Title: deathbed deep in sores
Disclaimer: no my characters; title from Anne Sexton
Warnings: takes place in Hell
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 120
Point of view: third
Prompt: Dean/Alastair, Carved your heart out myself
Souls can't die, not in Hell, and Alistair's already drained him dry. Thirty years(more like a million) and Dean has nothing left, no anger and no hope, not even despair, he's empty.
He has to say yes.
He doesn't.
He raises his head, chest gaping open and veins sliced clean through, and he looks Alistair in the eye, smartass smirk curving his lips, and he says, voice silky and strong, Give me that razor, dude, let me show you how it's done.
And Alistair wakes from his first dream since he sold his soul to Satan, and he goes to the workroom where Dean Winchester is spread wide, waiting for him.
And Dean raises his head, smirking, to meet Alistair's eyes.