Author's Note: So... Yeah. I was watching the end of Season 3 again *sob*, and thinking about Dean's time in Hell with Alistair. I needed something to cheer me up, hence this story which I wrote mainly for me to feel better. Enter... my version of the demon Alistair, and his initial meeting with Dean Winchester.

It heavily involves complete- and utter- nonsense.

You've been warned.

NOTE: For this fic, (which we'll call an AU to be safe, obviously) it's hinted at that Alistair Fell- which would imply he used to be an Angel some long time prior (but it's only briefly mentioned). For this story, he was/kinda still is, and though he's now ranked among the elite White-Eyed demons/devils and isn't Hell's current Grand Torturer-many of Hell's Higher Ups are pressuring him to step up to the plate.

Too bad his inspiration and motivation for such a prestigious- and coveted -position, leave much to be desired.

Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. Are you relieved? (I'm sure Alistair's true character is.) :P

:1/2:

Hell is, to put it mildly, quite miserable for most souls. If not all.

There's the intense heat, the horrid smells that will make your eyes tear up (if only most of Hell had water, of course), and the screams.

By God, the screams.

They carried on and on and on, and Alistair was so sick of it.

Not Hell itself, of course, mind you. Hell he could live with, and quite comfortably, too, if he was honest with himself.

But it was the other inhabitants that made his existence here less pleasant than he wished.

How could he manage to sleep in peace, or successfully watch his favorite reruns of Mash on his days off, if the sounds of the television were always being drowned out by souls being tortured? Before he Fell, he'd had no idea the true despair of being stuck in the Lower Realms would equate to this.

Had he'd been aware, he'd have taken Lucifer's offer and told him to stick it where the sun refused to shine.

But, alas, the past was the past.

Now, he was stuck with his crappy present, and there wasn't much he could do about it except sulk and think about the Good Ole Days. Well... actually, thinking about the Good Ole Days just made him more miserable than the constant humidity and heat did, so instead he did what he did best when he was miserable.

He hunkered himself down in his own little Hellish hole, curling himself into his little sofa and tried to watch Mash reruns.

And he miraculously managed to get to episode six of the first season, before the haunting wails of Human souls began to seep through the materialized walls of his abode in the Eastern Regent of Hell. He lifted his eyes to gaze at his black ceiling, as that was the direction the faint screams- a woman's to be exact (and they typically were the worst) - were coming from.

He grinded his teeth together in annoyance.

You've got to be kidding me! Alistair thought with a grumble, flicking the TV off with his remote and tossing it onto the small coffee table at his feet. He ran a palm of his hand over his face, and then swept it back over his dark, untidy hair in a sign of defeat. So much for his day off- which he was only allowed once every six months. Tomorrow, he was going to be called in to work and he just knew that his shift was going to be a major pain, much more than usual- after all tomorrow was Soul Harvest.

The day out of the year when many newcoming Human souls- and souls from other worlds as well -were migrated to the multitude of Barracks and sold to demons and other Hellish residents throughout the infinite Lower Realms.

As miserable as Hell was and always would be- that was practically the only highlight of being an inhabitant. Soul Harvest was practically the only holy holiday all of Hell celebrated. Most creatures got time off, if they were employed, but seeing as Alistair's boss- Belial -was one of the biggest jerks of an employer there was, Alistair was always pretty much guaranteed to work on Soul Harvest.

And it wasn't that Alistair hated working on Soul Harvest in particular- after all, he had no intentions of purchasing or owning any souls of his own (too expensive, so much work and horrid amounts of responsibility if you asked him). He just hated working for that pig of a boss in general.

Period.

A heavy, pounding rattled against Alistair's door, pulling him out of his thoughts sharply. He turned his eyes to the door, eyebrows furrowing. Curled up on her side near the door, Alistair's Hellhound lifted her large head, and quirked her fiery garnet eyes to her master in question.

Alastair looked at her.

"Someone I know, Balto?" he asked his beloved companion, and in response the great hound just yawned, displaying rows of long, sharp, jagged black teeth. Her long tongue curled upwards as she did, and when she finished yawing, her exhale came out as a great, low rumble. She then lowered her frightening looking face back onto her large paws, and closed her eyes.

Within seconds, Alastair could hear his Hellhound's soft snores, and he resisted the urge to snort.

Some guard hound she turned out to be.

"Who is it?" Alistair called out, slipping to his feet smoothly and making his way to the door. Even as he asked the inane question, he simultaneously stretched out his senses, and brushed up against the demonic aura hovering outside his door.

He just barely held back a grimace.

Astaroth.

Ugh. What did that harpie want?

"I know you're in there, Ali," Astaroth cooed, and this time Alistair did grimace. Did she have to use that stupid nickname? "I can positively smell your depression and wallowing angst from here."

"Go away, Ashe," Alistair said through the door, crossing his arms over his chest. He heard a tinkling laugh from the other side, and briefly wished he could find a Pit of Fire to shove her in to. It wouldn't kill her, of course, but it would certianly keep her busy for a few blessed hours.

Long enough for Alistair to take the coward's way out and distance himself away from her by getting the Hell out of dodge.

Pun intended.

"Open up, Ali," Astaroth replied, her voice still pleasant and chipper. She sounded generally happy about something.

It made Alistair want to vomit.

"You know I can wait out here for the rest of eternity if I have to until you do." The she-demon spoke in a sing-song voice, and the smugness in her voice was clearly apparent. Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and fore finger, before letting out a deep sigh.

She wasn't lying.

Twisting his essence with the build of his spiritually manifested locks, Alistair's door wavered, and then vanished in a puff of black smoke. Standing just on the other side of the now open threshold stood Astaroth, her lithe body leaning slightly against the frame. Her long, dark hair curled down her shoulders and to her waist, and her gray eyes flashed with a sense of self-righteousness at getting Alistair to open his door to her.

Females.

"What do you want?" Alistair gritted out from behind his tightly pressed lips. Astaroth was a close friend of Lillith's, which was why he tolerated her. (It also didn't hurt that because of how much Alistair managed to distance himself from the main areas of Hell, he was able to generally avoid the other elite demons- so running into her, or the others, was a rare occurrence.)

Astaroth winked coyly at him, before sauntering into his abode freely, her arms held behind her back. When she passed him, she gracefully turned to keep her front aimed at him, and her back out of sight. Alistair lifted an eyebrow at her, and she just winked at him again.

"I got you a present!" she sang after a moment. Alistair gaped at her.

The silence that followed was so awkward that if Hell had crickets, they would've been chirping right then.

"Why?" he asked her bluntly, when it was apparent she wasn't going to elaborate. "It's not like we're friends."

She placed one of her hands over chest and gave him a mock offended look.

"Oh, how could you say something like that?" she shrilled theatrically and Alistair just barely managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. "And I thought we had something special between us."

"We did," Alistair assured her, and then jerked his thumb in the direction of the open threshold. "My door."

Astaroth frowned, and her eyes flashed gray again.

"Well- joking aside," she said, and then smiled sweetly at him. But this time, Alistair could feel the manifestation of her aura in the room, weighting the gravity and making his skin tingle. He knew she was serious now- despite the playful look on her face.

And even if he was technically stronger than her, his strength wasn't the main factor in his relationship to her. He was stronger than her, yes. But his power only went so far compared to the relations she had with other demons, and the favor she had with them. And Alistair only wanted to be left alone to his wonderful solitude. Trying to challenge her- even if it was possible he could win -would only put him back into the spotlight.

Something he was deperately trying to avoid.

So she pretty much had him. He knew it, and he knew that she knew he knew that she knew.

Wait. What?

"... just for you," Astaroth's voice seeped through Alistair's musings, and the demon hastily tried to school his features to make it appear he'd been listening attentively. He cleared his throat when she watched him, waiting for a response.

Alistair decided to agree, just for the sake of getting her out of his home.

"Yeah, sure. I'd love to," he grunted, and he tried to keep back a feral snarl when she jumped at him without warning and embraced him in a strong hug. Just feeling her soft, warm body pressing against his made his stomach curl and bile rise up in the back of his throat.

"You're the best!" she sang again, and then gripped his face in both of her hands. Before he could stop her, she stood on her tiptoes and pulled his face down so she could plant her lips against his. He knew she was doing it intentionally to piss him off.

"Mmmmm!" he floundered, pressing his hands against her slender shoulders and shoving her away from him. He wiped at his mouth and then spat on the ground. She smirked at him, before moving towards the doorway.

Just as she passed to the other side, she looked back and blew him a kiss.

"I'm holding you to your word," she told him. He blinked at her. "See you tomorrow at the Barracks. Bright and early, eh?"

Blood drained from his face, and she laughed upon seeing it.

"W-what?" Alistair croaked, suddenly nervous. He didn't do the Barracks- didn't like the crowds, or the chaos of all of the new incoming souls. He hated it. So what did Astaroth mean?

But before he could ask her properly, she waved at him, and then disappeared in a puff of black smoke.

There was heavy silence, and then Alistair peered at Balto who had one red eye open and trained on him.

"I'm in trouble," he said in dispair. "Why is it always me?"

Balto yawned again, showing no sympathy for her master.

Alistair hung his head and tried not to cry.

TBC.

NOTE: Well? What do you guys think? Continue? Or just stop while I'm behind? I have one more piece to post, and then it should be done me thinks. Again, as a reminder, this is a story of sorts to make me feel better.

Obviously you need to take this with a grain of salt. (Unless you're a demon, of course. Then I advise that you do not do so.)