Title: I'll wear red for a burning

Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Anne Sexton

Warnings: spoilers for season three

Pairings: none

Rating: PG13

Wordcount: 515

Point of view: third

She flees. Her greatest weapon—the one thing that's never ever failed in all her eons—doesn't work on this boy and she flees.

Her son went against her wishes, formed an army, to be lead by this boy, this Sam Winchester—impervious to the one thing that kills anything, destroys angels and gods and demons.

He died in that human village, died and was gone, beyond her, beyond Hell. And her son brought him back, commanded his whore to make the deal. (And oh, yes, how the little dealmaker suffered for that insurrection. Her son escaped her wrath, killed by Sam's brother, but the dealmaker hurt before Sam killed her.) Sam can die, killed by (mostly)human hands and a rusted human weapon.

But she can't touch him. Her greatest, most feared weapon—the reason she ruled in Hell for eons before being cast into the abyss by her upstart spawn, Azazel—fails, falters. Does not harm Sam Winchester in any way.

So she flees. Leaves the meatsuit, leaves Earth, goes back Below to rally her troops. Sam Winchester—Azazel's chosen—will come for his brother.

Hello, Dean, she says, circling him. He formed his own Hell, as all souls do. An empty, barren place. She likes it.

You're my special one, aren't you, Dean? she asks, reaching out to caress his soulface. We'll have fun, the two of us. Such fun.

Sam will find a way down; because of Azazel, he already knows of one Gate. Not much time to play with this sad, paltry soul.

Dean shrieks as she digs into him. Oh, such a magnificent sound.

Her power doesn't work on Sam, but Dean…

Sam will come to Hell, but he won't find his brother. This is her realm, her world, fashioned in her image over millennia. Even the Creator no longer comes here.

We'll have such fun, she repeats, smiling down at him. Welcome, Dean.

He screams one word, his brother's name. She rips out his tongue, his jaw, his lungs, his eyes. It will all heal by tomorrow, as she wills it. His soulface is not real, after all.

But some things she takes that can't be replaced. Time is fluid here, as she makes it.

Sam will come. Will rip apart Earth and Heaven and Hell, will search every corner of every world—but Dean will no longer be.

She cannot touch Sam Winchester, her only child's chosen king, but his brother? Oh, yes, him she can destroy. She will burn him away, will erase everything of Dean there was. There won't even be enough left to cast into the abyss.

Sam will come, but Dean will be gone. The boy will take her throne and her realm, but victory will be hers. Hers, and so sweet.

Hell is for burning. And Hell is hers. My playground, Dean, she whispers. My will and my realm, my power. One thing in existence I can take from him, your brother—Azazel's king. Only one thing.

Hell is for burning, and there will be nothing left of this soul when Sam comes.