fic: Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego [Supernatural; Dean; pg]
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego
Supernatural; Dean; pg; spoilers through 3.16; 1,340 words
The indomitable will that has kept Dean going his whole life is the only weapon he has left in hell.
~*~
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego
Then Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, came forth of the midst of the fire. Daniel 3:26
i.
The thing about hell is, even the demons hate it and want out. Sure, they love to torture damned souls, keep them all screaming in eternal torment--it's a big laugh riot, all right--but they all want out, and some of them are less fanatical about the torture than others. They'd rather have real live flesh and blood to feast on.
If there is anything hell can be said to be good at, it's breaking people. Demons, damned souls, whatever; whether they come in full of bravado or shaking with fear and guilt, the end result is the same.
When the torment has stripped everything else away, what's left is sheer will. The indomitable will that has kept Dean going his whole life, through fire and slaughter, blood and tears, is the only weapon he has left in hell. It doesn't keep him from breaking--he was broken long before he got there--but it lets him put himself back together, over and over.
He doesn't have a body here, not a real one, but he still imagines himself in the meat suit he wore when he was alive, so that's how others see him. He draws his will, his bravado, around him like a cape. It's the only thing holding him together, and it will have to be enough.
*
ii.
Dean's seen enough of the afterlife to know that intent matters, that when you don't have hands to fight or legs to run, sheer force of will can carry you through. He remembers making the glass shatter in his father's hospital room, moving the planchette on the Ouija board when he spoke to Sam. He gathers his strength now, in the few moments' respite he's carved out in the midst of his torment, the secret place in his soul that can't be touched or tainted by demons.
With a burst of energy stored up carefully over the endless length of his captivity, he explodes into action, and frees himself from the chains that bind him.
Heartened by success, he sets off to find the way out.
*
iii.
Hell is a crooked playing field, like a casino without the perks; the demons know they'll always win in the end, so they let Dean go. They keep careful watch, though, always curious, always interested in new ways of torturing their fellow denizens.
The first soul to join him is one who arrived in hell shortly before he did. She has the same concentrated power of will, the same ridiculous belief that she can get herself out of any trouble she gets into.
They're not friends. But in this place, they're not enemies, either, so when she says, "I'll help you if you help me," he takes her hand.
Hell is a place of expedience, and strange bedfellows.
The second one who joins him is a demon, and one whose true face he knows. "Didn't expect to see you here," he tells her, "but I guess Sammy got wise to your bullshit and threw you back, huh?"
"I know how to get out," she says, ignoring his taunts.
Demons lie, but Dean knows that's the truth. "Okay," he says, unspoken threat underlying his reluctant agreement.
Once Ruby's joined them, there is less agreement amongst the other demons about what should be done. One faction points out that letting them continue gives other damned souls hope, which is dangerous, since they far outnumber the demons, but a second faction insists that letting the souls have hope and then crushing it utterly will be far more entertaining in the end.
None of them voices their own secret hopes that Dean will lead them all out of hell.
*
iv.
Ruby leads them through the pit, three damned souls clinging stubbornly to what's left of their humanity, alert for any interference, though they have no weapons and no means of defense beyond that determination.
The lesser demons fear Sam and his potential--some want to follow him and some want to replace him. The greater demons hate Dean for killing one of their own, no matter that any one of them would have gutted him themselves, given the opportunity. It is one of these princes of hell--Beelzebub, to be precise--who grows weary of the game and, with a contemptuous flick of his wrist, strips the semblance of flesh and will from their souls, and casts them back into the fiery furnace.
*
v.
When Dean comes to himself again, that adamant will reforming itself slowly but surely, he can feel some remnant of the desperate hope that burns low in his soul--it takes the shape of the sound of his brother's voice calling him home.
Strengthened by his belief in Sam--by the fear that Sam will follow him even to here, the way he's followed Dean his whole life (crawling before he learned to walk, and running afterward), by the knowledge that Sam could do it (his will is even stronger than Dean's)--Dean breaks free again, drags himself up out of torment, listening for the sound of Sam's voice.
He finds Bela, whipped almost into submission, and overcomes her torturers, breaks her chains. She stumbles along beside him, broken and determined to put herself back together again, stronger than before.
Ruby is waiting, her own captors dead and her motives still obscure, but Dean can't bring himself to care, not here, not now.
They make their slow way through the pit, the slim thread of hope drawing them onward, and Ruby explains her plan.
*
vi.
There are many places in the universe where hell abuts earth, gates and portals and soft places, all with their own keys and locks and ritual openings. The place Ruby leads them to opens from the inside, out into a cemetery under the wide Kansas sky.
It is at this doorway, guarded by the legendary three-headed dog, Cerberus, that the legions of hell meet them.
This time, Dean is ready. The Latin on his tongue makes the demons flinch away, out of habit, or because the name of God has power even here--Dean doesn't know and he doesn't really care, as long as it works--and the chains trailing from his wrists cut through the ranks of demons until he's nose to snout with Cerberus itself.
He swings himself up onto its back, chains wrapped around its neck. Ruby chants in a language that sends a shiver through Dean's soul, horror and despair in the harsh command of her voice. He ignores it, concentrates on subduing the growling body beneath him. Bela leaps up behind him, carving runes into the wall with the broken links of her chains.
The demons fall back under the onslaught of Ruby's spell, and when Bela calls Dean's name, he heaves himself up off the beast, grabs her hand, and shoves up and out through the door she's unlocked.
He gets a glimpse of starry sky, feels the brief rush of a warm breeze, and then everything goes black.
*
vii.
Dean draws a shuddering, choking breath, and hits his head when he tries to sit up. He opens his eyes to darkness, reaches up to feel the spongy Styrofoam of a cheap coffin lid. On the one hand, he can't believe Sam buried him packaged like a freaking happy meal; on the other, that makes it easier for him to claw his way out. He concentrates on tearing the lid apart, digging his way up through the heavy weight of dirt. He doesn't allow himself to panic, breathes slowly and shallowly through his nose, sweat already beading on his upper lip, trickling down his back.
He didn't fight his way out of hell to be defeated by a few feet of dirt.
He breaks the surface like a whale, gasping and heaving for breath, and flops onto his back on the ground next to his open grave. The stars shine brightly above him and his favorite gun is digging into the small of his back.
He has to find Sam.
They have work to do.
end
***
Feedback is most appreciated.
~*~
So this story is basically an unsuccessful style experiment - I failed at the omniscient POV in a number of ways, I think, and also at being able to make hell palpable. I'm posting it mostly because I've had the idea all summer and couldn't figure out how to make it work, and also because I kind of couldn't stop writing it, even though I don't think it works. I like the idea (and the title), and I think in the hands of a different writer, it would be a really cool story. I just *hands* am not that writer. Also, I want to clear the decks a little before the new season starts, and concentrate on a couple of stories I think I will actually be good at, but this was standing in the way. Sigh. Now I feel like I can pay attention to other things.
Now I have Shadrach by the Beastie Boys in my head. Heh.
***
Supernatural; Dean; pg; spoilers through 3.16; 1,340 words
The indomitable will that has kept Dean going his whole life is the only weapon he has left in hell.
~*~
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego
Then Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, came forth of the midst of the fire. Daniel 3:26
i.
The thing about hell is, even the demons hate it and want out. Sure, they love to torture damned souls, keep them all screaming in eternal torment--it's a big laugh riot, all right--but they all want out, and some of them are less fanatical about the torture than others. They'd rather have real live flesh and blood to feast on.
If there is anything hell can be said to be good at, it's breaking people. Demons, damned souls, whatever; whether they come in full of bravado or shaking with fear and guilt, the end result is the same.
When the torment has stripped everything else away, what's left is sheer will. The indomitable will that has kept Dean going his whole life, through fire and slaughter, blood and tears, is the only weapon he has left in hell. It doesn't keep him from breaking--he was broken long before he got there--but it lets him put himself back together, over and over.
He doesn't have a body here, not a real one, but he still imagines himself in the meat suit he wore when he was alive, so that's how others see him. He draws his will, his bravado, around him like a cape. It's the only thing holding him together, and it will have to be enough.
*
ii.
Dean's seen enough of the afterlife to know that intent matters, that when you don't have hands to fight or legs to run, sheer force of will can carry you through. He remembers making the glass shatter in his father's hospital room, moving the planchette on the Ouija board when he spoke to Sam. He gathers his strength now, in the few moments' respite he's carved out in the midst of his torment, the secret place in his soul that can't be touched or tainted by demons.
With a burst of energy stored up carefully over the endless length of his captivity, he explodes into action, and frees himself from the chains that bind him.
Heartened by success, he sets off to find the way out.
*
iii.
Hell is a crooked playing field, like a casino without the perks; the demons know they'll always win in the end, so they let Dean go. They keep careful watch, though, always curious, always interested in new ways of torturing their fellow denizens.
The first soul to join him is one who arrived in hell shortly before he did. She has the same concentrated power of will, the same ridiculous belief that she can get herself out of any trouble she gets into.
They're not friends. But in this place, they're not enemies, either, so when she says, "I'll help you if you help me," he takes her hand.
Hell is a place of expedience, and strange bedfellows.
The second one who joins him is a demon, and one whose true face he knows. "Didn't expect to see you here," he tells her, "but I guess Sammy got wise to your bullshit and threw you back, huh?"
"I know how to get out," she says, ignoring his taunts.
Demons lie, but Dean knows that's the truth. "Okay," he says, unspoken threat underlying his reluctant agreement.
Once Ruby's joined them, there is less agreement amongst the other demons about what should be done. One faction points out that letting them continue gives other damned souls hope, which is dangerous, since they far outnumber the demons, but a second faction insists that letting the souls have hope and then crushing it utterly will be far more entertaining in the end.
None of them voices their own secret hopes that Dean will lead them all out of hell.
*
iv.
Ruby leads them through the pit, three damned souls clinging stubbornly to what's left of their humanity, alert for any interference, though they have no weapons and no means of defense beyond that determination.
The lesser demons fear Sam and his potential--some want to follow him and some want to replace him. The greater demons hate Dean for killing one of their own, no matter that any one of them would have gutted him themselves, given the opportunity. It is one of these princes of hell--Beelzebub, to be precise--who grows weary of the game and, with a contemptuous flick of his wrist, strips the semblance of flesh and will from their souls, and casts them back into the fiery furnace.
*
v.
When Dean comes to himself again, that adamant will reforming itself slowly but surely, he can feel some remnant of the desperate hope that burns low in his soul--it takes the shape of the sound of his brother's voice calling him home.
Strengthened by his belief in Sam--by the fear that Sam will follow him even to here, the way he's followed Dean his whole life (crawling before he learned to walk, and running afterward), by the knowledge that Sam could do it (his will is even stronger than Dean's)--Dean breaks free again, drags himself up out of torment, listening for the sound of Sam's voice.
He finds Bela, whipped almost into submission, and overcomes her torturers, breaks her chains. She stumbles along beside him, broken and determined to put herself back together again, stronger than before.
Ruby is waiting, her own captors dead and her motives still obscure, but Dean can't bring himself to care, not here, not now.
They make their slow way through the pit, the slim thread of hope drawing them onward, and Ruby explains her plan.
*
vi.
There are many places in the universe where hell abuts earth, gates and portals and soft places, all with their own keys and locks and ritual openings. The place Ruby leads them to opens from the inside, out into a cemetery under the wide Kansas sky.
It is at this doorway, guarded by the legendary three-headed dog, Cerberus, that the legions of hell meet them.
This time, Dean is ready. The Latin on his tongue makes the demons flinch away, out of habit, or because the name of God has power even here--Dean doesn't know and he doesn't really care, as long as it works--and the chains trailing from his wrists cut through the ranks of demons until he's nose to snout with Cerberus itself.
He swings himself up onto its back, chains wrapped around its neck. Ruby chants in a language that sends a shiver through Dean's soul, horror and despair in the harsh command of her voice. He ignores it, concentrates on subduing the growling body beneath him. Bela leaps up behind him, carving runes into the wall with the broken links of her chains.
The demons fall back under the onslaught of Ruby's spell, and when Bela calls Dean's name, he heaves himself up off the beast, grabs her hand, and shoves up and out through the door she's unlocked.
He gets a glimpse of starry sky, feels the brief rush of a warm breeze, and then everything goes black.
*
vii.
Dean draws a shuddering, choking breath, and hits his head when he tries to sit up. He opens his eyes to darkness, reaches up to feel the spongy Styrofoam of a cheap coffin lid. On the one hand, he can't believe Sam buried him packaged like a freaking happy meal; on the other, that makes it easier for him to claw his way out. He concentrates on tearing the lid apart, digging his way up through the heavy weight of dirt. He doesn't allow himself to panic, breathes slowly and shallowly through his nose, sweat already beading on his upper lip, trickling down his back.
He didn't fight his way out of hell to be defeated by a few feet of dirt.
He breaks the surface like a whale, gasping and heaving for breath, and flops onto his back on the ground next to his open grave. The stars shine brightly above him and his favorite gun is digging into the small of his back.
He has to find Sam.
They have work to do.
end
***
Feedback is most appreciated.
~*~
So this story is basically an unsuccessful style experiment - I failed at the omniscient POV in a number of ways, I think, and also at being able to make hell palpable. I'm posting it mostly because I've had the idea all summer and couldn't figure out how to make it work, and also because I kind of couldn't stop writing it, even though I don't think it works. I like the idea (and the title), and I think in the hands of a different writer, it would be a really cool story. I just *hands* am not that writer. Also, I want to clear the decks a little before the new season starts, and concentrate on a couple of stories I think I will actually be good at, but this was standing in the way. Sigh. Now I feel like I can pay attention to other things.
Now I have Shadrach by the Beastie Boys in my head. Heh.
***