New Story! This is a take off after "No Rest For the Wicked", and goes a completely different direction.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, its characters or its concepts

The pain from the tearing of the hellhounds claws was nothing like Dean imagined it. It was much, much worse. Dean could feel his ribs break and the ripping of his lungs. He tasted blood in the back of his throat when he screamed, and could feel the warmth of his own blood wash over his neck as it gushed from his chest. The hellhounds burning red eyes bore into Dean's own as its claws dug deeper and deeper into his chest, trying to reach his heart, fangs glistening and wet. Dean tried to push the ragged beast away, but the dog was too strong. The hellhound buried its muzzle into Dean's bleeding cavity, teeth snapping and tearing as they went. Dean couldn't scream anymore, his throat too clogged with blood. He heard Sam screaming his name, Lillith looking on with deep satisfaction. As he started to drown in his own blood, Dean felt the hellhounds maul wrap around his heart and crush it like a water balloon. The pain overcame his mind, and he started falling. The last thing he saw was Lilith grinning wickedly as tears streamed down his brothers face. The last thing he heard was Sam desperately yelling and the hellhounds viscous snarls. Darkness surrounded him the moment the light left his eyes.

Dean was vaguely aware of falling into darkness. There was a light above him, but he was falling away from it. It shined down on him, fading with every moment. His blood floated above him from his chest wounds, forming in little streams and droplets. Ruby jewels, that had lost their precious meaning of life. And yet, there would be lot's of it where Dean was going. Dean maneuvered himself in his fall, facing the way that he thought he was falling, wind streaming past his face and hair. His eyes watered with the speed, but he kept them trained ahead of him, keeping his eyes looking for the oncoming glow of hell fire.

Despite the way the wind was coming at him, it was Dean's back that hit the ground hard, the pain going from his chest to his spine. Dean groaned, feeling the hard, cracked ground beneath him. Dean opened his eyes, and was greeted with a deep darkness. He sat up and looked around, not that there was much to look at. He couldn't even see his own hand in front of his face. Dean could tell by the weight of his clothes that his leather jacket was gone, and so was his amulet. He put a hand to his chest, and was a little surprised to see that it had been restored to unmarred flesh, bone, and organ. Silence engulfed him, but it was a very deep, unsettling silence, unlike anything Dean had ever heard before. Like the darkness, it was thick and suffocating, like a blanket of nothingness. He realized why this was so strange after a few moments of listening. The steady rhythm that had been so natural when he was alive was gone. The high pitched whine of the blood rushing though his veins wasn't ringing anymore. His heart had stopped beating. It was the first time Dean experienced true, pure silence.

When Dean tried to get to his feet, he heard a scuffling behind him. He spun around, but didn't see anything. He slowly turned back to the way he was facing, shoulders tense and senses alert. They were watching him. His sixth sense told him they were. Even though, Dean wasn't really sure who 'they' were. But they didn't do anything, didn't make a move. Where they demons? Was this Hell? That was when the whispers started. They started as just a few voices, non-stop, frantic, and it was hard to tell if they were male or female, but they quickly grew. Dean snapped his head this way and that, trying to see the figures in the darkness. He positioned his body in an attack stance, ready to pounce on the nearest thing that approached him. But the whispers didn't seem to come any closer. Only grow louder and more frantic as more whispers joined in. It became a roar like a river or a waterfall. Dean felt cold irrational fear in his chest, fear of what he couldn't see, fear of the unknown, and fear of what was to come.

"Come on!" Dean yelled to the whispering darkness. "I don't got all day!"

Dean stopped at that. He actually did have all day. That, and the rest of eternity.

The whispers died down a little, and Dean could barely hear the sound of feet scurrying around him, coming closer and closer. Dean clenched his fists and steeled himself for the first attack. But it never came. The footsteps were so close, Dean could have sworn that they were right in front of him. He swung his arms in front of him, but was met with nothing but air in his grasp. The footsteps receded, and the whispers faded away. Dean straightened and unclenched his fists, more confused than ever. Dean had always thought that Hell was about pain, torture, and punishment, a place where the wicked went for justice. And, until recently, a place where human souls became demons.

So, what the Hell?

Dean got his literal answer in a far off rumble. He looked up and saw a flicker of light. The light was surrounded by moisture and mist, like lightning in a cloud. The storm cloud was low hanging, slowly moving towards him, menacing and dark. Each time the lightning struck, the thunder got louder and closer. Dean watched it approach for a second, terror filling his being as he realized that Hell was coming to him. But there was no way Dean wasn't going to stick around and make it easy for them. He turned and sprinted into the everlasting blackness ahead of him, not really sure where he was running, as long as it was away from the gateway to Hell.

Something grabbed his ankle, and Dean hit the ground again, hard. Looking back, he saw a red gnarled hand illuminated by the lightning gripping his ankle. The owner of the hand remained unseen. When he rolled over, the cloud was right above him. Lightning continuously lighting up it's structure. It dropped down on him, surrounding him and filling his lungs, tasting like blood and acid. Dean coughed, and struggled to get up, but the hand held him tight. An enormous hook on a thick chain shot out of the electrified mist and impaled his left ankle. Dean cried out, and another one drove through his left wrist. Each of them were pulled taut, causing Dean to yelp and fall back on his back. He thrashed and flailed his remaining limbs. The hand gripping him let go just as his other ankle was soon impaled, and his right wrist followed with two hooks soon after that. Dean was soon lying spread eagle on the ground, the chains pulling his flesh ever whichway. One more hook came from above him, driving through his shoulder. The hooks glistened with blood in the lightning. Another came from the side and sliced into his plexus. He gritted his teeth and screamed through the pain. Dean felt blood at the back of his mouth, and he tried to hack it up the best he could, coating his teeth in blood.

The hooks started to rise, lifting him off the ground and straining his limbs. Dean's eyes widened, unable to make a sound from the intense burning in his joints. It felt as if his shoulders and hips were going to dislocate themselves. As the chains lifted him higher into the gateway, he could see many, many other chains, all leading off into the mist. There were thousands of them, could they all possibly be attached to a person? Dean strained his ears, and sure enough, behind the thunder, he could hear screaming. Dean knew that if his heart was still beating, it would be fluttering like a caged hummingbird. The thunder surrounded him, a welcome-to-Hell chorus that shook Dean's bones and vibrated the hooks. Hot air surrounded Dean, rising in temperature until sweat pricked his brow and started to run down his face. His hair was damp within a few seconds. Tears also formed in his eyes, blissfully cool on his eyelids and cheeks. Until they, too, started to boil and evaporate.

"Help!" Dean cried out loudly. The empty mist seemed to amplify his voice. "Somebody help me!"

Dean looked around frantically. "Oh, god…" No one was coming to help him. So he called out to the only person he thought would.

"SAM!"

Dean was dropped on his back again as the hooks yanked themselves out of him. He rolled to his knees and looked up. It was still misty, but the light of a large, unseen fire illuminated the space Dean was in. Not too far away, Dean could see a structure hanging in the air, coming towards him. As the mist started to clear, Dean's jaw dropped in horror. Hanging from a cable leading off into the mist hung a frame of metal. It looked sturdy and tough, the crossbar a thick pole of iron. Hanging below the crossbar like teeth were four hooks, sharp and long like meat hooks in a butcher shop. Dean scrambled in the opposite direction of the rack, but his damaged ankles made it difficult. His breath was coming so hard that it actually made him whine a little. Dean didn't get very far. An unseen force stopped Dean in his tracks and lifted him up in the air. Dean yelled and protested desperately. Dean flew backwards through the air, back the way he came, and onto the rack. Dean howled in agony as the hooks pierced through his shoulder and wrists. A fire engulfed Dean's body, but it didn't burn his skin. His shirt and jeans burned away, and so did his boxers. Shackles clamped themselves around his ankles, weighing him down on the hooks. Dean hung naked on his rack with his arms spread wide, hot air engulfing his body in the most uncomfortable way. The mist was thin, and the cable his rack was attached to started to move, making Dean swing on the hooks painfully. Dean thought he would pass out from pain, but his mind stayed alert, and as the mist finally faded away, a new kind of terror took hold of the former hunter.

There was no landscape, just fire everywhere. Fire, blood, and screams. Cable lines that had more people dangling on racks similar to Dean's were strewn all over the place. There was no place that the cables were leading, as far as Dean could tell. The souls in Hell were just being showcased for the demons like the choice cuts of meat at the supermarket, and there were thousands of demons to feed. Their forms were smoky, they drifted through the air like phantoms. But physical matter rested underneath. Their flesh was torn and the limbs were disfigured. Their eyes were black and filled with hate and murderous rage. They ripped the souls apart, bellowing their wrath and might. The souls were helpless. Dean took in the sight with horrified eyes, his lungs filled with ash and hot air.

As the cable line he was on entered hell, one of the demons spotted him. Dean made eye contact with the demon, seeing the flicker of recognition in it's eyes. It let out a scream that caught everyone's attention.

"Dean Winchester!" It boomed, and almost all the other demons growled. "We've been waiting for you." Many demons quickly crowded around Dean. Their horrible faces came up close. Dean could almost see their faces beneath the smoke. But they smelled like death. Dean strained away from them, clenching his teeth hard. Without a doubt in his mind, he knew these must have been the demons that He and Sam had exorcised throughout the years. He knew that there were a lot of them, but he never imagined this many! Dean's eyes flicked between all the demons, and with all the smoke and fire, Dean almost didn't see the broken, charred hooks protruding out of their shoulders and wrists. The exact same type of hooks that impaled Dean now. The twisted metal at the top gave the impression that they had twisted and struggled out of them. Chains clanked from around their feet. Deans chest clenched as he felt the last of his hope die. Each and every one of these demons had been where he was now. Dean knew in the back of his mind that it was only a matter of time before he joined them.

"Oh how the mighty fall." A demon hissed as it slid past his ear.

"Not so tough without your salt and holy water, are you?" Another, running a finger down his spine and making him shiver.

"Now now, fellas." Dean looked up to see the demon that had recognized him. "First we gotta explain the rules."

The other demons laughed. Dean gritted his teeth and growled. He hated being played with.

"Why don't you stop wasting my time and just get on with it?!"

"Woah, woah! What's the hurry, Winchester?" The demons cackled again. "Just a few things you need to know before you become... part of the family."

Dean couldn't tell which demon was speaking. It seemed like they all were at the same time.

"Rule number one... you won't be needing this." A demon sprang forward and plunged it's hand through Dean's chest. Dean gasped like his breath had been knocked out. He choked as he felt the demons clawed hand digging around in his chest cavity, the sharp nails working quick to dislodge veins and muscle. The demon yanked his hand out. Dean felt a painful shift in his chest, making him yelp. The other demons were laughing loudly. The demon that had attacked Dean held his hand up for him to see. Like a purple, chunky bag of soup, Dean's dead heart sat strangely on the demon's palm. The demon took his other hand and pierced the heart with a claw. Pain blossomed in Dean's chest, burning and throbbing worse than anything he had ever felt before. He gritted his teeth and groaned against the pain. The demon twisted it's claw in the heart, increasing the pain tenfold. Dean threw his head back and released his first scream into the depths of Hell.

"Huh, it's kind of small, isn't it?" One demon observed his heart.

"I think it's broken, too." The demon holding his heart shook it like a broken watch, and Dean's breath hitched. He could still feel his heart, even though it wasn't connected to him? How was that possible? The demon tossed his heart over it's shoulder, where it fell and disappeared into the bowels of Hell. Dean felt the pain as his heart burned away.

"Rule number two," a second demon began. "Smoking is only allowed in the designated areas."

A pillar of fire sprang up from the burning inferno beneath Dean. This time, the flames burned his skin away. The scream Dean let out was higher pitched than anything he had ever done before, and was then morphed into a strangled cry as his vocal chords tore themselves apart. The flakes of his skin drifted away in the hot air currents, his muscles sizzled and his blood boiled. The capillaries in his eyes exploded, his hair withered into nothing. Dean felt his tongue blister, his toe and fingernails crinkle painfully. His organs roasted from the flames, and in the end Dean had been transformed into a smoking husk. Unrecognizable, his chest huffed shallowly. Dean would have closed his eyes if they hand't become melted to the eyelids.

"The designated smoking areas are... everywhere." The demons howled with amusement. Dean hung limply on his rack, his whole body stinging.

"Rule number three." A low growl came from behind him. "In case of an accident, seek medical attention immediately."

There was a sudden rush of cold air, and Dean was shocked to find that he could breath easy again. He looked down at himself and gaped at what he saw. He was whole again. His skin and hair were back, and even the hole in his chest was gone. Dean looked up at the demons. They glared back at him. Dean understood. His soul would keep healing so the demons could keep tearing.

"And finally, rule number four..." A demon stepped in front of him, looking down on Dean with fierce eyes. "If you want us to stop, all you have to do is say 'please'." Dean couldn't see the demon's mouth, but he knew the thing was smiling cruelly. It wanted Dean to beg for mercy.

"Well...?" The demon tilted its earhole toward Dean.

Dean licked his lips and looked up at the demon, he craned his head so his mouth was right next to the demon's head, took a deep breath and-

"GO TO HELL!"

The demon hissed as it slapped its hand on the side of its head. It growled as it turned back toward Dean, but faltered. The soul of Dean Winchester was smiling. By God, he even looked excited. Dean puffed a laugh before he spoke.

"You think I'm impressed?" The demons scowled at him. "You're nothing but the same bottom feeding scum that I exorcised. Cowardly, insignificant, and disgusting. So go ahead, tear into me and do your worst. Nothing is ever going to change that!" He turned to the demon right in front of him. "I'll take it all. I will not be ground down by the likes of you lot of maggots. You can rip me apart, but you will never forget my name, and that I was the one to send your sorry ass back to Hell."

The demon roared and swung its hand at Dean's face. Dean's head snapped hard to the right and he felt a pop and tearing in his jaw. Something warm ran down his front, and there was a wet, heavy thing sliding back and forth across his neck. The demons were laughing. They moved in closer, sheer excitement in their eyes. The demon in front of Dean laughed the loudest.

The demon help up its hand, and Dean's eyes widened, his tongue tasting blood as it swung numbly from his torn mouth. The demon waved his jawbone out to the other demons.

The demons rushed him, a pair of claws racking hard against his back, penetrating his spine. Dean screamed.

A/N: If you were wondering, YES, I did just wake up one morning and decide to go all out on a torture fic. It'll get worse, believe me. ALOT worse, because I have a sick twisted little mind.(bwahaha)

Nevertheless, read review, and enjoy!