now there'll never be an intermission
Many thanks to everyone who suggested timestamps - I'm working through several of them now. And huge love to everyone who was there for me in my cryptic emoness. Also, whoever sent me the diamond? That meant an awful lot to me ♥
I am slowly working through answering comments so if you get something terribly outdated from me in your inbox, apologies. My big bang made it in on time and once I am feeling able to look at it again, I shall start editing and then pestering people to look at it for me. Be warned!
93,967 / 20,000
(469.8%)
And here is a timestamp for Day Before Hell, which takes place immediately after this ficlet. For those who don't wish to play catch up, this is where Ben from 3.02 is actually Dean's son and is living with his evil, deranged Antichrist uncle in the apocalyptic future. In a diner in the middle of a desert.
(Sam/Ben with implied Sam/Dean, 796 words, pg, dub-con verging on non-con)
Sam knows. Ben doesn't know what told him but he knows. He's only been awake for a few seconds, they haven’t made it back to the diner yet, but Sam knows. Ben has nothing but gut feeling to go on until Sam turns and smiles at him, muzzy with sleep.
"The last person's blood I had to wash out of the upholstery was Dean's, y'know. His corpse bled out on the backseat. Kind of ironic if I had to clean your blood off the leather too, don't you think?" He frowns, his gaze going distant, then he rubs at his temple and Ben's stomach clenches hard and cold because his fingertips are resting right where Ben's bullet would have smashed into his skull. "Or my blood. That'd be ironic too."
"Sam," Ben says, his voice little more than a croak. It's too damn hot in the car and there are shadows sweeping and diving over the burnt earth like crows made of the wind. "Sam, I wasn't gonna-"
"Not like there's any difference," Sam goes on, straight over Ben. "Your blood, my blood, his blood. It's ours. That's why it wasn't wrong when I touched Dean and when he touched me. Because we're the same. We're made of the same." There's that soft smile on his face again as he looks at Ben. "Just like you."
Sam goes on watching him and Ben adjusts his sweaty grip on the steering wheel. His brain won't come up with words. There's just this sick, icy smog of terror coming down over him, slippery in his throat so he can't speak.
"Stop the car," Sam says. Ben keeps driving and Sam places his hand, light, on one of Ben's. "Stop the car. It'll damage the engine if I have to stop it."
Ben stops the car. He stays where he is, his heartbeat loud in his ears and his grip still desperately tight on the wheel. Sam walks around to the front of the car and just stands there, face turned towards the horizon, the breeze picking fretfully at his hair and clothes. Then he looks to Ben and their eyes meet. Ben stays hunched over in the driver's seat while Sam moves to the back of the car. The trunk whines as it creaks opens and Ben's gaze stays fixed, blank, out the windshield.
When Sam comes back into sight, he's cradling a battered brown leather jacket, his arms around it like he's carrying an infant. He spreads it out over the hood and then he smiles at Ben and that smile hasn’t got any more reassuring. Ben's pretty damn sure that he's never seen Sam more unhinged than he is this second.
"Come here," he says and Ben's legs are moving before his brain has properly registered the command. He's soaked in sunlight instantly, the heat of it stinging his skin uncomfortably, but he keeps moving towards Sam.
Sam puts his hand to Ben's face and Ben starts to flinch away from it but Sam just smiles and smiles and Ben stops moving. Sam's fingertip traces the curve of Ben's mouth and his smile starts to fade.
"Your mouth is different," Sam says. He looks at Ben as if expecting an explanation. When his eyes connect with Ben's, something flickers across Sam's face. "Is this… can I? Tell me you-" He breaks off and his frown deepens. "It's not wrong. 'Cause, see, you're his. You're made of him. It's just like touching him."
Sam goes on staring at Ben and the weight of his gaze nearly snaps Ben's spine clear in two. Then Sam closes his eyes and lets out a sigh that sounds pained.
"Turn around. Bend over the hood of the car."
Tears prickle in Ben's eyes as his body does as Sam tells it. The leather of the jacket is stiff and cracked under his palms but better than bare skin against the blistering hot metal of the car. Then Sam is right up behind him, strong and hard and too too hot. His lips are pressed to Ben's ear.
"If you want me to stop, you can tell me." Ben's mouth snaps open to speak but Sam's whispering rises to a hiss. "But if you want it, even just a little, just a little right in the back of your brain, then you have to let me have it." His tone turns plaintive as he kisses the tip of Ben's ear. "It's only fair."
Ben's voice dries up in his throat and Sam makes a soft open-mouthed noise of something like affection and reaches round to tug Ben's fly down. The kiss he lays on the back of Ben's neck is warm and loving, but the name he whispers after it isn't Ben's.
I am slowly working through answering comments so if you get something terribly outdated from me in your inbox, apologies. My big bang made it in on time and once I am feeling able to look at it again, I shall start editing and then pestering people to look at it for me. Be warned!
93,967 / 20,000
(469.8%)
And here is a timestamp for Day Before Hell, which takes place immediately after this ficlet. For those who don't wish to play catch up, this is where Ben from 3.02 is actually Dean's son and is living with his evil, deranged Antichrist uncle in the apocalyptic future. In a diner in the middle of a desert.
(Sam/Ben with implied Sam/Dean, 796 words, pg, dub-con verging on non-con)
Sam knows. Ben doesn't know what told him but he knows. He's only been awake for a few seconds, they haven’t made it back to the diner yet, but Sam knows. Ben has nothing but gut feeling to go on until Sam turns and smiles at him, muzzy with sleep.
"The last person's blood I had to wash out of the upholstery was Dean's, y'know. His corpse bled out on the backseat. Kind of ironic if I had to clean your blood off the leather too, don't you think?" He frowns, his gaze going distant, then he rubs at his temple and Ben's stomach clenches hard and cold because his fingertips are resting right where Ben's bullet would have smashed into his skull. "Or my blood. That'd be ironic too."
"Sam," Ben says, his voice little more than a croak. It's too damn hot in the car and there are shadows sweeping and diving over the burnt earth like crows made of the wind. "Sam, I wasn't gonna-"
"Not like there's any difference," Sam goes on, straight over Ben. "Your blood, my blood, his blood. It's ours. That's why it wasn't wrong when I touched Dean and when he touched me. Because we're the same. We're made of the same." There's that soft smile on his face again as he looks at Ben. "Just like you."
Sam goes on watching him and Ben adjusts his sweaty grip on the steering wheel. His brain won't come up with words. There's just this sick, icy smog of terror coming down over him, slippery in his throat so he can't speak.
"Stop the car," Sam says. Ben keeps driving and Sam places his hand, light, on one of Ben's. "Stop the car. It'll damage the engine if I have to stop it."
Ben stops the car. He stays where he is, his heartbeat loud in his ears and his grip still desperately tight on the wheel. Sam walks around to the front of the car and just stands there, face turned towards the horizon, the breeze picking fretfully at his hair and clothes. Then he looks to Ben and their eyes meet. Ben stays hunched over in the driver's seat while Sam moves to the back of the car. The trunk whines as it creaks opens and Ben's gaze stays fixed, blank, out the windshield.
When Sam comes back into sight, he's cradling a battered brown leather jacket, his arms around it like he's carrying an infant. He spreads it out over the hood and then he smiles at Ben and that smile hasn’t got any more reassuring. Ben's pretty damn sure that he's never seen Sam more unhinged than he is this second.
"Come here," he says and Ben's legs are moving before his brain has properly registered the command. He's soaked in sunlight instantly, the heat of it stinging his skin uncomfortably, but he keeps moving towards Sam.
Sam puts his hand to Ben's face and Ben starts to flinch away from it but Sam just smiles and smiles and Ben stops moving. Sam's fingertip traces the curve of Ben's mouth and his smile starts to fade.
"Your mouth is different," Sam says. He looks at Ben as if expecting an explanation. When his eyes connect with Ben's, something flickers across Sam's face. "Is this… can I? Tell me you-" He breaks off and his frown deepens. "It's not wrong. 'Cause, see, you're his. You're made of him. It's just like touching him."
Sam goes on staring at Ben and the weight of his gaze nearly snaps Ben's spine clear in two. Then Sam closes his eyes and lets out a sigh that sounds pained.
"Turn around. Bend over the hood of the car."
Tears prickle in Ben's eyes as his body does as Sam tells it. The leather of the jacket is stiff and cracked under his palms but better than bare skin against the blistering hot metal of the car. Then Sam is right up behind him, strong and hard and too too hot. His lips are pressed to Ben's ear.
"If you want me to stop, you can tell me." Ben's mouth snaps open to speak but Sam's whispering rises to a hiss. "But if you want it, even just a little, just a little right in the back of your brain, then you have to let me have it." His tone turns plaintive as he kisses the tip of Ben's ear. "It's only fair."
Ben's voice dries up in his throat and Sam makes a soft open-mouthed noise of something like affection and reaches round to tug Ben's fly down. The kiss he lays on the back of Ben's neck is warm and loving, but the name he whispers after it isn't Ben's.