Disclaimer : I own nothing of this except the narration. The characters and their universe all belong to their righteous owners.

Blahblah : This fiction is rated MA /!\ and can contain some triggering stuff about torture (I dunno, is it triggering?). Please, be aware of it and if you don't feel at ease, do not read it. Or read it anyway, you are free to do as you want now that you've been warned.

This is set at the very beginning of season 10 –what I'd like to see as the opening scene, at least-. Also, the person in charge of proof reading my stories is currently unavailable, so any mistakes will be his fault anyway –happily throwing him under the bus-. On with it!

Promise

'It took a while to get all of you back home. I admire your bravery for betraying me and believing I'd never find you in your rathole of a hiding place.' The man drank from his glass. 'I found you, one by one and made sure you would know that I had, yet again, snatched one of you. I made you a promise, and I am here to collect the debt you owe me.'

He heard some gurgles and pushed himself off the wall on which he'd leant earlier. The carved sigil in the skin of the traitor's shoulder prevented him from smoking out. He would not get far, anyway. Crowley finished off his drink and smashed the glass against the skull of his old associate.

'Be quiet, dear. I'm just starting round 2.'

Crowley picked up the shards of glass and meticulously inserted them in the man's ribcage, twisting them so he could feel them slowly tearing through the fabric of his skin. He then grabbed something the other couldn't see as he was tightly strapped to the table which had become sort of viscous thanks to the previous round. He could feel his very own blood trying to dry against his bared back. However with each of his movements, he felt it smearing on his skin instead, melting with the new trickles of the red liquid. Making them bleed profusely was not the way to go and Crowley knew it. At least, it wasn't the best way to start their party. He turned slightly and the man could finally make out what the object in his hands was. He suddenly became very still, just before thrashing against the restraints. However, they did not came loose.

'Unfortunate, isn't it? Must I remind you that they were designed to keep our often unwilling customers pined in place?' The man smirked. Oh, he would enjoy this. 'Now, darling, try to stay still for me, won't you? That is, if you can.'

He had finished inspecting the hammer he held in his hand, feeling its weight and jolting it a bit with flicks of his wrist before reaffirming his grip on it. The king had a satisfied sneer which turned into an exhilarated laugh as he merrily hammered the shards of glass into his meatsuit. Somehow, there was rhythm and a method to his madness. The pieces broke as they were forced to collide with the bones. He screamed. Which led Crowley to hit harder. Again and again. And again, againagainagainandagain.

'Such a good workout, right? My palms are starting to sweat.' When nothing more than pained pitiful whimpers answered him, he just sighed heavily and let the hammer slip from his hand, the claw fell right on his nose, planting itself profoundly. Crowley observed the sound coming out of his lips happened to be closer to a squeal a pig would give while being slaughtered, than anything else. 'Oops? Have I not told you I was clumsy? Can't believe I forgot to tell you beforehand.'

'Now, I do believe you've heard that the eldest Winchester stayed a few years with us, right?' Crowley found the other one to be incredibly rude not to answer his question. As if choking on his very own blood -as it was caught in his trachea- was good enough of a reason. He'd let it slide, just this time. 'I'll take your silence as a yes, dear. Well, Dean did learn a thing or two with Alastair. Also, since we are such good buddies now, he was kind enough to show me some of his… Tricks.' He paused and then added : 'And I must say, he's been… Very useful.' His deep British rumbling voice was laced with pure disdain and hatred.

Crowley then proceded to put on thick, long plastic gloves to protect himself. He'd found a gallon of holy water and was decided to put it to good use. Taking a big bowl out of a cupboard, he poured half of the jar in and added a sponge to soak in it. He also filled a flask which was then put upside down into a device designed to let it slowly drip on the victim's forehead where the skin sizzled slowly as it burnt away, leaving only the terrible smell of melted epidermis.

'Now. Tell me, was Abaddon worth it? Oh wait, you never had the time to find that out, did you? She was wiped out before you could claim your reward, right? I never really trusted you all, you're demons after all. Yet, more than that, you are all so incredibly stupid that you went ahead and tried thinking for yourself. Tell you what? It wasn't a good idea. Then again, you lot have never been the sharpest tools in the shed. There's a reason for which I am the King.' Crowley spat the last words like venom.

Speaking about it still pissed him off. On the trolley next to him, he picked a scalpel and dipped it in the holy water. He was in the mood to be creative today. He decided to open the belly of the soon-to-be corpse with as many tiny cuts as possible rather than just slicing him open with a deep long gash, though it'd be more professional. He shrugged : whatever. The little sonofabitch could go screw himself, he betrayed the King of Hell, for fuck's sake! Thinking about it… Screwing… Such a marvellous idea! Drilling holes in his body and letting the drill bit pierce through the bones all the way to the marrow. Now, that would be so much fun. He wanted it to be a party and he would bask in the delightful screams. Music to his ears.

Crowley stopped daydreaming and realised he'd been cutting while thinking. Step two, baring the insides of the filthy traitor. For this you need to use your hands. Dip your fingers in the holes previously made, then hook them under the skin, keep a firm grip on it and pull.

It always amazed him seeing how stretchy the human skin could be. A wonder, really. It goes on and on, until the strands finally start tearing up, when the skin is nicely distorted, just give it a final twist. Et voilà.

A wheezing sound reached his ears. Hea… plhh.. hleasse…

He did not quite believed it at first, however as it continued, Crowley saw the lips of the little rat moving. He was terrified, barely holding on. Could it be… Did he just beg? He let the handful of abused skin plop down on the floor and looked him in the eyes.

'Hush, now. Shhh… Don't worry, I will not allow you to go to Purgatory just yet.'

Keeping his eyes trained on his victim's contorted face, Crowley grabbed the sponge that had soaked up most of the holy water in the bowl. As he shoved it through the intestines of the filthy Judas and squeezed it, he said 'I'm not finished with you yet.'

The long high-pitched shrieks resounded against the walls. They could be heard in the adjacent rooms; an oath of the agonising pains they would soon endure.

Crowley knew the acidic vapour would be excruciating as it'd slowly burn its way through each and every of his chest pores. That Dean had come up with this one, did not really surprised him. Over the years he had become the most skilled, loved and feared pupil of Alastair. Many demons had heard rumours of Dean Winchester techniques but no one ever witnessed them.

It appeared as if the fierce pain had made his old associate pass out. Crowley clicked his tongue and slipped his hand out of his victim's bowels to drop the blood-soaked sponge on the tray next to him. He had another business to attend to anyway.

He faced the camera and gave a relaxed grin. The whole thing had been broadcasted in Hell.

'There it is. This is what happens to the people who betray me. Now, if you'd excuse me, I have a private show to organise for the rest of them.'

The end! Any comment? Reviews? Hope it was a nice reading.