A/N: I don't own Supernatural or their words. I merely borrow their toys. Promise I'll give them back.
Sitting on this floor, the muck and dirt and debris left from whatever this room's original purpose is sticking to my funeral dress. It is, at this very moment in time, the one single thing in existence on which I am trying to focus. The mess, the dust, the grime. Everything else around me is simply too much to handle.
"He left you behind when he made that deal. Saved Sammy and left you behind. But you always knew he would. All those women before you, you must have realized that someday he would leave you, sweet Jane."
Alistair has not stopped. He has not quieted. He has not let up his barrage of abuse for a second. Not in the face of my pleading, not at the command of Dean's yelling, not on the receiving end of the brutality of the beating Dean is dealing him right now. New words spew from his mouth with every drop of blood pouring from his vessel's body. Each punch brings with it another taunt for Dean, every nick of a blade reveals a hidden fear of my own. Now that I am no longer forbidden fruit, does Dean really still find me exciting? Why was Dean not able to resist Hell's compromise?
Dean continues to question him, trying so hard to get the answer he has been sent in here to get, the answer that will free us both from this room, that will get us the hell away from demons and angels alike. Back on his task, the emotion is once again gone. He has turned himself off, blocked me out. I suppose I understand now
"Who's murdering the angels?" A splash of holy water from Dean, a mouthful of hate in return.
"It's not getting deep enough. You lack the resources. Reality is just, I don't know, too concrete up here. Honestly, Dean…" Denying the pain, a smartass refusal from the demon of the true danger he is in. I refuse to see the parallels and go back instead to wiping the ruin from my dress. "You have no idea how bad it really was, and what you really did for us."
Dean turns from his rolling cart, looks quickly at his teacher, and whispers, "Shut up."
"The whole bloody thing, Dean. The reason Lilith wanted you there in the first place."
"Make him shut up," I say, suddenly convinced that Alistair cannot be allowed to continue.
Dean nods in my direction, but doesn't meet my eyes. He can't look at me. He pours salt down Alistair's throat through a funnel, and I am still able to be shocked at the inventive nature of the pain he is doling out. He is feral. We'll deal with that later, though, because right now the most important thing in the world is that Alistair shuts up. Shut up, shut up, shut up. Oh, God, make him shut up.
Spitting blood and salt and spit, Alistair still will not stop. "Something caught in my throat. I think it's my throat."
"Well, strap in, 'cause I'm just starting to have fun," Dean tells him. But it isn't fun. Nothing about his voice or his body language indicates that he is enjoying any of what he's doing. Self-loathing, shame, the mechanical and efficient work of a job that must be done - that's what he looks like, all of those things wrapped up in the tightened tendons and muscles and expressions of this man who means everything to me. Dean is still there, though he is hiding from himself. Dean's still there.
"You know, it was supposed to be your father. He was supposed to bring it on. But, in the end, it was you."
And I know. I know this is what this white-eyed son of a bitch has been leading up to. The look of satisfaction on his battered face is all I need to see. He is going to try to finish the job he started. Whatever he has to say will destroy my man.
"Shut up, Alistair," I say, standing and moving just slightly toward them.
"Let the grown ups talk, now, little girl," he hisses at me, and I'm afraid. I move back to my spot near the wall, sitting back down, shutting back up. I don't know why. I feel maneuvered, manipulated, much as I have since my arrival in this place. Angels, demons, I guess it doesn't matter. I don't understand their power, and I don't understand what's happening to me. My mind is fighting to help Dean, to protect him, but I can't break free from this sudden inertia.
"Jane?" Dean questions, pivoting to get a closer look. He begins to move toward me when Alistair grabs his attention once more.
"You know, it was supposed to be your father," Alistair continues after a moment of what looks like happy surprise when I obey his order. "He was supposed to bring it on. But, in the end, it was you. Oh, every night, the same offer, remember? Same as your father. And finally you said, "Sign me up." Oh, the first time you picked up my razor, the first time you sliced into that weeping bitch..."
I think how I will never ask Dean who that was on his table. When he is in the throes of the nightmares that plague him, I think I hear her name. I have heard it. More than once. She haunts him. Her familiar face, her accent, the pieces of her story that we were only really able to put together after her death. The death that came so close to his own. But I will never ask him. This one thing, I will never let him admit. He will never have to tell me what he did to Bela.
Dean faces him dead on. Facing his smiling nightmare.
"That was the first seal." He is so happy to say it. He's been saving it for just this moment. How pleased he is to deliver this news.
"You're lying," Dean insists, walking closer and closer to the evil on the rack.
But he's not, is he. Oh, Dean.
"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."
With this Dean turns his back on this new reality told through the bloody mouth of a decaying vessel of the most powerful demon we have ever known. And he is broken. Broken in ways I can't imagine, broken like I have not seen before. Our eyes meet, mine through tears that have appeared without warning, his through total realization. He needs my strength and love and understanding, and I'm trying to send it all to him in a way that is clear enough for him to see, but I'm not sure he I make him see it at all. I'm broken, too.
He closes his eyes.
I go back to cleaning the filth from my dress.
"We had to break the first seal before any others. Only way to get the dominoes to fall, right? Topple the one at the front of the line. When we win, when we bring on the apocalypse and burn this earth down, we'll owe it all to you, Dean Winchester. Believe me, son, I wouldn't lie about this. It's kind of a religious sort of thing with me."
"No. I don't think you are lying. But even if the demons do win, You won't be there to see it."
I look up to see Dean gripping Ruby's knife tightly in preparation for the kill, and realize much too late that my skirt is not only dirty, but wet.
Alistair noticed the water. Though it should not be possible, though Castiel promised it could not happen, he is standing close enough for Dean to feel his breath on the back of his neck. "You should talk to your plumber about the pipes."