Awake and Alive // closed

Ryder Winchester had not only bled away the deep crimson that flowed inside of him, he had also lost the man he had once been; had hemorrhaged his very soul. The once proud but tormented hunter was nothing but a husk; skin and bone and tissue still, but wholly empty within. He had been tortured in body; made to withstand unfathomable suffering in the most twisted and grotesque ways, but he had also been tormented in spirit and mind as well; constantly forced to watch his love ones in pain or causing pain to him. There were no lengths that the demons wouldn’t go to in order to make the young man pay for his sins and for his heritage. Hanging limp from his wrist, shackled to the ceiling, Ryder parted his chapped and bleeding lips to moan, but the sound was nothing but a dry rattle in his throat. He hadn’t even the strength to make noise anymore. Ryder Winchester couldn’t remember what his own voice sounded like. He remembered the voice of his father though. The laughter of his wife. His tormenters would never left him forget those things. As a matter-of-fact his brother had been in the Pit with him just yesterday; pulling the intestines from his middle and wrapping them tightly around his neck. Was that yesterday? Or …had that been a year ago? Ryder had no concept of time, but just like clockwork the smiling faces of the ones he cherished became his most vicious bringers of pain each and everyday. Cruel as they were devils could never be accused of lacking a sense of humor. And after torture at the hands of his little sister, or his mother, they would kiss him and remind him how they hated him for causing them so much pain. Oh yes. This hurt more than even his skin being burned from his body. (which had happened oh, probably a dozen times or more since he’d fallen into Hell. ) No matter the loss of his spirit; who -he- was, that love was never-ending. Just. Like. The. Pain. Ryder couldn’t comprehend ever getting out of this place. It had been too long to be saved. He was lost forever. Even when there came an unfamiliar shift in the air that licked at his skin with a razor tongue and the angel stepped forth; the middle Winchester could not believe that he would escape this hell. He rolled his dull grey eyes and laughed mirthlessly; the sound, like the moan before, a mere rattle in his chest. “I am here to redeem you, Ryder James Winchester.” The angel said in a monotone voice, his face a mask of utter blankness. “Lair.” Came a familiar, albeit hoarse reply. Ryder moved a little and he began to sway. The ache was excruciating. “Do not mock me.” The angel warned; still in that unaffected tone with that unaffected expression. He moved closer to the hunter and dark eyes swept from his shackled wrists to curled toes not quite, but almost touching the floor. “What do you want?” Ryder found his voice again and then coughed, and he felt like bugs were crawling inside his chest. They probably were. A new form of torture. “I want to give you this.” The angel came so close he was just before the young man, hand extended, and palm up and open; a circle lay upon it glowing like a golden star. “I don’t understand.” This time, the words were fading again. Ryder didn’t think he would be able to ask another question and inwardly hoped that his last had been the right one. “You will.” Came the toneless reply, and suddenly the angel’s other pale hand was coming towards him. His bicep to be more exact. Ryder could feel the pale digits tighten around his limb and the skin sizzled beneath the touch… Ah. More agony. Ryder coughed, and dirt spilled in between his lips. His eyes flew open but there was only darkness before him and a horrible, heavy weight on his chest. He could not breathe. Jerking, the man begun to claw at the substance that was swallowing him. He climbed up and up and up and suddenly, his fingertips felt a give and then his arms felt a warmth upon them, and swiftly he was using them both to pull him self out of the dirt. He coughed, choking on the stuff in his lungs, rolled over and held his aching ribs. Air. The air was burning his lungs too. But at least there was air. There was air and there was sun on his tawny skin. And earth below him. The hunter rolled over and felt his eyelids slamming closed though he willed them to remain open. It was no use. He was so very tired… But he was alive. [bg=#C19A6B][atrb=border,0,true]