A/N: I wanted to thank all of you for your wonderful reviews, patience, and commitment. Hopefully I won't have to take another hiatus before the end…here's another slightly transitional chapter; enjoy!
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its affiliates belong to Eric Kripke
The translucent amber liquid swirled about the inside of the flute, reflecting off the restaurant's lighting that had been dimmed per the owner's request as the evening progressed. The couples waltzing together on the dance floor were moving slower now, merely shifting their weight from foot to foot either in the heat of romance or simply from too much drink, all to the long adagio strains of the harp. French manicured fingernails tapped lightly against the thin stem of the fluted glass and the blonde woman's lips were curved upwards in a self-assured smirk.
"So, do we have a deal?"
"You know what you are suggesting in such a proposal, do you not?" Robert St. James's smooth voice intoned, floating out of the semi-darkness, neutral and composed. A flash of silver rolled across the back of the hand lying on the table as he flipped the knife over the fingers, from knuckle to knuckle. The glass of red wine sitting before him sat untouched after having been refilled by the maitre d', deep crimson as still as the grave. "And what makes you think that I'll have anything to do with this scheme?"
"Betrayal of our Lord and Master, treason to the highest degree…" Lilith shrugged nonchalantly, raising the flute to her lips. "I've had a long time to think it over." The demon leaned forward, the faded blue eyes of her vessel holding the cold grey orbs across the table. "Which is exactly why I know you won't turn down my offer." She sat back, crossing one leg elegantly over the other, an action that caused the sheer red cocktail dress to slip upwards a couple of inches above the knee.
Any other man's gaze would have drifted downwards, but the grey eyes didn't shift at all. The knife flashed as it rolled over his thumb. "It's your neck that's at stake, not mine."
Instead of being deterred by the flat statement as one would have expected, Lilith stood and sashayed around the table, slinking sensuously over, singing out the notes of a siren's deadly laughter. Standing behind the other's chair now, she leaned down and draped her arms over and around the man's trim physique, lowering her mouth to whisper seductively in his ear. "I may have never been an angel, but even I know how much you want him."
The piece of cutlery slipped from suddenly slack fingers, clattering to the rich, white linen tablecloth. Grey eyes did not budge from their focal point across the room; rather they seemed frozen on the sight of the reflection in the large, floor length mirror: the beautiful woman leaning over the handsome man, Eve offering up unto Adam the forbidden fruit- but no morsel of even the most delectable sustenance, no pleasurable company, no sin man had ever been enticed into committing could have been more sweetly poisonous than the words that rolled silkily out of the demon's mouth.
"You dream of that darling innocent angel, don't you?" Blonde curls brushed against the clean-shaven cheeks as Lilith inhaled the elegant fragrance of blended fresh blackberry and tobacco flower. Her fingers drifted upwards to massage the muscles in Mr. St. James's neck, the kneading bringing about more pain than pleasure, yet he didn't do so much as even flinch.
"He's the only one you've ever dreamed of touching…" The hands slowly moved around the neck and slid down the man's shoulders. "He's the only one you've ever fantasized about, writhing and screaming in pain…" Lilith purred, tongue darting out to flicker at the other's ear. "Completely under your dominance."
He still didn't move as lips dragged across the back of his neck, but the strong jaw clenched tightly. "Ravishing his pretty little mouth and tasting him…" Hands moved down his torso, caressing him in a sultry manner. "Those eyes haunt you still, don't they? Those big, sapphire eyes are all you see, all you want to see when you fuck him senseless…" Lilith felt the tenseness in the meatsuit underneath her hands and she smirked, going in for the kill. "And how many times have you lost him?" The whisper was an inquiry, an offer, a daring taunt. She traced a finger up along his neck, digging her nail into the thrumming pulse. "Just how many times has he slipped right through your fingers, Belial?"
He said only two words then, just two- but they were filled with more rage and frustration than any jilted lover could express, all carefully restrained and delivered crisply, icily. "Sit. Down."
It was an order, and one that she dared not defy so Lilith hastened to take her seat again. As she did though, she noted with a delicious shiver of triumph how Belial's eyes were white now, and she knew she had him. Hell's second prince was staring across the restaurant at a young man with dark chestnut brown hair but his eyes were a disappointing hazel brown and so Belial turned back to the lesser demon sitting before him. "You know as well as I do that Sam Winchester is insusceptible to a great deal."
"But his bitch, Ruby, isn't. You kill her, and then poor Sammy won't have a clue what to do next." Lilith smiled cattily. "Think about it, Belial; I'm not asking for much, and in the end, everyone wins. Lucifer stays where he is, the both of us get to go back to the good old days, and I'll hand-deliver your precious angel to you myself." She leaned across the table, licking her lower lip once in anticipation as the other seemed to process the information. "So are we agreed?"
"…yes."
"Lovely." She smiled and sat back, obviously pleased with herself as she looked the other up and down, from the features that would've put many a model to shame to the body that clearly reflected the trials of a committed athlete. "So…would you prefer bathroom or backseat?" Although the chilling stare she received in return to the provocative suggestion was far from seductive foreplay, the lesser demon shrugged. "You know that it takes a lot more than a mere kiss to make a deal with me."
Belial turned away, face arranged in an expression of just having tasted something extremely sour and left out in the sun to spoil. Lilith reached across the way and lightly brushed her fingers over his hand with a chuckle. "Oh I know I'm not exactly your type, but you can close your eyes, can't you?" Her voice dipped low, dropping to a husky timbre. "It may be slightly difficult, but you can imagine that you're spending tme with your dear Cas-"
"We have a deal." Belial's hand was clenched into a hard fist, white eyes threatening to burn a hole in the magnificent marble floor. "Now get out."
"Do you know what a lie is?" He paced the length of the shack's interior space slowly, languidly. "It's a false statement deliberately presented as being true." His stride was easy, controlled; measured. "Something meant to deceive, or to give a wrong impression."
Belial turned, a look of thoughtful interest upon his face. "You know, lying is very much a skill; it's an… an art form, shall we say. Some are good at it, while others..." The demon clicked his tongue. "Let's just say that they don't have such exceptional talent."
Ruby glared, but winced as the action caused the deep gash spanning the length of her face to open up even more. "You idiot," the lesser demon hissed venomously, not caring that this was Lucifer's second in command to whom she was speaking with such disrespect. "Have you gone completely insane? We're on the same side here!"
"Of course, I myself being the master of all falsehood, know a thing or two about the differences between fact and fiction." Belial continued conversationally, raising a hand and moving his fingers like he was playing scales on a piano- and as if on cue, each of the ribs lining the interior of the captive demon girl's meatsuit snapped inwards, collapsing the chest cavity. She choked on the coppery wetness, shocked at the intensity of pain that was at a level beyond anything even her own infamously deadly dagger could inflict.
"Thus, I must confess myself bemused- or amused, perhaps, that certain individuals would even have the audacity to lie to my face." The demon sighed and shook his head piteously, as if sorrowing over the utter stupidity of said individuals. "Empty words," -a joint popped out of its socket and was promptly crushed into powder by an unseeable force. "Blatant falsifications…" –the connective ligaments between the femurs and tibulas of both legs split and the bones pushed up against each other forcefully, shooting up through skin. "Broken promises and deals that don't mean a damn thing…" –the clavicles and scapulas wrenched away from each other, jabbing out at impossible angles through the fleshy part of the biceps- "I see through them all."
"BELIAL!!" Ruby shrieked out blindly, literally due to the blood streaming downwards into her eyes, making the world a mess of sticky redness. Her voice sounded like that of a wounded jackal's; fear and pain rolled into one as she heedlessly demanded the attention of he who had the power to end her by simply willing it. "What the hell do you want?!"
"What do I want?" Belial repeated slowly, pivoting sharply and stepping right up close to the helpless demon girl, white eyes taking in the gory spectacle he was creating but there was no satisfaction, nothing that could quench the frosty rage streaming sluggishly through his veins. What did he want? A new pair of shoes after wallowing around in this mud hole, a fine glass of wine, and… A flash of blue eyes registered in his mind's eye but disappeared as quickly as it came."Something that you certainly have no hope of procuring, my dear."
She saw then, saw the inconsolable fury behind the demon's composed outward appearance and knew there was no buying, bartering, or pleading her way out of this one. No. The panic flared up to immense proportions as Ruby opened her mouth to emit a scream of pure terror, even as a sharp pop sounded out and her vessel's spinal column jutted backwards, curving in the wrong direction. No, no, no- "SAMMY!!"
"You sad, sad little girl," Belial hummed aloud, as if charmed by the futile scream. "Must have thought you were the most loyal out of all of us, no?" He said in a friendly manner, circling around the other. "You and Lilith both…" A chuckle rolled out of his mouth. "When will any of you children learn that Lucifer doesn't give out shiny gold stickers or plastic trophies? Azazel has already met his end, Lilith's pretty little mouth will soon be silenced…and you?" The demon shrugged and waggled his fingers in an informal gesture of farewell. "Just another obligatory offering, another victim for the slaughter."
His fingers were moving up and down, up and down but Ruby could do nothing but watch her impending destruction in the simple movements of the pinky, ring, middle, forefinger, thumb- one kidney deflated like a flat tire, as did the other; the spleen ruptured; the stomach's acids burned through the organ's walls and the intestines coiled tightly together like a spring before that spring was violently released, tearing through the walls of muscle and skin-
"Son of a bitch!" Was the screech, right before both of the demon girl's lungs imploded, sending geysers of blood and phlegm up through the trachea and gushing out in torrents. The cracks and noises sounded out incessantly, like a disturbing melody of morbid proportions. Bones sprung out of place, arteries popped open to leak their contents away out onto the ground; their harmony being the gurgles and other sounds of pathetic struggle coming from a mouth now overflowing with crimson. "You son of a bitch!" Or, rather, the accusation sounded like hiss, gurgle, splat.
Belial casually sidestepped a patch of blood, cocking his head to the side in amusement. "Well, technically I would be a bastard..." He tilted his head to the other side and then came the howl of unspeakable torture as the two rows of straight, white teeth jammed themselves firmly into the gums, burrowing deep into the pink flesh. "But right now, I am just very…" Ruby's howl became an unintelligible wail- "…very…" The girl's comely features became anything but that when flesh began to melt like candle wax, oozing away from the cheekbones, her forehead- "…put out."
The worn soles of his shoes scuffed lightly against the polished wood floors as he walked past the marble table, letting his calloused fingers slide over the ridiculously smooth surface, feeling very much like the pauper wandering around in the prince's rich and ostentatious palace. Dean glanced at the empty urn sitting in the middle of the table momentarily before turning to the large, framed canvases on the wall; oil masterpieces worthy enough to be put on display alongside the Mona Lisa. So what am I doing here staring at them, and where is here?
Turning around, he started, and stared. The table, which had been nearly empty not a moment before, now bore a platter piled high with some very tempting cheeseburgers, chock full of saturated fats and cholesterol-laden promises of a heart attack- his stomach growled, reminding him that it'd been more than twenty-four hours since his last meal but there was no way he could have been able to stomach anything, not with the mess that'd been his life as of late- and a decorative, wide vase filled with ice and beer. Who- how… He reached out and lifted a bottle of chilled beer, just to make sure it was tangible and not a figment of his imagination.
"Hello, Dean."
His head snapped to the side at the unfamiliar voice, which was oddly cheerful and belonged to a stout-looking man who looked for all the world like a CEO who grew fat on the labor of those below him without doing so much as lifting a finger. The man gave him a once-over, still smiling in that queer way that suggested he knew something the elder Winchester did not. "You're looking fit."
Creepy. "And who are you supposed to be?"
"I'm Zachariah, Castiel's superior." The man, now identified as Zachariah, stepped aside slightly and only then did Dean see and recognize the trench coated figure standing a little further back, hands clasped behind his back and shoulders squared with soldierly resolve, chin lifted stoically but there was only one thing Dean could think of-
"My superiors have begun to question my sympathies… I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You. They feel I've begun to express emotions; the doorways to doubt."
Castiel's superior. Dean's jaw tightened because something about that phrase came across as just…wrong in a sense, because something about this new angel was definitely off kilter; he scoffed to hide his unease. "So what is this, where the hell am I?"
"Call it a green room." Zachariah spread his hands in a gesture of welcome, then began to walk forward amiably. "We're closing in on the grand finale here, wanna keep you safe before show time." For some reason, Dean felt a strong urge to step back, but held his ground instead, rocking back on his heels slightly. "Try a burger. They're your favorite." The older man raised his eyebrows with that same, unsettling lopsided grin that reminded the hunter too much of politicians who offered up one hand to shake and drew out knives with which to backstab anyone and everyone with the other hand. "From that seaside shack in Delaware. You were eleven, I think?"
A day away from turning twelve, actually. It'd been the closest thing to a birthday dinner he's ever gotten, which was partially the reason why these burgers stuck out in his memory as exceptional. The wax paper-enwrapped patty on a bun seemed like a bribe now even though the burger in and of itself seemed real enough. "No, I'm not hungry."
"No?" Zachariah's cheery disposition faltered for a second at the rejection, before turning back with renewed vigor at what there was to offer. "How about Ginger, from season two of Gilligan's Island?" He quirked an eyebrow suggestively. "You do have a thing for her, don't you?"
Dean's thoughts wandered back to the alluring redhead he'd so often seen on the fuzzy screens of those archaic boxes with rabbit eared antennas in countless motel rooms, and something like a half grin touched his lips. "Tempting." A frown creased his brow. How was it though, that this angel who he'd never met before now knew of his pubescent fantasies? Dean's jaw tightened at the idea of the angels rummaging around in his head. "Weird…"
"We'll throw in Mary Ann for free," Zachariah prodded, always the savvy businessman, ready to up the ante in order to seal the deal.
"Ah, no. No." The hunter straightened, focusing once more. "Never mind that…I want to know what the game plan is."
Zachariah raised his chin. "You let us worry about that; we want you focused. Relaxed."
So you offer me beer, burgers, and women? It's the freakin' apocalypse; how relaxed do you want me to be?! It was ridiculous to the point of being funny, in a sense. Dean felt a very strong urge to slam his fist against something, preferably the closest object- which at the present moment was the angel's demi-potbelly. "Well, I'm about to be pissed and leaving, so start talking, Chuckles!"
Molars ground once against each other and then the angel heaved a sigh, disappointed that all manners of distraction proved useless. "All the seals have fallen," he said matter-of-factly, walking around the elder Winchester. "Except one."
Well, you dicks really know how to handle matters of import, don't you? "That's an impressive score, that's- that's right up there with the Washington generals." Dean snarked, turning in a half circle. He didn't trust this newcomer enough to leave his back exposed, especially when it was clear that he had no idea what was going on. The reply he received was even more brutal than what his own sharp tongue and quick wit could form.
"You think sarcasm is appropriate, do you? Considering…" the fleshy face was facing him again, arrogance and superiority in the accusation, "you started all this?"
Guilt. It hit fast and hard, stinging like a whip of nettles and Dean's gaze fell to the floor. Goddamn you. "But the final seal…" A hand clapped down upon his shoulder as the angel walked back to his original position between the elder Winchester and Castiel. "…it'll be different."
"Why?" It came out as a low growl, harsh-sounding from trying to move past the stinging from the unwelcome reminder and Dean glared hard to squash down the bile rising up in the back of his throat. "And as he breaks so shall it break…"
"Lilith has to break it. She's the only one who can." Dean's brow furrowed even deeper because damn it, this incessant smiling was really starting to get on his nerves, especially since he saw nothing about this situation that was amusing in the least. "Tomorrow night, midnight."
"Where?"
"We're working on it."
That's not good enough. "Well, work harder!" What is it with angels and their cryptic little riddles? He had to know where Lilith would be if there was any chance of catching up to Sam and making things right between the two of them again.
"We'll do our job, you just make sure you do yours."
Zachariah's voice was quiet and conciliatory, but Dean had had enough. Don't give me that crap. "Yeah, and what is that exactly? I'm supposed to be the one who stops Lilith; how, with a knife?"
"All in good time."
What the hell- "Isn't now a good time?"
Castiel knew what was coming next and he shifted uneasily; his fingers brushed against the barely-closed wounds in his wrists and the angel swallowed hard. Please understand this, Dean. He knew the other was going to hate him for this betrayal; then would come the lashing of the sharp tongue and cutting words, somehow more terrible than the cruel chastisement of both Heaven and Hell. Angels were not supposed to feel this small or this afraid over how their charges responded. Indeed he'd been able to deal with the elder Winchester's arrogance, stubbornness, frustration and lack of faith before because then, he had been a soldier of the Lord, defending the will of God.
But this was different. Castiel tried to still his troubled soul, but could find no comfort in this enclosed area, this trap that he himself had played an integral role in setting. He'd never before willingly deceived the hunter, everything he did was in order to protect Dean Winchester, he'd only ever worked to ensure the safety and welfare of his charge.
"Swear your obedience." The words rung out tauntingly in his ears and it choked him, having to lie, to assist in Lucifer's release. Surely this was not God's plan. The Father would've never willed this.
"Have faith." Zachariah intoned, but the words were dull and meaningless.
"What, in you?" flew back Dean's sharp retort. "Give me one good reason why I should."
Castiel's shoulders hunched; his superior was advancing slowly upon his charge then, threateningly. This is for the good of mankind Dean; this is your destiny and you will be the one to stop Lucifer, such deception was necessary but you will then be at peace- He had no one left; this Castiel knew. Almighty God was more or less missing from his own Kingdom, his brother was nowhere to be found and unreachable even though Castiel had tried numberless times to reach the Lord's messenger…and now, as Zachariah more or less spat out the order, the angel's heart clenched in anguish because now Dean Winchester would abandon him as well.
"Because you swore your obedience...so obey."
Here was the catch, the ugly truth unveiled, here was the sting of a traitor's guilt as flinty emerald eyes found and held his. I'm sorry. There was so much accusation in that single gaze, so much betrayal that it was nearly palpable-
You lied to me Cas; I trusted you and you manipulated me, you dirty backstabbing son of a bitch-
And as he clenched his jaw tightly, lowering his gaze, Castiel felt neither peace nor the satisfaction of obedience, only great shame.
Plip. Plip. Plip.
The droplets slid downwards slowly, some catching on torn pieces of cloth and others slipping off the jagged edges of white bone or sliding into gouges in flesh created by skin and muscle torn asunder. Crimson trails colored the drab grey and dark brown water logged wood of the small shack, streaking across the floor, all four walls, and the ceiling as well; Picasso's wet dream with a touch of Francisco de Goya a macabre example of abstract art.
Belial circled what looked like little more than a large piece of bloodied meat hanging from the ceiling, more disconnected sinews and barely-there flaps of skin than a body, more dead than alive. It was truly a sight to behold and while he admired the masterpiece, he couldn't help but think that the blood of another tasted far sweeter, that hearing the screams forcefully torn from a certain angel's throat was more of a symphony than any of Beethoven's compositions. My dear, dear Cas… The demon inhaled deeply to avoid the now-buried vexation and anger. I will have you soon.
Playing around with his latest captive certainly been cathartic, but the job was not yet done. One tap of his foot brought the trough that had been standing against the far wall shooting across the room, coming to a halt directly underneath the corpse. Belial clucked his tongue. "You know my dear, you were actually one of the more talented ones out there. It must have taken some clever words to make Sammy believe you actually wanted to help him." The demon shrugged. "Although I suppose you often put those lying lips to uses besides persuasion. Let me divulge to you a little secret then, one liar to another." Extending one clean hand he made a rotating motion, pushing the body into a position so that all the blood now dripped into the trough. "Take comfort in the knowledge that your hard work will not go to waste."
Belial smirked, his words addressed to no one in particular, seeing that the only individual present still alive besides himself was currently unconscious. "Well old sport," the demon said pleasantly, turning then to the prone figure of the younger Winchester, "drink up."
After all, killing Lucifer's first wouldn't be an easy task. But with Hell's second prince there to guide him, how could anything go wrong?
So this was guilt, this black snake that felt like it was devouring his soul piece by piece, with each fabrication he spoke and every order he now carried out. Castiel watched his charge stalking around the interior of the small room, one impatient step after another, footsteps resounding with frustration but it was hard to stand there doing nothing so he turned away quickly, directly into his superior.
"He wants to speak to you."
For the first time in what seemed like forever, Castiel felt a small glimmer of hope. As he moved past the other to enter into the holding space where Dean paced, the other angel reached out and grabbed a hold of his shoulder; fingers digging mercilessly into the tender appendages there that were still healing. "Don't tarry, brother," Zachariah said amiably, giving the lesser angel's shoulder a firm squeeze.
The warning was clear. Remember to whom you swore your obedience.
A/N: Wow, I've been all over the place in this chapter. Hope all of you enjoyed seeing Belial in a slightly different light. He's certainly interesting, isn't he? Ruby's finally gone, Lilith shouldn't have tried making a deal with the lord of lies, and Dean is soon going to find out the truth! Please review!
