Experimenting here. Bear with me.
Ten Fathoms Deep on the Road to Hell
"It's dark," Says the demon.
"Yes," Replies the angel, "It is always dark in Hell."
"No it isn't." The demon counters. Chains rattle in the blackness, "Before you stole me there was fire."
"Those were souls," The angel says and he sounds sad, "They were burning with pain."
"I caused that pain?"
"Yes."
A grin, all crooked teeth and jagged points, "Good."
There is a sensation like rain during a funeral but no words were said.
"Hey angel, will you take these chains off?"
The angel looks at the demon and sees hellfire and black smoke trapped by acid slick chains and steel barbed wire ripping tearing burning aching hating and says,
"Not yet."
Most of the time there is quiet.
Sometimes there are the echoes of distant screams, sometimes the demon talks, sometimes the angel answers.
But mostly there is quiet.
Even their footsteps are silent.
"Hey angel, where are we going?"
"Up."
"When will we get there?"
"When you are ready."
"What will happen when we do?"
There is no answer.
Someone is crying.
When the angel looks he sees sparks sputtering in the dark trying to ignite into an inferno without fuel and rusted cables of steel with dull barbs scraping against still bleeding wounds and asks,
"What is the matter?"
"I took the knife!" The demon cries, trying to hide from the angel's gaze, "I took the knife from him! I took the knife to the souls on the rack! I took the knife, I took the knife!"
"Shhhhh." The angel croons and something like wings stroke the demon's trembling form, "Shhhh, you are forgiven, ssshhhhhhh."
The demon cries for a long time.
"Hey angel, will it hurt to go back up?"
"Probably. Yes."
"Will you be there?"
"I will try to be."
"Will I remember…what I did here?"
"I think so."
"Will I remember you."
A slight hesitation, "No. But I will mark you so that I can find you again."
The silence rolls back in like a steady fog.
It is less black now.
It's as though the darkness is draining away and everything left behind is the tone of ashes and chimney smoke.
There are no more screams.
"Hey angel, the chains are gone."
There is the sensation of sunbeams through fresh green leaves.
"Then you are ready."
Everything is white now.
When the angel looks at the demon he sees warm tendrils of light curling like caressing fingers around a scarred and broken mass and chunks missing that can never be replaced from a wall of concrete conviction and passion so brilliant is a star against white and
can't call him a demon anymore.
"Hey angel," Says the human soul, "Why can't I see you?"
"You were tainted by Hell," The angel replies, "I did not want to hurt you."
"Say…angel?"
"Yes?"
"May I see your wings?"
There is the curious pause of a creature observing something it does not understand and suddenly the white is filled with color. It is everywhere and contained, it is stationary and mobile, and it is indefinable and glorious beyond words.
The human soul laughs.
There is something like a smile in the lights and color.
Something like a hand grips the human soul and the colors swirl and something like wings beat.
Then there is a pull, a sharp burst of power and light and glory and grace.
Then the white is empty and silence crowds into its nonexistent corners.
The angel watched as the human dragged himself out of the ground, making that one last step towards life by himself.
The angel watched as the human made his way down an empty road in searing heat and tried to speak to tell him which way to go.
The angel watched and watched and waited to be called.
And when he was called, he flew to Dean Winchester's side.
And had no intention of leaving it ever again.
