HC Bingo Prompt 16
Title: Cobwebs
Prompt: Cages
Medium: fic
Rating: R
Warnings: torture
Summary: Dean is in Hell - and doesn't know that a far off cry is actually freedom heading straight for him.
In Hell, after hooks and chains came cages. It didn't matter if you were the torturer or the victim - all were trapped in cages. Or maybe the hooks and chains were just another form of them. Dean's not to certain at this point. It's sort of hard to tell when you spent an undetermined amount of time hanging from six meat hooks until his flesh, soul - whatever psychical presence he was here in Hell tore through and he fell further into the pit - only to be snared by six more hooks - in six new locations. It was after he fell the fourth time he was caught. The demon who'd nabbed him and thrown him down on a rack in a true twisted fashion, made his appearance in this realm not in his true form - but appeared as that Chris Noth guy from Law & Order. The second most horrifying thing about the situation was that the time spent in the hooks that seemed like days, possibly weeks to Dean had actually only been an hour.
One hour
Time in Hell was just that... hellish and the hooks were a damn cakewalk to what followed. Dean's not sure if the demon who nabbed him was assigned to him or just plucked him out of the pile at random. He's starting to think it was an intentional match-up, because the demon - Alistair - has redefined how he thinks of demons. If there's a better torturer in all of Hell, they must have them somewhere deep in the pit torturing Caligula or someone of that caliber. Alistair loves his work and in a twisted way, Dean thinks the demon loves working on him more than anyone else.
Dean's been hung from his wrists and ankles by hooks, swinging free at the demon's leisure while he slices and carves away at his flesh. He's fairly certain he's had the every liquid form of the entire Periodical Table of the Elements (except sodium) poured over his entire body - and while he would have thought sulfur would have burned the most, it had been something called fermium that had stung more than anything.
It's nearing the end of another day and as Dean feels what's left of the pieces of his soul pressed into the hard iron and bone bars, Alistair almost flush against his back, the demon's claws ripping at what remains of his wrists, he hears him speak in that wretched voice that is far to familiar and makes Dean want to vomit.
“How about it kiddo?” Alistair's lips are against Dean's ear. His tongue flicks out to lick the area behind it. “It's been forty years now... you really think you can keep doing this? This macho act of yours?” He presses even closer to him. “Tell me, Dean-o. Tell me what I want to hear.”
The pain just hasn't quit. He knows what will happen if he refuses - he will be made whole and the torture will start anew - He's heard the screams and he's fairly certain that he can't last another forty years of this... he knows he can't last another day. “Okay.” He feels utterly defeated inside as Alistair draws away from him.
“That's a good boy.” The demon smiles. “Here.”
Dean looks down at the razor held blade out to him. A minute ago, he would have seized the blade and shoved it straight into the demon's black heart. Now, now all he can do is take the hook and look at it for a minute. He's no sooner turned the weapon over in his hand when suddenly the whole area is flooded with light.
It's harsh, garish and overpowering - a light so brilliant that it obliterates sound as well as sight. In his shock, Dean knows he's dropped the razor as he started to cower in the corner of the wretched prison that has seen him bleed in all manners and in all degrees. He hates this cage - he hates being in Hell. He hates Alistair and he hates himself for doing this to himself. He was nothing but a weak man who couldn't live without his brother.
How fucking pathetic.
You're wrong.
The voice that brushes against his mind is as powerful as it is soft. Dean can feel himself being hoisted into the air, although he's certain that's just his imagination. His head lolls back and the voice wraps around him like a quilt fresh from the dryer on a cold winter night. It is wonderful and give him an odd sense of hope.
You are not worthless, Dean Winchester.
The voice is just against his ear, the way Alistair used to speak to him, but this - this he does not mind at all.
Dean feels something brush past his hands - something that feels like iron bars and the warmth intensifies as he rises. I broke.
Yes. The voice replies. I will explain all to you when I can.
Dean sobs in fear and sorrow - he's somehow made something terrible happen. Once again, he's fucked up.
You can make it right.
Dean wonders why the whatever it is would even bother with him if he fucked up. He can't be worth all that much.
The light reacts to his thoughts and wraps around him even tighter as they continued to rise. It's an odd feeling now - like a cross between a lover and a comforting parent. Dean just wants to not feel anything anymore - to just let it end.
I would not have saved you if you did not deserve it, Dean Winchester.
Dean slowly begins to feel like he's waking up from a very, very, heavy sleep. He turns slightly in the light, trying to see a face, something to indicate who or what has him. The warmth and light brushes against his cheek and he has the feeling that whatever it is, it's smiling at him.
I will see you soon, Dean Winchester.
Then, as abruptly as it all began, the light starts to pull away - it's last touch brushing against his lips like a kiss.
I promise.
Prompt: Cages
Medium: fic
Rating: R
Warnings: torture
Summary: Dean is in Hell - and doesn't know that a far off cry is actually freedom heading straight for him.
In Hell, after hooks and chains came cages. It didn't matter if you were the torturer or the victim - all were trapped in cages. Or maybe the hooks and chains were just another form of them. Dean's not to certain at this point. It's sort of hard to tell when you spent an undetermined amount of time hanging from six meat hooks until his flesh, soul - whatever psychical presence he was here in Hell tore through and he fell further into the pit - only to be snared by six more hooks - in six new locations. It was after he fell the fourth time he was caught. The demon who'd nabbed him and thrown him down on a rack in a true twisted fashion, made his appearance in this realm not in his true form - but appeared as that Chris Noth guy from Law & Order. The second most horrifying thing about the situation was that the time spent in the hooks that seemed like days, possibly weeks to Dean had actually only been an hour.
One hour
Time in Hell was just that... hellish and the hooks were a damn cakewalk to what followed. Dean's not sure if the demon who nabbed him was assigned to him or just plucked him out of the pile at random. He's starting to think it was an intentional match-up, because the demon - Alistair - has redefined how he thinks of demons. If there's a better torturer in all of Hell, they must have them somewhere deep in the pit torturing Caligula or someone of that caliber. Alistair loves his work and in a twisted way, Dean thinks the demon loves working on him more than anyone else.
Dean's been hung from his wrists and ankles by hooks, swinging free at the demon's leisure while he slices and carves away at his flesh. He's fairly certain he's had the every liquid form of the entire Periodical Table of the Elements (except sodium) poured over his entire body - and while he would have thought sulfur would have burned the most, it had been something called fermium that had stung more than anything.
It's nearing the end of another day and as Dean feels what's left of the pieces of his soul pressed into the hard iron and bone bars, Alistair almost flush against his back, the demon's claws ripping at what remains of his wrists, he hears him speak in that wretched voice that is far to familiar and makes Dean want to vomit.
“How about it kiddo?” Alistair's lips are against Dean's ear. His tongue flicks out to lick the area behind it. “It's been forty years now... you really think you can keep doing this? This macho act of yours?” He presses even closer to him. “Tell me, Dean-o. Tell me what I want to hear.”
The pain just hasn't quit. He knows what will happen if he refuses - he will be made whole and the torture will start anew - He's heard the screams and he's fairly certain that he can't last another forty years of this... he knows he can't last another day. “Okay.” He feels utterly defeated inside as Alistair draws away from him.
“That's a good boy.” The demon smiles. “Here.”
Dean looks down at the razor held blade out to him. A minute ago, he would have seized the blade and shoved it straight into the demon's black heart. Now, now all he can do is take the hook and look at it for a minute. He's no sooner turned the weapon over in his hand when suddenly the whole area is flooded with light.
It's harsh, garish and overpowering - a light so brilliant that it obliterates sound as well as sight. In his shock, Dean knows he's dropped the razor as he started to cower in the corner of the wretched prison that has seen him bleed in all manners and in all degrees. He hates this cage - he hates being in Hell. He hates Alistair and he hates himself for doing this to himself. He was nothing but a weak man who couldn't live without his brother.
How fucking pathetic.
You're wrong.
The voice that brushes against his mind is as powerful as it is soft. Dean can feel himself being hoisted into the air, although he's certain that's just his imagination. His head lolls back and the voice wraps around him like a quilt fresh from the dryer on a cold winter night. It is wonderful and give him an odd sense of hope.
You are not worthless, Dean Winchester.
The voice is just against his ear, the way Alistair used to speak to him, but this - this he does not mind at all.
Dean feels something brush past his hands - something that feels like iron bars and the warmth intensifies as he rises. I broke.
Yes. The voice replies. I will explain all to you when I can.
Dean sobs in fear and sorrow - he's somehow made something terrible happen. Once again, he's fucked up.
You can make it right.
Dean wonders why the whatever it is would even bother with him if he fucked up. He can't be worth all that much.
The light reacts to his thoughts and wraps around him even tighter as they continued to rise. It's an odd feeling now - like a cross between a lover and a comforting parent. Dean just wants to not feel anything anymore - to just let it end.
I would not have saved you if you did not deserve it, Dean Winchester.
Dean slowly begins to feel like he's waking up from a very, very, heavy sleep. He turns slightly in the light, trying to see a face, something to indicate who or what has him. The warmth and light brushes against his cheek and he has the feeling that whatever it is, it's smiling at him.
I will see you soon, Dean Winchester.
Then, as abruptly as it all began, the light starts to pull away - it's last touch brushing against his lips like a kiss.
I promise.