Folks linin' up outside just to get down

[hopeitsworthit]

There is no end to the workday in Hell. No one punches out their time card, no one goes home to shower away the accumulated grunge of a long day working in the pit.

There is no surcease from agony down here. Not for anyone, not even the damned.

Not even Dean Winchester.

It's a good thing Dean loves his job.

Comments

[66_seals]

The fun thing about eternity is that no matter how many days you send in Hell, the number you have left to spend there never gets any smaller.

It's one of those puzzles, like hands drawing hands, or is it a vase or two faces. An eternity can pass, and you'll still have an eternity to go. And every day is like . . . well, it's like the Galveston hurricane slamming into the last day of Pompeii.

Dean can still only measure in decades. Lilith no longer even bothers to measure in millenia.

He's not expecting her, but he'll hear her coming. There's a murmur that follows her, from the demons and the damned and the walls of Hell itself.

"Dean."

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean really measures in seconds. It's where the satisfaction comes from.

"Just a minute," he says, gaze fixed on the needle and thread in his hands. Looks like life up above was good for something, even if it was just rock-steady hands.

"Loose lips and all that, right? I'll be right back."

The needle clinks as he sets it down and turns toward Lilith.

"Pretty sure he's gonna keep himself warm for me. What's up?"

[66_seals]

As a general rule, you don't ask Lilith to wait.

But then, there's nothing general about Dean.

Dean is special.

Lilith's focus is, for the moment, on the poor unfortunate soul behind Dean.

"Very nice," she says, fingers tracing Dean's stitches. "They're so even. And tiny. You almost can't see them at all."

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean grins, smug and a little proud.

Okay, a lot proud.

"Just as long as he doesn't try to talk or anything. You hear that?"

He raises his voice for that last bit, just to make sure.

Whimpering is sweet.

Plus he can kinda imagine it sounds like a real tinny rendition of Hell's Bells.

"Looks like he does. Awesome. So -- what'd you want me for?"

[66_seals]

"You are an impatient little thing, aren't you? Don't worry; he'll keep.

"You can have this little playdate as long as you want.

"I promise.

"I just came to look in."

In a century or two or fifty, he'll know how rare that is. You go to Lilith, she doesn't come to you.

But she wanted to see his work.

[hopeitsworthit]

"Checking to see if Alistair's gone soft in his old age?"

Dean's grin goes crooked and sly.

"Or lookin' to make sure you got your money's worth?"

It's not that he's happy to keep playing.

It's that he's ecstatic.

[66_seals]

Lilith laughs.

"Alistair? Soft?"

Never.

(And that's never in Hell terms.)

"And you . . ." for the first time, Dean has Lilith's undivided attention.

"Don't worry, Dean. I won't be returning or exchanging you."

She more than got her money's worth.

All she needed for him to do was break.

Who knew the pieces were going to go back together like this?

[hopeitsworthit]

"Talk about a load off my mind."

The only reason he doesn't add the wiping-off-his-forehead gesture is because the relief is genuine.

He likes it fine right where he is.

For now.

"But since you're here and all -- got any pointers?"

Alistair's got finesse down to a fine art, but Lilith --

Damn, baby. Lilith's got style.

[66_seals]

"And stifle that marvelous creativity of yours?

"No, no, I want to see what you make on your own, first.

"But maybe later, if you're still being a good boy, we'll see what can be arranged."

Right now she's a little busy. Seals to break, angels laying seige to Hell, his brother to manipulate, by proxy of course, but still . . . she's swamped.

Not that Dean needs to worry his pretty little head about any of that.

Or, in fact, even know that any of it is happening.

[hopeitsworthit]

"Oh, I'm always a good boy."

His smile turns into a leer -- some reflexes are really hard to lose. Not that he's been trying.

"Ask anyone."

Not that she'd need to.

But sometimes it's fun to make people talk about their pain. The glazed look in their eyes gets him every time, right in the gut.

Probably because he's laughing.

[66_seals]

Special or not, you can push your luck too far.

And there are liberties it's bad form to allow.

"Dean," she says, stretching the single syllable into a reproach.

And a warning.

[hopeitsworthit]

"Sorry," he says immediately, scrubbing one hand through his hair. It'd leave more of a mess if there were any clean spots to begin with.

"Got a little carried away there." It's a hazard of the trade.

But Alistair's got Dean working on it.

And the oldest Winchester boy was always a quick study.

[66_seals]

Lilith trails one hand slowly up Dean's arm and then ruffles his hair.

"I'll let it slide this once.

"Since I hear you have been very good lately."

[hopeitsworthit]

He goes still under her touch, muscles trembling faintly.

Dean's a lot of things -- Alistair's protege, wickedly good with a knife and a pair of tongs, a smart-ass and an incorrigible flirt.

One thing he isn't is a moron.

But the hair-ruffling makes him duck his head, a pleased smile flirting with one corner of his mouth.

"Good to know you like what you hear."

Everyone wants to keep the bosslady happy -- Dean only a little bit more than most.

[66_seals]

"Oh, I do.

"What I hear . . . and what I see . . .

"You really do have promise, Dean.

"And I'm going to find all sorts of lovely things for you to do."

[hopeitsworthit]

"Yeah?"

His grin this time is a little more cautious, if just as pleased.

"Awesome. But I should probably finish up here first, huh? Gotta keep my hand in."

That whimpering has gotten awfully quiet.

"Take pride in my craftsmanship, and all that."

Oh yeah, Dean's having a grand old time.

The afterlife just doesn't get any better than this.