Post by Dean Winchester on Mar 9, 2010 20:13:53 GMT -5
"AAAARGGHHHHH!!!!""" The scream, still full of agony, is quieter than it used to be. A voice hoarse from overuse, lacking the energy to be as powerful as it once was. Weak, much like its owner, strung up on rusty metal hooks like a piece of meat being butchered. There is the soft sound of something wet and fleshy being torn away and another yell fills the air.
"NUUURRRGAAAHHHHH!!!" The ripped away flesh is held up for inspection, the butcher smiling proudly at his work before discarding the meat like so much unwanted garbage.
"Y'know, it's funny Dean." The butcher begins, his sinister voice conversational as he slices another chunk of meat from in between his victim's ribs.
"When you first came down to Hell, you were so cocky and adamant that I wouldn't be able to make you scream, but now look at you." To punctuate the sentance, the butcher roughly plunges the blade he's using to hack bits out of Dean, just that little bit deeper between his ribcage, causing a whimpering sob to escape Dean's lips.
Dean Winchester hates that he's given up, given in to being this pathetic, whimpering waste of space, but really, what other options does he have down here? He used to be strong, defiant and unbreakable, but then again, thirty years of torment tended to chip away at even the most hardened men.
"GGGGUUUUUHHHHHHHHH!!!" Alastair pulls his blade free a little too awkwardly and the force puts a large crack into a rib that had already been excavated from the surrounding flesh. The demon makes an 'oops' face and shrugs, smiling though he's pretending to be apologetic.
"Ah, forgive me, I slipped. Still," He reaches in and snaps the broken part off altogether making Dean scream again, his eyes crossing and his head bobbling around on his shoulders as though he might pass out any minute now. If only he ever had that luxury to escape the pain. In Hell, you rarely got any peace in blissful unconsciousness. It was all pain, all the time. Twenty-four seven, three hundred and sixty five days a year. For ever.
"..Better out than in." Alastair's enjoying himself now, he's been torturing souls in Hell for as long as there were people wicked enough to be sent down here, but Dean is different. He doesn't belong, he's a righteous man a long way from home and the only reason he's even in this place is because he didn't want his brother to die. A pact with a demon to save Sam's life and Dean was left with one year to say his goodbyes before the Hellhounds came and tore him to pieces.
In the beginning he was scared but he knew it had been worth it. Sam was alive again and that was all that mattered. He had that to cling to when his body was being sliced six ways from Sunday, but over the years Dean's memories were lost in the haze of torture and suffering, his mind losing its grip on what was real and imagined. Before long he forgot what Sam even looked like, the image in his head fading like a sun bleached photograph and with it went Dean's hope of survival.
By now Sam would be an old man. Would have long since forgotten about his brother, at least Dean hoped he'd been able to move on without him. And with that thought, desperate prayers that he might one day be saved from this place fizzled out too. He was truely alone and lost, never to be found again.
"You will let me know if I'm causing you any discomfort won't you Dean?" Alastair smirked, driving home the knife again, stabbing it into one of the larger internal organs and twisting it cruely until Dean couldn't stand it anymore and began to buck against the shackles he was bound in. The hooks embedded in his wrists and ankles tore the skin open just that little bit more, blood seeping over his extremities in an endless flow, sapping away the last remnants of fighting spirit. The sharp edges of the hook piercing his right shoulder caught against the bone there, rubbing it raw and grating against nerves to make Dean suck in a sharp breath.
"So anyway, you already know what I'm going to say, don't you. Why don't you just make it easier for yourself and say yes, hmm?"
For every day that Dean had been trapped in Hell, Alastair had offered him a deal. To stop the torture, all he had to do was get off the rack and put another soul on it. If he picked up Alastair's blade and began the torturing himelf, he'd never have to suffer again.
Of course Dean refused each and every time that Alastair asked, unable to put someone else's suffering before his own. He was raised a hunter by his father and he swore to save as many people as he could, just because he was in the pit didn't mean he should give up on that. But Hell changes a person, breaks them down piece by piece until the walls they once built are just crumbling ruins, unable to protect them anymore. And so time eroded the strength Dean had to say no and thoughts of escaping the pain took its place.
"AAARRGGHHH!!!" Another rib was snapped away like a twig and then used to stab holes into his lungs, blood spilling out like a fountain, making its way forcefully up his throat until he was coughing out huge mouthfuls of it. The ability to breathe started to become an issue, his chest heaving and shuddering as he slowly and painfully suffocated. Or was it drowning if you choked on your own blood first? Whatever it was, Dean was so far beyond putting up any kind of fight to stay alive, he finally decided that it was time to give in.
Years passed and though the temptation lingered in the back of his mind, Dean never did take Alastair up on his deal. Not until the thirtieth year of being ritually tormented into madness did Dean finally utter that one, tiny word.
"Yes."
Thunder cracked above them and screams from every soul in Hell echoed throughout the demon's domain. Alastair smiled a wide, evil smile and stepped back, elated his offer had been accepted.
"And so shall he break." He announced, tilting his head up to an unseen God, triumphant. Not that Dean cared much now. He hung his head in shame, weary of the pain and just desperate to make it end.
But then something happened that neither one of them expected. A flash of lightning struck the metal chain's holding Dean upright on his hooks, sending a bolt of molten electricity through his body that made him arch and howl. The brightness of it made Alastair flinch back, shielding his eyes from the light until the darkness of Hell returned. When he turned back, Alastair's mouth fell open into furious shock as his newly appointed apprentice had miraculously vanished from his bonds.
"NUUURRRGAAAHHHHH!!!" The ripped away flesh is held up for inspection, the butcher smiling proudly at his work before discarding the meat like so much unwanted garbage.
"Y'know, it's funny Dean." The butcher begins, his sinister voice conversational as he slices another chunk of meat from in between his victim's ribs.
"When you first came down to Hell, you were so cocky and adamant that I wouldn't be able to make you scream, but now look at you." To punctuate the sentance, the butcher roughly plunges the blade he's using to hack bits out of Dean, just that little bit deeper between his ribcage, causing a whimpering sob to escape Dean's lips.
Dean Winchester hates that he's given up, given in to being this pathetic, whimpering waste of space, but really, what other options does he have down here? He used to be strong, defiant and unbreakable, but then again, thirty years of torment tended to chip away at even the most hardened men.
"GGGGUUUUUHHHHHHHHH!!!" Alastair pulls his blade free a little too awkwardly and the force puts a large crack into a rib that had already been excavated from the surrounding flesh. The demon makes an 'oops' face and shrugs, smiling though he's pretending to be apologetic.
"Ah, forgive me, I slipped. Still," He reaches in and snaps the broken part off altogether making Dean scream again, his eyes crossing and his head bobbling around on his shoulders as though he might pass out any minute now. If only he ever had that luxury to escape the pain. In Hell, you rarely got any peace in blissful unconsciousness. It was all pain, all the time. Twenty-four seven, three hundred and sixty five days a year. For ever.
"..Better out than in." Alastair's enjoying himself now, he's been torturing souls in Hell for as long as there were people wicked enough to be sent down here, but Dean is different. He doesn't belong, he's a righteous man a long way from home and the only reason he's even in this place is because he didn't want his brother to die. A pact with a demon to save Sam's life and Dean was left with one year to say his goodbyes before the Hellhounds came and tore him to pieces.
In the beginning he was scared but he knew it had been worth it. Sam was alive again and that was all that mattered. He had that to cling to when his body was being sliced six ways from Sunday, but over the years Dean's memories were lost in the haze of torture and suffering, his mind losing its grip on what was real and imagined. Before long he forgot what Sam even looked like, the image in his head fading like a sun bleached photograph and with it went Dean's hope of survival.
By now Sam would be an old man. Would have long since forgotten about his brother, at least Dean hoped he'd been able to move on without him. And with that thought, desperate prayers that he might one day be saved from this place fizzled out too. He was truely alone and lost, never to be found again.
"You will let me know if I'm causing you any discomfort won't you Dean?" Alastair smirked, driving home the knife again, stabbing it into one of the larger internal organs and twisting it cruely until Dean couldn't stand it anymore and began to buck against the shackles he was bound in. The hooks embedded in his wrists and ankles tore the skin open just that little bit more, blood seeping over his extremities in an endless flow, sapping away the last remnants of fighting spirit. The sharp edges of the hook piercing his right shoulder caught against the bone there, rubbing it raw and grating against nerves to make Dean suck in a sharp breath.
"So anyway, you already know what I'm going to say, don't you. Why don't you just make it easier for yourself and say yes, hmm?"
For every day that Dean had been trapped in Hell, Alastair had offered him a deal. To stop the torture, all he had to do was get off the rack and put another soul on it. If he picked up Alastair's blade and began the torturing himelf, he'd never have to suffer again.
Of course Dean refused each and every time that Alastair asked, unable to put someone else's suffering before his own. He was raised a hunter by his father and he swore to save as many people as he could, just because he was in the pit didn't mean he should give up on that. But Hell changes a person, breaks them down piece by piece until the walls they once built are just crumbling ruins, unable to protect them anymore. And so time eroded the strength Dean had to say no and thoughts of escaping the pain took its place.
"AAARRGGHHH!!!" Another rib was snapped away like a twig and then used to stab holes into his lungs, blood spilling out like a fountain, making its way forcefully up his throat until he was coughing out huge mouthfuls of it. The ability to breathe started to become an issue, his chest heaving and shuddering as he slowly and painfully suffocated. Or was it drowning if you choked on your own blood first? Whatever it was, Dean was so far beyond putting up any kind of fight to stay alive, he finally decided that it was time to give in.
Years passed and though the temptation lingered in the back of his mind, Dean never did take Alastair up on his deal. Not until the thirtieth year of being ritually tormented into madness did Dean finally utter that one, tiny word.
"Yes."
Thunder cracked above them and screams from every soul in Hell echoed throughout the demon's domain. Alastair smiled a wide, evil smile and stepped back, elated his offer had been accepted.
"And so shall he break." He announced, tilting his head up to an unseen God, triumphant. Not that Dean cared much now. He hung his head in shame, weary of the pain and just desperate to make it end.
But then something happened that neither one of them expected. A flash of lightning struck the metal chain's holding Dean upright on his hooks, sending a bolt of molten electricity through his body that made him arch and howl. The brightness of it made Alastair flinch back, shielding his eyes from the light until the darkness of Hell returned. When he turned back, Alastair's mouth fell open into furious shock as his newly appointed apprentice had miraculously vanished from his bonds.
