Dean - What's There and What Isn't
Fandom: Supernatural/Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Title: What’s There and What Isn’t
Author: iluvroadrunner6
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Dean Winchester, the First, a Turok-Han and another surprise guest star
tamingthemuse Prompt: Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure.
Content Warning: Spoilers through 510: Abandon All Hope.
Summary: Dean gets tormented by the first.
Author’s Note: Part of my Devil Town series . Set after “Early One Morning.”
Disclaimer: I do not own. They all belong to Joss, Zukier and Kripke. I’m just borrowing and will put everything back where I found it.
“Dean. Time to wake up.”
His whole body ached. The beast that whatever this thing was had employed had a habit of beating the shit out of him for fun and occasionally tearing off parts of him for lunch. The thing wasn’t allowed to kill him for some reason, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know why, but it was allowed to torture him and that just sucked. They didn’t even have him restrained at this point. They just left him in a battered heap on the floor, knowing that he couldn’t even move and even if he could he wouldn’t bother to escape. Dean knew when he was beaten. But that didn’t mean that somewhere in his broken brain, he registered exactly who that voice was.
“Mom?”
His eyes opened, he looked up, and there she was. Just like he remembered her, just like every picture he had ever seen of her. But this was wrong. She was supposed to be dead. Maybe he was dead. Maybe the thing had finally killed him and somehow he would up conning his way into Heaven. He might be pretty okay with being dead, aside from the whole Sam alone again thing, but other than that dead was good. Dead was good so long as it wasn’t Hell.
Then Dean actually started to look around. He saw the steel and cement walls of the room he was being held in and the son of a bitch who had been snacking on him lurking in the corner. And that was when he knew that he was very, very wrong. His arm came up with a quick swipe, and his heart broke when his arm slid right through her.
“Get out of her, you son of a bitch.”
“You know, Dean, that insult isn’t going to get very far with me,” she chuckled softly, stretching up and crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t have a mother.”
“That’s a shame,” he snapped back sorely, rolling over to stretch out on his back. “I’m sure she would have been real proud of the way you turned out.”
“Mmm-just like yours would have? You’ve been back to ’73, Dean. You know how she felt about hunting, about raising her family in this world. And yet here you are, hunting-and you’re not even really that good at it. How many people have you gotten killed? I could run through them if you’d like.”
“Go to Hell.” Dean didn’t need to live through his mother berating his life choices, regardless of whether or not the choices were his own, nor did he need to see the faces of all the people who had died on him over the years. That was more than he wanted to deal with, especially right now when he wanted it all to stop.
“Sorry. Just got back from there, so not really looking to go back.” She was crouching down, closer, again, but her hair was changing, a different shade of blond, and by the time Dean actually looked up, he saw that the face was one who was more recently dead, but dead nonetheless. In fact, she was probably one that hurt a little more, because it truly was his fault. “This better?” He stared back in Jo’s eyes for a minute, before rolling over onto his side, away from her so that he didn’t have to look at her. She chuckled. “All that self-loathing, all that hate of everything-must be a picnic inside that noggin, isn’t it, Dean?”
“What do you want from me?”
“Personally? I would love to be corporeal so that I could roast your insides on a spigot and eat them for breakfast, but that’s not exactly on the menu today.” Not-Jo instantly was on the side he was facing, still crouched down in front of him and brushing a hand against his face. It wasn’t a real hand, he couldn’t feel the touch, but he could sense it, and for a moment he almost wished she was corporeal so that he could punch her in the face. He was sick of being tormented by his failures-it was bad enough that the angels were doing it, but they didn’t provide visuals. “Instead, I need to make sure that your angel friends can’t find you and make you say yes to your boyfriend. Michael comes down, and my whole plan goes to Hell. Again.”
“Again?”
“You really think this was my first time at the rodeo?” she shook her head. “I’m not going to have you and your idiot brother be another Buffy Summers. This time, I’m going to do things right.”
Dean snorted. “You got your ass kicked by a girl named Buffy? Sounds like something I would name my poodle. And if you really want me out of the way, why don’t you just kill me?”
Not-Jo gave him a look like he was asking to be eaten. It was almost amusing. “Because the angels will just bring you back. So really, the smarter choice is to just let stew until I’m done doing what I need to do.”
“Well, great. Slow torture was just the way I wanted to spend my weekend.”
Not-Jo was about to say something smartass back, he had a feeling, but she didn’t. In fact, she stopped her head snapping up in the direction of the door. “Stay here.” It was a pointless order, because Dean couldn’t really go anywhere, but Not-Jo didn’t seem to care. After that she vanished from view, and her monster-on-steroids went with her.
There wasn’t much to go on after that, mostly silence, and then suddenly a burst of bright light-too bright. Angelic bright, if he had to be honest. His arm quickly came up to cover his eyes, trying to keep it out, before he heard a voice over his shoulder. A voice he hadn’t heard in a long time. A voice he didn’t think he’d ever hear again, and especially not sounding concerned.
“Dean! Can you walk?”
“Christ,” he groaned, trying to roll away from the sound of the voice, his eyes still covered. “Not you too.”
There was a huff of air behind him, and then a pair of hands on his shoulders, forcing him to roll over and look up at her. “Dean. Now is not the time. We need to get out of here.”
“If you think I’m going to fall for the same trick twice, you really must think I’m an idiot.” It had to be this thing. It had to be. Otherwise it was impossible.
She rolled her eyes, before reaching for his hand, and placing it against the side of her face gently. “I’m real, Dean. Not the First.”
He wasn’t sure what the last end of that sentence meant, but he was too busy marveling at the fact that his hand wasn’t sliding through her face. There was skin, warm skin and bones under his hand. Corporeal. What the fuck?
“Bela?”
“Yes,” she sighed softly, before pulling away and reaching for his arm to wrap it around her shoulders. “Now can you walk?”
He was still processing the fact that she was real and right there in front of him, and just nodded absently, letting her get him to his feet and towards the door. “How?”
“Later,” she replied quickly. “Let’s just get out of here before the spell wears off.”
She didn’t have to tell him twice.
Title: What’s There and What Isn’t
Author: iluvroadrunner6
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Dean Winchester, the First, a Turok-Han and another surprise guest star
tamingthemuse Prompt: Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure.
Content Warning: Spoilers through 510: Abandon All Hope.
Summary: Dean gets tormented by the first.
Author’s Note: Part of my Devil Town series . Set after “Early One Morning.”
Disclaimer: I do not own. They all belong to Joss, Zukier and Kripke. I’m just borrowing and will put everything back where I found it.
“Dean. Time to wake up.”
His whole body ached. The beast that whatever this thing was had employed had a habit of beating the shit out of him for fun and occasionally tearing off parts of him for lunch. The thing wasn’t allowed to kill him for some reason, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know why, but it was allowed to torture him and that just sucked. They didn’t even have him restrained at this point. They just left him in a battered heap on the floor, knowing that he couldn’t even move and even if he could he wouldn’t bother to escape. Dean knew when he was beaten. But that didn’t mean that somewhere in his broken brain, he registered exactly who that voice was.
“Mom?”
His eyes opened, he looked up, and there she was. Just like he remembered her, just like every picture he had ever seen of her. But this was wrong. She was supposed to be dead. Maybe he was dead. Maybe the thing had finally killed him and somehow he would up conning his way into Heaven. He might be pretty okay with being dead, aside from the whole Sam alone again thing, but other than that dead was good. Dead was good so long as it wasn’t Hell.
Then Dean actually started to look around. He saw the steel and cement walls of the room he was being held in and the son of a bitch who had been snacking on him lurking in the corner. And that was when he knew that he was very, very wrong. His arm came up with a quick swipe, and his heart broke when his arm slid right through her.
“Get out of her, you son of a bitch.”
“You know, Dean, that insult isn’t going to get very far with me,” she chuckled softly, stretching up and crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t have a mother.”
“That’s a shame,” he snapped back sorely, rolling over to stretch out on his back. “I’m sure she would have been real proud of the way you turned out.”
“Mmm-just like yours would have? You’ve been back to ’73, Dean. You know how she felt about hunting, about raising her family in this world. And yet here you are, hunting-and you’re not even really that good at it. How many people have you gotten killed? I could run through them if you’d like.”
“Go to Hell.” Dean didn’t need to live through his mother berating his life choices, regardless of whether or not the choices were his own, nor did he need to see the faces of all the people who had died on him over the years. That was more than he wanted to deal with, especially right now when he wanted it all to stop.
“Sorry. Just got back from there, so not really looking to go back.” She was crouching down, closer, again, but her hair was changing, a different shade of blond, and by the time Dean actually looked up, he saw that the face was one who was more recently dead, but dead nonetheless. In fact, she was probably one that hurt a little more, because it truly was his fault. “This better?” He stared back in Jo’s eyes for a minute, before rolling over onto his side, away from her so that he didn’t have to look at her. She chuckled. “All that self-loathing, all that hate of everything-must be a picnic inside that noggin, isn’t it, Dean?”
“What do you want from me?”
“Personally? I would love to be corporeal so that I could roast your insides on a spigot and eat them for breakfast, but that’s not exactly on the menu today.” Not-Jo instantly was on the side he was facing, still crouched down in front of him and brushing a hand against his face. It wasn’t a real hand, he couldn’t feel the touch, but he could sense it, and for a moment he almost wished she was corporeal so that he could punch her in the face. He was sick of being tormented by his failures-it was bad enough that the angels were doing it, but they didn’t provide visuals. “Instead, I need to make sure that your angel friends can’t find you and make you say yes to your boyfriend. Michael comes down, and my whole plan goes to Hell. Again.”
“Again?”
“You really think this was my first time at the rodeo?” she shook her head. “I’m not going to have you and your idiot brother be another Buffy Summers. This time, I’m going to do things right.”
Dean snorted. “You got your ass kicked by a girl named Buffy? Sounds like something I would name my poodle. And if you really want me out of the way, why don’t you just kill me?”
Not-Jo gave him a look like he was asking to be eaten. It was almost amusing. “Because the angels will just bring you back. So really, the smarter choice is to just let stew until I’m done doing what I need to do.”
“Well, great. Slow torture was just the way I wanted to spend my weekend.”
Not-Jo was about to say something smartass back, he had a feeling, but she didn’t. In fact, she stopped her head snapping up in the direction of the door. “Stay here.” It was a pointless order, because Dean couldn’t really go anywhere, but Not-Jo didn’t seem to care. After that she vanished from view, and her monster-on-steroids went with her.
There wasn’t much to go on after that, mostly silence, and then suddenly a burst of bright light-too bright. Angelic bright, if he had to be honest. His arm quickly came up to cover his eyes, trying to keep it out, before he heard a voice over his shoulder. A voice he hadn’t heard in a long time. A voice he didn’t think he’d ever hear again, and especially not sounding concerned.
“Dean! Can you walk?”
“Christ,” he groaned, trying to roll away from the sound of the voice, his eyes still covered. “Not you too.”
There was a huff of air behind him, and then a pair of hands on his shoulders, forcing him to roll over and look up at her. “Dean. Now is not the time. We need to get out of here.”
“If you think I’m going to fall for the same trick twice, you really must think I’m an idiot.” It had to be this thing. It had to be. Otherwise it was impossible.
She rolled her eyes, before reaching for his hand, and placing it against the side of her face gently. “I’m real, Dean. Not the First.”
He wasn’t sure what the last end of that sentence meant, but he was too busy marveling at the fact that his hand wasn’t sliding through her face. There was skin, warm skin and bones under his hand. Corporeal. What the fuck?
“Bela?”
“Yes,” she sighed softly, before pulling away and reaching for his arm to wrap it around her shoulders. “Now can you walk?”
He was still processing the fact that she was real and right there in front of him, and just nodded absently, letting her get him to his feet and towards the door. “How?”
“Later,” she replied quickly. “Let’s just get out of here before the spell wears off.”
She didn’t have to tell him twice.