[Fic] plutogirl10: Hunger of Old Mouths
[ Open Reccing ]
Title: Hunger of Old Mouths
Writer: plutogirl10
Status of work: Complete
Characters and/or pairings: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings, kinks & contents:[Click to read]Explicit incest, violence, horror, cursing, angst
Length: 28,800 words
Summary: A string of ritualistic deaths have the boys heading deep into swampland in search of answers. With Dean restless and eager for a hunt, and Sam already sensing trouble, they make a tempting target for anything dark that’s looking to step between them. Before they know it, offers are made and deals are done - and contracts written in blood are hard to break.
Reccer's notes: This is an oldschool (Season 2) bigbang fic recced to me by a friend that really grasps and uses the conflict between the brothers to make a compelling, tight/tense story that had me on the edge of my seat. Skilful writing, truly scary monsters, great great characterization, and something I like a whole lot in wincest fic that I always wish happened more: brotherly gen feelings till a situation on a hunt forces the intimacy and makes them a little twisted.
[Short excerpt]
“Sam?” Dean says cautiously, tone rising as Sam moves. “Hey, I don’t think that’s such a good-”
Sam doesn’t even feel anything at first and by the time he comes back to himself enough to realize something’s wrong, it’s too late.
Like a tuning fork held to a tank of water, discordant vibrations resonate from the stone and he can feel himself trying to separate, in a way that he’d never be able to put himself back together again. Nothing changes and there’s no sound, but Sam’s going both deaf and blind. All he has left is his physical body and right now, it’s betraying him.
What started as just a tingling in his fingers where he’s touching the altar is now racing up his arms and tunneling into his chest, deep into his gut. It leaves his skin itchy and numb, prickling with pins and needles but a million times worse because it’s not as definable but it still demands obedience, and Sam has no choice. He’s starting to thin out from the inside, become the same consistency as the thickly muggy air that blankets him, and he can’t breathe . . .
“Sam, let go!”