SPN fic: Phantasms, 1/? (rated R for language)
Title: Phantasms
Author: sabaceanbabe
Rating: R for language
Word count: roughly 1,850
Characters: Dean and the Crossroads Demon
Spoilers: erm, general for s2? pretty nebulous beyond that...
Disclaimer: Transformative work, not meant to infringe on anyone or anything, no profit, please don't sue. That should cover it, right?
Author's note: Thank you, jebbypal, for the beta. :) This was written for carpenyx's birthday (um, last AUGUST *headdesk*) to the prompt "phantasms" and, as the muses are not FRAKKING LISTENING TO ME, it is actually the first chapter in a longer fic. So, yes, it's a WIP (I'm sorry!), but one I hope to have fun with. Suggestions from the audience (especially carpenyx) are quite welcome.
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One cautious, hesitant step after another, Dean walked the longest hallway that had ever been. Things flickered, just barely seen/not seen from the corners of his eyes, gone completely if he tried to focus on them. All around was whispering, sometimes louder than a jet engine; sometimes so faint he might have imagined it, except that everything in this place was a figment of his imagination.
Wasn't it?
Different scenes played out all around him, merging and separating at random. He couldn't tell if they were bits and pieces of memories or of things that had never happened, at least not to him. A succession of images, both mundane and surreal, flew over and beside and beneath him. And that last was part of why each step he took was so difficult; he could almost tune out the things overhead and to either side, but what happened below (what was happening below?) was causing a major case of vertigo. The whispering didn't help.
He stopped cold, eyes widening involuntarily. Fuck! Had that kid just walked right through him? He shook it off, forced himself to continue on his path, such as it was. It was vital that he continue or something awful would happen. He didn't know much, but he was dead certain of that.
As he walked, searching endlessly, he caught glimpses of ghostly scenes. A woman reached toward a child (not the one who'd walked through him), tried desperately to catch him as he fell, pushed by some thing. Dean had never seen anything like it before (and that was saying a lot, because what hadn't he seen?). A car (the Impala?) sped along a sunlit highway, some huge beast out of those Lord of the Rings flicks hot on her tail. A dozen children who couldn't be more than four or five years old were surrounded by snarling dogs, eyes glowing red, reminding Dean of his not-so-favorite demon (the bitch).
With a strangled sound, what would have been a scream, if he did that sort of thing, Dean woke. He stared into the dark, heart pounding.
Things slowly came into focus. He was in a motel room. Sam slept on in the other bed, undisturbed by Dean's thrashing. And Dean knew he'd been thrashing around, because his blankets were tangled around his legs, one end spilling onto the floor. A pillow lay at the foot of the bed, the other beside the overstuffed chair by the nightstand. He straightened his twisted t-shirt and stared at his brother, wondered how the fuck he could have slept through that, especially through those sounds Dean had made that no way could be considered screams.
"Because I told him to sleep." Her voice sent a chill rioting down Dean's spine and set the hairs on his arms and neck standing at attention. He whipped his head around and stared into the corner of the room, toward the amused voice.
"Well, speak of the devil," he said, but his heart still raced, ice cold.
"Oh, Dean. You're such a flatterer." She stepped forward, entering the stream of light that slipped in between the mostly drawn curtains. Stepped? Sauntered. Her hair was lighter, reflecting coppery in the dim light, but the sway of her hips, the teasing quality in her tone, those never changed no matter whose body she stole.
Dean thought about standing as she approached, but thought better of it. All he wore was the sweat-soaked t-shirt and underwear, and he just didn't want to be that exposed, not given his current physical state. Dammit, why can't the bitch pick some troll to inhabit, instead of the hot chicks?
She laughed, deep and throaty. "Dean, Dean, Dean." She stood beside his bed now, looked down at him, a look of almost fondness on her beautiful face. If Dean were the praying type, he'd say a prayer right now for the poor girl the demon had taken.
"Don't worry about her, Dean. I have no interest in hurting her." She ran a fingernail lightly down his cheek, from eyebrow to jaw, and he shivered. She smiled in response, leaned forward, whispered in his ear, "I have no interest in her at all."
Sam shifted in the other bed, rolled onto his side, back toward Dean and the intruder, who apparently had added mind reading to her list of tricks. The demon looked over at Sam with burning eyes and he quieted.
"What do you want?" Dean demanded, uneasy as hell.
She turned back to him and shoved his legs over, sat beside him on the bed, leaned into him. "Why, Dean. Isn't it obvious? I want you. You do belong to me, after all…"
Again, Dean shivered. "Not yet, I don't. I've got another three months before that bill comes due." Another glance at Sam, sleeping peacefully. Even if Sammy did find a way out of that contract, Dean wasn't willing to take the risk. In three months, she was taking him with her to hell, but there was no need to hurry things along.
Dean studied the face she'd hijacked, young, innocent looking, probably some college girl who let her guard down at the wrong place, wrong time. No matter who the girl was, her hijacker wouldn't be here, unsummoned and unwanted, without a reason. "Either get to your point, or get the fuck out."
Fine brows arched over eyes obscured by shadow - "Ouch. So rude…" - and Dean found himself wondering just what color those eyes were.
Shaking his head in disgust, both at her and himself, he gave her a shove. He tried to keep in mind that there was a real person inside there somewhere, who may or may not be aware of what was happening to her, so he didn't kick quite as hard as he wanted to.
She raised her hands, moved away enough for Dean to shift, to put yet more space between them. "Truce," she offered, her tone no longer teasing. Dean rolled his eyes, but waited for her to make the next move. She was the one who wanted something, after all.
With a dramatic sigh, she leaned back, supporting herself on her bare arms and conveniently trapping Dean's legs between her hands and her ass. Just as he was about give her another shove, innocent girl's body notwithstanding, she leaned forward again, releasing him. She shifted to the foot of the bed, legs folded like a pretzel in front of her as she picked absently at the blankets.
"Oh, for God's sake, cut the crap," Dean finally exploded. "You're not some little schoolgirl." He swung his feet to the floor and stood, grabbing his jeans from the back of the chair. Still she said nothing and when he looked over at her while he zipped his fly, she wasn't even looking at him. Totally out of character for her.
Her eyes flicked up and met his. "I need your help," she stated.
Dean threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, that's good." He tucked in his t-shirt. "You need my help." Shaking his head, he laughed again. She didn't join in. Sam slept on, oblivious. "You really think I'm going to help you with anything?"
Her gaze dropped back down to the bed. "I'll give you another three months."
Sammy rolled over, his back to them. Dean dropped back down onto the bed. He watched her for a moment longer then, "Give me another year, and we'll talk." She looked up at that. "Otherwise, you leave now and you don't darken my door again until my time's up."
Her eyes flashed and Dean knew without a doubt that they were green. Abruptly, she stood and he thought she'd leave, but she surprised him. In a gesture that was very human and oddly vulnerable, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "Done."
Dean blinked. "Wait a minute." He raised a hand as she took two quick steps that brought her again to the bed. Before he could say another word, she pushed him back, straddling him. Her eyes locked with his and Dean forgot what he'd been about to say, forgot who and what she was, that there was a real girl inside this body (this amazing body, not innocent at all). He felt the feather touch of her breath just before she kissed him.
Her tongue burned him as he opened his mouth and let her in, sealing the deal.
Sealing the deal.
Even as his hips bucked up against her, his body making its wishes known, the reality of the situation intruded into Dean's brain. He gave her a violent push, sending her flying, breaking the kiss.
"Jesus! What the hell?" Sitting up, Dean looked from the demon to Sam, now asleep on his stomach with his head partially covered by a pillow.
"Isn't it obvious, Dean?" She still sat on the floor where she'd landed, looking as though she'd meant to be there all along. Like a frickin' cat. "We've amended our contract," she continued. "I give you another year, and you do me a favor."
She looked smug. Dammit, he hated it when a demon looked smug. Dean rubbed his hands over his face and head, leaving his hair standing up in random spikes. He looked over at her, half expecting to see her lick her hand and run it over her face like the cat he'd just likened her to.
"You ambushed me," he accused.
For a moment, she looked genuinely surprised. "I didn't," she protested. "I showed you what I need you to do."
He watched her through narrowed eyes; she stared back at him. But then Dean gave her a smug look of his own. "Don't you mean you showed me what you want me to do?"
Her expression darkened. "The deal is sealed, Dean Winchester."
Dean leaned back against the padded headboard and stretched out his legs, adopting a casual attitude that he really didn't feel. "Yeah, it is. But I don't think you made quite the deal you thought you did." She frowned and he continued, his confidence rising as her frown deepened. "You dove in with that kiss a little too fast, not that I blame you. I mean what female can truly resist my charm?" He chose to ignore it when she rolled her eyes.
"Get to your point," she demanded, but from the look on her face, Dean thought that maybe she had already taken his point.
He shrugged and his grin widened. "I said if you give me another year, we could talk about me helping you." She closed her eyes and the muscles in her jaw tightened and Dean knew he had her.
He'd got up this morning with only three months left to live. And now he had a year and three months. But how bad did something have to be to make a demon seek him out for help? And did he really want to know?
~TBC~
Feedback is, as always, much welcomed. This is only my second Supernatural fic, and my fic legs are still a bit wobbly.
Author: sabaceanbabe
Rating: R for language
Word count: roughly 1,850
Characters: Dean and the Crossroads Demon
Spoilers: erm, general for s2? pretty nebulous beyond that...
Disclaimer: Transformative work, not meant to infringe on anyone or anything, no profit, please don't sue. That should cover it, right?
Author's note: Thank you, jebbypal, for the beta. :) This was written for carpenyx's birthday (um, last AUGUST *headdesk*) to the prompt "phantasms" and, as the muses are not FRAKKING LISTENING TO ME, it is actually the first chapter in a longer fic. So, yes, it's a WIP (I'm sorry!), but one I hope to have fun with. Suggestions from the audience (especially carpenyx) are quite welcome.
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One cautious, hesitant step after another, Dean walked the longest hallway that had ever been. Things flickered, just barely seen/not seen from the corners of his eyes, gone completely if he tried to focus on them. All around was whispering, sometimes louder than a jet engine; sometimes so faint he might have imagined it, except that everything in this place was a figment of his imagination.
Wasn't it?
Different scenes played out all around him, merging and separating at random. He couldn't tell if they were bits and pieces of memories or of things that had never happened, at least not to him. A succession of images, both mundane and surreal, flew over and beside and beneath him. And that last was part of why each step he took was so difficult; he could almost tune out the things overhead and to either side, but what happened below (what was happening below?) was causing a major case of vertigo. The whispering didn't help.
He stopped cold, eyes widening involuntarily. Fuck! Had that kid just walked right through him? He shook it off, forced himself to continue on his path, such as it was. It was vital that he continue or something awful would happen. He didn't know much, but he was dead certain of that.
As he walked, searching endlessly, he caught glimpses of ghostly scenes. A woman reached toward a child (not the one who'd walked through him), tried desperately to catch him as he fell, pushed by some thing. Dean had never seen anything like it before (and that was saying a lot, because what hadn't he seen?). A car (the Impala?) sped along a sunlit highway, some huge beast out of those Lord of the Rings flicks hot on her tail. A dozen children who couldn't be more than four or five years old were surrounded by snarling dogs, eyes glowing red, reminding Dean of his not-so-favorite demon (the bitch).
With a strangled sound, what would have been a scream, if he did that sort of thing, Dean woke. He stared into the dark, heart pounding.
Things slowly came into focus. He was in a motel room. Sam slept on in the other bed, undisturbed by Dean's thrashing. And Dean knew he'd been thrashing around, because his blankets were tangled around his legs, one end spilling onto the floor. A pillow lay at the foot of the bed, the other beside the overstuffed chair by the nightstand. He straightened his twisted t-shirt and stared at his brother, wondered how the fuck he could have slept through that, especially through those sounds Dean had made that no way could be considered screams.
"Because I told him to sleep." Her voice sent a chill rioting down Dean's spine and set the hairs on his arms and neck standing at attention. He whipped his head around and stared into the corner of the room, toward the amused voice.
"Well, speak of the devil," he said, but his heart still raced, ice cold.
"Oh, Dean. You're such a flatterer." She stepped forward, entering the stream of light that slipped in between the mostly drawn curtains. Stepped? Sauntered. Her hair was lighter, reflecting coppery in the dim light, but the sway of her hips, the teasing quality in her tone, those never changed no matter whose body she stole.
Dean thought about standing as she approached, but thought better of it. All he wore was the sweat-soaked t-shirt and underwear, and he just didn't want to be that exposed, not given his current physical state. Dammit, why can't the bitch pick some troll to inhabit, instead of the hot chicks?
She laughed, deep and throaty. "Dean, Dean, Dean." She stood beside his bed now, looked down at him, a look of almost fondness on her beautiful face. If Dean were the praying type, he'd say a prayer right now for the poor girl the demon had taken.
"Don't worry about her, Dean. I have no interest in hurting her." She ran a fingernail lightly down his cheek, from eyebrow to jaw, and he shivered. She smiled in response, leaned forward, whispered in his ear, "I have no interest in her at all."
Sam shifted in the other bed, rolled onto his side, back toward Dean and the intruder, who apparently had added mind reading to her list of tricks. The demon looked over at Sam with burning eyes and he quieted.
"What do you want?" Dean demanded, uneasy as hell.
She turned back to him and shoved his legs over, sat beside him on the bed, leaned into him. "Why, Dean. Isn't it obvious? I want you. You do belong to me, after all…"
Again, Dean shivered. "Not yet, I don't. I've got another three months before that bill comes due." Another glance at Sam, sleeping peacefully. Even if Sammy did find a way out of that contract, Dean wasn't willing to take the risk. In three months, she was taking him with her to hell, but there was no need to hurry things along.
Dean studied the face she'd hijacked, young, innocent looking, probably some college girl who let her guard down at the wrong place, wrong time. No matter who the girl was, her hijacker wouldn't be here, unsummoned and unwanted, without a reason. "Either get to your point, or get the fuck out."
Fine brows arched over eyes obscured by shadow - "Ouch. So rude…" - and Dean found himself wondering just what color those eyes were.
Shaking his head in disgust, both at her and himself, he gave her a shove. He tried to keep in mind that there was a real person inside there somewhere, who may or may not be aware of what was happening to her, so he didn't kick quite as hard as he wanted to.
She raised her hands, moved away enough for Dean to shift, to put yet more space between them. "Truce," she offered, her tone no longer teasing. Dean rolled his eyes, but waited for her to make the next move. She was the one who wanted something, after all.
With a dramatic sigh, she leaned back, supporting herself on her bare arms and conveniently trapping Dean's legs between her hands and her ass. Just as he was about give her another shove, innocent girl's body notwithstanding, she leaned forward again, releasing him. She shifted to the foot of the bed, legs folded like a pretzel in front of her as she picked absently at the blankets.
"Oh, for God's sake, cut the crap," Dean finally exploded. "You're not some little schoolgirl." He swung his feet to the floor and stood, grabbing his jeans from the back of the chair. Still she said nothing and when he looked over at her while he zipped his fly, she wasn't even looking at him. Totally out of character for her.
Her eyes flicked up and met his. "I need your help," she stated.
Dean threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, that's good." He tucked in his t-shirt. "You need my help." Shaking his head, he laughed again. She didn't join in. Sam slept on, oblivious. "You really think I'm going to help you with anything?"
Her gaze dropped back down to the bed. "I'll give you another three months."
Sammy rolled over, his back to them. Dean dropped back down onto the bed. He watched her for a moment longer then, "Give me another year, and we'll talk." She looked up at that. "Otherwise, you leave now and you don't darken my door again until my time's up."
Her eyes flashed and Dean knew without a doubt that they were green. Abruptly, she stood and he thought she'd leave, but she surprised him. In a gesture that was very human and oddly vulnerable, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "Done."
Dean blinked. "Wait a minute." He raised a hand as she took two quick steps that brought her again to the bed. Before he could say another word, she pushed him back, straddling him. Her eyes locked with his and Dean forgot what he'd been about to say, forgot who and what she was, that there was a real girl inside this body (this amazing body, not innocent at all). He felt the feather touch of her breath just before she kissed him.
Her tongue burned him as he opened his mouth and let her in, sealing the deal.
Sealing the deal.
Even as his hips bucked up against her, his body making its wishes known, the reality of the situation intruded into Dean's brain. He gave her a violent push, sending her flying, breaking the kiss.
"Jesus! What the hell?" Sitting up, Dean looked from the demon to Sam, now asleep on his stomach with his head partially covered by a pillow.
"Isn't it obvious, Dean?" She still sat on the floor where she'd landed, looking as though she'd meant to be there all along. Like a frickin' cat. "We've amended our contract," she continued. "I give you another year, and you do me a favor."
She looked smug. Dammit, he hated it when a demon looked smug. Dean rubbed his hands over his face and head, leaving his hair standing up in random spikes. He looked over at her, half expecting to see her lick her hand and run it over her face like the cat he'd just likened her to.
"You ambushed me," he accused.
For a moment, she looked genuinely surprised. "I didn't," she protested. "I showed you what I need you to do."
He watched her through narrowed eyes; she stared back at him. But then Dean gave her a smug look of his own. "Don't you mean you showed me what you want me to do?"
Her expression darkened. "The deal is sealed, Dean Winchester."
Dean leaned back against the padded headboard and stretched out his legs, adopting a casual attitude that he really didn't feel. "Yeah, it is. But I don't think you made quite the deal you thought you did." She frowned and he continued, his confidence rising as her frown deepened. "You dove in with that kiss a little too fast, not that I blame you. I mean what female can truly resist my charm?" He chose to ignore it when she rolled her eyes.
"Get to your point," she demanded, but from the look on her face, Dean thought that maybe she had already taken his point.
He shrugged and his grin widened. "I said if you give me another year, we could talk about me helping you." She closed her eyes and the muscles in her jaw tightened and Dean knew he had her.
He'd got up this morning with only three months left to live. And now he had a year and three months. But how bad did something have to be to make a demon seek him out for help? And did he really want to know?
~TBC~
Feedback is, as always, much welcomed. This is only my second Supernatural fic, and my fic legs are still a bit wobbly.