Contact 11/36
I figured since I said in my Sweet Charity description that you could find examples of my stories here, that I oughta actually, you know, put some of those stories here. So I'm making good on my threat of months back to move the rest of my stories over from ff.net. This isn't new. (And I have not abandoned An Ancient Pitch.)
Title: Contact 11/36
Author: Deanish
Rating: PG13
Length: 2,200 / 60,700 words
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam/Jess (but I'd still say it's more gen than het)
Summary: A 'what might have been.' What if the demon had stayed in hibernation for just a little longer?
Chapter 11
Dean jerked the chain of the handcuffs back and forth across the post, hoping against all reason that if he couldn’t saw through his bonds, he might be able to saw through the post.
He had to get loose.
The shapeshifter formerly known as Dean had produced another pair of cuffs for Sam. But instead of using them to reinforce the ropes, he’d untied the rope around Sam’s wrists and cuffed them in front of him, leaving the ropes around his torso to prevent escape.
Then the thing wearing Dean’s face wrapped a rope around Dean’s brother’s neck.
The shapeshifter took its time securing the knot, then jerked on the long tail he’d left like a leash at the end. It drew a strangled gasp from Sam that had Dean’s blood boiling.
“OK,” the shapeshifter said in Dean’s most reasonable tone. “I’m going to cut you loose. But I’ve got a pretty good grip on the rope around your neck, so I think we can agree that it’d be pointless for you to try and run. Still. I know what a very smart boy you are, Sammy. And you may be thinking that it’d be worth taking a chance. So let me just remind you that you’re not alone down here. And even if you were to get away without strangling yourself, you know who you’d be leaving behind.
“Do we have an understanding?”
Sam gave a careful nod of confirmation, but Dean knew it was bull. Sam knew better than to pass up a chance at escape. He’d have to leave Dean behind, but they both knew Dean stood a better chance of surviving with Sam out there than tied up in here. Leave no man behind was a pretty ideal, but one man left behind was better than two.
Sure enough, the second the ropes fell away, Sam was off. His legs were considerably longer than Dean’s double’s - ‘finally, a reason to be thankful I’m the short one’ - but the mutant hadn’t been lying about his grip on the rope.
Sam barreled away at full speed, presumably hoping to build up enough steam to rip the rope out of his captor’s hands. That probably made it hurt that much more when the shapeshifter held on.
Sam was on his back in seconds, and in even less time the shapeshifter was on top of him.
Dean strained against his bonds, frantically searching for some way to help his brother. But there was nothing. The shapeshifter landed two solid punches to Sam’s face before Sam was even able to get his hands up. And once he did get them up, they were of little use to him cuffed together.
Still, the shapeshifter couldn’t fight and hold onto the rope at the same time.
The next punch Sam blocked, and with a heave he threw the shapeshifter off of him. But the blows had obviously done their job; Sam was shaky and slower than he should have been getting to his feet. Just as he was starting to move in the direction of the entrance, the shapeshifter slammed a foot down on the cord trailing behind him, and Sam went down again.
This time, however, the shapeshifter didn’t bother tackling Sam. Instead, he tossed his end of the rope up and over one of the network of pipes in the ceiling and started pulling. Sam’s hands flew to his neck, trying to relieve the pressure as he slid backward, feet scrabbling against the slimy concrete floor for purchase. It wasn’t long before he thought to reach up and grab the rope above his head so that his arms - and not his neck - took the brunt of the force. But there was nothing he could do to stop the backward motion. Within moments, he was standing on tiptoe, face to face with the shapeshifter.
“Typical,” it said with Dean’s disgusted sneer. “Ungrateful little shit.”
And it launched a vicious backhand at Sam, leaving him teetering and gasping.
“You’d leave the brother who spent his life looking out for you behind without a single thought.” He shook his head.
“Hands down,” he commanded.
Sam didn’t obey immediately, and the shapeshifter’s foot shot out and swept Sam’s out from under him. He let Sam scramble for a moment before easing up on the rope so that Sam could regain his balance. Then he looked Sam in the eye and slowly repeated himself.”
“Hands. Down.”
Sam let go of the rope above his head and held out his wrists. While the mutant tied his end of the rope around the cuffs’ chain, Sam glanced back at Dean, apology written all over his bruised face. Dean didn’t know if it was for his failure to escape or for trying to in the first place.
He shook his head, hoping to indicate that neither was needed.
The shapeshifter noticed the exchange and evidently didn’t like it. He grabbed a fistful of Sam’s hair and wrenched the boy’s head back around. The other hand came up and grasped Sam’s chin, forcing him to meet the shapeshifter’s eyes.
“Don’t,” it hissed, “look at him.”
It held the glare for a moment, then stepped back to survey its handiwork. Sam’s arms were now suspended in front of him, with his elbows at about ear level. He was left standing painfully straight, balancing all his weight on the balls of his feet. Raising his arms eased the pull on his neck, but left him even more vulnerable to attack.
The shapeshifter smiled, obviously pleased.
“I don’t usually play this game with men,” it said. “It’s something about a woman’s scream. The begging. The fear in their eyes.” The shapeshifter’s eyes drifted closed, and its nostrils flared. Dean wanted to turn away.
Then it opened its eyes and leveled Dean’s gaze, Dean’s eyes, Dean’s sinister smile, at Dean’s little brother.
“But, then, I’ve never had the pleasure of an audience before,” it said. “I think we’ll still have a good time. And what big brother doesn’t want to show his sibling a good time?”
The shapeshifter began to circle Sam, and Dean could see his brother tense as it moved out of sight. That was probably all that kept Sam from losing his feet again when the blow came from behind - a sharp lash at Sam’s left ear.
Dean hurled curses around the gag, but the thing didn’t even spare him a glance until it was back in front of Sam.
Then it looked over and held Dean’s gaze while talking to his brother.
“You know, he’s sure got issues with you,” it said. “You got to go to college. He had to stay home.”
His eyes slid back to Sam.
“I mean, I had to stay home.”
It moved a short distance away to a duffle bag stashed in a corner.
“You don’t think I had dreams of my own?” it asked as it unpacked more rope.
“But Dad needed me.” A bundle of chain.
“So. You got friends.” Knives.
“You got a life.” Some kind of metal hook.
“Not to mention, Jessica.”
A pack of cigarettes and a lighter. A few strips of already-bloodied cloth. Dean’s gun.
“And I get an endless parade of motels and monsters.”
It tossed away the empty bag and surveyed the contents for a moment before turning back to Sam. It cocked Dean’s head in thought.
“No wonder I hate you so much.”
Dean did his best to make his disavowal of that statement known - he was so loud that he almost didn’t hear Sam’s reply.
“You don’t know Dean,” he said, his voice roughened by the day’s abuse. “He doesn’t hate me for that. Dean has exactly the life he wants.”
Dean would have been relieved, if it hadn’t been for the slight hint of defensive little brother in the words. The undertone told him that the accusation had hit home somewhere, though Sam was trying to hide it.
The shapeshifter may have heard it, too. He glanced over Sam’s shoulder at Dean and smirked for a moment before turning back to the tools. His hands brushed over all the choices before landing on the hook.
“I think you’re the one who doesn’t know your brother, Sammy,” he said as he made his way back. “For instance, remember last month when I was leaving and you and Jessica stood in the door of your apartment waving goodbye?”
He slipped the tip of the hook into Sam’s collar and pulled down, splitting the fabric of the T-shirt down the middle and leaving a thin trail of blood underneath.
“Want to know what I was really thinking when I smiled and drove away?”
He jerked the hook back up, stopping just as the point pressed into the underside of Sam’s chin. Dean could just make out the drops of red that welled up beneath it. He could see Sam’s jaw clench as he bit back his reaction to the pain.
Dean’s jaw clenched as well, but he wasn’t sure if it was the sight of his brother’s blood, or his fear of what the shapeshifter was about to say.
“I was thinking what a pathetic idiot you are for believing you and Jessica have a snowball’s chance in hell of ever working out.”
The mutant punctuated the statement by pulling back and swinging the hook into Sam’s face, missing his eye by only a fraction of an inch. But Dean suspected it was the words, as much as the blow, that sent Sam reeling. They had the same effect on Dean - their cruelty left Dean gasping for breath.
And the worst part was that he recognized them. The sentiment had crossed his mind more than once.
But he would never have expressed it to Sam, because he didn’t mean it. The shapeshifter’s words were true, but they weren’t the truth. Dean had thought the words, but he didn’t believe them. Refused to believe them. Would do anything in his power to make them false.
But Dean could yell himself hoarse without making that point, and the shapeshifter was still speaking with his voice.
“I’ve told you before and I’ll say it again,” it said. “You’re a freak. And no matter how many stories you feed her about your dad the CIA agent, at some point Jessica is going to figure that out. And a girl like that? What’s she going to want with a freak like you?”
Now he had the knife. He laid the edge horizontal against Sam’s chest. Dean could see Sam try and cringe away, but there was no where to go - any further, and he’d be hanging himself.
The shapeshifter slowly dragged the blade down across Sam’s belly, like a long, thick razor - but with more force than you’d use to shave. Dean saw a layer of skin replaced with blood.
Sam threw back his head, as much as he could, and hissed. But he held it together.
“You’re lying,” he croaked. But it sounded more like a hope than an accusation. The shapeshifter just looked up at him and tossed him Dean’s crooked smile before getting back to work.
“And you know what else?” He sliced through the sleeves of the T-shirt and it fell to the ground.
“I’m glad.”
He repeated the shaving motion up the underside of Sam’s right arm.
“I’m glad it’s not going to work out.”
Then up his left.
“Because you know why?”
And for this he stopped to look Sam in the eye.
“Because I don’t want you to be happy without me.”
If Dean were ever going to bring down that post, it would have been right then. He jerked so hard against the cuffs and the rope that he thought for a second he had pulled his shoulder out of socket.
He didn’t pull out the post or his shoulder. But he did finally manage to shrug his gag over his chin.
“Bastard!” he screamed, and his double looked over at him, surprised.
“Get the hell away from my brother, you son of a bitch!”
The shapeshifter just smiled at Dean, but Sam took advantage of its inattention. He swept the things legs out from under it, aimed a kick at its head when it went down and kept kicking.
After a few swings it stopped moving, but Dean knew it wasn’t dead. There was only one way to kill a shapeshifter.
Sam’s grunts of exertion changed to choking gasps, and Dean shifted his focus away from his double’s still body. Sam was working at untying the rope around the handcuff chain, but to do so, he was having to pull on the rope to get some slack and allow him to reach the knot. And that apparently meant going without air for a little while.
In the meantime, however, the shapeshifter was starting to twitch again.
“Sam,” Dean warned. “Hurry.”
By the time Sam fell to the ground, the shapeshifter was pushing itself up.
“Sam … ”
Gasping, Sam stumbled toward the corner where it had left Dean’s gun. The shapeshifter scrambled to grab the end of the rope, and Sam fell.
But he was within reach of the gun.
And a split second later, it was over.
Chapter 12
Title: Contact 11/36
Author: Deanish
Rating: PG13
Length: 2,200 / 60,700 words
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam/Jess (but I'd still say it's more gen than het)
Summary: A 'what might have been.' What if the demon had stayed in hibernation for just a little longer?
Chapter 11
Dean jerked the chain of the handcuffs back and forth across the post, hoping against all reason that if he couldn’t saw through his bonds, he might be able to saw through the post.
He had to get loose.
The shapeshifter formerly known as Dean had produced another pair of cuffs for Sam. But instead of using them to reinforce the ropes, he’d untied the rope around Sam’s wrists and cuffed them in front of him, leaving the ropes around his torso to prevent escape.
Then the thing wearing Dean’s face wrapped a rope around Dean’s brother’s neck.
The shapeshifter took its time securing the knot, then jerked on the long tail he’d left like a leash at the end. It drew a strangled gasp from Sam that had Dean’s blood boiling.
“OK,” the shapeshifter said in Dean’s most reasonable tone. “I’m going to cut you loose. But I’ve got a pretty good grip on the rope around your neck, so I think we can agree that it’d be pointless for you to try and run. Still. I know what a very smart boy you are, Sammy. And you may be thinking that it’d be worth taking a chance. So let me just remind you that you’re not alone down here. And even if you were to get away without strangling yourself, you know who you’d be leaving behind.
“Do we have an understanding?”
Sam gave a careful nod of confirmation, but Dean knew it was bull. Sam knew better than to pass up a chance at escape. He’d have to leave Dean behind, but they both knew Dean stood a better chance of surviving with Sam out there than tied up in here. Leave no man behind was a pretty ideal, but one man left behind was better than two.
Sure enough, the second the ropes fell away, Sam was off. His legs were considerably longer than Dean’s double’s - ‘finally, a reason to be thankful I’m the short one’ - but the mutant hadn’t been lying about his grip on the rope.
Sam barreled away at full speed, presumably hoping to build up enough steam to rip the rope out of his captor’s hands. That probably made it hurt that much more when the shapeshifter held on.
Sam was on his back in seconds, and in even less time the shapeshifter was on top of him.
Dean strained against his bonds, frantically searching for some way to help his brother. But there was nothing. The shapeshifter landed two solid punches to Sam’s face before Sam was even able to get his hands up. And once he did get them up, they were of little use to him cuffed together.
Still, the shapeshifter couldn’t fight and hold onto the rope at the same time.
The next punch Sam blocked, and with a heave he threw the shapeshifter off of him. But the blows had obviously done their job; Sam was shaky and slower than he should have been getting to his feet. Just as he was starting to move in the direction of the entrance, the shapeshifter slammed a foot down on the cord trailing behind him, and Sam went down again.
This time, however, the shapeshifter didn’t bother tackling Sam. Instead, he tossed his end of the rope up and over one of the network of pipes in the ceiling and started pulling. Sam’s hands flew to his neck, trying to relieve the pressure as he slid backward, feet scrabbling against the slimy concrete floor for purchase. It wasn’t long before he thought to reach up and grab the rope above his head so that his arms - and not his neck - took the brunt of the force. But there was nothing he could do to stop the backward motion. Within moments, he was standing on tiptoe, face to face with the shapeshifter.
“Typical,” it said with Dean’s disgusted sneer. “Ungrateful little shit.”
And it launched a vicious backhand at Sam, leaving him teetering and gasping.
“You’d leave the brother who spent his life looking out for you behind without a single thought.” He shook his head.
“Hands down,” he commanded.
Sam didn’t obey immediately, and the shapeshifter’s foot shot out and swept Sam’s out from under him. He let Sam scramble for a moment before easing up on the rope so that Sam could regain his balance. Then he looked Sam in the eye and slowly repeated himself.”
“Hands. Down.”
Sam let go of the rope above his head and held out his wrists. While the mutant tied his end of the rope around the cuffs’ chain, Sam glanced back at Dean, apology written all over his bruised face. Dean didn’t know if it was for his failure to escape or for trying to in the first place.
He shook his head, hoping to indicate that neither was needed.
The shapeshifter noticed the exchange and evidently didn’t like it. He grabbed a fistful of Sam’s hair and wrenched the boy’s head back around. The other hand came up and grasped Sam’s chin, forcing him to meet the shapeshifter’s eyes.
“Don’t,” it hissed, “look at him.”
It held the glare for a moment, then stepped back to survey its handiwork. Sam’s arms were now suspended in front of him, with his elbows at about ear level. He was left standing painfully straight, balancing all his weight on the balls of his feet. Raising his arms eased the pull on his neck, but left him even more vulnerable to attack.
The shapeshifter smiled, obviously pleased.
“I don’t usually play this game with men,” it said. “It’s something about a woman’s scream. The begging. The fear in their eyes.” The shapeshifter’s eyes drifted closed, and its nostrils flared. Dean wanted to turn away.
Then it opened its eyes and leveled Dean’s gaze, Dean’s eyes, Dean’s sinister smile, at Dean’s little brother.
“But, then, I’ve never had the pleasure of an audience before,” it said. “I think we’ll still have a good time. And what big brother doesn’t want to show his sibling a good time?”
The shapeshifter began to circle Sam, and Dean could see his brother tense as it moved out of sight. That was probably all that kept Sam from losing his feet again when the blow came from behind - a sharp lash at Sam’s left ear.
Dean hurled curses around the gag, but the thing didn’t even spare him a glance until it was back in front of Sam.
Then it looked over and held Dean’s gaze while talking to his brother.
“You know, he’s sure got issues with you,” it said. “You got to go to college. He had to stay home.”
His eyes slid back to Sam.
“I mean, I had to stay home.”
It moved a short distance away to a duffle bag stashed in a corner.
“You don’t think I had dreams of my own?” it asked as it unpacked more rope.
“But Dad needed me.” A bundle of chain.
“So. You got friends.” Knives.
“You got a life.” Some kind of metal hook.
“Not to mention, Jessica.”
A pack of cigarettes and a lighter. A few strips of already-bloodied cloth. Dean’s gun.
“And I get an endless parade of motels and monsters.”
It tossed away the empty bag and surveyed the contents for a moment before turning back to Sam. It cocked Dean’s head in thought.
“No wonder I hate you so much.”
Dean did his best to make his disavowal of that statement known - he was so loud that he almost didn’t hear Sam’s reply.
“You don’t know Dean,” he said, his voice roughened by the day’s abuse. “He doesn’t hate me for that. Dean has exactly the life he wants.”
Dean would have been relieved, if it hadn’t been for the slight hint of defensive little brother in the words. The undertone told him that the accusation had hit home somewhere, though Sam was trying to hide it.
The shapeshifter may have heard it, too. He glanced over Sam’s shoulder at Dean and smirked for a moment before turning back to the tools. His hands brushed over all the choices before landing on the hook.
“I think you’re the one who doesn’t know your brother, Sammy,” he said as he made his way back. “For instance, remember last month when I was leaving and you and Jessica stood in the door of your apartment waving goodbye?”
He slipped the tip of the hook into Sam’s collar and pulled down, splitting the fabric of the T-shirt down the middle and leaving a thin trail of blood underneath.
“Want to know what I was really thinking when I smiled and drove away?”
He jerked the hook back up, stopping just as the point pressed into the underside of Sam’s chin. Dean could just make out the drops of red that welled up beneath it. He could see Sam’s jaw clench as he bit back his reaction to the pain.
Dean’s jaw clenched as well, but he wasn’t sure if it was the sight of his brother’s blood, or his fear of what the shapeshifter was about to say.
“I was thinking what a pathetic idiot you are for believing you and Jessica have a snowball’s chance in hell of ever working out.”
The mutant punctuated the statement by pulling back and swinging the hook into Sam’s face, missing his eye by only a fraction of an inch. But Dean suspected it was the words, as much as the blow, that sent Sam reeling. They had the same effect on Dean - their cruelty left Dean gasping for breath.
And the worst part was that he recognized them. The sentiment had crossed his mind more than once.
But he would never have expressed it to Sam, because he didn’t mean it. The shapeshifter’s words were true, but they weren’t the truth. Dean had thought the words, but he didn’t believe them. Refused to believe them. Would do anything in his power to make them false.
But Dean could yell himself hoarse without making that point, and the shapeshifter was still speaking with his voice.
“I’ve told you before and I’ll say it again,” it said. “You’re a freak. And no matter how many stories you feed her about your dad the CIA agent, at some point Jessica is going to figure that out. And a girl like that? What’s she going to want with a freak like you?”
Now he had the knife. He laid the edge horizontal against Sam’s chest. Dean could see Sam try and cringe away, but there was no where to go - any further, and he’d be hanging himself.
The shapeshifter slowly dragged the blade down across Sam’s belly, like a long, thick razor - but with more force than you’d use to shave. Dean saw a layer of skin replaced with blood.
Sam threw back his head, as much as he could, and hissed. But he held it together.
“You’re lying,” he croaked. But it sounded more like a hope than an accusation. The shapeshifter just looked up at him and tossed him Dean’s crooked smile before getting back to work.
“And you know what else?” He sliced through the sleeves of the T-shirt and it fell to the ground.
“I’m glad.”
He repeated the shaving motion up the underside of Sam’s right arm.
“I’m glad it’s not going to work out.”
Then up his left.
“Because you know why?”
And for this he stopped to look Sam in the eye.
“Because I don’t want you to be happy without me.”
If Dean were ever going to bring down that post, it would have been right then. He jerked so hard against the cuffs and the rope that he thought for a second he had pulled his shoulder out of socket.
He didn’t pull out the post or his shoulder. But he did finally manage to shrug his gag over his chin.
“Bastard!” he screamed, and his double looked over at him, surprised.
“Get the hell away from my brother, you son of a bitch!”
The shapeshifter just smiled at Dean, but Sam took advantage of its inattention. He swept the things legs out from under it, aimed a kick at its head when it went down and kept kicking.
After a few swings it stopped moving, but Dean knew it wasn’t dead. There was only one way to kill a shapeshifter.
Sam’s grunts of exertion changed to choking gasps, and Dean shifted his focus away from his double’s still body. Sam was working at untying the rope around the handcuff chain, but to do so, he was having to pull on the rope to get some slack and allow him to reach the knot. And that apparently meant going without air for a little while.
In the meantime, however, the shapeshifter was starting to twitch again.
“Sam,” Dean warned. “Hurry.”
By the time Sam fell to the ground, the shapeshifter was pushing itself up.
“Sam … ”
Gasping, Sam stumbled toward the corner where it had left Dean’s gun. The shapeshifter scrambled to grab the end of the rope, and Sam fell.
But he was within reach of the gun.
And a split second later, it was over.
Chapter 12