Pieces of Dean, Supernatural, NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Pieces of Dean
Characters/Pairing: Dean, some mention of Sam (overall story Sam/Dean)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A follow on to Remnant Pieces and A Thousand Quivering Pieces, which follows on The Point Of No Return -- Goes AU after "Everybody Loves a Clown" -- Dean...hurts...
Warnings/Author's Notes: Um...I'm sorry. They won't leave me alone. I need to go find something fluffy, something tender and beautiful...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"
Alone. The bed is cold, the room is dark. Sam is gone. Sam left him, threw him away. Sam is gone and he is alone.
His body lies numb in it’s cacophony of pain, the soft cotton of the sheet is heated and raw against skin too sensitive to even feel anymore beyond the agony…constant, heavy…like his brother’s hand is still there, still bruising…still ripping him into shreds of himself, scattering the pieces into the cold wind.
There is no color in the dark, everything is gray and dark. Dean’s eyes move slowly over gray blankets and gray walls. Even his skin is gray. Dark spots mark the wounds, the places gray blood dripped from him as Sam drew on his skin with his knife or finger or who knows what else. Darker spots mark the bruises, from fingers, tire irons, anything that would hurt.
He groans as he rolls off his back, not from pain…it’s more an involuntary sound his body makes without his approval, without his knowledge. The shadows shift and he’s not quite alone. She’s darker than the room, her skin soft as she tries to sooth him. Her touch is like flame on his icy skin and he pulls away from the pain, instinct more than a need to escape the pain…there was no escape…
“Dean, let me help you.”
He shakes his head. He doesn’t want help. He doesn’t want her. He only wants one thing…and he knows…Sam is gone…“Sammy.” He watched him die…watched the light go out in his eyes…and even then…even then he clung to him, desperate to hold on…
“Dean. He’s not your brother anymore.”
Let me die.
“No.” Her hand is back on his skin, gentle. He doesn’t want gentle. He wants his brother back. “We need you.”
Save me now, Dean
It cuts, the voice in his head…the pleading tone that turns to sarcasm as Dean reaches for it, the tenderness that curls around him only to crush him when he tries to speak. It’s nothing more than illusion…Like his father coming to save him…like Sammy’s eyes shining all green and clear and Sammy…like shh…baby,…it’s okay, I’ve got you…that all falls away and leaves him wrecked, bleeding, desperate kneeling at Sam’s feet, pliant, and spent…fucked over and ruined and still not willing to leave…won’t ever leave you, Sam…
Sammy…why didn’t you finish it?
There are others in the room with her, and it all seems unreal…not even her. For all he knows its all an illusion to break him a little more…though the touch inside his mind is soft, practiced…not the marauding rape of indelicate fingers pawing through the pieces he has left of himself. They are small and tremulous…a tiny pile gathered inside him, held together by memory and need…desolate, gnawing need.
Title: Pieces of Dean
Characters/Pairing: Dean, some mention of Sam (overall story Sam/Dean)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A follow on to Remnant Pieces and A Thousand Quivering Pieces, which follows on The Point Of No Return -- Goes AU after "Everybody Loves a Clown" -- Dean...hurts...
Warnings/Author's Notes: Um...I'm sorry. They won't leave me alone. I need to go find something fluffy, something tender and beautiful...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"
Alone. The bed is cold, the room is dark. Sam is gone. Sam left him, threw him away. Sam is gone and he is alone.
His body lies numb in it’s cacophony of pain, the soft cotton of the sheet is heated and raw against skin too sensitive to even feel anymore beyond the agony…constant, heavy…like his brother’s hand is still there, still bruising…still ripping him into shreds of himself, scattering the pieces into the cold wind.
There is no color in the dark, everything is gray and dark. Dean’s eyes move slowly over gray blankets and gray walls. Even his skin is gray. Dark spots mark the wounds, the places gray blood dripped from him as Sam drew on his skin with his knife or finger or who knows what else. Darker spots mark the bruises, from fingers, tire irons, anything that would hurt.
He groans as he rolls off his back, not from pain…it’s more an involuntary sound his body makes without his approval, without his knowledge. The shadows shift and he’s not quite alone. She’s darker than the room, her skin soft as she tries to sooth him. Her touch is like flame on his icy skin and he pulls away from the pain, instinct more than a need to escape the pain…there was no escape…
“Dean, let me help you.”
He shakes his head. He doesn’t want help. He doesn’t want her. He only wants one thing…and he knows…Sam is gone…“Sammy.” He watched him die…watched the light go out in his eyes…and even then…even then he clung to him, desperate to hold on…
“Dean. He’s not your brother anymore.”
Let me die.
“No.” Her hand is back on his skin, gentle. He doesn’t want gentle. He wants his brother back. “We need you.”
Save me now, Dean
It cuts, the voice in his head…the pleading tone that turns to sarcasm as Dean reaches for it, the tenderness that curls around him only to crush him when he tries to speak. It’s nothing more than illusion…Like his father coming to save him…like Sammy’s eyes shining all green and clear and Sammy…like shh…baby,…it’s okay, I’ve got you…that all falls away and leaves him wrecked, bleeding, desperate kneeling at Sam’s feet, pliant, and spent…fucked over and ruined and still not willing to leave…won’t ever leave you, Sam…
Sammy…why didn’t you finish it?
There are others in the room with her, and it all seems unreal…not even her. For all he knows its all an illusion to break him a little more…though the touch inside his mind is soft, practiced…not the marauding rape of indelicate fingers pawing through the pieces he has left of himself. They are small and tremulous…a tiny pile gathered inside him, held together by memory and need…desolate, gnawing need.