Angst with hope. Not a death fic.

This is based on events thru No Rest for the Wicked, but I guess you could call it an AU acid trip because Kripke's version of Hell will probably be much different than mine. A wink and a nod to the brilliant mind of Rod Serling and the Twilight Zone. Great inspiration and high aspirations on my part.

Dean is in Hell so there will be disturbing images and thoughts, but nothing truly graphic or explicit unless your mind wants to go there. This will be as bad as you and Dean imagine it to be. My philosophy is the mind is perfectly capable of filling in the blanks, probably more disturbingly than I could ever write.

If you are following What Evil Lurks in the Heart of Man, don't fear that I am neglecting that story. I have several chapters of that one in the hopper and I am constantly working on it. This just gives me a little break from that angst to deal with this angst… I really need to write a comedy again!

I don't beg for reviews… but they certainly do fuel the creative process and make me want to devote even longer hours to writing these stories… Hint, hint! And I love hearing what works and what might be improved upon.

White Room

Chapter One – Hell is a State of Mind

There was torture and taunts; hell, let's not forget this was Hell, but the worst was when they left him alone. Time didn't exist here, but at least when they were having a session there was someone or something always present in the room.

It was when he was left alone that he felt himself slipping away. He'd press his fingernails into the palms of his hands just to feel something, anything. His mind would try to remember but there were only dark shadows, a stark contrast to the white room that was now his prison.

He'd get frustrated that he couldn't make out the shapes anymore, couldn't remember the names, but he could still experience the feelings. He knew that someone was looking for him; he could feel it in his bones. He just didn't know who or why or whether they'd ever find him.

He hoped they would and that just made it harder to be lost. A part of him wanted to disappear, just slip away and not care. But another part of him, the main part, knew he was supposed to hang on… for some reason he could no longer process.

He didn't know why or what good would come from it, but a small voice in his head told him to hang on, so he did.

Someone was coming.



This one came to me in the hazy moments of the early morning just before the brain totally engages. When I became fully aware I bolted out of bed and wrote it down. It was originally going to be a One Shot because quite frankly I am overloaded with other stories that want to be written, but many have requested I continue this story into a chapter fic.

Since Kripke saw fit to send Dean to Hell and I have the summer to mourn the loss of our hero maybe this will help me deal, imagining how Dean will eventually get out of Hell. Oh, did I just give away a major plot point? Sorry… but while I may be good at writing dark (subject to individual opinion); I always try to see that light at the end of the tunnel. Winchesters always persevere in my stories… eventually. Thanks for reading and as always, reviews are welcome. Thanks, B.J.