Chapter Text
Dean found himself slouched on a hotel table, legs a tad bit wobbly from the constant use over the years in the out of the way and not even one star hotel. Needlessly said he could have sworn correctly that he found evidence of it not being cleaned properly from the last guests promiscuous behaviour and rodents. He couldn't bring himself to care all that much.
Not with the complete buzzed state he found himself in. A dangerous combination of alcohol and drugs. He wasn't usually the type to even come close to using drugs, usually just stuck with alcohol. But with his mood and the need to escape reality for some time he had to. Well, he didn't have to but he chose to. Not the same thing, but in an angst filled mind that was intoxicated it seemed like a good enough reason.
His coming to the decision to put himself in danger for natural threats and the usual supernatural threats started with a fight and an untimely separation.
Sam wanted a normal life, not wanting to acknowledge that they would never have a normal life. That was decided the second they became destined to be two douche-bag's true vessels. Not that that so called destiny came to pass, for Dean anyway. Sammy said yes. Dean couldn't bring himself to curse his sibling for that, only curse Lucifer who stole his brother away.
Normally a fight wouldn't lead to such a drastic shift in Dean's unruly and idiotic decisions like getting drunk or in this case, high. They had fights so many times before. Dean could no longer count how many times they fought. They were brothers after all, that was the only normal thing in their lives if you thought about it.
But this time was different. Very different and too similar at the same time.
Maybe it was because Sam didn't try to help him out of Purgatory. Maybe it was because Dean finally had enough. Enough hurt from being betrayed, hurt from being left behind for a woman and a dog this time. Or maybe he finally found that edge. At least it wasn't a demon this time, like last time with Ruby.
The fight was explosive, neither of them budged or removed themselves from the others personal space. Something that bothered Dean to some degree, he always did like his personal space especially after his stint in Hell. Personal space was important, nearly as important as other things deemed important by Dean. That list was liable to change at any given moment.
In the end Sam left without throwing a single punch, shockingly neither of them fought physically this time. He just up and left after they went to bed angry and frustrated with each other. Dean didn't even catch Sam in the act. Just woke up to a note signed officially at the bottom. It wasn't that afternoon though that Dean found out that it wasn't a hoax or a trap or anything after a short cutting conversation between himself and Sam.
No sign or key words used to show that it was a set up, that Sam was in trouble.
It was what it was.
Sammy left to go back to that normal life. And Dean, Dean was left alone and in the hotel room that now felt suffocatingly empty.
On the ground there was glass shards and mirror shards from the flash of Dean's temper. Cooling off just as quickly. He went and fetched himself alcohol and wasn't asked questions out of hospitality on the saleswoman at the liquor store. His whole outlook probably looked murderous for that. She took his money and gave him his change just to get him out of there. Even when he decided to drastically get himself drugs for some foolish reason, the drug dealer didn't charge him.
Kid was smart to know when someone more dangerous then you was on the prowl. Best to get that someone away as quick as you can.
Dean locked the door behind him and simply drowned himself in his foolish decisions. Unashamedly. There was no one here to stop him, phone him or save him from being a complete and utter moron. Worse, no one to distract him from blurred thoughts and voices and the worst thing for him. Memories.
Shifting slightly he eyed the room with distaste as he sat up enough to finish off the bottle loosely held between his fingers before it fell and made another mess. Not that Dean had the energy to really care. Faintly his mind travelled to Benny, the vampire who helped him escape from Purgatory. Benny so far was probably the only vampire he liked and trusted to not screw him over like any other supernatural being out there.
That could change though. Even Dean knew that. For now he'll trust the man, more or less. Later on, well we'll see.
Benny was the last person in his life that didn't leave him in some manner or another. Yes they were in two different places, but Benny actually figured out phones enough to send text messages. He really sucked at it.
The rest of them though. Bobby left Dean by dying on him, Dean felt a surge of anger at that. He couldn't let it get too far though, he killed the bastard who caused Bobby to be shot and eventually die. Then they had to burn the flask! Bobby was truly gone and Dean didn't even get to meet up with him in Purgatory. Did that mean he was safe? That he was in his own Heaven or worse. Was he in his own Hell?
The same thing with his Dad, but not before countless times of being left behind to be an adult in a child's body and raise Sam. Before he took off for good leaving Dean to hunt on his own until he caved and went and fetched Sam from his fake life. Then the son of a bitch had to go and die for Dean! Dean once again felt a surge of familiar anger. The alcohol and drugs was making things difficult.
Then there was Castiel. The badass nerdy Angel of the Lord. Who before being sucked into Purgatory with Dean, was driven insane with Sam's insanity and his own guilt that became unhinged with the regained memories of eons and recent history. He wasn't dead...
But he was gone.
He left Dean alone, let him and Benny save themselves and didn't or couldn't follow. Protecting Dean. Protecting Benny. Saving Dean again. He was always saving Dean. Always.
And last but not least, there was Sam. Always there was Sam. Everything seemed to come back to his little foolish broken baby brother. A brother who fought against Dean. Fought with Dean. Died for the world and knew what was out there. So he should want to help people so they wouldn't got through the things Sa-they went through. But Sam wanted a normal life. Wanted and went out to take it. Leaving Dean alone.
This time it felt too final. Uncomfortably.
"Aren't you a sorry sight to look at..."
Dean instantly shot up and looked behind him where the echo of the voice came from. A familiar voice. He saw nothing. Only picked up the memory of sulphur, heat, blood and... Belonging. The memory of being owned, trained and broken down. Dean cursed angrily.
Coming to the conclusion he should have came to before he started this binge drinking and drug escapade, that he shouldn't have put himself into such an intoxicated state. Standing up on unsteady legs he wondered over to the bathroom, pointlessly checking inside for any sign of anyone. No one was there, which was a giver considering that voice was of someone who was dead.
Bracing himself on the doorway he turned back to the room noting to himself that there was only one bag. Sam's was gone, obviously. But then so was Kenny who gone into hiding with his Mother in order to care for her. He did say that he'll contact Dean when he comes up with a lock for the door to Hell. Which would be hard considering a key piece to figuring that out was currently with Crowley. Dean didn't fault him for his decision, Dean might have done the same thing.
"I'm disappointed Dean, such a sorry state to find you in."
Dean spun around causing a bout of dizziness to catch him off guard and bringing him to his knees. Maybe he shouldn't have put himself into such a state. No one was there. But the voice, his old master's voice was so clear in his mind. It was as though he was back with the demon again.
The fact that the voice, the voice of Alastair saying that he was disappointed stung. More then what he wanted to admit to. A part of him never liked it when someone was disappointed in him. It hurt and it felt almost as bad as being betrayed. Almost.
"I'm sorry..." Dean managed to force out. He didn't know why he was apologizing, he'll blame it on the drugs or event he alcohol. He wished he didn't get drunk or high for that matter. He wouldn't be hearing voices. Hearing his voice. Dean looked around, frantically and saw no one else around. Only Dean. Alone. Left behind Dean Winchester.
Betrayed.
Forcing himself to his feet he made his way to the chair he has occupied for the last several hours. He muses on the fact that he should be used to it, everyone seemed to have a thing for doing that. And even though Dean knew that was unfair and probably untrue, it didn't stop him from feeling that way. The ugly fact was, out of everyone there was only one person who actually stuck with him for countless years was the demon who hurt him so badly. And changed a part of him and no matter how many times Castiel may have pulled him from his Hell, it won't go away. It's still there, it will always be there. Forever.
No one comes out of Hell, on their own or on a chariot of angels and remain the same. That was fact.
'I know' A voice came from right behind him, the first time there was an honest direction for the voice to come from. Dean spun around and found himself face to face with none other then Alastair. Only Alastair wasn't in a vessel, he was in his natural state that he would be in. His true form, only visible like this if they were in Hell or Purgatory.
Dean's mouth opened in order to say something but what could he say to someone who's dead. Who should be dead. An hallucination. Something that never happened to Dean before, well except for that one time he had a fever and worried Lisa sick because of the things he muttered. Dean was still thankful that Ben didn't see any of it. Dean would have died if he did.
Dean shouldn't be hallucinating! That was Sam's gig. Dean shook his head slightly, rubbed his eyes before looking towards where Alastair was supposedly standing. He was still there and grinning down at Dean. Once again after a few years or so, he felt small.
Dean muttered to himself about it not being real and staggered away from the demon who haunted his dreams even to this day.
'I can assure you, I'm as real as you want me to be. After all, we both know I'm the only one who didn't abandon you. Like everyone else.' Alastair said in that lisp he spoke with in Hell. Maybe it was because he only had half of a physical face. Rotten, but still physical. Something Dean could focus on when looking the man in the face but not into those eerily pale white eyes. He couldn't stand those white eyes and usually found himself fantasizing about removing them on and off the rack.
Dean snarled to himself slightly. As always Alastair seemed to hit it where it hurts. Sadistic bastard.
"It's not like they meant to! Not completely. And if you're as real as I want you to be, then go away! I don't want you here! I don't want you to be real. You're just a fucking figment of my fucked up imagination." Dean snarled angrily, banging could be heard on the wall. Other guests wanting him to be silent. He glared. Alastair smiled, stretching the rotten half of his face and shifting the non physical side of his face.
This wasn't real. He knew that now because if this was the real Alastair would have taken Dean's disrespect out of his skin. Literally, probably some muscle and organs as well. If they were still in Hell that is. This was just an hallucination. Dean looked at the drugs that was now used up and only leaving traces behind. That must be the reason behind this.
'Maybe so, but you my boy are desperate to have some company. Someone to be that voice in your ear when you need one.' Alastair agreed with a shrug of his deformed body. Smoke and rot making it up as a whole. The funny thing was, you could touch the smoke and it felt firm like it was actual flesh. Dean knew that because of the amount of times he had to touch his master back.
"If I wanted company I could have gone to a bar..." Dean snarled out, quiet enough to not bother his neighbours. A nod of acknowledgement, Alastair's way of saying that Dean had a point.
'But that's not it, and we know it boy. You need someone here, to aim your lost mind in a direction. How about this, you let yourself sober up, rest and then go for a nice long drive. You do still have the Impala right?' Alastair calmly said, mocking the act of looking outside.
"Ya..." Dean answered before he could catch himself, his eyes following Alastair's every move. Only an hallucination brought on by his sorry state. Why was he hanging onto his words like some sorry no good idiot?
'Well then go for a drive.' Alastair pushed. The same tone he uses when he first put a razor in Dean's shaking hands. Telling him to give it a try.
Dean hated himself, but was too desperate and too broken to care as he found himself on his knees in his own blood and organs in front of the demon who carved and cut and tore into him day after day, year after year. Gasping as the pain lessened and went away like he helplessly and foolishly prayed for. Prayed to who? This was Hell, there was no one to pray to. No one to hear his cries and his pleading and his need to be rescued. Who would rescue a damned man?
"Go on boy, my boy. Little Dean-o. Make me proud." The cursed Demon whispered down to him as he kindly helped Dean to his feet, held him up like a mockery form of a saviour. A razor was put in Dean's unsteady hands and he was turned around to what used to be his rack and saw a woman strapped to a clean rack.
"Have at her. Give it a try, you might like it." Alastair said as he let Dean go to stand on his own two feet for the first time in thirty years.
"Now?" Dean asked when he finally escaped the memory and focused on the Demon who was oddly fixated on Dean.
'Sure. Have at her son.' Alastair pushed.
Dean shook his head and rubbed his eyes frantically. Once again foolishly hoping that Alastair would be gone when he finally opened his eyes again. Hoped in a foolish and blind way. Only to be proven wrong as he opened his eyes to view the demon who now looked like he did in his final vessel, covered in blood the way he was when Dean worked him over pointlessly. The angels should have known or at least figured that Alastair liked pain. Hated earth and if it was possible, loved Hell.
"I'm not your son." Dean snarled out as he forced himself to where the keys to the Impala was. Why was he even considering listening to a suggestion from a stupid hallucination that he shouldn't be having in the first part? Only that he did feel the need to clear his head. Maybe that would get ride of Alastair's mocking face in every way but in his nightmares.
Dean didn't get any response to that as he exited the room, it was night at this point and Alastair was sitting in the passenger seat as though he had a right to sit there. Dean frowned but didn't do anything, how could you get an hallucination to get out of the car. Instead he climbed in and relaxed into the familiar seat and the reassuring feel of the wheel in his hands. For a good ten minutes he simply sat there.
Alastair was talking about situations between them, shared and pushed onto Dean.
One thing Dean never mentioned to anyone was that Alastair told him stories about his beginnings, Alastair was one of the few demons who remembered who they were.
"Did you know Dean-o, that I once was considered to be a righteous man. I worked to help people, save them. Then I fell. I did some things, came up with some old school interrogation methods that the good Lord didn't agree with. Things like the Judas Cradle. Aside from creating things like that to protect the innocent, single out the guilty. I was a good guy." Alastair calmly explained as Dean found himself curled at the monsters feet. Obediently.
"Why did you fall... If you helped people." Dean found himself asking, the first question he freely asked. Like a child he hoped for an answer.
"Because the good Lord is a fanatical prick who cherry picks who goes up and who does not. Good thing is, I found my purpose here Dean-o. Just like you will. After all, anyone who comes here is guilty of something. Like yourself, like myself. So they get what they deserve here. Do you believe me?" Alastair answered and Dean hated the elated joy he felt at having someone answer him patiently.
"Yes..." Dean answered with a sure nod.
And he did believe him.
Dean started the car and sped out of the driveway and found himself a stretch of highway to speed down. He didn't care that he left his belongings behind. The important things were in the trunk. The weapons, I.D, Holy Oil and Holy Water. Like he said, the important things.
And for the next few hours he drove up and down the highway, listening to an hallucination that was fading away as his mind cleared and fighting against that hallucination. He hated that he was seeing Alastair. Hating that he was feeling so low and so vulnerable. He didn't feel this way since he was in Purgatory before he met Benny and escaping Alastair's cave.
He filled up when necessary with money stashed away in the car.
It wasn't until the sun started to show signs of coming up that the hallucination as pointless and unwanted as it was, was gone. But it left things in him that he didn't want to own up to. Memories. Thoughts. Wants. An old temptation carving it's way back into his mind.
"I pray to Cas, my soul to keep... Wherever you are, save me again... One last time, I'm falling..." Dean didn't know what possessed him to say that as he almost jokingly tried to run from the sun as it raised behind him, but he did and all he could hear is Alastair's laugh along with his own, one that reminded him of back when he wasn't acting like he would have. When he was an apprentice.
A simple quote echoed in his mind. One he hated along with his memories. One spoken to him in Purgatory by Alastair himself.
"Sum quod Eris; quod es, ipse fui"