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Entry tags:
SpN: Come The Night 4/?
Title: Come The Night
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean, Dean/Angel, brief Dean/OFC
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: 2819
Spoilers: oblique reference to events in s5
Summary: this is (now) an AU treatment of season five, where Sam doesn't escape his fate and Boy King means just that. Dean once again enters hell to save his brother—not entirely voluntarily. When he returns to the world, everything's changed. He's lost Sam, the new world is difficult to navigate, and he finds himself saddled with an angry young man who elects himself to be Dean's guide.
Notes/Warnings: torture, rape, dubious consent, allegations of sexual abuse of a minor, extreme power imbalance. Some scenes are graphic. Feel free to ask if you'd like more info.
This story I've been working on since last year. Writing, rewriting, and mostly wringing my hands. I've decided to post it and hope desperately to hammer the ending I have planned into something readable. But just so you know, unfinished, this bitch is 48000 words….
heed the warnings this section!
one
two
three
icon by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
miss_snoopy25
4
Dean wakes on that giant bed, whole again—save the scars on his neck, and the scars on his soul and this time, Sam's in the room watching him. There's a puzzled little tilt to his eyebrows. "What is it about you, that makes me want to…take you apart, see what makes you tick….?"
Dean shivers inside, tries to push the creeping tendrils of fear deep down. Goes for smart ass, though it's never really worked for him, especially against Sam. "Think you'd have seen what makes me tick already, seeing as how you had your hands in every part of me." Bravado fails him and a sick rush of fear floods his body, but he's Dean Winchester so he holds it back and goes on smiling. He's terrified, swimming in it because he knows this is never going to stop, never, and grief-stricken as well because after all he'd gone through, all the promises and deals, he's still lost his brother….
But he's gonna keep pushing, because he is a Winchester and that's just what they do.
Sam stands, shakes his head ruefully and shaggy bangs flop around, and Dean's heart breaks just a little more. He wonders if Sam's doing it on purpose, if he knows what seeing something so much like Sam does to him. "No," he's saying, "I'm not talking about the physical, Dean--though I guess you would think that, you've always been about the physical. No, I mean here," and Sam taps his temple. "What's going on up there, Dean? Anything? Besides basic animal survival stuff? I mean, even Dad knew you weren't exactly working the brain box, s'why he wasn't broken up about you ditching school. He liked just what he had in you, Daddy's two-legged little hand grenade." Sam strolls around the room, hands gliding over this and that but his eyes always on Dean's. "So, you're…stupid, and you're vicious…and still, you fascinate me. It's like there's no end to the depths of your stupidity, your moronic clinging to hope…pathetic high school drop-out, flailing around for someone to guide you…taking whatever 'family' dishes out, all, 'please, sir, can I have another?'. Useless. Useless. "
Dean stares at the white comforter and works to let Sam's words roll over him. They're just words, they can't do permanent damage, they can be forgotten, it's not something he hasn't heard before, it's not different than what he's told himself—hell, Dad had put it better than Sam ever could. There was a ton of scar tissue around that part of him, Sam wasn't about to make a dent in it. He lifts his head like it's nothing and meets Sam's eyes, and he smiles. "You forgot—I'm a moronic, flailing drop-out—but with a GED."
Sam's eyes widen, glow the color of sun-filled glass. His lips draw back and a sound leaks out that's so not Sam it makes Dean wish he'd kept his mouth shut. Sam comes to sit on the edge of the bed, settles like a hawk on a rabbit. He cups Dean's chin in his long warm fingers and digs in. Dean jerks his chin up and refuses to look away. Sam seems to like that, purrs, "Oh, right, I did forget. You like to substitute smart with smart-ass. Let's see how that works for you."
~o0o~
The doctor made a game out of sewing bits of him together into new configurations. When Dean had rational moments of thought, he was glad that Sam wasn't in the corner, watching.
~o0o~
"You know, Cassie thought that you were just barely adequate as a man. It wasn’t the hunting that made her shut the door, it was you. She knew you weren't whole…knew what images you were really jerking off to. And when you weren't looking, Jess laughed herself sick at your pathetic little-boy attempts to flirt. Horndog, that's how you styled yourself, wasn't it? Dean…you know, when grown men act like that, they're usually overcompensating for something…and we know what that is, don't we? Remember what you did? What you did to me?"
"What I did…to you?"
~o0o~
Real pain couldn't be ignored. Dean knew this from his first stint in hell. Pain just grew. Some pain could be bent, absorbed, even be turned inside out so that you started to want it and he knew pain like that. Fought the urge frequently when he'd popped up topside again…then there was pain like a juggernaught, bearing down on you, crushing you, grinding up the pieces and spitting them all over the landscape. But the worst sort of pain, more terrible than throat clenching, mind rending, physical pain, was the pain inflicted on the soul and Sam, he was good at that.
5
Demons circle the giant fluffy bed, grunting and sniffing and giggling. Their long hot tongues rasp against his skin, their claws tickle him. Their twisted, hideous faces, their hot poisonous skin, all over him, in him. There's no place to go, and the room he'd thought was some form of safety is just another cage. He's alone with nightmares, again.
The demons circle the bed and not all of them are tricked out in meatsuits, there are human hands holding him down, human mouths tearing at him.
Dean's tightroping the edge of sanity—has been for days or hours, however long this has been his reality. The puffy white comforter isn't white, or even puffy much anymore. It's streaked with fresh bright red, it's black and stiff in places. Painted with blood and come and other fluids….
Dean snatches a breath and screws his eyes shut and screams in one long exhale as the thing behind him rips right up into him. A burning pain screws through him from asshole to belly and then the thing draws its shaft out again. Dean feels his insides clinging to it, shredding—he's turned inside out with it and screams when the demon fucks into him again. And again. He can feel that barbed thing inside him squirm when the demon comes, it burns hot and scalding and slops out onto the sheets when the demon tears its shaft out. Over the moaning and grunting, the laughter, Dean can hear the liquid spattering the sheets, feels it hot and thick spilling on the back of his thighs.
The next one wants his mouth and it's almost worse that it's human-shaped but at least it can only choke him, or break bones in his face or crush his windpipe…at least there won't be battery acid come or little barbs to catch and shred inside his mouth or throat. This one wants to play. He's bleeding out and dizzy, there's something thicker than blood slithering down his legs and he can't pass out, hard as he tries, he can't sink into the safety of his mind…and this one wants nice....
There's a constant stream of words just on the edge of hearing, murmuring that goes on and on…sounds like Sam. The hand on the back of his neck, guiding him down onto the straining dick in front of him feels like Sam's. But he can see Sam in the corner of the room watching, and hear him murmuring high above him and feel his fingers pushing into his ass, and sliding into his mouth with the demon's dick…Dean feels Sam's fingers tighten on his neck, tighter and tighter like a collar made of fire and then he's coming and it's almost the worst thing that's ever happened to him.
~o0o~
"You wonder why I'm doing this," Sam says after another long session with the Doctor. Coming almost directly on the heels of being ripped to shreds by Sam's demon footsoldiers, no; it's the last fucking thing he's been wondering.
Dean's complete lack of interest in the why of his being tortured must show, because Sam snorts impatiently. "It's all about payback, Dean. I want you to feel the way I felt growing up. You deserve to feel the way I felt—miserable, terrified. Powerless."
Dean blinks. "What?" The ceiling of the room is spinning slowly in lazy loops and it takes a moment for Sam's words to break through the muddle in his head. "Sam?"
"You…what you did to me. Forced me to do." Sam's head is down, his body curved into a miserable curl and he's crying, wretched little broken-hearted sobs, the sound makes Dean struggle to get up, what's not aching or shrieking with pain is vibrating with the need to fix it--Sam's hurt..
"What? I didn't...what?" The words get lost, mixed up on the way out of his mouth, but neither do Sam's words make sense, when had Dean ever hurt him like, like—fuck, they'd thrown punches, sure, worse when that bitch Ruby…but forced Sam to what?
"You didn't even…I was a child! You made me touch you, forced me into your bed." Sam's curled tighter now, his voice a harsh bark of misery….
Dean blinks again. But…he wouldn't—couldn't—Little Sam used to climb in his bed. For almost a year he slept in Dean's bed, after he found out the truth of their life. Understandable, with the nightmares the poor kid suffered…but they never, he never touched Sam. Not like that. Sam was the one, he'd started it…but they weren't kids, and he fucking would never hurt Sam. Sam was his to protect—from everything bad.
"You used to say I was yours, and then you'd put your fingers in me and…"
Sam's crying harder now, his face painted with snot and tears, all red and blotchy. Dean feels like he's dying inside, watching Sam suffer like that, hampered by legs and arms too heavy to move but he tries, god, he tries. "Please, Sam, please, it's not true!"
Sam just keeps on going, ignoring Dean, his voice thick, clogged with tears. "I pretended, we all pretended it wasn't happening—why do you think I hated Dad so much? He should have known, should have stopped you—"
"But…I wouldn't. I'd never…I'd never, Sammy!"
"Liar. You're such a liar." Sam watched, wet eyes dark in a blank face, when they took Dean away again.
~o0o~
After that, it was like a flood gate of something had broken open. Sam never let Dean heal. The Doctor took him apart, and put him back together just enough to make it interesting, and the accusations came, over and over. Sam drilled it into him, by voice and by touch…he blamed it on Dean and hurt him, accused him over and over, and after a while, Dean had to think.
Were all his touches as innocent as he'd thought? Were childish kisses that, or something else? He remembered sleeping with his hand on a young Sam's stomach, soft and round and warm….had that been innocent love, or something else? When he'd carried Sam on his back across a stream back of Bobby's yard, had the content thrill he'd felt just been because they were safe and it was summer and Dad would be staying home with them that night, and the next? Had he wanted something more when he'd woken up, leaning into Sam's warmth, his dick hard? Maybe it had been more than teenage hormones. Maybe…maybe there was something wrong with him…had he raped his brother and now was refusing to admit to it?
"And then I ran, to college and a normal life as soon as I could and I felt like…for the first time I could remember, I finally felt safe. Safe. But you," Sam spit, "You came after me. And took me. Beat me, threatened to do it to Jess too, and forced me to come back. And then…and then when I tried to leave, you killed her! Burned her alive, because she committed the crime of touching what was yours—"
"No! no, no, no! That's not how it went." But flashes of Jess' pain stricken face, Sam on his back, pinned to the carpet and Dean laughing into his face…Sam bleeding, screaming no, Dean no…but it wasn't like that, he was sure…
Sam crawls up onto the bed and Dean cries out, broken bones and split flesh screaming in pain. "Yes, it was--just like that. And you know what I found out? That I liked it. That what you'd forced on me, I'd come to need, and Jess was just a poor, pale substitute…" Dean cringes when Sam's erection scrapes along his ass. He throws up, acid bile, swallows it down before Sam gets angry about messing up the pillows. Sam's hand walks up his spine, sending shivers spiraling through him and all he can think of is spiders. He remembers a motel room, air too hot, sheets kicked to the floor and Sam's hand tickling his back, and remembers loving it, laughing. Fuck, but he remembers Sam crying at his touch, voice high and childish, begging Dean not to, not to….
Sam's breath is hot against his shoulder, and he's promising Dean absolution. "You can have it like this, me, willingly. You don’t need to push. Maybe, if I do this the way I want to, we can lay it all to rest, and I can let you go."
Dean's heartbeat spikes at that. Hope nibbles at the corner of his brain. Maybe…maybe Sam's telling the truth, god, maybe Sam will kill him? Sam's breath roams over his shoulder, to the back of his neck, he mouths at the welts there, licks at the congealed blood. Dean tightens, and then, relaxes, a bit. It…it seems every spot Sam puts his tongue feels better….
Sam puts his mouth over a spot that the Doctor had placed a white hot piece of metal on. It had burned almost to the bone, leaving charred skin and peeling flesh behind. But when Sam touches the tip of his tongue to it, the pain, in fact the wound, vanishes. He laves long licks over it, and it feels—good. Better than good. Dean shakes. It would take too much to beg Sam to touch him elsewhere, touch the spot that's been peeled to the muscle, reach inside him and take out the bits of metal threaded through his muscle, stabbing him with every breath…Sam made him hurt, he can make it not hurt. All Dean has to do is…whatever it takes.
~o0o~
Sam asks him a few days later, "Remember when we went fishing, that time in Idaho?"
Dean remembers Sam standing in a little stream, hooks they'd cadged from somewhere set with rolled up balls of bread, him grinning at Dean, and how the sun had turned his little boy body into gold. He'd been smooth and sleek, all skinny limbs and paddle hands, and Dean had called him frog boy…but what Sam said happened next hadn't happened…he'd never touched Sam, never licked water off salty sun-warmed skin, never pried Sam's mouth open with his fingers, or pushed him to his knees on the bank…that was wrong, had never happened, it was a lie, or… a, a, false memory.
Wasn't it? He was sure. Pretty sure.
He quivered with the memory, it ate at him, gnawed into his brain, and the Doctor whispered in his ear, "I can fix that."
Three words that made Dean arch and scream on the table he was strapped to. Three words that always brought the end of the world.
"Shh, shhh, I mean that there are some pains I'll take away…I can take that one. But if I do, there'll be a price…a small price, I'm sure you can bear it."
Dean wants it, fuck the price, whatever it is. He just wants these thoughts to stop. Doesn't ask himself why the Doctor would do anything for him without Sam's permission. He's beyond that, the pain and guilt and sorrow are eating him alive
The Doctor is as good as his word. He does something to Dean's head, and it takes that Idaho summer away. Another day, it takes a winter in Colorado, he loses a week in Newark, Delaware and a few days around a hunt that Dad and he had taken to bring them close to Palo Alto. He loses a whole year, and it had been a good one because Sam had been happy, they'd stayed in one place long enough for him to make friends, co-own a dog with a goofy neighbor—there'd been a lot of laughter that year, a lot of good things. At least until Sam had shown him the flip side, the memories Sam claims he'd buried--the tears in the night, Sam begging Dean not to touch him, please, okay, not tonight, tomorrow, I promise, I'll suck you off tomorrow Dean, I won't cry when you fuck me….
Dean asks the Doctor to take that one and to make it hurt bad when he does.
five
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean, Dean/Angel, brief Dean/OFC
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: 2819
Spoilers: oblique reference to events in s5
Summary: this is (now) an AU treatment of season five, where Sam doesn't escape his fate and Boy King means just that. Dean once again enters hell to save his brother—not entirely voluntarily. When he returns to the world, everything's changed. He's lost Sam, the new world is difficult to navigate, and he finds himself saddled with an angry young man who elects himself to be Dean's guide.
Notes/Warnings: torture, rape, dubious consent, allegations of sexual abuse of a minor, extreme power imbalance. Some scenes are graphic. Feel free to ask if you'd like more info.
This story I've been working on since last year. Writing, rewriting, and mostly wringing my hands. I've decided to post it and hope desperately to hammer the ending I have planned into something readable. But just so you know, unfinished, this bitch is 48000 words….
heed the warnings this section!
one
two
three
icon by
miss_snoopy25Dean wakes on that giant bed, whole again—save the scars on his neck, and the scars on his soul and this time, Sam's in the room watching him. There's a puzzled little tilt to his eyebrows. "What is it about you, that makes me want to…take you apart, see what makes you tick….?"
Dean shivers inside, tries to push the creeping tendrils of fear deep down. Goes for smart ass, though it's never really worked for him, especially against Sam. "Think you'd have seen what makes me tick already, seeing as how you had your hands in every part of me." Bravado fails him and a sick rush of fear floods his body, but he's Dean Winchester so he holds it back and goes on smiling. He's terrified, swimming in it because he knows this is never going to stop, never, and grief-stricken as well because after all he'd gone through, all the promises and deals, he's still lost his brother….
But he's gonna keep pushing, because he is a Winchester and that's just what they do.
Sam stands, shakes his head ruefully and shaggy bangs flop around, and Dean's heart breaks just a little more. He wonders if Sam's doing it on purpose, if he knows what seeing something so much like Sam does to him. "No," he's saying, "I'm not talking about the physical, Dean--though I guess you would think that, you've always been about the physical. No, I mean here," and Sam taps his temple. "What's going on up there, Dean? Anything? Besides basic animal survival stuff? I mean, even Dad knew you weren't exactly working the brain box, s'why he wasn't broken up about you ditching school. He liked just what he had in you, Daddy's two-legged little hand grenade." Sam strolls around the room, hands gliding over this and that but his eyes always on Dean's. "So, you're…stupid, and you're vicious…and still, you fascinate me. It's like there's no end to the depths of your stupidity, your moronic clinging to hope…pathetic high school drop-out, flailing around for someone to guide you…taking whatever 'family' dishes out, all, 'please, sir, can I have another?'. Useless. Useless. "
Dean stares at the white comforter and works to let Sam's words roll over him. They're just words, they can't do permanent damage, they can be forgotten, it's not something he hasn't heard before, it's not different than what he's told himself—hell, Dad had put it better than Sam ever could. There was a ton of scar tissue around that part of him, Sam wasn't about to make a dent in it. He lifts his head like it's nothing and meets Sam's eyes, and he smiles. "You forgot—I'm a moronic, flailing drop-out—but with a GED."
Sam's eyes widen, glow the color of sun-filled glass. His lips draw back and a sound leaks out that's so not Sam it makes Dean wish he'd kept his mouth shut. Sam comes to sit on the edge of the bed, settles like a hawk on a rabbit. He cups Dean's chin in his long warm fingers and digs in. Dean jerks his chin up and refuses to look away. Sam seems to like that, purrs, "Oh, right, I did forget. You like to substitute smart with smart-ass. Let's see how that works for you."
The doctor made a game out of sewing bits of him together into new configurations. When Dean had rational moments of thought, he was glad that Sam wasn't in the corner, watching.
"You know, Cassie thought that you were just barely adequate as a man. It wasn’t the hunting that made her shut the door, it was you. She knew you weren't whole…knew what images you were really jerking off to. And when you weren't looking, Jess laughed herself sick at your pathetic little-boy attempts to flirt. Horndog, that's how you styled yourself, wasn't it? Dean…you know, when grown men act like that, they're usually overcompensating for something…and we know what that is, don't we? Remember what you did? What you did to me?"
"What I did…to you?"
Real pain couldn't be ignored. Dean knew this from his first stint in hell. Pain just grew. Some pain could be bent, absorbed, even be turned inside out so that you started to want it and he knew pain like that. Fought the urge frequently when he'd popped up topside again…then there was pain like a juggernaught, bearing down on you, crushing you, grinding up the pieces and spitting them all over the landscape. But the worst sort of pain, more terrible than throat clenching, mind rending, physical pain, was the pain inflicted on the soul and Sam, he was good at that.
Demons circle the giant fluffy bed, grunting and sniffing and giggling. Their long hot tongues rasp against his skin, their claws tickle him. Their twisted, hideous faces, their hot poisonous skin, all over him, in him. There's no place to go, and the room he'd thought was some form of safety is just another cage. He's alone with nightmares, again.
The demons circle the bed and not all of them are tricked out in meatsuits, there are human hands holding him down, human mouths tearing at him.
Dean's tightroping the edge of sanity—has been for days or hours, however long this has been his reality. The puffy white comforter isn't white, or even puffy much anymore. It's streaked with fresh bright red, it's black and stiff in places. Painted with blood and come and other fluids….
Dean snatches a breath and screws his eyes shut and screams in one long exhale as the thing behind him rips right up into him. A burning pain screws through him from asshole to belly and then the thing draws its shaft out again. Dean feels his insides clinging to it, shredding—he's turned inside out with it and screams when the demon fucks into him again. And again. He can feel that barbed thing inside him squirm when the demon comes, it burns hot and scalding and slops out onto the sheets when the demon tears its shaft out. Over the moaning and grunting, the laughter, Dean can hear the liquid spattering the sheets, feels it hot and thick spilling on the back of his thighs.
The next one wants his mouth and it's almost worse that it's human-shaped but at least it can only choke him, or break bones in his face or crush his windpipe…at least there won't be battery acid come or little barbs to catch and shred inside his mouth or throat. This one wants to play. He's bleeding out and dizzy, there's something thicker than blood slithering down his legs and he can't pass out, hard as he tries, he can't sink into the safety of his mind…and this one wants nice....
There's a constant stream of words just on the edge of hearing, murmuring that goes on and on…sounds like Sam. The hand on the back of his neck, guiding him down onto the straining dick in front of him feels like Sam's. But he can see Sam in the corner of the room watching, and hear him murmuring high above him and feel his fingers pushing into his ass, and sliding into his mouth with the demon's dick…Dean feels Sam's fingers tighten on his neck, tighter and tighter like a collar made of fire and then he's coming and it's almost the worst thing that's ever happened to him.
"You wonder why I'm doing this," Sam says after another long session with the Doctor. Coming almost directly on the heels of being ripped to shreds by Sam's demon footsoldiers, no; it's the last fucking thing he's been wondering.
Dean's complete lack of interest in the why of his being tortured must show, because Sam snorts impatiently. "It's all about payback, Dean. I want you to feel the way I felt growing up. You deserve to feel the way I felt—miserable, terrified. Powerless."
Dean blinks. "What?" The ceiling of the room is spinning slowly in lazy loops and it takes a moment for Sam's words to break through the muddle in his head. "Sam?"
"You…what you did to me. Forced me to do." Sam's head is down, his body curved into a miserable curl and he's crying, wretched little broken-hearted sobs, the sound makes Dean struggle to get up, what's not aching or shrieking with pain is vibrating with the need to fix it--Sam's hurt..
"What? I didn't...what?" The words get lost, mixed up on the way out of his mouth, but neither do Sam's words make sense, when had Dean ever hurt him like, like—fuck, they'd thrown punches, sure, worse when that bitch Ruby…but forced Sam to what?
"You didn't even…I was a child! You made me touch you, forced me into your bed." Sam's curled tighter now, his voice a harsh bark of misery….
Dean blinks again. But…he wouldn't—couldn't—Little Sam used to climb in his bed. For almost a year he slept in Dean's bed, after he found out the truth of their life. Understandable, with the nightmares the poor kid suffered…but they never, he never touched Sam. Not like that. Sam was the one, he'd started it…but they weren't kids, and he fucking would never hurt Sam. Sam was his to protect—from everything bad.
"You used to say I was yours, and then you'd put your fingers in me and…"
Sam's crying harder now, his face painted with snot and tears, all red and blotchy. Dean feels like he's dying inside, watching Sam suffer like that, hampered by legs and arms too heavy to move but he tries, god, he tries. "Please, Sam, please, it's not true!"
Sam just keeps on going, ignoring Dean, his voice thick, clogged with tears. "I pretended, we all pretended it wasn't happening—why do you think I hated Dad so much? He should have known, should have stopped you—"
"But…I wouldn't. I'd never…I'd never, Sammy!"
"Liar. You're such a liar." Sam watched, wet eyes dark in a blank face, when they took Dean away again.
After that, it was like a flood gate of something had broken open. Sam never let Dean heal. The Doctor took him apart, and put him back together just enough to make it interesting, and the accusations came, over and over. Sam drilled it into him, by voice and by touch…he blamed it on Dean and hurt him, accused him over and over, and after a while, Dean had to think.
Were all his touches as innocent as he'd thought? Were childish kisses that, or something else? He remembered sleeping with his hand on a young Sam's stomach, soft and round and warm….had that been innocent love, or something else? When he'd carried Sam on his back across a stream back of Bobby's yard, had the content thrill he'd felt just been because they were safe and it was summer and Dad would be staying home with them that night, and the next? Had he wanted something more when he'd woken up, leaning into Sam's warmth, his dick hard? Maybe it had been more than teenage hormones. Maybe…maybe there was something wrong with him…had he raped his brother and now was refusing to admit to it?
"And then I ran, to college and a normal life as soon as I could and I felt like…for the first time I could remember, I finally felt safe. Safe. But you," Sam spit, "You came after me. And took me. Beat me, threatened to do it to Jess too, and forced me to come back. And then…and then when I tried to leave, you killed her! Burned her alive, because she committed the crime of touching what was yours—"
"No! no, no, no! That's not how it went." But flashes of Jess' pain stricken face, Sam on his back, pinned to the carpet and Dean laughing into his face…Sam bleeding, screaming no, Dean no…but it wasn't like that, he was sure…
Sam crawls up onto the bed and Dean cries out, broken bones and split flesh screaming in pain. "Yes, it was--just like that. And you know what I found out? That I liked it. That what you'd forced on me, I'd come to need, and Jess was just a poor, pale substitute…" Dean cringes when Sam's erection scrapes along his ass. He throws up, acid bile, swallows it down before Sam gets angry about messing up the pillows. Sam's hand walks up his spine, sending shivers spiraling through him and all he can think of is spiders. He remembers a motel room, air too hot, sheets kicked to the floor and Sam's hand tickling his back, and remembers loving it, laughing. Fuck, but he remembers Sam crying at his touch, voice high and childish, begging Dean not to, not to….
Sam's breath is hot against his shoulder, and he's promising Dean absolution. "You can have it like this, me, willingly. You don’t need to push. Maybe, if I do this the way I want to, we can lay it all to rest, and I can let you go."
Dean's heartbeat spikes at that. Hope nibbles at the corner of his brain. Maybe…maybe Sam's telling the truth, god, maybe Sam will kill him? Sam's breath roams over his shoulder, to the back of his neck, he mouths at the welts there, licks at the congealed blood. Dean tightens, and then, relaxes, a bit. It…it seems every spot Sam puts his tongue feels better….
Sam puts his mouth over a spot that the Doctor had placed a white hot piece of metal on. It had burned almost to the bone, leaving charred skin and peeling flesh behind. But when Sam touches the tip of his tongue to it, the pain, in fact the wound, vanishes. He laves long licks over it, and it feels—good. Better than good. Dean shakes. It would take too much to beg Sam to touch him elsewhere, touch the spot that's been peeled to the muscle, reach inside him and take out the bits of metal threaded through his muscle, stabbing him with every breath…Sam made him hurt, he can make it not hurt. All Dean has to do is…whatever it takes.
Sam asks him a few days later, "Remember when we went fishing, that time in Idaho?"
Dean remembers Sam standing in a little stream, hooks they'd cadged from somewhere set with rolled up balls of bread, him grinning at Dean, and how the sun had turned his little boy body into gold. He'd been smooth and sleek, all skinny limbs and paddle hands, and Dean had called him frog boy…but what Sam said happened next hadn't happened…he'd never touched Sam, never licked water off salty sun-warmed skin, never pried Sam's mouth open with his fingers, or pushed him to his knees on the bank…that was wrong, had never happened, it was a lie, or… a, a, false memory.
Wasn't it? He was sure. Pretty sure.
He quivered with the memory, it ate at him, gnawed into his brain, and the Doctor whispered in his ear, "I can fix that."
Three words that made Dean arch and scream on the table he was strapped to. Three words that always brought the end of the world.
"Shh, shhh, I mean that there are some pains I'll take away…I can take that one. But if I do, there'll be a price…a small price, I'm sure you can bear it."
Dean wants it, fuck the price, whatever it is. He just wants these thoughts to stop. Doesn't ask himself why the Doctor would do anything for him without Sam's permission. He's beyond that, the pain and guilt and sorrow are eating him alive
The Doctor is as good as his word. He does something to Dean's head, and it takes that Idaho summer away. Another day, it takes a winter in Colorado, he loses a week in Newark, Delaware and a few days around a hunt that Dad and he had taken to bring them close to Palo Alto. He loses a whole year, and it had been a good one because Sam had been happy, they'd stayed in one place long enough for him to make friends, co-own a dog with a goofy neighbor—there'd been a lot of laughter that year, a lot of good things. At least until Sam had shown him the flip side, the memories Sam claims he'd buried--the tears in the night, Sam begging Dean not to touch him, please, okay, not tonight, tomorrow, I promise, I'll suck you off tomorrow Dean, I won't cry when you fuck me….
Dean asks the Doctor to take that one and to make it hurt bad when he does.
five
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(Anonymous) 2011-08-16 11:32 am (UTC)(link)-------------------------------------------------------------
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I love *both* these characters. I wouldn't present one of them in a horrible light unless there was a reason, in terms of the story.
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I like how you have written him. Not Sam, but still the bond between Sam & Dean is still there. You can see in the way he won't leave Dean alone. Because he can feel the bond, but doesn't understand it.
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Thanks so much! Your comment made me happy. :)
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