Hell. It was almost like Dean Winchester had always imagined, only worse.

One minute he was being torn apart by hellhounds, then, as soon as his dying breath escaped his partially eaten body, he woke up to a nightmare.

Strung up like a marionette, wires cut into his wrists and ankles. He could feel the blood dripping down his arms and feet. His back ached from his position in the air, in the midst of eternal damnation. As he breathed, his ribs fought to expand against the metal hook jabbed into his side. The cracks crumbled against each other like driving over rubble. He turned his head to the right, cutting his cheek in the process from another hook dug into his shoulder.

The pain was unbearable.

Lightning flashed all around him, thunder rolling too close for comfort. Dean spat out a mouthful of blood and screamed, "SAAAAAM!"

The storm seemed to carry his cries far into the distance. But Sam was not coming for him. No one was. He had made a deal to save Sammy, and he was going to go through with it. He had no other choice. But Sam was safe, and it brought a little comfort to him forva moment.

Coughing up more blood, Dean realized how thirsty he was. His cracked lips and dry throat begged for a sip of water. He knew he would never get a drop.

He could not gage time down here. All he knew was the pain and the occasional numbness that would not last long enough to relieve him. After what felt like an eternity, he lost consciousness.

Welcome to Hell.


When Dean opened his eyes, it was pitch dark. The bleeding had stopped, and nothing was piercing his skin. He was suffocating, though. He tried to sit up from his horizontal position, hitting his head on something hard.. Feeling it was wood and noticing how quiet it was, a ray of hope egged him on.

Breaking open the door closing him in, dirt fell into his eyes and mouth. He coughed, not too fond of the taste. He began clawing his way out, even if it was just another dream. Fatigue tried to stop him, but his stubbornness kept him going. Then his hands reached for the sky.

This was not a dream, since he had never made it this far before.

Dean popped out of the ground, blinded by the light. He sucked in a breath like he had been withheld from oxygen for years. As he crawled out of his grave, he noticed trees leveled surrounding him. It looked like a bomb had gone off, and he was the target.

The sun was so bright today, but the heat did not bother him as he walked down the road. Coming across a gas station, he only then realized how famished he was. There were no customers in sight, and when he entered, no store clerk greeted him.

This was his lucky day.

Chugging three water bottles dry, he was never so grateful before for something he had thought so trivial. He only took a break to breathe before he downed another bottle. There was so much food, he did not know where to begin. Powdered sugar donuts, chips, and...yep, there was a Subway station that had the name Dean Winchester written all over it.

He stopped mid-step, staring at himself in the mirror. He looked like a hot mess, what from the dirt and sweat, but other than that, he was fine. There were no scars or any other sign of torture on him. He placed a hand where the hooks had dug into his skin, and noticed a raised portion of his skin on his shoulder.

It was a red handprint. After examining it for a moment, his stomach announced its presence, so he hurried over to make himself a footlong.

While he was in the middle of making the perfect sandwich, the radio and TV turned on, nothing but static. Dean bolted for the salt after messily wrapping his sandwich up. He covered every door and window, when a high pitch kept escalating, shattering every bit of glass in the building. The lights flickered before bursting out.

Dean knew something bad was coming. Something very powerful.

But then, whatever it was, finally stopped, and it finally fell silent.

"What the hell?" Dean had no idea what he was up against.

Seeing an old pickup out back, he took the liberty to hotwire it and use it for a trip. Amazed to see it was full of gas with a container full of more in the back, Dean headed off to Bobby's. Boy, would they be in for a surprise.


Figuring it would be best not to pull up in some random truck, Dean parked at the city limits and walked the rest of the way. When he got there, he noticed the yard had not changed too much. Still full of a lot of junk.

He knocked on Bobby's front door, hoping not to get shot. He heard some grumbling before the for opened to reveal the old grouch himself. He liked at Dean like he had seen a ghost.

"Bobby? It's me!" He could not hide the smile from his face.

"My ass!" Bobby slammed the door, but Dean caught it before it shut.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Your name is Robert Steven Singer. You became a hunter after your wife got possessed, and...you're about the closest thing I have to a father." He swallowed hard. "Bobby, it's me."

Bobby looked at Dean, then stepped back a little, crossing his arms. "Come on in, then." He challenged.

Dean walked through the front door, through the devil's trap painted on the ceiling, no problem. "See? It's-" He closed his eyes, spitting out holy water Bobby had splashed on him. "...me." Wiping his face in irritation, he gave Bobby a look.

Still in disbelief, Bobby pulls a silver knife.

"Hang on, Bobby. I'm not a monster. Let me." Dean slowly took the knife, held his other arm out, and cut himself. Red blood oozed out.

Bobby exhales loudly. "C'mere, ya idgit." He jerks Dean into a hug, who is shocked at this chick-flic moment they are having, but warmly reciprocates the gesture anyway.

Bobby pulls out first. "I just don't believe it."

Dean laughs. "Me neither."

"No, look at you. Your chest was ribbons, your insides were slop. And you've been buried four months. Even if you could slip out of Hell and into your meat suit..."

"I know, I should look like a Thriller video reject." He then noticed Bobby was alone. "Where's Sam?"

Bobby signed, and offered him a beer, which Dean gladly accepted. "Poor kid's been beat up over you. Haven't heard from him, not since we buried you and went our separate ways." He nodded towards the front door. "That ol' pickup won't do you no good."

Dean caught the keys to the Impala Bobby tossed him. "He wouldn't take Baby?"

"He didn't have the heart to. Said you were the only one meant to drive it. I'd promised I'd never sell her and keep her here.

Dean gripped the keys a little tighter. "Thanks, Bobby. For everything." He hugged him one more time, patting him on the back and walked out to his car.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

"I'm going to go see Sam."

Bobby walked with Dean out back and just laughed at Dean's expression. It was like seeing a kid's reaction on Christmas morning.

"Oh, Baby, I promise I am never leaving you again!"

"Just promise me something...don't be a stranger."

Dean looked at Bobby, seeing the hurt in his eyes after these past few months of silence. "I promise, Bobby."

When he started up the Impala, Dean whooped, stroking the dashboard. "I have missed you." He honked goodbye to Bobby and drove off. "Runnin' on Empty" blasted as he sang to the wind.

Turning onto the highway, Dean searched the GPS for Sam's phone, and was a little shocked to see where he was. Sam had apparently gone back to Stanford.

He could not blame Sam, though. He was actually happy for his brother. Sam was living the life he always wanted. But that got Dean to thinking...

Where does that leave him?

Entering California, Dean started to second-guess interrupting Sam's life again. Sure, he missed him and wanted him to know he was alive, but to drag him back into the life of a hunter again? No, he could not ruin his brother's life again.

He pulled in to get gas, and since it was about two in the morning, no one but the store clerk was there. Getting the sense of deja vu, Dean filled up Baby, and turned to get back into the car.

Suddenly, the street lamp bulb exploded as the power went out in the station. That same high-pitched noise was back, and Dean shielded his ears again. A car peeled out from behind the building. Dean guessed it was the store clerk fleeing for his life. But he was curious as to what this was causing so much fuss.

Pulling out his knife, Dean stalked towards the side from where the clerk left. He went in through the back door, finding nothing. There was no sulfur, just a big mess, like a tornado had just hit. He crept through the store, contents on the shelves now on the floor in piles, the shelves themselves toppled over.

Sparks flew again, and a man calmly walked through the doorway and stopped.

Dean charged him with his knife and stabbed him in the chest. He backed up in fear as the man did not even flinch. He looked down and pulled it out, dropping it to the floor.

"What the hell?!" Dean tried to figure out what kind of supernatural thing this was, but his mind came up with nothing.

The man tilted his head, confusion written in his eyes.

"W-who are you?" Dean looked at him, dressed in a suit with a huge trenchcoat, dark hair a little wild for someone dressed like this. His eyes were hard, as if pointedly staring into Dean's soul.

Little did Dean know, he was.

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." He said plainly.

Dean's stomach did a somersault. He pulled him out of Hell?! "Thanks for that."

The man bowed his head, then stared back at Dean.

Dean cleared his throat, feeling very uncomfortable. "So...that was you..."

"Here, and when you first emerged...yes, that was me talking." He clarified.

"Buddy, next time, lower the volume." The man cut his eyes down. He was acting so mysterious, and...guilty, like he had done something wrong. "Who are you?" He asked again.

"I'm an angel of the Lord."

Dean blinked. "An angel?" They exist? "Why would an angel rescue me from Hell?"

He looked at Dean in disbelief. "Good things do happen, Dean."

Shivers ran down his spine to hear this...this angel, say his name.

"Not in my experience." He tried to act cool, calm, collected. But he was far from it.

"What's the matter?" He stepped closer to Dean, less than three feet from him now. "You don't think you deserve to be saved?"

Dean looked away, thinking it was an obvious answer. He made direct eye contact with the angel. "What's your name?"

"My name is Castiel."

"Castiel?" Dean pronounced, nodding his head. "Mind if I call you Cas?"

Castiel looked in deep thought, then answered, "I don't mind at all, Dean."

Dean smirked, feeling a little less afraid of this celestial being he always thought to be a fairy tale. "So, you've been following me?"

"I have been tracking you." Cas corrected.

"Uh-huh...why?"

And right before his eyes, Cas disappeared.

Dean slid a hand down his face in shock.

"Son of a bitch..."