Ariel and Dean walked through that door together, Dean pushing the cart of tools in front of him as Ariel walked two paces behind his left shoulder. Ariel, feeling the terror begin to climb inside of her at the thought of facing the torture master of Hell once more, closed her eyes for a moment. In body, she was still with Dean in that room. In spirit, she was inside the darkest corner of her mind.
The room was dimly lit, a mirror in the centre. As Ariel approached it, shadowy mist began to curl at her feet. When she stopped before the mirror, a carbon copy of herself stared back. A black leather duster covered close-contact armour. Her swords were gone, replaced with twin short swords and axes. Runes carved into the blades shone red in the dim light. Dead black eyes and an evil smirk graced her face, gripping the sides of the mirror.
This was Afriel, Knight of Hell and second-in-command under Cain himself. The Angel Killer. Born after centuries of torture, she had been trained by Cain to fight for Hell, unleashing chaos and destruction on the young planet. Responsible for more angelic kills than any of the Knights and Princes combined. Michael assumed that after Naomi had finished her re-education on the Table, that Afriel was bound under layers of imprisonment sigils, never to be released. Ariel had removed them slowly over the years, keeping her alter ego hidden away in the shadows. Never so far away, but always close to her in case she had to remember what she was capable of doing.
Today, it seemed, was one of those days.
"So, angel buddy." Afriel looked at Ariel, leaning against the sides of the mirror. "Can I come out and play now? Or is this gonna be one of those existential kind of chats?"
"I need your help, Afriel. The angels have Alastair. They want me to help a human... make him talk." Ariel looked at her alter-self.
"Yeah, Dean Winchester. The demons can't stop talking about him." Afriel tapped a finger against her temple. "I can hear them all the time, Ari. Let me have a little fun."
Ariel signed, before placing a hand on the mirror. "Why the hell not? I got orders to follow." Afriel copied her, their hands meeting. The mirror began to ripple and move, quicksilver draining to the floor as Ariel pulled Afriel out of the shadows. "Here's your chance, Afri. Make sure to keep Dean in your six. He dies, then we're both royally fucked."
Once Afriel opened her eyes again, no time had passed. Dean was still pushing the cart towards the one demon that both of them had in common. Alastair was bound inside of an Old Enochian devil's trap. He was further immobilized with solid iron chains to a Star of David, leaving him both physically and metaphysically bound in place. He was going nowhere, as long as the trap held.
He was singing some song, a tactic Afriel remembered. When he wasn't talking, Alastair would hum and sing, to bait his subject into madness and screams. He was playing with them already, or at least trying to. Afriel remembered all of his techniques as if it were yesterday.
Afriel looked at Dean, getting a sense of the man for the first time. Afriel had been there, at that meeting in the library. She heard and saw everything that Ariel did. Had to say, Afriel wasn't a fan of Dean so far. He thought that he knew something of Hell. Come on, boy: you barely got a taste of the appetizer.
Dean looked as emotionless as that dickwad Castiel as he stopped the cart. It was a good sign, for he would need to be to get out of here in the same condition as when he came in. He looked up at Alastair before unveiling the tools. Afriel walked over and took a look. There was holy water, salt from the Red Sea, crosses, but there were also knives of all varieties, hypodermic syringes, and other tools. She quivered at the sight. There were even scalpels: she could use definitely those. However, Alastair was a high-level demon, right under the Princes of Hell. He would not break so easily.
In that, Afriel was looking forward to see just how far it would take to break him. Dean might be on a schedule to get what information he could, but she wasn't. This was payback, pure and simple. Afriel closed her eyes for a moment and a brief smile came across her face, one that neither of the males in the room saw. It would probably take a long time, but then? She had nothing but time to spare.
Afriel, for a single moment, looked inside and simply stared at Ariel standing in the middle of their shared mind. The angel nodded. They had paid their penance, punitive and completely unfit for their crimes. No way was Ariel going to be able to save Dean when he didn't want to be saved. After this long, she knew when a cause was lost. She just had to keep in on the path to prevent the Apocalypse. For now, it was time for some fun.
The sight of the trolley didn't stop Alastair from his song. "...dancing cheek to cheek!" He looked at them both, his greatest subjects. They were impressive notches on his belt, lasting as long as they could take before they broke. Dean certainly wasn't the longest, but that boy turned out to be quite proficient. As was expected, he looked down at the tools and began to chuckle. He stopped after a minute, saying, "I'm sorry. This is a very serious, very emotional situation with you. I shouldn't laugh, but I mean, are they serious?" He looked from Afriel to Dean with that ever-present mocking tone in his voice, that condescending tone that made you want to throttle him if only he was not armed to the teeth."They sent you two to torture me?"
Dean looked up at him, his face as calm as a still lake. "You got one chance... one." Alastair looked at him as if he had no idea about what he was talking about. "Tell me who's killing the angels. I want a name." His voice was detached from his emotions. Afriel looked at her charge and at the inquisitor, taking in the scene.
Alastair didn't take the bait, as Afriel had expected. "You think I'll see all your scary tools, and spill my guts?"
Afriel chuckled on the side."I figured not, but it was worth a shot, right?"
Dean still seemed calm as he nonchalantly replied, "Oh, you'll spill your guts, all right. I just didn't want to ruin my shoes." She chuckled. Taking off her jacket and draping it over the side of the cart, she turned her back to Alastair. Aw, weren't the angels nice? They left gloves on the cart, so she didn't make a mess. Slipping a pair on, Afriel began to experiment with the tools before her. She wanted Alastair to see what he had done to her in Hell, although she was positive he had not forgotten. I mean, it was not every day that he got to take part in the torture of an angel for four hundred mortal years.
Dean turned serious, saying, "Now answer the question."
Alastair was unmoved by the words. "Or what, you'll work me over?" Afriel perked her ear and cocked her head to one side as she picked up a hunting knife. Tossing it in the air and catching it by the point, she flipped the blade to catch it by the hilt and turned back to face Alastair. "Or will you let your little angel bitch here do it for you? I mean, Dean, she does have more experience than you do."
A dark chuckle filled the room. Both Alastair and Dean turned to the source, as she leaned against the cart. Afriel turned around, stifling the laughter. "That's cute, Alastair. But, I don't recall ever ascending." Her black eyes blinked, sending Dean a few paces back. "In fact, I recall that you pissed your pants in terror when Cain chose me for the Knights. Knowing that I would kill you if you ever set your hands on me again. Aw, the little baby lost his favourite toy and didn't know how to cope. Oh, the screams from the table after you lost me." She clicked her tongue, cocking her head. "Didn't realize that you cared so much about me."
Dean watched with clinical terror at the new player in the room. Disregarding the demon trap, Afriel walked over and decked Alastair under the jaw with a proper haymaker, cracking his head back to hit the trap. She was smiling the entire time, that catlike demonic smile riddling her face. In a moment's flash, Dean saw what Ariel had explained to him. This must be Afriel, one of Hell's greatest warriors and her literal other half. But hadn't Ariel told him that the demon was imprisoned, never to come out again?
Afriel's eyes normalized, and she continued to stand there nonchalantly. "Well, Alastair, you taught me well, I suppose. One does learn from the repetition, after all. Surely, you know best." She looked at Dean for a moment. "Dean, nice to meet you at least. I'm Afriel. Don't worry: Ariel asked me to keep that promise of hers. But, I gotta say: I wanted a bit of fun. Been cooped up for so long... Needed a chance to stretch, you know?"
Alastair always hated not being the centre of attention. Realizing that he wasn't going to get anyway with Afriel right now, he turned his attention back to Dean. "Or, maybe Dean doesn't want to do the deed. Maybe, he's all scared to." He chuckled a little before leaning back against the trap.
Dean smiled back, and Afriel looked over to him. "We're here, aren't we?" He moved the cart away from the trap, but closer to Afriel so she could see.
Alastair was getting irritated now, between being ignored and being prepared for torture. He may be Hell's Grand Inquisitor, but that meant that Alastair was usually on the other side of the blade. "I'm terrified. But you left part of yourself back in the Pit." Looking over to Afriel, he smirked. "She was the only one to get out whole, but that was because her brother dragged her back to the Heavens."
Dean shrugged out of his jacket and turned his back for a moment. "You're gonna be disappointed." Afriel was silent through this latter part of the entire exchange, for there was nothing else for her to add to Dean's little dialogue.
Alastair smiled and stood straight against the trap as best he could, the restraints rattling metal on metal. "You haven't disappointed me yet, boy." As Dean continued to ignore him, Alastair seemed to get desperate. "Come on, you gotta want a little payback for everything I did to you, for all the pokes and prods." Dean seemed not to react, but Afriel saw something flicker in his eyes. "No? Then how about... all the things I did to your daddy?
Afriel flicked her eyes over at Dean. Alastair had finally hit a nerve and everyone in the room knew it, so he did what he did best: manipulated it. "I had your dad on my rack for close to a century."
Dean tried to keep his hands busy, but Afriel cocked her head as if she was interested in what the demon had to say. Alastair ignored Dean completely, going down his little trip of memory lane. "John Winchester made quite a name for himself. A hundred years; very impressive for a mortal. After each session I'd make him the same offer I made you: I'd put down my blade if he picked one up..."
Dean's voice raised ever so slightly. "Just give me the demon's name, Alastair."
Now it was Alastair's turn to ignore Dean, too engrossed in reliving his conquest. "... but he said Nein, each and every time ... I couldn't break him. Pulled out all the stops. But John, he was made of something unique, the stuff of heroes. And then came Dean. Dean Winchester. I thought I was up against it again. But, daddy's little girl, he broke. He broke in thirty. Ah, just not the man your daddy wanted you to be, huh, Dean?"
Afriel could feel the air begin to charge. Alastair may have overplayed that card. From what she had seen through Ariel's eyes, Dean was devoted to his family. He had sacrificed his soul to bring back his brother. He had fought tooth and nail to kill Azazel for what he had done to his mother, to his life. Questioning Dean's character might get him a little, but Afriel acknowledged the reserves of strength it took to last even thirty years in Hell.
Alastair continued to talk. "Although, neither of your Winchester boys would compare to little Ariel over there. Forty eight thousand years in Hell to break her. Asmodeus taught me well, but we worked and worked on her. She must have had her Wheaties that morning before coming down to the Pit. However, Afriel left her mark on Hell. She would've become the next General if her darling big brother hadn't dragged her away and undid all my precious hard work." Afriel looked over to Dean: he was taking a swig from the whiskey bottle on the tray, but his hands were still calm.
Afriel scoffed. Michael didn't undo any of the training she had received. In fact, her time on the Table with Naomi nearly split Ariel in two. Re-education, they called it. Trying to brainwash Ariel back into a subservient little toy for her brothers to use and discard. For some of the inquisitors of the Citadel, it was a chance for revenge for all of the angel killings, a little payback. Then, when they were at their weakest, Michael tossed them to Earth for penance, to 'learn from her mistakes'. He bound them both, Ariel no longer allowed to use her powers unless absolutely necessary, and Afriel wrapped in more imprisonment sigils than on the bloody Cage of Lucifer itself.
Michael could have freed Ariel at anytime during her time in Hell. He had the power to pull her from the Pit. So did Raphael, for the sake of argument. No, they had left her to rot, to slowly become Afriel. Only when she started killing angels did they finally object. Killing humans was just par for the course between angels and demons. Too much livestock for the predators, the herd had to be culled.
No, Afriel shook her head. Michael wanted Ariel like this: battered and broken. Well, she wasn't battered and they certainly weren't broken anymore. Soon... the time for payback would be soon.
Dean finally was ready, and Afriel gave herself a shake to bring herself back into the moment. Taking up a chalice, he opened up a jug of holy water and began to pour it out. Alastair was impressed. "Now we're getting somewhere." For a moment, he didn't comprehend Dean's plan, but he just saw the water and grew immediately disappointed. "Holy water? Come on. Grasshopper, you're gonna have to get creative to impress me."
Afriel leaned to the edge of the Demon's Trap, and saw a skinning knife. She pointed to it to get Dean's attention. There was no point in reaching for it: she was caught in the Trap. Even with her strength, there was no getting out of it. When Dean tossed it to her, Afriel moved closer to Alastair's right hand. She began to drag the knife along his wrist, a shallow cut to begin.
Dean got his turn to speak now. "You know something, Alastair? I could still dream, even in Hell. And over and over and over, you know what I dreamt? I dreamt of this moment. And believe me I've got a few ideas." He prepped a hypodermic syringe and filled it completely with the holy water. Expelling the air bubbles, Dean turned to his old mentor. "Let's get started."
-*-DRR-*-
Afriel wiped her bloody hand across her forehead, rubbing the sweat away. The skinning knife still in hand, she had made her way from hand and fingers to up to the shoulder on both arms. Skinning isn't easy work: it takes patience and a steady hand. The goal was to get the skin off in one piece without it ripping. Like a game: no answer, no skin. Carving bit by bit closer to his neck. Torso would be next. The face was always last.
Afriel knew that Alastair wouldn't break, but still, she had to give credit where credit was due. It had probably been ages since the blade was turned on him, most likely. But he was proving to be one tough cookie. Damnit, Afriel shook her head: now she was sounding like the bloody mud monkeys again.
She stood back for a moment, appraising their joint work. Alastair had been skinned, injected and soaked in holy water, knives sent through his gut, and now had anointed salt shoved down his throat. Blood dripped on the floor in small streams where the skin was missing, not clotting fast enough to make up for raw nerve endings. And Alastair still wouldn't break. At least the trap was still holding, because both of them were certainly going nowhere in a great rush. His human suit was definitely dead by now, if he wasn't before.
Dean grabbed a hold of his chin, just waiting for the answer that would never come. Maybe they should take an ear next, or an eye. Up their game a little. Afri scoffed, when the puzzle began to whirl in her mind.
Ariel looked out from the mirror, trying to figure out what was happening. Dean had been sent to find out who was killing angels. Why wasn't Alastair bragging about it? It took a lot of skill and strength for a run-of-the-mill demon to get the best of an angel. That would mean one of the higher echelons: a crossroad demon, maybe? The Knights had been culled off, the Princes had fucked off to places hitherto unknown. That left the White-Eyed: Alastair and Lilith. Well, Lilith had obvious other things to worry about besides a few angels still on patrol. And Alastair was here...
Afriel shook her head, returning back. She moved out of the way, as Dean sprayed Alastair with more holy water. A bit dripped on her skin, burning her. "Dammit, Dean! That shit hurts!"
Alastair gurgled a laugh, spitting up more blood. "You truly have no idea what you did for us, Dean. You never figured out why I worked you so hard for an answer." The demon forced himself against the hexagram, trying to breathe through the salt and holy water.
"Shut up." Dean was getting ready to shove more anointed salt at Alastair, but Afriel held out her arm to stop him. She wanted to hear this.
"The first time you picked up my razor, sliced through that weeping bitch..." Alastair grimaced at them both. "You were the first seal, Dean. You broke and started this whole thing."
Afriel stared at him. She was a little rusty on her Scripture. "What did you say?" Ariel was pacing in her mind's eye. One of the Seals already broken? What the hell? Why hadn't her brothers told her this?!
Alastair stared at them, content in his faith. "And it is written that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in hell. As he breaks, so shall it break." Silence filled the room. "When we bring on the Apocalypse, it'll all be thanks to you, Dean."
Dean couldn't believe his ears. He dropped the knife in his hand, bracing himself on the cart. This was all because of him. The angels, Anna, Alastair... God, Sammy having powers?! He could've prevented all of this. He should've been stronger. It was his job to protect Sammy, and he failed. Not once, but twice... He should've stayed dead.
Afriel wasn't paying attention to Dean's existential crisis. She was sticky from all of the blood on her arms and face. She reached for an abandoned towel on the ground, when she felt something. She peered around the trap, and the blood drained from her face. There was a hole in the trap!
"Dean!" She whipped around to see Alastair free and stalking towards Dean. She pushed him out of the way and took the hit that was meant for him, knocking her to the ground. Getting back on her feet, Afriel stared at Alastair, letting the blood from her split lip run down.
"You know," Alastair spat out more blood as she touched her chin where his fist had made contact. "You could almost pass for one of us again, Afriel. Look at you," they began to circle, Dean hopeless to do naught but observe. "You sit in an angel's body, you have access to the Citadel, and what? You hide away to keep your little angel dear safe?" He spat on the ground. "If only Cain could see you now. He'd spit at the weakness, make you suffer."
"Wouldn't be the first time, asshat." Afriel made to throw another haymaker under Alastair's chin, but he grabbed her throat and pinned her against the wall. Somehow, he dislodged Afriel and sent her back to the mirror, drawing Ariel out in the open.
"You're just a plague on this world, you angels. So, I'm gonna send you back where you belong..." He began to chant in Latin, and she could feel herself being shot out from her body and back to the Citadel. The last thing she saw before she was jettisoned back was the look on Dean's face, knowing that they were both screwed...
