Title: wolfsong
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: takes place in Hell; probably AU
Pairings: mentions of Sam/Madison
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 250
Point of view: third
Prompt: Madison, Hellhounds are the souls of dead werewolves
She is too young yet to be of Lilith's pack, but the others speak of their hunt for Winchester, Michael's Sword, God's Thundering Fist. He puts up a surprisingly weak fight, and Malachi, the eldest of all Lilith's wolves, howls his disappointment for Hell to hear.
She knows that name. She remembers his eyes, his hands. His brother's taste.
His brother. Lilith's enemy. Sam.
Sam. Oh, she remembers Sam. She could have loved him, she knows. In another world. A world where she was never bitten, never killed. Sam was something special.
And now, she listens to the howls that tell of Hell's attempt to woo him, to own him.
She could tell them of his strength. How Hell will never command him.
Dean's screams echo throughout the realm, and Malachi tells all the young ones of his taste. The heat of his blood, the fragility of his flesh and his bones. His brother begged for Lilith to call off the pack, and Malachi laughs at the memory.
But she remembers him. And she remembers Sam. Dean will soon be one of Alistair's favorites, and Sam will come for him. Hell will not break Sam.
She could tell them, but she is still so young. No one will listen.
Sam will rule Hell, she knows. He will defeat Lilith and then he will break Hell beneath his rage and reclaim his shattered brother.
Maybe she will rule the pack then, at his behest. She will gladly follow him.
After all… she remembers.