A big thank you to the people who are following and reading my work, I really appreciate it. Hopefully you'll enjoy what I have in store for you in the following chapters!

Just a warning. I'm going to be touching on some controversial and serious topics in the next few chapters, like torture, non-con, and enough angst to make your head spin.

Anyway, leave a comment if you like, I always love hearing from the readers!


"We never knew you to be silent, boy. You were so vocal in Hell, screaming and crying in agony as we twisted the blades in your flesh. Even the first few weeks were more entertaining than this. Don't you remember them? You had such a mouth on you. You were so very deserving of your trip to the Pit."

The demon glanced down at him, enjoying his battered state. His black eyes were gleaming as he watched Dean suffer through his taunting. Dean was lying flat on a stone altar, covered in blood from head to toe, but he was silent. For hours, he said nothing, simply accepting his torture as a part of his fate. He could not escape them, because down here, there was no way to avoid the torture. They weren't going to offer him an alternative, like torturing others, because this wasn't like that.

This was an interrogation, and the only way he could find freedom would be to tell them what they wanted to know, where Sam was currently located. Unfortunately, he didn't know. Ever since he had practically groveled for his brother to come back with him, Sam had begun seeing everything differently. He had changed his mind, and decided to stay away, even going so far as to not answering his phone anymore. Sam wanted nothing more than to make sure nothing happened to him, that he was safe. And to think, he wanted to return only days before, even though Dean had rejected him countless times. It was kind of funny, in a way, like fate was punishing them. Regardless, the demon wasn't going to get much information from him about his wayward brother, and so, he could do nothing but stare up at him, anticipating the torture that was sure to continue.

"Still quiet, hmm? Well, I know a way that will loosen your tongue."

The demon's voice lilted in a sing-song tone, reminding Dean that he was enjoying himself immensely. Let the bastard have his fun, but there would come a time when his vengeance would be swift. His eyes filled with malice as he watched the demon pull a knife from underneath the altar. It was rusted and dangerously sharp, and though Dean was feeling particularly strong, the sight made him utter a small gasp of alert.

Hours had passed after his last torture session, as if the demons had lost their patience with him and needed some time away or they would kill him. This creature was new; at least, he had never seen him before, and that could mean one or two things. Maybe he was a new recruit and wasn't necessarily as talented in the art of torture as the others, or the more obvious reason, he was just a replacement for the moment, had all the skills, and would probably be the first to get Dean to cry in agony.

"I'm going to ask you one more time before I make you very uncomfortable. Where is your brother? Where is Sam Winchester?"

He kept his mouth shut, biting the inside of his cheek as he watched. He wasn't going to say a word, regardless of how the pain was affecting him. He lived through ten years of it in Hell, and he wasn't going to succumb to a few weeks of it on Earth, that was for damn sure. His eyes spoke volumes, telling the demon to go ahead, showing him he wasn't going to relent. The demon took this as a challenge and sliced down his mid-section. The pain was instantaneous, and blood gushed from the wound, but even so, Dean didn't make a sound. He simply stared, taking it like a man, knowing he would full well have revenge. The thought caused a grin to spring up onto his face, causing the demon to back up just a bit in apprehension. Dean felt as though he had scared the demon until he began shaking uncontrollably at the twist of the blade in his midsection, losing all of his false courage and strength. The demon's face was contorted into a snarl for what seemed like ages, until finally, he laughed in success, feeling incredibly victorious that he had managed to get a reaction, no matter how strange.

"Seems I'll be able to get to you after all. I might not be able to make you speak, but I'll work on trying to get you to scream. Maybe I'll even get you to cry. I know many methods to garner a reaction from a mere mortal."

The demon grinned almost instantly, pulling the knife from his side and placing it close to his face. Dean stared at the blade, wondering what was going to happen next. He was still shaking, noticing how sharp the blade looked. It was drenched in blood, which managed to make it look even more menacing than before. He couldn't take his eyes off of it until a chill ran down his spine. The demon practically sat on his chest, constricting his air supply and making him gasp. He glanced up, only for a moment, to see a different kind of look in the demon's eye. The look of… lust. It made Dean gag, that look, and at that moment, he wanted to scream.

"Many methods, Dean. Not just simple physical torture, I'm afraid. I'll burrow into that mind of yours, claw my way through your deepest, darkest secrets. But do you know what else I'll do?"

Black eyes closed momentarily, and the look of pure rhapsody etched across the demon's face was enough of an incentive for Dean's mind to go into overdrive. He struggled at his bonds, with no luck, feeling rather vulnerable in that one moment. His tough exterior fell and broke to pieces, as if there was nothing worse than the look on the demon's face. The bastard bent downward, placing his chest against his own, his head notched against his neck. The demon took one long breath before he slid his tongue down the side of his throat. The feeling caused Dean to shake yet again, his stomach rolling in waves. He wanted nothing more than to throw up at the contact, the foul wetness of the demon's tongue making his insides churn. Fists clenched tightly around the lapels of his jacket, pulling him upward, closer to the demon's skin. The demon placed his mouth against his ear for a moment and chuckled lightly.

"I'm going to possess you, Dean. And allow me to clear some things up for you. I will be entering your body, but not in the traditional sense. I'm going to throw you on your stomach, rip through your clothing, and mark you like a whore. I'll take you on this altar until you bend to my will. Hell, I'll probably end up making you enjoy your time with me. But please, try not to. Your screams of fear and cries of horror will be enough to get me off for years to come."

At that moment, a wall came crashing down in his mind, and Dean screamed until he could no longer, until his throat bled from overuse, until he was crying in agony, wishing for a reprieve, something to save him – death would be welcome.


"Dean!"

His eyes slammed open at the sound of the gravelly voice, and he stopped screaming when he realized what was going on. It had only been a dream, and he was not back in that cell, being tortured for God knows how many hours. He was not beneath the demon, being defiled and ruined for his pleasure. He took a deep breath, his lungs feeling as if they were filled with water, and he turned to stare at the man at the foot of his bed. But only, it wasn't a man. Castiel looked at him with those caring eyes, watching out for him, and the only emotion that seemed to stir from that look was concern. However, Dean grew angry underneath that sweet gaze. He tried to get out of bed, to get away, to have just a bit of time to himself. He would have succeeded if not for the angel placing a hand on his chest. He flinched instinctively, pulling away.

Castiel seemed to take it personally, and stood up, walking away from Dean to give him the space he needed. He didn't say anything, simply understood, but Dean was too pissed off to feel thankful. The dream seemingly forgotten, he threw his legs over the side of the bed, trying his best not to pull anything on his quest to stand. He stood slowly, getting used to the feel of his legs after sitting and lying for so long. He wobbled for a second, feeling a bit dizzy, and sat down again. The best thing to do would be to stay collected and calmed, but he could already tell that wasn't going to happen. He could feel Castiel's eyes on him again, staring at his back vigilantly. He tried to ignore the rush of heat that rose in his body, but it was impossible. There was a twinge of fear because of that heat, making him shake. He huffed in rage before standing up more quickly this time.

As it turned out, that had been a bad idea. He went flying forward, barreling into the nightstand. He knocked the rickety lamp from the table, sending it crashing into the floor and breaking in two. Castiel rushed to his side, fear lining his all too serious expression, and he held a hand out to grab him before he hurt himself. Dean slapped it away, a frown lining his features, soon replaced by an angry snarl.

The memories of the night before were all too clear in his mind. He could feel the way Castiel's lips touched his, the taste of smooth angel as his tongue waged war against his own. He remembered the heat that had been radiating from their bodies as they touched, and the thought was associated with something entirely new – disgust. Sure, he hadn't been too happy with Castiel kissing him, mostly because they were friends and he was a straight male, but that didn't bother him as much as it should have. Though he kissed him, Castiel was inexperienced in the ways of the flesh and desire, and he probably didn't know what else to do at that given moment. No, he was disgusted because now, he could only feel the touch of the demon, could only think about the demon's tongue against his throat, and his hand on his back. Last night, he hadn't been thinking clearly, the memories hadn't been strong enough to cause him any discomfort. He had been seeking comfort. Now, however, his skin crawled at the prospect of being kissed, or touched, or even thought of in an amorous manner.

"Don't touch me!"

The look on Castiel's face was suddenly filled with sadness and a sense of rejection, and Dean wanted to apologize, to explain to him what happened, but the words caught in his throat. He couldn't share his torment with him, or anyone, not yet, even though he was sure Castiel knew what had been done to him. He was an angel, was probably well versed in the ways demons tortured other beings, considering they seemed to always be at war with them. Still, he couldn't tell him about anything, couldn't bear to see those wide eyes stare at him. Dean was practically snarling at Castiel at this point, and the angel couldn't handle it.

He disappeared, that familiar sound of wings flapping angering Dean even more. He sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling a variety of emotions: anger, apprehension, and then grief over the departure of one of his only friends. The anger quickly dissolved to guilt in a matter of moments, a feeling he was all too familiar with. He had treated his friend like common trash, pushing him away and feeling angry with him, even though it wasn't his fault for what had happened to him. He was seconds away from praying for Cas to return before Sam opened the front door, walking inside like he owned the place. Considering he was probably paying for the room, Dean should feel less inclined to punch him in the face.

"I brought you some food. I thought you could use something to eat after what you've been through."

His entire body stiffened in that instant his brother spoke, and sweat pooled at his temples, his temperature probably skyrocketing as all the blood rushed to his face. Sam had walked in on the kiss last night, had seen how he reacted to Castiel's touch, and Dean was pretty embarrassed about it; after all, they were dudes, hell, he was straight. He had come alive in Cas' arms, and though Sam had seen him with women before, it was nothing like the heat, the straight intensity, that they displayed last night. Dean bunched his fists into the blanket, willing himself to calm down before he pushed the thoughts away completely, trying his best to ignore the elephant in the room.

Sam closed the door, walking into the room with a calm air about him, but Dean could feel his eyes burning into him. He was glad to see his brother again, happy they were reunited, but he wasn't ready for the looks that could be on Sam's face, one being the copyrighted Sam face that made him look like a fucking puppy, or his knowing expression that would make Dean red-faced and run. He was worried, that much was certain, and soon, he was going to have to tell him about everything that transpired during his torture, not to mention what was going on with Cas. He would leave some things out, of course, but would let his brother in on what the extent was. After all, they had already lied countless times to each other in their lives, and after he had seen what could have happened in the future, he didn't want to hide much from his brother. Not anymore. Just… he couldn't tell him yet.

"Thanks, man."

Dean's voiced was guttural and faked, as if he was trying to be nice even though there were so many things running through his mind. He cleared his throat before feeling a little more comfortable. It still felt like he had glass in there, but fortunately, it was manageable. Slowly he stood up again, finding it much easier to keep his balance without Castiel staring at him with that hot gaze. He walked toward the table that was situated in the center of the room and took a seat. The pain was immediate, a stabbing feeling in his backside as he sat on the hard wooden surface, and he regretted his actions immediately. Still, he didn't move to stand up or give his brother any inclination that he was in pain. He reached across the table for the bag of food, and rummaged through it for a cheeseburger and some fries. There was even a pie at the bottom of the bag, and he found himself grinning at the gesture.

He loved his brother.

"So… how are you feeling?"

Scratch that, he hated him.

He didn't want to talk about anything just yet – it was still too raw. Taking a bite of his burger, he closed his eyes in abandon as the flavor danced against his tongue. It had been so long since he had eaten anything but gruel and raw meat, and the taste was outstanding. He ripped through the sandwich in seconds, taking the fries down with it. There were more in the bag, as if Sam had known he would be starving, and he ripped through package after package, stuffing his face. He downed the soda that had no doubt come with the meal, and reached for a bottle of water afterward, suddenly feeling parched. Cool liquid felt like Heaven against his dry throat.

It hadn't taken long for the sudden feeling of being over-full to consume him, and he staggered to the bathroom, falling to his knees in front of the toilet. He threw up – all that delicious food, gone, in a matter of seconds. He hadn't tried to pace himself, even though he knew this was going to happen. Sam stood in the doorway and looked positively crazed with worry. Dean wiped his mouth before he stood, his body working overtime to hold him up. Sam was probably going to tell him that he needed to stay holed up in the hotel for another night, since he was weak and could hardly move. There was no way in hell he was going to stay there a minute longer. Turning around, he met his brother's eyes for a split second before looking away, the memories of the night before, and the way he had been used by the demon not long ago, zipping through his head. He washed his hands after flushing away the meal, and headed for the front door. The need for fresh air was just too great, since the room was stuffy from untold secrets.

"Hey, wait. You can't leave yet! Come on, Dean!"

He ignored him as he pulled the door open, the fresh air hitting him instantly. It was mid-October, and the cool weather was just beginning to roll in. The chill caused the hairs on the back of his neck to lift, and he stood there a moment, simply enjoying the feeling. He was relieved to be able to feel the wind on his face again. He stepped outside, unable to hide the joy on his face at the prospect of being outside. For what seemed like months, he had been trapped in that dungeon, most likely underground. He hadn't seen daylight in so long, and now the sun was shining down upon him, the warm feeling great against his skin. He knew he was being ridiculous. He lived through Hell, through the fires of eternal damnation. And yet, Hell had never affected him like this.

Of course, he hadn't been physically violated in Hell.

As the thought pierced through his calm, he leaves the hotel room in a rush after throwing on a pair of pants and a clean t-shirt, which had been placed carefully on the nightstand at first, then littered on the floor after his legs gave out moments ago. He knows who left the clothing for him, and the gesture touches him deeply, but he ignores the sudden jolt of feeling and just starts walking. He keeps going, with no destination in mind. He needs to get away, to be by himself for a while. Sam follows him, naturally, but he doesn't speak. He simply walks beside him, there if he needs someone to talk to. Sam was always the smart one, he knows when trauma is too much for someone to bear. Though he understands, Dean knows he's going to question him eventually. And, just in time, his brother walks ahead of him, holding his hands out in front of his body in an effort to make him stop. Dean ignores the gesture and walks right by him, staring at the sky, trying his best to travel to a different place – a different time, to happier circumstances.

Except there were no happy circumstances in Dean's world.

"Dean, man, we're going to have to talk about this. About… everything."

Dean flinches at the words, but he shakes his head vehemently. He knows Sam will be able to figure him out soon, since his mannerisms are completely different from before the torture. He walks with less confidence, he has bruises everywhere, and he jumps at every sound around him. Then again, Sam probably knew he went through some kind of torture in the last few weeks. Hell was one thing, but adding onto that with another bout of the cut and jab? There are only so many things a guy can take before he breaks. And the thing with Cas? Shit, he didn't even know what that was, so how the hell could he talk about it?

Dean heard Sam sigh in exasperation, and notices he doesn't give up on him. He continues walking with him, that same caring expression etched across his features. He wants to help, just like Castiel, and Dean finds himself growing angry again. This time, however, he doesn't throw a tantrum. He simply picks up his stride, walking just a little faster. He realizes he has a limp, but pays no mind to it. He just wants to feel normal after the hellish ordeal, and even though the pain in his ass is anything but normal, he deals.

The two walk in silence, nothing else to talk about, an air of sympathy, embarrassment, and anger hanging over their heads.