Twisted;
A tale about fighting off the demons around you, the demons controlling you and the demons within you.
The angels never saved Dean, and he never went to Sam's rescue.
Summary: Under the right circumstances, everyone can adapt. Tigers really can change their stripes if you give them the right incentive. Set on year after Dean's deal was up, Lilith accepted the colt and the angels never rescued the brothers. Evil Sam and evil Dean - not entirely, but you'll see.
Characters: Sam, Dean, Bela, Ruby, Alastair and many other OC demons, hunters and the like.
Pairings: Sam/Ruby - sort of, minor Dean/Bela.
Warnings: A little bit of graphic violence/gore-ish later on. I might end up cursing a little too. Will be updated as I continue to write, because I have a habit of morphing innocent fics in to works of pure horror. I'll try to keep it as clean as possible, I promise.
Update: After a long period of my imagination imploding in to a black hole of procrastination and insomnia, I bought myself a coffee machine and did some serious brainstorming. I have this entire fic planned out and waiting for my annoying little inspiration to return. I began on a chapter about halfway in, an it turns out I accidently added a little minor Dean/Bela... because I have no self control like that... and I watched season three over again and my mind was taken over by their ridiculously amazing chemistry?
Author's Note: I miss season three. Bela was awesome, and season three Ruby was awesome too. But this story involves season four Ruby, though it definitely has klepto' Bela.
Begins as three different story lines, eventually coming together as a single plot. Mostly Bela-centric.
Reviews are luff. :) I'll heart you for it. Short teaser/prologue, because my muse leaves me after about five minutes... urgh. Tell me what you think.
365 days in a world without Dean Winchester...
Sam lay on the bed beside Ruby as she cooed soothing words. Scarlet liquid ran down her arms - she waved it around him. Drops left crimson dapples on the sheets, but she didn't care. You know better, Sam, he told himself. A familiar metallic taste, and he swallowed. His body buzzed as a cold chill ran through him. He didn't trust her, he told himself he never really did. He gasped for breath the best he could, but greedy lungfuls were not enough.
"You're almost there," she whispered.
It didn't hurt, but it made him writhe on the sheets. Nights with Ruby almost always ended that way one way or another. Sam opened his eyes to see her smiling - friendly and quite convincing - but he knew better. Ruby was waiting. He knew that he wasn't helping anyone but himself, and that he was far from doing the right thing, but power lust controlled him. He was afraid that would happen, but he was miles away from the point of no return. His sub-conscious always brought himself to her. He knew he shouldn't have stayed, but he always did.
He started off wanting revenge. Revenge for Dean. She told him it was the only way - and he believed her. She manipulated him. The first time it happened, he was scared. He was terrified. Out of control, hypnotized by the new found rush. He told himself that the adrenaline surge wasn't worth it. Sam avoided her for weeks, but she found him. He told her he didn't want it any more, he didn't want vengeance for a price like that. He was lying.
Black flashes flickered before his eyes. It was happening again. Sam heard her laugh, almost cackle, victorious.
You know better.
11 years in a world without Abby Talbot...
Bela took her hands away, folding them in her lap. She sat cross legged on the carpet waiting for an answer.
He's coming, Abby.
She watched the words form before her. Her body shivered as she mouthed the name of her former self. The little girl she'd left behind a lifetime ago. Chills ran down her spine, realization hitting her like a bullet. Bela folded her arms around her. Her nails left red marks along her skin.
"He can't be," she whispered.
He's coming for you.
She bit her lip. The spirits rarely had any reason to lie, as far as she knew. They were dead, and that wouldn't change. So was he. He was gone. Gone for good.
"How?" Bela asked, holding her breath, hoping that she had just misunderstood the message. She dug her nails further in to her arms.
She furrowed her brows. No response. She asked again. Still no response. Bela sighed and unfolded her arms, placing them on either side of her. If he was coming, she had to go. She stood up, rushing over to a closet. Inside was a collection of items she had kept in case of emergency situations. Trinkets, spell books and other bits and pieces. She needed something powerful - protection. Something to keep her safe, keep him away. Bela desperately fumbled through the contents of the shelves. Nothing. She sighed again, frustrated, rethinking her plans.
Running. He would find her, she wouldn't get far. No mercy for what she'd done. He'd told her "you deserve it", and to the day she still believed him. She didn't know anything else. She didn't know the comfort of loving arms, the soothing words of family and friends. Bela was still scared, she was always scared. Restrained by chronic fear, she avoided close relationships. Clients, associates and business contacts. Nothing more. She needed something to hide herself. If he was coming, she needed to be prepared. Her hands shook as she picked up her cell phone. She needed to call someone.
Anyone.
120 years in a world without hope...
Dean stood alone in an empty room. Dark, cold - as always. Much unlike the common perception of Hell - no firey brimstone, just frozen shadows and the chilling voices of other souls. No warmth, no comfort. Blood spatter covered the floor fittingly. He couldn't see much past a few feet, but he doubted the was anything else. It was unusually still. No screams in agony, no cries for help. He savored the silence. It wouldn't be long before he had to return once again. New mission, more bloodshed. He coughed quietly, then yawned. He was tired, but there was no rest in Hell. No sleep. Fatigue was just another daily suffering. His limbs ached, bloody and bruised. His eyes almost drifted shut before he was startled by a surrounding echo.
"Have you considered my offer?" A familiar, haunting voice asked.
Alastair.
"What do I have to do?" Dean asked, voice choking and dry. He looked around for the source of the noise, spotting him on the other side of the shadowed room.
"You're going top side. Out, Dean. How does that sound?" Alastair gave him a sly, twisted grin. Out. Dean's heart skipped a beat at that one word. An escape. No more blood, no more bruises. No more agony, broken bones. No more wounds that never healed. No more blood on his hands. "Or you stay here and get back to work, and we'll discuss in another few decades. What do you say, Dean?"
He was now in front of him, an arm's length away. Dean knew there would be a catch, there always was. Be he smiled, for the first time since he could remember.
"I want out."