Fairytales are Real Part 4: One Thousand and One Demons
Dean awoke with a throbbing headache, surrounded by darkness. It was cold and damp, and took several minutes for his eyes to adjust enough to the darkness. When he did, he really wished he hadn't. He was in a dungeon of some sort. He was clearly underground; the cell he was trapped in was made of stone and his arms were chained above his head, forcing him into a kneeling position. Beside him were several bones, clearly from some humanoid, long dead. There was also a recently dead body chained up beside him. His skin was a sickly gray and falling off, revealing diminished muscles and dirty bones. The smell was putrid and Dean couldn't help but gag at it.
Dean couldn't remember how he got here; he assumed it had something to do with the throbbing in his head. And he assumed it was bad. He had no idea where Sammy was, but Dean hoped he was somewhere safer (and cleaner) than he was. He tried to struggle out of the restraints around his wrists, and dug through one of his boots with the other foot. Unfortunately, it seemed like all his knifes were gone, which meant he'd have to either wiggle his way out of the cuffs or break them somehow.
Dean heard a noise on the staircase and turned just in time to see what looked like several men, but which he now knew to be demons, climbing down the stairs. One shorter man in a suit with balding hair came to stop before him. He grinned at Dean and waved the larger men behind him to the dead body beside Dean, “Take this one up, he's ready nice. How about a nice slow roast? I'd like him with a bit of brown gravy I think. Outta be nice and tasty.” He licked his lips and winked at Dean. For the briefest of seconds, his eyes flared black and Dean knew he was right.
The demon snapped his fingers at one of the smaller demons in his charge “You there, bring me that bloody chair and then get out of my sight. I'd like to play with my new toy.” He was grinning again. He had the other demon place the chair right in front of Dean and sat down before him, staring down at him. Dean tried to tug at his shackles and the demon just laughed at him.
“What do you want with me?!” Dean demanded.
“Oh, now here we go, to the good stuff.” He clapped his hands together and then brought out a knife from his pocket. “You're a real pretty one, aren't you.” He took Dean's face into his hand and forced Dean to look at him, tracing the knife along his jaw. Dean gritted his teeth and glared at him. “My name is Crowley, and you're in my kingdom now. Welcome to the Valley of Hell, Deanie babe. I'm going to carve you up real nice and pretty, then when you're on your last breath, I'm going to cook you up and serve you to my men. Now, doesn't that sound so fun?”
The demon Crowley took the knife up to Dean's cheek and very carefully sliced it down, separating a very thin slice of skin from Dean's cheekbone. Dean gritted his teeth, his eyes bulging out to prevent himself from screaming. He would not give this bastard the satisfaction. Crowley let the skin hang limp from Dean's jaw while he turned his head and looked to the other cheek.
“Is that all you got? Cheek slicing?” Dean deflected to keep his mind off of the searing pain of his filleted flesh. “Let me tell you a little story. It's of a warrior who had to face the worst kind of torture imaginable and managed to get his vengeance by killing the son of a bitch who did it afterward. Now it all began when this evil asshat kidnapped the handsome young prince and locked him up in his dungeon ...” Dean could already feel his head clearing.
Crowley chuckled, sitting back and waving his hand for Dean to continue. Dean grinned and continued his tale; weaving for Crowley a tale of torture, heroism, and vengeance. Along the way Crowley giggled delightfully, occasionally slicing a different part of Dean's skin off when the story got intense.
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Things continued on in that trend for several days ... weeks even. Dean had lost track of the time. Crowley would come down to the chamber every morning, begin by slicing into Dean viciously, and demand that Dean continue with his story. Dean would weave his tale, always thinking quickly on his feet and keeping the demon entertained with stories of trickery and deceit. Occasionally, he would weave riddles and logic into his story that would keep Crowley entertained for so long that he'd forget to torture Dean for entire days.
When Crowley did remember to slice into Dean, or use other forms of torture on him, Dean would grin and bear through the pain, never giving Crowley the satisfaction of his cries. Crowley seemed even more impressed by this.
Dean slowly started to parse together his memories of the night he was taken. Him and Sam had just finished burying their father and were on their way back home. They were ambushed in the middle of the night. Dean tried to distract their captors and yelled at Sam to get out of there. Then he was bludgeoned from behind and everything went black. He assumed his captors brought him back to this prison.
When one day Crowley sat before Dean without his usual knife and jiggling a set of keys, Dean sighed deeply in relief. He believed that Crowley had finally come to kill him, and it was about time because he was running low on ideas for stories. Crowley grinned mischievously at him. “Do you know how long you've been down here, Deanie Bean? No, of course not. There are no clocks down here, no sunlight. You've been trapped down here for so long in the darkness that you have no idea how long it's been. Well it has been one-hundred and one days, baby. No one has ever survived that long in my dungeons, hell no one has kept me entertained for that long. So, I'm here to offer you a deal.” Dean raised his eyebrow at that. Dean knew he couldn't trust the demon, his father had warned him not to ever make a deal with a demon. He would sooner die than disobey his father's order. “Now, now, none of that.” He must have had a look on his face at Crowley's reaction, “I would like to invite you to be my consort.” Crowley grinned like he was offering Dean the grand prize at auction.
Dean growled, snarling at Crowley, “I would NEVER agree to be your consort. I would rather cut out my own heart than get into your bed.”
Crowley smiled softly. “That's just too bad then, sweetheart. I was really hoping to have a piece of that sweet ass of yours, but if you'd rather have it that way.” Crowley snapped his fingers and a couple of his thugs from upstairs came down to his side. “Grab him, boys.” The thugs grabbed each side of Dean as Crowley unlocked the cuffs around his wrists. As soon as he was free, he began punching and flailing but Crowley pulled out his knife and shoved it into his gut so far his wrist was snug on the skin around the opening. Crowley laughed maniacally the whole time as he twisted and tugged the knife. Eventually, he pulled his hand out, leaving the knife settled in his gut, and whipped his hands on his pants. “Bring him out to the gutter.”
Dean lost consciousness as the demons dragged him up the stairs. He finally felt at peace as his mind blanked. His last thoughts went to Sammy, hoping he was safe and wouldn't be too heartbroken at losing both his brother and father. Maybe, just maybe, he'd get past this and find his own fairytale.
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