Supernatural fic: "Freak" (1/3) (Sam/Dean, R)
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Freak (1/3)
Author: arby_m
Pairing: Sam/Dean slash
Rating: R (angst, cussing, incest)
Spoilers: AU for Skin. Some dialogue directly quoted from the episode.
Warnings: Wincest, angst. Hoping for some smut in Chapter 3 (not done yet).
Length: ~1800 words
Disclaimer: The boys most certainly do not belong to me.
Summary: It had been a month since the incident with the shapeshifter, and Sam still wouldn’t tell Dean what that bastard did to him. So Dean decided to drink it out of him.
Note: Sequel to Darkness, so I recommend you read that one first ( here). I hate this title but I can't think of a better one. I actually wrote this way back when, in November, but got completely stuck on Ch. 2 of Darkness and couldn't finish it. I've got two chapters done and the third not started yet - but I figured I can't leave you hanging after the way Darkness ended.
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It had been a month since the incident with the shapeshifter, and Sam still wouldn’t tell Dean what that bastard did to him. Aside from taunt him, cut him, and tie him up, that is. There was obviously something else - Sam still wouldn’t meet his eyes, and flinched away from a casual touch as if scalded. He brooded constantly now, instead of just every other minute. He was listless and lifeless, a zombie shadow of his former self, as if he wasn’t all there. Seeing it broke what was left of Dean’s heart. He’d hoped the thorn would work its way out in time, but no such luck. He himself had done his Dean-denial best to bury that night deep in his memory, the horror of that night, shell-shocked Sam and the things stirred up in himself by witnessing it, but the moments of stolen sweetness amid the darkness shone out like a silver knife blade in a pile of entrails, and made it impossible to let go of. He had become to resigned to the idea that it would haunt him forever, until one of them was dead. Hell, probably even after.
Dean didn’t quite know what to do - he was somewhat aware that being sensitive was not his strong point. So he tried badgering it out of him. When that didn’t work, he tried cajoling, pleading and surprising it out of him, but all his efforts just made Sam clam up even tighter. Finally, in desperation, he decided to drink it out of him.
They were stopping in Hadley for a night on the way to Boston. They got into town sort of early for them, and they didn’t have any homework (read: research) to do. So Dean suggested they hit the bar next to their shitbag motel. Sam shrugged, as if it made no difference to him. Dean took that as agreement, or the closest he was going to get anyway. But first Sam had to take yet another shower. He was showering as often as three times a day now, if they didn’t sleep in the car. It was one thing to be hygienic, but even Dean could tell that this wasn’t normal. He went out to the car to give Sam some privacy, which he also seemed to need a lot more lately.
He lit a cigarette, leaning against the car in a classic cool guy pose. This place was pretty depressing, all right. The church across the street was boarded up and its windows regarded him like blinded eyes. Crows congregated on its front lawn as if holding private funerals. Even the strip malls infesting the town were abandoned and creepy, their displays populated only by half-naked dummies tilting in all directions. In general Dean tried not to notice things like that, unless they set off his weirdar. There was nothing he could do about it, so it did no good to care.
Turned out his little brother had gotten a lot better at holding his liquor since the last time they’d tried to drink each other under the table. It must have been all the keg parties. As if Sam would go to keg parties. He was probably too busy studying in the library like a geek. He was knocking back the shots as if he didn’t even feel them. Dean faked as many as he realistically could, trying to get Sam drunk before he did. But when they got to the tequila shots, it became a real effort. Finally he judged the time was right.
“So.”
Sam looked at him with wan suspicion. Some small, sober, possibly reptilian part of Dean’s brain noted that he almost, but not quite, looked Dean in the eye.
“What?”
“Now will you tell me what happened?”
“What happened with what? Please tell me you’re not talking about the shapeshifter again,” Sam sighed, a combination of drunkenness, weariness and annoyance in his voice - which made two more emotions than Dean had heard from him since it happened.
“I am. Seriously, I need to know. How else can I help you get through it?”
“Get through what? There’s no damage.”
“Don’t lie to me, dude. I can tell.”
There was a long pause. Dean kept quiet. Sam had to decide for himself now. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Sam shook his head, frowning, and stared into space.
Finally Sam started to speak, haltingly, excruciatingly; the words welling out of him like drops of blood from a dozen pinpricks. He kept his gaze fixed solid on a distant corner of nowhere, as if it would keep him safe from the memory.
“He said...a lot of things. About you, about us... Things he claimed you feel - or felt. I don’t know how much of it was true, but - do you resent me for going to school? I’m sorry I ditched you with Dad.”
“Hey.”
Dean’s hand twitched as if to touch Sam's arm, but then thought better of it.
“I felt kinda bad there, for a while after you left, but I got over it. I admit sometimes I’m jealous of you. But I don’t hate you, and don’t you ever think that. God, I wish I could bring that guy back from the dead just to kill him again - fucking bastard.”
Sam was still sitting unnaturally still. His voice was small, distant, as if coming from that far corner.
“There’s more.”
Dean braced himself. He felt stone cold sober, and somehow he doubted Sammy was all that drunk, either.
“He...did things to me. Touched me, even kissed me...Said you’d always wanted to do it and he was going to take your chance.”
The words spilled out of him now, faster and faster, as the pinpricks turned into little wounds.
“I tried not to believe him but it made me so confused, I didn’t know what to think. And the time afterwards, that night, I had a dream...” he was reddening with shame.
Shit. This is exactly what he was afraid of. That son of a bitch. How dare he mess with Sam’s head like that? Sammy was never supposed to know what was in Dean’s mind - it was a dark and unhealthy place to be. Strange things went on in there, things he'd never planned on sharing with anyone. And that night, he’d been taking care of Sam. The fact that it ended with them in each other’s arms made it no less comfort, he thought defensively, and how much Dean enjoyed it was neither here nor there. He didn’t take advantage of the situation, though he could have. The very thought of that made him feel nauseous.
“Listen. I know our lives were fucked-up and weird, but I would never…molest you like that. You gotta believe me, Sammy, I was looking out for you. I don’t...”
Finally Sam turned to look at him, and the sudden fierceness of his incandescent gaze, a blazing supernova of raw pain and need, hit Dean like a punch to the gut. He tried not to recoil from the sheer force of it.
Sam said bitterly, “No - you don’t understand, man. I’m confused because I liked it.” His voice was full of self-loathing. “In fact, it was the first thing that felt right since...since Jess.”
At this, Dean did not know what to do with his face. He had to look away.
“See? Even you think I’m sick. I know it’s not my fault, that’s what they drum into your head at school, you know? It’s never the victim’s fault. Women don’t ask to be raped. But a guy thinking about his own brother that way? How can that be right?” Sam was almost crying.
“I do not think you’re sick. Stop beating yourself up about it. We didn’t grow up like other kids, you know? We only had each other.” He had to tread very carefully here. “Look, it may not be right according to what society says, but when have we ever cared about that? We’re always wrong; we’re always on the outside, right? If you feel something a little more for me than brotherly affection, that’s not the end of the world.”
Sam said nothing, only sniffed morosely and wiped his eyes with his sleeve like a child.
“Hey, let’s get some sleep, okay? I’m...uh...sorry, you know, about what happened, but I’m glad you told me. Things’ll be better in the morning, I promise.”
* * * * *
Sam crawled into bed and curled his long body up in the fetal position. Dean sat in the chair by the window and tried to stay awake to make sure Sam was sleeping, but kept nodding off despite himself. After about the fifth time he jerked awake, he listened closely to Sam’s breathing, and it sounded like he was really asleep for once. So he stripped off his t-shirt and jeans and climbed into the bed in his undershorts.
He dreamed he was looking into a basement window. It was dark inside, but he could see a figure tied up in a chair. What light there was was streaming through the windows in that annoying movie effect so that he couldn’t see who it was. Another shadow shaped like a person was circling the first in a menacing fashion. He moved closer to see if he could hear what they were saying.
“Where. Is. My brother.” Sam gritted.
“I’m your brother,” the shapeshifter responded smoothly. Then it continued, obviously carrying on the conversation from before Dean started eavesdropping, “See deep down, I’m just jealous. You got friends, you could have a life. Me? I know I’m a freak. And sooner or later everybody’s gonna leave me.”
Hearing this made Dean feel ill. It was too true. He felt like shouting through the window, you’re not supposed to hear this!
Sam said, “What are you talking about?” He sounded thrown off guard, as if he couldn’t just ignore what it was saying anymore.
The shapeshifter said, “You left. Hell, I did everything Dad asked me to and he ditched me too. No explanation, nothin’, just *poof*. Left me with your sorry ass.”
Dean thought: All true except the last part. You were never a burden to me, Sammy.
He tried to open the window but it was stuck fast and barred. He looked for another way in, but couldn't find one. There was nothing he could do but watch as the monster that looked like him took his brother apart, one piece at a time.
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Onward to Part 2.
Title: Freak (1/3)
Author: arby_m
Pairing: Sam/Dean slash
Rating: R (angst, cussing, incest)
Spoilers: AU for Skin. Some dialogue directly quoted from the episode.
Warnings: Wincest, angst. Hoping for some smut in Chapter 3 (not done yet).
Length: ~1800 words
Disclaimer: The boys most certainly do not belong to me.
Summary: It had been a month since the incident with the shapeshifter, and Sam still wouldn’t tell Dean what that bastard did to him. So Dean decided to drink it out of him.
Note: Sequel to Darkness, so I recommend you read that one first ( here). I hate this title but I can't think of a better one. I actually wrote this way back when, in November, but got completely stuck on Ch. 2 of Darkness and couldn't finish it. I've got two chapters done and the third not started yet - but I figured I can't leave you hanging after the way Darkness ended.
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It had been a month since the incident with the shapeshifter, and Sam still wouldn’t tell Dean what that bastard did to him. Aside from taunt him, cut him, and tie him up, that is. There was obviously something else - Sam still wouldn’t meet his eyes, and flinched away from a casual touch as if scalded. He brooded constantly now, instead of just every other minute. He was listless and lifeless, a zombie shadow of his former self, as if he wasn’t all there. Seeing it broke what was left of Dean’s heart. He’d hoped the thorn would work its way out in time, but no such luck. He himself had done his Dean-denial best to bury that night deep in his memory, the horror of that night, shell-shocked Sam and the things stirred up in himself by witnessing it, but the moments of stolen sweetness amid the darkness shone out like a silver knife blade in a pile of entrails, and made it impossible to let go of. He had become to resigned to the idea that it would haunt him forever, until one of them was dead. Hell, probably even after.
Dean didn’t quite know what to do - he was somewhat aware that being sensitive was not his strong point. So he tried badgering it out of him. When that didn’t work, he tried cajoling, pleading and surprising it out of him, but all his efforts just made Sam clam up even tighter. Finally, in desperation, he decided to drink it out of him.
They were stopping in Hadley for a night on the way to Boston. They got into town sort of early for them, and they didn’t have any homework (read: research) to do. So Dean suggested they hit the bar next to their shitbag motel. Sam shrugged, as if it made no difference to him. Dean took that as agreement, or the closest he was going to get anyway. But first Sam had to take yet another shower. He was showering as often as three times a day now, if they didn’t sleep in the car. It was one thing to be hygienic, but even Dean could tell that this wasn’t normal. He went out to the car to give Sam some privacy, which he also seemed to need a lot more lately.
He lit a cigarette, leaning against the car in a classic cool guy pose. This place was pretty depressing, all right. The church across the street was boarded up and its windows regarded him like blinded eyes. Crows congregated on its front lawn as if holding private funerals. Even the strip malls infesting the town were abandoned and creepy, their displays populated only by half-naked dummies tilting in all directions. In general Dean tried not to notice things like that, unless they set off his weirdar. There was nothing he could do about it, so it did no good to care.
Turned out his little brother had gotten a lot better at holding his liquor since the last time they’d tried to drink each other under the table. It must have been all the keg parties. As if Sam would go to keg parties. He was probably too busy studying in the library like a geek. He was knocking back the shots as if he didn’t even feel them. Dean faked as many as he realistically could, trying to get Sam drunk before he did. But when they got to the tequila shots, it became a real effort. Finally he judged the time was right.
“So.”
Sam looked at him with wan suspicion. Some small, sober, possibly reptilian part of Dean’s brain noted that he almost, but not quite, looked Dean in the eye.
“What?”
“Now will you tell me what happened?”
“What happened with what? Please tell me you’re not talking about the shapeshifter again,” Sam sighed, a combination of drunkenness, weariness and annoyance in his voice - which made two more emotions than Dean had heard from him since it happened.
“I am. Seriously, I need to know. How else can I help you get through it?”
“Get through what? There’s no damage.”
“Don’t lie to me, dude. I can tell.”
There was a long pause. Dean kept quiet. Sam had to decide for himself now. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Sam shook his head, frowning, and stared into space.
Finally Sam started to speak, haltingly, excruciatingly; the words welling out of him like drops of blood from a dozen pinpricks. He kept his gaze fixed solid on a distant corner of nowhere, as if it would keep him safe from the memory.
“He said...a lot of things. About you, about us... Things he claimed you feel - or felt. I don’t know how much of it was true, but - do you resent me for going to school? I’m sorry I ditched you with Dad.”
“Hey.”
Dean’s hand twitched as if to touch Sam's arm, but then thought better of it.
“I felt kinda bad there, for a while after you left, but I got over it. I admit sometimes I’m jealous of you. But I don’t hate you, and don’t you ever think that. God, I wish I could bring that guy back from the dead just to kill him again - fucking bastard.”
Sam was still sitting unnaturally still. His voice was small, distant, as if coming from that far corner.
“There’s more.”
Dean braced himself. He felt stone cold sober, and somehow he doubted Sammy was all that drunk, either.
“He...did things to me. Touched me, even kissed me...Said you’d always wanted to do it and he was going to take your chance.”
The words spilled out of him now, faster and faster, as the pinpricks turned into little wounds.
“I tried not to believe him but it made me so confused, I didn’t know what to think. And the time afterwards, that night, I had a dream...” he was reddening with shame.
Shit. This is exactly what he was afraid of. That son of a bitch. How dare he mess with Sam’s head like that? Sammy was never supposed to know what was in Dean’s mind - it was a dark and unhealthy place to be. Strange things went on in there, things he'd never planned on sharing with anyone. And that night, he’d been taking care of Sam. The fact that it ended with them in each other’s arms made it no less comfort, he thought defensively, and how much Dean enjoyed it was neither here nor there. He didn’t take advantage of the situation, though he could have. The very thought of that made him feel nauseous.
“Listen. I know our lives were fucked-up and weird, but I would never…molest you like that. You gotta believe me, Sammy, I was looking out for you. I don’t...”
Finally Sam turned to look at him, and the sudden fierceness of his incandescent gaze, a blazing supernova of raw pain and need, hit Dean like a punch to the gut. He tried not to recoil from the sheer force of it.
Sam said bitterly, “No - you don’t understand, man. I’m confused because I liked it.” His voice was full of self-loathing. “In fact, it was the first thing that felt right since...since Jess.”
At this, Dean did not know what to do with his face. He had to look away.
“See? Even you think I’m sick. I know it’s not my fault, that’s what they drum into your head at school, you know? It’s never the victim’s fault. Women don’t ask to be raped. But a guy thinking about his own brother that way? How can that be right?” Sam was almost crying.
“I do not think you’re sick. Stop beating yourself up about it. We didn’t grow up like other kids, you know? We only had each other.” He had to tread very carefully here. “Look, it may not be right according to what society says, but when have we ever cared about that? We’re always wrong; we’re always on the outside, right? If you feel something a little more for me than brotherly affection, that’s not the end of the world.”
Sam said nothing, only sniffed morosely and wiped his eyes with his sleeve like a child.
“Hey, let’s get some sleep, okay? I’m...uh...sorry, you know, about what happened, but I’m glad you told me. Things’ll be better in the morning, I promise.”
* * * * *
Sam crawled into bed and curled his long body up in the fetal position. Dean sat in the chair by the window and tried to stay awake to make sure Sam was sleeping, but kept nodding off despite himself. After about the fifth time he jerked awake, he listened closely to Sam’s breathing, and it sounded like he was really asleep for once. So he stripped off his t-shirt and jeans and climbed into the bed in his undershorts.
He dreamed he was looking into a basement window. It was dark inside, but he could see a figure tied up in a chair. What light there was was streaming through the windows in that annoying movie effect so that he couldn’t see who it was. Another shadow shaped like a person was circling the first in a menacing fashion. He moved closer to see if he could hear what they were saying.
“Where. Is. My brother.” Sam gritted.
“I’m your brother,” the shapeshifter responded smoothly. Then it continued, obviously carrying on the conversation from before Dean started eavesdropping, “See deep down, I’m just jealous. You got friends, you could have a life. Me? I know I’m a freak. And sooner or later everybody’s gonna leave me.”
Hearing this made Dean feel ill. It was too true. He felt like shouting through the window, you’re not supposed to hear this!
Sam said, “What are you talking about?” He sounded thrown off guard, as if he couldn’t just ignore what it was saying anymore.
The shapeshifter said, “You left. Hell, I did everything Dad asked me to and he ditched me too. No explanation, nothin’, just *poof*. Left me with your sorry ass.”
Dean thought: All true except the last part. You were never a burden to me, Sammy.
He tried to open the window but it was stuck fast and barred. He looked for another way in, but couldn't find one. There was nothing he could do but watch as the monster that looked like him took his brother apart, one piece at a time.
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Onward to Part 2.