Prompt 16.3.1 - Blood, sweat, tears
[Co-written with a_specialist and Zerachiel archangelhealer is mine. Takes place immediately after THIS.]
Blood, sweat and tears
Confinement. Oh, she hated being confined, restrained, left without any control of her circumstances. Instead of focusing on the fact that she was tied to a chair, alone with a Fallen who wanted to make her scream, and that Dean probably had no clue that she was gone. Hell, she couldn't even remember how she ended up here. The sharp ache in her wrists was beginning to dull -- but that glare; the defiant, proud, unwavering glare was still on her face. Part of her knew how much Uriel hated that look. And if he was going to kill her? Well then she was going to go out with a bang.
"One dead-ass Fallen at my feet is what Dean's gonna find when he gets here." Yes, her lips did curl up slightly in smug satisfaction. She was a smartass first, a hostage second.
"This should be good," Ur sighed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "How exactly do you plan on killing me?"
Lifting her head, she kept a stony face but there was something in her eyes that would tell him she was bluffing. "Why ruin the fun by spoiling the surprise?"
"There are three things that can kill a demon, whore," he said. "One, Lilith has. The other isn't going to work on a demon on my power, and the last is wielded by an angel. So really -- how do you intend to kill me?"
Shrugging, Anna leaned back in the chair more. "Maybe someone up there likes me." She drawled, ending it with a yawn.
He snorted, obviously caring nothing for her boredom. "I doubt that."
"Well, we'll just see if Dean brings the cavalry when he gets here."
"If he gets here," Ur corrected, starting to move around her. He looked over the tools he had left there. "Assuming that he's coming for you."
Anna scoffed, following the Fallen with those defiant green eyes of hers and looking at the tools. She had been bracing herself for torture -- she'd be stupid not to. She'd been raped and beaten within inches of death, stalked and nearly murdered by an angry ex-con, possessed by a demon, and knocked around seven ways from Sunday courtesy Alastair. In her mind? She could handle anything Uriel threw at her.
"You assume Dean won't."
"Oh, I know he won't," he replied, picking up one of the longer blades and studying it for a moment. "First of all -- he'd have to find you before I kill you. Considering that this warehouse is warded against angels, other demons, and anything else I could come up with, it will take him a long time to find you. Secondly, he's a very busy man -- being the torturer of the garrison and all."
Had she not been the one about to be on the receiving end of the blade, she would've admired the beauty of the hilt. But instead Uriel's last sentence caught her off-guard. "What?"
His head tilted to the side slightly, a small smirk sitting there. "He didn't tell you? Dean is their chief interrogator. He knows how to get right to the point."
That defiant look in her eyes began to fade as the realization set in and her brain finally connected the dots. "...Alastair. That's why Cas took Dean..."
"Yes," he said with a sigh. "Castiel took Dean to torture Alastair. Did a pretty nice job with it too. You could hear him screaming from a block away."
Fingers curling into fists, she snarled something in Italian about Castiel nearly getting Dean killed before relaxing slightly. "Dean is looking for me as we speak. He'll find a way and he'll know something's not right since I should've been meeting him and Sam at the hotel an hour ago."
"Or he'll think that you're just taking a little longer than expected." He started to move towards her at this point, letting the flat of the blade rest on her shoulder as he leaned over her from behind. "And even if he did, it will take him a while to find us. We're not exactly -- close. And Dean nearly dying wasn't Castiel's fault. Though if I'd had my way -- it wouldn't have been 'nearly'."
If Uriel was looking for fear? He wouldn't find it. That determined, proud glare returned to her face as she spat, "And if I'd had my way, I'd have been there to watch Red send your ass to Hell."
There was an annoyed sigh. "Would you get it right? The angels didn't send me to Hell -- they would have rather killed me than resort to that. Alloces was the one who tossed me into Hell. Demons did this."
"Alloces... another Fallen." Hey, she'd done her share of research on the angels and demon lords and the Fallen.
"Yes." He turned the knife in his hand, placing the edge of the blade lightly against her arm. "You did your homework."
She glanced down at her arm and the knife, waiting for him to just do it already. "Comes with the territory."
"Mmmm -- you know, there are things that research doesn't tell you, though." He slowly started to let the blade dig into her skin, applying pressure slowly as she went. "Like how Alloces loves to tear things apart. And how I took his wings, all those centuries ago, and things came full circle when he took mine? And how he's Amy's favorite plaything." She was starting to bleed at this point, but he didn't let up the pressure just kept pushing deeper.
Inhaling slowly, Anna closed her eyes and began meditating to block out the sharp, searing pain in her arm. There was no way she was going to give Uriel what he wanted.
Ur just kept pushing. "You know, when Dean was being tortured in Hell, I'm sure he was much more fun than you were being right now."
Eyes still closed, she let out a soft chuckle. "If you think that's going to work, you're mistaken."
He pulled back the bloody knife, before bringing it back towards the rest of his tools. He pressed it into the salt he had there, using the blood to help it stick to the knife, before moving back and starting to press it into wound again. "Just stating a fact. I mean, after thirty years, he probably learned relatively quickly what it would take to give the torturer what he wanted. A happy torturer does make it easier on the torturee."
Hissing at the salt, she curled her fingers into fists and bit down on a pained groan. Her head was held high still while she spoke through gritted teeth. "And what the fuck do you want?"
He grinned slightly at the hiss -- a sound that was something other than her running her mouth was welcome at the moment. "I already told you. I want to hear you scream. Sooner you scream, the sooner you get a quick and painless death."
Her eyes fluttered open slowly and she looked up at Uriel with those fiery, defiant eyes of hers. "Dream. On."
"Fine," he said with a sigh, before starting on the other arm. "Though, I must admit, torturing wasn't my strong suit. Dean was much, much better at it."
"Then turn me over to him." She drawled sarcastically, still meditating and avoiding looking over to inspect the state of her right arm. It was on fire, and she was pretty sure it was twitching in reaction to the salt.
"I would, but he seems to be trying to avoid doing the torturing thing nowadays. Though when it came to Alastair, he seemed to revert back quite easily. He did torture for ten years after all -- after a certain point it's kind of like riding a bike."
And then her focus began to slip and she let out a quiet hiss. "In hell."
"In Hell, out of Hell -- Dean himself will probably be the first to tell you that that doesn't make much of a difference."
"Somehow I don't believe you." She snarled, glancing at her right arm and groaning as she flexed her fingers. The bloodstained skin around the wound only made it easier to see where the tendons and bone had been cut or missed by the blade. This was going to take a while to recover from.
"You didn't see how he begged us not to make him do this. Not to turn him back into the monster that he was. It was quite pitiful."
"Dean's not a monster. No matter how much you may want him to be, he's not a monster like you bastards."
"Oh, but he is." He moved again, taking one of her hands forcefully and turning it palm up before starting to run the knife over the lines in the skin. "He tortured souls in Hell for ten years. And souls down there? They don't break like you humans do. They get put back together again, for him to start all over." He paused for a moment, before looking up at her. "I should introduce you to one of his -- special friends. I'm sure she'd love to tell you all about his newly acquired skill set."
"Dean isn't that man anymore. And this isn't Hell." Wincing as he drew the blade across her palm, she growled while her right arm twitched again. If he kept cutting this deep, he'd knick an artery and it would only be a matter of minutes before she bled out. But she had the feeling Uriel would draw this out until she screamed.
"Dean will always be that man. He made a choice -- a choice to torture those souls. If Castiel hadn't pulled him out, he would have become a complete demon. And he'd be doing to you much, much worse than this."
Refusing to believe that Dean was a monster, that he was too far gone, she lifted her head. And then proceeded to spit in Uriel's face once more. "Screw. You."
He just smirked as he wiped the spit off his face again, before picking the blade up and moving on towards her chest starting to carve shapes over the skin. "Believe what you want -- hold on to your fairy tales for all I care. What I say is the truth -- and you'll see that soon enough."
Flinching, she bit down on her lip as she felt the blood start to trickle down her stomach and all she could think about was Dean finding her. He would look for her, right? She wasn't answering her phone, she hadn't returned yet... he had to know something was wrong. And that thought was going to keep her going.
Uriel stopped with the cutting after a while, before moving back towards the table and focusing on his tools, trying to decide what to use next.
Anna hung her head when Uriel moved away, her breaths coming out in short, ragged bursts as more blood drenched her tattered shirt and coated her stomach. The fiery pain was beginning to take its toll on her body -- her head was beginning to spin.
He picked up a lighter and an iron rod, before starting to make his way back over, heating the tip of the rod with the lighter.
Flames caught her attention and her head snapped up - a move she regretted when she started seeing doubles. "Try all you... you want. You'll never get- get what you want."
"But at least I tried," he replied, before bringing the rod down against her arm, pressing the heated tip against her skin.
Biting down on her lip to muffle a loud, pained groan, she began to taste blood as she struggled to free herself from the restraints. "Fuck." She hissed.
"Hurts, doesn't it?"
Tilting her head back, blood dribbling down her chin she snorted. "It tickles."
"Mmmm-hmmm," he chuckled, before reaching for the lighter again and starting to heat the rod.
Feeling her breathing slow, and eyes begin to droop, it occurred to her that maybe she was going to die here before anyone found her. Guess this means goodbye, Dean. Sorry I never got to say goodbye and-- and tell you I love you...
Uriel didn't seem to be paying attention, just finished heating the rod, before bringing it down against the inside of her thigh, holding it in place.
The searing of the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh jolted her alert once more - this time with a loud groan followed by her body convulsing violently in protest. If she wasn't so goddamn stubborn she would've screamed bloody murder.
"I'll take the groan," he replied, pulling back and heating the rod again. "But I'm sure I'll get you eventually."
"Keep. Dreaming. You son of a-- a bitch." She spat, spitting up blood.
The demon just smirked, before circling her as he tried to decide his next point of impact.
"Damnit, Dean. Get here any minute now..." She murmured, trying to free her left hand from the armrest of the chair.
The rod came down again, across the front of her chest, right over where the Devil's trap tattoo was.
Stifling a loud cry, she grit her teeth so hard she thought her jaw would break. Wincing, she jerked away from the rod as her tattoo burned off her skin and she felt tears rolling down her cheeks. Before Uriel could continue the torture, however, the ground beneath them began to shake and the warehouse windows began to shatter one by one in violent protest.
Uriel stumbled back slightly, glancing around, first in confusion, before his eyes widened. "No -- "
Lifting her head, she let out an amused half-smile and laughed. "Divine intervention, Uriel. You hear that? You pissed off the wrong angel!" Slumping over in the chair, she fought to keep her eyes open.
"Back away from the woman, Ur." A british woman's voice echoed throughout the warehouse in a chorus of different harmonious pitches blending together with each syllable. A six-winged woman appeared in front of Anna. Her skin cast a brilliant glow in the dimly-lit room as a comforting hand rested on the injured hunter's shoulder.
Ur smirked slightly, before shaking his head. "Not over." His head then fell back and he roared out of the meat suit, the body dropping to the ground once it was over.
"J-Jane...?" Anna rasped in confusion, eyes drooping slowly.
The blonde woman smiled softly and dropped to a knee to sweep away the tears from Anna's cheeks. "Jane is my vessel, Anna. My name is Zerachiel - I am an angel of God's command."
"You-- you saved me. I'm not-- not with Dean."
"Rest, Anna. You will find the answers in time." Zerachiel cooed gently, before pressing her fingers to Anna's forehead to put her to sleep. The angel pulled the bloodied, burned woman into her arms and in a flash of light the warehouse was empty -- nothing there but the echoes of Zerachiel's parting words. "God has a plan for you."
Anna Morasca
Supernatural [OC]
2,519 words
Blood, sweat and tears
Confinement. Oh, she hated being confined, restrained, left without any control of her circumstances. Instead of focusing on the fact that she was tied to a chair, alone with a Fallen who wanted to make her scream, and that Dean probably had no clue that she was gone. Hell, she couldn't even remember how she ended up here. The sharp ache in her wrists was beginning to dull -- but that glare; the defiant, proud, unwavering glare was still on her face. Part of her knew how much Uriel hated that look. And if he was going to kill her? Well then she was going to go out with a bang.
"One dead-ass Fallen at my feet is what Dean's gonna find when he gets here." Yes, her lips did curl up slightly in smug satisfaction. She was a smartass first, a hostage second.
"This should be good," Ur sighed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "How exactly do you plan on killing me?"
Lifting her head, she kept a stony face but there was something in her eyes that would tell him she was bluffing. "Why ruin the fun by spoiling the surprise?"
"There are three things that can kill a demon, whore," he said. "One, Lilith has. The other isn't going to work on a demon on my power, and the last is wielded by an angel. So really -- how do you intend to kill me?"
Shrugging, Anna leaned back in the chair more. "Maybe someone up there likes me." She drawled, ending it with a yawn.
He snorted, obviously caring nothing for her boredom. "I doubt that."
"Well, we'll just see if Dean brings the cavalry when he gets here."
"If he gets here," Ur corrected, starting to move around her. He looked over the tools he had left there. "Assuming that he's coming for you."
Anna scoffed, following the Fallen with those defiant green eyes of hers and looking at the tools. She had been bracing herself for torture -- she'd be stupid not to. She'd been raped and beaten within inches of death, stalked and nearly murdered by an angry ex-con, possessed by a demon, and knocked around seven ways from Sunday courtesy Alastair. In her mind? She could handle anything Uriel threw at her.
"You assume Dean won't."
"Oh, I know he won't," he replied, picking up one of the longer blades and studying it for a moment. "First of all -- he'd have to find you before I kill you. Considering that this warehouse is warded against angels, other demons, and anything else I could come up with, it will take him a long time to find you. Secondly, he's a very busy man -- being the torturer of the garrison and all."
Had she not been the one about to be on the receiving end of the blade, she would've admired the beauty of the hilt. But instead Uriel's last sentence caught her off-guard. "What?"
His head tilted to the side slightly, a small smirk sitting there. "He didn't tell you? Dean is their chief interrogator. He knows how to get right to the point."
That defiant look in her eyes began to fade as the realization set in and her brain finally connected the dots. "...Alastair. That's why Cas took Dean..."
"Yes," he said with a sigh. "Castiel took Dean to torture Alastair. Did a pretty nice job with it too. You could hear him screaming from a block away."
Fingers curling into fists, she snarled something in Italian about Castiel nearly getting Dean killed before relaxing slightly. "Dean is looking for me as we speak. He'll find a way and he'll know something's not right since I should've been meeting him and Sam at the hotel an hour ago."
"Or he'll think that you're just taking a little longer than expected." He started to move towards her at this point, letting the flat of the blade rest on her shoulder as he leaned over her from behind. "And even if he did, it will take him a while to find us. We're not exactly -- close. And Dean nearly dying wasn't Castiel's fault. Though if I'd had my way -- it wouldn't have been 'nearly'."
If Uriel was looking for fear? He wouldn't find it. That determined, proud glare returned to her face as she spat, "And if I'd had my way, I'd have been there to watch Red send your ass to Hell."
There was an annoyed sigh. "Would you get it right? The angels didn't send me to Hell -- they would have rather killed me than resort to that. Alloces was the one who tossed me into Hell. Demons did this."
"Alloces... another Fallen." Hey, she'd done her share of research on the angels and demon lords and the Fallen.
"Yes." He turned the knife in his hand, placing the edge of the blade lightly against her arm. "You did your homework."
She glanced down at her arm and the knife, waiting for him to just do it already. "Comes with the territory."
"Mmmm -- you know, there are things that research doesn't tell you, though." He slowly started to let the blade dig into her skin, applying pressure slowly as she went. "Like how Alloces loves to tear things apart. And how I took his wings, all those centuries ago, and things came full circle when he took mine? And how he's Amy's favorite plaything." She was starting to bleed at this point, but he didn't let up the pressure just kept pushing deeper.
Inhaling slowly, Anna closed her eyes and began meditating to block out the sharp, searing pain in her arm. There was no way she was going to give Uriel what he wanted.
Ur just kept pushing. "You know, when Dean was being tortured in Hell, I'm sure he was much more fun than you were being right now."
Eyes still closed, she let out a soft chuckle. "If you think that's going to work, you're mistaken."
He pulled back the bloody knife, before bringing it back towards the rest of his tools. He pressed it into the salt he had there, using the blood to help it stick to the knife, before moving back and starting to press it into wound again. "Just stating a fact. I mean, after thirty years, he probably learned relatively quickly what it would take to give the torturer what he wanted. A happy torturer does make it easier on the torturee."
Hissing at the salt, she curled her fingers into fists and bit down on a pained groan. Her head was held high still while she spoke through gritted teeth. "And what the fuck do you want?"
He grinned slightly at the hiss -- a sound that was something other than her running her mouth was welcome at the moment. "I already told you. I want to hear you scream. Sooner you scream, the sooner you get a quick and painless death."
Her eyes fluttered open slowly and she looked up at Uriel with those fiery, defiant eyes of hers. "Dream. On."
"Fine," he said with a sigh, before starting on the other arm. "Though, I must admit, torturing wasn't my strong suit. Dean was much, much better at it."
"Then turn me over to him." She drawled sarcastically, still meditating and avoiding looking over to inspect the state of her right arm. It was on fire, and she was pretty sure it was twitching in reaction to the salt.
"I would, but he seems to be trying to avoid doing the torturing thing nowadays. Though when it came to Alastair, he seemed to revert back quite easily. He did torture for ten years after all -- after a certain point it's kind of like riding a bike."
And then her focus began to slip and she let out a quiet hiss. "In hell."
"In Hell, out of Hell -- Dean himself will probably be the first to tell you that that doesn't make much of a difference."
"Somehow I don't believe you." She snarled, glancing at her right arm and groaning as she flexed her fingers. The bloodstained skin around the wound only made it easier to see where the tendons and bone had been cut or missed by the blade. This was going to take a while to recover from.
"You didn't see how he begged us not to make him do this. Not to turn him back into the monster that he was. It was quite pitiful."
"Dean's not a monster. No matter how much you may want him to be, he's not a monster like you bastards."
"Oh, but he is." He moved again, taking one of her hands forcefully and turning it palm up before starting to run the knife over the lines in the skin. "He tortured souls in Hell for ten years. And souls down there? They don't break like you humans do. They get put back together again, for him to start all over." He paused for a moment, before looking up at her. "I should introduce you to one of his -- special friends. I'm sure she'd love to tell you all about his newly acquired skill set."
"Dean isn't that man anymore. And this isn't Hell." Wincing as he drew the blade across her palm, she growled while her right arm twitched again. If he kept cutting this deep, he'd knick an artery and it would only be a matter of minutes before she bled out. But she had the feeling Uriel would draw this out until she screamed.
"Dean will always be that man. He made a choice -- a choice to torture those souls. If Castiel hadn't pulled him out, he would have become a complete demon. And he'd be doing to you much, much worse than this."
Refusing to believe that Dean was a monster, that he was too far gone, she lifted her head. And then proceeded to spit in Uriel's face once more. "Screw. You."
He just smirked as he wiped the spit off his face again, before picking the blade up and moving on towards her chest starting to carve shapes over the skin. "Believe what you want -- hold on to your fairy tales for all I care. What I say is the truth -- and you'll see that soon enough."
Flinching, she bit down on her lip as she felt the blood start to trickle down her stomach and all she could think about was Dean finding her. He would look for her, right? She wasn't answering her phone, she hadn't returned yet... he had to know something was wrong. And that thought was going to keep her going.
Uriel stopped with the cutting after a while, before moving back towards the table and focusing on his tools, trying to decide what to use next.
Anna hung her head when Uriel moved away, her breaths coming out in short, ragged bursts as more blood drenched her tattered shirt and coated her stomach. The fiery pain was beginning to take its toll on her body -- her head was beginning to spin.
He picked up a lighter and an iron rod, before starting to make his way back over, heating the tip of the rod with the lighter.
Flames caught her attention and her head snapped up - a move she regretted when she started seeing doubles. "Try all you... you want. You'll never get- get what you want."
"But at least I tried," he replied, before bringing the rod down against her arm, pressing the heated tip against her skin.
Biting down on her lip to muffle a loud, pained groan, she began to taste blood as she struggled to free herself from the restraints. "Fuck." She hissed.
"Hurts, doesn't it?"
Tilting her head back, blood dribbling down her chin she snorted. "It tickles."
"Mmmm-hmmm," he chuckled, before reaching for the lighter again and starting to heat the rod.
Feeling her breathing slow, and eyes begin to droop, it occurred to her that maybe she was going to die here before anyone found her. Guess this means goodbye, Dean. Sorry I never got to say goodbye and-- and tell you I love you...
Uriel didn't seem to be paying attention, just finished heating the rod, before bringing it down against the inside of her thigh, holding it in place.
The searing of the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh jolted her alert once more - this time with a loud groan followed by her body convulsing violently in protest. If she wasn't so goddamn stubborn she would've screamed bloody murder.
"I'll take the groan," he replied, pulling back and heating the rod again. "But I'm sure I'll get you eventually."
"Keep. Dreaming. You son of a-- a bitch." She spat, spitting up blood.
The demon just smirked, before circling her as he tried to decide his next point of impact.
"Damnit, Dean. Get here any minute now..." She murmured, trying to free her left hand from the armrest of the chair.
The rod came down again, across the front of her chest, right over where the Devil's trap tattoo was.
Stifling a loud cry, she grit her teeth so hard she thought her jaw would break. Wincing, she jerked away from the rod as her tattoo burned off her skin and she felt tears rolling down her cheeks. Before Uriel could continue the torture, however, the ground beneath them began to shake and the warehouse windows began to shatter one by one in violent protest.
Uriel stumbled back slightly, glancing around, first in confusion, before his eyes widened. "No -- "
Lifting her head, she let out an amused half-smile and laughed. "Divine intervention, Uriel. You hear that? You pissed off the wrong angel!" Slumping over in the chair, she fought to keep her eyes open.
"Back away from the woman, Ur." A british woman's voice echoed throughout the warehouse in a chorus of different harmonious pitches blending together with each syllable. A six-winged woman appeared in front of Anna. Her skin cast a brilliant glow in the dimly-lit room as a comforting hand rested on the injured hunter's shoulder.
Ur smirked slightly, before shaking his head. "Not over." His head then fell back and he roared out of the meat suit, the body dropping to the ground once it was over.
"J-Jane...?" Anna rasped in confusion, eyes drooping slowly.
The blonde woman smiled softly and dropped to a knee to sweep away the tears from Anna's cheeks. "Jane is my vessel, Anna. My name is Zerachiel - I am an angel of God's command."
"You-- you saved me. I'm not-- not with Dean."
"Rest, Anna. You will find the answers in time." Zerachiel cooed gently, before pressing her fingers to Anna's forehead to put her to sleep. The angel pulled the bloodied, burned woman into her arms and in a flash of light the warehouse was empty -- nothing there but the echoes of Zerachiel's parting words. "God has a plan for you."
Anna Morasca
Supernatural [OC]
2,519 words