Title: To Old Friends

Author: Fenikkusu Ai

Pairing: Alastair/Dean

Rating: M

Fandom: Supernatural

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 1,171

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

The pain was consuming him; burning him up. And, Dean knew that he deserved it.

Dean wondered how he had gotten away in the first place. Unfortunately, in his position, he wasn't given much of an opportunity to mull it over. Currently, he was paying for his indiscretion with his own red blood.

"I thought that you had left me, and I was so heartbroken."

Another screech of agony escaped his lips as Dean screamed loud and deep for him. He knew that Alastair wanted to hear it. It was an intimate moment when his master scanned his face as he searched for the right level of pain to inflict on his willing servant.

"More?"

Dean managed a nod.

His master, his employer, continued to cut into him until Dean was reduced to gurgling sounds and it felt so...right. For the first time in what seemed like months or years, he began to whimper with relief. Dean's body went limp against the rack.

Alastair chuckled. "You, Dean Winchester, are a sick son of a bitch. You belong here."

Dean knew that he was right. This role fit him better than any other.

As Alastair released him from the rack, the tiniest sliver of a thought told him that he belonged somewhere else. Dean batted it away. No. It wasn't possible. He'd been here all this time. There was no escape from this world. However, the suspicion remained.

Experimentally, Dean closed his eyes before opening them again. There. He hadn't gone anywhere. Yet, it was as if there was a static in his head; a mutable quality to his thoughts and sensations. He was on this frequency, but it felt as though he could tune into another.

Unapologetically, Alastair let drop on the ground. Dean knew that he should get down on his knees right now to thank him. After all, he could still be stranded in the death valleys and hollow red wastelands of hell which would be a sorry fate for any soul. What had he been thinking?

As Dean lay there in a heap attempting to collect himself, he glimpsed a strange sight. He saw that his fingers were inches away from a lime green lollipop which was a rather rare sight in the pit. He hadn't seen a lollipop down here in...ever. Demons rarely jonsed for candy; their idea of a treat was a human heart. The longer he stared at it, the more that it reminded him of something. Or someone...

A man. Brown hair. A fondness for sweets. He was an...

But, before Dean could move to pick it up, it vanished in front of his eyes.

Oh, well. Perhaps he had been mistaken. Maybe it hadn't been a lollipop at all. It could have simply been a weak creature that had perished because of some internal weakness to maintain its form. Dean had seen sights of creatures, big and small, that would be forever burned into his memory.

Eventually, Dean realized that he was alone. He wondered where Alastair had gone. Without the demon, he had no purpose. He was just another lost damned soul.

Slowly, he crept through the earthen chamber and noticed the bedraggled form of a woman was walking towards him. Dean knew that she had been watching him. Her hair was lank and dull though the remnants of some pricy copper highlights remained. Her eyes were sunken in their sockets. He knew that she was once a sophisticated beauty, but now, she was an ugly hag. Hell had not been kind to her or her haughty pride. Most likely, she too wanted to sink her claws into him. With reluctance, he recognized her.

"Bela."

"Long time no see," she rasped. Her lips curved not without effort into a smile. "What took you so long? I heard you lasted thirty years. How'd you manage?"

She spoke as casually as if she were still walking upon earth. Dean immediately saw through her facade. It was pathetic.

He shrugged. "Sheer stubbornness, I guess."

"Well, Alastair was certainly impressed."

Dean remained silent. What was her point?

"I'll get more powerful," she promised. "Earn my stripes."

Dean felt a pang of pity for her, or he would if he could process emotions. "Yeah...sure."

Bela scowled, and Dean gloated. It felt good to condescend. Here, he had the power. More power than her.

"So, you're like my new idol. Someone I should aspire to be. Pity that Alastair has a preference for men."

Even here, Bela tried to rise through the ranks. Though he doubted that she would succeed. She didn't exactly have a likeable personality. Still as vain and shallow as when she had been in her human skin.

"Dean?" a familiar voice called. "Stop hanging out with your friends. It's time to come home."

Dean's head cocked in the direction his master's voice. Alastair was just up ahead.

With a parting glance at Bela, Dean happily trotted off like the little lapdog he was.

"How is he?" Sam asked.

Gabriel's smile was surprisingly warm. "He'll be fine, Sam. It's just a nightmare that Dean must awaken from him."

"So is he in...?"

"He just thinks that he is." the archangel replied quickly.

Every so often, Sam caught Ruby looking out the window. Even the demoness was on edge; an event that didn't happen often.

Suddenly, everyone jumped at the sound of a glass bottle slamming against the table.

"I hate standing around here like this," Bobby grumbled sourly. "We should do be doing something useful. Like finding Alastair."

Gabriel smirked. "Only if you want to die before your time. Chill, old dude. Try to relax."

"I'm not in the mood to relax. So, I have no say in this, hmm? I have to watch this in my own house. On my furniture."

"It's actually a safe place," Gabriel attempted to rationalize. "The walls are covered in sigils and there is a nice weapons stockpile here. The location is remote, and that's a bonus of course."

"What if Alastair comes after him anyway?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I'll just zap him out of here."

Finally, Sam dared to ask the question that he had feared to comprehend. They didn't need any more problems tonight.

"What, Ruby? Is there someone coming?"

She turned to him with a frown on her face as if she were being interrogated. "No. Unless you count that raccoon looking for garbage to eat."

Castiel was pacing; an uncharacteristic habit for the angel. Sam wondered if he was worried about Dean, but he decided not to pester him with questions. Instead, he drifted over to where Ruby sat in the armchair to look out the window just as a solemn rain started to tap against the glass. This sudden shower had come out of nowhere.

On the sofa, Dean barely stirred except for his chest rising and falling.

Sam wanted to know what Dean was dreaming inside of his head, or perhaps he didn't.

If only to see what Alastair had done to him.