Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. Eric Kripke does.

I give Slayer full credit for the title of this chapter.

Warning: There is foul language and somewhat graphic scenes in this chapter. Don't read if you can't deal with that.

Chapter 4:

Here Comes the Pain

The room surrounding him was dark, like every other in hell. The sounds of distant screams could be heard echoing down corridors; these cries for help made the young man internally cringe. Closing his eyes, Dean pretended he was somewhere, anywhere, else.

Alastair smiled a big, toothy, grin as his favorite candidate let out a groan of pain. "Good Dean-o. It's about time you let me know how you were feeling." Alastair continued to wrap barbed wire tightly around Dean's arms, whistling a chipper tune. "Who needs rope or chains when barbed wire can fixate a person perfectly for you?"

Dean grimaced and spat on the floor, "Fuck you."

"And here I've been sitting, thinking John's inspirational speech knocked some sense into your head. What is all of this resistance for?" Alastair's amused expression quickly turned to a frown. He glanced downward then glared at the younger man. "Dean-o! Did you just try to spit on my shoe? You're lucky you missed." He gave the barbed wire one last tug, making sure it was taut, then shrugged, "Still, I suppose this means I need to teach you some respect." He sighed, turning on his heel. His soft foot steps left the room in a brisk manner.

It was only a few moments before the sound of wheels rolling across pavement was audible. A soft click followed Alastair's re-entry into the small room; a small, black cart was situated in front of Dean within seconds. A top the cart sat a razorblade, three knives, a small pile of nails, as well as a hammer. Dean's hardened face eyed the weapons; he found the glint of light coming off of them almost mesmerizing. "That's all you've got?" Dean looked at Alastair smugly.

Alastair glanced up at the younger man then returned his attention back to the weapons before him. He picked up one of the knives carefully; his grasp on it was perfect. Slowly he brought the blade to Dean's body, applying a firm, steady pressure to allow the metal to slice through his unmarked chest. "You know, I've been thinking. If you were to stay on the rack for a few decades, I could get quite creative with you." Slowly he dragged the cold metal down Dean's body, leaving a trail of blood to make its way to the floor. "Surely after that time you'd even relearn that I love to hear you scream in pain. Self expression is beautiful, Dean-o." Quickly he lodged the knife into Dean's abdomen and twisted it around. A few gasps came from Dean as a shudder passed through his body. Alastair frowned.

"You're a sick son of a bitch."

Leaving Dean without a reply, Alastair turned to pick up a razorblade. "You know what a fun game is, Dean-o? Hangman. Want to play?" he waited for Dean to reply. "I'll take the silence as a yes!" Alastair let a big toothy grin show, "There are only two words. Let's start guessing letters!"

"Fuck you." Dean glared at the demon before him, and twisted his body in a useless attempt to break free of the rack. He hissed in pain as the barbed wire holding him bit deeply into his flesh; blood dripped from the wounds on his arms steadily.

"Sorry, son. No F or U. Try again!"

Dean remained silent waiting for Alastair's new, twisted game to be over. Alastair turned his back to Dean and moved towards his cart full of 'toys', as he liked to call them, and picked up a handful of nails and a hammer.

"Are you sure you don't want to pick a letter son?" he paused, "No reply? Okay."

Slowly Alastair positioned a nail to the younger mans palm then hit it once with the hammer. Dean let out a gasp of pain as his torturer moved to his other palm. Another nail went swiftly through his body; Dean bit his lip.

"You know, I could get a lot more creative with you if I wanted..." Alastair hammered a nail into each of Dean's feet, making him completely immobile. Being unsatisfied with Dean's silence, Alastair continued to pound nails into Dean's legs. The younger man groaned in pain as blood began to coat his skin. Still Alastair continued, purposefully missing nails in order to shatter bones in Dean's legs.

"A!" Dean's voice came out silently in a hiss of pain.

"What was that?" Alastair kept position nails then pounding them into his body, pretending he didn't hear the soul before him pleading.

"A!!" Dean raised his voice and nearly spat out the letter in disgust.

"Very good. There are three A's." Alastair turned, setting down his hammer and nails then picked up a razorblade. "Let's get to work."

Slowly he carved a capital A followed by two lowercase ones across Dean's chest. They were unevenly spaced apart, leaving room for more letters to be carved.

Dean grimaced in pain as the older demon looked at him expectantly. "Just write whatever you want to god damn write. I don't care."

Alastair smiled, seeing that Dean was starting to be defeated. "Was that the sound of Dean giving in?"

"I don't want to play your games." Dean let out a small chuckle.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh nothing." He laughed once more, and then coughed up blood as he received a swift blow to his ribs. "Ugh." He groaned then explained, "I nearly told you to go to hell."

Alastair's expression was blank. He shook his head then began to carve letters ever so carefully into Dean's torso. Minutes later, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. Across Dean's chest in bloody letters read "Alastair's Property."

Dean tilted his head down in attempt to see what the older demon was grinning at. "What?" His voice was dark.

"You're my property! Oh Dean, now everyone will know what a great bond we have. Isn't that wonderful?"

"You son of a.."

"Now, now, now. You know having a temper isn't a good thing. Besides, that's no way to speak to your father."

"You aren't my father."

"You're my son."

"No." Dean's voice was filled with hate.

"Yes Dean-o. You and I, we're alike. You're so much like me it's crazy. Almost like a reincarnation of me. You're my son. Maybe not by blood, but by heart. Even your body says that we're one together.

"You're wrong. I'm nothing like you."

"No Dean. I'm right. Don't you remember when you and I stood side by side? I remember how much you loved working with me. You face lit up every time you held a knife in your hand. You were one sadistic little bastard. My greatest student." Alastair smiled, pride showing in his features.

"That was a mistake." Dean's face crumpled, his perfectly composed features finally broke.

"No it wasn't. Hell, you even enjoyed hearing a girl's screams who couldn't have been more than twelve. I remember her begging you to stop. You laughed. Don't you remember? You spent an extra long time making sure her body was completely mutilated. Unrecognizable. I would imagine she would be a soul you would remember."

"Stop it."

"Hundreds, maybe even thousands of souls... You perfectly destroyed them all. Dean-o, you may be fighting me now, but you won't be for long. You're still my favorite student. You will rule by my side once more, I'll make sure of it."

Dean remained quiet as Alastair turned. He picked up another knife gingerly then stabbed it into Dean's chest and dragged it downward. A 3inch deep cut ran from his chest to stomach, releasing inner organs. Alastair twisted the knife then slowly pulled it out of Dean's body as he screamed in pain.

Alastair smiled, "I'll see you tomorrow son."

***

"Where is he? Where is Dean?" John's questions were plagued with worry as Alastair walked up to him casually.

"He's fine. Don't worry. You'll see him once he's reacquainted with everything here. He needs to be retrained, John. Don't you remember what you were like when you first came here?"

John quietly looked over Alastair, eyeing the traces of blood that decorated his body. "I remember." He nodded in agreement to the demon.

"Good. Now get back to work. You need to be well practiced if you're going to carry out your task. We're all counting on you John."

He turned quietly and disappeared from Alastair's sight. Alastair smiled a slow, menacing smile, and then vanished as well, leaving an eerie silence behind.

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