Just a tiny one-shot to get my creative juices flowing outside of 'Red Hot Moon'. Haha, if you have a weak stomach I wouldn't recommend reading any further. :)

Tortures Of The Damned

There was no bright light like he thought he would be when he died. There was only darkness. One moment he remembered great amounts of overwhelming pain shredding his body, tearing his soul away from Sam...and then nothing.

Where were the demons? Where were the lights? Was this Hell? Was Hell just an eternity of darkness? For a moment, Dean was a little disappointed. Ruby and other demons taunted him for months about how unpleasant Hell would be. This was nothing!

Dean looked down at his body, he felt really cold. Were his clothes taken away? He patted himself down and noticed he was wearing jeans and a thin t-shirt, but was barefoot.

He was expecting to see other people, he expected to see unimaginable horrors. Where were they? There was no blood, no pain, no one.

Dean seemed rather disappointed that he didn't at least get to see Bela being tortured.

"Hello?" Dean called into the dark abyss, his voice echoing loudly as if he spoke in a large hall.

Fear rested in Dean's stomach when he got no reply.

He'd been hunting long enough to know that he wasn't being forgotten. The demons were watching him, toying with him.

"Where are you, you sons of bitches!" Dean yelled aloud angrily.

Then to his relief, and terror, he finally got a reply from a furious sounding whispering disembodied voice.

"DEAN WINCHESTER!"The voice said in a woman's high pitched shrieky voice.

Before Dean could quip back smartly, there was an ear-shattering thunder that resounded around him. Then there was a loud click, as if a door were being unlocked.

Dean whirled around frantically trying to see any exit, but came up empty. His head whipped in every other direction, but there was nothing but black as far as the eye could see.

Dean suddenly screwed his eyes shut, and screamed in pain as something hard and metallic ripped through his right wrist, and then his left wrist. He felt his warm blood seep from the wounds heavily, as the metal objects assaulting his wrists yanked him violently off the ground.

Another scream ripped through his being when to his terror, more metal masses ripped through his ankles now, first his left, and then his right.

The metal mass running through his ankles tugged him in the opposite way as his wrists to that his body was stretched even more uncomfortably than it already was.

Warm blood oozed from the wounds on his ankles now, running down his feet and down into the endless oblivion.

Suddenly there was another crash of thunder, and Dean's eyes snapped open to get a look at where he was.

His breath caught in his throat at the scene before him.

A dark green fog rolled over the black abyss, giving his surroundings a little bit of light. Large metal chains stretched around the oblivion with what looked like no ends.

A crack of lightning ripped through the nothingness, and Dean chanced a glance at himself. He lifted his head as high as it would go as his eyes traveled down his body.

Sure enough, protruding through his ankles were large hooks which were connected to thick rusted chains. He felt like a slab of meat on display as lightning crack of lightning let him see how bad he really was hurt.

Dean's head whipped up to get a look at his wrists, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight. They too had large hooks running through flesh and bone, but his wrists had been tugged on, giving the wound a stretched out look as thick rivers of blood ran down his arm to his shoulder, soaking his gray t-shirt.

Just when Dean thought it was over, another hard, stinging blow pierced his right shoulder catching him by surprise as he screamed loudly.

Yes, this indeed was Hell. Dean thought to himself slowly as he tried to breathe through the pain. But this pain was unlike any other he felt before. This pain pierced his soul, not his flesh. There was no breathing through this pain.

Then to his surprise, another pain caught him off guard by tearing into his lower abdomen toward his left hip. Dean let his head fall back as he screamed so hard and loud, he felt blood tickle the back of his throat.

"S-Sam!" Dean called desperately.

The only reply he received was another crack of lightning and a loud thunder.

"SAM!" Dean tried again. He didn't know why he was calling for his brother, he knew Sam wouldn't answer him. But it was like he needed something to hold onto while this was happening to him.

"SOMEBODY HELP ME!" Dean called out sadly, "Sam! SAM!"

Just then over the thunder, all he heard was cackling laughter from what sounded like a lot of people. Dean's insides ran cold at the idea of being watched by demons for their amusement.

Then to Dean's surprise the scenery around him shifted. He was suddenly in a dark room, by himself. The chains that ran through him were still intact to his horror, just to make sure he didn't struggle.

The room wasn't as dark as his first view of Hell, there was a little light which was enough. In the enter of the circular room was what looked like a bare hospital bed. No sheets covered the dark brown blood-stained mattress, and on either side were rusted rails so the 'patient' didn't roll off.

Ten dirty see through plastic tarps made up the walls of the room, as far as he could see there were no actual walls in the circular room. Dean noticed that the tarps were nailed to the molded ceiling, as well as the floor.

Fear ran through Dean's heart as he wondered what the tarps were actually for.

"Ah," came a coy, serpent-like voice from behind Dean. He tried to get a good look at the person or demon, but he couldn't see over his shoulders because his arms were still over his head, "fresh meat."

Dean didn't reply, he knew that whoever this person was, was here to torture him.

"Aw, I heard you were more talkative than this, Dean." The voice taunted, "I must admit I'm a little disappointed."

Again, Dean didn't reply. He only sat like the slab of meat he was, breathing hard.

Dean jumped a little, causing his lower abdomen and shoulder to twinge in pain when he saw the demon who was speaking to him step into his line of view.

On earth to humans, Dean was used to seeing demons in the form of black smoke. Sometimes they would take the form of a person but that was rare.

But now, ever since his last few hours on earth he was seeing demons for what they truly were - monsters.

The one in front of him was scary skinny and tall, its ribs were visible beneath its flesh causing unpleasant curves in the creatures gray complexion. Its hands were long, with long skinny fingers at the end. At the end of its fingers were long, cracked, and broken, yellow fingernails.

It had an oval shaped, sunken in face, and no hair. The skin around his face was pulled much too tight, and was scarce. It had no lips, revealing it's sharpened, yellow, Parana-like teeth protruding from its bloody gums. Long stitched up scars assaulted its already terrifying face making Dean wonder how many times this thing had been taken apart and then put back together again.

It had no nose to speak of, just snake-like slits in the center of its face beneath its all white eyes.

"You'll get to know me, don't worry about that son." The demon teased in a tiny whisper, which made Dean cringe.

"W-what's your name?" Dean demanded, trying to sound confident, but his voice failed him miserably.

"You can call me Alistair." The demon replied sounding pleased.

"Since you're so new Dean...you get to decide." Alistair continued, still sounding rather excited, "You can either be on the table yourself...or watch while someone else is put on."

Alistair motioned toward the hospital bed, indicating that that's what he meant by the table. He wanted to know if he would torture Dean, or someone else.

Dean cringed at the idea of watching someone else being tortured, he wouldn't be able to stand it.

"Torture me." Dean replied weakly.

Not having to be told twice, the large chains which ran through Dean's body suddenly pulled out forcefully and then disappeared into nothingness. Dean screamed at the force, and fell to his knees at the demons feet.

"How noble of you." The demon said coyly as it lifted Dean by his hair and slowly dragged him toward the bed, "But you didn't save anybody, Dean. I'll just have to get to them later."

Dean figured as much, just as long as he didn't have to watch.

The demon pulled Dean up by his bleeding wrists onto the bed and shoved him into a laying position. Dean whimpered and cringed at the force of the demons' hand.

Suddenly, brown leather straps with dark blood-stains materialized around his wrists and ankles as they got nearer to the bars on each side of the bed. Dean threw his head back and screamed at the tightness of the straps on his fresh open wounds. The straps were so tight, that if he were still alive he would have no circulation. Yet, his hands and feet turned blue anyway.

"Come on Dean, this is nothing!" Alistair said in a snarky tone, "You just sit back and enjoy the show, kiddo."

Dean's head whipped around in every direction when loud screams and banging assaulted his ears. To his horror, he saw that behind each of the dirty tarps around the room were silhouettes of women with long wavy hair clawing and screaming for help desperately as they tried to escape whatever personal Hell lay with them on the other side of the tarps.

"DEAN!" All the women cried at once, "HELP ME!"

Dean's eyes widened and he suddenly began to struggle against his bonds completely ignoring his bleeding wounds. He recognized that voice, he hadn't heard it in the longest time, but he knew that voice anywhere.

"MOM!" Dean cried desperately, "MOM I'M HERE!"

Still Mary Winchester clawed at the plastic barriers keeping her away from her son.

Dean knew this was a trick, they were making him hear his mother, and see her shadow, but he knew she wasn't really there. Especially not in ten places at once, Dean thought. She couldn't be in Hell.

But still, whatever illusion or trick this was, it surely was slicing into him. Even if his mom wasn't there, he still couldn't bring himself to watch her suffer.

"DEAN! THEY'RE COM-"

Her frantic pleas for help were cut short by her sudden bloodcurdling scream as her silhouettes all at once pressed as close to the trap as they could as if pushed by someone behind them as blood poured from their mouths.

"NO! MOM!" Dean pleaded desperately as tears sprang to his eyes as he watched his mother die ten times at once. Her silhouettes sank to the floor, still pressed against the tarp, chasing the blood that gushed from her face as it too ran toward the ground, staining the dirty tarps.

"You failed Dean." Mary's voice echoed around the room, causing Dean to again whip his head around frantically trying to find the source of her voice.

But she said nothing else.

Dean then turned his face toward the demon who was now holding a straight razor in its long slender hands. Its white eyes looking down at the silver blade almost affectionately.

"What?" Alistair asked with phony innocence, "I thought you'd be happy to see your mom again."

"Screw you." Dean spat venomously.

"Screw me?" The demon asked in a mock-offended tone, "Screw you!"

Dean didn't reply, he only kept his unblinking eyes on the demon with a hateful glint in his eyes.

"In fact," Alistair continued, "I'll screw you so hard, by the end of today you won't even recognize that pretty pretty face of yours."

Alistair flashed his razor at Dean, and then carved two deep slits into each of Dean's cheek, causing him to wince but not scream. When Alistair pulled the bloody razor back, Dean had a defiant smile on his face.

"Is that the best you got?" Dean asked cockily.

Somehow, even without lips, the demon looked as if he were smiling as it leaned in close to Dean's ear.

"Not by a long shot kiddo." Alistair whispered.

Dean winced as Alistair suddenly took Dean by the hair and yanked his body up against his binds.

"What are you doing?" Dean demanded spitefully.

Alistair kept his white eyes trained on Dean as he lifted his still bloody razor, making sure Dean saw it.

Dean began to writhe and scream in agony as the demon took the blade to Dean's scalp, and very slowly carved through it as if he were cutting a steak. Tears sprang to Dean's eyes as he felt his blood pool around his face, and even down to his waste.

"NO! STOP!" Dean begged without thinking about who he was talking to as white hot pain radiated the top of his head, squashing all his coherent thoughts till all he could think about was the pain.

Alistair moved his razor back and forth slowly as he sliced through Dean's scalp. He relished in Dean's screams, and wanted him to scream louder. Through all the blood, the demon could see parts of Dean's skull, so he began to slice harder and faster as if trying to get this over with.

"Had enough?" Alistair asked as his slicing suddenly came to a halt at the last tiny flap of skin.

Dean moaned, he couldn't bring himself to reply.

"Too bad," the demon teased, "because I'm just getting started, boy."

And with that, and a quick swish of the blade in his hand, Dean's back arched and his eyes screwed shut as he screamed so hard and loud, he felt blood assault his already raw throat.

Alistair chuckled darkly, as he basked in Dean's torment for a moment as he pulled his hands away from the writhing man on the small bed.

"And here is my trophy of the day." The demon snickered, "My first piece of Dean Winchester."

"Y-you...son of a - son of a b-bitch." Dean stammered through his frantic breathing.

Alistair then placed his slender hand in front of Dean's face so that he could look at his trophy. Dean opened his eyes, and wanted nothing more than to throw up at the sight.

In the demons' hand was Dean's bloody, hair covered scalp. Alistair kept fingering it as if it were a toy instead of a flap of skin.

This couldn't possibly get any worse, Dean thought to himself trying to look at the bright side. That pain was intense, and Dean was almost sure there was no way the demon could possibly torture him any worse, right?

Dean keeps his eyes on the demon as he pulls his severed scalp away, and gently places it on a table next to Dean's head, that Dean didn't remember seeing before.

Alistair then turned his attention back to Dean looking rather amused with the bloody razor blade still in his hands.

"I want you to pay close attention to what I do to you Dean," Alistair said eerily calm, "because you can stop your pain. I can show you how to stop the pain."

"H-how?" Dean demanded shakily, his hateful glare still trained on the demon.

"I will put down my razor, and stop hurting you...if you pick one up and start the torture." Alistair explained with great amusement.

Dean looked up at the demon with disbelief.

"You want me to torture souls?"

Alistair nodded in confirmation.

"No." Dean replied with weak defiance.

"You'll change your mind...I will break you." Alistair said, clearly accepting the challenge.

Dean said nothing else, so Alistair went back to work. He lowered the razor in his hands to Dean's already wounded cheeks, and twisted the blade in deeper to his left cheek making Dean moan and cringe away from the pain.

"Don't you worry Dean," Alistair said hauntingly, "this is just intermission."

Alistair then placed the razor back on the table, and then lifted a tiny red lableless bottle. He eyed it for a moment before nodding to himself, clearly satisfied.

The demon then turned to face Dean as he twisted the white cap off the bottle and placed it next to the razor on the table before splashing Dean's entire body with the scentless, clear liquid in the bottle.

"W-what are you doing?" Dean asked, suddenly very alarmed.

Alistair didn't reply as he finished pouring the contents of the bottle all over Dean. He then recapped the bottle, and placed it back on the table.

There was a sudden, click and then Alistair turned around to face Dean with a lit match in his hand.

"No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no!" Dean begged frantically as it became clear what Alistair was about to do.

"Will you begin the torture?" Alistair asked, already knowing the answer.

"I...I-I can't." Dean muttered as he closed his eyes to what he knew was about to happen to him.

Alistair shrugged, "Then you are a fool."

And with that, the demon dropped the match on Dean's face, and watched with pure joy as his entire body erupted into harsh orange, yellow, and black flames. Dean tried desperately to scream, but he couldn't. The pain was worse than being scalped, the pain was worse than anything. Saying it was 'intense' wouldn't so it justice.

Dean wished, he hoped, he even prayed that he would pass out, but no relief came. And he knew it wouldn't, he was already dead technically. There would be no reprieve from this pain.

During this blinding excruciating agony, Dean's mind turned to his hatred for the demon doing this. He wanted nothing more than to give this demon a taste of his own medicine. How he wished he could scalp the demon, and then light him on fire. Only a tiny portion of glee filled Dean's being with that idea.

Suddenly, the flames came to an abrupt halt as it was suddenly extinguished, leaving an unrecognizable Dean on the bed.

His skin was albeit gone, leaving charred red and black slimy muscle, and black bone poking through rough planes of his body. Smoke bellowed from his remains as his breaths came in and out in desperate pants. His eyes were completely melted, rendering him completely blind which was probably for the best, he thought.

Dean heard Alistair laugh, and tried to tell him to shut up, but his voice wouldn't obey. He couldn't work his vocal chords for he was too badly burned. He lay on the bed, blind, and silent.

Just when Dean thought that this couldn't get any worse, sudden images passed through his mind filling him with fear.

He saw Sam, his brother riding behind the wheel of the Impala. He looked horrible. He seemed only a shell of his former self. His eyes were brimmed with red as tears fell from them freely, his cheeks were sunken and his face pale. He kept his eyes fixed on the road before him.

Sam's face was suddenly lit up as a harsh light came full frontal through the windshield. Dean couldn't see what it was, but Sam didn't seem scared, in face he almost seemed to welcome the light.

Suddenly, the front of the Impala crushed inward and Sam's head hit the steering wheel hard before bouncing back with such force that a loud snap was heard. It was his neck.

The vision then went black for a moment before returning.

Dean saw the Impala was completely destroyed, but it was in far better shape than his brother who was behind the wheel.

Sam's neck lay back in an unnatural angle, as the steering wheel completely crushed his chest. Blood pooled around the seat from the glass that embedded itself in Sam's face and chest. His eyes were wide and unseeing, clearly dead.

Sam just killed himself.

Was this true? Was Sam really dead? No, he couldn't be dead. Could he?

And then the vision stopped, plunging Dean back into what was really happening as he was plunged back into darkness.

But then Dean opened his eyelids and chanced a glance down at himself. He was completely whole again. No burns, and he even felt the hair on the top of his head. This was too weird.

He noticed that he was alone again, and back on the large hooks going through his wrists, ankles, shoulder, and lower abdomen. What was this?

"Ready for round two?" Alistair's voice asked mirthfully from behind Dean.

Dean's head snapped in the demon's direction, wide-eyed.

"NO!" Dean said with frantic disbelief.

"'fraid do, kiddo...unless of course you've thought about taking me up on my offer?" Alistair replied, almost bored.

"Stick it where the sun shines!" Dean yelled defiantly.

"I am up for the challenge, Dean." Alistair said threateningly.

"I don't break easily." Dean replied sternly.

A wicked smile came to Alistair's face, but it was contorted and eerie from his lack of lips. He then walked forward, and turned around to face Dean. His excited look made Dean flinch visibly.

"We'll see." Alistair said darkly as he twisted his razor in his hands playfully.