A/N: Story title taken from the song by AC/DC. There's a lot of cussing, descriptions of torture, and (implied) het and m/m sex .

POV: Evil!Dean Winchester

Disclaimer: I don't own any of Kripke's wondrous creations. This is just for fun, not profit.

Summary: Dean and me, we're one and the same. Always have been, always will be. I'm every dark thought this kid has ever had. Coda for 4-10, Heaven and Hell.

I had a good ten years downstairs.

Funny thing, Hell was like Vegas: open 24/7, around the clock. I never got tired, didn't need to sleep. I pulled all nighters all the time, roamed the lowlands and the cities in my spare time. I took whatever I wanted, did whatever I wanted, and I fucked whoever I wanted to. Afterwards I'd go in to work with a smile on my face.

Yeah, dumbass, there are cities down in hell. There's water down there, too. Don't believe the hype, okay? It was my kinda place.

I enjoyed the looks on their faces when I strolled in. I always came in green-eyed at first. I'd turn on the charm, and they'd think that there was hope. I could see it in their eyes. I used the way I look to get their hopes up even further, and I could practically hear the thud the moment they came crashing down. Hey, let's face it, I look damn good. A lot of the others look exactly like what they are, namely lowlife black eyed demon trash.

Not me.

This little old silver haired Grandmother is my first job of the day. When she was topside Granny decided that her six year old grand-daughter was too clumsy because the little girl broke one of Granny's vases. Kid needed to be taught a lesson, so Granny scalded her to death with boiling water.

Oops. Of course she didn't mean it. Of course she got off because the judge decided she had diminished capacity.

Diminished capacity, my ass.

I know what Granny's thinking. I can see it on her face: Such a nice boy. He won't hurt me. She smiles, and I smile right back at her. She doesn't even struggle against the straps as I step close to the rack. She really does think I'm gonna cut her a break.

Uh huh. Yeah. I decided to waterboard her sorry ass with sulfuric acid.

Didn't kill her, of course. That would have been too easy. I force her mouth open and make her swallow pieces of a broken china vase while I wait for her skin to re-form. I get a little irritated when I can't find my set of knives right away. There's a tool for every job, and don't I know it.

I can improvise like a mad sonofabitch, though, so everything turned out okay.

Some of them try to bargain with me. They beg, plead their cases.

"There must be some mistake."

"Wish I had a dollar for every time I heard that one. "

"I don't belong here!"

"You might wanna scream a little louder than that, sweetheart. Getting kinda bored here, and that's never a good thing."

Screaming and moaning was music to my ears, almost as good as anything Metallica or AC/DC ever sang. Never got tired of the smell of blood, the slick feel of it against my skin.

I was making up for lost time.

Dean and me, we're one and the same. Always have been, always will be. I'm every dark thought this kid has ever had. Through the years I've tried to influence him every way I could, but damn, he was one stubborn sumbitch.

You did notice I said was, right?

There was this one time, we were in that teenaged girl's house and we'd just ganked this fugly that was stalking her. The girl was thirteen if she was a day, tall for her age, and she was so damn grateful that we saved her ass. lt would have been too easy to walk her into the bedroom, push her down on her parents' bed and fuck the hell out of her. I could taste the salt on her skin, feel the way her body would jerk and shiver when I pushed into her. Damn, I had the visual, and I tried to make sure that Dean got it too.

Bastard ignored me.

Another time Dad sent us out Arizona to retrieve some books we needed for a job (good boy, go fetch, that's right) and the guy who had the stuff was a waste of space, pure and simple. We stood there in this dork's front room, and he turned up his nose up at us like he was smelling a gas leak. To him we were trash. Lower than dirt. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't right. He had a house, had money, and here we were sleeping in the back bench of the Impala because the credit cards had gone south on us this month.

I put the thought out there: fuck Dad, fuck the job, just pistol whip this geek and take what you want. Then doubletap in the head, and put the body where the coyotes can get to it.

Dean didn't do anything I said, of course, but hey, I took my shot. I always do. You get nearly everything you ever loved in the world taken away from you, and see if you never want to take back. Mom's gone, Dad and Sam are fighting each other, and to the outside world we're criminals, nutcase right wingers with guns. Never mind that each and every day we save your sorry asses from all manner of fuglies. And the cops in all those cities and small towns? Only thing they ever had to say to us was to get the hell out of town.

Not our kind, boy. Move on.

I was on lock-down inside Dean most of the time. Well, sure, I came out sometimes, but that was only because he let me out. There was that time in Memphis, right after Sam left for college. Dean was hurting and he wanted to spread the misery to anybody dumb enough to get up in his face. He sat in this bar and tried to have a quiet drink, and these damn fools wouldn't leave him alone.

"...like to tap that…"

"Offer him a twenty and see what that'll get you."

"Wanna see what you can do with those girly lips of yours, boy…"

Later on the four of them followed us into that dark alley and minutes later we were the only ones who walked out.

On the news the next day the talking heads said that all four idiots were crippled for life, with permanent injuries. I think Dad suspected, but he never said anything. Maybe he would have if we'd gotten caught, huh? Then he couldn't use us to hunt. Dad would have been pissed.

I really wanted to see that.

Don't get me wrong, I owe Dad for what I am today. His lessons really came in handy when I was downstairs, but I'd picked up some tricks of my own by that time.

Every time Dad ignored us I got a little stronger.

Every broken bone, every bruise, every cut and stitch, every time Dad told Dean, either by word or by the way he acted, that we just weren't good enough, Sam was the favored son, take care of your brother, boy, no matter what! that was more than enough to keep me going.

Like I said, I owe Dad. Big time.

And Sam? Please. Don't get me started on that ungrateful bitch. Nothing we did was ever good enough for him. That bitchface of his always makes me want to put my foot where the sun don't shine.

If I could, I'd strap his Sasquatch ass down on that rack.

And then I'd start in on him with a razor and a bag of rock salt.

I didn't whisper in Dean's ear when he made the deal. Huh. Didn't have to. He was needy and desperate, guilty, scared of being alone. The walls were crumbling inside him. His guilt and his fear got out first, and I couldn't, so I waited.

Deal came due, and here come those fucking hellhounds. Next thing I know the kid's screaming his head off, begging for help from Sam, from anybody, as thunder shakes the air around us. We're suspended in mid-air, a fly caught in some big-ass spider web, and I knew this was only the beginning. Was it gonna get worse? Hell yeah. I was counting on it.

I couldn't help it. I started laughing. We had hooks stuck in nearly every place you could imagine, were suspended hundreds of miles up or down (and I couldn't tell which direction). We were strung out so tight the muscles in Dean's back and shoulders hurt like a bitch, but I was happy.

I was this close to getting out, and I figured it wouldn't be long now.

Damn, was I wrong.


I spent the next thirty years extremely pissed off.

Demons came in to see us every day, and I gotta say right now they were really enthusiastic about their work.

I didn't feel much after a while. I just wanted out. And you know what they say about people in hell wanting ice water too, huh?

After a while I got bored at what I was seeing. I got bored at the sight of our intestines in their claws, and how many damn times can you peel somebody's skin off like a banana peel and make it interesting each and every time?

We got scalped. They blinded us and played hackey sack with our eyes. We were violated with demon tongue, demon dick, tentacle, you name it. If we had a hole, they filled it, over and fucking over again. They split us open from our throat to our crotch, and danced around in our guts like they were stomping grapes or something.

Dean cursed them out each and every time. I'll give him that. They thought he'd cave right away (this is Hell, after all), but they totally underestimated my boy. He didn't call on God to save him, either, and I think that surprised the hell out of those black-eyed bastards, too. Don't see why it did. Dude Upstairs has never done us any flaming favors, and when it came time to make a deal, did Roma Downey show up?

Hell no. I rest my case.

I did my best, from my side at least, after the first time Alastair showed up with his tall pale ass and put the offer out on the table.

Basically, it was this: you can get fucked over, or you can be the one doing the fucking. Your choice.

I brought up all those old memories. The look of contempt on Cassie's face when she told us to get the hell out of her life.

Getting our asses kicked by that damn family up in Washington state when we tried to save them from those demons.

Sam snarling at us, "You're just Dad's toy soldier, Dean. That's all you are, and that's all you'll ever be."

The look of near hatred on Dad's face as he cradled his precious Sammy to his chest, right after that shritga nearly got the brat, and the way Dad ignored us afterwards. Sonofabitch didn't speak to us for nearly six fucking weeks.

What's the point? Why put yourself through hell for people who don't give a flying fuck about us anyway? You need proof? Here it is. I got a lifetime of shit like that, and I used it all.

He didn't listen to me. Not for thirty long years.

And the fucking door to my fucking cage still held.


We had downtime, of course. They let us heal up after each and every session. Otherwise, what was the point? Get whole, feel better, and here they come with the wires and scalpels again.

Dean would always zone out while he healed. A person's mind can only stand so much, okay? This one time I rattled the bars of my cage, for what little good it did, and Alastair heard me.

Next thing I knew, he was leaning over us, with his ear pressed up against Dean's pale, clammy forehead. When he pulled back he smiled.

"I hear you," Alastair whispered. "Be patient, little one."

Little one? Like hell. Gonna make him pay for that one.


I admit it, I wasn't paying attention when Dean gave in. I was slumped over in a corner, with my back jammed into the bars, as usual. I rolled my eyes when I heard Alastair make the offer for what must have been the two millionth damn time. I leaned against the wall, had my eyes closed when I heard something.


Dean's voice. All rough and broken, and I still didn't trust it. Any of it.

"What was that, Dean? I didn't hear you," Alastair purred softly.

"I can't…can't take this anymore…"

Right after that I heard this click of metal, sounded like the lock to the cage, but it couldn't have been. I still kept my eyes closed.

I waited for a moment longer, and I actually jumped when I felt something soft brush across my forehead and mouth. I opened my eyes and found myself looking at Alastair. He was right in my face.

And I was out.

I was on the rack but I wasn't strapped down. Alastair leaned back and I ran my hand over my bare chest and stomach. My jeans were ragged and bloodstained, but I was whole, with not a fucking mark on me.

Alastair looked like the cat that swallowed the canary.

I quirked an eyebrow at him. "Dude. Did…did you just kiss me?"

"Yes. " He angled his chin towards my mouth like he wanted to go for two. I pushed him back. Wasn't too gentle with it, either.

"Get the hell off me. " I put my hand out and he slapped the knife hilt first onto my palm. Couldn't help smirking. "All right. Who's next?"


I started small. Kids, at first.

Yeah, there are kids down in hell. Haven't been paying attention, have you?

First case I took was this eight year old boy who killed his father with a shotgun. It wasn't clear whether ol' Daddy Dearest was diddling his offspring or the kid was just the bad seed. Either way, I didn't give a damn. I got the job done. It was a test, and I made fucking sure I passed. No way I was ever getting back on that damn rack, ever again, and I wasn't going back into that cage, either. I was done with it.

Done with all of it.

The hurt and the pain, all the things I gave up, and for what? For fucking what? Damn job topside cost me so much over the years. Tired of it. Don't know why I even cared, why I hung on for so long.

I threw myself into my work. Alastair stood around and watched me, and that slight smile on his face was better than any attaboy Dad ever gave me when we were hunting together.

Alastair taught me a lot. He showed me how to reach inside a damned soul with my bare hands. There's an art to it. You want your vic to be able to see, hear and feel everything as you scramble them like eggs. I got pretty good at it. Second time around I had this woman on the rack, and I pushed my hand down her throat and turned her inside out with a flip of my wrist. I always was a fast learner.

I pretty much had the run of Hell. Leaving never even occurred to me. Heard talk that I was considered to be a Grand Inquisitor-in-training. Alastair thought I was a natural for the job, even though he didn't say anything directly to my face. I was given more leeway. I got that. I could pick and choose whichever damned souls I wanted, whenever I wanted. Everybody else had to make do with what they were assigned. I was way past that point.

When I reached the five year mark I thought nobody noticed. Didn't figure Alastair for the sentimental type, either, but when I walked into the chamber that day he was standing there with two vics on two racks this time, and I stopped dead in my tracks 'cause I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

It was Dad.

And Sam. Strapped down, wide-eyed, with thin brown gags made from human skin stretched tight over their mouths.

"They're all yours, Dean. You can do whatever you want to them. You can even let them go if you want."

I stood there gaping like an idiot, trembling all over. Couldn't breathe, and my muscles shivered and trembled underneath my skin, just like they used to whenever I'd see Alastair coming at me with that black knife of his. Just before he made the first cut, which is always the worst one, the deepest one. I felt hot and cold all over.

"Do you need help with this, Dean?" Alastair said smoothly.

I couldn't talk, just shook my head no.

"Fine, then." He brushed by me as he left the room. I stood there for a moment longer, and I had to remember how to walk forward.

Dad tracked me with his eyes. They both did. Sam's blue green eyes got wide as he stared at me. He was shaking, but I couldn't tell if he was scared shitless or if it was from the cold. I walked around the table with the knives and other stuff, had to steady myself first.

I could see through the glamour. I knew it wasn't them. Not really. The faces shifted, and I saw what they really looked like underneath, but I didn't care. I picked up one of the scalpels and I ran my thumb over the edge. I smiled when the blade sliced my skin open. I was having a fucking Hallmark moment here, and I didn't feel a thing.

I stopped seeing through the illusion and I just accepted it. Dad and Sam were here.

This wasn't a test. It was a gift.

And like all gifts, it's the thought that counts.


Two years later I was out roaming around and I met up with Bela and Gordon. I'd been hoping that they would turn up on my rack, but no such luck. They caved years ago.

Bela rubbed up against me with that lean, slinky body of hers. I stuck my nose in her hair and took a deep breath of beautiful. Might have been some mind fuck, but Bela smelled good, clean, like that expensive soap and perfume she always wore. Downstairs you tend to notice every little thing, like the smell of wet blood, decomp, body fluids and bile.

Gordon, well, he was that same intense, scary motherfucker he always was. I could barely see that line around his neck where Sam took his head off with that wire.

That was awesome.

Gordie slid his arm around my waist, leaned in and I didn't even flinch when he kissed me full on the mouth. He slipped one hand to the back of my head and I let him pull me in a little closer. I nipped at his lower lip with my teeth as the kiss deepened and then Bela pushed her way between us.

Kissing her was like biting into a fresh juicy peach. All I remember is hands and mouths, teeth and tongues. My skin tingled in a good way, and it suddenly occurred to me that all three of us were wearing way too many clothes.

We spent the night together, rehashed old times.

They lost the betting pool on me. Gordon had two years, Bela had ten.

Nobody had thirty.


On the last day of my good ten years I didn't have a damn clue that it was the last day. It was another day at the office, but I wasn't bored. Far from it. I had my attention on this woman, this bitch, strapped down on my rack. She torched both her kids, burned them to death because she'd gotten sick and tired of them.

"I'll give you something to get sick and tired about, bitch," I told her, and right then and there I felt this tingle go through my body, from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. At first I thought that maybe, finally, I was getting off on the pain and terror, but it wasn't that. Never was.

I could see the sky brighten through the window in the far wall, and that wasn't right. That wasn't right at all. Looked like daylight out there, and as the light got brighter everyone around me started screeching, shrieking in terror.

Don't remember screaming too, but I must have. My throat hurt. My skin hurt. I was burning up from the inside out, and it was the light, and I didn't get it, I couldn't understand why it was happening.

My head felt funny.

I saw myself slicing open this man's face. The man had Dad's face.

What's the matter John-boy? Cat got your tongue. Oh, wait a minute. I do!

I laughed when I pushed my fingers through "Sam's" stomach. I played cats-cradle with his guts right before his eyes.

Geez, Sammy, you wanna talk about this? Share and care, why don't cha?

My knees buckled and I hit the floor.

The light…

The light was directly overhead, right over me, and I couldn't move. I couldn't see.

I couldn't hear myself scream before, but I screamed out when that hand touched my shoulder, when those fingers dug into my skin, deep into my body. I smelled burning flesh, and I knew it was me. That fire went straight to my core.

...God…oh, God, what did I…

don't want to go back inside, no, no…

...what have I done…

I fell back into my body.

I was pulled out of my body.

The light smiled and wouldn't let me go. "Be at peace, Dean," the light said, and I was pulled upwards into pitch blackness.


Damn cage is stronger than ever.

We're topside again. I knew the truth long before Dean ever admitted it to himself. He's a stubborn bastard, but we all know that, right?

Fucking angel came and got us out of Hell.



It wasn't me. It wasn't me.

Know what? I'm sick and fucking tired of hearing him say that. I rattle the bars of my cage a lot more now, just to get on his nerves. Make him remember, shake things up. I can barely sleep at night, so I make sure that Dean doesn't either. He drinks a little more nowadays than he used to, and that's not gonna get me to shut up. Nothing will.

First thing he did was show up at Bobby's place, and right after that, yeah, you guessed it, we had a tearful reunion with Sam.

Wish I'd had my razor with me. I woulda shown him how much I missed him.

Uriel and Castiel know what we did downstairs. I don't give a damn. Never did.

He was wearing a different meatsuit, some damn kiddie doctor this time, but I'd recognize Alastair anywhere. Didn't like the way he looked at me the other night either. It's like he blames me for this whole 'get out of Hell free' thing. Hey, I did my part while I was down there. Shagging ass wasn't my idea. Dean's queered the deal for me down there, though. Even if I got out, don't think it would be too smart to head south. Alastair's a vindictive bastard.

I wasn't even that interested when Dean and Anna fucked each other in the back seat of the Impala. It was too…gentle. Nobody screamed, and nobody died. Big whoop.

And just to make matters worse, ol' Deano finally confessed to Sam about what went on downstairs.

"Don't want to feel anything anymore, Sam…this…this thing inside me…"

So I'm that "thing" inside him, huh? Don't think I appreciate that.

I curled up in a corner of the cage. I couldn't stand to hear Dean bawl like a bitch, so I zoned out.

Well, not completely. I notice he didn't tell Sam what he did to "Sam" and "Dad". Or those kids. Dean's still keeping secrets from the brat. Should make me feel better, but it doesn't. I'm in lockdown again.

I miss the feel of blood on my hands. I miss hearing people beg me to stop hurting them.

Dean's softer now. He's a dead space inside, nothing but dead air. That's okay. I got enough feelings for the both of us. Shouldn't take me another thirty years to bust outta this hole.

After all, the devil hates idle hands.

And I got work to do.