SPN fic -- Mary Sue Goes to Hell

[vanillafluffy]

Title: Mary Sue Goes to Hell
Authored by: vanillafluffy
Pairing: Dean/Mary Sue
Rating/Work-safeness: PG
Approximate word count: 2300 words
Disclaimer: I'm not making any money from this, you idjit.
Betaed by: pwcorgigirl
Summary: After the finale of Season Three, Dean is you-know-where, when along comes this gorgeous chick with masses of flowing blonde hair and chameleon-like eyes.... Total crack!fic, in case you couldn't tell from the title.

Mary Sue Goes to Hell


It used to be that hanging around doing nothing was an enviable state, but now that Dean Winchester is in Hell, it isn't so great. For one thing, he's literally hanging---it's like he's been thumb-tacked to a thorny deadfall of branches---and there's nothing he CAN do. Except scream, of course, and it feels like his vocal cords are wearing out.

He's been this way for---he doesn't know. Hell is a very disorienting place; it's not black, like darkness---no, it's more like a murky brownish-green fog and the visibility ranges from arm's length to infinity. No one's come by to torment him, no Pitchfork First Class to poke him, none of the usual suspects like Ruby or Lilith visiting him to crow their triumph. It's painful and lonely, and the soundtrack sucks. There's a wail that sounds like screaming feedback from a microphone that's too close to the speaker combined with the kind of rumble that comes from a ten-foot tall amp full-on the bass setting. Nails on a chalkboard would be a symphony next to this shit.

Dean's so tired of the vibrato rattling the barbs that are piercing him that anything else would sound good. New Kids on the Block, Captain and Tenille---bring 'em on! As he's hanging there, trying to distract himself by singing a nasty remix from the J Geils Band's Greatest Hits, there's a brief, bright light like a flashbulb and then a girl with long, flowing blonde hair is standing there. He's not exactly sure what she's standing on, but hey, she's drop-dead gorgeous and it's nice to have company for a change.

"Hi, Dean! It's good to see you!" She gives him a dazzling smile---she's surrounded by a misty white light---like Dad, when he came through the Devil's Gate---and he's never seen anything more beautiful. Her violet eyes sparkle at him. "You need to get down from there so I can take you back."

"Right," says Dean, who figures this is going to be the episode he looks back on as his definitive 'I Knew I Was Going Crazy When' moment. The noise has stopped, and in the sudden quiet, his ears are ringing. "Even if I could get off this thing, I'd be so torn up I wouldn't make it out."

"Sure you would," she says cheerfully, emerald eyes twinkling as she tosses her hair back like a model from a shampoo ad. "Because once you get down, I can kiss it better."

Now, that? Is the best offer he's had in...how long has it been? Too long!

He alternates between struggling and swearing for a while, as his shiny hallucination cheers him on. She's wearing a little pink toga that's borderline indecent exposure. If she jumps up and down and raises her arms, Dean's gonna get flashed by an angel, and wouldn't that have been a really awesome show...?

Finally, he comes unstuck with an unpleasant squishy sound, and lands with a thud beside her. There really is a floor---it's like the illusion in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, where it looks like an abyss, but it's not---and just being able to be horizontal is amazing.

"What's your name, anyway?" Dean mumbles as the stunningly gorgeous girl straddles him and starts kissing the rips in his flesh.

"Just call me Mary Sue," she purrs into his ear as her lips graze the back of his neck. Soft hair tickles his back. Something that was a hanging flap of skin seals back together with a tingle.

"Uh-huh." Dean wants to sleep for a week, maybe two, the change of position feels so terrific. "My mother's name was Mary."

"I know," she answers, shifting her attentions to a gouge in his ribcage. Something that's hurt every time he drew breath doesn't any more. "And your daddy's name was John, and you've got a brother named Sam who's going to be really glad to see you. Bobby will, too---although you'll probably have to chug a pint or so of holy water before they believe it's true."

"How come you know all this stuff about me?"

"Think of me as your own personal guardian angel," she tells him, right about the time she starts kissing his ass. Dean Winchester earns the distinction of being the first guy in history to grow wood in Hell.

He doesn't get a chance to put it to use though, because as soon as soon as all his wounds are mended, she gestures to him to stand up. "Let's get out of here."

"How?" asks Dean, because it's a wilderness of pikes and spikes and thorns as far as the eye can see.

Mary Sue looks up at him, her sky blue eyes as clear as a summer's day. Her smile widens a bit more, and she hugs him. Well, okay! He rubs up against her, and it's the best thing that's happened to him in...however long it's been.

There's a zap! like static electricity, and all of a sudden, they're standing beside a door. Hell stretches out behind them, beside them, seems to warp around both sides of the door. Very freaky.

"Okay, now what?"

"Keep your arms around my waist," Mary Sue instructs him and turns to face the door. This is damn near a lap-dance, and Dean allows his hands to venture south. "Dude, that's not my waist." She sounds more amused than annoyed, though, as she folds her arms at shoulder height, shielding her pert ta-tas.

There's a swirl of pink smoke, and Dean feels himself floating. He's drifting along with Mary Sue, disembodied, lighter than air, yet definitely moving in a given direction like smoke being sucked into a stove hood. Without warning, he solidifies and tumbles to the ground.

Solid is right. While the expression "cold as Hell" is common currency, Dean is colder at this moment that he can ever remember being in his life. Even when he fell through the ice in Minnesota the time they were hunting a loup-garou...he's so cold, he can't even shiver. His eyes are open; he can't even seem to move his eyeballs, but just from the scenery within his line-of-sight, he knows he's in that graveyard in Wyoming---he recognizes the monuments---and there, just barely in his peripheral vision, is the Impala's rear quarter panel, and there seems to be a trailer behind it with a big white box---a coffin?

The air is fresh and there's daylight, the golden light of sunset, although he's not facing in the right direction to see it. Somehow Mary Sue has dragged him through the keyhole of the Devil's Gate. He realizes he's fully dressed, which is a shame, since he's sure a little one-on-one body heat would help thaw him out.

He watches as she skips over to the car---what's she doing with that, anyway? Sam is going to get an earful about letting strange chicks---even beautiful ones---drive his baby---and disappears from sight for a moment. On this side of the Gate, the otherworldly shininess is gone, but she's still remarkably hot. Fantastic legs that stretch all the way up to there. Excellent rack. Masses of golden-blonde hair. Wide eyes like---what color are her eyes?

She returns spooling an extension cord behind her, disappears again, and comes back with a portable space heater. Mary Sue aims it at him and turns it on full-blast, and after a couple minutes, he's able to blink. Focusing on the contents of the trailer, it dawns on him that big white box is a chest freezer, and he has the oddest feeling he knows what was in it.

It's like oiling the Tinman in The Wizard of Oz. Little by little, feeling and movement return. Mary Sue pops a mint into his mouth, and Dean could kiss her, because his tongue feels like a piece of shag carpet that somebody's cat crapped on. She help him sit up, and he works the peppermint around in his mouth. He suspects there's a goofy grin on his face. "The taste of mint makes me feel like I've been through Hell and come out the other side," he imagines his commercial endorsement. Hmm, probably not quite the brand image they're looking for.

"Car," he says, as soon as his tongue and vocal cords are on the same page.

"The keys are in it. It has a full tank of gas---you may have some sticker shock next time you pull up to the pumps, prices have gone up about a buck a gallon just in the last couple of months---but what’s in there now should be enough to get you to Bobby's."

"Freezer?"

"Sam had the idea of keeping you on ice for a while. He was going to dig up Doc Benton, but Bobby beat him to it. Carved the good doctor up with a Sawz-all and buried the pieces in six different locations...covered in concrete. I believe he found Jimmy Hoffa in the process. Sam's pissed off about it, but he got that book of Benton's, and he's been studying it for all he's worth."

"Ick," Dean comments succinctly.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Mary Sue looks squeamish. "So, I figured it was time for me to step in. I hijacked the Impala and the freezer, and here we are."

Dean scrubs his tongue around his mouth, gearing up for a full sentence. "How long...has it been?"

"A couple of months. It's June, 2008."

He nods, and it feels strange, like he's become one of those bobble-headed dolls people keep on their dashboards. "Thank you."

She leans over, kisses him, frowns and slips him another mint. They're sitting on what he thinks at first is a giant sheet of aluminum foil---Dean Winchester: leftovers, he thinks morbidly---but he recognizes it as one of the thermal "astronaut blankets" they kept in the Impala's emergency kit.

"How did you do it?"

"Trade secret," she says lightly, her hazel eyes glittering with mischief. The chameleon-eye effect is starting to get to Dean, but at least they're normal eyes with round pupils, not solid color demon eyes. They just don't seem to stay the same color for more than a minute or two.

"Who are you...really? A hunter?"

"Me, a hunter?" Mary Sue giggles, a kittenish little chuckle, and Dean notices that Dean, Jr. has thawed out. "No, darlin', I'll leave that to you big, strong Winchesters." Once again, she kisses him, and this time, the mint seems to have done the job, because she doesn't pull back.

Under the little pink toga, she's naked, and the hair down under matches what’s on top. Dean gets a double-handful of titties, and he's more than willing to lie back and let her unzip him and ride him in a squealing frenzy. Yeah, and it's good for him, too.

He's a little stiff (in the long-unused muscle sense of the word) afterward, but he stands up and stretches and feels surprisingly normal. Looking under his tee shirt shows scars where the Hellhounds clawed him, but---something occurs to him.

"Wait a minute! You didn't make some kind of deal for me, did you?" Why this strange, hot, sexy chick would do that for him he doesn't know, but Dean wants to get his facts straight.

"Of course not, silly! I have certain powers...well, enough about me. I've got to go, it's almost 9 o'clock---I forgot to set my DVR---"

As he stares at her, she crosses her arms again, blinks, and disappears in a puff of pink smoke.

There are headlights approaching through the twilight. It's Bobby's Chevelle, and Dean swallows a lump in his throat as Sam and Bobby climb out and race toward him. Mary Sue was right---holy water and fast talking come into play. Sammy looks like he's aged ten years, and Bobby---well, Bobby was never going to win any beauty prizes.

If it's a strange place for a reunion, it's a fitting place to discuss resurrection. They both want to know about the mystery woman who led him out of Hell, but Dean doesn't have much to tell them. The fact that Sam has lo-jacked the Impala makes him blink, but it’s a pretty good idea, actually.

Meanwhile, Dean is ready for food, and lots of it---since he hasn't actually eaten in months. Bobby gets into the Chevelle, Sam's riding shotgun in the Impala, and Dean has the door open, ready to get in, when his phone rings.

Funny, he'd swear he's never used "Angel is a Centerfold" as a ringtone. He doesn't recognize the number on the call display, but the throaty voice that greets him is one he'll never forget. "Mary Sue?"

"Dean, you and Sam be careful---no more of this tag-team soul-swapping, 'k?"

"Are you really my guardian angel?"

Then Mary Sue says something that's going to mystify him for the rest of his life.

"I'm the next-best thing---I'm a writer! Bye!"

***


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