AN: So, a quicker update this time!
What you see in the shadows: Aww...your review had me blushing. Thanks!
SilentHowler: Thanks! btw that shopping list comment made me !
babyreaper: Thank you! As for Ruby...you'll just have to wait and find out.
WARNING: This chapter deals exclusively will hell and a very sadistic demon. If that's not your cup of tea, turn back now.
Chapter 13
The room was dark, as dark as the night sky that loomed over the horizon. The darkness seemed to swirl around in a haze as if it had come alive. Its menacing tentacles rose from within its deep, dark core and threatened to ensnare its victim in its dark clutches. The atmosphere weighed with a sense of danger and foreboding. The putrid air reeked of pure evil. It was the epitome of a blackhole; from which even light could have no hope of return.
A demon was the sole occupant of the forlorn room. He slumped in a dark, leather-covered couch placed right at the centre of the room. He perfectly emulated a sculpture, unmoving and hard as stone. It appeared as if he was completely unified with the darkness, as if he thrived in its endless nothingness and rejoiced in its despairing hopelessness.
The motionless picture was abruptly dissolved by a bright glow as Alistair lit a cigarette and released a ribbon of dark grey smoke. The smoke snaked through the empty air, branching and expanding before finally disappearing in the void.
A timid knock on the door shattered the picture-like quality of the scene and snapped the disgruntled demon out of him reverie. Nevertheless, he allowed the intruder to gain entrance with a sharp "Come in."
A meek demon poked her head through the door and hesitantly stepped into the room. A sliver of silver moonlight spilled into the room through the crack of the opened doorway and threw Alistair's features into sharp relief. The slight illumination revealed his expression to be one of stark contemplation. The female demon shivered in silent fright.
Hastily, her petite body dropped to the ground in a low curtsy. She respectfully kept her gaze towards her master's feet. Horrible things were known to happen to those who were disrespectful…..or to those who caught the fearsome demon when he happened to be in a bad mood…which, unfortunately for her, had become a usual occurrence as of late. She sent a quick prayer to the Morningstar that she would get away with her life. She didn't dare look up.
Alistair eyed the stooped body of the demon at his feet. He hadn't bothered learning her name. As it was, she was one of hundreds of demons in his service. They were all the same; mindless sheep eager to please him, expendable. He only ever memorised those who were different, unique, creative, promising…..like Dean…. Raw talent like the hunter's was hard to come by, making Alistair all the more determined to have him. Speaking of which…..
"Report." Alistair ordered the nameless demon.
She flinched at the harsh command but obeyed without raising her bowed head. "Everything is going according to your plan, My Lord. The Winchesters are on their way and should be here on schedule. All the preparations have been made."
Alistair remained silent for a few minutes. A few, long, agonizing minutes for the huddled demon.
"And has the Colt been secured?" Alistair questioned.
"N…no…M….My…Lord….Ru…Ruby was….unable to….."
"WHAT!" Alistair barked out. The shuddering demon risked a glance at the furious demon and cowered in fear. His cruel face was twisted in fury and outrage. The air seemed to heat up from the terrifying waves of anger that were erupting from Alistair. Ironically, she felt a cold dread slipping into her stomach. She considered running for her life for a single moment but gave up just as quickly, knowing it would be futile. Fear gripped her with escalating intensity.
"YOU DARE TO TELL ME THAT YOU FAILED TO RETRIEVE THE ONE WEAPON THAT CAN BEGET MY DEMISE FROM TWO MEASLY HUMANS…..YOU USELESS, UNGRATEFUL, WORTHLESS …"
The air buzzed with an invisible energy that converged at the incompetent demon. A blistering agony attacked her, incapacitating her and wrenching her true smoky form out of her human host. The agony multiplied ten-fold until her very core was utterly obliterated and scattered into blissful nothingness.
Alistair stared at the dead, broken female body at his feet with satisfaction. A cold smirk graced his lips. Yes, expendable indeed. He had neither the patience nor the tolerance for the slightest act of incompetence. And the demon had failed to fulfill his orders afterall, regardless of who caused the failure.
The failure to procure the infamous Colt was concerning, but not overly so. It was only a minor wedge in his plan, one that could easily be remedied. In any case, he would have the Winchesters, one way or the other. He would just take possession of the deadly weapon after the hunters were captured.
Alistair felt a tingle of anticipation race through him; which, in and by itself, was rare as well as surprising. This infrequent thrill had evaded him for centuries; the thrill of the chase, the thrill of the strategy, the thrill of desire. It burned through his veins and set fire to his demonic soul. The flame of want was rekindled within him after so many years of cold apathy. It had been so long, so long since he wanted, since he desired, since he coveted.
A precious, invaluable gem had been dangled in front of him, and he had to have it. He had known it the minute he had seen Dean Winchester for the very first time; seen the untouched, unexplored, latent talent hidden within and recognized the infinite possibilities. And for a while he had possessed it. He had had that unimaginable potential at his fingertips, to shape and sculpt as his heart desired. He had been intoxicated by the boundless power at his command before it had been wrenched away from him by an angel. Decades of hard work washed down the drain…
The demon closed his eyes and leaned his head back, memories of a distant time flashing behind his closed eyelids like a disjointed movie. His greatest conquest laid before him, and he relished in the memory of his greatest victory.
...
The perpetual fires of hell blazed in every direction, creating a strange medley of blood red and furious orange against the black backdrop. Tributaries of dark red blood trickled from their origins and united to form gushing streams of the glistening ruby liquid. Hideous screams echoed in the distance and formed a dismal concerto.
Alistair savored the oppressing atmosphere and sighed in contentment. He took a step back and studied his work. He smirked at the bloodied, broken body in front of him. The righteous man was strapped to the rack, his body mangled and bleeding. A painful twitch or an occasional shudder ran through his devastated body, drawing a whimper from behind his clamped lips.
"I must say Dean, it seems that you quite enjoy our daily interactions, considering that you refuse to give up my delightful company. It's been ten years already since we were first acquainted with each other, if you can believe it. Time does fly so fast when you are having fun."
The Winchester glared at him in defiance but did not answer; whether by choice or because of his ability to speak being crippled due to pain, Alistair did not know.
"Would you stop being stubborn now and accept my offer? All you have to do is say 'yes' and you can come off this rack. The pain, the torment, it can all end. If you accept my offer."
"Never."
The glare that tortured soul sent his way was ferocious even though his eyes were unfocused and hazy with pain.
The demon smirked at the sight; a defeated man still trying to struggle through a lost battle. Surprisingly, he was impressed, which was a feeling he was rather unfamiliar with for all intents and purposes. It took a LOT to impress him.
While Alistair had known that Dean Winchester would prove to be a tough challenge and was prepared to bring out his best game, it appeared that he had underestimated the hunter's strength, or more accurately, the hunter's tenacity. Dean had certainly exceeded his expectations and had maintained his rebellious attitude even after being in hell for a decade.
"I don't see why you are being so stubborn, boy." Alistair pretended to sigh in sympathy. "What are you hoping to achieve? Or do you think little Sammy will come to your rescue? There is no going back from selling your soul. And there is no escape from hell either. You're stuck here with me for the rest of eternity."
He heard a chocked sob from his victim and smiled passively. "Well, since you obstinately continue to reject my kind offer…" He picked up the sharp knife again which was already sheathed with the hunter's blood.
"Let's continue, shall we?"
...
The torture continued again as the days stretched into years. And at the end of each day Alistair presented his offer and each day he received the same answer. Hours upon hours melted into each other indistinguishably but his labors did not yield results. His victim remained obnoxiously resilient.
By now the demon's patience was wearing thin. The challenge was proving to be more difficult than he had initially anticipated. The righteous man had been in his custody for well over two decades and yet the first seal remained unbroken. He knew that others were beginning to question his effectiveness. He would have to be more creative if he hoped to break Dean Winchester in time. And he was.
The answer was so simple, so obvious, that Alistair was shocked that he had not discovered it sooner. Dean Winchester had willingly condemned himself to an eternity in hell for the sake of his younger brother. He had sacrificed his life, his soul, his sanity for Sam. So, it made sense that the only one to succeed in breaking him would also be Sam.
With renewed motivation, Alistair abandoned the physical torture and delved deeper into psychological warfare. And it worked. It worked brilliantly.
"I don't know why you continue to struggle, my boy. What are you fighting for? Or rather, who are you fighting for? Have you not realised yet, that Sam is not coming?"
"Shut up."
"Why would he? He finally has what he always wanted. A normal life, a life devoid of hunting, a life without his family. He can go back to college, meet a girl, get married, have kids… He can live his life freely without being held back by his elder brother. Why then, would he try to rescue you?"
"I said, shut up! You know nothing about Sam!"
But despite those contradictory words, the seeds of doubt were already sprouting in the hunters mind. 'This is what Sam has always wanted. Maybe he's not trying to get me out…maybe he has moved on…maybe he is happy without me….'
"Face it, Dean. You were never really wanted or needed, were you? When you were a kid, your dad left you time and time again when he went on hunts. He drilled you to look after little Sammy, to protect him even at the cost of your own life. It's clear who the favored son was. You were nothing, just a mindless slave to do his bidding. He never really cared for you, did he?"
Strings of memories floated in the Winchester's mind, serving as a harsh testimony of Alistair's words. Though he was loathe to admit it, the demon's assertions rang true, just as Alistair knew they would. Dean's mind, rendered fragile after decades of pain and torture, further cracked and splintered and Alistair just knew that he was incredibly close to breaking.
"Sammy didn't need you either, did he? He left you too. He went to live his apple-pie life in Stanford without you. He didn't want you then and he doesn't want you now. He has been happily living his life for the last couple of decades and letting you rot here in hell!"
"You're lying! Sammy wouldn't give up on me. He won't!"
"Oh really? Then why hasn't he gotten you out by now? Why are you still stuck in hell? Believe me, son, he has given up. He's not trying to save you; not anymore."
"You're lying….y..you…..you're…..lying…." The hunter's voice broke into sobs as burning tears cascaded down his cheeks. Sensing the hunter's resolve quivering, he ruthlessly drove the next nail in the coffin.
"Sam doesn't want you in his life, Dean. You forced and bound him by the ties of family when he only wanted to break free. He's not coming, Dean. No one is. You're all alone."
...
That momentous day marked the first time, since his descent in hell, that Dean Winchester cried. The poor, tortured soul, encumbered under the weight of his fears and sorrows, at last broke down and cried. And Alistair, with much satisfaction, stood beside the weeping soul and whispered words of poison in his bleeding heart.
It was not long after that dark day that the first seal of the apocalypse broke. Dean Winchester, already fractured by suffering through monumental pain, both physical and emotional, alas shattered like a pane of delicate glass. On the thirtieth anniversary of his dive into eternal damnation, his soul surrendered under the onslaught of the depraved forces of hell and became one with the darkness.
It was the most joyous day of Alistair's life.
Alistair opened his cold, hard eyes as he came back from his long walk down the memory lane. The mere memory of that celebrated day was enough to recreate the euphoria of his victory. His pulse quickened and he shivered in anticipation. The moment was close…so close. He could feel the sensation of its arrival coursing just under his skin.
Soon…soon he would have Dean Winchester in his grasp again. His greatest masterpiece, his brightest pupil, his strongest weapon and his only weakness. Soon he would be the most powerful demon in the pits of hell. He would be supreme, absolute, invincible…immortal.
AN: So...creepy? scary? sinister? Sorry for the absence of our favorite brothers. They'll appear in the next !