This is my version of what Sam's time in hell could have been like, and what happens after he gets out. Even though I've already written a story about Sam getting out of hell (Body and Soul .net/s/6098119/1/Body_and_Soul ) that I'm really happy with, I wanted to play around with not just how hell affected Sam, but how Sam could affect hell, which meant an entirely new premise for how he'd bust out from what I've already written. They're entirely different, but neither one will be how Gamble will do it anyway, so I plead creative license or would if I had any license over the guys, which I don't so . . . whatev . . . I own nothing, except my personal right to amuse myself with different scenarios. This will be longer than what I usually do in fanfic, but not to worry I know where I'm going start to finish. Count on a lot of angst, a lot of hurt Sammy and to the rescue Dean.

CeCe Away

#

My Hellhound

Samuel Winchester prowled the labyrinth of hell, studying every tunnel, every street, every hole. No longer in need of a vessel, Lucifer had vacated Sam's body and placed him immediately on the rack. Lucifer was livid at being trapped within the pit again. Yes, he had the reign of hell, but the tangible bonds of the pit, made Lucifer's hell a prison within a prison, stiff and unyielding. He'd taken it out on the one person who had sent him back, pound for pound, for months until that hatred no longer sustained him.

The irony was Lucifer admired Samuel Winchester, didn't have the heart to see the young man fully broken under his hand. Except for Michael himself, Samuel Winchester was the only person who had bested him—a mere mortal at that. Lucifer thought about that often. What a rare and peculiar soul the young man was. So he let him off the rack, even gave Sam the one thing he couldn't have for himself: Freedom. Well, a limited sense of freedom. He'd given Samuel the free run of hell, and marveled at the way the residents of pit followed the boy around, drawn to his aura.

Samuel Winchester was an oddity in hell. As the only person there who wasn't actually dead, the only person who retained his physical mortal body, Sam was a beacon of light, a curiosity that drew demons. Many wanted to test their skill against the boy who brought down the master and Lucifer indulged the blood lust, allowing Sam to be beaten and broken to the point of unconsciousness. But only to that point, after all, he only wanted to see if another could break Sam's mind in the demons ongoing establishment of their futile pecking order.

But there were other demons who followed Sam with an odd light in their eyes, watching him, waiting to see what would happen, but never laying a hand against him. These demons and the thought of what they may want made Lucifer uncomfortable.

#

Sam couldn't believe he had found it. He stared up at the long, long silo-like tunnel over his head that ended with the underside of what looked like the back of an intricate man-hole cover. The tunnel sides were smooth, there was no ladder. Even if there was, Sam knew there was no going out for him, but just being there, beneath the same hell's gate his father had escaped from, made him smile.

"Your lunch, kid." Traff blinked in so abruptly it startled Sam, causing him to take a step back. The tiny demon held out a brown bag with a Sally's Diner logo across it.

Sam's eyebrows rose. "Chicken sandwich?"

"Your favorite." Traff handed Sam the bag and they both sat down. Traff was one of the few demons who had found his way out through the narrow slashes in hell, yet choose to return. He'd become Sam's procurer of food, seeming to be fascinated with watching him eat. Guess the simple pleasure of being able to enjoy a meal was a big thrill for the guy, even if he wasn't the one eating. Sam didn't mind, he actually liked Traff, and the guy was an awesome source of information, he knew the insides of hell better than anyone.

Sam had quickly discovered that all demons were not of the same caliber. There were some like Traff who were able to hold off the whittling down of their humanity. Mostly they were guys who had ended up in hell for small crimes or sins made out of love. Traff had bargained his soul so that his family would live through the Civil War. As a result he had spent little time on the rack and most of the other demons found him of little importance to mess with so he'd been pretty much left alone.

But he hadn't left hell alone. Traff had watched, he'd learned. He'd found Sam beaten once and took him to his own space, a carved out niche where Sam could rest and recover. When Sam awoke, Traff showed him how to carve out symbols that not only kept out other demons, but hid the area as well. Sam had immediately made his own space, his own hole within a little used tunnel where Sam could rest and regroup.

Together and apart, Sam and Traff explored hell, both eager to learn and share what they discovered. Kindred spirits and like thinkers, they learned just for the sheer love and knowledge. Not that it would do them any good, but it passed the boredom. Traff taught Sam all the spells and incantations he knew. He taught Sam how to forge blades in the lowest fires to make demon killing weapons like the knife Ruby had. And while Sam gathered information, he unwittingly made friends. Low caliber demons reveled in giving him information, feeling needed and hopeful for the first time in long centuries. Eager to please, they showed him their own private hells, places Sam would otherwise never know to look. Sam watched what happened to demons who were sent back to hell, how their minds were scattered for months, reducing them to incoherent babblers that the other demons took advantage of. Sam wondered if any of them had been dispatched by Bobby or even Dean, though he hoped his brother was not hunting.

They learned the best methods to kill hellhounds and all the other monsters that roamed the shadows of hell. In hell, they couldn't really die, but it took monsters a hundred years to regenerate and that was all right with him. If Sam had had this knowledge as a hunter, he would have been formidable.

"I found another way out," Traff said. Able to shoot off as black smoke, there were many ways for demons to squeeze back into the world of mortals. Several demons crawled out every day, an ongoing parade. Traff stared at the sandwich in Sam's hands. "This one looks large enough to fit a man." He ducked away, uncertain.

Sam froze mid-bite. A way out for him? His belly clenched and he put the sandwich down, no longer hungry. Even if that were possible, his mind couldn't see it.

He missed Dean. On one of Lucifer's rare giving moments, he taught Sam how to astral project to watch people up top. It wasn't actually getting out, but it was close. The first time, he'd stood beneath a light pole and watched Dean outside of Lisa's house. Dean hadn't exactly looked happy, but he was coping. He'd visited only a few other times. The kid, Ben, followed Dean around like he was superman, copying his gestures, his humor. Dean had actually smiled then and Sam could never bring himself to return. He'd be all right. Sam wondered what getting out of hell would do to Dean. He suspected it would make his brother's fragile house of cards tumble down. No, he wouldn't leave hell, but he also couldn't ignore the hole Traff was talking about.

Pushing the sandwich aside, Sam got up. "Show me."

#

Sam followed Traff through the back edge of hell into little used tunnels smelling of refuse and sulfur. "Here there be monsters," Sam muttered, his shoes slopping through slimy puddles of-whatever. He could think of a million things he might be slogging through, none of them pleasant. The yellow glow off the walls illuminated the black earthen tunnel in jagged streaks.

"In there." Traff pointed to a long crack in the wall, roughly half his height. Traff had already carved runes near it to hide the opening from other demons. Traff was like that, not wanting his exits used so much that they came under Lucifer's notice.

Sam started at it blankly, knowing he'd never be able to fit through there. "You been all the way through yet?"

"Yup. It's not as tight as it appears. We'll have to hammer out the opening a bit."

"Easy to say when you're a puff of smoke." Sam bent to examine the hole, a cold knot forming in his stomach. This might be doable. He could get out as long as Satan didn't come look for him and snatch him back, but with Traff's runes hiding them . . . His heart started hammering. It would take some doing. Who knew how far the hole went, but to get out of hell, he'd climb, claw . . . then, what? Find Dean. Let his brother know he was out, not suffering. He owed him that much, and then they could take it from there. With everything Sam now knew, disappearing would be easy.

"Okay."

"Really?" Traff almost squealed.

Sam grinned. "Are you coming? Gonna stay out this time?"

Traff shrugged. "I might hang around for awhile. See what's what."

"All right, then. Just don't mess with any humans or I'll have to come for you."

Traff laughed at the long standing joke between hunter and demon.

Sam scraped his teeth along his lower lip. "We'll need some kind of hammer . . ." Hot breath blew the hair up off his neck. Hellhound. Out of everything in the pit, he hated them the most. Now that he was part of hell, he could see them clearly, tall, muscled and sleek, dark mouthful of teeth. Any time one was near, all Sam saw was his brother's skin ripping into shreds or Jo's intestines spilling from her stomach.

In the trace of a heartbeat, Sam had his knife out, spun and plunged the blade to the hilt up through the hound's jaw and slashing sideways to hit the artery—the killing blow to the beasts. "See you in a hundred, bitch." Gargling, the beast dropped dead and the tunnel exploded in chaos as two more hounds pounced.

Traff, the coward, dispersed into smoke and fled, leaving Sam to cut, slash, hack until he stood, heaving over two more bodies, bloody and tired, a short jagged slice on his arm. The escape route would have to wait until he took care of this.

Shuffling away, he heard whimpers coming from behind him. Sam stopped, glanced back. A small hellhound sniffed, whining near one of the bodies. Sam had seen them before, young hellhounds, bounding around dark fields of fire pools, still half the size of a full grown man and a hundred times deadlier. Grimacing, Sam turned away only to hear soft footfalls padding behind him.

He looked back and the hound whimpered, tilting its head. A long tongue rolled between wickedly sharp teeth.

"You've got to be kidding." Once again, Sam turned his back, walking determinedly away, grinding his teeth when the footfalls followed. He spun around abruptly, flinging out an arm and the hound skittered back. "Go back. Get out of here!"

The hound whimpered, lowering its head to its paws on the floor. Sam exhaled, shaking his head. "I am the dumbest S.O.B. ever. Come on." The hound jumped up, plodding along in Sam's wake.

TBC