Hey everyone! Back with chapter two! Thanks so much for all the reviews and follows, I'm happy people seem to be liking this and I hope you continue to do so :) Also, I know I said I was going to get a one shot up that goes along with this story, and I still will, promise, I just didn't have time to finish it this week, but *hopefully* I'm planning on posting it either thursday or friday so keep a look out :)

Warning: This chapter starts in with the torture, but only really in the last part, and a little in the flashback but it's mostly monologging.

By the way, updates will be posted every monday, in case you're wondering.

Chapter Two

"Well, isn't this nice; just like old times. Hm, Dean?"

Dean tested the restraints that held him to the metal table Alastair had moved him to as the demon prepared for whatever he had planned, fiddling with something on the cart behind Dean's head where he couldn't quite twist to see. He was chained hand and foot, his arms up by either side of his head, and there wasn't a lot of give. It wasn't looking good for escape, and even if he were somehow able to get free of the restraints, where would he go? He had no idea where he was, or even what state he was in. What country, to be honest. Alastair could have drug him to Antarctica for all he knew though that was a little extreme. All he knew was that he was doomed, because he was not the cocky devil-may-care screw-the-world-I-died-for-my-brother hothead who had gone to hell in the first place. No. Alastair had broken him once, and he was going to do it again given the time, Dean knew it. And given the angel warding, he was probably going to have the time. Not that Dean wanted Charlie's Angels coming to his rescue, but if he could find a get out of jail free card, he wasn't exactly going to complain. He still held out hope that Cas might not be a total dick, even though he sure acted like it half the time, he had at least looked somewhat sorry when they had dragged Dean off to play interrogation. Now that Uriel was calling the shots though, Dean didn't know what he could expect. He knew the angel didn't like him—yeah, okay, it had probably been partly his fault,—but maybe he was still valuable enough for them to at least attempt a rescue. And maybe, just maybe, if Cas had indeed come to 'care' about him causing him to be knocked down in rank (not that he was feeling the love exactly) then he might chance a little healthy rebellion to get Dean out of here under Uriel's nose. Especially if Sam had anything to do with it, because Dean knew his brother well enough to know that by now, if he knew what had gone down, he would be royally pissed and Castiel was going to be the first one to bear the brunt of it.

But as his musings went on, Alastair had finished whatever he was doing and wheeled the cart over next to Dean, humming tunelessly. Dean pretended nonchalance, but he was really fighting back panic, his heart pounding so loud Alastair must have been able to hear it. Maybe it was PTSD or something, maybe it was just rational thinking, but Dean felt like he might have a full-blown panic attack any minute and that was not like him. Not before he had gone to hell anyway. But he knew he was different and the too much drinking and too little sleep wasn't helping at all, likely only making it worse. But there was nothing he could do about that now, so instead he put his shield in place as well as he could and smirked up at Alastair. "I will admit, I was starting to feel stood up, Alastair."

"Ah, there's my boy," Alastair said with a pleased chuckle, checking Dean's restraints to make sure they were sound. "Do you remember the first time we met, Dean? I didn't really know what to expect, but I must say you really did impress me. It took a long time before I could get you to really scream and even longer to get you to stop with your snarky attitude. You were always so stubborn."

"Yeah, well, I like to make 'em work for it," Dean told him, proud when his voice didn't waver. This was at least familiar. The pre-torturing taunts/rejoinders before Alastair would sever his vocal chords, or maybe cut out his tongue, or neither; whatever pleased him most on a certain day.

Alastair tsked. "I see you haven't changed. That's good, Dean, I was hoping you weren't a blubbery pile of anxiety and self-pity. You were always better when you weren't wallowing in self-hatred and miserable resignation. I'm not lying when I say you were one of my best students. Quick learner, and, oh, so determined to please. Anything not to go back on that rack, eh, Dean?"

Dean looked away from him as Alastair shot a meaningful look that was meant to drudge up more of that self-hatred. The demon chuckled and shook his head. "Anyhoo…" he whisked the sheet off the cart and Dean refused to be swayed by the various implements sitting there. It's not like he hadn't been there before a thousand times. Besides, he knew well enough the Alastair had always favored the razor most. "I was…disappointed when they took you away, Dean. Even more so that you went with them. I wonder why they bothered, really." There was the razor in his hand now. Always gleaming and sharp even among the usually rusty implements they used in hell. "I mean, you'd already broken the Seal, there was really no hope after that. What use was little old Dean Winchester to the angels?"

Dean forced a chuckle out of his dry throat. "Tell you what. If you find out, do me a favor and let me know."

"Not very forthcoming are they?" Alastair asked, cocking his head to one side. "Why did you go with them? I thought we had a good time. You had a lot of promise, Dean. Better than the others and believe me, that's high praise coming from me."

Dean forced himself to calm down. There was no way he was going to let Alastair get to him yet. "I don't remember everything, especially not them angel-lifting me out. Besides I don't think I really would have had a choice."

"But would you have stayed if you did?" The loaded question. An easy one, though.

Dean looked up at Alastair and met his pale eyes. "No."

"Oh, that's right. Dear little Sammy, can't be without his big brother," Alastair curled his lip. "You were always so sentimental, Dean. I could have helped you with that given more time. But, oh well. I suppose we should get down to business then. I've left you waiting long enough. Now." The razor touched the center of Dean's chest, wickedly sharp even through the fabric of his t-shirt, as it traveled slowly down his body, causing his breath to stop as memories were brought back. Same as in the nightmares he had been having, but this was no nightmare. "I'm wondering how long it's going to take you to scream this time."


Dean hadn't really known what to expect, sure he knew hell meant torture, and he figured it was going to be bad; eternal torment, fires of hell and all that. But waking up strung by hooks in a vast darkness after the vivid memories of getting torn apart by hellhounds to his brother's screams, that threw him for a loop, he had to admit. And the pain was odd, because it was so real and mortal, going so deep and literally into his soul, and yet he knew it wasn't going to kill him.

But that wasn't anywhere near what he experienced for the first time on Alastair's rack, when he was finally retrieved from his suspension and dragged to deeper parts of hell, where screams emanated, terrible unearthly sounds that he couldn't imagine coming from a human throat. It was then he had decided that he was never going to allow them to make him scream like that.

But then there was Alastair.

The demons had left him on the rack, chained up so that he couldn't move an inch and then Alastair came.

"Well, well, well, Dean Winchester in the flesh…or, something like that," the demon said with glee. "I've been waiting to meet you." He gave a mocking bow. "Alastair, chief interrogator down here. I've been assigned specially to break you since I know the breed." His chuckle chilled Dean to his core.

"What do you mean?"

"Who do you think was in charge of your daddy when he was still down here?"

Dean, horrified at the news and angry at the fear that gripped him, jerked in his chains and growled at the demon. "You son of a bitch, I'll kill you."

"That's good, Dean, you keep that attitude up, you'll last longer," Alastair told him, before reaching over to a covered tray set up by the rack. He pulled the cloth aside and that was when Dean first saw the razor that he would become so intimately acquainted with among other things. "Why don't we play a little game?" Alastair said, studying the small, deadly looking blade intently. "Let's see if you can last as long as your daddy did without breaking." And then he turned and started working on Dean.

And it went on like that for days and days, carving, ripping, and tearing Dean apart over and over again until his resolve crumbled and he could no longer hold in the screams that he had fought so hard to keep in. Had refused to stoop to. That pleased Alasdair so much he stopped his tortures and smiled at Dean, patting his cheek with a bloodstained hand.

"There we go, Deano, That's what I'm looking for."

And that was the first day that Alasdair had given him the offer to get off the rack, and the first time Dean refused him. But that was just the beginning, and as much pain as he had been in then, it was nothing compared to what was still in store.


Sam and Castiel drove in the Impala, Sam refusing the leave the car since the warehouse they had been keeping Alastair in was only a few hours' drive away. Castiel had insisted on going back there to see if they could find any evidence of where Alastair had gone and Sam had grudgingly agreed that it was likely the best course of action, and really the only thing they could do at that moment since they still had no indication of where Dean might be.

"It is strange," Castiel said after a long silence, giving Sam a bit of a start.

"What is?" he grunted, not really wanting to talk, especially not to the angel who had lost his brother.

"This automobile. You humans use them to get around quickly, and yet, compared to how I travel it is very slow and cumbersome. How do you orient yourselves while you're in them? It seems that it would be very confining while trying to figure out what direction you need to go."

Sam huffed, annoyed. Was the angel really trying to make small talk right now? But then, he decided he probably was genuinely curious. After all, Castiel had likely never ridden in a car before.

"It's not really hard, especially when you've never known any different," Sam said grudgingly. "I mean, you just follow the roads and maps and stuff."

"Unlike some of my brothers and sisters I was always amazed by you humans' ability to create such intricate pieces of engineering. I remember when you still dwelt in caves and first discovered the uses of fire. You have come a long way since then."

Sam couldn't help a short laugh. "Yeah, I guess it would be strange to see everything that's changed."

"I find it fascinating," Castiel told him sincerely. "And it makes me realize the importance of saving humanity."

"Well, right now, I just care about saving my brother," Sam replied bluntly.

Castiel looked over at him. "You and Dean have a very strong bond, even for brothers. It is rare, and unlike some of my comrades, I do not see that as a bad thing. I think it makes you stronger, and it is inspiring."

"He raised me, practically," Sam said quietly, not really wanting to talk about this with the angel.

"I know. Dean Winchester is a good man," Castiel said. "But he needs to learn his place as well. You both do. I know it is a hard concept to grasp, especially when you're used to independence, but there are bigger things that need to be done, and they cannot be accomplished without the help of you and especially your brother."

Sam's hand gripped the steering wheel angrily. "So we're just your puppets? Why don't you try telling me what you really want Dean for? Because I know it's not just going on wild goose chases for seals and playing interrogator so you don't have to get your hands dirty."

Castiel shifted awkwardly in the seat. "You will know when it is time, Sam, but right now, we're here. The warehouse is up ahead."

Knowing he wasn't going to get anything else out of the angel at that time, Sam huffed and pulled off the road to park in front of the warehouse. He followed Castiel inside and through to an inner room where he saw a demon trap and an iron pentacle with loose chains hanging from it. He stopped when he saw the cart of holy water and salt and blades and syringes and whatever else Dean might have been using to torture Alastair. He swallowed hard. This was not a part of his brother he could easily imagine. Sure, they had done their share of 'rough questioning' but it had rarely gone beyond fists, and holy water when it came to demons and such. Never the methodical, sadistic type of torture that needed implements and creativity. That was not the Dean Sam knew, and it made him sad and maybe a little scared deep inside, because he knew that the Dean that Castiel had rescued from hell was not completely the Dean Sam had known his whole life. And he was just going to have to get used to it, because going through those kinds of things changed people forever. It wasn't just something you could put a bandage on or drink away at night, though Dean seemed to be doing his best with the last one. But Sam shoved those thoughts aside for the moment. He knew that no matter what had happened to his brother, what Dean had done, he would still be his big brother, and Sam was going to do everything he could to get Dean back as well as he was able, no matter the consequences. And he certainly wasn't going to let the angels and their crusade get in the way of that.

Sam took a deep breath and turned to where Castiel was inspecting the trap. He carefully stepped over some blood spatter on the floor, hoping it wasn't all Dean's, and frowned at the trap.

"He got out of this?"

"It is inconceivable, I know," Castiel replied, frowning. "It is old Enochian, and should have held. I made it myself."

Sam held back a biting reply about the angel's crappy work, seeing that even though Castiel didn't show much emotion at all, he was troubled by the events. And even if he could never care for Dean like Sam did, he had been the one to risk his life or whatever getting his brother out of hell, and if for nothing else but for the waste it would be to lose Dean now, Sam knew he could trust the angel. Even if he didn't like it. Besides, studying the trap, he could tell that it had been put together well, way more heavy duty than their typical demon traps, and should have held.

A small puddle of water on the floor caught Sam's attention and he swiftly knelt to see it more closely. His jaw tightened as he saw the sigils that had been drawn in chalk on the floor washed away in one spot.

"Hey, look at this," he called and soon the angel was crouching down next to him.

"I…don't understand," Castiel said, frowning and looking up. "I checked the pipes, they were secure."

Sam stood up and inspected the pipes himself, frowning deeper as he ran his fingers over the seam. There was no rust, no wetness from the seam directly above the damaged part of the trap. He grasped the screw and twisted with no luck.

"Let me," Castiel said and reached up to give it a sharp turn, causing a small trail of water to trickle down before Sam told him to close it again.

"This must be how Alastair escaped," Castiel said. "But I don't understand, I checked to make sure everything was secure. This should not have happened."

"Well it did," Sam replied shortly. "And now he has Dean. More importantly, this wasn't an accident. It was done deliberately."

Castiel opened his mouth, then closed it again. "I see that, but who?"

"Could Alastair have opened the pipes?"

The angel shook his head firmly. "No, it would be impossible. He was chained securely and the trap kept his powers at bay."

"Well, Dean obviously wouldn't have done it, so that only leaves one possibility." Sam turned to Castiel grimly. "It looks like you might have a traitor in your midst."


"Come on, Dean, you don't seem to be enjoying this at all. Haven't you missed it as much as I have? You have to admit that it's only fair; turnabout and all that, that little session we had earlier—you are good Dean, but you're getting rusty. Too much time off. Thought I'd give you a little lesson to remind you how it's really done. Where's all the threats and snark? You can't tell me I've broken you already."

Dean ground his teeth in pain, his body on fire from the shallow cuts Alastair had sliced up his arms and legs, currently working on the soles of his feet. "Maybe I'm just too bored to give a crap," he gritted out, his toes curling in defense of the cold blade against his bare feet, trying not to think about how bad that was going to hurt to walk on later—if he ever got out of there, that is.

Alastair straightened up and moved to stand by his head again, replacing the razor on the table as he took up a rag and slowly wiped blood from his hands. "You're right, this is a little tame after what we've been through together. Especially after what you've done yourself—always imaginative, I can't help but give you points for creativity. Our little session earlier was certainly…educational."

Dean managed a cocky smile. "What can I say, I like to employ my natural sense of style."

"To be honest, I wasn't sure you would have the…conviction to actually turn on your old master. I must say it did surprise and impress me. Made me proud even."

"Trust me, it was easy to slice you up. A privilege really," Dean smirked.

"It is a bit difficult up here, though, you have to admit, especially for you. I can't just throw on the holy water and watch you burn. I have to preserve that body of yours—can't have you checking out too soon. I'll take a page from your book and try to be a little more…thoughtful." He took the bloodied rag and gripped Dean's jaw, forcing his mouth open. Dean struggled but the cloth was shoved into his mouth and Alastair held his head still as he grabbed a jug of water from the table. "A little bit of waterboarding never goes amiss." And he poured it onto the rag in Dean's mouth, making him gag and choke. He pulled against the restraints and Alastair smiled, pleased as he finally stopped pouring the water and gave Dean a breather, the hunter spluttering past the rag, sucking air through his nose and choking on the water still in his mouth.

"Thought you needed a cool down," Alastair informed him before he repeated the torture several more times until the jug of water was empty and he set it aside, pulling the gag from Dean's mouth. The hunter choked up some water, his body racking with coughs before he settled back, shuddering and breathing heavily.

"I always thought waterboarding was lame," Dean mumbled.

Alastair nodded slowly. "Perhaps something a little… hotter then?" He bent to the lower part of the cart and pulled up a small iron brazier looking thing, which he proceeded to light, then pulled out a fire poker as the coals glowed warmly. "Reminds me of home sweet home," Alastair said, smiling at Dean as he turned the poker in the coals until it was glowing red hot. "You always did hate the burning, didn't you Dean? Reminds you of how mommy dearest died, doesn't it?"

Dean ignored the jibe and tensed as the brand was pressed against his ribs, unable to help the strangled shout that came out.

Alastair hummed in satisfaction and closed his eyes as he breathed deeply, inhaling the rank odor of burned fabric and flesh. "Oh, yes that does bring me back."