The Vanishing Point, Supernatural, PG-
Today is totally supposed to be a NaNo day (and I have NaNo'd today)...but this thing has taken over my brain...There is at least one piece past this one that will get done sometime soonish....
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: The Vanishing Point
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Sam (implied Dean/Sam)
Rating: PG-13 ish
Summary: A follow on to The Balancing Point, The Breaking Point, The Turning Point, The Point of Offering, The Melting Point and The Shattering Point. "The Balancing Point" was my tag to the end of episode 2x02, "Everybody Loves A Clown"...this one is from Dean's POV.
Warnings/Author's Notes: Angsty stuff, entirely emo...Suddenly know where this is going folks...turns out it kinda had a plot from the beginning,...I just didn't see it. Seems I got my angst muse back...and my dark one is sort of whispering her return...now if I could just find my porn muse!
Spoilers: (Obviously) Through "Everybody Loves a Clown"
Disclaimer: If I owned them, there'd be a lot more sex.
He moves them, from the bloody hotel room to the bloody car and onward. Sam stops shaking, stops chattering and sits dully beside him, staring out the window without seeing anything but whatever horrific nightmare plays in his own head.
There isn’t anywhere to go, there is only going, movement, wheels on pavement. Dean reaches over, touching from time to time, just to be sure, to know that Sam is still there…somewhere. He turns absent eyes toward Dean and Dean feels the chill settle deep inside him. He pulls his hand away and turns his face back to the road. Concentrates on moving, on staying ahead of whatever it was that was taking Sam away from him.
Its another nowhere room when he can’t drive anymore, when he can’t see the road for the fatigue and fear. “Sam.” Sammy.
Dean presses his body against Sam’s, the way Sam once did for him…helps him into the room, onto the bed, strips him of the clothes that reek of things Dean doesn’t want to think about. Sam’s forehead is fever-hot against his lips, his vacant eyes haunting. Dean’s fingers slip over the heated skin, calling out to his brother with touch. Sam’s eyes roll closed and Dean sighs.
“Sleep,” he whispers, slipping away from the bed, from the terror…not from Sam, never from Sam. In the shower he tries to make it go away, tries to make his skin stop feeling dirty, scrub the blood from his pores. He closes his eyes and leans against the wall, willing the water to cleanse him. He can still feel the weight of them in his arms, feel the heat as their bodies cooled. It’s been days, and he can still taste the bile as he’d retched on the side of the road.
He turns, holding his left thigh delicately to clean out the wound that had bloodied the last motel room. Hellhound. He was hunting hellhounds while Sam lay in pain…hunting something that had slaughtered a family, and all he could think about was his brother. It had cost him. Nearly his life. He had nearly forgotten it after Sam shattered in his arms…Sam…
Dean sighs and lets it come, the fear, the grief…he knows what Sam won’t tell him, hears it in his dreams, feels it in his touch, in the frantic beat of his heart when they lie together after finding what relief they can in one another…but he can never tell Sam, could never…He cries until the water runs cold, then gathers himself, and some of the shattered pieces of Sam, and towels dry.
The silence is different now, almost as if it isn’t Sam’s silence at all. It tastes empty. It drags across Dean’s skin as he moves to the bed and slips in beside Sam. There’s a soft sigh and Sam shifts, moving to spoon around Dean, his arm draping possessively over his side. The air is softer somehow and Dean inhales it. He holds the heat of Sam’s hand against his heart, an anchor…though if it’s for Sam or for him, he doesn’t know.
Hours pass and Sam’s voice is weak, small. “Dean?”
“Yeah, Sam.”
“Hot.”
“Yeah, I know.” Dean turns to his back and Sam’s eyes are open, cloudy, but he’s there in them and Dean thinks maybe this will pass, maybe they can find a way…escape.
“You should go now.” Sam whispers, his hand on Dean’s cheek. “Before…”
“I don’t have anywhere to go.” Dean whispers back, tears in his eyes.
Sam shakes his head lightly. “Can’t save you Dean.”
Dean meets Sam’s eyes, blinking away the tears, Sam needed him, needed his strength. His arms pull Sam closer, and he sets his forehead against Sam’s, all ice and fire, and he isn’t sure if Sam will thaw him or if he’ll tame Sam’s flame…he only knows that he isn’t letting go. “Don’t,” he whispers, though he wonders if it is even heard, and he isn’t sure if he means don’t send me away or don’t try to save me…but he knows it means forever.
Sam kisses him, his hot lips press against Dean and Dean shivers, the cold in his heart intensifying. “Love you.”
And Dean’s breath stutters and shakes his head. “No, Sammy…please.” Because it sounds too much like goodbye, too much like an apology and Dean doesn't want either. Dean touches, caresses, hands smoothing down over the plane of Sam's stomach. "Please Sammy... Stay with me."
Sam moans, shifts a little to the side, and Dean takes the invitation, lips following hands down over his skin. Rising up to one knee and hovering over his brother. Sam looks younger than his years, lying there, his eyes closed. He says nothing, doesn't move, as Dean lowers himself to do the only thing he knows to do.
"Dean..." Sam's voice is a soft whine as Dean works his lips and tongue over him, bringing him up hard and fast. It's the only word Sam's seems to know anymore, repeating softly in rhythm with Dean's mouth until he's coming.
Dean pulls up off of him, his hands sliding up Sam's chest and Sam's eyes open, and for a moment, only a moment, Dean sees his brother looking at him. His green eyes eat the distance between them and Dean sees love and apology and terror. Dean smiles in relief, then watches with growing horror as clouds fill Sam's eyes, and his face contorts in pain.
Please... please...
Sam keens, his body stiffening, his fists balling against his face. "Sam?" Dean reaches out, but Sam pushes him away without his hands ever leaving his face. Dean lands on the floor, up against the wall, his head ringing and he looks up, watching as his brother slowly vanishes from those familiar green eyes.
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: The Vanishing Point
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Sam (implied Dean/Sam)
Rating: PG-13 ish
Summary: A follow on to The Balancing Point, The Breaking Point, The Turning Point, The Point of Offering, The Melting Point and The Shattering Point. "The Balancing Point" was my tag to the end of episode 2x02, "Everybody Loves A Clown"...this one is from Dean's POV.
Warnings/Author's Notes: Angsty stuff, entirely emo...Suddenly know where this is going folks...turns out it kinda had a plot from the beginning,...I just didn't see it. Seems I got my angst muse back...and my dark one is sort of whispering her return...now if I could just find my porn muse!
Spoilers: (Obviously) Through "Everybody Loves a Clown"
Disclaimer: If I owned them, there'd be a lot more sex.
He moves them, from the bloody hotel room to the bloody car and onward. Sam stops shaking, stops chattering and sits dully beside him, staring out the window without seeing anything but whatever horrific nightmare plays in his own head.
There isn’t anywhere to go, there is only going, movement, wheels on pavement. Dean reaches over, touching from time to time, just to be sure, to know that Sam is still there…somewhere. He turns absent eyes toward Dean and Dean feels the chill settle deep inside him. He pulls his hand away and turns his face back to the road. Concentrates on moving, on staying ahead of whatever it was that was taking Sam away from him.
Its another nowhere room when he can’t drive anymore, when he can’t see the road for the fatigue and fear. “Sam.” Sammy.
Dean presses his body against Sam’s, the way Sam once did for him…helps him into the room, onto the bed, strips him of the clothes that reek of things Dean doesn’t want to think about. Sam’s forehead is fever-hot against his lips, his vacant eyes haunting. Dean’s fingers slip over the heated skin, calling out to his brother with touch. Sam’s eyes roll closed and Dean sighs.
“Sleep,” he whispers, slipping away from the bed, from the terror…not from Sam, never from Sam. In the shower he tries to make it go away, tries to make his skin stop feeling dirty, scrub the blood from his pores. He closes his eyes and leans against the wall, willing the water to cleanse him. He can still feel the weight of them in his arms, feel the heat as their bodies cooled. It’s been days, and he can still taste the bile as he’d retched on the side of the road.
He turns, holding his left thigh delicately to clean out the wound that had bloodied the last motel room. Hellhound. He was hunting hellhounds while Sam lay in pain…hunting something that had slaughtered a family, and all he could think about was his brother. It had cost him. Nearly his life. He had nearly forgotten it after Sam shattered in his arms…Sam…
Dean sighs and lets it come, the fear, the grief…he knows what Sam won’t tell him, hears it in his dreams, feels it in his touch, in the frantic beat of his heart when they lie together after finding what relief they can in one another…but he can never tell Sam, could never…He cries until the water runs cold, then gathers himself, and some of the shattered pieces of Sam, and towels dry.
The silence is different now, almost as if it isn’t Sam’s silence at all. It tastes empty. It drags across Dean’s skin as he moves to the bed and slips in beside Sam. There’s a soft sigh and Sam shifts, moving to spoon around Dean, his arm draping possessively over his side. The air is softer somehow and Dean inhales it. He holds the heat of Sam’s hand against his heart, an anchor…though if it’s for Sam or for him, he doesn’t know.
Hours pass and Sam’s voice is weak, small. “Dean?”
“Yeah, Sam.”
“Hot.”
“Yeah, I know.” Dean turns to his back and Sam’s eyes are open, cloudy, but he’s there in them and Dean thinks maybe this will pass, maybe they can find a way…escape.
“You should go now.” Sam whispers, his hand on Dean’s cheek. “Before…”
“I don’t have anywhere to go.” Dean whispers back, tears in his eyes.
Sam shakes his head lightly. “Can’t save you Dean.”
Dean meets Sam’s eyes, blinking away the tears, Sam needed him, needed his strength. His arms pull Sam closer, and he sets his forehead against Sam’s, all ice and fire, and he isn’t sure if Sam will thaw him or if he’ll tame Sam’s flame…he only knows that he isn’t letting go. “Don’t,” he whispers, though he wonders if it is even heard, and he isn’t sure if he means don’t send me away or don’t try to save me…but he knows it means forever.
Sam kisses him, his hot lips press against Dean and Dean shivers, the cold in his heart intensifying. “Love you.”
And Dean’s breath stutters and shakes his head. “No, Sammy…please.” Because it sounds too much like goodbye, too much like an apology and Dean doesn't want either. Dean touches, caresses, hands smoothing down over the plane of Sam's stomach. "Please Sammy... Stay with me."
Sam moans, shifts a little to the side, and Dean takes the invitation, lips following hands down over his skin. Rising up to one knee and hovering over his brother. Sam looks younger than his years, lying there, his eyes closed. He says nothing, doesn't move, as Dean lowers himself to do the only thing he knows to do.
"Dean..." Sam's voice is a soft whine as Dean works his lips and tongue over him, bringing him up hard and fast. It's the only word Sam's seems to know anymore, repeating softly in rhythm with Dean's mouth until he's coming.
Dean pulls up off of him, his hands sliding up Sam's chest and Sam's eyes open, and for a moment, only a moment, Dean sees his brother looking at him. His green eyes eat the distance between them and Dean sees love and apology and terror. Dean smiles in relief, then watches with growing horror as clouds fill Sam's eyes, and his face contorts in pain.
Please... please...
Sam keens, his body stiffening, his fists balling against his face. "Sam?" Dean reaches out, but Sam pushes him away without his hands ever leaving his face. Dean lands on the floor, up against the wall, his head ringing and he looks up, watching as his brother slowly vanishes from those familiar green eyes.