Chapter 6

In what seemed less than a heartbeat, Dean's eyes opened up to a fresh vista of Hell. The chains, the hooks, and his ragged, bloody shirt were gone. Lilith was gone too. The nothingness previously beneath him had been replaced by cold, hard rock. He found himself sitting restrained against a smooth slab of black obsidian that jutted nearly straight up from the ground. His arms were spread out and up, and again, each wrist was secured. He twisted his head back and looked up. The shackle chains had been driven straight into the rock. It was futile, he knew, but he pulled hard at the chains anyway. Nothing budged. He slammed back against the rock, unintentionally banging his head.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" he growled. Would it kill her to put him some place where he could at least walk around, or scratch his nose? She probably had been doing this for eons, come on, where was her imagination.

Dean suddenly looked down at himself. Vicious-looking scars remained where his body had been mangled and gored, but finally, the wounds were healed. At least she had shown him this small mercy.

She had relegated him to a narrow ledge protruding out from an impossibly sheer wall of rock that extended into the distance to either side and above him. An occasional flicker of reddish-orange light emanated from a wide chasm between him and another wall of volcanic rock directly opposite. As he watched, a blinding bolt of lightning split into the rock face with a deafening crash, loosening an immense wedge of rock that plummeted into the chasm. Dean's stomach twisted a little as he realized how high up he must be and he was thankful the ledge did not afford him a down view. Lilith must have this thing for heights. Or she knew that he didn't.

He lay his head back against the rock and his chest heaved in a groan of chagrin. He had to learn to stop running his mouth. Just maybe that had played a small part in his earning exclusive rights to this prime little piece of real estate.

Dean shivered as a cold wind sprang up. It swept steadily over his body until he was chilled to the bone. He had a passionate hatred of the cold and he was sure this was only the beginning. He didn't have long to wait. He breathed out in a long shudder as the wind picked up speed. It whipped against his bare chest and arms with numbing force. It was so cold that his hands and feet felt like chunks of ice. He drew up his knees as far as he could and shivered violently. His torn jeans did nothing to keep his legs warm. Okay, he conceded at last. It wasn't imaginative. But if sheer misery were any gauge of its effectiveness, he'd give her a B+. Damn! This was Hell, not Siberia.

He almost wished she had consigned him to Hell's Chain Gang where he could at least work up a full-out hatred of her, and keep it stoked commiserating with all the other poor bastards under her thumb. But he couldn't will himself to shut out the face that repeatedly pushed itself into his mind's eye, couldn't disregard how it had felt to talk to someone again - even if it was a demon. He found himself wishing she would come back...it was an appalling thought, but one that he just couldn't shake.

The air soon grew so cold that he could take only short gasps of it into his lungs. His body shook uncontrollably and it was impossible to keep his lower teeth from smashing into his upper ones. He buried his face against his shoulder, trying to shield it against the relentless wind. He wondered dully why he hurt so much; why, with even the slightest movement, his skin felt like it would split open while being jabbed with thousands of needles of ice. Most of his body should have been frozen beyond feeling by now.

"Sam, p-please...f-find a w-way," he murmured.

He imagined the feel of a hand on the side of his face. It seemed to infuse heat right through his skin; it radiated in all directions, spreading a warmth throughout his body that he thought he would never feel again. He breathed deeply, his lungs gratefully accepting the calmer, warmer air. His aching muscles relaxed, no longer taxed by the constant shivering. He imagined a voice that gently called his name.

"Dean."

He pried open his eyes. Confusion caused his thoughts and his tongue to stumble, while shaping an expression of bewilderment onto his face. Lilith. Sitting in his lap, which, with his knees drawn up, made for a pretty snug fit. Her auburn hair fanned gently back. Dean could still hear the wind, although the howl was less strident; he could even feel mild gusts across his skin, but the cold did not penetrate whatever barrier she had effected. She removed her hand from his face, a hint of a grin playing on her lips.

"Sorry. There was no other place to sit."

Dean's body was still trying to catch up to the sudden shift in conditions.

"Never thought Hell would actually f-freeze over," he stammered.

Her grin widened. "It was your idea," she retorted. "But not all of Hell. Just your little mountain retreat."

Dean was feeling much more alert. "Don't I feel special," he grumbled.

"You do remember saying you'd respect me more when Hell froze over? Well...it has," she chirped, with a triumphant sweep of her arm.

"Well...I still don't respect you any more," Dean challenged.

Her cool green eyes studied him for a long moment. If it was meant to make him uneasy, it worked. "If I were you," she said at last, in a surprisingly calm voice, "I would reconsider that. Sooner than later, for your sake."

She unfolded herself from his lap and stood up. They stared each other down as she slowly lifted her slim, leather-booted foot over his mid-section. Dean then watched as she took several steps, her high heels clinking on the glassy black rock. She stopped with her back to him.

"Why should I?" he demanded. "Torturing somebody isn't enough, and hey, let's face it, you've got all of eternity to do it, but what, I'm supposed to thank you for it?"

She half-turned to face him. The wind swept her long bangs up and away from her forehead and flapped at her short, open jacket. "There is so much you don't understand."

"I understand that it's impossible for you to give a straight answer."

"What would you like to know?" she countered, in a silky-smooth voice.

Dean didn't need to think about it. "Is Sam alive?"

She turned to fully face him. "You don't give up, do you?"

"Tell me, Lilith. Please," he ground out.

She looked at him intently, then walked to his side and hunched down. Her face was expressionless.

"All right - he's alive." Her voice was equally expressionless.

Dean, however, closed his eyes and lay his head back against the rock. "Yes!" he breathed, his expression an emotional mixture of relief and joy. "Thank you," he whispered, whether to her or the powers that be, it didn't matter.

"Now here's the kicker, Dean."

He opened his eyes and looked at her guardedly, not sure what to expect. She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. "Do you believe me?"

Dean's exhilaration of a moment ago quickly turned to disgust. Of course. Demons lied all the time. His eyes blazed, and he scowled at her.

"It's just a game to you, isn't it? To all of you! You screw with peoples' lives and never once give a damn about them, or about anything else!"

"I give a damn about plenty of things," she said coldly. She stood up and folded her arms. "The way I am is the nature of the beast, Dean. This is Hell, you know."

"Really? I thought it was Club Med!" he snarled up at her.

"You brought this on yourself, so don't blame me if the accommodations aren't to your liking! You made the deal."

"That's right, I did. But to save my brother! From what one of your kind did to him!"

"Then maybe you should have left it alone!"

Dean's eyes grew steely. "Left it alone? You mean I should have left him dead! Save you the trouble of killing him anyway!"

She unfolded her arms and walked away from him. She gave no answer.

"Lilith!" Dean demanded one.

She turned and walked purposefully towards him, her mouth set in a straight line. She hunched down beside him. "I could answer your questions, Dean," she said frankly. "But I would need you to believe me, so what's the point? I don't see any indication that you would."

"Right, because it's so easy to believe someone whose first nature it is to lie. You'll have to do better than that to make me trust in anything you say."

"Like what?"

"Like letting me go," he blurted. It was the first thing that came to his mind, but he decided to stick with it.

Lilith's face registered mild surprise, before she curled her lips into a smirk. "Now there's a brazen suggestion."

"You know I don't deserve to be here!" Dean exclaimed.

"Maybe you don't. But you made the deal, Dean. The reasons why don't matter."

She paced all around him while he glowered at her. "Maybe I will let you in on one of those things you don't understand. Hell has its hierarchy. Everyone answers to someone else, all the way to the top. I'm not on the bottom rung," she bent to look directly in his face, "but I 'm not exactly Queen Bitch either."

Dean swallowed, clearly remembering the circumstance under which he had said that to her.

"So who are the bottom feeders?" he asked, sidestepping the issue.

"Souls who willingly give themselves over," she replied. Most have no idea what they are in for. People like devil worshippers, for instance." She laughed. "They're deluded into thinking they will have all this power! But what Hell can never have enough of is drudge workers. That's how they end up." She looked at him directly. "And then there are the people who bargain away their souls. No matter the reason, it's still the same thing - they willingly give themselves over."

Dean grimaced. "You're saying we're the pit-shovelers of the underworld."

"Pretty much."

"What's all this got to do with anything?" Dean watched enviously as she resumed pacing.

"Dean, you have no idea how much worse it could be for you. The brutality - it's beyond the comprehension of a human. I have held many contracts, and I did what was expected of me. Got a bit of a reputation while I was at it."

She walked very close to the brink of the rock ledge and casually surveyed the wall of gleaming obsidian and the tumultuous chasm, then turned to face her captive once again. "Power is everything here. It's the only thing that's recognized, the only gauge of a being's worth - and power is acquired by the most barbaric, deceitful, and cunning ways imaginable. It really isn't a pretty picture."

Dean contemplated everything she had said. If there was any truth to it, it presented quite a different perspective on the common perception of Hell. Deep down, he wanted to believe her, but it was so hard to reconcile this side of Lilith with the brutal witch who had gleefully initiated him into the realm of oppression and torture. His brow furrowed.

"Your other contracts..." he began.

She returned to his side and smiled down at him. "You're the only one left."

The furrow deepened. "Why's that? Did you torture them all to a second death?" He knew he was pushing it, but either she was in a very charitable mood, or this was the reason she had wanted to talk to him. He supposed it was both, because she laughed.

"Nothing so crass. When it came down to who would hold your contract, you might say I used them for leverage. I have power enough that I could have simply eliminated everyone and everything that stood between me and that contract," she said, with a toss of her shoulder-length hair, "but, rules are rules. You went to the highest bidder."

"You used them to ante up for my contract?" he asked dubiously.

"That's what I did."

"Why?" he asked, gritting his teeth. "Why did you want me so badly?"

"Dean," she said demurely, "that's a loaded question. First, I need something from you. Second," she helped herself to his lap again, wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in close. "Who wouldn't want to possess the soul of Dean Winchester?" she purred. "I wasn't about to lose out on the prize catch of the underworld."

Dean gave several curt nods to his left, and flashed his best sardonic grin. "Um, d'you mind?"

"Not at all, do you?" she answered immediately, her eyes twinkling playfully.

"And if I did?" he inquired, the grin still in place.

"Tough."

Her smile brought to his mind the image of a tiger sizing up its prey. If she had a tail, it would be swishing with anticipation. Dean just shook his head and a frown replaced the grin. "Look, whatever it is you need from me, sorry, I wasn't allowed any carry-on luggage. And I get really cold and clammy thinking that somewhere down there, demons are lusting after me." He looked hard at her, but she ignored the implication.

"Come on, Dean. Everyone wants a piece of you. Imagine...you doing what countless ages of immortals could not."

"You mean...yellow-eyes? That nut-job had it coming," he said, with more than a little disgust.

"Many would agree with you," she acknowledged.

"Are you one of them?" he asked bluntly.

An enigmatic smile crept over her face, then, stroking a manicured finger along his jaw, she abruptly changed the subject. "You know, Dean, we're wasting a glorious opportunity here. You...me...a cold day in Hell..."

Dean shivered. The warmth was draining from his body; either the barrier was dissipating, or she was seriously freaking him out. Her shifts in demeanour would put a chameleon to shame. One minute she was brutal, vindictive, indifferent. The next, she was pleasant, pliable, coquettish even. She was so unpredictable, and she used that to her advantage. He stared at her, then huffed out a cold breath.

"You're frickin' creepy. Even for a demon."

"Keeps you on your toes doesn't it? Well, figuratively anyway," she giggled.

"Cute," he said drily, then he shivered again. It was a lot colder, although Lilith, of course, remained unaffected. "Think you could t-turn the heat back up?"

She leaned against his chest and gave him a devilish grin. "Gladly," she said, brushing her lips gently against his.

Dean drew his head back. "Uhh, hand on the face thing? Worked just fine before, thanks."

"Too impersonal," she said coyly.

"Yeah, I'm good with impersonal. Violation by demon tongue is not an experience I want to repeat."

He immediately regretted his forthrightness. She didn't have much room, but she managed quite well in landing a solid smack across his cheekbone.

"Damn it!" he growled through clenched teeth, glaring at her.

"It is what you asked for!" she shot back.

Her green eyes glinted. Her hand slid up the back of his head, until her fingers grasped his hair and she forced his head back. "Not good," he thought.

A darkly provocative smile played on her lips. "There is an alternative, Dean. We could always go down."

His eyes widened. "Wha-?"

"1200 floors...heck of a fireplace...so what do you say?"

He swallowed hard. "I say you're damn pushy."

"Only when there's something worth pushing for."

Dean couldn't exactly protest any more as her head inclined and her shiny, tinted lips met his. 'This is just wrong,' he thought...except he could actually feel warmth penetrating his lips. Her fingers loosened from his hair, and as she explored further, the warm glow spread.

"No..nongue," he managed to mumble.

He should have been revulsed. He knew what she was, knew what inhabited this human body. He also knew he would eventually become one of them...his eyes closed and he found himself returning her kiss, savouring the heat of contact.

She pulled away from him with a dreamy smile, and traced a finger down his cheekbone. "Maybe I'll be back. This conversation was quite..." she whispered in his ear, "...stimulating." She gave a short laugh and finally vacated his lap, high heels clicking on the rock, jeans tight in all the right places.

Dean followed her movements, then just shook his head. "You're going to leave me here, aren't you?"

"Why wouldn't I?" She winked. "I got what I wanted." The wind began to pick up speed.

Dean tugged at the chains in frustration. "What the hell is it with you!"

She bent down and looked straight into his fiery eyes. "You just said it, Dean. It's hell with me." She straightened up and turned her back on him.

"Lilith!"

He had to turn his head as a vicious gust of wind tore into his face. When he turned back, she was gone. "Lilith!" he roared in frustration. He threw his might into a solid wrench at the shackles. "No!"

Rage overtook him, and he hauled at the chains over and over, muscles bulging with all his strength. A grunt escaped his bared teeth with every clank of the steel links. He didn't feel the warm blood slipping down his arms as the iron shackles cut ever deeper into his skin.

Finally, his fury and his stamina both ebbed. His hands hung limply, and he was bowed forward as much as the chains would allow. His whole upper body pitched and heaved as he drew in huge gulps of frigid air. He was as close to beaten as he had ever been in his life - at least, when he still had one.

xXxXx

Dean emitted a soft groan and tossed his head. Something had woken him...he was cold. Still cold. Pale light and shadow danced across his eyelids. He half-opened his eyes. Yellow-orange flames. Dancing in the fireplace. She had said something about a fireplace...

He fumbled for the edge of the quilt that had slipped from his bare shoulder, pulled it up and scrunched it under his chin. He closed his eyes and buried his head deeper into the soft pillow. Finally, she was letting him sleep.

A/N: Okay...does Lilith have the hots for Dean, or is she seriously messing him up? Like it? Hate it? Good or bad, let me know...thanks!

Additional Note: I just realized that the last four lines could be misconstrued as an 'incident' between Dean and Lilith. It's not, it should be seen as something different altogether, not a continuation of the previous events. :)