Burning on the Rack

"Somebody help me!"

"Sam!"

"Please! Somebody!"

Dean Winchester hung on the rack, body tormented to its breaking point in the fiery cells of hell. Blood dripped from his numerous wounds and slithered down his body only to drip off his bare feet to the bloodstained ground. Dean didn't know why he cried or fought anymore. He knew that it would never make any difference. Nobody was coming for him. Sammy wasn't there and there was nobody else in the world that gave a damn about Dean fucking Winchester. He was all alone.

The tapping of feet against the black tiled floor of hell caused Dean to stiffen. He could feel his wounds slowly stitching back together. The new flesh would only be in one piece for a few seconds however. Dean slowly looked up, turning his gaze to the demon walking towards him. Alistair. The sick creature was draped in a tattered black robe and the blood pooling over the black tiles tugged heavily at the ends. Dean huffed. The cloak was new. Usually Alistair wasn't so dramatic. Maybe he'd gotten bored and wanted to spice things up a bit?

After a few steps, Alistair stopped and hovered before the broken hunter, face hidden by the cloak. Dean gritted his teeth together.

"What are you waiting for? Let's get this over with," Dean spat, body shaking. He honestly didn't know how much more torture he could take. Every time Alistair returned he would offer the hunter a deal. It was a sick, twisted deal that made Dean sick just thinking about it. Alistair would stop torturing if Dean would take the knife himself. The thought of torturing any soul (hell bound or not) made the hunter's stomach roll. As always, Dean would decline the deal and Alistair would begin the torture all over again. His blade would slice away skin and muscle. Sometimes he'd pull teeth, nails, or even rip out Dean's eyes with finger nails caked in blood both Dean's and from various other souls. When he'd finish, Alistair would step back and admire Dean's stripped, broken, and scarred body. He'd smile something wicked and step close to Dean until his lips were hovering just a breath away from Dean's ear. He'd offer the deal up again and Dean would decline, but it was starting to get harder and harder to spit back into Alistair's face and refuse the deal. After hanging from hooks for so long, Dean's mind was starting to wonder: 'What's the point? Would it really be that bad'? The pain would stop. Alistair had promised that. Alistair was a demon though. Promises when it came to demons usually ended with someone in tears…or pieces. Still, it was becoming tempting. Dean wanted the pain to end. He wanted to stretch his limbs without tearing the holes in his body any large with the hooks. He wanted to be free.

"Get it over with!" Dean shouted again, bracing himself for the burning of Alistair's knife. Nothing happened. There was no knew pain, only the pull of the hooks in Dean's body. Dean glanced up, looking over the demon in front of him. Alistair tilted his head to the side and Dean found a sudden feeling of confusion rush through him. That wasn't right. "Alistair?" The demon hidden by the cloak laughed loudly, voice muffling the screams around them momentarily.

"Oh, Alistair is the least of your troubles, Winchester." The demon pulled back his hood, revealing no body at all. It was just a puff of demon smoke hovering under the cloak. Dean frowned.

"I don't…I…" Dean stopped. The smoke was starting to shift into a form that Dean couldn't recognize, but it felt so familiar.

"Your troubles are only just beginning –"

Dean's eyes shot open and the hunter stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. There were no chains hanging from it and his body didn't ache from the tug of hooks or the sting of blades against his flesh and muscle. Dean covered his eyes with a hand, taking in deep, shaky breaths. His heart was pounding hard in his chest to the point that it hurt. Dean removed his hand, but kept his eyes closed. Red spurts of blood and black smoke burned his eyes and memories. Dean's eyes shot open and his hand flew down to his mouth to muffle the scream that was trying to force its way up his throat. Dean breathed in and out, forcing himself to calm down again. When his heart rate dropped back to normal Dean dropped his hand again. Where the hell had that come from? He hadn't had dreams like that in a long time. Sure, he had them once and a while, but this one was different. Dean had never met the new demon in his dreams or the real hell. He had always been tormented by Alistair. Why was that other demon there?

Dean pushed his worries away. It was probably nothing, but he still felt pretty shaken up.

"Dwean?" Dean glanced towards his door, spotting Gabriel, Balthazar, and Castiel. Cas was leaning heavily against Balthazar for support, still too weak to move too much on his own. He honestly should have still been in bed. According to Cas' doctor he was doing perfectly with his healing though.

Dean sat up and smiled at them, rubbing at his eyes.

"Hey, guys," he greeted, hoping that his voice wasn't shaking. "What are you doing up?" The angels shuffled over and crawled up onto his bed, each wrapping their arms tightly around him. Dean frowned in confusion. "Guys?"

"We heard you shouting," Castiel whispered.

"Well, we didn't, but apparently Cassie did," Balthazar stated. Dean paled, staring at the three with wide eyes.

"Oh…jeez. Guys, I –OOF!" all three angels plowed into Dean's chest, throwing Dean onto his back against the soft mattress of his bed. Three pairs of soft wings folded over him like a security blanket then. Dean opened his mouth, wanting to tell the angels that he was alright and that they didn't have to, but he stopped himself. He looked down at himself, noticing that he was shaking. Maybe the dream had hit him harder than he thought? Dean shut his mouth and let the angels cuddle close, reveling in their warmth and safety that seemed to radiate from the three tiny bodies.

Cas was more cuddly than usual. The little guy was curled up high on Dean's chest, face nuzzling Dean's neck and curly hair tickling the hunter's nose. Dean chuckled at the tickly feeling of Cas' hair and Cas cuddled closer, lifting his head from Dean's neck to stare into the hunter's green eyes. Keeping eye contact with Dean, Cas moved his hand to Dean's shoulder, his tiny hand resting right over the scar he had left there after pulling Dean from perdition. Dean broke his gaze from Cas' and looked at the tiny hand on his shoulder. He felt his mind drift back to his days in hell. He didn't remember Castiel saving him and that sent a sharp pain through his chest. He remembered everything else that had happened to him in that godforsaken place. Everything except for the angel of Thursday. There were so many times that Dean wished that he could somehow remember it. Then there were moments like these. Moments that made Dean feel warm and safe. If his rescue from hell felt like anything it sure as hell would feel like this.

Dean lifted a hand and buried it into Castiel's black feathers, fingers rubbing at the warm tuffs gently. Cas practically purred at the touch and Dean chuckled, closing his eyes. Red blood and black smoke attacked him, but it was quickly snuffed out by the warm glow of the three angels resting with him. He listened as the angels whispered back and forth silently. They talked about random things with each other, chattering back and forth while Dean listened. The soft sounds of their voices soothed Dean's mind and soul. His shaking had long since stopped and all thoughts of the nightmare melted away.

Thanks KitCat (guest) for the request!