Spoiler warnings for season 4.
Author's Note: Hey guys! I am so glad to hear you enjoyed it! Some of you said you wouldn't mind another chapter to go with this story, and as I was plotting an outline (which apparently took on a life of its own), I realized adding one more chapter would not work, as it would be way too lengthy. So this is no longer going to be a two-shot, and (I hope this will be okay with you guys) instead I am going to make this a work in progress. Meaning, I will post chapters whenever I can and hopefully we will see an ending!
Thanks for all your wonderful reviews, favorites and follows! I hope this lives up to the original, first chapter that started it all!
Feel free to criticize and give pointers, as I am always searching to better my writing skills. :) Also, as I am my own editor, please let me know if you spot any mistakes.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own any of these beautiful people, nor do I own the characters or SUPERNATURAL itself. All rights go to The CW, Eric Kripke, and everyone else involved.
PS: This takes place right before the end of first chapter, before Sam and Dean find Castiel.
An abandoned cabin, fifteen minutes from any sort of town in one of North Dakota's forests.
Made out of stacked logs and filler, the termite ridden and mold infested building barely remained standing beneath its caved roof. Underneath the cabin, screams echoed out from the basement. Two lives expired within its depths, a yellowy-orange glow gleaming as their lives came to an end and the bodies were discarded to join the rest of demons that littered the concrete floor.
One last demon now snarled, wearing the skin of a once well-groomed businessman, whereas blood now speckled and tainted the posh black and white layers of its clothing. It bared rows of white teeth at the two hunters advancing on it, who had just regained their barrings after killing its brethren.
To the left of the hunters was the staircase, the only way to the outside world. The demon was being backed into the corner of the basement, and in a rash, split-second decision it tried to scramble for the stairs.
The tallest hunter took two long strides and got his arms around the demon in the matter of seconds. It struck out any way it could, gaining grunts and a satisfying yelp from the human that it thought it might escape. But a sharp edge prodded its chest all too suddenly, and it stilled.
Standing inches from the demons face, Dean Winchester glared to that of daggers. "You move, and you'll be joining your buddies down there." He dug the tip of Ruby's knife deep between its breastbone to amplify his warning.
Behind the demon, Dean watched Sam cinch his arms around the demon taught again, sniffing back the blood drizzling from his nose from where the demon had swung its head into his little brother's face. The sight of the red substance made his blood boil hotter, despite Sam's brief but assuring eye contact.
"You hurt my brother," he stated evenly, strangely calm as he turned his focus back on the demon. However, one could not mistake the anger laced within each spoken word. "I should peel off your face for that. Who knows, maybe I still might."
Reaching up and pulling at a handful of short, brown hair, he yanked the demon's head back to stare straight into its eerie eyes that were green like his own. "Where is he?"
The demon flared its teeth in defiance, but otherwise did not answer. A vow of silence, which Dean did not tolerate.
"Where's the angel?" He seethed louder, more impatient.
Its features became smug then, lips curling even further if it was possible and eyes flicking to a deep black. "Always with the empty threats, Winchester."
"Oh, I wouldn't call 'em empty." He gouged the point of his demon knife into its chest, drawing blood through the white material of its shirt. Maybe that would provide more of an intensive. "Now answer me, smart ass."
"Go on and kill me," the hell-spawn said through gritted teeth. "You'd do it whether I tell you or not."
Dean narrowed his eyes. The demon was not wrong, but the fact that it was basically pushing for death had put Dean's thoughts off.
Before he could open his mouth again, he saw the slight shift in the demon's black eyes. Dean knew what was going to happen—he's been through this many times throughout his life-long years of hunting.
The demon suddenly threw his head back, a scream bubbling from its throat followed by a dark smoke. Reacting quickly before the demon could leave the vessel, Dean jerked his wrist forward, embedding his knife into the body all the way to the hilt. The body went limp, but despite his quick reaction and efforts, there came no telltale flickering of yellow light from the stab—the sign of a dying demon.
Both brother's watched with a sinking gut as the ashy smoke flew up through the staircase, unharmed, the hell-spawn leaving the basement to the outside world. Probably going to inform its leader...
The longer they stand there, the more of a chance they have of a second wave of Hell's personal bitches.
Dean jerked the knife from the body with more force than was necessary, irritation flooding his entire being. Whereas Sam dropped the body to the floor, which was now nothing more than an empty vessel.
Speaking of Sam...
When Dean turned his eyes to his brother, Sam had his hand under his nose. "You okay?"
Sam didn't even seem to take time to consider it, answering, "Yeah. I'm good." Gingerly scrubbing away the already drying blood, he shrugged. "Not broken, so..."
Dean nodded. Guess that's all he could really ask for at this point. Wiping the knife on his jeans to clean off the residue from its recent use, he gestured across the small basement with the clean blade. "Go check that room. I've got this one."
Lowering his hand, Sam gave a nod after having a look over his shoulder. Turning and making his trek over the array of bodies, he called over his shoulder, "Be careful, there could be more."
Seeing the floor as it was now, with at least seven bodies littering it, Dean really doubted it. They really made a massacre out of this place.
Dean looked to his right, to a metal door painted with blood in some form of sigils. Sam would know better than he would about these types of things, but if he had to guess, he'd say it was Angel warding. That assessment made his pulse rise and brought him to stand before the door without another thought. He gripped the handle, surprised to find himself slightly hesitating, but slowly he pushed it open. Metal squealing on metal.
The first thing he noticed, seeping out from the small crack that only widened as he pushed it, was the smell.
The stench, once trapped in the confinements of four walls, was like a fire searching for oxygen. It rushed out at him with fury, assaulting his senses in one big wave of vile nausea, and he brought the back of his hand under his nose to escape the sickening smell of coppery blood. It was so aromatic, and that wasn't even the worst of it. Because then, there was a smell Dean knew anywhere. Something Hell was famous for.
Stinging the cavities of his nostrils was the distinguished tinge of burnt flesh.
In his trip down to The Pit, he had endured, seen, breathed, and partaken—with much regret—in the activities of Hell. It was the darkest days of Dean's life, and he remembered every little detail of his forty years; like a curse he cannot undo or erase.
He knows what Hell is and every meaning of the word.
In one way or another, this felt no different from what he remembered. He realized that the moment the door was completely agape, light creeping in from the outside and piercing through the dark room.
No, there was hardly a difference between the settings of Hell and what's before him right now. The smell, the feeling, the fear... The only variance was that it wasn't him stuck in the middle of it, hanging in the middle of the darkness, mutilated and demeaned and bloody and broken. No. It was far worse.
And like a curse, imprinted forever on his brain, Dean would never forget.
"Cas!"