"Sacrifice", Supernatural slash, pg-13, AU, WARNING: incest
Author note: I seem to be exploring a theme, and it's not out of my system yet.
Waking up to discover that your brother has tied you up and is planning to kill you really shouldn't become a habit. Sam groaned as consciousness returned only to show him again what he had passed out hoping wasn't true. No, really, this should stay a bad dream.
"I know you're awake, Sammy." Dean--or whatever was masquerading as Dean this time--said quietly, as he carefully traced runes on the marble floor surrounding the weird spiral blue cloud thing in the middle of the large, dank room. "I need you to pay attention now, okay? This is important."
Nice to know that his death was important anyway.
"Dean, don't do this."
"Got to, Sammy. No choices here. Now pay attention while I explain." Sam tried to surreptitiously loosen the knots of the thin cord tying his hands behind the...what, the altar?...behind whateverthefuck Dean had tied him to. "Don't waste your time, Sammy. I may never have been a boy scout, but I can certainly tie a knot that'll keep you there for as long as I need."
"How long is that, Dean?" Sam was vaguely proud of himself that his voice didn't break.
"Not long. I promise."
Very comforting. Thanks, bro. "What's going on? What the hell are you doing? Are you--are you fucking crazy, man?" the last question destroyed Sam's thin shred of pride as his voice raised to a somewhat girly shriek. That was a big fucking knife Dean had there.
"Good question. Good questions all, little brother." Dean smiled at him, and it was too much because it was Dean. Dean from head to toe, Dean down to the core. Sam recognized the deep, sarcasm-tinged love in the eyes that met Sam's, even as Dean finished the last of the symbols on the floor. "This is--hell, I don't know what to call it. It's some sort of black-hole. You'd know more about that than me, right college-boy?" Dean tested the sharp edge of the knife gently on the ball of his thumb as he walked towards Sam.
"Uh, you're plenty smart, Dean, I never said--"
"Shut up, Sammy. I'm explaining, remember?" Dean looked back at the pseudo-black-hole for a moment. "Where was I? Oh yeah. But it's not a gravity-well. It's a power-sink. It's drawing power from this world. From you, actually."
Dean grinned, big and beautiful and even though Sam had absolutely no bondage fantasies left in him after the last time he was in this situation, the sight of Dean's pure, unadulterated joy did strange things to his guts. Fucked up much, Sam?
Before he could interrupt, Dean stepped close enough to rest his left hand on Sam's throat. "Right now it's sucking power out of you like a...well, I was going to make some sort of hooker-analogy, but I don't want to cheapen the moment." Dean leaned in and rested his forehead against Sam's. "The ironic thing is that if the swirly wasn't here, you'd be more than strong enough to magic yourself free and stop me. If the swirly was closed, you'd be strong enough to do almost anything. It's been drawing power from you ever since you started getting your powers--giving you those headaches, making you weak. And I figure we've got to close it."
Stepping back, Dean shook his head. "But here's the other ironic thing--"
"The ironic thing, Dean, you specified one ironic--"
"It takes your blood to close it. I've researched and researched, and it's the only thing that'll work."
"Yeah, well we both know that research isn't your strong suit. Come on, cut me loose and we'll figure something out."
"This knife isn't for cutting you loose, Sammy." Dean rested the (really big fucking) knife against Sam's throat, and it felt warmer than Dean's hand. "This knife is for closing the power-sink. If it's closed, you'll have the kind of power that no one can stop. Nothing will touch you, Sammy. You'll be safe from all the filth and horror that I've dragged you back into."
Safe? "So, what, a few drops?" Sam grimaced, hoping it looked like a smile. "A pint, what?" Dean's eyes filled for a second, and Sam felt his terror ratchet up to levels previously unsuspected. "Dean, what--"
"Life's blood, Sam. To really close it, it takes a life."
"God! Dean, don't--" The knife pressed a little harder on his throat, and Dean's lips pressed hard together. "If this is payback for the thing with the gun, man--Dean, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry--"
"What?" And somehow that seemed to get through, because Dean cocked his head curiously to the side. "I know that. We're okay on that. We've been okay on that. Whatever, man. The bruises are gone, so is the problem."
"Yeah, well this'll be a little harder to get over!"
"Yeah." Dean shrugged. "Yeah, probably. But I know you'll forgive me. Just like I forgave you, right, Sammy?"
Sam bit back a sob. "It's gonna be tough to forgive you with my throat slit, Dean."
"I have faith," Dean muttered, still smiling a crazy half-grin. "Hey, you ever watch Buffy?"
What? "Uh, Dean--"
"I know you must have. No way you escaped us that much, man. You were still paying attention to the spooks and the bloodsuckers, even away at school. Bet you saw the same goofs I did, right? But they got some of it right."
Dean moved back in closer, murmuring softly in Sam's ear so that Sam could feel the heat of each word. "Remember her little sister, Sammy? Remember how she was obnoxious and in the way and needed protecting all the time? But Buffy loved her anyway." Dean laughed, a little puff of air in Sam's ear. "Did you ever wonder about that love? Pretty girls, sharing a bed sometimes, maybe snuggling a little more than they should? You ever wonder about that, Sammy?"
"Dean--" the knife wasn't close enough to explain why he sounded strangled.
Dean stepped back. "And you remember how little sister had to be sacrificed to save the world?"
The light from the blue cloud seemed to spark off the blade as Dean raised it slowly away from Sam's throat, holding it just above his shoulder ready to strike.
"Dean, Jesus Christ don't do this! Please don't--"
Dean stopped Sam's mouth with a hand, and then, harder, with a kiss. "Dammit, Sammy, you never get me, do you? They got this part right, too. We share the same blood, brother."
No.
And Dean stepped back, the knife still raised, the light prismatic through the darkness as the blade arced downwards
No!
slicing through the darkness like a strobe until it hit the light, burying deep in the light not the light but in Dean, the knife burying itself into Dean's stomach
"No!"
and then up, ripping up to his chest as if chasing his scream, Dean's head snapping back, eyes wide and agonized
"No, God no, Dean!"
and then, unbelievably, a smile, Dean's face trembling into something horribly beautiful as he whispered "forgive me, Sammy" and fell, back, down, into the roiling blue nothingness of the cloud.
"Dean!"
The indigo well seemed to lap at Dean's blood, pulling it from him as his body twitched once, twice, his breath catching on Sam's name as he finally went limp, and the light of the cloud flickered, faded, and went out, leaving Dean tinged blue by nothing more than blood loss. Nothing less than death.
The resultant kick of power interrupted Sam's hysterical screams, and for a second he hoped he was dying. Then he knew he wasn't...and maybe never would. The power was like nothing he could describe. Not like sex, not like freedom, not like joy, not like life...it was all of those and more, it was Dean's smile and Dean's sacrifice, and now it was all Sam's and he could control it.
He could control everything.
The ropes fell away from him like petals from a flower, and the air parted for him as he lunged for Dean's body. He wasted no time on grief or grappling, no time arguing with fate in the form of his brother's corpse. Kneeling down, he cupped Dean's face in one hand and pulled him up for a kiss.
It took a second, mostly because Dean had always been slow. He never did like to accept that anyone else's plan might work.
"S--Sam?"
Sam grinned. "Last time I checked." And he still was. Still was Sam, only more so.
"What? How--"
"Don't waste time on the philosophy stuff, man. It's not your strong suit either."
Dean somehow managed to look more horrified that he was alive--again--than he had as he gutted himself.
Sam sighed. Our family has issues. "You really thought you'd free up some nifty superhuman powers for me and I wouldn't use them for anything important?"
Dean shook his head, raising a hand to the blood-soaked shirt that covered his undamaged chest. Sam liked Dean's chest undamaged.
"Sam, you...but...I had to die, otherwise you wouldn't get your powers back; the sink would keep...sucking." He coughed a little, and Sam had to sigh again. Even in the midst of a crisis, or just after one, Sam amended, Dean had all the maturity of a ten-year-old. An immature ten-year-old.
"You really thought you were going to die?" The thought made something hot flash through Sam, and he jerked Dean up to a seated position, not being careful since he wasn't fucking hurt, no thanks to Dean. "You thought you were going to die to stop the power-sink thing?"
"And the dreams, the headaches--"
"Try aspirin next time, genius." He shoved Dean away, standing to pace angrily over to where the knife still lay in a smear of Dean's blood.
"Sammy--"
"No!" He didn't mean to move so quickly, and he certainly wasn't going to use the knife, but Dean obviously didn't know that, and Dean sat gratifyingly still with the knife at his throat. Not bothering with his new-found powers, Sam reached down to physically pull his brother upright.
Okay, he might have used a little power to hold him pinned against the altar. "You listen to me, Dean. I would never have forgiven you, okay? You don't get to die on me." For the first time in his life, Sam sensed that he might actually have a say in this. It was a good feeling, moving beyond the power itself to what the power can do for him. For Dean. For them.
"Sam..."
Still holding Dean upright, Sam bent in closer. "It's a new world, Dean. Things are going to change, and we're going to make things better. Safer. We're going to do it together. Okay?"
Dean looked at him warily, and Sam forced himself to wait. Because he couldn't use the power burning under his skin against Dean. Not if this new world was going to be worth it. "Dean, I need you for this. No more sacrifices. Dawn still needed Buffy, and I still need you."
There was a second of confusion, a momentary flirtation with protest, and then Dean smiled, doubtful still, but beautiful and growing stronger. "You've got me. You've always had me, Sam."
Sam nodded, the covenant sealed. "Okay then. Let's get going, give these powers of mine a test drive." He patted Dean gently on the cheek. "And tonight we can discuss the whole snuggling situation."
Dean's eyes widened in shock. And while it wasn't new, Sam had to admit that the power to shut Dean up was still one of his favorites.
Waking up to discover that your brother has tied you up and is planning to kill you really shouldn't become a habit. Sam groaned as consciousness returned only to show him again what he had passed out hoping wasn't true. No, really, this should stay a bad dream.
"I know you're awake, Sammy." Dean--or whatever was masquerading as Dean this time--said quietly, as he carefully traced runes on the marble floor surrounding the weird spiral blue cloud thing in the middle of the large, dank room. "I need you to pay attention now, okay? This is important."
Nice to know that his death was important anyway.
"Dean, don't do this."
"Got to, Sammy. No choices here. Now pay attention while I explain." Sam tried to surreptitiously loosen the knots of the thin cord tying his hands behind the...what, the altar?...behind whateverthefuck Dean had tied him to. "Don't waste your time, Sammy. I may never have been a boy scout, but I can certainly tie a knot that'll keep you there for as long as I need."
"How long is that, Dean?" Sam was vaguely proud of himself that his voice didn't break.
"Not long. I promise."
Very comforting. Thanks, bro. "What's going on? What the hell are you doing? Are you--are you fucking crazy, man?" the last question destroyed Sam's thin shred of pride as his voice raised to a somewhat girly shriek. That was a big fucking knife Dean had there.
"Good question. Good questions all, little brother." Dean smiled at him, and it was too much because it was Dean. Dean from head to toe, Dean down to the core. Sam recognized the deep, sarcasm-tinged love in the eyes that met Sam's, even as Dean finished the last of the symbols on the floor. "This is--hell, I don't know what to call it. It's some sort of black-hole. You'd know more about that than me, right college-boy?" Dean tested the sharp edge of the knife gently on the ball of his thumb as he walked towards Sam.
"Uh, you're plenty smart, Dean, I never said--"
"Shut up, Sammy. I'm explaining, remember?" Dean looked back at the pseudo-black-hole for a moment. "Where was I? Oh yeah. But it's not a gravity-well. It's a power-sink. It's drawing power from this world. From you, actually."
Dean grinned, big and beautiful and even though Sam had absolutely no bondage fantasies left in him after the last time he was in this situation, the sight of Dean's pure, unadulterated joy did strange things to his guts. Fucked up much, Sam?
Before he could interrupt, Dean stepped close enough to rest his left hand on Sam's throat. "Right now it's sucking power out of you like a...well, I was going to make some sort of hooker-analogy, but I don't want to cheapen the moment." Dean leaned in and rested his forehead against Sam's. "The ironic thing is that if the swirly wasn't here, you'd be more than strong enough to magic yourself free and stop me. If the swirly was closed, you'd be strong enough to do almost anything. It's been drawing power from you ever since you started getting your powers--giving you those headaches, making you weak. And I figure we've got to close it."
Stepping back, Dean shook his head. "But here's the other ironic thing--"
"The ironic thing, Dean, you specified one ironic--"
"It takes your blood to close it. I've researched and researched, and it's the only thing that'll work."
"Yeah, well we both know that research isn't your strong suit. Come on, cut me loose and we'll figure something out."
"This knife isn't for cutting you loose, Sammy." Dean rested the (really big fucking) knife against Sam's throat, and it felt warmer than Dean's hand. "This knife is for closing the power-sink. If it's closed, you'll have the kind of power that no one can stop. Nothing will touch you, Sammy. You'll be safe from all the filth and horror that I've dragged you back into."
Safe? "So, what, a few drops?" Sam grimaced, hoping it looked like a smile. "A pint, what?" Dean's eyes filled for a second, and Sam felt his terror ratchet up to levels previously unsuspected. "Dean, what--"
"Life's blood, Sam. To really close it, it takes a life."
"God! Dean, don't--" The knife pressed a little harder on his throat, and Dean's lips pressed hard together. "If this is payback for the thing with the gun, man--Dean, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry--"
"What?" And somehow that seemed to get through, because Dean cocked his head curiously to the side. "I know that. We're okay on that. We've been okay on that. Whatever, man. The bruises are gone, so is the problem."
"Yeah, well this'll be a little harder to get over!"
"Yeah." Dean shrugged. "Yeah, probably. But I know you'll forgive me. Just like I forgave you, right, Sammy?"
Sam bit back a sob. "It's gonna be tough to forgive you with my throat slit, Dean."
"I have faith," Dean muttered, still smiling a crazy half-grin. "Hey, you ever watch Buffy?"
What? "Uh, Dean--"
"I know you must have. No way you escaped us that much, man. You were still paying attention to the spooks and the bloodsuckers, even away at school. Bet you saw the same goofs I did, right? But they got some of it right."
Dean moved back in closer, murmuring softly in Sam's ear so that Sam could feel the heat of each word. "Remember her little sister, Sammy? Remember how she was obnoxious and in the way and needed protecting all the time? But Buffy loved her anyway." Dean laughed, a little puff of air in Sam's ear. "Did you ever wonder about that love? Pretty girls, sharing a bed sometimes, maybe snuggling a little more than they should? You ever wonder about that, Sammy?"
"Dean--" the knife wasn't close enough to explain why he sounded strangled.
Dean stepped back. "And you remember how little sister had to be sacrificed to save the world?"
The light from the blue cloud seemed to spark off the blade as Dean raised it slowly away from Sam's throat, holding it just above his shoulder ready to strike.
"Dean, Jesus Christ don't do this! Please don't--"
Dean stopped Sam's mouth with a hand, and then, harder, with a kiss. "Dammit, Sammy, you never get me, do you? They got this part right, too. We share the same blood, brother."
No.
And Dean stepped back, the knife still raised, the light prismatic through the darkness as the blade arced downwards
No!
slicing through the darkness like a strobe until it hit the light, burying deep in the light not the light but in Dean, the knife burying itself into Dean's stomach
"No!"
and then up, ripping up to his chest as if chasing his scream, Dean's head snapping back, eyes wide and agonized
"No, God no, Dean!"
and then, unbelievably, a smile, Dean's face trembling into something horribly beautiful as he whispered "forgive me, Sammy" and fell, back, down, into the roiling blue nothingness of the cloud.
"Dean!"
The indigo well seemed to lap at Dean's blood, pulling it from him as his body twitched once, twice, his breath catching on Sam's name as he finally went limp, and the light of the cloud flickered, faded, and went out, leaving Dean tinged blue by nothing more than blood loss. Nothing less than death.
The resultant kick of power interrupted Sam's hysterical screams, and for a second he hoped he was dying. Then he knew he wasn't...and maybe never would. The power was like nothing he could describe. Not like sex, not like freedom, not like joy, not like life...it was all of those and more, it was Dean's smile and Dean's sacrifice, and now it was all Sam's and he could control it.
He could control everything.
The ropes fell away from him like petals from a flower, and the air parted for him as he lunged for Dean's body. He wasted no time on grief or grappling, no time arguing with fate in the form of his brother's corpse. Kneeling down, he cupped Dean's face in one hand and pulled him up for a kiss.
It took a second, mostly because Dean had always been slow. He never did like to accept that anyone else's plan might work.
"S--Sam?"
Sam grinned. "Last time I checked." And he still was. Still was Sam, only more so.
"What? How--"
"Don't waste time on the philosophy stuff, man. It's not your strong suit either."
Dean somehow managed to look more horrified that he was alive--again--than he had as he gutted himself.
Sam sighed. Our family has issues. "You really thought you'd free up some nifty superhuman powers for me and I wouldn't use them for anything important?"
Dean shook his head, raising a hand to the blood-soaked shirt that covered his undamaged chest. Sam liked Dean's chest undamaged.
"Sam, you...but...I had to die, otherwise you wouldn't get your powers back; the sink would keep...sucking." He coughed a little, and Sam had to sigh again. Even in the midst of a crisis, or just after one, Sam amended, Dean had all the maturity of a ten-year-old. An immature ten-year-old.
"You really thought you were going to die?" The thought made something hot flash through Sam, and he jerked Dean up to a seated position, not being careful since he wasn't fucking hurt, no thanks to Dean. "You thought you were going to die to stop the power-sink thing?"
"And the dreams, the headaches--"
"Try aspirin next time, genius." He shoved Dean away, standing to pace angrily over to where the knife still lay in a smear of Dean's blood.
"Sammy--"
"No!" He didn't mean to move so quickly, and he certainly wasn't going to use the knife, but Dean obviously didn't know that, and Dean sat gratifyingly still with the knife at his throat. Not bothering with his new-found powers, Sam reached down to physically pull his brother upright.
Okay, he might have used a little power to hold him pinned against the altar. "You listen to me, Dean. I would never have forgiven you, okay? You don't get to die on me." For the first time in his life, Sam sensed that he might actually have a say in this. It was a good feeling, moving beyond the power itself to what the power can do for him. For Dean. For them.
"Sam..."
Still holding Dean upright, Sam bent in closer. "It's a new world, Dean. Things are going to change, and we're going to make things better. Safer. We're going to do it together. Okay?"
Dean looked at him warily, and Sam forced himself to wait. Because he couldn't use the power burning under his skin against Dean. Not if this new world was going to be worth it. "Dean, I need you for this. No more sacrifices. Dawn still needed Buffy, and I still need you."
There was a second of confusion, a momentary flirtation with protest, and then Dean smiled, doubtful still, but beautiful and growing stronger. "You've got me. You've always had me, Sam."
Sam nodded, the covenant sealed. "Okay then. Let's get going, give these powers of mine a test drive." He patted Dean gently on the cheek. "And tonight we can discuss the whole snuggling situation."
Dean's eyes widened in shock. And while it wasn't new, Sam had to admit that the power to shut Dean up was still one of his favorites.