Warnings: very dark fic, implied noncon Alistair/Dean, noncon Hell!John/Dean. Don't like, don't read.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural nor am I making money off of this. No infringement of copyright is intended.

John glared up at Alistair. "My answer's the same as yesterday," he spat. "Go screw yourself."

The demon's lips twisted into a hideous smile. "Even if you could save your boy by picking up that knife?"

John swallowed convulsively. "What do you mean?"

Alistair stepped aside so John had a clear view of the rack next to his. If he weren't already dead, his heart would have stopped. His boy. His firstborn. The little blond-haired child he'd taught to throw a baseball. Dean.

"I'll leave him alone if you get off that rack and put another soul in his place."

John took another long look at his son. Then, calmly, purposefully, he stood and grabbed a nameless soul and strapped it down in his son's place. His humanity, his conscience be damned. All that mattered was keeping Dean safe.

Dean coughed, choking on blood that no longer streamed down his once-ruined throat. He'd thought he knew what he was in for when he made the deal. He'd thought he could take it. He couldn't hold back the hysterical, half-mad laughter. Hell, he'd been so damn clueless. How he'd managed to hold on for so long, he didn't know. He just knew that somehow, he had to. He couldn't say yes.

He looked over and saw Alistair standing beside the rack. "Don't even bother asking," he rasped. "I'm not gonna be your little bitch. Go screw yourself."

Coarse, quite laughter met his ears. "I'd much rather screw you."

Alistair didn't move, but a knife traced Dean's mouth, moving down his throat to his chest. Dean's eyes followed the knife to the demon that held it. Another faceless, nondescript, deformed demon. He gritted his teeth, waiting for the knife to cut through flesh and bone. The knife continued its journey down his body, teasing at his most sensitive areas. The constant anticipation of the knife ripping into his tender skin was almost worse than pain. He held his breath and gritted his teeth only for nothing to happen. "Just get it over with," Dean snarled.

Dean flinched as a scarred, almost gentle hand touched him. It should have hurt. It shouldn't have seemed so... familiar, like he'd known the owner of the hand. This... bizarre kindness just wasn't right. This wasn't earth. Then it would have almost made sense. The hand moved slowly down his torso to his manhood. No. That just wasn't right. He didn't want this. He wouldn't tolerate this. They could tear him apart every way imaginable. They throw every torture known to man or demon at him. But this? Forcing him to find pleasure him his rape? No!

Dean twisted, trying to pull away from the offending hand. The meat hooks through his shoulders threatened to tear through muscle. His screams had changed from cries of pain to shouts of rage.

The quiet, rumbling voice in his ear was too familiar. "Calm down, son. I'm not going to hurt you."

Something in Dean snapped in that moment. It couldn't be true. He wouldn't let it. How dare they impersonate his father? He barely felt the metal tearing through his flesh through his rage as he pulled free. Dean pulled the knife from the demon's hand, forcing him onto the rack. He plunged the knife into the demon over and over, not really comprehending what he was really doing.

A bright light suddenly appeared by his side, pulling him away from the bloody mess. Another took hold of the bleeding demon on the rack. Dean twisted in the hot, burning, strangely solid grip.

Dean thrashed on the bed, trying to force the memories from his mind. No matter what he'd told Sam and Dad, he remembered every second of Hell in high definition, surround sound clarity. He bit down on his fist, trying to keep from waking his father. Sam had gone off who knows where. Again. Dad was sleeping soundly. But he somehow couldn't feel safe alone with him anymore. He knew it wasn't really Dad's fault. Dad'd gone to Hell for him. How could he blame him for what happened down there? He'd done his own share of damage to the older man before whatever had ripped them out of there.

A choked sob escaped from his throat. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks as he quietly rose from the bed and padded over to the bathroom. He slid down the closed door, no longer able to hold in the pain that still threatened to rip him apart even here on earth. Shame filled him at having turned on his own father like that, at the fear that sent shivers up his spine every time his laid eyes of his father. Guilt flowed with the tears that seemed to choke him.

A hand on his back had Dean spinning around, reaching for the knife he'd left on his bed. He clenched his empty hands into fists.

Clear, blue eyes looked at him with a sad gaze that seemed to see clear through his soul. Tousled, brown hair topped an earnest, expressive face. "I'm sorry, Dean," the soft, gravelly voice said. "You were never meant to make that deal, to be in Hell. I'm sorry we were unable to stop everything before you were left alone to make that choice. I'm sorry we couldn't get to John before Alistair twisted him that badly. I'm sorry, Dean."

The voice sounded... Odd. Somehow, it made Dean feel safe, protected, at peace in a way he hadn't felt since his mother died. As much as that realization raised warning bells in Dean's head, he couldn't bring himself to fight it. "Who are you?" he asked half-heartedly.

"I'm the one that gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."

"But who are you? What are you? How... How did you just appear here?"

The... man smiled. "My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord."

"Angels aren't real," Dean muttered, wiping a hand across his face. "If you're an angel, where've you been all these years?"

"I can't explain it all for you," Castiel replied slowly. "We did not realize what Azazel was planning in time. It wasn't until Sam's soul appeared in Heaven that we fully understood the plan he had put into motion. When we did, it was too late to stop him from opening the Devil's Gate. We've been three steps behind Hell ever since."

"But what about Mom?" Dean asked weakly. "What about Sammy? Jess?"

"We are not permitted to control your choices. Nor are we allowed to alter the outcome of those choices without our Father's order, Dean. We have to leave you free to live your own lives."

"But what about all those times Sammy and I prayed when we were little? All the times we just didn't know what to do?"

Castiel sighed quietly. "You'd have to ask my Father. I don't have an answer for you, Dean."

Dean stood still as the angel stepped closer to him. "It hurts. It's too much. I can't do this anymore."

Deceptively strong arms wrapped around Dean's shoulders. "Stop blaming yourself, Dean. You have nothing to blame yourself for. It's not your fault."

Dean remembered holding Sam like this. Was it really just over a year ago? As foreign as it felt to just... accept the gentle contact, he couldn't Castiel away. At least, not now when no one else could see him like this. Was this what it felt like to have an older brother?

Dean paced the fancy room. He felt so out of place. Not even in the artificial world that djinn had created in his mind had he set foot in somewhere so classy. He bit his lip, wishing for Cas and Sam. A twinge of guilt ran through him as he realized he didn't want his father there. The man who raised him, trained him, made him the man he was, but he didn't want to be around him. He bit his lip. The older man hadn't been the same since Hell. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised. After all he himself had not come out unchanged. But Dad had been more than willing to just sacrifice an entire town to stop Samhain. When they'd failed to stop the seal, Dad had blamed him even more than Sam. Sam, in turn, had turned more and more to Ruby, leaving him alone with Dad for days at a time. No matter how demanding Dad had been while they were growing up, he had never been so implacable.

If Cas hadn't been at his elbow, often literally, at every turn, Dean wasn't sure if he would have survived this long. The angel knew why Hell had changed him the way it had. He'd become a constant in the bizarre world Dean had returned to. The more Dad had condemned him and Sam had pulled away, the more Cas became like the older brother Dean had never had. He had quickly discovered that Cas missed nothing. He might be clueless when it came to pop culture and American customs, but Dean could not hide from him. That should have been terrifying. After all, Dean had been taught to hide from the time he was four years old. He had to be strong for Sammy. He had to act normal even when Dad was a week late coming home from hunting a wendigo or a teacher might ask too many questions and they'd be put into foster care. He had to seem like everything was under control or more people might die. He had to be untouchable, invulnerable or Dad and Sammy might be put in even more danger because of him.

Dean ran a hand through his hair. How long had it been since Zachariah had brought him here and then just left? He took a deep breath. He looked around again. He still couldn't find a door anywhere in the room. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he fought to control his breathing. He might not be able to leave, but at least he wasn't chained in place and impaled on meat hooks. It wasn't the same as Hell. It wasn't. "Cas," he whispered.

"Dean."

He spun to see Cas. Dean released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "What's going on? Where's Sam? What's Dad doing?"

"You need to go to your brother, Dean," the angel said. "He's about to break the final seal."

Dean glared at his father. "I don't care what he did, Dad," he hollered. "I don't care what douchebag and dickless said about him. He's still Sammy. He's still my pain in the ass little brother. You don't touch him. It's not like you have any room to speak here!"

"He's Lucifer's vessel, Dean," the older hunter countered. "You can't trust him. You were there when he broke the last seal. He's spent the better part of a year drinking demon blood. He's barely human."

"I didn't see you trying to stop him, either. You practically handed him to Ruby on a silver plate. You knew about the demon blood even before I did, but you didn't even tell me. Sam's barely human? I didn't even recognize you in Hell. I thought you were just another demon. I can't trust him? At least he never molested me!"

"I was trying to protect you, Dean!"

"Protect me? I would've preferred that you gutted me! For the record, Dad? It wasn't Alistair that broke me. It was you! So you can stay the hell away from Sammy. I don't care what you do or where you go, but you stay away from him!"

"Who the hell do you think you are? You don't get to give me orders just because have one angel in your back pocket who pulled you out of Hell. By all rights, you should still be down there. You have no place in this anymore. All you ever were was a catalyst to make sure Lucifer's cage opened. Now that it has, you're expendable."

"That doesn't mean I'm going to let you break Sam, too. Cas!"

Dean pulled over onto the side of the highway. He stepped out of the car and walked into the trees. He just had to get away from Adam. Not that he held anything against the kid. This mess sure wasn't his fault. Dean just needed to be by himself somewhere he could fall apart. He slammed his fist into a tree, relishing the pain that shot up his arm. Tears streamed down his face.

Warm arms wrapped around him from behind. Dean turned, burying his face in his friend's, his brother's, coat. "Why him, Cas? Why Sammy? It should've been me."

"He did it because he loved you, Dean. He couldn't let you or Adam do it."

"It still should've been me, Cas. I could've done it. You know it. I know it. Hell, even Adam knows it. I don't want Sammy down there with Dad. He'll be almost as bad as Lucifer. Sam shouldn't have to go through that."

Cas sighed. "Neither should you, Dean."

"But I can take it. He shouldn't have had to. And I know I promised but I can't just leave him there. The cage was only made to hold Lucifer, right? So someone smaller, someone human-sized could get out, right? And you could have someone bring him home?"

"I don't know that it's that easy, Dean. I will see what I can do. But I can't make any promises."

"I don't need promises," Dean muttered, his voice muffled by Cas's trench coat.