Sundays Are For Torture
Summary: AU, someone was wiling to deal with Sam after Dean died. He goes to Hell and Dean has to watch.
Not betaed because I need to give my poor beta a break.
"I want him back."
Cool brown eyes considered the demand, the black clad figure seemingly at ease standing in the Devil's trap with an extremely drunk Winchester glaring death at him.
"I can arrange that." He answered in an English accent.
Sam looked surprised, youthful face screwing up in shock and then hope.
"How long will I have before they come for my soul?" Sam said, chin jutting out with defiance and acceptance of what he would give up for his brother.
"The terms are rather specific, but no, I do not want your soul."
The surprise that dawned on the Winchester's face quickly morphed into suspicion.
"Don't look so surprised love, your soul really isn't worth all that much. Besides, events about to transpire aren't in the way of helping me along. Lucky for you, giving you what you want helps me get what I want."
The demon raised a brow, "capisce?"
Sam didn't respond, instead continuing to stare warily at the demon, inebriated mind trying to comprehend its words.
"What do you mean?"
The demon let out a little huff and raised his eyes up, as if ironically imploring God.
"I've heard so much about you Winchesters, and surprise surprise, you're a bunch of dollards."
The pained smile on the demon's face incited the angry Winchester.
"Shut up!"
"So hasty to prove me right. Anyway, do we have a deal?"
Sam blinked, a frown of confusion growing on his face as his mind once again tried to think through the alcohol inhibiting his system.
"What is the deal?"
The demon let out another huff of annoyance. "Your brother, not being tortured, for the rest of his miserable existence. In exchange, I have you, in hell, meat suit present also."
The frown on Sam's face grew. "I don't understand."
"Of course you don't. Let me spell it out for you. Dean, no torture. You, in hell."
"How's that different from me selling my soul?"
"First thing is, technically you won't be dead. The other thing is, you'll only be tortured once a week, in hell time mind you. Your brother stays down there with you, body also included and no torture."
Sam swallowed. "Why would you want that?"
The demon spun a finger, "There are a lot of things your pretty little head doesn't know or understand. You and your brother are destined to do something which makes my career goals fall rather flat. I'd love to see you kill Lilith and all but she is a smaller problem than what you and your brother are supposed to make."
Sam was still frowning, "I don't understand."
"Do you want the deal or not? Save Dean from torture and you only get a days worth of torture once a week."
The demon raised his brows once again, head tilting forward as he waited for Sam's response.
"Or you can just let your brother keep being tortured, like how he is at this very moment."
That got a response from Sam. "Yes, yes. I'll do the deal."
The demon smiled wryly. "Pucker up, drinking beauty."
Sam walked toward the demon, hesitant but with each step his confidence and sureness grew, up until he was right next to the demon. He towered over the demon's meat bag, dressed up in it's fancy suit and closely trimmed beard. Sam paused and then leaned in. The demon cringed back.
"God, you smell awful. Was it necessary to forget to brush your teeth for a week?"
Sam glared at the demon. "Just shut up and get on with it."
The demon smiled, "never would've guessed that the great Sammy Winchester was kinky."
Sam glared down at the demon's smug smile, before he was then pulled down to meet the mouth of the demon. Sam smelled the strong scent of sulfur and felt the facial hair of the demon scrub against his skin uncomfortably. It was brief, thankfully, and the demon was pulling away slightly before whispering in Sam's ear.
"You just made my career Samuel, years from now everyone will know the name of Crowley."
With that Sam was snapped away from the world, vision flashing black as his knees gave out beneath him and the whole sky seemed to fall away.
Dean had grown used to the pain, sort of, well he hadn't actually gotten used to it at all. Then it had stopped and he had opened his eyes to find himself in a room, a plain room which lead to a hallway and a decent sized one story four bedroom house. It was plainly kept and had food in the fridge. The doors were locked and the windows showed smooth curling arms of steam that were purple and were back dropped by pitch black. Nothing and no one was in the house. Dean didn't know what to make of it. He couldn't remember how long he had been tortured, a year? More than that. His brow pinched in confusion.
Blinking he sat down on the sofa in the front room, there was a television and when he turned it on he found that there was no cable but rather a long list of movies and all forms of entertainment which he could select from. The day passed quietly, or the night, he couldn't quite tell what time it was. The stove didn't have a clock and the microwave blinked a non-informative four zeroes. Then, there was a piercing scream, a sound Dean recognized as Sam's. He ran to the source and found Sam, bloody and flayed, laid out on the bed in the closest bedroom.
"Sam?"
There was no response, Sam was curled up into a ball, the wounds slowly leaving as the skin magically resealed. The blood was left over though and it stood out in sickening contrast to the white comforter. Sam's sounds started to die down and Dean took a small step toward the bed. He was in hell, Sam shouldn't be here.
"Sam?"
This time his brother's body moved, and the matted hair shifted to reveal Sam staring with priceless shock at Dean. They both stared at each other and then Sam was springing from the bed, body still shaking from whatever he had gone through as he rushed toward Dean. Dean flinched back and Sam froze, quickly lowering his out stretched arms.
"I don't understand." Dean said.
Sam looked just as confused.
"It's me, Sam."
Dean shook his head. "You shouldn't be here."
Sam smiled tentatively, "I am, I made a deal."
Dean paled, because that was more torturous than being skinned alive and pierced by hooks and being burned till his flesh melted from his bone and then his bone heated and cracked and then turned to dust all the while he felt it and felt it, non existent nerves cataloging every injury and pain.
Sam tried to approach again and Dean raised his fist, furious anger breaking through the quickly learned rule of non-retaliation. Whatever demon it was, it flew back, crumpling strangely, so much like Sam would. It looked up, a hand covering its nose where blood was seeping through. The eyes were wide and afraid.
"Sam?"
Sam nodded. Dean stood there, frozen as his mind couldn't accept those facts. Dean strode toward Sam and fell to his knees, pulling Sam close to him. Sam was stiff a moment before he melted into his brother's hold, both hands snaking around to grip the back of his brother's shirt as he buried his bloody nose into Dean's shoulder.
Dean pulled back and looked at Sam ferociously.
"How?" It was less a question and more of a demand.
Sam's smile stuttered and a nervous shine grew in his eyes, it made Dean's stomach twist in fear.
"You're never going to be tortured, never again." Sam smiled again.
Dean's anger didn't fade for a second and Sam's smile faded again.
"It's just for one day, hell time, one day only."
Dean was confused by this, but his anger grew because Sam was using his 'please don't be too mad, Dean' voice and because not knowing made the possibilities endless and terrible. Dean gripped Sam's jacket and shook him.
"What did you do Sam?!"
Sam looked down, avoiding Dean's gaze, mouth tightened.
"Sam, what the fuck did you do?!" Dean yelled again, shaking Sam as tears clouded his vision, his anger meeting his fear and worry in a confusing mass.
Sam looked up fiercely. "Don't you be angry! You would've done the same!" Sam wrenched himself from his brother, attempting to back away.
"You don't get to be angry! What do you think I felt when you got ripped to shreds!"
Dean sat back on his heels, stunned.
"Knowing, Dean, that you were in hell for every second I breathed!" Tears were in Sam's eyes.
Sam was heaving in breaths and both were there, staring at each other.
"One day of torture. Once a week, every Sunday."
Dean didn't respond at first and then he gave a small nod of his head.
Sam disappeared at the end of every seventh night, Dean made a calendar, sort of, and he put a time on the microwave based off of when Sam left. Sam reappeared after twenty four hours. Sam would shake and scream, crying out and taking longer and longer to calm down at the end of every Sunday. Dean wondered if this was Hell's way of truly torturing him.
I was musing and this came out.