Chapter I

An influential man once said, "If you're going through Hell, keep going."

Sam Winchester had been to Hell before. He leaped into the gaping abyss, the entrance to the Cage where he knew he would suffer for days, weeks, months and years. He knew what he signed up for, and he took that one last step without a single shred of doubt. Maybe, the only thing that worried him in that last moment was what would happen to his brother, with him gone. But only for a split second, because the next, he remembered the promise Dean made, that he would find Lisa and live a normal life, a life he deserved.

So, Sam wasn't concerned for his own well being, not one bit. When he found himself in the dark, too hot and too humid cell that was the Cage, he was a man prepared for everything. And it hurt, the pain excruciating, as the Devil took his anger and sorrow out on his soul, his and his half brother's screams echoing through the endless darkness that seemed to swallow every last bit of hope Sam ever had of getting off easy. It seemed that the archangel Michael had a few bones to pick with the innocent young man, too, and listening to Adam's pain filled screams of anguish as Michael did indescribable things to him might have probably been the worst experience while he was in there.

But that didn't mean that it was a walk in the park when Lucifer tortured him. Not at all…

He used so many methods, mainly ones that caused the most unbearable pain possible, and some that Sam didn't even know existed. There were meat hooks, fire, so much fire, knives and much more, as the Devil agonizingly slowly took him apart, bone by bone, limb by limb, skinned him alive, then put him back together, just to start over again.

And yet, all of that horrible torture was nothing compared to what he had to go through the second time he entered Hell. He never broke, not once, while the Devil himself played with his body, but this time, Sam wasn't sure if he could keep going. Not again. Not anymore…

His heart was pounding in his chest, making him paranoid, because what if they would hear it? What if they'd find him? What if his plan would fail?

Sam took a deep breath to calm his nerves, while leaning against the unnaturally warm stone wall. He was going to be fine. The mission would go smoothly, all he needed to do was find Bobby, get him out of here, meet the reaper at the right place and time, and done. Yeah, child's play.

He let out a shaky sigh, closed his eyes for a few seconds while gathering his courage, and when he opened them, his mind was set. Sam took off his watch and placed it on the pillar closest to the hidden hole leading to Purgatory, before glancing from left to right and stepping into the dim light of Hell's corridor.

It was long and rather dark, stinking of blood and vomit and sulfur. This Hell was different from the Cage he was in, the sudden rush of bad memories making him stop in his tracks. Flashing images of fire, a wicked grin and a hearty laughter crossed his mind, but Sam forced them down, back to where they came from, to the ever growing pile of unwanted dark crap he's been keeping buried deep in his mind.

With clenched fists, he began walking down the corridor filled with tormented souls, either hanging from chains on the walls, or holding onto their cell bars, howling and crying in misery. Many were mutilated, some beyond recognition, with their eyes sawn shut, limbs missing or replaced with other things, burnt all over, creating humanesque monsters. It was a sick joke, a twisted freak show for the demons' entertainment.

Sam felt the odd urge to stop and gape at the poor souls, but kept walking instead, holding his gaze straight so he wouldn't let himself be distracted. He knew most people deserved what was happening to them, while others were either victims or unlucky fools, selling their souls for money and fame without thinking of the consequences. But it wasn't like Sam could have done anything about it; he couldn't and wouldn't risk getting caught by trying to set the innocent ones free. He didn't even know which of these men and women were the real sinners.

So he kept going, walking further down the sometimes blood soaked path, feeling as if the walls were closing around him, an impending doom slowly descending on him. The uncanny feeling only intensified as he neared the end of the corridor, his body becoming tense and oversensitive to any sound or gust of imaginary wind that was too hot and brought the smell of death and suffering with it.

Finally, as he reached a three-way intersection, he noticed his old friend in a cell, staring at a wall and, even though Sam couldn't see his face, judging from the way his shoulders were slouching and head slightly hanging, he seemed grumpy, tired and probably fed up with this whole Hell situation. Sam could understand—this place had the potential to render any human miserable.

But unfortunately, before he could have said or done anything, his vision of Bobby was blocked by a demon holding what seemed to be a Hell version of a wrench. Sam cursed, grabbing his demon-killing knife, and held it up in a threatening way as he took a step back. He hoped he could lead the demon away from Bobby's cell, far enough from the intersection where other demons might notice them, then knife the son of a bitch. And his plan was going so well, the grinning demon following him until Sam stopped, grinned right back at the black eyed abomination, and was about to disarm him, when he saw those black eyes glancing behind him. It was just for a second, maybe even less, but the demon clearly looked at something behind Sam, and the hunter had an unnerving feeling that he knew exactly why. But it was too late. As he tried to duck, to dodge the inevitable attack coming from behind, he accidentally slammed into one of the cages, and suddenly found himself in the grasps of a confused soul, shrieking and clawing at Sam's arms and chest while the two demons stood in front of him, grinning a wicked grin.

In a moment of panic, Sam began to struggle, thrashing around in the soul's grasp and obtaining a few cuts and bruises from the never-ending clawing. Meanwhile, the demons just watched, waiting for the hunter to stop moving, and when he finally did and made eye contact with those black eyes, he felt his blood run cold. There he was, trapped and unable to move, needing help when he was supposed to be the one saving Bobby.

He gripped the handle of the demon-killing knife, knowing that whining about his situation and feeling sorry for himself wouldn't help at all, then in a swift motion, plunged the blade into the soul's hand. It let out a deafening howl of pain and immediately let go of Sam, who charged forward and lashed out with the knife, slashing at the surprised demons. They jumped back, the one holding the nightmare wrench lifting the thing up and trying to block Sam's attacks with it, while the other, unarmed one, closed his hands into fists and threw some pretty accurate punches at the hunter. The odds were against him, but then again, he was Sam freaking Winchester and he sure as hell wouldn't go down without a fight. He managed to cut and slice at the punching demon's fists and arms, missing his chest by a few inches as the wrench handling demon knocked his knife out of his hand.

Sam took a step back, thinking for a split second, then as realization hit him, he quickly pulled out the strange, crafted blade he found in Purgatory, and grinned at the demons.

"I won't go down that easily," he said, glaring at the demons and daring them to attack, to try and beat him.

And maybe it was the severe, dangerous look in his eyes, or the graveness of his voice, or the fact that it was Sam Winchester they were up against, but the demons hesitated. They glanced at each other, slowly and unsurely, then back at the hunter.

He couldn't help but smile, feeling a bit proud of himself at that moment, but that didn't mean he'd go back on his words. So, Sam stepped forward and, taking the demons off guard, he stabbed one of them in the chest, not missing this time.

He could have waited for the demons to make up their minds and let him go or continue fighting, but he wasn't going to risk it. And even if, by some chance, the demons truly were going to let him go just like that, he would still end up killing them because, well, they were demons. And he was glad he chose to pull off such a surprise attack, because now he had to deal with one less demon, the one in front of him falling to his knees as the knife slid out of him.

Sam turned to the other demon, the one holding the wrench, and cocked his head. "You should have run."

The demon blinked, glancing from his kneeling comrade to Sam, then at the weapon in his hands, but didn't move. Seemed like he wasn't going down without a fight either, and Sam would have respected that if his opponent weren't a sulfuric, black-eyed demon.

"No," the demon stated, gripping the wrench and raising it as a thin lipped smile crossed his face. "You should have."

Then he knocked the wrench against one of the cell bars once, twice, three times, and his smile turned into a menacing grin. Sam didn't understand what was going on at first, why the demon looked so proud of himself all of a sudden, until he heard the couple of dozen creaking sounds of heavy and old metallic doors opening.

"Damn it," Sam cursed loudly as all the cell doors around him opened, letting the mutilated souls wander outside, disoriented and confused, moaning in sorrow and agony and heading right towards him. At least those who could still see.

The demon's malicious laughter filled the corridor as he raised the wrench in the air, then yelled, "Get him! The one who kills him first is free!"

A deadly silence weighed him down, seconds ticking away as the tension rose, all the tortured souls frozen still and staring at him. Then as if an inaudible bell has been rung, they all started moving at the same time, a wave of tormented souls rushing at him as if their lives depended on it.

Being attacked from both sides by a swarm of people, and seeing no possible way out aside from starting to slice his way through them with the knife, Sam had no other choice but to raise his knife and run towards his doom.

Only later did he realize that the demon never actually wanted him dead. No, he waited for the souls to weaken Sam enough for him to land a surprise attack from behind, one that the hunter never saw coming since he was way too busy trying to Moses his way through the huge amount of wailing people. Sam was just trying to peel a woman's fingers off his arm, while also doing a great job at slicing some poor soul's jaw off by accident, when the demon hit him in the back of his head. At first, he felt dazed and confused, finally managing to get the fingers off by cutting the woman's hand off, and stumbled forward before turning around and expecting to see another pitiful soul trying to get to him.

But instead of a weak soul, he found himself toe-to-toe with the demon, and he only had a moment to realize that he majorly screwed up, before he was swallowed by darkness as the sharp end of the wrench connected with his head, one last time…

~...~

Sam woke up on a damp floor, with a killer headache. He groaned, rubbing his forehead, then suddenly felt a sharp pain at the side of his head that made him hiss and frown.

Sitting up slowly, Sam blinked and looked around, his heart sinking and his mouth turning dry as a sudden rush of panic filled him. He crawled backwards, until his back was pressed against the stone wall. A voice in the back of his head tried to reassure and calm him, thinking logically and coming up with a plan, but Sam was unable to focus on the silent, whisper-like voice, as all he could hear was his too quick heartbeat.

He swallowed dryly, his hands shaking as he ran them through his hair, but he wasn't going to break down. He took a deep breath, kept it in for a few seconds, then let it out as he closed his eyes. He needed to calm down, he couldn't afford panicking right now, or that would mean losing. Sam licked his chapped lips as he looked around the cell he was put in.

It was small, probably around 6ft x 6ft, with a metal door at the end, which had a small window with metal bars. It was dark, but his eyes quickly adjusted to the gloomy darkness, making him realize what that heavy feeling around his ankles were. Of course, he was shackled. He patted his chest and pants, but it seemed that the demon was smart enough to raid him from all of his weapons.

"Why does everything have to go to shit, every single goddamn time?" Sam sighed, leaning his head against the wall.

He didn't know what to do, truly being out of ideas this time around. He had no other choice but to wait, for something or someone, with his weapons gone and being locked in a cell, in Hell. He was also cuffed, though at least his wrists were free, so if he found anything useful lying around he could, maybe, come up with something.

There was also Dean, waiting for him, but there was only one problem with that. Time in Hell went by way faster than in the human realm, meaning that Sam was pretty much on his own.

He tried not to let all of that get to him though, because he was a strong man, both body and soul, and he would be damned if he'd let himself be broken by Hell. Not after surviving so many years in the Cage, with Lucifer using him as his own person chew toy.

So he remained emotionless as the door creaked open, but couldn't stop the frown on his face as a demon stepped into the little cell, and smirked down at him, that pompous son of a bitch.

"I should have known…" Sam scoffed, narrowing his eyes as he glared at the demon, his black suit looking new and immaculate as always, going with his shiny black shoes, and it took everything Sam had not to reach over to somehow gather and sweep some dust on his ever-so-perfect attire.

"Nice to see you too, Moose. I have to say, prison isn't doing wonders for your skin." The king of Hell chuckled, looking the pissed off hunter over before nodding to a demon next to him. "Anyway, I'm only here to enlighten you on your not-so-bright future. In a short twenty or so years, you won't be the same Sam Winchester anymore, I can guarantee you that."

"What a joke." Sam laughed incredulously, slowly getting up and taking a few steps forward before the chains stopped him. He glared down at the smaller man, or demon, and grinned defiantly. "I won't break, we both know that. And anyway, I'm going to get out of here, one way or another, and sooner than later."

Crowley returned the grin, before taking a step backwards and taking a hold of the door handle. "No, Samantha. I'm afraid that with the torture session I've put together especially for you…you won't even last ten years."

And with that, he shut the door, and was gone. Sam stared at the metal door for a while longer, before rubbing his face and sighing hopelessly. He was still confident that he wouldn't break, that he'd survive whatever was thrown at him, but that didn't mean he also knew how to get out of this shithole. He just hoped he could somehow communicate with Dean, or with someone, to send a message…

That was when it hit him, that he could do just that.

"Castiel!" Sam smiled, glancing at the ceiling. He knew that the angel was busy, on the run from Naomi and her gang, all the while trying to keep the Angel Tablet safe, but maybe, if he was lucky, he'd listen.

Sam really hoped that his message would get through, that Hell wouldn't interfere, or that it was actually possible to even pray to angels from such a diseased place like this. He wouldn't be too surprised if there was nobody listening to prayers coming from Hell, from sinners asking for forgiveness when it was already too late.

But since hope died last, he knelt down and closed his eyes, then started praying.

—

He really hoped that his plan wouldn't go south.

Dean glanced at the watch on his wrist for the umpteenth time as he stood in the woods, waiting for his brother to emerge from the portal leading to Purgatory. When he found out that the rogue reaper they asked to guide Sam to and back from that nightmarish place crawling with monsters was dead in his car, Dean might have suffered from a slight panic attack. He cursed everyone and everything, immediately thinking the worst and worrying about his little brother, who has never set foot to Purgatory before, and it wasn't like his confusing and paranoia driven descriptions of the place could have helped him survive in there.

So he had to ask his friend to do him a huge favor. And Dean expected an argument, a look of surprise or shock, disbelief and sorrow, but instead all he got was acceptance. That didn't make his job any easier, though, as he had to cut off his friend's head in order to send him back to the place they've been trying so hard to escape from.

He could still remember the struggle, all those nights spent hunting in the shadows, covered in blood and fearing for their lives, as predator could become prey from one moment to the next, attacked from behind. It could have been over so quickly, one set of jaws snapping at their necks, a blade silently piercing the flesh, a shriek or howl before complete darkness. But that endless darkness never came, the only thing that stayed being the continuous reminder of death hovering above them as they took the monsters' lives, becoming the very things they hunted in the process. Benny was a vampire to begin with, so the change wasn't that obvious; he just used his fangs a bit more often, oddly enjoying the taste of his victims' blood dripping from his fingers.

On Dean, it was more visible. Benny never pointed it out, but when they met up with the angel, it was one of the first things he mentioned, how Dean looked as if he aged tens of years, his expression hardening, and the occasional smiles on his face seeming more wicked and twisted. Dean knew, but didn't care, not giving a rat's ass about the way his hair stuck together from dried blood that also covered most of his clothes, which he never really bothered to wash in the river. It didn't matter to him, because hunting like this, so freely, felt pure and right, as if somehow he managed to get in touch with his more primal, natural self. It was sort of liberating, and also fucking great.

But all that was behind him. It happened, he remembered every gory detail, but he was a changed man. He wasn't the paranoid, jumpy hunter who saw figures lurking in the shadows from the corner of his eye and heard stealthy footsteps of beasts stalking behind him. No, not anymore, and he could thank his brother for that. Being back in the family business, hunting and saving people, doing good while also trying to close the gates of Hell really took his mind off of things.

And now, his little brother was stuck in Purgatory, without the knowledge of a way out, and it was all Dean could do not to find a way to go back to that putrid place, grab his brother and drag him out of there himself. But that would do more bad than good, so his only choice was to lean against a tree and wait, hoping that Benny managed to find Sam and that he'd see his little brother emerging from the other side any minute now.

The only problem was that he beheaded Benny an hour ago, and Sam was still nowhere.

~...~

It was later that night, when another two hours have passed, that Dean became seriously concerned, nervous and fucking petrified. Sam was still MIA, even after he sent his vampire friend in, who was an expert in getting the hell out of Purgatory, which could have only meant bad, really bad news.

"Shit, shit, fuck!" Dean growled, punching a tree hard enough to hear a crack coming from his knuckles, followed by a burning pain and even though it was dark outside, he could have sworn he saw blood. But he couldn't care less at the moment, and as he clenched his bleeding fist, Dean took off to his car while fishing out his phone from his pocket with his good hand, dialing Castiel's number.

Because even angels needed cell phones, especially ones that could be easily compared to a lost, mentally deficient puppy.

Dean waited as it rang, once, twice, many times, but the angel never answered. Suppressing the urge to hurl the phone against a conveniently placed tree, he quickly got behind the wheel and started the engine, driving straight back to the motel. There, he got out as soon as possible, without actually jumping out of a still moving car, and rushed into the room, immediately running to a duffel bag sitting in the corner. He and Sam rarely used its contents, except for when they were up against demons or, on the contrary, wanted something from a particular demon, that bag being their demon kit, in a way.

If he couldn't reach Heaven, he'd raise Hell.

Dean pulled out the bowl and a few other things from the bag, before setting them down on the floor, then went back to looking through the bag for other useful objects. When he finally got everything he needed, Dean reached for his lighter, and even though he always managed to light it on the first try, this time he just couldn't seem to do it.

"Damn it, work you piece of shit!" Dean snapped, nearly knocking the bowl filled with important powders and plants over. He knew that he needed to calm down, think straight and clear his mind, but no matter how much he tried to stay neutral, it seemed as if his whole world was coming crashing down, as if he was four years old again, but this time, instead of losing his mother, he was losing Sam. Again.

They have done so many things for each other, sacrificed everything in order to save the other, that this shouldn't have affected Dean so deeply. But it did. He might have sold his soul for Sam, his little brother might have gone to Hell for him, then came back soulless. He might have made a deal with Death to get Sam's soul back, and then he might have gone to Purgatory for the greater good, but all of that meant nothing if he was alone. Dean couldn't let that happen, couldn't survive without his brother and he couldn't leave Sam in Purgatory where he knew what horrors awaited his unprepared little brother, not while he was out here, safe and sound.

He took a deep breath, tried and failed at calming down, then crouched down and, as he finally managed to get the lighter to work, completed the summoning ritual.

"I really hope for your own good," the annoying voice said, "that I'm here because you finally decided to give me the other piece of the Tablet. You know, I deserve it. I was voted the Best Boss of the Underworld, by me."

"Shut your mouth, Crowley." Dean stood up but only managed to take one step towards the smirking demon before he stopped, an invisible force holding him in place, like thousands of tiny wires wrapped around his body.

"Squirrel, I'm disappointed. But I guess Dumb truly is brainless, without his Dumber," the King of Hell said with a scornful chuckle, flicking his wrist and sending the hunter flying back, and earning a frustrated grunt from him as his back was pressed against the wall.

Dean would have had hundreds of witty comebacks for that sly bastard, but Crowley was right, about one thing. He was so worried, let his fear for his brother blind him, that he forgot to draw a devil's trap before summoning the King of Dick Bags. He couldn't stop the irritated growl from escaping his throat as he glared daggers at the demon, watching him as he closed the small distance between them, then picked up a knife from the table.

"Dean, Dean, Dean…You do know that I could kill you now, right? End your suffering and all the other shit that's about to come. Because I know, unlike you, the end of this story," he said with a low chuckle, tapping the edge of the knife against his own chin. "It will only get so much worse for you. I'm offering you an out, Winchester, a once in a lifetime deal. You don't want to know what's at the end of this road, trust me, because I took care of that personally. Nothing…" Crowley whispered, his breath stinking of sulfur, death and terrifying promises, "will be the same from this point on. Are you ready to accept, and live, with that fact, Dean Winchester?"

Dean had a horrible, sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach as those words sunk in, making him realize something he hoped with all his might wouldn't happen. "You son of a bitch… You've got Sam. He's not in Purgatory, he's in Hell!" Dean growled through gritted teeth, straining his muscles against the unyielding invisible force and, when the demon flashed a self-satisfied grin at him, he could feel himself beginning to shake in fury.

"Would you look at that, he's not as dumb as he looks, folks," Crowley scoffed, taking a few steps back and putting the knife back on the table, before dusting off his blacker than usual suit. "Yes, I've got your precious little brother, and I have him in the safest place imaginable, somewhere you'll never find him by yourself. And with your angel boyfriend on the run from angelic conspiracies, and all your friends dead or useless, I truly doubt you'd get to your Moose in time. Time to face the facts: your brother's burning in my Hell, and there's nothing you can do about it."

And with that, he was gone just as quickly as he came, taking the force that held Dean down with him.

He managed not to collapse on the floor as the force was lifted from him, and it felt like he could breathe freely again, the tension in his limbs disappearing. But at the same time, a new feeling overtook him, that of dread and fear. He now at least knew what happened to Sam, where he was being held and by whom, but just like that sleazeball had said—he couldn't do anything about it. Castiel wasn't picking up his phone, and even if he would, he couldn't risk entering Hell now, with a whole army of angels on his tail. He couldn't ask anybody else, aside from Benny, who he already sent to Purgatory for apparently nothing, and Kevin.

That gave him an idea. Kevin had the important part of the Tablet, so what if there was something else written on it, aside from the Trials? Those could wait, Dean seriously couldn't be bothered with the Trials right now, and if he could convince Kevin to give everything he's got into finding something on the Tablet on how to break into Hell undetected, that'd be worth any and all sacrifices.

He rubbed his eyes, and only just realized how much his hands were shaking. Dean knew he was angry, fucking terrified, anxious and restless, but wouldn't have thought his feelings would have physical consequences. He glanced at Sam's bed and his heart sank, but knowing that he couldn't afford to be emotional right now, with his little brother probably being tortured in Hell even at this very moment, Dean clenched his jaw and grabbed the side of the table until his hands stopped shaking. Then took out his phone and called Kevin.

"Yeah?" a tired, exhausted voice asked on the other end of the line.

Kevin must have been working day and night, trying to translate the broken off part of the Tablet, and Dean was about to tell him to stop, that it was all for nothing, and tell him to start looking for something else, right away. He felt sorry for the kid, but he simply didn't have the luxury to be compassionate, not now.

"Kevin, it's Dean. Listen, you've gotta stop whatever you're doing and look for a way to break into Hell with the help of the Tablet, or—"

"Whoa, whoa slow down! Are you trying to tell me to stop trying to figure out how to close the Gates of Hell forever, and instead start searching for…what again?" Kevin asked incredulously, and Dean knew this wasn't going to be easy.

"Sam is stuck in Hell," he dropped the bomb, flopping into the chair next to the table. "Crowley's got him, and you know that son of a bitch, inflecting pain on others and torture is his hobby. He…he's been there for a few hours now, which in Hell time could add up to days, or even weeks if we don't hurry up and get him out of there."

There was a moment of silence at the other end of the line, before he heard Kevin's weak voice again. "Holy crap," he muttered, clearing his throat. "Okay, I get it. I'll try and look for a way to get Sam out."

"Don't just try Kevin, you better find something quick!" Dean snapped, then apologized right away, ashamed of letting his nerves get the better of him.

"It's fine…I'll do my best, Dean, I promise. But we need to think about the worst case scenario here, too," Kevin said hesitantly, letting out a long sigh. "I might not find anything on the Tablet. What then? How are we going to get Sam back?"

Dean thought about that for a moment, feeling the weight on his shoulders intensify. "I'll figure something out," he said, with a heavy heart. "I won't let my brother suffer any longer, so I don't care what it'll take, what I'll have to sacrifice or do or kill in order to get him back, because I will get him back."

And Dean meant it, because he was going to be damned if he wasn't going to go to the end of the world to save his brother, his family.