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In the Belly of Hell
by Sarah (grrli)
at January 6th, 2008 (09:16 am)

Title: In the Belly of Hell... An Interlude
Author: grrli
Character: Dean
Rating: R, gore
Prompt: superficfridays Prompt 22: Hurt!Dean
Warnings: Not a sexy hurt.
Disclaimer: I don't own diddly, but I like to play

Author’s note: This is part of a larger work I'm doing called Down the Spiraling Path

In the Belly of Hell... An Interlude

After a while, he got used to the ear splitting sound and the feel of sandpaper on what was once his skin. He thought he'd been blinded because of the searing agony if light and... he didn't know for sure if it was heat or cold or pure electric, nerve rending pain. But eventually he acclimated enough to be able to see, to be able to hear individual screams. What he saw made him wish they had just taken his eyes.

Hell wasn't fire and brimstone. At least it was not that, here.

His brain picked out details in starts and stutters from his upside down position. Hell looked like a big block of ice, shining so hard it nearly blinded with stabbing needles of uncaring light. It wasn't pretty, it was cruel. Everywhere there was not that vicious gleam there was blood. Bright and frozen, warm and dark,in spatters, congealing in puddles, or frozen black rivulets.

Snow blew through regularly on the winds of madness, scouring a fresh layer of scabs to open him up and make more blood dribble down through cracked remnants of flesh and meat. He did not dare to look up and see what was left of himself. He wouldn't be able to handle seeing the meaty splatter of his...

He swallowed back bile. When Meg had said Hell was like nothing that could be described, he understood. He understood it so bad that tears flowed from his eyes, freezing instantly in the next gust, not that it mattered. It was just another nuance to the all consuming pain he felt. It took a long time for him to realize that he wasn't alone.

Well. He was. But he caught glimpses of distorted figures in the distance. Most were just frozen in ice that shifted slowly with the wind. Their bodies seemed more or less immobile, but the ice and gritty snow laden wind would shear slivers of them away as he watched. He didn't dare look up to see the same thing happening to him. It was bad enough just to know it was so.

Each time the wind died, a stillness came and the black air descended again. He came to realize that the ice was where the light originated, or, maybe something beneath the ice. He didn't think on things much, rational bits and pieces fell through the gaps between the sobbing horrid despair and pain. He'd never known anything close to it. The worst part hit him as soon as his rational mind started to spit out bursts and fits of information again.

Before, when bad times came, he could always wait it out. Keep going because he knew that he could get back to a better place again if he just kept going. But now he was in Hell. This was it. The end. There would be no end to this. Ever.

He could not think if he had just left his brother, or if it had been years ago. Time lost meaning with abruptness.

That was what killed him, hung upside down upon the frozen pike from one leg, His other leg was crossed over his knee, twisted painfully and run through there. And his hands likewise run through with ice upon a cross that was inverted, his warm blood running from his wind scoured wounds, freezing on the spikes in his palms, freezing on the cross, freezing into dark icicles to hang just over the red ice beneath him. And beneath that, a chill light glowed upwards, without which there would at least be blessed darkness in which to suffer his eternity.

He hardly noticed when things changed.

When the ice winged demons came with their glittering eyes and pain twisted faces. He only noticed when he was no longer looking at the same place he had been forced to stare at for... almost ever. He came to, but not enough to do anything other than add a note of confusion to the hoarse moan that escaped his chap-ragged lips. That was all the umph he could hand out as he was carried along on his crucifix of ice, carried by creatures of the pit in which he was damned.