Give Me Strength - Sam/Dean
Title: Give Me Strength
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word count: 1847
Warnings: mentions of torture, graphic imagery, and character death (sort of), AU
Disclaimer: I know nothing! Nothing I tell you!
Summary: From the deep shadows on the other side of the room came the quiet, brusque question, “Can I have him, Dean?” Sometimes the best ideas, turn into your biggest mistakes.
Author's Notes: So, I finished this sucker approximately three months ago, but for some reason I just couldn't bring myself to post it. Might have something to do with the fact that writing it was one of the most emotinal experiences I've ever had when it came to my work. *shrugs* Anywhoo, it's here for you now, and I would like to thank my dearest, dearest plutogirl10 for holding my hand while I wrote it and tell me that I'm wonderful. I don't know what I'd do without you, darling!
Give Me Strength
It was supposed to be the perfect spell. A way to ensure that no one could steal Sam away from him. A simple incantation, a small tattoo, and no one could take Sam without his permission. And the same went for him; no one could take him anywhere unless Sam let them.
And it had worked.
The Demon had found them, holed up in a rundown shack in the middle-of-nowhere New Jersey, recovering from a hunt gone bad. Dean had fought with all his strength but had still failed, knocked unconscious and screaming Sam’s name as the darkness claimed him and the Demon turned to his brother.
But when he woke it was to gentle fingers in his hair, and worried green eyes that shone too-wet in the pale candlelight. Dean had gasped Sam’s name, eyes filled with confusion and fear, and Sam had simply pulled one bloodied, trembling hand to the small tattoo, giving his brother a shaky smile when Dean’s fingers tightened around the pale, ink-stained skin of his hip.
Two years passed and there was no sign of the Demon. Not a whisper that it still haunted the world; that is still sought them.
They began to think that maybe it had given up, that they were safe; as safe as they could be. Dean finally stopped fearing that he would be left all alone, no one there to care if he lived or died, and Sam told him with every touch and every look that he wasn’t leaving, this was his life and he wanted it.
They settled into a rhythm. They hunted at night and during the day they learned how to love each other. As brother’s, a lover’s, as more.
But they forgot the most important lesson their father had taught them, after ‘family comes first’. The one that had left bruises and drawn blood every time they forgot. Never let your guard down.
It had been two years since they had seen it, and they let it walk quietly into their room.
Dean woke to the feeling of a foreign presence, his long-honed skills waking him from the dredges of sleep like a gunshot in the silence. He was standing next to the bed in a moment, knife in hand and poised protectively over his still sleeping brother.
From the deep shadows on the other side of the room came the quiet, brusque question, “Can I have him, Dean?”
Dean reeled back in surprise, unprepared for the fact that the demon knew. But he snarled into the darkness, an unwavering ‘No’, ready to fight with his last breath. Because the spell kept the Demon from taking Sam from him, but it couldn’t stop it from killing him.
“I wouldn’t kill him, Dean,” the Demon said, stepping out of the darkness, its yellow eyes gleaming in the pale neon glow of the street sign. “I need him.”
Dean gripped the knife harder and shifted closer to Sam. “You can’t have him,” he hissed, a triumphant smile on his face. “Not ever.”
An ugly, twisted smirk slid across the Demon’s blood red lips. The room filled with sick laughter and still Sam slept on. “Then I’ll take you both.”
And before Dean could move, before he could breathe, the room disappeared and for a long time all he knew was the dark.
***
Days. It had been days; years; lifetimes since the moment the demon had walked back into their lives. Dean doesn’t remember the outside world. Doesn’t remember where he came from, or why he’s here. He only knows his name because the Demon won’t. stop. talking.
“Do you see him, Dean?” the Demon asks, yellow eyes breaking through the shadows, claiming Dean’s mind until it was all he could see. “Do you see what he has become? He could have led my army, Dean. He could have been a king. And now look at him.”
Him. Sam. His sweet, innocent, beautiful baby brother. Dean has seen too much since they came here.
They are chained to the walls. Dark, cold, wet stone at their backs; heavy, jagged chains around their wrists. It has been too long, in this darkness and cold, and all Dean remembers is Sam’s pain.
They have hurt him. Tortured him. Ruined him since they got here. His baby brother. His life. Dean has heard every scream, watched every shudder of pain that has run through Sam’s body. Sometimes he can’t even see what they’re doing to him. All he knows is that Sam screams for him and he can’t move.
But they haven’t touched him; not once in all this time. No, he had been left to watch, to hear, to know.
He has screamed. Raged. Begged. Torn at the chains that bound him until his wrists ran red with blood; crimson rivers dripping down his arms and across his shoulders, bone showing through beneath the cold metal because he tried. so. hard. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.
His brother’s screams still echo through the room, through Dean’s soul, though Sam does nothing but sway limply in his chains now. Dean is exhausted, body weary, wanting to give up the fight; but still he pulls at his chains, trying to reach Sam. Trying to protect him, but he can’t.
The Demon walks over to where his little brother hangs, lifeless and shaking. A wave of his hand and Sam is falling, like a puppet with its strings cut; falling to the dirty floor stained with his blood.
The Demon kicks him; sneers. “Crawl to him, Sam. Crawl to your brother. Show him what you’ve become.”
Dean watches him, so still on the unforgiving floor, and too much time passes between one moment and the next. The world shrinks down until all it contains is Sam, broken and dying. Nothing but ragged breath and bloody skin.
Then Sam rises to his hands and knees, unsteady, his body shaking, fingers clenching into the bloodstained ground. His head lifts slowly, slowly, dull eyes rising to Dean’s face but not meeting. Looking away. Painful, broken; fear and shame written across his bruised and bloody face.
‘Sam,’ Dean thinks. And then Sam’s eyes move, shift to meet his and focus too slowly. Sam looks at him for the first time in days and everything turns ice cold and broken. Sam is gone. His brother lover bestfriend wholefuckingworld is gone and he will never be back.
Dean wants to scream. He wants to rage and fight and bring the whole fucking world down with him. But all he can do is hang in his chains, blood running down his arms, the world gone from beneath his feet.
Sam’s mouth moves in silent words. Breathless pleasprayersscreams of Dean Dean Dean Dean. Blood runs in rivers off his body, pooling at his hands and knees, hemorrhaging the life and strength out of him.
One hand shifts, shakes just above the ground and falls back, inches ahead. He is crawling. Crawling across the dirty, bloody, black ground, life and soul gone and all he knows is Dean and that Dean can make it better. So he crawls.
Dean’s whole body screams at him as Sam fights to reach him, telling him to move damn it, do something, help him. But it has been screaming that for days and he can’t. He fucking can’t do anything but watch and wait as each painful, shattered moment brings Sam closer, drains his strength, steals the last of everything that had been good in the world.
His beautiful, strong, perfect baby brother crawls across the floor, slowly, so fucking slowly. Wet, rattling breaths and the scrape of Sam’s knees across the floor are the only sound. Nothing exists but Sam and Dean and the chains that hold him so far away.
He gets so close, so fucking close. ‘Dean,’ Sam whispers, wet and thick, blood dripping from his bruised lips and mixing with the crimson stains on his hands. One hand reaches out to Dean, desperate and shaking, needing his big brother to make it all okay.
Eternity passes between one step and the next and then Sam is falling, defeated. Lost.
Dean’s own voice echoes through the room, through his head, through the whole fucking universe as Sam’s eyes fall away. Sam’s name screams through the room, rips from Dean’s throat until it tears away the world and all he is left with is his voice and the taste of blood in his throat.
***
Dean wakes with a gasp, a scream catching in his throat. He wakes reaching for Sam and he finds him, sleeping soundly beside him, right where he should be. His hands run over Sam’s body, looking for the blood, looking for the wounds that he had seen etched into his brother’s skin.
But Sam is whole; healthy and deeply asleep, a small smile on his face.
Dean takes a few deep breaths, laughs quietly to himself. A dream. It had all been a terrible, terrible dream. He can still feel the bone-deep ache left in his body from fighting the chains; can feel his throat, raw and painful from screaming Sam’s name into the dark.
He moves to lie back down beside Sam, willing the images from his mind, when he hears a voice. That same, taunting, infuriating voice that wouldn’t stop talking to him in his nightmare.
“Can I have him now, Dean?” the voice asks, oil-sweet and knowing.
Dean jumps from the bed, knife in hand and… no no no, this isn’t right. It was all a dream. Please tell me it was just a dream.
The Demon steps out of the darkness, yellow eyes glowing in the half light of the moon. Its blood red lips lift up in a smirk and Dean feels something warm and wet dripping from his fingertips.
His hands rise, clutching tightly to the knife still cradled in his palm. But the blade is stained red; crimson gleaming on bright silver. His hands are covered in the slick blood that is seeping from his ruined wrists; he can see white bone gleaming in the moonlight beneath the red.
Terrified eyes turn to Sam and he can see so much blood; can see closed eyes go still and his breath stop. He blinks and the blood is gone. All that lies in the bed is his sweet, innocent baby brother--his life--perfect as he always was, sleeping soundly.
“Can I have him now, Dean?” The Demon asks again, breath ghosting across Dean’s cheek, the ache in his body turning to a mind numbing pain.
Dean’s knees hit the floor but he doesn’t feel it. Doesn’t know anything but Sam. His brother, lover, best friend. His whole world. “Yes,” he whispers into the darkness. And before he can move, before he can breathe, the world goes dark. But he is still there, in the rundown motel room, staring at the bed, their bed, and Sam is gone.
END
- Meagan
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word count: 1847
Warnings: mentions of torture, graphic imagery, and character death (sort of), AU
Disclaimer: I know nothing! Nothing I tell you!
Summary: From the deep shadows on the other side of the room came the quiet, brusque question, “Can I have him, Dean?” Sometimes the best ideas, turn into your biggest mistakes.
Author's Notes: So, I finished this sucker approximately three months ago, but for some reason I just couldn't bring myself to post it. Might have something to do with the fact that writing it was one of the most emotinal experiences I've ever had when it came to my work. *shrugs* Anywhoo, it's here for you now, and I would like to thank my dearest, dearest plutogirl10 for holding my hand while I wrote it and tell me that I'm wonderful. I don't know what I'd do without you, darling!
Give Me Strength
It was supposed to be the perfect spell. A way to ensure that no one could steal Sam away from him. A simple incantation, a small tattoo, and no one could take Sam without his permission. And the same went for him; no one could take him anywhere unless Sam let them.
And it had worked.
The Demon had found them, holed up in a rundown shack in the middle-of-nowhere New Jersey, recovering from a hunt gone bad. Dean had fought with all his strength but had still failed, knocked unconscious and screaming Sam’s name as the darkness claimed him and the Demon turned to his brother.
But when he woke it was to gentle fingers in his hair, and worried green eyes that shone too-wet in the pale candlelight. Dean had gasped Sam’s name, eyes filled with confusion and fear, and Sam had simply pulled one bloodied, trembling hand to the small tattoo, giving his brother a shaky smile when Dean’s fingers tightened around the pale, ink-stained skin of his hip.
Two years passed and there was no sign of the Demon. Not a whisper that it still haunted the world; that is still sought them.
They began to think that maybe it had given up, that they were safe; as safe as they could be. Dean finally stopped fearing that he would be left all alone, no one there to care if he lived or died, and Sam told him with every touch and every look that he wasn’t leaving, this was his life and he wanted it.
They settled into a rhythm. They hunted at night and during the day they learned how to love each other. As brother’s, a lover’s, as more.
But they forgot the most important lesson their father had taught them, after ‘family comes first’. The one that had left bruises and drawn blood every time they forgot. Never let your guard down.
It had been two years since they had seen it, and they let it walk quietly into their room.
Dean woke to the feeling of a foreign presence, his long-honed skills waking him from the dredges of sleep like a gunshot in the silence. He was standing next to the bed in a moment, knife in hand and poised protectively over his still sleeping brother.
From the deep shadows on the other side of the room came the quiet, brusque question, “Can I have him, Dean?”
Dean reeled back in surprise, unprepared for the fact that the demon knew. But he snarled into the darkness, an unwavering ‘No’, ready to fight with his last breath. Because the spell kept the Demon from taking Sam from him, but it couldn’t stop it from killing him.
“I wouldn’t kill him, Dean,” the Demon said, stepping out of the darkness, its yellow eyes gleaming in the pale neon glow of the street sign. “I need him.”
Dean gripped the knife harder and shifted closer to Sam. “You can’t have him,” he hissed, a triumphant smile on his face. “Not ever.”
An ugly, twisted smirk slid across the Demon’s blood red lips. The room filled with sick laughter and still Sam slept on. “Then I’ll take you both.”
And before Dean could move, before he could breathe, the room disappeared and for a long time all he knew was the dark.
***
Days. It had been days; years; lifetimes since the moment the demon had walked back into their lives. Dean doesn’t remember the outside world. Doesn’t remember where he came from, or why he’s here. He only knows his name because the Demon won’t. stop. talking.
“Do you see him, Dean?” the Demon asks, yellow eyes breaking through the shadows, claiming Dean’s mind until it was all he could see. “Do you see what he has become? He could have led my army, Dean. He could have been a king. And now look at him.”
Him. Sam. His sweet, innocent, beautiful baby brother. Dean has seen too much since they came here.
They are chained to the walls. Dark, cold, wet stone at their backs; heavy, jagged chains around their wrists. It has been too long, in this darkness and cold, and all Dean remembers is Sam’s pain.
They have hurt him. Tortured him. Ruined him since they got here. His baby brother. His life. Dean has heard every scream, watched every shudder of pain that has run through Sam’s body. Sometimes he can’t even see what they’re doing to him. All he knows is that Sam screams for him and he can’t move.
But they haven’t touched him; not once in all this time. No, he had been left to watch, to hear, to know.
He has screamed. Raged. Begged. Torn at the chains that bound him until his wrists ran red with blood; crimson rivers dripping down his arms and across his shoulders, bone showing through beneath the cold metal because he tried. so. hard. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.
His brother’s screams still echo through the room, through Dean’s soul, though Sam does nothing but sway limply in his chains now. Dean is exhausted, body weary, wanting to give up the fight; but still he pulls at his chains, trying to reach Sam. Trying to protect him, but he can’t.
The Demon walks over to where his little brother hangs, lifeless and shaking. A wave of his hand and Sam is falling, like a puppet with its strings cut; falling to the dirty floor stained with his blood.
The Demon kicks him; sneers. “Crawl to him, Sam. Crawl to your brother. Show him what you’ve become.”
Dean watches him, so still on the unforgiving floor, and too much time passes between one moment and the next. The world shrinks down until all it contains is Sam, broken and dying. Nothing but ragged breath and bloody skin.
Then Sam rises to his hands and knees, unsteady, his body shaking, fingers clenching into the bloodstained ground. His head lifts slowly, slowly, dull eyes rising to Dean’s face but not meeting. Looking away. Painful, broken; fear and shame written across his bruised and bloody face.
‘Sam,’ Dean thinks. And then Sam’s eyes move, shift to meet his and focus too slowly. Sam looks at him for the first time in days and everything turns ice cold and broken. Sam is gone. His brother lover bestfriend wholefuckingworld is gone and he will never be back.
Dean wants to scream. He wants to rage and fight and bring the whole fucking world down with him. But all he can do is hang in his chains, blood running down his arms, the world gone from beneath his feet.
Sam’s mouth moves in silent words. Breathless pleasprayersscreams of Dean Dean Dean Dean. Blood runs in rivers off his body, pooling at his hands and knees, hemorrhaging the life and strength out of him.
One hand shifts, shakes just above the ground and falls back, inches ahead. He is crawling. Crawling across the dirty, bloody, black ground, life and soul gone and all he knows is Dean and that Dean can make it better. So he crawls.
Dean’s whole body screams at him as Sam fights to reach him, telling him to move damn it, do something, help him. But it has been screaming that for days and he can’t. He fucking can’t do anything but watch and wait as each painful, shattered moment brings Sam closer, drains his strength, steals the last of everything that had been good in the world.
His beautiful, strong, perfect baby brother crawls across the floor, slowly, so fucking slowly. Wet, rattling breaths and the scrape of Sam’s knees across the floor are the only sound. Nothing exists but Sam and Dean and the chains that hold him so far away.
He gets so close, so fucking close. ‘Dean,’ Sam whispers, wet and thick, blood dripping from his bruised lips and mixing with the crimson stains on his hands. One hand reaches out to Dean, desperate and shaking, needing his big brother to make it all okay.
Eternity passes between one step and the next and then Sam is falling, defeated. Lost.
Dean’s own voice echoes through the room, through his head, through the whole fucking universe as Sam’s eyes fall away. Sam’s name screams through the room, rips from Dean’s throat until it tears away the world and all he is left with is his voice and the taste of blood in his throat.
***
Dean wakes with a gasp, a scream catching in his throat. He wakes reaching for Sam and he finds him, sleeping soundly beside him, right where he should be. His hands run over Sam’s body, looking for the blood, looking for the wounds that he had seen etched into his brother’s skin.
But Sam is whole; healthy and deeply asleep, a small smile on his face.
Dean takes a few deep breaths, laughs quietly to himself. A dream. It had all been a terrible, terrible dream. He can still feel the bone-deep ache left in his body from fighting the chains; can feel his throat, raw and painful from screaming Sam’s name into the dark.
He moves to lie back down beside Sam, willing the images from his mind, when he hears a voice. That same, taunting, infuriating voice that wouldn’t stop talking to him in his nightmare.
“Can I have him now, Dean?” the voice asks, oil-sweet and knowing.
Dean jumps from the bed, knife in hand and… no no no, this isn’t right. It was all a dream. Please tell me it was just a dream.
The Demon steps out of the darkness, yellow eyes glowing in the half light of the moon. Its blood red lips lift up in a smirk and Dean feels something warm and wet dripping from his fingertips.
His hands rise, clutching tightly to the knife still cradled in his palm. But the blade is stained red; crimson gleaming on bright silver. His hands are covered in the slick blood that is seeping from his ruined wrists; he can see white bone gleaming in the moonlight beneath the red.
Terrified eyes turn to Sam and he can see so much blood; can see closed eyes go still and his breath stop. He blinks and the blood is gone. All that lies in the bed is his sweet, innocent baby brother--his life--perfect as he always was, sleeping soundly.
“Can I have him now, Dean?” The Demon asks again, breath ghosting across Dean’s cheek, the ache in his body turning to a mind numbing pain.
Dean’s knees hit the floor but he doesn’t feel it. Doesn’t know anything but Sam. His brother, lover, best friend. His whole world. “Yes,” he whispers into the darkness. And before he can move, before he can breathe, the world goes dark. But he is still there, in the rundown motel room, staring at the bed, their bed, and Sam is gone.
END
- Meagan