Fic - Shine On
Title - Shine On
Summary - No one else can see the shine in Sam; just Dean. It's beautiful, and it's deadly.
Rating - R
Genre/Spoilers - Gen. None.
Warnings - Evil!Sam (and Dark!Dean) Blood and murder. Implied Deathfic.
Word Count - 700+
Disclaimer - I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to CW, Kripke and Co, I'm simply borrowing them for a while. I'm not making a profit, this is just for fun and all the standard disclaimers apply.
A/N - This was written for Evil!Sam Roulette over at evilsam_spn, and my inspirartional song was Shine On You Crazy Diamond by Pink Floyd. A huge thank you to the always awesome harrigan, who beta'd this at super fast speed - you're a star!
Shine On
“Daddy, Sammy's so shiny!”
That's what Dean used to say, when he was a knee-high kid and Sam was the brightest star in his sky. Because Sam was special, he glowed, and he was all Dean's.
They had their own little world of two; their Dad an orbiting presence, who offered little else but worried scowls and hunting lessons.
“Dean, you gotta superpower!”
That what his little brother used to say, wearing Dean's old batman pajamas, blankie glued to his side, as well as the favoured book of the week. Because no one else could see the shine in Sammy, no one else knew it was there. Just Dean.
It was their little secret, because the shine was bad and it wanted bad things.
XoXoX
It started small; rats, birds, and the occasional stray dog, nothing that could be missed or noticed. Dean knew how to clean up after a hunt, and this was no different. Just bloodier.
But the shine always wanted more. That's when the pressure would start to build up, brimstone bright, and Sam needed to unleash it. So Dean taught his brother how to release the shine on the monsters they hunted; werewolves, ghosts, and ghouls.
After that, it didn't take long before Sam started talking about 'the day'. “Dean, one day the shine will want you. Promise me you won't let that happen. No matter what the cost.”
Sam was stone-faced and deadly serious. So Dean made a promise that day, he did it to shut Sam the hell up, but he still did it.
And now, years later when Dean is pretty sure that Sam had forgotten all about it, his brother is standing in front of him, face pebble-dashed with freshly glistening blood, and he's telling Dean that he remembers that day just fine.
“It wants you. The shine wants you, Dean. You gotta stop it.”
Sam keeps saying it, over and over again, until his tongue trips over the words. His boots are tracking a bloody figure eight as he carves a path around the bodies that litter the concrete floor of the basement they're in.
This is a big shine release; bad side of town or not, everyone in the building is gone. Not that it matters, because Dean still has no intention of keeping that promise.
XoXoX
Somewhere along the line, the rules changed and the shine was released on humans who deserved it; mostly murderers, or Satanists, or people who went full darkside with no remorse. He lied. She sent others to die. Monsters are monsters, Sammy.
But the older Sam gets, the hungrier the shine gets, and now they're struggling to find enough monsters in the world, human or not.
Sam's still gripping the knife, tacky blood congealing onto perfectly tanned skin. His hair is mattered into bloody strings that hang over his eyes, and his hands are shaking like he's trying to fight against an invisible force. “You have to stop it. You have to stop me.”
Dean knows he's right, because Sam's shining so bright he might as well be the sun. The thing is, Dean doesn't care what Sam's done, or what's he's going to do. He can't stop the shine, can't butcher his own brother. He doesn't want to.
He drops the revolver he was gripping and it clatters onto the floor, the sound echoing around the grey walls of the small room. The bitter tang of iron hangs heavy in the stale air, his palms are sweaty, and his heart is racing with the thrill of what's going to happen next.
“Shine on, Sammy.”
For a moment Sam's eyes are damp with betrayal, but then he's clenching his teeth, his nostrils flaring as his breathing speeds up. Dean's seen this countless times before; the shine is building, and it's nearly ready to blow.
“Then I guess this is it.” Sam's voice is guttural, almost demonic, and his eyes are fiery golden in the dim light. He raises the knife. “For both of us.”
Dean doesn't react, he just lets Sam come to him. This is the nuclear shine; the apocalypse inducing, end of the world kind of shine. And Dean's got a front row seat.
The End