Disclaimer: Nothing of Supernatural belongs to me. I'm just borrowing the characters for a little fun. No money is being made.

Warning: Story contains violence, blood, and sexual content (slash). If you don't like please don't read any further.

A/N: This idea started as a oneshot and I'm unsure of whether to continue it and make it into a full story. Have any thoughts either way, let me know.

To Whom You Belong

As a pained whimper echoed the dusty and sparsely furnished room, it gained the attention of the only other occupant who stood at a long metal table. Lightly, the floor creaked and dust jumped up as the person walked over to the one just coming back to the land of consciousness. He felt a little relieved. If it had taken much longer for him to wake up then he would have had to start without him.

A faint smile grace his long gaunt features and his eyes danced with obvious delight as he watched the man struggle to lift his head and open his eyes which he was sure were being blinded by the dreary light that filtered through the window, lighting up the space dully. Deciding the give him a little more time, the taller man walked back to the metal table and arranged his instruments carefully, thinking through what he'd like to begin with.

Another groan soon reached his ears and he chuckled lightly. Perhaps he had knocked him out a little harder than intended. Closing the distance between them, he lifted the man's head up by his chin and gradually, his eyes opened and they locked on. Instantly, they showed pure fear.

"Alastair..."

The croaky voice made Alastair's laugh bounce off the walls with ease and he stepped away again to his table. "Nice of you to join me, Dean," he drawled lazily.

Dean panted and hung his head again as the world spun rapidly before his eyes, blurring his vision. At remembering the name he just uttered his heart sank to his stomach and bile rose up his throat. This couldn't be happening. As best he could he looked around the room, instantly wondering if there was anyone else here.

"S-Sam...?"

"Oh, I am sorry," said Alastair mockingly. "Your precious Sammy couldn't be here this evening. Instead, it's just gonna be the two of us, nice and cosy."

A shiver passed through Dean at those words. The knowledge of intimate encounters with Alastair was not something foreign to him. They were horribly familiar and just the thought of it happening again felt almost too much to bear. Dean felt his chest constrict tightly with fear and while Alastair's back was to him, he attempted to pull himself free of his constrains.

Lightly, the chains rattled against the metal frame he hung from and the effort earned him a chuckle from the other end of the room. Dean froze when Alastair's tall frame turned to look at him again. Moving fluidly, Alastair took hold of one end of the table and pulled it towards him. It was then Dean could see the instruments that lay upon the table. Knives of varying lengths filled the table along with goblets full of strange liquids and many devices Dean had never seen before.

"I do believe that the chains connected the metal bed frame will be enough to hold you."

"What's the mattress for?" asked Dean, finding his voice.

"It came with the bed," replied Alastair with a smirk. "And don't worry, Dean. No one will be interrupting us, I promise."

"Cas will find me," Dean spat heatedly, hating the demon's arrogance.

Alastair tutted, shaking his index finger at him. "Don't be so sure about that," he said quietly. "I have already taken precautions to see to it that we're not disturbed. The building is protected against all things heavenly and your brother won't be awake for a while."

Dean felt a wave of panic rush through him. "What did you do to him?" he yelled.

"Sammy?" the demon questioned. "He will be fine, just sleeping while we're having a nice, friendly little chat."

As Dean's head cleared and felt back to normal, he noticed Alastair was still fiddling with the instruments upon the table. It seemed he had plenty of time and Dean didn't like the sound of that. Even without plenty of time, Alastair could still do a lot of damage. As Alastair moved towards him, the floor creaked faintly and Dean closed his eyes, hoping that Castiel would still find some way of helping him. He had to.

A grunt sounded from Dean as a large, strong hand grabbed his face and squished his features together. His eyes met Alastair's and he saw the white demon eyes come out in the excitement he felt. Dean's jaw clenched in anger but he kept his words to himself. They definitely weren't going to help him out of this.

The demon's lips curved into a knowing smile. "I know what you're thinking, Dean," he said in a light raspy voice. Dean didn't reply but closed his eyes again at the sound of his voice. It was a constant sound in his ears that never went away. "You're wondering why I just don't kill you and send you back to where you belong? Well, the answer is, there's no need to be hasty. We have time before that comes and I think you might enjoy some fun up here first."

"Fun?" Dean questioned thickly.

Alastair released Dean's face and moved to his table, picking up his favourite blade. Dean watched as the silver glinted off the light from the windows and he swallowed nervously.

"Do you remember Hell, Dean?" asked Alastair casually.

Again, Dean didn't answer. Every night he had nightmares about that very thing and it was something he wasn't ready to discuss but it seemed that Alastair wanted to talk about.

"I know even some demons hate it but it's not so bad when you get used to it..."

"You're the grand torturer," said Dean, interrupting. "Of course, you enjoyed it there."

"Ah... but so did you," retorted Alastair. "Do not forget that Dean. If you had been down there for much longer, you could have taken my title. I would have gladly given it to you."

"That's so kind of you," Dean whispered sarcastically.

Alastair chuckled. "You were much better down there then you give yourself credit for," he said lightly. "Very skilled. Do you remember that one woman who came in after making a deal to have her husband killed?"

"Don't..." Dean whispered feebly.

"She was a pure one, wasn't she?" Alastair continued, ignoring Dean. "She was the third soul you sliced into, I believe. We were in a room alone together with her. Had her chained to one of the boiling red walls, peeling skin off her back. Do you remember the smell, Dean?"

"Please... don't..." Dean whispered again, a tear rolling down one cheek.

Alastair continued as though he hadn't been interrupted. "It was of pure burnt flesh, right to the bone but she was still in one piece and just like I had taught you, you continued. Those big, wide, fearful blue eyes of hers found yours and she begged. Begged like a dog. You ignored her and sliced down her torso, from neck to abdomen. It was such a beautiful sight. The blood poured from the deep wound, spilling down her clean white skin, painting it red."

Alastair inhaled deeply, the last half of it catching in his throat from the excitement rushing through his system at reliving it. "Slowly, you shredded her body into millions of lifeless specks of ash, before she was put back together and under my watch you started all over again."

"Stop..." choked Dean.

The sound and word prompted Alastair to look at him. A large grin covered half his face as the amusement seeped through. "What's the matter, Dean? Don't like reliving happy memories? Or would you prefer to move on?"

"Move on... please," the hunter whispered inaudibly.

Alastair seemed to really think about it for a moment before deciding. Eventually, he shrugged and moved back to his metal table. "Since you asked so nicely..."

The room turned silent and all Dean could hear was the pounding of his heart against his ribcage and the rushing of blood in his ears. The hope that Sam, Bobby, Castiel or even someone else would come to rescue him was slowly fading, right before his eyes. Dean knew what Alastair was like. He wouldn't stop until he got what he wanted and he was more than sure that Alastair wanted this.

As time slowly passed, Dean took another look around the room. It still looked the same as when he last looked around. The elemental looking room only contained two wooden tables and a few chairs surrounding them. For a brief moment, it made Dean wonder what else had been in here. Looking towards the window Dean realised that something had changed. The sky was turning dark.

Booted footsteps were soon heard near him and Dean shuddered in anticipation of what was coming. As Alastair stood before him again, he noticed that the demon was no longer holding his favourite knife but a different one, a smaller one, made of pure brass. Alastair gripped the handle tightly and expertly cut away the black shirt Dean wore, letting the tatters fall to the ground, exposing his tan, musclier chest. Skimming his fingertips over the defined muscles, a wicked smile lit up his features as Dean's body quivered under the light touch. It was back to how it looked before. He chuckled softly, mostly to himself.

"I could always summon a hellhound here if you'd like to... recreate the pattern down your chest," the demon whispered in a disturbingly sultry tone.

Dean bit his tongue and Alastair quickly moved along, removing Dean's shoes, socks, jeans and the boxers underneath. Dean hissed through his teeth at the cold air hitting his naked body. A faint shade of pink singed his cheeks, noting his embarrassment but Alastair took no notice. It seemed he was more interested in what was next.

Picking up his favourite razor-like knife, the demon stepped directly in front of him again. "Where would you like me to begin?"

"That depends," said Dean slowly. "What do you plan on doing? Changed your mind about killing me?"

"No, no, no, no, no," Alastair said in quick succession, pointing a finger at Dean as though he were a naughty child. "I would never kill you until the time came, you know that, Dean," he added lightly. "I just want to have a little fun. I suppose some scars will remind you to whom you belong."

There was a pause as Alastair's human looking eyes raked over Dean's body, taking him in. "So, anything in particular you'd like?"

"I don't give a rat's ass," Dean hissed, lowering his head, which was beginning to feel increasingly heavy.

"Oh, Dean, I don't like that attitude too much but maybe you'll soon partake," Alastair purred.

Then, Alastair paused, twirling his knife in his hand effortlessly, taking his time in choosing where he would like to start. As he looked down at Dean again, he tilted his head sideways, his face steeped in curiosity. He lifted the knife and placed the blade against Dean's cheek. The hunter didn't flinch or make a sound and kept his eyes on Alastair's, making the demon chuckle with amusement.

"I have taught you well," he remarked arrogantly.

Slowly, the knife was lifted up and the tip poked the skin of his cheek without piercing it. With a slow ease, he moved the knife down, pressing the tip into the soft skin of Dean's neck. Continuing downwards, Alastair moved to the chest but still had not made a mark. Dean frowned faintly, unsure of what Alastair was doing.

Slowly, he moved the knife upwards again and to the side. Pressing the knife just beneath the nipple, Alastair dragged the knife across to the other side, allowing thin droplets of blood run down the ripped chest, marking it. Dean breathed deeply and buried the pain he felt and continued to concentrate on the demon's eyes which were still locked onto his.

"Do you know why I like to carve with a knife, Dean?" Alastair asked, pausing for a moment. "Anything else I've found to be too quick and clean. I prefer something up close and personal, something that makes blood trickle down the skin, tainting it. The little emotions just near the end really show you who people truly are. I'm amused at the core nature of humans. What's buried deep in there would surprise you."

"Go to hell," Dean hissed, annoyed with the demon's talking.

"All in good time, Dean," Alastair whispered close to his face, making Dean flinch back.

Going back to the body before him, Alastair traced the knife's tip across the chest, picking up blood along the way as he thought about where he wanted to cut next. Deciding irony was the best option, Alastair moved the blade to the bottom of Dean's neck and pressing lightly, craved a straight line down to his abdomen. Once finished, Alastair stood back and admired what he had just made. It was a cross. Just like the one Jesus had been nailed to.

"Only fitting, don't you think, Dean?" Alastair whispered, leaning close to him again. "Considering there's an angel on your shoulder. You should show your support of them."

Dean didn't reply. He closed his eyes tightly and pressed his lips together, hoping the burning pain would soon leave. Opening his eyes again, he found himself close to Alastair. Suddenly, a gasp escaped Dean as the razor in Alastair's hand pressed against the side of his abdomen. Knowing what was going to happen, he closed his eyes again. And sure enough, before long a searing pain radiated through him and his body jerked from the intrusion.

"Look at me, Dean," Alastair said in sing-song.

Feeling as though he couldn't refuse, hoping it would help, Dean reopened his eyes and focused upon the demon. Abruptly, Dean's current self-control left him as he cried out. Two long fingers entered his body through the fresh wound and wriggled slightly, the squishing sounds reaching him.

"Oh, how I have missed your insides," the demon purred. "It's been so long."

"Alastair..." Dean choked out, unable to speak the rest of the words.

The demon's inside searching continued and his head tilted sideways as he looked at the hunter with an almost innocent look on his face. "What's the matter, Dean? Tell me."

"Stop..." the hunter pleaded.

Alastair sniggered. "Becoming too much already?" he asked. "I have to say, I'm a little disappointed, Dean. Down in the pit you were strong, defiant but up here, you're already snivelling like a little girl, begging me to stop."

But Alastair pulled the two bloody fingers from Dean's body and brought it up to eye level. A manic grin spread across his face and lightly, the demon licked some of it, making Dean's stomach turn. Alastair chuckled at the hunter's display of disgust and wiped the rest off onto the baggy blue shirt he wore.

Taking hold of his knife again, Alastair held it up to Dean's face, the blade hovering threateningly. "Open up."

Dean pressed his lips together firmly and shook his head the best he could. Alastair reached up with his free hand and pinched the man's nose. For almost a minute Dean held on before he opened his mouth widely, getting the air he desperately needed and as he did so, Alastair thrusted the blade into his mouth. Dean's eyes widened as the tip of the blade rested against the back of his throat gently. Dean blinked sweat from his eyes before pulling against his restraints hard as Alastair stood back and watched. The metal around his wrists dug heavily into the skin, making them bleed.

The blood covered the metal and ran thickly down the lengths of his arms. For a moment, Alastair admired this too. The sight was beautiful. "I do respect how strong you've been so far," commented Alastair.

Dean didn't reply. Instead, short pained breaths exited his body as he concentrated on not moving for fear of the blade piercing him through the back of his head. Without warning, another knife was taken from the table and stabbed into the other side of Dean's abdomen, making him jumped in surprise. The tip of the blade within his mouth scratched the back of his throat. A quivering whimper left him as small drops of blood dripped down his throat and Dean did his best not to choke.

As tears filled Dean's eyes they quickly escaped and rolled down his face, mixing with the sweat seeping from his pores. Leaning close to Dean's face, Alastair licked a couple of them up. They tasted bitter. Removing the bloodied knife, Alastair let it fall to the ground beside him and he leaned his tall frame against Dean gently, smearing the blood against him.

"Would you like some more pain or shall I give you a little pleasure?"

The blade in his mouth prevented Dean from answering but he didn't want either, not from Alastair. Tentatively, Dean locked eyes with Alastair and shook his head. But it seemed the demon wasn't going to take that as an answer and it seemed Alastair had already made the decision for him. He walked out of sight around Dean and picked up the mattress that lay on the ground. The same one Dean had noticed earlier and placed it back into its frame. Dean felt himself moved forward at it pressed against him and once into place, Alastair moved the bed frame back onto all four legs.

Dean gasped loudly as they hit the floor and Alastair only laughed quietly. As Dean now faced the fading, chipped grey ceiling he inwardly prayed. Someone had to get him. He wasn't going to survive this. Last time he and Alastair were alone for a long time, he gave in. He knew being up here it was different but pain is still pain.

The bed creaked and dipped as Alastair sat beside him, running four fingertips over the bloody mess on his stomach and chest, spreading it around. After a few moments Alastair wiped his hand that was covered in Dean's blood onto his jeans before settling down beside him on the bed again. Reaching a hand over Dean's face, he slowly pulled the blade out of Dean's mouth and placed it in his other hand. He smiled faintly as he stroked Dean's face almost lovingly.

"Is that better?"

Dean only nodded to those words prompting Alastair to move the blade against his neck. "And what do you say?"

Dean's jaw clenched tightly but he knew it would be worse if he didn't play along. "Thank you, Alastair," he spat angrily.

"That's better," the demon purred.

There was a slight pause before Alastair said another word. "Do you think I could turn you on?" Alastair asked almost curiously, looking over Dean's naked form.

"Screw you," muttered Dean thickly.

"Maybe not," said Alastair quickly. "But I'll screw you if you're nice."

"Don't you dare touch me," Dean hissed harshly.

"What's the matter, Dean? Scared?" taunted Alastair.

Alastair then reached down with his free and placed it on Dean's inner thigh, causing the hunter to twitch. The fingers ran over his skin lightly, sending pleasure vibrations through him and Dean swore under his breath. He looked to Alastair, whose eyes were on him. Alastair then moved so quickly, it was a blur. Their lips were crushed together and Dean grunted in surprise. The demon's forceful tongue forced his lips apart and he went about assaulted his mouth with teeth and tongue. Feeling too disgusted to think, Dean thought of nothing until it was finally over.

"You know," said Alastair normally, as though nothing just happened. Beneath him, Dean was panting heavily. "When you became my student in Hell, I saw you like a son. Obedient, loyal; you did as you were told, followed my lead. Up here, it's a little different though. Your mind's focus is no longer mine."

This time, Dean didn't reply. Getting to his feet, Alastair walked to the end of the bed and stopped. He glanced at the wondrous sight before him. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth but it didn't progress. Instead, he moved again and walked around the bed a couple of times before stopping. The room remained quiet; all that could be heard was his booted footsteps as he walked.

"Getting soft on me, Dean?" the demon asked lightly, chuckling at the pun. He soon sat down beside Dean again. "Now, where were we?"

Never removing his eyes from Dean's, he gently moved his hand towards Dean's groin and reached under before ramming two fingers into the man's entrance. The reaction was immediate. Dean screamed and his whole body gave a convulsive jolt, arching off the bed. The expression on Dean's face showed pure agony. Pain throbbed throughout his body and he could already feel something warm trickle out of his body and onto the white sheets under him, staining it.

Hot tears ran down Dean's face as he looked to the ceiling, trying to pretend none of this was happening but the pain shooting through him was a constant reminder. Slowly, Alastair moved his fingers from Dean's body before steadily moving them back in and he repeated the pattern several times.

After several minutes, the sensation began to feel pleasurable and Dean hated himself for reacting. As the fingers hit the sensitive spot inside him, his cock gave an interested jerk. Alastair's eyes remained on his face as he continued his actions, as though they were the most normal thing in the world.

"There... isn't that nice, Dean."

"Fuck you," Dean muttered harshly, his breath coming out in pants.

Dean's member swelled to an impressive size it hardened but Alastair ignored it. The hunter's body arched up and he pressed the back of his head further into the pillow, as though trying to enjoy it but escape from it at the same time. Within minutes, Dean's self control flew out the window and all coherent thought left him as an orgasm shot through his body suddenly. Hot streaks of white liquid spurted onto Dean's belly, mixing with his blood.

Alastair removed his two fingers from Dean's body and placed them on the hunter's stomach and swirled the two liquids together. Dean briefly looked down but quickly shut his eyes and fell flat against the mattress. Vomit rose up his throat but he swallowed it quickly, leaving a burning sensation. More tears leaked out but they were ignored as the demon rose from the bed and wiped his fingers on his jeans.

"W-what are you doing?" panted Dean, worried about where Alastair was and what he was up to.

"Shh... calm yourself my pet," Alastair hushed. There was a pause before Alastair spoke again. "There were many things I wanted to do with you tonight but other things came up. Perhaps another time. How does that sound?"

The demon received no answer but he seemed to care less. Alastair approached Dean again and loomed over him. He stroked the hunter's cheek gently as he stared down at him. "Has this been a good reminder?"

The context was unclear but Dean knew exactly what he was talking about. "You don't own me."

"Yes, I do, Dean," retorted Alastair. "You belong to me and these..." Alastair ran a finger along the scars that were already starting to appear. "...prove it."

A loud and heavy scream suddenly bounced off the walls and echoed greatly through the entire building as Alastair plunged his knife into Dean's thigh. After a few seconds he removed the blade and repeated it on the other leg, causing another scream to echo. Dean's breaths caught in his throat and tears ran down his face rapidly.

Alastair took one step back and wiped the silver blade on his blue shirt, cleaning it thoroughly before pocketing it. Looking over Dean's stagnant form one more time, he smiled and the white demon eyes were shown once again as the hunter glanced up. With one long, slow blink Alastair was gone and the chains keeping Dean to the bed loosened and fell to the floor with heavy clanks.

But Dean couldn't move. As his heavy eye lids closed and things began to turn black, the familiar ringtone of his mobile rang out in the hollow room.