Watching Jason Todd and all of his death angst made me think of Dean and Bela's death. Don't own supernatural.


"Hello Dean."

The man in question gives a resigned, long suffering sigh and halts his motion, cleaning cloth being flicked onto the cheap motel table to fall across various pieces of the disassembled gun, the body of which soon follows.

Was it that time again already?

"And how are we? Still a little twisted about the face, I see." Her crisp accent and that playful little smirk- the one that tugs at the side of her mouth like it's trying to run away entirely and bury whatever secret it's hiding like a cheeky child- they all are exactly as he remembered, exactly how they were. Her fingers wiggle whimsically about her face for a moment- indicative, carelessly teasing and treading on dangerous ground, forbidden topics for anyone else in the way only she could conduct effortlessly.

That woman had a nose like a bloodhound for a sensitive spot and she dove on it like a jungle cat.

"Bela. They let you out of the box already?"

She laughs, tutting at him as one would to a dishonest child twisting and interloping from a truth they know all too well.

"Now Dean, you know that's not how this works."

She clucks her tongue once more and strides the length of the room to sit in the chair diagonal from him, legs crossing and leaning forwards to rest her chin on her fist, balanced by an elbow on her knee and stare intently.

"And how are we, Dean?" She prompts again, insistent; a darker undertone lacing her words with a smokey something that feels a lot like poison and omniscience. "How's Sam? The Impala? Castiel? Oh wait, am I not supposed to know about that one?" She taunts, waving the knowledge he keeps but supresses' just for these moments right in his very face. "You're looking older- you might want to invest in some night cream, crow's feet and all." She leans back to survey him, hands moving to knee demurely to match her perfect coiffed presentation. Her image was so important.

"I'm fine, we're all fine Bela. Why are you here?" He scrubs tiredly at his eyes, unintentionally feeling the crinkles at his temples as he goes and knowing his tone was anything but demanding.

"Oh, you know that Dean- I mean, we can't all be as impenetrable, fool proof and perfectly sane as I am. We all need a check-up now and then, a loving guiding hand to cherish and cradle; to nourish us."

His mind is suddenly in another place that's not really a place but a plane, a place where she's strapped to a gurney screaming, babbling incoherently and he's standing over her.

"No Daddy! No! Please No! Lilith! Lilith!"

He brings the wire hook down.

"Do you space out often? No wonder you sought professional aide." She tilts her head to the side, mocking and contemplating all at once.

"You're no shrink Bela."

"I promise I won't tell, just please let me to go the doctor- they, it's safe. A safe way."

Alastair hands him that long, thin hook again and by now he understands why it terrifies her so.

She smirks that damn little secret hiding smirk again- It's straight from the time when he thought he knew the secret, thought he knew it as some greed or devious intention, when he romanticised it as he wished to see it, romanticised it to a femme fatale to cover the true image.

The terror filled eyes of a fourteen year old girl and that secret which was driven off and boxed up into just that little corner in her adulthood, that secret which was spread all over her lips as she babbled incoherently to the role he filled in her darkest tortures.

She smirks, and he knows but refuses to admit.

"You never know, I might be. I am exactly how you dream me up, after all."