When Dean's senses returned, he was hell and gone from Stark Towers. And for the second time in one week, he found himself in a devil's trap. He heaved a heavy sigh, taking in the sight of candles and scent of burnt herbs, before his eyes finally landed on the person who summoned him.

"Vetis." Dean's hand gripped the First Blade tight, staring at the stain standing by the table.

Vetis smiled. "You and I need to get on the same page, Dean. And our last meeting was a little hectic." He spread his arms, and said, "I am Vetis, keeper of the Souls of Hell and High Lord of Madness."

"And I'm the motherfucker who's going to cut your goddamn head off," Dean growled, his eyes blacker than night.

"I don't think so, Dean." Vetis stepped up to the edge of the trap. "See, I'm a Lord of Hell. You are just a Knight. If you reviewed your feudal history, you would know that Knights serve Lords. You will serve me, Dean."

Dean's jaw was so tight, it actually ached. "Not happening."

"You sound confident." Vetis smiled like a used car salesman. He looked like a used car salesman. He slowly started to circle around the trap, eyeing Dean like a cat circling a mouse. Then he snapped his fingers, and Dean crumpled to the ground, blood gushing out of his nose, mouth, and eyes.

Vetis stood over him, looking down his pointed nose. "You are trapped, Dean. And I am immortal. I can do this for centuries. I can torment you in ways that Alistair never dreamed of." He knelt down, tilting his head to look Dean in the eyes. "I invented Hell's torture, Dean. I am the architect of all torment. I can do things to you that will make you long for something as sweet and gentle as the Rack."

The hunter gritted his teeth, and spat thick black blood in Vetis' face, and hissed, "Fuck you."

"So much spirit." Vetis' smile widened. "I'm going to enjoy breaking you."

Time passed at a snail's pace. Every moment was bone shattering agony. Where for months, Dean couldn't feel anything, Vetis reintroduced each and every nerve of his body to pain. And he did it in such a way that there was never a rest. There was never a moment of reprieve. There was just the constant, sharp, consistent pain.

At first, Dean held his ground. He was defiant. But as the days-weeks? months?-wore on, Dean's resolve started to falter. He screamed until there was no voice left. He cried until his body was dehydrated from the effort. He was broken and bloodied, and always somehow reformed. Unlike Alistaire, there was no offer from Vetis at the end of each day. There was no option to end the pain. There was just more and more pain to be given.

There were moments, here and there, where Dean's mind would separate from his tormented meatsuit, and he would find himself somewhere else. Some place safe and comforting. The bunker's library, sitting on the couch with Wade and Cas, having a beer and watching anime. Or he would be driving the Impala across the long straight stretch of Kansas, engine roaring and radio blaring. Happy moments.

But then he would snap back to reality. To that dank, dark cellar that smelled of his blood and sweat, where the only sound was his anguished cries.

Even though demon prayers aren't heard by angels, Dean prayed that someone, anyone would find him. It was desperate. It felt pointless. In all truth, part of Dean felt that he deserved this torment. He was the one who failed, who spilled blood in Hell. He was the one who took the Mark of Cain. No one ever forced his hand. At the end of the day, every decision was his to make, and every time, he chose the pathway to damnation.

"Look at you," Vetis said, pulling Dean back into the present.

Dean was on the floor, moaning with his back twisted and mangled. The bones of his legs were shattered, and there were ribs sticking out of his chest, a ghastly sucking sound coming from the wound.

Vetis stood at the edge of the trap, smiling with his over-bleached teeth shining in the candle light. "Where's the passion, Dean? Where's the vigor? Where's the, 'Fuck you'?" He laughed like he was chatting with someone at the water cooler. "You were so much fun when we first started. Now, I just don't know."

The only thing Dean could manage was a gagging noise as thick blood bubbled out of his mouth.

Vetis knelt down, cocking his head to look into Dean's black and bleeding eyes. "You're all alone, kid. And I haven't even started to get into my repertoire." He smirked, and said, "Now, how about I heal you up so we can start again? Okay?"

Fresh tears fell from Dean's eyes, mixing with the blood. All he wanted was to die, but instead his body knitted back together with a crackling sound that hurt almost as bad as the torture that brought him to that point. It wasn't a complete heal, just enough that his body would still be enjoyable to break again.

The demon stood and held out his hands, black shimmering swirls of his power encircling his arms. Dean couldn't even brace for the pain that he knew was coming. He laid in the trap, eyes staring up at the ceiling and wishing desperately that it would just end…

But the pain never came.

Gunfire. Shouting. Voices. So many voices.

And then there was Wade. He knelt down beside him, pulling his mask away. The sight of his scarred face was the most beautiful thing Dean could ever imagine. And his eyes filled with tears, because he knew it couldn't possibly be real. It was a hallucination. There was no way…

"I'm here, Chester," Wade cupped his cheek gently, and whispered, "I got you."

It took him a minute to realize the trap was broken, but by then he was being lifted onto a stretcher.

After that, time seemed to fly by. Every blink, he was somewhere else. Outside in a starry night beside an old barn. Inside the Blackbird, hearing Logan talking in the distance, with Castiel sitting on one side of him and Sam on the other. Then there were doctors and nurses and beeping machines. Then everything went blessedly black.

When next he woke, there was a faint light outside, and Dean couldn't tell if it was morning or evening. His body was no longer hurting, and there were bags of fluids being funneled into his veins.

Then he noticed the form beside him, and for a moment he tensed. But his eyes adjusted, and he could see the red suit and scarred hands.

Voice weak, he said, "Wade?"

The merc was immediately alert, his face spread in a grin as he carefully took Dean's hand, and said, "Hey there, sleeping beauty."

A corner of Dean's mouth lifted in a pained smile. "Hey."

The merc let out a relieved sound, and said, "You look like shit."

Dean laughed, gripping Wade's hand tighter. "I feel like shit."

"Thirsty?" Wade asked, reaching for the tumbler on the bedside table. He guided the straw to Dean's lips, gently lifting the hunter's head so he could drink. He finished most of the jug before he started coughing, and spat up a miserable mix of water and old blood. Wade grabbed a moist cloth.

"You wouldn't know it, but Cas did his angle mojo thing on you. Well, as best he could," Wade said as he dabbed the mess away. "That little dude was how we got to you, too. Drained him down. They got him in one of the other medical units."

"Sam?" Dean managed to croak out.

"Preston-you haven't met her-took him home for the night," Wade answered. "Kid hasn't slept since you disappeared."

Dean's brow furrowed. "I've been gone… It was weeks…"

Wade held his hand, and nodded. "I'm sure it was forever for you. You were in some kind of time loop bubble thingy."

"How long?" Dean asked, feeling his eyes sting.

"Two days," Wade answered.

There was a cold, frightening feeling that settled inside of Dean. His jaw tensed, knowing that Wade was telling the truth. Vetis had created his own little pocket of Hell, complete with the time distortion. Two days on Earth felt like an eternity.

The hunter's jaw tensed, and he did his best not to let his voice shake as he asked, "Vetis?"

"Dead," Wade answered. "Not back in Hell. Dead. For good. Wish I could say I was the one who killed him. It was Sammy who put the whammy on him with Castiel's angel blade. Kid burned him down good."

Dean wished he felt better hearing that. Instead, he only felt the burn of the Mark and the empty feeling of seeing history repeat itself. Sam had taken out Alistair, fulfilling Dean's wish for vengeance. And like then, Dean only felt hollow instead of vindicated. He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened as the loneliness and loathing started to fill the vacant spaces.

Then he felt Wade's arms wrapping around him, pulling him against the merc's chest. At first he resented the touch, not wanting to be comforted for his failings. The tears came then as he feebly pushed against the warmth, until finally he gave up the struggle and just cried silently as Wade held him, and softly sang, "Hey, Jude".

Dean's heart clenched, listening to the words that always calmed him as a child. He held on to Wade, clinging to his voice and the feel of his breath against his forehead. He sank into the vibration of sound in the merc's chest, and slowly, the tears subsided. By the time the song was finished, Dean was back asleep.