Outside the Scent of Death (Supernatural, Dean/Sam, R) 1/1
Title: Outside the Scent of Death
Author: Spinny Roses
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Warnings: Wingfic, incest (Dean/Sam)
Spoilers: "Bloodlust," takes place after Underneath Touches of the Damned
Notes: Part of Angels Without Wings Series
Disclaimer: Don't own
Summary: Even fallen angels have white wings.
Outside the Scent of Death
By Spinny Roses
Sam's on his back, dagger to his throat.
This isn't a new position for Sam. Granted, it's better than being strangled, but looking up and seeing only his brother's emotionless face is what freezes his blood. Dean always looks inhuman when his wings ride him, but this ruthlessness transcends any form of humanity. Sam is just barely keeping his brother from shoving the dagger cleanly through his neck, not even having the breath to say anything. "Dean," he mouthes, hoping his face holds all the confusion, betrayal, love he feels at this and knowing it doesn't when the blade bears down further.
The incense has nearly burned out, a thick musk that muddles Sam's brain. He tries not to sneeze and only manages that when Dean lifts his hips, the rustle of feathers distracting him. One hand is pinned down, the other is grasping wildly to Dean's wrist. Sam tries to lift the one hand, only to have it viciously slammed onto the wood floor. He tries wrenching his body back and forth, but Dean rides it like a pro. He even tries to push him off mentally, but his brain is too fogged to manage that.
His back hurts, not from Dean slamming his around, but the deep gouges from the dagger currently splitting the skin on his neck. But unlike Dean, what was revealed were not beautiful white wings nor even hated demonic leather wings, but ruined muscle and bloodstained bone. Sam closes his eyes, the loss of blood starting to overcome his sight.
The incense changes, becoming a light scent that causes Sam's eyes to snap open. Dean is looking down at him, confused. The first emotion he showed since starting the ritual is overpowering his face and he pulls back ever so slightly. Sam looks around wildly, everything the same yet... he knows. There is no more smoke rising from the burner; the incense has burned out. But Sam's gaze returns to the slowly becoming frantic Dean, watching as his wings pull in close to his body, and he knows.
"Dad did this," he whispers, the first sound since Dean threw him to the floor. His brother flinches, breathing heavily as he refuses to meet Sam's eyes. Sam can see it, as clearly as it was happening now. John, speaking the same words Dean had to reverse a different curse, and the scream as wings burst free. Their father's surprised look, and the knowledge. "You're not supposed to have them."
Dean's arm trembles, and Sam eases the dagger further from his neck. He still refuses to look down, as if he knows what will be reflected in his brother's eyes. Sam pulls his other arm free, and reaches up to only have his fingers hover next to Dean's chin.
"Dad did this," he repeats. "Dean, how? Let me see."
Dean shakes his head. "No," he whispers, unsteadily. "You didn't... I won't let a..."
Sam's fingers connect with Dean and he flinches, as if the touch would burn him. "I'm not," he insisted. "Dean."
Demon. The word is caught in both of their throats. Dean slowly turns his head to look at Sam, wings trembling as he stares down at his human, too human brother.
And Sam knows.
"You can't become that," Sam says, starting to sit up. Dean lets him, his wings turning grayish and dying before his eyes. "Dean, it's impossible. Let them go."
"No," he whispers, his wings falling to the floor in disgusting dead clumps. "Get out of my head, Sammy. Get out. This is what I am, who-"
Sam is this close to decking him. "That's what Dad thought you were. Let go of them, or it'll kill you." He's not sure about that. He doesn't know that, but it's a likely event. The blood loss from the mature wings bursting out would be enough on its own to cause a serious problem and nearly has several times. "Dad's dead, Dean. You don't have to hold onto them anymore."
The feathers are dropping, making Sam's stomach clench. They are still beautiful, still so Dean. But the representation, the idea that John could force his image of his sons onto his eldest in such a fashion taint the beauty. Dean licks his lips, not looking away from the bright mirror in Sam's eyes. "I can't," he finally says. "They're all I have of him now."
Sam closes his mouth. He knows, knows just as well as Dean. He tries to say one more thing when the blood loss and pain hits him, the knowledge born of his own abilities coming fully to leaving him as painfully as Dean's wings dying. "What was that?" he gasps, trying not to black out.
Dean just shrugs. "We haven't earned it yet," he says with a familiar, human quirk to his lips. Sam looks at him, confused. He had understood it all, his powers had been at their peak and now...
"We're not supposed to force it," he manages to get out right before he passes out.
Author: Spinny Roses
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Warnings: Wingfic, incest (Dean/Sam)
Spoilers: "Bloodlust," takes place after Underneath Touches of the Damned
Notes: Part of Angels Without Wings Series
Disclaimer: Don't own
Summary: Even fallen angels have white wings.
Outside the Scent of Death
By Spinny Roses
Sam's on his back, dagger to his throat.
This isn't a new position for Sam. Granted, it's better than being strangled, but looking up and seeing only his brother's emotionless face is what freezes his blood. Dean always looks inhuman when his wings ride him, but this ruthlessness transcends any form of humanity. Sam is just barely keeping his brother from shoving the dagger cleanly through his neck, not even having the breath to say anything. "Dean," he mouthes, hoping his face holds all the confusion, betrayal, love he feels at this and knowing it doesn't when the blade bears down further.
The incense has nearly burned out, a thick musk that muddles Sam's brain. He tries not to sneeze and only manages that when Dean lifts his hips, the rustle of feathers distracting him. One hand is pinned down, the other is grasping wildly to Dean's wrist. Sam tries to lift the one hand, only to have it viciously slammed onto the wood floor. He tries wrenching his body back and forth, but Dean rides it like a pro. He even tries to push him off mentally, but his brain is too fogged to manage that.
His back hurts, not from Dean slamming his around, but the deep gouges from the dagger currently splitting the skin on his neck. But unlike Dean, what was revealed were not beautiful white wings nor even hated demonic leather wings, but ruined muscle and bloodstained bone. Sam closes his eyes, the loss of blood starting to overcome his sight.
The incense changes, becoming a light scent that causes Sam's eyes to snap open. Dean is looking down at him, confused. The first emotion he showed since starting the ritual is overpowering his face and he pulls back ever so slightly. Sam looks around wildly, everything the same yet... he knows. There is no more smoke rising from the burner; the incense has burned out. But Sam's gaze returns to the slowly becoming frantic Dean, watching as his wings pull in close to his body, and he knows.
"Dad did this," he whispers, the first sound since Dean threw him to the floor. His brother flinches, breathing heavily as he refuses to meet Sam's eyes. Sam can see it, as clearly as it was happening now. John, speaking the same words Dean had to reverse a different curse, and the scream as wings burst free. Their father's surprised look, and the knowledge. "You're not supposed to have them."
Dean's arm trembles, and Sam eases the dagger further from his neck. He still refuses to look down, as if he knows what will be reflected in his brother's eyes. Sam pulls his other arm free, and reaches up to only have his fingers hover next to Dean's chin.
"Dad did this," he repeats. "Dean, how? Let me see."
Dean shakes his head. "No," he whispers, unsteadily. "You didn't... I won't let a..."
Sam's fingers connect with Dean and he flinches, as if the touch would burn him. "I'm not," he insisted. "Dean."
Demon. The word is caught in both of their throats. Dean slowly turns his head to look at Sam, wings trembling as he stares down at his human, too human brother.
And Sam knows.
"You can't become that," Sam says, starting to sit up. Dean lets him, his wings turning grayish and dying before his eyes. "Dean, it's impossible. Let them go."
"No," he whispers, his wings falling to the floor in disgusting dead clumps. "Get out of my head, Sammy. Get out. This is what I am, who-"
Sam is this close to decking him. "That's what Dad thought you were. Let go of them, or it'll kill you." He's not sure about that. He doesn't know that, but it's a likely event. The blood loss from the mature wings bursting out would be enough on its own to cause a serious problem and nearly has several times. "Dad's dead, Dean. You don't have to hold onto them anymore."
The feathers are dropping, making Sam's stomach clench. They are still beautiful, still so Dean. But the representation, the idea that John could force his image of his sons onto his eldest in such a fashion taint the beauty. Dean licks his lips, not looking away from the bright mirror in Sam's eyes. "I can't," he finally says. "They're all I have of him now."
Sam closes his mouth. He knows, knows just as well as Dean. He tries to say one more thing when the blood loss and pain hits him, the knowledge born of his own abilities coming fully to leaving him as painfully as Dean's wings dying. "What was that?" he gasps, trying not to black out.
Dean just shrugs. "We haven't earned it yet," he says with a familiar, human quirk to his lips. Sam looks at him, confused. He had understood it all, his powers had been at their peak and now...
"We're not supposed to force it," he manages to get out right before he passes out.