(Warning. Disturbing stuff ahead!)
I don't know how they did it, but I wake up hanging from chains cuffed to my arms. I look at the warehouse; it's always a warehouse or an empty building. It's one of the things Crowley hates about angels, no sense of the drama a change in scenery could cause. The angels look at me, then at each other. I can tell they are angels, they are all in suits. They also exude energy and nervous tenseness born of waiting for orders.
"Seriously, guys. Don't try it. It won't work. I'm not gonna give you permission."
"You may change your mind." Says one walking into the room.
"Castiel?"
"It is a name I go by now." He stands in front of me, emotionless. Then he sighs, and sadness fills his face. "I don't want to do this, but I will inflict pain upon you if that's what it takes to find out what is going on." I look at him and swallow. I have to think fast.
"I can't tell you the things he'll do to me, if I tell…" I look at him. "And if I do tell, if you do manage to...do whatever to make him not immortal, he will just find someone else and do what he's done to me, to them. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy, and then he'll still be immortal." I swallow. I had been with Crowley too long. I didn't know whose side I was on anymore. Who I was 'rooting for.' I was terrified of him, proud, scared. Mostly scared. I look at the angels again. "I don't even know if what I could tell you to do would work! And if it doesn't...you will hear my screams in heaven." The angels seem unmoved. "If you torture me, if you kill me, you know what will happen. I'll just come back… I always come back, even if it hurts, I come back." Castiel sighs.
"You will not die. We will heal you." He picks up a blade from a nearby silver table and walks towards me. I gulp, but I was where I needed to be in the conversation now.
"You can't." At this he stops.
"Excuse me?"
"You can't heal me, no angel can heal me." Castiel stares then shakes his head.
"I don't believe you." He continues walking forward. He is going to torture me, either until I spill something, or allow one of them in... And if I tell them anything...It wouldn't matter if I voided my contract. Crowley wouldn't care about that, he'd care that the angels knew something, and I'd pay dearly. He wouldn't just torture me...no.
No, he'd swallow me alive and drown me slowly in a miasma of red pain until I ceased to exist as a person. Until I was just a single emotional note for him to get high off of until he decided to fucking devour me. I breathe, trying to stop the impending panic attack. Neither of us know what happens after that, after he dissolves my soul, and I don't want to be the first to find out. I breathe. Panicking. Eyes going back and forth trying to think, and I do. And a worse thought comes to me.
Crowley wouldn't dissolve my soul, he wouldn't drive me insane, because that meant my punishment might end. Because he agreed with me.
True death was a mercy. True death was something you gave to people who got in the way. True death was what happened when you annoyed him, when you were insignificant.
He had put too much work into me for me to be insignificant. I don't know why he had put such work into me, it doesn't matter. Whatever he does to me is his prerogative now, and if I don't play this situation right...I swallow, close my eyes, and wait.
There is a small cut, painful, but not torturous on my cheek. I open my eyes. The angel is holding out his hand over a small incision, white light building. I shake my head.
"Not gonna work." Castiel stares, confused, and then blinks and looks at me more closely.
"Why are you so special? Do you have a contract with him?" I remain silent. "You can't have, you are not ...marked for Hell." I blink. Of course. Of course I'm not marked, or missing my soul or whatever happens when a normal deal is made. Crowley didn't outright own my soul, not always, not completely; he had part of it. He had complete and total ownership of the percent he wanted, a percent that wasn't here.
I swallow my fear and look at Castiel. This is information I could use. They didn't know I had a contract. Something about the way mine was written meant it didn't show… I look around the room; sigils everywhere. I probably can't call for help, and even if I could they couldn't get in. I was alone, with one recourse. The worst one.
"Look, I don't know. I don't know why he likes using and abusing me so much when he has others he could do the same to." It is true, I don't. "All I know is I know Something, something that if I tell you...will be bad for me."
"We can protect you." I look at Castiel, at the others behind him, and laugh.
"Really? REALLY? You think I believe you! You can't protect yourselves!"
"If you let one of us in, we can protect you." I sigh. That is true. There is nothing in my contract saying I couldn't do that. If I did, would they know everything about me? But, I have a feeling. I look at him, Misha, the actual man was probably pushed down to the wayside, and I have an idea. It's what I do after all. Have ideas. Even if they are ones that will bite me in the ass later, they always seem good at the start.
"Would you know everything about me?"
"Yes."
"And you'll do everything in your power to help me, no matter the cost?"
"Yes."
"Fine. Let's try it, but I have to tell you now; if Crowley catches you, in me, whoever is possessing me will die, and you will have damned me. Also" I look at Castiel, "It has to be you."
"Why?"
"Because I know you. I'm not letting a stranger in my body."
"Fine."
I had thought it through. If I did this, one of three things would happen. One. They would save me, whatever positives and negatives that entailed could be looked at later. Two. They would fail and I would be tortured, which is happening anyway. It just might be a bit worse for fifty years. And three... I know Crowley...and I had a feeling. The angels should be able to just...zap and read me, but couldn't, I just have a feeling. I close my eyes as a light flashes out from Misha. I hear him breathing hard as the light slams against me.
"Why? Why did you let him in Misha?"
"He said he could ...protect my family from Crowley." The light hits my head, blinds me through my eyelids.
"Please. I can do that better. Give me a month, you'll get a letter, an unofficial, no soul, contract. And if you like it, push him out." The light still hits me, my head, my body, everywhere...but in me. It vanishes and I open my eyes just in time to see Castiel return to his vessel. He glares at me.
That's when I knew my suspicions were right. Sometime, during one of the sessions with Crowley in Hell, he had had runes engraved on my bones. Or maybe stomach, something. Either way, they couldn't read me, they couldn't possess me. I was right, I have one recourse. I shake my head and sigh, looking knowingly at Cas.
"Yeah, that's what I thought would happen." Cas stares. "He's ten steps ahead of you guys. C'mon. Please." He sighs.
"Why would you say those things? Turn my vessel against me?" I chuckle.
"Because I'm fucked. I know I'm fucked. I'm ETERNALLY FUCKED. But him..." I nod my head towards Misha. "He's got a chance if you leave him alone. I can at least try to help. Worst case, Crowley doesn't agree and I…" I was about to say tortured, or cease to exist...but that might terminate the contract if I tell Castiel that… I was pretty sure I got all the clauses relating to the termination on my side, but I couldn't be sure. If I didn't and Crowley fucked up by some miracle and terminated the contract in my benefit... It would mean that even if I was in heaven he could just call me back. After all, I'd been in hell, but my soul wasn't condemned to be there, not like the others. I'm not earmarked. I belong to Crowley first, Hell second. I take a deep breath.
I had asked to look at the contract again, a...year or so ago. Crowley had let me, it wasn't like I could change it without his signature, or do anything about it. More importantly he knew that I had learned enough being around him that I thought I might understand the contract better.
I did.
It was not good.
So many loopholes, and I knew I didn't even see half of them. I take another deep breath and look at Cas who has been waiting for me to speak, knowing I'm rather ...scared shitless.
"I mean he's got a family man! He spent his use sneaking up on Crowley, that ship sailed! Leave him!"
Castiel stares, and sighs. Then he says something unexpected.
"Strip her."
"What?"
"We are looking for anti-possession-."
"Yeah, no. He's not stupid enough to put one where you could get at it without killing me. I guarantee it's on my ribs or something." He looks at me, at the other angels, and sighs.
"We will be back. We must deliberate." They leave, apparently to deliberate and argue about using torture on a human; one with a soul, who had no contract and was just being used… One that couldn't be healed once they did damage. I listen as they deliberate on their next action. They could torture me, that was it. And if I didn't break... If I died I'd go right to Crowley. There were lots of points to discuss, and I let them, gearing myself up for something … terrible. They shouldn't have left me alone. I take a breath, preparing for one of the most horrible things I could do to myself. I exhale, and hoist myself up the chains they had me hanging from, as far as I can, wrap them around my neck…and let go.
If I wasn't damned before, I certainly am now.
My soul floats, and immediately heads out a window to be grabbed by a Hellhound waiting outside. I'm back to the familiar room within fifteen minutes. There is no smile on Crowley's face. The room is empty already.
"Drop it, and leave." The hound does so and scurries out quickly.
I'm alone with him. He looks at me, the floating ball of light, darting back and forth, frantic to reach the rest of it, but not able to. "So, let's find out what you told them, and what punishment I'm going to enjoy Putting You Through!" He glares, he doubts me, he doubts that I know I'm damned, doubts that I fear him enough. He opens his mouth and rips out of his meat suit, roaring towards me, grabbing and encircling me in red and pulling me into his smoke.
He rushes back to his body with rage, maybe fear, and pushes us back in so fast the body shakes. He sits up, breathing heavily in rage, and examines me with a fine tooth comb.
And he smiles.
It takes two months to recover my body. But...Those two months waiting...Crowley took a vacation, only delegating what to do when demons came to ask questions. One of those things he delegated was indeed sending a contract to Misha, signed by himself, saying he would leave his family alone, guaranteed, for life. He was tickled pink that I had made a deal like that, angry that I said I could get something from him, but very happy I had possibly pushed an Angel out of their vessel. Castiel no less. I don't know if it worked, but it was worth a shot. After that though… We were mostly left alone.
He spent most of that first month riding a high from my resulting panic attacks and PTSD episodes. That did die down eventually, and when it did...we returned to his office and he subjected me to the most horrifying torture I had ever experienced up until then.
It was punishment for almost allowing an angel to possess me, for assuming to make a contract for him, for getting caught, for his own pleasure. Pain...the idea never even came up. What he did was far worse than pain could ever be.
He sat down at his desk, got out a pen, and began to write. He wrote down things he could subject me to. Happy things. Sad things. Terrifying. Gross. Every emotion he wanted to feel. He made lists, upon lists, upon lists.
Lists for quick hits, lists for long highs. Lists for once I was dead, lists for when I was alive. Lists for when I was in his body, lists when we were in another's, lists for when we were in mine.
He asked me questions. Whether I'd rather be boiled or shredded. Whether I'd prefer to watch a child eaten by a Hellhound or swim in a black ocean not knowing which way was up. Whether I'd like to go enjoy the smell of cherry blossoms in Japan or the view of the salt sea. Whether I'd rather kill my mother or my father. Whether I preferred comedies or comedians.
He prodded and poked at my memories. Drug up all my fears and hopes over and over to examine them. He played therapist from the view of a psychiatrist who got high on their patient.
After three days of lists he spent the rest of the month riding a high from my anxiety and fear of the future. He didn't get to feel that fear, that anticipation, often anymore. I didn't know if he intended to actually do anything on those lists; what was scary was what they meant. Whenever he needed a break, he either pushed me down or put me through so much pain I couldn't think of anything else. He obviously preferred the second way of dealing with my emotions.
I got black out drunk as soon as I returned to my body. Because there was no doubt now, not ever again.
I am his Chew Toy.
(I still can't respond to reviews, but thanks! The more support and curiosity I see, the more I'll post and write! Everyone needs encouragement from time to time. Be safe, be kind, thanks again! Oh, and if you want more of my stuff while you wait, I'm putting up some older work that probably should have been put up somewhere ages ago. And stuff I'm still working on but started long ago. ... I have too many projects.)
