"Crowley!" I cried out. Dean is in his room, dead. Killed because he didn't want me to get hurt.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by a raspy, Irish voice. "I love what you've done with the place." He said. "Totally bunkerish."

All my anger from the previous weeks came rushing in like a flood. I spun around and pinned the figure against the wall, my knife lodged under his neck.

"Crowley," I growled. "You pulled my brother into this, you better save him. Now." The knife dug in further. A steady stream of blood started trickling down his stubble.

"Relax, Moose. Dean is fine. He's right where you left him; most likely asleep."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Will he be okay?" The grip on him loosened just enough to stop cutting skin.

"Dean might have a few differences, but overall he is alive."

Before I could question Crowley's response, Dean stumbled into the room. His face was till battered. In one hand, he gripped the First Blade, and in the other, he was clutching his head. He looked up long enough for me to get a good look at his face.

Where I would normally see green, all I saw was a dark black. My brother, the demon hunter, is now a demon.