Disclaimer: Still don't own Supernatural or any of its characters.
"And then Ruby popped us back here." Sam concluded.
Azazel leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. "My assumption was correct then." Nonchalantly, he called, "Dante!"
The double doors opened and Dante saunters in. His smug expression falters slightly when he sees Sam, but Dante quickly recovers, smoothing his black hair back. "What can I do for you?"
Azazel glanced at Sam and broke into a grin. "Remember that mission I sent my little protégé on? The one you said he wouldn't be able to handle?" Dante looked slightly uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other. "Well, he pulled it off! Three of the traitors are dead; the remaining four are contained, being properly punished as we speak."
When Dante spoke, his voice wavered. "That's, uh, great boss. As usual, you were right."
Azazel sat up in his chair, an idea forming in his mind. "Dante, I want you to take Sam down to see our guests." An evil glint shone in Azazel's eyes.
Sam, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, shot out of his seat. "You want me to go down to hell to see the demons I just sent down there? Are you insane?"
Azazel chuckled, standing up and placing his hand on Sam's shoulder. "It'll be a good experience for you. If you're ever going to lead the army and give them threats, you might as well know what you're sentencing them to." He patted Sam's shoulder and turned to leave. "Take good care of him, Dante." Azazel shut the double doors behind him with the flick of his wrist.
Dante watched the double doors shut, running his hand over his slicked-back, black hair. "This complicates things." He mumbled.
Sam walked over to the fuming demon. "Let's just get this over with. The faster I talk to the Sins, the faster I can get back to training."
Black, suspicious eyes turned towards Sam. "Why are you so eager to train, Winchester?"
Rolling his eyes, Sam responded, "Is it really that hard to understand? I'm surrounded by demons. Back-stabbing comes as a given. I already know that you hate me and would rather have a demon, maybe yourself, lead the army instead of a human like me. If I don't stay on top of my game, getting stronger every day, someone will come around and kill me. So yeah, I'm eager to train again. Are we done with the pow-wow? I have some demons to taunt."
Dante bristled. "Fine, then. Let's go, Winchester." He put his hand on Sam's shoulder, teleporting them into the depths of Hell.
Sam looked around at his new environment. There were cages lining the walls, prison bars holding in the damned souls that would inevitably become twisted and join his demon army.
Dante looked over his shoulder at the man behind him. "Keep up Winchester. Like you said before, there are plenty of demons who wouldn't mind offing you." Sam's long legs easily brought him next to Dante, where the demon and boy king walked in silence, side by side.
"Why haven't you killed him yet?" Sam glanced at Dante, surprised by the sudden inquisition. Dante was staring straight ahead, face a mask.
"Killed who?" Sam asked.
Dante's voice was emotionless. "Azazel. You obviously have the power to do it. Why haven't you killed him yet?"
Sam looked away, thoughtful.
Voices pleading for salvation came from the cages. "Please, help me." A quavering voice called out. The two men ignored the cries for help.
"I guess I have to pick the perfect moment. I mean, I've already let loose who knows how many demons when I opened the gate to hell with the Colt. If I just killed Azazel today, the demons would still be out there, and I'd be no better off than I was to start with."
A blood curling shriek pierced the air.
Sam continued, unfazed. "At least right now I have someone to train me to use my powers. I have a chance to use this, this poison in me, for good. That won't happen if I quit this little charade."
As Sam finished, he took notice of his new surroundings. The prison bars were gone, replaced by rows of tables; the souls stuck on them restrained at the wrists and ankles, demons standing over them. Each table had a different array of torture devices next to it. The tortured soul closest to Sam was being flayed.
Dante's voice pulled Sam away from the horrors around him. "I would've killed him by now."
Sam started at Dante, shocked. The demon before him, one he was sure was going to kill him the second he turned his back, just told him he would kill his boss if given the chance. Dante's features were hard, anger barely masked.
Honestly, Sam couldn't blame him. Azazel was the only demon above Dante. With him out of the way, Dante would be ruler of hell. But, if that was so, why didn't Dante kill Azazel?
"Why haven't you killed him yourself?"
Dante stopped, sighing. "Hell is complicated. I need the support of the other demons first; otherwise someone else will hop in and take the job, most likely demoting me in the process. Besides, no one kills another demon without everyone knowing about it. There's no way I could cover that kind of thing up."
The only sounds were the screams of the damned. Neither Sam nor Dante spoke, both taking in this new bit of information. Vaguely, the youngest Winchester was aware of the smell of seared flesh, acid baths dissolving the skin of the souls unfortunate enough to end up in this level of hell.
Dante started to walk again, Sam following closely behind him. Dante was tense, more so than the little heart-to-heart warranted.
"What's up with you? Is there some sort of danger around that I can't sense?" Sam questioned.
Dante flinched, embarrassed Sam was able to sense his discomfort. "I don't like it down here. The sooner we get out of here, the better."
Dante's pace quickened as he passed by meat hooks hanging from the ceiling. Sam, confused and incredibly interested, decided to prod.
"What are those?" Sam motions to the hooks.
"We call them the racks." Dante doesn't slow down; the opposite happens. Sam struggles to keep up, even with his long legs.
Once they had passed the racks, Dante slowed down to a normal walking pace. "Look, hell's no playground for anyone. Not even demons. The only demon I know of who enjoys it down here is Alastair. He heads the torture department for the racks." He stole a glance at Sam, gauging his reaction. "He's a torture master. People who go on those racks, they don't come off the same. They come off... dark."
Sensing Sam's obviously confused expression, Dante stopped and stared him straight in the eye. "Hell is like, well, it's like hell. Even for demons. It's a prison, made of bone and flesh and blood and fear. People get on the racks and go through such an excruciating amount of pain that they'd do anything, anything, to make it stop. It's Alastair's art form. The people that come off aren't people anymore. They're demons. They get a deal, step off the rack at the day's end and torture someone else. Once someone takes that deal, their soul twists even darker than it was before. But even then, most people, most demons, can't take it down here. So they do the only thing that gives them an escape: they go to your world and make deals with people. All demons were human once, but most of us don't remember what it's like anymore."
Glancing over his shoulder, Dante ran his hand over his slicked-back black hair. "We're here."