(fic) Twisted Hunt (R)
Genre: Gen
Pairing/Characters: Sam, Dean
Rating: R?
Word Count: 728
Notes: sharp_teeth prompt by anonymous here.
Spoilers: 3.11 - Mystery Spot
Warnings: deathfic
Cross-posted to: spn_dark_vault , evilsam_spn
Summary: (Prompt) Mystery Spot:
Sam can't face a future where he never sees his brother alive again. At least in the time loop, he gets one more day with Dean. And another day. And another day.
~~~~~~~~~~
It was the hundred and sixth time Sam helplessly watched Dean die (this time the old drunk man without keys -- thanks to Sam -- stumbled onto the road, and two cars swerving to avoid him crashed, sending flying metal directly at Dean). Sam was quick, he'd grabbed Dean's hand to yank him out of the way, knowing at heart it wouldn't do anything, but as usual wasn't quick enough. The metal pierced the side of Dean's neck, and as the rainbow of blood spurted free, and Dean's eyes widened, Sam's hand was clenched in an iron tight grip as Dean fell to his knees, his free hand trying to cover his neck.
Maybe it was the fact that he'd seen Dean die so many times already, but Sam found himself staring into Dean's panicked gaze (Sam had given up trying to explain their Groundhog days to him) and he didn't look away even as he could actually see the focus and life fading. It was strange how even as Dean died, he kept a tight grip on Sam's hand, Sam had thought, until he realized it had been himself that had been clutching Dean's hand so tight.
For the next eight days, the memory of clutching Dean's hand while he died poked at him. Surely the flutter in his stomach had been because his brother had just died.
It was that hundred and fourteenth day that Sam realized he'd been lying to himself. He'd been shoving Dean's shoulder and they'd been laughing when an overhead crane chain snapped and the first rebar fell and impaled Dean on the spot. He'd been touching his brother while he died. The instant he had died. It made his insides tingle, and he wished he could say it was with remorse.
Two weeks later, Sam realized it wasn't just touching Dean as he died that made his insides wriggle, but that holding Dean's gaze as he died gave him a thrill too. A week after that, Sam was just as excited to watch Dean's chest go from steady breathing to motionless. Four days later, that wasn't enough, and these deaths without blood were frustrating, so when the diner floor was oozing Dean's blood, Sam was fascinated. It was miraculous how letting the Tabasco sauce fall would cause a second waitress trip while running to the rescue. Thus enabling Dean to scramble to catch her, and toppling the table over on top of himself when he slipped on the sauce, knocking himself on the head. And since he couldn't catch the second waitress, she stumbled into the first, and they both fell onto the table, which managed to crush Dean's skull.
Sam had knelt slowly, half in shock, part humored, part in awe, and dared to let his fingers stray out to touch Dean's temple. When he licked the blood off his fingers, he woke up for the hundred and thirty sixth time to the same song.
Things spiraled out of control after that, and it was only five days later when Sam woke and had Dean shoved into the mirror, hands gripped on Dean's shirt and in his hair as he latched his lips around the cuts. He groaned as the adrenaline easily let him overpower Dean, and he drank the blood down.
Soon Sam found an eerie calm and contentment from killing Dean himself. He couldn't live without Dean, he knew that, but here...here it didn't matter what happened--he wouldn't need to. He could happily spend the morning playing his role, reveling in Dean's quirks, annoyances, and vibrance. Once the sun peaked, he could turn the day one-eighty and start hunting Dean.
The confusion in Dean's eyes when he told Dean to run was amusing. The realization that Sam is telling the truth gives the vein in Dean's neck a hypnotizing pulse. When Dean starts running, Sam lets him, knowing every route that he'll try to take by now. Once in a while, he'll get a thrill--Dean finding a hiding spot he's never tried before. Those are the days he loves the most, and when he corners Dean and bleeds him as slowly or quickly as his thirst requires, Sam can taste the triumph in his blood.
Sam can't live without Dean, and now he's not sure he could live without being able to kill him every day.
~~~~~~~~~~
Pairing/Characters: Sam, Dean
Rating: R?
Word Count: 728
Notes: sharp_teeth prompt by anonymous here.
Spoilers: 3.11 - Mystery Spot
Warnings: deathfic
Cross-posted to: spn_dark_vault , evilsam_spn
Summary: (Prompt) Mystery Spot:
Sam can't face a future where he never sees his brother alive again. At least in the time loop, he gets one more day with Dean. And another day. And another day.
~~~~~~~~~~
It was the hundred and sixth time Sam helplessly watched Dean die (this time the old drunk man without keys -- thanks to Sam -- stumbled onto the road, and two cars swerving to avoid him crashed, sending flying metal directly at Dean). Sam was quick, he'd grabbed Dean's hand to yank him out of the way, knowing at heart it wouldn't do anything, but as usual wasn't quick enough. The metal pierced the side of Dean's neck, and as the rainbow of blood spurted free, and Dean's eyes widened, Sam's hand was clenched in an iron tight grip as Dean fell to his knees, his free hand trying to cover his neck.
Maybe it was the fact that he'd seen Dean die so many times already, but Sam found himself staring into Dean's panicked gaze (Sam had given up trying to explain their Groundhog days to him) and he didn't look away even as he could actually see the focus and life fading. It was strange how even as Dean died, he kept a tight grip on Sam's hand, Sam had thought, until he realized it had been himself that had been clutching Dean's hand so tight.
For the next eight days, the memory of clutching Dean's hand while he died poked at him. Surely the flutter in his stomach had been because his brother had just died.
It was that hundred and fourteenth day that Sam realized he'd been lying to himself. He'd been shoving Dean's shoulder and they'd been laughing when an overhead crane chain snapped and the first rebar fell and impaled Dean on the spot. He'd been touching his brother while he died. The instant he had died. It made his insides tingle, and he wished he could say it was with remorse.
Two weeks later, Sam realized it wasn't just touching Dean as he died that made his insides wriggle, but that holding Dean's gaze as he died gave him a thrill too. A week after that, Sam was just as excited to watch Dean's chest go from steady breathing to motionless. Four days later, that wasn't enough, and these deaths without blood were frustrating, so when the diner floor was oozing Dean's blood, Sam was fascinated. It was miraculous how letting the Tabasco sauce fall would cause a second waitress trip while running to the rescue. Thus enabling Dean to scramble to catch her, and toppling the table over on top of himself when he slipped on the sauce, knocking himself on the head. And since he couldn't catch the second waitress, she stumbled into the first, and they both fell onto the table, which managed to crush Dean's skull.
Sam had knelt slowly, half in shock, part humored, part in awe, and dared to let his fingers stray out to touch Dean's temple. When he licked the blood off his fingers, he woke up for the hundred and thirty sixth time to the same song.
Things spiraled out of control after that, and it was only five days later when Sam woke and had Dean shoved into the mirror, hands gripped on Dean's shirt and in his hair as he latched his lips around the cuts. He groaned as the adrenaline easily let him overpower Dean, and he drank the blood down.
Soon Sam found an eerie calm and contentment from killing Dean himself. He couldn't live without Dean, he knew that, but here...here it didn't matter what happened--he wouldn't need to. He could happily spend the morning playing his role, reveling in Dean's quirks, annoyances, and vibrance. Once the sun peaked, he could turn the day one-eighty and start hunting Dean.
The confusion in Dean's eyes when he told Dean to run was amusing. The realization that Sam is telling the truth gives the vein in Dean's neck a hypnotizing pulse. When Dean starts running, Sam lets him, knowing every route that he'll try to take by now. Once in a while, he'll get a thrill--Dean finding a hiding spot he's never tried before. Those are the days he loves the most, and when he corners Dean and bleeds him as slowly or quickly as his thirst requires, Sam can taste the triumph in his blood.
Sam can't live without Dean, and now he's not sure he could live without being able to kill him every day.
~~~~~~~~~~