Remnant Pieces, Supernatural, NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Remnant Pieces
Characters/Pairing: Sam, some mention of Dean (overall story Sam/Dean)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A follow on to A Thousand Quivering Pieces, which follows on The Point Of No Return -- Goes AU after "Everybody Loves a Clown" -- Sam is scrubbing away the remnants of his old life.
Warnings/Author's Notes: Um...I'm sorry. They won't leave me alone. Remember the VeryDarkWincest!Verse? Yeah...this is darker. Angsty and very, very dark stuff. Non-con, torture, Evil!Sam, child death, blood play (of a sort)...not for the squeamish. I'm serious here. Also, not beta'd...even more so than most of my stuff. It fell out of me in one fell swoop and about 20 minutes.
Spoilers: (Obviously) Through "Everybody Loves a Clown"
The night is still, silent. He would say peaceful, but that wouldn’t be true. The silence has more to do with terror than peace. Sam inhales the scent, tasting, reveling. The broken pieces of the foolhardy decorate the walls around the survivors…if this can be considered survival.
He drops the young woman he has become bored with beside those he’s already had, those who he’s used and bruised and bled. None of them have moved since he’s finished with them. They learned that lesson early on. Soon he would need to move on…maybe to the frat party down the block.
He’s bored with the blood and wants a new entertainment. He scans the room, the broken shelves of books, the piles of debris. Some of them had tried to reason with him, called him “friend”, called him Sam…some of them begged. They had never been friends. They had never seen him, looked him in the eye. They had never touched him, never offered him more than the passing knowledge of their sex lives and study habits. They were nothing but remnants of the past…pieces of the person he had been, irritants under the skin.
There is a tremor in the air, the taste of power. He feels her come, and lets her…lures her into thinking he hasn’t seen…hasn’t noticed. She’s come for him…come to stop him…it makes him smile.
He remembers her now, as she picks her way across what had once been a college library. She’d tried to convince him of his power once…tried to tell him what the nightmares meant. It turns the smile to a snarl, and he toys with her, a streak of blood over her cheek gives her pause, but she keeps coming. Fire, blue and dangerous, crackles in her hands and he welcomes it. Thinks maybe a challenge, something to test him…
Her eyes are wide, showing the fear, despite her gifts, despite her determination. It makes him salivate. He doesn’t move, waiting for her on the only table left standing. It’s stained with blood and dotted with torn flesh, but he doesn’t mind. He sits on its end, his legs dangling, swinging lightly.
The room smells of sex and spilled intestines, sharp and visceral to the nose unaccustomed to it. He can see her gag, watches idly as she vomits, leaning against a shattered shelf, her eyes pinned to him as she drags a hand over her mouth.
There’s pity there in her eyes, pity and sorrow that it has come to this. Anger sparks inside him at the sight. He is nothing to be pitied and she should spare her sorrow for herself. He flicks a finger in her direction, drawing her closer. She opens her mouth to say something and he silences her with his eyes on her mouth.
It’s a pretty mouth, with rose-pink lips that remind him of Dean’s…particularly Dean’s when they were wrapped around him, the tears running from his eyes. He blinks. She’s taken advantage of his distraction, is close enough now that the static of her power raises the hair on his arms.
Love you
Sam shakes his head and fills with rage. He throws it toward her, mildly surprised when it bounces away and she’s still standing. He pushes himself off the table and she steps back. If he has to be physical, he’s fine with that. There’s no blood on his hands yet despite the quantity of it painting the walls and bodies and tables and books.
He walks toward her and she backs away, not ready for this…for the pure physical threat of his height, his size. He catches her around the neck, pulls her close enough to lick a line up her cheek before pushing her down on the table. She fights, but this close he can taste her, can drain her…He feels his dick swell at the thought and he isn’t gentle as he rips fabric to get to skin…just as he rips her mind to get to her strength, the way he did Dean.
He yells out as she wilts beneath him, because he’s left Dean. He’s broken him and left him alone and shattered, just as he’d known he would, and that should be the end. His rage bounces around him, burning against the pages of books and tears the flesh under his hands. Her eyes grow cold and dead before he’s finished and he pulls from her cooling body.
Let the living sort it out. Let the survivors try to rationalize the ruin he’d made here. It had been a sanctuary once, a place to hide from all that he knew of evil. It makes him laugh. All that he had known then was nothing compared to now.
He pushes the dead red-head to the floor, beside a boy who’d begged for his girlfriend’s life and heads for the door.
Save me now, Dean.
He’s stopped by the thought, on the steps of Stanford’s library, in that split second he’s unsure…but the smile creeps up on him and he thinks maybe he’ll take in a philosophy class while he’s here. Explore the nature of evil. He’s got an interesting new insight his old professor might appreciate.
Title: Remnant Pieces
Characters/Pairing: Sam, some mention of Dean (overall story Sam/Dean)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A follow on to A Thousand Quivering Pieces, which follows on The Point Of No Return -- Goes AU after "Everybody Loves a Clown" -- Sam is scrubbing away the remnants of his old life.
Warnings/Author's Notes: Um...I'm sorry. They won't leave me alone. Remember the VeryDarkWincest!Verse? Yeah...this is darker. Angsty and very, very dark stuff. Non-con, torture, Evil!Sam, child death, blood play (of a sort)...not for the squeamish. I'm serious here. Also, not beta'd...even more so than most of my stuff. It fell out of me in one fell swoop and about 20 minutes.
Spoilers: (Obviously) Through "Everybody Loves a Clown"
The night is still, silent. He would say peaceful, but that wouldn’t be true. The silence has more to do with terror than peace. Sam inhales the scent, tasting, reveling. The broken pieces of the foolhardy decorate the walls around the survivors…if this can be considered survival.
He drops the young woman he has become bored with beside those he’s already had, those who he’s used and bruised and bled. None of them have moved since he’s finished with them. They learned that lesson early on. Soon he would need to move on…maybe to the frat party down the block.
He’s bored with the blood and wants a new entertainment. He scans the room, the broken shelves of books, the piles of debris. Some of them had tried to reason with him, called him “friend”, called him Sam…some of them begged. They had never been friends. They had never seen him, looked him in the eye. They had never touched him, never offered him more than the passing knowledge of their sex lives and study habits. They were nothing but remnants of the past…pieces of the person he had been, irritants under the skin.
There is a tremor in the air, the taste of power. He feels her come, and lets her…lures her into thinking he hasn’t seen…hasn’t noticed. She’s come for him…come to stop him…it makes him smile.
He remembers her now, as she picks her way across what had once been a college library. She’d tried to convince him of his power once…tried to tell him what the nightmares meant. It turns the smile to a snarl, and he toys with her, a streak of blood over her cheek gives her pause, but she keeps coming. Fire, blue and dangerous, crackles in her hands and he welcomes it. Thinks maybe a challenge, something to test him…
Her eyes are wide, showing the fear, despite her gifts, despite her determination. It makes him salivate. He doesn’t move, waiting for her on the only table left standing. It’s stained with blood and dotted with torn flesh, but he doesn’t mind. He sits on its end, his legs dangling, swinging lightly.
The room smells of sex and spilled intestines, sharp and visceral to the nose unaccustomed to it. He can see her gag, watches idly as she vomits, leaning against a shattered shelf, her eyes pinned to him as she drags a hand over her mouth.
There’s pity there in her eyes, pity and sorrow that it has come to this. Anger sparks inside him at the sight. He is nothing to be pitied and she should spare her sorrow for herself. He flicks a finger in her direction, drawing her closer. She opens her mouth to say something and he silences her with his eyes on her mouth.
It’s a pretty mouth, with rose-pink lips that remind him of Dean’s…particularly Dean’s when they were wrapped around him, the tears running from his eyes. He blinks. She’s taken advantage of his distraction, is close enough now that the static of her power raises the hair on his arms.
Love you
Sam shakes his head and fills with rage. He throws it toward her, mildly surprised when it bounces away and she’s still standing. He pushes himself off the table and she steps back. If he has to be physical, he’s fine with that. There’s no blood on his hands yet despite the quantity of it painting the walls and bodies and tables and books.
He walks toward her and she backs away, not ready for this…for the pure physical threat of his height, his size. He catches her around the neck, pulls her close enough to lick a line up her cheek before pushing her down on the table. She fights, but this close he can taste her, can drain her…He feels his dick swell at the thought and he isn’t gentle as he rips fabric to get to skin…just as he rips her mind to get to her strength, the way he did Dean.
He yells out as she wilts beneath him, because he’s left Dean. He’s broken him and left him alone and shattered, just as he’d known he would, and that should be the end. His rage bounces around him, burning against the pages of books and tears the flesh under his hands. Her eyes grow cold and dead before he’s finished and he pulls from her cooling body.
Let the living sort it out. Let the survivors try to rationalize the ruin he’d made here. It had been a sanctuary once, a place to hide from all that he knew of evil. It makes him laugh. All that he had known then was nothing compared to now.
He pushes the dead red-head to the floor, beside a boy who’d begged for his girlfriend’s life and heads for the door.
Save me now, Dean.
He’s stopped by the thought, on the steps of Stanford’s library, in that split second he’s unsure…but the smile creeps up on him and he thinks maybe he’ll take in a philosophy class while he’s here. Explore the nature of evil. He’s got an interesting new insight his old professor might appreciate.