The Living Among the Dead (Gordon/Dean Sam/Dean, 1710 words, r-rated)
My coda to Fresh Blood. I'm sure one of these days I'll write a coda that is just ever so slightly not batshit insane. And when I say 'coda' I mean: I watched the episode and this is where my brain took me. Will be cross-posting and finishing up today's Dark Side of the Moon when I get home this evening. :)
I should also apologise once again for this being slightly deranged, both in tone and content.
The Living Among the Dead
(Gordon/Dean Sam/Dean, 1710 words, r-rated, spoilers for 3.07 and one tiny mention of non-con)
There's blood on the wind again. There's always blood on the wind in Hell. Sometimes it's so thick in the air that Gordon is drenched in it. It soaks his clothes and dribbles down his skin. Blots out vision into a dark red haze of the twisted landscape.
He died with the taste of Dean Winchester's blood in his mouth. Sweet with a sudden rush of bitterness. Gordon wets his lips when he thinks of it but the blood in Hell is rancid and old. Nothing like that one last perfect meal of the condemned man.
:::
Wails break the silence. A shrieking, whirling swell of infernal voices. Gordon cowers into the curved shadows of ancient broken bones and watches the hunt go past. He's been in Hell too long. He watches the prey run, scant feet ahead of the gruesome smear of demons, and feels a savage satisfaction at not being quite the lowest of the low here. Hunter, human, vampire… he's not the one being chased into the ground.
The demons set upon their victim and it's nothing but claws and blood, rending flesh and the crickle-crackle of a body being broken.
Afterwards, the figure is impossibly mangled but it twitches all the same. Blood pools out from beneath it, an ever-growing circle that seeps into the coarse sand of the desert. Gordon hears the heart throb, hears the steady pulse as blood pumps from the torn arteries.
Your scent.
:::
Gordon cradles Dean against his chest as flesh knits over the bone, tucks Dean's pretty pink heart back behind ribs and skin, straightens his limbs out like he's a crumpled paper doll. Dean's lips move soundlessly, shaping words that Gordon strains to catch before they disappear into the bloodied air.
Sammy
Gordon's lip curls and he puts his mouth to Dean's to shut him up.
:::
"Wasn't there a god who kept getting ripped apart and put back together? Sure there was," says Dean. "Happened in Angel too. Not a god though. Ever catch any Angel, Gordon? You'd've liked it. Had vampires and stuff. S'pretty cool. Totally inaccurate but… pretty cool."
"That's not how you ended up here."
"Buffy was cool too. Oh, man, Buffy. So hot."
"Fine," says Gordon. "You'll tell me eventually. Maybe tomorrow."
:::
Tomorrow, Gordon trails after the hunt, creeping in the shadows like the low thing he is, watching. Tomorrow, Dean is tortured, raped and broken. Killed fifty times over.
Tomorrow, Gordon shushes Dean's hoarse keening sighs and pushes his dislocated jaw back into place while his body stitches itself back together.
Tomorrow, Gordon lets Dean hide his face in the blood-stiff fabric of his shirt and holds him while dry sobs heave through him. Hell is too parched for tears. The only thing wet in Hell is blood. He tries not to enjoy having Dean here with him because this is Hell and Dean shouldn't be here. Gordon is a monster and monsters go to Hell. That doesn't explain Dean.
:::
"So what's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?"
Dean raises an eyebrow. Face gaunt in the crimson gloom, eyes too bright with a lingering fever. Still the same Winchester smirk.
"You flirting with me, Walker?"
"I thought I might as well. I had a spare five minutes in being damned."
"Sorry to say, now's not a good time for me. I've got a pressing appointment with unconsciousness, followed by an unavoidable meeting with being torn to shreds by a few hundred demons. How's about we skip the flirting and get to the main attraction?"
:::
Peaceful sleep is the province of the innocent and the amoral. Dean's head is resting on Gordon's shoulder, his mouth is soft and slack, and Gordon's lulled to blissful blankness by the steady hush of Dean's breathing.
Innocent or amoral. Gordon wonders which it is.
:::
One morning, Dean jerks Gordon off before he lets the demons take him. It catches Gordon by surprise, to be slammed flat on the coarse sand, to have Dean's fingers curling about his cock and to have Dean kissing him like he means it to hurt. Hurt Gordon. Hurt himself.
That same morning, Gordon experiences the wonders of a second brutal, bloody death and the miracle of waking up afterwards. Still in Hell. He doesn't regret trying to save Dean. He doesn't regret taking some of the violence on himself rather than letting it all rain down upon Dean. He doesn’t regret giving Dean five extra seconds without pain.
"Fucking idiot," says Dean, as he holds his hand out to Gordon to pull him to his feet. "They were going to do it anyway, no point giving them a two-for-one."
Dean is apparently unimpressed by Gordon's attempt at chivalry.
:::
"Dracula. The one with Gary Oldman." Gordon shakes his head and makes a disgusted noise like he's hacking something up. "Kind of thing that makes you want to kidnap the guy responsible, bring him face to face with a fang and then see if he wants to do a quick rewrite on the script."
"Keanu Reeves was in that."
"Yeah? And? Please tell me you're not bringing that up like it's a point in the movie's favour."
"I liked The Matrix. The first one. The other two sucked ass."
Gordon thinks it over, conscious of the way Dean's sprawled out, fingertips idly running over the new scars that criss-cross his stomach. He nods.
"Yeah, okay. The Matrix was cool."
:::
Gordon's tongue can't leave the scar on Dean's throat alone. It flickers backwards and forwards over it and Gordon remembers the hot gush of blood into his mouth. What else is he meant to do when Dean tilts his head to one side and all but invites Gordon to put his teeth to the sweep of his neck?
They fuck on the same sand that has swallowed up every drop of Dean's spilt blood. Dean pushes back into every one of Gordon's thrusts, heels digging into the small of his back. He clenches tight about Gordon's cock, fingers digging into his shoulders in a good kind of hurt, like he's trying to keep Gordon from disappearing.
Like Gordon has a single thought in his head about being somewhere in Hell other than between Dean Winchester's thighs.
:::
Skin is still crawling over Dean's bare bones, tears and come and blood still damp on his face, when he pushes his mouth to Gordon's ear and whispers,
I sold my soul for him.
His smile is a macabre thing when half his skull is still glistening bone in the red glare of the light. Half a Death's head and half the kind of pretty that makes Gordon's heart beat a little faster.
Sammy's worth Hell. Worth it all.
:::
"How about Titanic?"
Dean shoots Gordon a look, lips quirking into a smile.
"I wouldn't know. Never watched it. What did you think of Titanic? I hear The Notebook is another one chicks really go for. You seen that one, Gordon?"
"Just suck my cock and shut up." Dean's hair hasn't grown even so much as an inch. Gordon sighs at the feel of Dean's mouth about him, lets his eyes droop shut and cards his fingers through the thick softness of Dean's hair. "Just thought Titanic would've appealed to you. Stupid kid dying a miserable death in order to save a totally worthless girl. Your kind of thing."
Dean's teeth scrape hard and Gordon hisses.
"Watch the teeth!"
His cock slips from Dean's mouth with an obscene wet sound. Dean shoots him another of those Looks.
"A vampire telling me to watch the teeth. Sure this is Hell and not just some weird Bizarro-World?"
Gordon touches Dean's spit-wet lips.
"Not completely sure, no."
:::
Hell breaks open with screams of triumph. Gordon tries to crawl away from the noise but it gets inside his bones and shakes him. Dean is curled in on himself, rocking endlessly and whispering something beneath the shrill cacophony of demonic voices.
Then it's silent. A heavy, bloodless silence.
"Hey," says Dean, sounding more than a little crazy. "My ride's here."
Gordon looks up. And up. Sam Winchester's as tall as damnation. His hand on Dean's face is achingly gentle. His expression is soft with anguish as he gathers Dean to him. Dean's shaking with breathless laughter, sagging against Sam with a fragility that Gordon has never seen in him before.
The Game-Face. Not just for Sammy.
While Sam's hands move over Dean's broken and remade body, as if to reassure himself that his brother is whole, Hell creeps in around them. It's a shifting red wave, high as the sky and made of a darkness that burns Gordon's eyes.
Gordon is reaching for Dean before he can think about it, catching hold of Dean's shoulders and drawing him back to himself.
Sam raises an eyebrow and Dean twists about to meet Gordon's gaze.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he says. "He came for me. We can get out of here. He came for me."
"Dean, look," Gordon whispers. "Look. Don't you see them bowing down to him? Don't you hear the songs they're singing for him?" He presses his mouth to the soft skin at the side of Dean's throat, mouthing over the scar he left in tasting Dean. "Don't go with him."
Sam doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Doesn't have to.
Dean pulls away and steps back from Gordon, back into the instantly welcoming arms of his brother. He shakes his head and goes on staring at Gordon with wide, incredulous eyes. Behind him, Sam's expression is sympathetic, the gracious good feeling of the winning side to the losing.
:::
Somehow, the landscape is wiped clear. Dean's gone and so is the rising swell of the demons. All in an instant. There's Sam and Gordon with the bloody air between them, nothing else.
Sam's face twists ever so slightly. No longer so kind. No longer so deceitful.
"What kind of Anti-Christ would I be," he says, "if I were to leave my brother in Hell? He's worth it, Gordon. He's worth it all."
And then there's just Gordon and the blood-damp desert of Hell stretching out around him forever.
~end
I should also apologise once again for this being slightly deranged, both in tone and content.
The Living Among the Dead
(Gordon/Dean Sam/Dean, 1710 words, r-rated, spoilers for 3.07 and one tiny mention of non-con)
There's blood on the wind again. There's always blood on the wind in Hell. Sometimes it's so thick in the air that Gordon is drenched in it. It soaks his clothes and dribbles down his skin. Blots out vision into a dark red haze of the twisted landscape.
He died with the taste of Dean Winchester's blood in his mouth. Sweet with a sudden rush of bitterness. Gordon wets his lips when he thinks of it but the blood in Hell is rancid and old. Nothing like that one last perfect meal of the condemned man.
:::
Wails break the silence. A shrieking, whirling swell of infernal voices. Gordon cowers into the curved shadows of ancient broken bones and watches the hunt go past. He's been in Hell too long. He watches the prey run, scant feet ahead of the gruesome smear of demons, and feels a savage satisfaction at not being quite the lowest of the low here. Hunter, human, vampire… he's not the one being chased into the ground.
The demons set upon their victim and it's nothing but claws and blood, rending flesh and the crickle-crackle of a body being broken.
Afterwards, the figure is impossibly mangled but it twitches all the same. Blood pools out from beneath it, an ever-growing circle that seeps into the coarse sand of the desert. Gordon hears the heart throb, hears the steady pulse as blood pumps from the torn arteries.
Your scent.
:::
Gordon cradles Dean against his chest as flesh knits over the bone, tucks Dean's pretty pink heart back behind ribs and skin, straightens his limbs out like he's a crumpled paper doll. Dean's lips move soundlessly, shaping words that Gordon strains to catch before they disappear into the bloodied air.
Sammy
Gordon's lip curls and he puts his mouth to Dean's to shut him up.
:::
"Wasn't there a god who kept getting ripped apart and put back together? Sure there was," says Dean. "Happened in Angel too. Not a god though. Ever catch any Angel, Gordon? You'd've liked it. Had vampires and stuff. S'pretty cool. Totally inaccurate but… pretty cool."
"That's not how you ended up here."
"Buffy was cool too. Oh, man, Buffy. So hot."
"Fine," says Gordon. "You'll tell me eventually. Maybe tomorrow."
:::
Tomorrow, Gordon trails after the hunt, creeping in the shadows like the low thing he is, watching. Tomorrow, Dean is tortured, raped and broken. Killed fifty times over.
Tomorrow, Gordon shushes Dean's hoarse keening sighs and pushes his dislocated jaw back into place while his body stitches itself back together.
Tomorrow, Gordon lets Dean hide his face in the blood-stiff fabric of his shirt and holds him while dry sobs heave through him. Hell is too parched for tears. The only thing wet in Hell is blood. He tries not to enjoy having Dean here with him because this is Hell and Dean shouldn't be here. Gordon is a monster and monsters go to Hell. That doesn't explain Dean.
:::
"So what's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?"
Dean raises an eyebrow. Face gaunt in the crimson gloom, eyes too bright with a lingering fever. Still the same Winchester smirk.
"You flirting with me, Walker?"
"I thought I might as well. I had a spare five minutes in being damned."
"Sorry to say, now's not a good time for me. I've got a pressing appointment with unconsciousness, followed by an unavoidable meeting with being torn to shreds by a few hundred demons. How's about we skip the flirting and get to the main attraction?"
:::
Peaceful sleep is the province of the innocent and the amoral. Dean's head is resting on Gordon's shoulder, his mouth is soft and slack, and Gordon's lulled to blissful blankness by the steady hush of Dean's breathing.
Innocent or amoral. Gordon wonders which it is.
:::
One morning, Dean jerks Gordon off before he lets the demons take him. It catches Gordon by surprise, to be slammed flat on the coarse sand, to have Dean's fingers curling about his cock and to have Dean kissing him like he means it to hurt. Hurt Gordon. Hurt himself.
That same morning, Gordon experiences the wonders of a second brutal, bloody death and the miracle of waking up afterwards. Still in Hell. He doesn't regret trying to save Dean. He doesn't regret taking some of the violence on himself rather than letting it all rain down upon Dean. He doesn’t regret giving Dean five extra seconds without pain.
"Fucking idiot," says Dean, as he holds his hand out to Gordon to pull him to his feet. "They were going to do it anyway, no point giving them a two-for-one."
Dean is apparently unimpressed by Gordon's attempt at chivalry.
:::
"Dracula. The one with Gary Oldman." Gordon shakes his head and makes a disgusted noise like he's hacking something up. "Kind of thing that makes you want to kidnap the guy responsible, bring him face to face with a fang and then see if he wants to do a quick rewrite on the script."
"Keanu Reeves was in that."
"Yeah? And? Please tell me you're not bringing that up like it's a point in the movie's favour."
"I liked The Matrix. The first one. The other two sucked ass."
Gordon thinks it over, conscious of the way Dean's sprawled out, fingertips idly running over the new scars that criss-cross his stomach. He nods.
"Yeah, okay. The Matrix was cool."
:::
Gordon's tongue can't leave the scar on Dean's throat alone. It flickers backwards and forwards over it and Gordon remembers the hot gush of blood into his mouth. What else is he meant to do when Dean tilts his head to one side and all but invites Gordon to put his teeth to the sweep of his neck?
They fuck on the same sand that has swallowed up every drop of Dean's spilt blood. Dean pushes back into every one of Gordon's thrusts, heels digging into the small of his back. He clenches tight about Gordon's cock, fingers digging into his shoulders in a good kind of hurt, like he's trying to keep Gordon from disappearing.
Like Gordon has a single thought in his head about being somewhere in Hell other than between Dean Winchester's thighs.
:::
Skin is still crawling over Dean's bare bones, tears and come and blood still damp on his face, when he pushes his mouth to Gordon's ear and whispers,
I sold my soul for him.
His smile is a macabre thing when half his skull is still glistening bone in the red glare of the light. Half a Death's head and half the kind of pretty that makes Gordon's heart beat a little faster.
Sammy's worth Hell. Worth it all.
:::
"How about Titanic?"
Dean shoots Gordon a look, lips quirking into a smile.
"I wouldn't know. Never watched it. What did you think of Titanic? I hear The Notebook is another one chicks really go for. You seen that one, Gordon?"
"Just suck my cock and shut up." Dean's hair hasn't grown even so much as an inch. Gordon sighs at the feel of Dean's mouth about him, lets his eyes droop shut and cards his fingers through the thick softness of Dean's hair. "Just thought Titanic would've appealed to you. Stupid kid dying a miserable death in order to save a totally worthless girl. Your kind of thing."
Dean's teeth scrape hard and Gordon hisses.
"Watch the teeth!"
His cock slips from Dean's mouth with an obscene wet sound. Dean shoots him another of those Looks.
"A vampire telling me to watch the teeth. Sure this is Hell and not just some weird Bizarro-World?"
Gordon touches Dean's spit-wet lips.
"Not completely sure, no."
:::
Hell breaks open with screams of triumph. Gordon tries to crawl away from the noise but it gets inside his bones and shakes him. Dean is curled in on himself, rocking endlessly and whispering something beneath the shrill cacophony of demonic voices.
Then it's silent. A heavy, bloodless silence.
"Hey," says Dean, sounding more than a little crazy. "My ride's here."
Gordon looks up. And up. Sam Winchester's as tall as damnation. His hand on Dean's face is achingly gentle. His expression is soft with anguish as he gathers Dean to him. Dean's shaking with breathless laughter, sagging against Sam with a fragility that Gordon has never seen in him before.
The Game-Face. Not just for Sammy.
While Sam's hands move over Dean's broken and remade body, as if to reassure himself that his brother is whole, Hell creeps in around them. It's a shifting red wave, high as the sky and made of a darkness that burns Gordon's eyes.
Gordon is reaching for Dean before he can think about it, catching hold of Dean's shoulders and drawing him back to himself.
Sam raises an eyebrow and Dean twists about to meet Gordon's gaze.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he says. "He came for me. We can get out of here. He came for me."
"Dean, look," Gordon whispers. "Look. Don't you see them bowing down to him? Don't you hear the songs they're singing for him?" He presses his mouth to the soft skin at the side of Dean's throat, mouthing over the scar he left in tasting Dean. "Don't go with him."
Sam doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Doesn't have to.
Dean pulls away and steps back from Gordon, back into the instantly welcoming arms of his brother. He shakes his head and goes on staring at Gordon with wide, incredulous eyes. Behind him, Sam's expression is sympathetic, the gracious good feeling of the winning side to the losing.
:::
Somehow, the landscape is wiped clear. Dean's gone and so is the rising swell of the demons. All in an instant. There's Sam and Gordon with the bloody air between them, nothing else.
Sam's face twists ever so slightly. No longer so kind. No longer so deceitful.
"What kind of Anti-Christ would I be," he says, "if I were to leave my brother in Hell? He's worth it, Gordon. He's worth it all."
And then there's just Gordon and the blood-damp desert of Hell stretching out around him forever.
~end