Supernatural: Voice of Rage and Ruin
Title: Voice of Rage and Ruin
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Meg!Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17 for Dub/Noncon, Explicit Sexual Content, All the Angst, and Language
Word Count: 4,522
Author’s Note: Written for lavishsqualor as part of oxoniensis's Fandom Free for All. Her prompt was: Meg!Sam/Dean - obviously of the dubcon nature. Title was taken from Bad Moon Rising by Creedence Clearwater. Not beta'd. This is not the kind of thing I usually write, so hopefully I did not completely fail at it. :/ ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: Coda to 2x14 - Born Under a Bad Sign: We'll ask him tomorrow, Meg says, like she's promising Sam something he wants. And if he says no, we'll take it anyway.
She gets him in a bar bathroom in the middle of nowhere.
It's past 3 a.m. and the case they're working, while low on actual physical strain, just keeps getting more complicated. It's stressing Sam out, stressing him out double since Dean is kicking back and trying to enjoy himself instead of focusing. Sam's exhausted. He's wanted to go home for hours, but Dean hasn't seen anything he likes yet, which means he tugs Sam down every time he tries to leave and swears they'll only stay five more minutes, and Sam stays, hoping if he's good enough company, Dean will be distracted and he'll never get around to finding a girl.
It's around beer number eight that Sam realizes just how pathetic this makes him, so he staggers to his feet, shoving Dean's hands away to announce he's not trying to leave, he's just trying to piss.
Dean yells some completely unremarkable joke about Sam breaking the seal, and Sam must be closer to drunk than he realized, because somehow even that stupidity from Dean makes his chest ache.
So Sam isn't exactly alert and his mind is full of too much crap, but still, he shouldn't have been taken by surprise. It's pretty embarrassing, really. She chokes him on black smoke in that bathroom like it's nothing and when Sam walks back out, he's not the one in control.
He knows who she is right away. She tells him, but she doesn't need to. It's impossible to describe, impossible for Sam to fully understand, even as it's happening to him. He can feel what she does but he's numb, disconnected by the smoke hovering between him and his skin. He can see, but there's a thin black screen over everything. He can sense every thought she has, but he can't grasp any of it.
He can see the way Dean smiles at him, cheerful and unsuspecting, but he can’t warn him.
"What'd you fall in?" Dean asks, laughing at his own joke before Sam gets a chance not to.
Meg grins, though Sam knows it's not Dean's comment she's so tickled by. He can feel how much she hates Dean-for sending her to Hell, for killing her brother, maybe just for being human-and it terrifies him. He doesn't know if she can hear his thoughts, he doesn’t want to give her ideas. But Sam can't help wondering just what she plans to do with his body and all that hate.
Don't you worry, Sam, she says. Her words, voiceless and somehow sounding like fire, ring inside his head. You're gonna kill him alright. But let's see how much fun we can have before then.
That answers any questions Sam had about whether she knows what he's thinking or not, and Sam feels her condescending amusement as she tracks his thought process.
"You look tired," Dean observes.
Sam would scream if he still owned his lungs. Is that all I look like? he wants to ask. Can't you tell it's not me? How can you not tell?
"I told you I was tired three hours ago," Meg says. "You didn't care then."
Dean smirks. "I'd tell you not to be a bitch, but I'd just be blowing smoke, huh, Sammy?"
Meg makes exactly the face Sam would make and looks down at the beer Sam had left three-quarters empty on the table.
"Let's just go home," Dean says, voice pacifying as he leans forward. "This place is dead anyway."
And yes, the place is dead-it's three in the morning. But it wasn't when they first got there and it wasn't for a long time after that, and Sam can't help wishing he'd put his foot down, left Dean alone to find a girl, gone back to their motel and drawn salt lines and spent the rest of the night worrying about what Dean was doing.
Meg stands at the same time as Dean, follows him just a few inches behind, the way Sam always does, and Sam wonders how the hell she got so good at playing him.
They ride home without a word passed between them, Led Zeppelin the only break in silence. Sam doesn't know if Meg is quiet because she doesn’t want to risk saying the wrong thing or because she's playing at too-tired-to-talk, but either way, it isn’t out of the usual enough for Dean to suspect anything. They get to the motel, and Meg distracts Dean from salting the door by telling him he can use the bathroom first. Dean is drunk, so it works. He crashes as soon as he's brushed his teeth and pissed, and Meg lies on the opposite bed, pretending to have passed out while he was in there.
They sit up together all night, Sam and Meg, watching Dean. Sam can’t imagine anything worse than Dean dying in front of him, choking the life out of his brother with his own hands, but he knows Meg can. A part of him wishes she would just do it-Dean is completely at her mercy. Sam is terrified of whatever she's planning that's keeping her at bay.
He can't stop the way his mind wanders when he watches his brother, the way he worries just a little more when Dean turns over in his sleep, lips smacking, and he's forced to think about how beautiful Dean is now and how beautiful he won't be when Meg has finished with him.
Your own big brother, Sam?
Sam wills all the thoughts away. Some of the people they've saved from demons said they were asleep while this was happening. Sam just wants to be asleep.
Well, I gotta say, I should have guessed that one. But, wow. In love with your own big brother. That's pretty sick. You're pretty sick, Sam. Maybe you are one of us after all.
Sam tries to say no. Tries to take control back. He feels the laugh she doesn’t let out of Sam's mouth.
What's been stopping you from taking it? Scared he'll say no? You must wonder if he wants it, too. Don't you want to find out? I know I do.
He scratches and scratches at his insides, and he's got nothing to scratch with, and he's got no shot in hell. Meg only swells inside of him, cuts him off with more smoke. She's excited by his response. She's having the time of her life.
We'll ask him tomorrow, she says, like she's promising Sam something he wants. And if he says no, we'll take it anyway.
The next day Dean is just as oblivious and Meg is just as convincing and Sam is just as fucked. He watches Dean through the smoke filter, trying desperately to send some kind of sign, but at the end of the day, Dean kicks his shoes off by the door and shucks his jacket and when he's about to put the salt down, Meg distracts him better than she did the night before.
She kisses him. Sam feels Dean's response through a haze, the way he freezes up at the first touch of lips on lips, the way he puts one hand out to push Sam away. Sam doesn't ever feel him go through with it, but that's because Dean doesn't. His hand stays splayed against Sam's chest, his mouth is slack, but he doesn't push Meg-he doesn't push Sam away.
Meg breaks it, and takes one step back, just so Sam can really see his brother's face. Dean's lip is trembling, wet from Sam's mouth, and his eyes look scared but Sam swears he sees something hopeful in there.
Meg does exactly what Sam would have done if he'd ever gone through with this. She looks away, stammers out an apology, sits on the bed and hides Sam's face in his hands. Dean is quiet while Meg pretends to freak out, but when Dean touches his shoulder, Sam imagines he can feel how warm his hand is through the jackets and the skin and the sulfur.
"Sammy," he says quietly.
Meg meets his eyes. "Dean, I'm sorry, I just couldn't help myself anymore."
Dean's lips curl into a very small smile, the one he only brings out for Sam, and Sam's stomach flips despite the filth inside it. "I didn't ever think you would want…" Dean's words drop off-no chick flick moments, Sam knows that's what he's thinking-and he kisses Sam instead.
Meg puts a hand on each side of Dean's face and drags him back, falling onto the mattress so Sam can know what it feels like when his brother lands on top of him. Not because of a hunt or a wrestling match, but with intent. This is worse than if Dean had just said no, had punched Sam and told him he hated him, like Dean always does in Sam's nightmares. Meg would have forced him, and Dean would have known. Sam would never. Dean would have known that.
Instead, Dean is acting out the dreams Sam never could have even hoped for, and Meg is doing and saying exactly what Sam would have if he'd ever been brave enough. So Dean suspects nothing. He's too busy getting his hands all over what he thinks is Sam.
She lets him feel it. That's the worst part of the whole fucking torture; Sam can feel Dean's lips on his neck and Dean's hands snaking up his chest and as much as Sam wants to stop it, he doesn’t ever want it to stop.
Dean pulls away. "What do you want, Sam?"
"Fuck me," Meg says. "I want you inside me."
Dean's eyes go wide and he licks his lips, and he looks like he has something to say, but he shakes his head, smiling as he pushes Sam back into the mattress. He doesn't hesitate again, immediately starts to work on the buttons of Sam's shirt, moving down Sam with a long trail of kisses as Meg moans and writhes and encourages him.
You could stop it, she says to Sam. If you really wanted to.
Sam doesn't believe her. He wants so badly not to believe her and he's trying so fucking hard to get out of this, so he doesn’t want to acknowledge that every time Dean looks up at him-uncertain, eyes roving over Sam and checking to make sure it's still okay-he loses his concentration and just wants to let it happen.
Dean stops when he reaches the top of Sam's jeans and looks up one last time before he undoes them, pulling them down with much less ceremony. His face is a few inches away from Sam's cock, and he's looking at it with his lips slightly parted and dark eyes, and if this were up to Sam, he would push Dean down and fuck his brother's mouth, just because it looks too good not to.
Meg has a plan, though, so before Dean can get his mouth on Sam's dick, she puts a hand on Dean's cheek and forces him to look up. "Dean, please. That's not what I want."
Dean swallows hard and nods, rising as Meg pulls him up and finding Sam's mouth immediately. He undresses as they kiss. Sam feels the jostling as he pulls his pants and boxers down, feels Dean's hot, hard flesh against his own. Dean breaks the kiss for a second to pull his shirt up and off and he tosses it away without paying attention where it will land.
Meg breaks the kiss to beg Dean to fuck Sam. She just keeps saying it, and Dean is as hopeless to resist Sam's pleading as he always has been. "Yeah," he says, just a puff of breath against Sam's mouth. "God, yeah. Okay."
He sits back, scanning the room for his bag and grabs for it quickly once he finds it. There's lube and condoms in the front pocket for easy access-Sam feels a fond flush of 'well, of course there is' before Dean turns back to him and Sam remembers that just means this whole nightmare is going to happen that much quicker.
Dean shuffles forward on the bed, already squeezing lube onto his palm before he even reaches Sam. Meg spreads Sam's legs wide open so Dean can fit between them and she lifts Sam's hips. Dean tracks the movement with his eyes, a hungry expression on his face, and rubs his fingers together, wet strings between them when he separates them.
He puts his dry hand on Sam's ass to hold him up and presses one of those fingers in. Meg throws her head back, swearing.
"This okay, Sammy?" Dean asks, his finger pausing inside of Sam.
She nods, moving Sam's body so Dean's finger slips in further. "Dean."
Dean doesn't seem entirely sure what to do, which is the farthest thing in the world from what Sam expected. He fingers Sam for a minute or so before he laughs shakily and looks Sam in the eye. "This is, uh. I don't-I've never done this. I don't know if it's good."
It looks like it's killing him to admit it-Sam's not sure if that's because Dean hates not knowing how to fuck Sam in particular or if he's just too used to being good at sex and can't stand not being as confident. Either way, it's a moot point, and not just because Sam is possessed. It's Dean and he wants Sam and there's no way this would not be amazing if Sam could properly enjoy it.
"More," Meg replies. "It's good, but I want more."
Dean pulls out and reaches for the lube again, even though his fingers are all wet and sloppy as is. Meg laughs at him, which is fair enough. Sam would be laughing at him, too.
"Just get on with it," she says.
Dean nods, slipping two fingers back into Sam.
"More!" Meg demands before he even starts working his way into Sam. "Dean, please. Enough of this bullshit, just fuck me."
Dean stops, frowning for a moment, as if he's finally noticed something about this whole situation is off. He pulls his fingers out, and Meg must see she's on dangerous ground, because she sits up, slipping her hand behind Dean's ear and pulling him in slowly.
"Sorry," she says. "Just want you so much. Been waiting so long, Dean. I don't need you to get me ready. I'm ready for you."
Dean is slow to respond, but by the time she pulls away from the kiss, he looks completely pacified. Puddy in Sam's hands.
Meg lies back against the bed and Dean picks up the condom, rips the package with his mouth and spits it out and has his dick covered in less time than Sam would have thought was possible.
The burn is sharp when Dean fucks into him, but it's not bad enough to bother Sam. It would be uncomfortable, Sam thinks, if this was real, but in Sam's current state, Dean's dick dragging at his skin is the least intrusive thing about any of it.
Dean stops once he's all the way inside of Sam. He just lies there for a few seconds shaking, his arms wrapping around Sam, and his face buried against Sam's neck. "God, Sam," he whispers. "So tight. Jesus, you feel so fucking good."
He's not saying anything particularly smooth or romantic, but the way he says it-he says it like it’s Sam that's making it good, even though Meg is just lying there, letting Dean do all the work. God, he says it like this is special and Sam wants to cry.
Dean thrusts then, just once, and then again like it's automatic. He goes slowly, Sam can only call it tender, and it's only a few more rolls of Dean's hips before Sam's body has adjusted to the stretch and it starts feeling good again. Too good. Better than Meg wants it to be.
"Harder," she tells Dean. "I like it rough."
Dean cups Sam's face and kisses him gently, and Meg fucks up on his cock, making a desperate, whiny noise. "Whatever you want," Dean says, his lips moving up Sam's jaw and pressing against his ear. "Anything you want, Sammy."
He speeds up then, starts fucking Sam with quick, rough jerks. Meg just keeps begging for more, and Dean obeys every instruction. Sam knows what she's doing, knows that as soon as Dean finds out it isn't Sam asking he'll remember how hard the bed is hitting the wall now and hate himself just that little bit more. But as it's happening, Sam really does want more, really does want Dean to fuck him and keep fucking him, hard or soft, it doesn't matter. Sam wants to feel Dean tomorrow, and he won't feel anything. And this-this could have been beautiful, this could have meant everything to Sam. Hell, Dean is saying he's close and looking at Sam, wrapping his hand around Sam's shaft, with this expression as if it is beautiful, as if it already means something. All it really means is that they are never going to get this, and it's all because Sam was too chickenshit to kiss Dean when he had the chance.
Meg must decide she's gotten what she wanted out of this, because she comes, Dean's name spilling out of Sam's mouth. Dean gasps and Sam feels him finish.
She keeps the pretense up for a few days after that, fucking Dean every night until the day she wakes up and decides it's time to take Sam's body out for a spin, but it doesn't matter to Sam anymore. After the first time Dean pulls out of him and wraps an arm around him and falls asleep smiling against his shoulder, Sam feels nothing but dead all over.
He spends most of the next week out of it. Meg lets him see the people he hurts, she makes sure he's awake when she's branding herself into him. Eventually, Dean finds Sam and Meg won't let Sam sleep through a moment of that-she wants him to see the game she plays with his brother and the look of dawning horror on Dean's face in the moment just before she knocks him out.
Sam hears her lie to Dean about how long he's been possessed, too, and when the whole mess is finally over, Sam doesn't correct her. He knows how wrong that is, but he also knows Dean won't be able to handle it if he figures out that Sam wasn't the one he fucked. So he lets Dean think Meg got him in Texas, that it was only the week he was missing she was inside him, and Dean is so relieved and so happy to have Sam back he forgets to question it.
They find a motel a few hours away from Bobby's; Dean is being nice and attentive in that way he has where he still manages to be a perfect asshole. He insists he's worn out and he feels like stopping for food, and the words 'you must be tired' never leave his lips, so Sam just has to take them for granted in the way Dean rushes to hold doors open for him.
It's all fine until Sam gets in bed and Dean pulls the covers up behind him. Sam remembers then-this was becoming regular between them, and Dean has no way of knowing it wasn't regular for Sam. He doesn’t know it sends a dirty shock through Sam, but he figures it out pretty quickly as soon as he pushes his body against Sam's back and wraps an arm around him and Sam can't help it, it's instinct, he freezes up.
He knows he screwed up as soon as he does it, before Dean even gets a chance to react. Because he does want Dean to touch him, and he certainly can't stand the thought of Dean hating it. But all the same, he's not used to it. He's used to Meg laughing at him and forcing him and feeling dirty and scared and futile.
"Sam," Dean says. "Sam, how long was she-when we-?"
"Dean," Sam says wrapping his hand around Dean's and holding him in place. "It doesn't matter."
"It was her. When I fucked you-it was her, wasn't it?"
"Dean-"
"Answer the question."
Sam closes his eyes, wishing he could lie right now and Dean wouldn't see right through it. "Yes," he says, as quietly as he can manage. "It was her."
Dean lets go of him immediately, begins to back away, and Sam can already hear him starting to freak out. He turns in bed, grabbing his brother's wrists to try pulling him back down. "Dean, wait."
"Jesus, fuck. I thought it was-" Dean wipes a hand over his mouth, shaking his head. "No. No, no. God, Sam-I."
"No you didn't. Dean, listen to me. You didn't."
Dean shakes off Sam's hand, backs away until he tumbles onto the other bed. "I'm gonna be sick," he says. And then he laughs with an edge of horror and hysteria. "I'm already sick."
Sam sits up. "Dean, you had no way of knowing."
"Of course I should have known." Dean's voice trembles and he drops his face into his hands. "How could I-?"
"How could you have known?" Sam asks.
Dean looks up, glaring at Sam. "You knew. When that shifter was pretending to be me, you knew right away."
"This was different. She knew exactly what to say, Dean."
"How could I not know? Fuck, Sam. I saw-I thought it was just the light. One of those nights after I-I raped you. I saw your eyes go black for a second and I told myself it was the light."
"She did that on purpose," Sam says, looking down at his hands. "Dean, she wanted you to see that."
Dean stands up, pacing to the dresser on the other side of the room just to kick it. "Because she knew I would pretend-God, what is wrong with me?"
"No, she knew you would blame yourself for it." Sam stands up, tries to put a hand on Dean's shoulder to soothe him. Dean recoils from Sam's touch. "Dean, you didn't rape me. You can't, I wanted it."
"Shut up, Sam."
Sam steps forward. "I mean it. That's why she did it. Dean, she got the idea from me. If anyone raped anyone-"
"You couldn't stop it," he says. He turns to look at Sam and his expression breaks. "I hurt you. It hurt, didn't it? I enjoyed it, and it hurt you."
"Dean, I'm telling you. I wanted it. I've wanted it as long as I've wanted anything. Not like that, okay, not with her, but even then, I wanted it."
Dean puts a hand on Sam's cheek, sways closer and then away. He looks drunk, and Sam knows he isn't, which means there's something else a hell of a lot more dangerous fucking with his ability to react. "How could I do that to you?" he asks, like nothing Sam just said managed to work its way into his thick skull.
"Dean," Sam says. He leans forward, tries to kiss his brother, and Dean lets out a loud sob and shoves Sam away so fast Sam stumbles back.
"I have to go," he says. He nods then, looking away from Sam. "I need to get out of here."
Sam reaches for him, stops him before he can grab his coat. "Dean, where?"
He shakes his head. "Don't know," he says. He brushes Sam's hand off. "Can't tell you."
"You'll come back, though?" Sam lets him have the jacket but follows him a few steps. "You won't leave me, right?"
"I'd be doing you a favor." Dean must see how much that hurts Sam, because he shakes his head. "I don't know, Sam. I don't know, I need to think."
"Promise you'll come back." Dean pushes past Sam and continues to the door. Sam beats him to it. "This is what she wanted, you know."
"Move, Sam."
"She did it because she knew that if somehow you got away and she didn't get to kill you, this would ruin us."
"Sam, please," Dean says. "Just let me-"
"She told me, Dean. She knew. If she kissed you and you said no, she was gonna force you, and it would drive us apart. And if you said yes, she knew you would blame yourself, and it would drive us apart. Dean, she just wanted to separate us."
"Sammy," Dean is begging now, and Sam grabs him, forces him back into the room. "Sammy, let me go."
"You can't let her win," Sam says. He can feel tears stinging at his eyes. "Dean, please don't leave me here. Don't let her ruin us." Dean looks sorry, but he pushes Sam's hands away again, and Sam is so worn down he lets Dean go. He clings to the jacket, but it's hopeless now, and Sam falls to his knees begging. "Dean."
"I just need to think," he says. "I just need a little bit of time alone, okay?"
With anyone else, Sam would understand. Hell, Sam needs space as much as Dean does, needs time to get used to his brother's touch after what Meg did. But this is his brother, and Sam knows what Dean would do to anyone who had done to Sam what Dean thinks he did. Sam can't let Dean get himself alone.
"Dean," he says again, holding on to the bottom of Dean's pants as he opens the door and tries to step out. "Don't you dare leave me. You don't know what I'll do without you. I don't know what I'll do."
Dean opens the door and Sam sees him put one foot outside.
"It's what Dad warned you about," Sam says in a last ditch effort to talk Dean down. Dean freezes in the doorway, and after a few long seconds, the door closes and Sam lets out a breath of relief. "Why else would she want to tear us apart, Dean?"
Dean folds like a house of cards at that, he's on his knees next to Sam in an instant. He stays at arm's length, which used to be Sam's worst nightmare. Now he knows better, he knows Dean can hurt him without an inch of space between them. "Sammy, you don't need me. I thought I could help you, but I…" He shakes his head. "I can only make things worse."
Sam pulls him closer, and Dean finally relaxes and wraps an arm around Sam's shoulder. "We can get past this, Dean. Together. What I can't get past is you leaving."
Dean rests his chin on top of Sam's head and Sam feels Dean take a deep breath. "I'm here," he says, though it doesn't ring with all the warmth and promise it usually does. "I'm right here, Sam."
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Meg!Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17 for Dub/Noncon, Explicit Sexual Content, All the Angst, and Language
Word Count: 4,522
Author’s Note: Written for lavishsqualor as part of oxoniensis's Fandom Free for All. Her prompt was: Meg!Sam/Dean - obviously of the dubcon nature. Title was taken from Bad Moon Rising by Creedence Clearwater. Not beta'd. This is not the kind of thing I usually write, so hopefully I did not completely fail at it. :/ ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: Coda to 2x14 - Born Under a Bad Sign: We'll ask him tomorrow, Meg says, like she's promising Sam something he wants. And if he says no, we'll take it anyway.
She gets him in a bar bathroom in the middle of nowhere.
It's past 3 a.m. and the case they're working, while low on actual physical strain, just keeps getting more complicated. It's stressing Sam out, stressing him out double since Dean is kicking back and trying to enjoy himself instead of focusing. Sam's exhausted. He's wanted to go home for hours, but Dean hasn't seen anything he likes yet, which means he tugs Sam down every time he tries to leave and swears they'll only stay five more minutes, and Sam stays, hoping if he's good enough company, Dean will be distracted and he'll never get around to finding a girl.
It's around beer number eight that Sam realizes just how pathetic this makes him, so he staggers to his feet, shoving Dean's hands away to announce he's not trying to leave, he's just trying to piss.
Dean yells some completely unremarkable joke about Sam breaking the seal, and Sam must be closer to drunk than he realized, because somehow even that stupidity from Dean makes his chest ache.
So Sam isn't exactly alert and his mind is full of too much crap, but still, he shouldn't have been taken by surprise. It's pretty embarrassing, really. She chokes him on black smoke in that bathroom like it's nothing and when Sam walks back out, he's not the one in control.
He knows who she is right away. She tells him, but she doesn't need to. It's impossible to describe, impossible for Sam to fully understand, even as it's happening to him. He can feel what she does but he's numb, disconnected by the smoke hovering between him and his skin. He can see, but there's a thin black screen over everything. He can sense every thought she has, but he can't grasp any of it.
He can see the way Dean smiles at him, cheerful and unsuspecting, but he can’t warn him.
"What'd you fall in?" Dean asks, laughing at his own joke before Sam gets a chance not to.
Meg grins, though Sam knows it's not Dean's comment she's so tickled by. He can feel how much she hates Dean-for sending her to Hell, for killing her brother, maybe just for being human-and it terrifies him. He doesn't know if she can hear his thoughts, he doesn’t want to give her ideas. But Sam can't help wondering just what she plans to do with his body and all that hate.
Don't you worry, Sam, she says. Her words, voiceless and somehow sounding like fire, ring inside his head. You're gonna kill him alright. But let's see how much fun we can have before then.
That answers any questions Sam had about whether she knows what he's thinking or not, and Sam feels her condescending amusement as she tracks his thought process.
"You look tired," Dean observes.
Sam would scream if he still owned his lungs. Is that all I look like? he wants to ask. Can't you tell it's not me? How can you not tell?
"I told you I was tired three hours ago," Meg says. "You didn't care then."
Dean smirks. "I'd tell you not to be a bitch, but I'd just be blowing smoke, huh, Sammy?"
Meg makes exactly the face Sam would make and looks down at the beer Sam had left three-quarters empty on the table.
"Let's just go home," Dean says, voice pacifying as he leans forward. "This place is dead anyway."
And yes, the place is dead-it's three in the morning. But it wasn't when they first got there and it wasn't for a long time after that, and Sam can't help wishing he'd put his foot down, left Dean alone to find a girl, gone back to their motel and drawn salt lines and spent the rest of the night worrying about what Dean was doing.
Meg stands at the same time as Dean, follows him just a few inches behind, the way Sam always does, and Sam wonders how the hell she got so good at playing him.
They ride home without a word passed between them, Led Zeppelin the only break in silence. Sam doesn't know if Meg is quiet because she doesn’t want to risk saying the wrong thing or because she's playing at too-tired-to-talk, but either way, it isn’t out of the usual enough for Dean to suspect anything. They get to the motel, and Meg distracts Dean from salting the door by telling him he can use the bathroom first. Dean is drunk, so it works. He crashes as soon as he's brushed his teeth and pissed, and Meg lies on the opposite bed, pretending to have passed out while he was in there.
They sit up together all night, Sam and Meg, watching Dean. Sam can’t imagine anything worse than Dean dying in front of him, choking the life out of his brother with his own hands, but he knows Meg can. A part of him wishes she would just do it-Dean is completely at her mercy. Sam is terrified of whatever she's planning that's keeping her at bay.
He can't stop the way his mind wanders when he watches his brother, the way he worries just a little more when Dean turns over in his sleep, lips smacking, and he's forced to think about how beautiful Dean is now and how beautiful he won't be when Meg has finished with him.
Your own big brother, Sam?
Sam wills all the thoughts away. Some of the people they've saved from demons said they were asleep while this was happening. Sam just wants to be asleep.
Well, I gotta say, I should have guessed that one. But, wow. In love with your own big brother. That's pretty sick. You're pretty sick, Sam. Maybe you are one of us after all.
Sam tries to say no. Tries to take control back. He feels the laugh she doesn’t let out of Sam's mouth.
What's been stopping you from taking it? Scared he'll say no? You must wonder if he wants it, too. Don't you want to find out? I know I do.
He scratches and scratches at his insides, and he's got nothing to scratch with, and he's got no shot in hell. Meg only swells inside of him, cuts him off with more smoke. She's excited by his response. She's having the time of her life.
We'll ask him tomorrow, she says, like she's promising Sam something he wants. And if he says no, we'll take it anyway.
The next day Dean is just as oblivious and Meg is just as convincing and Sam is just as fucked. He watches Dean through the smoke filter, trying desperately to send some kind of sign, but at the end of the day, Dean kicks his shoes off by the door and shucks his jacket and when he's about to put the salt down, Meg distracts him better than she did the night before.
She kisses him. Sam feels Dean's response through a haze, the way he freezes up at the first touch of lips on lips, the way he puts one hand out to push Sam away. Sam doesn't ever feel him go through with it, but that's because Dean doesn't. His hand stays splayed against Sam's chest, his mouth is slack, but he doesn't push Meg-he doesn't push Sam away.
Meg breaks it, and takes one step back, just so Sam can really see his brother's face. Dean's lip is trembling, wet from Sam's mouth, and his eyes look scared but Sam swears he sees something hopeful in there.
Meg does exactly what Sam would have done if he'd ever gone through with this. She looks away, stammers out an apology, sits on the bed and hides Sam's face in his hands. Dean is quiet while Meg pretends to freak out, but when Dean touches his shoulder, Sam imagines he can feel how warm his hand is through the jackets and the skin and the sulfur.
"Sammy," he says quietly.
Meg meets his eyes. "Dean, I'm sorry, I just couldn't help myself anymore."
Dean's lips curl into a very small smile, the one he only brings out for Sam, and Sam's stomach flips despite the filth inside it. "I didn't ever think you would want…" Dean's words drop off-no chick flick moments, Sam knows that's what he's thinking-and he kisses Sam instead.
Meg puts a hand on each side of Dean's face and drags him back, falling onto the mattress so Sam can know what it feels like when his brother lands on top of him. Not because of a hunt or a wrestling match, but with intent. This is worse than if Dean had just said no, had punched Sam and told him he hated him, like Dean always does in Sam's nightmares. Meg would have forced him, and Dean would have known. Sam would never. Dean would have known that.
Instead, Dean is acting out the dreams Sam never could have even hoped for, and Meg is doing and saying exactly what Sam would have if he'd ever been brave enough. So Dean suspects nothing. He's too busy getting his hands all over what he thinks is Sam.
She lets him feel it. That's the worst part of the whole fucking torture; Sam can feel Dean's lips on his neck and Dean's hands snaking up his chest and as much as Sam wants to stop it, he doesn’t ever want it to stop.
Dean pulls away. "What do you want, Sam?"
"Fuck me," Meg says. "I want you inside me."
Dean's eyes go wide and he licks his lips, and he looks like he has something to say, but he shakes his head, smiling as he pushes Sam back into the mattress. He doesn't hesitate again, immediately starts to work on the buttons of Sam's shirt, moving down Sam with a long trail of kisses as Meg moans and writhes and encourages him.
You could stop it, she says to Sam. If you really wanted to.
Sam doesn't believe her. He wants so badly not to believe her and he's trying so fucking hard to get out of this, so he doesn’t want to acknowledge that every time Dean looks up at him-uncertain, eyes roving over Sam and checking to make sure it's still okay-he loses his concentration and just wants to let it happen.
Dean stops when he reaches the top of Sam's jeans and looks up one last time before he undoes them, pulling them down with much less ceremony. His face is a few inches away from Sam's cock, and he's looking at it with his lips slightly parted and dark eyes, and if this were up to Sam, he would push Dean down and fuck his brother's mouth, just because it looks too good not to.
Meg has a plan, though, so before Dean can get his mouth on Sam's dick, she puts a hand on Dean's cheek and forces him to look up. "Dean, please. That's not what I want."
Dean swallows hard and nods, rising as Meg pulls him up and finding Sam's mouth immediately. He undresses as they kiss. Sam feels the jostling as he pulls his pants and boxers down, feels Dean's hot, hard flesh against his own. Dean breaks the kiss for a second to pull his shirt up and off and he tosses it away without paying attention where it will land.
Meg breaks the kiss to beg Dean to fuck Sam. She just keeps saying it, and Dean is as hopeless to resist Sam's pleading as he always has been. "Yeah," he says, just a puff of breath against Sam's mouth. "God, yeah. Okay."
He sits back, scanning the room for his bag and grabs for it quickly once he finds it. There's lube and condoms in the front pocket for easy access-Sam feels a fond flush of 'well, of course there is' before Dean turns back to him and Sam remembers that just means this whole nightmare is going to happen that much quicker.
Dean shuffles forward on the bed, already squeezing lube onto his palm before he even reaches Sam. Meg spreads Sam's legs wide open so Dean can fit between them and she lifts Sam's hips. Dean tracks the movement with his eyes, a hungry expression on his face, and rubs his fingers together, wet strings between them when he separates them.
He puts his dry hand on Sam's ass to hold him up and presses one of those fingers in. Meg throws her head back, swearing.
"This okay, Sammy?" Dean asks, his finger pausing inside of Sam.
She nods, moving Sam's body so Dean's finger slips in further. "Dean."
Dean doesn't seem entirely sure what to do, which is the farthest thing in the world from what Sam expected. He fingers Sam for a minute or so before he laughs shakily and looks Sam in the eye. "This is, uh. I don't-I've never done this. I don't know if it's good."
It looks like it's killing him to admit it-Sam's not sure if that's because Dean hates not knowing how to fuck Sam in particular or if he's just too used to being good at sex and can't stand not being as confident. Either way, it's a moot point, and not just because Sam is possessed. It's Dean and he wants Sam and there's no way this would not be amazing if Sam could properly enjoy it.
"More," Meg replies. "It's good, but I want more."
Dean pulls out and reaches for the lube again, even though his fingers are all wet and sloppy as is. Meg laughs at him, which is fair enough. Sam would be laughing at him, too.
"Just get on with it," she says.
Dean nods, slipping two fingers back into Sam.
"More!" Meg demands before he even starts working his way into Sam. "Dean, please. Enough of this bullshit, just fuck me."
Dean stops, frowning for a moment, as if he's finally noticed something about this whole situation is off. He pulls his fingers out, and Meg must see she's on dangerous ground, because she sits up, slipping her hand behind Dean's ear and pulling him in slowly.
"Sorry," she says. "Just want you so much. Been waiting so long, Dean. I don't need you to get me ready. I'm ready for you."
Dean is slow to respond, but by the time she pulls away from the kiss, he looks completely pacified. Puddy in Sam's hands.
Meg lies back against the bed and Dean picks up the condom, rips the package with his mouth and spits it out and has his dick covered in less time than Sam would have thought was possible.
The burn is sharp when Dean fucks into him, but it's not bad enough to bother Sam. It would be uncomfortable, Sam thinks, if this was real, but in Sam's current state, Dean's dick dragging at his skin is the least intrusive thing about any of it.
Dean stops once he's all the way inside of Sam. He just lies there for a few seconds shaking, his arms wrapping around Sam, and his face buried against Sam's neck. "God, Sam," he whispers. "So tight. Jesus, you feel so fucking good."
He's not saying anything particularly smooth or romantic, but the way he says it-he says it like it’s Sam that's making it good, even though Meg is just lying there, letting Dean do all the work. God, he says it like this is special and Sam wants to cry.
Dean thrusts then, just once, and then again like it's automatic. He goes slowly, Sam can only call it tender, and it's only a few more rolls of Dean's hips before Sam's body has adjusted to the stretch and it starts feeling good again. Too good. Better than Meg wants it to be.
"Harder," she tells Dean. "I like it rough."
Dean cups Sam's face and kisses him gently, and Meg fucks up on his cock, making a desperate, whiny noise. "Whatever you want," Dean says, his lips moving up Sam's jaw and pressing against his ear. "Anything you want, Sammy."
He speeds up then, starts fucking Sam with quick, rough jerks. Meg just keeps begging for more, and Dean obeys every instruction. Sam knows what she's doing, knows that as soon as Dean finds out it isn't Sam asking he'll remember how hard the bed is hitting the wall now and hate himself just that little bit more. But as it's happening, Sam really does want more, really does want Dean to fuck him and keep fucking him, hard or soft, it doesn't matter. Sam wants to feel Dean tomorrow, and he won't feel anything. And this-this could have been beautiful, this could have meant everything to Sam. Hell, Dean is saying he's close and looking at Sam, wrapping his hand around Sam's shaft, with this expression as if it is beautiful, as if it already means something. All it really means is that they are never going to get this, and it's all because Sam was too chickenshit to kiss Dean when he had the chance.
Meg must decide she's gotten what she wanted out of this, because she comes, Dean's name spilling out of Sam's mouth. Dean gasps and Sam feels him finish.
She keeps the pretense up for a few days after that, fucking Dean every night until the day she wakes up and decides it's time to take Sam's body out for a spin, but it doesn't matter to Sam anymore. After the first time Dean pulls out of him and wraps an arm around him and falls asleep smiling against his shoulder, Sam feels nothing but dead all over.
He spends most of the next week out of it. Meg lets him see the people he hurts, she makes sure he's awake when she's branding herself into him. Eventually, Dean finds Sam and Meg won't let Sam sleep through a moment of that-she wants him to see the game she plays with his brother and the look of dawning horror on Dean's face in the moment just before she knocks him out.
Sam hears her lie to Dean about how long he's been possessed, too, and when the whole mess is finally over, Sam doesn't correct her. He knows how wrong that is, but he also knows Dean won't be able to handle it if he figures out that Sam wasn't the one he fucked. So he lets Dean think Meg got him in Texas, that it was only the week he was missing she was inside him, and Dean is so relieved and so happy to have Sam back he forgets to question it.
They find a motel a few hours away from Bobby's; Dean is being nice and attentive in that way he has where he still manages to be a perfect asshole. He insists he's worn out and he feels like stopping for food, and the words 'you must be tired' never leave his lips, so Sam just has to take them for granted in the way Dean rushes to hold doors open for him.
It's all fine until Sam gets in bed and Dean pulls the covers up behind him. Sam remembers then-this was becoming regular between them, and Dean has no way of knowing it wasn't regular for Sam. He doesn’t know it sends a dirty shock through Sam, but he figures it out pretty quickly as soon as he pushes his body against Sam's back and wraps an arm around him and Sam can't help it, it's instinct, he freezes up.
He knows he screwed up as soon as he does it, before Dean even gets a chance to react. Because he does want Dean to touch him, and he certainly can't stand the thought of Dean hating it. But all the same, he's not used to it. He's used to Meg laughing at him and forcing him and feeling dirty and scared and futile.
"Sam," Dean says. "Sam, how long was she-when we-?"
"Dean," Sam says wrapping his hand around Dean's and holding him in place. "It doesn't matter."
"It was her. When I fucked you-it was her, wasn't it?"
"Dean-"
"Answer the question."
Sam closes his eyes, wishing he could lie right now and Dean wouldn't see right through it. "Yes," he says, as quietly as he can manage. "It was her."
Dean lets go of him immediately, begins to back away, and Sam can already hear him starting to freak out. He turns in bed, grabbing his brother's wrists to try pulling him back down. "Dean, wait."
"Jesus, fuck. I thought it was-" Dean wipes a hand over his mouth, shaking his head. "No. No, no. God, Sam-I."
"No you didn't. Dean, listen to me. You didn't."
Dean shakes off Sam's hand, backs away until he tumbles onto the other bed. "I'm gonna be sick," he says. And then he laughs with an edge of horror and hysteria. "I'm already sick."
Sam sits up. "Dean, you had no way of knowing."
"Of course I should have known." Dean's voice trembles and he drops his face into his hands. "How could I-?"
"How could you have known?" Sam asks.
Dean looks up, glaring at Sam. "You knew. When that shifter was pretending to be me, you knew right away."
"This was different. She knew exactly what to say, Dean."
"How could I not know? Fuck, Sam. I saw-I thought it was just the light. One of those nights after I-I raped you. I saw your eyes go black for a second and I told myself it was the light."
"She did that on purpose," Sam says, looking down at his hands. "Dean, she wanted you to see that."
Dean stands up, pacing to the dresser on the other side of the room just to kick it. "Because she knew I would pretend-God, what is wrong with me?"
"No, she knew you would blame yourself for it." Sam stands up, tries to put a hand on Dean's shoulder to soothe him. Dean recoils from Sam's touch. "Dean, you didn't rape me. You can't, I wanted it."
"Shut up, Sam."
Sam steps forward. "I mean it. That's why she did it. Dean, she got the idea from me. If anyone raped anyone-"
"You couldn't stop it," he says. He turns to look at Sam and his expression breaks. "I hurt you. It hurt, didn't it? I enjoyed it, and it hurt you."
"Dean, I'm telling you. I wanted it. I've wanted it as long as I've wanted anything. Not like that, okay, not with her, but even then, I wanted it."
Dean puts a hand on Sam's cheek, sways closer and then away. He looks drunk, and Sam knows he isn't, which means there's something else a hell of a lot more dangerous fucking with his ability to react. "How could I do that to you?" he asks, like nothing Sam just said managed to work its way into his thick skull.
"Dean," Sam says. He leans forward, tries to kiss his brother, and Dean lets out a loud sob and shoves Sam away so fast Sam stumbles back.
"I have to go," he says. He nods then, looking away from Sam. "I need to get out of here."
Sam reaches for him, stops him before he can grab his coat. "Dean, where?"
He shakes his head. "Don't know," he says. He brushes Sam's hand off. "Can't tell you."
"You'll come back, though?" Sam lets him have the jacket but follows him a few steps. "You won't leave me, right?"
"I'd be doing you a favor." Dean must see how much that hurts Sam, because he shakes his head. "I don't know, Sam. I don't know, I need to think."
"Promise you'll come back." Dean pushes past Sam and continues to the door. Sam beats him to it. "This is what she wanted, you know."
"Move, Sam."
"She did it because she knew that if somehow you got away and she didn't get to kill you, this would ruin us."
"Sam, please," Dean says. "Just let me-"
"She told me, Dean. She knew. If she kissed you and you said no, she was gonna force you, and it would drive us apart. And if you said yes, she knew you would blame yourself, and it would drive us apart. Dean, she just wanted to separate us."
"Sammy," Dean is begging now, and Sam grabs him, forces him back into the room. "Sammy, let me go."
"You can't let her win," Sam says. He can feel tears stinging at his eyes. "Dean, please don't leave me here. Don't let her ruin us." Dean looks sorry, but he pushes Sam's hands away again, and Sam is so worn down he lets Dean go. He clings to the jacket, but it's hopeless now, and Sam falls to his knees begging. "Dean."
"I just need to think," he says. "I just need a little bit of time alone, okay?"
With anyone else, Sam would understand. Hell, Sam needs space as much as Dean does, needs time to get used to his brother's touch after what Meg did. But this is his brother, and Sam knows what Dean would do to anyone who had done to Sam what Dean thinks he did. Sam can't let Dean get himself alone.
"Dean," he says again, holding on to the bottom of Dean's pants as he opens the door and tries to step out. "Don't you dare leave me. You don't know what I'll do without you. I don't know what I'll do."
Dean opens the door and Sam sees him put one foot outside.
"It's what Dad warned you about," Sam says in a last ditch effort to talk Dean down. Dean freezes in the doorway, and after a few long seconds, the door closes and Sam lets out a breath of relief. "Why else would she want to tear us apart, Dean?"
Dean folds like a house of cards at that, he's on his knees next to Sam in an instant. He stays at arm's length, which used to be Sam's worst nightmare. Now he knows better, he knows Dean can hurt him without an inch of space between them. "Sammy, you don't need me. I thought I could help you, but I…" He shakes his head. "I can only make things worse."
Sam pulls him closer, and Dean finally relaxes and wraps an arm around Sam's shoulder. "We can get past this, Dean. Together. What I can't get past is you leaving."
Dean rests his chin on top of Sam's head and Sam feels Dean take a deep breath. "I'm here," he says, though it doesn't ring with all the warmth and promise it usually does. "I'm right here, Sam."