Author's Note: Welcome to story #2 in my "Grey Sky Morning" Universe! As requested, I will continue my stories delving into the season 9 finale and my thoughts for season 10. The following stories can be read in any order, but please read "Grey Sky Morning" first as it gives you the basic set up. Now, without further ado, please enjoy!

"Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle."

― Lewis Carroll

When he first awoke, there was nothing but rage.

The pain of his injuries, the throbbing in his head, the weird people trying to speak to him in some sort of arcane language—all of it made him surrender to his fury that boiled up inside him. He didn't know who he was or what he was doing, but he did know that as long as he had his blade in his hand, he was unstoppable.

"Dean."

The name stirred something within him, but whenever he tried to reach out to grasp whatever it was, it vanished behind a fog in the recesses of his mind. The young woman stood before him, a tight smile upon her lips. She was afraid to be near him—as everyone seemed to be—but she still crossed the distance between them and knelt down beside him.

"Are the chains too tight?" She asked, routinely, though her sea-blue eyes flashed to his before darting back down. He awoken chained up with a voice explaining that he wasn't a prisoner, but until he adjusted the chains were the safety of anyone that might come across him.

"Dean?" She pressed. He knew her name . . . or at least, he thought he did. She must've given it to him before but time was an abstract concept to him. Her chestnut hair was held securely in a bun, but she seemed to be uncomfortable with it. She reminded him of someone named—

"Meg?" He breathed, the name familiar upon his tongue.

"What?" The woman balked, almost dropping her cool compress onto the floor. Her eyes filled wistfully before she shook her head. "No. I'm Laura, remember? I'm assigned to help your wounds heal." She placed the cloth back on his burning skin and he watched with wide eyes as some of the smaller cuts disappeared altogether. Was this magic or were his eyes playing tricks on him?

"I'm . . . hurt?"

A flash of a blade being buried into his body. The pain and the overwhelming grief and realization that he was leaving someone important behind—

He groaned, his head sinking downwards. This always happened the closer he got to a memory. Just whenever he was on the verge of figuring out something, it was snatched out of his grasp.

"Take it easy," Laura told him softly. "You've been through a lot."

"I don't . . ." He forced himself to let out a measured breath as the rest of the pain left him. "Who am I?"

"Ah, that's the great question, isn't it?" A cool voice came and immediately Laura jumped to her feet. Bowing her head in respect, she waited for him to enter the room.

"Your Majesty." The man smirked at the title and simply nodded his acknowledgement. Facing Dean, the older man's smile vanished into a tight line. He seemed almost upset or maybe just wistful? Dean couldn't tell.

"You seem calmer." The man remarked, a hint of an accent in his voice that Dean couldn't place.

"Yeah?" He ventured. This man . . . this King knew him somehow. The question was how and when would Dean find out the truth. He had to know who he was. He couldn't help feeling like there was someone out there, counting on him and waiting for him to return.

But, who?

"Yes." The man answered. Glancing at Laura, he waved his hand and with a quick bow, she was gone. "You know, I used to fantasize about this." The smirk was back in place as he came closer to the stone wall where Dean was chained up. "You, who had been a thorn in my side for so long, being my prisoner." He laughed dryly. "Now here you are." He ran a hand through his hair. "And I'm trying to save you instead of torture you."

"Save me from what?" Dean questioned, an undercurrent of rage bubbling up in his tone. "Who the hell are you? What am I doing here?" He struggled at the chains, the metal biting into his wrist. "Why won't anyone tell me!"

"Easy there, squirrel." The man cautioned with a hint of a smile on his lips. "The Mark is still adjusting to your new form. Until you calm down, this is where you'll be."

"You can't keep me here!" Dean hissed threateningly. The rage was coursing through his system now, giving him strength when before he had none. He didn't care about whether this man who he was. All that mattered was killing him and getting his revenge for being trapped here. "I will get out!"

"No, you won't." The man informed him solemnly. Then, softly, "I'll see you tomorrow."

And as the man left down the corridor, an echo of a scream followed his footsteps.

"Your Majesty, if I may have a word?" Laura stuck her head into his office and he nodded, suppressing a weary sigh. Between restructuring Hell after the attempted coup d'état and now Dean, the King of Hell was running on empty. He'd been ready to go to his favorite little bistro in Paris for lunch when she popped in.

"Enter." He sighed wearily and she quickly scurried in. Laura was new to the life—a former nurse turned witch—which made her valuable when dealing with Dean. The eldest Winchester didn't know who he was nor did he comprehend what he was now. All that seemed to matter was the high that came off a kill and while that would last for a bit longer, eventually it would get to a point where Dean's emotions would get back under control.

It was just a matter of surviving until they got to that point.

"Sir, about Dean Winchester—"

"Did he escape?" Because that would be horrible. Dean, armed with a power that could easily wipe out half his forces in Hell, on a rampage and blinded by bloodlust—

"No!" She exclaimed quickly. "No, it's just . . ." She hesitated, her eyes dropping to the floor. She was more human than most. It was one of the reasons he had assigned her to take care of Dean, but she had a hard time grappling with what she was and how she fit into the society of Hell.

"Speak." He glared, hoping to scare her into talking.

"It's just . . ." She sighed, pulling her bun down. Her hair tumbled down in waves and she seemed to relax somewhat. "He's a liability."

"Come again?" He echoed.

"He's an angry amnesiac that used to be our worst enemy," She stated frankly. "And his brother and that angel friend of his—"

"You don't have to worry about them." He interjected. "I've made a bargain with the angel and the brother is oblivious to the whole thing."

"But if we keep Dean, he'll turn on—"

"Dean Winchester is a demon now." He rose from his desk, growing more and more imposing by the second. Laura began to tremble and suddenly, it made sense why no one dared to question the King of Hell. "He is under my command and with him at my disposal, we shall achieve things that we hadn't thought possible."

"Like w-what?" She stammered.

"That's none of your business." He had to admire her gall. Challenging the King of Hell wasn't something one did lightly. He supposed he should kill her for her insolence, but she was the only one that would go near Dean and he did recognize the importance of her questions.

"I a-apologize for insolence." She bowed deeply and he sighed softly.

"Go then."

She met his gaze, her eyes wide and incredulous.

"Before I change my mind and decide to punish you." He tacked on and she quickly scurried out. He let out a breath and moved from his desk. There was still so much work to do until Hell was back in the condition it was when he was forced out. Still, he couldn't help but wonder about Sam and Castiel. Would the angel keep their bargain? Should he be expecting Sam to rush down here at any moment and demand his brother back?

He shook his head, dispelling the thought. The angel valued Sam's life. He wouldn't dare jeopardize it. They were safe for the time being from any interference from the last remaining human Winchester.

One thing was certain though; it was going to be a long five months.

"Back to work then." He muttered, sitting down and preparing to continue back on the path to restoring his kingdom.

In the darkness, the hazy memories replayed endlessly on a loop.

They stirred things within him—grief, anger, happiness, relief—and though the people in the images changed, one person remained constant. A tall, young man with a dimpled smile and shaggy hair. A man that Dean knew in the very core of his being that he would give up his life to protect. He didn't who this man was or why seeing him affected him so much, but Dean Winchester knew this—

He had to see him again.

At all costs.

Author's Note: I think the next story will shift back to Castiel and his new tasks in Heaven. I have a few more stories planned after that as well. Thanks for reading! Please review if you have a moment.