Ok I'm sorry I didn't get this out sooner, I've slowly been working on it but college is keeping me busy and tired, if you've ever read any of my other stories you know how slow I am at writing so don't expect frequent updates, like if you're lucky once or twice a month, I don't want to get anyone's hopes up, sorry if that ruins the story for you, I hope you enjoy this chapter, comments are nice uvvu

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Chapter 2: Welcome Home

July 30, 1980

Dean was confused beyond belief, one moment he was bleeding out, and desperately clinging to in his little brothers arms. The next he was floating in darkness.

Was this what it's like to float in limbo?

But it didn't make any sense to his foggy mind, he should be claiming his place in hell, not waiting in the void. It had always been instant finding himself in either heaven or hell, what was going on?

Maybe the demons were playing a game? If he opened his eyes he would surely wake up in Hell.

He slowly cracked opening his eyes expecting to see chains and fire, when instead he saw a white ceiling shrouded by darkness. It all seemed to …. Normal, too clam.

Confused he tried to move his head to look around but found that he just didn't have the energy or ability to move. He opened his mouth to call for Sam but all that came out was a quiet gurgle.

Maybe he wasn't in hell? Or at least not in one he'd ever seen before, and he had seen a lot of different versions of hell.

He would think he was in heaven, but with Kevin being stuck on earth there was no way it was possible. It all seemed too abnormal and unfocused for hell though. In hell he could feel every single thing, nothing numbed him, but here all he felt was dizzy and a lack of concentration.

Maybe Sam had found a way to save him after all? perhaps he had just been in a coma? But the familiar sound of beeping was absent and the ceiling didn't look like any hospital he'd ever been in.

Sam must had found some sort of faith healer, but then why couldn't he move or call out, frustrated he let out another cry for Sam but nothing but gurgles emerged yet again.

Perhaps the faith healer hadn't been able to fix him completely? Or maybe he really was just a spirit trapped in limbo…. no that wasn't right, he had been a spirit before and it felt nothing like this.

Before he could run around in circles again he found a cloud of inky black smoke hovering just above him. It swirled around angrily looking like a hive of angry hornets buzzing around waiting for an order to attack.

He felt relieved, he was in hell he could ascend to his rightful spot, he would…

Before he could even allow the relief to sink in the horde was descending on him, just before they reached him he squeezed his eyes shut and screamed.

Then …. nothing happened.

He peeled one of his eyes open they were swimming to the edge of his vision almost … as if they were ignoring him.

Before he could even try to taunt them a bright light emanating from the center of the room, causing him to scrunch his eyes closed, and to let out a small noise of pain.

Then just a moment later he heard it.

A woman was making shushing sounds, and they were coming closer to him. He tried again to move but found he couldn't move more the inch at a time, and after squirming for the few precious moments he could he felt dead tired.

He was beyond confused and he was trapped in a place that he couldn't recognize or place.

A humming sound brought him back to focus however when set sights on the creature above him he stopped and stared.

What kind of sick fucking joke was this?

The women staring down at him was dressed as none other than his mother, only slightly older than when he was sent back in time the first time.

He scream every insult he could at the demon even though he knew nothing legible would come out. His face must be red from the screaming because the monster leaning over him looked concerned, the only thing that made him stop was the small twinge of fear on her face.

It looked exactly like his mother, in every aspect. The imitation wrapped her arms around him and lifted him up and it felt….. Safe.

She was shushing him, saying in a warm voice, "Its ok Dean shhh, shhhh…." He could do nothing but stare up ah her slightly smiling face.

With the silence extending she seemed to think he'd calmed down enough, so with as much gentleness as she could she laid him down into his bed…? The more he concentrated the more he noticed….. It looked more like a cage, she was putting him in a cage? But the bars looked to be made of polished wood. The giant interrupted his thought by placing a feathery light kiss on his forehead and whispered, "Angels are watching over you."

He stared at her with wide eyes and watched as she left the room flipping the light off, shooting him one last soft smile and she left the room as if she had never been there to begin with.

Because of his new position in the prison he was able to finally investigate the right side of his cage. Before he could investigate very far he caught sight of a wardrobe. It was set up a few inches lower than his cage and it was decorated with beautiful old fashioned trim, and it was a part of a much larger vanity, but what really caught his attention was the mirror, well it was more of what he could see in it.

Specifically his reflection.

He was….a baby?

Or at least that was what the mirror showed him. The infant staring back at him couldn't be older than six months probably younger since he could barely move, I mean babies could crawl by six months right? At least that's what he read somewhere… he pulled his thoughts away from his movement to the babies' appearance in the mirror.

The infant had bright forest green eyes and dirty blonde hair slightly spattered on his head, barely visible against its light, pale, skin.

He simply allowed the pieces to fall together in his mind, He was killed by an angel, Metatron, He woke up in a crib and he was apparently a baby.

But why?

Of any sort of torture, of pain he deserved, why choose to make him an infant?

His mind was running in circles he didn't understand any of it, if he was in hell why wasn't he suffering, if he was truly alive why he was he a baby, and where were Sam and Castiel?

With all of the metal energy, and pervious physical energy he had expelled he felt bone tired, before he could even make a single connection his eyelids were drooping closed, sending him into a fitful slumber.

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Dean snapped his eyes open instantly as he felt large hands lifting him up. It was his 'mother', she had her right hand underneath his head supporting his neck and her left arm was curled around his small body hugging him tightly to her chest.

She had a warm smile and flashed her bright, white teeth at him when all he did was stare at her.

She held him closely and noiselessly shuffling from the nursery they were standing in. He stared intently at the surroundings and found he recognized the hallway and then the kitchen he found himself in. It was his old house, the one that had burnt down because of yellow eyes. If he wasn't so tightly bundled up to his mother's chest he would have shuddered.

While he was distracted it seems his mom had made up a bottle of warm formula for him. He faintly remembered feeding it to Sam when he was an infant. He distinctly remember taking a sip of it just to know what Sammy was being forced to eat. It had been tasteless and bland.

With the taste vaguely in his mind he clamped his mouth shut when she brought the plastic bottle to his lips. She cooed at him, but the longer he resisted the more concerned she looked.

She took the bottle away from his mouth and glanced at the bottle with her brows furrowed. She splashed a bit of the formula onto her palm. She then shook her head and then put down the bottle all together.

"Are you feeling ok Dean?" she looked at him with little expectations for an answer and then muttered to herself," Maybe your diapers full? Or maybe…are you feeling ok?"

She strode into the living room, from the angle he was being held at he couldn't see much besides the white smooth ceiling and the top of the walls, he found that he had more energy to move then he did last night. He peeked over her arm to see where she was headed, but didn't catch more then the top of a sofa.

Just as he started to get bored his mother set him down on a … changing table.

The woman pulled out a disposable diaper and a disposable rag.

A few minutes later his butt was sparkle clean and clad in a new diapers and he was thoroughly humiliated.

She smiled down at him and said, "Ready to eat now that you're all clean?" she scooped him off of the offensive table and cradled him in her arms as she shuffled back into the kitchen.

She then proceeded to dump out the older bottle of formula and put the dirtied container in the fridge. Then she made a new batch of synthetic milk. She instead this time sat down at the kitchen table and held him in her lap as she reached for the bottle.

She looked so desperate and Dean actually felt guilty for refusing to eat earlier, she was trying so hard….

Dean gave in and drank the foul liquid she offered him. She sighed in relief and began humming lightly, rocking him back and forth.

He found his eyes were dragging closed and he forgot how easily babies got tired. It had just been so long since he had taken care of little Sammy.

He drifted off before he was even placed back into his crib.

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He couldn't pull an air into his lungs, he was trapped in an inked darkness with hooks pulling his flesh off of his bones. The hook were pulled so taunt that every single breath he tried to take forced the hooks to peel a little more skin off of him starting another stream of fresh blood gushing from the new wounds.

All he could hear were screams, all he could smell was rotting flesh and burning bodies. All he could see was his torturer grinning at him offering him a chance at freedom, mocking him. He had been there for so long, the pain was too much all he had to say was yes, he was a monster he already had excepted that maybe…. Maybe it was time to act like one….

Dean woke up heaving, a scream caught in his throat. It took him a few moments to realize he was being held and his mother was shushing him, rocking him back and front desperately.

Day after day he woke up from horrid nightmares but he didn't wake up to being tortured. Somehow, someway, he was reborn, and he had his mother back.

Dean was afraid to hope.