Fighter: Dean Winchester (REVAMPED VERSION)

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Alastair's eyes flickered back to their usual cold blue as he approached the chain, a cocky grin stretching across his face. His amusement at the situation was almost palpable, as the tables had certainly turned in his favor. He watched the Winchester boys with that familiar, sadistic satisfaction.

One of the demons, eager to please, handed him a shotgun. Alastair inspected it with a calculating glance, before raising it with a casual flick of his wrist and firing directly at Dean. The blast rang out, sending a spray of fiery energy through the air, evaporating Dean's body.

Alastair chuckled darkly, savoring the moment. "Rock salt's not so much fun anymore, is it?" he taunted.

Sam's jaw tightened in fury as he watched his brother vanish, his fists clenched in sheer rage. His eyes blazed with anger, but before he could react, Dean reappeared, staggering as though the impact had physically shaken him to the core.

"Alastair," Dean gasped, his voice strained with pain. "You bastard."

Alastair flashed him a wicked grin, clearly enjoying the torment. "Well, go on," he mocked Sam, his attention shifting to the elder Winchester. "Why don't you try some of your mojo on me now, hotshot? It's hard to get it up when you're not wearing your meat, huh?"

Sam growled, his face twisted with barely contained fury. "Go to hell."

Alastair smirked as he turned, pacing leisurely around the room. His boots clacked against the floor with each step. "Ah, if only I could," he sighed with feigned regret. "But they just keep sending me back up to this arctic craphole. I'm starting to think someone's trying to punish me."

Dean, though battered, met Alastair's gaze without flinching. "To kill death?" he asked, his voice hoarse but defiant.

Alastair's expression darkened, his gaze growing colder as he turned to gesture toward the two unconscious reapers. "No, to kill death twice." He waved a hand dismissively. "It takes two to break a seal. Thought another one would show up, though. They're like lemmings, really."

Before either Winchester could respond, Alastair pumped the shotgun again and fired at Sam. The smell of sulfur filled the room as the demon approached the chain that held the reapers.

"By the way," Alastair said with mock politeness, "It's, uh, good to see you again, Dean."

Dean shot him a look, his face set in grim determination, but with no trace of fear. "You can shoot us all you want, but you can't kill us."

Sam reappeared with a pained grunt, one hand clutching his side as he tried to steady himself.

Alastair's grin widened at the sight of the Winchesters standing tall, despite the odds. "Ah, that so?" he sneered, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "Well, we'll see about that."

But what the brothers didn't know was that there was more to Alastair's plan than they could possibly imagine.

Back at the hotel, Pamela sat silently in a chair, her mind alert and her senses extended outward as she kept watch over the boys' bodies. The air in the room felt oppressive, charged with tension as she guarded them. Ben, meanwhile, had fallen asleep on the couch, the faint glow of the TV casting shadows on the walls as it played softly in the background. After some coaxing, he'd finally convinced her to rest for a moment, but the psychic never let her guard down.

The room was eerily quiet, the only sound the hum of the television and the soft breath of a child asleep. But then, a faint creak sounded from somewhere deep in the hotel. It was a sound Pamela's sharpened instincts couldn't ignore. Immediately, alarm bells rang in her head.