The smell of dried blood woke him from sleep that felt all too short. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly together, as if trying to prolong unconsciousness. His wrists struggled against their binds in an attempt to rub his eyes, one would have thought that the habit would have been broken after nearly 30 years. He might've thanked God that he didn't have any of the usual nightmares, if only he didn't think that the deity had abandoned the entire human race. But then again, was he even still human?
"Rise and shine princess," a sickeningly sweet voiced rasped out not to far from him. The voice belonged to a treacherous demon called Alistair. He personally loved tearing into the broken soul who had just woken up, Dean Winchester. The Winchesters had caused more than their fair share of trouble for those in the pit, and Alistair enjoyed every moment of his revenge.
"What shall it be today, sonny?" He asked Dean. The hunter didn't say anything, but instead glared daggers- no, nuclear bombs at the demon. "Cat got your tongue?" Alistair asked condescendingly. "Let's fix that, shall we?" He grabbed a particularly rusty pair of pliers and turned towards Dean. "Open wide," he nearly sang with giddiness. The hunter knew it was futile to clench his jaw, but he did so anyway, unwilling to give into the horrific demon in front of him. The smile flickered ever so slightly before he gripped Dean's face tightly, digging his sharp fingernails into the sides of his face. After only a few seconds of trying to force the hunter's jaw to unhinge, he simply broke it with a quick flex of his fingers. The tortured soul groaned out in agony but a gurgling sound from his throat cut it off. Dean shut his eyes tight once more, attempting to block out the pain, though it was impossible. When he first arrived in hell he always kept his eyes open, looking straight forward at the blood crusted walls, doing anything to appear strong, but he felt anything but. Thirty years of pain and no where to put it. After grueling hours of torture, it all came to an end, the hunter was nearly ready to pass out.
"So Dean, what do you say? Are you ready to take me up on my offer yet?" Alistair asked, a cruel smile on his demon face. Dean tried to put everything he had into spitting at the monster in front of him, but only a small amount of drool escaped from his lips, hindered by his broken jaw. "Well? What's it going to be?" Dean didn't have to say anything. Alistair saw the defeat and resignation in the poor soul's eyes. He let out a chuckle that sounded more like a cackle as he watched the Winchester drift off into unconsciousness. Dean couldn't bring himself to feel guilty, only relieved on the behalf of the things he would no longer endure. While he was under, he was subjected to the same visions of torture that he always was. Something felt different though, something that he just couldn't place. Just because he was dreaming didn't mean that he didn't feel anything, and he howled in pain.
"Enough," said a deep voice just behind him. The demon didn't stop ripping into the hunter though until a hand reached out and touched the monster's head. It growled and light shined through it's eyes and mouth before it fell to the ground. A man, just an ordinary looking man in a dirty trench coat stood before Dean. Before he could say anything though, the mysterious person spoke. "We are going to get you out of here." Dean wanted to stay, wanted to find out more, but he could feel himself slipping back into consciousness.
He woke up, ready to feel the burn of new wounds, before he remembered. Remembered that he had accepted Alistair's offer. He felt a twinge of shame twist in his gut before he looked up and saw the demon himself. He picked up a short dagger and Dean felt himself twitch in fear. Why was Alistair going to continue torturing him? Maybe he wasn't clear enough with his answer. He slammed his eyes closed, not ready to feel the hurt all over again, when instead he felt the binding on his left wrist slip away. Next it was his right, then his ankle, and finally, he was standing free. Nothing holding him to the forsaken place where he shed enough blood to feed every demon in all of hell.
"It's about time Dean, don't you think?" Alistair said with a chuckle. There was a deep satisfaction in his face that the hunter didn't understand, he figured that Alistair made this offer with everyone. So why was he different? The demon led Dean through the darkened hall constructed of broken bones with black ooze finding its way through the cracks. "Have fun," Alistair drawled as the two came across a soul who was bound and nearly unconscious just as Dean had been. The former hunter didn't hesitate, he began tearing into the frightened soul, obviously one who was new to the pit. He didn't use instruments of any kind, but that didn't mean he even noticed the new claws that now extended from his fingertips. He didn't register the cries of pain that escaped the woman's lips. Didn't care about the blood, the cruelty. All Dean saw was the fact that he wasn't the one being ripped to shreds. He couldn't have described the liberating rush of adrenaline he was experiencing in that moment if he wanted to. The feeling literally filled the hole that had been created within the former hunter from his isolated existence in the pit. It didn't take Dean long to have the soul tattered beyond repair and thoroughly unconscious.
"You're a natural," the demon that Dean had all but forgotten said behind him. A new soul appeared in front to the former hunter and he repeated the same process over again. This man obviously had already spent some time down in the pit already, he was strong, but faltering. Not that Dean noticed. That was how the entire day went. He ripped through soul after soul until his bones ached and his brain pounded in his skull. In hell, there was no such thing as falling asleep. The only time anyone got rest was when the slipped into unconsciousness. To the strong and powerful demons, this never happened. Dean was not yet strong, or powerful, so he felt himself slowly fading away. He had completely forgotten about the man in the trench coat that had come to him in his dream the previous day and was slightly surprised when he appeared again.
"Before you say anything," Dean said gruffly as the man opened his mouth to speak. "Tell me who you are." His voice felt hoarse and dry from misuse despite the fact that he was imagining everything around him.
"My name is Castiel. I am an angel of The Lord." The man said very seriously. The former hunter barked out a dry laugh. "An angel? If there were such things as angels then why wouldn't someone have seen them by now?" He asked incredulously. Castiel looked at Dean peculiarly, he was obviously confused. "I believe you are seeing an angel right now, Dean Winchester." The former hunter scoffed, running a hand over his face out of exhaustion.
"We're inside my custard right now, you're not even real." He couldn't help but notice the small twinge disappointment he felt when he admitted that. The man said that he could get Dean out of hell, but obviously he wasn't going anywhere. Castiel approached the former hunter, laying a hand on his arm. The touch burned his flesh, making a small sizzling sound and sending him to his knees. "So? I've felt pain in my dreams before," he argued. It was then that everything around him grew hazy, and the dream was ripped from his grasp.
Dean woke up slumped against the side of a wall next another soul who was currently passed out. He groaned, then stood up and stretched. The feeling of being able to move freely still felt awesome. He was shocked to feel an ache on his left arm since he wasn't tortured the previous day. The former hunter pushed up his sleeve to reveal an angry red hand print in the exact spot where the angel had grasped him.
"Doesn't mean his real," he grumbled to himself before pulling the fabric back over his were demons crawling all over the pit, any number of them could have done that and in his messed up mind it translated into an angel touching him. He pushed the trench coated Castiel into the back of his mind before starting to work on the bound soul who was just beginning to wake up. That day felt just as good as the previous one, felt just as liberating. As he tore into soul after soul he could feel some of himself regaining some of his strength. That day ended just like the last, Dean was worn to the maximum, and without an ounce of gumption left he fell to the floor, back in the same corner where he was last night and and drifted off to a place where Castiel seemed to be patiently waiting for him.
"You still don't believe," he said simply, although there was a slight undertone of annoyance in his voice.
"You got that right," Dean said shaking his head. He crossed his arms and leaned up against a wall. He watched the man as he let out a deep, irritated sigh.
"What will it take for you to realize?" Castiel asked, his deep voice cutting through the silence.
"For you to pull me out of this pit! Aren't angels supposed to be able to do that? If you're an 'angel', then why am I still here?" The former hunter asked gruffly. The trench coated man stepped closer, his eyes slightly narrowed.
"That's what I'm doing," he growled. "These things take time. I'm not the only angel trying to save you," He appeared as if he was going to say more, but he began to blur, become fuzzy. Dean tried to concentrate, but it was all in vain. He woke up with a start, with a pair of legs staring him in the face. He looked up to see Alistair grinning wickedly down at him.
"Ready to go again sweet cheeks?"