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Dean saw the blow coming before it landed, and he prepared himself. Prepared himself for the numbing pressure, which would then be followed with throbbing pain. The demon’s fist his his face, knuckles smacking right against his lip, lip catching teeth. Bleeding. Blood welled into his mouth, and he grunted. He struggled, wanting to fight back, but he was already down. Two demons held him.
Another punch, this one to his head. It left him dazed, and then he was getting searched. A bit too roughly, with probably too much enthusiasm. But there was nothing he could do as the demons divested him of his weapons. Of his gun, and cuffs, and demon-killing knife.
God, it would’ve been a really good time to have Cas with him.
Too bad I told him to fuck off.
No, can’t think about that now.
The demons tied his wrists and ankles, and dragged him to the trunk of a car. They threw him in, Dean landing badly on his shoulder and against his face, the stained gray carpet layering the back scraping his ear raw.
The trunk was closed, and Dean was all alone. He felt the engine start, and a lurch as the car pulled out onto the road. It was so dark and cramped that he could only think of a coffin.
Maybe I am headed to my death.
Then he reasoned, If Sammy wanted you dead he would’ve killed you by now.
Dean was being taken to his brother for something else, and he didn’t want to find out what. He had once thought he’d known him so well, but whatever was in his head now was as mysterious as God’s will. Ha, if that even existed.
The ride was long, and he wondered which way they were heading. There were signs that Sam was set up someone in New York, so maybe there.
His shoulders were probably close to being out of place by now with the way his hands were tied behind his back, and how he was getting bumped around. He’d tried getting out of his bindings, but he couldn’t reach the knot. His wrists were rubbed raw, bleeding, burning.
What was worse was his bladder was getting a bit too full, and being jostled about didn’t help. Hopefully the demons would have the decency to let him relieve himself before he saw Sam. They’d better untie his hands because he sure as hell didn’t want anyone else handling his dick.
Finally, the car stopped, and Dean wished he could breathe a sigh of relief. But he knew this was the easy part.
It was night time when the demons opened the trunk and let him out. They did let him relieve himself, and then they were walking him to a large building snug against the foothills of a rising mountain. Dean could slightly make out its shape thanks to light coming from some of its windows. It was angular, all rectangles. And he thought maybe he saw the shine of metal.
Dean was shoved along over a corrugated steel bridge with an ominous, dark drop into a ravine beneath it, and into the building. He was in a dark hallway, concrete floor covered with a red runner. It made him think a little too much of blood at the moment.
“So, where’s Sammy?” Dean asked, trying to be his usual self.
Instead, the demons were ignoring him, but he was definitely the topic of conversation.
“Why didn’t you bring him in the front?” a tall demon with dark hair and dark eyes asked one of the demon-possessed-ex-soldiers holding him.
“I thought he’d get ripped apart. It’s Dean Winchester . Just let the king know we have him.”
“Right away.”
Dean was made to wait as the other demon went to announce him to Sam. God, this was all too fancy for him. Sam had really let his love of fantasy get to him.
At least he was being made to wait in the dark hall and not being shoved in a cell somewhere. He was sure this place had them.
“Does Sammy have a crown too?” Dean asked. “You know, like the real deal?”
That earned him a punch in the face, and then a piece of his shirt was being ripped off. His head was held, Dean grunting and snarling, as they used that piece of his shirt as a gag. They got in another punch for good measure.
Okay, so don’t ask questions.
The other demon came back, and Dean, fresh blood running from cuts on his face, was led down the hall, and through an office. Then more halls, and he was before a metal door, windows set in the wall high above it. Based on the guards outside Dean figured he knew where he was about to be led.
The throne room.
Dean didn’t want to look at Sam when he was brought in, but his eyes were drawn to him instantly, ignoring the gold floor, the red tapestries, the still-cold demeanor of the whole place.
There was Sam, in his throne, dressed all in black leather, a dark metal crown inlaid with jewels set on his fine head of hair. His eyes were their regular hazel, but there was nothing of his brother in them. And there, against his chest, glowing faintly, was the amulet of the Deathless One. Sam’s amulet.
The Deathless One’s power, demon blood. He really was the King of Hell.
Dean was shoved to his knees before the dais, and Sam was smiling. It met those cold eyes, and Dean had never felt so lost before. A chill ran down his spine, and stayed, seeped into his bones. Cold claws gripped him, and curled around his stomach.
“Dean,” Sam said, getting to his feet. “So good to finally see you again.”
There was something wrong with his voice. It was as cold as the room, and Dean didn’t want to hear it anymore.
He motioned the guards back, and they released Dean. Sam went to take the gag out of his mouth. Dean couldn’t look up, or even say anything, once his mouth was finally free.
“I hope you didn’t get roughed up too badly.”
“Yeah, like you care,” Dean spat.
“Stand.”
Dean’s gaze went as high as the amulet at Sam’s chest, and, slowly, he got to his feet. He remembered the powers Sam held. The ice, the stone, the blood. This was it. His life was going to end here, or he was for some reason going to face unimaginable torture.
To Dean’s surprise, Sam hugged him, his right arm a little awkward with it as if it was stiff and painful.
Had the demon blood not fixed the stone in his arm?
Dean filed the weakness away.
His brother felt like his brother. He remembered holding him through nightmares, after a rough hunt, feeling for a pulse just to make sure he was alive. Now his pulse was fed with demon blood, his heart pumping that poison all throughout his body.
Dean would not forget those black eyes that had stared at him at Kenesaw.
Before he could do anything, Sam pulled back, and Dean was punched full in the face. The blow sent him flying backwards, landing on his hands and wrists that were still tied behind his back. Something popped, and pain shot up his arms. The air was knocked out of him, and he was gasping breathlessly, trying to roll onto his side.
Sam stalked over to him, Dean trying to scrabble backwards. But it was no use. His brother held up his hand, and soon Dean was floating in the air before him. Sam curled his fingers and there was a crushing grip around his neck. Breathing was like suddenly trying to sip air through a straw.
Sam tilted his head as he observed him.
“So,” he asked, voice low, “where’s Castiel?”
Dean set his jaw, and glared at his former brother.
With a dark want in his tone, the King of Hell promised, “Don’t worry. We’ll make you talk.”
Dean was dropped, and Sam ordered, “Take him to the cages.”
Demons came and grabbed Dean, and Dean managed to look up at Sam, hoping to see who he once was. There was nothing of that there.
“Sammy…”
Sam stared, as if he was trying to find someone he knew inside of Dean. Eventually, he turned away, neither of them finding what they were hoping for.
Roughed up, helpless, Dean was dragged away. The last detail he really noted of the throne room was that he’d gotten blood on the floor.