I've been desperate to do a fic with Dean and Alastair, and had been saving it for a different story...but I decided to write up a little one-shot to quell my intense craving. It's not slash. Although maybe Al wishes it was, who knows. XD AND WILL SOMEONE EXPLAIN THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN TAG, CODA, AND GEN? Because I'd really like to know. Please and thank you. XD Set sometime after S7, if only because I had to make a reference to him killing...uh..Amy, was it? P.S. Story contains some Dark!Dean! Enjoy! XD~
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"Dean...you're looking...well. It's nice to see you with your flesh attached for a change..." A familiar voice drawled.
Alastair. The Great Torturer of Hell.
Just. Friggen. Great.
"You're not real." Dean said through gritted teeth.
Sam and Dean had been hunting a creature of ancient lore, a dark faerie with the power to create intense illusions. In this case, the illusion of the one the faerie thought that they most feared. And in Dean's case, the faerie decided [however the Hell it was they decided] that for Dean, it was Alastair.
"Maybe not..." Alastair admitted with a cluck of his tongue. "But then, you know better than most that something not being real...doesn't really matter." there was a chilling smile on his lips. One that Dean recognized all too well.
Sam was off collecting ingredients needed for the ritual to kill the faerie. It was pretty simple, actually, hardly much to be called a ritual. Clamp an iron manacle on it's wrist, then stab it through the heart with a blessed iron blade. A blessing that they could provide with a simple bit of Latin. Then buh bye Tinkerbell. But until then-Dean was stuck with a nightmare incarnate who was, in all ways but truly, Alastair.
"I'm...disappointed, about the way things turned out...but not about you. I've been watching you. You had me worried at first, all that sniveling after the pretty-boys pulled you out...but you're something else, Dean. Most recently with the way you murdered that mother and threatened her baby all in the same breath, all while lying to your baby brother's sweet little face. Mmm. That's the good stuff. You're so heartless, it gives me chills." Alastair shuddered in mock-pleasure and Dean's expression was grim.
Weapons wouldn't work on this thing, he was stuck with it as long as the dark faerie was alive and chose to pit her illusions on him. Or his. Which-the-Hell-ever.
"Reminds you of her, doesn't it? That little bitch was ripe, wasn't she? She bled like a stuck pig." Alastair gave a chortling sound that Dean had long ago realized was his sickening version of laughter. "The first time you whipped her...oh, but you were such a beginner, strong, but a beginner. Busted her cheek wide open. Clumsy, careless, artless, promising Dean."
Dean swallowed hard, disgusted by the memory he fought to push down. His first victim after getting off of the rack-a young woman. Maybe in her thirties at best, a mother who'd sold her soul for fame. But really, was that a crime worthy of Hell and eternal torment? Abandoning her kid, maybe, but foolish dreams didn't equal an eternity in Hell... But it didn't matter, he'd did what he had to to stop his own pain...after thirty damned years.
"Shut up." Dean said lowly as he walked in a circle facing Alastair and the other calmly followed suit, looking more amused than anything else.
"Ooh, big boy words already? Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? I certainly would, she was pretty ripe herself-"
"I said shut up!" Dean shot a bullet through the other, even knowing that it wouldn't work, and Alastair's form bled and accepted the bullet as though it were real. But it didn't harm him, wouldn't have anyway-being that he was a demon. And yeah, it was stupid to let himself get angry but...it was Alastair, sort of. Alastair and being rational didn't click in his head. Alastair and mind-numbing pain? Sure. Alastair and a searing hatred? Absolutely. Alastair and reason? Not a chance.
The faerie's illusions were made doubly dangerous by physical imperviousness coupled with the ability to function tangibly. In ley-man's terms, he couldn't hit them, but they could damn sure hit him. As Dean found out the hard way when Alastair appeared before him and gripped him by the throat to shove him back against a tree with inhuman strength.
"You had such potential, Dean. You were going to be my crowning achievement. The demon you would have made...sometimes, I think our good friend Azazel made the wrong choice of brothers. Righteous Man or not, you're something else, Deanie-boy. Not the stuff of heroes like your dear daddy, but not the same as the other trash either. You're...an enigma. It's one of the reasons I loved tearing you apart...I just had to see what made you tick." Alastair licked his lips and brought them close to Dean's, who took the opportunity to spit in Alastair's face.
Alastair dropped Dean, who gasped for breath while Alastair calmly wiped his face. "Now, now. Don't be like that." he drawled in his langorous way. "Don't pretend you didn't enjoy our time together...once you dropped that whole 'humanity' thing...you were a fine little wingman, Dean. A stand-up apprentice. A prodigy, really. You've got that...creative spark." Alastair chortled and Dean rose to regard the other with disgust and thinly veiled hatred.
"Yeah, you liked that part where I shot you full of holy water, huh, you bastard?" Dean taunted the other and tried not to wince at the feeling of chafing in his squeezed-too-tight throat. Alastair's grip had been near-crushing, and the touch of his hand burned faintly.
"My favorite part." Alastair said with mock-solemnity. "You just look so handsome when you're in the mood, Dean. Your eyes get so dark and serious, and you don't look like such a little idiot. It's really quite attractive. It must be painful, the way everyone constantly underestimates you. Your own little brother patronizes you." he said with mock-sympathy.
"These tricks don't work anymore, dumb ass. I'm not in Hell." Alastair had said all kinds of things, and it had taken years of torture and shape-shifting for him to really be affected by it. In the end, that had been nearly the last straw that broke the camel's back. His family turned against him.
"Really? Because from where I'm standing-you still appear to be suffering." Alastair noted. "What was it Famine said...you're dead inside? But he got it wrong, didn't he? You aren't dead, just missing a piece. The humanity you left buried in Hell-with me."
"Screw you, ya black-eyed asshole."
"Classy." Alastair mocked and a gunshot through his back caused him to casually glance behind him. "Samuel Winchester, you do know that it's not polite to eavesdrop?"
Dean's gaze flicked from the demonic illusion to his brother as he emerged from the trees behind Alastair. He wondered briefly how much Sam had heard, but Sam gave nothing away as he focused his cool gaze on Alastair. Dean was relieved. In the end, he'd had to let Sam go fetch supplies while he distracted the faerie. It was too risky to let an already mind-fucked Sam to play with any more illusions or hallucinations. But still, he'd worried that something might happen-that Sam might go off the deep end at the last minute...but here he was.
"The faerie should be around here somewhere, Dean. You just have to-" A hand against his face sent him flying back into a tree where he slumped to the ground and rubbed his head against the sudden pain that blossomed there.
"Tut, tut. Eavesdropping and gossiping? You really are rude, Sammy."
"It's 'Sam'." he replied tersely before his gaze fell on the now agitated Dean. "You have to draw her out by beating her illusion. Turn your fear against itself."
"How the Hell do I do that?"
"Confront it!"
"Not helping!"
And besides...how could Dean explain it? Alastair wasn't his greatest fear, if anything, he almost trusted the demon-if that made any sense. Alastair was familiar in the worst way, hated-but not unknown to him.
"Well, Dean? Aren't you going to confront me?" Alastair taunted. "I'll even give you a hint...if you want to get rid of me, you just have to tell me what it is you really fear. The real monster in your closet."
Sam's brow furrowed, and Dean stiffened.
"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm pretty fear-free. Thanks."
"We both know that's a lie. For example...I seem to recall you shivering like a child after you were introduced to that makeshift iron maiden. She was such a pretty thing, too."
Dean's expression went several shades whiter and Sam's eyes widened in horror.
Yeah, Sam had been to Hell and back and for a great deal longer. And Lucifer had flayed him and tortured him until his soul had been pulverized. What he knew of Dean's time was next to nothing other than that he'd been tortured and then started torturing, and apparently Alastair was a class act amongst demons. But he'd also been given the impression that Alastair was -the- last word in torture, enough to put even Sam's tormenter to shame. And he had wondered, amongst other things, if forty years with Alastair in torment and in training wasn't worse than a century under Lucifer's minstrations?
At the mention of the makeshift iron maiden...he wondered less and suspected more.
"Come on, Deanie-boy. Just a moment ago, you were so confident that you had nothing to fear...you wouldn't lie to your teacher, would you? Maybe you need another lesson..." he took a step closer and Dean took a half-step back, his expression faintly stunned, like he'd received a shock of some kind.
"Dean...Dean!"
Dean wasn't really aware he'd been hit until he found himself slamming into the ground. He quickly pulled himself up to face Alastair, who looked faintly annoyed now.
"Really? One mention of the ole girl and now you're catatonic? I expected better of you. You suffered worse. And dealt worse. Mmm...the things you could do with a scalpel. Like I said, creative talent." Alastair took a step closer to bend at the waist and regard Dean with cold fascination. "Your brother doesn't get it, does he? Our mutual friend Meg understood, but how can he? All he had was Lucifer. Clever, that one, but not very...imaginative. Not like us, right, Dean?"
Dean realized that this wasn't exactly Alastair after all. For starters, Alastair didn't talk so much. He said more with fewer words, and he knew exactly what to say to cause the most pain. He wasn't Hell's finest for no reason. This was...revealing, baiting, and he had a feeling that it was the faerie's idea of verbal torture. The bitch.
She had no idea what torture was.
Dean's hand shot out swiftly to reveal a knife that he tore against Alistair's cheek. It split the skin and bled, but slowly, not as the wound really should.
Alistair licked his lips against the faint trickle of blood and smiled slowly. "I remember these games. You were the first student to ever come close to beating me. We're so much alike."
"We're nothing alike, asshat."
"Really? Because I seem to recall-"
A fist slammed against his face and sent the demonic illusion stumbling back as Sam took up a defensive stance beside Dean. "Stop talking to it and get rid of it!" Sam hissed, sounding a bit harsh. But mostly, he was worried. For a moment there, when Alastair had mentioned the iron maiden...the look on Dean's face...that look of sudden, stark...terror? It had been brief, barely visible, but all too recognizable to someone who knew Dean as well as Sam did. That was a rare and raw emotion splayed out on his face. If he needed any other indication that Dean's time in Hell had been...Hell. That was it. And he never wanted to see that look-or anything similar-on Dean's face again. But the faerie had chosen to manifest Dean's fear, so Dean was the one that had to banish it and thus force the faerie forward long enough to stab her.
"You heard him, Dean. You should listen to him for a change. Answer his cries-for once. How many did you ignore? How many times did he scream for you-"
-A gun shot through his mouth paused him, and he merely quirked his head with his lazy smile.
Sam's expression was caught between stunned, confused, and anxious, and he could see a flash of tense pain flare in Dean's expression. Alastair could affect Dean in a way that he...hadn't really seen before. "Dean-"
"-Tell him, Dean. About the straw that broke the camel's back. It wasn't just the torture. It wasn't just your flesh being stripped from your bones. Or your eyes being gouged out. Or your organs dripping away. It was Sammy's torture, crying out for his big brother to save him. But you never did. He cried and pleaded, but where were you, Dean?"
Dean's eyes were wide and unfocused, and Sam realized something-it was memories. He'd forgotten the part where the faerie could make Dean see illusions in reality-and in his mind. "Dean...Dean, come on, man!" he gripped the other's shoulder and shook him roughly. "Snap out of it, Dean! Don't let this bitch win!" he hoped the crude language would snap him back, but Dean stared ahead with a horrified, pained look that tore Sam's own heart raw.
Sam...seeing the illusion of Sam tortured, hearing his cries...that had been what had finally pushed Dean to give up? He wanted to know what had happened to his brother in Hell, but damned if he wasn't afraid too. Because if this was even a taste of what it was like for Dean, of how he'd been down there...it wasn't a Dean he ever wanted to see. And this had all happened because of him-Dean had gone to Hell: because of him.
"But he wasn't just crying, was he, Deanie-boy? There was that other Sam, the one with the yellow eyes. The one that was so fond of digging your heart out of your chest cavity. That one really knew how to make you scream, eh?"
Dean's unfocused eyes started to roll back in his head and his knees buckled. The faerie's illusions were literally breaking him from the inside out, pushing his concept of reality back until the illusions were reigning supreme in his mind. He'd left Dean too long-the faerie had infected him too deeply too quickly. If Sam didn't get her out soon, she'd drain Dean of his life while trapping him in his own worst nightmares.
"Dean, damnit, wake up." Sam's fist collided with Dean's face in a frantic attempt, and he winced as he heard the faint crack of a bone. Dean would kill him for that later, but for now, he was just glad that when Dean's ass collided with the ground, a stunned and then angry Dean growled.
"Ow, you bitch."
"Dean!" Sam's voice was relief in abundance as he hauled his brother up by the arm.
Dean's look promised murder later as he rubbed his offended cheek with a glare, but Sam didn't care. Dean's eyes were focused and alert, and he'd managed to stave off the faerie's advances for the moment. "Stay with me, man. You gotta banish him now."
"You still haven't told me how." Dean growled out as he tugged his arm away and warily eyed Alastair, who seemed thoroughly amused by the pair of them, but there was an uncharacteristic flicker of annoyance in his eyes that Dean suspected was channeled from the faerie herself.
He'd decided that it was a chick, because only a chick could be that bitchy. [Sam was the exception]
"All the book said was that you had to face your fear to banish it. Beat it at it's own game."
"But this isn't-" Dean trailed off in frustration. How could he make Sam understand? Of all the things he feared it really...wasn't Alastair. But he knew what Alastair meant and that...that fear wasn't...
"Just embrace it, Dean. Admit what you really are, and who you really fear. Show Sammy the man who walked out."
"You ask me to open that door and walk through it, you will not like what walks back out."
Dean remembered those words. And their implications. And he knew that Alastair meant far more than that day. The Dean that had emerged from Hell was a far cry from the Dean who'd gone in-in ways that Sam, Bobby, even Castiel couldn't fathom. Sam had been to Hell, sure, but he hadn't been to Dean's Hell...and there was a difference. The Cage and the Pit were...different. And the Dean who had been in Hell and torturing those souls, was another Dean entirely. The sort of thing he'd have hunted. A monster.
"What's the game, Alastair? It's like you're rooting for me to win here." Sam shot him a disapproving glance, but Dean ignored it. He saw the game, and he was going to stab that Tinkerbell-bitch right in her shriveled, black heart.
Alastair's lazy, cold smile widened as his speech grew more formal and he heavily suspected that the faerie was getting more involved. Bingo. Dean had done a little research too, back when he'd been abducted by faeries. And to his understanding, the more power a faerie put into an illusion-the more of herself she put until eventually... "No, not like that, I'm afraid. In this instance, even if you win-you'll lose. You should understand the concept by now, it's been your life for quite some time, yes?"
"Dean!" Sam's voice at his side was insistent.
"Shut up, Sam." Dean muttered. "Give me the knife."
"...Dean-"
"-Give me the damned knife!"
Sam had planned on Dean luring her out and then doing the deed, he wasn't all sure that his brother was right-minded at the moment. But he trusted him nonetheless and passed him the blade.
The illusion shifted in a gesture one might say was uncomfortable, but Alastair's voice was smooth as he spoke. "You know that won't kill me. You've seen what effect your weapons have."
"Guess I'm slow on the uptake." Dean drawled.
"Never that." Alastair said almost thoughtfully before he tilted his head. "You're a remarkably fast learner...you mastered weapons in days that should have taken weeks. Honestly, I didn't even know you could use a mace to take off such small bits..."
Dean's mouth tightened into a grim line but he kept his tone deceptively light as he shrugged. "What can I say? I'm good with my hands."
"And your lips. But we won't bore Sammy with the details, will we, Deanie-boy?"
Sam stared at his brother and tried to figure out if the demon meant what it sounded like.
Dean didn't spare him a glance but his grip on the knife tightened. "What? You like getting my spit in your face? You demons sure got some weird kinks."
"I always thought the same of you...I've never seen someone get so excited about bones cracking, myself excluded." Alastair drawled.
Sam was getting agitated. He didn't understand what Dean was doing. His brother had acted like he'd had a plan, but all he was doing was talking. And yeah, it was good that he was being snarky rather than deer-in-the-headlights, but the longer he drew it out-the more drained Dean was going to be. As it was, he noticed that his brother's movements were more sluggish. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. His posture was faintly unsteady. Dean's eyes narrowed every so often and he suspected that the other's vision was blurring. In other words, Dean was putting on a good show but Sam wasn't sure he really had all that much more to give. This faerie was powerful, like, ancient powerful.
Then again, while Sam didn't know much about Alastair-he wasn't stupid. The other's speech pattern had changed, and the lazy, apathetic air he'd shown before had become something more tense, and there was an undertone of hostility that had previously been lacking. The faerie was pouring more of herself into the illusion. But did Dean think that that was enough to kill her? Even if he could, there was no way Dean was going to outlast her, stubborn didn't equate to Superman, suffice to say.
"You know, you don't know Alastair as well as you think you do."
For a brief moment, Alastair's lips curved into a faint frown before the illusion chuckled. "I am Alastair. Everything about me is him as you know him. What more do you need?"
"For starters-" Dean continued, like the thing hadn't spoken. "He doesn't like to hear himself talk the way you do. He's got a...way with words."
"Cute. Keep sweet-talking me, and we might be able to test-drive this body the pretty-boys built you. I'd love to see how it reacts to a scalding rod."
"Another thing. He doesn't talk like a bitchy chick either." Dean continued. "But, hey, it's not like you can help it: you are a bitchy chick."
Alastair's lips tightened almost imperceptibly. Sam couldn't believe it, was Dean actually getting the faerie riled?
"You talk about me like you like me, Deanie-boy."
"That's another thing. Not sure where you got that name from, but you're thinking of the wrong demon."
"Ah, yes, you mean Azazel? That was a fun one, alright. He'd go on and on about Sammy. Those luscious locks, those long legs, that killer-"
A fist was slammed into Alastair's stomach, and quickly grabbed as Dean was yanked forward and a fist was slammed into his throat in turn. Dean choked and stumbled back coughing, and a few droplets of blood found their way to the forest floor. "S-Shit." he wheezed.
"What's wrong, Dean? You were so talkative just a moment before. Don't tell me a little crush to your windpipe stopped you?"
"N-nah." Dean coughed and swallowed the coppery, metallic taste of his own blood down. "I like a little foreplay before I gank a snank. H-hey, that rhymed. Man, I'm awesome." he inhaled sharply and swallowed another bit of blood in his sore throat. Damn, she'd done a number on his throat. That was gonna hurt in the morning.
Alastair's eyes narrowed in disbelief and a faint bit of fury, if Sam didn't miss his mark. But he was too concerned and-yet again-anxious to be impressed. Dean's breath was labored, and he stumbled even while standing before he caught himself.
"You can't last much longer, Dean." Alastair taunted. "You've always been weak in the knees around me...especially when I broke them. The sound of your scream when I busted those bones, mmm...Hell hath no music like a Righteous Man with his bones pushed through his skin."
"Your act is getting shabby. Alastair doesn't gloat. Only insecure pricks need to gloat. You must be one ugly he-bitch, huh?"
There was no mistaking the tightening in Alastair's expression now. "You're starting to sound a little hollow yourself. Forcing out the tough act...come on, Dean. Who're you trying to impress? Sammy? He already sees how weak you are."
"Dean, you know it's just trying to get to you. Stay focused, Dean." But Dean seemed intent on ignoring Sam now. Damnit. He wanted to help, but he was caught between a rock and a hard place. Dean was literally the only one that could stop her at the moment. Right now, she was pulling off of Dean's memories and essence to create Alastair. As long as Alastair was present-he was a bona-fide shield against finding her or ganking her. But in the moment that they broke the illusion, she'd be weak and revealed...vulnerable. But Sam didn't have much idea of how to do that either, and from what he could see, Dean wasn't trying. Dean was smarter than that, he had to know that back-talking it wasn't going to 'banish' his fears.
"Or maybe...you're just trying to prove yourself to Mommy and Daddy..."
Another useless gunshot through the head, and it served only to make the illusionary Alastair smile. "Getting desperate? Running out of time? Can you hear them, Dean?" The sounds of Hellhounds became audible, even to Sam as she expanded the illusion.
Dean stiffened before he slid a smirk onto his lips. His grip on the knife loosened as his hand began to tremble, not out of fear, but out of the fact that he was very nearly at the end of his rope. He just had to hope that he wasn't about to hang himself with it. "I've been to Hell. You really think a few mutts are gonna make me toss my cookies now?"
"Toss your cookies? More like your entrails. You know. Kidnies. Heart. Liver. Just the little things."
"I've heard that one before from bigger fish than you, lady, try again."
"You think this is a game?"
"Oh, it is, trust me."
Alastair's eyes narrowed. "I've grown tired of you."
"Feeling's mutual, skank."
Alastair was before Dean in an instant and the force of his next blow was enough to send Dean slamming into a tree hard enough to crack the bark and send him in a crumpled heap on the ground.
"Dean!" Sam started for him but Alastair whipped his hand and Sam was sent careening back as well. He returned his attention to Dean as he stalked towards him and then hauled him up by the collar of his shirt. Dean coughed up blood in earnest now and his head lolled a bit as he gazed at Alastair with unfocused, pain-filled eyes. A physical pain this time.
"I was going to wait until I'd finished draining you, but I think I'll just snap your neck now." Alastair's eyes were faintly iuminescent with a pearly, violet tinge.
"Dude. You ever hear of breath mints?" Dean choked out with a mock-gag.
Alastair's eyes widened and then narrowed. "Goodbye, Dean Winchester."
"Don't say your goodbyes just yet." Dean said through gritted teeth as he slapped an 'iron manacle' around Alastair's wrist.
In other words...a good ole pair of iron handcuffs. Not exactly what lore called for-but close enough.
Alastair hissed and recoiled as he dropped Dean instantly, his flesh burned and sizzled a bit.
The dark faerie they were after was a being comprised mostly of energy and essence, hence feeding off of the same. And that was why they couldn't just gank it, they had to draw it into a physical form long enough to do so. Confronting a fear, but supposedly the longer it spent on an illusion-the more of itself that it poured in. As in, enough to clamp the bitch and make it hurt.
Dean rose shakily and glanced to his brother. The other appeared to be unconscious and he cursed.
"You're going to die, Dean. And you'll go right back to Hell. Where you belong." Alastair's features had become more angular, the violet-ish tinge had darkened and his hair was becoming black with faintly blue edges. Alastair's voice was well was becoming less languid and more prim, a lilting sound. The faerie was starting overrule her own illusion.
"Someday, maybe. But today? Hell's got a hotseat with your name on it." Dean assured here with a grin, revealing his bloodied teeth.
"Big talk from someone who can barely stand."
"I've had worse, trust me."
"Ah yes. Hell. Dripping entrails and torn flesh abounding. All those illusions, they've got nothing on Alastair, right? I've seen all of your memories, Dean. It must have killed you inside, hearing your little brother scream. You were so messed up by then, reality and pain just blurred into one. You were aching. It was cute though, the way you screamed and cried for him. Makes me all warm and fuzzy inside."
"You really suck at the smack-talk, ya know that? What do they teach you in evil-skank school anyway? Sure as Hell ain't a beauty lesson, 'cause lady, you are one fugly sonuvabitch." Dean shot her a 'classy' grin and her eyes narrowed as her ears elongated and became more pointed, and her teeth sharpened into points. She was looking less like Alastair and more like some kind of off-kilter tranny.
" 'Help me, Sammy! Please! Make it stop! Please!'" The faerie mocked him in a deep timbre, and Dean fought to keep the memories she was trying to resurface at bay. "Dean...please! Why won't you help me? Dean...it hurts! Please!" This time, her voice was a perfect mimic of Sam, albeit it pained and crying. Sounds ripped from the throat of a tortured man. A common illusion in that last year before he'd given in.
Dean gritted his teeth and fought against the waves of memories and the intense pain resounding in his body. He had to remember to keep standing. Just keep standing. And breathing. In and out. In and out. And not passing out, that was probably a good idea. Sammy needed him, and there was no illusion this time. Sammy needed him. And he sure as Hell wasn't gonna let his baby brother down.
"You're so weak, Dean. Just give it up. Quit pretending, why fight it? Your brother chose a demon over you. Your father chose hunting a demon over you. Lisa and Ben left you. Castiel, well, you were just his little pet, remember? And even you-remember what Meg said? Everything about you belongs to someone else, you're just Daddy's good little soldier. You weren't worth saving then, you sure aren't now."
The words were a blow to Dean despite himself. But he shook his head anyway. "Maybe you're right." Satsifaction flickered onto the faerie's face until he continued. "But so what? I don't have to be original to kick your ass."
The faerie frowned, disgust and hatred etched into her ever-feminizing expression. "You're a vile little creature, Dean Winchester. I'm going to enjoy your death."
"Yeah, yeah, take a number."
Dean focused his gaze on the faerie, and tried not to be concerned by the fact that he was practically seeing two of them now. Or the fact that he couldn't really feel his body. More like a numb-sensation and a dizzy feeling in his head that made everything else seem...cloudy. And damned if there weren't stars dancing at the edges of his vision. Well, crap...
"Still, you held up remarkably well against your fear. Alastair is a formidable worm, I'll grant that. Then again, you did need Sammy to hold your hand through it." she taunted. "I'm going to enjoy torturing him next. I think I'll use some of these tricks I've learned from you. That scalpel thing really was genius."
For a moment, there was no movement, no sound, not so much as a blink.
And then Dean smiled.
This time was different. It was a genuine smile. Genuine in that it was mirthless, chilling, and tinged with a sort of madness. That was how the faerie saw his empty gaze, anyway. It wasn't a human smile. This was something else. And for the first time in centuries, she felt a shiver of fear run down her spine.
"You heard him, right?" Dean wasn't looking at her, not really. His eyes were glassy and blank, and though they were in her direction-he didn't appear to really be seeing her. His voice wasn't trembling either. It bubbled a bit, presumably from the blood caught in his much-aggrieved throat. "Your mind-trick worked a little too well...it was right. Alastair's not the monster in my closet."
The faerie's brow furrowed somewhat and her lips tightened into a thin line. Dean took a step towards her and she tensed. "Meaning what?" Of course it was. She'd seen his memories. Seen his deep, dark insides. Alastair terrified him, how could he possibly not? If she weren't who she was, an all-powerful force of nature, she would likely be as well.
"Meaning...you picked the wrong prom-suit." Dean's voice was taunting as he took another step forward, his smile still as mirthless and cold as before. "Alastair called me a prodigy for a reason. If you don't know that, you didn't see as much as you think you did."
The faerie stiffened at that. She was certain that she'd scoured all of the relevant memories, just searching for memories that had the most pain attached to them. Things like his brother leaving. His father dying. But the Hell memories and Alastair had been perfect for her methods. Fool proof. Weren't they?
"There's no one else." she said, but she wasn't as certain as before and she felt the tendrils of her powers stirring, reacting to Dean and to the promise of his fear. What-in Nature's name-was this man?
She didn't realize that Dean was before her until the moment that he was. His gaze bored into hers as he grinned again, bloody-toothed and chilling. Like a man possessed. "You're wrong..." she saw his pupils extend to surpass his iris and whites before his eyes became completely black, courtesy of her own power manipulating said 'fear'.
"There's me."
The iron blade was plunged deep into her chest and she gasped as pain and blood mingled, and her life's energy began to pour out of her. Dean Winchester's newly acquired essence began to flow back into him and by then, the black had already bled from his eyes. The coldness in his expression, the dark madness in his now eerily alert gaze...that was another matter.
"You really are a monster." she whispered as Alastair's form faded completely to leave a lithe, elven-like woman in his arms an instant before her form itself began to fade-being comprised purely of energy.
Dean's grin faded as his somewhat smug expression receded, and he simply looked tired. Haunted. But firm too, and the coldness hadn't faded. The hunter in him still reigned, alongside of whatever it was that he was-the man who'd walked out of Hell. The man who angels still called 'Righteous'.
"Yeah? Well I can live with that." Dean muttered as her form faded completely and he found himself holding nothing but air. And for a moment, he simply stood there.
"...Dean?"
Dean was startled as he turned his green-eyes on his brother. The look on his brother's face made his chest tighten, and if he hadn't felt cold before-he sure as Hell did now. Was this how he had looked? Back when Sammy had told him about his...abilities? Or when he'd found out that Sammy was drinking down demon blood? Or during their 'freak' discussions?
No one Sam had been so glum. That look on his little brother's face, as if he didn't recognize Dean, as if he wasn't sure, as if there was...something to...fear?
That hurt worse than a thousand years in Hell.
Dean stared back at Sam and said nothing. What could he say, anyway? He couldn't make Sam understand. What he'd done and become...they weren't him. But they were a part of him. A part he'd tried desperately to keep buried along with the memories, and the pain.
But Sammy wasn't talking either, and he didn't like being stared at. "You wanna kill me? Go ahead." he said gruffly, and he turned a bit to face the other, but nearly fell. Damn. He was seeing two again, and neither Sam looked alright to him.
"What?" There was shock in Sam's voice. Why? He wasn't gonna try and play the 'everything's okay' card, right? Because Dean would rather be shot than have to ride home with his brother looking at him like that.
"You saw me. Heard me. You were awake the whole damned time, right?"
Sam paused before he muttered. "Most of it." he'd woken up on the ground and heard them talking...and then he'd seen...heard...
Black-eyed Dean gave the faerie a bloody grin. And the chilling face wasn't his brother's face, it was something else. But he knew the other wasn't possessed, he knew it wasn't all illusion. The eyes, maybe, but the rest...?
"There's me."
Dean brought a shaky hand to the gun at his waist, and he tried not to let his hand tremble as he held it out to Sam. "There you go."
"Dean-"
"-Sam, I see how you're looking at me. Do us both a favor."
Shame and a flash of guilt crossed Sam's face before he shook his head. Dean wasn't right-minded, he could barely stand and he had no doubt that Dean's head was all kinds of messed up at the moment.
"Take the damned gun and shoot me, Sam." Dean's voice was harsh now. "We hunt monsters, got it?"
"Dean, you don't know what you're saying...you can't even look at me straight." It was true, Dean's eyes seemed to be crossing every now and then and his brow was furrowed with the intense amount of concentration just trying to look at Sam was taking. He didn't want to have this conversation while Dean was like this.
"Take the damned gun!" he tried to shove it at Sam, and Sam in a quick, precise movement slammed it away from Dean and let it clatter to the ground.
"No."
Dean stumbled back and coughed, and he nearly fell forward until a pair of warm, strong arms found their way around him. He tried to push Sam away, but his legs felt like jello and his arms weren't listening the way that they should. "Get offa me." Dean's words were starting to slur and Sam had a feeling he was fighting a losing battle with staying conscious.
"The faerie's essence is like poison...it lets her drain you and it messes with your head. You're not thinking straight." Sam said softly as he tried to reason with the other a bit.
The words only served to make Dean squirm as he tried to push away, but Sam only tightened his grip on Dean, one arm around his back and holding him firmly against his chest while the other gripped Dean's wrists and kept his hands immobile-and thus not threatening.
Sam supposed he could just knock the other out. But as soon as Dean regained consciousness, he'd go back to being stoic and pretend that this didn't happen. Or he might try something stupid-like fleeing again. Rare, but possible. Sam knew his brother. And he knew that something like this...would affect his brother. Sam had seen something he wasn't supposed to see, he'd seen sides of Dean-vulnerable and dark alike that Dean would hate himself for revealing. Dean's easy-confidence as a kid had been shattered somewhere during his painful life and Sam knew that if he didn't fix this-Dean was just going to retreat furhter into the shell he'd made himself.
So, even though the other was half-unconscious. And out of his mind. And desperately in need of medical attention...he spoke.
"You're not a monster, Dean." Sam said softly.
Dean stiffened in his grasp before he tried to wrest his hands away. "Shut up! You don't...know anything!"
"I don't know anything?" he repeated with a lifted brow, and Dean almost looked sheepish. He'd just been called out on his childish response after all. "Then tell me, so I do know."
"Just shut up and shoot me already." Dean growled. "I don't wanna talk to you."
"Real mature, Dean."
"You're an asshole."
"And you're a sweetheart."
For a minute, the brothers just stared at each other. Dean looking up at his little brother with a mixture of fury and indignation. And Sam looking down at Dean with a bit of exasperation and concern, but mostly, acceptance. He just wished his brother saw that. Did he think that Sammy wouldn't understand? He'd been on the receiving on of 'freak' status before. And what just happened didn't make him think his brother was a freak, it just made him wish all the more that he'd protected his big brother.
The brothers stared a moment more, and Sam waited for Dean to break because-as stated-he knew his brother well. And this pained, frustrated, hurt, messed up Dean would seek comfort whether he liked it or not-as long as it was being forced on him. Finally, Dean mumbled. "They used your body."
Sam's brow furrowed. "Wha-Dean!" Dean dead-weighted in his arms suddenly and he got down beside the other, and soon realized that Dean had given way but was still awake. He situated himself on the ground and forced his brother to lean against him a bit as Dean's head lolled against Sam's shoulder. Doubtless without Dean's permission, and doubtless the other wasn't all that aware of it since he didn't pull away or grow angry. Instead he just continued.
"They did...everything, Sammy...everything they could think of to break me. The tore me to shreds, man." Dean's voice was a rough, guttural sound, no doubt his throat was going to be sore for awhile from the abuse it had taken. "And then they used you. When they tortured me-they had your face...and the people getting tortured beside me-they were you...and they were screaming for me...and I couldn't...do anything.." Frustration was thick in Dean's voice and Sam caught a glimmer in Dean's eyes through the moonlight streaming in from the trees above. "You were begging me, Sammy...begging me..."
"No. I wasn't." Sam said softly and Dean's pained gaze fell unfocusedly up on Sam's. "It was just a trick. It wasn't me."
"Doesn't matter...I should...protecting you is my job...and I-"
"You didn't fail, Dean. It wasn't me. You were in Hell because of me, Dean. You sold your soul for me. You went above and beyond, trust me, you didn't fail."
"You still got hurt anyway." Dean mumbled after a moment. "Wound up in Hell, 'cause of me."
"I made that choice, Dean. You can't protect me from everything."
"S'my job." Those words, spoken with such tired but firm conviction put a pang in his heart. Then Dean's eyes fluttered and Sam lifted his hand from Dean's wrist to tap his head lightly.
"You with me, man?"
Dean's eyes opened slowly and he mumbled. "Didja shoot me yet?"
"No. And I'm not going to."
"Then'm still with you." Dean part mumbled-part sighed into Sam's shirt as leaned a moment to shift in Sam's arms, apparently not still quite aware of himself and his surroundings, just moving his body to a more comfortable position.
Sam eyed his big brother before he spoke again. "It's my job to protect you too. But Dean, I'm not a little kid anymore. I'm gonna hurt sometimes, and that's not your fault-"
"-Is too."
Dean sounded a little petulant and Sam had to smile faintly, if a bit sadly. John had done a number on his brother, that was for sure. Dean had been ingrained with the notion that he had to protect Sam, that was rule number one. And Sam loved his big brother, he loved him with everything in him-and he was grateful that Dean loved him too. And yeah, he knew that it was love and not just some brain-washing on their father's part. But he hated that Dean felt so...guilty. Sure, if Dean got hurt, Sam sometimes blamed himself, and he damn sure had gotten upset more than once. He wanted to protect Dean, to watch his back. But he didn't expect to be able to spare Dean from everything, whereas Dean...every presumed 'failure' ate away at him and he didn't even show it. He just shouldered all of the burdens on his own and that was what Sam couldn't stand. He wanted his brother to know that it was okay to lean on Sam. He'd sure leaned on Dean plenty of times, and not always willingly.
"You're not a monster. Or if you are, I am too."
"The Hell you are." Dean's vehement response and sudden glare tempted Sam to chuckle, but he wisely kept silent. "Thr's nothin' wrong with you." he growled.
"Then there's nothing wrong with you either."
Dean's expression scrunched up in frustration and he opened and closed his mouth as if trying to find the words to argue, but unable to. So Sam continued.
"I drank demon blood. I should have listened to you, but I didn't. And then I ran off on you and kick-started the Apocalypse-" Dean opened his mouth to argue that he'd started it-but Sam continued over him. "-I forgot everything that mattered because I was so...angry. And so full of myself. I was an idiot."
"Can' argue that." Dean mumbled and Sam pretended not to hear that one, besides, he could tell that Dean was listening-or trying-in his off state.
"I told myself that I was protecting you. That I was saving the world so you didn't have to. So you didn't have that burden...but I screwed up and you were still there for me."
"Yer'm'brother." Dean slurred, as if that accounted for everything. And to Dean, it did.
Sam inhaled sharply against the rush of warmth and affection for the half-conscious man in his arms. His brother had no idea of his worth. He'd been beaten down time and again by those closest to him, caught up in fighting for everyone else...he didn't expect anyone to fight for him, didn't ask them to. But Sam wanted to. Needed to.
"And you're mine, Dean. You're my big brother. I've told you: there is nothing I wouldn't do for you."
A faint smile flitted across Dean's lips as he mumbled. "Yer sucha girl, Sammy."
Apparently Dean was conscious enough to crack jokes at his expense, but it was a good sign. Dean couldn't be feeling too awful, hopefully, if he could manage that.
"After all the crap I pulled...after I broke your trust...again and again...after everything, you were there for me. You took me back."
Dean's unfocused gaze still managed a remarkably coherent 'well duh' look as he gazed up at Sam.
"So you need to know: I will always do the same for you." Dean began to look uncomfortable and tilt his head away, but Sam pushed his cheek enough to get Dean to look at him again despite his brother's grunt of complaint. "You're not a monster, Dean. Look at yourself. You're the most...not-monster I've ever met."
"Not-monster?" Dean managed a mild drawl nd it was Sam's turn to be called out on his childish words.
"A monster wouldn't feel like you do. You take on everyone elses' pain and problems and you don't expect anyone to do it for you, you won't let them if they try. You've saved so many people, Dean. You are not a monster." he spoke the words firmly, hoping to drive the point home.
"You saw me." Dean whispered, and Sam knew what he meant.
"I saw you gank the rogue Tinkerbell."
"Sam..." Frustration laced his voice again and Sam shook his head.
"Dean, I don't care what you did in Hell. I mean, I care. I care that you suffered-because of me-"
"-Not you-" Dean growled but Sam continued.
"-And yeah, I'm...curious...about what happened...and I wish I could take away your nightmares but I can't. I get it though. You lasted thirty years, Dean. Thirty whole years. That's incredible."
"Yeah? And what'about the other ten?" he muttered.
"No one in their right mind would blame you for that, Dean. You suffered for thirty years. That's more than...just about anyone would have done."
"Dad made it longer." Dean said quietly.
And there was the crux of it. Dean had fallen short not only of his own standards, but of their father, in his mind.
Sam sighed. He loved their father, but sometimes-maybe most of the time-he just wanted to kick his ass. "Dude, Dad was...Dad. He's like...superhuman or something." Dean snorted at that and Sam smiled lightly. "You did good, Dean. Dad would think so too."
"Yeah right..."
"I am right. You made it thirty years in Hell. You stopped the Apocalypse and fought against Heaven just to save me. You converted an angel-" both brothers snorted at that, "And then saved the world again...and you killed Yellow Eyes...you did the one thing Dad wanted done more than anything. And he..." Sam didn't want to mention John selling his soul, but Dean had already stiffened knowingly. "He sold his soul for you, Dean. Because he loved you. And he was proud of you."
"Yeah? An' how'd'you know that?"
Sam could tell Dean was barely hanging on, but he was, his eyes focused on Sam, intent on his every word. He had the other's attention, certainly. "Because I am, Dean."
At that, Dean's sarcastic, pained expression crumbled before his eyes and even Dean wasn't fast enough to hide the tear that rolled down his cheek before he looked down in silence. A moment passed, two, and then Dean muttered. "Thanks, Sammy.."
Sam smiled. And then he found Dean's green eyes locked wearily on his. "I'm proud of you too." The younger Winchester blinked in surprise, and now he knew Dean had to be messed up to be initiating 'chick-flick'. "What you did wasn't always right, but...you were trying. And, man, I was pissed when you left us but...I mean...you were pretty awesome...school, kick ass grades, a hot chick...if you had gone all...Law-and-Order..I woulda...still been proud of you, Sammy..." he paused and Sam thought he was done until he added. "We both fucked up pretty bad, huh?" he chuckled wryly, his voice growing quiet, and Sam knew he wasn't going to be conscious for much longer. "Far as little brothers go...you're pretty cool...and as a man, well-damn, you helped save the world. You jumped into the damn Cage. And while I was busy giving up you called Cas and saved us all. Saved my life plenty. Dad'd be proud of you too."
Sam's eyes widened slightly at that and said softly. "Dean...I-"
"Shaddup, Sammy." Dean struggled to pull himself into a better sitting position as he mustered all the strength he had to pull an arm up around Sam and give him as firm a hug as he could manage. "We never speak of this again." he said gruffly, suprisingly lucid in his words for the moment.
Sam felt the arm around him in surprise and in turn, crushed his brother against him as he let his head rest on his big brother's shoulder for the first time in too long. "Far as big brothers go...you're the best." Sam whispered, and he felt Dean clench a fistful of his shirt a bit, presumably in response.
But then he felt Dean sag a bit and his brow furrowed. "Dean?" he pulled the other away, although he kept hold of him, and found an unconscious Dean in his arms. Yeah, maybe they'd spent a little too much time here, but it wasn't wasted. It was a breakthrough. It was forgiveness, and reassurance, and about damned time the Winchester brothers could be...brothers again.
"I'm proud of you, Sammy. Dad'd be proud of you too."
Sam smiled wryly and he lifted a hand to gently brush away some of the blood from his brother's face. "Thanks, Dean." he said softly, and in his sleep, he thought he might have seen Dean's lips quirk into something between a smirk and a genuine smile. But it was dark, so who the Hell knew for sure?
Sam knew one thing, as he forced himself to his feet after reaching over to grab the blade and his brother's gun, as well as the handcuffs, all of which found their way into Dean's jacket or pants pockets.
It was gonna be a long walk back to the Impala, but that was alright, he didn't mind carrying his brother.
Dean had certainly been carrying him for a lot longer. He was the best, after all.
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This went from a little Dean/Alastair-mild Sammy one-shot to a big brotherly schmoop-fest [I've never used that word before XD] with some torture and such thrown in. XD Hopefully it was interesting though, and I may use it [possibly with some flash-back scenes added] in a later story. And then Sam would have found out that Dean killed Amy... We'll see. I think I've quelled my Dean/Al craving for now though, although it technically wasn't Al...I digress! This took me a long time [apparently it's my longest one-shot XD] and angst and I tried really hard to keep everything in character-considering they aren't the chick-flicky types. Maybe Sam. But Dean was all loopy at the moment so...yeah. XD Please enjoy, and leave me verbal hugs, because reviews and favorites and such really make my day. And night. And whatever comes in between. -Witchy~