Supernatural fic: "Darkness", (1/3) (Sam/Not!Dean, R)
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Darkness (1/3)
Author: _arby_
Pairing: Sam/Not!Dean slash, implied Sam/Dean
Rating: R (violence, cussin', incest)
Spoilers: AU for Skin.
Warnings: Wincest, angst, violence, disturbing and adult themes but no smut this time (sorry kids). Major angst instead.
Length: ~1750 words
Disclaimers: Nope *checks* not mine. I do not claim to own these characters, and I do not condone RL incest.
Summary: "Will you scream like a girl when I cut you, Sammy?”
Note: This is not done. I think it's the middle bit of a longer piece, but it also feels like it can stand alone.
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Sam kept repeating to himself it’s not him, it’s not Dean, as the thing wearing his brother’s body like an ill-fitting suit came closer. It traced the contours of Sam’s jaw lovingly.
“Sammy boy, oh so pretty,” it crooned. Dean’s eyes were hazed, feverish in its stolen face. “I’m gonna make you pay for leaving us. And I’m gonna enjoy every minute of it.”
The shapeshifter continued down to cup the base of Sam’s neck. Dean’s hand (not Dean, not Dean) was unexpectedly warm and a little bit rough. Sam tried not to shiver at the sensation.
“So pretty, like a girl,” it went on in a creepy singsong. “You make me want to do naughty things to you, like I do to them. Will you scream like a girl when I cut you, Sammy?”
Sam turned his head, refused to answer. The creature took out a big, curved knife and pressed the cold blade to Sam’s cheek.
“C’mon, won’t you scream for me, just a little?” it said in a grotesque mockery of Dean’s teasing. The knife began to move, excruciatingly slowly, but didn’t break the skin yet.
“You’re not him. You’re not my brother.” Maybe he could distract it by arguing, stall for time. Dean would be looking for him, if he was still alive. (He’s alive. Don’t even think otherwise. You’d know if he wasn’t.)
“Oh, but I am. I’m everything he’s too scared to be.”
The shapeshifter pressed a little bit harder. Sam felt the skin of his cheek parting beneath the blade like a piece of steak on someone’s dinner plate. It was a thin line of fire being scored into him. This was repeated on the other side of his face, like some kind of tribal marking. Part of his mind tried to picture it, categorize it, file it neatly away in his mind where it couldn’t hurt him. Then the pain stopped. The knife went away and was replaced by a finger that rubbed speculatively in the blood on the right side of his face.
“A girl would be begging me not to hurt her by now. Actually, they all start begging pretty quick, even the ones that think they’re tough. They’re afraid I’m gonna rape them.” It smiled, slowly and with obscene relish. “They don’t know that what I'm really gonna do is worse. You’re scared too, but you seem to think if you hold out long enough, he’ll come to your rescue. Just like he always has. Also a typically stupid female sentiment if I ever heard one.”
The bloody finger stroked across Sam’s mouth, gently, first one lip and then the other, like a girl applying lipstick on a friend. Then a hand gripped Sam’s chin roughly, turned his head to make him look. The shapeshifter’s eyes glittered madly in Dean’s face.
“I got news for you little brother,” it growled, in that low voice Dean used when he was trying not to get really mad, “No one’s coming for you. No one even knows where you are. I’m the only one you got left. So you’d better start acting like you want to live, get it?”
Sam looked it full in the face. If it killed him, at least he’d go out fighting. He had his family’s reputation to maintain, after all.
“I’m not scared of you, asshole. And you’re not my brother.”
Something deeply insane flared inside its eyes. Then the light flickered out, to be replaced by something far more disturbing - a calm, purposeful look. Dean’s jaw set. It let go of him.
“Oh, so that’s how you want to play, then? Okay. We can work with that. Defiant, oh so brave? Sure, be that way.”
It stopped in front of Sam and stared into his eyes, a snake hypnotizing its prey, for what seemed like an eternity. Despite himself Sam sank deeper and deeper into that hazel gaze, so soothing, so comfortingly Dean did it feel. It was slowly approaching him, almost imperceptibly drawing nearer, and it didn’t seem so threatening after all. It was just Dean, he of the tousled spikes for hair and aquiline nose, he who punched Sam’s arm and wrestled him to the ground now and again, the only one who’d always been there for Sam, and here he was, even in the darkest hour when no hope of rescue seemed possible, here came Dean to save the day. Like a good princess Sam waited for his arms to be untied, to be helped out of the chair, but instead Dean’s mouth parted slightly and his eyes closed and suddenly they were kissing, Dean was kissing him, urgent and possessive, like he wanted Sam all for himself. Something long-clenched inside Sam began to loosen, the rigid tamped-down fear of being abandoned, of not being loved, began to uncoil slowly, like a fiddlehead unfurling into a fern. Dean did love him after all, in that way he wasn’t supposed to want, and the feeling of relief was so strong it was heady, exhilarating. He was melting under the gentle, insistent heat of his brother’s lips upon his, like an ice cube on the stove when it was just barely on, the way they used to keep it when they couldn’t afford to use the radiator, huddled around the stove with their hands out over it, touching, and then Dean would take Sam’s hands in his bigger ones and blow on them, and his breath was a tiny flame in the vast cold darkness.
Sam wanted to cry, it was so achingly sweet, all the things he had never allowed himself to feel before bubbling up inside him in response to this, and Dean’s hand on the back of his neck was so gentle, he rubbed his finger back and forth on Sam’s nape as if to smooth away all the hurt there’d ever been; the Mom-shaped absence at the center of their lives was erased, Dad was healed and whole and they weren’t eternally on the run, demons and ghosts were just stories little kids told each other for fun at night around the fire on their Boy Scout trips. Everything is okay, that touch said. And Sam realized he was crying, and Dean was holding him, stroking his hair and murmuring in his ear in low tones, “It’s okay Sammy, I got you. Don’t worry little bro, you’re safe now.”
But he couldn’t move his arms, his lips tasted of metal and salt, his own blood drying stickily on them, and then he knew he was still tied to a chair in a sewer in the middle of nowhere, and the thing caressing him that looked like Dean had probably killed his brother. And when he drew back in sudden horror as he came to himself, its face contorted with anger and it punched him, hard, in the face - the blow made his ears ring and he almost vomited with the resurgence of hatred and disgust, now combined with despair, grief and self-reproach, that boiled up inside as he remembered all over again it’s not him, it’s not Dean.
You let it kiss you, a little voice said. You thought it was Dean, and that moment was the happiest you’ve felt in months.
“You little brat!" the shapeshifter snarled. "What’s the matter with you? I know you want me too - it’s written all over your face.”
Sam said nothing. He felt unutterably weary. If it was going to kill him, why wouldn’t it just shut up and do it already?
“God, people think I’m sick just because I enjoy a little bondage and torture now and then, but what about you? Your whole family is perverted - Dean’s always wanted to touch you in wrong, dirty ways, you know. I’m just taking advantage of this situation to do what he would have done if he had the chance.”
It smiled with loathsome satisfaction. The sight of that smile on Dean’s face made Sam feel queasy.
“I think about sucking your dick as I lie awake at night, jerking off. It’s always been just you and me, Sammy. And it always will be. Me and Dad, we’re never going to let you go.
“You think you can get away from us? Look what happened when you tried to have a ‘normal’ life,” the voice was sneering, bitter but he could see the hurt in Dean’s eyes, “you drove Dad away and killed your precious little girlfriend. I’m just giving you what you deserve for thinking anyone could ever love you but me.”
Finally Sam gave up. He closed his eyes and tried to go far, far away in his mind. To let himself float up to the ceiling like a balloon, untethered by the ballast of his body. Shut out the hateful words in his brother’s voice, let the thing do what it would with that sack of meat.
It was just starting to work when something grabbed his arm. Hopelessly, he opened his eyes, resigned to some fresh torment. Someone who appeared to be Dean was untying him. Sam felt leaden, as if he were the one pretending to be someone else. He stared dully ahead of him, still convinced it was a trap, as he (it) urged him to get up, put an arm around his shoulders, and helped him limp out of the sewer. Even when he saw the shapeshifter’s body lying on the ground, half-melted and barely recognizable, it didn’t convince him that what was happening was real. The real Sam was left behind in the chair, always in that chair, and the shapeshifter was taunting him, hurting him and kissing it better, over and over.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Choose your own adventure question:
Chapter 2 has two versions. Which do you pick?
1. New Coke
2. Coke Classic
Title: Darkness (1/3)
Author: _arby_
Pairing: Sam/Not!Dean slash, implied Sam/Dean
Rating: R (violence, cussin', incest)
Spoilers: AU for Skin.
Warnings: Wincest, angst, violence, disturbing and adult themes but no smut this time (sorry kids). Major angst instead.
Length: ~1750 words
Disclaimers: Nope *checks* not mine. I do not claim to own these characters, and I do not condone RL incest.
Summary: "Will you scream like a girl when I cut you, Sammy?”
Note: This is not done. I think it's the middle bit of a longer piece, but it also feels like it can stand alone.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sam kept repeating to himself it’s not him, it’s not Dean, as the thing wearing his brother’s body like an ill-fitting suit came closer. It traced the contours of Sam’s jaw lovingly.
“Sammy boy, oh so pretty,” it crooned. Dean’s eyes were hazed, feverish in its stolen face. “I’m gonna make you pay for leaving us. And I’m gonna enjoy every minute of it.”
The shapeshifter continued down to cup the base of Sam’s neck. Dean’s hand (not Dean, not Dean) was unexpectedly warm and a little bit rough. Sam tried not to shiver at the sensation.
“So pretty, like a girl,” it went on in a creepy singsong. “You make me want to do naughty things to you, like I do to them. Will you scream like a girl when I cut you, Sammy?”
Sam turned his head, refused to answer. The creature took out a big, curved knife and pressed the cold blade to Sam’s cheek.
“C’mon, won’t you scream for me, just a little?” it said in a grotesque mockery of Dean’s teasing. The knife began to move, excruciatingly slowly, but didn’t break the skin yet.
“You’re not him. You’re not my brother.” Maybe he could distract it by arguing, stall for time. Dean would be looking for him, if he was still alive. (He’s alive. Don’t even think otherwise. You’d know if he wasn’t.)
“Oh, but I am. I’m everything he’s too scared to be.”
The shapeshifter pressed a little bit harder. Sam felt the skin of his cheek parting beneath the blade like a piece of steak on someone’s dinner plate. It was a thin line of fire being scored into him. This was repeated on the other side of his face, like some kind of tribal marking. Part of his mind tried to picture it, categorize it, file it neatly away in his mind where it couldn’t hurt him. Then the pain stopped. The knife went away and was replaced by a finger that rubbed speculatively in the blood on the right side of his face.
“A girl would be begging me not to hurt her by now. Actually, they all start begging pretty quick, even the ones that think they’re tough. They’re afraid I’m gonna rape them.” It smiled, slowly and with obscene relish. “They don’t know that what I'm really gonna do is worse. You’re scared too, but you seem to think if you hold out long enough, he’ll come to your rescue. Just like he always has. Also a typically stupid female sentiment if I ever heard one.”
The bloody finger stroked across Sam’s mouth, gently, first one lip and then the other, like a girl applying lipstick on a friend. Then a hand gripped Sam’s chin roughly, turned his head to make him look. The shapeshifter’s eyes glittered madly in Dean’s face.
“I got news for you little brother,” it growled, in that low voice Dean used when he was trying not to get really mad, “No one’s coming for you. No one even knows where you are. I’m the only one you got left. So you’d better start acting like you want to live, get it?”
Sam looked it full in the face. If it killed him, at least he’d go out fighting. He had his family’s reputation to maintain, after all.
“I’m not scared of you, asshole. And you’re not my brother.”
Something deeply insane flared inside its eyes. Then the light flickered out, to be replaced by something far more disturbing - a calm, purposeful look. Dean’s jaw set. It let go of him.
“Oh, so that’s how you want to play, then? Okay. We can work with that. Defiant, oh so brave? Sure, be that way.”
It stopped in front of Sam and stared into his eyes, a snake hypnotizing its prey, for what seemed like an eternity. Despite himself Sam sank deeper and deeper into that hazel gaze, so soothing, so comfortingly Dean did it feel. It was slowly approaching him, almost imperceptibly drawing nearer, and it didn’t seem so threatening after all. It was just Dean, he of the tousled spikes for hair and aquiline nose, he who punched Sam’s arm and wrestled him to the ground now and again, the only one who’d always been there for Sam, and here he was, even in the darkest hour when no hope of rescue seemed possible, here came Dean to save the day. Like a good princess Sam waited for his arms to be untied, to be helped out of the chair, but instead Dean’s mouth parted slightly and his eyes closed and suddenly they were kissing, Dean was kissing him, urgent and possessive, like he wanted Sam all for himself. Something long-clenched inside Sam began to loosen, the rigid tamped-down fear of being abandoned, of not being loved, began to uncoil slowly, like a fiddlehead unfurling into a fern. Dean did love him after all, in that way he wasn’t supposed to want, and the feeling of relief was so strong it was heady, exhilarating. He was melting under the gentle, insistent heat of his brother’s lips upon his, like an ice cube on the stove when it was just barely on, the way they used to keep it when they couldn’t afford to use the radiator, huddled around the stove with their hands out over it, touching, and then Dean would take Sam’s hands in his bigger ones and blow on them, and his breath was a tiny flame in the vast cold darkness.
Sam wanted to cry, it was so achingly sweet, all the things he had never allowed himself to feel before bubbling up inside him in response to this, and Dean’s hand on the back of his neck was so gentle, he rubbed his finger back and forth on Sam’s nape as if to smooth away all the hurt there’d ever been; the Mom-shaped absence at the center of their lives was erased, Dad was healed and whole and they weren’t eternally on the run, demons and ghosts were just stories little kids told each other for fun at night around the fire on their Boy Scout trips. Everything is okay, that touch said. And Sam realized he was crying, and Dean was holding him, stroking his hair and murmuring in his ear in low tones, “It’s okay Sammy, I got you. Don’t worry little bro, you’re safe now.”
But he couldn’t move his arms, his lips tasted of metal and salt, his own blood drying stickily on them, and then he knew he was still tied to a chair in a sewer in the middle of nowhere, and the thing caressing him that looked like Dean had probably killed his brother. And when he drew back in sudden horror as he came to himself, its face contorted with anger and it punched him, hard, in the face - the blow made his ears ring and he almost vomited with the resurgence of hatred and disgust, now combined with despair, grief and self-reproach, that boiled up inside as he remembered all over again it’s not him, it’s not Dean.
You let it kiss you, a little voice said. You thought it was Dean, and that moment was the happiest you’ve felt in months.
“You little brat!" the shapeshifter snarled. "What’s the matter with you? I know you want me too - it’s written all over your face.”
Sam said nothing. He felt unutterably weary. If it was going to kill him, why wouldn’t it just shut up and do it already?
“God, people think I’m sick just because I enjoy a little bondage and torture now and then, but what about you? Your whole family is perverted - Dean’s always wanted to touch you in wrong, dirty ways, you know. I’m just taking advantage of this situation to do what he would have done if he had the chance.”
It smiled with loathsome satisfaction. The sight of that smile on Dean’s face made Sam feel queasy.
“I think about sucking your dick as I lie awake at night, jerking off. It’s always been just you and me, Sammy. And it always will be. Me and Dad, we’re never going to let you go.
“You think you can get away from us? Look what happened when you tried to have a ‘normal’ life,” the voice was sneering, bitter but he could see the hurt in Dean’s eyes, “you drove Dad away and killed your precious little girlfriend. I’m just giving you what you deserve for thinking anyone could ever love you but me.”
Finally Sam gave up. He closed his eyes and tried to go far, far away in his mind. To let himself float up to the ceiling like a balloon, untethered by the ballast of his body. Shut out the hateful words in his brother’s voice, let the thing do what it would with that sack of meat.
It was just starting to work when something grabbed his arm. Hopelessly, he opened his eyes, resigned to some fresh torment. Someone who appeared to be Dean was untying him. Sam felt leaden, as if he were the one pretending to be someone else. He stared dully ahead of him, still convinced it was a trap, as he (it) urged him to get up, put an arm around his shoulders, and helped him limp out of the sewer. Even when he saw the shapeshifter’s body lying on the ground, half-melted and barely recognizable, it didn’t convince him that what was happening was real. The real Sam was left behind in the chair, always in that chair, and the shapeshifter was taunting him, hurting him and kissing it better, over and over.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Choose your own adventure question:
Chapter 2 has two versions. Which do you pick?
1. New Coke
2. Coke Classic