The Year of Redemption

Chapter 22: Not Ready To Make Nice

Dean punched the mirror. The image of Sammy fragmented into several staggered pieces, but remained in the glass, covered in flames and writhing beside the reflection of Dean. The hunter cursed and forced himself to look away. He ran his bleeding hand under a stream of water, but the red liquid continued to gush from his wound. Dean was losing a lot of blood fast. He felt queasy. The room began to spin.

Sammy suddenly exploded in the mirror, splattering drops of blood and pieces of burnt skin around the room. Dean's eyes rolled back in his head, and his legs gave out underneath him. He fell to the ground, unconscious.

.....................................................................................................................

"Hey, you can't just summon a demon and then pass out on her. Who the hell do you think you are?" someone spoke sharply.

Dean opened his eyes. He was laying on dirt and gravel. He looked around and propped himself up on his hands, clambering onto his knees and then his feet.

"Oh, hi, beautiful," the demon slurred, recognizing Dean in an instant. "You just can't get enough of us, can you, love?" she sneered at him.

Dean was at a crossroads. He remembered burying a box beneath his feet before collapsing. He thought it had just been a dream. He trained his eyes on the demon, who was now circling him curiously, her lips curled into a smirk.

Dean quickly came to his senses. "Ok, look here, bitch," he said, "You get Sammy the hell out of that cage, ok? You take my soul right now, and you get him out of there."

The demon studied him for a second, then laughed. "You really think that's going to work, don't you? Easy as playing Russian roulette with an empty gun. Your soul for your brother's." She laughed again. Dean just glared at her, his hands balled into fists. "What you don't understand, sweetheart," she said, strolling closer, "is we don't want your precious little soul. It's worthless to us." She trailed her finger along his jawline as she said this, then kept walking past him.

"What's wrong with my soul?" Dean asked, his voice on edge.

"Eh," the demon replied, "It's just not... pure anymore. It's worn and ruined and quite repulsive actually," she gave him a disgusted look. He was still not convinced, so she added, "Plus, your little angel boy toy would just run right down and snatch you back out of Hell in a heartbeat, wouldn't he?" She batted her eyes seductively at him.

"Well what do you want then?" Dean demanded, already tired of the demon's games.

"You really think there's anything you could give us that's worth Sammy's soul? It's so entertaining, him burning helplessly in that Cage though." She smiled again.

Dean clenched his teeth and tightened his fists. "You're still here, aren't you? Now, what do you want?" He demanded again.

"Ok, there is one thing the boss man would like," she admitted, holding up a finger. "Not sure exactly why, but hey, orders are orders," she said and walked past Dean again. She turned around, and Dean did the same so that they were facing each other. "Castiel," the demon stated simply. "We'd like a knife through his heart."

Dean was surprised. His eyes widened. "Cas?" he asked, confused. "What the hell would you want him dead for?"

"Like I said, orders are orders. Now. You can do it, can't you?" Her tone was condescending, as if she was talking to a child.

"Why don't you go on and kill the angel yourself if you want him dead so bad? I won't stop you," Dean replied coldly.

"We've tried," the demon admitted. "There have been... complications," she said hesitantly.