"Let's go take a howl at the moon."

Dean's eyes snapped open and everything was clear, more clear than it should be. He blinked and then forced himself to remember to breathe, feeling the air as if it was his first breath.

Slowly he sat up on the bed, curling his fingers tighter around the first blade in his hands. He looked up and paused when he took the image in.

Logically he knew that it was Crowley, the voice told him that much. But the image in front of him gave him a completely different idea of who he was talking to.

The form was humanoid in shape, eyes missing with black holes for eyes instead. Horns on top of the head curling down its head, a monster, plain and simple.

Dean wondered what he looked like for a moment before he decided not to think about it.

The demon in front of him tilted its head to the side, what looked like a grin spreading along its face.

"Well?" Crowley's voice asked. "Shall we go? Have some fun and experience life."

Deans fingers flexed for a moment, his eyes going to the top of the horns to see a crown of thorns on top. The crown of hell a corner of his mind told him. It wasn't sitting right on the horns, tilted and almost falling and Dean...hated it. He realized that he hated it completely, sitting right there and he tightened his grip on the first blade.

"Dean?" Crowley's voice came again, starting to sound a bit worried.

Dean didn't say a word, he didn't have to. Armed with the knowledge of the truth and the severity of the situation, he moved fast, faster than he had before in his life and before Crowley could even understand what was happening he had buried the first blade in his chest, light exploding inside of him.

Dean couldn't help the smile on his face as he watched the demon in front of him shake and then fall to the ground. He reached down and took the crown of thorns off, inspecting it for a moment before he turned his attention to the first blade, smiling at the blood on the bone now and turned, walking through the hallway to the front of the bunker.

He paused in the doorway of one room, spotting the summoning circle on the ground. He inspected it, almost tasting the magic in the air.

He glanced to the side where he could feel something drumming under his skin. He tightened his grip on the crown and walked, the thorns were cutting into his skin slightly and he relished in the pain for a moment.

He finally reached the front of the bunker, stopping for a moment before he felt something shimmering in the air. He licked his lips and could almost taste the despair and the pain clear as anything.

He saw Sam sitting in a dimly lit room, hunched over the table. He had one hand wrapped around a bottle of alcohol, Dean couldn't make out which one it was. He was grasping at his hair and Dean could see tears running down his face.

A memory creeped up in the back of his mind and he tilted his head to the side slightly.

"Thought you wouldn't care if something happened to me." Dean said, watching Sam start heavily. Sam whirled around to face him, eyes widening. Dean stared at his red rimmed eyes, fingers sliding over the crown in his hand.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, his voice cracking. He stood up shakily, his hand coming out to press down onto the table to keep himself standing. "Dean? How?"

Dean glanced down at the inside of his arm, the mark was an almost angry red, standing out on his skin. "This brought me back, guess it doesn't like its host to die."

Sam was breathing heavily, his chest was heaving. Dean concentrated for a moment and could hear Sams heart, could hear how fast and loud it was pounding and he wondered if that was hurting Sam.

Sam swallowed hard and moved to him, reaching for him and wrapping his arms around Dean tightly, holding onto him as tightly as he could. Dean could smell the liquor on his breath.

"You're okay." Sam whispered, his fingers digging into Dean's clothes. He moved enough to bury his head in Dean's shoulder. "You're alive. I...I tried to summon Crowley. This is his fault and he should be responsible to fix it but he wouldn't answer."

"He couldn't answer." Dean told him, his arms at his sides. He hadn't moved to return the hug in the slightest. "I killed him."

He felt Sam freeze slightly at that and then he pulled away to look at him. He looked confused and when he looked down he seemed to just realize that Dean hadn't hugged him back. He stepped back, away from Dean.

"What do you mean you killed him?" Sam asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Dean thought for a moment and brought the first blade up, Crowley's blood drying on it. "I mean that I had this, used it on him, and stabbed him in the chest with it and watched him die."

Sam stared down at the first blade and Dean noticed a small tremor spreading along his shoulders.

There was a lot of things he was noticing actually, he was kinda fascinating. The tremor in Sams shoulders, his pupils were dilated, his hands were shaking as he reached out and gently touched the first blade, fingers sliding over the dried blood.

"Good." he finally said with a nod. "Its something we should've done a while ago."

"Kinda blood thirsty there." Dean noted, pulling the blade back and tucking it into his belt.

"Yeah well, he deserved it." Sam said, shaking his head. He looked up at Dean again, either not seeing or not registering the crown in Dean's hand. "Dean, are you okay?"

Dean nodded, staring at Sam as well. "I'm fine Sam."

Sam didn't look convinced, staring at him. "And the mark, it just brought you back?"

Dean nodded again, making sure to keep his breathing steady, in and out, in and out.

"With no repercussions, you don't feel anything off or anything bad?" Sam pressed.

"Nothing bad." Dean confirmed. "Thought you said you wouldn't care."

"Dean, you know that I didn't mean that." Sam said a bit expaserted. "I was just angry, I didn't mean it."

"Seemed like you meant it." Dean said stepping closer towards him. "Seemed like you wouldn't give a damn about me if something happened to me. You tried to summon Crowley but thats it. When you died I sold my soul for you, you were just going to get Crowley and do what? Make him bring me back?"

"I would've done anything that I had to get you back." Sam said, slowly being driven to anger himself. "Other than shoving an angel inside of you."

"If you're not willing to do that then you're not willing to do anything it takes." Dean told him. "Not like me."

Sam stared at him and breathed out slowly, Dean noted that his fingers were shaking slightly. "Dean, I just want to be happy right now that you're alive. That I thought you were dead. Can't we have that?"

"Sure." Dean agreed. "But I want to lay down a few things first."

Sam waved at the table, sitting back in his seat and looking up at him. "Alright, lets talk." he asked, not yet moving to pour them more drink.

Dean slowly moved to sit down in the other chair, not taking his eyes off of Sam. "Crowleys dead."

Sam nodded, leaning back in his seat but his posture was anything but relaxed. "Yes, you mentioned you killed him."

"And good riddance." Dean said, turning the crown in between his fingers. "Which leaves a big question, who becomes the king of hell?"

"Does that really matter? Regardless of what demon takes it, it's going to just be another douche that we're going to have to face and most likely kill." Sam said, shaking his head.

It was something that Dean had noticed from the moment he had woken up in his bed, something he had been trying to ignore the entire time. But the more he spent in Sams presence the more it was harder to avoid.

There was a part of him being called towards Sam.

It was almost like a heart beating in the back of his mind, getting louder and more encompassing with each word Sam spoke, his words fading into the distance until all he could hear was the bare reminder of his voice.

It was the real reason he had killed Crowley. Seeing the crown on his head; tilted, not fitting properly, almost falling to the side. It was the improper king and the one most unfit to rule and it made everything inside of him curdle until he had killed him and taken the crown from him.

Every new part of him, every last bit, knew who truly deserved to wear the crown, the promised king. The words playing in the back of his head along with the almost drumming of hell.

Dean tightened his grip on the crown once more, unseen by Sam who was still talking about something or the other.

Dean breathe out slowly, a habit more than anything else, just staring at Sam. His fingers were digging hard enough into the thorns that he felt them piercing through his skin and let small trickles of his blood drip to the ground under the table.

He wasn't a normal demon, he knew that much. He had the mark of Cain on his arm and the first blade to do his whim and quite easily he got a name for himself.

He was a knight of hell. One of the last two, the other being Cain and he was removed from hell as much as he could be. Meaning that he was the real last one, the only willing to serve hell and more importantly the throne and crown.

After all, what was a knight but a loyal weapon, loyal warrior, loyal entity to a king.

And what was a knight when he had no king to serve, to obey. He was nothing, all he was was a being with no purpose, no reason for existing.

"Dean? Did you hear me?" came Sam's voice.

Dean blinked, taking care to keep his eyes green. "What?"

"I asked if it really matters? About who is going to be taking the new throne of hell." Sam said, seemingly repeating himself, looking at him in concern. "That we're going to have to kill them eventually.

Dean nodded slowly, staring at the other man. "That's true." he said, running his thumb over one of the thornes.

Sam's eyes went to the mark on his arm, drumming his fingers on the table. "Is the mark making you act like this?" he asked. "Cause you're acting really weird and off."

"Just fresh from being dead. Getting used to be alive again." Dean said with a shrug. "Not that big a deal, we've dealt with it before."

"Yeah but not like this." Sam said, his going down to Deans arm again before back to his face. "Dean, talk to me. I'm your brother, I'm your only family, we have to help one another in every way."

"Yeah we do." Dean said, staring at him unblinkingly. Something Sam seemed to notice because he was leaning back away from him again.

He had spent his entire life trying to protect his brother, and any time that his brother made the wrong choice it was because he hadn't been there.

And now here he was, a knight with no king to serve. With a pounding in his head as he watched Sam more and more.

He wasn't so much as a knight with no king. He was a knight with a reluctant king, a king that didn't want the crown or throne. A king that he needed to protect and he needed to make sure made all the right choices.

Dean took one more deep breath, under the table he shifted the crown to his other hand, not letting the cuts on his fingers and palms heal just yet.

A knight was a loyal weapon, loyal warrior, loyal entity to a king.

Whether the king wanted it or not.

Dean slowly stood up, keeping his hand turned and cupped slightly to gather the blood and keep it hidden. The crown was still hidden in the shadows.

Almost as if waiting for it Sam got onto his feet and moved away, keeping his eyes on Dean. "What?" he asked as nonchalantly as he could.

"Nothing." Dean said, shaking his head slightly, letting the blood pool on his hand.

Sam didn't look the least bit convinced. "Put the first blade on the table," he said.

Dean glanced down at the first blade in his belt and shifted the crown enough between his fingers to grab at the blade and set it on the table, sliding it a bit more towards him. Sam nodded, looking a bit satisfied at the very least that the weapon was out of Deans grasp.

"Okay Dean," Sam started to say.

"Stop, just stop Sam." Dean interrupted, rolling his shoulders back. "This isn't going to go anywhere."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, his voice was even but Dean could see the tenseness in his arms and shoulders, how close he was to bolting out of the room.

"I'm talking about this, you and me, everything else in between." Dean said slightly gesturing between the both of them. I'm talking about you and me needing to know where we stand with one another.""

"We stand together, like we always have." Sam told him. "No matter what. We've been through a lot but we're still brothers, we're still partners."

"No, we're not." Dean said shaking his head, going around the table towards him.

A knight was a loyal weapon, loyal warrior, loyal entity to a king.

Whether the king wanted it or not.

Dean let himself tap into the bit of him that was a demon, his eyes flashing black. Before Sam could register the change, could even start to understand a single thing, Dean appeared in front of him suddenly and grabbed at the back of his head, bringing it down onto his hand that had had a palmful of blood.

Sam immediately struggled, the both of them falling to their knees as a result, trying to wrench free. Dean managed to almost pin him down to the ground, holding him close and trying to get that first mouthful down his throat.

Dean tightened his grip on the back of Sam's head, pressing it closer to the cuts on his hand, using his fingers to keep Sams mouth open to keep the blood flowing past his lips.

He didn't want to hurt him but he knew better what Sam needed, what he wanted, and Sam was prone to fighting him. So he tightened his grip as much as he dared and held on.

Sam's hand ripped free and he gripped at Deans wrist. He could feel him shaking and he felt a rough, low groan deep inside of him and Sam pulled the wrist closer to him, now swallowing the blood by the mouthfuls.

Dean smiled at that, mentally making the cuts longer and deeper so that more blood would course into his mouth. There was a small trickle of blood escaping from the corner of his lips and his eyes were flashing a slight yellow.

Dean finally let out a small satisfied sigh. He let go of the back of Sam's head, now sure that he wouldn't try to pull away, and carefully placed the crown of thorns on top of his head.

It sat perfectly there, on top of his head, prickling into his skin slightly just to draw the hint of blood. It was straight and settled, it was right.

"There we go little brother." Dean murmured, letting his brother draw his wrist closer, fingers digging harshly into it. He didn't notice the pain, it wasn't important anymore.

A knight served his king in any way that the king needed him to after all.

"There we go little brother." he repeated, his voice soft and fond. "Drink up my king."

I do not own Supernatural.

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This is one of my submission to the SPN Gen Fanworks.