Big Bang Fic: Oadriax (2/13)
Title: Oadriax (2/13)
Author: daksgirl
Artist: terrorinyertub
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural, au, sci fi, drama
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Side pairings: Sam/Gabriel, past Sam/Jess
Rating: NC-17 (violence, adult situations, language)
Word Count: 80,668
Warnings: Graphic violence and warfare, adult themes including sex, canon character deaths, demon xenophobia, swearing, gore (in a war situation), PTSD and an attempted non-con situation.
[Fic Masterpost]
[Art Masterpost]
Bobby Singer wasn’t known for his subtlety or for pussy-footing around issues. If something pissed him off, then he’d let you know with a barrage of cursing and shouting. The soldiers who were in charge of the scientists’ safety during field excursions used to joke that there were only two rules on Oadriax. The first was to do whatever Colonel Azazel told you to do. The second?
Don’t fuck with Bobby Singer.
Everyone hurried to get out of the scientist’s way as he barreled like an enraged bull through the sterile-white corridors. The HR offices were located on the opposite end of the building, but Bobby seemed to make it in only a few angry strides.
As he stormed into reception, several secretaries inched lower in their chairs, hiding behind their computers. It would be useless to try and stop his headlong charge, and all the personnel liked their heads where they sat.
The corporate administrator could take care of himself. Hopefully.
The metallic doors had barely slid open before Bobby shoved them aside, stomping into the luxuriously decorated office, slamming his palms flat on the large mahogany desk in the center of the room. Holopads rattled from their precariously stacked positions, yet the figure lounging in the large leather chair didn’t flinch. A huge window stretched along the length of the office, looking out over the complex landing strip and beyond. The sky was darkening now, the suns beginning to set.
“You know, I used to think it was neglect, but now I see you're intentionally screwin’ me,” Bobby snarled, jabbing a finger towards the figure. “This is bullshit!”
There was a low chuckle. “Oh you’ll know when I’m screwing you, darling.”
Slowly the chair swiveled around and a well groomed man in a sharp black suit came into view. The Corporate administrator of the Roman Enterprises relaxed further into his chair, elbows braced on the armrests and fingers steepled against his chin. His eyes flicked towards the enraged scientist, dark red irises barely visible against the blood red color of the rest of his eyes.
“Always a pleasure to see your handsome face in my office Robert,” he smiled. “Seriously, I get all tingly when you use your angry voice. But, really, stomping in here like a caveman isn’t going to-”
“Dammit Crowley, your idiot gorillas flattened my study site!” The bellow made the papers on the desk tremble and the secretaries cowered even further outside. “Flattened! Do you know how much work you’ve destroyed?”
Crowley shrugged, hands dropping to his lap. “My employers are getting anxious at our lack of progress. I needed to demonstrate we are still capable of producing.”
“Demonstrate? Demonstrate?” Bobby swept his arm across the desk, sending holopads and papers flying. A coffee mug hit the carpet with a thud but didn’t break, rolling to a stop at the demon’s feet.
“You wiped out decades, maybe even centuries of biodiversity and for what?” Bobby snarled. “A bit o’ rock?”
Crowley sighed dramatically, seemingly unperturbed by the mess the scientist had just made. “Robert, we’ve been over this. Do I really have to remind you what funds your studies?”
At Bobby’s stormy look, Crowley rolled eyes. “Money, darling. Lots and lots of money.”
The demon leant forward to rest his arms on the now empty desk. “And we’re here to make it. Just because you have your little project with the savages, doesn’t change our main objective.”
Bobby spluttered his disagreement but Crowley continued smoothly. “This planet is one of the few natural sources of achildao. Or as you and I know it, shit that fuels the galaxy,” the demon arched an eyebrow at him pointedly. “And your whole job is to help me get it. When you can’t deliver, I take matters into my own hands.”
“But-” Bobby tried, shoulders still shaking with anger. Crowley shook his head, leaning back in his chair as he flicked a hand at the scientist.
“No buts. Sorry about your study site. Be glad I just bulldozed a watering hole and not something the angels actually value. Speaking of which-”
The demon reached down to pluck one of the holopads from the floor. “I see the Winchesters arrived. Sammy-boy is our new big cheese and I want him out there tomorrow. Get him up to speed. We’ve lost enough time already.”
Crowley retrieved the coffee mug and settled it back on the desk. “Relations with the natives are worsening and we need a solution before things get bloody.”
Bobby crossed his arms, drawing back to glare murderously at the floor. “Yeah, that tends to happen when you bulldoze their habitat and shoot at ‘em with guns.”
Crowley let it slide, looking up at the scientist thoughtfully, holopad still in hand. “And speaking of shooting, how’s that little firecracker you call a daughter doing? Heard she caused a ruckus the other day at the shooting range.”
Blindsided by the change in topic, Bobby stared at him, uncomprehending. Crowley shrugged, leaning back in his chair.
“Just wondering how she’s doing. Not easy, losing a mother.”
Bobby stiffened, glancing away and out the huge window, shoving his hands into his lab coat pockets. “She’s doin’ fine,” he muttered. “Fine as she can be, considerin’.”
Crowley nodded thoughtfully. “Good. My condolences again by the way. I sent you a fruit basket.”
“I got it,” Bobby said tightly, desperately wishing he had a cigarette.
Those red eyes watched him carefully. “Humans like fruit baskets don’t they?” Crowley shook his head with a low hum. “You’re such a complicated species to figure out sometimes. If you were a demon I would have sent you the severed head of an enemy’s first born or something.”
The demon chuckled to himself at that, tapping the holopad against his chin. “Though that would be a hell of a lot of heads I’d have to get you, considering.”
“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Bobby scowled, fingers twitching inside his pockets. He felt a headache coming as the corporate cretin grinned up at him with a wink.
“I have a folder bursting at the seams, fullof complaints filed against you.” Crowley’s eyes glittered. “You’re not a popular man.”
No new news there. Robert Singer was a damn fine scientist, but not a good team player. People just got in the damn way.
“So why not just fire me?” he muttered grumpily. “If everyone hates me so damn much.”
The demon laughed, head back and eyes crinkling. “Because you’re the best, you dolt, and this project deserves the best.”
The holopad in Crowley's hand beeped, and he glanced at it dismissively.
“Plus, I actually like you. You’re the only other bastard on this sorry planet who has the balls to stand up for anything.” He tossed the holopad onto the desk, metal clattering against wood. “Just stop with the yelling and screaming ok, darling? You’re scaring the kids.”
With a dark glower, Bobby turned and left the office, muttering angrily. Crowley watched him leave with a smile, before swiveling back towards the window, watching as night set over his kingdom.
Blood.
It gathered in pools, his boots splashing droplets of red that spattered across his uniform in wet streaks. The air was thick with smoke and gunfire, screams of the dying and wounded, and Dean struggled through it all.
His palms were sweaty, the metal of his rifle slippery in his hands as he fired into the smoky air. Hel literally was hell, a sulfuric atmosphere with a sun that loomed too close to the surface. It felt like fighting in an oven, and sweat ran in torrents down his face, mixing with blood and stinging his eyes.
A demon lunged in front of him, black eyes glittering, and he cut it down with a spray of bullets, only to have another rise in its place. They swarmed down from the jagged cliff faces like locusts, more at ease in their natural environment than the sweltering humans. They descended on the small barricade, and Dean watched as a demon ripped the throat out of a downed marine, saw the purple spray of arterial blood against the red-tinged sky, felt it against his face, wet and hot.
He could taste it in his mouth, metallic and sticky, and he spat, trying desperately to get the taste out.
“First Lieutenant!”
He whipped his head forward, the inner turmoil within him calming as his father shoved through the fighting marines. John looked more rugged than he usually did, jaw line dark with stubble and face splashed with red. A slash across his nose bled sluggishly, but the man ignored it. Dean jogged over, saluting with a shaking hand.
“Major,” he replied, irrationally proud of how calm it actually came out. “Orders, sir? Are fourth platoon on their way with reinforcement?”
John glanced around them, eyes narrowing as grenades exploded nearby; the sound nearly drowned out by the screaming of a machine gun.
“Just got word from the General. There will be no reinforcements, nor extraction. We’re to hold this position.”
Dean stared at his father with incomprehension. The barricade was already lost, every soldier knew it. The only reason they still fought was to buy time for reinforcements. If none were coming…
“He’s sentenced us to death,” Dean blurted suddenly, the pretenses of military conduct gone. “Dad, we can’t just-”
“That’s an order, Lieutenant,” John rumbled emotionlessly. “And we will obey it.”
A soldier reeled towards them, mouth gaping open as he stared at the empty cavity his intestines had been in before slumping to the ground at their feet. Dean watched him die absently, just another name that would be inscribed on a wall somewhere in the Citadel for civilians to gawk at. He drew his shoulders back, taking a deep breath.
“Yes, sir,” he managed tonelessly. “I understand. I’ll….”
John stepped towards him, shaking his head as he reached out to grab his son’s shoulder.
“No,” he said quietly. “No, Dean. I said we, not you. You haul ass outta here. I’ve arranged for a few of the wounded and higher ranking militants to return to base in the helicraft. I want you on it.”
Anger rose in him, hot and heavy, and Dean found himself for the first time in his life, disagreeing with his father.
“I’m not running away,” he snarled, shrugging John’s hand off. “These are my men. If they die, so do I. Major.”
There was something unnamable in his father’s eyes. For a second, Dean thought it was pride.
“Son, this isn’t a democracy. You’re going. The helicraft leaves in exactly ten mi- DEAN!”
He was already running, back into the fray of battle, ignoring his father’s calls. He wasn’t going to run away, tail between his legs. A Winchester never had, and never would. He fired at anything and everything, desperation making his movements jerky, his reflexes slow. A hand grabbed his arm, swinging him around, and the shout in Dean’s throat died, his eyes disbelieving.
Something terrible wore his mother’s face, grinned at him with her mouth and flipped her blonde hair as its own. It looked down at him with eyes the color of hellfire, laughing as it gutted him like a fish, fingers slipping inside the jagged cavity of his stomach effortlessly.
“I caught you, little rabbit,” it whispered with Mary’s lips, and Dean could only watch in horror as it slowly ripped him apart. “This time you won’t get away.”
Dean snapped his eyes open, jerking up with a deep heaving gasp. Sam jumped from his position over the small sink where he had been shaving, eyes wide and hair ridiculously sleep tousled.
“Jesus, Dean!” The razor clattered against the metal sink, loud in the quiet room. “You alright?”
Disorientated, Dean stared around the small quarters, but found no evidence of demons or a battle long ago lost. A quick check of his stomach showed smooth skin, organs all where they should be. His sheets were tangled around his legs, and breathing out slowly, he reached down to free himself, shaking his head.
“Sorry, Sammy,” he mumbled, his hands shaking where they rested on the covers. “I uh….bad dream.”
Sam watched him for a moment longer as Dean avoided his gaze, finally freeing himself and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
“Yeah,” Sam said quietly, turning back to the mirror and picking up his dropped razor. “Yeah, I know. You uh...you wanna talk about it?”
Dean scrubbed a hand across his face, padding towards the dresser they now shared and snagging a clean t-shirt.
“No,” he said bluntly, slipping the shirt over his head. His ID tags gleamed up at him from the dresser, and he slid them over his head, taking comfort in their familiar metallic clinking. Most of the military had converted to under the skin chips in order to identify soldiers, but Dean had inherited his father’s love of tradition. Only the real battle-hardened marines still wore ID tags, badges of honor they displayed proudly, and most only wore two.
Dean wore three.
Sam watched him in the mirror as Dean reached for his pants, shaving temporarily forgotten. “I heard you say Dad.”
Dean paused, company issued khakis halfway up his legs. “What part of ‘No I don’t want to talk about it’ didn’t you get?”
Sam rolled his eyes, tapping his razor against the sink. “Whatever, jerk. But I’m here if you ever want to talk. About Dad, Mom, anything.”
Dean grunted, tucking the ID tags under his shirt. “Yeah. Thanks, bitch.”
A quick rummage through the small kitchenette revealed nothing appetizing. Best Dean could find were a few ration bars, and he grabbed one, ripping it open. He felt unsettled, jumpy and anxious. His leg bobbed up and down under the table as he sat, and he stared down at the sterile white table, still seeing red.
“It’s just…weird you know? This is where she died.”
Sam frowned at that, slowly running the razor across his jaw. The giant girl was strict with keeping his jaw clean shaven, yet let those giant caterpillar sideburns run riot? Where was the sense in that, honestly.
“She died offsite,” Sam said carefully. “One of the outpost labs that isn’t used anymore.”
Dean growled irritably. “I know that, thank you Mr. Brainiac. I just meant…ah forget it.”
He tapped his fingers to the same beat his leg bobbed, chewing sullenly on his ration bar and trying to forget scenes of blood and Hel.
“No, I get it. I do,” Sam turned away from the sink, hip braced against the cabinet as he pointed the razor at his brother. “But you gotta remember Dean, I never knew her. She left when I was what…a year old? If that? I can’t mourn someone I never knew. She’s just Dr. Campbell to me.”
Dean glared at his brother, the wrapper in his hand crinkling. “She was our mom.”
Sam turned back to the mirror, shrugging. “Yours maybe. She left us, Dean. She left Dad. The woman was a stranger to me.”
“Doesn’t mean she wasn’t our mom.”
The small apartment fell into a charged silence after that.
Dr. Singer…Bobby, was taking them offsite, to one of the study sites so they could get their first glimpse of Oadriax properly. Sam hurried around their small flat, stuffing books and gear into his duffle, muttering to himself and pushing his hair out of his eyes. Slowly the bag swelled larger and larger as Dean looked on, amazed it actually all fit.
He was just supposed to be on security detail, which meant minimal packing, maximum firepower. The company issued guns, but Dean had his own trusty revolver tucked into the back of his pants, the metal cool against the curve of his back.
The communicator by the door beeped and the robotic voice that droned at the two men sounded almost bored.
“Incoming request for a Dean Winchester to report for security detail in the hanger. The Colonel wishes to speak to you.”
Sam shot him a look, but Dean ignored it, striding towards his bed. It was kind of sad that all his belongings actually fit in one army issued duffel, but he also liked it. Liked knowing he could just pick up his whole life and go. Taking a deep breath, he rummaged into its green depths, fingers closing around the familiar contours of his combat knife. Ignoring Sam’s disapproving glares and loud tutting, he tucked it securely into his boot before smoothing his pants back down.
Always best to be prepared.
The flight hanger was a place of chaos. Shuttles and helicrafts idled, pilots and engineers scuttling back and forth shouting to each other. Metal clanged loudly, making his ears ring, and Dean edged around them as best he could.
After getting hopelessly lost amongst the giant metallic machines, he finally found a rather shapely behind, currently attached to a petite brunette that rummaged in the open engine of a helicraft on all fours. Wires and bolts were spread across the concrete floor around her; wiring spewing from the craft like metallic innards. The sharp smell of gasoline hit Dean as he approached and he wrinkled his nose unhappily.
She didn’t even notice his approach, his heavy footsteps drowned out by the clanging around her. Absently she shifted her weight, sticking her backside even further in the air, and Dean briefly admired the view. After a few minutes passed and there was still no response, Dean cleared his throat, reaching out to tap the panel above her head. With an almighty curse, the woman reared up, banging her head.
“SHIT!”
Dean retracted his hand hurriedly, taking a step back as he watched the woman wiggle out of the rabbit hole she had made.
“Uh, sorry,” he managed, trying to disguise a laugh. “You know where I can find the Colonel?”
Muttering and rubbing her head, she sank back on her haunches, wiping her hand against one thigh and leaving a trail of sticky grease. She had her glossy brown hair pulled into a messy ponytail, small wisps of hair falling around her face.
“Depends,” she muttered, grimacing at her now stained jumpsuit. “Who’s asking?”
She straightened, rising to her feet finally as she turned her attention to Dean. The clever comeback line he had ready died in his throat, leaving him wide eyed and blustering. The woman cocked an eyebrow at him, crossing her arms across her chest. Her black eyes betrayed nothing.
“I asked you a question, soldier.”
Dean shook himself. Right. He could do this. The war was long over. Demons were allies now. He could do this. “I uh, Dean. Winchester.”
Her tense posture relaxed at that, shoulders slumping lower. “So you’re the marine that’ll be flying with us,” she looked him up and down, and he felt his skin crawl. “Not bad. I guess you’ll do.”
With a smile that didn’t quite reach her ebony eyes, she offered her hand. "I'm Ruby. I fly all the science dorks around."
He forced himself to reach out and take her hand in his. The skin was soft beneath his fingertips, human-like and warm. It was misleading though. He could feel the coiled strength in her grip, the danger lurking just beneath the flimsy sham of humanity she wore.
She let go after a moment, cocking her hip. “So what can I help you with, Dean? Or are you just here to enjoy the show?”
Demons didn’t miss a thing. Embarrassed, Dean turned away, glancing at the craft she had been working on. “Nice looking bird you got there.”
The demon glanced back towards the work she had left. “Yeah, this here is my baby,” she slapped the metallic hull proudly. “I call him Dumbo.”
A loud clang towards the back of the craft drew both their attention. A scrawny looking marine with a crazy mullet struggled to heft a lethal looking machine gun into the helicraft’s turret. It ground into place with a protesting screech, and Ruby craned her head to glare angrily in the human’s direction.
“Ash! I swear to your stupid Earth God, if you scratch my baby again, I’m going to gut you and make a nice necklace from your innards!”
The scruffy marine shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Hell Ruby, that’d be a damn ugly necklace.”
Exhaling an irritated huff of air, the demon rolled her eyes as she turned away. “Then I’ll scalp you and make slippers out of that mop you call hair. We bounce at zero nine, if I see any marks on my baby-”
Ash waved her away, clicking the gun safety on. “Yeah, yeah. Slippers and innards bling, I get it.”
Dean followed as Ruby motioned at him to follow, trailing after the petite brunette as she led the way past more idle crafts and machines.
“You guys are packing some heavy gear,” he remarked, sidestepping a small cart carrying engine parts.
Ruby snorted. “Yeah well, we're not the only things flying around out there.”
She wiped the back of her hand against her forehead, leaving a streak of black. “You ever seen a pissed off angel, Dean?”
An engineer barged past him, jolting his shoulder, and Dean glared after the man, gritting his teeth. “Can't say I have.”
“Well they're positively cherub-like compared to some of the beasties that flap around,” Ruby glanced at him sideways. “I'm gonna need you on a door gun on the way out, I'm a man short.”
“Man? Or demon?” A small gaggle of demons eyed them as they moved by, unblinking and intimidating. The heavy weight of the revolver against his back was comforting.
Ruby sighed. “You can drop the attitude honey. You don’t like us, I get it,” she stopped, turning to face him fully, hands on her hips. “But a word of advice? That shit don’t fly with the Colonel. He’s a cold bastard, and you want him to like you, trust me. So play nice.”
She jerked her head to the right, towards an open storage room. “There’s your man. Good luck. Try not to piss him off.”
Dean watched her as she gave him a friendly pat on the arm before sauntering away, hips swaying.
“Yeah. Thanks,” he muttered, squaring his shoulders.
Up close, the Colonel looked like an average marine, rough around the edges, but not burly or scrawny. Just…normal. His had his back to the door as Dean entered the storage room, studying a schematic in his hand, another demon standing to attention beside him.
“You wanted to see me, Colonel?”
It was easy to fall into it, the military way. Feet spread, hands behind your back. Salute your superiors, eyes straight ahead.
The Colonel turned at his voice and all semblances of him being human evaporated. He was a predator, a snake in the grass. Where yesterday the angel’s eyes had been a warm molten caramel, sweet and gentle, these were shards of metal, piercing and calculating. The smile the demon gave him was cold and unfeeling, his eyes pits of rusty corruption in an otherwise handsome face.
“Ah. Winchester. Just the man I wanted to see,” his voice was smooth, educated. Demons had a way of speaking that could just lull you into a false sense of security, like honey and treacle with a razorblade hidden just beneath. Dean struggled to keep himself still, to prevent himself from reaching for his gun and doing something incredibly stupid.
The black eye beside the Colonel shot him a sly smile, all teeth. The guy was older, thin with short hair peppered grey and a goatee. Looked like he had just stepped out of a sleazy porno. Dean’s spine stiffened even further as he felt those black eyes crawl over him, like hungry insects.
“Oh relax,” the schematics were tossed onto a storage locker, the Colonel shooting him another false smile as he walked around a crate of spare helicraft parts. “I expect that kind of shit from the grunts, not you.”
Dean’s eyes wavered from their fixed spot on the far wall. “Sir?”
The Colonel shrugged, leaning his weight against one of the lockers, crossing his arms. “I pulled your record. Not that I had to with a name like yours. Winchester is pretty synonymous with ‘ass kicking’ on Hel.”
Dean felt winded at that. The Colonel continued to watch him, yellow eyes bright. Knowing.
“You and your father held your own during the war,” he continued. “Quite the man, John Winchester.”
“The best,” Dean bit out before he could stop himself. “Sir.”
The black eye chuckled to himself, voice reedy. “Died during the Siege of Serpent’s Pass, didn’t he?”
Dean didn’t bother answering. The Colonel pushed away from the locker, approaching Dean.
“I can’t decide if you’re just ballsy as fuck, or stupid showing up here.”
Dean kept his eyes straight ahead. “Sir?”
The black eye slunk forward, cocking his head. Dude had a serious creep vibe. Dean’s fists itched to bury themselves in his stupid face.
“We’re wolves here, little rabbit,” the demon grinned. “You won’t find many friends.”
The Colonel halted in front of him, too close. A callused hand grabbed his chin, forcing him to look into those horrible eyes. Dean always thought they looked diseased, like a human with hepatitis, with a burnt yellow iris. As sulfuric as their home planet.
He was close enough that Dean could feel his breath, hot and humid against his face as the Colonel studied him. “I suggest you make me one, Winchester. A man without friends won’t last long. Not out here.”
After a beat, those mocking eyes left him, and the Colonel released Dean. The Colonel turned away dismissively.
“So. Down to business,” he said briskly, with a clap of his hands. “You’re assigned to the Angel Project as security detail. The project itself is a joke, a bunch of science majors who think they can just go out there and hug everything they see and it’ll all work out. Maybe we’ll braid the angels’ hair and dance around a tree.”
Slowly the demon turned back, jaw clenched as the black eye tittered.
“But I live in the real world. And in the real world, hugging doesn’t solve shit. I want you to walk like a science nerd, talk like a science nerd, but inside you are a soldier. You infiltrate those winged bastards and you find out their weaknesses.”
Dean shifted his weight, eyes burning holes in the wall as he avoided both demons’ gazes. “I wasn’t aware we were at war, Sir.”
The Colonel laughed at that, hearty chuckles as he clapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Oh, Winchester. Of course we are. We’re always at war. They have what we need and we’re going to take it. Only difference is whether it’ll be a huge bloodbath, like Serpent’s Pass, or peaceful.”
It took every muscle to keep himself still as the Colonel tightened his hand on Dean’s shoulder, fingers squeezing him.
“Choose the battlefield for me, Winchester,” the Colonel shrugged. “Personally, I would love a bit of bloodshed, but you know what those bleeding heart types are like. Not like you and me.”
“Sir?”
“Oh come now, Dean,” the sound of his name rolling off that tongue made Dean flinch, teeth grinding together hard. “We’re killers. That’s what we do, and we’re damn good at it. So, if you can’t give me a peaceful solution, just…give me something to kill.”
Dean squared his shoulders, refusing to meet those laughing yellow eyes with his own. “Am I dismissed, Sir?”
The Colonel waved his hand dismissively. “As long as we’re clear, soldier. Report back to me after the excursion today. And I expect a full report.”
Dean forced himself to salute, palms sweaty. Turning on his heel, he started for the door, mind screaming to just run, to get away as fast as possible. With jerky steps, he traced his way back through the hanger, relaxing as he drew further away from the Colonel.
As he ducked behind an out of service shuttle, an arm suddenly snaked around him from behind, tightening across his throat. Choking, Dean grabbed at it, but was forcibly slammed up against the cold metal of the shuttle, a taller body pressing up against his back.
The side of his face stung from the impact, pressed tightly against the metal as he struggled to buck the figure off. A breathless chuckle tickled his ear, a mouth pressed close.
“Is that any way to behave, rabbit?”
Dean’s brain short-circuited, his body jerking and bucking in an attempt to dislodge the demon. The black eye from the Colonel’s hanger choked him harder, one hand stealing down and fingers slipping beneath the t-shirt at Dean’s back. Fingers danced along his spine as Dean struggled, brushing against the unyielding metal of the revolver.
“The Colonel doesn’t like it when his soldiers don’t obey, Dean. You’d do well to remember that.”
The demon’s fingers closed around the gun, teasing it free of Dean’s jeans. Dean slumped to the ground, throat burning as he gulped in breaths as the demon released him. The demon smiled down at him, revolver in one hand.
“Oh Dean. Trying to play the big boy are we?”
Dean glared up at him murderously. “Fuck…you,” he wheezed, throat throbbing.
The demon looked pleased.
“Well this will be interesting. Don’t disappoint the Colonel, Dean. Otherwise things might get…messy," he leaned down and Dean couldn’t stop his full body flinch. Those black eyes were positively beaming at his response, the demon tapping Dean’s stinging cheek with the barrel of the gun.
“Hop to it, rabbit. I’ll be seeing you around.”
The demon left him there, ashamed and heaving as the demon’s laughter rang in his ears.
The lines of battle had been drawn.
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Author: daksgirl
Artist: terrorinyertub
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural, au, sci fi, drama
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Side pairings: Sam/Gabriel, past Sam/Jess
Rating: NC-17 (violence, adult situations, language)
Word Count: 80,668
Warnings: Graphic violence and warfare, adult themes including sex, canon character deaths, demon xenophobia, swearing, gore (in a war situation), PTSD and an attempted non-con situation.
[Fic Masterpost]
[Art Masterpost]
Bobby Singer wasn’t known for his subtlety or for pussy-footing around issues. If something pissed him off, then he’d let you know with a barrage of cursing and shouting. The soldiers who were in charge of the scientists’ safety during field excursions used to joke that there were only two rules on Oadriax. The first was to do whatever Colonel Azazel told you to do. The second?
Don’t fuck with Bobby Singer.
Everyone hurried to get out of the scientist’s way as he barreled like an enraged bull through the sterile-white corridors. The HR offices were located on the opposite end of the building, but Bobby seemed to make it in only a few angry strides.
As he stormed into reception, several secretaries inched lower in their chairs, hiding behind their computers. It would be useless to try and stop his headlong charge, and all the personnel liked their heads where they sat.
The corporate administrator could take care of himself. Hopefully.
The metallic doors had barely slid open before Bobby shoved them aside, stomping into the luxuriously decorated office, slamming his palms flat on the large mahogany desk in the center of the room. Holopads rattled from their precariously stacked positions, yet the figure lounging in the large leather chair didn’t flinch. A huge window stretched along the length of the office, looking out over the complex landing strip and beyond. The sky was darkening now, the suns beginning to set.
“You know, I used to think it was neglect, but now I see you're intentionally screwin’ me,” Bobby snarled, jabbing a finger towards the figure. “This is bullshit!”
There was a low chuckle. “Oh you’ll know when I’m screwing you, darling.”
Slowly the chair swiveled around and a well groomed man in a sharp black suit came into view. The Corporate administrator of the Roman Enterprises relaxed further into his chair, elbows braced on the armrests and fingers steepled against his chin. His eyes flicked towards the enraged scientist, dark red irises barely visible against the blood red color of the rest of his eyes.
“Always a pleasure to see your handsome face in my office Robert,” he smiled. “Seriously, I get all tingly when you use your angry voice. But, really, stomping in here like a caveman isn’t going to-”
“Dammit Crowley, your idiot gorillas flattened my study site!” The bellow made the papers on the desk tremble and the secretaries cowered even further outside. “Flattened! Do you know how much work you’ve destroyed?”
Crowley shrugged, hands dropping to his lap. “My employers are getting anxious at our lack of progress. I needed to demonstrate we are still capable of producing.”
“Demonstrate? Demonstrate?” Bobby swept his arm across the desk, sending holopads and papers flying. A coffee mug hit the carpet with a thud but didn’t break, rolling to a stop at the demon’s feet.
“You wiped out decades, maybe even centuries of biodiversity and for what?” Bobby snarled. “A bit o’ rock?”
Crowley sighed dramatically, seemingly unperturbed by the mess the scientist had just made. “Robert, we’ve been over this. Do I really have to remind you what funds your studies?”
At Bobby’s stormy look, Crowley rolled eyes. “Money, darling. Lots and lots of money.”
The demon leant forward to rest his arms on the now empty desk. “And we’re here to make it. Just because you have your little project with the savages, doesn’t change our main objective.”
Bobby spluttered his disagreement but Crowley continued smoothly. “This planet is one of the few natural sources of achildao. Or as you and I know it, shit that fuels the galaxy,” the demon arched an eyebrow at him pointedly. “And your whole job is to help me get it. When you can’t deliver, I take matters into my own hands.”
“But-” Bobby tried, shoulders still shaking with anger. Crowley shook his head, leaning back in his chair as he flicked a hand at the scientist.
“No buts. Sorry about your study site. Be glad I just bulldozed a watering hole and not something the angels actually value. Speaking of which-”
The demon reached down to pluck one of the holopads from the floor. “I see the Winchesters arrived. Sammy-boy is our new big cheese and I want him out there tomorrow. Get him up to speed. We’ve lost enough time already.”
Crowley retrieved the coffee mug and settled it back on the desk. “Relations with the natives are worsening and we need a solution before things get bloody.”
Bobby crossed his arms, drawing back to glare murderously at the floor. “Yeah, that tends to happen when you bulldoze their habitat and shoot at ‘em with guns.”
Crowley let it slide, looking up at the scientist thoughtfully, holopad still in hand. “And speaking of shooting, how’s that little firecracker you call a daughter doing? Heard she caused a ruckus the other day at the shooting range.”
Blindsided by the change in topic, Bobby stared at him, uncomprehending. Crowley shrugged, leaning back in his chair.
“Just wondering how she’s doing. Not easy, losing a mother.”
Bobby stiffened, glancing away and out the huge window, shoving his hands into his lab coat pockets. “She’s doin’ fine,” he muttered. “Fine as she can be, considerin’.”
Crowley nodded thoughtfully. “Good. My condolences again by the way. I sent you a fruit basket.”
“I got it,” Bobby said tightly, desperately wishing he had a cigarette.
Those red eyes watched him carefully. “Humans like fruit baskets don’t they?” Crowley shook his head with a low hum. “You’re such a complicated species to figure out sometimes. If you were a demon I would have sent you the severed head of an enemy’s first born or something.”
The demon chuckled to himself at that, tapping the holopad against his chin. “Though that would be a hell of a lot of heads I’d have to get you, considering.”
“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Bobby scowled, fingers twitching inside his pockets. He felt a headache coming as the corporate cretin grinned up at him with a wink.
“I have a folder bursting at the seams, fullof complaints filed against you.” Crowley’s eyes glittered. “You’re not a popular man.”
No new news there. Robert Singer was a damn fine scientist, but not a good team player. People just got in the damn way.
“So why not just fire me?” he muttered grumpily. “If everyone hates me so damn much.”
The demon laughed, head back and eyes crinkling. “Because you’re the best, you dolt, and this project deserves the best.”
The holopad in Crowley's hand beeped, and he glanced at it dismissively.
“Plus, I actually like you. You’re the only other bastard on this sorry planet who has the balls to stand up for anything.” He tossed the holopad onto the desk, metal clattering against wood. “Just stop with the yelling and screaming ok, darling? You’re scaring the kids.”
With a dark glower, Bobby turned and left the office, muttering angrily. Crowley watched him leave with a smile, before swiveling back towards the window, watching as night set over his kingdom.
Blood.
It gathered in pools, his boots splashing droplets of red that spattered across his uniform in wet streaks. The air was thick with smoke and gunfire, screams of the dying and wounded, and Dean struggled through it all.
His palms were sweaty, the metal of his rifle slippery in his hands as he fired into the smoky air. Hel literally was hell, a sulfuric atmosphere with a sun that loomed too close to the surface. It felt like fighting in an oven, and sweat ran in torrents down his face, mixing with blood and stinging his eyes.
A demon lunged in front of him, black eyes glittering, and he cut it down with a spray of bullets, only to have another rise in its place. They swarmed down from the jagged cliff faces like locusts, more at ease in their natural environment than the sweltering humans. They descended on the small barricade, and Dean watched as a demon ripped the throat out of a downed marine, saw the purple spray of arterial blood against the red-tinged sky, felt it against his face, wet and hot.
He could taste it in his mouth, metallic and sticky, and he spat, trying desperately to get the taste out.
“First Lieutenant!”
He whipped his head forward, the inner turmoil within him calming as his father shoved through the fighting marines. John looked more rugged than he usually did, jaw line dark with stubble and face splashed with red. A slash across his nose bled sluggishly, but the man ignored it. Dean jogged over, saluting with a shaking hand.
“Major,” he replied, irrationally proud of how calm it actually came out. “Orders, sir? Are fourth platoon on their way with reinforcement?”
John glanced around them, eyes narrowing as grenades exploded nearby; the sound nearly drowned out by the screaming of a machine gun.
“Just got word from the General. There will be no reinforcements, nor extraction. We’re to hold this position.”
Dean stared at his father with incomprehension. The barricade was already lost, every soldier knew it. The only reason they still fought was to buy time for reinforcements. If none were coming…
“He’s sentenced us to death,” Dean blurted suddenly, the pretenses of military conduct gone. “Dad, we can’t just-”
“That’s an order, Lieutenant,” John rumbled emotionlessly. “And we will obey it.”
A soldier reeled towards them, mouth gaping open as he stared at the empty cavity his intestines had been in before slumping to the ground at their feet. Dean watched him die absently, just another name that would be inscribed on a wall somewhere in the Citadel for civilians to gawk at. He drew his shoulders back, taking a deep breath.
“Yes, sir,” he managed tonelessly. “I understand. I’ll….”
John stepped towards him, shaking his head as he reached out to grab his son’s shoulder.
“No,” he said quietly. “No, Dean. I said we, not you. You haul ass outta here. I’ve arranged for a few of the wounded and higher ranking militants to return to base in the helicraft. I want you on it.”
Anger rose in him, hot and heavy, and Dean found himself for the first time in his life, disagreeing with his father.
“I’m not running away,” he snarled, shrugging John’s hand off. “These are my men. If they die, so do I. Major.”
There was something unnamable in his father’s eyes. For a second, Dean thought it was pride.
“Son, this isn’t a democracy. You’re going. The helicraft leaves in exactly ten mi- DEAN!”
He was already running, back into the fray of battle, ignoring his father’s calls. He wasn’t going to run away, tail between his legs. A Winchester never had, and never would. He fired at anything and everything, desperation making his movements jerky, his reflexes slow. A hand grabbed his arm, swinging him around, and the shout in Dean’s throat died, his eyes disbelieving.
Something terrible wore his mother’s face, grinned at him with her mouth and flipped her blonde hair as its own. It looked down at him with eyes the color of hellfire, laughing as it gutted him like a fish, fingers slipping inside the jagged cavity of his stomach effortlessly.
“I caught you, little rabbit,” it whispered with Mary’s lips, and Dean could only watch in horror as it slowly ripped him apart. “This time you won’t get away.”
Dean snapped his eyes open, jerking up with a deep heaving gasp. Sam jumped from his position over the small sink where he had been shaving, eyes wide and hair ridiculously sleep tousled.
“Jesus, Dean!” The razor clattered against the metal sink, loud in the quiet room. “You alright?”
Disorientated, Dean stared around the small quarters, but found no evidence of demons or a battle long ago lost. A quick check of his stomach showed smooth skin, organs all where they should be. His sheets were tangled around his legs, and breathing out slowly, he reached down to free himself, shaking his head.
“Sorry, Sammy,” he mumbled, his hands shaking where they rested on the covers. “I uh….bad dream.”
Sam watched him for a moment longer as Dean avoided his gaze, finally freeing himself and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
“Yeah,” Sam said quietly, turning back to the mirror and picking up his dropped razor. “Yeah, I know. You uh...you wanna talk about it?”
Dean scrubbed a hand across his face, padding towards the dresser they now shared and snagging a clean t-shirt.
“No,” he said bluntly, slipping the shirt over his head. His ID tags gleamed up at him from the dresser, and he slid them over his head, taking comfort in their familiar metallic clinking. Most of the military had converted to under the skin chips in order to identify soldiers, but Dean had inherited his father’s love of tradition. Only the real battle-hardened marines still wore ID tags, badges of honor they displayed proudly, and most only wore two.
Dean wore three.
Sam watched him in the mirror as Dean reached for his pants, shaving temporarily forgotten. “I heard you say Dad.”
Dean paused, company issued khakis halfway up his legs. “What part of ‘No I don’t want to talk about it’ didn’t you get?”
Sam rolled his eyes, tapping his razor against the sink. “Whatever, jerk. But I’m here if you ever want to talk. About Dad, Mom, anything.”
Dean grunted, tucking the ID tags under his shirt. “Yeah. Thanks, bitch.”
A quick rummage through the small kitchenette revealed nothing appetizing. Best Dean could find were a few ration bars, and he grabbed one, ripping it open. He felt unsettled, jumpy and anxious. His leg bobbed up and down under the table as he sat, and he stared down at the sterile white table, still seeing red.
“It’s just…weird you know? This is where she died.”
Sam frowned at that, slowly running the razor across his jaw. The giant girl was strict with keeping his jaw clean shaven, yet let those giant caterpillar sideburns run riot? Where was the sense in that, honestly.
“She died offsite,” Sam said carefully. “One of the outpost labs that isn’t used anymore.”
Dean growled irritably. “I know that, thank you Mr. Brainiac. I just meant…ah forget it.”
He tapped his fingers to the same beat his leg bobbed, chewing sullenly on his ration bar and trying to forget scenes of blood and Hel.
“No, I get it. I do,” Sam turned away from the sink, hip braced against the cabinet as he pointed the razor at his brother. “But you gotta remember Dean, I never knew her. She left when I was what…a year old? If that? I can’t mourn someone I never knew. She’s just Dr. Campbell to me.”
Dean glared at his brother, the wrapper in his hand crinkling. “She was our mom.”
Sam turned back to the mirror, shrugging. “Yours maybe. She left us, Dean. She left Dad. The woman was a stranger to me.”
“Doesn’t mean she wasn’t our mom.”
The small apartment fell into a charged silence after that.
Dr. Singer…Bobby, was taking them offsite, to one of the study sites so they could get their first glimpse of Oadriax properly. Sam hurried around their small flat, stuffing books and gear into his duffle, muttering to himself and pushing his hair out of his eyes. Slowly the bag swelled larger and larger as Dean looked on, amazed it actually all fit.
He was just supposed to be on security detail, which meant minimal packing, maximum firepower. The company issued guns, but Dean had his own trusty revolver tucked into the back of his pants, the metal cool against the curve of his back.
The communicator by the door beeped and the robotic voice that droned at the two men sounded almost bored.
“Incoming request for a Dean Winchester to report for security detail in the hanger. The Colonel wishes to speak to you.”
Sam shot him a look, but Dean ignored it, striding towards his bed. It was kind of sad that all his belongings actually fit in one army issued duffel, but he also liked it. Liked knowing he could just pick up his whole life and go. Taking a deep breath, he rummaged into its green depths, fingers closing around the familiar contours of his combat knife. Ignoring Sam’s disapproving glares and loud tutting, he tucked it securely into his boot before smoothing his pants back down.
Always best to be prepared.
The flight hanger was a place of chaos. Shuttles and helicrafts idled, pilots and engineers scuttling back and forth shouting to each other. Metal clanged loudly, making his ears ring, and Dean edged around them as best he could.
After getting hopelessly lost amongst the giant metallic machines, he finally found a rather shapely behind, currently attached to a petite brunette that rummaged in the open engine of a helicraft on all fours. Wires and bolts were spread across the concrete floor around her; wiring spewing from the craft like metallic innards. The sharp smell of gasoline hit Dean as he approached and he wrinkled his nose unhappily.
She didn’t even notice his approach, his heavy footsteps drowned out by the clanging around her. Absently she shifted her weight, sticking her backside even further in the air, and Dean briefly admired the view. After a few minutes passed and there was still no response, Dean cleared his throat, reaching out to tap the panel above her head. With an almighty curse, the woman reared up, banging her head.
“SHIT!”
Dean retracted his hand hurriedly, taking a step back as he watched the woman wiggle out of the rabbit hole she had made.
“Uh, sorry,” he managed, trying to disguise a laugh. “You know where I can find the Colonel?”
Muttering and rubbing her head, she sank back on her haunches, wiping her hand against one thigh and leaving a trail of sticky grease. She had her glossy brown hair pulled into a messy ponytail, small wisps of hair falling around her face.
“Depends,” she muttered, grimacing at her now stained jumpsuit. “Who’s asking?”
She straightened, rising to her feet finally as she turned her attention to Dean. The clever comeback line he had ready died in his throat, leaving him wide eyed and blustering. The woman cocked an eyebrow at him, crossing her arms across her chest. Her black eyes betrayed nothing.
“I asked you a question, soldier.”
Dean shook himself. Right. He could do this. The war was long over. Demons were allies now. He could do this. “I uh, Dean. Winchester.”
Her tense posture relaxed at that, shoulders slumping lower. “So you’re the marine that’ll be flying with us,” she looked him up and down, and he felt his skin crawl. “Not bad. I guess you’ll do.”
With a smile that didn’t quite reach her ebony eyes, she offered her hand. "I'm Ruby. I fly all the science dorks around."
He forced himself to reach out and take her hand in his. The skin was soft beneath his fingertips, human-like and warm. It was misleading though. He could feel the coiled strength in her grip, the danger lurking just beneath the flimsy sham of humanity she wore.
She let go after a moment, cocking her hip. “So what can I help you with, Dean? Or are you just here to enjoy the show?”
Demons didn’t miss a thing. Embarrassed, Dean turned away, glancing at the craft she had been working on. “Nice looking bird you got there.”
The demon glanced back towards the work she had left. “Yeah, this here is my baby,” she slapped the metallic hull proudly. “I call him Dumbo.”
A loud clang towards the back of the craft drew both their attention. A scrawny looking marine with a crazy mullet struggled to heft a lethal looking machine gun into the helicraft’s turret. It ground into place with a protesting screech, and Ruby craned her head to glare angrily in the human’s direction.
“Ash! I swear to your stupid Earth God, if you scratch my baby again, I’m going to gut you and make a nice necklace from your innards!”
The scruffy marine shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Hell Ruby, that’d be a damn ugly necklace.”
Exhaling an irritated huff of air, the demon rolled her eyes as she turned away. “Then I’ll scalp you and make slippers out of that mop you call hair. We bounce at zero nine, if I see any marks on my baby-”
Ash waved her away, clicking the gun safety on. “Yeah, yeah. Slippers and innards bling, I get it.”
Dean followed as Ruby motioned at him to follow, trailing after the petite brunette as she led the way past more idle crafts and machines.
“You guys are packing some heavy gear,” he remarked, sidestepping a small cart carrying engine parts.
Ruby snorted. “Yeah well, we're not the only things flying around out there.”
She wiped the back of her hand against her forehead, leaving a streak of black. “You ever seen a pissed off angel, Dean?”
An engineer barged past him, jolting his shoulder, and Dean glared after the man, gritting his teeth. “Can't say I have.”
“Well they're positively cherub-like compared to some of the beasties that flap around,” Ruby glanced at him sideways. “I'm gonna need you on a door gun on the way out, I'm a man short.”
“Man? Or demon?” A small gaggle of demons eyed them as they moved by, unblinking and intimidating. The heavy weight of the revolver against his back was comforting.
Ruby sighed. “You can drop the attitude honey. You don’t like us, I get it,” she stopped, turning to face him fully, hands on her hips. “But a word of advice? That shit don’t fly with the Colonel. He’s a cold bastard, and you want him to like you, trust me. So play nice.”
She jerked her head to the right, towards an open storage room. “There’s your man. Good luck. Try not to piss him off.”
Dean watched her as she gave him a friendly pat on the arm before sauntering away, hips swaying.
“Yeah. Thanks,” he muttered, squaring his shoulders.
Up close, the Colonel looked like an average marine, rough around the edges, but not burly or scrawny. Just…normal. His had his back to the door as Dean entered the storage room, studying a schematic in his hand, another demon standing to attention beside him.
“You wanted to see me, Colonel?”
It was easy to fall into it, the military way. Feet spread, hands behind your back. Salute your superiors, eyes straight ahead.
The Colonel turned at his voice and all semblances of him being human evaporated. He was a predator, a snake in the grass. Where yesterday the angel’s eyes had been a warm molten caramel, sweet and gentle, these were shards of metal, piercing and calculating. The smile the demon gave him was cold and unfeeling, his eyes pits of rusty corruption in an otherwise handsome face.
“Ah. Winchester. Just the man I wanted to see,” his voice was smooth, educated. Demons had a way of speaking that could just lull you into a false sense of security, like honey and treacle with a razorblade hidden just beneath. Dean struggled to keep himself still, to prevent himself from reaching for his gun and doing something incredibly stupid.
The black eye beside the Colonel shot him a sly smile, all teeth. The guy was older, thin with short hair peppered grey and a goatee. Looked like he had just stepped out of a sleazy porno. Dean’s spine stiffened even further as he felt those black eyes crawl over him, like hungry insects.
“Oh relax,” the schematics were tossed onto a storage locker, the Colonel shooting him another false smile as he walked around a crate of spare helicraft parts. “I expect that kind of shit from the grunts, not you.”
Dean’s eyes wavered from their fixed spot on the far wall. “Sir?”
The Colonel shrugged, leaning his weight against one of the lockers, crossing his arms. “I pulled your record. Not that I had to with a name like yours. Winchester is pretty synonymous with ‘ass kicking’ on Hel.”
Dean felt winded at that. The Colonel continued to watch him, yellow eyes bright. Knowing.
“You and your father held your own during the war,” he continued. “Quite the man, John Winchester.”
“The best,” Dean bit out before he could stop himself. “Sir.”
The black eye chuckled to himself, voice reedy. “Died during the Siege of Serpent’s Pass, didn’t he?”
Dean didn’t bother answering. The Colonel pushed away from the locker, approaching Dean.
“I can’t decide if you’re just ballsy as fuck, or stupid showing up here.”
Dean kept his eyes straight ahead. “Sir?”
The black eye slunk forward, cocking his head. Dude had a serious creep vibe. Dean’s fists itched to bury themselves in his stupid face.
“We’re wolves here, little rabbit,” the demon grinned. “You won’t find many friends.”
The Colonel halted in front of him, too close. A callused hand grabbed his chin, forcing him to look into those horrible eyes. Dean always thought they looked diseased, like a human with hepatitis, with a burnt yellow iris. As sulfuric as their home planet.
He was close enough that Dean could feel his breath, hot and humid against his face as the Colonel studied him. “I suggest you make me one, Winchester. A man without friends won’t last long. Not out here.”
After a beat, those mocking eyes left him, and the Colonel released Dean. The Colonel turned away dismissively.
“So. Down to business,” he said briskly, with a clap of his hands. “You’re assigned to the Angel Project as security detail. The project itself is a joke, a bunch of science majors who think they can just go out there and hug everything they see and it’ll all work out. Maybe we’ll braid the angels’ hair and dance around a tree.”
Slowly the demon turned back, jaw clenched as the black eye tittered.
“But I live in the real world. And in the real world, hugging doesn’t solve shit. I want you to walk like a science nerd, talk like a science nerd, but inside you are a soldier. You infiltrate those winged bastards and you find out their weaknesses.”
Dean shifted his weight, eyes burning holes in the wall as he avoided both demons’ gazes. “I wasn’t aware we were at war, Sir.”
The Colonel laughed at that, hearty chuckles as he clapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Oh, Winchester. Of course we are. We’re always at war. They have what we need and we’re going to take it. Only difference is whether it’ll be a huge bloodbath, like Serpent’s Pass, or peaceful.”
It took every muscle to keep himself still as the Colonel tightened his hand on Dean’s shoulder, fingers squeezing him.
“Choose the battlefield for me, Winchester,” the Colonel shrugged. “Personally, I would love a bit of bloodshed, but you know what those bleeding heart types are like. Not like you and me.”
“Sir?”
“Oh come now, Dean,” the sound of his name rolling off that tongue made Dean flinch, teeth grinding together hard. “We’re killers. That’s what we do, and we’re damn good at it. So, if you can’t give me a peaceful solution, just…give me something to kill.”
Dean squared his shoulders, refusing to meet those laughing yellow eyes with his own. “Am I dismissed, Sir?”
The Colonel waved his hand dismissively. “As long as we’re clear, soldier. Report back to me after the excursion today. And I expect a full report.”
Dean forced himself to salute, palms sweaty. Turning on his heel, he started for the door, mind screaming to just run, to get away as fast as possible. With jerky steps, he traced his way back through the hanger, relaxing as he drew further away from the Colonel.
As he ducked behind an out of service shuttle, an arm suddenly snaked around him from behind, tightening across his throat. Choking, Dean grabbed at it, but was forcibly slammed up against the cold metal of the shuttle, a taller body pressing up against his back.
The side of his face stung from the impact, pressed tightly against the metal as he struggled to buck the figure off. A breathless chuckle tickled his ear, a mouth pressed close.
“Is that any way to behave, rabbit?”
Dean’s brain short-circuited, his body jerking and bucking in an attempt to dislodge the demon. The black eye from the Colonel’s hanger choked him harder, one hand stealing down and fingers slipping beneath the t-shirt at Dean’s back. Fingers danced along his spine as Dean struggled, brushing against the unyielding metal of the revolver.
“The Colonel doesn’t like it when his soldiers don’t obey, Dean. You’d do well to remember that.”
The demon’s fingers closed around the gun, teasing it free of Dean’s jeans. Dean slumped to the ground, throat burning as he gulped in breaths as the demon released him. The demon smiled down at him, revolver in one hand.
“Oh Dean. Trying to play the big boy are we?”
Dean glared up at him murderously. “Fuck…you,” he wheezed, throat throbbing.
The demon looked pleased.
“Well this will be interesting. Don’t disappoint the Colonel, Dean. Otherwise things might get…messy," he leaned down and Dean couldn’t stop his full body flinch. Those black eyes were positively beaming at his response, the demon tapping Dean’s stinging cheek with the barrel of the gun.
“Hop to it, rabbit. I’ll be seeing you around.”
The demon left him there, ashamed and heaving as the demon’s laughter rang in his ears.
The lines of battle had been drawn.
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