FIC: What Once Was And Now Is
Title: What Once Was And Now Is
AUTHOR: Demona
SUMMARY: There are subtle differences between how they once were and how they are now.
RATING: FR21 - M/F/M pairing - slight wincest
NOTES: Set post "Chosen" and post "All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 2"
SPOILER WARNING: Spoilers through the end of Season Two for Supernatural
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters in Buffy the Vampire Slayer and/or Angel the Series, they belong to Fox, the WB/UPN, Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. The characters of Supernatural belong to Eric Kripke, the CW, etc. The ideas and concepts in this story are mine entirely. Please do not copy or take this story without my permission.
Written for spn_btvs's weekly challenge:
Challenge #9 - Prompt: Dean/Dawn/Sam - Learning Curve - NC17. Written as a member of team_hellfire.
She never knew when he would show up and for how long he’d end up staying. It was part of what attracted her to him. And it didn’t hurt that he was great in bed. She knew there were others on the road. She’d have to be too naïve and stupid to think otherwise. But they never saw him twice; they never got to spend the night or wake up to his morning breath. And she isn’t jealous, has no right to be as she’s just like him.
Her cell phone wakes her in the middle of the night. It isn’t unusual, in fact it’s pretty par for the course, but the name flashing is a change. She clears her throat, trying to get her voice back, and flips the phone open.
“How close are you?” she answers, voice rough with sleep. He’ll know he woke her, and probably feel guilty about it, but he wouldn’t call at this hour to chat.
“Outside your front door,” his voice is tired and raw as he replies.
“Give me a sec.” She flips her phone shut. It’s an effort to push her covers back and crawl out of the warm cocoon of her bed. She pads gently down the cool hardwood floors of her apartment, running a hand over her face and through her hair. Her hair is in a sad state and she has no desire to catch a glimpse of herself in a mirror.
She places her hand over the protection rune carved into the door and temporarily removes the spell. After a faint glow pulses under her hand, she moves onto the actual deadbolts. She pulls the door open, the smile already sliding onto her face at the thought of seeing Dean again.
Dean’s hovering just outside the door in her hallway when she spots him. He’s got a fresh cut on his forehead, complete with a spreading bruise. He’s not alone though and she’s a little thrown. He’s never brought anyone with him before, not even his father. As far as she knew, no one in his family knew anything about her. The brown-haired guy with him looks back at her, after he gets done scanning the hall, and her heart stops beating. The pieces fall together, presenting Dawn with the whole picture, and making her wish she had put it all together before. Dean Winchester talked about his little brother Sam, off away at college. She stares at Sam, who’s clearly just as gob-smacked as she is, and forces herself to look back at Dean.
“Hello Dean,” she greets him, her voice unwavering despite the flip-flop of her stomach and the blood racing through her veins. She’s suddenly aware of the tiny, ratty tanktop and bikini underwear that she’s wearing. They’d have been fine for just Dean, but now she’s self-conscious and fighting not to cover herself up.
“Dawn,” her name is a greeting, an absolution, a total sigh of relief. He offers her a smile, not as confident and cocky as last time. Something knocked him down a peg or two. “You mind if we crash here?” Dean asks her after a moment’s pause.
She steps back, silently allowing them entry into her home. Sam’s tall, taller than she remembers, and really uneasy as he follows Dean inside. She takes her time, relocking the deadbolts and resetting her protection spell. And she gives herself an extra moment to take the few deep breaths she needs to calm herself down. When she turns back around they are waiting patiently for a place to put their bags down.
“I have a queen in the guest bedroom and the couch. That’s the best I can do for you,” Dawn offers them as she points out both options. They both nod and come to a decision from a silent conversation. The need to flee, to bury herself under her comforter and hide from the two men in her entranceway is overriding her hospitality. Dean’ll understand, and Sam…well he doesn’t look like he wants to talk about anything right now either. “I’ll see you two in the morning,” she finishes and gives Dean a questioning look.
“We’ll be fine. Thanks.” The word of gratitude is almost inaudible. But Dawn knows Dean and knows when to listen.
Dawn’s not surprised to find salt lining all the doors and windows throughout the apartment, hers included, when she wakes the following morning. The couch doesn’t look touched and she’s only a little confused.
Sam’s in the kitchen, fiddling with her temperamental coffee machine. His sweats are slung low on his hips and its apparent he’s not wearing any underwear. There’s a fresh pink scar on his spine. It wasn’t there the last time she saw him shirtless. Dawn’s seen enough battle wounds to know this one’s serious.
“I didn’t hear you get up,” Sam’s voice breaks through the silence of the kitchen.
“You never did,” she replies, a small smile ghosting across her face. The past is the past. She’s still in shock over the fact that Hot!Sam from Stanford is standing in her kitchen. And the fact that he’s Dean Winchester’s little brother has her freaking out on the inside and her mind racing with exactly how this is all going to play out. “So, one of you boys is going to have to take the Dirt Devil and suck up all this salt. My bedroom window sill is not to be confused with a margarita glass,” Dawn adds, trying to lighten the mood and ease some of the tension that’s making it hard to breathe.
He gives up attempting to work with the coffee machine with a frustrated sigh and turns, leaning a hip back against the counter as he faces her. “It was Dean. I didn’t go into your bedroom.” Sam’s quick response has her genuinely smiling. The boy’s seen her naked, been inside her, and he’s stammering over not going into her bedroom.
“Move over and I’ll get that started.” Dawn moves forward toward the coffee maker, crowding into Sam’s space. She’s expecting him to move, to flinch away from her, but instead he stays where he is. She can’t help but notice that he’s ripped. He was cut before, but he’s bulked up, filled out, grown into his height and himself. Dawn has to put a lot of effort into not staring at him as he stands next to her, close enough that she can feel his body heat.
“Dean knows,” Sam’s voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, when he confesses. There is a hard lump forming in Dawn’s throat as she looks up at him. The nerves must show on her face because he immediately shakes his head. “He’s fine with it. Too fine if you want to know the truth,” he quickly assures her, muttering the last part. “He knew something was up from the way we both acted last night.”
“Well excuse me for being shocked when Dean shows up with his little brother Sam, who turns out to be Stanford Sam! So’d you two compare notes?”
“No. He just made a smart ass comment about it being a small world.” He shifts slightly, not moving away, but changing the angle between them. “Question is, did you compare notes?” he asks.
The clatter of coffee beans spilling out across the counter is answer enough for him.
Sam’s hands are rough like Dean’s now. Calluses formed from his work, the hunt: the guns, knives, shovels, and even the books. Tiny papercuts line his fingers because while Dean’s good with research Sam’s better. They slide up her face, fingers spreading out to span her face, slipping into her hair as he tugs on her bottom lip. His tongue darts out to lick into her mouth. Dawn can’t help but moan, which Sam greedily swallows. He kisses like she’s the air he needs to breathe.
She slides her hand down his sweat-slick back, fingertips ghosting across the pink scar on his spine. The touch produces a small shudder from Sam.
“Dawn,” he breathes into her mouth, and thrusts harder into her.
A hand covers hers, guides her fingertips over the jagged scar tissue of the wound that once upon a time ended Sam’s life. She forces herself to break away from Sam’s mouth and focus on Dean. He’s on the bed beside them, leaning on one bent arm, watching as Sam slides in and out of Dawn. His cock is hard, flushed red and angry, as the tip leaks precome as it curls up against his stomach.
“Dean,” Dawn’s voice is ragged as it escapes her. His eyes hesitate only a moment before sliding up their bodies to reach Dawn’s face. He scoots closer, pressing his body against theirs. The head of his penis leaves a slick trail against her hip as Sam moves into her.
Dean slides a hand between them, fingers walking from her hipbone up her ribs to her breast where his fingers twist around her nipple. It’s just hard enough to cause pain. He continues to twist and pull on her nipple, watching her face to let him know if he’s going too far. Dawn can feel her orgasm starting, building even as Sam shifts his weight and slides a hand down between them. She can feel him as his fingers slide around where their bodies connect, before he moves onto her clit.
All it takes is a few flicks of his thumb against her oversensitive clit, a hard twist of her hardened nipple, and she’s coming. She throws her head back against the pillow, back arching up pushing Sam further inside her, as she keens. He continues moving, working her through it as the spasms run through her body, clamping down on him. Her body sags back against the mattress and the damp sheets as the last of her orgasm ripples through her. Two sets of eyes are watching her with rapt fascination and she offers a worn out, well-fucked smile. It’s enough for them.
Sam offers her a smile in return before ducking his head and crushing his lips against Dean’s. Dean’s hips snap against Dawn’s hip as their mouths crash together above her. Sam’s still thrusting into her, working his way toward his own climax.
Dean breaks the kiss, moving up and behind Sam, leaning over so he can trace Sam’s scar with the tip of his tongue. That’s all it takes; Sam’s hips drive forward and he buries himself deep inside Dawn as he comes.
Dawn’s not surprised to find her bed empty the following morning, it seems Dean’s been teaching Sam a thing or two. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. The packed duffel bag landing at the foot of her bed, just in her field of vision, has her jumping and swearing.
“Get up princess, you’re coming with us,” Dean calmly states as he watches her carefully.
It only takes a moment because Dawn knows Dean, and she knows how to read between the lines.
Continue to the third story of the The Road to Hell verse: A Way With Words. The second story hasn't been written yet.
AUTHOR: Demona
SUMMARY: There are subtle differences between how they once were and how they are now.
RATING: FR21 - M/F/M pairing - slight wincest
NOTES: Set post "Chosen" and post "All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 2"
SPOILER WARNING: Spoilers through the end of Season Two for Supernatural
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters in Buffy the Vampire Slayer and/or Angel the Series, they belong to Fox, the WB/UPN, Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. The characters of Supernatural belong to Eric Kripke, the CW, etc. The ideas and concepts in this story are mine entirely. Please do not copy or take this story without my permission.
Written for spn_btvs's weekly challenge:
Challenge #9 - Prompt: Dean/Dawn/Sam - Learning Curve - NC17. Written as a member of team_hellfire.
She never knew when he would show up and for how long he’d end up staying. It was part of what attracted her to him. And it didn’t hurt that he was great in bed. She knew there were others on the road. She’d have to be too naïve and stupid to think otherwise. But they never saw him twice; they never got to spend the night or wake up to his morning breath. And she isn’t jealous, has no right to be as she’s just like him.
Her cell phone wakes her in the middle of the night. It isn’t unusual, in fact it’s pretty par for the course, but the name flashing is a change. She clears her throat, trying to get her voice back, and flips the phone open.
“How close are you?” she answers, voice rough with sleep. He’ll know he woke her, and probably feel guilty about it, but he wouldn’t call at this hour to chat.
“Outside your front door,” his voice is tired and raw as he replies.
“Give me a sec.” She flips her phone shut. It’s an effort to push her covers back and crawl out of the warm cocoon of her bed. She pads gently down the cool hardwood floors of her apartment, running a hand over her face and through her hair. Her hair is in a sad state and she has no desire to catch a glimpse of herself in a mirror.
She places her hand over the protection rune carved into the door and temporarily removes the spell. After a faint glow pulses under her hand, she moves onto the actual deadbolts. She pulls the door open, the smile already sliding onto her face at the thought of seeing Dean again.
Dean’s hovering just outside the door in her hallway when she spots him. He’s got a fresh cut on his forehead, complete with a spreading bruise. He’s not alone though and she’s a little thrown. He’s never brought anyone with him before, not even his father. As far as she knew, no one in his family knew anything about her. The brown-haired guy with him looks back at her, after he gets done scanning the hall, and her heart stops beating. The pieces fall together, presenting Dawn with the whole picture, and making her wish she had put it all together before. Dean Winchester talked about his little brother Sam, off away at college. She stares at Sam, who’s clearly just as gob-smacked as she is, and forces herself to look back at Dean.
“Hello Dean,” she greets him, her voice unwavering despite the flip-flop of her stomach and the blood racing through her veins. She’s suddenly aware of the tiny, ratty tanktop and bikini underwear that she’s wearing. They’d have been fine for just Dean, but now she’s self-conscious and fighting not to cover herself up.
“Dawn,” her name is a greeting, an absolution, a total sigh of relief. He offers her a smile, not as confident and cocky as last time. Something knocked him down a peg or two. “You mind if we crash here?” Dean asks her after a moment’s pause.
She steps back, silently allowing them entry into her home. Sam’s tall, taller than she remembers, and really uneasy as he follows Dean inside. She takes her time, relocking the deadbolts and resetting her protection spell. And she gives herself an extra moment to take the few deep breaths she needs to calm herself down. When she turns back around they are waiting patiently for a place to put their bags down.
“I have a queen in the guest bedroom and the couch. That’s the best I can do for you,” Dawn offers them as she points out both options. They both nod and come to a decision from a silent conversation. The need to flee, to bury herself under her comforter and hide from the two men in her entranceway is overriding her hospitality. Dean’ll understand, and Sam…well he doesn’t look like he wants to talk about anything right now either. “I’ll see you two in the morning,” she finishes and gives Dean a questioning look.
“We’ll be fine. Thanks.” The word of gratitude is almost inaudible. But Dawn knows Dean and knows when to listen.
Dawn’s not surprised to find salt lining all the doors and windows throughout the apartment, hers included, when she wakes the following morning. The couch doesn’t look touched and she’s only a little confused.
Sam’s in the kitchen, fiddling with her temperamental coffee machine. His sweats are slung low on his hips and its apparent he’s not wearing any underwear. There’s a fresh pink scar on his spine. It wasn’t there the last time she saw him shirtless. Dawn’s seen enough battle wounds to know this one’s serious.
“I didn’t hear you get up,” Sam’s voice breaks through the silence of the kitchen.
“You never did,” she replies, a small smile ghosting across her face. The past is the past. She’s still in shock over the fact that Hot!Sam from Stanford is standing in her kitchen. And the fact that he’s Dean Winchester’s little brother has her freaking out on the inside and her mind racing with exactly how this is all going to play out. “So, one of you boys is going to have to take the Dirt Devil and suck up all this salt. My bedroom window sill is not to be confused with a margarita glass,” Dawn adds, trying to lighten the mood and ease some of the tension that’s making it hard to breathe.
He gives up attempting to work with the coffee machine with a frustrated sigh and turns, leaning a hip back against the counter as he faces her. “It was Dean. I didn’t go into your bedroom.” Sam’s quick response has her genuinely smiling. The boy’s seen her naked, been inside her, and he’s stammering over not going into her bedroom.
“Move over and I’ll get that started.” Dawn moves forward toward the coffee maker, crowding into Sam’s space. She’s expecting him to move, to flinch away from her, but instead he stays where he is. She can’t help but notice that he’s ripped. He was cut before, but he’s bulked up, filled out, grown into his height and himself. Dawn has to put a lot of effort into not staring at him as he stands next to her, close enough that she can feel his body heat.
“Dean knows,” Sam’s voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, when he confesses. There is a hard lump forming in Dawn’s throat as she looks up at him. The nerves must show on her face because he immediately shakes his head. “He’s fine with it. Too fine if you want to know the truth,” he quickly assures her, muttering the last part. “He knew something was up from the way we both acted last night.”
“Well excuse me for being shocked when Dean shows up with his little brother Sam, who turns out to be Stanford Sam! So’d you two compare notes?”
“No. He just made a smart ass comment about it being a small world.” He shifts slightly, not moving away, but changing the angle between them. “Question is, did you compare notes?” he asks.
The clatter of coffee beans spilling out across the counter is answer enough for him.
Sam’s hands are rough like Dean’s now. Calluses formed from his work, the hunt: the guns, knives, shovels, and even the books. Tiny papercuts line his fingers because while Dean’s good with research Sam’s better. They slide up her face, fingers spreading out to span her face, slipping into her hair as he tugs on her bottom lip. His tongue darts out to lick into her mouth. Dawn can’t help but moan, which Sam greedily swallows. He kisses like she’s the air he needs to breathe.
She slides her hand down his sweat-slick back, fingertips ghosting across the pink scar on his spine. The touch produces a small shudder from Sam.
“Dawn,” he breathes into her mouth, and thrusts harder into her.
A hand covers hers, guides her fingertips over the jagged scar tissue of the wound that once upon a time ended Sam’s life. She forces herself to break away from Sam’s mouth and focus on Dean. He’s on the bed beside them, leaning on one bent arm, watching as Sam slides in and out of Dawn. His cock is hard, flushed red and angry, as the tip leaks precome as it curls up against his stomach.
“Dean,” Dawn’s voice is ragged as it escapes her. His eyes hesitate only a moment before sliding up their bodies to reach Dawn’s face. He scoots closer, pressing his body against theirs. The head of his penis leaves a slick trail against her hip as Sam moves into her.
Dean slides a hand between them, fingers walking from her hipbone up her ribs to her breast where his fingers twist around her nipple. It’s just hard enough to cause pain. He continues to twist and pull on her nipple, watching her face to let him know if he’s going too far. Dawn can feel her orgasm starting, building even as Sam shifts his weight and slides a hand down between them. She can feel him as his fingers slide around where their bodies connect, before he moves onto her clit.
All it takes is a few flicks of his thumb against her oversensitive clit, a hard twist of her hardened nipple, and she’s coming. She throws her head back against the pillow, back arching up pushing Sam further inside her, as she keens. He continues moving, working her through it as the spasms run through her body, clamping down on him. Her body sags back against the mattress and the damp sheets as the last of her orgasm ripples through her. Two sets of eyes are watching her with rapt fascination and she offers a worn out, well-fucked smile. It’s enough for them.
Sam offers her a smile in return before ducking his head and crushing his lips against Dean’s. Dean’s hips snap against Dawn’s hip as their mouths crash together above her. Sam’s still thrusting into her, working his way toward his own climax.
Dean breaks the kiss, moving up and behind Sam, leaning over so he can trace Sam’s scar with the tip of his tongue. That’s all it takes; Sam’s hips drive forward and he buries himself deep inside Dawn as he comes.
Dawn’s not surprised to find her bed empty the following morning, it seems Dean’s been teaching Sam a thing or two. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. The packed duffel bag landing at the foot of her bed, just in her field of vision, has her jumping and swearing.
“Get up princess, you’re coming with us,” Dean calmly states as he watches her carefully.
It only takes a moment because Dawn knows Dean, and she knows how to read between the lines.
Continue to the third story of the The Road to Hell verse: A Way With Words. The second story hasn't been written yet.