Monstrous Feminine
Title: Monstrous Feminine
Author:
missyjack
Characters: The Demon, The Winchesters
Rating: R
Genre: Gen
Words: 618
Summary: After the events of Devils Trap, the Demon reflects on the Winchesters, what they mean to her and whether to let them live.
Disclaimer: Made by others, enjoyed by me.
A/N: Thanks to
flannelmistress who spawned this little bunny about Ms Demon.
She wasn’t going to let them drive into the sunset. No fucking happy endings boys. Her rage consumed her and she threw steel against steel. Mack truck meet Impala. Impala meet Mack truck. Winchesters − welcome to hell.
Inside the car she could feel the life seeping from the three men, soaking the atmosphere around them as their blood and piss soaked into the leather beneath them. In moment, or two, it would be over.
She’d been inside John’s body and inside his mind. She rarely took corporeal form, she left that to her children, but when she did it always marveled her how humans could bear to live like this. Trapped inside a sack of skin and sinew, their perceptions of the world around them so limited by the dull biology of eyes and ears and other inadequate organs, their existence bounded so tightly by air and gravity and time.
She’d penetrated John, fucked her way into him. He came as she possessed him, as she pushed him along that curious curve from repulsion to desire. Because John Winchester had wanted her for so long, craved her with his very fibre. Dreamed of her, stalked her, fantasized about what he’d do to her. She was his magnificent passion.
But he was not hers. He was incidental, a crude instrument that could be used or cast aside. He’d been useful in raising Sam, and she’d been interested to see what effect his obsession would have on the child. And in the absence of a mother, the guilt and shame he imposed on his children would be untempered.
When she felt outwards for Sam’s mind she could feel his abilities, bright and sharp like shards of glass except where they were coated in the thick syrup of his emotions. She knew that fear and loathing would remove those stains and release his powers to their full potential.
Sam had asked why. Why did she kill his mother, his lover? The answer was simple; because she would be both of those things to him. The death of his mother also meant he was anointed with fire and her blood. This kept his gift from manifesting too early, when it could cause him to go mad or become a poet. And to her way of thinking the universe had plenty of both.
When she touched his brother’s mind she encountered a strange mixture of anger and compassion, the weft and weave of the two shot through with bright threads of fear. She perceived that there was a synergy here, understood that something in Dean completed something in Sam. She just did not understand whether Sam would serve her better with or without this.
She had watched them for so long. Been patient. Restrained the enthusiasm of her children to be rough with these playmates. For all that the lives of these three had revolved around her, they had never grasped the truth of her, the feminine essence of her. Or maybe they had, on some primal level, for what else was a gun or a knife but a phallus of steel to rape her with?
She considered these men, as they died in their car. She could choose to keep just Sam alive but she understood, just as they did, that they were stronger as a family. Stronger for each other, stronger against her but maybe, more importantly stronger for her. She’d had a taste tonight of how she could use John and Dean, use their lives and their deaths, their fear and their loyalty.
Most importantly she understood that hate was the shadow of love. She decided. She would let them all live, and she would use that knowledge to make Sam into what she needed.