It's Still the Road (That Never Ends) - PG-13 - YEDean!/Sam
Inspired by famira's lovely Yellow-Eyed Dean icon:
Title: It's Still the Road (That Never Ends)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Sam/YEDean(Azazel in Dean's Clothing)
Setting: AU after Season 01's Salvation
Summary: It's the please that stops him. He always has been a sucker for a boy who knows how to beg. "I knew you were a smart boy, Sammy," he says.
He slips in easy as talking. Easier than he expected - all that fear and pain and guilt over letting dear old daddy go off alone just paving the path for him.
He’s so pleased he even tries it the boring way. When he can’t get to the colt himself (of course it’s kept in a goddamned devil’s trap - these boys are almost more trouble than Sam is worth) he asks Sam to get it for him. Nicely even.
Possibly that was an unwise choice. Sam doesn’t go for it. He is uncooperative; unintimidated, no matter how “Dean’s” arguments escalate. And, inevitably, he is suspicious.
Finally Azazel sighs. He turns from Sam, rubbing one hand over his Dean-suit’s face. When he turns back he is slowly beginning to smile, a glint in his naturally golden eyes.
“I’ve blown my cover, haven’t I?” he asks almost cheerfully.
Sam swallows, gun hand shaking as it rises. “Totally.” He cocks the trigger.
“Ah, now. What are you gonna do with that?” Azazel approaches him calmly. “That little thing won’t touch me. But your brother…”
“He’ll survive,” Sam bluffs.
Azazel’s grin widens. “Wanna bet?”
Sam - bless him - can’t even attempt a poker face. This would have been more fun the other way around - if he’d taken Sam instead (oh, just the thought of it thrills him) but you don’t bench your star quarterback. Not even to get ahead in the game.
A wave of his hand and Sam is flying against the cabin wall, pinned like a bug under glass. His handgun skitters across the floor and Azazel steps over to it.
“Whatever you do to me-” Sam begins and Azazel laughs. Reveling in the way Sam flinches at the familiar sound. This isn’t such a bad route either.
“Oh, I’m not going to do anything to you, Sam,” he says, lifting the gun and waving it. “Well maybe after while. But first… I’ve got a better idea.”
He raises the gun in his left hand and recocks the trigger. Then places the palm of Dean’s right hand directly over the barrel.
“Let’s see… What should I take first? A hand? Or maybe a foot?” Azazel redirects the weapon at his “own” boot. “I know you humans like to say things cost an arm and a leg up here, but we’ll move on to those next.”
Sam has gone still in his invisible restraints, shock and horror creeping so prettily across his face.
“You- No!”
Azazel pulls the trigger. He doesn’t flinch - though he feels Dean stirring a bit inside. Sam goes wild. He struggles so hard that his veins throb and his eyes water.
“A foot it is, then. Good choice. I’ve got other plans for these hands.” He estimates how many shots he can take and still walk in this body. Then he minutely adjusts his aim.
“No! Wait- Please-” Sam pleads. And it’s the please that stops him. He’s always been a sucker for a boy who knows how to beg. “What do you want?”
“You mean, besides the colt?” Azazel says. “I knew you were a smart boy, Sammy. You. I’ve always wanted you. I thought you’d figured that out by now.”
“Mom, Jess…” Sam babbles.
“And don’t forget your daddy,” Azazel adds, watching Sam’s face. “Oh, yeah, my children killed him right away. Couldn’t have him maybe wandering back here and trying to interfere.”
Sam squeezes his eyes shut, shuddering. “You son of a-” he says thickly.
“Uh-uh-uh,” Azazel cautions, still holding Sam’s gun. He walks closer to Sam, leaving a trail of bloody footprints across the cabin’s wood floor. “You’d better watch what you say. And do. You’ve got one family member left.” Azazel’s eyes glow. “For now.”
To Sam’s credit, he hesitates. But not for very long.
“I’ll- Whatever you want. Just- Don’t hurt him,” he says. Azazel’s grinned so hard his cheeks are beginning to ache. He hates that about wearing humans.
“I mean it,” Sam snaps, trying to sound as if he still has some shred of leverage. “You let him go. Let him live. And I’ll give you the colt. I’ll go- I’ll go with you. But if he dies then you’ll have to kill the both of us because I swear to God I’ll-”
Azazel laughs again. “I have to kill you both, hmm? Oh, we wouldn’t want that.” But he’s the one who’s bluffing this time - he has no intention of killing Sam and he knows it. He needs Sam too much, damn it. If letting Dean live is the price of getting him without causing too much damage, well… Azazel can handle that.
Can Sam? Azazel waves his hand and Sam drops to his feet. The urge to charge, to fight, shows in the set of Sam’s shoulders, Sam’s jaw - for an instant. Then fades.
“Alright,” Azazel tells him as if conceding a great defeat. “You win. Dean lives. You run along and get me my gun and I promise not to shoot your brother with yours.”
Sam opens his mouth.
“Or to harm him in any other way.” Azazel promises. He shakes a finger at Sam. “Spoilsport. I won’t hurt him at all.” Azazel lets his smile fall away. “If you’re quick about it. Remember, every moment you keep me waiting is a moment Dean’s aaall alone in here with me.”
Sam shifts on his feet. Then turns and leaves the cabin. It would almost be a good thing if he didn’t return - Sam needs to show a little spunk and Dean’s awake and kicking now (oh the fun Azazel could have with him) - but Sam does. Fast enough that Azazel is mildly disappointed.
Sam doesn’t hold out the colt right away though. He considers, feeling the weight of it in his hand. That’s a good sign.
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Azazel coos in his best Dean-voice. “That’s my boy.” Sam flinches once more and this is never going to get old.
There are no needless hand gestures now. Azazel wills the colt to him and it shoots out of Sam’s grasp, landing lightly in his palm. He allows Sam a moment of wide-eyed surprise before he wills Sam forward, as well. Sam lurches across the cabin as if pushed and the cabin door slams shut behind him.
He stops, nose to nose with “Dean”, “Dean’s” hand wrapped around his throat. Azazel squeezes tight enough to discourage him from trying to move away.
“You… said you’d… let-” Sam stutters, gasping for breath.
“Yeah, yeah, I lied,” Azazel says in Dean-voice. “Demons tend to do that. Didn’t your brother teach you anything?”
He slaps Sam lightly on the cheek. Then shoves him to the floor and wills him there when Sam immediately tries to rise up.
“But just to show you what a good sport I can be,” he says, straddling Sam’s thighs. “I will let Dean live. In fact, I’ll let him watch.” Azazel fists his hands in both sides of Sam’s shirt and gives a sharp tug that sends buttons flying and rips fabric. The look on Sam’s face as he catches on has Azazel licking his lips in anticipation. This is one part of inhabiting humans that he has never minded.
“You-” Sam begins.
Azazel gives him one fast, hard punch before he can continue - with the fist that had been inching towards the colt at his side.
“Now,” he says casually. “Whatever I want you said. Well, your brother certainly has a fighting spirit.” Azazel tosses the colt as far from reach as possible. Just in case. He feels a twist of dread that is not his own settle pleasantly in his host’s body. He smiles. “I want to see if it runs in the family.”
[ end ]
Title: It's Still the Road (That Never Ends)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Sam/YEDean(Azazel in Dean's Clothing)
Setting: AU after Season 01's Salvation
Summary: It's the please that stops him. He always has been a sucker for a boy who knows how to beg. "I knew you were a smart boy, Sammy," he says.
He slips in easy as talking. Easier than he expected - all that fear and pain and guilt over letting dear old daddy go off alone just paving the path for him.
He’s so pleased he even tries it the boring way. When he can’t get to the colt himself (of course it’s kept in a goddamned devil’s trap - these boys are almost more trouble than Sam is worth) he asks Sam to get it for him. Nicely even.
Possibly that was an unwise choice. Sam doesn’t go for it. He is uncooperative; unintimidated, no matter how “Dean’s” arguments escalate. And, inevitably, he is suspicious.
Finally Azazel sighs. He turns from Sam, rubbing one hand over his Dean-suit’s face. When he turns back he is slowly beginning to smile, a glint in his naturally golden eyes.
“I’ve blown my cover, haven’t I?” he asks almost cheerfully.
Sam swallows, gun hand shaking as it rises. “Totally.” He cocks the trigger.
“Ah, now. What are you gonna do with that?” Azazel approaches him calmly. “That little thing won’t touch me. But your brother…”
“He’ll survive,” Sam bluffs.
Azazel’s grin widens. “Wanna bet?”
Sam - bless him - can’t even attempt a poker face. This would have been more fun the other way around - if he’d taken Sam instead (oh, just the thought of it thrills him) but you don’t bench your star quarterback. Not even to get ahead in the game.
A wave of his hand and Sam is flying against the cabin wall, pinned like a bug under glass. His handgun skitters across the floor and Azazel steps over to it.
“Whatever you do to me-” Sam begins and Azazel laughs. Reveling in the way Sam flinches at the familiar sound. This isn’t such a bad route either.
“Oh, I’m not going to do anything to you, Sam,” he says, lifting the gun and waving it. “Well maybe after while. But first… I’ve got a better idea.”
He raises the gun in his left hand and recocks the trigger. Then places the palm of Dean’s right hand directly over the barrel.
“Let’s see… What should I take first? A hand? Or maybe a foot?” Azazel redirects the weapon at his “own” boot. “I know you humans like to say things cost an arm and a leg up here, but we’ll move on to those next.”
Sam has gone still in his invisible restraints, shock and horror creeping so prettily across his face.
“You- No!”
Azazel pulls the trigger. He doesn’t flinch - though he feels Dean stirring a bit inside. Sam goes wild. He struggles so hard that his veins throb and his eyes water.
“A foot it is, then. Good choice. I’ve got other plans for these hands.” He estimates how many shots he can take and still walk in this body. Then he minutely adjusts his aim.
“No! Wait- Please-” Sam pleads. And it’s the please that stops him. He’s always been a sucker for a boy who knows how to beg. “What do you want?”
“You mean, besides the colt?” Azazel says. “I knew you were a smart boy, Sammy. You. I’ve always wanted you. I thought you’d figured that out by now.”
“Mom, Jess…” Sam babbles.
“And don’t forget your daddy,” Azazel adds, watching Sam’s face. “Oh, yeah, my children killed him right away. Couldn’t have him maybe wandering back here and trying to interfere.”
Sam squeezes his eyes shut, shuddering. “You son of a-” he says thickly.
“Uh-uh-uh,” Azazel cautions, still holding Sam’s gun. He walks closer to Sam, leaving a trail of bloody footprints across the cabin’s wood floor. “You’d better watch what you say. And do. You’ve got one family member left.” Azazel’s eyes glow. “For now.”
To Sam’s credit, he hesitates. But not for very long.
“I’ll- Whatever you want. Just- Don’t hurt him,” he says. Azazel’s grinned so hard his cheeks are beginning to ache. He hates that about wearing humans.
“I mean it,” Sam snaps, trying to sound as if he still has some shred of leverage. “You let him go. Let him live. And I’ll give you the colt. I’ll go- I’ll go with you. But if he dies then you’ll have to kill the both of us because I swear to God I’ll-”
Azazel laughs again. “I have to kill you both, hmm? Oh, we wouldn’t want that.” But he’s the one who’s bluffing this time - he has no intention of killing Sam and he knows it. He needs Sam too much, damn it. If letting Dean live is the price of getting him without causing too much damage, well… Azazel can handle that.
Can Sam? Azazel waves his hand and Sam drops to his feet. The urge to charge, to fight, shows in the set of Sam’s shoulders, Sam’s jaw - for an instant. Then fades.
“Alright,” Azazel tells him as if conceding a great defeat. “You win. Dean lives. You run along and get me my gun and I promise not to shoot your brother with yours.”
Sam opens his mouth.
“Or to harm him in any other way.” Azazel promises. He shakes a finger at Sam. “Spoilsport. I won’t hurt him at all.” Azazel lets his smile fall away. “If you’re quick about it. Remember, every moment you keep me waiting is a moment Dean’s aaall alone in here with me.”
Sam shifts on his feet. Then turns and leaves the cabin. It would almost be a good thing if he didn’t return - Sam needs to show a little spunk and Dean’s awake and kicking now (oh the fun Azazel could have with him) - but Sam does. Fast enough that Azazel is mildly disappointed.
Sam doesn’t hold out the colt right away though. He considers, feeling the weight of it in his hand. That’s a good sign.
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Azazel coos in his best Dean-voice. “That’s my boy.” Sam flinches once more and this is never going to get old.
There are no needless hand gestures now. Azazel wills the colt to him and it shoots out of Sam’s grasp, landing lightly in his palm. He allows Sam a moment of wide-eyed surprise before he wills Sam forward, as well. Sam lurches across the cabin as if pushed and the cabin door slams shut behind him.
He stops, nose to nose with “Dean”, “Dean’s” hand wrapped around his throat. Azazel squeezes tight enough to discourage him from trying to move away.
“You… said you’d… let-” Sam stutters, gasping for breath.
“Yeah, yeah, I lied,” Azazel says in Dean-voice. “Demons tend to do that. Didn’t your brother teach you anything?”
He slaps Sam lightly on the cheek. Then shoves him to the floor and wills him there when Sam immediately tries to rise up.
“But just to show you what a good sport I can be,” he says, straddling Sam’s thighs. “I will let Dean live. In fact, I’ll let him watch.” Azazel fists his hands in both sides of Sam’s shirt and gives a sharp tug that sends buttons flying and rips fabric. The look on Sam’s face as he catches on has Azazel licking his lips in anticipation. This is one part of inhabiting humans that he has never minded.
“You-” Sam begins.
Azazel gives him one fast, hard punch before he can continue - with the fist that had been inching towards the colt at his side.
“Now,” he says casually. “Whatever I want you said. Well, your brother certainly has a fighting spirit.” Azazel tosses the colt as far from reach as possible. Just in case. He feels a twist of dread that is not his own settle pleasantly in his host’s body. He smiles. “I want to see if it runs in the family.”
[ end ]