Been to Hell

Chapter 7: Dark Places

THEN

She frowned and looked around. "Are you sure we're in the right place?" she asked. The building they were in looked like it had been abandoned for years. Not that people were in there working every day. "This can't be right."

"This was the address in the news article." Sam looked around. "The EMF is going off."

Dean shook his head. "No, Dalia's right. Something's off here."

"Hello boys."

Dalia grunted when the hell hound attacked her, knocking her to the ground. She screamed when it ripped a series of deep wounds across her belly. She felt hot breath ghost over the wounds. Something felt like it was tearing inside of her. She could hear Dean and Sam screaming, but it didn't register. She screamed as whatever the hell hound had a hold of was ripped out of her body. It backed off, leaving her bleeding and panting on the concrete floor.

Crowley chuckled, stepping forward. "Daisy here is a special pup of mine," he told her, crouching down. "She can rip the soul from a body without killing a person." He flicked his gaze up at Dean. "This is almost as good as killing you."

Dean and Sam fell from the wall when Crowley disappeared, the hell hound going with him. Dean pushed up and ran to Dalia. "Sam!" He ripped his jacket off and pulled his shirt over his head, pressing it against the wounds on her belly. "Stay with me baby, just stay with me." He looked up at Sam, tears in his eyes. He had no idea what to do.

Dalia slowly started to wake up. She looked around the room before settling her eyes on Dean. "Dean?"

"Hey." He got up and took her hand. "How are you feeling?"

She frowned, sitting up and pulling the IV out of her arm. "The hell did you bring me here for?" she asked. She threw her legs over the side of her bed. "Where are my clothes?"

Dean swallowed hard. He couldn't keep doing this. He went to a bag in the closet and handed it to her. "Sam's shirt is in there. Both of ours got ruined," he told her. She rolled her eyes but started pulling her clothes on when Sam walked back into the room.

"Hey, you're up. Feeling okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine." She pulled Sam's shirt over her head and pulled her boots on. "Let's get the hell out of here." She walked out of the room.

NOW

Dean rolled over in bed, looking for Dalia. When he didn't find her he cracked an eye and looked around. She was already gone, her gun was missing from the table. In its place was a note. He rolled his eyes and rolled back over, his arm falling across his face. She went on a hunt, he just knew it. It'd only been a week since Crowley had taken her soul from her. It was worse than trying to deal with Sam. She barely talked to them, left every chance she got. She refused help. She said she could work better alone, that she'd always worked better alone.

But he'd seen the nights she would limp back into bed, passing out on the sheets, still fully dressed, bloody and dirty. He hated every single thing about it. He didn't know what to do either. It wasn't like he could make a deal with Death to go get it back from hell, and they couldn't just walk into hell either. Crowley would have the place on high alert for a Winchester or an angel. He was at a complete loss.

He pulled himself from bed and looked around the room. Just once, he would like a year where no one died, no apocalypse needed stopping, and no one he loved got hurt. Just one fucking year. Knowing that was obviously too much to ask for, he grabbed his clothes and pulled them on. He slipped his gun into his jacket and walked out of the room, going for the kitchen and coffee, maybe he'd make it Irish. Lord knew he could use it.

Sam and Elena were in the library, a tray of mugs and coffee on the table in front of them along with stacks of books, both of their computers, and breakfast. "What's going on here?" he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Elena looked up, keeping her finger where she was in the book she'd been reading. "Well, we decided that going into Hell to get Dalia's soul would be suicide, even for Castiel. So, we're researching, doing what we do best." She got up and stretched her back out. "Bathroom break."

Sam watched her walk down the hall and sighed. "How's she doing?" Dean asked.

"She's good. She wishes we could figure this out sooner, but she's good." Dean nodded his head and looked at the books lying on the table. He honestly didn't think there was going to be a way to get her soul back. Not without making another deal with Crowley, and he knew how that was going to work out. Crowley would trade her soul for Dean's. Then he'd be in hell again, and round and round the circle went. He rubbed his eyes. He didn't think they were going to find the answer in some book.

He sat down and drank his coffee. "Do you know what time she left?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. "Just that when we got up there was a note. Apparently she caught a case involving what she thinks is a vampire, but it's hard telling this early in the game."

Dean nodded his head. He didn't want to think about her hunting alone, especially not vampires. Even though he didn't think it would help, he needed to keep his mind off of Dalia. He picked up a book and started reading. Elena came back, started back up where she'd left off. The three of them sat there, trying to find a way to save Dalia's soul.

xXx

Dalia adjusted her grip on her machete, walking right into the vampire's nest. As far as she could tell it was a small nest, three or four vampires, no more than five. She quietly picked her away across the room. She wanted to start with the boss. She looked down at him as he slept, unaware his own personal reaper was standing above him. She swung her blade, bringing it down on his throat, severing his head from his body. Nice, clean, and quiet. None of the others woke up. She quickly picked her way through the room until five vampires were lying dead in her wake. She smirked and walked back to Dorothy's motorcycle that she'd taken. She grabbed the can of gasoline and walked back to the shack. She tossed the gas all around, making sure to cover all of the bodies. No one would care that a rundown barn in the middle of nowhere went up in flames.

She walked back out and pulled out a book of matches from the pocket of her leather jacket. She ripped all of the matches out and struck them against the sandpaper, watching them hiss to life. She flicked it into the barn and watched it go up in flames. Dalia took a step back, leaning against the motorcycle, watching the flames lick up to the sky, watched the smoke twist and blow in the wind.

"I should have brought marshmallows." She flicked her gaze sideways. Crowley was standing there, hands in the pockets of his coat. She lazily looked back at the bonfire she'd created. "Someone's moody." He smirked, walking towards her. "Or is that just what happens when a body walks around without a soul?"

"What do you want dick head?" she asked. She wasn't in the mood to deal with him. She knew she was going to get chewed out when she got back to the bunker. She didn't want to have to deal with this asshole and Dean in the same day. That was just asking for a headache.

"Just came to see how you were holding up," Crowley said. "I remember what Moose was like without a soul, but you," he shrugged. "Well, you're just sexy."

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "You got what you wanted, Crowley. Why are you really here?" She wasn't buying his bullshit.

He looked at her, his eyes scanning her body before settling on his face. "You know Dean won't let this stand. He's going to look for a way to get your soul back from hell." He reached out, smoothing a piece of hair away from her face. She'd left it down today, in too much of a hurry to bother with it. "There is a way, if you're curious."

She turned her head and looked at him. Now, this was interesting. Not that she wanted her soul back. She understood what Sam had saw in it, what had seduced him. She was thinking clear, her instincts were better than they'd ever been. She was a badass hunter. Nothing was going to get better than this. Who needed feelings? They just let you get hurt. Sure, she didn't necessarily 'love' Dean anymore, at least she didn't feel like she did. If she didn't, then what was to stop her from doing her job? If she didn't have any emotional attachments she'd be unstoppable. If Dean put her soul back in her body, she'd be screwed. "What's the way?" she asked.

Crowley smirked. "Do you want your soul back that badly?"

"I want to keep Dean from getting it."

He nodded his head. "The Winchesters are overly enthusiastic about sacrificing themselves." He sighed, looking at the fire as the walls and ceiling started to cave in. "There is a trial Dean would have to complete. He has to run through a field of fire to get to your soul. If he can manage to do that without burning up, then he takes your place. Your soul goes back to your body, and his remains in Hell."

"Good to know." Dalia turned and climbed onto the motorcycle and started the engine. She didn't bother to see if Crowley watched her drive off or if he disappeared. She knew what she needed. As long as Dean didn't learn about the trial, about the field of fire, she was alright. She doubted he'd figure it out. Things like this didn't happen every day. She headed back to the bunker. She needed food, a shower, and to find another job.

xXx

Dean looked up when the bunker door opened. He could hear Dalia's boot walking down the stairs. Sam and Elena had taken a break from research to find something for dinner. He looked over at the stairs, watching her walk over to him. She smiled a little and sat in the chair beside him. "How was your day?" she asked, kicking her feet up to the table.

"Do you honestly care?" he asked. He appreciated the effort she was making to make him feel better, but he knew she was faking it.

"Not really." She picked up one of the books and read the cover. "You're not going to find a magical cure in a book, Dean."

He fisted his hands and crossed his arms. This was killing him. "You don't know that."

"I do know that." She looked at him, her eyes cold as ice as she stared him down. "There is no magical cure. My soul is in hell, that's where it's staying." She shrugged a little. "This body is just getting the job done until I die. Then I wake up with my soul."

He swore and pushed back from the table. "I'm trying to be nice, Dalia, I really am, but you're pissing me off."

"I'm just telling you the truth." She looked up at him a small smile on her lips. "I'm not special like Sammy boy. Death is dead. How do you think you're getting my soul back?"

"I don't know but we have to try!" He was going crazy, losing it. He hurt so much. "You're acting like you don't even want your soul back."

"I don't." She stood, pushing to her feet. "I'm better without it, a better hunter. Why would I want to screw that up?"

Dean grabbed her, fisting a hand in her hair and threw her against the wall, kissing her hard. She arched against him, biting his lip. He pulled back when he tasted blood and looked at her. Everything snapped. He picked her up, kissing her hard and carried her down the hall to the bedroom. He didn't care that they were mad at each other. He didn't care that she didn't have a soul. He didn't care that she didn't care. He needed to get his way into her, needed to force her to think, to want, to need, to love him again, even if he had to fuck it into her.

He threw her down on the bed and pulled the knife from her belt, cutting her shirt and bra. She growled at him, taking the knife and flipping them, cutting his own shirt off. She raked her nails down his chest and nearly ripped the button off of his jeans and pulled them off. He flipped them again and pulled the rest of her clothes off. He didn't wait to see if she was ready, didn't bother with foreplay. He slammed into her, burying his cock deep inside of her. He groaned, holding her hips with bruising force as she pounded into her.

She dragged her nails down his back, leaving ugly scratch marks. Dean growled, flipping her over onto her hands and knees and slammed back into her, rocking her body forward on the bed. She fisted her hands in the sheets and he fisted one in her hair, pulling on it as he slapped her ass, riding her hard. He bent over her, biting her neck hard. He'd never had sex like this before, never felt like this before. This wasn't just angry sex. This was end of the world break up sex. This was apocalyptic sex. "You're getting your soul back," he ground out, feeling his orgasm getting too damn close. "Whether you want it or not."

"Bite me," she hissed out.

He growled, pulling her up onto her knees by her hair. He wrapped an arm around her waist, his cock assaulting her soaking pussy again and again. He turned her head to the side and bit her neck hard. She would have a bruise in the morning. His legs shook, getting ready to give out on him. She came around him, hard, contracting, squeezing, heat and wet, and just so fucking perfect. He growled, tightening his grip on her hip and her hair as he came into her.

The collapsed on the bed, panting, sweaty, sated for the moment. He knew she wasn't going to sleep, but he was ready to pass out. He wrapped his arms around her, locking her against him, his softening cock still buried inside of her. "You're getting your soul back, Dalia," he whispered into her hair. "Because I love you too much to put up with you like this."