Nothing Else Matters: Chapter Two – Show Time
"How ya doing Sammy?"
Sam's face went instantly from a calm, carefree expression to one of rage. "It's Sam", he hissed. A single glance to the demons behind Dean had him slammed back to his knees and a rapid barrage of punches and kicks followed until Dean could hardly catch his breath. He stayed down, panting, ribs aching, blood from his busted lip and brow pooling below him. Dean forced himself to one knee and then, hiding the effort it took, to his feet.
"Okay, Samantha, you weren't always so picky with your nicknames. I can remember when you..", Dean's response was shortened by another round of general ass beating. Demons, ya had to respect their attention to detail when it came to beating the shit out of someone. Dean took a quick visual check, nope, no shit yet. He was still good.
By the time his inner mental rumblings stopped and his eyes started tracking again, Sam had taken a seat in a plush office chair to the side of Dean. "Are you finished being a smart ass, Dean?".
"If I'm the smart one, does that make you the dumb one?"
Once again Jeeves and Alfred moved in but Sam waved them off with a flick of his wrist. "We could be here for days if I let you beat him every time he made a wise crack. Leave me." Both demons quickly turned and left the room. Sam leaned back in his chair and watched as Dean struggled once again to his feet. Crossing his legs as he stretched out to his full length he asked, "So, have you come here to stop me Dean? Play the conquering hero in a badly written story. Are you here to save me or kill me? Cause, dude, so far you're doing a half ass job."
"Sam, you have to stop this. Look around, you're working for the dark side now. How can you do this?"
Sam's eyes closed, his crossed ankles rocking back and forth. His voice was even, almost has if he were discussing a case over diner food. "Hmmm, does it really matter Dean? You threw me out. Remember? 'If you walk out that door, don't ever come back'. Well, I walked out Dean, and you don't get to have me back." Sam's voice raised, anger and betrayal evident in his tone. "Us! Being brothers, ended the moment those words left your mouth. But now you're here." His voice softened, and a look of sadness fluttered briefly across his features. "Dean, Dean, Dean. You shouldn't have come."
Same pushed out of his chair and towered over Dean. One hand grasped Dean's shoulder while Sam's leg swept his feet from beneath him. Dean crashed backwards to the ground. "Really, shouldn't have come." There was just the faintest touch of regret in his voice. Sam flicked his wrist and the two demons were once again flaking Dean. "Find out what he knows. Do what it takes but…", Sam hesitated, searching for something. He glanced down at Dean, emotions boiled through his gaze before hardening into a cold resolve. "Do whatever it takes." Sam turned, ignoring Dean's look of shock, and walked back out the side door.
(and nothing else matters)
Torture on earth is much different from torture in hell. For one thing, if they carve out your still beating heart on earth, you tend to be too dead to realize the true extent of the horror of it all. Another is the smell. Hell smells, but not of fire and brimstone, really how cliché is that? Hell smells of rot and disease; the sour tang of hopelessness and despair; the sick taste of bile that never leaves the back of your throat. Torture on earth just smells of the copper of blood and the stale saltiness of sweat, both old and new.
Dean is in a unique position to be able to compare the two. Life is just shitty that way.
So far nothing is broken. Well, some ribs are cracked and his toes on his left foot aren't in the best shape but those are just "rough night at the bar" injuries for Dean. His back is a tangle of welts and cuts; some fresh, others healing, and some becoming infected. But the real pain, the true torture is knowing who put him here. His very own Sammy. Dean was awash in waves of guilt (shit, I drove him to this) and anger (I went to hell for that little shit and this is how he repays me) which just adds to his torture.
A true connoisseur of the art surely knows that it is the emotional more than the physical that truly makes the pain flow. Bright rivers of blood are lovely but the anguished cries of a tortured mind are orgasmic.
Dean is also in a unique position to be able to understand that. Dean's life equals vast amounts of shit. Epic portions of shit.
Dean's contemplation of the vastness of his shit is broken when he hears a different set of footsteps. Ones that he can recognize instantly. "Sammy, come to see the show?"
AN: Okay, just so you know, I really do like Dean and I have NO idea where this is coming from. I am really not that evil….or maybe I just hide it well. No one checks this but myself and spell check. If anyone wants to give it a whirl, I would love to have an extra pair of eyes. If you like this, reviews would make my day.