Hello guys. This is my very first ever fanfiction I took the time to write out with the sole purpose of sharing it with you guys. I am really nervous about actually posting this, and as it is my first fic, please don't be too hard on me. I'd adore reviews on your thoughts so far! Also, please correct me on any spelling mistakes/grammar mistakes! I don't have a beta or anything, so any mistakes are entirely on me and my program that doesn't have spell check u.u
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, unfortunately.
Chapter One: How to break a Winchester
Crack! The sound of knuckles crunching into a jaw reverberated around the rundown abandoned warehouse said happening occurred in. Glaring spitefully, Dean spat another mouthful of blood on to the already bloodied cement floor, his face throbbing. He writhed his hands almost desperately, never wincing as the chains and ropes that held them still chaffed against his already raw and torn flesh. His feet were similarly bound, and a thick chain tied his torso tightly to the pencil-straight back of the metal chair in which he was ensnared.
"Where is the angel?!" The attacker snarled, pacing, her eyes completely black beneath long red ribbons of hair that bobbed slightly as she paced, similar in demeanor to a lioness on the prowl. Dean watched the movement impassively a moment before sneering, spitting on the floor by her feet.
"Bite me," he hissed, his sneer twisting into an angry scowl. The demon stopped, her eyes flashing with anger momentarily, and she raised her hand to strike him across the face yet again.
"Stop," a bored-sounding voice drawled from the shadows that ringed the warehouse. With a snort, the female demon dropped her hand and bared her teeth at Dean in an ugly grimace.
"Obviously," the voice continued from its secluded, shadowy spot with an arrogant tone, "roughing him up just won't work as it should. He's known worse. This is merely...a mosquito bite to an elephant, per say." The owner of the voice slid from the shadows, a thin curved blade in hand. He was tall, perhaps 6 feet, with short-cropped brown hair. His eyes were black, per normal of a demon, but his host looked young, around 25. Possibly Australian, judging by the accent. Twirling the blade slowly and methodically in his fingers, the man stopped in front of Dean and smirked, eyes flashing wickedly.
"No, I think we'll need a bit of...imagination to get him to squeal." Gripping the knife tightly in his fingers, the demon slowly slid up to him before bringing the knife down in one swift, clean stroke. Dean closed his eyes, expecting a flash of pain brought upon him by the knife, followed by the gush of blood that was the norm for stab wounds. However, he was surprised to hear a loud rip, followed by the fluttering of fabric against his slick skin. Opening his eyes warily, he looked down, glancing at where the knife had been headed. His shirt had been torn away, leaving him entirely bare-chested. He struggled against his binds again, for lack of a more productive action.
"Now, let's get this show on the road," the man sneered, crouching and bringing the steely cold blade to Dean's stomach. "Now, where is the angel?"
"Screw you," Dean spat through gritted teeth, the corner of his mouth trickling blood slowly as he spoke.
"Suit yourself," the demon mused with a light chuckle before slowly sinking the blade into the flesh of the hunter's stomach. Dean slammed his head back, neck slamming jarringly into the metal of the chair. He stiffened, shifting slightly in a feeble attempt to avoid the knife that had already begun to puncture his skin. He felt blood, warm and slick slide down his stomach and pool at his legs as the steel slowly glided its way through his flesh, leaving behind an ugly, gaping red tear. Dean slumped when finally, mercifully the metal was drawn from his pain-laden torso, but stiffened instantly when a hand gripped his chin tightly and lifted his head so he was eye to eye with the demon.
"Now again, where is the angel?" Dean's only response was a steady glare, his eyes flicking with hatred. Later, it brought shame to Dean to remember that he had, for the slightest moment, considered talking. This entire scene was turning out eerily similar to his expedition to Hell, and he simply wouldn't be able to stand the added Nightmare Fuel. But in the end he clamped his lips tight in a pained grimace and said nothing. Shaking his head, the other man clicked his tongue again his teeth in a series of falsely disappoint clucks.
"Still not being cooperative, I see," he sighed, wiping the blade on Dean's pants slowly before placing the tip to Dean's chest, dragging it around gently and methodically, just enough to leave thin pink scratches in his flesh.
"Where shall I carve into next?" the demon grinned, his teeth glistening, and Dean flinched slightly, straining against his binds for the umpteenth time. He felt blood run down his wrists again, felt it gather near his now limp fingertips before beading up, rolling off, and hitting the cement with a muffled splatter. The demon stopped the blade at Dean's chest with a murmur of thought, right around the anti-possession tattoo that was permanently inked onto his skin.
"How about we cut here next, hmm?" he said pleasantly before abruptly plunging the blade straight into the hunter's chest, not enough to actually be able to kill him, but deep enough to actually be able to carve out a decent-sized piece. This time Dean couldn't hold back the gargling scream that bubbled to his lips and burst forth with a roar, his eyes rolling slightly in his head as agony oozed from his chest. He felt every flick of the blade as it carved a ring around the tattoo, the crimson blood, hot and sticky, pouring down his chest in large streams before soaking into his pants or dribbling to the ground to mingle with its already fallen comrades. Within a few antagonizing moments it was over, the knife neatly pulled away, but the pain still flared with every thunderous heartbeat.
"Where. Is. The. Angel?" The man asked, his fingers curling around the unused armrests of Dean's chair as he leaned forward, his face inches away from Dean's. The hunter gasped, sputtering slightly as blood welled up in his throat and trickled across his lips and down his chin.
"I have no idea," he groaned, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his temple onto his shoulder. The man sighed, reaching forward with his fingers and digging his abnormally long finger nails into the circular mark. Twisting his fingers slowly, he watched as a shudder ripped down Dean's spine. He grinned as his back arched, laughed as a scream of agony ripped from his lips unhindered.
"I don't know!" he screeched, pained, as the demon removed his fingers, slowly wiping the blood off onto the man's throat.
"Son of a..." Dean hissed, shoulders beginning to shudder violently in agony.
"I don't think I believe you." the demon mused after a moments pondering. He gripped the knife again, looking intently at the anti-possession tattoo.
"And because you have been far less than helpful, I think I've discovered away to dig around inside that head of yours with or without your consent." Without so much as a warning he leaned forward, blade swiveling swiftly in his fingers before slicing neatly under the skin where the anti-possession tattoo resided, quickly carving away the tattoo with only the slightest movement. Dean screamed in agony, seeing spots as the pain flared across his chest, tendrils winding their way up his arms and clenching his stomach. He felt as if he was going to be sick, the taste of iron on his tongue only making it worse. As he dry heaved once or twice, the demon threw the scrap of skin away carelessly. He snapped his fingers briskly, and the female demon stepped forward meekly, looking at the clearly superior demon with an expression of slight disgust.
"I suppose you want me to invade that incompetent meat suit?" she asked with a slight groan of revulsion. The male demon raised a brow, his gaze raking over the other's host slowly before nodding.
"If you will. I promise this host will be ready for you as soon as you return." he said with a silky smile. The woman held her delicate looking hands in front of her face, slowly rotating them. She then placed them over her wonderfully flat stomach and slid them down to her hips and her legs, admiring her host before sighing.
"Lets get this over with," she snarled, and with a movement that likely caused whiplash, the woman threw back her head, and a gush of putrid black smoke flushed out, swirling in the air a moment or two before speeding violently to the now subdued hunter. Black tendrils snaked out, forcing the head up, and the demon pushed her way down his throat. However, no longer had she rushed in did she abruptly pour out, returning to her previous host with a gasp. She stood before collapsing to her knees, a hand over her mouth as her black eyes wavered with sudden exhaustion.
"T-there's some kind of anti-possession inside of him," she breathed, her face twisting into the scowl Dean was so accustomed to seeing on her face. He grinned weakly at her, a small triumph.
"Branded on my ribs, incase you were wondering, you black-eyed son of a bitch," he grunted, eyes flashing with malice. Cas insisted on branding them next to the enochian that had been etched in their chests when Kevin's mother had gotten her own tattoo burned off by the demons.
The demon frowned, the normally cocky expression replaced by anger for a minute before he covered it by the previous calm exterior.
"Well, we'll just have to find other methods. And if, for a moment, I did believe you when you say you don't know, there certainly are other ways to get what we'd like." he motioned with a flourish to the walls of the warehouse that Dean had ignored up until attention had been drawn to them. Looking around, he noticed dozens, if not hundreds of carefully and excruciatingly done sigils painted in various shades around the entire warehouse.
"Anti-angel wards. They let you in, but not out. Sap your powers, render you almost completely useless. I made them myself." the demon gave a smug, proud smile, teeth bared slightly again.
"So, we'll just make you call your friend here, and you're free to go. We only want the angel." Dean thrashed slightly, eyes narrowing in rage. There was no way he'd call Cas here to his death. Did they take him as a coward?
"You have one opportunity to call him here without more...prompting. I'll give you a moment to decide." the demon reached down, roughly yanked the still gasping demon to her feet, and slunk back into the shadows to talk game-plan. Once they were out of earshot, Dean bowed his head, concentrating as insistently as possible with the pain flashing through his mind.
Slowly and quietly, he began a prayer, one of many he had sent to Castiel through the years he'd known him. However, this one was probably one of the most important he'd ever sent, so he put as much force, and much emphasis on it as possible.
"Cas, man, listen to me right now, and pay attention. Do not come. Do you hear me? Do not come to me, no matter what I say, no matter what you hear, no matter anything. Do you understand me? Don't move your ass one inch from where you are now. Don't unfurl you damn wings one inch. Just, whatever, whatever happens, don't come."