SpN: Come The Night, 11/?
9/13/11 12:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Come The Night
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean, Dean/Angel, brief Dean/OFC
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: 2193
Spoilers: oblique reference to events in s5
Summary: this is (now) an extremely 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: rape, dubious consent, extreme power imbalance. Some scenes are graphic. Feel free to ask if you'd like more info.
one ~ two
three ~ four ~ five
six ~ seven
eight ~ nine
ten
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a_random_mess
PART THREE: The Floating Cities
What comes sailing through the ocean of grass is purely impossible.
1
They make their way into the hills, where the mines are. Angel claims it'll only be a few days of hiking but drinking brackish water and living off the greasy, gritty, proto-energy bars is making Dean want to straight up commit murder.
Sooner than he expects, they come up on a mining camp. From what he can see, it pretty much looks like the place they'd just come from—like the set of an old movie. Dean sweeps the area, noting that it looks a tight community, thriving. It's set up in a circle, and Dean's willing to bet that the whole camp's a Solomon's Seal. There are cabins, what's probably a meeting hall, and judging by the sound--a school. It doesn't look like a bunch of humans hanging on by the skin of their teeth—this place is healthy and growing and it might be because it's sitting on enough iron that it's freely available to loop all over the stockade fence that surrounds the camp.
Angel leads him up to the fence, twice Dean's height, and they wait by a gate. Doesn’t take a second or two before a man on horseback rides up, looking mildly curious. These are people who consider themselves to be damn safe, Dean thinks, and they probably are, considering the amount of iron around them.
Angel waves and takes a few steps forward. The man nods, makes a show of laying his hands on the shotgun across his lap, bites down on the cigarette pressed between his lips. He sucks in, blows a ring out and gives them both an x-ray quality up and down. "Christe, gents, out and about?" he says, and watches them carefully.
Angel waves again. "Christe, bru, nomine Dei. Tryin' to catch up with the Floaters."
Dean copies Angel, being sure to say "Christe," the exact way the kid does, keeping his eyes wide and locked on the stranger's. The man on horseback waves his shotgun and holsters it, and then turns a curious eye on the two of them, like now that he's established they're not demons he can take the time to be sociable.
"Name's Walt. Well, come on in, you ate yet?
"I'm Angel, this guy here's Dean. And no sir, but we sure would like to."
"Lucky you, we're about to have dinner now. So. You ones wanting to catch up with the Floaters?"
Angel nods, and Dean does too after a moment. Walt dismounts and bangs on the gate, and the big doors open wide. He jerks his chin forward, and Angel hurries to catch up. Sure enough, the kid has his hands all over the horse, talking a mile a minute to the damn thing, and the horse seems fine with it. Walt looks over his shoulder at Dean with a little smirk on his face and Dean has the feeling his expression was altogether too fond.
~o0o~
The mining camp's a lot like what Dean's seen on movies, even more of sort of a western air than the Out Towns. The Out Towns had technology that if it wasn't the same as what he'd been used to, was pretty close. This encampment had none of that. There are more horses in town, and none of those boxes on pole tops or screens hanging on the walls…and there are kids, lots of kids running all over the place and none of them looked too thin or kind of grimy or were too quiet or too loud. Not a single one of them have that sad, pinched look around the eyes that Sam used to have when he was a kid--like Angel's do.
They have a pretty darn good dinner, and to pay the town back, Angel hands out a few leather thongs that carry worked iron designs, pentagrams, and sigils designed for protection, pretty common designs but even Dean can tell the work is exceptional. Wearing iron was common; a lot of the people in the camp wore pendants made of crossed iron horse nails, wrapped in red thread or with blue or green beads wired to them. Dean remembers his dad wearing a charm like that; he wore one for a long, long time. There'd been a similar thing hanging from the impala's rear view when he was a kid. The miners were pleased with the pendants though—Dean figures they didn't have the means or the craft to work designs as intricate or as delicate as the Out Town pendants.
They stock up on dried meats and fruit that the miners offer them for more of the pendants, and to sweeten the pot, Dean teaches them a few rare but pretty basic exorcisms that Sam had unearthed in those last days, fast and dirty ones, nothing like the elegant exorcisms Sam used to chant when the beasts were tied down with rope and seal. Still, quick and grimy's better than nothing and good enough to hold a demon at bay until silver or iron shot came into play—Dean makes sure they understand that's the extent of their power, but the miners seem grateful enough anyway.
Come full dark and after the bonfire in the center square has almost died down completely, Angel leads him to a small one room cabin at the rear of the camp. "This is where they put up strangers for the night. They get a bit of traffic when the Cities start to come into the grass land," Angel explains and Dean gets how visitors would be welcome in a walled-in community like this.
When they step over the threshold, Dean's instinct is to look down. He heaves a small contented sigh. There's iron inlaid in the cabin floor, it runs along the perimeter of the place, nice work. He'd bet there was salt washed over the floor and laid in the sills too. He looks upward on a hunch and yeah, just like Bobby's, there's a pentagram painted on the ceiling. He smiles—just like home, though the smile dims a bit when he sees only one bed. Not a narrow bed but still…he glances at the floor.
Angel snorts. "You can sleep on the floor if you want. Me, I'm in the bed." He strips down and hops in the bed like they've been doing it forever. Dean stares, shrugs and strips down too. Angel's turned toward the wall, presenting his back to Dean.
Dean stops, hands on his hips, just…looking at a sight familiar…and not. Angel's back is long, lean, with shoulder blades that press against his thin skin like they want to break through, and the slight curve he's bowed himself into shows off every knob of his spine. It's sweet, and it's sad, Dean thinks. At his age, muscle should be covering his knobby bones, but he's this slender wand of a thing, skinnier even than Sam was at this age. Too much running, too much worrying and not enough food. Not enough comfort. Shit, it's no wonder Angel's such a little bitch—he's got to protect himself in some way, and attitude seems to be all he has. Dean decides he can't wait for some fabulous market place, some traveling WalMart, to get a gun. He needs to be armed, the sooner the better, and it's a sure bet someone here'd be willing to trade a gun for…more pendants, or knowledge. Decides as soon as he gets his hands on a gun, he's going to give the kid lessons. It was a great way to build self-confidence. Worked like a charm for him…didn't do a fucking thing for Sammy. Well, not until Dean had figured out a system of reward that Sam took to. The memory pulls a little smile out of him, a curl of heat deep inside…he looks at Angel: thin, breakable, fragile, Angel….
The world slips a little sideways and suddenly he's seeing Sam—but a Sam that was taking him apart and accusing him of rape, of taking Sam's trust and destroying it, setting fire to his soul. This Sam doesn't cup his cheek and smile, this Sam's cutting him into ragged cubes and feeding him his own flesh—
Damn it. Dean snaps back to now, back in the little wooden shack, his sides heaving, cold, greasy, sweat blooming all over him, dripping down his chin…"mother fucker…."
He forces his breathing into a normal rhythm, then climbs into the bed. The sheets are surprisingly soft, and the blankets a soft weight too—comforting. He blinks his eyes, wondering if sleep will come when suddenly Angel sighs and shifts backwards, ends up plastered to Dean's front, and his heat is so intense, so comforting, that Dean's drifting away before he even knows it, not really aware that his arm comes up and circles Angel's bony chest.
~o0o~
There are dreams about Sam but they're all good, innocent dreams…he dreams about Sam and him fishing in a river using bits of balled up bread for bait. They don't catch anything--they never did. Sam sits on the bank, and makes up stories, hands waving and eyebrows dancing, stories that have Dean so fascinated he begs him for one after the other. In the dream, just as it happened in real life, Sam beams with pride and keeps spinning tales. In the dream, Sam finishes his tale with, 'You're like the best big brother ever, Dean,' and Dean answers him, 'You're so freakin' smart, Sam. Wish I was, too--' and Sam says, eyes big and dark, 'You are, Dean, you really are, s'why I love you so much….'
Dean smiles in his sleep...but then, his dream does that little sideways shift and suddenly something comes out of the sun. Dean freezes, his mouth won't work, he wants to tell Sam to run, whatever it is, is bad for him, really bad. He manages to turn his head towards his brother and the little boy is gone, in his place is Sam. Grown Sam, man Sam, and he's burning with rage. Hatred pours off him in waves, and he reaches out for Dean.
'I'm going to find you and when I do…' his hand skirts Dean's shoulder and it's like the bone explodes inside it, like his blood is boiling and the skin splits and rolls off and bits of bone fly out of the cooking meat…'I'll make you feel like this all the time. Remember?'
And he does, it comes back in waves, rolling over him, taking him to bits. Reducing him to nothing and when the wave rolls back, Dean is gone and there's only roach, Master's roach. The thing from out of the sun makes Sam go away, takes roach and pulls him close and whispers something. It takes a moment before roach hears it, eventually Roach feels warm hands put his shoulder back together, and hears a voice tell him, 'you lived through this. You'll live though it and bring your brother back. Correct my terrible mistake.'
'I'm alone,' Roach cries out and Castiel says 'no, you're never alone,' and Dean snorts. 'What, I gotta angel on my shoulder?' and Cas smiles, wraps his arms around Dean and lays his head on his shoulder, presses warm dry lips to the smooth flesh and says, 'yes.'
~o0o~
Dean wakes up with a shout, finds Angel's already got his hands on him, shaking him. For a couple of screwy seconds, Dean thinks he's in South Dakota, under the eaves of Bobby's house, and Sam's trying to wake him from a nightmare of burning.
"You okay? You awake now?" A soft hand cups his cheek, so big it wraps him from temple to neck. Dean leans into it for a precious second; he lets everything go and just leans into it.
"Okay? Okay now, bru?" The hand sweeps over his forehead, rubbing right down to the back of his neck, digging up under his hair and rubbing out the tense knots of muscle at the base of his skull.
Dean tries to lift his head from Angel's shoulder, but if feels too good—he gives it up and sighs. "God. How do you know how to do that?"
Angel laughs. "Experience, bru."
Dean nods, sighs. "Yeah. But…only my dad and my brother knew to do that. Man, it puts me right out, man. S'nice. You do it good…" He heaves another sigh, and tries to work up the strength to move.
Angel works his knuckles over the back of Dean's neck again, and says, "I don't mind doing it…besides, gotta get my sleep too. Can't have you wakin' me up and shit."
Dean smiles against Angel's shoulder, can feel the heat of a blush work its way over his skin. Someone's got a crush, he thinks. It's kind of cute, but Dean reminds himself to be sure not to add fuel to the flames. Falls asleep and in his sleep, totally violates his vow…Angel's wrapped up in his arms, with Dean's mouth soft and wet on the back of his neck, Dean's knee between his…Dean's contented sigh drifting in the air.
12
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean, Dean/Angel, brief Dean/OFC
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: 2193
Spoilers: oblique reference to events in s5
Summary: this is (now) an extremely 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: rape, dubious consent, extreme power imbalance. Some scenes are graphic. Feel free to ask if you'd like more info.
one ~ two
three ~ four ~ five
six ~ seven
eight ~ nine
ten
icon by
fragilecat@a_random_messPART THREE: The Floating Cities
They make their way into the hills, where the mines are. Angel claims it'll only be a few days of hiking but drinking brackish water and living off the greasy, gritty, proto-energy bars is making Dean want to straight up commit murder.
Sooner than he expects, they come up on a mining camp. From what he can see, it pretty much looks like the place they'd just come from—like the set of an old movie. Dean sweeps the area, noting that it looks a tight community, thriving. It's set up in a circle, and Dean's willing to bet that the whole camp's a Solomon's Seal. There are cabins, what's probably a meeting hall, and judging by the sound--a school. It doesn't look like a bunch of humans hanging on by the skin of their teeth—this place is healthy and growing and it might be because it's sitting on enough iron that it's freely available to loop all over the stockade fence that surrounds the camp.
Angel leads him up to the fence, twice Dean's height, and they wait by a gate. Doesn’t take a second or two before a man on horseback rides up, looking mildly curious. These are people who consider themselves to be damn safe, Dean thinks, and they probably are, considering the amount of iron around them.
Angel waves and takes a few steps forward. The man nods, makes a show of laying his hands on the shotgun across his lap, bites down on the cigarette pressed between his lips. He sucks in, blows a ring out and gives them both an x-ray quality up and down. "Christe, gents, out and about?" he says, and watches them carefully.
Angel waves again. "Christe, bru, nomine Dei. Tryin' to catch up with the Floaters."
Dean copies Angel, being sure to say "Christe," the exact way the kid does, keeping his eyes wide and locked on the stranger's. The man on horseback waves his shotgun and holsters it, and then turns a curious eye on the two of them, like now that he's established they're not demons he can take the time to be sociable.
"Name's Walt. Well, come on in, you ate yet?
"I'm Angel, this guy here's Dean. And no sir, but we sure would like to."
"Lucky you, we're about to have dinner now. So. You ones wanting to catch up with the Floaters?"
Angel nods, and Dean does too after a moment. Walt dismounts and bangs on the gate, and the big doors open wide. He jerks his chin forward, and Angel hurries to catch up. Sure enough, the kid has his hands all over the horse, talking a mile a minute to the damn thing, and the horse seems fine with it. Walt looks over his shoulder at Dean with a little smirk on his face and Dean has the feeling his expression was altogether too fond.
The mining camp's a lot like what Dean's seen on movies, even more of sort of a western air than the Out Towns. The Out Towns had technology that if it wasn't the same as what he'd been used to, was pretty close. This encampment had none of that. There are more horses in town, and none of those boxes on pole tops or screens hanging on the walls…and there are kids, lots of kids running all over the place and none of them looked too thin or kind of grimy or were too quiet or too loud. Not a single one of them have that sad, pinched look around the eyes that Sam used to have when he was a kid--like Angel's do.
They have a pretty darn good dinner, and to pay the town back, Angel hands out a few leather thongs that carry worked iron designs, pentagrams, and sigils designed for protection, pretty common designs but even Dean can tell the work is exceptional. Wearing iron was common; a lot of the people in the camp wore pendants made of crossed iron horse nails, wrapped in red thread or with blue or green beads wired to them. Dean remembers his dad wearing a charm like that; he wore one for a long, long time. There'd been a similar thing hanging from the impala's rear view when he was a kid. The miners were pleased with the pendants though—Dean figures they didn't have the means or the craft to work designs as intricate or as delicate as the Out Town pendants.
They stock up on dried meats and fruit that the miners offer them for more of the pendants, and to sweeten the pot, Dean teaches them a few rare but pretty basic exorcisms that Sam had unearthed in those last days, fast and dirty ones, nothing like the elegant exorcisms Sam used to chant when the beasts were tied down with rope and seal. Still, quick and grimy's better than nothing and good enough to hold a demon at bay until silver or iron shot came into play—Dean makes sure they understand that's the extent of their power, but the miners seem grateful enough anyway.
Come full dark and after the bonfire in the center square has almost died down completely, Angel leads him to a small one room cabin at the rear of the camp. "This is where they put up strangers for the night. They get a bit of traffic when the Cities start to come into the grass land," Angel explains and Dean gets how visitors would be welcome in a walled-in community like this.
When they step over the threshold, Dean's instinct is to look down. He heaves a small contented sigh. There's iron inlaid in the cabin floor, it runs along the perimeter of the place, nice work. He'd bet there was salt washed over the floor and laid in the sills too. He looks upward on a hunch and yeah, just like Bobby's, there's a pentagram painted on the ceiling. He smiles—just like home, though the smile dims a bit when he sees only one bed. Not a narrow bed but still…he glances at the floor.
Angel snorts. "You can sleep on the floor if you want. Me, I'm in the bed." He strips down and hops in the bed like they've been doing it forever. Dean stares, shrugs and strips down too. Angel's turned toward the wall, presenting his back to Dean.
Dean stops, hands on his hips, just…looking at a sight familiar…and not. Angel's back is long, lean, with shoulder blades that press against his thin skin like they want to break through, and the slight curve he's bowed himself into shows off every knob of his spine. It's sweet, and it's sad, Dean thinks. At his age, muscle should be covering his knobby bones, but he's this slender wand of a thing, skinnier even than Sam was at this age. Too much running, too much worrying and not enough food. Not enough comfort. Shit, it's no wonder Angel's such a little bitch—he's got to protect himself in some way, and attitude seems to be all he has. Dean decides he can't wait for some fabulous market place, some traveling WalMart, to get a gun. He needs to be armed, the sooner the better, and it's a sure bet someone here'd be willing to trade a gun for…more pendants, or knowledge. Decides as soon as he gets his hands on a gun, he's going to give the kid lessons. It was a great way to build self-confidence. Worked like a charm for him…didn't do a fucking thing for Sammy. Well, not until Dean had figured out a system of reward that Sam took to. The memory pulls a little smile out of him, a curl of heat deep inside…he looks at Angel: thin, breakable, fragile, Angel….
The world slips a little sideways and suddenly he's seeing Sam—but a Sam that was taking him apart and accusing him of rape, of taking Sam's trust and destroying it, setting fire to his soul. This Sam doesn't cup his cheek and smile, this Sam's cutting him into ragged cubes and feeding him his own flesh—
Damn it. Dean snaps back to now, back in the little wooden shack, his sides heaving, cold, greasy, sweat blooming all over him, dripping down his chin…"mother fucker…."
He forces his breathing into a normal rhythm, then climbs into the bed. The sheets are surprisingly soft, and the blankets a soft weight too—comforting. He blinks his eyes, wondering if sleep will come when suddenly Angel sighs and shifts backwards, ends up plastered to Dean's front, and his heat is so intense, so comforting, that Dean's drifting away before he even knows it, not really aware that his arm comes up and circles Angel's bony chest.
There are dreams about Sam but they're all good, innocent dreams…he dreams about Sam and him fishing in a river using bits of balled up bread for bait. They don't catch anything--they never did. Sam sits on the bank, and makes up stories, hands waving and eyebrows dancing, stories that have Dean so fascinated he begs him for one after the other. In the dream, just as it happened in real life, Sam beams with pride and keeps spinning tales. In the dream, Sam finishes his tale with, 'You're like the best big brother ever, Dean,' and Dean answers him, 'You're so freakin' smart, Sam. Wish I was, too--' and Sam says, eyes big and dark, 'You are, Dean, you really are, s'why I love you so much….'
Dean smiles in his sleep...but then, his dream does that little sideways shift and suddenly something comes out of the sun. Dean freezes, his mouth won't work, he wants to tell Sam to run, whatever it is, is bad for him, really bad. He manages to turn his head towards his brother and the little boy is gone, in his place is Sam. Grown Sam, man Sam, and he's burning with rage. Hatred pours off him in waves, and he reaches out for Dean.
'I'm going to find you and when I do…' his hand skirts Dean's shoulder and it's like the bone explodes inside it, like his blood is boiling and the skin splits and rolls off and bits of bone fly out of the cooking meat…'I'll make you feel like this all the time. Remember?'
And he does, it comes back in waves, rolling over him, taking him to bits. Reducing him to nothing and when the wave rolls back, Dean is gone and there's only roach, Master's roach. The thing from out of the sun makes Sam go away, takes roach and pulls him close and whispers something. It takes a moment before roach hears it, eventually Roach feels warm hands put his shoulder back together, and hears a voice tell him, 'you lived through this. You'll live though it and bring your brother back. Correct my terrible mistake.'
'I'm alone,' Roach cries out and Castiel says 'no, you're never alone,' and Dean snorts. 'What, I gotta angel on my shoulder?' and Cas smiles, wraps his arms around Dean and lays his head on his shoulder, presses warm dry lips to the smooth flesh and says, 'yes.'
Dean wakes up with a shout, finds Angel's already got his hands on him, shaking him. For a couple of screwy seconds, Dean thinks he's in South Dakota, under the eaves of Bobby's house, and Sam's trying to wake him from a nightmare of burning.
"You okay? You awake now?" A soft hand cups his cheek, so big it wraps him from temple to neck. Dean leans into it for a precious second; he lets everything go and just leans into it.
"Okay? Okay now, bru?" The hand sweeps over his forehead, rubbing right down to the back of his neck, digging up under his hair and rubbing out the tense knots of muscle at the base of his skull.
Dean tries to lift his head from Angel's shoulder, but if feels too good—he gives it up and sighs. "God. How do you know how to do that?"
Angel laughs. "Experience, bru."
Dean nods, sighs. "Yeah. But…only my dad and my brother knew to do that. Man, it puts me right out, man. S'nice. You do it good…" He heaves another sigh, and tries to work up the strength to move.
Angel works his knuckles over the back of Dean's neck again, and says, "I don't mind doing it…besides, gotta get my sleep too. Can't have you wakin' me up and shit."
Dean smiles against Angel's shoulder, can feel the heat of a blush work its way over his skin. Someone's got a crush, he thinks. It's kind of cute, but Dean reminds himself to be sure not to add fuel to the flames. Falls asleep and in his sleep, totally violates his vow…Angel's wrapped up in his arms, with Dean's mouth soft and wet on the back of his neck, Dean's knee between his…Dean's contented sigh drifting in the air.
12
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(no subject)
9/17/11 12:10 pm (UTC)...except, ya know, not...at least not without intensive training, preferably from the eldest Winchester. I bet he could figure out a reward system I could work with, IF ya know what I mean, nudge nudge wink wink.