Title: Progress
Author: HigherMagic
Pairings: Demon!Dean/Demon!Sam, minor Dean/Gabriel and Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 3400
Spoilers: None (This is AU)
Summary: Gabriel's getting closer, but he just needs that little extra…push.
Notes/Warnings: Lots of bloody, gory, evil boys doing stuff to each other.
Also, this chapter deals with miscarriage, and mental states that I do not agree with. I don't think of miscarriage in this way whatsoever and I'm sorry if I offend. It's how demons and brainwashed people think in my Muse's mind.
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.
Time is…not exactly fluid, in Hell. It's more like…blue-tac, or silly putty. People can pull pieces of it apart for their use, then when they're done add it to the whole, or they can stretch the whole or bend it any way they want. That's how Alistair made four months topside look like forty years. That's how Dean, in this little bubble with the Archangel, managed to make a few days outside of the room more like several years inside.
Still, all things considered, Gabriel breaks surprisingly quickly. It helps to have that little extra incentive that is promise of painlessness, and pain upon his beloved brother should he reject Dean's instructions.
Gabriel's too powerful to keep his wings in check all the time. Dean doesn't think this'll be much of a problem – Sammy will probably love the wings. They are beautiful, giant golden-brown things that are the same color as Gabriel's eyes when they glow and shimmer sometimes, rippling like there's a water current that's only affecting him. Dean likes it.
He wishes, sometimes, that Castiel felt safe enough to keep his wings exposed all the time. Then again, Dean doesn't exactly deserve it, with what he's done.
When Dean looks at Gabriel, he's surprised at how he feels. He's…angry. Jealous. And that's stupid – that's a stupid thing to think and he doesn't know why, and it makes him angrier, and he takes it out on everyone – anyone – that stands in his way and pisses him off even in the slightest. He's so fucking angry and he doesn't know why.
"Why do I feel like this?" he growls, tearing into Adam Milligan's soul with no care for finesse – he has the ultimate goal that Adam die as quickly, horribly and as many times as possible during this day. He has Hell Hounds waiting on the sidelines, snarling and champing at their invisible collars for the boy's organs that Dean kept 'alive' by allowing the nerve endings to remain in place, so Adam will feel it when they get ripped apart by jagged, serrated teeth. He's asking like he expects the boy to know – he doesn't, of course he doesn't. That question was the first words Dean's said to him that day.
Still, he tries. Through a voice that's hoarse from screaming and thick with tears he says; "Maybe you're jealous." And Dean's kind of impressed, because that answer took some balls (which Dean took care of removing earlier in the day, so it's doubly impressive) but it just makes him frustrated all over again.
"Alright, know-it-all," he snaps back, climbing on top of the burning rack. His feet sting where they land on the acid-covered, boiling metal that constantly touches Adam's skin, and pulls the boy's head up by the hair at the back of his head. Dean leans down, lips by Adam's ear; "Tell me; how do I solve jealousy? There are circles for the likes of me."
And Dean thinks that it might have just been a trick of the light (if there was such thing as light and shade in a place like this) because Adam's soul darkens for a moment, and his eyes turn black – he's on his way. "Make what belongs to someone else, belong to you. Or, if it's the Master you want, become his own property."
"Riddles," Dean snaps, slamming the boy's head back down with a derisive snort. He grabs for his knife which he'd thrown in a rage, embedded near the entrance to the torture chamber, handle still vibrating slightly from the force of it. "All the same, you changelings. Until you get your soul the right shade you're all riddles and lies and secrets." He spits at the ground, and then snaps his fingers, and the Hounds are released.
Adam's screams are like music to his ears, but it's not as satisfying as some good old Zeppelin.
Adam's words stay with him though, and when Dean finally figures it out, he almost fucking breaks down. Sam's inside of him, always inside of him, as deep as he can go when the realization dawns, and it makes Dean cling to his brother, almost desperate if demons were inclined to feel such things, and he whimpers against Sam's neck, trying to hide the shame of his feelings. Sam doesn't like Dean when he's emotional.
"What's the matter?" Sam asks, pulling away just slightly, and slowing his rhythm down so it's more of a steady rocking than a brutal fuck, and Dean sighs, blinking back tears, forcing his body to obey him. Sam brushes a hand down the side of his face, surprisingly affectionate; "Dean, tell me – your heart is heavy."
The older brother sighs, wrapping his legs just a little tighter around Sam's hips, pulls his brother just a little deeper. He cards his fingers through Sammy's hair and pulls his little brother down for a soft brush of lips, skin against skin and just feeling the warmth. "I just…I wish I was enough," he says after a moment, deepening their kiss after he speaks so Sam can't reply, because he knows what Sam will say and it'll damn near break him. "I wish I could give you what you're seeking in the Angel." He spits the word, forgetting that this whole 'Half-breed' thing was his idea, because once Dean thinks it, it's Sammy's idea, and Dean is just a train stop on the road to what Sam wants and what Sam needs. Dean takes one of Sam's hands and splays it over his own abdomen. "A child. A powerful one, Sammy; I wish I could give it to you," he sighs, slanting his lips over his brother's again, letting Sam dominate that kiss almost lazily while he thinks, and ponders over what Dean's just told him.
When Sam withdraws, his eyes burn amber, and he's smiling just a little. It isn't a particularly nice smile. He leans down, lips fractions of an inch from Dean's, and husks; "Stop being such a hormonal bitch." Dean flinches at the words, but knows they're true, so he takes them, nodding as though Sam was expecting an answer from him. "You know where you stand with me, Dean. That's not going to change."
"I'm sorry," Dean replied, instantly apologetic because of course Dean knows. He knows how precarious his position is too, and while Sam wouldn't leave him for an Angel toy, he might get ideas and know that there are better things out there than his brother. Because although Sam loves him, it's just because he needs someone that's so fucking loyal to him that the thought of betraying him wouldn't have ever crossed Dean's mind in a million years. He pulls Sam down again, whining when his little brother hesitates, denying him. "I'm sorry, Sammy – please don't be angry."
"I'm not angry," Sam replies gently, like coaxing a wounded, frightened animal to sleep, petting down Dean's flanks as he picks up his pace again, fucking into Dean with the wild abandon that he usually has, deeming the conversation to be over. They don't speak another word until Dean is full of Sam's come and Sam's blood, and is left to recuperate while Sam goes about matters of business that are more important than his brother.
When Dean goes into Gabriel's dungeon the next day, he's calmer. Calm enough to not have that inherent violence buzzing under his skin, giving a twitch to his fingers and a permanent blackness to his eyes. When he enters the room, Gabriel looks up from where he's still shackled to the wall, and moves. He doesn't move away from Dean, curling the wings he can't quite keep in around himself in defense, but rather towards the demon, eyes shining like he's glad to see Dean.
He's finally ready, Dean thinks, and swallows the jealous bile that forms at the thought. Adam's words echo again in his head. Become the Master or the Master's servant. He's already one…why can't he be both?
He smiles his Cheshire cat smile, twirling his blade in his hand, and Gabriel's eyes follow it intently, cautious and wary but no less eager. He really is ready – he's ready to stop feeling pain, now, or at least know that when he's been good he'll get a reward. Dean hasn't fed him for seven days (at least, a perceived seven days) and it's taken a toll on Gabriel's vessel. He's fallen enough that he needs food, and that's a start.
"Hello, pretty," he purrs, smiling when he comes forward and kneels in front of the Archangel, taking Gabriel's chin in his hand. The Archangel is lax, following Dean's manhandling willingly, eagerly almost, and his Grace swirls with the most delicious honey-yellow shade, mixed with black like the patterns of a wasp. "How are you feeling today?" His blade trails a light journey over Gabriel's collarbone, dipping in deep enough to draw blood, which he scoops up with his thumb and licks off, tasting the pain and arousal there, and almost laughs.
Gabriel sighs out the word 'Good', and Dean grins widely at him, pulling Gabriel forward again and sliding his tongue into the Archangel's mouth. Gabriel is a good kisser – a slut and a heathen when he was on Earth and that's leaked through. The Angel knows what to do with his mouth, and Dean's confident he will be able to satisfy Sam despite the fact that Dean's never had him.
Dean doesn't need to have him. He has a sixth sense about these things – Castiel needed practice, but Gabriel…doesn't.
He laughs when the Archangel moans pitifully when he draws away, placing a small nip to the other man's lower lip as a promise of more and an incentive to behave. He's got plans, now – big plans to make Gabriel just that little more compliant, eager to serve Dean for the last stages of his training. It's a risky move but it worked with Castiel, so why not with Gabriel too?
"I'll be right back, pretty," Dean says, his voice a low husky purr that makes Gabriel shiver, and then he stands up, pushing Gabriel's head away, and stalks out of the room. He has things to prepare.
He visits Castiel first. Maybe it's that things are moving so fast – or so slow – and maybe it's because Castiel's been a bit…off recently (not that he would care because he fucking doesn't) but he feels like he needs to see the Angel, to check on him.
When he comes in, he's surprised; Castiel shies away from him, legitimate, bone-deep terror showing on his face, in his eyes. There's blood in the room – fresh blood – and Dean almost smirks because if Castiel's been harming himself, trying to end his life, he's going to be sorely disappointed.
The second option, when it occurs to him, is that another demon has been in here, messing with what's his, and that thought makes him growl, eyes flashing black. He surveys the room, and finds nothing out of place – just his quivering Angel and a fresh blood stain along the wall and the floor. Castiel shifts, unfolding his wings so that they cover his thin, pale body and Dean strides forward, catching the top joint in a powerful grip. He wrenches Castiel's wing away from his body, snarling when the Angel fights back, shouts out 'No!' and cowers away.
Too late, though. Dean sees the blood.
"What happened?" he asks, pulling the Angel's wing away again, this time more gently as he kneels down, and holds his knife against Castiel's thigh as incentive for the Angel to spread his legs. Castiel's shaking, closing his eyes tightly and shaking his head.
Begging.
"Castiel…look at me," Dean growls, tries to make his voice commanding, but it just comes out weak, shaken by his Angel's display though he'd never admit it. He's used to Castiel fearing him and being meek and submissive, but not like this…this terrified, shaken, broken thing that can't even look at him. "Look at me, damn it."
"Please, Dean, no…" Castiel begs, reaching out blindly to grab onto Dean's forearm, even though doing so makes the demon's hold tighten on his wing and it hurts, now, almost breaking his joint apart. "Please, Dean, just this once, leave me alone."
Dean growls again, because this will not be tolerated. "No, Castiel." He digs his knife into the inside of Castiel's thigh, forcing the Angel to spread his legs. There's blood there – a huge fucking amount. Way more than Dean's ever dealt to him, and it worries the demon. "What…?" He turns questioning black eyes to the Angel, finds Castiel watching him with fearful, agonized blue eyes that shine brightly with tears.
"I lost it," Castiel finally says, and then buries his face in his arms, drawing his wings tightly around himself despite Dean's hold – fights it off because he has to hide. He will take the demon's punishment because he was a bad Angel and lost the baby, but just…not now. He prays to Dean to be merciful and leave him alone, just for a little while. He needs to be alone.
Dean doesn't do that. It takes a moment for the demon to register what Castiel's just told him, and when it does he has no idea what to do. Some part of him – a part of him he thought had died long ago – flares with compassion and the need to comfort and reassure, but he can't do that. Not now. That's not how he is anymore and he's a demon God-damnit, and this isn't how they roll. Besides, it's Castiel's fucking fault, losing the baby. He managed to do fine with Malachai – so what the fuck happened now?
The demon stands, rubbing his knife handle between his palms, and considers. "Tomorrow I'm going to come here and clean this place up," he says, thinking aloud more than anything else – he can't lose any more half-breeds or Sam's army won't be ready in time. He might need to make Castiel…happy, and healthy to do that. Stupid whore probably needs food and sleep and shit like that. "We're going to give it a whole new look, and you'll get bathed and fed, and we'll try again." His tone of voice tells Castiel that the Angel has no say in the matter. "I don't know how it works with you Angels, but you're going to get pregnant again as soon as possible, and we're going to start trying again tomorrow."
Castiel shivers at that, because he feels…wrecked, broken from the inside. He feels like a part of him has died. He doesn't want to risk going through that again…but Dean's his Master, and his mate, and he'll do anything for Dean. He nods, knowing Dean doesn't really expect him to reply or care if he does, and then the demon is leaving, and his head shoots up. "Dean, wait!"
Dean stops, and turns, surprise and lingering anger showing on his face. Castiel fights the urge to flinch away, feeling like a failure. "Can you…stay with me? Please?" He doesn't want to be alone.
The demon's eyes turn cold, and his face hardens. "No," he snaps, and then closes the door behind him. Castiel curls in on himself again, hiding from the world, and cries.
Dean has work to do. With the loss of his second child, he has to work now more than ever to get Gabriel submissive and ready for Sam. The Archangel's pretty much good and ready, but one moment with Sam would probably have him back to fighting spirit, wanting to get away, and he might harm himself or do something that would render him practically useless. To some, the Final Death is better than Hell, and Dean's never been inclined to agree, but he knows it happens.
So he has to make Gabriel want Sam.
When Dean enters the Archangel's room again, he beckons Gabriel over to him, kneeling in front of the Archangel when he comes as far as the chains will allow him to without hesitation. Dean almost smiles, taking Gabriel's chin in his hands, searching his face for a long moment.
"How does it work?" he finally asks, letting the Archangel drop, and he stands up, paces around the room like he has somewhere to be or something to prepare. He doesn't, but that doesn't stop him. "The pregnancy thing."
There's a pause while Gabriel considers his answer. "I'm not sure," he replies honestly, knowing that the demon will probably not like this answer, but it's the only one he can give. "I imagine it just has something to do with the…timing, I think, but Hell's timing is all messed up so it's hard, sometimes, to know."
"But you can know?" Dean asks again, turning around, facing Gabriel's back and watching how the wings twitch, muscles commanding bone and sinew to move under the Archangel's back. "You can predict and know when a pregnancy will happen?"
Gabriel nods. "Most of the time." Then, he makes a very serious mistake; "Castiel is young, and inexperienced with such things. I wouldn't be surprised if something went wrong."
Dean snarls, striding forward and hooking the sharp edge of his blade around Gabriel's throat, digging deep enough to draw a startling amount of blood as he forces the Archangel back, all the strain on his legs to keep him upright and not to topple onto the floor. "Don't fucking talk about him," he hisses into the Archangel's ear, his eyes flat black and violence hanging around him like a second skin. "You don't have the right or the…you can't…" Dean growls again, pissed off at his own jealousy that someone else should say his Angel's name – Gabriel hasn't earned the fucking right. Castiel belongs to Dean. "Don't fucking say his name," he finishes with a sharp yank on Gabriel's hair, forcing the knife-wound that had been clotting to reopen again, blood to pour sluggishly from the semi-healed cut. Dean steps away, wiping the knife on his pants leg. "Is there any way to speed such things along?" he asks, snaps more like, his body tense now that blood's been spilled. He's going to pay Adam another visit before the day is out and he retires to Sam's room.
Gabriel swallows, righting his position so he's kneeling on the floor again, eyes down and wings drawn defensively around himself. "I…don't know," he confesses again, and knows Dean won't like that answer, but it's all he can say. "I guess if…I," he stops himself before he can make the mistake of mentioning his brother's name again, "was healthy and happy, predictions could get…better."
"He knew it was too soon, didn't he?" Dean growls, eyes flashing green for a moment as he thinks back to Castiel, wantonly begging for his seed again, for a new child. "He would have known it was too soon, but he wanted one anyway." Gabriel's quiet as the demon muses to himself, tapping the bloody tip of his knife against his lower lip. "That's interesting."
Dean's mood shifts, then, and he smiles. It's not a particularly nice smile and it makes Gabriel's tainted Grace shiver with fear. The demon's eyes slide into black. "Castiel is a good Angel, wouldn't you agree?" he asks, looking over at Gabriel again and coming to stand before him. The Archangel swallows and nods, not knowing if this constitutes as talking about his brother but unwilling to not answer as well. "Good Angels get rewarded Gabriel, you know that, right?" Another swallow, another nod. Gabriel's wings uncurl slightly, flaring out behind him. "Do you want to be a good Angel, pretty? Do you want to get rewarded?"
Gabriel hesitates on his nod, because Dean's voice is low and gentle, and that means the demon's planning something. Gabriel's wary, but he does want to be good. He wants to feel good, and get good things. Good things are…well, good. And not painful.
He lifts his eyes that are duller than normal, more brown than hazel, and meets Dean's onyx, and nods once more. Dean's smile turns into a fully fledged grin, and his non-knife-wielding hand cards itself through Gabriel's sweat-and-blood-damp, matted hair.
"Are you thirsty, Angel? Would you like something to drink?"
Hunger is like a background to the pain in Hell. Gabriel's aware of it and it gnaws at him, more so every inch he falls, but thirst. Thirst is stifling and raw, and it hurts to speak and to scream, especially when you've gone hoarse and you'd die for a drink. Gabriel's nod is more enthusiastic now, and less wary, because God, he wants. Fire burns in his throat when Dean smiles, and twirls his blade in his hand and then, very deliberately, presses it against his own neck. His eyes burn with black flames.
"Then drink."
