Two weeks passed. We hunted, Sam, Dean and I. For me, it was theraputic. During the hunt, I could forget what had happened for a while. I could focus on the thrill of the adrenaline rushing through my veins whilst chasing my targets. I could feel in control, something I desperately needed.
Dean and I rarely spoke. When he entered a room, I left. If I couldn't leave, we stuck to opposite sides. He never met my eyes, and I hated even looking at him.
I could feel the tension wearing on Sam. I could see it in his eyes. He hated the rift between Dean and I. He hated what it was doing to our family as a whole. Because in the end, that was what we had been before the Witch incident. A family. Now, we were... broken. Plain and simple. And I thought there was no way to fix us.
Apparently, both Sam and Dean had other opinions. I ran out for supplies one night, and when I got back to the hotel room, Sam was gone. Dean sat on the edge of one of the two beds in the room, his expression dark and brooding.
"Where's Sam?" I asked immediately. My guard was up instantly. I walked over to the table, and set the bags down as calmly as I could. I could feel the first flutterings of panic in my gut as Dean stood, and locked the door.
"Sam got another room," Dean replied.
"What are you doing?" I asked quietly, my hand wandering instinctively to the gun tucked into my jacket.
Dean's eyes followed my hand, his expression turning sorrowful when he saw where it now rested.
"We need to... talk," he said. "About us. About what happened."
What was he talking about? I was trying to forget what had happened. The last thing I wanted, or needed was to talk to Dean about it.
"No, we don't," I said flatly. Dean wilted slightly at my tone, and it occurred to me that he was more nervous than I was. I grabbed onto that, and used to it to strengthen myself. I straightened, standing taller and forcing back my fear. Dean wasn't going to hurt me. And even if he tried, now that he was out from under the Witch's spell, I was stronger than he was. What could he do?
As the fear drained away slowly, anger slid into it's place. I welcomed it with open arms. Anger I could control. Anger, I could predict. Anger strengthened me rather than weakening me. Anger was good.
"Look, Alice, I- I need your help," he said, not looking up from the ground.
I bit back a sigh of contempt and exasperation. "With what?" I asked. Though I tried to hide it, even I could hear the impatience and thinly veiled rage in my voice.
"I need you to punish me," he said, meeting my eyes.
I laughed at him.
"Punish you? How?"
"I don't know, however you want," he said. I laughed again, but stopped short when I realized he was serious.
"Dean, you don't really think this is going to help anything," I said.
"I don't know, it might," he said. "Please, Alice... I can't do this. I can't- what I did... I can't live with this guilt anymore. I just... I want us to be right again."
"You mean you want it to be like it was before," I said. He dropped his gaze to the floor again. "Dean, it's never going to be the same between us. I hate to say it, but I've changed. You've changed. There's no going back."
"I don't- we don't have to be like we were before," Dean said, meeting my eyes again pleadingly. "Anything's better than this... than what we're doing now."
"Dean..." I trailed off, shaking my head.
"Look, I know it's selfish, asking you for this, but I need-"
I snapped then. I moved almost out of instinct, rage, hatred, fear, all the emotions I had been fighting to keep locked away for the past few weeks came bubbling to the surface. I took a swing at Dean, landing a punch to his jaw. He stumbled back in shock, a hand flying to his face as I hit him again.
"You need?!" I spat. He backed away from me as I advanced, throwing blows that he narrowly avoided. He ran up against the wall, and I punched him in the gut. He doubled over, gasping for breath, but I wrapped a hand around his neck and pushed him upright against the wall.
"Alice-"
"Shut up! I don't want to hear about what you need!" I hissed, tightening my grip on his throat. He didn't fight me, letting his hands hang limply at his sides even though he was struggling to breathe.
"You want to be punished? Fine," I said, forcing my expression and words into calmness. "But just so you know, I am not doing it for you. This is for me. This is revenge."
I squeezed harder, and his hands flew to his throat instinctively, because he couldn't breathe anymore.
It was then that I realized the true beauty of Dean's punishment, his solution to our fractured relationship. It went both ways. For me, it was revenge. It was the closure that I needed to feel whole again. For Dean, it was redemption. It was the evening of the scores, the lifting of the burden of guilt from his shoulders.
It was everything we both needed.
I let Dean go, and he fell at my feet, gasping for breath. I kicked him in the gut, and he cried out, curling into a ball to shield his more vulnerable areas. He didn't make another sound as I continued to rain blows down upon his prone form. It felt so good to let out all the rage that had been building up inside of me.
"Scream, god damn it!" I yelled, one of my blows connecting with his ribs. I heard something crack, so I wasn't sure if he was obeying me, or simply couldn't hold back his scream of agony at what I suspected was a broken rib.
When I finally stopped, I was out of breath, and Dean was bleeding and whimpering at my feet. Somewhere inside me, some remnant of what I used to be that was buried beneath my rage felt a twinge of sympathy for him. It was shoved aside quickly, however, and I hauled him up by his hair.
"Get up," I said. He clutched his ribs, and when he was upright, swayed as if he would topple back to the ground in a heap.
"Strip," I ordered. He hesitated, and I slapped him hard enough that he fell back against the wall.
"Now!" I shouted. He straightened, and I took a step back from him, watching in satisfaction as he struggled to shed his clothes without aggravating his broken ribs. As he removed his shirt, I saw the angry red marks covering his upper body that would soon become full-fledged bruises. A few areas around his rib cage were already darkening into black, blue and purple hues.
A few minutes later, he stood before me completely nude, and I was able to see exactly how much damage I had done. It was disappointingly little.
I smirked, and beckoned him with a finger. He came to me, his posture similar to that of a beaten dog.
"Get down on your hands and knees, bitch," I said, circling him. Dean knelt, and rather than wait for him to ease into position, I kicked him in the back, sending him face-first into the floor and wrenching another shout of pain from him.
"I said hands and knees!" I shouted. He scrambled to correct his stance, wincing. I knelt behind him, running a fingernail lightly down his spine and enjoying the shudder that ripped through his frame at the gentle caress. I leaned over his back to speak at his ear.
"That's a... good boy," I said, echoing his words. I drew back, tracing the borders of the soon-to-be bruises that were scattered over his back. He was shaking, his breath coming in sharp, pained intakes. I let my hands curve down, stroking his stomach and moving up. He shifted beneath me, groaning in pain. His groans, however, turned to sharp cries as I dug my fingers into his rib cage.
He collapsed, but I dragged him back into position, punching him in the gut as something close to a sob escaped him.
"Did I tell you to move?" I demanded. I grabbed his hair when he didn't reply. "Did I?!"
"No!" he gasped.
"There should be a 'master' in there somewhere," I growled.
"No, master," Dean whimpered.
"That's better," I said, releasing my grip on his hair. I considered my options, everything I could do to him. Ultimately, I settled on exactly what he had done to me. An eye for an eye. Or, in this case...
"Spit," I ordered, holding my hand out. He did, and I brought my hand back around, noticing blood mixed in with his saliva.
"You're lucky you've got such a nice master," I told him as I spread his spit over my fingers. He twitched, and his trembling worsened. He knew what I was going to do.
I nudged his legs further apart, and stroked his tight hole. Spreading his butt cheeks, I spat between them, circling his puckered entrance with my slick finger.
"Beg," I ordered.
"Master... please," Dean whimpered softly.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"Mercy," he replied.
"Like you gave me mercy?" I asked. He cried out as I thrust two fingers into him simultaneously. I could feel him clenching around them, and I grinned, remembering the advice he had given me when our roles had been reversed.
'That's gonna make it hurt more for you... just... you gotta relax!'
I wasn't giving the bastard advice, or mercy.
I pulled my fingers out of him, and thrust them back in, this time scissoring them inside of him, and stretching him.
"Ahh! Fuck!" Dean swore, arching in pain, which only hurt him worse by jostling his ribs.
"Let me hear you thank me, whore!" I demanded.
"Alice," Dean groaned.
"Wrong! What do you call me?" I asked.
"M-Master!"
"That's better, but you still didn't say thank you," I said, lazily fucking him with my fingers. "Maybe I'm not being good enough to my little slut." I forced a third finger into him, and leaned over his back, pumping his ass harder as I grabbed his chin and angled his head to the side. He gasped and whimpered in pain, but didn't try to draw away from my fingers.
"Let me hear you thank your master," I said softly.
"Th-Thank you, master," Dean choked out. I grinned, and bent down, biting the back of his neck. I stopped thrusting with my fingers, and instead spread them apart from one another. He grunted, his jaw clenched tightly as he tried not to cry out in pain. "Beg me for another finger," I said, biting his ear.
"What? Alice, you-"
"Master!" I interrupted him firmly, yanking his hair again sharply.
"Master! Please... Master, please don't put another finger in me, I can't take it," he said hurriedly.
"Of course you can," I purred nastily. "Here; I'll show you."
He tried to pull away, but I kept a firm grip on his hair, holding him in place as I shoved yet another of my fingers into his ass. Dean yelled in pain, and clenched around my fingers like a bitch, trying to push them out. I was afraid I wasn't going to be able to hold him still by his hair, so I wrapped my arm around his neck and pulled him to his knees. He was flush against me, and I could feel his heart hammering through his back.
Dean gasped at the change of position, whining as my fingers slid into him more deeply.
"Please... please," he whimpered quietly.
"Please what?" I asked.
"I'm sorry, please no more," he begged.
"Oh... you mean you want me to stop," I said. I started pushing into him more deeply, drawing sharp cries of agony from him.
"Please! It's too much! Ali- Master, I can't- Oh fuck PLEASE!" he yelled.
I was in him up to my third set of knuckles, and I grinned. I didn't feel like stopping.
"Oh, but you feel so good around my fingers," I murmured at his ear. I thrust in and out of him quickly, blood from his torn hole now making it easy to slide deeper and deeper into him. "I think I'm gonna put my whole hand in you," I said.
"Please Master, no!" Dean plead. He startled me by twisting his arm around and lightly stroking my thigh. "I'll do anything you want, just-"
"I want you to hold still!" I hissed, flexing my fingers in him to see how much farther I could stretch him. I could feel the tears in the sides of his passage from being stretched too far, and I grinned. He screamed as I plunged my hand in him up to the wrist in one quick stroke, holding him more tightly as he strained against my grip. Without giving him any time to adjust, I clenched my hand into a fist, and his shouts of agony increased in volume.
After a minute, I let him fall forward, carefully keeping my hand in him as he collapsed onto the floor in front of me. He tried to move, but cried out again when my fist shifted inside of him. He stilled, his eyes glazed over with pain as he swallowed his shouts.
"I bet you love that you whore," I sneered. I twisted my fist inside of him, but tore nothing more than a harsh gasp from him. Undaunted, I started moving in a thrusting motion, pulling my fist out of his ass and then plunging it back in sharply. He started moaning shakily, and I assumed it was from pain, until he began meeting my thrusts.
I pulled my hand from him in shock as I realized he was enjoying it.
"Master! Don't stop!" he plead, glancing back at me.
"God damn you, you bastard!" I yelled in frustration. "You shouldn't be enjoying this!"
He didn't reply, just stared down at the floor, humiliation and guilt dominant on his features.
I groaned, before an idea hit me. If I got nothing else out of this, I could at least hold the fact over his head that he begged me to fist his ass.
"Get on your back you fucking slut," I growled. He scrambled to obey me, wincing and clutching his ribs. When he turned over, I could see that his cock was hard and straining against his abdomen. Rather than shoving my fist back into his ass, I slid one finger into him and started gently thrusting.
"Is that what you want?" I asked teasingly.
"No, Master," he groaned.
"Tell me what you want," I said, pulling my finger out of him and circling his hole, which had returned to it's normal size in the time my hand had been absent from it.
"I-I want you to fuck me with your fist," he panted.
"Where do you want me to fuck you?" I asked.
"My ass," he moaned.
"Say it all together," I said. I dipped two fingers into him, stretching him again and finding he was more pliant this time.
"Please Master, I want you to fuck my ass with your fist!" he begged.
"Like this?" I asked, clenching my hand into a fist and plunging it into his tight hole with no further preparation. Dean cried out, tensing in pain and clenching around me as I set a brutal pace. For the first few minutes, he clenched his teeth, and squeezed his eyes shut, but he relaxed after a while. Soon, he was gasping for breath and begging for more, pleading with me to go harder, faster, deeper. I couldn't help but be turned on myself by his enthusiasm. He reached for his cock, his eyes rolling back into his skull as he stroked it roughly. I swatted his hand away angrily.
"If you want something, you beg for it!" I hissed.
"Master please!" he moaned.
"Don't make me ask you what you want," I said threateningly.
"Please will you suck my cock?" he begged. I glared at him, before my vexed features morphed into a grin as an evil idea hit me.
"You want your cock sucked, huh?" I asked. Dean nodded, and my grin widened.
I pulled my hand out of him, drawing a groan of protest from him. I silenced him with a glance, and grabbed his shirt, wiping his blood and shit off my hand before tossing it aside. "Sit up," I ordered. He complied, watching me warily. I crouched at his side, placing one hand on the back of his neck, and gripping his dick with the other. He moaned at the contact, and thrust into my hand in an uncontrolled jerk. I stroked him a few times, drawing a different kind of moan from him than I had been hearing, the long, dragging, deep exhalation of pure pleasure, untainted by any pain.
"I know someone who has the most perfect cock-sucking lips I ever saw. Do you know who I'm talking about?" I murmured at his ear. He looked at me questioningly, and shook his head. I smiled. "You, of course."
"But... I-"
"Shh, don't worry your pretty little head. Just spread those legs," I ordered. Dean complied hesitantly, and I started pushing his head down. He groaned in pain, and struggled against my grip.
"Alice, my ribs!" he yelped. I growled, and whacked him lightly in his ribs, drawing a shout of pain from him.
"Ignore them. You asked for this, remember?" I hissed. I kept pushing him down, and he couldn't hold back his screeches of agony as I forced his head as close to his crotch as I could. I stopped when his head was between his legs, and his nose only inches from brushing his ball sac. I waited until his screams subsided into quiet whimpers before I gripped his cock and rubbed it against his cheek.
"How's that?" I asked.
Dean didn't respond, but I hadn't expected him to. I grinned, and slapped his face with his length again before pressing it against his lips.
"Open up," I said. Dean shuddered, but complied, his tongue darting out to lick the head of his cock before I slid it into his mouth. He moaned loudly, shaking violently as he sucked the tip of his own dick.
"Don't you dare cum until I say you can," I ordered roughly.
Dean nodded slightly, and shifted. He winced as he jostled his ribs, but took more of himself in none the less. I let out a soft moan of my own as I watched him go down on himself. I kept one hand on the back of his neck, but with the other, I reached past my pants and underwear to slide a finger into my slick heat.
I pushed Dean further, and he gagged as his cock slid down his throat an inch. "Breathe through your nose, and try swallowing," I instructed, squeezing the back of his neck lightly.
Dean choked a bit, before I heard him start breathing regularly. He moaned loudly around his cock, and I could see him swallowing again and again around himself.
"Don't forget you can use your tongue too," I reminded him. I bent my head, and licked a zig-zag pattern on his back as a demonstration. His moans grew louder, and I could tell he was close. I reached down and pulled his cock from his mouth. Dean whined and whimpered in protest, and I slapped his cheek with his wet cock.
"Quiet. I want you to cum all over that pretty, pretty face of yours," I told Dean, tracing his lips with the tip of his dick. He started licking it and tried to suck it back into his mouth, so I poked him in the ribs lightly. He yelped, and I chuckled, stroking his cock to drive him over the edge.
"Mouth open," I instructed. "But if I were you, I'd close my eyes. Cum stings like a bitch."
Dean took my advice, and closed his eyes tightly. A moment later, he cried out in pleasure as he came, thick, sticky strings shooting from his slit. I shook his cock to make sure it went all over his face. Some of it landed in his mouth, and he moaned at the taste.
When I was sure he was done, I let go of him, and watched him ease into a sitting position, then lie down on his back, clutching his ribs and groaning.
I fingered myself, giving Dean a minute more to catch his breath before I pushed my pants and panties down around my ankles, and climbed onto his face without warning.
"Eat me out," I ordered, grinding against his face. He moaned against me, and while the sound was almost too muffled to hear, it vibrated pleasantly and sent waves of pleasure through me. He started licking, sucking and biting, working his tongue into me and bringing a hand around to play with my clit. I slapped his hand away, and pressed harder against him to emphasize an unspoken point. Confused, he tried again, and I slapped his hand again, this time jabbing his ribs for good measure. He groaned, but seemed to realize he was only to use his mouth.
Dean shifted slightly beneath me, and I moaned loudly as he slid his tongue over my clit. I ground against his face, every now and then purposefully moving in such a way that he could not breathe.
"Fuck!" I swore after a few minutes. I bit my lip, and threw my head back. I could feel the pressure building withing me, and I knew I was close. Dean seemed to sense this, and started eating me with more urgency. I grabbed a handful of his hair with one hand, bracing myself on the ground with the other as I stopped moving and let go, losing myself in my orgasm.
After it played itself out, I rolled to the side, and lay on the floor next to Dean. He was a bloody mess, covered in bruises, my juices and his own seed. He lay still, staring up at the ceiling blankly. We were both silent for a long time.
My mind was still, for the first time in weeks. I wasn't angry. I wasn't scared. I wasn't nervous or creeped out or nauseous. I remembered this feeling. It was normal. It was something that I had missed sorely.
"I'm sorry," Dean said, interrupting my thoughts. I met his eyes, for what seemed like the first time in forever. For a second, I flashed back to a time before we had stumbled into this mess. I remembered how well we had worked together, how we had joked and bantered, and made love. How wonderful everything had been.
Despite Dean's punishment, I knew we could never go back to that. As I pondered that, I was sad for a moment before I quickly shoved the nostalgic feeling aside.
Maybe we would never be the same. But at least we would be alright. Who knew. Maybe someday, we would be better than we were before.
Slowly, my lips curved up into a true smile, one born of relief and contentment rather than hate and spite.
"I forgive you," I said finally.