Title: Infatuation

Author: Fenikkusu Ai

Pairing: Alastair/Dean

Rating: M

Fandom: Supernatural

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 2,576

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

A/N: Revived again. This fic was last updated in...2013. I apologize for the delay, but I ran out of inspiration and moved on to write for other fandoms. However, Season 10 has been providing me with new thoughts, especially 10x10. :) I hope to complete this fic ASAP.

"The kid always was a little bastard."

No. His comment was too weak, and Dean already knew that his delivery was wrong. Alastair was sure to notice something was amiss.

However, for his limp efforts, Dean was rewarded with a chuckle. The young demon forced himself to be at ease. There no reason to suspect him of anything as long as he played his part. Not even Alastair could readily explain that he wasn't really himself.

Underneath his false grin, Dean prayed that he wouldn't see not even as much of a crack through his fragile facade. He well knew what would happen he could be caught. Under Alastair's care, everything he knew right this second could be wiped from his memory. If the demon suspected foul play, he could replace anything and everything in his head and reforge the tender organ in his image. Dean couldn't imagine breaking on the rack a second time. How many times he could be fixed before the damage was permanent?

However, wasn't this the way it's always been? He and Sam's synonymous armor of quips and sarcasm were so ingrained as coping mechanisms that sometimes it was difficult to remember their real emotions any more. They were the perfect targets for the local hellspawned population. It was no wonder why they always attracted trouble. Perhaps they were both fundamentally weak at their cores.

Still, whatever was coming wasn't good was working and Dean couldn't help but wonder if he was the only one that could stop it.

"Well?" Alastair echoed. "What are you waiting for? Our play time is over."

Damned if a note of regret didn't enter his voice. It was clear to see that he was still obsessed with him as ever.

Suppressing a shudder, Dean hurried after him out the door. Alastair wanted to leave immediately, and Dean couldn't deny the sense of apprehension looming around him. It killed the mood and sucked the life right out of him. Dean wondered if he would be strong enough for what needed to happen next.

He would have to be.

In the balmy summer night air, Dean easily kept up with his "boss's" brisk pace all the while hiding the fact that his world was tilting on its axis. Who was he really? Dean didn't know. Yet, he was sure that Alastair would teach him who to be. How to act. That seemed to be a recurring theme in Dean's life.

The only thing that had set his mind at ease was Sam; alive and safe in the other world. Still, Dean couldn't believe that after all this torment, he was still in Alastair's sight. An inescapable sense of loss and despair was knotting a noose around his neck. All that struggle- for nothing.

How would Sam view him now? He doubted that he and his brother were on good terms here.

The equation of a secluded warehouse and the whereabouts of the brother created a dark shadows in his mind. If the unthinkable happened at the warehouse, Dean would take the pain and the punishment for him. No, He would rather die than lay a finger on his brother. Dean couldn't help wondering what happened if he died here. Would be phased out of existence completely?

So,he put all thoughts out of his mind and set his jaw tight. Dean did his best to fix his gaze ahead as he moved along down the street; steeling himself for whatever grim duty that awaited him at the warehouse. Obviously Alastair had planned everything to the last detail.

Yet, it was getting rather hard to ignore that they were slowly being surrounded by a smattering of people or rather beings that were people-shaped yet dark-souled.

Dean bit back his nervousness with another insult.

"So, who are these clowns?" he sniffed.

"Don't you recognize them?" his master's voice purred. "You've been up here too long. Just a few friends and allies. some are even admirers of yours, Dean, from way back."

Apparently, here, Dean had kept his Prince of Hell reputation. Dean was the only one aware that he was the one who didn't belong, and he knew that he had to keep holding it together, or this day would become abysmally bad as the day he had first arrived in the pit.

To distract himself from his deep unease, Dean bit his lips until he broke them and tasted the iron from his blood. He had to constantly be aware of how he acted. One suspicious glance was all it took. The minions around him would love to see him trip up and fall so that they could take his place. It was in their natures after all to battle for dominance. Through it all, Dean still hadn't given up the hope was that he was locked up in some lucid dream.

Dean was properly numb when they stopped at the exterior of a different warehouse. He grimly reflected on the fact that it seemed that he never could go anywhere nice.

"Is this the place?"

Alastair nodded. "Your mark's in there, Deano. I'm sure that you don't need me to walk you through it."

Dean shivered said at the very casual mention of his name. It was as if no time had passed judging by how close to each other they were. In this dimension, they had never been that far apart.

He needed get more into character. He needed to be meaner. Once it had been second nature to Dean. He wondered if it had never disappeared or if it had simply been banished to a dark chamber in his heart. Too soon, he would find out.

Once over the threshold, he was immediately swallowed by the immenseness of the place. Though steeped in darkness, the window slats didn't require much light for Dean's supernatural eyes to pierce the darkness, so there was more than enough light to navigated the interconnecting spaces and corridors. It was all Dean could do to follow the white-eyed demon and to keep his own thoughts from drowning him in their depths.

Dean knew precisely who would be ahead. Zachariah had planned this to the last detail. Dean wasn't allowed to be sedentary. Before he knew it, he was on to the next page of the story.

Zachariah wasn't human, and Zachariah wanted him to do this so that he could suffer more.

Dean could only ask God for one thing.

Don't be Sam..

Eventually, they stopped in a room with a chair illuminated in its exact center. Sitting in it under protest was a hunter. He finally registered the figure in the chair Dean allowed himself a moment's selfish peace to see that it wasn't Sam. So, maybe he could hold onto the facade that everything would be fine for a little bit longer. Until it all came crashing down around him.

The automatic instinct to run and help the man had to ignored. Here, they were no longer on the same side for Dean had become one of the monsters he hunted.

At their appearance, the terrified the middle-aged man began to tremble and shake as he watched them walk across the floor. Once fear had been an aphrodisiac to him. Now, it churned bitter and tar-like in his intestines.

"Now, begin." Alastair rested his hands against the chair causing the man imprisoned in it to shudder. "You're the guest of honor after all."

There were the sounds of suppressed sniggering, and Dean dared to smile charmingly at the henchmen. At least they thought that he smiled charmingly at them. In truth, he was just saving his ass.

It was as if Alastair had just set a meal. All of this was laid out just for him.

"Take your place, Dean."

Quickly, the minions parted aside like grains of sand so that he could work show his skills. However the thought of becoming that person again snuffed out his heart. Could he just...become the monster within? Wear it like a Halloween mask and then throw it aside later?

Life didn't work like that.

His posse nodded encouragingly; a chance to see the Dean Winchester in action. If they only they knew was all a show on the surface.

"Please inquire of your bother's location. For all of us."

Alastair was visibly satisfied as he surveyed the board he had set up. Dean had to admit that he had always had been a great organizer. Bones, organs, teeth...

Already, the demon and his men was getting ready for this expected entertainment. Dean well knew that his hesitance was a great offense.

Dean realized that he had his cell phone and could call him. Of course, as soon as his little brother heard his voice, he wouldn't answer. He was the enemy now. Sam was most likely out there hunting him. Dean had become the monster under the bed.

"Deano?" Alastair's voice wrapped around his thoughts.

He gripped the knife and raised it high. From here on out, Dean had to begin dedication to his role, and he silently apologized to the unfortunate hunter whose name didn't even know.

At the sight of the the man struggling handcuffed to the chair, he shuddered and the remnants of Dean's heart went out to him. Though his body was demonic, his core was still human. Dean wondered if and when that would change.

No matter. He needed to act now.

Suddenly, all heads turned at the sound of a gunshot.

Someone was here. Someone who really shouldn't be here.

Was it...?

The other demons circled protectively around him as Dean grasped the knife close. Apparently, the show would have to be postponed.

"Investigate!" Alastair barked.

In a rush, the underlings left the room in a flood leaving behind the protege, the prey, and the monster.

The shouts and confusion were beginning to spread, but it was too late. The older Winchester knew that all would be mowed down without mercy; an emotion he was well acquainted with.

"It seems that we have company," Alastair said in a sing song voice. Dean instantly recognized it as his playful voice. Immediately, he was on his guard.

Had he been expecting this?

Oh, please...

"So it would seem." Dean answered woodenly.

Though Dean remained smooth on the surface so that the spreading cracks wouldn't show; his inner world was shattering. He was already on the edge.

Sam. Sam was here. Adrenaline surged through him as, Dean found himself torn between happiness and devastation. He could feel him. Probably here for the captive hunter.

At the sound of footsteps, he turned and eagerly gazed at the face he longed to see. It was not only Sam but Castiel as well. Dean stared at them speechless. Yet, when he sought eye contact, Castiel averted his gaze. Dean knew that he had done it in disgust. Sam's eyes bore into his chest like bullets. He imagined that his younger brother would like to plunge a dagger in there.

It didn't matter if they were had been reunited again in this world. Here, he was on the wrong side. Of everyone.

Dean's heart twisted in his rib cage, and he flinched at the raw Sam's step backward, Dean didn't have to be told that his eyes had turned black at the sight of the intruders. He then realized that he could no longer properly express sorrow; sorrow was something reserved for humans and at the moment was anything but.

I'm sorry, Sam. Castiel...

Dean knew that he couldn't hear silent apology, and the saddest part was that his brother would never know. To them, he was just another beast to destroy.

Dean wondered if he was supposed to attack him. He knew that he had to wait for the order. Even in his heightened state, Dean couldn't help but notice how all the remaining demons backed away from his younger brother. He was beginning to wonder about the effect Sam had on the room, and Dean was beginning to wonder if he had cast a spell, but he didn't feel affected by it. He still didn't understand.

The others seemed as if they were awed by his brother's presence. Like him, they waited. This infatuation couldn't be a good sign.

He was the enemy here after all. Dean wondered what the other Dean had done or said to to them in the past and was aware that he was better off not knowing. But, he couldn't just say nothing.

"Sammy..." he started. He already knew that his voice was unworthy.

To Dean's surprise, Sam held up a hand for him to stop speaking. He wouldn't even look at him. Comprehension sunk in as Dean's worst nightmare came true.

"You are not my brother. My brother is dead," Sam snarled.

With the hate lighting in Sam's eyes, Dean was surprised that he didn't bite into his throat and tear a chunk out.

So. there it Sam really how he felt about him. Dean wondered how long that had been hiding away he wondered if had ever believed in him at all.

This had to be an alternate reality. A parallel universe. Not the future. No. This future was too fucked up even for him, and why wouldn't it be if Zachariah had invented it?

Then, Sam refocused his gaze as his eyes narrowed into slits. At Alastair.

"You listen to me and you listen well. I will never become vessel. I will not help the world end." Sam snarled

...fucked up as usual.

Dean's eyes widened as his legs trembled beneath him. He silently digested this information and felt quite nauseous afterwards.

Dean stood frozen in the manner of a statue. He was struggling not to choke.

Alastair stepped forward then. "Listen to what your brother has to say. All this can end, and we can all be on the same side. One big family."

"I don't care!" Sam bellowed.

How generous that Alastair would share him. Dean supposed that in itself was a welcome new development.

So. He was in the middle of the apocalypse. Dean had lived long enough to see it. The revelation in itself was sobering. Dean already knew that he had been hunting for far too long.

Absently, he wondered when things had gone completely ape shit. How many months or years had he been missing from the picture. One? Two? Four? Could he have prevented any of this?

In that moment, Dean hated Zachariah then with the intensity of a match striking gasoline. Zachariah had done all of this to torture him, and now, he had dragged his brother into it too. Not cool.

Chances are Zachariah was already a witness to all of this. More than likely, he was thoroughly enjoying this drama scene with a tub of popcorn.

Suddenly, there was an iron tug on his sleeve. Slowly, it began to dawn on Dean that he wasn't alone any longer.

Dean groaned inwardly when he turned to face a new and old figure and couldn't help but wonder how many hands were in this particular cookie jar.

"Let's split this scene, kid. There's too much drama here. In fact, I might need a tissue."

Of course, Dean knew that his opinion would never be consulted in the first place.

In Gabriel's grip, Dean tensed his arms. He was tired. Oh, so tired.

"No."

His reply was crisp and clear.

Gabriel lifted an eyebrow.

"Why?"