--Alright, some horrific stuff that came out of my inner psychopath. Enjoy!--
The No How of Dean Winchester
"You think you can continuously tell me no? You think you can deny the inevitable?" Zachariah asked harshly, his face inches from Dean in an attempt to rattle him. Dean smirked.
"Yeah, I do, ass hat. The only thing you're ever gonna hear outta me is no. Michael's not goin' anywhere near inside me. So you can stop tryin'." Now it was Zachariah's turn to smirk.
"You have no idea what I can do to you, do you?" He said threateningly. "I will get you to say yes. And if it has to be by force, so be it."
"What do you think you can do to me? It'll take you at least thirty years to get to my breaking point," Dean growled. "And I learn from my mistakes. You'll never get a yes out of me. Not for this."
"If Hell broke you once, it can break you again," He said dangerously. Dean's eyes grew ever so slightly. "Yes, that's your greatest fear, isn't it? Going back there, back on the rack. With Alastair to tear you up too," He was circling him, mocking him. "I think you need to go back there and stew for awhile. Maybe afterwards you'll see things my way."
Before Dean could try and run out of the motel or do anything to defend himself Zachariah touched his head and sent him down into oblivion.
Sam walked into the motel room, shutting the door behind him. It took him a moment to see the crumpled heap on the floor. His brother.
He rushed over in a panic, lifting Dean's limp body up in his arms, checking to make sure he had a pulse. His breathing was regular, his eyes closed. He looked like he was asleep. But no matter how hard Sam shook him to try and wake him up, no matter how many times he said his name, Dean remained still.
"Dean, Dean, please, wake up!" Sam begged, shaking Dean again.
"Sam…" Dean whispered. It wasn't exactly a whisper, more like a strangled gasp, but Sam wasn't trying to tell the difference right now.
"I'm here, Dean, wake up. C'mon!" But Dean couldn't hear him. No matter how loud Sam yelled, Dean would not hear him.
His eyes opened and his fears were realized. He felt the chains tightly wrapped around him, the hooks sticking deep into his shoulder and his stomach, lacerating his muscles. He coughed, choking on his own blood.
"No," He rasped, his throat instantly filling with the intense heat from the air around him. "NO! SAA-AAMM!" He screamed, his throat blistering.
"So," an all too familiar voice said. "I get you again, huh, boy?"
What was left of his blood ran cold. He shook his head back and forth fiercely.
"No, no! You're dead. You're dead!" His voice shook, cracking in the heat. Alastair grinned, his demonic features twisting horribly.
"Even people like me end up somewhere. And I still get to do what I love best." He conjured a knife from nowhere, brandishing in front of Dean's face, smiling when he trembled.
"I'll make you say yes, Dean," He said maliciously. "I've done it once, what's one more time?" The knife slashed Dean's neck in a line all the way to his chest, slicing his thin T-shirt with ease. He screamed, Alastair laughing in his ears. The knife went back and forth, cutting deep into his flesh, blood spattering everywhere and soaking his body. The sweat dripping everywhere seeped into the open wounds, adding to the agony.
His breath hitched, his eyes watering and growing when the blade went into his back with ease. He screamed, throwing his head back and coughing up blood when is throat burst. He felt it pierce his lung, felt it collapse, cutting of most of his air. His breath was ragged, strained and wet. Each tiny movement in his chest sent stabbing pain everywhere.
I was with great effort he screamed, turning his face away from Alastair.
"SAA-AAM!" Dean shrieked, gagging and choking on what was left of his throat.
Hours passed, hours of such horrible pain. There was nothing left of him now.
"So whaddaya say, Dean?" Alastair asked. "Yes or no?"
If he could have spoke he would have. He shook his head, hurting himself further. Alastair sighed.
"Still as stubborn as ever, aren't ya?" He snapped his fingers and Dean was made whole again. This time his clothes were gone, cut away and deteriorated by Alastair's knife. He yanked at the shackles, desperate to get away.
"Until you say that three letter word, you're mine." A chain wrapped around Dean's neck, and the anguish commenced.
He'd been out for two days. Sam had called Bobby- who had no idea what to do- and Bobby had called every hunter he knew. They didn't know what to do either. Sam called Castiel yesterday and had gotten voice-mail all twenty-one times he called.
He'd been sitting next to Dean for hours, grabbing his hand when Dean said his name.
His phone rang and he jumped, his tired eyes flying open. He fumbled to get it open, hear leaping when he saw the number.
"Cas!" He exclaimed. "Where the hell have you been?"
"I'm sorry," The angel's flat voice replied. "I didn't have any service. Is there something wrong?" Sam quickly relayed Dean's predicament.
"Nobody knows what to do," Sam said, desperate and weary. "Cas, I need your help. Please."
"Where are you?" Castiel asked.
"Castle Rock Inn in Augusta. Room 23." The line went dead. Sam tossed the phone behind him on the bed and rested his face in his hands, making sure Dean was still breathing before he did.
"How long has he been like this?" Castiel's voice asked suddenly, startling him.
"Since yesterday morning." He said once he had regained composure.
The angel stood over Dean's still form, gazing down intently at him, brows drawn in a line. He gingerly put his first two fingers on Dean's forehead. He was thrown across the room a second later. Sam stood in surprise as Castiel struck the opposite wall.
"Cas! You okay?" He asked. Castiel stood, nodding and dusting himself off.
"Someone has blocked any ability I have to wake him. I can't even look in his mind to try and see what's going on. There's nothing I can do." Sam collapsed in the chair he had been sitting in, wanting to cry in anger and exasperation.
"Then what am I supposed to do?" He asked quietly, trying to control his voice.
"An angel had to have done this," Castiel stated. "Only an angel could block my powers like this."
"Zachariah." Sam growled.
"Possibly. If I work hard enough against it, I could break through the barriers."
"Try," Sam said, pleading. "Please, Cas, try." The angel nodded.
Hot blood frothed from his mouth, spilling over his lips and down his neck. He felt the boiling liquid Alastair had dumped down his throat slide down, blistering his insides. His heart pounded, burning, boiling.
He screamed soundlessly, his mouth open in silent agony. His organs started to burst, blood seeped out of his scorched, cracked skin. He wished he could go into shock. He wished he could pass out. He wished, more than anything, that he could die. He'd been here for years, decades, in pain. Always pain.
Alastair had asked him more times than he could count to say yes. His answer had always been the same. And now, Alastair asked again.
"What's it gonna be, Dean? Yes or no?" Dean glared up at him, coughing. "C'mon, it's so easy. You won't feel a thing, I swear. You'll be a vegetable if he ever gets out of you, but what the hell? You'd be saving the world. You'd be stopping what you started just like you wanted to. This is all your fault anyway, you should sacrifice yourself for this."
Dean tried not to listen. Tried so hard. Sam wouldn't want him to give in. He couldn't give in.
He was whole again, taking in deep breaths that didn't hurt.
"You're gonna regret that."
Castiel tried. Castiel tried as hard as he could to wake Dean up. But nothing happened. He got through the barriers a few times only to see fire and smell sulfur.
It had been five days. Sam had neither slept nor ate, despite Castiel and now Bobby's efforts. Bobby had managed to talk him into taking a shower, just to take his mind away from his unconscious brother for awhile.
He hadn't said a word either. The last thing he said was three days ago.
"Should we take him to a hospital?" He asked.
"There's no point. They can't do anything either."
He'd been silent ever since.
At about three a.m. on the sixth day Dean started to scream.
The sound was bone-chilling and jolted Sam from his doze instantly. He rushed to his brother, cupping his neck and holding his face.
"Dean!" He said over Dean's horrific shrieks. "Dean, wake up! It's okay!"
"Shh…Dean, Dean, it's okay! I'm here, it's alright! Wake up!" Harsh sobs broke from Dean's throat, shaking his whole body.
"SAA-HAAM!" He cried.
"Dean, can you hear me?!" He was holding his shoulders down, preventing him from hurting himself.
"Dean, please, it's alright. I've got you, okay. I'm here, I'm here. I've got you. Shh…" But nothing Sam said calmed him at all. Dean screamed and cried, writhed and begged. Sam held him, shushing him out of reflex, rocking him lightly.
At some point during the long, never ending night Sam started to cry, feeling helpless, frustrated and exhausted. His cheek rested on top of his brother's head, tears seeping into his hair. Dean's sobs had died to quiet whimpers, body trembling.
"Dean…please. Please, it's okay. I promise. You're safe, you're safe." If only Dean could hear him. If only…
He was ripped off the rack and tossed into a small, dark, freezing room. He huddled together, broken, bleeding and crying.
"Dean?" A voice said. He looked up, squeezing himself closer in fear. But the person that stepped out of the shadows didn't scare him at all. Sam knelt down in front of him.
"Sammy?" Sam's arms wrapped around him and hugged him tight. Dean started to cry softly, clinging to Sam for dear life.
"Shh…It's okay. I've got you, Dean. You're safe now."
"I wanna go home, Sammy." He cried.
"I'm gonna get you out of here, Dean. You'll be alright, okay?"
The door to the room opened. Sam squeezed Dean tighter, holding his face to his chest.
"Well, well, well," Dean's blood froze. "Looks like I get another Winchester."
Sam was ripped away from Dean and thrown to the opposite wall.
"NO!" Dean screamed. Shackles came out of the wall and clasped Sam's wrists and ankles. Alastair grinned at Dean, a scorching poker in his hand. "NO! Alastair, please. Leave him alone, please! Hurt me instead, please! Hurt me! Hurt me!" Dean's hands were bound behind him, chain leading from the wall to his own manacles.
Sam grunted and struggled against the restraints. Alastair stepped toward him, grinning.
"No, don't!" Sam yelled. The demon ripped the front of Sam's shirt open, gave Dean one last grin, and jabbed the poker against Sam's skin.
"AAAAGGHHH!" Sam screamed.
"NO! ALASTAIR, PLEASE! DON'T HURT HIM, PLEASE! LEAVE HIM ALONE! HURT ME!"
He continued to burn him savagely. Sam screamed and begged him to stop. Dean sobbed and pleaded with Alastair to let his brother go.
Finally the poker clattered to the ground, bloodied and cooled.
Sam cried lightly, head bowed.
"It's okay, Sammy." Dean said.
"There's a difference between you and him, Dean," Alastair said. "He can die down here. You can't."
Dean's heart pounded in his throat. He shook his head.
"Alastair, please. He's my little brother, please!" Alastair laughed.
"Dean…" Sam moaned. "Make it stop, Dean." Alastair turned the knife in his hands, smiling.
"Tell him it's gonna be okay, Dean. Go on, tell Sammy it's all gonna be alright." He said. Dean bowed his head for a moment, crying.
"Dean…" Sam whimpered. Dean looked up, trying to smile.
"It's alright, Sammy. You're gonna be okay. We'll get out of here, alright?" He said, voice shaking.
"P-promise?" Sam whispered. Dean swallowed a fresh wave of sobs and nodded.
Alastair grabbed a handful of Sam's hair and forced his head back.
"Dean..?" He was so scared. Alastair pressed the blade to his throat, grinning all the while.
"It'll be okay, Sammy." The blade sliced his baby brother's throat open, sending blood flowing in torrents down his neck. He choked on Dean's name, face paling. Heart beat slowing faster and faster. Sam fell off the wall in a heap, still coughing. Dean's own restraints came undone and he rushed forward, gathering his little brother in his arms.
"Sammy! Sammy, look at me," Tears blurred his eyes. Sam was gasping, looking around, terrified. Blood soaked Dean's hands as he steadied his face in front of his, eyes dimming. "Stay with me, Sam. Please. It's gonna be alright, just please stay awake." Sam's eyes closed, his last breath leaving him.
"No, no, no, please, Sammy, no! Don't go, not again, please…" He hugged his brother close, wounds of his own tearing back open. "It's my fault…I'm so sorry Sammy."
Alastair left the room, leaving Dean with his brother's corpse, crying and bleeding, and begging for Sam to wake up from a sleep that no one could.
Days later he was dragged out of the room, kicking and screaming, not wanting to leave Sam there. He was tortured some more, a lot more. But nothing could compare to watching the life leave Sam's eyes, all because of him.
Eight days. Sam had forced himself to eat, nearly puking when he did. He watched the steady rise and fall of Dean's chest, waiting for something, anything to happen.
"You gotta fight, Dean," He whispered. "You gotta fight and you gotta get back to me. Please, Dean." Yesterday Dean had cried and whimpered Sam's name for hours. Never screaming once, just crying.
Nothing had happened today. He might have just been sleeping if it weren't for his fingers clutching the sheets underneath him.
"You have to wake up, Dean. I can't lose you again, okay?"
Dean sat up so suddenly Sam fell out of his chair in surprise. Dean's eyes were wide open, his chest heaving.
"Help me." He whimpered, talking to no one in particular.
"Dean?" Sam said cautiously. Dean looked at him. "You're awake."
--More soon! Happy B-day Avidreader93--