(no subject)
Title: Anarchy (i killed the king of deceit)
Author: Ginger-Sunshine
Pairing/s: (this part) Dean/other, Sam/female
Warnings: Swearing, sexual references, eventual wincest
Notes: For the Evil!Sam ficathon - my prompts were “Sam gets cursed and must live out his TOP TEN MOST SECRET EVIL DESIRES before the curse will end!” and “Sam discovers that he can enter and manipulate Dean's dreams”. This is part one.
Summary: Sam is cursed. Or evil. Or something. Dean doesn’t really care what so long as he can get some freaking sleep.
The one and only good thing about this, Dean supposed, was that if this was the first sign that something was wrong? Like, really really wrong with Sam? The world didn’t have a whole lot to worry ‘bout.
***
“Sam?”
“Yeah Dean?”
Sam didn’t look up as he answered. He didn’t turn around, nor did he put down the book he was holding. He just did what he’d been doing for the past half hour.
Dean watched as Sam continued to study the book as he wandered down the aisle. He watched his little brother snap the book closed. He watched Sam carefully move aside two books to slip the thick tome he was holding onto the shelf.
The wrong shelf.
“Christo.” Dean said. Sammy grinned at him.
“I’m not possessed,” he said merrily, and wandered off whistling Born To Raise Hell.
***
Dean started watching Sam carefully after that. He wasn’t sure what was up, but something was, so he’d keep his eyes peeled. Which is why Dean knew that Sam had, with the utmost care, rearranged thirteen books in the library’s stacks during their hour sojourn.
“So, um…” Dean started, feeling slightly itchy under his skin. Sam was still grinning his cheerfully manic smile, which only made the itching worse.
“I’m hungry.”
“What?” Before Dean really had a chance to process Sam’s sudden declaration, the sasquatch was off, heading towards a nearby park.
Wait, what?
“Sam?” Dean called, jogging after his brother. “Sam, the diner’s this wa…”
Dean trailed off, stopping dead in the middle of the road. The books were one thing. This? Was something completely different. Dean stared blankly at the squalling, ice cream covered child and the enraged, screaming mother Sam left behind. Only the squawk of a car horn got Dean in gear again, joining his brother on the pavement.
“This is really good.” Sam said casually around a mouthful of waffle cone, “Want some?”
***
Deciding that keeping his brother out of public was perhaps the most prudent choice here, Dean herded the way too compliant to be healthy Sam back to the motel. Y’know, if the book re arranging and the ice cream stealing weren’t clues enough.
“Sam.” Dean growled, shoving his brother onto the closest piece of furniture, which just so happened to be his own bed. Sam giggled as he landed, smearing sticky vanilla over Dean’s comforter.
No, really. Giggled. Dean had so had it today.
“Sam, what the hell?!”
“You look funny when you’re angry.”
With an incoherent noise of impotent fury, Dean hauled Sam back onto his feet. “Sam, I swear to Go-”
Sam licked him. Sam licked him. On the cheek.
Dean froze. There was something in Sam’s eyes, something… darker… that he so didn’t want to think about. Then the moment was gone, and Sam was grinning again. His manic, cheerful, I’m-gonna-steal-candy-from-kids smile, which was a relief. And seriously, when did this day get that fucked up?
Dean slowly unclenched his hands from Sam’s hoodie. He watched his giant of a little brother settle comfortably back onto Dean’s bed, more sticky ice cream residue left all over the damn thing, and flip on the television.
Time out was not going to cover this. Neither was Jack, Jim or Jose.
***
“Alright, so, I think you’re cursed.”
Sam’s eyes were glued firmly to the waitress’ … nametag. “Mm.”
“Sam. Sam! Eyes front.” Dean snapped.
“Oh, they are,” Sam grinned a slow, lecherous smile.
Dean slammed his hand down on the table, knocking over both water glasses and causing curious eyes to turn their way. “So,” he continued conversationally, “cursed.”
“Right. Fine. I’m cursed. You finally agree.” Sam stared petulantly into his coffee.
“Oh for fu-”
“Just kidding.” Sam was grinning again, eyes merry. Dean was getting dizzy with all he mood swings. And Sam’s attention was firmly fixed elsewhere once more. Dean slowly allowed his head to droop forward, landing with a vaguely painful thump.
“Urgh!”
***
Dean shuddered awake, body tense and mind swimming. That had been one of the most disturbing dreams he’d ever had. Dean didn’t usually dream very much, and when he did they usually revolved around a girl. Or three.
But not this. Never like this, with the vivid memory of cold metal biting into his wrists, or a hard, demanding body pinning his to the mattress. Never did his dreams feature masculine lips meeting his, forcing them open, forcing him to submit. Until now. And perhaps the most disturbing thing of all was that he wasn’t sure if he liked what he remembered or not.
“Dean?” Sam snuffled from the next bed over. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Go back to sleep.” Dean lay back, calming his breath and trying to ignore the sticky sweat drying on his skin. He settled under the blanket, thought about sleep and the possible dreams that awaited him, and threw the covers back again. He’d try a shower before any more sleep.
Just in case.
The water was hot, almost scalding, which felt much better than he had expected. It was just what he needed. Dean felt the tension in his shoulders melt away, the dream fading into the pounding rhythm over his back and chest and his mind settling into stillness. By the time he twisted the water off he was relaxed and warm, feeling comfortably sleepy.
Until he opened the bathroom door.
“Jesus Sam! Give a guy some warning!” Dean slammed the door shut, staring at his foggy reflection, desperately trying to erase the image of Sam with that girl between his legs. Okay, so he was being polite. The torn, barely there attire? Oh yeah, he was being way polite.
Sam was laughing on the other side of the door, that smug bastard.
“I’m counting to five and coming out - and you had better be alone when I do!”
Dean’s threat was answered by more laughter, some of it female. “Which one of us would you prefer to be alone out here sugar?” came the amused reply.
“Fuckers!” Dean shouted, frustration boiling over.
“Yup!” Sam snorted back.
Half an hour. One friggin’ half hour. He was gonna pay. Oh, was the little fucker gonna pay for this. Dean was so not letting Sam out of his sight until he figured this damn situation out.
***
Only once Dean was certain that the hooker was gone did he emerge from the bathroom. Sam was curled up on his bed, still mostly naked. Dean grumbled inarticulately as he pulled on a fresh pair of boxers. Sam stretched, satisfied, as Dean climbed into his bed. Sam rolled over, breathing evening out as Dean laid back, dreams firmly back in the forefront of his mind.
Now with the added stink of Sam’s - activities.
He groaned into his pillow. Karma was one fucking little bitch.
***
Pantyhose. Where the hell had Sam gotten pantyhose?
“Where the hell did you get pantyhose?” Dean demanded. He hadn’t let Sam out of his sight beyond the three minutes he was in the bathroom earlier. Did Sam normally keep pantyhose in his things?
Sam shoved another handful of potato chips into his mouth. “Stole it.” He said in a spray of crumbs.
“Stole it?”
“Yup.”
“… when?!”
Sam glanced at him, obviously bored. “Dunno. A while ago.”
“Uh - why?”
“Needed it.”
“For what?!”
Sam glanced at him again, then smiled. “Wanna see?” he said mischeviously.
For the record, Dean knew this wasn’t going to end well.
***
For the record, Dean was the best big brother ever. Only the best big brother ever helped his lunatic little… big… really fucking huge younger brother rob banks with nothing but a banana, bottle of soda and cheap pantyhose.
***
Dean sat helplessly holding the stretched out pantyhose. What the hell had possessed him to help Sam? His ice-cream (and other things) stealing, book rearranging, giggling, manic, cursed younger brother. Maybe he was cursed too? Yes, that had to be it. That could be the only thing that would make him follow through with Sam’s disastrous plan.
Except… not really so disastrous. For there Sam sat, gleefully counting money into little bundles. And perhaps the weirdest thing of all was the fact that he was actually glad to see Sam so happy. Okay, so Dean could really do without the demented glint in Sam’s eyes. Like, lost the plot demented. Like I-just-escaped-from-Crazyland demented. But happy demented just the same.
Dear God, they were both so completely and utterly screwed.
“But rich.” Sam said absently.
Dean found himself, once again, staring. “Come again?”
TBC...