Dean curled his knees up to his chest warping his arms around his knees. His back was pressed against an outcropping of stone; the stone was icy cold but it was better than nothing. Rain was pouring down while hail hammered into his skin and the wind howled around his body. He guessed he had been here for two days sense Alastair had left him there promising that he would beg for the warmth of hell fire after three days- all Dean had to do was call for Alastair. Dean vowed to himself not to call for the demon for at least a week.
But after two whole days of sleepless biting cold he was started to think 7 days was going to be too long. He had hoped at first, the clothing would help a little until it had become so wet water was rung from it every time he moved. Dean had also hoped his body would just go numb from the cold, 'No you fool, you forget where you are again' he thought to himself. Numbness never came- it was just the biting cold. Going numb would have been a kindness, something that did not happen here.
Dean's head shot up as he heard something- or thought he heard something different from the rain, wind and hail. He had thought it was the sound of something growling.
'In order for me to hear that, it would either have to be really freaking huge or really freaking close' his thoughts raced. If it was an animal- if he let the thing rip him open- he might be warm for a little bit, and the hail wouldn't be hammering into his body. Already he felt like Alastair had beaten him, or more, had gone through the warm up beating. This time he heard rocks shifting and saw movement as the clattered down around him. 'It, whatever it is, is right above me' Dean didn't move, the hope of warmth was too much for him to move; even if he had to trade flesh and blood for the warmth. 'Dean, you forgetting where you are again..' His mind spoke to him in Sam's voice.
It was all the urging to get up and run he needed. Dean did not know when his mind began to whisper to him in the voices of his loved ones- 'Maybe a year ago' he thought. At first, it had been nice; after all hearing Sam's or his Father's voice after hours of listening to the screams of others or worse Alastair's voice- but the voices has soon begun to whisper cruel things to him.
Like his Father calling him a failure for not keeping Sam safe and getting himself into the mess. Sam's voice didn't always say hurtful things- but it was never held the warmth of brotherly love or worry that it had in life. No, it was always cold, sarcastic and angry.
He was running, or running as well as his broken body could- now he was sure something was behind him chasing him. Something big. Dean doubled his effort in running away, forcing freezing air into aching lungs and making his stiff limbs bend and pump. 'You could call Alastair' Sam reminded him, 'Might as give up now. Go back to the pain you know- coward.' Dean flinched at his father's harsh bark. It only hurt more because he knew it was true, by now Dean had worked out a pattern to Alastair work. While it was never the same day to day, Dean had worked out a few things- like words or little movements that would mean Alastair was going for one thing or another. The phrase "I'll stop whenever you want me to- just beg." Was enough to make Dean sick with fear; yes Alastair would stop whatever he was doing right away but as soon as the first torture ended another, much worse, would begin.
He was getting better at not begging for it to end, however it was getting harder and harder to say "No" whenever Alastair put the ornate razor, Alastair's favorite, at Dean's feet and told him "All of it will stop. All the pain, all the torture, all the punishment, all of it will stop you just have to pick up that razor and dig it into someone else."
Dean tried to not think about that, tried to just think about keeping his body moving- forcing it to move. Whatever was running after him was almost on him. In a fraction of a second, it was on him. Dean hit the ground throwing his hands out him front of him which meant the rocky ground dug into his palms, his knees, his stomach, and the side of his face.
The thing on top of him was cold, colder then everything else around him. It had claws, they were like ice, its breath was colder then the wind howling around them. As the freezing beast bites into Dean's shoulder, digging teeth razor sharp and like ice into him, Dean screamed and continued to scream as it started to drag him away. He fought like hell 'No pun intended' he thought dryly to himself, to get away from the thing. Its body was so much colder then everything else- his body was starting to convulse due to the cold of the thing so much so that fighting was becoming impossible.
He would have passed out by now, if he wasn't in hell, but as he was in hell the pain became everything. Everything-it was all he could think, all he could feel, time itself become the pain. He couldn't even scream anymore- not even to beg.
The frozen beast dropped him; it took a while for Dean's body to stop convulsing enough for him to look around. He pushed himself up, wincing as he's torn and still bleeding hands sent a painful scream of protest as they bore his weight. He was in a cave, sheltered from the rain, hail and to some extent the wind. It was a little warmer, which meant Dean needed to get out of here and now. Something much worse was about to happen to him.
Dean had learned that much about hell. He got up, limping, to opening of the cave only to be stopped by a chain around his ankle. 'That is not good' Dean thought as the fought to keep the panic down.