Title: Practicality

Author: Fenikkusu Ai

Rating: T

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Alastair and John Winchester

Theme: 91, Shard of Honor.

Words: 408

Genre: Angst/Drama

Summary: Once more, John was being tempted with an offer that he would never take.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

"If you spit on me one more time, I'll sew your lips together," Alastair warns in that eerily paternal voice.

As always, John remained silent because he knew that it pissed Alastair off. It didn't take long to realize that the demon hated being ignored. As time wore on, John was beginning to see that demons did indeed have separate personalities.

Instead of wasting words to entrap himself, John focused on the sensation of pain instead of Alastair's candied words that dripped with venom off his tongue as he tempted him with an offer that he would never take. John had stopped speaking after fifty years, and he was pleased to see it was wearing on Alastair's nerves.

"You know, I don't get it." John breathed a sigh of relief when Alastair lowered the knife. "You made a practical decision to save your son. Now, make another one to save yourself."

Alastair continued; his voice as smooth as silk. "I think we understand each other better than we think. I admire your style. You were one of the greatest hunters of your day. A true leader. We could use that down here, and you'll reign by my side of course. It all begins with one word."

John mutely shook his head.

"No? Well, you won't get a better offer down here, Johnny. And unlike most of my...breed, I keep my word." Alastair's voice dropped to a whisper. "You can drop the stubborn pride any time you like. Believe me, it's nothing we haven't seen down here before."

Both are surprised when John finally breaks the silence.

"It's not pride. It's honor. The last bit I have," he says in a raspy voice that's directed more to himself than to his torturer.

Alastair's lip curls. John could see that he would be in agony for the next several hours or days knowing him. Another opportunity for liberation was gone and as always John had mixed feelings about that though he would never admit it to himself.

Gradually, Alastair's frown morphed into a grin that chilled John's blood. "Well, let's see how long it takes to carve "honor" out, shall we?"

John was forced to stop thinking as he was devoured by pain. He was going on sixty years with no relief in sight. As the new decade wore on, one simple truth was being revealed as surely as his bone peeking through flesh.

Hell was no place for heroes.