A/N: I know I'm supposed to be working on Feathery Calling Cards...but this wouldn't leave me alone.
Warning: This story contains Demon!Dean and it's pretty gruesome.
The Righteous Demon
"Good morning, Dean."
Dean opened his eyes, just in time to see the white-hot poker disappear into his thigh. His scream pierced the room, only to be met with cackling laughter that grated on his – now exposed – nerves.
"Up and at 'em. I have a lovely day planned for us today, Dean." Alistair twisted the burning metal and Dean's stomach lurched at the smell of his singed flesh. The demon grabbed the hooks that were sunk into Dean's shoulders, tethering the hunter to the ceiling and loosened them before tugging Dean out of his cell.
Dean had no choice but to follow, simultaneously trying to pull the poker out of his leg and avoid Alistair tugging at the chain so that the hooks don't rip into Dean's shoulder muscles.
The room they entered was familiar to Dean, the plethora of weapons lining the hellish walls that had once scared Dean were like old friends. Thirty years did that to a person.
"So what do you have planned for me today, Alistair?" He spat, narrowing his eyes at the demon. "I hope you're going to be a little more creative than yesterday. The flaying trick is getting a little old." He smirked. "And it is our anniversary, ya know. Today thirty years ago, was the first time you laid your little tools on me."
Alistair's grin didn't faze Dean. The demon snapped his finger and a girl appeared into the room. Immediately, hooks and chains slithered from the wall and enveloped her figure, bounding her arms and legs and slithering over her mouth, so that she couldn't talk.
This wasn't unusual. Looks like this poor woman was the soul Alistair had chosen for Dean to torture today. Not that the hunter ever would, of course.
Alistair ripped the hooks from Dean's shoulders, coaxing another scream from the man, before strapping Dean into the chair situated in the middle of the room. From this vantage point, Dean could see the woman clearly, her eyes were spinning around the room and taking in the weapons with frantic panic. Dean couldn't watch her anymore, rather choosing to turn to Alistair. The latter man was toying with a knife, a cruel looking thing tainted with blood and it's rough serrated edges with reddish-brown rust. Alistair never cleaned his tools, as he believed they worked even better once they were foul and tainted.
He held out the knife with the handle pointing to Dean. "Want to have a go?" He asked, nodding towards the woman.
Dean built up spit in his mouth and spat into the demon's face, cursing.
"I guess not." Alistair replied, slipping a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping Dean's saliva from his face. He clapped his hands and grinned, gleefully. "I've got a treat for you, Dean. A play-mate, if you will." He snapped his finger and another figure appeared in front of Dean.
The hunter had no trouble in recognizing the wavy locks of brown hair and the sad, puppy eyes and the gigantic stature of his little brother.
"Sammy?!" He screamed, horrified at the sight of Sam. He turned around at Alistair for an explanation.
"Your brother has made a deal with us, Dean. He traded his soul for yours. But – wait – silly Sam never considered that his soul was precious enough that we were going to make one exception and break our part of the deal. It's surprising that you Winchester's are so sure we always hold up our deals. We make exceptions now and again – not too much otherwise people will stop dealing - just when it's greatly beneficial towards us. And the rest – as they say – is history." Alistair chuckled and Dean struggled against his bond, wanting to beat the life out of the sadistic bastard.
"I'm so sorry, Dean. I never thou-" Sam's voice broke and Dean (stopping his struggling) turned to his brother with sad eyes.
"It's okay, Sammy. Everything's gonna be fine." Dean turned back to Alistair. "Let him go, you bastard!"
Alistair chuckled and shook his head. "Now, why would I do that? Sam's like a new toy. All that skin that hasn't been flayed. It would be a waste for me to let him go."
Dean growled and struggled against the chains holding him captive. "If you lay a finger on him, I'll-"
"What will you do, Dean? Shout me to death. You can't kill or hurt me in here, Dean. This is my turf you're on." Alistair cackled and snapped his fingers for the third time. A chair, similar to Dean's, appeared and the chains grabbed at Sam, dragging him and incapacitated him. "Time to get to work."
Alistair grabbed the knife and twirled it in his hands. He walked around Sam's chair, lazily, looking over Sam as he went.
"Such pitiful eyes." Alistair hissed. "I think they'll have to go first." He lifted his knife and pressed the point just underneath Sam's left eye. He stopped before he could cut through the skin and turned back to Dean. "You can stop this, you know. All you have to do is cut into that tight little body over there." He glanced at the woman.
Nothing repulsed Dean more than the thought of torturing, except maybe the fear he could see in Sammy's eyes.
"It's okay. Everything's gonna be okay, Sammy." Dean repeated, not sure whether he was trying to convince Sam or himself. Sam nodded.
"Don't give in, Dean. Not matter what he does! Don't give in!"
Alistair tsked. "You guys are so fucking disgusting. Love won't get you out of this situation." He pressed the knife deeper into Sam's flesh until a small rivulet of blood flowed down Sam's cheek, looking like a horrific tear. "What's your answer, Dean?" Alistair asked. Dean glanced back at Sam. His younger brother was masking his fear with an obstinate look in his eyes, just like Dean had taught him to.
"Don't show them that you're afraid." Dean had said to Sam on the younger boy's first hunt. "That gives them power."
Dean glanced back at Alistair and snarled out a, "Never!"
Alistair grinned, but didn't say a thing. He slowly put pressure onto the knife and the piece of metal started to glide deeper into Sam's flesh.
Dean found that Sam's scream was ten times worse than any torture he had ever experienced, but he didn't let it show.
Dean couldn't help but watch as Alistair moved the knife around Sam's eyes. Blood was now gushing out at awkward intervals and Sam's entire shirt was soaked in the liquid.
Alistair yanked the knife out once he had completed the circle and watched his work with a smug smile. Sam was moaning and convulsing in his chair, his one eye - the whole one - was closed half way, but the other was staring at Alistair with a glassy look. It looked like Alistair had removed most of the nerves.
Dean wanted to throw up as Alistair lifted his knife and pushed it into Sam's pupil, precisely into the middle. He then pulled the knife back and with a sickening wet sound, Sam's entire eye came out of his socket.
A normal person would've blacked out by now. Their bodies shutting down to prevent more pain. But Dean knew it didn't work like that in this room. Alistair would peel Dean's skin, muscles and bones from every inch of his body and Dean would be conscious for every single agonizing minute.
Alistair threw the eye into the corner where it landed with a squelching sound.
Dean couldn't recognize Sam with the gaping hole in his head. Blood was still pouring out of the wound. Sam's face was starting to resemble a red, gruesome waterfall.
"One down, one to go." Alistair grinned, lifting his knife once again. Sam moaned pathetically. Alistair pressed the knife against the skin and a fresh stream of blood appeared. Sam whimpered and screamed.
"STOP!" Dean shouted, his eyes fixed on the pained expression on Sam's bloodstained face. "Stop it! I'll-" He searched for the right words. "I'll do it."
"No, Dean." Sam whispered, too weak to raise his voice.
Alistair removed the knife and smirked at Dean. "Knew you'd come around, Dean." He walked to Dean's chair and removed the chains. "But if you try anything funny, I'm gonna start getting creative with your little brother." Dean nodded, trying to will the prickling feeling in his eyes away. He didn't want to give Alistair the satisfaction of seeing him cry.
Once Dean was free, Alistair handed his knife (still drenched in Sam's blood) to Dean. He snapped his fingers and the chains holding the woman released her and she fell to her knees, sobbing.
"What did she do to end up in hell?" Dean asked, ignoring the lump in his throat.
"She killed her son and daughter," was all Alistair said.
Dean could feel a spark of disdain for the woman. He had a particular hatred stored for people who hurt kids. Children were innocent and incapable of defending themselves and Dean couldn't imagine a circumstance that made hurting – not to mention killing - kids okay.
The woman moaned. "Please...please." She crawled to Dean's feet, grasping them and looking at him with begging brown eyes. "Don't hurt me."
Dean felt his hatred bubble. "Is that what your kids said?" He spat. "Did they also beg for their life's?"
She winced. "You don't understand. They were the reason he left me. I had to do it." She curled up and started rocking back and forth. "He said so."
Dean's upper lip curled in disgust.
"Come on, Dean. It's time." Alistair said, nudging Dean's hand that was curled around the knife. Dean glanced at Sammy, who seemed horrified at what he was seeing.
Seeing with one eye, Dean reminded himself.
He lifted the woman and put her into the chair he had vacated. Alistair snapped his fingers and the chains restricted her once more.
Dean swallowed the bile threatening to come up and lifted the knife to her cheek. The woman's eyes followed the glinting metal with a terrified look. Dean reminded himself that she had killed her children and cut through her face with a quick stroke.
The earth underneath Dean started to shake and he grabbed at the chair for balance. Alistair smiled at the interruption as if he had been expecting it. Everything stilled and Alistair nudged Dean to continue. Dean opened his mouth to ask about the earth – or rather hell – quake, but decided that he didn't really care. He swiped at the woman's arm this time, feeling a sickening rush of power.
Even though Dean knew he shouldn't, he was feeling better every time he cut through the woman. Like he was taking out all the pain and frustration from the last thirty years on her.
After cutting off two of the woman's fingers, Dean remembered Sam. He whirled around, horrified, but Sam and his chair had seemed to vanish.
"Where-?" He paused, looking at Alistair and the sickening reality crashed on Dean. "He was never here, was he?" Dean asked, a huge weight lifting from his chest, before anger started building inside of him. Alistair smiled that loathsome smile of his and shook his head.
"Finally caught on, I see." He grinned. Dean lurched forward, but tripped over a chain as Alistair commanded it. "Uh uh, Dean. Come on. Don't be mad. Just take all your frustration out on dear Kelly here." The woman in question moaned.
"I won't torture her. Not now that I know Sam's okay."
Alistair chuckled. "You will, Dean. I know you enjoyed torturing her." He leaned forward until his nose touched Dean's. "I know you like the power high and I also know you won't torture again...for a while. But you will crack, especially now that you've had a taste."
Dean somehow knew that Alistair was right, but he was going to try and hold out as long as he can.
Ten years later
"Hey, Nick!" Dean shouted down at the curled up ball in front of him. "Is this how all the woman felt before you raped them?"
Dean grabbed a sharp, gleaming hook from his table and pierced the man's shoulder with the tool. He then used it to heave the man onto the operation table. The man screeched.
"Please!" He cried. "Have mercy!"
Dean spat at the man and grabbed an electric bone saw from his pile of tools. Sometimes, it amused Dean that hell had electricity.
As he started the little machine the ground underneath his feet shook, just as it had ten years ago. Screams echoed through the hallway outside of Dean's torture room. The fact that there was screaming was normal enough, but these screams sounded more like screeches. Screeches that belonged to demons.
Dean glanced at Nick and snapped his fingers, so that the chains coiled around the man and held him in place. The ex-hunter then proceeded to make his way to the hallway. But before he reached the door, it busted open flying clear across the room.
A sort of energy filled the room. Dean was suddenly afraid as warmth filled his body.
What was going on?
"Dean Winchester?" The energy asked, its voice demanding. Dean nodded at the light that was radiating the strongest from the door frame. The energy surged forward, before stopping abruptly in front of Dean. "Something is wrong. You are not the Righteous Man. You cannot be. You are tainted."
Dean was still wondering what the hell was happening.
The energy hovered above him and Dean was sure it was analyzing him. "But it isn't my place to question Father's orders." The spirit moved toward him once again and he felt something that could've been a hand grab his shoulder. A searing pain shot through his shoulder, but Dean was more preoccupied by the fact that he seemed to be flying.
Flying out of hell.
A/N: Well there you go. First chapter...
Please drop a review! This story will probably only be like three or four chapters long.
Love y'all