Secretly I love you, whom they think I have abjured - SN fic - R
Before it gets completely Kripke'd, I'll go ahead and post. *hee*
Title: Secretly I love you, whom they think I have abjured
Fandom: “Supernatural”
Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Denies Levertov.
Warnings: twisted; spoilers for aired season four; AUish
Pairings: none stated
Rating: R
Wordcount: 1465
Point of view: third
In Hell, you’d sell your soul for a sip of water if you hadn’t already lost it playing cards.
There aren’t levels of Hell. There is one large cavern that never ends, and it is ringed by bars of bone. In the middle there is a palace of obsidian on the shores of a burning lake.
It never rains in Hell. It is never silent. Screams fill the air every minute, begging every second. Laughter and gnashing of teeth block out any chance for quiet.
Not even the demons enjoy Hell. It is the Pit of Despair for every being, save one. It is torment and pain.
Lucifer is Master there. He and his generals were once angels; they remember the perfection of Heaven. They remember how it felt to wake in Hell.
It is by Lucifer’s command that demons torment and are tormented. Occasionally, he takes part. His tortures are only surpassed by Alistair’s, the one being who delights in Hell. Alistair never leaves the Pit; he works his way through souls and demons alike. If they are on the rack, they are his to do with what he desires.
Lucifer is called to Earth, long after the War and the Fall. He leaves Moloch in charge and goes. He doesn’t return.
Swiftly, Lilith takes command. She tosses Lucifer’s generals on the rack and tells Alistair to have fun.
In Hell, time has no meaning. There is no sun or moon; there is only fire. Eons can pass in Hell while on Earth a man blinks once.
And twenty-two human years cannot be counted in Hell. But that span of time does pass before Alistair’s favorite is dragged down and nailed to the rack.
Lilith gives Alistair a single command: take special care of this one. And oh, how he does. He spends all his time with that one soul, tasting and taking. He heals the soul just so he can start over. He does not count or measure, but he savors the pretty screams he wrangles from the soul’s chapped lips-they are so few and far between.
The soul does not break. Alistair never offers it the chance to take the knife and torment others. This soul would spit on him, if it had the moisture. Too much of the man Above was brought Below, and when the Gate opens, the soul tears itself off the rack and rushes upward.
Alistair watches it go, then turns to another and spins his knife.
Time passes; Alistair neither knows nor cares how long. He has souls and demons to play with, but then Lilith comes to him, a small ball of light clasped tightly in her hand.
Brother, she says. I have a gift for you.
Ooh, a present for me? he asks, stabbing his blade into a demon’s eye and turning. Lil, you shouldn’t have.
As he watches, the light dims. This is a special one, she tells him. I need him completely shattered. No part of the man he was can remain when the angels come.
The angels? Alistair holds out a bloodstained hand and Lilith drops the soul onto his palm. He’s a Chosen?
Lilith laughs and Hell shakes. Alistair strokes the soul and its light blinks out. He has a great destiny, Lilith says. He’ll save the world, if we let him. Alistair.
He looks up to meet her bone-white eyes. His glow the same shade as she murmurs, Rip him apart, brother. Nothing of him can remain.
Alistair peers down at the soul and smiles. We’ll have fun, sister. I’ll shred him and sew him back together all pretty and wrong.
Lilith’s gift becomes his favorite, even surpassing the one who never broke and escaped. It is beautiful and strong; he pours all his attention onto it and gives it the offer-join me and it all will stop. It never begs, never cries, and screams only once. It utters a name, and at that name, Hell trembles.
Alistair ignores the warning in that; it is none of his concern. He focuses only on the soul. He offers and cuts, offers and rips, offers and slices clean through-join me and it all will stop.
He does not measure time, but it has been a long while when the soul says, Yes.
Yes what? Alistair asks, lowering the knife.
The soul turns its head, blood trailing down its face, bright red against pale skin in the firelight. Give me the blade, it says.
Alistair grins and gently unties the soul, cradles it in his arms. Good boy, he croons. Let’s get you cleaned up, some food. Then we’ll have fun.
Alistair calls his sister and she saunters in. The soul eats its way through an entire feast of dealmakers and Lilith grins.
Oh, Ali! she says. He’s marvelous. She steps in close, the Master of Hell, and the soul snarls at her. She jerks back in wonder. He has no fear. Alistair, darling, he is your masterpiece.
I was gonna take him to the shore, let him play with the souls there, Alistair says. Unless you have something else in mind.
Hmm… Lilith thinks for a moment, watching as the soul, Alistair’s favorite above all, drains a chalice of blood. I do have a toy that would be perfect. She turns to Alistair. Once he’s done, bring him to the throne room.
She strides out and he focuses back on his pet, his student, the one he’s broken beyond repair and will piece back together wrong.
What is your name? Alistair asks, slinking close and putting his hand on the soul’s shoulder. The soul leans into the touch and does not answer.
When Alistair leads it to the throne room, the soul follows complacently, deceptively docile. Besides himself and his sister, he doubts there’s a more dangerous being in Hell.
Lilith sits on her throne; Lucifer would be a better fit, he thinks. Lilith is cruel enough, but Lucifer had a more creative imagination.
Lilith holds a small ball of light, even tinier than Alistair’s pet had been. This was a woman, Lilith says. And if your soul there can break her, he’s the best you’ve ever done. She throws the soul onto the bone-floor and Alistair stretches it out, into the shadow of the shape it wore in life. It looks a great deal like his pet.
Lilith leans back. Alistair turns to his favorite and says, Go on. Make me proud.
His masterpiece steps forward, pulling out a knife, and kneels by the soul’s head. Its eye focus on his pet’s face, and it gasps, Dean?
Who was she? Alistair asks Lilith while the soul screams in fear and pain.
Lilith giggles, offering him a decanter of blood. He sips and she says, His mother.
And his name, Alistair muses. Dean?
Nodding, Lilith takes back the bottle. Dean, she repeats. You broke him, Alistair. Oh, so very well done.
Dean shreds his mother past all recognition while Hell’s Master and her brother watch. It is the most glorious thing Alistair has ever seen. Lilith claps her hands, delighted when Dean rises to his feet and steps back. The soul, his earthly mother, is silent on the floor, unmoving. Lilith flicks her fingers and the soul falls back into the small ball shape, much dimmer than it had been.
Lilith smiles, standing. She kisses Alistair’s cheek. Well done, she says again.
Alistair nods and walks down the dais. Come on, he tells Dean, and Dean follows. This soul has potential to rival Alistair, if given time. But time may be short-there is no telling how long Alistair has until the angels come to take him away.
So he takes Dean back to the rack and they play.
They cut a swath through the endless damned, breaking and burning, spilling oceans of blood. Dean is talented, like only Alistair and Lucifer before him. Alistair can only watch in awe at some of the ways Dean discovers to cause pain.
And then the angels come. They swarm in, wings snuffing out some of the fire, and one angles straight for Dean. Alistair lunges, but the angel gets there first; Dean screams at the touch of its holy hand on his shoulder.
Alistair howls in fury as the angel carries Dean out. He invents new forms of torment, inspired by his stolen student, but it doesn’t even dent his rage.
Lilith stops by and says, I need someone to go retrieve a girl who can hear angels.
He ignores her and cuts off a man’s penis.
Dean will be there, she says. I know you’ve never left, but maybe- He turns to face her. She finishes, Maybe you can bring him home.
Alistair smiles. Maybe I will.