A/N: This will be a multi-chapter fic.
PROLOGUE: ALISTAIR'S SPECIAL TOY
"You are special, Dean, I'll give you that." Alistair's lisping compliment was accompanied by a tilt of the head and shake of a bony digit.
He paced around the nude man strapped to the rack in front of him, face thoughtful.
Dean held still, eyes locked on the blood-spattered wall across the room, refusing to show any concern as Hell's most respected torturer moved out of his line of sight.
A cold finger traced down his naked back, and Dean closed his eyes against the sense of revulsion that rose in his chest.
"You see," and Alistair's breath was hot against his neck, "you learned something straight away that most never do." He continued the trajectory his pacing had initiated, trailing the tip of one icy finger over Dean's skin as he moved to stand before the bound man.
He paused, nail poised almost tenderly in the curling silk of Dean's pubic hair.
Although they were now eye-to-eye, the hunter stared right through him.
"You've learned that pain without fear has no real power."
Alistair opened his fist, palm easing down to cup his toy's genitalia, the gesture either a threat or a promise.
Or perhaps both.
Just get the fuck on with it, Dean fumed, but did not allow his impatience to manifest into something that Alistair could use against him.
Chuckling, the demon squeezed, nails digging into sensitive flesh. He kept his eyes locked on Dean's as he slowly began to twist and pull, blood running across his wrist in crimson furrows.
Although Dean's chest hitched, his expression didn't change.
Screaming won't help.
Gonna hurl. Hope this time the bastard doesn't move out of the way quick enough.
Alistair pulled harder, dug his nails in deeper, knowing his victim's pain had to be excruciating, but he could detect none of it in the Winchester's vacant expression.
Be over soon. Be over soon. It was a mantra that had worn a permanent track in Dean's brain.
Alistair jerked viciously, stepping to the side as he did so, raising his prize up and away from the stream of vomit that erupted from his newly emasculated toy.
Dean turned his head to keep the acidic fluid from burning his open wound as his stomach continued to convulse uselessly.
Be over soon. Be over soon. He raised his head, eyes vacant, ignoring the mangled flesh that Alistair held before him in a triumphant flourish.
Not the first time, won't be the last.
Be over soon. Be over soon.
A day could only last so long.
Dean refused to think about how many days made up an eternity.
That his eternity would be this, one day after another, stretching on and on and on.
Be over soon. Be over soon.
Because if he thought of anything else, he would say "Yes".