Dean's eyelids are almost shutting close by the time he starts hearing the screams at noon. He knows its noon because of the strip of orange light that seeps through the small window. They've tried to cover it by coloring them with marker and using papers in an attempt to give the cell a more confining feeling, but there's that golden stripe near the leg of the chair he's tied. Barely seen even if you turn your neck, but it's enough to light the room.

He was afraid first of them coming back, realizing of the light, and doing something to tap it. He was even more scared of them coming with Sam and then tying him to get his blood like they did with him. There were more vampires than from what they suspected. A half dozen more. Dean doesn't want his brother to come to the surprise of it.

He knows that by now Sam must have realized that something went horribly wrong. And by the sounds coming from outside, he's sure of it. He just hopes that he had brought Lucifer or Cas with him as backup.

The screams turn louder, yells pierce his ears as he grows used to the sounds of bodies hitting the floor. Dean tries to sit straight but his body feels too heavy. He doesn't remember how long he has stayed there but the bag with blood is almost full and he's too tired.

No, he can't fall sleep, he repeats himself.

There's a gargle sound accompanied with a sob coming from outside. Then it turns into a plea but its cut short before it's fully formed.

Silence.

Dean glances up, not remembering when his upper body decided to fell to his tights. He doesn't know how long he waits until the handle starts moving, his mind is only able to process how tired it is. How cold it is. Everything is heavy and slow and— and there's a wet hand on his cheek, colder but at the same time warmer than his skin.

Dean blinks slowly as the hand tips his chin up leaving a trail of blood, and he can feel a brush of lips against his sweaty forehead. Then the lips leave and Dean can make Lucifer's face in front of his own.

"You're late," he tries to say, but there's twitch on Lucifer's lips that indicates how slurred his voice may have sounded.

"I know," Lucifer murmurs, palm soft and soothing against his cheek. "I apologize."

Lucifer snaps his fingers and Dean feels his body falling when the strings keeping him in place disappear. Lucifer catches him, a hand moving to his back and the other under his knees. One moment he's in a chair; the next, Lucifer is holding him up. He wants to protest but he feels too weak to do so. He knows Lucifer is able to heal him, but chooses not to do it on purpose.

"Fucker," he mumbles and there's a laugh close to his ear.

Dean decides to let him be for the moment and takes advantage of his damage and his position to lean his nose closer to Lucifer's neck, to bury in the warm dry spot.

The smell of blood and burned flesh as the walk the hall is strong, the bodies spread around them in a disarray of carnage are easy to ignore after many decades in Hell.

Yeah, a perfect place to nap, Dean thinks as he closes his eyes. He trust that Lucifer will wake him.