(A/N: The prologue to this story is taken from 'Dante's Inferno', the words are mostly his, with subtle changes only. I bow down to his mastery.)

(Disclaimer: Don't own anything but the following story)

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To Hell and Back.

Chapter One.

Through me you pass into the city of woe; through me you pass into eternal pain; through me among the people lost; eternal and eternal I endure; the fabric of my founder gone; before me things create were none; death, destruction, despair reign supreme; all hope abandon, ye who enter here.

Over a portal lofty arch inscribed; Master these words import hard meaning; here thou must all distrust behind thee leave; here be vile fear extinguished; we are come, where I have told thee we shall see the souls to misery doomed; whose intellectual good have lost.

That I wept at entering; various tongues, horrible languages, outcries of woe; accents of anger; voices deep and hoarse; my hands could not block the swelled sounds; made up a tumult, that forever whirls; round through that air, like solid darkness stained;

What is it I hear? The miserable, suffer the wretched souls who lived without praise or blame; not true to themselves or to God; their links to Heaven cut with screams, the forever screams of the eternally damned.

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The first arc of the blade swung silently through the air, hitting its mark… like it always did. The second strike was the same…as was the third. Not a scream was uttered and no struggle ensued. Where was the fun in that? He smiled nastily to himself. Change of plans.

He walked quietly to the next room, they didn't hear him enter…they never did. He didn't arc his blade this time, he drove it deep into the stomach of the first one he came to…through the stomach and into the bed underneath. The scream was like music to his ears. He killed 'the screamer' quickly, turned and faced the others that were rising confused, disoriented… scared. Just how he liked them. He grinned as he advanced on them…the rush of blood through his veins like a drug. They couldn't defend themselves, not these two…and their fear drove him forward. He finally killed them when their begging got on his nerves.

He heard the others massing in the room down the hall and wiped the blood of his victims from his eyes as he walked purposefully towards them. He entered the room, his mind quickly assessing the situation. This was what he was hoping for. They couldn't run, he'd known that, that's why he'd chosen them. They had no choice but to fight. He grinned and walked into the room…his blades at his sides. Let them believe they had a chance…let them believe they had some hope of surviving this. It would make their deaths all the more sweet.

He let them surround him, he watched as the smiles slowly started to form on their lips, he didn't say a word…they would never hear him speak. The only thing they would get from him was their deaths. He waited. He knew the longer he made no move, the greater their confidence would get. One of them would chance it, make the first move and then, oh then, he would be in be in his element.

He saw the smile widen on one of them, he would be the one to start it.

The axe swung towards his head and he ducked it easily, the blades seeming to come to life in his hands, seeming to know their time had come. They sung as they flew through the air, cutting, hacking slicing…bringing with them screams of pain and terror. Each swing of the blade leaving a blood trail in its wake, each swing of the blade creating another victim. They tried to run, they tried to get away but there was no escape. His unrelenting fury drove him forward…there would be no survivors. No one to attest to what he'd done. No witnesses.

He stood in the middle of the room and surveyed the carnage. The bodies lay where they'd drawn their last breath, their hands reaching out for something, anything that could have saved them. Their fingers leaving marks in the spilled blood as they'd tried to drag themselves to safety, their clothes soaked in the blood of the other victims as well as their own. The sweet, coppery smell that cloyed the air would have seemed overwhelming to anyone else…not to him. This was what he lived for.

He looked down at himself, he too was drenched in their blood, he always was…he didn't do things by halves. He didn't care if their blood touched him, in fact he welcomed it… it was a baptism of sorts. A baptism of fire. He was roused from his thoughts when he heard a moan. He turned and grinned. Looked like he'd missed one.

He walked over to the man who was struggling to get away, his left leg finished at the knee, his right arm was missing from the shoulder. He kicked the man onto his back, crouched down and stared into frightened, hate-filled eyes and smiled…

"Oops" and he drove the sword through the man's neck.

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He turned the key in the lock as quietly as he could, pushed to door open slowly, just enough for him to squeeze through. He locked the door behind him and looked at the figure on the bed, sleeping soundly, not a care in the world. He smiled, walked past the bed and straight to the bathroom, closing the door behind him and locking it.

He looked at himself in the mirror…shit. He turned the shower on, stripped and put his bloodied clothes in the garbage bag he'd hidden under the sink before he'd left. He stepped under the water, allowing the heat of it to slew the blood from his body. He hung his head, the water beating a steady tattoo on the back of his neck as he watched the blood-filled water whirlpool down the drain. He took the soap and scrubbed the last traces of blood from his body, making sure there was nothing left on him. It took a long time for the water to run clear.

He stepped out of the shower and checked himself for wounds. He didn't find any. Good. He changed into the t-shirt and boxers he'd left in there earlier and opened the door quietly. He crept out and slipped into bed, hoping and praying he wouldn't be plagued by the nightmare tonight. He was asleep not long later, the exhaustion of tonight's kill finally overtaking him.

The man in the other bed waited for the steady breathing to start before he turned over. He got slowly out of bed and went to the bathroom. He found the bag filled with the blood-stained clothes and put them back exactly as he found it. He went back to the room and sat on his bed, watching the other man sleep. He'd done it again. Told him he was going out to follow-up on a lead and had done again what he thought he'd been keeping secret. Killing.

He sighed and whispered softly "What are you doing, Dean?"

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Dean woke up feeling refreshed. He stretched, rubbed at his crotch and sat up. Sam was sitting at the table staring at him.

"Morning Sammy" he swung his legs out of bed "You didn't run out and get coffee this morning did you, dude? 'Cause I'm hanging for a caffeine hit"

Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother "What? The rush of last night's kill not enough for you?"

Dean sighed "Sam…"

"How many this time, Dean? Ten? Twelve? Did you even let them fight back this time?" he laughed "Of course you did. What fun would it be if you didn't right?"

"Let it go, Sam" he got up, grabbed his jeans and slipped them on.

"This has got to stop, Dean"

"What? Stop killing those sons of bitches? Get real, Sam. It's what we do"

Sam shook his head "No. What we do is hunt things. Not slaughter them by the shitload while they're sleeping"

"I'm sorry? Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

"I'm not fucking joking, Dean. You're not invincible! You know that! You have to be careful, if they figure out the one way they can kill us, they'll come for us…"

"Let 'em"

"You're unbelievable" he turned the laptop round "Look"

Dean went to the laptop and read what was on the screen "So?"

"So? Someone saw you! Someone saw you leave that last kill and that's a pretty damn good description of you, Dean!"

Dean grinned "So next time I'll wear a stocking over my face"

Sam slammed the laptop shut, grabbed his jacket and stormed out.

Dean slumped in the chair and put his head in his hands. It was all going to shit. The more time that passed the more he and Sam grew apart. He had to try and stop but something drove him forward, something he knew Sam wouldn't understand. He knew he was being reckless now. He'd known he would be. They both knew. Sam believed it was because he thought himself invincible but he knew the truth. It was punishment. Punishment for what he'd done six months ago. Punishment for his betrayal. Punishment for forcing Sam's hand. The external scars would heal, they always did now. The internal ones? That was a whole different story.

The nightmares were the worst. The waking up in a cold sweat, his heart racing, a strangled cry caught in his throat as he tried not to wake Sam, unable to sleep the rest of the night for fear of returning to the nightmare. It was taking its toll but he refused to acknowledge it, laughing off Sam's concern and trying to lose himself in an array of women. Sometimes it worked. His mind wanted him elsewhere though, wanted him to dwell in that time, to torture him with his mistake. And that was why he did what he did. To escape. Escape the nightmares, escape the guilt and escape himself.

He knew Sam was trying to keep him focussed, trying to keep him under some kind of control but when he got the scent of one of them, there was no stopping him. No amount of talking, arguing, threatening was going to dissuade him.

He took his anger, his pain, his guilt out on those he battled. He played with them, like a cat plays with a mouse, making them believe they had a chance of survival; but when they saw the look in his eyes, the pure unadulterated hate within them, they knew that death would be a welcome release when it came.

Demon after demon fell to his blades, he was on a mission and not one of them would be spared from his wrath, his vengeance. They would pay for what they'd made him do. They would suffer as he now suffered and he would not stop until either they were all dead …or he was. Only thing was, Dean Winchester was now almost impossible to kill. Almost.

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Sam walked towards the diner down the block. His anger slowly fading with each step. He understood on some level why Dean was doing this, he knew he hadn't forgive himself for what had happened six months ago. The fact that Dean refused to talk about it, didn't make it any easier either. He'd tried to bring the subject up but Dean had either suddenly found something he needed to 'check out' or had been 'too tired' to speak to him. He sighed, his job now was to make sure his brother didn't make a fatal mistake…and the more time that passed, the harder that job became. If Dean didn't stop, or at least slow down, it would kill the both of them.

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Sam opened to door of the motel room and bought in two cups of coffee. Dean was sitting at the table, going over the letter and the drawing, the photo was leaning against the laptop. Sam sat and handed him a coffee.

"Find anything?" he asked.

Dean shook his head and sipped at his coffee "I know this symbol, I just can't …place it" he looked at his brother "Thanks for the coffee"

Sam refused to take that as an apology "Dean…"

"No, Sammy. I don't want to talk about it. I don't need closure and I sure as shit don't need a hug, okay? I'll ease up a little if it'll stop all the bitching"

Sam laughed and shook his head "You don't get it, Dean. Did you leave even one of them alive long enough to get some answers?" Dean said nothing "Yeah, didn't think so. So don't you give me some bullshit line about trying to follow a lead either…"

"Sammy…"

"No! Jesus Christ Dean, they had information. Information we needed!" he shook his head at his brother "Every time we get close, you fuck it up! Enough is enough! You don't want to do this? Fine. Go. Kill as many demons as you need to make yourself feel better but we made a promise and I'm gonna kept it" he turned the laptop round to face him, shut down the site Dean was looking at and bought up another.

"You want me to go, Sammy? Is that it?"

Sam ran his hands down his face and sighed "No, Dean. But the longer it takes to figure this out…" he shook his head "We made a promise"

"And we'll keep it…eventually. I mean it's not like he's going anywhere is it?"

"Jesus, you're an asshole. They saved our lives!"

Dean stood "I KNOW, SAM!"

"Do you? Cause you're not…."

"Not what, Sammy? Not acting normal? Not behaving like I should? Not buying into all that Oprah sharing and caring crap?"

Sam stood up, facing his brother "That's just IT, Dean! You DON'T care! You don't give a shit about anything anymore!

"Bullshit" he grabbed his jacket "I'm going for a drink"

"Of course you are!" he laughed "Doesn't matter how much you drink or how many chicks you bang, Dean, it's not gonna change anything. What happened…" he stopped as his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID "Gus" he flipped the phone open as Dean stopped at the door.

Sam hung up and looked at his brother "She just checked herself out of a hospital in Colorado"

"Hospital? But…"

Sam was already packing, he threw the laptop in it's bag, grabbed his duffel bag and threw it over his shoulder. Dean grabbed his and went to the door. Sam had to smile, when they did get a credible lead, it was all back to business. It didn't matter what Dean said, they'd keep their promise, they owed them.

Dean threw the door open…the punch knocked him out cold. The last thing he heard was his brother yelling his name…

To be continued….