An Answer To His Prayers
But if from thence thou shalt seek the LORD thy GOD, thou shalt find him, if thou seek him with all thy heart and with all thy soul. When thou art in tribulation, and all these things are come upon thee, even in the latter days, if thou turn to the LORD thy God, and shalt be obedient unto his voice; (For the LORD thy God is a merciful God;) he will not forsake thee, neither destroy thee, nor forget the covenant of thy fathers which he sware unto them. : Deuteronomy 4:29-39 (King James Version):
He was on his knees again, the incessant tick of the clock on the wall filling his brain as the countdown wound down once again, it’s pendulum marking the passing of each torturous minute even though the hands on its face had never moved in all his time here.
It was always midnight here and every second of every minute of every hour was just like the one before it.
Except this one.
The ticking stopped.
This was the moment where the clock would briefly stop and time would stand absolutely still. This was the moment that signalled he had survived another day here, one day less to go in his eternity in this place.
He smiled at the madness in his logic.
Hands yanked his head up by the hair.
“You will break, your only delaying the inevitable…prolonging the agony.” Alastair’s voice ghosted past his ear. “Not that I mind…one of the best screamers we had down here in a while Dean…but then, not everyone gets into the presidential suite, only the worst sinners…and you.”
“Won’t break, can’t make me…don’t count on it.” He felt the doubt in himself though even as he spoke the words.
“Oh but I will count on it Dean ‘cos you and I, all we have here is time. Can you hear the clock Dean?” Dean found himself being to shake as the clock started its monotonous countdown, his signal that the pain was about to start again.
“Besides…” …Alastair lent in with a serene smile on his face…”…I was the one that broke your daddy…and as they say, like father…like son. Strip him.” The hands were on him again, tearing at him.
Dean fought them, fought the indignity that they were forcing on him even though he knew that it was pointless, that he couldn’t win, he fought them because he didn’t know what else to do but fight, it was who he was. A fighter.
He forced his anger to push down his fear, smiling at the brief flicker of hope that it gave him, hope that perhaps he could survive another day of this. “You’re lying, he wouldn’t have broken…you couldn’t have made him.”
“Oh but I did…you’ve been here what, thirty years Dean…three months in meat suit years, but your daddy…he was here for over a hundred, over a year…do you actually think that he didn’t break in all that time or that you’ll last as long as he did?”
Alastair gripped his shoulders, tearing the flesh as his nails dug in. “He held out for fifty years Dean, fifty years he took this, but he still went down screaming Dean, just like you will. Three days with me was all it took to make him see sense.” He hauled Dean to his feet, held him there until his skin gave and it and his scream were ripped from him as he sunk back down at Alastair’s feet. “Do you know what you are Dean? You’re a cheap imitation of what he was and like all cheap imitations…if you put it in the hands of an expert their flaws are easily spotted.”
Alastair stood back and picked up the knife from the table, smiling as he watched the tremble run through the man kneeling before him. “I can see your flaws Dean, just like everyone else could, your daddy…your brother, but unlike them...I can help you fix them. I can make you do something that you never dreamed you were capable of. I can make you not care.”
He turned the knife and held it out. Dean stayed motionless on the floor before him.
“Ok Dean, your funeral. Again.”
He turned the knife back round in his hand.
“Playtime is over Dean, I’m going to show just how bad things can get if you defy me.”
He dug the blade into Dean’s already torn and bleeding shoulders, laughing at the guttural noise that the action brought forth.
“You’re going to break this day Dean…” …he twisted the knife… “…I’m going to see to it personally.”
All hell stopped and listened, the demons grinning as hell echoed with the tortured screams of Dean Winchester…hunter.
“Please no.” His chest hitched as Alastair approached with the knife. “No I can’t.”
“Can’t do it or take it Dean? It has to be one or the other. Your choice.” He held out the knife before him again and smiled as Dean slowly held out his hand to take it. “See Dean, it didn’t have to be that hard after all.”
He smiled at the dead empty green eyes that looked up at him. “Welcome to the other side Dean.”
The hand touched his face and he quivered as the lips brushed his ear, the voice tempting and soft as it spoke to him. “Dean, Dean, Dean.” The fingers slipped under his chin and pulled his head up to stare at the crouched form of Alastair. “You were quite something today Dean, the screams that you pulled from this soul were…exquisite. See how easy it is when you don’t fight it Dean.”
Dean could feel himself breaking inside just as much as he had when it was him that had been ripped apart but he remained silent.
Alastair took his hand and drew him towards the man that Dean had tortured. “You have a gift for pain Dean, talented and skilled hands.” Alistair lifted Dean’s blood stained hands to his face. “Such an imaginative approach as well, make them think that it bothers you Dean, tell them your sorry for what you are going to do to them and then do it anyway…a wonderful addition to their torture, because I know deep down Dean that it doesn’t really bother you anymore, not when you know what the alternative is…isn’t that right?”
Dean nodded, scared that to speak would mean that his tongue would betray him and that the pain would once again be his to bare instead of to issue.
He watched as Alastair finished the man in front of them and walked away, a cheery wave at Dean as he left.
Not for the first time Dean found himself on his knees again in this place. His strength done, taken from him by his actions.
Hell had made him do something that no one or nothing had managed to do before.
Hell had made him care about what happened to Dean Winchester.
And he hated himself for it.
He found himself, for the first time since he was a little child, dropping his head and praying that God would save him from this nightmare.
A prayer he hoped this time would not go unanswered.
Dean’s time in Hell, up to and including him breaking
I don't know where this came from but I had to get it out!
Chapter end notes:
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