Title: Light

Author: Fenikkusu Ai

Claim: Alastair/Dean

Table: DIY

Prompt #10: Escape

Rating: M

Summary:

Word Count: 500

A/N: There will be a sequel. Thanks to all who reviewed, faved, and alerted. :)

Ten years had passed, and Alastair was most pleased. Dean was blossoming into his full potential. The boy had talent. He easily commanded authority, and he handled the knife like no other. It had been a while he had been so...close to his one of his students. Out of the lucky hundreds he'd personally trained over the centuries, Dean was one of his best.

The room was full of Dean's masterpieces. Now, he not only obeyed but enjoyed carving those anonymous souls up. Alastair watched on like a proud papa. An attentive lover.

Dean was smiling again. He joked. He laughed. All of that godawful brooding and transitional grief was done; a phase like an adolescent tantrum. The struggle was over, and he had won

"My funny boy." Alastair tongued his ear. "All mine."

Dean flashed a reckless grin and Alastair jeered back. It was a moment that could have passed as human affection if they were human. Dean's black eyes were proof of that. They suited him better than green ever could.

Then, the day arrived where it was all snatched away.

Dean was transfixed by the light. He stared into it, and it seemed to smile into his soul.

Dean.

The word caressed his heart.

It knew his name. This diamond bright and gold radiance knew his name.

Suddenly, Dean began to weep as his sins were exposed. Somewhere in his soiled soul, the light opened a crack of remorse. He was...confused. Was he damned? Evil? Could he be forgiven?

Inside that peaceful glow was the outline of wings. He could feel the being within the brillance beaming at him.

Dean, come with me now.

The command was surprisingly stern, but Dean was used to following orders. He followed the being—the angel—into the light and soon felt himself being ripped away once again to another dimension.

He left the shadows of hell and whatever lurked in them behind.

Alastair was furious. More furious than when Lucifer had fallen from grace, and that was hard to accomplish. He roared with rage until he was sure all of hell heard him; taking the knife Dean had left behind and mercilessly mutilating the teenaged soul he had been working on even after it was long dead.

What right did those smug, self-righteous, feathered pricks to take his boy? They had purified him. His greatest project was ruined. And Dean had gone so willingly. But, Alastair wasn't surprised. Heaven had tricks of its own.

In hours, days, or weeks, Alastair gradually regained his composure. Deano was gone. He was now a living breathing man. All right. Alastair accepted that. Time for a change of plan.

But, Dean would be back. He'd started the apocoplypse after all.

And, Alastair wanted to be there in person to tell him...