[fic] i heard a voice in my mind: "I am Lord, I am Lord, I am Lord."
i heard a voice in my mind: "I am Lord, I am Lord, I am Lord." forrrr yourwonderings, BTR 'verse, in which Dean gets possessed. This is... kind of not what I was expecting to write, LET'S NOT EVEN ACT SURPRISED.
Demons aren’t known for their good luck.
As a demon, you’re lucky if you make it out of the pit. Once in a century or so, some moron opens a Devil’s Gate, but most of the time the only out you’ve got is to climb your way out of the pit.
Your humanity’s well past gone by then.
This time, though. Something else happens. This time, some split in space and time like only angels and something with way worse mojo than you’ve got rips you out of Hell and lands you here.
Chicago, but not the one you remember.
Once you’re out, you don’t question it. You just start looking for the best, warmest body you can.
You can’t believe your luck when the body you find is his. Dean Winchester’s a legend in hell, a story demons tell each other. Remember how we broke him? He’s sent so many of you back downstairs. Killed brothers and sisters.
And you’re riding him like any old meatsuit because somehow, here, all his protection’s gone. No tattoo across his chest, not even a trinket around his neck or in his pockets.
Nothing to keep you out.
You take him like nothing, and he fights, he fights. Wrestles you like a wild animal, but you’ve got your hold on him. His limbs are your limbs, now.
"Let’s have some fun," you say aloud, and he curses you in his head, calls you names they don’t even say in hell, but he can’t so much as make a muscle twitch.
*
You start slow. Dean’s handsome for a human, turns heads wherever you take him, and it’s easy to reel people in.
The first ride, you let the girl live. You give her one of Dean’s smiles, all promise, and lead her away from the bar. She’s bloody and scared by the time Dean’s done breaking her pretty face with the knife you find in his boot, but when she runs you don’t make him chase her.
You show a mercy you don’t feel, haven’t felt since - well. You aren’t one of those demons who remembers their humanity.
Afterward, Dean is quiet. You think he’s blacked out, maybe - meatsuits try that sometimes - but then you listen carefully. You feel him trying to hide things from you.
"That won’t work," you say aloud, and he shouts at you then, tells you how he’ll rip you into pieces.
"I don’t have pieces," you remind him, and then he’s quiet again because you’ve searched and you’ve seen it, in his mind. You’ve seen what he’s trying to hide from you.
You use his mouth to grin, showing sharp teeth to a passerby. The stranger doesn’t question the blood on Dean’s clothes. A demon could get used to this town. "Who else is here with you, Dean?" you ask, and you don’t need to use his mouth to laugh, his vocal chords, but you do.
*
You wait a week.
For a week, you make Dean disappear. You keep him in no-name bars on the edge of town. You drive his car. You dig deep into the marrow of his thoughts.
You ignore all of his phone calls, all of those journal entries.
And then, after cutting him off from everything, after bloodying his hands beyond recognition and cleaning him back up again, you show up at the bar you saw in his head.
The Harvelles aren’t famous in hell, not like the Winchesters, but you’d know from the sight of her she was a hunter, even if Dean’s mind hadn’t let it slip.
He’s been cursing you for days, but when you both lay eyes on Jo behind the counter, he starts saying, Please.
You don’t let her see you. She’s busy with a customer, some asshole who’s had a few too many, and you manage to move back outside unnoticed.
You wait.
Chicago is full of shadows, and you prop Dean in them against the building and wait.
It’s late by the time she comes out, but she does, looking worn down.
"Hey, Jo," Dean says, stepping out of the shadows, and she startles. There’s a long moment, and you love it: you’re waiting to see if she’ll kiss him or kill him.
She chooses something in between, stepping close and breathing, "Jesus."
Dean smirks. "Not quite, but I’m flattered, Jo," he says. She glares at him, but you can see the relief she’s hiding. "You okay?" she asks. "I thought -"
He shrugs, a casual brush-off. "Fine," he says. "You know."
"No, I don’t," she says, and she’s smart, Jo is, you’ll give her that. She’s got Dean tethered, if her attitude is anything to go on. If the way Dean’s saying please, doing his damndest to get a word in edgewise, is anything further to go on.
You make him duck his head and smile, suddenly sheepish. "Sorry, Jo," he says. "I shoulda called."
You watch her, and she breathes out, then in again, but you know she’s too relieved to fight more, yet.
She folds her arms across her chest and looks back up at him before asking, "Your car around anywhere?"
You make him grin, like everything’s fine. Like somewhere down the line, you won’t make him tear her right apart. "’Course," he says. "Right this way, girly."
Dean puts his arm around her and leads her toward the Impala. He shouts and begs you, but in his head you tell him to save it. You haven’t even started yet.
Demons aren’t known for their good luck.
As a demon, you’re lucky if you make it out of the pit. Once in a century or so, some moron opens a Devil’s Gate, but most of the time the only out you’ve got is to climb your way out of the pit.
Your humanity’s well past gone by then.
This time, though. Something else happens. This time, some split in space and time like only angels and something with way worse mojo than you’ve got rips you out of Hell and lands you here.
Chicago, but not the one you remember.
Once you’re out, you don’t question it. You just start looking for the best, warmest body you can.
You can’t believe your luck when the body you find is his. Dean Winchester’s a legend in hell, a story demons tell each other. Remember how we broke him? He’s sent so many of you back downstairs. Killed brothers and sisters.
And you’re riding him like any old meatsuit because somehow, here, all his protection’s gone. No tattoo across his chest, not even a trinket around his neck or in his pockets.
Nothing to keep you out.
You take him like nothing, and he fights, he fights. Wrestles you like a wild animal, but you’ve got your hold on him. His limbs are your limbs, now.
"Let’s have some fun," you say aloud, and he curses you in his head, calls you names they don’t even say in hell, but he can’t so much as make a muscle twitch.
*
You start slow. Dean’s handsome for a human, turns heads wherever you take him, and it’s easy to reel people in.
The first ride, you let the girl live. You give her one of Dean’s smiles, all promise, and lead her away from the bar. She’s bloody and scared by the time Dean’s done breaking her pretty face with the knife you find in his boot, but when she runs you don’t make him chase her.
You show a mercy you don’t feel, haven’t felt since - well. You aren’t one of those demons who remembers their humanity.
Afterward, Dean is quiet. You think he’s blacked out, maybe - meatsuits try that sometimes - but then you listen carefully. You feel him trying to hide things from you.
"That won’t work," you say aloud, and he shouts at you then, tells you how he’ll rip you into pieces.
"I don’t have pieces," you remind him, and then he’s quiet again because you’ve searched and you’ve seen it, in his mind. You’ve seen what he’s trying to hide from you.
You use his mouth to grin, showing sharp teeth to a passerby. The stranger doesn’t question the blood on Dean’s clothes. A demon could get used to this town. "Who else is here with you, Dean?" you ask, and you don’t need to use his mouth to laugh, his vocal chords, but you do.
*
You wait a week.
For a week, you make Dean disappear. You keep him in no-name bars on the edge of town. You drive his car. You dig deep into the marrow of his thoughts.
You ignore all of his phone calls, all of those journal entries.
And then, after cutting him off from everything, after bloodying his hands beyond recognition and cleaning him back up again, you show up at the bar you saw in his head.
The Harvelles aren’t famous in hell, not like the Winchesters, but you’d know from the sight of her she was a hunter, even if Dean’s mind hadn’t let it slip.
He’s been cursing you for days, but when you both lay eyes on Jo behind the counter, he starts saying, Please.
You don’t let her see you. She’s busy with a customer, some asshole who’s had a few too many, and you manage to move back outside unnoticed.
You wait.
Chicago is full of shadows, and you prop Dean in them against the building and wait.
It’s late by the time she comes out, but she does, looking worn down.
"Hey, Jo," Dean says, stepping out of the shadows, and she startles. There’s a long moment, and you love it: you’re waiting to see if she’ll kiss him or kill him.
She chooses something in between, stepping close and breathing, "Jesus."
Dean smirks. "Not quite, but I’m flattered, Jo," he says. She glares at him, but you can see the relief she’s hiding. "You okay?" she asks. "I thought -"
He shrugs, a casual brush-off. "Fine," he says. "You know."
"No, I don’t," she says, and she’s smart, Jo is, you’ll give her that. She’s got Dean tethered, if her attitude is anything to go on. If the way Dean’s saying please, doing his damndest to get a word in edgewise, is anything further to go on.
You make him duck his head and smile, suddenly sheepish. "Sorry, Jo," he says. "I shoulda called."
You watch her, and she breathes out, then in again, but you know she’s too relieved to fight more, yet.
She folds her arms across her chest and looks back up at him before asking, "Your car around anywhere?"
You make him grin, like everything’s fine. Like somewhere down the line, you won’t make him tear her right apart. "’Course," he says. "Right this way, girly."
Dean puts his arm around her and leads her toward the Impala. He shouts and begs you, but in his head you tell him to save it. You haven’t even started yet.