"Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel. Let's go take a howl at that moon."
Dean Winchester never would have guessed that demons could dream, until he became a demon and dreamed those words over and over again.
Not that he so much slept as passed out. He was still new to demon-hood, his body was still adjusting to the new boundaries and limitations of his soul. He could handle a whole new level of liquor before his mind and body gave out on him. When they did, he heard Crowley's voice over and over, repeating those words; the words that were spoken to him as the Mark took hold over death.
They didn't often wake him, but tonight he couldn't find that peaceful place that let him rest. He sat back against the headboard of his motel room bed and reached for the bottle of whiskey he always kept next to the night stand.
Some things never changed.
"Oh, good, you're awake," Crowley stated casually, appearing in the doorway.
Dean swallowed down what was left of the whiskey and threw his legs over the side of the bed. "Let me guess. You have a job for me."
"I'm hurt, Squirrel. I thought we were friends – BFFs. Can't I stop by to check on my BFF, see how he's adjusting to his new life?"
"Cut the bullshit, Crowley."
Crowley shrugged. "Yeah, you're right. Probably better not to beat around the proverbial bush. I do indeed have a job for you – actually, two. First one is simple, cashing in on one of my contracts. Finish that one, and I've got something really big for you."
"Why not tell me now?"
"Anxious to get it done with?" Crowley had noticed moments of humanity still in Dean, and stayed alert to the possibility that Dean's demon status may have been temporary while the Mark of Cain worked to revive him. It was a beast with a mind of its own; there was no way of knowing what would happen when the Mark was involved.
Dean rolled his eyes and gathered his equipment – including the First Blade. "Anxious to get it done with and get back to drinking and fu—"
Crowley held up a hand to interrupt him. "No need to elaborate, friend. I get it. Well, do these couple of jobs and maybe there will be a pretty blonde waiting for you when you get back."
"Who is it?"
"The blonde? Don't quite know yet, but I'm sure large breasts and a giggly personality will be involved."
Dean shook his head. "The one you want me to kill, Crowley. The important one."
"Nobody you'd know, really. Typical problem child – mother tried to kill her when she was three, she was put in the system, only to be abused and neglected her whole life. Some of my lower minions are already tailing her, for your convenience."
Dean noted mentally that Crowley failed to mention exactly why he wanted this woman dead. Thinking it over for only a couple of moments, Dean decided he didn't really care. He'd get through this first one, then get the details on the second.
Anything to feed this new life, and the Mark.
This was not the first time Zephaniah Jordan had been trailed, and, if they caught up with her, it wouldn't be the first time she had been captured, either.
She had learned, over the years, to know when she was being trailed by some idiot who thought he could easily over-power her and take what he wanted before moving on. Those men were always surprised by her ability to defend herself.
When her stalkers were demons, however, they were much less easily swayed. Her strikes only served to annoy them, especially if she added holy water to the mix. It was the reason why she maintained devil's traps in strategic places around her apartment, slept with a gallon of holy water next to her bed, and memorized every exorcism prayer her brain would absorb.
These two were not men. They didn't seem to be strong demons, but Zeph knew that she wouldn't be able to evade them or fight them off. Not for one second did that stop her from thinking she would at least try.
She was on her way home from a shift at the convenience store where she worked. Walking probably wasn't the best idea, especially since she was now mostly disarmed, save for the devil's trap in the back alley just before Jefferson on Second Street, and the flask of holy water tucked into her left boot.
Deciding that trapping these two was the smarter decision, she took a sudden turn from Osage onto Second Street, heading for the alley. She would have to slow down a little bit so she could hear their walking pattern and make sure they got caught under the trap spray painted underneath a pull-down staircase on the side of the old apartment building.
But they walked right through the trap. However that happened, Zeph realized she was now trapped in a dark alley with two demons, with nothing to even remotely assist her, save for a flask of holy water. That container didn't hold hardly enough water to escape one demon, let alone two.
Turning back to them, she swallowed hard. "You don't know who or what you're dealing with."
The bald one smirked. "Oh, yes, we do. The King of Hell sent us for you."
Zephaniah swallowed hard. "Did he now? Well, send him my regrets that I'm unable to attend whatever soiree he's got planned for me. Busy season here on Earth and whatnot."
The other demon lunged for her. Zephaniah ducked out of the way, shoving him hard into the brick wall. The bald demon flew into her abdomen, knocking the breath out of her as they both hit the pavement. Overcoming her lack of oxygen intake, she quickly rolled out of the way as that same demon made to pounce on her.
Zeph wasn't ready or expecting, however, the other demon to be ready and waiting with a brick to knock her over the head. She felt the sharp pain first, then, in quick succession, everything went black.
Since that first kill with the Mark on his arm, Dean had found that he took pleasure in the kill. Before he was a demon, before he had the Mark, it had just been knowing the monster he was trailing was dead. Then, after the Mark, it was the thrill of taking a life. Now that he was a demon, even the process of the kill proved to be decent entertainment.
This contract that Crowley wanted him to carry out was going to be fun. This guy had done the typical contract to get everything he wanted in life: the fit build, the hot chick, the six-figures-a-year job. As he stood outside of the house, Dean reveled in the idea of taking all of that away.
Slowly.
He waited until the hot chick was gone. Maybe it would have been fun to hear her scream as he tortured and killed this man, but this job had nothing to do with the woman. And anyway, Dean liked to work in peace.
He knocked on the door, then stood back in the shadows. When the man opened the door and no one was there, he opened the door even more, and took a step forward. That's when Dean made his move.
He pushed the contracted man back into the house and threw a hard punch to the dead center of the man's face. The cartilage of his nose cracked away from his skull, and blood poured from his nostrils.
"Who the hell are you?" the man demanded.
Dean smiled and let his eyes go black. "You made a deal with the King of Hell, my friend. About ten years ago, before the hot piece of ass and the muscles, and the money. Well, I'm the guy he sent to get you to pay up."
"But I thought …"
"Hellhounds?" Dean supplied, wrapping a hand around the man's neck and pushing him up against a wall. "What can I say? Crowley likes to mix it up sometimes, and I'm very good at what I do. How about you have a seat and we'll see what kind of fun we can conjure up before the little lady comes home."
Dean slammed the man into a chair at the dining room table and smiled to himself as he set to work.
Zephaniah had always had the taste of blood. Not that anyone who wasn't off their rocker enjoyed the taste of it, but she had always had a particular hatred for the stuff.
In her current state, shackled to a bed in two-star motel with the two demons from the alley punching, kicking, cutting, and burning her, well, there was plenty of blood to be tasted. Every strike to her mouth over the hours opened wounds that had begun to close and split open new ones. One side of her face was cut and swollen, and the other sported a large bruise. The other cuts and burns were mostly on her arms and shins, where the demons could reach without too much trouble.
"Just wait until you get to where we come from," the bald one nearly hissed, getting close to her face and licking up her cheekbone. "You taste good, girl. They'll have lots of fun with you down there."
Zeph swallowed hard, fighting to maintain consciousness. She had learned from experience that if you passed out while demons were torturing you, you'd wake up way more broken than you already were.
"I'm telling you," she started, although the words sounded weak, "I'm not the kind of person you want to mess with."
They both laughed at her; it was a maniacal laughter, fit for some creepy horror movie – the kind that induced weeks of nightmares. Zeph thought maybe she could actually hear Hell in that laughter.
"We're just here on a play date. Someone else will come to finish you off," the other demon scoffed, backhanding her as if to emphasize his sentence.
"A Knight of Hell," the bald one continued while he lit a cigarette. "You know the King wants you dead if he sends one of those guys. This guy in particular, well, he's a real piece of work. He was good at torture when he was human, and now – even I wouldn't mess with him."
"That's good to know."
A gruff voice on the other side of the room caused all three previous inhabitants to look over. Leaning against the small vanity in the room was the one, Zeph presumed, would be the one to kill her. His clothes and face were clean, but his hands and forearms were soaked and splattered with blood.
"Forgive my appearance," he said, raising his hands to her. "When you pull a man's heart out of his chest, it takes a little elbow grease. Especially a man of this size. He was – well, he was big."
Zephaniah swallowed hard while the demon retreated to the bathroom and came back with a hand towel, staining the terry cloth with red and pink before continuing.
"See, you have to get through the ribs first. It's like a child-proof lid on a medicine bottle. Meant to protect what's in there and gives the grown-ups a little trouble. So, you have to crack those suckers first – me, personally, I believe that if you're going to do something, do it right. So, I cut the guy open and expose the ribs, then I break a couple off before cracking his sternum to get to that sweet meat underneath."
She half-expected him to lick his fingers.
"Next, you've got to work through those vessels and connective tissue before you can actually get the heart out. Let me tell you, this guy, his cardiac output was impressive. Hence the mess when I came in."
The other two demons seemed to be giddy over Dean's description. While it wasn't the worst that Zeph had seen or heard, it didn't exactly make her want to grab a bucket of popcorn and a twenty-ounce soda to listen for more.
"How about you just do what you came here to do," she suggested.
"Now where's the fun in that." The demon took a seat next to her on the bed. "Dean Winchester, by the way. Zephaniah, right? Interesting name."
She glared at his outstretched hand. "Forgive me for not reciprocating your gesture. I'm a little locked up at the moment."
"Oh, right!" Dean threw his hands up in mock ignorance. "Gentleman, why don't you change out Miss Zephaniah's shackles for rope, then you can be on your way."
"But we wanted to see …" the bald one started to protest.
One look from Dean silenced the demon; he snapped his fingers and suddenly, Zephaniah felt the heavy iron on her extremities be replaced by the scratchy burn of rope.
"Not too tight now," Dean added.
Another snap of the bald demon's fingers, and he and his cohort were gone. Zephaniah looked back to Dean, who was now standing at the foot of the bed, looking just excited as ever to begin experimenting with his newest plaything.
"Just you and me now, sweetheart," the demon purred.