A/N: Dark!Fic. Title is of course my twist on Leona Lewis's "Bleeding Love" (no song fic though). His story at the end of 4x11 inspired this. Set between season 3 and 4 - somewhere halfway through Dean's time in Hell - what if there was some one familiar down there with him? Reviews are really appreciated!
Bleeding Hate
"You know that when I hate you, it is because I love you to a point of passion that unhinges my soul"
-Julie de Lespinasse-
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I hate thinking about hate. Thinking about how she hates me, how I hate myself. But it just never stops. The torture goes on and on. We've been here so many times before, and will probably be many times more. The hate is there, but there's also the stubbornness of not wanting to give in, not willing to be the first to cross the line, the first to succumb to the ultimate darkness.
He has brought me here again, just like all those other times. He knows that it's the ultimate torture. First I'm tied to the rack for weeks to endure the most excruciating pain, pain to a point where I don't think I can take anymore and then it gets even worse. Skin has been peeled of my bones in more gruesome ways than I could have ever imagined, I've been burned, staked, quartered and put back together again so many times that I think I'll lose my mind. But of course I never do, I have to live through all the too vivid pain over and over and over again. And then, when he realizes I'm about to truly break, he tells me there's a way to stop it all, to be pain-free for all eternity, and he takes me here.
She's there already and I know that she has had the same treatment as I have, I can see it in the look she's giving me, the way her eyes burn in mine with the promise of pain, she does not see me, she only sees an escape, feels the fiery need to stop her own agony. She attacks me before I even have a chance to consider my options, her small hands clawing at my skin, her teeth biting down on my shoulders. I growl, and the fury I've tried to repress surfaces almost instantly. I fight back, rip her flesh where I can, bite the skin that I can reach and fight her down with all my strength, I try and break her 'til I feel her stumble and stop her struggling.
I watch the bloody tears on her body, the warm crimson that clashes with the cold, lifeless red which Hell seems to be decorated with. The bright burning droplets and the scarlet rivers remind me of how she once was alive like I was, living the life of a cold-hearted bitch, but alive nonetheless. And like all those times before the sight of her blood cuts through my hate, opens my eyes. It tempers the blind fury which is slowly taking over what's left of my soul. Once again I cannot go through with it, cannot give in to shredding her completely, crush her soul, claim my victory, and end my eternal pain.
We stand mere inches apart and I feel her eyes travel down my body just like mine are watching hers. I see the ruby fluid stream down her body, contrasting against her too pale skin and I feel the same steady flow of blood run down my own limps; bleeding my strength, bleeding my hate. The tormenting pain and the weakened state of my body start to taunt my mind with visions and it's almost like I feel her bloody hands circle my body, sending shivers down my spine.
Our eyes meet again and I at last see a flash of recognition in hers. A sudden almost savage desire takes over, a need to explore the blood on her body, to feel our blood mingle together, to feel alive again, to just feel something other than pain. The rich burgundy is luring me, it's no longer associated with fear and death, but it pulses with life. And before I know what I'm doing I pull her to me, crush my lips on hers, break the soft skin and taste her life's essence.
Our fight is not over though, it has never been, and it will perhaps never be. No man shall ever truly break her again. I think that's why she lasted this long. If she cannot win, she will make sure that I will not be victorious either. Her hands are back clawing at my sides and she bites my lower lip just to be even, or to give in to some sordid impulse. I roar as she digs into my lower back and on instinct I pull her even closer, we stumble down on to the red-hot grounds of Hell and I impale her in one fluent, angry motion.
I watch her eyes cloud over with pain or pleasure, I cannot tell, as I thrust harder and harder into her scorching heat. We literally dig into each other's body, both not wanting to give into the pleasure, but not wanting to let go of it either. Victory or defeat, love or hate, heaven or hell, their boundaries fade as we delve deeper and deeper into the other's soul. Blood is staining my vision; dark spots dart before my eyes as we keep on going, almost too weak to hold on, feverishly seeking our release. And just as I think I cannot take any more, I feel her shudder beneath me; hear her crying my name in both ecstasy and rage, afraid that she has lost the battle, never realizing that I'm right there with her, riding that wave of pleasure into a too brief moment of oblivion.
And that's how it always ends, I realize as I'm being strapped to the rack again – no one wins, no one loses. He doesn't care which one of us he breaks first, our eternal struggle with each other and ourselves is just as much fun and games for him, and I wish that I could find a way to stop it, to just not feel anymore. And I hate myself for my emotions, for not once being able to give in to my urge to stop this infinite pain, for using the chance she's offering me. But I just know that if I do what I really want; if I, at one time, give in to this ultimate temptation, if I ever lose control, I can never forgive - never forget. So now I just hate myself for not hating her enough.
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