Penance For My Sweet Prince - Part 2: Fragile Broken Things (2/3)
Title: Penance For My Sweet Prince - Part 2: Fragile Broken Things (2/3)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam (Wincest)
Author:
godamnarmsrace
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dean hates himself for being intimate with Sam.
Prompt: My Sweet Prince - Placebo (You can find the lyrics here)
Spoilers: Right up until and including the last episode of season two.
Disclaimer: I don’t own them; I’m just borrowing them for a few pages of naughty fun.
Beta:
eilan
A/N: This was written as a challenge fic for
spn_lyrically. The porn belongs to
nyaubaby cause she called dibs on it first, but the rest was written for
devil_liaison and
vipersunjoy and
devourr aka
thrived - Happy Birthday my Sweets!
Also special spanks to
nyaubaby for the pretty fic banner!
‘Oh god, oh god, oh god,’ seemed to be chanting over and over inside Dean’s head. He sat on the cold bathroom floor with his back against the locked door. Sammy banged on the door begging Dean to let him inside, making Dean grip his hands together tight, to stop himself from giving Sam exactly what he wanted. After about twenty minutes of Dean ignoring him and what Dean assumed was a phone call from the motel’s night manager telling them to keep the noise down, finally Sam gave up. But Dean could feel his brother’s presence through the door, as if Sam sat mimicking him, sitting just on the other side of the cheap wood panelling.
Snagging a threadbare towel from the rack that hung on the wall next to him, Dean wrapped it around his waist. Brining his knees up against his chest, Dean bound his arms around them. Holding himself he slowly rocked back and forth, desperately trying to keep the anguish inside.
Hatred burned like an inferno in his gut. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced and it was directed entirely at himself. He was a sick fuck. He’d abused his little brother, his whole reason for living. He’d abused his trust and worse broken his promise to always protect Sammy from evil and harm. But who’d been there to protect Sam from him and his twisted desires?
In the past it had always been Dean’s conscience, telling him that his secret feelings for Sam were wrong - not that he needed his conscience the sickness in his stomach was usually enough to turn him away. He never thought a day would come where Sam would need protection from him, especially when it had been Sam’s so called fate to turn evil and run amuck with a bunch of demon soldiers here on a sabbatical from hell.
Besides, it had always been Dean’s job to shield and shelter Sam. It was a job their dad had given Dean when he was only four years old, he’d placed Sammy in Dean’s arms and everyday since then Dean had always held the responsibility of his brother’s welfare above his own. It had given him a sense of pride. It had provided him with a place in the harsh world he had been brought up in. Almost like a house, Sam was Dean’s home, his reason for living.
And he’d gone and destroyed it all.
And now Sam was afraid of him.
He’d broken it. He’d poisoned them, damaged their souls.
Swallowing back a sob, Dean couldn’t help but remember the crossroad demon’s harsh words about his soul…‘his gutter soul’ she’d called it, as if she’d known his truest desires and fuck, she probably did. He wondered if she had known what he was going to do to his brother…god, if he’d known, he would have begged her to take his tarnished soul to hell right then and there.
Anything to have kept Sammy safe.
* * *
Sam shifted uncomfortably, muscles he’d never used before screaming out their existence. But the same pain was a reminder of how well his brother had loved him; it helped to ease the sting a little.
But it didn’t change the fact that he was pissed. He’d gone through four seasons of emotions in the past half an hour, finally settling on blind anger after he’d breezed through rejection, fear and desperation. Fucker! How could Dean do this to him? He knew that Dean would feel guilty but he didn’t expect him to close Sam out, hell he’d locked Sam out literally.
Sam’s knuckles still smarted from where he’d pounded on the locked bathroom door, the cheap wood breaking the skin. He’d tried calling out for Dean to let him in so they could talk but to no avail. Kicking the door in had crossed his mind and he was seriously considering it when the pimply night manager with the nasal voice, had called to ask about the noise he’d been making.
Damn it Dean! This was fucked. Sam needed to touch him, to make sure he was okay. The cut on Dean’s forehead probably needed stitches but he’d probably rather bleed to death than talk to Sam.
Dean was a stubborn bastard. He was also a secret brooder. Always had been. He bitched loudly to anyone who’d listen, about the little things but anything important Dean had always kept to himself. He had to be braver, stronger. Dean had to carry the burden whether it was his or not, it just didn’t matter, if he thought he could shoulder it then he’d try, even if it killed him.
When they were kids, Sam had been glad for Dean’s self control when it came to being afraid and his ability to make things seem better than they actually were. But ever since Sam had gotten to an age when he saw Dean’s behaviour for what it really was, he’d hated it, the way Dean kept things to himself. Dean expected Sam to lay his soul bare, even though he usually bitched about it when Sam actually did, but Dean felt he had a right to know Sam’s secret inner thoughts, never once letting Sam see inside him in return. Dean was locked up tighter than a vault, and it really pissed him off when Dean shut him out, especially when it involved him.
But mostly it just hurt.
To be the one locked on the outside…the one shut out…alone. It fucking hurt like hell. More now than ever before.
Sam shivered, even though he’d taken the time to get dressed in clean clothes, there was a chill that saturated his bones. When Dean’s phone rang somewhere in the room hidden in a pocket made of denim, Sam almost jumped out of his skin. Scrambling across the floor on his hands and knees, Sam grabbed a hold of Dean’s jeans and fumbled trying to get the phone before the caller gave up.
Too late.
The caller ID read ‘Bobby’ and it gave Sam an idea. If Dean wouldn’t come out or let him come in…maybe he’d talk to Bobby…on the phone.
A quick search through the menu of Dean’s phone resulted in what Sam was looking for, and a few seconds later he slid the phone under the locked bathroom door and grabbed his own, dialling quickly.
“Bobby just tried to ring you but I didn’t get to it quick enough. He’ll probably ring back,” Sam said, pressing send on his phone when Dean’s number was lit up across the screen.
* * *
Dean picked up his phone and checked the missed calls. Bobby had called. Clasping the phone in his hand Dean resumed his former position, wrapping his arms tight around his knees. He couldn’t seem to get warm. The smart thing would be to put some clothes on but he couldn’t bring himself to leave to confines of the small grubby bathroom, it might be cold but it felt safe…for the moment. And he wasn’t ready to face Sam just yet.
Fuck! Dean felt like he was going to be sick again. He knew that the feelings for Sammy had always been there, just as he’d always known that they were wrong. He’d done everything he could to ignore them, to bury them deep inside him in the dark place that ate at his soul. He’d made a promise to himself and to a god he didn’t even believe in, that he’d never act on them. Never.
The sharp shrill ring of his phone cut through him like a knife. Looking at the caller ID he felt relief when he saw Bobby’s name flashing up at him, a tiny part of him had hoped it might be Sam but he thrust those feelings aside.
“Bobby?” he said, biting his fist trying to hide the sob that was threatening to escape.
“Dean? Don’t hang up please!” Sam’s voiced cried out through Dean’s phone.
Dean took his phone away from his ear and looked at the called ID one more time. It still said Bobby, which didn’t make any sense unless, “What did you do to my phone Sam?” he growled.
“I just switched the numbers around in menu but Dean you gave me no choice. We need to talk,” Sam urged.
Ignoring Sam’s words, Dean questioned him further, “Did Bobby really ring? I thought I heard the phone ring a couple of times.”
“Yeah, the night manager rang to tell me to stop banging on the walls and then Bobby rang but I missed his call,” Sam replied, his words echoing through the thin wooden door between them.
“Well, you’re right Bobby might call back. It could be important. We should hang up now,” Dean said, pulling the phone from his ear.
“Dean! Wait!” Sam’s voice cried out, making the muscles in Dean’s jaw clench tight.
“What?” he hissed, the phone pressed back against his ear.
“We need to talk. You need to talk to me,” Sam whispered, his words firm but still they sounded unsure.
“I…I can’t Sam…I’m not ready…What I did to you…It was wrong…” Dean muttered, his words breaking with his voice into thousands of pieces, he felt them littering the floor around him. Tiny little pieces of piercing pain, just waiting for his blood to colour them.
“No!” Sam practically yelled into Dean’s ear. “You don’t get to do that! You didn’t do anything to me Dean! We did it together. What happened…I wanted it and you did too…so get over it! It’s done and fuck, Dean I wanna do it again…don’t you?”
Dean was shaking his head in denial at Sam’s admission, even as his cock was tenting the threadbare towel. Sam was confused, Dean told himself. That was all it was Sam’s confession was nothing but a confused solution to a fucked up situation. It had to be because Dean had seen the fear in his brother’s eyes. Sam was afraid of him end of story and he need to remember that fact no matter what his little brother tried to tell himself. “No!” Dean whispered his answer fervently. “No. What I want is to get some clothes on and get another room.”
“Dean please!” Sam begged. “That’s not what you want…please…Dean…please.”
“No. We can’t. I can’t. I don’t want it. I don’t!” Dean spoke each word slow and clear, so that there could be no mistaking them. “I want you to have never died. I want to never have to hold you bleeding in my arms again but most of all I really, really don’t want to talk about this now. I just can’t…okay?”
Dean heard Sam’s sigh through the door before it made it to him through the phone. A slight delay…and for that brief moment Dean wanted to open the door and take Sammy into his arms. But he couldn’t…wouldn’t…not again. Never again.
Dean knew his fate. He was headed straight for hell but he’d be damned twice before he’d let Sam join him in its fiery bowels.
Part 3: All That's Done Is Forgiven
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam (Wincest)
Author:
godamnarmsrace
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dean hates himself for being intimate with Sam.
Prompt: My Sweet Prince - Placebo (You can find the lyrics here)
Spoilers: Right up until and including the last episode of season two.
Disclaimer: I don’t own them; I’m just borrowing them for a few pages of naughty fun.
Beta:
eilan
A/N: This was written as a challenge fic for
spn_lyrically. The porn belongs to
nyaubaby cause she called dibs on it first, but the rest was written for
devil_liaison and
vipersunjoy and
devourr aka
thrived - Happy Birthday my Sweets!
Also special spanks to
nyaubaby for the pretty fic banner!
‘Oh god, oh god, oh god,’ seemed to be chanting over and over inside Dean’s head. He sat on the cold bathroom floor with his back against the locked door. Sammy banged on the door begging Dean to let him inside, making Dean grip his hands together tight, to stop himself from giving Sam exactly what he wanted. After about twenty minutes of Dean ignoring him and what Dean assumed was a phone call from the motel’s night manager telling them to keep the noise down, finally Sam gave up. But Dean could feel his brother’s presence through the door, as if Sam sat mimicking him, sitting just on the other side of the cheap wood panelling.
Snagging a threadbare towel from the rack that hung on the wall next to him, Dean wrapped it around his waist. Brining his knees up against his chest, Dean bound his arms around them. Holding himself he slowly rocked back and forth, desperately trying to keep the anguish inside.
Hatred burned like an inferno in his gut. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced and it was directed entirely at himself. He was a sick fuck. He’d abused his little brother, his whole reason for living. He’d abused his trust and worse broken his promise to always protect Sammy from evil and harm. But who’d been there to protect Sam from him and his twisted desires?
In the past it had always been Dean’s conscience, telling him that his secret feelings for Sam were wrong - not that he needed his conscience the sickness in his stomach was usually enough to turn him away. He never thought a day would come where Sam would need protection from him, especially when it had been Sam’s so called fate to turn evil and run amuck with a bunch of demon soldiers here on a sabbatical from hell.
Besides, it had always been Dean’s job to shield and shelter Sam. It was a job their dad had given Dean when he was only four years old, he’d placed Sammy in Dean’s arms and everyday since then Dean had always held the responsibility of his brother’s welfare above his own. It had given him a sense of pride. It had provided him with a place in the harsh world he had been brought up in. Almost like a house, Sam was Dean’s home, his reason for living.
And he’d gone and destroyed it all.
And now Sam was afraid of him.
He’d broken it. He’d poisoned them, damaged their souls.
Swallowing back a sob, Dean couldn’t help but remember the crossroad demon’s harsh words about his soul…‘his gutter soul’ she’d called it, as if she’d known his truest desires and fuck, she probably did. He wondered if she had known what he was going to do to his brother…god, if he’d known, he would have begged her to take his tarnished soul to hell right then and there.
Anything to have kept Sammy safe.
* * *
Sam shifted uncomfortably, muscles he’d never used before screaming out their existence. But the same pain was a reminder of how well his brother had loved him; it helped to ease the sting a little.
But it didn’t change the fact that he was pissed. He’d gone through four seasons of emotions in the past half an hour, finally settling on blind anger after he’d breezed through rejection, fear and desperation. Fucker! How could Dean do this to him? He knew that Dean would feel guilty but he didn’t expect him to close Sam out, hell he’d locked Sam out literally.
Sam’s knuckles still smarted from where he’d pounded on the locked bathroom door, the cheap wood breaking the skin. He’d tried calling out for Dean to let him in so they could talk but to no avail. Kicking the door in had crossed his mind and he was seriously considering it when the pimply night manager with the nasal voice, had called to ask about the noise he’d been making.
Damn it Dean! This was fucked. Sam needed to touch him, to make sure he was okay. The cut on Dean’s forehead probably needed stitches but he’d probably rather bleed to death than talk to Sam.
Dean was a stubborn bastard. He was also a secret brooder. Always had been. He bitched loudly to anyone who’d listen, about the little things but anything important Dean had always kept to himself. He had to be braver, stronger. Dean had to carry the burden whether it was his or not, it just didn’t matter, if he thought he could shoulder it then he’d try, even if it killed him.
When they were kids, Sam had been glad for Dean’s self control when it came to being afraid and his ability to make things seem better than they actually were. But ever since Sam had gotten to an age when he saw Dean’s behaviour for what it really was, he’d hated it, the way Dean kept things to himself. Dean expected Sam to lay his soul bare, even though he usually bitched about it when Sam actually did, but Dean felt he had a right to know Sam’s secret inner thoughts, never once letting Sam see inside him in return. Dean was locked up tighter than a vault, and it really pissed him off when Dean shut him out, especially when it involved him.
But mostly it just hurt.
To be the one locked on the outside…the one shut out…alone. It fucking hurt like hell. More now than ever before.
Sam shivered, even though he’d taken the time to get dressed in clean clothes, there was a chill that saturated his bones. When Dean’s phone rang somewhere in the room hidden in a pocket made of denim, Sam almost jumped out of his skin. Scrambling across the floor on his hands and knees, Sam grabbed a hold of Dean’s jeans and fumbled trying to get the phone before the caller gave up.
Too late.
The caller ID read ‘Bobby’ and it gave Sam an idea. If Dean wouldn’t come out or let him come in…maybe he’d talk to Bobby…on the phone.
A quick search through the menu of Dean’s phone resulted in what Sam was looking for, and a few seconds later he slid the phone under the locked bathroom door and grabbed his own, dialling quickly.
“Bobby just tried to ring you but I didn’t get to it quick enough. He’ll probably ring back,” Sam said, pressing send on his phone when Dean’s number was lit up across the screen.
* * *
Dean picked up his phone and checked the missed calls. Bobby had called. Clasping the phone in his hand Dean resumed his former position, wrapping his arms tight around his knees. He couldn’t seem to get warm. The smart thing would be to put some clothes on but he couldn’t bring himself to leave to confines of the small grubby bathroom, it might be cold but it felt safe…for the moment. And he wasn’t ready to face Sam just yet.
Fuck! Dean felt like he was going to be sick again. He knew that the feelings for Sammy had always been there, just as he’d always known that they were wrong. He’d done everything he could to ignore them, to bury them deep inside him in the dark place that ate at his soul. He’d made a promise to himself and to a god he didn’t even believe in, that he’d never act on them. Never.
The sharp shrill ring of his phone cut through him like a knife. Looking at the caller ID he felt relief when he saw Bobby’s name flashing up at him, a tiny part of him had hoped it might be Sam but he thrust those feelings aside.
“Bobby?” he said, biting his fist trying to hide the sob that was threatening to escape.
“Dean? Don’t hang up please!” Sam’s voiced cried out through Dean’s phone.
Dean took his phone away from his ear and looked at the called ID one more time. It still said Bobby, which didn’t make any sense unless, “What did you do to my phone Sam?” he growled.
“I just switched the numbers around in menu but Dean you gave me no choice. We need to talk,” Sam urged.
Ignoring Sam’s words, Dean questioned him further, “Did Bobby really ring? I thought I heard the phone ring a couple of times.”
“Yeah, the night manager rang to tell me to stop banging on the walls and then Bobby rang but I missed his call,” Sam replied, his words echoing through the thin wooden door between them.
“Well, you’re right Bobby might call back. It could be important. We should hang up now,” Dean said, pulling the phone from his ear.
“Dean! Wait!” Sam’s voice cried out, making the muscles in Dean’s jaw clench tight.
“What?” he hissed, the phone pressed back against his ear.
“We need to talk. You need to talk to me,” Sam whispered, his words firm but still they sounded unsure.
“I…I can’t Sam…I’m not ready…What I did to you…It was wrong…” Dean muttered, his words breaking with his voice into thousands of pieces, he felt them littering the floor around him. Tiny little pieces of piercing pain, just waiting for his blood to colour them.
“No!” Sam practically yelled into Dean’s ear. “You don’t get to do that! You didn’t do anything to me Dean! We did it together. What happened…I wanted it and you did too…so get over it! It’s done and fuck, Dean I wanna do it again…don’t you?”
Dean was shaking his head in denial at Sam’s admission, even as his cock was tenting the threadbare towel. Sam was confused, Dean told himself. That was all it was Sam’s confession was nothing but a confused solution to a fucked up situation. It had to be because Dean had seen the fear in his brother’s eyes. Sam was afraid of him end of story and he need to remember that fact no matter what his little brother tried to tell himself. “No!” Dean whispered his answer fervently. “No. What I want is to get some clothes on and get another room.”
“Dean please!” Sam begged. “That’s not what you want…please…Dean…please.”
“No. We can’t. I can’t. I don’t want it. I don’t!” Dean spoke each word slow and clear, so that there could be no mistaking them. “I want you to have never died. I want to never have to hold you bleeding in my arms again but most of all I really, really don’t want to talk about this now. I just can’t…okay?”
Dean heard Sam’s sigh through the door before it made it to him through the phone. A slight delay…and for that brief moment Dean wanted to open the door and take Sammy into his arms. But he couldn’t…wouldn’t…not again. Never again.
Dean knew his fate. He was headed straight for hell but he’d be damned twice before he’d let Sam join him in its fiery bowels.
Part 3: All That's Done Is Forgiven