Author's Note: This fic is inspired by Dean's description of hell in the season four episode Heaven and Hell.
"The things I saw— there aren't words, there's no making it better. Because it is right here (points to his head) forever. You wouldn't understand and I could never make you understand. So I am sorry." — Dean to Sam. Wishful Thinking, Season 4, Episode 8.
Dean was. He just was. Existing. Caught between what he is and what he once was. What he wanted to be and what he actually was. The only thing he knew was that he existed. He simply was. A semblance of reality, a ghost of himself. He was pain, he was soul wrenching agony, and pain was the only thing that existed.
In the back of his mind Dean knew that he used to have a life besides the pain. That he used to care about things. A myriad if CDs, a nice car, things that in hindsight never really mattered. Dean knew this now.
The only thing that ever mattered was the pain.
Another thing that existed with the pain, and this was the only other thing that Dean knew for certain also existed, was the screams. Short screams of horror and fear, and long, drawn out screams of agony. All formed together in a perfect symphony of pain. Of torture. Every day, for an eternity, Dean's screams would harmonize with the others as they did now.
Demon faces leered over him, some humans even, to his initial horror, and later acceptance. They cut him apart, slowly and methodically, every day. Like clockwork. For an eternity. For many eternities even. They tore him, and ripped him, and reveled in his pain.
And when it was finished, when he lay in pieces strung out in the pit, he would form back together and the cycle would begin again.
Every day, for what felt like decade after decade, Dean was tortured this way. And every day, when he was ready to be tortured again, a demon would offer him a deal. A deal with a demon is what got him in this predicament in the first place, so naturally Dean refused. The nature of the deal also horrified him. Dean realized that even in hell he could still retain, at the very least, some of his humanity. And if it was the last thing he ever did, he would try to do just that.
Hell was not really a place; it was more of a description. A description of pain. It was torture personified. Agony made palpable. The first thing you notice when you get to hell is the smell. A mixture of every conceivable sickening smell taints the air. Feces and rotting flesh are the most common scents. Then you notice the screams. And then, the demons. The demons were everywhere.
Demons were hideous souls. They loved to torture and maim, even if they had to do so to their own kind. They were the ones that did most of the torturing. However, human souls would also torture other souls. Dean wondered if they were training, becoming demons. Dean did not want to become like them, but a soul in hell could only undergo the endless torture for so long. Every soul has a breaking point, and Dean had reached his.
He took the Demon up on his deal.
From that moment on Dean tortured to avoid torture. He did not revel in it as the demons did, but to the souls that he tortured it didn't matter. All they knew was the pain. Dean knew this because he had been there. And he never wanted to go there again. Dean lived like this for a while, until he was snatched right from hell. It happened in the middle of a torture session, when Dean heard demons hissing and shouting.
Something was amiss. There was a bright, steady glow in the pit. This was unprecedented in hell and the demons hissed with displeasure. As it grew closer, Dean was able to see what it truly was. A calming presence. Pure essence of light. A shining being that just barely made the form of a person. It was the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen, and it made him want to weep.
The demons wanted nothing to do with the being of light, so they fled to the furthest reaches of hell. Dean wanted to go with them, but he was rooted to the spot in awe. The light was beautiful, of course, but Dean couldn't help but feel upset about its presence. The radiant light was garishly out of place in the dank depths of hell. It wasn't supposed to be here. That much was obvious.
The being came toward Dean, arms outstretched, as if it were offering him something. Salvation. Or perhaps it wanted to make Dean pay for what he had done to the other souls. Either way Dean was afraid. This thing that made demons run for cover wanted him and it filled him with a terrible new fear. Hell had numbed him of all feelings but pain, and this new feeling of fear struck him keenly. It burned through him like a new type of pain.
He was far more afraid of a beautiful being of pure light than he was of any demon.
When the beautiful being reached him, it gripped him in its arms and then Dean knew no more.
Dean awoke in his grave, alive. And somewhere far away, Castiel the angel sent this message to the other Angels:
"Dean Winchester is saved."