Wincest Ficlet #1
Sam’s not sure what’s going on when he wakes up, head foggy and vision blurring like he’d had too much to drink. The dim light in the room hurts his eyes even through closed lids, and everything smells like blood…iron maybe? He lays still for a moment, trying to figure out where he is by sound and smell alone, when he hears it; there’s someone else in the room with him, breathing soft and slow.
There’s the sound of dry lips parting, someone swallowing, and then licking their lips before a voice speaks out.
“Heya Sammy…you awake now baby brother?”
Dean.
Sam’s eyes flash open and he winces, hissing at the pain in his throbbing temple, spikes of it angry, white hot, behind his eyes.
“Dean?” he croaks, and now he knows that he’s been out for at least 8 hours, because his throat doesn’t get this dry naturally.
“Yeah….’s me.”
Sam tries to sit up, but finds his body won’t really respond, not as fast as he wants it too, and there’s a pressure, biting, around his wrists. He looks down at his hands just as Dean stands up from the chair he’d been sitting in a few feet away, the rickety wooden thing scraping back over the iron floor.
That’s when Sam realizes a few things.
1) He’s in Bobby’s panic room.
2) He’s handcuffed to the bed.
and 3) Dean’s looking at him like he’s either going to kill him or kiss him, and Sam’s not sure which one would be preferable, considering his position.
“Dean,” he whimpers, and struggles against his bonds, rattling the chains on the handcuffs. “Let me up man, this isn’t funny!”
“No, no it’s not Sammy….wasn’t funny when you clocked me with that phone for ganking Ruby, neither.”
Sam snarls, memories of last night flashing back- Ruby, the demon blood, Sam picking up the hotel phone and slamming it into his brother’s left temple, leaving an inch long gash that gushed blood.
“DEAN! You need to let me up, NOW!”
Dean nods his head slowly, staring at Sam with pity, disgust..something in between.
“I will…once that shit is outta your system Sam.”
Sam struggles again, hands clenching, breath coming fast now as he realizes that Dean’s serious, and he’s not going to let Sam up anytime soon.
“DEAN!” he screams, as Dean stares at him for one more second, then leans down and quickly presses trembling lips to his sweating forehead.
“I love you baby brother,” he whispers against Sam’s forehead, throat tight around the words, then Dean quickly whirls around, taking the chair with him as he limps out of the room, not sparing a glance back as the heavy door swings shut behind him.
The sound of the lock clanking shut is the last thing Sam hears before the rushing of his own blood distracts him, and the real pain starts.
Dean stands on the other side of the door, shutting his eyes and covering his mouth to mask his sobs as his little brother screams on the other side of the door. Anytime the screams are coherent, Dean hears just a handful of words over and over and over again, for the next 17 hours.
“DEAN!”
“HELP ME!”
“Pleeeaaaase!”
When there’s finally silence, Dean’s almost scared to look, scared to see that Sam hasn’t made it, that Bobby was wrong, or right, and he couldn’t take the detox yet again.
But when the heavy door swings open, he’s not met with a still corpse that used to be his brother, lying on a threadbare mattress in an old rust orange room. He’s met with clear, calm hazel eyes that flicker over to his face, and a smile that lights up the dim room as his brother’s dimples flash, and white teeth are revealed.
“Hey….,” Sam says, soft and weak, but all Sammy.
“Hey,” Dean whispers back around a tight throat, tears burning his eyes, and slumps against the doorframe with a relieved smile.
“Dean…we good?” Sam asks, a soft frown on his face making wrinkles appear on his forehead, and Dean feels his chest threaten to burst he’s so proud in that moment.
“Yeah Sammy,” he croaks, pulling the keys from his pocket and walking over to free his brother from his bonds,
“We’re good.”