Notes(Which ya might want to read to better understand)

If you're like me, you could not STAND that they made Dean enjoy torturing souls in Hell. I still cannot get over it and I am very very VERY enraged, so this is my way of venting / fixing what I feel is a huge mistake.

I can only assume they have something planned for this later, but all I'm saying is it better be damn spectacular. But for now, I'll share my continuation of it. Right now, it looks like this is gonna wind up as a twoshot.

I know a good percentage of the fandom doesn't share my distaste for this particular plot twist, but even if that's so I hope everyone enjoys this anyway.

One more thing, this was written before Sex and Violence, and I know that episode sort of...well, shed a lot of light on some stuff while putting a thick veil of darkness on a lot more stuff, but screw it. This was already written and I'm posting it cause I know there are a few fans out there like me who need to feel better about this.

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Part I

"All those years, all that pain, finally getting to deal some of that yourself.

I didn't care who they put in front of me.

That pain I felt? It just slipped away.

No matter how many people I save, I can't change that.

I can't fill this hole. Not ever."

-o-()-o-()-o-

The words floated like a toxic fume in the air between the brothers, a poison purged from Dean's conscience only to infect Sam's. A shaky breath stuttered in between Sam's awe-parted lips and Dean's words seemed to finally sink in as if he had breathed them straight from the air. They settled in a cold, dark cocoon around his heart and Sam suddenly felt as if lead had been injected into him, weighing down his body as it pumped through his veins.

How could Dean say he had enjoyed the torture he'd inflicted when he was in Hell? He wasn't some heartless demon whose sole purpose was to conjure agony and suffering. He wasn't someone who had ever taken pleasure in someone else's pain. He was Dean. Dean who had spent nearly twenty-five years of his life fighting evil and saving hundreds of people in the process. Dean who still got torn up for days or even weeks if a hunt resulted in an innocent's death. Dean who, even after all the heartless bitch had put them through, couldn't even bring himself to kill Bela like he'd sworn he would. He was Sammy's selfless, loving, loyal, courageous, caring, larger-than-life big brother, Dean. A person who had given up the last thing he had left to save his little brother whom he had spent his entire life protecting, caring for, and loving.

The confession replayed like nails on a chalkboard in Sam's head. "I enjoyed it, Sam. They took me off the rack, and I tortured souls, and I liked it." Sam had to swallow hard when the sudden foul of nausea licked at the back of his throat. He felt as if he'd slipped into one of the old nightmares that he'd had in the months following Dean's death. One of the ones where he'd seen his own interpretation of Hell, and Dean in the middle of it, screaming for him, begging for his help.

This was not right. It was unfair, unreal, shocking, heart-breaking, world-shattering and...wrong. It was just wrong. Sam could not believe it. He felt a flame of anger ignite and flare outward from the tight knot in his stomach. Sam felt his heart-rate accelerate and he felt the organ pound against his ribs as if working hard to rid itself of the poison Dean's words had injected.

No, Sam could not believe it...and he did not.

"Is that what they wanted you to believe?" Sam's deadly low voice cut through the heavy silence draping the air between the two Winchester brothers. Dean had been looking at the ground, his face alight with pain and regret and, above all, self-loathing. He blinked and slowly lifted his head at Sam's words.

"What?" He said quietly, clearly taken aback by Sam's reaction to his confession. Sam felt as if his heart was trying to beat hard enough to shatter his sternum. Tremors pulsed through his body and down his limbs, causing his hands to shake and his legs to feel a little unsteady. He knew the look on his face and in his eyes probably resembled that of a fairly insane person, but he didn't care.

The sudden anger he knew wasn't directed towards his brother catapulted Sam towards Dean. In two, long strides Sam had covered the short distance between he and Dean and grabbed the lapels of his brother's jacket in his hands.

"Is that what that son of a bitch, Alastair, wanted you to believe?" Sam growled, violently turning Dean away from the cement barrier behind him and shoving him back a few steps.

"What are you talking about?" Dean raised his voice to match the fiery tone of Sam's. He brought his arms up between Sam's and forcibly shoved his brother's hands away from their grip on his jacket. The momentum from the strength it took to free Sam's grasp stumbled Dean back a few steps and he stared wildly at Sam, jacket and necklace askew, his brow scrunched in confusion.

Energy was practically vibrating off of the youngest Winchester, rippling in waves like heat rising off an Arizona asphalt road in the height of Summer.

"What did he say to you to make you believe that?"

Dean's head jerked back a little.

"The bastard didn't say a thing! He-..." Some of the fight visibly drained out of Dean and his voice was a little quieter when he continued. " He just...watched...The son of a bitch looked more smug with every-" Dean sucked in a sharp breath and looked away from Sam, pulling a few more inhales as if the recollections had winded him. Sam watched Dean's profile and sympathy doused out a few of the angry flames he felt licking at his insides.

"Sam..." Dean said breathlessly after a few moments. He lifted haunted eyes reluctantly up to then immediately away from his brother. "What I did...I deserve Hell."

Sam's anger reared up, vaporizing any sympathy he'd felt. Why couldn't Dean see that something was seriously off here? Why couldn't he see that he had to still be blocking something? It was maddening that Dean couldn't see the error of his words, or that he was too caught up in hating himself to try.

Not three seconds after Dean finished talking, Sam struck out. He felt pain shoot through the knuckles on his right hand and Dean stumbled back, a hand lifted to the left side of his face. Sam's chest heaved and heavy breaths pushed out through his nose. Dean stared at him with shocked, green eyes and after a moment he let his hand drift back down to his side. Sam could see a small slice of opened flesh on his left cheekbone.

"What was that for?!" Dean demanded loudly.

"Don't you ever...say that again." Sam said carefully. Dean gently touched the wound on his cheek and brought his hand away to examine the blood covering the tips of his middle and index fingers.

"A simple request would have sufficed-"

"Stop it." Sam interrupted coldly. He was not about to let Dean try to joke his way around this one. "Tell me what you remember."

Dean's arms flew out exasperatedly at his sides.

"What do you think it is that I've already told you, Sam?"

"No, there has to be more." Sam could hear his voice falter for a moment and he ground his teeth hard together when tears tried to form in his eyes. He wasn't stopping until he got an answer. There had to be something. Some little detail that Dean couldn't recall that would explain this. "Think." Sam demanded.

The single word seemed to trigger something in Dean. At first, his face softened with hurt and terror flashed across his eyes. He regarded Sam as if he'd just asked him to move a mountain. In the next instant, Dean's brow furrowed and anger clamped down his features.

"Think?!" Dean spat. He took a step towards Sam. "All I do is think, Sam! All I can do all day, every damn day, is think about what I did!"

"You were in Hell, Dean!" Sam's exact words said only minutes earlier returned in greater volumes.

"You don't have to keep reminding me!" Dean shot back bitterly.

"What happened? Right after the torture stopped, what happened next?" Sam saw Dean flinch, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. Being quiet and respectful about Dean's sudden recollection of all things Hell-related had solved nothing so far, for either of them. Sam was tired of the miles of ground that had fallen away between them lately. He was tired of watching Dean try to drink himself into an amnesiac state. He was tired of sitting idly by while Dean slowly suffocated under the heavy burden placed on his conscience. It was time to change tactics.

Dean shook his head and turned to look away.

"Sam, I can't-"

"You have to. Now think."

"Sam, please-"

"There's something that hasn't come back to you yet. What is it?" Sam hadn't noticed that he had started walking forward, or that with each step he took, Dean took a retreating one back.

"I don't know." Dean breathed. Sam reached out to shake Dean's shoulders.

"You have to!" He shouted. The second Sam's fingers came into contact with Dean, Sam felt as if he'd been hit point-blank by a powerful explosion. Sounds and images whipped past him.

Blood, screams, a singed, dark, and red-hued environment. He saw horrific, mangled faces of beings his worst nightmares had yet to touch.

Suddenly he was lying down, red-hot metal digging into his wrists and ankles. A demonic face appeared next to him. A smirk turned up the corners of something that vaguely resembled a mouth and suddenly razor-sharp claws ripped at him from seemingly every possible angle. Pain exploded across every single nerve ending. He screamed, the sound laced with agony, the voice not his own but one he knew better than any other in the world, though he wished he would never have to hear it make this sound.

He was standing, looking down at something that had once been a human body. He felt crippling regret and shame tugging at his already leaden heart. He looked down to see copious amounts of blood congealing on his hands, arms, and skin.

Hot, fetid air blew against his ear and a voice that sounded like shards of rock spoke to him.

"Now isn't this so much better, Dean?" Cooed the being he knew to be Alastair.

He felt his hands clench into fists and loathing ran hot through his veins.

"I guess telling you to go to Hell wouldn't be an insult, would it?" He heard Dean's voice growl from his throat.

A chilling cackle wrapped around him and the voice continued in his ear.

"I suggest you start taking a...special interest in your work from now on." A freezing cold and sticky-feeling hand was placed on his shoulder and he felt a tremor of repulsion shiver through him. "...Or we'll go back to taking a special interest in you."

He felt fear spike through his gut and his eyelids fluttered shut against the memories that Alastair's warning dredged up.

"Now, please...continue." The hand withdrew and he opened his eyes again to see that the once-mangled person in front of him had regenerated into a wide-eyed and horrified man.

A weapon was suddenly in his hand and he wrapped his fingers slowly, reluctantly, around it. The man stretched out before him looked up with pleading eyes and shook his head desperately.

"Continue!" The gravelly voice boomed from behind him. "I will not offer you the same ultimatum next time."

He couldn't go back. He hated himself for it, but he couldn't go back to that. He drew in a deep breath and looked at the man's face again.

He forced himself to look past the desperate, brown eyes, replacing them with cruel, chasmal, black ones.

He forced himself to not see the smooth planes of the forehead and cheeks, instead seeing a twisted mess of flesh not resembling anything remotely human.

He forced himself to replace the human form with the disproportionate and lanky shape that still repulsed him no matter how many times he had seen it before.

He forced himself to not see the soul of a person before him, but the one thing he wished harm and vengeance on more than any being he'd ever come across: Alastair.

Raising the weapon clutched in his right hand, he began to give back some of the pain and agony that he had been forced to suffer through for decades.

"Sam, no." He heard the voice from far away, but continued to watch as soul after soul placed before him morphed into Alastair, and each time a bit more of his own pain stripped away as he got revenge on the demon who had caused it.

"Stop. Sam, stop!" The voice grew louder and he felt as if the ground had been yanked out from under him, the images he'd been seeing pulled away with it.

Reality slammed back into place and Sam was back in Nebraska beneath a bridge. A strangled gasp ripped from his throat and he felt his knees buckle, the purchase he'd had on Dean's shoulders no longer at his fingertips. Pain bloomed from the back of his eyes and radiated outward through his head. Metallic fluid assaulted his taste buds; Sam could feel more of it running in warm beads over his lips and down his chin. Images that he knew he would never be able to scrub from his memory replayed. "Oh God." That had been Hell. That was where Dean had been for forty years. That was what Dean had had to endure over and over and over again. "Oh God." Was all Sam could manage to think.

A part of Sam's mind realized that he had gone from standing to lying down. Another part acknowledged that safe, warm arms were wrapped around his shoulders, shaking him desperately. And another heard a frightened voice calling his name. All parts were gradually drowned out, though, by the thunderous pounding in his head and the paralyzing wariness spreading throughout his body. And before Sam had time to wonder exactly what had just happened, he slipped under, hellish images awaiting him beneath the deceivingly serene surface of unconsciousness.

To Be Continued...

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Hate it? Love it? Don't understand it?

I hope it was all clear what is going on, any questions just ask me.

I'm sure the excessive use of "He" was noticed, but that's because I like the idea of taking away one's identity in Hell...if that makes sense. Plus I wanted to make it less confusing that Sam was seeing everything that Dean had, from his point of view. Also, it bums me out, because I feel like it's always been part of his character, but I'm not sure how quick Dean would be to say "What the hell?" anymore...so....I stopped writing it in...at least for this particular story anyway.

Anyway, all thoughts are welcomed. I'll have the next and final chapter up sometime before the new episode this week.

Reviews are like Sour Patch Kids...and I am 100% me^_^

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