking into his own heart, "Good boy." He cooed, petting him gently, "That's right, good boy."
-Break-
            He screamed, eyes flashing open into the darkness of the room. Sam was gone. No one was there to hear him scream. In a flash he was on his feet, rushing to the bathroom. He could almost taste his heart, the metallic taste of blood, he began his communion with the porcelain god, the taste of bile replacing blood. He rested his head on the toilet seat, closing his eyes. In a way he was glad that Sam was MIA, he didn't have to know how weak his older brother was or the fact that he was slowly remembering his time in hell. It took him awhile to get ahold of himself, finally getting up and brushing his teeth before coming back out.
            "Sammy, where'd you go?" He shook his head, gazing at the empty bed.
            He fell back asleep after an hour of waiting for Sam to get back. He awoke again around eight to find Sam in bed, snoring softly. He shook his head, getting up and brushing his teeth again before pulling his boots on. He looked down at Sam, cocking his head to the side, debating about the best way to wake him up. He smirked darkly, launching himself onto the bed next to Sam, catapulting him off the cheap hotel mattress.
            "Son of a...!" Sam yelped, flailing as he was forced off the edge of the bed.
            "Goooood morning, Sammy!" Dean laughed, looking down at him.
            He glared up at him, "That was so not cool."
            "Sleep well? When did you get back?"
            He scowled, "I slept fine until you launched me. What do you mean by 'get back'? I didn't go anywhere."
            Dean schooled his features, refusing to betray the fact he knew he was gone, "I must have been dreaming, thought I heard you leave, my mistake." He felt the anger simmering just under his skin. Between angels and his brother he needed a good hunt, "We need to hunt something, there has to be someone who knows more about angels or even where Lilith is hiding. We need more information. Know any good demon haunts? Maybe Ruby knows something." He knew he was rambling a little but it felt like something wanted out, as if his frustration and anger had a mind of its own.
            "Alright, let's see what we can find." Sam pulled himself off the floor, "I'm getting dressed and brushing my teeth first though so if you want to call Bobby, see if he knows anything we can get started." He disappeared into the bathroom.
            Dean shook his head, picking up his phone and calling Bobby's number, forgetting that he had yet to inform the older hunter that he was alive and well, "Hello?" The gruff voice made him smile.
            "Hey Bobby, know any good demon hunts?" He smiled, waiting for a response.
            "Who is this?" Bobby growled lowly.
            Dean scowled, "It's me, Dean, come on Bobby, didn't you recognize my number?"
            "You bastard, this is a sick joke, don't you call here again."
            Dean could hear the raw hurt in his voice and cursed softly as Bobby hung up, "Shit." He took a deep breath, "Sammy, why didn't you tell Bobby I was alive? You talked to him a couple days ago, what the hell man." He banged on the bathroom door, "Hurry up, you have to call him and explain things."
            "I'm sorry Dean, I totally forgot." He sighed, grabbing his phone and calling Bobby.
            Dean shook his head, stepping outside to get some air. The anger had grown, felt like it was bubbling up from some wellspring that had never existed before. Deep breaths, he closed his eyes, focusing on the crisp morning air that he was taking in.
            Sam stepped outside, gently laying a hand on his shoulder, "Hey, you alright? I fixed things with Bobby and he wants to see us but he also told me about a lead on a demon in Missouri so we can stop off."
            He nodded, "Let's get out of here." He went back inside, grabbing his bag and tossing it in the Impala before getting behind the wheel to wait for Sam.
            The demon wasn't very hard to find which surprised the brothers but neither was going to complain. Dean was the one that always did the interrogation and this time was no different. They had him bound to a chair in the middle of a devil's trap. Dean didn't even give him a chance to start talking before he had picked up a blade and sliced into the demon's arm.
            The demon let out a gasp of pain before laughing, grinning at him, "What can I do for you?" His voice was taunting making Dean's anger bubble closer to the surface, "I heard you were good but that was nothing. I think Alastair would be disappointed."
            Dean's lip curled into a snarl, sliding the blade up to the demon's shoulder, slowly driving the point in, "What do you know about angels and who the hell is Alastair?" His voice came out in a low hiss.
            Sam stood off to the side, watching the blade go in, his voice caught in his throat. He had never seen Dean do anything quite like this. It was usually rougher, splashes of holy water not the twist of a knife. The demon screamed as Dean slowly twisted the blade.
            He gasped, shuddering, "A-Alastiar is the master torturer." He scowled, gasping as Dean slid the blade in deeper, "How do you not know that? Did your brains get scrambled on the way up?"
            "What about angels?" Sam finally found his voice.
            "Those winged freaks? They don't come around much." He hissed, it seemed as though Dean wasn't paying attention to what he was saying anymore, "I'm answering your questions, stop with the knife!"
            Dean growled, jerking the blade free and driving it into his other shoulder, "How do you know me?" He hissed, his lips close to the demon's ear so Sam couldn't hear, "Whisper it."
            The demon gasped, shuddering in his bonds, "You don't know who you are? I'm not going to be the one to spoil the surprise." He laughed tossing his head back, "Do whatever you want, this is awesome."
            Dean let out a shout, pulling back and kicking the chair over. He pounced on the demon, dragging the blade down his chest, snarling angrily as he split him open. Blood covered his chest, splattered over his face, as he dragged the blade from shoulder to hip, making an 'x' across the meat suit the demon was wearing. Sam couldn't move, his mouth hung open in surprise as he watched Dean cut into the demon pinned beneath him. It was minutes before Sam got ahold of himself enough to react, jerking forward and grabbing his brother by the shoulders, pulling him off the limp form.
            "Dean, get ahold of yourself!" He shook him, holding him tight to his chest.
            "Sammy? What's going on? What did I do?" He blinked, turning his gaze up to look at his brother.
            The younger held his brother close, keeping his face turned away from the body still bound to the chair, "You got a little out of control. What did he say to you? You were so angry."
            "I don't remember, I was just so pissed. He said something about angels and then I just lost it. I've been so angry I don't know what came over me."
            "It's alright, I just wish we were able to learn more."
            Dean shook his head, "He didn't know anything. At least he wasn't going to tell us anything." He tried to turn his head to look but Sam held him still, "Come on man, I'm not a baby." He growled lowly, "Do you really want to piss me off again?"
            Reluctantly Sam let him go, "We'll figure this out, let's go see Bobby."
            Dean's eyes locked on the rapidly cooling corpse, "Yeah, let's go see Bobby." His voice was distant, absent, his focus only on the body he had tortured to death.
-Break-
            "Thirty years and once again we're at the end of the day. Yes or no, Deano, will the pain end for you or will we start fresh?"
            Dean swallowed hard, looking out at Alastair through swollen eyes. The form the demon had taken was reserved for special occasions. He was tall, his features sunken, his looks were off and yet strangely attractive, this was his tormentor, "Yes." His voice came out as a raw whisper.
            "What was that? Speak a little louder this time."
            He swallowed again, "I said yes, sign me up."
            Alastair smiled, moving close, pressing against him, "I am so pleased you've come around." He kissed his cheek, fingers moving up to his wrists, releasing him from the rack that had been his home for so long, "We have so much to do to get you started in your new job." He stepped back, watching Dean fall to his knees as he moved to his tray of implements. His fingers wrapped around his favorite blade, holding it out to the man on his knees, "Come, take up the knife and let us begin."
            Dean's fingers reached out, taking the blade, his eyes locked on the shining silver. Alastair pulled him up, smiling beatifically as he led Dean to an adjoining room, a young woman was strapped to the rack. Tears made tracks down her cheeks, he could hear soft begging or perhaps a prayer coming from her lips.
            "Where should I start?" He licked his lips, eyes falling on the woman.
            Alastair smiled indulgently, "Don't worry, I'll be here every step of the way." He pressed against his back, guiding him to her side, "Take a deep breath, close your eyes." Dean did as he was told, "Good, now open them and let out your breath. You must be steady, the first cut is the most important, we wouldn't want to make a bad impression, now would we?"
            "No, we can't have that. First impressions are always the most important." His mind whirled, he wasn't sure if he could do this but Alastair guided his hand, brought the blade to rest against her clavicle.
            "Start slow, I'm here to steady you, now draw it down."
            Dean took another breath, drawing the blade down, splitting her skin like butter, blood welling up in its wake. He felt something within him uncoil and release, a gasp escaped his lips, the blade slipping in deeper than he had intended sending a spurt of blood into the air to land on his face. He made a sound of surprise, his eyes widening at the feel of hot life on his cheek. He lifted the blade, chasing the uncoiling feeling in his chest, wondering what it would feel like when it was released. The blade slid back into her skin, crimson drops sliding over her flesh, over Dean's skin. His face was the picture of wonderment, his eyes fixed on the blade as he began to trace patterns into her flesh. Alastair ran his hands down his sides, releasing his arm at seeing how steady he had become.
            "Very good, keep going. Can you feel it? That sense of deep relief uncoiling in your chest?" He pressed his lips close to his ear, "Keep going, you'll feel it release, blossom, you'll feel so much better, so good." He cooed, resting his hands on his hips.
            He tipped his head back, sliding the blade into her gut and pulling, splitting her open. As she bled he felt such relief, he stabbed in one more time, letting out a low moan as he fell to his knees, body shaking, "What's happened to me?" His voice came out as a soft whisper, eyes locked on the blood as it dripped off the rack and onto the floor.
            "I'm so proud of you." Alastair's fingers moved into his hair, stroking through the soft strands, "So very proud of you."
-Break-
            Dean jerked awake with a strangled cry, eyes wide. Sam was there in an instant, "Dean, are you ok?" He was immediately checking him over, hovering like a mother hen.
            He batted at his hand, "I'm fine, was a nightmare. I'm ok." He closed his eyes for a moment, "Really Sammy, thanks, I'm ok."
            "Dean, where are your scars?" His voice was soft, staring at places he knew his brother had been wounded in the past, places that should have born scars.
            "Dammit Sammy, lay off. Ever since I got back I've been unmarked. That angel that dragged me out must have gotten rid of my scars. Four months, I had to of been decaying."
            "Why don't you take a hot shower and we can head out to Bobby's?"
            He could feel the anger again, the rage that he knew would boil just below his skin until he let it out, "Ok, give me a few minutes. Maybe the heat will help." He stood, moving into the bathroom and starting the shower.
            The hot spray of water pounded around him as he leaned forward, resting his arms on the wall, his eyes drifting closed. The water traced along the lines of his muscles, over the handprint scar burned into his shoulder. He imagined that there was someone with him. Could almost feel the burning heat of another body through the pounding of the water.
            "I had almost forgotten how perfect you are." The voice was familiar, like the one from his memories, low and slick and dark.
            "Alastair." He wanted to turn, wanted to see him, but was unable to move.
            He chuckled softly, pressing his lips to Dean's ear, his nose brushing against his cheek, "I know what you need, I know what you crave, I know everything about you." His hands smoothed down his back burning a scorching trail through the water, "I know things about you that you have forgotten, things that are locked away in that pretty little noggin of yours."
            A shudder went up his spine, his eyes opening at the feel of those long fingers counting his ribs. He could see something black and curling out of the corner of his eye, Alastair's mark was appearing across his shoulder, the lines twining over his skin. He could feel that coil in his gut, the one fueled by his anger and rage that had only been released by torturing that demon. Alastair's fingers ghosted over his skin, making the coil inside him tighten and stretch. Dean gasped, tossing his head back, lips parting as the demon's fingers danced over his skin.
            "Please." His voice was soft and he was unsure what exactly he was asking for him.
            "Please what, my little catamite? Do you want more? To feel my fingers touching you, working you like the finely tuned instrument you are? Perhaps it's something else, perhaps you want me to stop."
            Alastair's fingers drew away, wringing a soft cry of dismay from his lips, "Please, don't stop." He needed that touch, he didn't know why but he needed to feel those hands on him, in him.
            A soothing sound escaped the torturer's lips, "Hush now, you know you only have to ask." He smoothed his hands up and down his sides, his left hand sliding around to tweak his nipple, the mark seemed to flow up, seeking out its master's touch, "Do you want to feel more? Yes, of course you do." He chuckled softly, "Relax Deano, you're going to like this." The fingers of his right hand smoothed between his cheeks, seeking out his entrance, "There's a good boy, just focus on your breathing and relax."
            The human let out a low cry, fingers flexing against the tiled wall. He took in a deep breath, letting it out in a shaky sigh as Alastair's fingers breached him. His lips trailed down Dean's shoulder, teeth sinking into the flesh of his throat as he pressed his fingers against his spot. The sound that escaped Dean's lips was music to his ears. He moaned lowly into his shoulder, two fingers rubbing and massaging that bundle of nerves. He could barely contain himself, wanting to press and rock against the perfect human he had pinned to the wall but he refrained, there would be a time and place for that soon enough. For now this was all about Dean, Dean's pleasure and Dean's breaking. He slid his lips back down to his shoulder and bit down hard, breaking the skin around that unsightly handprint, watching as rivulets of blood slid down the contours of it. He wanted to tear that mark from his body. He felt the familiar weight of his blade in hand, smirking darkly against the wound he had made.
            "Dean?" He paused, stopping all movement.
            Dean could feel the coil unfurling, he was so close and then Alastair had the gaul to stop, "Come on, you're killing me here!" He rotated his hips back, "So close! God dammit don't you stop."
            Alastair smiled, "I have a question for you."
            He growled softly, trying to press back against those wicked fingers, "What?" He bit out.
            "Do you want this removed? Your skin peeled off to show the shiny newness of your insides?" He nodded vigorously, unsure of what he was really consenting to, "There's my good boy." His voice came out as a low purr.
            A scream was wrung from his lips as the blade slid home, sliding under his skin, under the hand branded on his shoulder. Alastair's fingers pressed and massaged his prostate as he slowly flayed the skin from his shoulder leaving the raw muscle visible underneath. The moment the last piece of flesh came free he felt his length twitch and throb, a loud keen escaping his lips as he came against the shower wall.
            "What a good boy." He cooed, lapping at the blood on his shoulder, "Don't worry my sweet boy, we will see each other again soon."
            With those words Alastair was gone. Dean's eyes snapped open, there was no blood, no pain, and no curling black mark on his shoulder. The handprint was still firmly branded on his skin. He looked at his watch, only a minute had passed since he had gotten into the shower but the anger was gone, the feeling of a coiled snake inside just waiting had disappeared. He closed his eyes again, grabbing the soap he mechanically began to wash himself. His length, not having gotten the message that hallucination time was over, was half hard.
            "Now I'm hallucinating." He grumbled, opening his eyes, staring at the soap as it slid down his body. He finished up quickly toweling off and dressing, putting on his best smile, "Let's hit the road, Sammy!"
            They were on the road again with Dean feeling unusually calm and fulfilled. He was really looking forward to seeing Bobby again but at the same time dreading it. What if Bobby made him angry? Would he be able to stop himself before he hurt Bobby or Sam? He wasn't sure what to think about this new craving, this desire to cause pain or to receive it. Was he losing his mind? Dreams were one thing but now he was hallucinating in the shower and it didn't last nearly as long as it should have. He sighed softly, focusing on the road instead, they would be at Bobby's soon.
            "Bobby!" He stepped out of the Impala, spreading his arms wide as he approached the house.
            "You're both a pair of idjits, you know that, right?" Bobby growled softly, stepping off the porch and approaching them.
            Dean could see the flask of holy water in his hand, "Come on. Let's get this over with." He sighed softly, "Have a silver blade too?" He held his arm out, "Can we do that one first?"
            Bobby looked taken-aback but pulled the silver blade from his boot, dragging it across Dean's arm before tossing holy water in his face. No smoke, no screaming in agony, he wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him tight, "I'm so glad to see you." Dean could almost hear the tears in his eyes.
            A genuine smile lit up his face, "Yeah Bobby, me too." He hugged him back, "Have anything good to eat? Sasquatch didn't want to stop for food."
            "Yeah, I think I have some chicken." He headed for the door, "You coming or not?"
            Sam grinned, going after him, "Yeah, just give me a minute." Dean scowled at the distance. Bobby shook his head, mumbling under his breath as he and Sam stepped inside, "Hey, I know you're here, why don't you just show yourself, mister I have a trench coat and fluffy wings?" Not to mention a holier than thou attitude that made that coil inside him tighten.
            "What do you think you're doing, cavorting with demons?" Castiel's voice was hard, ice blue eyes narrowed at him.
            Dean scowled, "What are you talking about? Sam's the only one 'cavorting' with demons. I'm sure he's shacking up with Ruby."
            Castiel scowled, looking confused which filled Dean with a perverse glee at the look on his face, "Did you not have...relations, with a demon in the shower?"
            His eyes grew wide, "Dude, not cool. You're watching me shower?! What the hell?! That's private time, you don't watch a guy during private time!"
            His head cocked to the side, almost bird like, "So, you did have relations? You are not denying it."
            Dean's nostrils flared, "I haven't had 'relations' since you pulled me out of hell, so no, no shower relations. What business is it of yours anyway?"
            "It is my business if you are behaving foolishly. Cavorting with the enemy qualifies as such." He crossed his arms over his chest, "Show me your shoulder."
            "What? I'm not stripping for you, you got your peek when you spied on me in the shower."
            The angel glowered at him, "Show me your left shoulder, I must see it." He stepped forward, closing the distance between them.
            The human took a step back, "Listen, you either tell me what this is about or I'm going to run you over with my car. I'm not stripping for you."
            An exasperated sigh escaped his lips, "I must see if my suspicion is correct. Perhaps I failed to purge all of the darkness from your soul. Now please, show me your shoulder."
            An odd sense of panic welled up from within, what if that dream had been real, the hallucination correct? What if there really was a mark on him? He pulled his coat off. Slowly rolling up his sleeve so that his shoulder was revealed. He let out a sigh of relief at the sight of his unblemished skin but when he turned his gaze to the angel he felt that panic bubble up again. Castiel was staring intently at his shoulder, eyes locked on his flesh.
            "What? There's nothing there."
            "It seems as though I have failed you." He moved forward, invading his space, his hand falling on his revealed shoulder, "Worry not, I shall fix this problem."
            It burned, no, more than burned. It felt like his flesh was being cleaved from his bone. His voice caught in his throat, his scream locked inside, unable to escape as the black tendrils of Alastair's mark revealed themselves, writhing under the angel's touch. It was over in an instant and Dean collapsed to his knees, Castiel's hand still locked on his shoulder.
            "Bastard." His voice came out in a low hiss.
            "I apologize for the oversight. You should never have been tainted with such a thing." He touched his cheek gently, "You'll feel better in a moment."
            He was right, the throbbing pain disappeared, drifting away as if it had never been there, "What the hell was that?"
            "A piece of hell." He stated simply, "You should feel better."
            The coil in the pit of his stomach had unraveled, it was still there but not as strong, he didn't feel the rage and anger bubbling up anymore, "I do." He wasn't about to say thank you wasn't even sure the pain had been worth it, but he did feel better.
            "Dean! You coming or not?" Sam shouted from inside, "This chicken isn't going to eat itself!"
            He turned away from the angel as he got to his feet, "I don't need you hovering over my shoulder all the time. I thought you weren't the angel on my shoulder type."
            "I'm not." In a rustle of feathers he was gone, leaving Dean to head inside for some well earned dinner.
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