He knows who and what she is the moment he sees her.
Ruby. Little hellspawn that spent the better part of his last year jerking Sammy around, getting Sam's hopes up. Lying and sneaking and plotting—her soulsmoke has Zach's stench all over it.
She doesn't recognize him as any more than Dean Winchester, Sam's brother. Maybe she knows what was done to him, what he did down there. Maybe she doesn't. But she makes some quip and leaves, and it's so obvious she thinks he's in the dark. Just stupid, blind Dean Winchester. Pawn.
He watches her go with the eyes Alistair ripped wide open and the angel's mark on his arm burns.
He is no one's pawn, now that he's out. Zachariah whimpered all about his grand design, the plot to release Lucifer to remake the world. Alistair laughed and Dean just kept on carving. Zachariah's intestines made such pretty pictures, traced onto his bone by his own soot-stained feathers.
He is no one's pawn, not Zachariah's or God's. Dean Winchester belongs to himself.
The angel brand burns but pain is nothing.
o0o
Sammy sleeps eventually, curled as much as he can be into Dean. Bobby is in the next bed.
Dean slips out of Sam's embrace and stands, staring down at the man who was once his everything.
Alistair ripped away all that Dean Winchester had been. He sliced Dean down into his component parts and then put him back together wrong.
He remembers Sam. Sammy. Baby brother. The world. But it's so far away, the emotions, the need.
Dean knows he traded himself away for Sam. But he can barely recall why.
No matter. Even when Alistair was playing around with his insides, he knows that the deepest part of him, the small smidgeon of his soul that went untouched, clung to this man. Kept him from losing everything.
That little hellspawn girl is waiting for Sam somewhere and Dean can feel her. He's been shoved back into this human body, but he was Alistair's favored down below.
"Sleep," he croons, reaching out with a tendril. "Don't wake before I'm back." He glances from Sam to Bobby, anchoring the command.
No, he is nobody's pawn. Not Hell's or Heaven's, not Zachariah's or Alistair or Azazel, or God's. It doesn’t matter what brand is on his skin or his soul.
He can barely remember Sam, but Sam stayed with him, down in the bowels of Hell, when everyone left him. And that little girl Ruby—whatever her scheme is, it ends now.
Dean leaves the hotel room, sealing it up so that no one—human, heavenly, or hellish—can enter and follows Zachariah's stench to Sam's summertime companion.
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Re: in the bowels of Hell - Rish, gen
Date: 2009-08-06 02:40 am (UTC)He knows who and what she is the moment he sees her.
Ruby. Little hellspawn that spent the better part of his last year jerking Sammy around, getting Sam's hopes up. Lying and sneaking and plotting—her soulsmoke has Zach's stench all over it.
She doesn't recognize him as any more than Dean Winchester, Sam's brother. Maybe she knows what was done to him, what he did down there. Maybe she doesn't. But she makes some quip and leaves, and it's so obvious she thinks he's in the dark. Just stupid, blind Dean Winchester. Pawn.
He watches her go with the eyes Alistair ripped wide open and the angel's mark on his arm burns.
He is no one's pawn, now that he's out. Zachariah whimpered all about his grand design, the plot to release Lucifer to remake the world. Alistair laughed and Dean just kept on carving. Zachariah's intestines made such pretty pictures, traced onto his bone by his own soot-stained feathers.
He is no one's pawn, not Zachariah's or God's. Dean Winchester belongs to himself.
The angel brand burns but pain is nothing.
o0o
Sammy sleeps eventually, curled as much as he can be into Dean. Bobby is in the next bed.
Dean slips out of Sam's embrace and stands, staring down at the man who was once his everything.
Alistair ripped away all that Dean Winchester had been. He sliced Dean down into his component parts and then put him back together wrong.
He remembers Sam. Sammy. Baby brother. The world. But it's so far away, the emotions, the need.
Dean knows he traded himself away for Sam. But he can barely recall why.
No matter. Even when Alistair was playing around with his insides, he knows that the deepest part of him, the small smidgeon of his soul that went untouched, clung to this man. Kept him from losing everything.
That little hellspawn girl is waiting for Sam somewhere and Dean can feel her. He's been shoved back into this human body, but he was Alistair's favored down below.
"Sleep," he croons, reaching out with a tendril. "Don't wake before I'm back." He glances from Sam to Bobby, anchoring the command.
No, he is nobody's pawn. Not Hell's or Heaven's, not Zachariah's or Alistair or Azazel, or God's. It doesn’t matter what brand is on his skin or his soul.
He can barely remember Sam, but Sam stayed with him, down in the bowels of Hell, when everyone left him. And that little girl Ruby—whatever her scheme is, it ends now.
Dean leaves the hotel room, sealing it up so that no one—human, heavenly, or hellish—can enter and follows Zachariah's stench to Sam's summertime companion.
Checkmate.