Welcome To The Black Parade
Title: Welcome To The Black Parade
Pairing/Character: Dean/Sam, Sam/OMC, John, Mary
Rating: NC-17
Genre: AU
Word Count: ~1700
Summary: Sam goes crazy when Dean stops talking to him.
Warnings: non-con, dub-con, necrophilia, wincest (no underage), major character death, barebacking, psychotic Sam, extreme violence, bottom Dean, top Sam.
Note 1: Thanks to ashtraythief for brainstorming and pushing me towards more evil! Thanks to dracox_serdriel for the brilliant last-minute beta. And also thanks to kjanddean for cheering me on when I was doubting myself and this fic.
Note 2: Written for the evilsam_spn Summer Challenge 2013: It's So Easy When You're Evil to
song number 38: Welcome to the Black Parade by My Chemical Romance
Note 3: Thanks hugely and enormously for the very disturbing art by kjanddean. It can be found at the end of the fic, because it's a big (gross :) spoiler.
Also on AO3.
“Oh yes, Dean. Feels so good.”
Sam is pounding fast into Dean's ass. They're both almost fully clothed, just enough bare skin for a fast fuck.
“Aaah! Aaaaah!” Dean moans muffled.
“I knew you'd love it,” Sam says as he keeps himself upright with a hand to the back of Dean's neck, pushing him into the pillow. His other hand is kneading Dean's beautiful ass.
“Nnnnnngggggggghhhhhhhh!”
Dean moves and wiggles frantically under him, and it feels great.
“Next time, I'll take better care of you,” Sam whispers gently in Dean's ear.
“Nnngggggguuuu- ...”
“Yeah, that's hot. Just lay there and take it.”
He keeps slamming his hips into Dean's ass, the sound of balls slapping skin filling the room.
“Aaaaaaaaah, YES!” Sam yells as he comes.
He slumps down on Dean's back for a moment.
“Gonna take a quick shower now,” Sam says, while he pulls a blanket over Dean's well-fucked ass. He deserves a little rest.
The next morning, they're still in the foul-smelling, generic motel room. It could be any motel they've ever stayed at, except something here feels very different, very off.
“Dean. I'm sorry,” Sam says softly near Dean's ear.
He doesn't react.
“Are you mad at me? Please talk to me, man.”
Dean continues to ignore his existence, laying there on the bed, face turned away from Sam.
“Look, what do you want me to say? Mom, please make him stop sulking.”
“...”
“I know I'm a grown man now, but he'll listen to you. Make him say something to me. Please?”
“...”
“Yes, Dad, Sir. No whining. I'm not a girl. Gotta fix my own problems.”
Sam brings his face close to Dean's again.
“Dean, I just wanted to show how much I love you, and you liked it, didn't you? I've seen how you look at me. I know you wanted this, too. You only struggled a bit at the start for show? After that, it was good, you know? Please, say you love me! Dean!”
“...”
“Yes, Dad, Sir. Stop yelling. Compose myself. Never let them see.”
A few days later, Sam is driving the Impala through a small town. They stop near a park. The sun is shining, kids are playing, and a family is picnicking on the grass.
“Want to get something to eat, Dean? There's a diner over there.”
Dean is still playing mute, so Sam gets out of the car by himself. He opens the back door for his mom and dad.
“OK. Fine. We will,” he says through the open car window. “Look, what can I do but say I'm sorry?” he tries, but Dean still refuses to look at him. So they walk into the park without him.
“...”
“Yes, Mom. You know I'd do anything to make it up to him.”
It's a nice park, although the people are kind of weird and impolite. They stare.
“What do I have to do to prove to Dean that I'm sorry?”
“...”
“You always have the best ideas, Mom.”
They walk up to the family that's sitting on a blanket on the grass.
“Give us your food,” Sam says.
“Excuse me, but why would I want to hand over our food to you, buddy?”
“Because you will live.”
The children are starting to look scared. Good.
“Somehow, I think you will leave now,” the man says while he stands up, cracking his knuckles.
Sam draws a gun from the back of his jeans and shoots him through the mouth.
“Any more objections?” he asks, looking over to the rest of the family.
The woman bends over her husband and looks with big eyes at the blood all over the blanket and her yellow dress.
“I'll take that as a no.”
Sam grabs the picnic basket. The woman and kids scream and cry.
“Shut the fuck up! I can't even hear what my dad's saying.”
Sam silences them with three bullets. Bang. Bang. Bang. Nice and quick.
“OK, Dad.”
“...”
“Yes, Dad, Sir. I'm sorry. Keep a low profile. Don't get noticed.”
They walk back to the car. He opens the car door and presents Dean with a plate.
“Here, I got you some pie. Take it. No? I'll just put it on the dash for later.”
“...”
“Yes, Dad, Sir. No eating in the car. Crumbs and stains.”
As they drive off Sam says: “See, what I'd do for you? What I'd do for my brother? I'll keep proving that I love you until you talk to me again.”
They drive for a long time. Dean refuses to take the wheel, so Sam remaines the designated driver for days. He's tired, and Dean not talking is getting really old.
“Four days! Four days of this, Dean! I can't take it anymore.”
He bats a fly away angrily.
“If you don't start talking to me within five seconds, I'm going into that bar over there and getting completely hammered. Alone!”
“...”
“I'm so sorry, Mom and Dad. I don't want you to have to witness this either. Why don't you go and have a nice dinner?”
“...”
“One. Two. Three. Four. Come on, Dean. Five. OK, I'm gone asshole!”
Sam gets out of the car and slams the door shut.
“...”
“Yes, Dad, Sir. Always be prepared.”
He opens the trunk of the car and takes the duffel and some guns.
Two local guys look at him. One makes a comment about the Impala to the other.
“You wanna say that to may face?” Sam asks, still angry.
“Whoa, whoa, fella! No need to be like that,” the guy in the black cap says.
“I'll be the judge of that. Now, repeat!”
“I just said that your car's beautiful, but it's kinda smelly,” the other man says with an unsure grin and showing his palms defensively.
Sam takes the man's left hand and snaps it back. The guy falls on his knees to the ground whimpering.
“Don't you insult Dean's car. Say you're sorry!”
“I- I'm sorry?” the man stammers in pain.
“Dean? What do you think? Good enough? I don't think so, either. Say it like you mean it: I'm sorry baby.”
The man repeats the words after Sam, who pushes his hand up some more and lets him go.
The man drops hard on the pavement, and his friend crouches down beside him muttering something about 'strangers' and 'keeping your big mouth shut.'
Sam enters the bar.
“Bourbon, neat. And leave the bottle.”
He throws some cash at the bartender, downs his drink in one go and refills the glass himself.
He looks around the bar, one lone, pathetic man with a slight beer gut is dancing the pole. Not much too see and not many people, either.
What the fuck? Dean came in after him?
He walks up to Dean and turns him around violently, only to find some other guy wearing similar clothing. He's not as beautiful as Dean, but he'll do.
“Hey man, what'd you do that for?”
The guy's anger fades fast when he eyes Sam up and down.
“Hi there, handsome. You can twirl me around any time,” he says in a sugary voice. “Or maybe even right now? My place?”
Like the guy read his goddamn mind. Just the thing to get back at Dean. He's been a dick for this long now, Sam sure as hell isn't gonna wait around for him any longer.
“Where do we go?” Sam asks.
The guy leaves the bar, and Sam follows him across the street.
The man with the dislocated shoulder is being carried into an ambulance, his friend in the black cap holding his good hand.
“This is me,” the guy says with a little smile as he looks up to the apartment building. “And this is a '37 Crocker V-Twin,” he says, stroking the handlebar of the classic soft-blue bike that's parked in the street. “It's my baby.”
Sam glances back to the Impala to see if Dean's watching them. He sees a police car pulling up behind it. 'Talk your way out of that one Dean,' he thinks.
They enter the apartment building and walk up to the second floor. The guy is swaying his hips in front of him, and it makes him think of Dean's hips... of Dean's ass. He gets hard just imagining Dean's bare beautiful ass in front of him.
Once they're inside, Sam drags the guy to the bed and yanks down his jeans. With one hand he holds him face down and with the other he opens his fly and takes out his hard dick.
“So, you like it rough?” the guy asks.
“Shut the fuck up,” Sam grunts.
He lubes himself up with some spit and lines his dick up with the guy's hole. Then he starts pushing in.
“Stop!” the man cries, and then he yells some more things Sam chooses not to hear.
“Yeah, lay there and take it. You know you love it.”
The man trashes under him, but Sam's stronger.
“You think you can get away with the fucking silent treatment, huh? I'm not ten anymore, Dean.”
Sam keeps thrusting violently until he shoots his load with a grunt.
The man on the bed screams and tries to scramble away from him, but Sam's not having that. He grabs the guy's head between his hands and abruptly yanks it to one side. He needs silence to think.
Sam looks out the window to see the Impala being towed away, directly followed by the police and another large black car.
He looks around the apartment at his leisure.
Sam tries on a black leather jacket that makes his shoulders look even wider and decides to keep it. He stuffs some food in his duffel, and he takes the keys to the guy's bike. On the way out, Sam snags some old-school Ray Bans from the dresser in the hallway. He'll make 'em look good.
He walks outside to the bike and stares at the space where the Impala was parked a minute ago. Dean actually left.
“...”
“Yes, Dad, Sir. No looking back. Carry on.”
Sam slings the duffel across his back and gets on the bike, cranks up the gas and drives off with a tire spin. He can do this without Dean. Let's see how long Dean lasts without him.
So, now it's safe to open the art... Or is it?
It's brilliant! By kjanddean.
.
Pairing/Character: Dean/Sam, Sam/OMC, John, Mary
Rating: NC-17
Genre: AU
Word Count: ~1700
Summary: Sam goes crazy when Dean stops talking to him.
Warnings: non-con, dub-con, necrophilia, wincest (no underage), major character death, barebacking, psychotic Sam, extreme violence, bottom Dean, top Sam.
Note 1: Thanks to ashtraythief for brainstorming and pushing me towards more evil! Thanks to dracox_serdriel for the brilliant last-minute beta. And also thanks to kjanddean for cheering me on when I was doubting myself and this fic.
Note 2: Written for the evilsam_spn Summer Challenge 2013: It's So Easy When You're Evil to
song number 38: Welcome to the Black Parade by My Chemical Romance
Note 3: Thanks hugely and enormously for the very disturbing art by kjanddean. It can be found at the end of the fic, because it's a big (gross :) spoiler.
Also on AO3.
“Oh yes, Dean. Feels so good.”
Sam is pounding fast into Dean's ass. They're both almost fully clothed, just enough bare skin for a fast fuck.
“Aaah! Aaaaah!” Dean moans muffled.
“I knew you'd love it,” Sam says as he keeps himself upright with a hand to the back of Dean's neck, pushing him into the pillow. His other hand is kneading Dean's beautiful ass.
“Nnnnnngggggggghhhhhhhh!”
Dean moves and wiggles frantically under him, and it feels great.
“Next time, I'll take better care of you,” Sam whispers gently in Dean's ear.
“Nnngggggguuuu- ...”
“Yeah, that's hot. Just lay there and take it.”
He keeps slamming his hips into Dean's ass, the sound of balls slapping skin filling the room.
“Aaaaaaaaah, YES!” Sam yells as he comes.
He slumps down on Dean's back for a moment.
“Gonna take a quick shower now,” Sam says, while he pulls a blanket over Dean's well-fucked ass. He deserves a little rest.
The next morning, they're still in the foul-smelling, generic motel room. It could be any motel they've ever stayed at, except something here feels very different, very off.
“Dean. I'm sorry,” Sam says softly near Dean's ear.
He doesn't react.
“Are you mad at me? Please talk to me, man.”
Dean continues to ignore his existence, laying there on the bed, face turned away from Sam.
“Look, what do you want me to say? Mom, please make him stop sulking.”
“...”
“I know I'm a grown man now, but he'll listen to you. Make him say something to me. Please?”
“...”
“Yes, Dad, Sir. No whining. I'm not a girl. Gotta fix my own problems.”
Sam brings his face close to Dean's again.
“Dean, I just wanted to show how much I love you, and you liked it, didn't you? I've seen how you look at me. I know you wanted this, too. You only struggled a bit at the start for show? After that, it was good, you know? Please, say you love me! Dean!”
“...”
“Yes, Dad, Sir. Stop yelling. Compose myself. Never let them see.”
A few days later, Sam is driving the Impala through a small town. They stop near a park. The sun is shining, kids are playing, and a family is picnicking on the grass.
“Want to get something to eat, Dean? There's a diner over there.”
Dean is still playing mute, so Sam gets out of the car by himself. He opens the back door for his mom and dad.
“OK. Fine. We will,” he says through the open car window. “Look, what can I do but say I'm sorry?” he tries, but Dean still refuses to look at him. So they walk into the park without him.
“...”
“Yes, Mom. You know I'd do anything to make it up to him.”
It's a nice park, although the people are kind of weird and impolite. They stare.
“What do I have to do to prove to Dean that I'm sorry?”
“...”
“You always have the best ideas, Mom.”
They walk up to the family that's sitting on a blanket on the grass.
“Give us your food,” Sam says.
“Excuse me, but why would I want to hand over our food to you, buddy?”
“Because you will live.”
The children are starting to look scared. Good.
“Somehow, I think you will leave now,” the man says while he stands up, cracking his knuckles.
Sam draws a gun from the back of his jeans and shoots him through the mouth.
“Any more objections?” he asks, looking over to the rest of the family.
The woman bends over her husband and looks with big eyes at the blood all over the blanket and her yellow dress.
“I'll take that as a no.”
Sam grabs the picnic basket. The woman and kids scream and cry.
“Shut the fuck up! I can't even hear what my dad's saying.”
Sam silences them with three bullets. Bang. Bang. Bang. Nice and quick.
“OK, Dad.”
“...”
“Yes, Dad, Sir. I'm sorry. Keep a low profile. Don't get noticed.”
They walk back to the car. He opens the car door and presents Dean with a plate.
“Here, I got you some pie. Take it. No? I'll just put it on the dash for later.”
“...”
“Yes, Dad, Sir. No eating in the car. Crumbs and stains.”
As they drive off Sam says: “See, what I'd do for you? What I'd do for my brother? I'll keep proving that I love you until you talk to me again.”
They drive for a long time. Dean refuses to take the wheel, so Sam remaines the designated driver for days. He's tired, and Dean not talking is getting really old.
“Four days! Four days of this, Dean! I can't take it anymore.”
He bats a fly away angrily.
“If you don't start talking to me within five seconds, I'm going into that bar over there and getting completely hammered. Alone!”
“...”
“I'm so sorry, Mom and Dad. I don't want you to have to witness this either. Why don't you go and have a nice dinner?”
“...”
“One. Two. Three. Four. Come on, Dean. Five. OK, I'm gone asshole!”
Sam gets out of the car and slams the door shut.
“...”
“Yes, Dad, Sir. Always be prepared.”
He opens the trunk of the car and takes the duffel and some guns.
Two local guys look at him. One makes a comment about the Impala to the other.
“You wanna say that to may face?” Sam asks, still angry.
“Whoa, whoa, fella! No need to be like that,” the guy in the black cap says.
“I'll be the judge of that. Now, repeat!”
“I just said that your car's beautiful, but it's kinda smelly,” the other man says with an unsure grin and showing his palms defensively.
Sam takes the man's left hand and snaps it back. The guy falls on his knees to the ground whimpering.
“Don't you insult Dean's car. Say you're sorry!”
“I- I'm sorry?” the man stammers in pain.
“Dean? What do you think? Good enough? I don't think so, either. Say it like you mean it: I'm sorry baby.”
The man repeats the words after Sam, who pushes his hand up some more and lets him go.
The man drops hard on the pavement, and his friend crouches down beside him muttering something about 'strangers' and 'keeping your big mouth shut.'
Sam enters the bar.
“Bourbon, neat. And leave the bottle.”
He throws some cash at the bartender, downs his drink in one go and refills the glass himself.
He looks around the bar, one lone, pathetic man with a slight beer gut is dancing the pole. Not much too see and not many people, either.
What the fuck? Dean came in after him?
He walks up to Dean and turns him around violently, only to find some other guy wearing similar clothing. He's not as beautiful as Dean, but he'll do.
“Hey man, what'd you do that for?”
The guy's anger fades fast when he eyes Sam up and down.
“Hi there, handsome. You can twirl me around any time,” he says in a sugary voice. “Or maybe even right now? My place?”
Like the guy read his goddamn mind. Just the thing to get back at Dean. He's been a dick for this long now, Sam sure as hell isn't gonna wait around for him any longer.
“Where do we go?” Sam asks.
The guy leaves the bar, and Sam follows him across the street.
The man with the dislocated shoulder is being carried into an ambulance, his friend in the black cap holding his good hand.
“This is me,” the guy says with a little smile as he looks up to the apartment building. “And this is a '37 Crocker V-Twin,” he says, stroking the handlebar of the classic soft-blue bike that's parked in the street. “It's my baby.”
Sam glances back to the Impala to see if Dean's watching them. He sees a police car pulling up behind it. 'Talk your way out of that one Dean,' he thinks.
They enter the apartment building and walk up to the second floor. The guy is swaying his hips in front of him, and it makes him think of Dean's hips... of Dean's ass. He gets hard just imagining Dean's bare beautiful ass in front of him.
Once they're inside, Sam drags the guy to the bed and yanks down his jeans. With one hand he holds him face down and with the other he opens his fly and takes out his hard dick.
“So, you like it rough?” the guy asks.
“Shut the fuck up,” Sam grunts.
He lubes himself up with some spit and lines his dick up with the guy's hole. Then he starts pushing in.
“Stop!” the man cries, and then he yells some more things Sam chooses not to hear.
“Yeah, lay there and take it. You know you love it.”
The man trashes under him, but Sam's stronger.
“You think you can get away with the fucking silent treatment, huh? I'm not ten anymore, Dean.”
Sam keeps thrusting violently until he shoots his load with a grunt.
The man on the bed screams and tries to scramble away from him, but Sam's not having that. He grabs the guy's head between his hands and abruptly yanks it to one side. He needs silence to think.
Sam looks out the window to see the Impala being towed away, directly followed by the police and another large black car.
He looks around the apartment at his leisure.
Sam tries on a black leather jacket that makes his shoulders look even wider and decides to keep it. He stuffs some food in his duffel, and he takes the keys to the guy's bike. On the way out, Sam snags some old-school Ray Bans from the dresser in the hallway. He'll make 'em look good.
He walks outside to the bike and stares at the space where the Impala was parked a minute ago. Dean actually left.
“...”
“Yes, Dad, Sir. No looking back. Carry on.”
Sam slings the duffel across his back and gets on the bike, cranks up the gas and drives off with a tire spin. He can do this without Dean. Let's see how long Dean lasts without him.
So, now it's safe to open the art... Or is it?
It's brilliant! By kjanddean.
.