Dean had imagined many times what hell would be like since he made the deal to save his brothers soul. He had seen it depicted in so many different ways and he cycled through all of them nightly. Of course there was the cartoons, with the illustrations of a pit of flames, with a man standing in a red cape, with a pitchfork and horns atop his head, supervising people being tortured on various devices. And of course there was also Dante's version of hell, from Dante's inferno's, with the many circles. Dean found himself wondering just what circle selling your soul got you into. He had been head strong at first, sure of himself and his capabilities. He was a hunter, he had experienced what he thought was hell on earth his whole life. He had seen things, done things, things that could easily compare to what hell would be like. He could face anything that hell might dare throw at him.

But hell was worse than anything he had ever imagined and he was in no way prepared for the pit of utter despair he was cast into upon his death. The cartoons had been wrong, Dante Alighieri had been wrong, everyone had been wrong. Hell was darkness, pain, and everything you ever feared all rolled into a giant ball with you right in the center. There was everlasting darkness, with random flashes of what he thought was lightning, even though he never saw a sky. There was no sleep, there was no rest, there was no mercy. The screams of others never stopped even though he never saw another soul. He yelled his brother's name as a comfort, his own screams echoing with the sounds of others. He knew no one was coming. There was no one to free him from hell. Hope did not live in hell.

But suddenly there was a light in the darkness. A beacon of white casting out the darkness, aimed right at him. Dean blinked against the harsh light, trying to raise his hand to shield his eyes, but only causing pain as he was still bound by the hooks. He shut his eyes before the bright light blinded him and turned his head, wondering what new form of torture this was. The light was so bright that he could still see it past his closed eye lids. The light was growing brighter and he got a sense that it was coming right for him.

A chorus of growls erupted around him, and he recognized them as the growls of hell hounds. He could feel the air shift as they surrounded him, the growls right next to his ears. He realized the light was a threat to the hell hounds. The light must have been coming for him.

"He is ours," he heard a distorted voice say above him. "You cannot have him."

He dared to open his eyes and immediately closed them again as the light was so bright that it stung. The growls increased around him and the sounds of scuffling followed. The light was fighting, fighting for him and when the growls turned to whimpers of pain he knew his rescuer was winning.

Silence fell around him, but he could still see that bright light even through his closed eyes. Something came closer, looming over him. He heard the sound of metal hitting metal and suddenly he was free, floating in the air, the pain dissipating.

"Don't open your eyes," A velvet voice said. "My true form will cause you to lose your sight."

Dean nodded obediently, keeping his eyes shut tight, his head turned to the side. He would do whatever it took to get the hell out of hell. "Who are you?" he dared to ask.

"Your salvation."

A hand gripped his upper arm and he screamed loudly. It burned like hot lava, right down to the bone. He felt like he was being branded.

And just as quickly as it came the pain and the light was gone.

He gasped abruptly, feeling like someone had just shocked him back to life. He was no longer floating. He was laying on something hard and very uncomfortable. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times to allow them to adjust to the darkness. His eyes still stung from the light, but he soon saw that he was encased in wood.

He was in a coffin.