Title: And Thunder in the Sky
Summary: Dean wakes up to something vastly different than what he last saw. Two-shot.
Characters: Dean, Alastair
Warnings:
The second chapter will contain torture, although nothing overly graphic. Bad language.
Disclaimer: All Kripke's creations. And for what it's worth, the title is from Meatloaf's Bat out of Hell. I like the irony.


"Now what have we here? Seems like the hellhounds have dragged in something better than their usual trash and scum. Maybe they're finally earning their keep."

A low voice; raspy, and with something of a lisp, brought Dean to life.

Or death. Hell.

He squeezed his eyes shut; clenched them like it would help in his struggle to bridge together the fragmented pieces of what he remembered with what was going on now.

Pain. He remembered that; feeling claws and teeth that he couldn't see, but that he could tell were friggin' long dig into him, piercing through his skin and then ripping into the muscle and the flesh beneath. He could remember hearing snarling, and Sam shouting above it.

And after that... he could remember only in the very vague sense that he knew that there was an "after that;" something that linked his final memories on Earth with wherever he was now. Had there been a reaper, or was it the hellhounds that had actually guided him down below? He didn't know.

For the first time, he really assessed his condition. He was lying on his back, his wrists chained above his head in thick, cold metal shackles, while his ankles were secured down in clasps that bit into his skin. He could feel something below him, supporting his back at the same time as it dug painfully into his skin.

It was probably important to note, though, that he was whole again. Whatever the hellhounds had done to him, it apparently wasn't lasting, since he couldn't feel the all-too-familiar spread of blood over his stomach and abdomen. Even his clothes were in better shape then they had been on Earth. At least he looked good.

A faint scent of sulfur lingered in the air -but that was hardly surprising. He might as well get used to the unique odor that wafted around Hell's most prominent population; it wasn't like it would be going away anytime soon.

Forcing open his eyes, he saw that it was entirely dark around him; no fires to lighten up the place at all. Dean couldn't see who -or what- had spoken. In fact, he couldn't even see what was binding him down, or what he was bound to. For all that it was worth, he could have kept his eyes shut and not missed anything. That was a mildly unsettling conclusion to come to, but it wasn't as bad as he had feared.

From somewhere behind him, the voice spoke again. "I know it's a bit dark right now, but we'll have plenty of time for fire and brimstone later, my boy. I took the liberty of studying you a bit on Earth, and I figured you'd prefer the more... personalized experience the first time around." There was a hint of amusement in the voice, a strong implication of a laugh that refused to materialize, and that somehow made it seem more menacing.

More menacing, yeah, but Dean wasn't scared. Not yet. As the voice had said, there would be plenty of time for that later.

"You want to tell me who you are?" He was relieved to learn that, along with his other senses, his voice was doing fine.

This time, he did get a full laugh, slow and rough and plenty damned unsettling in its own right. "I guess you are at a bit of a disadvantage here. After all, I know you, Dean Winchester. I'd say I know all about you."

"Yeah, well; I think I'm going to take a wild guess and say that you don't know anything about me, you demonic son of a bitch. Not one thing." He tugged his wrist, testing his limitations, but wasn't surprised to find out that he wouldn't be going anywhere soon. He was bound firmly in place (wherever that place might have been) and the metallic cuffs seemed to bite into his wrists and tighten when he tried to move his arms.

The laugh that he got in response was lower than the one before; more of a purr, really, and creepy as Hell -no pun intended. "Good, Dean. Very good. Just as defiant that I knew you would be."

A hand slipped forward from somewhere behind him and came to rest on his shoulder. He flinched involuntarily at it, as he felt long fingers that ended in sharp, curved claws press down over his shirt. "So here's the deal, Deano. The name is Alastair, and I'll be your guide to Hell. I might even give you a tour now and then. You see, Dean-" the hand pressed down possessively "-I could use a bit of new blood down here. An apprentice, of sorts. Someone to help continue my legacy." He gave a low chuckle at that. "Not that I'll be leaving anytime soon -but it's nice to see that I've left a positive influence in my wake. Any demon could perform my work, after all, even if they didn't do quite as thorough a job as I would have. I want something special."

"Right. And what is it that you do?"

"I spend my days occupying Hell's residents; the old and the new alike. Torture, you'd probably say, although that really is such an ugly little word. I prefer to think of myself as an artist. I carve people into new and different things." Something sharp and cool -could've been a finger or a claw; could have been a knife- stroked the back of his neck. "Or sew them together. Or... well, you'll learn."

"Okay, let me see if I've got this straight. You want me to just say that I'm going to be your bitch and torture people, 'cause that's the sort of person that I am. Sorry, I think I'll have to pass on this one." Whoever said that demons didn't have a sense of humor had no idea what they were talking about, since this guy had to be joking. "Go to Hell."

"I'd be impressed at your deft ability to crack a joke beneath the circumstances -but I've heard that one before. Most people start out like that. A bit of rebellion's not too bad a thing, though. I can usually paint over it really quick, see." A tongue flickered out and traced over and around his ear. "But I guess that's a no? Are you sure?" He gave a soft sign, the sort of one you heard from an older man as he watched a boy commit some naive mistake.

"Yeah, I guess so." Dean twisted his arms, uncomfortably aware of the demon's presence behind him. The shackles were definitely getting tighter.

"All the more fun for me, I suppose." Alastair's breath quickened. "Are you ready for some good old family entertainment, my boy?"

"Bite me."

Alastair threw back his head and gave a howling laugh. It was swept and carried around by some wind Dean couldn't feel; echoed and bounced off walls he couldn't see. "Let the fun begin."