Reflections Of
Title: Reflections Of
Author: yourpalkara
Pairing/characters: Leviathan!Sam/Leviathan!Dean, Leviathan!Sam/Sam, Leviathan!Dean/Dean, implied Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: dub-con, language, violence, brief mention of torture, ANGST!!
Spoilers: 7x06
Word count: 2500
Summary: “I gotta be honest, I ain’t looking in the mirror for a while.”
(There’s this thing, see, they hate those Winchesters. Too long, they’ve been walking around with every thought Sam’s ever had, Dean’s ever had, rattling around in their heads and there’s this lingering affection for each other that they can’t seem to shake. Turns out Sam and Dean only ever think about each other and, well…)
They stand in the hallway, just out of sight of the older Winchester, just out of earshot.
One says, “Sure you wanna do this? We couldn’t eat-”
Other one says, “Seriously? We just ate. And c’mon. All we put up with? Those idiot brothers for how many days now? Finally, finally, it’s our chance to really get under their skin. Show ‘em-” He leans in, real close,-
“Nice and slow, come, on, just like this.”
-presses their cheeks together, then their lips.
They stay like that a while, just like that.
He pulls away and the look in his eyes is a little too human. It turns cold.
“Then we eat them.”
+
(Couple lazy afternoons in hell, it’d been Sam’s skin Lucifer had worn when he’d cut into him and fucked into him. Now, Sam wants to tear his own face off, sometimes. Wants to mark it up and rip it apart until it’s unrecognizable, sometimes. He thinks he’s handling it pretty well.)
He digs his thumb into his palm at the sound of the door opening. It’s like breathing now, part of who he is, and when his own face is the one staring back at him from the doorway, he presses down harder.
“Sam.”
“What do you want.” It’s I’m going to rip you fucking apart.
The Leviathan’s grinning. It paces. Sam watches as it walks around the front of the table then behind.
Animal Planet, Sam thinks. He’d watched it as a kid, knows the look something gets in its eyes before it consumes its prey; the way it circles and circles and circles. Knows what hunger looks like.
Sam’s not getting out of here alive. He presses on his hand.
“Should really tell him about that,” the Leviathan says, and it sits down on the edge of the table. “Your brother? Yeah, sure he’d want to know. I’ll bet he’d love another excuse to look after baby Sam. That whole taking care of each other thing.”
The Leviathan closes its eyes, kinda shakes its head.
“You know, I expected more,” it says, “The great Sam and Dean Winchester. Turns out you’re a self-righteous bastard with a head fulla crazy. And your brother-”
“You gonna kill me or is this some sort of ‘play with your food’ bull?”
The Leviathan looks like that’s exactly what it wanted to hear.
“Yeah,” it’s saying. “That’s the one.” It gets up, goes around to stand behind Sam.
Sam keeps his head down.
He feels the Leviathan lean down until its head is level with his. It says,
“But I’m just getting started.”
It cups his jaw, Sam turns his head to the side but his double is there and it catches Sam’s lips with its own.
Sam pulls away. He stands up and his chair falls to the ground with a clink.
He says, “…what.”
The Leviathan advances towards him, Sam is shaking his head, backing up against the wall.
“C’mon, Sammy.” The name sounds wrong in his own voice. He’d never liked it, never had reason to say it. There’s only one person who could ever make it sound not so bad. Or maybe like “I love you.”
They’re standing so close Sam can feel the Leviathan breathing. Or whatever it does.
“Know you want this.”
Sam tries to struggle, tries to pull back and push it away but there are these handcuffs on his wrists and then that’s where the Leviathan’s eyes go. He presses up against Sam, now, takes hold of the chain between the handcuffs, now.
Sam’s hands are dragged up over his head and the Leviathan presses one hand flat against the chain, against the wall.
“Hey, Sam.”
Sam shakes his head.
“This is really…” he says. Then their faces are even closer.
“Really…what? Really messed up? Huh? Really fucked up.” It looks amused, and Sam doesn’t think he wants to hear this.
“Well you’d know all about that, right Sammy? You and big brother Dean? The things you two do in the dark when you think no one is watching?”
Sam turns his head to the side, looks at the crack in the ceiling, the stain on the floor.
“Sam, Sammy, look at me, come on.” It wraps its free hand around Sam’s chin, turns his head foreword and holds it there.
“Sam that is fucked-” he lets go, puts its hand on Sam’s shoulder “-up.”
There’s silence and Sam stares at the Leviathan’s hand and he swears he can feel it moving lower. It’s so slow he almost misses it. But he knows where it’s going. He knows where this whole thing is going.
Satisfaction passes over the Leviathan’s face as it understands that Sam understands. The hand moves down his side.
“Need it, don’t you Sammy?” It’s on his waist.
“Since Hell, you need it.” Sam’s jeans come unbuttoned.
“Dean, he’s useless.” They’re unzipped.
“He’s nothing” Pulled down.
“Need someone who can really take care of you.” Then his boxers.
“Don’t you, Sam?”
There’s a hand around his cock. Sam looks the Leviathan right in the eyes. His own eyes. He’s going to say something. Tell it to go fuck itself (then again…). Lift a knee and thrust it into its stomach.
Then again.
His eyes close, his head falls back against the wall.
“That’s it.”
The hand holding Sam’s arms above his head falls away. He opens his eyes.
The Leviathan smiles, then nods. It looks down at its hand around Sam’s cock, and Sam’s eyes follow.
Sam, he’s aware that this is a bloodthirsty (fleshthirsty, bonethirsty) monster who’s going to eat him. And who’s wearing his face, no less. But that monster’s words echo in his ears. Maybe he needs it. Maybe so what.
The Leviathan’s hand strokes faster and faster.
“Yeah, Sam,” it says.
It’s big, that hand. It’s rough. Does it feel like that, really, when his hand wraps around someone else, when their fingers lace together?
Never when he’s done this to himself. Maybe he’s always pretended it’s someone who’s hand is a little smaller, little more gentle, but it’s never been like this.
Still, Sam wants to shout out stop, stop. Or at least he knows he should.
Instead he grinds his teeth together in time with the hand going up and down his cock, up and down and when he comes he knocks his head against the wall again and tells himself it’s shame he feels. It’s mostly just relief.
The Leviathan steps back an inch, at last, at last, and Sam pulls up his jeans. But then it’s right back in Sam’s face.
Their lips are touching, just touching. Sam doesn’t know what to call this. Then there are teeth against his lip and he could probably call it being in peril. At least this isn’t how the Leviathan do their thing, he thinks as those teeth bite down gently. At least he’s safe until-
The door opens with a bang
+
(After Hell he’d look in the mirror and the only thing he’d see would be all the things he loathed about everything he’d ever hunted. That faded away too quickly. At least his lifestyle gives him the chance to get that back on a daily basis. When his reflection has a bruise under one eye, bottle of whiskey in one hand, and the cold hard look of someone who’s just killed his brother’s childhood friend, he looks like someone he could hate. Once he broke a mirror in a motel bathroom and it left a scar on his hand. That faded too.)
He’s leaning on the door of the cell like he can’t step back and admit he’s really locked inside.
There are footsteps, then he watches himself round the corner
“Christ.”
There’s a Leviathan strutting down the hallway, waving a key back and forth and this is it, Dean guesses. It doesn’t feel much like an end.
It winks as it throws the door open.
“Would you stop with that?’ Dean says. “I’ve never really gone for that silent, subtle thing some people seem to love so much. If you want a piece’a this, just ask.”
The Leviathan looks like it knew that was coming.
“Real funny.” It steps forward. Dean steps back.
It shakes its head. Dean recognizes the disgust on its face. He’d shot himself that look in the mirror one too many times.
“Well come on,” Dean says because whatever this monster’s got to say, he doesn’t want to hear it and he’s tired and he just-
“Eat me.”
The Leviathan’s sigh is exaggerated. He says, “Look, Dean. I know you think you’re a worthless piece of crap that no one wants, not even little Sammy.”
Dean looks everywhere but at the carbon copy of himself spitting out truths that he has a hard enough time repeating over and over in his head.
“And you’re not wrong. But, man, I thought you lived for this. Tasteless, witless banter with whatever it is you’re hunting? Distract it just long enough to make some narrow escape?” It takes one more step forward. Closes the space between them. Dean swallows and it tastes like fear.
When the Leviathan presses their lips together, it’s the last thing Dean’s expecting, yeah, but all he can think is my lips fucking don’t feel like that, they don’t.
Dean would stumble backwards, if he could. He lays some nonchalant grin on thick.
“You are one sick son of a bitch,” he says, for lack of anything else.
The words have barely left his lips when the Leviathan puts a hand on the back of Dean’s head and pulls him forward, crashing their mouths together again.
“Well hey,” he says against Dean’s cheek. “Least I’m not the first Winchester you’ve done this with.”
Dean clenches his jaw and pulls away hard. “You’re not a Winchester,” he says first. Then, “And I don’t know what you’re-”
There’s a hand pressed against his chest now. He’s being pushed backwards and he lands on the cot in the back of the cell. The Leviathan towers over him. He says,
“Come on, Dean. Would you stop with that? I know everything you know. Know about the things you do with that brother of yours.” He smirks. “Should have thoughta that one when we were posing for the cameras. Could’ve shown the world what Sam and Dean Winchester are really capable of.”
Dean feels teeth, then. Teeth on the side of his mouth, on his bottom lip. He feels blood and all he can do is let it run down his chin.
He pulls back and looks into his own eyes and then moves his gaze down to his own (they don’t fucking feel like that) too-full lips.
“Dean,” the Leviathan says softly. “’s your chance. Mess this pretty face up good. I know you wanna. You hate yourself so much, take it out on someone who’s wearing your body. It’s like putting a fist to your reflection in a mirror, only-”
It sits down next to Dean but almost on top of him.
“-it’ll feel a hell of a lot better.”
Dean shakes his head. He tries to back up into the corner but there’s a hand on his shoulder then, and the Leviathan does it for him. Pressing him, pressing him, pushing and Dean doesn’t cry out when his head hits the wall, He says,
“You think I’m gonna….you’re not me. You’re not-”
Not him shrugs. “No, but I am Dean Adjacent. And I know you hate me. Know you hate you. Why don’t you show me how much.”
It’s so close, Dean thinks he could grab it ‘round the waist, slam it down on the cot. He could take and take and get some kind of fucked up closure he’d only ever be able to get from fucking his own brains out (it’s not him, not him).
He closes his eyes. He opens them.
When he straddles the Leviathan, shoves it back against the wall, the only thing he sees on its face is joy. When he holds down its shoulders and digs his fingers into its skin, real deep, he sees elation.
“That is it.” The Leviathan flips them.
Dean’s on his back, he tugs at the Leviathan and pulls it against him. He digs the heel of one boot into the its spine and tells himself it hurts. The Leviathan only seems encouraged by this. They fall into a steady rhythm a little too easily. Through his jeans Dean feels its cock against his own again and again. He lifts his head and knocks their teeth together, then sucks an invisible bruise onto the Leviathan’s neck. It pushes him away, back down against the cot, tilts his chin up. It holds his jaw as it leans down and sucks at his tongue. He keeps rocking against Dean, his whole body.
Again and again and again.
When Dean comes, he thinks at least it’s not his own name on his lips.
“God-” he says.
“Has got nothing to do with this,” the Leviathan finishes. They both sit up.
“Better go,” Dean says. “I ain’t cuddling with you.”
He hears footsteps. It’s the man who’d held his phone up to Dean while he’d spoken of sodium borate and decapitation. He says,
“I, uh, think you might need this.” Dean and the Leviathan turn just in time to see an overflowing bucket being heaved up from behind him.
Then they’re both drenched in soapy water. And one of them is burning.
+
He races down the hallway, ignoring the come drying in his jeans, ignoring the smoking Leviathan on his tail.
There’s an ax hanging in a case on the wall, he knocks his elbow against the glass. He’d turn around right now, use it, but his eyes lock on the door to the room where they’re keeping Sam and he can’t look away so he kicks it open and there are two Sams standing a little too close together.
“Dean.”
They’re touching each other before Dean’s heart has the chance to thump twice against his chest. The smirking and silent what-did-we-tell-you’s of the Leviathan against the wall, and the one in the doorway are easy to ignore.
“Sammy.”
They melt against each other and soundlessly say they’ve both just gone through hell (again) and promise they’re never going to talk about it.
The Leviathan that looks like Dean steps forward to where Dean is in his brother’s arms and whispers loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.
“Why don’t you…tell your brother all about how you killed Amy, huh, Dean?”
Dean turns around, and chops its head off.
Author: yourpalkara
Pairing/characters: Leviathan!Sam/Leviathan!Dean, Leviathan!Sam/Sam, Leviathan!Dean/Dean, implied Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: dub-con, language, violence, brief mention of torture, ANGST!!
Spoilers: 7x06
Word count: 2500
Summary: “I gotta be honest, I ain’t looking in the mirror for a while.”
(There’s this thing, see, they hate those Winchesters. Too long, they’ve been walking around with every thought Sam’s ever had, Dean’s ever had, rattling around in their heads and there’s this lingering affection for each other that they can’t seem to shake. Turns out Sam and Dean only ever think about each other and, well…)
They stand in the hallway, just out of sight of the older Winchester, just out of earshot.
One says, “Sure you wanna do this? We couldn’t eat-”
Other one says, “Seriously? We just ate. And c’mon. All we put up with? Those idiot brothers for how many days now? Finally, finally, it’s our chance to really get under their skin. Show ‘em-” He leans in, real close,-
“Nice and slow, come, on, just like this.”
-presses their cheeks together, then their lips.
They stay like that a while, just like that.
He pulls away and the look in his eyes is a little too human. It turns cold.
“Then we eat them.”
+
(Couple lazy afternoons in hell, it’d been Sam’s skin Lucifer had worn when he’d cut into him and fucked into him. Now, Sam wants to tear his own face off, sometimes. Wants to mark it up and rip it apart until it’s unrecognizable, sometimes. He thinks he’s handling it pretty well.)
He digs his thumb into his palm at the sound of the door opening. It’s like breathing now, part of who he is, and when his own face is the one staring back at him from the doorway, he presses down harder.
“Sam.”
“What do you want.” It’s I’m going to rip you fucking apart.
The Leviathan’s grinning. It paces. Sam watches as it walks around the front of the table then behind.
Animal Planet, Sam thinks. He’d watched it as a kid, knows the look something gets in its eyes before it consumes its prey; the way it circles and circles and circles. Knows what hunger looks like.
Sam’s not getting out of here alive. He presses on his hand.
“Should really tell him about that,” the Leviathan says, and it sits down on the edge of the table. “Your brother? Yeah, sure he’d want to know. I’ll bet he’d love another excuse to look after baby Sam. That whole taking care of each other thing.”
The Leviathan closes its eyes, kinda shakes its head.
“You know, I expected more,” it says, “The great Sam and Dean Winchester. Turns out you’re a self-righteous bastard with a head fulla crazy. And your brother-”
“You gonna kill me or is this some sort of ‘play with your food’ bull?”
The Leviathan looks like that’s exactly what it wanted to hear.
“Yeah,” it’s saying. “That’s the one.” It gets up, goes around to stand behind Sam.
Sam keeps his head down.
He feels the Leviathan lean down until its head is level with his. It says,
“But I’m just getting started.”
It cups his jaw, Sam turns his head to the side but his double is there and it catches Sam’s lips with its own.
Sam pulls away. He stands up and his chair falls to the ground with a clink.
He says, “…what.”
The Leviathan advances towards him, Sam is shaking his head, backing up against the wall.
“C’mon, Sammy.” The name sounds wrong in his own voice. He’d never liked it, never had reason to say it. There’s only one person who could ever make it sound not so bad. Or maybe like “I love you.”
They’re standing so close Sam can feel the Leviathan breathing. Or whatever it does.
“Know you want this.”
Sam tries to struggle, tries to pull back and push it away but there are these handcuffs on his wrists and then that’s where the Leviathan’s eyes go. He presses up against Sam, now, takes hold of the chain between the handcuffs, now.
Sam’s hands are dragged up over his head and the Leviathan presses one hand flat against the chain, against the wall.
“Hey, Sam.”
Sam shakes his head.
“This is really…” he says. Then their faces are even closer.
“Really…what? Really messed up? Huh? Really fucked up.” It looks amused, and Sam doesn’t think he wants to hear this.
“Well you’d know all about that, right Sammy? You and big brother Dean? The things you two do in the dark when you think no one is watching?”
Sam turns his head to the side, looks at the crack in the ceiling, the stain on the floor.
“Sam, Sammy, look at me, come on.” It wraps its free hand around Sam’s chin, turns his head foreword and holds it there.
“Sam that is fucked-” he lets go, puts its hand on Sam’s shoulder “-up.”
There’s silence and Sam stares at the Leviathan’s hand and he swears he can feel it moving lower. It’s so slow he almost misses it. But he knows where it’s going. He knows where this whole thing is going.
Satisfaction passes over the Leviathan’s face as it understands that Sam understands. The hand moves down his side.
“Need it, don’t you Sammy?” It’s on his waist.
“Since Hell, you need it.” Sam’s jeans come unbuttoned.
“Dean, he’s useless.” They’re unzipped.
“He’s nothing” Pulled down.
“Need someone who can really take care of you.” Then his boxers.
“Don’t you, Sam?”
There’s a hand around his cock. Sam looks the Leviathan right in the eyes. His own eyes. He’s going to say something. Tell it to go fuck itself (then again…). Lift a knee and thrust it into its stomach.
Then again.
His eyes close, his head falls back against the wall.
“That’s it.”
The hand holding Sam’s arms above his head falls away. He opens his eyes.
The Leviathan smiles, then nods. It looks down at its hand around Sam’s cock, and Sam’s eyes follow.
Sam, he’s aware that this is a bloodthirsty (fleshthirsty, bonethirsty) monster who’s going to eat him. And who’s wearing his face, no less. But that monster’s words echo in his ears. Maybe he needs it. Maybe so what.
The Leviathan’s hand strokes faster and faster.
“Yeah, Sam,” it says.
It’s big, that hand. It’s rough. Does it feel like that, really, when his hand wraps around someone else, when their fingers lace together?
Never when he’s done this to himself. Maybe he’s always pretended it’s someone who’s hand is a little smaller, little more gentle, but it’s never been like this.
Still, Sam wants to shout out stop, stop. Or at least he knows he should.
Instead he grinds his teeth together in time with the hand going up and down his cock, up and down and when he comes he knocks his head against the wall again and tells himself it’s shame he feels. It’s mostly just relief.
The Leviathan steps back an inch, at last, at last, and Sam pulls up his jeans. But then it’s right back in Sam’s face.
Their lips are touching, just touching. Sam doesn’t know what to call this. Then there are teeth against his lip and he could probably call it being in peril. At least this isn’t how the Leviathan do their thing, he thinks as those teeth bite down gently. At least he’s safe until-
The door opens with a bang
+
(After Hell he’d look in the mirror and the only thing he’d see would be all the things he loathed about everything he’d ever hunted. That faded away too quickly. At least his lifestyle gives him the chance to get that back on a daily basis. When his reflection has a bruise under one eye, bottle of whiskey in one hand, and the cold hard look of someone who’s just killed his brother’s childhood friend, he looks like someone he could hate. Once he broke a mirror in a motel bathroom and it left a scar on his hand. That faded too.)
He’s leaning on the door of the cell like he can’t step back and admit he’s really locked inside.
There are footsteps, then he watches himself round the corner
“Christ.”
There’s a Leviathan strutting down the hallway, waving a key back and forth and this is it, Dean guesses. It doesn’t feel much like an end.
It winks as it throws the door open.
“Would you stop with that?’ Dean says. “I’ve never really gone for that silent, subtle thing some people seem to love so much. If you want a piece’a this, just ask.”
The Leviathan looks like it knew that was coming.
“Real funny.” It steps forward. Dean steps back.
It shakes its head. Dean recognizes the disgust on its face. He’d shot himself that look in the mirror one too many times.
“Well come on,” Dean says because whatever this monster’s got to say, he doesn’t want to hear it and he’s tired and he just-
“Eat me.”
The Leviathan’s sigh is exaggerated. He says, “Look, Dean. I know you think you’re a worthless piece of crap that no one wants, not even little Sammy.”
Dean looks everywhere but at the carbon copy of himself spitting out truths that he has a hard enough time repeating over and over in his head.
“And you’re not wrong. But, man, I thought you lived for this. Tasteless, witless banter with whatever it is you’re hunting? Distract it just long enough to make some narrow escape?” It takes one more step forward. Closes the space between them. Dean swallows and it tastes like fear.
When the Leviathan presses their lips together, it’s the last thing Dean’s expecting, yeah, but all he can think is my lips fucking don’t feel like that, they don’t.
Dean would stumble backwards, if he could. He lays some nonchalant grin on thick.
“You are one sick son of a bitch,” he says, for lack of anything else.
The words have barely left his lips when the Leviathan puts a hand on the back of Dean’s head and pulls him forward, crashing their mouths together again.
“Well hey,” he says against Dean’s cheek. “Least I’m not the first Winchester you’ve done this with.”
Dean clenches his jaw and pulls away hard. “You’re not a Winchester,” he says first. Then, “And I don’t know what you’re-”
There’s a hand pressed against his chest now. He’s being pushed backwards and he lands on the cot in the back of the cell. The Leviathan towers over him. He says,
“Come on, Dean. Would you stop with that? I know everything you know. Know about the things you do with that brother of yours.” He smirks. “Should have thoughta that one when we were posing for the cameras. Could’ve shown the world what Sam and Dean Winchester are really capable of.”
Dean feels teeth, then. Teeth on the side of his mouth, on his bottom lip. He feels blood and all he can do is let it run down his chin.
He pulls back and looks into his own eyes and then moves his gaze down to his own (they don’t fucking feel like that) too-full lips.
“Dean,” the Leviathan says softly. “’s your chance. Mess this pretty face up good. I know you wanna. You hate yourself so much, take it out on someone who’s wearing your body. It’s like putting a fist to your reflection in a mirror, only-”
It sits down next to Dean but almost on top of him.
“-it’ll feel a hell of a lot better.”
Dean shakes his head. He tries to back up into the corner but there’s a hand on his shoulder then, and the Leviathan does it for him. Pressing him, pressing him, pushing and Dean doesn’t cry out when his head hits the wall, He says,
“You think I’m gonna….you’re not me. You’re not-”
Not him shrugs. “No, but I am Dean Adjacent. And I know you hate me. Know you hate you. Why don’t you show me how much.”
It’s so close, Dean thinks he could grab it ‘round the waist, slam it down on the cot. He could take and take and get some kind of fucked up closure he’d only ever be able to get from fucking his own brains out (it’s not him, not him).
He closes his eyes. He opens them.
When he straddles the Leviathan, shoves it back against the wall, the only thing he sees on its face is joy. When he holds down its shoulders and digs his fingers into its skin, real deep, he sees elation.
“That is it.” The Leviathan flips them.
Dean’s on his back, he tugs at the Leviathan and pulls it against him. He digs the heel of one boot into the its spine and tells himself it hurts. The Leviathan only seems encouraged by this. They fall into a steady rhythm a little too easily. Through his jeans Dean feels its cock against his own again and again. He lifts his head and knocks their teeth together, then sucks an invisible bruise onto the Leviathan’s neck. It pushes him away, back down against the cot, tilts his chin up. It holds his jaw as it leans down and sucks at his tongue. He keeps rocking against Dean, his whole body.
Again and again and again.
When Dean comes, he thinks at least it’s not his own name on his lips.
“God-” he says.
“Has got nothing to do with this,” the Leviathan finishes. They both sit up.
“Better go,” Dean says. “I ain’t cuddling with you.”
He hears footsteps. It’s the man who’d held his phone up to Dean while he’d spoken of sodium borate and decapitation. He says,
“I, uh, think you might need this.” Dean and the Leviathan turn just in time to see an overflowing bucket being heaved up from behind him.
Then they’re both drenched in soapy water. And one of them is burning.
+
He races down the hallway, ignoring the come drying in his jeans, ignoring the smoking Leviathan on his tail.
There’s an ax hanging in a case on the wall, he knocks his elbow against the glass. He’d turn around right now, use it, but his eyes lock on the door to the room where they’re keeping Sam and he can’t look away so he kicks it open and there are two Sams standing a little too close together.
“Dean.”
They’re touching each other before Dean’s heart has the chance to thump twice against his chest. The smirking and silent what-did-we-tell-you’s of the Leviathan against the wall, and the one in the doorway are easy to ignore.
“Sammy.”
They melt against each other and soundlessly say they’ve both just gone through hell (again) and promise they’re never going to talk about it.
The Leviathan that looks like Dean steps forward to where Dean is in his brother’s arms and whispers loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.
“Why don’t you…tell your brother all about how you killed Amy, huh, Dean?”
Dean turns around, and chops its head off.