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Faded Memories

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The soul in front of him let out another long drawn out scream, and Dean grinned, sinking the knife deeper into the already bloody mess.  The soul was completely incoherent from pain, though that could have also been because Dean had torn apart its throat a while ago, skillfully carving around the nerves that let it feel the rest of its perceived body.  He had no idea why he hadn’t missed this when he was on the middle floor of Earth, the simplistic cycle of torture and the instant mending to start all over again.  As he continued to carve around the souls left femur, he recalled how guilty and weak he had felt back on earth. He couldn’t remember much of it, but he knew it had been miserable.  Least he hadn’t had to be up there for too long, once Lucifer rose Dean had been tossed right back down to hell. 

At first he had fought against it again, but eventually he had decided to give in and follow with the tradition of hell, the master dies and his apprentice takes up his title.  As Dean was Alastair’s Golden Boy and still remembered all his skills, he had instantly gotten the position of chief torturer as well as inherited all Alastair’s land in hell.  Alastair had been master over a large area, about the size and shape of a human mansion with mindless shade servants and surrounding yards.  Dean had spent one and a half year redecorating and organizing the land to what he remembered his tastes being on the middle floor.  It was awesome, a house that completely and utterly belonged to him, catering and existing for his every whim.  Now he didn’t need to worry about protecting anyone or anything, all of that had been left on the middle and upper floors, his property in hell protected itself and everything in it.  Dean hardly remembered Earth most of the time though, which was probably the only thing he didn’t like in hell.  With nothing to help him remember his human life, he was forgetting, bit by bit becoming nothing but another demon, albeit a white-eyed one. 

He had just become satisfied with the amount of femur showing through the blood and was preparing to pull the bone out when there was movement behind him and his eyes flicked white in annoyance.  Why had he let the house allow others in to this room today?  Evidently picking up on his irritation at being interrupted, the newly arrived demon spoke quickly. 

“A gift has arrived for you” It hissed, cringing aside to show an angel forced to its knees and with its black wings out, tightly pulled to its back as if that would protect it.  An angel.  He hadn’t had one to play with for quite a while, and this one actually looked familiar, wearing a tan trench coat and with black hair.  The angel glanced up defiantly at Dean, and he was shocked by the blue and the recognition in its gaze.  Yes, he had definitely known this angel when he was human, which meant that this angel deserved to be here.  He recalled all the angels as being stuck up douche bags who had no care for anything but themselves. 

“Where’s its blade?” Dean asked with a grin, no humanity showing on his face.  The demon hastily handed over a long silver colored angel blade and then backed up.  Dean soon forgot about it, turning back to the soul he had originally been torturing and with a wave of his hand caused it to disappear off Dean’s rack, appearing in one of the acid filled waiting compartments of hell.  He placed the angel’s blade carefully down on his table and then turned back towards it.  Approaching the angel he grabbed the thick collar attached to the manacles on its wrists and dragged it forwards, ignoring its futile struggles.  The constraints were covered in Enochian sigils that bound and locked the angel in its vessel, taking away its supernatural abilities and making it safe to torture. 

Dean” the angel gasped as it struggled and Dean threw it against the rack, summoning a stake and stabbing it through the angels wing, pinning it there.  Attaching the angels bindings to the rack to keep it relatively still Dean stepped back to admire the picture it made.  Blood ran down its wing, its arms and legs were spread wide and there was a curious mixture of defiance and pleading in its eyes.  Maybe it thought that because he knew it that it would receive some sort of lenience. 

“Dean please” The angel managed through the pain in its wing and he just laughed in reply, moving over to his table with all of its instruments.  With a thought all of them but the angel’s blade were replaced with his specially made angel tools and Dean paused, debating.  The angel continued to spit out small pleas mixed with his name and Dean decided that that would have to stop first.  Grabbing a pair of pliers and a knife, Dean strode forwards and grabbed the angels mouth, forcing its jaw open and shoving the pliers in, he made thin cuts lengthwise across the angels tongue, shredding it but leaving it still attached.  The angel squirmed and yanked its head back, Dean letting it go as he moved the knife, drawing it across his own wrist and letting a small stream of blood out.  Once again forcing the angels mouth open he shoved his wrist forwards, making the angel drink his blood.  Demon blood was acid to angels, the higher the level of demon, the stronger the pain, and so Dean, being a white eyed demon, could cause quite a lot of pain. 

After the angel had swallowed enough through its struggles and cries, he shoved its head back against the rack and quickly traded the pliers and knife in for a rusty scalpel with a sharp tip, the head made out of melted down angel blades.  The angel tried to spit some of the blood out when Dean was distracted and he slapped it hard, shoving close and grabbing its free wing, dragging it upwards and out. Fear ran across the angels face now and it shook its head, still trying to say Deans name through its mangled mouth.  Wings were the most sensitive part of an angel and took the longest to heal, therefore for Dean they were the most fun to cut up.  It was hard to mend them even with hells system of rejuvenation, so he couldn’t just tear them off right away, he could take his time.  Stabbing the scalpel through the bone of the upper arch of the angels wing, he slowly dragged it outwards, pulling a drawn out scream from the angel.  Once the bone had been completely split in two, Dean twisted his fingers inside of it, digging further into the bone and splintering the cut.  The angel went wild with the pain and there was a tearing sound from the other wing as the angel ripped it clean off the stake. 

“Well you could’ve just said something if you were so eager for that” Dean grinned and laughed.  The angel was flapping around like a trussed up bird.  He wasn’t exactly sure what bird came with that saying, but he vaguely remembered it being one he liked to eat.  Dead and cooked of course, humans had such limitations. 

Yanking the wing he was working on outwards and stepping back so it twisted, Dean began the slow process of plucking the feathers out, one by one and then smearing his blood on the places they had attached to the wings.  The angel started to try and speak again, getting Deans name out through its shredded tongue as if it meant something.  Curious now as to what the angel thought it meant, Dean dropped the wing and stepped forwards, shoving the scalpel under the angels ribcage and getting close to its blood covered face.

“What the fuck do you want” He asked it, surprised when hope appeared with the pain.  It tried to speak again, once more a repetition of Deans name and he discarded the scalpel, digging his full hand into the wound left behind and curling his fingers around the ribs he could feel.  The angel screamed at that, panting and still trying to plead.  Neither of the two other angels he had tortured had been like this one.  They had held their stone cold masks until they could stop their screams no longer, not once mentioning his name or looking at him with anything other than scorn and then hatred.   

Maybe he knew this angel differently than the others?  With a slightly disconnected feeling he pulled his hand back and snapped off one of the angels ribs at the same time.  Waiting for the angel to calm down, Dean stood in front of it, realizing the last few cuts had been acting on repetition only.  Finally the angel stopped screaming and looked back at Dean through watery eyes, trying to move its hand, something Dean finally recognized as a gesture at his shoulder.  He almost moved to unlatch the angels hand from the rack, but remembered his audience just in time.  Turning around and ignoring the dismayed noise from the angel as it thought he was ignoring it again, Dean was surprised to see his audience had grown slightly.  Four demons stood watching, all trying to hide the looks of elation on their faces as they realized Dean had seen them. 

“Get out” He barked and moved closer to his table in threat.  The demons scrambled over themselves to leave.  Dean was known for torturing anyone, no matter their rank or species, if they needed to be pulled down a peg Dean would gladly do it. He closed his eyes for a moment and commanded the house to banish any living thing from it except the angel and him, and then to keep them out. 

When they were alone he turned back to the angel, wincing slightly at the hope in its face.  He wanted to know how he knew it, that’s all he was doing, he would go right back to torturing it after, he tried to convince himself, but he knew there was something different going on here.  Stepping closer again, he let the angels arm free, though not out of its binding and it sucked in a breath as its weight shifted. 

For a second the angel just pressed its hand against the wound in its abdomen as if trying to hold its insides in, but then it reached out towards the demon.  Dean tensed, but reminded himself that with the bindings the angel couldn’t smite him.  Instead of going for his forehead anyways, the angel weakly ran its hand over Deans left shoulder and Dean felt, something happen.  Pulling up his sleeve and moving so the angel could better reach him, it let out a breath of relief and gripped him over a handprint scar burned into his very essence. 

I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition.  The memories exploded into his mind and he remembered, all his human life which had gone fuzzy from his time in hell becoming clear again.

“Castiel” Dean breathed and Cas let go, too weak to try and hold on for longer.  Dean’s eyes went white and he stared at the angel, his angel in both horror and amazement.  He vaguely realized he was still holding the piece of Cas’s rib he had torn off and dropped it like he was burned.  Cas’s face, wings and chest were covered in blood, and he looked both wary and relieved at Dean’s recognition. 

“You let Sam out of the panic room” Alright, so that wasn’t exactly what he had meant to say, and by the devastated look on Cas’s face, he had been hoping Dean wouldn’t say that either.  Before Dean could retract his words, Cas pulled back, curling in on himself as much as he could splayed on a rack with only one arm free.  He let out another noise that sounded like Dean’s name and the sorrow in his eyes broke Dean almost as much as the knowledge of what he had just done to his friend did.  “Shit Cas, I’m sorry, I didn’t remember”

Moving forwards, he pulled on hell so that it mended Cas’s vessel and quickly unhooked him from the rack

“I apologize Dean” Cas said weakly as soon as he could talk again, and Dean winced as he pulled the angel into his arms.  Picking him bodily up and off the floor and rack, Dean shifted them through his house and into his bedroom

“Hey, don’t worry, you have nothing to be sorry for” He shushed, laying Cas on his stomach and arranging his wings to be more comfortable.  He closed his eyes for a second and focused on the bed, causing long padded attachments to grow from it to carry the weight of Cas’s wings.  “Fuck man, I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay” Cas replied, wincing as Dean summoned bandages and first aid tools, quickly but efficiently wrapping up the damage he had done to Cas’s wings. 

When Cas looked as comfortable as he could, Dean crouched down next to his head and brushed some hair out of Cas’s face, trying for a smile “I thought the archangel killed you”

“He was going to, but before he could finish, Lucifer rose and he left.” Cas looked tired enough to fall asleep, but kept his eyes open and focused on Deans face as if the moment he closed them Dean would disappear.  Shit, Dean totally didn’t deserve this look of devotion after what he had just done, but he so wanted it.  Then again, the angel had been trying to get through to Dean since he arrived, last thing Cas had done was rebel against everything he knew, and angels were created to obey.

“I’m really glad you’re alive” Dean blurted out.  How the hell had he forgotten who Cas was?  The guy had given up everything for Dean, and Dean had just tortured him like he would any other demon or soul.  Torturing anyone else was fine, but this was Cas, his angel Cas.  Dean had never been one to torture beings he owned, and Cas was definitely his property

“What are you going to do with me now?”  Cas asked, his eyelids fluttering shut and snapping back open as soon as they fully closed, worry outweighing the exhaustion clearly written over his face “Can I stay with you?”

“Now I’m going to take care of you.  And yes, you’re staying with me forever” Dean replied softly, not able to stop himself from petting down the side of the angels face, so grateful that Cas was alive and not really comprehending why Cas would want to stay with Dean, a demon who had been quite happy torturing the angel.  He was grateful that Cas did though, Dean had owned Cas since the moment Cas pulled him from hell, the angel just hadn’t accepted it for quite a while. “You belong to me, and I promise that down here, no one is ever going to hurt you again, me or anyone else.  My turn to protect you” 

A small smile appeared on Cas’s face and he allowed himself to relax at Dean’s words.  His eyes closed and Cas asked one last question “I’m going to sleep now, you’ll stay?”

Dean grinned down at the angel and placed a light kiss on top of his angels head. 

“Always”