FF Running Withthe Devil 32
Well everyone, this is the final chapter of Running With The Devil, and I must honestly say I haven't been writing. I managed one chapter of the sequel and my muse stalled out. I can't complain though, I hammered out three fic in four months, and putting modesty aside I think they all turned out really well.
I'm certainly not done writing, but I have to let my muse decide when I'll start again.
Title:Running With the Devil
Author: Dark Wyldchilde (wyldchilde37@yahoo.com)
Rating: Let's err on the side of caution and go NC-17.
Setting: My Lock AU, starting with "Life on the Farm". While it started more traditional fan fic, this is the eighth in the series and most wonderfully has developed into it's own world, that just happens to be populated by characters from other series.
Summary: The soldiers of the Lock are coming to the understanding that the reason there isn't a plural for the word apocalypse is because it would devalue the concept, and the doomsdays that they have been facing have simply been warming them up.
Spoilers: While this IS it's own universe now I will freely draw upon Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, NCIS, the Executioner/Stonyman Farm and now Supernatural.
Disclaimers: This is a not for profit work of fanfic and is in no way a challenge to existing copyrights.
Wyld's Notes: I tried not to write this fic. Literally, I thought having three cannons in the same universe was pushing it (I count Buffy and Angel as one for obvious reasons), but when I tried to NOT write this my muse overruled me, and since people have been finding the other things she's encouraged me to write worth their time I figured I would share this as well.
Chapter 32.
He had been strapped down to Alistair's table and a whole new day was ready to begin when he realized those twenty years his family had carried him combined with the previous ten meant he had been there thirty years.
He hadn't even been alive thirty years!
He had now been in Hell longer then he had been alive, and no one was going to help him, and no one was going to save him, and he was going to be there forever!
The words might have been a whisper, but to Dean they echoed like gunshots. "I'll do it."
Alistair was smiling, he was always smiling when he got to torture someone. "All right Dean! I wanted you to know I'm very excited for out time together today! I had a bit if inspiration and you get to be the first to try it out! So! Let's get started!"
As Alistair turned to the table Dean felt a wave of panic and it helped him find more volume. "I said I'll do it!"
The demon paused, looking genuinely confused "Do it? Do what?" and then he paused, his hand going to his mouth. "Oh Dean, I am so sorry. I was so excited for our time together today I entirely forgot to ask."
The demon's smile faded, and he actually looked sympathetic. "You'll do it?"
Dean nodded, and Alistair nodded along with him.
"It's all right Dean. It's okay."
Reaching out the demon started unstrapping him. "You put up a tremendous fight Dean, one that you can be proud of. Between you and me, most don't make it a year, two on the outside, but you held out decades! That is really quite amazing."
Turning and walking from the table Alistair continued to speak. "Hold on, let me get you a glass of water. I do have to apologize though, it tastes like sulfur, everything down here tastes like sulfur. Honestly I think it's why we leave traces of it whenever we get upstairs."
That said when Alistair handed Dean the glass he drank greedily.
"Don't worry Dean. It's not going to be taken away from you, and we're not going to hurt you anymore... but you will have to do something for us."
Dean frowned, looking at his bare feet, looking anywhere but the demon.
Alistair frowned. "No, no, no, no. We can't have you at your first appointment in the rags of a damned soul!"
Soon Dean found himself in what if closed his eyes and concentrated he remembered as what he was wearing when Lilith's hell hound ripped him apart, but it was not bloody, or torn, or even dirty. It was off the rack fresh as he shifted around in it.
That had Alistair smiling. "Ah, there we go. Now let's begin!"
Standing in front of Dean Alistair put his hands together and spoke warmly. "I want you to know I really do know how hard this will be for you. So I decided to pick an easy one for you to start with."
With a clap two demons brought in a brunette damned soul gripped tightly between them, and as she was strapped down Dean found himself trying to place her face.
"You don't know her Dean, but you are quite fond of her daughter."
That brought the woman's head up. "You know Faith! You know my little girl Faith?"
Alistair answered for Dean, kneeling down at the head of the table, placing himself at eye level with the woman. "Indeed he does. He's actually quite sweet on your little girl. Aren't you Dean?"
The demon had said that with a smirk, but Dean could only frown as the woman kept speaking.
"Then please, please! You gotta let me go. This is all..."
Alistair interrupted. "A mistake?"
The woman agreed frantically. "Yes, yes, a mistake! I'm really a..."
Again Alistair interrupted. "A good person?"
Putting his face over Faith's mother's he stood up so he was looking at her upside down. "This is Hell toots. We don't make mistakes, and good people don't end up down here!"
Standing up Alistair looked like he was having a change of heart. "But then again you tried."
Faith's mother frantically agreed. "I did, I really, really did."
Dean could only watch. While he knew his stomach had been torn to bits by Lilith's hell hound he had a growing sick feeling where it would have been.
Nodding, his face a mask of mock sympathy Alistair continued. "It wasn't her. It was the heroin."
On the table the woman's face sank, while the sick look on Dean's face froze, and Alistair quickly masked the gleam that came to his eye.
"She kept a roof over Faith's head, and sure she might not have been able to keep the heat on all the time they had blankets and such in those cases."
The woman made a helpless, empty sound.
Alistair ignored it as he continued. "And she made sure there were a good three four meals a week!... Do NOT let them tell you hot lunch programs don't make a difference!"
Dean's sick expression was gone, and now he just looked curious, a curiosity Alistair was happy to feed.
"But again, it wasn't her, it was the smack."
On the table the woman had just started crying, so Alistair walked over and knelt down beside her again.
"When she was hurting she would do ANYTHING to make it stop."
The woman managed two words as she looked over to the false compassion on the demon's face. "Please, don't."
He paid her no heed. "And that night... she was hurting worse then she had ever hurt before. The problem was she had been doing anything for a long time now."
If Dean still had a heart he knew it would have stopped, his mind knowing what was coming next, but needing to hear it from Alistair.
"But young Faith. She was still sweet, and healthy, and happy... and firm... and tight!"
Faith's mother was now sobbing, shaking her head saying "I'm sorry." over and over again.
Alistair continued the story. "And while her dealer wasn't interested in what she was willing to do he was VERY interested in sweet, tender, beautiful Faith. Barely thirteen she was fruit hanging from the vine, and she was RIPE! So our mother of the year here got her horse. So much that she didn't even hear the sounds of her daughter screaming when the strange man entered her room!"
Dean had known, he had a decent idea that Faith's childhood had made the back road hotels and motels he and Sammy had grown up in look good. He had known that whatever faults his Dad had he fought as hard as he could to keep his kids safe.
While this... this bitch, this FILTH! Sold her daughter to feed her habit!
Fuck death! Fuck hell!
He would have ganked her when he was still above ground!
Though his heart had been torn into kibble and his lungs had went the same way he could still feel his heart pounding as he turned to the table containing Alistair's instruments.
First he picked up the straight razor. Holding it in front of him he looked at his reflection in the polished surface. He could barely recognize himself. His face was sunken, his eyes were hollow. His nostrils were flaring, and his teeth were bared like he was ready to simply rip into her with them.
Behind him he was able to pick out Alistair's voice over the sound of his pulse hammering in his ears. "A classic, there's a reason I love mine."
Slamming the straight razor down on the table of instruments Dean spotted a hypodermic needle, and smiled, and a small part of him, that small voice inside him that was screaming to stop was glad it couldn't see that smile as Dean picked up the hypo and contemplated it.
Turning back to the table he picked a beaker of what memory told him was acid.
He was a hunter who had sold his soul to save his brother, he wasn't going to take one more minute's pain for garbage like her.
As he moved towards her she started to scream while Alistair stood up and began to applaud.
I'm certainly not done writing, but I have to let my muse decide when I'll start again.
Title:Running With the Devil
Author: Dark Wyldchilde (wyldchilde37@yahoo.com)
Rating: Let's err on the side of caution and go NC-17.
Setting: My Lock AU, starting with "Life on the Farm". While it started more traditional fan fic, this is the eighth in the series and most wonderfully has developed into it's own world, that just happens to be populated by characters from other series.
Summary: The soldiers of the Lock are coming to the understanding that the reason there isn't a plural for the word apocalypse is because it would devalue the concept, and the doomsdays that they have been facing have simply been warming them up.
Spoilers: While this IS it's own universe now I will freely draw upon Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, NCIS, the Executioner/Stonyman Farm and now Supernatural.
Disclaimers: This is a not for profit work of fanfic and is in no way a challenge to existing copyrights.
Wyld's Notes: I tried not to write this fic. Literally, I thought having three cannons in the same universe was pushing it (I count Buffy and Angel as one for obvious reasons), but when I tried to NOT write this my muse overruled me, and since people have been finding the other things she's encouraged me to write worth their time I figured I would share this as well.
Chapter 32.
He had been strapped down to Alistair's table and a whole new day was ready to begin when he realized those twenty years his family had carried him combined with the previous ten meant he had been there thirty years.
He hadn't even been alive thirty years!
He had now been in Hell longer then he had been alive, and no one was going to help him, and no one was going to save him, and he was going to be there forever!
The words might have been a whisper, but to Dean they echoed like gunshots. "I'll do it."
Alistair was smiling, he was always smiling when he got to torture someone. "All right Dean! I wanted you to know I'm very excited for out time together today! I had a bit if inspiration and you get to be the first to try it out! So! Let's get started!"
As Alistair turned to the table Dean felt a wave of panic and it helped him find more volume. "I said I'll do it!"
The demon paused, looking genuinely confused "Do it? Do what?" and then he paused, his hand going to his mouth. "Oh Dean, I am so sorry. I was so excited for our time together today I entirely forgot to ask."
The demon's smile faded, and he actually looked sympathetic. "You'll do it?"
Dean nodded, and Alistair nodded along with him.
"It's all right Dean. It's okay."
Reaching out the demon started unstrapping him. "You put up a tremendous fight Dean, one that you can be proud of. Between you and me, most don't make it a year, two on the outside, but you held out decades! That is really quite amazing."
Turning and walking from the table Alistair continued to speak. "Hold on, let me get you a glass of water. I do have to apologize though, it tastes like sulfur, everything down here tastes like sulfur. Honestly I think it's why we leave traces of it whenever we get upstairs."
That said when Alistair handed Dean the glass he drank greedily.
"Don't worry Dean. It's not going to be taken away from you, and we're not going to hurt you anymore... but you will have to do something for us."
Dean frowned, looking at his bare feet, looking anywhere but the demon.
Alistair frowned. "No, no, no, no. We can't have you at your first appointment in the rags of a damned soul!"
Soon Dean found himself in what if closed his eyes and concentrated he remembered as what he was wearing when Lilith's hell hound ripped him apart, but it was not bloody, or torn, or even dirty. It was off the rack fresh as he shifted around in it.
That had Alistair smiling. "Ah, there we go. Now let's begin!"
Standing in front of Dean Alistair put his hands together and spoke warmly. "I want you to know I really do know how hard this will be for you. So I decided to pick an easy one for you to start with."
With a clap two demons brought in a brunette damned soul gripped tightly between them, and as she was strapped down Dean found himself trying to place her face.
"You don't know her Dean, but you are quite fond of her daughter."
That brought the woman's head up. "You know Faith! You know my little girl Faith?"
Alistair answered for Dean, kneeling down at the head of the table, placing himself at eye level with the woman. "Indeed he does. He's actually quite sweet on your little girl. Aren't you Dean?"
The demon had said that with a smirk, but Dean could only frown as the woman kept speaking.
"Then please, please! You gotta let me go. This is all..."
Alistair interrupted. "A mistake?"
The woman agreed frantically. "Yes, yes, a mistake! I'm really a..."
Again Alistair interrupted. "A good person?"
Putting his face over Faith's mother's he stood up so he was looking at her upside down. "This is Hell toots. We don't make mistakes, and good people don't end up down here!"
Standing up Alistair looked like he was having a change of heart. "But then again you tried."
Faith's mother frantically agreed. "I did, I really, really did."
Dean could only watch. While he knew his stomach had been torn to bits by Lilith's hell hound he had a growing sick feeling where it would have been.
Nodding, his face a mask of mock sympathy Alistair continued. "It wasn't her. It was the heroin."
On the table the woman's face sank, while the sick look on Dean's face froze, and Alistair quickly masked the gleam that came to his eye.
"She kept a roof over Faith's head, and sure she might not have been able to keep the heat on all the time they had blankets and such in those cases."
The woman made a helpless, empty sound.
Alistair ignored it as he continued. "And she made sure there were a good three four meals a week!... Do NOT let them tell you hot lunch programs don't make a difference!"
Dean's sick expression was gone, and now he just looked curious, a curiosity Alistair was happy to feed.
"But again, it wasn't her, it was the smack."
On the table the woman had just started crying, so Alistair walked over and knelt down beside her again.
"When she was hurting she would do ANYTHING to make it stop."
The woman managed two words as she looked over to the false compassion on the demon's face. "Please, don't."
He paid her no heed. "And that night... she was hurting worse then she had ever hurt before. The problem was she had been doing anything for a long time now."
If Dean still had a heart he knew it would have stopped, his mind knowing what was coming next, but needing to hear it from Alistair.
"But young Faith. She was still sweet, and healthy, and happy... and firm... and tight!"
Faith's mother was now sobbing, shaking her head saying "I'm sorry." over and over again.
Alistair continued the story. "And while her dealer wasn't interested in what she was willing to do he was VERY interested in sweet, tender, beautiful Faith. Barely thirteen she was fruit hanging from the vine, and she was RIPE! So our mother of the year here got her horse. So much that she didn't even hear the sounds of her daughter screaming when the strange man entered her room!"
Dean had known, he had a decent idea that Faith's childhood had made the back road hotels and motels he and Sammy had grown up in look good. He had known that whatever faults his Dad had he fought as hard as he could to keep his kids safe.
While this... this bitch, this FILTH! Sold her daughter to feed her habit!
Fuck death! Fuck hell!
He would have ganked her when he was still above ground!
Though his heart had been torn into kibble and his lungs had went the same way he could still feel his heart pounding as he turned to the table containing Alistair's instruments.
First he picked up the straight razor. Holding it in front of him he looked at his reflection in the polished surface. He could barely recognize himself. His face was sunken, his eyes were hollow. His nostrils were flaring, and his teeth were bared like he was ready to simply rip into her with them.
Behind him he was able to pick out Alistair's voice over the sound of his pulse hammering in his ears. "A classic, there's a reason I love mine."
Slamming the straight razor down on the table of instruments Dean spotted a hypodermic needle, and smiled, and a small part of him, that small voice inside him that was screaming to stop was glad it couldn't see that smile as Dean picked up the hypo and contemplated it.
Turning back to the table he picked a beaker of what memory told him was acid.
He was a hunter who had sold his soul to save his brother, he wasn't going to take one more minute's pain for garbage like her.
As he moved towards her she started to scream while Alistair stood up and began to applaud.