Author's Note: AU season 3, I really can't stress that enough. I'm going to be introducing characters who normally show up later. I will ignore a few characters entirely. I've wanted to write something like this for months, but I've finally figured out how to write it. I hope you enjoy!


"All my life, I've understood the nature of where I come from, but I never thought it might be wicked until now."

Brenna Yavonoff


Under a starless sky, Sam Winchester stood on the crossroads, his boots grinding into the dirt. He had his hands tucked into his pockets and he blew out a nervous breath as he shuffled his feet. It was a warm night, perfect to drink a few beers and let your worries pass you by. Music from the bar around the corner brushed past his ear as the wind carried it along, as if tempting him to abandon this crusade before it was too late.

But it was already too late.

Dean was going to Hell because of him.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" She appeared suddenly, like her kind usually did. Her velvety voice must've seduced hundreds of fools and with her blood red lips and raven hair, he doubted that it had been hard for her. Her alabaster skin was almost ethereal in the moonlight and the way her eyes lit up as she moved nearer to him, he knew that this was going to be a tough sell. Her black lace dress—too tight in all the right places—seemed to barely stay on and dimly, Sam wondered if this was the demon his brother had made a deal with. She looked like the kind of girl, Dean might hit on. "The mighty Boy King," She curtsied low and deep, and then came back up, her pearly whites in a sinister smile. "What can I do for you?" She ran a hand through her luxurious hair and tossed it back so that it kissed her back. Sam let out an even breath and tried to regain his composure.

For Dean's sake, he had to be successful.

"Break my brother's deal." She laughed, light and high like tinkling bells.

"Oh, Sammy, you really think that I would if I could?" Her eyes dared him to challenge her. He didn't rise to the bait. She took a few steps towards him, each one deliberate and knowing. "Now, you on the other hand, I can make you a deal." She practically purred and Sam held up his bottle of holy water. The demon froze and hissed slightly at him.

"I don't want a deal." She turned around and began to make her way back the path she had arrived on.

"Then, we're done—" She hit an invisible wall and Sam grinned triumphantly as she glanced down and saw the tell-time signs of a devil's trap. "I will rip you limb from limb!" He shrugged, unconcerned, and stepped closer to the wall.

"What do I have to do to get rid of Dean's deal?" He asked her, surprised by how calm his voice really was. It was as if he had been bargaining with demons all his life.

"Why the fuck would I tell you?" She spat venomously, practically throwing herself at the wall in an attempt to break free.

"Because I will send you back to Hell where you belong." He retorted, tone deadly and for a brief moment, he saw the hesitation in her gaze. He opened his mouth, ready to let the spell roll off his tongue when she interrupted.

"Wait!" He did so. "The only way to do it," She hesitated, biting her lip nervously. "The only way to do it would be for you to become the King of Hell."

A beat. Crickets chirped.

"Come again?"

"As the King," She pressed on, not paying attention to the worried expression on Sam's face, at the sheer dread that was evident in his eyes. "You would have control of all the contracts. You could easily stop your brother's from going through."

Become the Boy King—embrace what the Yellow-Eyed demon had given him.

"How do I become King?" He wasn't going to consider it, but it was becoming clear that the only way to stop this, to save his brother would be to do this. Surely, there had to be a way to save Dean without sacrificing his humanity? If he could just get his hands on the contracts—

"You'll need an army," She recited dutifully, seemingly relaxed. "And you'll have to depose Crowley."

"Crowley?" He echoed and the demon grimaced.

"He's the idiot who thinks the throne is his," She sighed wearily and played with a strand of her hair. "In the absence of our true king, he's taken control." She met his gaze, eyes wide. "He has followers, but so do you. You are the Boy King, the rightful heir—"

"Stop."

And to his surprise, she did so without complaint.

"As you wish." Her whole demeanor had changed simply because he had considered being the King of Hell?

"Your name?" He stepped away from the wall and turned from her, trying to get control of his racing thoughts.

"Grace." He chuckled dryly at the irony of it.

"You would follow me?"

"Of course," She replied quickly. "Azael knew you would take the throne. He was certain of it." He spun around and noticed the devotion in her blackened eyes. "You are the heir and you must take your place."

"As the King of Hell?"

"As the King of Hell." She confirmed. Before he could allow his mind to protest, he wiped a bit of the devil's trap away, but amazingly, Grace remained, her eyes locked on his.

"Get out of here." He was letting a demon go. What the hell was wrong of him? He was a hunter; she was possessing someone. He had to do something—

"I'll tell them about you," She whispered, finally brushing past him. "Long live the King."

Then, she was gone and Sam was alone on that dirt road, wondering what he was unleashing, but knowing that if it saved his brother, than that was all that mattered.

Dean was the only thing that mattered.


"Where were you last night?" Dean questioned as Sam reached for his sandwich. The turkey was bland, but just what his stomach needed after a long night of dealing with demons. Would he become King? If he were, he would lose his humanity and Sam refused to do that. Perhaps, there was a middle ground? But, never in all of the years of his research, had he heard of a mortal ruling Hell. And to save Dean, the youngest Winchester would do anything.

His brother kicked his leg and Sam jumped, his reverie shattered by pain.

"What the—?" He growled, rubbing his leg and Dean's green eyes showed no hint of apology in them as he took a huge bite of his heart-attack inducing cheeseburger.

"Where were you last night?" He finally repeated after swallowing. Sam ducked his vision and replied evenly.

"Nowhere."

"Try again," His brother told him, dipping a French fry into some ketchup. "I heard you come in after 4 am."

"I had some things to do." He dismissed with a wave of his hand, but Dean wasn't buying the whole cryptic thing.

"You were fucking with the deal, weren't you?" Two weeks since Sam had been resurrected and they had fought a record number of 35 times. The fight was over the same thing, of course, but neither brother had been pleased with the other's opinion on the matter. Sam never asked to be brought back and he certainly didn't want to be alive at the cost of his older brother burning in Hell for an eternity.

"No, I wasn't." It wasn't totally a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth and nothing but the truth either. What could he say, after all? The less Dean knew about what Sam was contemplating, the better.

"Because if you fuck with it," His brother continued, deliberately slow. "You'll die." Sam wasn't scared of death; he was scared of what would become of Dean after his death. That's what kept him going after Jessica, after Dad—Dean.

"Dean—" Wearily, Dean huffed out a puff of air and drowned a fry in the bloody abyss of the ketchup.

"I just can't . . ." His younger brother leaned forward and squeezed his brother's exposed wrist. Their eyes met.

"I know, Dean."

Then, like the moment of weakness never occurred, his brother stuffed his face with another bite of his cheeseburger and Sam wrinkled his face in mock disgust, eliciting a smile from his older brother.

"So, hunt?"

Sam took the out, dutifully reciting what he knew about the haunted house down the road. For now, Dean would stay in the dark. Until Sam got something more concrete, then this would have to do. Saving his brother wouldn't be easy, but Sam couldn't fail.

He refused to fail.


"What is your name?" The voice was everywhere and nowhere at once in the white abyss. Cerulean eyes opening, he momentarily blinked back at the sheer power the light held. This was Heaven's light—this was what he would fight to defend. Unfurling his wings, he bathed in it, allowed himself to merge with it. Grace coursed through him, filling every sinew with power. The light held all the hopes, all the prayers of the mortals on Earth. The light was last remnant of his Father's reign before He left for a realm that none could locate. "Tell me, what is your name?" Bathed in the precious light, he let his feet come to rest on the floor, the last of power finding refuge within him.

"Castiel." His voice surprised him, deep and full of determination. Choosing a vessel for a mission such as this wasn't his own choice. His elders made the decision, knowing much more than he could ever hope to learn.

"Good," The voice praised. "And what is your mission?"

"Kill the Boy King."

The white faded away and he found himself on the earth, his shoes sinking into the damp soil. Trucks rumbled by on the nearby freeway and slowly, he began to make his way towards the town.

It was time to get to work.


Author's Note: I've got plans for this story. I hope you'll stick along for the ride! Please review if you have a second.