[ Another labyrinth shouldn't be a huge surprise. He barely managed to survive the first one, so maybe his luck will continue, although that sort of thing doesn't ever seem to be in the cards for him.

He moves cautiously through the twisted forest, every muscle tense as gnarled trees try to close in around him, trap him in darkness, branches curling reaching like skeletal fingers. He can hear the howls, the things in the dark, things he should be used to but in this situation, something pricks at his senses, has him on edge, tightlipped, grip right on the gun in his hand.

Steel toe boots crunch against brittle undergrowth, the cottage appearing, a thing he stops to stare at, because he's seen something similar before; a little girl dressed in white, red ribbon in her hair, killing violently like the fairy tales she's hearing until her father finally lets her go.

Dean backs away, stomach twisting in his abdomen. This is wrong. Far more so than last time - sirens, dragons, even puzzles - that he can handle. This is new. Worse.

He leaves the cottage, firmly ignoring the voices in his head, purposefully striding in the opposite direction, searching, tearing through bramble and undergrowth that scratches at his skin, tears at his clothes. A way out, there has to be. There was last time, this can't be an exception. Killing them all defeats the purpose, doesn't it?

The river he stumbles on is volatile, a violent, churning force of nature and he moves back, thinking to simple press on, get away from this, get out. Back to the safety of the bunker and lock the doors. He's too close, though - he'd gotten too close and a thick tendril wraps around his ankle and yanks, sending him to the ground with a shout, dragging him into the water and down, down, down into the dome.

Shit. ]

(( cw; implied child abuse, descriptions of being buried alive and torture - giving/receiving, lightly implied demonic noncon ))

[ Fear is a funny thing, you know? A person can be afraid of the most mundane things; slipping into a gutter, dropping keys into a storm drain, dropping their phone into a river. There's more severe ones, of course - spiders, crowds. The fear of death, of being buried alive. Of a parent. Of hell.

Pure fear is a primal, gut-wrenching thing, a feeling that seizes the body and mind with an overwhelming intensity, that latches on and squeezes with a vice-like grip. Dean's breathing becomes shallow, heart slamming in his chest, a beat steadily increasing, loud in his ears.

He can see him clear as day, his old man approaching, the rage in his eyes. I told you to watch out for Sammy! He can still feel the marks, the hidden bruises, the ache in his ribs. He's coming, John Winchester approaches and Dean backs up as far as he can, the memory - nightmare surrounding him, clear as day. Sammy is in what serves as the motel living room, John and Dean outside, the rage in his voice real, alcohol on his breath tangible.

A litany of cutting remarks spill out, how useless Dean can be, how can he let Sammy get hurt, how could he be so negligent, it isn't like it's difficult, keep him in the room, stay there, and watch over him, how dare you leave? But Dean doesn't scream, he doesn't cry, he stays there and takes it like a man because that's what Winchesters do, isn't it? They take their poundings like men and the move on, they learn from it.

A shift, then it's just darkness all around, suffocating, the air still and stale and running low. It's a pine box lit with the tiniest flicker of Dean's lighter, a rasped cry for help. Time distorts and fear takes hold even more than it did with his father because he isn't terrified of being buried alive, slowly suffocating to death? Logic and reason evaporate, replaced by a raw instinct for survival and he screams and screams, voice already hoarse, until there's nothing left but a whisper, a wrecked sob when he cannot get out. Was he raised from hell only to suffocate and die again, or is this some cruel trick of Alastair?

The world blurs once more, sounds dulling before coming back into sharp focus and this time it's the screams of the damned echoing in your ears.

It's vicious; a twisted loop of every imaginable torture, Hell is nothing what most people imagine it to be. Fire and brimstone, certainly - but watching tragedy after tragedy, stuck in a continuous loop, experiencing it again and again and again -- it’s incomparable. There aren’t words, and Dean has never been able to properly articulate how the time there affected him.

It’s fiery and painful, suffering inflicted upon guilty souls, endless torture, flesh and muscle stripped from bone, every layer - mental and physical - peeled back or perusal, for pleasure. It’s sick, and Dean is a priceless morsel for the demon Alastair. He remembers this pain, remembers it vividly, still dreams about it every night but never speaks of it. The dream - the memory is strong, so strong - it’s as if you’re right there with him, on the rack. Broken and bloodsoaked, screams echoing through the room, bouncing off walls, reverberating through bone, twisting and screaming and begging for mercy all while a white-eyed demon laughs in your face, the knife glinting in his fingers.

A shift and then it's Dean holding the knife, a righteous man broken after thirty years of saying no, no, no!, unable to take it anymore, unable to withstand it. And so he takes over and learns from Hell's best torturer, from Alastair who is pleased with Dean's work, rewards given that Dean does not want.

He is both present and not, remembering, seeing, experiencing, the scent of blood and viscera too thick in the air to breath anything more than shallow breaths through his mouth.

Dean is in the nightmare for twelve days before he's finally spit out, unconscious on the ground. ]

(( feel free to hit either prompt/pick any memory! if you want to do something specific feel free to pm me or hmu at virtuously. more starters will probably appear below as the mission progresses - Dean will be succumbing to Im'mari eventually, and once he's spit free from the mission he will be a lot like when he had the Mark of Cain, sullen, angry, volatile, prone to lashing out, etc. eventually his eyes will blacken and he'll hit stage three, and he will be keeping color changing (green to black) eyes! ))