sunday_reveries: To live and breathe is nothing.
"To live and breathe is nothing. To want to live and breathe is everything."
-Timothy Findley
A/N: Dangerous Weapons 'verse. Disturbing content; NPC death.
The too-wide smile was incongruous with the open face and wide eyes, their innocent look from a few minutes ago replaced by the half-predatory, half-rabid stare of a demon inside a devil's trap. The stare which now fixed on the knife.
"You don't really want to do that."
"No? Why wouldn't I?"
"Because sweet little Suzie in here is alive and you'll kill her, too. And she's not just alive. She wants to be alive. To stay alive. Would you take that away from her? She didn't do anything to deserve killing. But you know that already. Don't you."
Dean leaned closer, the tip of the knife at the side of her neck, pressing just barely short of drawing blood. "You think you are so smart, holding a teenager as a hostage."
"An unharmed teenager."
"So you say."
"So I do. And would you risk it on the half-chance that I might be lying?"
His eyes narrowed, and he ran the tip of the blade down along the skin, not letting up the pressure. Forward, holding it against the jugular vein. "I don't know." Wanting to live. He'd once wanted to live. And then he'd stopped. And then Sam had made him want to again. Sammy. Sam, who was who-the-fuck-knew-where and thinking who knew what. Because he. Couldn't. Find him. His eyes on the demon hardened. "Would I?"
Flicker of something on the possessed face, and she tried to pull back, bucking against the chair. Away from the knife. "What. Alastair's little pet has finally grown up? I'd say I'm honored, but there'd be nobody to tell it to..."
Dean didn't let up the pressure. "What is your name?"
The sweet voice sounded warm and innocent and he knew it was completely fake. "Suzie."
His other hand twisted the ropes so they would dig into her.
"Remember, you're hurting Suzie, at any rate."
"What. Is. Your. Name." Slow.
"She has an older sister. Mary."
Dean didn't even look away, didn't move the knife a fraction of an inch. His other hand just reached sideways to the table behind him and he grabbed the syringe, shoving it into the side of the girl's chest. "This isn't really going to hurt Suzie. Just you."
Suzie, who probably did indeed want to live and breath again.
Did he? Dean didn't know. He wanted somebody else to live and breathe and keep on living. Himself? He honestly doubted he deserved to.
But if he didn't, nobody'd be there to find and help his brother. Whatever it was his brother was going to do.
So he guessed he did want it. Somewhat. Kind of. Not enough to count on his own.
He took his time with Seanna. All demons would try to mess with him, it was unconditional and unvaried - but there was something additionally cocky about her which made him believe that she knew somewhat more.
And he was right. Between holy water, and an extended - the advantages to angels being interested in his work - exorcising spell which kept the demon in pain and he could bring it up by notches but still keep her trapped and accessible for the knife, he kept her right where he wanted her, pain flooding in and out of her face and voice until he had something.
The freaking angels would be glad. There was something that Lucifer wanted, and if they did their job sufficiently well, he wouldn't get it. And they'd find out why he wanted it, too. Weapon? Protection? Information?
Seanna didn't know.
That was alright. She'd told him enough, between the attempted jabs at him.
She sharp, suffocating pain at what she would say about Sam. What she would say about Suzie and her family. She didn't know where his brother was, either.
That was alright, too.
He lingered over the last sentence of the incantation, letting her screams and threats fill the warehouse, echo from the distant ceiling and wash through him.
It was wrong, and it wasn't right, and it still felt good, his whole body tensed up and vibrant between her verbal slicing and the pain he caused her.
And then Seanna was gone, and there was only Suzie. Who was, indeed alive. But dying, a previous stab wound through her stomach, blood staining her clothes and soaking down towards the floor way too quickly. And something else making her cough up more blood and whimper in pain as the coughing messed up with the knife wound.
He cut through the ropes and eased her to the floor, and called up. Shouted for help. The angels could help her before she had to suffer more. Before she'd die in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, or maybe before the ambulance even got to this forsaken place. They could come and do this, in exchange for the information she'd helped provide them with.
They could, but they didn't.
And a demon had screwed him over again.
"FUCK!"
He listened to the girl's wheezing breaths, fist tightening around the hilt of the knife.
Seanna would pay for it. Whenever she came back up, he'd trace and find her again. And she'd die in ever more pain than the girl before him.
Dean's jaw clenched, and his eyes squeezed for a moment. Then with a single, precise motion thrust the knife in her throat, trying to sever as much as he could of her spinal cord so as to cut off the feeling of pain for the little time left before her brain shut down for oxygen absence.
A gurgling sound, and some more motions, uncoordinated and uncontrolled.
Silence.
Without and within.
Eventually, he became aware of his own breathing again. Even later, that his hands were shaking.
He did the cleaning up properly anyway.
-Timothy Findley
A/N: Dangerous Weapons 'verse. Disturbing content; NPC death.
The too-wide smile was incongruous with the open face and wide eyes, their innocent look from a few minutes ago replaced by the half-predatory, half-rabid stare of a demon inside a devil's trap. The stare which now fixed on the knife.
"You don't really want to do that."
"No? Why wouldn't I?"
"Because sweet little Suzie in here is alive and you'll kill her, too. And she's not just alive. She wants to be alive. To stay alive. Would you take that away from her? She didn't do anything to deserve killing. But you know that already. Don't you."
Dean leaned closer, the tip of the knife at the side of her neck, pressing just barely short of drawing blood. "You think you are so smart, holding a teenager as a hostage."
"An unharmed teenager."
"So you say."
"So I do. And would you risk it on the half-chance that I might be lying?"
His eyes narrowed, and he ran the tip of the blade down along the skin, not letting up the pressure. Forward, holding it against the jugular vein. "I don't know." Wanting to live. He'd once wanted to live. And then he'd stopped. And then Sam had made him want to again. Sammy. Sam, who was who-the-fuck-knew-where and thinking who knew what. Because he. Couldn't. Find him. His eyes on the demon hardened. "Would I?"
Flicker of something on the possessed face, and she tried to pull back, bucking against the chair. Away from the knife. "What. Alastair's little pet has finally grown up? I'd say I'm honored, but there'd be nobody to tell it to..."
Dean didn't let up the pressure. "What is your name?"
The sweet voice sounded warm and innocent and he knew it was completely fake. "Suzie."
His other hand twisted the ropes so they would dig into her.
"Remember, you're hurting Suzie, at any rate."
"What. Is. Your. Name." Slow.
"She has an older sister. Mary."
Dean didn't even look away, didn't move the knife a fraction of an inch. His other hand just reached sideways to the table behind him and he grabbed the syringe, shoving it into the side of the girl's chest. "This isn't really going to hurt Suzie. Just you."
Suzie, who probably did indeed want to live and breath again.
Did he? Dean didn't know. He wanted somebody else to live and breathe and keep on living. Himself? He honestly doubted he deserved to.
But if he didn't, nobody'd be there to find and help his brother. Whatever it was his brother was going to do.
So he guessed he did want it. Somewhat. Kind of. Not enough to count on his own.
He took his time with Seanna. All demons would try to mess with him, it was unconditional and unvaried - but there was something additionally cocky about her which made him believe that she knew somewhat more.
And he was right. Between holy water, and an extended - the advantages to angels being interested in his work - exorcising spell which kept the demon in pain and he could bring it up by notches but still keep her trapped and accessible for the knife, he kept her right where he wanted her, pain flooding in and out of her face and voice until he had something.
The freaking angels would be glad. There was something that Lucifer wanted, and if they did their job sufficiently well, he wouldn't get it. And they'd find out why he wanted it, too. Weapon? Protection? Information?
Seanna didn't know.
That was alright. She'd told him enough, between the attempted jabs at him.
She sharp, suffocating pain at what she would say about Sam. What she would say about Suzie and her family. She didn't know where his brother was, either.
That was alright, too.
He lingered over the last sentence of the incantation, letting her screams and threats fill the warehouse, echo from the distant ceiling and wash through him.
It was wrong, and it wasn't right, and it still felt good, his whole body tensed up and vibrant between her verbal slicing and the pain he caused her.
And then Seanna was gone, and there was only Suzie. Who was, indeed alive. But dying, a previous stab wound through her stomach, blood staining her clothes and soaking down towards the floor way too quickly. And something else making her cough up more blood and whimper in pain as the coughing messed up with the knife wound.
He cut through the ropes and eased her to the floor, and called up. Shouted for help. The angels could help her before she had to suffer more. Before she'd die in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, or maybe before the ambulance even got to this forsaken place. They could come and do this, in exchange for the information she'd helped provide them with.
They could, but they didn't.
And a demon had screwed him over again.
"FUCK!"
He listened to the girl's wheezing breaths, fist tightening around the hilt of the knife.
Seanna would pay for it. Whenever she came back up, he'd trace and find her again. And she'd die in ever more pain than the girl before him.
Dean's jaw clenched, and his eyes squeezed for a moment. Then with a single, precise motion thrust the knife in her throat, trying to sever as much as he could of her spinal cord so as to cut off the feeling of pain for the little time left before her brain shut down for oxygen absence.
A gurgling sound, and some more motions, uncoordinated and uncontrolled.
Silence.
Without and within.
Eventually, he became aware of his own breathing again. Even later, that his hands were shaking.
He did the cleaning up properly anyway.