30 Days of Hell - The Fall
Title: The Fall
Author: yourrighteye
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: Rated R overall
Wordcount: 606
Warnings: AU from "No Rest for the Wicked", graphic torture, gore, death
Spoilers: Major spoilers up to and including 'All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 1'
Disclaimer: All characters represented in this fic are not mine and are only being played with for my own enjoyment. So, no profit is being made from coming up with inventive ways to torture Dean! Yay! (I don't know what I was thinking, honestly).
Summary: Dean is falling down..and down...
A/N: Okay, so I wrote this for Mini-Nano. And I did one every day for most of the month. But half of them really sucked and I decided not to post until now, because I suck. They'll be coming up sporadically as I polish and rewrite them, and then I will have a shiny, shiny masterpost. *glee* Not chronological.
Day One
Dean is falling.
Down, down, down, further and further into nothingness; his pain is melting away but there's still the thick slippery feel of his own insides on his hands Sammy endless darkness around him Where are you and then he's feeling nothing, hearing nothing but the ragged intake of his own breath Battle not with monsters he tastes blood in his mouth, bursting, tingling his senses lest ye become a monster he wants to move but he can't if you gaze too long into the abyss it makes no difference the abyss gazes also into you and then-
And then it stops.
-it stops, and then the pain returns, in a single, excruciating moment, tearing at his shoulders and his limbs, and it feels as if he's being ripped apart from the inside out, and now that he finds his voice again he's screaming, screaming for Sammy, goddamnit where is he but he still can't see anything, so hazy, so dark through the pain and there's smoke, and ash, and sulphur all around him Sammy no Sam he can't have-there's no way-he can't be-
He stops, and he gasps, inhaling air thick and oily with the putrid scent of blood and death and sulphur...sulphur...
"Dean." Whispers, whispers all around him, clear even through his ragged breathing. "Dean."
Then it feels as if skewers, red-hot, are being driven slowly, slowly into him, and his screams begin anew, torn from his unwilling throat, but he can't stop, he can't, the agony is too great.
A laugh begins, somewhere beyond his range of vision.
"Dean." This voice, this voice is different. Low, seductive, smooth, and at its rumble the pain ebbs, allowing Dean to draw in a slow breath to sooth his hoarse throat. Damn it. The sound of it reminds him of someone. Ruby. Lilith. Azazel. A demon. It's a demon."Little Dean..."
It suddenly feels as if he's being swung around, like a puppet on strings, and then he's facing...something, insubstantial in the dark red haze of the place he knows he must be. His vision begins to clear enough that he can tell that he's hanging suspended from several meat hooks rammed right through his hands and feet and piercing his shoulder, shredding his skin into a bloody mass of ripped tendon and muscle. Fuck.
Blood is beginning to drip into his right eye. He tries blinking it away, but it only burns him and he's forced to clench his eyes shut as just he sees the mass of black smoke demon advance on him goddamn it he feels it lean in fuckfuckfuck and then Sam something real, soft and solid, brushes his ear.
He opens his eyes to look into an empty white stare.
"We're going to have so much fun, you and I," says Sam, happy, carefree Sam, and he's gently stroking Dean's face with his forefinger, a familiar smile on his face. This is Sam before Stanford, before the fight, when it was just Sam and Dean and Dad, saving people, hunting things, the family business, when things were simple and clear and there weren't any choices that could destroy the world.
Dean misses that Sam, though he'll never admit it.
This, though...this isn't his brother, Dean has to remember, as the thing in front of him leans in slowly, cupping Dean's face in his huge hand, and he's too close now, too intimate, but Dean can't tear his eyes away.
"Welcome to Hell, big brother," he whispers against Dean's mouth, before his lips meet his, gentle and sweet, and Dean can't remember anything more.
Next Part
Author: yourrighteye
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: Rated R overall
Wordcount: 606
Warnings: AU from "No Rest for the Wicked", graphic torture, gore, death
Spoilers: Major spoilers up to and including 'All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 1'
Disclaimer: All characters represented in this fic are not mine and are only being played with for my own enjoyment. So, no profit is being made from coming up with inventive ways to torture Dean! Yay! (I don't know what I was thinking, honestly).
Summary: Dean is falling down..and down...
A/N: Okay, so I wrote this for Mini-Nano. And I did one every day for most of the month. But half of them really sucked and I decided not to post until now, because I suck. They'll be coming up sporadically as I polish and rewrite them, and then I will have a shiny, shiny masterpost. *glee* Not chronological.
Day One
Dean is falling.
Down, down, down, further and further into nothingness; his pain is melting away but there's still the thick slippery feel of his own insides on his hands Sammy endless darkness around him Where are you and then he's feeling nothing, hearing nothing but the ragged intake of his own breath Battle not with monsters he tastes blood in his mouth, bursting, tingling his senses lest ye become a monster he wants to move but he can't if you gaze too long into the abyss it makes no difference the abyss gazes also into you and then-
And then it stops.
-it stops, and then the pain returns, in a single, excruciating moment, tearing at his shoulders and his limbs, and it feels as if he's being ripped apart from the inside out, and now that he finds his voice again he's screaming, screaming for Sammy, goddamnit where is he but he still can't see anything, so hazy, so dark through the pain and there's smoke, and ash, and sulphur all around him Sammy no Sam he can't have-there's no way-he can't be-
He stops, and he gasps, inhaling air thick and oily with the putrid scent of blood and death and sulphur...sulphur...
"Dean." Whispers, whispers all around him, clear even through his ragged breathing. "Dean."
Then it feels as if skewers, red-hot, are being driven slowly, slowly into him, and his screams begin anew, torn from his unwilling throat, but he can't stop, he can't, the agony is too great.
A laugh begins, somewhere beyond his range of vision.
"Dean." This voice, this voice is different. Low, seductive, smooth, and at its rumble the pain ebbs, allowing Dean to draw in a slow breath to sooth his hoarse throat. Damn it. The sound of it reminds him of someone. Ruby. Lilith. Azazel. A demon. It's a demon."Little Dean..."
It suddenly feels as if he's being swung around, like a puppet on strings, and then he's facing...something, insubstantial in the dark red haze of the place he knows he must be. His vision begins to clear enough that he can tell that he's hanging suspended from several meat hooks rammed right through his hands and feet and piercing his shoulder, shredding his skin into a bloody mass of ripped tendon and muscle. Fuck.
Blood is beginning to drip into his right eye. He tries blinking it away, but it only burns him and he's forced to clench his eyes shut as just he sees the mass of black smoke demon advance on him goddamn it he feels it lean in fuckfuckfuck and then Sam something real, soft and solid, brushes his ear.
He opens his eyes to look into an empty white stare.
"We're going to have so much fun, you and I," says Sam, happy, carefree Sam, and he's gently stroking Dean's face with his forefinger, a familiar smile on his face. This is Sam before Stanford, before the fight, when it was just Sam and Dean and Dad, saving people, hunting things, the family business, when things were simple and clear and there weren't any choices that could destroy the world.
Dean misses that Sam, though he'll never admit it.
This, though...this isn't his brother, Dean has to remember, as the thing in front of him leans in slowly, cupping Dean's face in his huge hand, and he's too close now, too intimate, but Dean can't tear his eyes away.
"Welcome to Hell, big brother," he whispers against Dean's mouth, before his lips meet his, gentle and sweet, and Dean can't remember anything more.
Next Part