A/N: Hello dear readers I am back with a new trilogy for your reading pleasure. There are old and new characters throughout the stories, and we explore a different AU. The brothers face different and difficult obstacles as they work on being brothers again. Thank you for coming along on another journey with me and I hope you enjoy it. I would like to thank VegasGranny for her continued support and insight to help make this a better story. I do like reviews, please leave one.

Disclaimer: I do not own SPN and this story is my own creation. Any errors are my own.

Chapter 1

He can hear them outside the house, howling and gnashing their teeth as he stares at his brother knowing this is it for him. His year is up, and they found no way to break the deal he had made to save his brother's life. Dean sees too late that Lilith has possessed the meatsuit Ruby was wearing.

"It's not her," Dean cries out as Sam is thrown against the wall and pinned there. His only thought is to protect Sam until his dying breath. He does not know what to do to help him, so with a determined look, he zeroed in on Lilith to stomp her way until she opens the door to the study and the hellhounds rush in.

Dean can see their huge, bodies and misshapen forms as they focused in on him and attacked. He can feel their claws dig deeply through his clothes and skin as they raked down his body, sending unspeakable pain through every nerve ending and his blood sprayed everywhere. He screamed, but nothing passed his lips as his soul was ripped from his body to be carried to Hell. Dean's body grew still and cold as the last of his life's blood seeped from his ravaged body and the last of his breath escaped from his slightly parted lips.

Sam can only watch in horror as his brother is taken from him and expects to be killed next, but when Lilith tried, he remained alive and untouched. With only the need to revenge his brother's death in his mind, Sam feels her hold on him drop and he raises his hand and glares at her with hate filled eyes. As he starts to use his powers, Lilith smokes out of the meatsuit and disappears into the night.

With nothing left to do, Sam drops beside Dean's ravaged body and pulls him into his embrace as he weeps in despair, grief, and loss. He had vowed to stop this from happening but had failed. He had failed his brother. The guilt was devouring him, and Sam had never felt this alone in his life. He began to rock back and forth with Dean still clutched in his arms as he shut the rest of the world out. He never acknowledged the older hunter that joined him in the room and stood by his side allowing him his time to grieve.

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The lower realm of Hell moved on a different plane of time and space than the upper world. The pits of Hell are filled with the screams and wails of tortured souls that never stopped. When a soul enters Hell, their spirit becomes corporal that will allow them to be tortured for eternity.

When Dean's soul was ripped from his body by the hellhounds, all things ceased to exist for him. He was in a state of limbo until he awoke in his body hanging from chains in Hell. The sharp hooks dug into his flesh causing intense pain that took his breath away. When he could finally pull air into his lungs, Dean cried out in a hoarse, strained voice for his brother.

"Sam! Sam!" Dean's raw voice echoed around him. Bloody chains hung around him that moved with his struggles, only making the hooks dig deeper into his chest and shoulders. He looked below him seeing nothing but darkness. Streaks of intense pain shot through his body like nothing he had ever felt before. He could feel tendons and muscles tearing as the hooks scrapped against bones, and the weight of his body pulled heavily against them. There was nothing he could do to stop the hooks on one side of his body from pulling free to leave him dangling as his numb, useless arm hung limply at his side. Dean cried out, but only a weak groan of agony passed his lips. He did not get a breath before the other hooks gave way, plunging him into the black abyss.

Nothing could be seen around Dean as he tumbled uncontrollably until suddenly, he collided with a stone floor breaking most of the bones in his body. Dean coughed up blood as he wheezed a short breath before his heart stopped and he died for a second time.

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Dean sucked in a sharp breath as he opened his eyes and blinked rapidly trying to see where he was. The floor was cold and hard, and it took him a moment to push himself up to a sitting position. He was in a small cell with nothing in it. What clothes he had on were torn, bloody, and ragged, and did not do much to keep him warm. Dean's body began to shiver from the cold as he folded in on himself trying to hold what warmth he could inside of him. He always thought that Hell would be a scorching, unbearable hot place, not freezing and bone numbing like he was feeling.

How was he alive, was the question? Dean knew his body had be torn by the hooks and bones broken beyond repair when he hit the floor. He knew he had died from the fall, but he could not feel any injuries on his body. Before he could get comfortable in any way, the door was suddenly opened and two large goons with black eyes stepped into the room. They jerked Dean up between them and drug him from the room and down the hall.

Dean felt himself being lifted and could not get his feet under him as he was moved from the room. Bright light blinded him at first and he felt his body being laid on a rack of some kind. His wrists and ankles were strapped down, and the bindings pulled tight to hold him in place. His arms were stretched out from his side forming a T. After the demons left him alone, Dean jerked on the straps trying to loosen them but only made them tighter. He stopped struggling and tried to catch his breath while willing his trembling to stop. He looked around the room and saw a table off to the side but could not make out what was on it.

Time ticked away and still no one came into the room with Dean. He did not know how long he lay there waiting, wondering, what would be in store for him next. He felt no need for food or drink nor desire for sleep or other bodily functions as he tried to make his mind stop racing. He knew this was coming and tried to prepare himself for it, but nothing he ever imagined could do that. Demons were evil, ruthless, diabolical, merciless, and all they wanted to do was torture the poor souls who ended up down here.

Dean's hands and feet grew numb from absence of blood flow and were starting to feel uncomfortable. He tried to bend his fingers but could not make them obey his command. He was beginning to wonder if he had been forgotten and this was his punishment, to lay strapped to a rack with no contact for eternity as his body slowly rotted away.

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Footsteps caught Dean's attention as they drew closer. He tried to turn his head so he could see but could not crane his neck enough. Finally, a man came into view as he stopped beside the rack to look down on Dean's prone form. He studied him for a moment as if contemplating why he was here and what he should do with him.

"Well, well, another Winchester in our realm," he spoke in a calm, almost mocking tone.

Dean glared at the demon, he knew he was a demon, everyone was around here. He clenched his jaw not willing to show his fear.

"Let's see…" the demon mulled for a moment as he turned to the table and looked over what was lying on it. He ran his fingers over a couple of things before picking up a double-edged knife and testing the sharpness. He turned back to Dean and ran the knife down the middle of his chest, splitting his shirt and leaving a trail of blood that trickled down the sides of his body. He flicked the material away to expose his bare chest.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath as he felt the knife's blade slice into his skin down to the bone but did not make a sound. He would not give the demon the satisfaction of hearing him cry out with pain. The knife bit into his skin again, as the demon began to peel his skin from his chest, filleting it like a fish. The pain was excruciating, and Dean was sure his jaw was going to break as he ground down and pressed his lips tightly together. He could feel the warm trails of blood that ran down his side and jerked on the bindings that held him trying to pull free.

"Since this is your first time on the rack, let's see what fun we can have," he laughed seeing the tortured expression on Dean's face.

"Go to hell," Dean gritted out between clenched teeth. His breath was coming in short gasps now.

"Funny, since we're already here." The demon plunged the knife into his stomach and jerked it across the flesh, flaying it open. He ripped upward and cut through his ribs exposing his beating heart only for a moment before taking his hand to rip it from his chest.

Dean's eyes fluttered for a moment before staying closed as his last breath was expelled and he died once again.

"Don't worry, next time we'll make your time last longer." The demon wiped the knife blade across Dean's jeans to clean it before dropping it on the table and turning to walk away. "I'll be seeing you again soon."

As the life left Dean's eyes and they had glazed over, he heard and felt nothing more. Darkness surrounded him and he seemed to float in a world of nothingness, no awareness to anything. He did not know how long he stayed like this until his lungs filled with air and he coughed out a breath, trying to open his eyes. The brightness of the room made them water and hurt as he tried to turn his head against the glare. Dean looked down at his body and saw it was whole once again with no scars or wounds marring it. Hell would not let you die, that was too easy.

He dropped his head back on the rack and fought the tears and anguish that rolled inside his mind. Dean could not sort his jumbled mind as he fought to gain control of his emotions again. He did not know how long he would have to wait before the demon came back and his torture would begin again. He knew there was no way out of this for him. Sam could not break into Hell to save him; he was trapped here, and the only way out was if he found it. He would have to endure and fight with all he had to keep from going insane and giving up. Deep down in the far reaches of his mind there was still a sliver of hope that he hung onto.

He would survive. He had to survive. He was a Winchester.