Trying to figure out how to close the gates of hell was not something Dean thought he would have to do. But when demons had been destroying his world left and right, it put a damper in any other plans he had for the next few months. You however ran into this predicament on accident, and now staring at the barrel of his gun, you freeze, memories hitting you like a whirlwind.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean’s voice was low, but there was a flicker of recognition in his eyes that he quickly tried to bury. You stood there, shoulders tense, fists clenched, your eyes wide with a mix of anger and fear. It had been years, but you remembered him all too well. Alastair had wanted you to break. Everyday asked you to make a choice, and everyday you said no. You refused to break. But Dean, he had chosen to be the torturer.

You had been one of those souls, snatched from your own torment and delivered into his merciless hands. For what felt like eternity, Dean had been your keeper. Every scream, every crack of bone, every tear shed in the dark abyss, he had witnessed it, and worse-he had caused it. His smirk, the coldness in his eyes as he carried out the unthinkable, had burned into your mind like a brand.

“I’m not here for a reunion,” you muttered, taking a step back as if ready to bolt. “You-you’re the last person I ever wanted to see again.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “What? We met before?” His words were laced with confusion, but to you, they stung. How could he not remember? But you couldn’t afford to dwell on it. You weren’t a victim anymore. You were a demon now, freed from the chains of Hell, and you had your own demons to face.

“You don’t remember?” You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to calm down, even though every part of you wanted to lash out. “You and me. Hell… rings a bell?”

Dean’s eyes widened slightly, but he shook his head. “Hell? You were in Hell too?” His face darkened as a shadow of recognition finally passed over him, the memories of his own time there surfacing.