Title: Providence
Characters: Dean-Centric
Warning: NC-17 for Blood, Violence,
Credit: These wonderful boys belong to Eric Kripke and I am using them however I wish.
Summary: Events from Hell come back to Dean and he feels like he's out of the woods but then he finds out that Hell is not the only thing he should be worrying about.
A/N: For those wondering if this is a slash fic, it isn't. I will be focusing more on the characters rather than any romantic flings. I might write some in the future, but I seriously doubt it. I like them straight~
It had all been a lie when he had assured Sam that he didn't have any recollections from the past four months he had spent in hell. It wasn't like he lied about it because he didn't remember anything. It was quite the contrary. He could remember everything so vividly, almost as if it were still happening right now. It was almost like, you could hit play, and the scenes would unravel before his eyes.
He remembered being on that rack, taking everything Alastair had to throw at him. He had spat at the man one time too much, and he had paid for it dearly. He had liked how the blood he had spat on Alastair's face had dribbled down the man's face. He had tried to mock the son of a bitch, showing him that he wouldn't break to easily. Never had he liked the man's smiles. He had liked it less when that smile was directed at him. Nothing good ever came with that smile.
He had dealt with the many tortures that the man had done to him. He had died so many times only to be brought back to life, in order to resume where the bastard left off. He had always thought when he had been a child that once you died, you wouldn't feel any pain, any remorse, but he had been proven wrong. There was a life after you left the land of the living and if you were smack in the middle of hell, well, all you could expect was a lifetime of torture.
He had always mocked the man, telling him to shove all his plans, his ideals, up his sorry demon ass because he would not play the man's game. But he knew that every time he spoke out at the man, he would always end up dying from the pain inflicted on him.
Days by agonizing day, that memorable resolve had begun to crumble away into nothing, every time he saw those dead, gleeful eyes. He had actually started to believe what Alastair told him. The man always told him that when anyone stares into the eyes of their torturer, you will always see yourself reflected back. See your true self or rather what you would become. He saw what he would be in the man's eyes and he could not bear to digest it.
It had finally broken him. That small, minuscule ounce of his rebellious nature snapped and he had begged. He had begged out rightly to Alastair to let him off the rack. He promised the man great work would be done by his hands. He would willingly take the man's job and fulfill it. He would torture those foolish souls who were too selfish or stupid enough to make a deal with a demon. That smile was back on the man's face, only growing wider and wider as he felt as if he were sinking and sinking deeper into a hole where he couldn't get out.
He had been told time and time again by Alastair that he was a stupid fool. He had been disappointed on how the elder brother of the Winchester family could sacrifice himself for his little brother. He had sacrificed himself for Sammy, a brother he so desperately tried to save. He had been told to his face that Sammy was rotting and wallowing in his mistakes. He, as an older brother, fought to keep his brother's slate clean but he had begun to doubt the man. His trust for Sammy had begun to falter ever since that whole psychic incident, before his grizzly death and who was to say that his brother had not changed over time?
The first time he had tortured someone, he had not been able to finish the job alone. He had boasted so much on himself, assuring Alastair that he could do it, and there was nothing that could make him back down. But it was easier to talk rather than walk. He flinched every time the man screamed for mercy as he dug the blade in to scrape at the man's bones. The man prayed and screamed to God, to help him from this hell. He almost wished that God would come down and take this poor soul up with him. The man did not deserve this fate.
He had made the mistake of looking into the man's eyes and by then, he couldn't proceed in torturing the man. It had always affected him when he looked into people's eyes. His father had always told him that the eyes of a person always gave you a first glimpse of what they could really be before even getting to know them. The poor foolish man had thanked him so much when the pain had ceased and it had been peaceful for 3 minutes before Alastair had decided to make his rounds.
The man had smacked him around, making him feel like an insignificant waste of breath. He was viewed as a nuisance. The man had taken hold of his hands and had forced him to complete the job. The poor man screamed and screamed, blood caking him here and there when he cut a certain place. All the while, he had been reduced to a mess, asking forgiveness again and again with a trail of silent tears cascading down his cold cheeks for the first time since he could remember.
It killed him inside watching his hands stained in blood. Even if he washed his hands thoroughly, the feeling was still there. He could still feel the blood dripping through his fingers. He felt tainted, dirtied, and he knew that this was what he was going to do for the rest of his life. There was no turning back. There wasn't going to be anyone to save him. He knew that he would eventually love their screams, crave the sight of absolute horror in their faces, lust for their blood and he shivered at the thought of it all being true.
He had been right. It hadn't been that long from his first time torturing. He actually began to wait for another unfortunate soul to descend Hell's Gate and entertain himself. He had made Alastair proud and the conceited son of a bitch bragged and gloated about turning a knightly Winchester into one of them. They all envied the fool, for reducing such a highly looked upon Winchester into a demon. He knew that he was in no way a demon but he did know that with what he did, what he felt, what he craved, that he was pretty damn close to being one.
He had found his prey, this time in the form of a beautiful woman. Her cleavage was average but she was very voluptuous. But he knew why she was here, but he would make her tell him when they were in his workshop. He walked calmly towards her, growling lowly at all those who wanted a piece of her. He would gain her trust a bit for right now. There wasn't any harm in playing with your toys. He saw this woman as a very delicate china doll that would soon break if handled too hard. But it was his job to break his toys so it didn't really matter who she was. All that mattered was his satisfaction. He decided now was a good time to play his part.
He ran over to her, with relief and heroic eyes. He called the demons and told them to leave her alone. She was in tremendous pain, that much he could tell. Once he had scattered the vermin, he looked up at her and saw a look of relief in her eyes. Oh, how he would enjoy seeing her face turn a 180. He caressed her cheek gently, his face looking at her soft and soothingly. She leaned into the touch, relishing in feeling that his hand was cold.
"You're ok now. Don't worry. I'll get you down from there." She looked up at him, smiling, and he could almost instantly feel a twinge in his heart. He pushed that feeling to the side and slowly and gently took her off the rack. He carried her and she was about to ask him to put her down. "The ground is very hot, but I've gotten used to it. I don't want your delicate feet charring." She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, not noticing the look of complete bliss on his face.
"You lied to me!" she screamed as he tied her down to his working table. She struggled hard when he was working on binding her limbs and he didn't like it that she was impeding him from his work. He raised his hand and smacked her across the face, sending her head reeling to the side and he could hear her whimper in pain. "Now, now, see what you made me do? I was actually going to save your pretty little face for last, but Jessica… You tempted me." He finally managed to tie her down and went to work on finding his favorite tools to use on the girl. He was so distracted with his work that he failed to realize that his bound toy was looking at him intently.
"Dean…" she whispered. He stopped what he was doing and Dean turned around to look at the woman. He had not told her his name. He knew that but… how could she know his name? He began to panic. She could not know his name. This was all a trap. He looked down at her and thrust a blade through her stomach. She screamed out in pain and he calmed a bit hearing those wonderful cries. Yes, it had all been a figment of his imagination.
"Dean…" she called out. He looked at her if she was crazy. Why would she call out his name so lovingly when he had just hurt her? It didn't make any sense. But then he began to notice that something was off with her. Her once brown eyes now looked at him through blue-grey eyes. Her once gold hair began to darken into a dark brown color. He took a few steps back and felt somewhat of a thrill consume him. He felt as if something interesting was going to happen and for some reason, he felt that something peaceful would happen to him.
The bound girl broke free from her restraints and walked up to him. He didn't know what happened to make him fall to his knees, submitting to the woman's presence. She came and then leaned down to caress Dean's cheek, and he felt beautiful warmth radiating off of her. He felt safe. He actually forgot the things around him. All he could see was this woman. He raised his head up, almost how you would do when you were going to call out to God. A crash was heard and he turned to see Alastair looking shocked. The man growled and lunged forward.
"You stupid fool! How dare you try to take him away? I'll kill you!!" Dean looked at Alastair's slow moving strides before looking back at the woman. "It's time, Dean. We need you back." A light so bright glowed, blinding him and he didn't know what he would expect next.
He had gasped out and reached forward, coming up with something in his way. He banged on it and he couldn't get it to open. He called out for help, but had to cough by how dry his throat was. His voice was so hoarse, almost non-existent. He reached down into his pants and pulled out a lighter. He lit it and was surprised to see that he was in a box. It looked an awful lot like a coffin. He shivered and proceeded to smash his way through. He broke the roof of the coffin and soil engulfed him. He thought he was going to die again from lack of oxygen but he had somehow made it to the surface and the sight that was there for him was not pretty. All the trees were ripped out of their roots and made a weird symbolic looking thing on the ground. It looked like a nuke had gone off or something.
Then the whole thing about the angels coming and all bombarded him without letting him get a feel of it. It was like he had just been thrown in to this shit, being expected to deal with it and go according to their own rules. He had told Zachariah to shove everything up his ass because he would not bend to their will. He remembered how he had told Zachariah, "Yes," to being Michael's vessel. He found it easier to deal with than the constant fighting and not being able to go anywhere with it. So many lives were dying left and right, and he couldn't handle that. But the look on Sammy's face when he had told the bastard, "Yes," had clenched his heart tight. He knew that he was going to fail his brother but god damnit. Why did the boy have to look at him like that when he had finally felt like this was something he had to do? In the end, he screwed Zachariah over by killing him and he and Sam had gone back to Bobby, with no word of Cas's whereabouts. It was almost as if he had been ripped from the warehouse and…
He turned around to look into blue-grey eyes that, in return, looked at him intently. He tried not to flinch in the man's touch. It hadn't been more than a week since Cas had come back. It had been really strange seeing the man here again. He still couldn't forget how he had pissed off Cas so greatly, that the man didn't trust him anymore. He still didn't, but when the man had come back, trapping Dean on the bed and squeezing the life out of him, the man had been surprised to see that Michael was not inhabiting Dean as a vessel. He had sensed that the Archangel was not there. He had released Dean after realizing it and had heard Bobby and Sam cursing as they headed towards Dean's side, who had been currently greedily filling his lungs with oxygen and coughing at the soreness in his throat. Marks had begun to appear and the ex- angel could still see those marks even right now after so much time had passed.
"Dean…" said Cas, with no emotion in his voice. Dean was contemplating in ignoring that man, but then remembered how the man beat his ass when he had ignored the man's pleas about him even thinking of saying, "Yes," to Michael. He looked down and his hand rubbed his throat again, still feeling that constricting pain now and again. He did it unintentionally but he could tell that it began to weigh the man down.
"What?" he growled. It wasn't that he was mad, but annoyed at being looked at with pity. The man couldn't forgive himself for hurting him, but Dean felt that the man should move forward. It was stupid to dwell on things that happened in the past. The angel had to learn when to let go! "I'm so…." He couldn't take it anymore. He threw the beer he had in his hands at the opposite wall, shards exploding as he got up and turned to face Cas in the eyes.
"Shut up! Fuck Cas! You've apologized so much! I don't care if you're sorry! What's done is done! Move on and stop dwelling on worthless things! I don't keep a grudge but I'm this close to telling you off!" growled Dean. He had had enough with the man's apologies. He had thought that he could shrug away the man's apologies, but one by one, they had begun to stack in the back of his brain, nagging him and nagging him to the point where he couldn't deal with it.
A pain in his head struck him and he put both hands over his ears as he heard that noise he had heard when Cas had been trying to speak to him when he had been raised from perdition. He fell onto the bed, gripping his head harshly, not hearing the worried outbursts from Booby, Sam, and Cas. This hadn't been the first time he had heard this. It had all started after the incident in the warehouse when he had almost given his body to Michael to use as his vessel. He was so sure that the bastard was trying to speak to him, but he would not answer the man. He would not say yes, so help him God. But… God couldn't help him either since the man upstairs had basically told them to stop looking for him because he knew everything.
The pain ceased and he felt relieved. He removed his hands from his ears and looked down to see blood on them. It wasn't a lot and the others had gotten accustomed to the blood after a few times it had happened. Cas still had that strange look in his face. It was almost as if he knew but he would never really clearly say anything. But now that he looked down at the blood, something stirred within him and he did not like how he began to feel.
'This is what you will become!' 'The thing you see in my eyes is the you that will surface in the future, regardless of what you do.' 'You will enjoy taking their lives time and time again and soon you will crave their blood, or any blood to keep you sane.' 'Once you've got a taste of blood, you will come to yearn for it. Days, months, years will pass and that hunger will never go away!' He raised his hand up towards his lips, his tongue sticking out to swipe the blood off, not really hearing or noticing the raised concerns on the others face.
"No!" he growled and yanked his hands away from his face, fisting it and slamming it on the bed. He shook with great restraint, trying to keep that monster he was in check. He had almost once again tasted blood. He believed the hunger would go away but the stupid son of a bitch was right. That hunger would not wither away; instead it would grow and grow and it would eventually consume him. He looked up tiredly at the others and smiled somewhat half-heartedly.
"I'm fine." He could lie all he wanted but he knew that deep down inside, he would lose to either side. He would either lose himself to that monster inside of him and cause chaos and havoc on people, attacking people just like the demons did. Or he would break and say, "Yes," to Michael and kill Lucifer, but at the same time kill off the humans. Either way he saw it, he knew that he was in deep shit but all he had was to swear that he would not fall and pray that he kept his word.