Fic: Blood
Title: Blood
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Incest, vampires
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: Dean's hiding in the dark
AN: Written for paxlux for the prompt 'wrists and teeth.'
Sam finds Dean sitting in the darkness. Cleaning pieces of the guns, slowly, methodically. In a way that isn't so much well-practiced as it is a protective, defensive gesture of normalcy. Sam wonders how often he gets up and does that in the dark now.
Wonders if he's ever thought about-
He refuses to take that thought further.
Dean doesn't really sleep any more, not really, he just fills up time, and avoids Sam. It's too dark to see the table properly. Though Dean looks for all the world like he can see just fine. Sam doubts he even realises.
"It's not enough is it?" Sam's voice is quiet, but Dean starts like it's an accusation. He doesn't say anything though; after a pause, he just keeps on cleaning his guns, like they hold all the answers.
Sam takes another two steps, until Dean can't help but look at him.
"Animal blood isn't an alternative, it's a substitution."
Dean's jaw twitches.
"I'm living-" Dean stops, pulls his mouth into a thin line. "I'm surviving on it just fine."
"Sure," Sam says fiercely, when Dean is clearly all raw, hungry edges.
"I can see it Dean, you're a mess underneath."
Dean stops moving, hands closing on the metal he's holding, shoulders drawing in.
Sam sighs, stares at the table.
"You think I don't see it, you think it's not obvious, you think you're doing a pretty fine job of hiding it, but you're not."
Dean's pulling away again, he's shutting down, it's been his defence mechanism since this whole thing happened, to shut down, and get the hell away from him.
"Don't," Sam's voice is angry but careful. "Don't do that, you promised you wouldn't run, you promised you'd stay this time, and you know if you run again I'll find you, you know I always find you."
"You know what we usually do when we find things like me," Dean points out.
"You haven't killed anyone."
"Not yet."
"Don't say that Dean."
"Don't pretend it can't happen," Dean says fiercely. "Don't pretend I'm not capable, especially not now."
"I'm not," Sam shakes his head, he doesn't want to talk about that, he doesn't want to make Dean think about that, he just needs to tell him that he's here. That he doesn't want this to be something they pretend isn't happening. They can't do that this time, not with this. "I'm just saying that if you need it, you can take it from me."
"No," Dean says flatly, and it's a jumbled mess of anger and fear, and Sam thinks, shoved deep underneath, of want.
"I've seen the way you look at me-"
Dean drops the gun with a clatter, shoulders gone tight across the middle.
"I would never," his voice is hard and angry, shaking like it's an accusation. "You know I would never-"
"I do," Sam's voice drops low, he takes a step. "I know, and that's why I'm offering."
"I'm not going to feed off of you Sam." There's a catch in the middle, like it hurts to say it.
"Why not?"
Dean does look up at him then, face twisted into something horrified.
"Jesus, are you even listening to yourself?"
"It's not a matter of self-control, I've seen you control it-"
"Don't be so sure."
"I'm just trying to help-" Sam starts.
"What?" Dean cuts in, eyes bright and hard. "Just a one time thing, you think you can just let me drink from you, and I'll be fine, do you know what that will do to me."
Dean swallows and shakes his head.
"It's not gonna happen, so just drop it."
"Dean,"
"No, I can't get that close to you," Dean's voice is broken and harsh. "I can't- the way you smell, it gets all fucked up in my head."
"Dean."
Dean's knee hits the tables, sending gun pieces clattering to the floor when he stands, filling up space like he shouldn't, shifting in his own skin and breathing like he wants to move forward, and is forcing himself not to.
"You don't know what it's like."
"Because you won't let me in!"
Dean takes a step, hand flat on Sam's shirt, cold all the way through to his chest, and one simple push takes him into the wall with a thump, and pins him there.
"It makes me fucking want you, do you realise what I'm saying, do you understand." He leans in, creak of wood under Sam's back, and Sam takes a quick, startled breath before he no longer can.
He lifts a hand and Dean's fingers are there before he even notices he's moved, pressing it back into the wall in one slow but insistent movement.
"It makes me want to hold you down," Dean says roughly. "Do you know how fast blood pumps when your adrenaline's flowing, how hot it makes it, how fast it runs out when you punch through the skin." Dean stops, eyes gone dark, he takes a breath, tries to carry on and can't, and this time it isn't fear or anger.
His thumb is rubbing over the pulse point in Sam's wrist, and Sam's shivering under the restless strangely obscene gesture, the slip-slide of skin that shouldn't steal all his breath away, and Dean shivers like he can feel it, eyes half closing.
His mouth is open, and he's all teeth and blown pupils in the darkness.
Until Dean realises exactly what he's doing and lets go of him, steps back, breath exploding out of him.
He's quiet for a long minute.
"Please," he says finally, the word shaking out of him. "Jesus, Sam, please, you can't push this, please god don't push this, because I don't have a chance in hell of holding it if you do."
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Incest, vampires
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: Dean's hiding in the dark
AN: Written for paxlux for the prompt 'wrists and teeth.'
Sam finds Dean sitting in the darkness. Cleaning pieces of the guns, slowly, methodically. In a way that isn't so much well-practiced as it is a protective, defensive gesture of normalcy. Sam wonders how often he gets up and does that in the dark now.
Wonders if he's ever thought about-
He refuses to take that thought further.
Dean doesn't really sleep any more, not really, he just fills up time, and avoids Sam. It's too dark to see the table properly. Though Dean looks for all the world like he can see just fine. Sam doubts he even realises.
"It's not enough is it?" Sam's voice is quiet, but Dean starts like it's an accusation. He doesn't say anything though; after a pause, he just keeps on cleaning his guns, like they hold all the answers.
Sam takes another two steps, until Dean can't help but look at him.
"Animal blood isn't an alternative, it's a substitution."
Dean's jaw twitches.
"I'm living-" Dean stops, pulls his mouth into a thin line. "I'm surviving on it just fine."
"Sure," Sam says fiercely, when Dean is clearly all raw, hungry edges.
"I can see it Dean, you're a mess underneath."
Dean stops moving, hands closing on the metal he's holding, shoulders drawing in.
Sam sighs, stares at the table.
"You think I don't see it, you think it's not obvious, you think you're doing a pretty fine job of hiding it, but you're not."
Dean's pulling away again, he's shutting down, it's been his defence mechanism since this whole thing happened, to shut down, and get the hell away from him.
"Don't," Sam's voice is angry but careful. "Don't do that, you promised you wouldn't run, you promised you'd stay this time, and you know if you run again I'll find you, you know I always find you."
"You know what we usually do when we find things like me," Dean points out.
"You haven't killed anyone."
"Not yet."
"Don't say that Dean."
"Don't pretend it can't happen," Dean says fiercely. "Don't pretend I'm not capable, especially not now."
"I'm not," Sam shakes his head, he doesn't want to talk about that, he doesn't want to make Dean think about that, he just needs to tell him that he's here. That he doesn't want this to be something they pretend isn't happening. They can't do that this time, not with this. "I'm just saying that if you need it, you can take it from me."
"No," Dean says flatly, and it's a jumbled mess of anger and fear, and Sam thinks, shoved deep underneath, of want.
"I've seen the way you look at me-"
Dean drops the gun with a clatter, shoulders gone tight across the middle.
"I would never," his voice is hard and angry, shaking like it's an accusation. "You know I would never-"
"I do," Sam's voice drops low, he takes a step. "I know, and that's why I'm offering."
"I'm not going to feed off of you Sam." There's a catch in the middle, like it hurts to say it.
"Why not?"
Dean does look up at him then, face twisted into something horrified.
"Jesus, are you even listening to yourself?"
"It's not a matter of self-control, I've seen you control it-"
"Don't be so sure."
"I'm just trying to help-" Sam starts.
"What?" Dean cuts in, eyes bright and hard. "Just a one time thing, you think you can just let me drink from you, and I'll be fine, do you know what that will do to me."
Dean swallows and shakes his head.
"It's not gonna happen, so just drop it."
"Dean,"
"No, I can't get that close to you," Dean's voice is broken and harsh. "I can't- the way you smell, it gets all fucked up in my head."
"Dean."
Dean's knee hits the tables, sending gun pieces clattering to the floor when he stands, filling up space like he shouldn't, shifting in his own skin and breathing like he wants to move forward, and is forcing himself not to.
"You don't know what it's like."
"Because you won't let me in!"
Dean takes a step, hand flat on Sam's shirt, cold all the way through to his chest, and one simple push takes him into the wall with a thump, and pins him there.
"It makes me fucking want you, do you realise what I'm saying, do you understand." He leans in, creak of wood under Sam's back, and Sam takes a quick, startled breath before he no longer can.
He lifts a hand and Dean's fingers are there before he even notices he's moved, pressing it back into the wall in one slow but insistent movement.
"It makes me want to hold you down," Dean says roughly. "Do you know how fast blood pumps when your adrenaline's flowing, how hot it makes it, how fast it runs out when you punch through the skin." Dean stops, eyes gone dark, he takes a breath, tries to carry on and can't, and this time it isn't fear or anger.
His thumb is rubbing over the pulse point in Sam's wrist, and Sam's shivering under the restless strangely obscene gesture, the slip-slide of skin that shouldn't steal all his breath away, and Dean shivers like he can feel it, eyes half closing.
His mouth is open, and he's all teeth and blown pupils in the darkness.
Until Dean realises exactly what he's doing and lets go of him, steps back, breath exploding out of him.
He's quiet for a long minute.
"Please," he says finally, the word shaking out of him. "Jesus, Sam, please, you can't push this, please god don't push this, because I don't have a chance in hell of holding it if you do."