Dean's Day in Hell
January 7, 2007
Satan was lounging on his fiery, thorn covered throne, leafing through the Swimsuit issue of Demon Weekly. "Damn these girls are hot," he swore, turning the magazine to the side, getting a better view. He reached down to adjust himself.
"Ahem," a demon interrupted.
Satan sat up quickly, cursing himself for letting himself get preoccupied so much that he hadn't heard his lackey enter the throne room. He quickly dropped his magazine onto his lap.
"What is it, Myron?" he asked, irritated.
Myron dropped to one knee, showing his respect for the Devil, then looked up, a proud gleam in his eye. "I've got him, Sire," he said.
Satan sat forward, his eagerness at the news taking precedence over the swimsuit clad demon pictures falling to the floor. An evil smile came to his lips as he ordered, "Bring him to me."
Myron stood up and snapped his fingers. The ornate double doors to the throne room opened and two muscular men, who looked like they could have been "professional" wrestlers in their former lives, escorted a young, handsome man inside.
When the trio stopped in front of Satan, the young man shrugged off the hold the wrestlers had on him and stood, striking a smug pose, with his hands in the pockets of his worn leather jacket.
"Dean Winchester." Satan practically purred as he said the name. "I've waited a long time for you."
"Back atcha, Bitch," Dean replied easily.
Satan smiled at the audacity of the boy. Having a Winchester in Hell – having him broken – would more than make his day.
Dean took a few steps forward and took a look around at the throne room. "Damn, Beelzebub, who's your decorator? Even the worst motel I've stayed in was better than this – I mean, come on, velvet Elvis paintings?" Dean stopped and looked at Satan, whispering, "Probably the closest you'll get to having him down here, though, right?"
Before he could stop it, steam began coming from Satan's ears. He quickly sucked it back in, but not before he saw the gleam in Dean's eyes.
Dean continued to walk around, and stopped in the middle of the room, looking up. "Hot Damn! Sammy owes me fifty bucks!" he said excitedly. He clapped his hands and let out whoop of joy, unknowingly triggering a Clapper and turning on the disco ball and lights overhead. "Dad and I kept trying to tell Sammy… Disco music was spawned by Satan!"
Satan gave Myron a menacing look as Disco Inferno began to play.
"Bring him to the pit!!" Myron ordered his minions, snapping his fingers at them.
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Dean surveyed his surroundings. There wasn't much to see, really, as he was at the bottom of a ten-foot hole. As he began pacing around, waiting for whatever torture the demons would come up with, he felt something slithering at his feet.
"Snakes?" he called up. "That's the best you could come up with?"
He bent down and picked up one of the larger reptiles, bringing its head up close to see. "Hello, Precious," he cooed, giving it a kiss on its snout. He looked at it closer and gasped. "Alice!"
Dean looked to the top of the pit, where Myron and a few other demons stood watching, mouths agape. "Cool, guys! You got me Alice Cooper's anaconda!"
The demons, Myron included, didn't know what to make of the fact that Dean was not in the least bit frightened by the snakes, not even the rattlers and cobras that were nipping at his boots.
Myron pursed his lips and cursed before storming away, leaving the lower demons to watch over Dean.
Dean looked up then, and smiled. "You know, ladies," he called to the demons (though some were obviously male), "I get the meaning here. But if you want to see a real big snake, I've got a nice one-eyed one right here for ya..."
If Dean had had any question about whether demons could blush, he now knew the answer.
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"The rack!" Satan "suggested," shoving Myron away from him, forcing him to land on the shattered disco ball, its pieces strewn across the throne room floor.
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"Ooh, Myron. Kinky," Dean remarked as he was led into the room holding "the rack." He fingered some of the chains, leather straps and ropes that were attached to one sinister looking table and nodded his head. "Whatcha got in mind, big boy?" Then he looked down at Myron and added, "Oops, my bad. Not so big boy," with a smirk.
Myron backhanded him for the remark and ordered the two wrestling goons to tie Dean down onto the table.
With a roll of his eyes, Dean ignored the two behemoths and hopped onto the table himself, spreading his arms and legs out for them, to get things over and done with.
"You think you're so hot, Winchester," Myron said with scorn. "We'll see who's laughing and who's begging for mercy when you're through!"
Dean looked at one of the men as he roughly placed Dean's left hand into a manacle. "Easy on the merchandise there, Mongo," he said.
Myron went to the door of the room and motioned several of the lesser demons inside. He'd planned on torturing Dean himself, but remembered that as a supervising demon, this work was beneath him. Delegation… He would not be accused of micromanaging.
"Use whatever means necessary," he told his minions. "Make him scream."
"Yes sir!" was the chorused reply.
As Myron left the room, he heard the crack of the first whip and a moan of pain. He smiled.
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An hour later, after checking his email and taking an extra long break in the executive washroom, Myron returned to the rack room, to check on Dean's torture. He heard screams and smiled. He knew that this group would do him proud. That Winchester boy was screaming like a girl. Myron's smile grew.
"Ooooh! Harder!! Yeah, over to the right, now!"
Another scream.
"Now the candle wax!"
"Oh, baby, you know what I like!"
Myron stopped in his tracks, chin on his chest. Instead of finding Winchester shackled, bleeding and begging for mercy, the wrestlers and the lesser demons were the ones strapped down to the various racks, or hanging from the walls. Dean stood next to one of the racks, holding a dripping candle over one wrestler's chest.
Dean looked up from his work. "Oh, hey, Myron. You want in, too? I think Moose has had about all he can take," he motioned to the wrestler hanging on the wall.
"What is going on here??!!!" Myron shouted at his workers. "You're supposed to be torturing him!!"
The demons and wrestlers knew enough to look ashamed.
"Hey, hey, boss. Don't blame them," Dean said, unshackling the wrestler he'd named Mongo from the table. "Not their fault they're not up on their S&M skills. I was just showing them a few techniques," he added with a shrug. He walked over to Myron, put his arm around the demon and, walking away from the minions, whispered, "Really, Myron. You've got to do a little better when it comes to hiring and training your personnel."
Myron shoved Dean away from him and stalked toward the door. "You're all on report!" he told his workers. "Bring him down to the Third Level!" he ordered and left the room.
"Once more before we go, girls?" Dean asked with a wink, moving back to the rack.
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"Please, Sir! Just one more chance. I'm sure I'll break him this time," Myron pled, his hands and knees bloodied from crawling on the throne room floor.
Satan looked up from his laptop and glanced at Myron. He let out a sigh, saved his Spider Solitaire game, and looked back up.
"The Third Level of Hell, you say?" he asked Myron, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, Sir. I've got just the thing. It'll work this time, I promise!"
"It better, Myron," Satan replied and dismissed Myron with a wave of his hand.
He opened up his email account and sent a memo to his secretary, having her send memos to Myron's former workers, ordering them to attend a weeklong in-service training session on torture techniques.
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Myron paced outside the chamber where Dean was currently being held. He was desperately trying to come up with a way to torture him, desperately trying to find a way to break him, make him beg for mercy, make him truly suffer in Hell.
It was about half an hour later that the idea finally came to him. Brilliant, he thought, wondering why he hadn't thought of it sooner, and headed to his office to arrange a new group of torturers.
Phone calls made, emails sent, Myron sat back in his chair and smiled grimly. He'd had to call in some special favors for this group – getting them back from Earth proper had cost him – but it would be worth it, he thought.
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Dean sat on the floor, playing solitaire with the deck of cards he'd won off Mongo in their "Truth or Dare" game, waiting for what was to come next.
He'd figured he'd played Myron pretty well – annoying the guy and spoiling his plans for torture. He almost felt a little fear at what was next to come – after all, by now Myron would be either pulling out the big guns, or taking matters into his own hands. Myron was no lesser demon – Dean knew that – and not one to be trifled with too much. But he'd have fun while he could…
He put the nine of clubs onto the ten of hearts.
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Dean had just finished singing another verse of Blue Oyster Cult's I'm Burnin' For You, when Myron and his new crew showed up.
Myron reveled in the fear he glimpsed in Dean's eyes. Finally! I'm going to break him now! he thought.
Dean stood and backed up against the wall and swallowed. This was going to be a tough one, he realized, eyeing the group, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.
"Myron, Myron, Myron," he began, his game face back on. "You really thing these goombahs are gonna scare me? Come on!"
Myron moved closer to Dean, took hold of his tee shirt, bringing them nose to nose, and said, "Yes, Winchester, I do expect them to scare you. And then, I'll be the one to break you."
Dean coughed and pushed Myron away. "Dude, invest in some Certs or Tic Tacs or something."
Myron shoved Dean back, looked at the demon pinch-hitters, and ordered, "Do your worst!" before leaving the room and slamming the door shut.
Dean looked at the new crew and smiled. "Dean Winchester, damned glad to meet you," he greeted them, holding out his hand.
The crew looked at each other, ignoring Dean's hand, and nodded their heads, indicating that they were ready to start. The large monster on the right stepped forward and began to sing, "I love you! You love me! We're a happy-"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dean interrupted, waving his hands. "Barney, dude… I know what you're trying to do. Really. I'm a metal head, you're not – you're hoping the kiddie songs and purple love'll do me in. But really, it's not gonna work."
But Barney kept on singing, and was soon joined by the Teletubbies and the giggling baby sun.
Dean leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms across his chest and shut them out, choosing to drown them out with the words to Psychostick's Beer Song.
Seeing that the demonic children's television characters weren't getting anywhere with the Winchester boy, the next demon stepped up.
"Johnnie Cochrane?" Dean laughed. "Man, now Dad's gonna owe me money. I knew you were working for the other side at OJ's trial."
Cochrane began reciting law references, some back as far as eighteenth century England's rules on wearing wigs and robes in court, his voice droning on and on, his hope being that Dean would beg for mercy from the long lists of litigation, citings, rulings and threats of jury duty in Broken Bow, Oklahoma, where the worst thing to go through court might be a speeding ticket – on a horse.
But Dean was prepared for this demon as well, asking, "If I did it…" to get Cochrane's attention and stopping the litany, adding, "I sure wouldn't be so fucking stupid to write a damn book about it. Damn, Johnnie, were you even gonna get a cut?"
When Cochrane paled, Dean knew he'd said the right thing. He looked to the last two demons in the room.
"Yo, Nicole; Paris – do you two even realize that this isn't the new set of The Simple Life?"
"This is hot," Paris said.
"I need to purge," Nicole said.
"Yeah, I think Barney and Po over there can help you with that," Dean replied, pointing to the characters, waiting for the bimbos with arms wide open.
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When Myron showed up and heard Dean singing Metallica's Die, Die My Darling, from outside the room, he knew he'd lost this battle. He knew that there truly was no breaking Dean Winchester. And worst of all, he'd have to face Satan's wrath. Again.
He opened the door and saw the poor excuses for demons sitting around a table, playing poker. Winchester was obviously winning.
"Hey, Myron, you want in? Lala here just went bust," Dean greeted him with a smile.
Conceding defeat, Myron just gestured to the door. "We're done, Winchester. You're free to go."
"Cool," Dean said with a smile and scooped up his winnings.
Barney, the Teletubbies and Johnnie Cochrane all looked at Myron, expectantly.
"Yes, I know. I plan on paying you back – two weeks vacation each from your road shows – I'll play your characters," he told Barney and Po.
"And two weeks of jury duty in L.A.," Cochrane reminded him, getting a nod in return.
The crew left.
"What'd you have to pay the other two?" Dean asked, curious.
"Nothing. Just told them there was a party and they said they'd come," Myron replied with a shrug.
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Dean found himself in the lobby of a Motel 6 on the outskirts of Cortland, New York. Myron gave him a forlorn look.
"Hey, you tried your best, Myron," Dean said, adding, "But it'll never be good enough."
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Satan was not pleased. He shut down his laptop and stood in front of his throne.
"I thought you were better than this, Myron!" he yelled, beginning to pace, circling around his prostrate underling. "Your references were impeccable! Saddam and Idi both sent letters of recommendation. Your support work in Waco, hell, even those subtle nudges during the whole Clinton/Lewinski affair were brilliant! But one family – one son – one hunter – to deal with and you blow it all to Heaven…"
"I'm sorry, Master…"
Making up his mind, Satan snapped his fingers, calling in his own henchmen, former mafia hitmen. "Strap him in and make him watch the movie," he ordered.
"No! Not the movie!" Myron screamed as he was led away.
Satan smiled as he picked up his once forgotten swimsuit issue. In the distance he thought he heard the opening music to the Pokemon cartoon movie, just before hearing Myron scream.
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I'm telling you, Sammy," Dean went on, counting his cash. "It came real close. When I saw Paris and Nicole, I thought for sure they were gonna make me watch their show, or even worse, that House of Wax movie. That would have broken me for sure!"
"Well, I'm just glad you're back, and in one piece, Dean," Sam replied with a sigh as he walked with Dean across the parking lot to the mall. "So tell me again why you need to buy more candles?"