Freaking Witches

Perfect Weapon

A/N: Warning: Chapter contains graphic descriptions of gore and torture while in hell. Read at your own discretion. I just thought I should forewarn y'all before hand.

Dean was in hell.

He could feel metal chains running through his body. Dean felt the way that they pulled at his insides every time he moved involuntarily. Each tiny motion sent a vibration down the metal chains. He could feel the hooks linked inside of him, tearing at the organs deep inside his body. Blood ran from his wounds and down arms to soak his shirt. He could feel his clothing sticking to him from a mixture of blood and sweat. His tearstained cheeks stung and his body ached. Dean could feel heat surrounding him; fire licking at his skin, burning away the flesh and leaving behind nothing more than exposed bones and pain that reached his very core.

He must have died again. Dean couldn't remember dying, but it must be true. It's the only way he could be back down here on the rack again. That was the only explanation he could think of.

As he hung from the chains Dean subconsciously realized that he was finally back into his normal body. At least his soul still remembered what gender he actually was. It wasn't like that would do him any good now as he felt himself being torn apart. He would take being stuck as a girl over this shit any day.

Dean's eyes snapped up when he saw a dark shadow fall across him. His heart nearly gave out from fear when he was met with a cold, unforgiving face that he would never forget.

"Long time, no see Deano..." the demon hissed. His voice was a low southern drawl, creating a sound worse than nails on a chalkboard. Dean forced himself to hold back a shiver of fear as he looked up into the cold black eyes of the demon Alastair. He forced himself to act braver than he felt. Dean's face contorted into a look of hatred and malice as he glared into those pitch black eyes.

Alastair had been his tormenter in hell. He was the one who ripped Dean apart bit by bit until there was nothing left of him. This was the demon that taught Dean the horrible art of torture.

Alastair was no longer in the human vessel that he had acquired on earth. The demon was now back in his true form. His dark demonic face was hideous and the smell of sulfur stung Dean's nose.

Dean's mind was swimming. His thoughts were clouded and he wasn't sure what to believe anymore. Didn't Alastair die? Hadn't Sam killed him years ago? What was he doing here now? Things were starting to get more and more confusing.

"You ready to give up yet?" Alastair asked. "You'll never sort out those thoughts. There is no way for you to tell what is real and what is fake. Anything is possible down here if it involves torment."

Dean could have sworn that he hadn't stayed in hell. Somehow he had gotten out and gotten back home to Sam. Somehow he had gotten back to the surface.

Dean felt his muscles instinctively tighten as Alastair stepped closer to him. There was a murderous look in the demon's eye. It looked like he wanted to eat Dean alive. In fact, he had actually done that on an occasion or two.

So, you know the drill "Dean-o, will my finest student return to the torturing souls? Or will you let me tear into that flawed flesh of yours?"

Dean couldn't stop his voice from shaking in sheer terror as he spit, "Up yours jackass."

Alastair arched his eyebrows in malice as an evil smile grew on his face. "Alright... Just like old times then."

Dean couldn't stop the scream that ripped from his throat when he felt Alastair slice into his body.