Whiskey River

Prologue

"Which knife shall it be today?" Alistair whispered in my ear, his putrid breath turning my stomach. "Or shall we skip the blades and go to something a little more...fun?"

"Alistair, you know how much I love torturing, but maybe I could skip today?" You asked, carefully searching his face. Alistair was an unstable Demon, perfect for torturing the poor souls that had made their way down to Hell. But as a coworker, he was volatile, and mean, and scared you.

"Skip? There's no such thing as skipping torture!" He yelled, spit flying from his lips, his eyes flashing with rage. "You suggest such a thing and I'll throw you up there right alongside these pitiful souls who were too greedy for their own good!"

"I'm sorry Alistair, I meant nothing by it," you reacted quickly, reaching down and picking up the ancient amputation knife. Sure, doctor's had used it to save people from shattered limbs, but it worked well in the depths of hell, slicing and digging into flesh and bone. Usually your favorite toy in the line of torture, it fit to your hand like a glove.

"There's my girl," he answered gleefully. "We've got a special one for you today. Fresh from up above, one of Hell's most wanted souls."

Opening the heavy wooden door in front of you, you stepped in, wondering who this new soul would be. What they were in Hell for. With the blade heavy in your hand, you stared down at the ground. At the trail of blood and entrails that nobody ever bothered cleaning up. The entire place smell putrid and of sulfur, with barely enough light to see the rack in front of you.

Screams could be heard from the other rooms where Demons were already getting busy torturing their souls. The place was massive, a stone fortress filled with hundreds of rooms. Souls were brought in, tortured until there was nothing left before they were moved on, another one in their place.

"Do your best," a deep voice, smooth and deep like dark chocolate spoke up from the rack, surprising you. Usually the souls begged and pleaded, cried until their throats were raw, their lips chapped and bleeding. "I won't break, and I certainly won't give in."

It was then you finally saw the soul you would be torturing today and for the foreseeable future. He was tall, hardly fitting on the rack. His gray t-shirt was ripped and covered in blood. His green eyes flashed with anger in the darkened room. You were given Dean Winchester.

You had heard about this hunter. Every Demon had heard of Dean Winchester and his brother Sam. They were feared by every monster. Threats usually involved being handed over to them. And yet here you were, getting ready to torture the man you had been taught to fear.

"De...Dean Wi...Winchester...," you stuttered, your eyes wide. Acting nothing like the evil, vicious Demon you were supposed to be.

"Great, a stuttering Demon," he muttered.

Taking a deep breath, you raised the blade. "Shut up!" You yelled at him, running the sharp edge across his shirt, creating a thin line of blood. "I didn't realize I'd be getting the privilege of torturing someone as famous as you."

"Torture all you like. But once I get free...And you know I will. I will make sure you can never torture another person again," he threatened.

His words creating shivers down your back, you began. Working methodically, you sliced away at his skin, watching as his blood ran down his jeans, pooling on the floor below him. At first he stayed silent, his gaze staring unblinkingly at you. But with each slice and stab his facade started to fade. Cursing with each slice, finally turning to moans and guttural groans.

By the time you were done with him, his head hung limp, his body nothing but shreds. Instead of the usual pride you took in your work, you felt guilty. Almost disappointed in yourself that you had done this to such a handsome body. To such a proud hunter.

Pressing the button to send his body away, you stepped out of the room, laying the blade down just as Alistair came walking by. "There's my favorite girl. How did torturing go? Did you like the little surprise I sent your way?"

"I was not expecting Dean Winchester sir," you answered. "But it went well. He surpassed my level of expectation, but I got to him after a while."

"Good, good. I can't wait until he becomes a quivering mess on the rack. Maybe I'll take a turn with him right before that moment," he clapped his hands together in glee. "To see the one and only Dean Winchester...turned into a quivering mess. I cannot wait for that day."

Patting you on the shoulder, he walked off, leaving you to wonder exactly what was running through your mind. Normally you were one of the top torturers, praised by the King of Hell himself. Never turning down an option to torture a simple soul. Always coming up with new and evil ways to make them beg. But today, you felt off. The feel of the weapon in your hand hadn't been comfortable, and the look Dean had given you? It had you wondering if you were doing the right thing?