SPN: Convex 1/1
Title: Convex
Rating: R
Warnings: mutual non-consensual sex (both parties were under supernatural influences), incest (again, mutually non-con)
Author's note: This was written for my wife,kelmendi , who was looking for a very particular type of story. And who am I to say no?
Episode spoiler: not really, but happens after the Season Two episode "Playthings"
Dean hated witches. They were nasty, evil, and always were far too much trouble. Yet he was having a hard time getting his hatred raging at the weeping sixteen year old girl dressed in a hello kitty tee-shirt and pink flip-flops.
"I'm sorry," she wailed, clinging to Sam like a limpet. "I didn't realize what was going to happen!"
Sam patted her shoulder reassuringly. "It's okay, Chantelle. Everything will be fine. Just tell us everything you've done and give us your spell book."
They had arrived in Oblong, Illinois after reports of teenage boys fighting one another in school turned up in a local newspaper. Normally this wouldn’t have twigged the spooky meter, but the boys' claims that they had no memories of the events had triggered another news story about possible mass hysteria infecting teenagers at the school. As they were in the vicinity, having wrapped up the haunted house deal with the creepy ghost kid, Sam had suggested they check it out, wanting to distract himself from Ava's disappearance, which they were no closer to solving, much to his frustration.
While no spirit was responsible, the hex bags in the locker room pointed towards a witch, and sure enough, the trail led to Chantelle Mayner, a scorned ex-girlfriend of one of the boys. They had thought it was black magic revenge, and Chantelle had confessed as soon as they knocked on her door claiming to be Feds. She had only meant to give him a yeast infection, but a slight mispronunciation and all of the boys acted like beasts. She was truly sorry, and would they be able to fix things? Dean rolled his eyes. Damned witches.
"My spell book is upstairs. And that was the only spell I tried." She bit her lip. "Well, only spell I tried on another person." She sniffled wetly.
Sam peered down at her, giving her the Sammy-eyes, Dean noted. "Tell us everything, Chantelle."
She folded like a cheap suit and Dean snickered inwardly. Teenage girls were powerless in front of Sam's earnestness.
"I cast a spell on a mirror." She pouted a little, her large eyes blinking up at Sam from under her bangs. "But it didn't work. It was supposed to show me my true love. But instead, whoever stands in front of the mirror, it shows who they first slept with. Which is totally lame! I didn't need to know my mom slept with my fourth grade math teacher! I'm going to be scarred for life!"
Sam grimaced as her voice rose. "Okay, Chantelle. We'll take the spell book and the mirror. Are you sure that's everything? Remember, we don't want to have to tell your parents."
Fifteen minutes later, they were back at their hotel, a spell book burning in the wastepaper basket and the full length mirror propped against the wall, a sheet draped over its front.
"Hey, Sammy," Dean said as he halfheartedly juggled the batteries they had removed from the smoke detector. "I dare you to stand in front of the mirror."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Dean. I'm not fifteen."
"Double dog dare you."
"Dean, give it a rest. Besides, I'm not ashamed of Jess being my first, okay?"
Dean grimaced slightly. Of course Sam wouldn't want to be reminded of Jess, but he knew for a fact that Jess wasn't his first. When Sam was in grade 12, Treena Fairbanks had sworn to her best friend Donna that she and Sam had done the nasty. And Donna, it turned out, had a thing for older men who drove Impalas, and loved to gossip.
"Dude, Jess might have been your most significant relationship, but I distinctly remember a certain red headed girl who thought you were smokin' hot in bed."
Sam flushed red. "Nothing, happened, Dean. Just let it go."
"Chicken." Dean clucked a little and grinned. He wasn't going to let this go, no way, no how.
He let loose another burst of clucking and saw Sam's lips narrow and his jaw clench.
"Fine. You first," Sam said, an evil glint in his eye. Dean faltered, that wasn't quite in the plan. But if it got Sam's goat up, it would be worth it.
"Alright." With a swagger, he pulled the sheet off the mirror and planted his feet. The mirror looked like any regular mirror at first, but then began to haze over, almost like it was steaming up. As he watched, a figure appeared in the distance and then drew nearer, as if approaching the mirror. A young woman in a scarlet red dress, matching pumps and a come hither smile flirted from within the mirror.
Sam's jaw dropped in horror. "Mrs. Jenkins?" His voice rose in disbelief. "You slept with Mrs. Jenkins?"
"Actually, it was Ms Jenkins. She wasn't married just yet."
"Dean, she was my seventh grade Spanish teacher." Sam was shaking his head, eyes wide with horror. "Oh my god! She always asked me if you were picking me up after school. Oh my god!"
Dean smirked. "She was a real lady. Taught me a thing or two, I can tell you that. Why do you think it was so easy to get chicks when I was in high school? She was an awesome teacher." He smiled with the memory.
Sam was clearly reeling from the destruction of childhood memories because he didn't resist at all as Dean pulled him over in front of the mirror, Ms Jenkins fading away and the haze returned. Dean watched, snickering, as Sam braced himself. Time for some prime Sammy ribbing.
He watched as the figure coalesced in the distance. But his brow furrowed as the figure didn't prance, or delicately walk to the mirror, but strode with denim covered legs. The figure was male. Dean was shocked. Hell, he knew Sammy always treated the guys who hit on him with grace and dignity, but damn, he had sex with a guy?
His brow furrowed as the figure grew closer, a familiar leather jacket draped on the strong shoulders and a week old beard adorning weathered cheeks. There was no cheeky flirting in the brown eyes, but a stern sadness. But most importantly, he recognized the gun strapped to a shoulder holster. It was the gun that his dad had lost the summer after Sam finished tenth grade.
"What the hell?" he blurted. "What the hell, Sammy?"
"Oh, shit," Sam whispered, going white. He grabbed at the sheet and flung it over the mirror, blocking the image of their father.
"What the hell?" Dean demanded, knowing he sounded like a broken record, but feeling like broken was the only thing he could possible be right now. He had to leave. He couldn't stay and look Sam in the face. Couldn't bear to see the look of betrayal on his brother's face.
He snatched up the keys to the Impala and was out the door before Sam could even turn away from the now covered mirror. Sam called his name, but it was cut off as the door shut.
It wasn't that long before he ended up in a small dive where the bartender wordlessly passed over three whisky shots. He let the alcohol burn in his gut before allowing himself to think about what he'd seen. He didn't want to believe it. If he hadn't seen Ms. Jenkins, he'd swear it was the witch toying with them. But it couldn't be true. If Dad had done that, he would have known. Sam wouldn't have been able to hide that, not from him. He would have known, damn it, and he would have stopped his father no matter what the cost.
The whiskey was threatening to make a reappearance at the thought of what Sam might have gone through. Christ, he thought, how long had it gone on for? Was that why Sam left? Why he hated hunting so much?
He was breathing through his nose, the rage was so strong. So when an elbow bumped his arm, spilling his fourth shot of whiskey, he didn't even rein in his anger. He couldn't kill his dad, the demon had done that for them, but he could damn well channel his rage to the asshole who spilled his drink.
He wasn't sure how long the fight lasted. He was only aware that both of his hands had split knuckles, his nose was bleeding and a cut was bleeding into his left eye when hands pulled him out of the group brawling in the middle of the bar.
"Shit, Dean. Let's get out of here." It was Sam. Come to rescue him, like he wasn't able to do seven years ago. They were outside when he gave in to the urge and retched up the whiskey and blood he'd swallowed. Sam gamely supported him as he heaved into the straggly flower garden that bordered the walkway to the bar.
"Let's get you back to the motel and fix you up," Sam said, pulling the keys from Dean's coat pocket and manhandling him to the passenger seat. Dean thought of protesting, but gave in, resting his head against the cool glass and pulling his arms in against his stomach. He was shivering, but wasn't cold. Shock, he figured.
"How'd you find me?" he croaked, voice breaking from the shouting he had done during the fight.
"You're not the only one who knows how to get the phone company to turn on the GPS chip," Sam said as he pulled out of the bar parking lot and turned them towards the motel. "I figured you'd go do something stupid, get yourself killed."
"Shouldn't have worried. Shouldn't have come." Dean felt a wave of self-hatred roll over him. He hadn't protected his brother. That bastard had done unspeakable things to his baby brother and he hadn't known. He blinked rapidly, refusing to cry.
"Yeah, whatever," Sam said in reply.
It wasn't until Sam was carefully sticking butterfly bandages on his head wound that Dean grabbed his brother's wrist and looked him in the eye. "Why didn’t you ever tell me? I would have stopped him. I would have."
He could see Sam flinch at the desperation in his voice, but the void was pulling at him and he just had to know why Sam didn't trust him enough to let him help.
"Let me finish and I'll explain everything," Sam said gently, his eyes filled with concern. "Promise."
So Dean closed his eyes and let Sam finish his ministrations. A pat to his knee made him open his eyes and he watched as Sam settled on the opposite bed, head down and elbows braced on his knees.
"It wasn't what you think," Sam said, eyes locked on the floor. Dean was about to protest. What the hell could it have been? But when Sam looked up, it wasn't devastation in his eyes, but…embarrassment? Dean clamped down on his disbelief and let his brother continue.
"I had just finished school, and before you ask, I was sixteen. You had gone off on a hunt with Caleb for two weeks, saying you couldn't stand the way Dad and I were at each other's throats, but I think you were just too stoked about the thought of zombies." Sam grinned.
Dean remembered that hunt. Getting rid of the zombies had been awesome. Cleaning zombie parts of the Impala, not so much. He also remembered returning to their makeshift home and finding a very subdued father and an even more subdued Sam. He chalked it up to a fight he'd missed and distracted Sam with tales of the crypt, getting a proud nod from his dad and a couple of grins from Sam.
"Turns out there was a witch in town, not at all like Chantelle. A real piece of work. Killed a woman who'd slept with her husband and tried to kill him. But Dad was on it and because I was out of school, he thought I'd get some experience with witches by helping him. He took her out, but before he did, she'd cast a curse on him, and as it turned out, on me. It was a succubus curse. Thing is, it didn't manifest until we were back at the trailer park because it was designed to affect the first two people who went in the door of the trailer. And it hit us both, hard." Sam was slowly turning red as he explained. "I… I remember he pushed me up against the wall, and I… I really wanted it. I mean, I knew it was wrong and something wasn't right, but I just didn't care."
Dean swallowed hard. "Did he… hurt you?"
Sam shook his head. "No. We just, jerked each other off. I think I bit his neck, but that was about it. I swear, Dean, that was it. And then we swore we'd never talk about it ever again. Ever," he repeated emphatically.
Dean shook his head, the knot in his stomach loosening. "When I saw him in that damn mirror? I swear, I wanted to resurrect him, just to kill him all over again."
Sam gave him a crooked grin. "Yeah, I didn't exactly expect it to show him. I honestly thought it would be Jess." He looked down at his hands and then up again, staring intently at Dean's face. "I would have told you. If he had… you know. I would have told you. You would have known."
Dean closed his eyes and nodded absently. He hadn't failed his brother, even if he hadn't been there at the time for him.
"So how about we get rid of that thing and get out of town?" Sam said, his face perking up clearly in an effort to change the subject.
"Sounds good." Dean rose and moved towards the mirror. He had some ideas for how to best break it. There had to be a cliff somewhere around there. "Hey, Sammy. Did I ever tell you about that time that Ms. Jenkins and I…"
Finis
Rating: R
Warnings: mutual non-consensual sex (both parties were under supernatural influences), incest (again, mutually non-con)
Author's note: This was written for my wife,kelmendi , who was looking for a very particular type of story. And who am I to say no?
Episode spoiler: not really, but happens after the Season Two episode "Playthings"
Dean hated witches. They were nasty, evil, and always were far too much trouble. Yet he was having a hard time getting his hatred raging at the weeping sixteen year old girl dressed in a hello kitty tee-shirt and pink flip-flops.
"I'm sorry," she wailed, clinging to Sam like a limpet. "I didn't realize what was going to happen!"
Sam patted her shoulder reassuringly. "It's okay, Chantelle. Everything will be fine. Just tell us everything you've done and give us your spell book."
They had arrived in Oblong, Illinois after reports of teenage boys fighting one another in school turned up in a local newspaper. Normally this wouldn’t have twigged the spooky meter, but the boys' claims that they had no memories of the events had triggered another news story about possible mass hysteria infecting teenagers at the school. As they were in the vicinity, having wrapped up the haunted house deal with the creepy ghost kid, Sam had suggested they check it out, wanting to distract himself from Ava's disappearance, which they were no closer to solving, much to his frustration.
While no spirit was responsible, the hex bags in the locker room pointed towards a witch, and sure enough, the trail led to Chantelle Mayner, a scorned ex-girlfriend of one of the boys. They had thought it was black magic revenge, and Chantelle had confessed as soon as they knocked on her door claiming to be Feds. She had only meant to give him a yeast infection, but a slight mispronunciation and all of the boys acted like beasts. She was truly sorry, and would they be able to fix things? Dean rolled his eyes. Damned witches.
"My spell book is upstairs. And that was the only spell I tried." She bit her lip. "Well, only spell I tried on another person." She sniffled wetly.
Sam peered down at her, giving her the Sammy-eyes, Dean noted. "Tell us everything, Chantelle."
She folded like a cheap suit and Dean snickered inwardly. Teenage girls were powerless in front of Sam's earnestness.
"I cast a spell on a mirror." She pouted a little, her large eyes blinking up at Sam from under her bangs. "But it didn't work. It was supposed to show me my true love. But instead, whoever stands in front of the mirror, it shows who they first slept with. Which is totally lame! I didn't need to know my mom slept with my fourth grade math teacher! I'm going to be scarred for life!"
Sam grimaced as her voice rose. "Okay, Chantelle. We'll take the spell book and the mirror. Are you sure that's everything? Remember, we don't want to have to tell your parents."
Fifteen minutes later, they were back at their hotel, a spell book burning in the wastepaper basket and the full length mirror propped against the wall, a sheet draped over its front.
"Hey, Sammy," Dean said as he halfheartedly juggled the batteries they had removed from the smoke detector. "I dare you to stand in front of the mirror."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Dean. I'm not fifteen."
"Double dog dare you."
"Dean, give it a rest. Besides, I'm not ashamed of Jess being my first, okay?"
Dean grimaced slightly. Of course Sam wouldn't want to be reminded of Jess, but he knew for a fact that Jess wasn't his first. When Sam was in grade 12, Treena Fairbanks had sworn to her best friend Donna that she and Sam had done the nasty. And Donna, it turned out, had a thing for older men who drove Impalas, and loved to gossip.
"Dude, Jess might have been your most significant relationship, but I distinctly remember a certain red headed girl who thought you were smokin' hot in bed."
Sam flushed red. "Nothing, happened, Dean. Just let it go."
"Chicken." Dean clucked a little and grinned. He wasn't going to let this go, no way, no how.
He let loose another burst of clucking and saw Sam's lips narrow and his jaw clench.
"Fine. You first," Sam said, an evil glint in his eye. Dean faltered, that wasn't quite in the plan. But if it got Sam's goat up, it would be worth it.
"Alright." With a swagger, he pulled the sheet off the mirror and planted his feet. The mirror looked like any regular mirror at first, but then began to haze over, almost like it was steaming up. As he watched, a figure appeared in the distance and then drew nearer, as if approaching the mirror. A young woman in a scarlet red dress, matching pumps and a come hither smile flirted from within the mirror.
Sam's jaw dropped in horror. "Mrs. Jenkins?" His voice rose in disbelief. "You slept with Mrs. Jenkins?"
"Actually, it was Ms Jenkins. She wasn't married just yet."
"Dean, she was my seventh grade Spanish teacher." Sam was shaking his head, eyes wide with horror. "Oh my god! She always asked me if you were picking me up after school. Oh my god!"
Dean smirked. "She was a real lady. Taught me a thing or two, I can tell you that. Why do you think it was so easy to get chicks when I was in high school? She was an awesome teacher." He smiled with the memory.
Sam was clearly reeling from the destruction of childhood memories because he didn't resist at all as Dean pulled him over in front of the mirror, Ms Jenkins fading away and the haze returned. Dean watched, snickering, as Sam braced himself. Time for some prime Sammy ribbing.
He watched as the figure coalesced in the distance. But his brow furrowed as the figure didn't prance, or delicately walk to the mirror, but strode with denim covered legs. The figure was male. Dean was shocked. Hell, he knew Sammy always treated the guys who hit on him with grace and dignity, but damn, he had sex with a guy?
His brow furrowed as the figure grew closer, a familiar leather jacket draped on the strong shoulders and a week old beard adorning weathered cheeks. There was no cheeky flirting in the brown eyes, but a stern sadness. But most importantly, he recognized the gun strapped to a shoulder holster. It was the gun that his dad had lost the summer after Sam finished tenth grade.
"What the hell?" he blurted. "What the hell, Sammy?"
"Oh, shit," Sam whispered, going white. He grabbed at the sheet and flung it over the mirror, blocking the image of their father.
"What the hell?" Dean demanded, knowing he sounded like a broken record, but feeling like broken was the only thing he could possible be right now. He had to leave. He couldn't stay and look Sam in the face. Couldn't bear to see the look of betrayal on his brother's face.
He snatched up the keys to the Impala and was out the door before Sam could even turn away from the now covered mirror. Sam called his name, but it was cut off as the door shut.
It wasn't that long before he ended up in a small dive where the bartender wordlessly passed over three whisky shots. He let the alcohol burn in his gut before allowing himself to think about what he'd seen. He didn't want to believe it. If he hadn't seen Ms. Jenkins, he'd swear it was the witch toying with them. But it couldn't be true. If Dad had done that, he would have known. Sam wouldn't have been able to hide that, not from him. He would have known, damn it, and he would have stopped his father no matter what the cost.
The whiskey was threatening to make a reappearance at the thought of what Sam might have gone through. Christ, he thought, how long had it gone on for? Was that why Sam left? Why he hated hunting so much?
He was breathing through his nose, the rage was so strong. So when an elbow bumped his arm, spilling his fourth shot of whiskey, he didn't even rein in his anger. He couldn't kill his dad, the demon had done that for them, but he could damn well channel his rage to the asshole who spilled his drink.
He wasn't sure how long the fight lasted. He was only aware that both of his hands had split knuckles, his nose was bleeding and a cut was bleeding into his left eye when hands pulled him out of the group brawling in the middle of the bar.
"Shit, Dean. Let's get out of here." It was Sam. Come to rescue him, like he wasn't able to do seven years ago. They were outside when he gave in to the urge and retched up the whiskey and blood he'd swallowed. Sam gamely supported him as he heaved into the straggly flower garden that bordered the walkway to the bar.
"Let's get you back to the motel and fix you up," Sam said, pulling the keys from Dean's coat pocket and manhandling him to the passenger seat. Dean thought of protesting, but gave in, resting his head against the cool glass and pulling his arms in against his stomach. He was shivering, but wasn't cold. Shock, he figured.
"How'd you find me?" he croaked, voice breaking from the shouting he had done during the fight.
"You're not the only one who knows how to get the phone company to turn on the GPS chip," Sam said as he pulled out of the bar parking lot and turned them towards the motel. "I figured you'd go do something stupid, get yourself killed."
"Shouldn't have worried. Shouldn't have come." Dean felt a wave of self-hatred roll over him. He hadn't protected his brother. That bastard had done unspeakable things to his baby brother and he hadn't known. He blinked rapidly, refusing to cry.
"Yeah, whatever," Sam said in reply.
It wasn't until Sam was carefully sticking butterfly bandages on his head wound that Dean grabbed his brother's wrist and looked him in the eye. "Why didn’t you ever tell me? I would have stopped him. I would have."
He could see Sam flinch at the desperation in his voice, but the void was pulling at him and he just had to know why Sam didn't trust him enough to let him help.
"Let me finish and I'll explain everything," Sam said gently, his eyes filled with concern. "Promise."
So Dean closed his eyes and let Sam finish his ministrations. A pat to his knee made him open his eyes and he watched as Sam settled on the opposite bed, head down and elbows braced on his knees.
"It wasn't what you think," Sam said, eyes locked on the floor. Dean was about to protest. What the hell could it have been? But when Sam looked up, it wasn't devastation in his eyes, but…embarrassment? Dean clamped down on his disbelief and let his brother continue.
"I had just finished school, and before you ask, I was sixteen. You had gone off on a hunt with Caleb for two weeks, saying you couldn't stand the way Dad and I were at each other's throats, but I think you were just too stoked about the thought of zombies." Sam grinned.
Dean remembered that hunt. Getting rid of the zombies had been awesome. Cleaning zombie parts of the Impala, not so much. He also remembered returning to their makeshift home and finding a very subdued father and an even more subdued Sam. He chalked it up to a fight he'd missed and distracted Sam with tales of the crypt, getting a proud nod from his dad and a couple of grins from Sam.
"Turns out there was a witch in town, not at all like Chantelle. A real piece of work. Killed a woman who'd slept with her husband and tried to kill him. But Dad was on it and because I was out of school, he thought I'd get some experience with witches by helping him. He took her out, but before he did, she'd cast a curse on him, and as it turned out, on me. It was a succubus curse. Thing is, it didn't manifest until we were back at the trailer park because it was designed to affect the first two people who went in the door of the trailer. And it hit us both, hard." Sam was slowly turning red as he explained. "I… I remember he pushed me up against the wall, and I… I really wanted it. I mean, I knew it was wrong and something wasn't right, but I just didn't care."
Dean swallowed hard. "Did he… hurt you?"
Sam shook his head. "No. We just, jerked each other off. I think I bit his neck, but that was about it. I swear, Dean, that was it. And then we swore we'd never talk about it ever again. Ever," he repeated emphatically.
Dean shook his head, the knot in his stomach loosening. "When I saw him in that damn mirror? I swear, I wanted to resurrect him, just to kill him all over again."
Sam gave him a crooked grin. "Yeah, I didn't exactly expect it to show him. I honestly thought it would be Jess." He looked down at his hands and then up again, staring intently at Dean's face. "I would have told you. If he had… you know. I would have told you. You would have known."
Dean closed his eyes and nodded absently. He hadn't failed his brother, even if he hadn't been there at the time for him.
"So how about we get rid of that thing and get out of town?" Sam said, his face perking up clearly in an effort to change the subject.
"Sounds good." Dean rose and moved towards the mirror. He had some ideas for how to best break it. There had to be a cliff somewhere around there. "Hey, Sammy. Did I ever tell you about that time that Ms. Jenkins and I…"
Finis