“You’re a Demon now, you listen to me,” Crowley growled next to your ear. “I don’t care what happened before you were killed. None of that matters now. Forget it and move on.”
You nodded, wanting to please him. You were more than grateful to be away from the rack and torture, but you weren’t quite sure you were ready for this. Not yet.
“Hmm,” he muttered, standing up and staring at you. “I don’t think you’re ready for this.”
“I am!” You pleaded, flashing a pair of black eyes his way. “I’m ready for mayhem and killing, and….,”
He smiled, reaching over and cupping your cheek. “I know you are. I wouldn’t have plucked you off the rack if you weren’t. I’m just afraid there are still memories embedded into that mind of yours that will distract you from our goal. Maybe I shouldn’t have let you have your old meat suit back.”
Snapping his fingers, he stepped back, perching on the edge of his black throne. You stood there, watching as his Mother stepped into the room, wearing a silky long black dress, her expression bored. “You snapped my love?”
“Mother, this is Y/N. I think you remember her.”
Rowena glanced over at you, her eyes widening slightly when she realized who you were. “Crowley, this is.. I thought she died, but…,”
“I had a couple of strings pulled, and I brought her down here before she was claimed up above. Even saved her meatsuit before those two buffons could burn it,” Crowley announced, very pleased with himself.
You stayed still as Rowena took a step closer to you, her gaze traveling up and down your body, searching. Studying. “She’s been on the rack?” Crowley nodded. “She isn’t ready. She will fight your every move.”
“No I won’t!” You pleaded. “Please. Don’t put me back on the rack.”
“Don’t worry dearie, I have another plan,” Rowena purred. “If the King doesn’t mind.”
“That’s why I called you in here Mother,” Crowley answered. “I want you to make sure she becomes one of my top killing machines.”
With that Crowley left you alone with Rowena. “Sit,” she ordered, reaching into her bag and pulling out her spell books.. Setting it down on the wooden table beside her, she began searching for a spell, mumbling quietly under her breath. “Here, this one shall do nicely. All memories will be gone. That should open you up to Crowley’s orders.”
Suddenly it felt as if ropes were wrapped around you, holding you tight to the chair. “This might be very unpleasant for you, but you’re a Demon. You’re used to much worse by now I suspect.”
She came over with a large bowl, steaming and smelling worse than the dungeons of Hell. With a big wooden spoon, she lifted the ingredients up, shoving them into your mouth. It tasted like moldy lake water mixed with the putrid taste of milk gone bad. Gagging, you could feel your stomach churn, but Rowena placed a hand over your mouth, keeping the liquid inside. Swallowing, your eyes watered, but the mixture stayed down.
“This will take some time to work. I’ll leave you here. I reckon you’ll be too sick to move,” Rowena told you, patting your cheek before taking her book and ingredients and leaving you alone.
A warmth spread from your stomach, growing hotter as it traveled up your chest, your neck to your head. It felt like it was splitting you open, and you couldn’t help but cry out in pain. Much like a snake, it slithered through your mind, heading straight for your memories. You could tell the moment it attached, the memory fresh in your mind. The first time you met Dean. It was on a hunt, and you ended up rescuing him from the Vamp.
Suddenly that memory was gone, like it had never happened. Next it was the moment you had realized you were in love with Dean. Sitting in the kitchen, watching as he wielded a sword, wearing that ridiculous robe. But as you thought hard, trying to hold on to it, the memory faded away in your mind.
The spell wove it’s way through each of your memories, tearing each one away. Dean slowly faded away, along with the love you had felt for him. With each weave, the spell tore away the only thing that had kept you going on that rack. The only tie you had left to humanity.
As suddenly as it started, it ended. And you felt nothing. It was as if your soul was empty, a big black hole swirling about inside. The rope binding had long since faded and yet you stayed put. Waiting. For what you weren’t sure.
The door swung open, and Crowley walked inside, curiously looking your way. “Y/N?”
“Hello Crowley,” you muttered, your voice monotone, your eyes unblinking.
“Y/N, who is Dean?” He asked, watching you carefully.
“Dean? I don’t know this Dean you speak of,” you told him, wondering why his face lit up with glee.
“Perfect! That’s perfect. So you won’t mind if I send you to kill him then,” Crowley continued, clapping his hands together.
“I’m a Demon. Isn’t that what we love to do? Killing and torturing people?”

Dean’s POV

Sitting at the long library table, I swirled the whiskey in my glass. Wondering if I was really going to finish off another bottle of whiskey. Knowing that it was probably going to happen anyways, along with another bottle after that.
Whiskey seemed to be the only thing that mattered to me after...well, after my entire world had changed. Whiskey dulled the pain. It took away the memories of her smile, the way she fit perfectly in my arms. It almost worked well enough to take away her horrified screams as the werewolf tore her to shreds right in front of me. But there would never be enough whiskey in the world for that.
“Dean, maybe it’s time to head for bed,” Sam suggested. I glanced over the cup to see him standing at the edge of the table, staring down at me with a concerned expression. It was easy to see this wasn’t easy on him as well, but I couldn’t begin to care. My heartbreak overwhelmed my every sense, my every emotion.
“I can’t,” I whispered, knowing that if I went in there the memories would hit me like a freight train. Her smell still lingered on her pillow, so faint now that I had to bury my head in the fabric. Her clothes were still folded on top of the dresser, waiting for her to come home and put them away. I hadn’t had the heart to fix that yet. Every part of my room reminded me of her, and I hadn’t been able to sleep in there. Not yet.
“Not in that room,” Sam was quick to say. “I fixed up one of the spare rooms. It even has memory foam.”
“Maybe later,” I placated him, even though I didn’t plan on moving out of that chair anytime soon.
Sighing, Sam walked away, heading towards the hallway, and no doubt his own bed. I watched him, noticing the way his shoulders were hunched, feeling even more regret that I couldn’t make him feel better. But I was too wrapped up in my own guilt. My own regrets of not being there to save her.
“You know Dean, it wasn’t your fault,” Sam said. “You did everything you could. She wouldn’t want you drinking yourself into oblivion. She would want you up in the garage, working on the cars there. She’d want you out hunting. She wouldn’t want either of us mourning for her.”
I ignored his words, picking up my whiskey and downing it before pouring another glass. When I looked up, he was gone. Slamming back that glass of whiskey, I reached for the bottle, realizing it was empty. Stumbling to my feet, I reached the liquor cabinet, searching through the bottles, my heart hammering when I realized each and every one was empty. “No,” I whispered, needing the comfort that alcohol provided.
Remembering my stash in the garage, I stumbled down the hallway, crashing against the wall before righting myself. The garage was cold, and quiet, the light flickering above me. Paying it no heed, I continued on to my tool chest, walking past all the old cars that Y/N loved so much. I was about ready to reach in to get my prize when something rustled behind me.
Even in my inebriated state I knew something wasn’t right. Turning so fast I almost fell over, I caught a glimpse of movement by the 1920’s car. A familiar blur of hair that I knew so well. “It can’t be,” I whispered, just as the vision charged from her hiding spot, tackling me to the ground.
“Y/N!” I exclaimed as she landed on top of me. Her lips were pulled back in a snarl, a wicked looking knife in her throat. But the gashes and cuts were gone, and she looked just as beautiful as always. Except her brilliant e/c eyes were a horrid black. “No,” I breathed, too shocked to do anything but stare up at her.
“How do you know me?” She snarled, pressing the knife against my throat.
I knew that this was probably a Demon possessing her lifeless body. But I still couldn’t help but take in the sight I never thought I would have seen again. “You’re possessing my girlfriend. The love of my life. I think you would have realized that since you came to attack me.”
“This is my own meatsuit,” she answered. “Crowley made sure I kept it. But I do not know you.”
Those words stung deep. “Y/N, if it is you, deep down you’ll remember me. Remember the times we spent together. How much you loved me.”
She pulled the knife back slightly, her eyes changing back to the color I had loved. She leaned down, sniffing the leather jacket she had always loved, her eyes widening. “This feels familiar,” she whispered, running her hand along my cheek. “But I have no memory of you.”
“Crowley must have wiped your memory!” I exclaimed. “But we can fix this. I can make you the person you were.”
She seemed to like my offer, the hand holding the knife turning lax. I could see Sam sneaking into the garage, a gun in his hand.
“I don't remember that the person,” she snarled, bringing the knife back. “I'm a Demon! We don't deal with emotions, or love or…,” she growled, raising the knife in the air.
“Sam, now!” I called out. Grabbing her arms jus tr as the blade swung down, Sam pulled her away before the blade connected.
Hissing and thrashing about, she tried to pull away.
“Sam, it's her! Meat suit and all. We can save her!”