Fanfic - SPN: The Heat Outside Would Never Warm Him (Sam/Dean)
Title: The Heat Outside Would Never Warm Him [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author: eboniorchid
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Prompt: 016. Cold. For 100moods, challenge table here.
Word Count: ~ 420 words.
Rating: PG-13 for implied sexuality and violence.
Warnings/Spoilers: Angst. Dark. Future. Apocalypse. Slash. Implied wincest. Implied violence. Potential vague spoilers for "Home" and "In My Time of Dying".
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Really. Nothing.
Summary: Dean's POV. Watching the end, in the arms of love and hate.
Author's Notes: I'd like to say that I don't know where this came from, but I do, even if doesn't make any sense. "Guidelines for Evil Empresses" states, in suggestion #4 that one "not bed the Hunky Hero before the evil plan is executed" and I thought: what about after or during the execution of said plan? And this was born. For more info about my Evil!Sammy Universe, including links to all installments, please go here.
The crash outside, like thunder-trains colliding overhead, woke Dean in his brother's bed and he walked to reach the curtains on the window. Dawn was breaking hard, the brightness of the sun near blinding, as if it sought to rival the destruction flooding over the world below. Fire stole the color, the shadow, and the life from almost everywhere he looked. Where it was absent, there was only black.
He heard Sam rise from the bed, smelled his own scent on Sam, standing just behind, felt the weight of Sam's eyes, and knew he'd fallen, a would-be hero, tempted and weak.
"What have you done, Sam?" His voice was a choked sob, shattered but still seeking something to hold on to, something to lift him from the swelling darkness, from the desperation roiling just beneath his surface.
"What I was born to." He said it so simply, so lacking emotive heft, so free of remorse or even twisted joy. There was nothing there.
Dean trembled with rage and regret and sorrow so deep, sickness spilling up from his gut leaving his tongue tainted but his mouth somehow dry. Sam's fingers were smooth on his arm, the blanket of his power wrapping like a velvet vice around them both.
"There's nothing you can do, Dean. Your world is fast becoming mine."
Yours. Mine. It felt like lead had found a way to weight his heart and strip his throat rough.
He thought … he thought he'd gotten through to Sam, thought he'd found a way to make Sam see that this dark heritage of his was only one part of him … only one. But he'd been played.
He wondered how long it had been that way. How long had Sam toyed with him? How many talks about black and white and gray in the world had been tools to muddle his mind more than Sam? How many times had he been lured from alternate paths, always following Sam into the dark, his love and need for Sam shoving doubts deeper and away?
"It doesn't matter, Dean. Whatever questions you have now are needless. If you wonder when you lost me, know that you never had me and that I am not lost. I have always and will always be exactly what I was meant to be. Yours. And your defeat."
Defeat felt like death. The crush of Sam's strength around him, body tight, power soft, felt like heaven and hell, torture sweet and passion cruel.
And Dean knew this was the end.
Author: eboniorchid
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Prompt: 016. Cold. For 100moods, challenge table here.
Word Count: ~ 420 words.
Rating: PG-13 for implied sexuality and violence.
Warnings/Spoilers: Angst. Dark. Future. Apocalypse. Slash. Implied wincest. Implied violence. Potential vague spoilers for "Home" and "In My Time of Dying".
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Really. Nothing.
Summary: Dean's POV. Watching the end, in the arms of love and hate.
Author's Notes: I'd like to say that I don't know where this came from, but I do, even if doesn't make any sense. "Guidelines for Evil Empresses" states, in suggestion #4 that one "not bed the Hunky Hero before the evil plan is executed" and I thought: what about after or during the execution of said plan? And this was born. For more info about my Evil!Sammy Universe, including links to all installments, please go here.
The crash outside, like thunder-trains colliding overhead, woke Dean in his brother's bed and he walked to reach the curtains on the window. Dawn was breaking hard, the brightness of the sun near blinding, as if it sought to rival the destruction flooding over the world below. Fire stole the color, the shadow, and the life from almost everywhere he looked. Where it was absent, there was only black.
He heard Sam rise from the bed, smelled his own scent on Sam, standing just behind, felt the weight of Sam's eyes, and knew he'd fallen, a would-be hero, tempted and weak.
"What have you done, Sam?" His voice was a choked sob, shattered but still seeking something to hold on to, something to lift him from the swelling darkness, from the desperation roiling just beneath his surface.
"What I was born to." He said it so simply, so lacking emotive heft, so free of remorse or even twisted joy. There was nothing there.
Dean trembled with rage and regret and sorrow so deep, sickness spilling up from his gut leaving his tongue tainted but his mouth somehow dry. Sam's fingers were smooth on his arm, the blanket of his power wrapping like a velvet vice around them both.
"There's nothing you can do, Dean. Your world is fast becoming mine."
Yours. Mine. It felt like lead had found a way to weight his heart and strip his throat rough.
He thought … he thought he'd gotten through to Sam, thought he'd found a way to make Sam see that this dark heritage of his was only one part of him … only one. But he'd been played.
He wondered how long it had been that way. How long had Sam toyed with him? How many talks about black and white and gray in the world had been tools to muddle his mind more than Sam? How many times had he been lured from alternate paths, always following Sam into the dark, his love and need for Sam shoving doubts deeper and away?
"It doesn't matter, Dean. Whatever questions you have now are needless. If you wonder when you lost me, know that you never had me and that I am not lost. I have always and will always be exactly what I was meant to be. Yours. And your defeat."
Defeat felt like death. The crush of Sam's strength around him, body tight, power soft, felt like heaven and hell, torture sweet and passion cruel.
And Dean knew this was the end.