Trigger warning, so like be careful. Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter, and I'll try to post the next one soon.

The house consisted of tall white columns, slim windows lined up and down, and a great set of mahogany doors situated straight in the middle. Ivy had begun to spiral in and out of the broken windows, practically consuming a whole corner of the once white, now grey house.

The air was heavy, cold with foreboding and Dean shivered as he pulled up onto the gravely driveway. His mother had a determined face, ready to save the children, but Dean felt something in his gut twisting horribly, anxiety settling in.

The house gave off a strange vibe, and Dean had to swallow the hard-lump forming in his throat. Something wasn't right.

The duo clambered out, ransacking the trunk for the usual shotguns and salt rounds.

"You ready?" Mary asked, gripping the shotgun tightly

"Let's roll" Dean replied, his face a calm façade as his mind told him not to enter, told him this was wrong. His mom looked calm and controlled, and for some reason, it peeved Dean off that she didn't seem to notice the wrongness of the situation.

Suddenly, he was bitter, the taste filling his mouth. He shouldn't be hunting with his mother, they should have gone out, had a coffee like normal people and talked about what she'd missed. Why the hell were they here?

The thought almost had him reeling, grabbing his mother and shoving her in the car, getting out of this godforsaken sinkhole of a house.

But he willed himself to breathe calmly, in through his nose and out through his mouth. He needed to man up, Dean had faced worse, he could do a simple salt n' burn with his mother.

Mary climbed the steps, two at a time, unaware of her son's nervousness. Her mind was filled with the thought of parents waiting for their children to come back home, and while she didn't see her own boys grow up, she sure as hell wasn't gonna let others go through that ordeal.

Without a second thought, she went on to picking the rusty lock when an icy wind enveloped both hunters. She took a step back out of instinct as the lock seemingly broke, and the doors swung wide open on their own accord.

"I didn't know we were at a Hilton Hotel" Dean joked dryly, his eyes darting around, taking in the great hall. A large marble staircase slid sleekly to the side, a grand, gold plated chandelier hung in the middle, and overall, the place was filled with antique French couches, and small but tasteful (and don't forget expensive) décor.

Mary whistled lowly as she took in the lavish place, "Ghost or no ghost, this place has style"

They stepped inside carefully, and before Dean even knew it, the mysterious wind had picked up again and slammed the doors shut, leaving them in darkness.

For a full five seconds, Dean couldn't breathe, the darkness was almost suffocating, dragging him down to some deep pit. A bright light glared in his face and he swatted away his mother's flashlight, "You good?" She asked, noticing his shaky breath.

"Yeah, fine" He replied curtly, slapping himself mentally for having forgotten a flashlight of his own. Mary pursed her lips, then turned around, "C'mon, I have a map of the interior of the house, but since we have no real clue as to where the kids are being kept, we'll have to check each room"

"Awesome" Dean breathed out, straightening himself up and following his mother. For a split second, he almost thought his dad was in front of him, leading the way like he always did on hunts. The thought made him shudder, just now realizing that the sweet Mary he had built up in his mind all these years, may not have been her true image.

Their footsteps echoed loudly in the big hall, a rhythm following them down a corridor and into the first door. Inside was a large office, with walls lined up with bookshelves, and a large, intimidating desk in the middle.

The office was overall big, but useless, seeing as the books had been collecting dust for years now, the desktop empty of any sign of a prior living habitant.

"Dean"

He jerked his head around, eyes looking wildly for whoever had said his name. He looked at Mary apprehensively, "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" She mumbled, distracted as she pilfered through drawers for anything useful. Dean willed himself to calm down, marked it down to his goddamn nerves.

"Dean"

He snarled, whirling around the room to find his tormenter. "Dean?" Mary looked alarmed, her quest to find clues forgotten as she saw Dean take ragged breaths, his hands fisting up, ready to fight. She reached out hesitantly to coax him, as if she was approaching a wild animal.

Mary faltered as the room around them seem to melt away, literally. The walls melted, colors swirling together, and for a moment, the duo were surrounded by a cacophony of colors mixing together.

The room reshaped itself into a great expanse of dark red colors, chains hanging from an invisible ceiling. Dean's world stopped, his heart thundering fast and hard as he remembered all too well the scene before him.

Mary's gasp had him gripping her shoulders tightly, whispering over and over, "Don't look, mom, please, don't look" Her eyes were wide as saucers, and before he could stop it, she ripped herself from his gasp, stepping over to see the horror show.

Hell.

The same as it had been, and would be for eternity. But from the moment Dean laid eyes on a materializing Alistair crouched next to a huddled, trembling form, he knew where he was, knew the scene that would unfold as it had unfolded years ago.

"C'mon, Dean-o, you and I both know how easy this could be, if you just said yes" And with a yank, Alistair had Dean's burned hair scrunched in his hand, nose to nose with an equally burned Dean, unrecognizable had it not been for the green eyes glistening widely at his torturer.

Dean looked at the scene in horror, seeing his mother draw in a shuddering sob at what was happening right before her eyes.

The tortured Dean looked blankly into nothing and murmured something low and raspy. "What was that, Dean-o? I couldn't hear you" Alistair taunted, his face stretching into an unnatural grin.

"Yes" He whispered again, and just like that, the room they were in dissolved, simmering into different colors. They reemerged in a room similar to the one they had been in, but instead of Dean at the mercy of a demon, he stood straight with a cocky grin plastered on his face.

There, on the meat chains, was a young, 20-year-old man. His face glistened with tear tracks, and he blubbered on, "Please, I don't d-deserve this, t-this has to be a n-nightmare, I-I-I can't do this anymore, p-p-please have mercy"

"Mercy?" The torturer asked, his green eyes glinting in the fiery glow of their surroundings, "Sorry, buddy, that's not on the schedule today" And with a definitive smirk, he yanked the man's tongue out, promptly slicing it off, "I'm not much for words right now, why don't you just scream?" He asked darkly.

Dean felt lightheaded, watching his old-self slice up the man, his nauseous stomach rebelling. The colors disintegrated once again, faster this time, a new scene appearing every few seconds, but each with different souls. One body after another on the rack, being carved in by Dean Winchester.

Soul after soul flashing through his eyes, a scream bubbling to his lips, "STOP!"

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