SPN fic: we die young [Sam/Dean, Sam/Ruby - NC-17 - 2100-ish words
Dean tells him stories in the dark, words winding through Sam’s head as his fingers twist through Dean’s hair. Sometimes it’s their childhood; the hot, sweaty hours in the back of the Impala while their father wove his trail of obsession across the country. Tonight the car itself is the story; Dean describes her - her, Sammy, not it - as lovingly as a parent talking about their child. He proudly relays every scrape and crash and beating she took, every time Dean fixed her up. Even rebuilt her practically from scratch once, Dean says. Sam waits for the details but they never come; it makes him wish he could remember.
***
Her legs twist around Sam’s waist as he thrusts up into the warm, wetness of her cunt and feels her tight around him. She says, Sam, and he ignores her. Tangles his fingers through her hair and tugs her head back, exposing her neck for him to take to with tongue and teeth. Pale skin, so soft it should be fragile; he could bite through the flesh to her throbbing pulse and let the blood warm his lips. Or he could wrap his hands around it easily, just squeeze until he felt the crunch of breaking bone. He could do anything to her and she’d still arch against him for more. She says, Sam, again, and, Just tell me what you want. He moves sharp against her and she moans, throwing her head even further back, legs pulling her forward and driving him impossibly deeper. She says, Sam, and he bites down hard, turning his name into a breathless gasp.
***
Sometimes the light comes. Sam hates the light, hates the way it burns bright, flickering orange and red. He hates the way it stings his eyes until he has to squeeze them shut against the pain and how it eats away all the shadows. Most of all Sam hates the light because it takes Dean away from him. He doesn’t know where Dean goes or how long he’s away; he just knows that when the comforting darkness settles back around him he’s alone.
***
She only tries it once. The demon in front of Sam is laughing, head thrown back and body shaking. All of Sam’s muscles clench and he raises his hand. The demon stops laughing after that; it chokes on itself as Sam pulls long ribbons of smoke up and out it’s throat. The things head flops down against its chest when Sam loses control for a moment, pain blossoming in his head, and when it looks up at him its eyes are flawless green. Sam’s breath catches, but he doesn’t lose control again and the sick black smoke is ripped free. Sam moves forward, breaking the devil’s trap and he has to look away from the closed eyes, the slack face, retreating into the darkness behind his eyelids. He opens them in time to see the pretty brunette corpse crumple to the floor like a discarded evening gown and those green green eyes flutter open. She says, Sam, in a voice that’s too deep for her and Sam says, Don’t, too harsh, too angry for her to argue. She slips back into her own stolen skin. The host doesn’t survive.
***
Dean’s always different for a while after he comes back, quiet. Sam misses the stories but he doesn’t push, just curls his body around his brother’s. His chest is flush against Dean’s back but Sam wants to be closer. His arms wrap tight around Dean’s waist and Sam imagines their skin knitting together, merging them into one. Dean’s breath is rough and his cheek is wet when Sam touches it. The silence is thick; Sam feels it like a weight on his chest. He wishes he had his own stories to tell Dean, to offer Dean the comfort he gives to Sam. Instead he gives Dean what he has - rolls them so they’re face to face and parts Dean’s thighs with a gentle nudge. Dean moans hot into his shoulder, wraps his legs tight around him and for the moment they’re one.
***
For a dead thing living inside another dead thing everything about her is surprisingly warm. The inside of her mouth when he invades it with his tongue, the softness between her legs, her breath when she whispers instructions and encouragements in his ear. Her blood, when it pumps out of veins that would be running dry if she wasn’t keeping the meat and muscle in her chest pumping. It flows hot over Sam’s tongue, down his throat and he can feel it dance with the darkness inside him. Sam sprawls back on the mattress and feels the power slither and twist, spreading through his body, eating away at his soul. She watches him, dark eyed and proud. She licks up the drops that escaped to trail crimson and slick down the pale flesh of her arm. She says, Don’t waste it, and Sam sucks the blood off her tongue.
***
Dean is telling Sam about a time when Sam saved his life. Their legs are entwined, twisting at angles that make it look like the bones are broken but Sam can’t feel pain, no cracks or splinters inside him cutting into the muscle. They were made for this, to be tangled up in the other. Sam won’t let temporary things like flesh and bone stand in the way of that. Dean leans up to suck at the underside of Sam’s jaw, exposing the pretty throat that he says Sam stopped being slit wide open. He tries not to imagine Dean split jagged, tries not to see his life spill out and stain his skin. The images hurt him and Sam buries his face in the crook of Dean’s shoulder, eyes squeezed closed. He licks at his skin, inhales his scent; sweat and sex, oil and sunshine. In this place Dean is the only thing that doesn’t smell like sulfur.
***
The blood inside him sings when Lilith crumples, empty shell leaking red out on the stone floor of the chapel. It’s swirling around his head, full of nursery rhymes about retribution and all he can see is images of pretty blond girls bleeding, chasing the songs through Sam’s skull. There’s another sound trying to break through, desperate and achingly familiar. But something’s not right. Something’s wrong and he looks at her, standing behind him staring at the way the trickles of blood run together, separating and rejoining like rivers to the ocean. Something’s wrong and she smiles.
***
Sometimes Sam tries to remember. He starts with Dean's face, or one of the stories Dean's told him and tries to trace them back through his mind, looking for anything that could be one of Sam's own memories, not something built by his brother. Everything dead ends or circles back around itself and Sam finds himself back at the beginning. Back in the dark. He does this when he's alone, when the light has come and stolen Dean from his side and Sam can't stand the empty space inside his head any longer. He doesn't like to ask Dean for anything, not with all that Dean already gives him without Sam having to say a word, but he does once. He asks Dean where he goes when the light takes him, asks him why. Dean just looks at him, the glint of his eye bright in the darkness. Dean says, Sammy, in a low voice. Says, Sammy, please and Sam can't bring himself to ask again. Instead he moves, climbing to sit straddling Dean's hips, running a soothing hand down Dean's chest. Sam sinks down onto his brother's cock and lets it hurt.
***
Her blood is just as warm when it's seeping into the fabric of Sam's shirt. He drops her to the cold stone floor, looks at her slackened face and empty eyes for the last time. Dean is in front of him, looking at him, touching him. Sam touches back, wants to just hold on forever. Lilith's blood finally completes its pattern and the light comes. Sam tightens his grip on Dean's shoulder, afraid that they'll lose each other in the wash of brightness. Dean says, Sam, we've gotta go. Dean says, Sam, and Sam holds on.
***
Sam remembers words and what they mean. He can see pictures of things in his head, but if he wants to see them clearly he has to have Dean describe them to him. Everything is clearer when it comes from Dean's voice. Sam remembers tastes and smells. He remembers that Dean is his brother and that Dean is his. He remembers that he loves Dean, and that that's all that matters. Sam and Dean have to be together, he can't remember anything that could be more important. When his brother's lips part for him and Sam's tongue slips into the warm, soft, wetness of his mouth to caress Dean's, Sam doesn't care about all the empty spaces that make up his body and mind, he doesn't care as long as he has Dean to fill them with.
***
Dean's blood is just as warm as hers, Sam thinks dully. It spills just the same, looks the same dark red colour as it seeps into the cracks in the stone. It looks the same but it is infinitely more precious. The light goes out in Dean's eyes, just like it did in hers. Just like it did before. The light goes out in Sam's soul, just like it did before. Sam screams and the sound rips free so violently that it feels like his throat is bleeding. Sam screams and the light is gone. He stands in its place and he says, Sam. Sam's heart is a dead weight in his chest, his eyes fixed on the floor, on Ruby and Dean lying side by side. Sam shares blood with both of them and now he watches as their lives run together and colour the floor. He hates it, seeing them mixed together like that. He tears Sam's eyes up when he speaks again. Sam, you will be rewarded. Just tell me what you want.
Sam says, Dean.
***
Dean has been gone for too long and when he returns he won’t speak, won’t even look at Sam. He just curls in on himself, shivers running down his spine when Sam trails his fingertips lightly across Dean’s back. Dean stays silent until Sam can’t take it anymore. He manhandles Dean onto his back, hands moving all over his brother’s smooth flesh. Sam licks at the shadows under his eyes, the hollow of his throat and along the curve of his mouth. Dean’s skin tastes like blood.
***
When Lucifer looks at Sam his eyes are sympathetic. He says, Sam, you know what your brother is destined to do. He says, I cannot allow him to live. Sam swallows around the lump in his throat; ignores the pain in his head and the hole in his chest. He says, Let me reward you, and though Sam wants to scream again, the sound can’t break through the cold layer of calm that’s wrapped itself around him. Sam wants to scream and Lucifer says, Sam. Says, Just tell me what you want, and Sam says, Please. I just want to be with my brother. Lucifer smiles, says, If that is what you want. Sam says, Please, and the world goes black.
***
Dean’s stories become few and far between. Often Sam has to ask him; he still doesn’t like to but sometimes, when they’ve exhausted themselves and he’s still inside the warmth of Dean’s body but they’re still too far apart, he can’t take the emptiness any longer, the lack of memory eating at him. Dean can’t say no to him so he starts weaving his words around them. Dean’s voice is the same but the stories are different, they’re not as vivid as they used to be. Most of the time Dean ends up trailing off mid-sentence, like he’s lost his train of thought. Sam hates it, things weren’t so bad when he had Dean to remember for him, but Dean seems more upset by it; he curses himself and the words he can’t find. Eventually Sam stops asking.
***
Sam’s memories begin in the dark. They begin with Dean saying his name.
***
Sam tells Dean stories in the dark; none of them are his own, he just rearranges the words Dean no longer remembers. His brother’s body presses up against him, warm and firm, and Dean kisses away all thoughts of language from his lips. Dean’s hair tickles his nose and Sam breathes his brother in. He smells like sulfur.
***
Her legs twist around Sam’s waist as he thrusts up into the warm, wetness of her cunt and feels her tight around him. She says, Sam, and he ignores her. Tangles his fingers through her hair and tugs her head back, exposing her neck for him to take to with tongue and teeth. Pale skin, so soft it should be fragile; he could bite through the flesh to her throbbing pulse and let the blood warm his lips. Or he could wrap his hands around it easily, just squeeze until he felt the crunch of breaking bone. He could do anything to her and she’d still arch against him for more. She says, Sam, again, and, Just tell me what you want. He moves sharp against her and she moans, throwing her head even further back, legs pulling her forward and driving him impossibly deeper. She says, Sam, and he bites down hard, turning his name into a breathless gasp.
***
Sometimes the light comes. Sam hates the light, hates the way it burns bright, flickering orange and red. He hates the way it stings his eyes until he has to squeeze them shut against the pain and how it eats away all the shadows. Most of all Sam hates the light because it takes Dean away from him. He doesn’t know where Dean goes or how long he’s away; he just knows that when the comforting darkness settles back around him he’s alone.
***
She only tries it once. The demon in front of Sam is laughing, head thrown back and body shaking. All of Sam’s muscles clench and he raises his hand. The demon stops laughing after that; it chokes on itself as Sam pulls long ribbons of smoke up and out it’s throat. The things head flops down against its chest when Sam loses control for a moment, pain blossoming in his head, and when it looks up at him its eyes are flawless green. Sam’s breath catches, but he doesn’t lose control again and the sick black smoke is ripped free. Sam moves forward, breaking the devil’s trap and he has to look away from the closed eyes, the slack face, retreating into the darkness behind his eyelids. He opens them in time to see the pretty brunette corpse crumple to the floor like a discarded evening gown and those green green eyes flutter open. She says, Sam, in a voice that’s too deep for her and Sam says, Don’t, too harsh, too angry for her to argue. She slips back into her own stolen skin. The host doesn’t survive.
***
Dean’s always different for a while after he comes back, quiet. Sam misses the stories but he doesn’t push, just curls his body around his brother’s. His chest is flush against Dean’s back but Sam wants to be closer. His arms wrap tight around Dean’s waist and Sam imagines their skin knitting together, merging them into one. Dean’s breath is rough and his cheek is wet when Sam touches it. The silence is thick; Sam feels it like a weight on his chest. He wishes he had his own stories to tell Dean, to offer Dean the comfort he gives to Sam. Instead he gives Dean what he has - rolls them so they’re face to face and parts Dean’s thighs with a gentle nudge. Dean moans hot into his shoulder, wraps his legs tight around him and for the moment they’re one.
***
For a dead thing living inside another dead thing everything about her is surprisingly warm. The inside of her mouth when he invades it with his tongue, the softness between her legs, her breath when she whispers instructions and encouragements in his ear. Her blood, when it pumps out of veins that would be running dry if she wasn’t keeping the meat and muscle in her chest pumping. It flows hot over Sam’s tongue, down his throat and he can feel it dance with the darkness inside him. Sam sprawls back on the mattress and feels the power slither and twist, spreading through his body, eating away at his soul. She watches him, dark eyed and proud. She licks up the drops that escaped to trail crimson and slick down the pale flesh of her arm. She says, Don’t waste it, and Sam sucks the blood off her tongue.
***
Dean is telling Sam about a time when Sam saved his life. Their legs are entwined, twisting at angles that make it look like the bones are broken but Sam can’t feel pain, no cracks or splinters inside him cutting into the muscle. They were made for this, to be tangled up in the other. Sam won’t let temporary things like flesh and bone stand in the way of that. Dean leans up to suck at the underside of Sam’s jaw, exposing the pretty throat that he says Sam stopped being slit wide open. He tries not to imagine Dean split jagged, tries not to see his life spill out and stain his skin. The images hurt him and Sam buries his face in the crook of Dean’s shoulder, eyes squeezed closed. He licks at his skin, inhales his scent; sweat and sex, oil and sunshine. In this place Dean is the only thing that doesn’t smell like sulfur.
***
The blood inside him sings when Lilith crumples, empty shell leaking red out on the stone floor of the chapel. It’s swirling around his head, full of nursery rhymes about retribution and all he can see is images of pretty blond girls bleeding, chasing the songs through Sam’s skull. There’s another sound trying to break through, desperate and achingly familiar. But something’s not right. Something’s wrong and he looks at her, standing behind him staring at the way the trickles of blood run together, separating and rejoining like rivers to the ocean. Something’s wrong and she smiles.
***
Sometimes Sam tries to remember. He starts with Dean's face, or one of the stories Dean's told him and tries to trace them back through his mind, looking for anything that could be one of Sam's own memories, not something built by his brother. Everything dead ends or circles back around itself and Sam finds himself back at the beginning. Back in the dark. He does this when he's alone, when the light has come and stolen Dean from his side and Sam can't stand the empty space inside his head any longer. He doesn't like to ask Dean for anything, not with all that Dean already gives him without Sam having to say a word, but he does once. He asks Dean where he goes when the light takes him, asks him why. Dean just looks at him, the glint of his eye bright in the darkness. Dean says, Sammy, in a low voice. Says, Sammy, please and Sam can't bring himself to ask again. Instead he moves, climbing to sit straddling Dean's hips, running a soothing hand down Dean's chest. Sam sinks down onto his brother's cock and lets it hurt.
***
Her blood is just as warm when it's seeping into the fabric of Sam's shirt. He drops her to the cold stone floor, looks at her slackened face and empty eyes for the last time. Dean is in front of him, looking at him, touching him. Sam touches back, wants to just hold on forever. Lilith's blood finally completes its pattern and the light comes. Sam tightens his grip on Dean's shoulder, afraid that they'll lose each other in the wash of brightness. Dean says, Sam, we've gotta go. Dean says, Sam, and Sam holds on.
***
Sam remembers words and what they mean. He can see pictures of things in his head, but if he wants to see them clearly he has to have Dean describe them to him. Everything is clearer when it comes from Dean's voice. Sam remembers tastes and smells. He remembers that Dean is his brother and that Dean is his. He remembers that he loves Dean, and that that's all that matters. Sam and Dean have to be together, he can't remember anything that could be more important. When his brother's lips part for him and Sam's tongue slips into the warm, soft, wetness of his mouth to caress Dean's, Sam doesn't care about all the empty spaces that make up his body and mind, he doesn't care as long as he has Dean to fill them with.
***
Dean's blood is just as warm as hers, Sam thinks dully. It spills just the same, looks the same dark red colour as it seeps into the cracks in the stone. It looks the same but it is infinitely more precious. The light goes out in Dean's eyes, just like it did in hers. Just like it did before. The light goes out in Sam's soul, just like it did before. Sam screams and the sound rips free so violently that it feels like his throat is bleeding. Sam screams and the light is gone. He stands in its place and he says, Sam. Sam's heart is a dead weight in his chest, his eyes fixed on the floor, on Ruby and Dean lying side by side. Sam shares blood with both of them and now he watches as their lives run together and colour the floor. He hates it, seeing them mixed together like that. He tears Sam's eyes up when he speaks again. Sam, you will be rewarded. Just tell me what you want.
Sam says, Dean.
***
Dean has been gone for too long and when he returns he won’t speak, won’t even look at Sam. He just curls in on himself, shivers running down his spine when Sam trails his fingertips lightly across Dean’s back. Dean stays silent until Sam can’t take it anymore. He manhandles Dean onto his back, hands moving all over his brother’s smooth flesh. Sam licks at the shadows under his eyes, the hollow of his throat and along the curve of his mouth. Dean’s skin tastes like blood.
***
When Lucifer looks at Sam his eyes are sympathetic. He says, Sam, you know what your brother is destined to do. He says, I cannot allow him to live. Sam swallows around the lump in his throat; ignores the pain in his head and the hole in his chest. He says, Let me reward you, and though Sam wants to scream again, the sound can’t break through the cold layer of calm that’s wrapped itself around him. Sam wants to scream and Lucifer says, Sam. Says, Just tell me what you want, and Sam says, Please. I just want to be with my brother. Lucifer smiles, says, If that is what you want. Sam says, Please, and the world goes black.
***
Dean’s stories become few and far between. Often Sam has to ask him; he still doesn’t like to but sometimes, when they’ve exhausted themselves and he’s still inside the warmth of Dean’s body but they’re still too far apart, he can’t take the emptiness any longer, the lack of memory eating at him. Dean can’t say no to him so he starts weaving his words around them. Dean’s voice is the same but the stories are different, they’re not as vivid as they used to be. Most of the time Dean ends up trailing off mid-sentence, like he’s lost his train of thought. Sam hates it, things weren’t so bad when he had Dean to remember for him, but Dean seems more upset by it; he curses himself and the words he can’t find. Eventually Sam stops asking.
***
Sam’s memories begin in the dark. They begin with Dean saying his name.
***
Sam tells Dean stories in the dark; none of them are his own, he just rearranges the words Dean no longer remembers. His brother’s body presses up against him, warm and firm, and Dean kisses away all thoughts of language from his lips. Dean’s hair tickles his nose and Sam breathes his brother in. He smells like sulfur.