Pain.

So much pain.

That's what Dean Winchester felt, right now, in his 40th year in Hell. Every single day was filled with pain and agony that no words could be imagined for. And Dean, chained to the spider web of chains, was so full of pain that he was crying on the inside to make it stop. But it wouldn't. It never would.

After spending 10 years torturing souls with Alastair, Dean couldn't take the guilt anymore, no matter how much he enjoyed it to take his own pain away. He'd never forget the screaming, the sound of ripping flesh and bone. At the end of every day of the torturing, he stared at the tools he held and thought, "I used to save people. And I liked it. Why am I doing this? How could I do this?"

In the back of his mind, a little voice whispered, "Dad would be disappointed. Hell, he'd kill me for it."

Yet he managed to dodge those thoughts, terrified of being tortured again.

So now he was back on the rack, to suffer again. The real torturing hadn't started yet. Apparently, the demons were on a lunch break. Grunting, he lifted his head slightly to see the demons making their way toward him.

There was a chain attached to his stomach, the chain led to nowhere across the rumbling clouds. There was one that was inside his shoulder too. His hands and ankles, obviously were bound and chained. His old t-shirt was soaked with blood, as always. His ripped and torn jeans were the same too. He was still the same age.

It's like those 40 years never happened.

Straining his eyes open, the pain just got worse.

To think he'd be used to it by now.

Most people would think that he'd be blocking out the pain, to ignore it. But the demons wouldnt allow that. They made sure that he suffered. It was their life job. And in Dean Winchester's case, all demons were willing to make him suffer more than most.

At this point, his memories were fuzzy. He could barley remember yesterday, though he could guess the events. Its not like he missed anything.

He could hardly remember the times when he was alive however, except Sam. He could remember Sam. Bobby was pretty vivid too. He saw them mostly as a picture, Bobby, Sam, and he standing together with their arms around each other. Jo and Ellen were faint, but he managed to hold on the blissful memories to keep him going, to stop the feeling of despair from killing him slowly so much.

Although he'd only seen them for a short time, he also remembered Lisa and Ben.

Lisa, beautiful with her long dark hair.

Ben, so much like Dean when he was young.

He longed to see those beloved people again.

One harsh memory, however, reminded him that it was ridiculous to think that he could see them.

The gruesome image of him being a hellhound's chew toy replayed over and over in his head.

His thoughts ended apruptly as knives started to slice through his skin, carving him piece by piece. The demons laughed in satisfaction.

Dean once recalled another memory. Meg had once said her blunt description of Hell. "It's a prison of flesh, blood and fear..."

Oh how right she had been. And his uncomfortably normal day began.

After 6 hours of torture, the demons suddenly stopped in their work. Dean took this rare moment to take a breath, stifling a painful scream. Shockingly, there was a rumble of panic from the demons throughout the clouds of Hell, and it shuddered its way through the demons and prisoners with a ghostlike force. Dean felt himself losing consciousness, exhausted from the effort of being awake. If he was being tortured, they forced him to stay awake. But if Dean was left there...but he fought it. He would only be harshly woken up.

Although no one really slept. They just took a few hours of blissful rest before the horror began. But the continuing panic that grew surprised him. It wasnt often when panic was heard in Hell. So he expected things to be normal within a few seconds.

But the panic would not rest. Surprisingly, a light glared brilliantly in his eyes. Light? There was no bright light in Hell. At least not that bright.

The panic grew louder, and louder, and soon it was screaming. Dean suddenly felt as weak ever, screams and shouts ringing through his head. He tried to open his eyes, to see what was happening, but his fatigue prohibited him from finding any strength to move anything. Not a muscle.

He flinched in shock when a light hand touched his arm. It felt...warm. Soft. It made him feel safe. But the blissful soft hand suddenly grew painful, and a burning sensation sizzled as he hand seemed to burn onto his skin. It felt as though his arm was on fire, and the fire was spreading from his arm to his whole body, engulfing him in a fiery haze. He tried writhing, grunting against the agony, but to no avail.

And then it stopped, the cries of demons and such else resumed. There was less pain now.

"I'm sorry..." a indistinct voice whispered in his ear. He was confused by the spoken words. It was certainly not everyday when someone spoke like that.

He gasped slightly as he felt his limbs loosen, the chains snapping open, he felt himself floating, literally floating.

Too exhausted to question this turn of events, he let his body hang loosely. The darkness that had creeped into his mind started to block out all senses. And he gave in. He started to fall...

Someone caught him.