Many, many wonderful thanks to Starliteyes for looking this over for me. I just want to wish everyone reading, Happy Holidays!! 'Cause nothing says Christmas, like this story---rolls eyes at self
WARNING: Some sexual innuendo.
Broken
Chapter Eight
Dean stood in the deepest shadows of the garbage-strewn alleyway. Stagnant heat pressed down on him from all sides, the tropical southern humidity flooding his lungs with water. The smell of rot and decay filled his nostrils, pouring down his throat until he could taste the stink of it on his tongue.
Across the way a battered red door opened, spilling a girl out into the street. She was young, no more than sixteen, with long raven hair and copper skin. She righted herself on wobbly feet, pulling her short skirt down over bruised thighs.
Dean's green eyes flashed in the neon light of a nearby building before darkening with the shadows around him. Silently he slipped from the mouth of the alley, following far behind the intoxicated girl. High in the midnight sky a broken moon gleamed hazily, but the stars were hidden away by Tijuana's bright party lights.
Distantly, Dean could hear a mob carousing through the streets, singing in fractured Spanish. Americans looking for a good time across the border.
The girl tripped over a crack in the sidewalk, nearly stumbling to her knees. She caught herself on a streetlamp, hugging the steel pole like a lost lover. She bent at the waist, bracing herself with one arm until the sounds of retching mixed with the desperate barking of a street-lost mutt.
Dean stayed deep in the shadows, waiting patiently for her to stumble onward again. He trailed behind, watching as she solicited an equally drunken man. They fumbled their way into a recessed doorway, their panting and moans nearly as loud as the revelers to Dean's sensitive ears. They fell to a heap in the shadows, and a few minutes later the girl crawled her way out, a thick wallet clutched in her hand. She staggered upright, continuing on her way, never looking back at the fallen man.
The girl led him to a rundown apartment building with brightly colored clothing strung from the windows and dead flowers hanging in pots. She leaned against the door of her first floor apartment, blinking blurrily at a ball of keys in her hand. Very carefully she sorted them, delicately plucking out her house key.
As soon as Dean heard the lock click, he rapidly closed the gap between them. He rammed her from behind, body checking her headfirst into the apartment and slamming the door behind him. She hit the far wall that once had been a cheery orange, but now was moldy with filth. She spun around, wobbling on stiletto heels, and flung out her fist, aiming for his jaw. Her dark eyes widened when her flailing blow bounced off his shoulder, splitting her knuckles on rounded bone.
Dean tackled her to the ground, his strong hands finding purchase on her thin rayon blouse. He yanked hard and the rending of fabric echoed in the tiny room. Their panting was loud and rough as they struggled against each other. She inhaled deeply to scream, but Dean wrapped his hand around her throat, nearly crushing her windpipe.
She choked for air while Dean stripped her naked, his free hand sliding along smooth skin and long limbs, looking for some patch of raised flesh or an obscene mark. Finding nothing he reared away, backhanding her hard across the face. She recoiled, rolling on the ground as he moved away. She curled up on the floor, her pink tongue darting out to lick blood from her cut lip.
"It's nice to see you too, Dean. What's it been? Six months?" she hissed scathingly in a lilting Spanish accent.
Dean ignored her, hauling himself up off the floor to walk away. He plucked his duffel from its hiding place behind a single chair, where he had stashed it earlier. The girl's glittering black eyes trailed up to the ceiling, examining an intricate Devil's Trap etched there she had never seen before. Conspicuously, she tested her power against it, her eyes widening when she realized she was helpless.
To hide her concern she sat up languidly, tucking her long, coltish legs beneath her. She leaned back on one hand, unconcerned at her blatant nakedness. She watched as Dean pulled a leather bound volume from his bag. At the sight of it she furled her brow, sniffing the air delicately. She grinned like a well-fed cat when she caught its scent of corruption in the air.
"Whatcha got there, Dino? A grimoire bound in human flesh? That's so naughty of you," she purred, thrusting her perky young breasts towards him. "Gonna start playing for our team now? After all, we know how to have all the fun."
Dean flipped open the book, his place marked with a leather thong. The room was dark except for a distant street lamp that accentuated the girl's lithe form. He switched on a penlight to read the text, the pale light casting his features in sharp relief. His face bones were angular in the shadows, deepening the hollows beneath his cheeks. Dark stubble covered his jaw, salted with gray that hadn't been there before. His eyes were sunken and dark, no longer a beautiful shade of green. Instead, they were the color of muddy, algae-ridden swamp water.
The girl was seemingly unaffected by his raw appearance except for a slight quivering of her full, bottom lip. She straightened her spine, spreading her thighs in a grotesque temptation of sex. She cupped a small breast, toying with it before sliding her hand down her flat stomach and in between her thighs.
"You like this meat puppet, Dean? So much tastier than the last one. Found her right after her QuinceaƱera, still gowned in her fluffy white dress. She tasted like birthday cake when I took her." She threw back her head, moaning at the ceiling. "Oh, we have done such wonderfully, dirty things together," she gasped breathlessly.
From his coat pocket, Dean withdrew a silver flask, uncapping it to fling holy water on her. She sizzled, screeching and cursing in three different languages. She flipped her long black hair out of her face and hissed up at him, her eyes burning oil lamps in the meager light.
Dean ignored it all and calmly read a passage from the text. The words were heavy and they twisted up his tongue, but he had practiced everyday for three months since Bobby handed the grimoire to him. With no bullets for the Colt, they no longer had the ability to kill demons, but the dark exorcism he read was supposed to send them screaming into the darkest pits of Hell.
"Tell me, Winchester, after I left, did you kiss your brother on the lips and tell him how much you loved him?
Dean's hard eyes flickered down at her, filled with disgust at her scathing innuendo. Demons lied as often as they breathed. The words continued to flow from his mouth, but she smiled victoriously at gaining even a fraction of his attention.
"I bet he looked so pretty covered in all that blood. Red was always Sammy's color."
"Don't call him that."
Dean's voice was low and guttural, but it didn't carry any of the fury she expected. This coldly removed side of Dean frightened her more than his rage. This Dean had already given up on living. For all intents and purposes he was dead. He just had one last mission before his ticket got punched, and nothing was going to stop him from completing it.
"What's the matter? Do you miss your baby brother? Tell me, did you salt and burn his bones like a good little hunter or did you bury him with the hope that he might come and haunt you someday? After all, you are the one who failed him. Betrayed him. If he was going to haunt anyone's ass it would be yours, wouldn't it?"
The girl's bronze skin shone with sweat, and her dark hair plastered itself to her damp back. Her muscles periodically rippled beneath her skin, a living thing that was screaming to be let out. Her voice rose a notch with panic as she spat out as many accusations as she could.
"Think about it. It really wasn't my fault. You caused him all that misery and despair, opening the door for me. If you hadn't pushed him away the way you had, then I wouldn't have been able to touch him. The only person you have to blame is yourself, Dean."
She gasped the last part, her body falling prone onto the floor, her back arching with agony. Dean stuttered to a halt, pressing the heel of his hand into his eye as he hunched his shoulders. Guilt roiled in his stomach, threatening to crawl up his throat. Demons lied, but when it would hurt the most, they told the truth.
"You're right. It's my fault. It's all my fault. My little brother is dead because of me. My entire family gone. Everything. All that is left is the blood on my hands."
Without the evil sorcery pulling the flesh from her bones, the young girl was able to pull herself up off the floor to kneel at Dean's feet. Her sweat-damp hair swept forward over her shoulders, modestly covering her breasts. Her eyes gleamed chocolate instead of oil-slick black when they looked up at him.
"That's a necromancy spell you're using. Sure it's going to cast me so far down into Hell that I'll never crawl my way out; but at the same time, it's going to rend this little girl apart. I swear to you, Dean, she's alive. Allow me to leave and you can save her."
Dean's legs buckled, and he fell to his knees before her. He could smell rancid cigarette smoke and day old sex on her bare skin. It mingled well with the sweaty grime and bad tequila on him. He leaned forward, close enough to feel her unnatural heat, but still protected by the unseen barrier of power.
"Did you really think I would let you get away with it, Meg? I may have loaded the gun that killed Sammy, but you are the one who pulled the trigger. I'm going to send you screaming into The Pit, and I'm going to laugh while doing it."
Meg's eyes widened, clouding over with evilness. Dean opened his mouth, his perfect lips forming words that bombarded the small room. Meg's stolen body began to quake and writhe with agony. She threw back her head, her screams ripping through the walls and spilling out into the darkened street. Dean's voice rose to be heard over her pathetic begging, refusing to tear his eyes away when her flesh began to split across her face and chest.
He flung out the last word unflinchingly, not even cringing when it was punctuated with a loud boom that shook the entire building. Hot sheets of blood exploded everywhere, drenching him in its crimson heat. It coated his face, leaving only the whites of his eyes visible in the dark. It dripped down the drab walls and obscured the intricate drawing on the ceiling. All that was left was a beautiful skeleton, draped in shreds of red satin flesh in the center of the room.
In the wake of so much calamity the silence was deafening. Only the steady drip of blood from the ceiling and Dean's rough breathing could be heard.
Dean remained on his knees, the scent of death and blood heavy in his nostrils. He could taste the metallic taint of it on his tongue. He stared at the meatless heap of bones on the floor and a maniacal smile broke out across his face. He threw back his head, laughing belly-deep towards the heavens. The sound was so wicked that the nearby hounds began to howl.
