Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Paint Around the Empty Space ❯ Down to Cases: Dean ( Chapter 2 )

Chapter 2

 

Hell was…not like he'd thought it would be, Dean reflected as he looked around the room with a distant, almost uncaring, eye. He'd always envisioned the eternal flame as being…well, flaming, first of all. Where was the fire? The pain and torture and evil? Not that he was complaining—he'd rather all that just stayed where it was—but seriously. What was up?

 

Well, anyways, Hell wasn't like he'd thought it would be. What Hell was…was…boring.

 

He had no idea how long he'd been here—how long he'd been chained to the wall of this dim, gray, dull room, looking at nothing and wondering what had happened to him. He couldn't really measure time, since there was no light here—he couldn't even go by his stomach, not having felt hungry since he'd woken here. He couldn't walk around, obviously, and the place wasn't exactly teeming with visitors, so he couldn't talk to anyone.

 

What he could do was think, and that was basically all he'd been doing—thinking, inventing new curse words, worrying about Sam, and remembering—at least what he could—how he'd gotten here in the first place.

 

(Flashback)

 

“This is gonna be the easiest night we've had in a long time,” Dean scoffed, checking his gun for the fourth time and closing the trunk of the car.

 

“Dean, you really shouldn't say that,” Sam said, sounding pained. “Every time you say that, I get hit in the head with a blunt object or pinned by a bookcase or something.”

 

“That's not true,” Dean said, sounding offended. “And it is gonna be easy—it's just a poltergeist. And we're twice as good at those since Missouri taught us that cool purifying trick.”

 

“And remember the last time we used that `cool purifying trick'?” Sam asked. “Remember how that went?”

 

Dean twitched as the words hit home, and he said, “Oh, yeah. Um…maybe you should sit this one out.”

 

“That wasn't my point, Dean,” Sam said in exasperation. “Look, let's just do this fast, okay? Faster than usual, now that you've jinxed us.”

 

“I did not…”

 

“Dean.”

 

Dean sighed gustily. “Yeah, all right, let's go.”

 

(End Flashback)

 

Looking back, Dean really wished his feet were free so he could kick himself. The easiest night we've had in a long time…what was I thinking?

 

If Sam were here, he would've been doing that irritating smirking thing. Dean could practically hear him—that's what you get for being cocky, Dean.

 

The thought of Sam made his throat close up a little, and he sighed and wished for the thousandth time that he could go back and keep himself and Sam away from that damned house in New York. Maybe then none of this would have happened…

 

(Flashback)

 

The brilliant, purifying light faded after a few seconds, and Dean grinned cockily at his brother. “See? Easy. You worry too much, Sammy.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes and rested his gun on his shoulder. “Yeah, and you worry too little. Now let's just go before…”

 

The younger Winchester cut himself off then, his eyes suddenly going wide. He took his gun off his shoulder and shouted, “Dean, get down!”

 

Dean didn't hesitate—he ducked as Sam fired. He didn't look behind him—he concentrated instead on his brother, and that was how he knew something was wrong. He saw the moment Sam went from determined to terrified, his eyes going wide and scared, and that was enough.

 

In a single movement, he was upright again and standing beside his brother, turning to face the threat.

 

Which…wasn't there.

 

The room was empty.

 

But Sam didn't seem to agree. He was still looking wildly around, and he was whispering…the same words, over and over again. “Not now…not now, not now, not now…”

 

“Sam, what's…” Dean started to ask, baffled.

 

Then the curtains caught on fire. It started to spread almost immediately, as if every surface was soaked in napalm, and if Dean had needed any confirmation that his wasn't a natural fire, well, he'd just gotten it.

 

Sam whimpered—actually whimpered, like a hurt puppy—and that was so beyond enough that it wasn't even funny.

 

“Sam, come on. We have to go. Now,” Dean barked, his hand locking around his brother's arm and tugging. “Come on.”

 

“Too late.”

 

The voice was creamy-smooth and layered with amusement, and Dean felt then as if time had stopped completely. He remembered that voice—probably wouldn't forget it to the day he died. He'd never hated any sound quite so much.

 

Sam whimpered again. Dean couldn't understand that—he got that Sam was afraid right now, but what was with the frozen-in-fear act?

 

And the fire was still spreading, so why were they still even here?

 

The yellow-eyed demon laughed in a disgusting parody of delight. “Are you seriously asking that question, Dean-o? Do you honestly think for one second that you could leave here if I don't want you to? Which I don't, by the way?”

 

The demon grinned at him and Dean felt another wave of disgust.

 

“Sammy was right, Dean. You jinxed yourself.” He raised his hand and waved two fingers. “Bye-bye, now.”

 

And then the fire enveloped Dean, and a hand was clenching painfully on his shoulder, and Sam was screaming, and Dean knew nothing more.

 

(End Flashback)

 

Dean didn't remember anything that came after Sam's scream. There had been darkness, and then he'd woken here, chained to the wall, completely alone. He was pretty sure he was in Hell, because where else would that demonic SOB take him? But that didn't explain the lack of fire, torture, or general pain. That also didn't explain the absence of anything remotely demonic.

 

He really wished someone would show up. He'd take anyone short of Lucifer himself—any distraction to keep him from dwelling on the fact that Sam could very well be dead right now. He'd refused to let himself even think it since he'd woken up, but he didn't think he could keep his mind off it for much longer.

 

The problem was, there hadn't been any sign of anyone since he'd come here, and he didn't anticipate that changing anytime soon, at least not without some sort of inspiration.

 

Well, then, he'd give them some inspiration.

 

A lot of inspiration.

 

XXX

 

Thirty minutes later, Dean's voice was breaking with the force of his shouts, but he hadn't given up. “COME ON, YOU COWARDS! I'M TIRED OF WAITING FOR YOU TO SHOW YOUR FACES! WHAT ARE YOU DOING THAT'S SO MUCH MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR DAMN PRISONER? CROUCHING IN YOUR CORNERS TRYING TO FIGURE OUT A NEW PLAN TO END THE WORLD? YOU SHOULD KNOW BY NOW THAT NEVER WORKS! NOW SOMEONE GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW, `CAUSE I CAN DO THIS `TIL GABRIEL BLOWS HIS HORN! C'MON, YOU FUGLY SONS OF…”

 

The demon appeared so abruptly that it took Dean a second to realize that she was even there. When he did, though, he stopped shouting instantly, swallowing hard and wondering why he wasn't wishing for a glass of water right now.

 

The girl—demon—in front of him was…well, hot. That was really the only word to describe it, and even though Dean felt absolutely nothing toward the thing except disgust, he was still himself, so he felt compelled to notice. She looked to be in her twenties or so, blond, and apparently into leather, judging from her pants and her jacket. All in all, she bore a striking resemblance to Buffy the Vampire Slayer—irony of ironies.

 

As he stared, the demon rolled her eyes. “God. Could you be any more annoying?”

 

“I probably could,” Dean replied coolly. “You could've just come when I called and I wouldn't have had to go that far.”

 

The girl crossed her arms and said, “Well, I'm here now. I'm not supposed to be, but I am. So what'd you want to talk about?”

 

“Um…how about what I'm doing here, for starters?”

 

“What makes you think I'll tell you that?”

 

“Save it,” Dean snapped. “I'm not in the mood for games here. You freaks must know I'm not telling you anything, giving you anything, or…whatever. What did you possibly hope to gain by killing me?”

 

The demon laughed. “Is that what you think is the deal here? You really are confused, aren't you?”

 

“What's that supposed to mean?”

 

“You're not dead, Dean,” the girl said, her voice lined with irritation. “Jeez, you spend ninety-five percent of your time around ghosts and you can't even tell if you're dead or not? Lame…”

 

“Did you miss the part about how I'm not playing games with you? If you're not going to tell me what's going on, then go away.”

 

She raised an eyebrow. “You're an abrupt one.” Then she sighed and rolled her eyes again. “Fine, fine, I'm not really interested in keeping their secrets, anyway.” She crossed the room and sat down in a chair that was just suddenly there, one leg tossed over the other, and crossed her arms again. “All right, Dean, I'm a wellspring of information. An open book. A fountain of truth. You ask a question, I give you the answer. Go.”

 

Dean stared at her, considered asking why he should believe her, decided against it, and said, “What's your name?”

 

“Seriously?” she said. “I say you can ask me anything, and that's your first question?” When he simply stared stonily at her, she shrugged and said, “Fine, whatever. Ruby. My name's Ruby.”

 

“Okay. Ruby. Good start. So, Ruby, why don't you tell me why I'm here?”

 

Ruby nodded in approval. “See, now that's a question. But the answer is kind of complicated. It's only a small part of a big plan, see.”

 

“Well, why don't you just explain the small part for now, then?”

 

“It wasn't my idea. I'm just supposed to go along with it. Like I'm supposed to go along with everything they dream up down here. But anyways—look, I know that when your dad died he told you something about Sam, right?”

 

Dean's face stilled. “How did you know that?” he asked in a hard voice.

 

“Never mind. It doesn't matter. The point is, I can't really elaborate on what he told you, but I can tell you that Sam's visions aren't just that. They're a part of something big, which I know you've probably guessed by now, right? But the thing is, he can't really use them. He can't control them because he hasn't fully tapped into the ability yet.”

 

“What're you talking about?”

 

“Would you let me talk?” Ruby snapped. “I'm breaking enough rules as it is, so stop interrupting me.” She waited until he stopped glaring at her, then continued. “So. As I was saying, Sam can't use his abilities to their full extent, and until he can, he's pretty much useless. So the guy you call Yellow-Eyes has been trying to get him to break down the wall between himself and those abilities, and his latest thought is that maybe extreme grief will do that.”

 

Dean was beginning to see where she was going with this, and a sick horror rose in his stomach. “You mean…”

 

“Yes, Dean. Your `Yellow-Eyes' brought you here to make Sam think you were dead and maybe make it so that he won't have anything separating him from his power.” She chuckled bitterly. “And it worked, too, let me tell you. Too well. Because now Sam isn't separated from the visions anymore—at all. They're in his head constantly now—night and day. Every potential vision he's been carrying around in his gigantic brain, every one he might have had in the future—they're all flashing through his mind one by one, and he has no way to stop them.” Ruby chuckled a little, but it wasn't a happy sound. “Even our plans have been known to fall through every once in a while. Don't spread it around, though.”

 

Dean couldn't quite seem to grasp what she was talking about—he was busy trying to absorb the fact that his baby brother was living in a twenty-four-hour-a-day death sequence. He'd seen what one of those visions did to Sam, but a whole slew of them…he couldn't begin to imagine it.

 

“Is it…is it going to…will it kill him?”

 

Dean stumbled over the question, almost unwilling to ask it, but in the end it was really the only option.

 

Ruby shook her head. “No. He won't die of it. But he might wish he could.”

 

“What're you…?”

 

“He's insane,” Ruby said simply. “The visions, watching innocent people die, and not having you to ground him—it's made him almost completely insane.”

 

In a sea of terrifying facts, Dean did the natural thing and seized onto the island. “Almost. So…there's still a chance of saving him. I can still save him.” He muttered it, not really saying it to her…just needing to say it.

 

“And how exactly do you plan to do that?” Ruby asked calmly. She watched as Dean scrambled for a reply, trying to fight through his rising panic, and then finally said, “Relax, Dean. That's why you're incredibly lucky that I'm the one who answered when you yelled. I just so happen to be the only demon I know of who isn't liking this plan all that much.”

 

Dean managed to choke out a few words. “So…are you…will you…can you…”

 

“Oh, put your eyes back in, man,” Ruby said, obviously exasperated. “I'm going to help you get out of here and help your precious little brother. There's only one condition—don't you dare tell Sam about me.”

 

“But…won't you get in trouble?” Dean asked, skipping over the last part of what she said entirely, and even as he said it he thought, What are you doing, you idiot? Just take her up on it!

 

She shrugged. “Nothing I can't handle.”

 

“But…why? Why are you so willing to go against your friends' plan?” Dean asked, even as he desperately told himself to shut up.

 

“They're not my friends,” Ruby said vehemently, breaking her icy-calm exterior for the first time. Then she closed her eyes for a minute, and when she opened them that calm had returned. She stood up and walked over to him, crouching down in front of him.

 

“Besides…”

 

She smiled wolfishly, and released him.

 

“Who says I can't have a plan of my own?”

 

XXX

 

Ruby was at least decent enough to leave him in the impoundment lot that held his car, but she didn't seem overly interested in sticking around to see the rest of the show. In fact, she was gone by the time Dean got to his feet and turned to grudgingly thank her, even though she was a demon and he trusted her about as far as he could throw her.

 

Actually, he could probably throw her pretty far, so that wasn't really a great analogy, but whatever. He didn't have time to think about her or wonder about her, anyways. He would later, because she was quite the enigma, that Ruby demon, but…not now.

 

He had a brother to save.

 

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Author's Note: Well, that was…interesting. And I promise, the whole Dean-knowing-about-Ruby thing will be explained later. It's technically AU, but it won't affect the future of the series in any way. Like I said, it'll be explained.

 

So. Anyways. I hope Ruby's story made at least a little sense. It might not make complete sense, but I'm hoping I didn't screw it up entirely. Review and let me know, would ya?