"So, what'll it be today, Mr. Winchester?" After thirty years, Alastair's morning greeting was habitual.

Dean's response was not.

There was nothing.

No pain, no fear, no revulsion.

No hope.

Just a black void holding the ashes of his soul.

"I have someone here, Dean. A present for you on this, the anniversary of your thirtieth year in hell. You have now officially been here longer than you existed topside."

Dean could hear the girl weeping.

He didn't look up.

Ice water sluiced over him, and the harsh cold forced him to jerk his head up, gasping. The demon before him smiled. "That was your shower for the day, Dean. Need to freshen up for your date."

He'd kept his eyes closed, and now he allowed his chin to drop back to his chest.

Dean wasn't surprised when the blade slammed into him, sliding through the muscles in his thigh until it struck bone. "Open your eyes, Dean, or I'll remove your eyelids." Alastair's rancid breath scalded his cheek.

He opened his eyes.

The dark-haired girl on the rack before him was the picture of terrified innocence. White cotton blouse buttoned to a modest level, faded jeans that fit comfortably, cowboy boots that were made for work, not show...and tear-filled brown eyes that begged Dean to save her.

"She's a virgin, Dean. Not just a 'this is her first day in Hell' type of virgin, and not even a 'I swear I don't know how I got pregnant, Joseph' virgin: Emily is the real deal." Alastair trailed a finger down her cheek, wetting his nail with her tears. "Do you know how rare actual, physical virgins are in Hell , Dean?" He licked his lips and his clothes were gone. The demon's monstrously large phallus dominated the room, engorged and pulsing as it strained for the girl like a living entity.

She shrieked, struggling against her bonds.

Alastair moaned. The viscous liquid that leaked from the tip of his caricature of a penis dripped to the floor.

Smoke curled from the pit that single drop melted into the stone.

"You're lying." Dean's voice was devoid of emotion.

"Do you remember me telling you about suicides, Dean?" Alastair gripped the girl's wrist, turning it to display the long, jagged scar there. "This attempt wasn't successful, so she took her daddy's pills." He caressed her cheek once more, and the girl cringed away from the touch. "Threw away God's gift, like it didn't even matter. Didn't trust Him to save her." He shook his head in a parody of sorrow. "Such a bad, bad girl."

A coal glowed in the ashes of his soul. "Leave her alone."

Alastair turned, holding his razor aloft. "Oh, you know I can't, Dean. She's committed a cardinal sin. There's a price to be paid." He ran one forefinger down the blade lovingly. "I get to torture her. Fuck her. Make her scream." He licked the blade. "I wonder if she'll be as tight as you were that first time, Dean. If her screams will be as intoxicating as yours always are."

"It's not right. She doesn't deserve this."

Alastair was in his face, razor nestled in the juncture between Dean's scrotum and his thigh. "Take it up with the management, honey. I don't make the rules, I just enforce them."

He drew the blade up, a thin line of fire marking its path. "But it doesn't have to be me, Dean. It's your anniversary, and you made a deal with Lucifer himself. This could be your gift: one more chance to save an innocent damsel from a horrible monster. Your last humanitarian act before you go demon." His voice dripped sarcasm. "How many chances do you think you'll have to do that in Hell, Dean Winchester?"

Take up his blade.

Get off the rack.

I said I would.

But this girl.

I can't.

It was the first time that Alastair had ever sensed indecision from his favorite toy.

"No matter," he sang, returning his attention to the girl. "I was actually hoping that you wouldn't say 'yes'." He popped the button on the girl's jeans, smiling at her resultant hysteria.

"No no no! Please, please, I'll do anything, I'm sorry, please!"

Dean closed his eyes.

It's not real. Sam wasn't real, Dad wasn't real, this girl is not real.

He tried to ignore the sound of tearing cloth.

"Please please please! Oh, God, please, don't!"

Dean's frantic "Wait!" was followed by a shocked scream as Alastair thrust into him viciously.

The hunter's cry was cut off abruptly as the improbable organ that Alastair had conjured

buried itself in Dean's body with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

Alastair alternated between thrusts so powerful they crushed organs and withdrawing so slowly that tissue shredded along the way.

"Stop." His soul rose up, threatening to choke him. "Alastair. Stop ."

Alastair took a moment to force the look of triumph from his face before turning, razor in hand. "Yes, Dean?"

"I'll do it. I'll start her."

Fire burned coldly where his soul had been.


"If I do this, I'm doing it my way, alright?" His voice was granite. "And you don't get to be here. No spectators."

Alastair chuckled. "Of course, Dean. Whatever you say." He could not keep the victory from his eyes as he placed his razor reverently in the hunter's palm. "I'll be right outside. Just let me know when you're done."

Dean waited until the demon had left them before he crossed the room, razor hidden at his side.

The girl's eyes dominated her face, swimming in terror.

He stopped at a comfortable distance, making no attempt to touch her.

"Emily? Is that your name?"

She nodded hesitantly.

"I'm Dean. I've been here - " his voice caught - "I've been here a long time, but I still remember what that first day was like." He looked away, dropping his gaze to the floor. "There will be more days, and they'll be bad. Really bad. But I...I can make this first day….not as bad as it could be."

He swallowed, looking at the blade in his hand. "I wish I could save you…."

Her crying had slowed. "Do you...do you have to…."

"Rape you?" His voice was harsh with the bitterness of self-recrimination. "If I don't, he will."

Fresh tears flowed unchecked down her reddened cheeks. "I...I've never…"

"Yeah, I know." But my dick won't turn into a monster, and my cum won't melt your insides. "I'll be gentle. I promise."

She sobbed, but didn't object.

He lifted the razor, and she shuddered.

He cut through the bindings on each wrist.

A thin line of perfectly spaced scars decorated her right forearm. He ran his thumb over them, expression inquisitive.

"I...it's called 'cutting'. I do it - did it - when it hurt too much. You know," she rolled her free hand toward her chest, "inside."

He nodded, ball of his thumb carressing the evidence of her struggle to overcome what he knew had been overwhelming psychological pain. "Did it help?"

Her huffed response was part sob, part laugh. "Some. Not enough, apparently."

He raised the blade to her wrist. The green eyes that locked on hers conveyed a knowledge and understanding that cut to the bone. "May I?"

She nodded. "Of course."

They both watched intently as he brought the razor to her scars. His eyes shot to hers as the first line of crimson marred her soft, white skin. Her smile was encouraging.

Five neat, straight lines graced her flesh. He dropped the blade, raising her wrist to his lips, and kissed away the blood. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It didn't hurt."

"No. I mean I'm sorry that you did this. That you were so messed up you felt like you had to."

He crouched at her feet, retrieving the razor to free her legs. When he stood, she collapsed against him, holding him tightly.

"If I had known you , maybe I wouldn't have."

He returned her embrace, cheek nestled into soft, fragrant hair. "I'm sorry I have to - " He made a vague gesture, and a bed appeared behind him.

Alastair. Bastard's not supposed to be watching.

"It's okay. Really: it's okay."

The bed looked like a thrift shop reject: rusted metal frame, broken down mattress, stained sheets. Still, it was better than the cold, wet floor.

Dean turned his back, allowing Emily to remove her clothing and position herself as she wanted.

He turned to find her lying on her back, arms held stiffly at her sides, ankles touching but not intertwined. His breath caught at his first sight of her ivory skin, breasts small but firm, virginal cleft hidden beneath a screen of thick, curling, black hair.

He'd been nude for as long as she'd known him, and he dropped to his knees beside the bed, trying to hide the physical effect that she had on him.

"You're beautiful." His voice was reverent.

Her eyes shot to his face, and she bit her lip at the desire and awe that she read there as his gaze swept her body, returning at last to capture her stare. "May I?"

She nodded, trying not to let her tears fall, reminding herself that it could be worse. He was a stranger, and she didn't want this, but it could be so much worse.

He eased onto the bed beside her, lying on his side, careful not to allow his straining erection to touch her. He kept his eyes on her face as he carded his fingers through her hair, teasing around the shell of her ear before tracing her eyebrow gently.

He looked utterly fascinated, as if she were the first female he had ever seen, and she wondered how long he had been in this place.

What he had been through.

The backs of his fingers whispered along her jawline, and he licked his full lips.

"Can I kiss you?"

His voice was hoarse, and for some reason, that made her spine tingle.

"Yes."

She'd been kissed before, but this soft heat, this gentle probing from his tongue, the jolt of pleasure as he licked the roof of her mouth: this was all new.

Her hand came up of its own accord, palm gliding over a ridge of muscle on his side, and she moaned.

He was trembling.

The kiss grew more heated, hungry, and he sucked her lower lip into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue. He broke away as he brought his hand to her waist, cupping the curve with his palm, thumb grazing the last rib.

"May I?"

She nodded, fear living in her chest.

He braced himself on one elbow, eyes locked on her face as his left hand explored her body, ghosting over skin.

She was tingling and breathless before he even got to her breasts, and she wanted to beg him to touch her there, but couldn't force the words from her throat.

He seemed to know, and as his warm, calloused palm engulfed her, squeezing gently, he closed his eyes. "God, you feel good."

He pinched her nipple, twisting carefully, and she cried out, digging her fingers into his back.

He released that tender nub, cradling her flesh tenderly. "Did that hurt?"

The concern in his voice brought fresh tears, but she laughed. "No. God no."

He chuckled, dropping his head to tease her lip back into his mouth, licking it thoroughly. At the same time he repeated the earlier motion of his fingers on her nipple, and she whined, arching up into him.

Now she felt his hard length branding her thigh, and eagerness augmented her fear.

"May I?"

She wasn't sure what he was asking, but knew she would deny him nothing.

At her nod, he dipped his head, teeth closing around her nipple, and her fingers fisted in his hair as her breath stuttered in her chest.

Each flick of his tongue over the trapped nub sent an electric bolt of pleasure straight to her core. He released that breast, turning his attention to the other, and her body begged him to move lower, to find her and stroke her and fill her and end this torment.

She was mindless as she spread her legs, and his hand slipped down, fingertips discovering the moisture coating her inner thigh, and he groaned, voice pained. "Emily…."

She heard his plea, and answered with her own: "Please, Dean. Please ."

His mouth returned to hers, now hot, wet, and nearly frantic with desire. He cupped her mons in his palm, and she thrust against him, whining around his tongue. His fingertips stroked through dampness and curls, and she keened into his mouth. One finger dipped in, parting velvet folds, collecting her lust, drawing it up to the engorged nub of her clit, and she arched her back on a scream.

He pushed down, face dipping below her waist, skilled tongue replacing his fingers, laving, probing, teasing, and she gripped his hair with both hands, thighs tightening on his skull, torso curling as he strummed her, sending jolt after jolt of electric pleasure coursing through her, a constant "please please please" pouring down on him, seemingly unheard -

And then he covered her with his body, eyes locked on her face, hips snugged between her thighs.

"May I?"

and his voice was broken, shame and lust splintering together, but she was lost, needing something so badly, and she didn't even know what, but please, oh God, please -

He pressed into her, trying to be slow, be gentle, but she gripped his hips, fingers biting into him, thighs wrapping around him. "Please! Need - "

He groaned, head falling to her shoulder, and thrust past her barrier, burying himself in her wet heat.

She cried out at a sharp pain that quickly faded to a pleasant warmth.

Then he moved onto his knees, her hips resting on his thighs, and began to stroke her with his cock, eyes on her face the whole time.

Not seeing what he wanted to see, he pulled out, wrapped his arms around her thighs from beneath, and pulled her to the edge of the bed. "There's an angle…"

He stood between her legs, expression intent as he slid two fingers into her, seeking, stroking.

Just as she was about to beg him to put his cock back inside of her, he pressed against something that sent an intense wave of pleasure through her all the way to her bones, and she gasped. "What -"

He held his lip between his teeth, pupils so wide the green of each iris was reduced to shadow.

He gripped his shaft with one hand, sliding his head in along those two questing fingers, replacing them.

His head stroked along swollen flesh housing a tight bundle of nerves, and her whole body trembled. "Ooo-ooo-hhh!"

He closed his eyes, tilting his head back, tendons standing out as he fought for control.

He found it, returning his focus to Emily's face, tip of his tongue resting on his lower lip, concentration beading in the sweat on his brow as he drove the head of his cock into her g-spot

once,

twice,

three times.

He felt her orgasm at the same time that he heard it, the combination shuddering down his spine, setting him on fire.

When her spasms ended he collapsed forward, rolling with her in his arms, still sheathed inside of her, pressing her close as he rode out the aftershocks of an intense orgasm.

He came back to himself with the feel of her tears scalding his neck.

His soul withered.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, stroking her hair.

Tears ran down the side of his face, mingling with hers.

"No." she shook her head against him. "It's not...this was...It's just…" Her voice hitched in her chest, and he pulled her in tighter against his. "Tomorrow…."

"I'm sorry. I wish I could give you that, too. Maybe...If I talk to Alastair…" if I promise to let him put me back on the rack, me instead of Emily…

As if he had heard, the demon materialized at the foot of their bed.

Dean rolled, shielding Emily's nakedness from Alastair's greedy eyes.

"I said no spectators." All of the hunter's former hatred and rage were back.

Alastair chuckled. "And I said you get to start her, Dean, not finish her." He licked his lips. "It's my turn."

Dean turned to Emily. He leaned down to kiss her, retrieving the razor from the floor as he did so.

"I can give you one day," he whispered against her lips. "I'm sorry."

He drew the blade across her throat.


Alastair's laughter was unnecessarily cruel. "Dean, Dean, Dean. You know there's still tomorrow. And the next day. And the next after that." He gestured at the bloodied razor clenched tightly in the hunter's fist. "And you've got my blade. That means you get to start a brand new soul tomorrow. And then another. And a new one the day after that."

Dean drew the knife across his own throat, the move so powerfully incisive that he separated tissue all the way down to his spine.

His body fell, landing on Emily's, their blood mingling to dye the stained sheets crimson.