Ownership
I don't own anything but Christmas is coming – should anyone wish to buy me something large and pretty!!
Meg said hell was like a prison of blood and bone and she was right.
Dean had expected fire and brimstone, but instead he realised that you made your own hell and it was your mind that they used to torture you with.
The torture was not physical. Everyday, for the rest of eternity, he assumed, he was shown snippets of his life. His mother burning on the ceiling, Jess with a slash across her stomach, his dad sacrificing his soul for him, Sam cold and dead on a stained mattress, the crossroad's demon, red-eyed and mocking.
Dean would have preferred physical pain because this torture was agony to endure. Tears would dry hot on his cheeks and he would try to force the images from his consciousness. He never slept, never ate, never needed to relieve himself. Time had no meaning for him and he wondered how long he had actually been here. How long it had been since the hell hounds had come and torn his body apart.
He couldn't regret. Could only hope that somewhere, Sam was living his life that somewhere, Sam was not grieving too much and was, maybe, back at school, living the normal, apple pie life he had always wanted.
Demons would come and watch him. Dark figures; hovering in his line of sight. He saw red-eyed demons, black-eyed demons, even demons with bright orange eyes that flashed fire. He never saw another yellow-eyes and for that, at least, he was thankful.
One day, Meg came. She had no physical form of course, but he knew it was her. He recognised her tone, her smile, her mocking. "Do you want to meet the leader?" she asked, silky smooth "See who holds your soul"
The road was bleak and grey. Something that passed as sky was as black as pitch, no light anywhere, the only sound being the cries of tortured souls and gleeful demons.
There was no dais, no golden throne, just a solitary figure, more human than Dean had seen down here, tall and lean in the oppressive darkness.
He could hear Meg's mocking giggles as he was forced to his knees and he realised, there and then, that this moment had been inevitable.
He felt tears, cold and clammy, dripping down his hot cheeks and his mind whirled back to that fateful day, the day hells door had opened, the day the yellow eyed demon had mocked him.
"How can you be sure that what you bought back is 100 pure…?"
Dean knew then that he had been played, that he had been tricked, that his father had been dreadfully, horribly right and that everything he had fought for had been in vain.
He gazed up into burning, yellow eyes and his world turned, impossibly, blacker.
"Sammy?"
"Welcome to hell Dean" his brother said.
FIN