The tattered remains of Dean's vessel hung from the rack, devoid of any characteristic that could be construed as 'life'.
His soul, having fled the horror that it could no longer endure, was now trapped, wraith-like and insensate, in a state of suspended animation.
"Would you like me to restore him, Sire?"
Lucifer held up a hand, halting the Grand Torturer in his tracks.
He stood before the rack, the arm across his abdomen bracing its opposite's elbow, massaging his chin with his fist.
Strips of pink and white flesh hung off the figure like the sad remnants of a New Year's parade. The fingernails had been removed from one hand, while the fingers themselves were noticeably absent from the other.
Exposed ends of fractured ribs glinted a bright white against the darkening blush of ravaged meat.
Thick ropes of gray-rose intestine hung from a long rent in the abdomen, a macabre privacy screen for the mutilated genitals behind them.
Pink foam had dripped from the man's mouth to dry on his denuded sternum, proof that something untenable with the normal exchange of gases had been done to his lungs.
Bending his knees, Lucifer looked up into the man's face.
His lips and teeth were gone, eye sockets nothing but ash.
As Lucifer watched, one bruised cheek began to pulse and recede.
The movement continued until a spike-haired brown leg emerged man from the man's mouth, followed at length by a cephalothorax, a bloated abdomen, and seven sharp-jointed legs.
"Eww." Lucifer shuddered dramatically. "I hate spiders."
He stepped back, gaze scraping over his cowering subordinate. "The back look as good as the front?"
"Yes, sire."
"Good." He turned away. "You can go now."
He knuckled into his smile, pretending not to notice the flash of resentful possessiveness that Alastair could not fully suppress. He'll be begging for forgiveness for that later .
He tilted his head as his subordinate walked away. Yeah. I'll own that ass again later, Ally.
Lucifer drummed his fingers along his jaw, focus once more on the problem before him. "Restore him and start over, or just fix some of him? Hmmm… Decisions, decisions."
He snapped his fingers and the figure on the rack announced its reanimation with a drawn out, gasping shriek.
Lucifer waited, face impassive. "Demon healing is a little painful, I admit. More like being spot-welded together by a millwright on crack than the 'puzzle-put-together-oh-so-carefully-by-your-dear-old-granny' shit that the angels do."
The shrieking died down to a whistling keen which faded to a series of piteous whimpers before ending with dysrhythmic but quiet breaths, punctuated by the occasional groan.
"You got control of yourself pretty quickly there, bud. I'm proud of you." Lucifer had always secretly been a little turned on by John Winchester's deep, whiskey-scarred voice, and he allowed the resonance of it on his tongue to spread out through his body, making his dick hum.
Dean was still too far gone for his shaken soul to register the familiar tones and less familiar praise.
Why aren't I whole it ended I know it ended s'posed to be whole no pain for a lil' bit s'posed to be -
"Sorry I didn't get here earlier." Lucifer had dropped to a crouch, placing himself in Dean's line of sight. "We started trying right away, Dean." He reached up, calloused palm cupping the destroyed hunter's cheek gently. "You in there, Son? You with me?"
Dean's right hand, positioned straight out to his side, palm up, twitched.
The fire in his denuded fingertips flared as the motion pulled on forming scabs.
S'posed to be whole get a break no pain not fair
Lucifer chuckled as he stood. He pressed his fingers together, reaching under the curtain of bowel to lay them flat against the Hellhound-gnawed remnants of Dean's penis, and drew his hand up incrementally.
Dean writhed - fire ants under my skin climbing me biting biting burns stop please stop - head thrown back, lips drawing away from the marriage of clenched teeth as if avoiding the contact of soft skin on enamel could somehow alleviate his pain.
Flesh rippled in the wake of the archangel's hand, and the motion of realigning tissues certainly could have been mistaken for that of a thousand busy insects buried beneath the man's skin. That is what it looks like, Lucifer mused, momentarily distracted by a fond memory. But ants don't leave everything looking so - he licked his lips as he drank in the sight of the smooth, muscled torso under his palm - pretty .
When he reached his subject's collar bone, he broke contact.
Pain dissipated like steam on the surface of a lake, pulling tension along with it.
Dean's soul sobbed, disgusted with itself for the pathetic surge of gratitude it felt for the creature standing before it.
Alastair. Changing the rules again. Fucking with my head.
"I'm sorry that I'm not able to fix all of it," the Master Deceptor lied, "but I could do a little more. What hurts the most, Son?"
Dad ! Shot through his soul at the same time that the stabbing-throbbing-burning ache that lived in Dean's right armpit and radiated outward, a Barbarian horde waging war on that entire side of his body, battled its way to the forefront, demanding attention.
Dean's soul cowered, quavering. 'S Alastair fuckin with your head don't let him know gotta hide it he'll use it make it worse
Terror rendered him mute.
John's face twisted into a sympathetic grimace as he reached out, stopping just short of the cold rod protruding from Dean's armpit. "Damn. That's gotta hurt. Remember that time that damned ghost threw me into a hunk of rebar?" He rubbed a spot low on his side, just above the hip bone. "Still got the scar."
Dad want Dad
It's not him Alastair pretending hurting
Need him please Dad please
Can't be him Dad's in Heaven he wouldn't hurt -
Please, Dad. Please!
"I know this is going to hurt while I take it out, but then it will be a whole lot better. You okay with that? You ready?"
" Dad ." It came out as a broken whimper, and Dean hated himself for it.
Fingers tender on the skin at his temple, heartbreak in the man's voice as John murmured, "Shhh, shhh. Gonna be alright, Dean-o. Gonna get you out of here. Just hang on."
It's not him
Can't be him
Alastair hurting hurting all day hurting
Hurting, not healing
It might be
Lucifer watched the replica of John's hand close around the metal bar, feeling the thing vibrate with the boy's internal agony.
He braced his other hand - also John's - on the young hunter's naked chest, a low frisson of anticipation pulsing in his groin.
The rod glowed as he withdrew it slowly.
Dean's head rocked back, spine bowed in shocked rictus as every nerve ending that signaled "pain" and "hot" fired simultaneously.
No god stop please Dad sorry please
Until his soul reverted back to its most primal form, one without thought or language, and he fought wildly against his restraints, desperate for escape, pain too large for his vessel to contain rushing from his throat in a protracted, abrasive scream.
He came back to himself to find his face buried in the softness his father's shirt
Strong hand at the back of his neck, pinning him there
Hard cheek against the top of his head
Soft sounds of comfort caressing his ears
Mixed scents of cologne and deodorant and gun cleaner and faint sweet sweat unlocking memories
Unlocking want
Releasing hope and longing and desperation
"Dad?"
He wanted to bring his arms around, feel his father solid and immortal beneath his palms
Need this to be real -
It's not. He's done it before Alastair's done it before not Dad don't believe it tricking you he's tricking you
But he's healing me holding me never done that before taking pain away need it need him please
Guard your soul, Dean - and the voice in his head was his father's.
"Yeah, Dean. It's me. I'm here." He pulled away, framing Dean's face with both of his large, calloused palms, tilting until the green of the young man's irises became visible, magnified by held tears. "I'm sorry it took so long to get to you, but I'm here now, and I'm breaking you out, okay?" He thumbed away the dampness on Dean's cheeks. "I can't heal everything yet - gotta save enough juice to angel us out of here - but once we're topside, I've got friends waiting to finish what I started."
Dean's head spun, soul warring with itself
He's really here
Not real
Gonna get me out
He's in Heaven
Take me topside
It's another trick
Angel us out he said he could angel us out
Dean's soul went still.
He's an angel
He went to Heaven you saw it bright light rising up
He's here
Angels can't get into Hell
They can if they try hard enough
He's here
Healing me
He'll save me
My dad will save me
"Dad!" Sobbing, tears flowing, relief and hope and malicious doubt shredding him.
"Yeah, Son. It's me. It's really me. I'm sorry it took so long, bud." He wiped a hand over the wet tracks on his face, a familiar gesture that sent a stab of 'home' through Dean's chest. "We been tryin' ever since we found out." He shook his head, dimples creasing in a rueful grin. "I thought some of our hunts were hard. Do you have any idea the research involved in figuring out how to get a fricken' angel into - and then back out of - Hell?"
'S over almost over I knew he'd come knew someone would save me Dad or Sam or Bobby would save me
"We got a few more minutes until everything's in place for us to get the hell out of Dodge. Or dodge our way out of Hell."
Dean chuckled weakly, appreciating the pun that Sam would have rolled his eyes at.
"Let's get you off of this thing."
Dean struggled to suppress any outward sign of the agony his father's manipulations caused, knowing it was worth it, not wanting to discourage the man or slow his movements, needing to be off that rack, to be done, no more pain, no more Alastair, all of it behind me, all of it. Finally. Over.
He kept quiet, but his tortured body would not obey his command to support its own weight, forcing John to lower his son oh-so-carefully to the cold stone of the floor.
They ended with John cross-legged, Dean gangly and awkward on his lap, face tucked against John's neck, wetting his father's collar with his tears.
John rocked his broken child the way he had when Dean was just a toddler: with his arms locked around him, promising safety as they imparted their warmth.
Dad.
Sorry thank you I'm sorry
Dad.
When Dean's breathing had normalized, the flow of dampness on John's neck had slowed, and the youn man's deep tremors had faded to a nearly imperceptible vibration, John spoke. "So how'd you end up here, Dean? They said they didn't know. You were shielded from us after Sammy died, and then he was alive, and you were gone. Felt like it took forever to find you."
He continued to rock, palm a delicious abrasion as it glided repeatedly over the back of Dean's arm.
Do I tell him? Will he be mad?
"I - " his throat felt like it was coated with powdered glass. His tongue twisted and stretched, searching for moisture. He collected what little he found, wincing as he swallowed what could have been battery acid for all the relief it provided. "I made a deal." Like you did for me , but the words hurt too much to give them life.
"God damnit, Dean!"
Hands that had been soothing him now dug in, and Dean flinched away from his father's anger.
"Not like I hadn't already guessed it," John muttered, and his grip softened. "But what the hell were you thinking? I gave you explicit instructions, Dean! You had to save Sam, or kill him. You. There was no one else. And instead, you did this?"
Dean pressed his face into his father's neck. "Sorry. Sorry." Don't be mad please I need you to not be mad
"Your brother is falling apart Dean. He is falling apart. Having sex with a demon. Drinking her blood. Killing -" He broke off, and shame lanced through the blanket of pain over Dean's mind as he realized how hard his father was fighting for control. "He's made himself judge, jury, and executioner."
"No." He wouldn't Sam wouldn't he's good he wouldn't
"It's why I'm here, Dean. They sent me to drag you out, get you back topside. Get Sam straightened out."
Sammy. Gotta save Sammy.
"Lucifer wants him, Dean. He wants your brother, and he's getting him. He's going to own your brother's soul."
"Nooo." Not Sam he's good m' brother better 'n me
"He was , Dean. He was better than you."
Did I say that out loud? Didn't hear it feel it jus in my head
"He isn't anymore." He pressed his fingertips to Dean's forehead.
The motel room was littered with empty bottles, equal parts beer and cheap whiskey.
Sam leaned against the headboard, unwashed hair heavy on his scalp.
He was nude, legs sprawled, one hand fisted around the neck of a bottle, fingers of the other entwined in the hair of the woman who crouched between his legs. He tipped the bottle to his lips as he forced her head down, seeming not to notice as her torso contracted in a reflexive gag.
His adam's apple bobbed repeatedly as he tilted the bottle, apparently intent on draining it.
The woman tried to rise, a tentative motion at first, gaining strength as the need to breathe lent panic to her efforts.
Sam tossed the bottle away in order to grip the girl's scalp with both hands, triceps bunching and forearms in his muscles cording, ankles crossing over the suffocating female's lower back.
A tight mask of sadistic pleasure melted into mindless bliss as he stuttered out his orgasm into the now-limp form between his thighs.
He shifted, snagging one pale and flaccid limb with his long fingers. Drawing the woman's wrist to his mouth, he bit deeply into the tender flesh, lips staining crimson as his throat worked and his body shuddered its way through a second orgasm.
Dean jerked his head back, "No!" ripping out of his soul.
"That was a demon he was with. He drinks her blood and he fucks her and she can get him to do any damned thing she wants."
No no god no not Sam Sammy Sam no
"Lucifer wants him here, and the way things are going, he's going to get what he wants." John shifted. "Let's get you lying down, alright? I need to do something about some of this mess. Get you cleaned up so you can go see Sam."
Sam see Sam "I...I get to see him?" He wanted to cry, the hope and the need and the doubt all so strong - it's a trick done it before don't believe him guard your soul
"Yeah." John eased his older son to the floor. "Sorry I don't have anything for you to lay on."
"'S okay." Sam see Sam need Sam
Sammy
"He's going to do something. We don't know what. All we know is that if Lucifer wants it, it can't be good." He rested his fingertips at the tops of Dean's shoulders.
The skin on the young hunter's back, buttocks, and thighs had been flayed down to bone.
"Hang on. This is going to hurt."
The writhing, biting, burning horror of demon healing ignited, and all thoughts of Sam - of anything - were lost to shrieking agony and desperate attempts to get away - burns burns get away - fingers clawing at rough stone, legs jerking and spasming, tears coursing unheeded to slick the floor beneath him.
His abdomen convulsed as the healing ended, and John used his son's shoulders to drag the boy's face out of a puddle of vomit.
"Shh. Shh. It's all over now. You're alright. You're going to be alright."
Dean melted into the floor, sobbing. Can't do this can't take this too much too long can't just can't
John carded his fingers through his son's hair, waiting for the storm to pass. "Get it together, Dean. Gotta get you dressed, get you to Sammy. We can't kill him; he'll just come straight here. We need you to save him. You've got to save your brother, Dean."
Sam save Sam see Sam need Sam
Dean fought the sobs that racked him. Willed the flow of tears to end.
Gathered strength he would have sworn he didn't have, and pushed himself up onto his knees.
"Wha - what do I have to do?" He raised his eyes, desperate for the comfort of his father's faith. "How do I save him?"
John's face was grim. "If he dies now, his soul belongs to Hell. It's gotta be cleaned, so he's righteous again."
Dean trembled under the cold horror that climbed up out of his soul.
"You have to cleanse him, Dean. You have to help him repent."