Supernatural One-Shots

Back to the Start

Prompt: write the scene in which Castiel grips him tight and raises him from perdition!!!!!!!!!!

He was Alastair’s favorite.  There was something behind the new recruit’s dark green eyes that stirred an uncontrollable desire in the demon’s consciousness.  It wasn’t because the human was Hell’s “freshest meat,” but because he proved to be, for over thirty years (four months in Earth time), to be unbreakable—unyielding.  The white-eyed demon had never met such an invincible soul before, which was why he tortured Dean Winchester mercilessly every day on “the rack” until the human would give up his soul to become Alastair’s apprentice. 

It was the darkest day of Dean’s life when he finally succumbed to Alastair’s offer.  It was far from easy for the words to slip from Dean’s lips, but he knew he couldn’t endure the beatings, slicing, sawing, and chopping any longer.  As he lay on the cold, wet stone, his skin flayed and blood trickling from the countless wounds Alastair had given him in their past torture session, Dean contemplated.  His nostrils stretched and shrunk as he breathed in the clouded air and he could hear his heart beating outside his chest.

“Come on, Dean,” Alastair taunted as he cracked the barbed whip in the air, “we both know I have eternity to play with you.  But if you really want to do what’s best—and get off the rack—you can just say the word and you’ll be in control of other souls.  You can have the upper hand.”

Dean’s eyes blurred for a moment as he pushed himself up to his hands and knees.  His mind rocked back in forth in an overwhelming pool of darkness.  Whatever was left of his body was all that held him up.  Dean coughed and staggered to his feet.  Hunched over, arms hanging limply by his side, Dean stared back at the white-eyed demon.  Though he didn’t say anything, his eyes attested  to the hatred in his soul.  He loathed Alastair and refused to give in.  He wanted nothing of the malicious business and Alastair could read that.

“Fine.  You make the choices.”  Alastair threw his wrist back and popped the whip in the air.  The barbed end whistled through the air and stung Dean across the face, returning him to the ground.  Alastair didn’t stop there.  He marched up to Dean and sent the whip down on him again and again and again and again.  And when Dean no longer moved, Alastair used his powers to fling Dean back onto the rack and strap him in with the leather bondages.  “You made your choice, filth.”  Alastair tossed the whip aside and started for the chamber’s tunnel before Dean made a small noise.

“Wait…”

Alastair’s face wrinkled in a smirk and he peered over his shoulder, pretending not to be interested.  “Yes?”

“Let me down, you son of a bitch.  I’ll do it.”

Knowing Dean was sincere, Alastair flicked the leather straps to the side, sending Dean to the floor.  “Good.  But for old time’s sake, one more time.”  Alastair went over to a coarsely made table and picked up a twisted device with a pointed edge and various sized hooks protruding from all different sides.  Smiling, he walked up to Dean and grabbed the Winchester’s jaw.  “Here comes the airplane.”

For ten years, Dean assisted Alastair in torturing souls.  He learned the art and the tactics to make it all as miserable and painful as possible.  Surprisingly to Dean, he picked up on the skills and worked the tools on the victims like a passionate sculptor: thorough and without flaw.  Alastair grew proud of Dean, but never treated him like royalty.  In fact, he would still throw Dean in a furnace or pin him to walls by nine inch nails, or anything to remind Dean that he was still under Alastair’s thumb.  But Dean strangely didn’t mind—the punishments were like bug bites compared to his time on the rack.