For licenseartistic - Dec. 09 - 'But Men Loved Darkness...'

Jan 20, 2010 22:52

Title / Prompt: Dec. 09 (from Nov. 09):
The world's light shines, shine as it will,
The world will love its darkness still.
I doubt though when the world's in hell,
It will not love its darkness half so well.
--But Men Loved Darkness Rather Than Light by Richard Crashaw
Character: Dean Winchester
Warnings: violent and disturbing content, m/m non-con, unbetaed
Pairings: Castiel/Dean, disturbing hints of [spoiler]/Dean, [other spoiler]/Dean
Your character's fandom: Supernatural
Word count: 4020 per My Writing Nook
Rating: NC-17 for violence, sexual content, and language
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Or the ghosts.
Crossposted to licenseartistic

Author's notes: Castiel is angelofthursday, Sam is deathwontstopme. Other characters referred to in this are from the show. If I don't mention you by username, it's not about you.


Looking back on it, Dean really should have known the moment he walked back into the dirty motel room that something was wrong. He should have felt it; the fact he didn't was a sign that he'd relaxed too much, got too complacent, too trusting.

But instead he'd assumed that everything was fine; locked the door and threw the deadbolt, put his keys and shotgun down on the table, tugged off his coat and the concealed wrist sheaths and set them down on top, then staggered to the bed to sit down. He was exhausted, too much time spent hunting and killing a ghoul that had been masquerading as a small town's sheriff, and then fleeing from said town when they realized their beloved law officer was dead. He didn't blame them for any of it, but damn, he was worn out.

Finally he stood up again and walked to the small dorm fridge, pulled out a beer and twisted the cap off, sighed at the cool liquid as it slid down his throat. He wanted to go home, he wanted to be with Castiel, and he wanted all of this crap to be over. But Cas was still off searching for God, and Sam was still recuperating from his injuries suffered in the recent battle, and he was here because the rest of the job didn't go away just because of the Apocalypse.

Another swallow of beer, then he set the bottle down on the counter and tilted his head back, letting his eyes slide closed and grunting in discomfort as his neck cracked. And that was when a startlingly strong arm wrapped around his throat in a choke-hold.

Panic surged through him and he reached out for the bottle on the counter, but his attacker pulled him back before he could grab it; scrabbling fingers knocking it off the counter and spilling the cold liquid across his legs. He reached up to grab onto the arm choking him, fingers clawing ineffectually at it; tried to drive an elbow into ribs or reach down and grab at the man's crotch, and found himself shaken like a rag-doll. Desperately, he kicked back, trying to stomp on an instep or hit sensitive joints, and the hold tightened further. All he could tell about his attacker was that he was tall and solidly built, wore what felt like a suit, and was scary strong.

"Let me go," he rasped out, eyes wide in growing fear as spots floated in his vision. Shit -- I'm gonna die and it's not even on a Hunt! Panic flooded his body with adrenaline as he made one last desperate struggle, his vision greying out. Just before it blacked out, he caught a glimpse of a second person stepping into the kitchenette of the motel room; those beady eyes, smug smile and shiny forehead sending another surge of fear through him -- they needed him alive, didn't they?

* * *

Dean groaned softly, squeezed his eyes hard shut then finally let them open. His breath caught in his throat when he tried to move a hand to rub over his face and was stopped by the rattle of a too-short chain. He swallowed hard, a shiver rippling through him as he realized he was chained to a solid surface; looked from side to side to see heavy, dark metal cuffs around both wrists. That wasn't so bad, but from the tight heaviness around his throat and the clink of chain as he turned his head he realized there was an equally solid metal collar around his bruised throat, just snug enough to feel uncomfortable. He swallowed again, trying to fight back the rising panic and the flashes of nightmare memories. "Shit..."

The small room was dimly lit by a single wire-caged bulb hanging from the ceiling, and from what he could see, there was no sign of any creature comforts at all. The dirty metal walls were streaked with rust, but they looked strong and solid and in the feeble light he couldn't actually tell whether all of the dark red stains were rust, or something else. The floor was solid concrete and sloped slightly down towards a dirty drain in the center.

The handle of the door directly opposite him turned slowly, the thick door swinging into the room to reveal the last person he really wanted to see right now. "Zachariah, you douche, let me GO!" he growled, tugging against the chains holding him and lurching forward, only realizing then that his feet weren't chained. He managed to keep the smile from showing on his face, a plan starting to come together. "Let me outta here, you son of a bitch!"

The angel smiled -- an ugly smile that sent another chill rippling through him -- and said, "Sorry, Dean, can't do that. You see, we're running out of time, and your stubborn idiotic resistance is causing an awful lot of trouble." The angel took a step closer, his lip twisting in a sneer as he looked Dean up and down. "Your little jaunt to the future was supposed to enlighten you -- to show you the undesirable repercussions of your stubbornness and stupidity. Not to uncover further revelations of the depths of your perversion!"

"Oh man, you heard that?" he asked, wrinkling his nose. He shifted his hands and wrapped them around the chains binding his wrists, then frowned at the angel. "Hey, what can I say? You know what disgusting creatures us hairless apes are. If you didn't want to know you shouldn't have been listening!"

Zachariah took yet another step closer. Dean tightened his grip on the chains, then viciously kicked out, aiming both feet straight at the angel's face. He grunted at the shock of pain through his legs as it felt like he hit a solid, immovable object. For a split second he could see Zachariah's expression of surprise; saw the angel's hands go to his nose and swipe away the blood, and then searing pain exploded through his head. Blinding light and deafening sound battered at him; he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to cover his ears but couldn't reach. Fury surged through the sensory assault and he was convinced he'd gone too far -- he'd either be blinded and deafened, or burned away by the angel's anger.

Just as suddenly the sound and light ceased. He let out a sobbing breath, falling limply in the chains. "Shit..." Tears streamed from his eyes, stinging as if sunburnt, and he felt warm wetness trickling from one ear. His head throbbed and his ears rang, but slowly the sights and sounds around him returned, revealing Zachariah standing before him, glossy black wings outstretched. There was no sign of any injury or blood.

The angel closed the rest of the distance; gripped his jaw with bruising fingers and lifted his chin to glare into his aching eyes. "If you weren't the chosen vessel of Archangel Michael, I would burn you away with my true form, you worthless little worm. I would grind you out of existence under my heel. You should thank me, little monkey. You should be glad I'm not as revolted by your form as I could be when I think of Michael wearing that face..."

Dean's eyes widened in fear, something about Zachariah's oily tone sending a shudder through him. He tried to shake his head but he couldn't move at all. Finally he swallowed again -- nearly a gulp this time -- and licked suddenly dry lips, then said, "Let me go, Zach -- you can't do anything to me..."

The angel's eyes narrowed again and he leaned closer, purred, "I could show you a thing or two about the urges of my kind -- not that filthy depravity you share with little fallen Castiel..." Then he laughed and let Dean go with a shove, pacing away from him before spinning to face him again. His wings mantling, he snarled, "But you're just a pathetic shadow of what you would be with Michael, and you. Disgust. Me!"

"Feeling's mutual," Dean spat, although inwardly he was shaking in relief. Shit -- for a moment, I thought... "C'mon, you can't do anything to me, and I'm not saying yes, so let me the hell go."

"Oh no, Dean, I'm not letting you go. If you still refuse to learn the lesson the future taught you, then we'll just have to go further forward in time," Zachariah said, his oily composure fully back in place now, the black wings fading to shadows. "Poor deluded little Castiel -- he told you the two of you would be together in Heaven, didn't he? He may believe that, Dean, but if you continue to deny Michael the use of his vessel, do you really think that will be your fate?"

A chill settling into the pit of his stomach, Dean frowned. Oh shit...

"Take a look at your real future, Dean. And remember, you have the power to stop this with one little word!" Zachariah's voice echoed in the small room, making Dean's ears ring again. Everything went red, and then black...

* * *

"Time to rise and shine, Dean -- or at least open your eyes. Not a whole lot of rising going on these days..." The words were barely a breath of whisper, lips brushing against his ear as a strong hand closed around his chin and shook.

"No..." he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut and praying it was just a bad dream that would go away now please!

"You don't really mean that, Dean," and the voice was louder this time, followed by a dry chuckle. "You've been itching for the day we'd be together again..."

The hand released his chin and slid down to his chest, caressing almost gently before grabbing the collar of his t-shirt and ripping it open. When sharp nails raked across his abdomen, Dean's eyes finally opened wide, fear shining in the green depths. "That's not true, Alastair!" he growled, shaking his head.

"Keep telling yourself that, Dean. You know how much I love it when you pretend to fight." The demon leaned in to nip at his earlobe, then sighed dramatically. "The only problem with this lovely collar is that I can't bite your throat."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to put some distance between them. The wall brought him up short and he let out a quiet gasp. "No..."

"Come on, Dean -- where's your fire? Where's that defiant spark? Don't tell me you let someone other than me slice it out of you!" The demon leaned close again, eyes flashing white as he tapped into his power; smiled and licked a hot trail up Dean's jawline. "You're trembling, boy," he purred, one hand trailing lazily down Dean's chest again.

Dean closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, willing himself to become stone. But the recent blows: Zachariah's assertion that this was his future, the attacks on Sam by friend and foe alike, future Castiel sacrificed on the altar of his arrogance... He'd been broken before, and those cracks had been patched, but he was far from whole even now, and this--

He shook his head, pressing back against the wall. His breath came fast and ragged, and by the time he realized the demon wore his familiar human face but the rest of his true form, sweat was beading on his forehead.

"So, you do want me, then, Dean?" Alastair purred, and something hot and startlingly strong snaked around his waist as long fingers unbuckled and opened his jeans. Dean could feel the spines digging in through what was left of his shirt, and a shiver rippled through him.

"Some things are just so special and private you don't share 'em with anyone, hmmm?" Alastair purred as the tip of his tail slid into Dean's pants.

Dean gasped as spines scored sensitive skin; tried again to back away and felt the tail tighten around his middle, pulling him closer to the demon. Part of him -- the rational, defiant Hunter -- screamed to do something! Fight, kick, try to pull away -- anything. But there was a part of him -- the part he planned to take out back and shoot dead, if it could be killed -- that made his pulse pound with something other than fear; made shivers of anticipation skitter down his spine.

"That's my boy," Alastair crowed, leaning in to lick a rivulet of sweat from Dean's temple. "So hungry for it. All the pain, all the pleasure, the sweet screams -- oh, wait, that's your job. Scream for me, Dean," and the tail lashed across Dean's cock; wrapped around it and tightened.

Dean threw his head back and did just that. Screamed in pain -- and not a small bit of denial -- as his cock twitched, hardening in response to the pain.

"Ohhh yes," Alastair hissed, "I have missed this. And, it seems, so have you!"

Something clicked in Dean's mind and he suddenly started struggling, fighting back and trying to bring a leg up to kick Alastair. Adrenaline flooded his system, lessening the sharpness of the pain as spines cut into tender flesh, but he was only human and no match for the Archdemon's strength. Not to mention his demonic abilities. Or Dean's own traitorous body, which seemed to have fonder memories of its time in Hell than his mind did. "Let me go you son of a bitch!" he snarled.

"Dean, Dean, Dean... What am I going to do with you..." Alastair said, smiling and shaking his head. "Just a little time with your prettyboy angel and you've forgotten your dear old Al. Tsk. I'm disappointed."

"Yeah, well, we all gotta experience a bit of disappointment in our lives," Dean said, his voice sounding less steady than he'd wanted it to.

"Oh, don't you worry, I'm pretty sure mine will be short-lived," Alastair said. He gave Dean a toothy grin and twitched his tail again, chuckling as Dean shuddered, fell back and bit his lip. "Oh Dean, don't hold back -- you know you wanna let it all out..." The tail twitched again, then started jacking Dean's cock, little beads of blood welling up where the spines pierced the skin.

Dean closed his eyes and shook his head, let out a sound somewhere between a whimper of pain and a moan, then gasped "Stop, damn it!"

"Oh Dean, back in the denial phase again? Do you really want me to stop when you're that hard? Oh well, if you insist." Alastair shrugged and his tail loosened its hold on Dean's cock, but did not fully release him.

Dean bit back a whimper and shivered again at the lighter touch on his cock, still achingly hard and completely ignoring his instructions. "Let me go..." he rasped, glaring up at Alastair.

"Sorry, Dean, just can't do that. My, my, we've grown feisty these days. Guess I'm just gonna have to break you all over again..." A vicious grin, then, "Can't wait to start."

"Fuck you," Dean growled, immediately regretting his choice of words when Alastair laughed.

"Try the other way round, Dean," Alastair said with a smirk. "But you like it better that way, don't you. Even your prettyboy angel uses that sweet ass of yours, and you love every second of it. Just can't quite get him to do all those nasty, naughty things that your body really aches for..." Dean shook his head and Alastair laughed again. "You go ahead, just keep denying it. It's just not believable when I can see how hard you are..."

"No." Dean clenched his jaw stubbornly, every breath hissed out between his teeth. He'd be damned if he'd let himself make another noise like that pathetic needy whimper he'd let out earlier. Inwardly, he prayed that Castiel could find him; that his angel, dressed in his armour, would come battling through the demons, sword dripping with their blood. He tried not to think about how hot Castiel looked in that armour...

"Forgetting something, aren't you, Dean? Castiel's dead... Your own future self sent him to his death -- and all for nothing." Alastair's expression of mock sadness made Dean growl and lurch towards him, chains rattling as they brought him up short again. "Well, not for nothing, actually, since it brings you back to me..."

"It's not gonna happen that way!" Dean growled, "That me didn't talk to Sam at all for years. I'm sticking with him, making sure Lucifer doesn't get his hands on him."

Alastair chuckled and gave him a feral grin; looked around the small room then fixed him with a pointed stare and asked, "So. How's that working out for you so far?"

"You son of a BITCH!" Dean yelled, throwing himself at Alastair again. "I'm gonna--" He stopped abruptly, breathing hard as he glared hatefully at the demon. Part of him wanted to beat Alastair until there was nothing left of him, but in the back of his mind there was something that wanted to do more than that. He shuddered at the memories of Alastair bound to the angels' trap, as he cut and stabbed and tortured...

"That's my boy," Alastair purred, stepping closer and meeting Dean's enraged glare. "You remember what it's like, and you still want it -- makes you feel strong. Makes you feel powerful, making someone scream for you for once..."

"No..." Dean said, eyes narrowing as anger thrummed through him. "No," and this time there was less certainty in his tone, his eyes flicking away from Alastair's white ones before the demon could look too deep. Castiel and Sam were gone, and they'd lost... This was it -- this was all that was left. "No."

Alastair moved another step closer, lean body pressing against Dean where he was trapped. Dean turned his face away and closed his eyes, and Alastair chuckled. "I don't believe you," he murmured against Dean's ear, "You're going to have to try harder than that."

Dean swallowed convulsively and tried to pull away from the demon, then froze at the feel of something hard and sharp pressing against his cheek. His next breath hissed in through clenched teeth at the almost gentle way Alastair stroked his cheek with what he knew was a dagger. A dozen conflicting impulses raged through him all at once -- the urge to fight, to try to run away and hide, to wrestle the knife from the demon's hand and use it to cut his heart out, all fighting against the blazing heat that surged through him. He knew that dagger...

Alastair made a noise somewhere between a growl and a sigh, then slid the edge of the dagger down Dean's cheek, slicing into his skin just enough that bright beads of blood appeared a moment after the blade passed. Dean's green eyes snapped open and he let out a strangled sound, then watched in rapt horror as Alastair licked the blade and gave him a knowing smile. "I can taste it in you, Dean. And I'm going to cut and cut until I find it again..."

Before Dean even realized it, the words were out of his mouth, "You sonofabitch, then stop fucking teasing me and cut me, dammit!"

Alastair grinned darkly; wrapped his arms around Dean and slashed the knife hard across his back. Dean cried out, jerking against him. Alastair fastened his teeth on the thin cut on his cheek and bit, hard. Dean let out another hoarse cry and shuddered against the demon, all of the fight going out of him as memories of those last ten years in hell blazed through his mind. Panting and hard, his eyes dark with hunger, he growled, "More, you bastard. C'mon, you want to destroy me, then do it!"

"My pleasure..."

* * *

Dean lay face down on a wrecked bed, the sheets -- and his body -- streaked with blood. The odor of brimstone lingered in the air, smudges of it ground into the cuts and burns on his skin. The heavy metal cuffs still weighed down his wrists, the collar still tight around his throat, although the chains had been removed and hung from the bed's headboard.

He groaned and slowly tried to shift to a more comfortable position, hissed in pain as his body protested. "Shit... not the next day yet," he muttered, realizing none of his wounds had been healed.

"Not yet -- figured you'd want another round or two, seeing how eager you were, Dean," Alastair purred, leaning over to dig sharp nails into a particularly nasty looking wound. Dean whimpered and shuddered, but Alastair laughed as his captive pressed into the torture instead of edging away. "Yeah, it's all coming back to you now, isn't it?"

"Go to hell," Dean grumbled, finally managing to roll onto his back. He lay there panting, weak from exertion and blood loss, then frowned up at the demon. "Kinda surprised you didn't slice up my anti-possession tattoo while you had a chance..."

"Don't want you getting possessed, Dean. I'd much rather cut you than any of them," Alastair answered.

"Yeah, okay, makes sense..." Dean said, cocking his head and studying the Archdemon. "So... how much longer am I here?"

Alastair laughed. "Eternity, Dean -- you lost." He shook his head and added, "If you don't say 'yes', you die; go directly to Hell. Do not collect $200..."

He wasn't far enough gone -- yet -- to not cling to a tiny bit of hope, but he knew if he didn't get out soon everything would be lost. Including his soul... "No, this was just-- ow. This was another of Zach's little-- What did you say?"

"I said 'you didn't say 'yes'--"

"No, you didn't. You said if I don't say 'yes', present tense..." His eyes went wide in horror, then his face went ashen and he swallowed hard against nausea. "Oh shit. Oh fucking fucksticks... How long has it been you?" he asked, tugging the ruined sheets up to cover himself and trying to back away.

The illusion of the Archdemon faded away, leaving Zachariah standing beside the bed. "Since you woke up in this room, you vile cockroach. And I would leave you here to be his sick, twisted toy if we didn't need you..." the angel spat, looking down at him with a look of utter contempt on his face. "Have no doubt, Dean, this is what the rest of your eternity will be if you continue to say no. And sooner or later, you will become one of them -- if you aren't halfway there already..."

Dean still struggled to keep the contents of his stomach down when Zachariah said that. Startled, he studied the angel's face and couldn't find any sign that he was lying, but before he could say anything the door burst open, hitting Zachariah hard enough to knock him down. "C'mon, Dean, get your-- oh jeez, I don't wanna see that again. We shoulda brought clothes..."

"Chuck?!" Dean asked, his attention divided between trying to wrap the sheets around himself enough to cover up, and the way Zachariah suddenly cowered away from something when he tried to advance on the prophet. "Who's 'we'?" he asked, all colour draining from his face as he finally made it upright. "...is Cas with you?"

"No! It's me, and Bobby, and we gotta get out of here, c'mon!"

"I can't--"

"Get yer idjit ass out here. You can freak out about shit later," Bobby's voice came from the hallway. Dean realized there was a step down into the room that kept Bobby from being able to join them, and he made his way out to stand unsteadily in front of him. "Oh crap," Bobby said, looking up at Dean's face and giving him a wry smile. "Hey, Chuck?"

"Yeah?" Chuck asked, slamming the door closed as he scrambled out. And that was when Dean collapsed unconscious on the floor.

"Hope you're strong enough to pull him, or we're gonna be the worst rescue team ever..."

~end~

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