SPN fic: "Death's Other Kingdom"
Title: Death's Other Kingdom
Author: mona1347
Word Count: 1,655
Rating/Warnings: This is horror. No porn (sorry! *dodges thrown stones*) but lots of violence and what can best be called "mind rape." The concept of Wincest is referenced but neither confirmed nor denied.
Spoilers: Through Devil's Trap, touching on Shadow and Scarecrow.
A/N: What the hell is up with me and all the sick-ass, disturbed fic I've been writing lately? What happened to the shiny porn? WHERE'S THE PORN GONE?!
Thanks to iamthedirtgirl for reminding me of T.S. Eliot's poem "The Hollow Men" recently and providing me with theme for this vague sketch I had before. Thanks and organ donation (and apparently hustler!porn) to poisontaster for the exceptional beta and all-around hand holding. We're going to have to come up with new words to thank each other soon before these get stale.
More rambly notes at the end.
I wake up in Worcester with a sweating trucker on top of me. I'm cooing and writhing under him and I'm not the one doing it. I'm not the one moving my body.
I scream and there is no sound. I struggle but there's nothing to struggle against. I'm nothing.
I'm not.
I can't tell what I am, where I am. Am I dead? I can see out of my eyes and feel drops of moisture roll off this man's brow, splash onto my collar bone, but I can't move. I can't even blink or shift the focus of my gaze. I feel him thrust between my legs, feel him inside me, but there's something else inside me too, in my head, and it moans and grinds my hips and it's not me, oh God, it's not me, it's not me, it's not me, it's not…
Something laughs, dark and abrasive, way in the back of my panicked brain.
We're in this together now sweet little Meghan. Nothing like the press of flesh on flesh, huh? Thanks for the loan baby, not something I get to experience all the time...
No.
It is the one in the front and I'm stuck behind. Back, way back inside. Behind control. I am stuck behind this laughing Something, imprisoned in a place reserved for idle thoughts and daydreams, where I can think and see and feel and scream but…
This is a nightmare. It's a nightmare and I'll wake up soon. I have to wake up soon.
~~~~~
I wake up in Cincinnati and I'm standing in front of a mirror. It has cut all my hair off and dyed it blond. It's smudged my eyes with black shadows. It smiles at me, at my reflection.
It speaks in my voice. "Not bad. Not bad at all. What do you think of the new look?" It turns my body away from the mirror and I realize It isn't even talking to me.
There is a man tied to a chair, head lolling, only barely conscious. There is blood everywhere and there is skin hanging off of him in strips (i did that. no. no, It did that. not me, never me. oh god). There is the way he whimpers and cries like a child when It rouses him again with a sharp slap of my hand against his bloodied cheek. There is nothing I understand. There is nothing I can do.
It leans in toward the man to speak and I see the bruises, burns and cuts ripped into his skin up close. "Where. Is. John Winchester?"
I learn that I have enough will left for some things. I learn that It cannot make me think Its thoughts or believe Its lies. I learn that It cannot stop me from screaming inside, which, by turns, It finds irritating and amusing. I learn that It can call me but It cannot make me stay to watch and listen and feel the things it does with my body.
I learn to go. I learn to simply melt away and leave It to my body and my name and my voice.
I will eventually learn to just go away.
But not yet. Not today.
~~~~~
I wake up in Chicago and I am straddling a man (again) tied to a pillar and he is bleeding freely (again). The man's cock is incongruously hard against my curled fingertips (mine. not 'ours', never. still my body. still belongs to me. still stolen.) and I hear my voice say, "Come on, Sammy. You and I can still have a little dirty fun."
He smiles - defiant, pained. "You wanna have fun? Go ahead, then. I'm a little tied up right now." He looks familiar. A flash of a deserted road, a bus station. This man's smiling eyes, his unbloodied face, his voice saying my name.
I don't remember. I don't really remember but there's something. Something is there.
Then another man, the familiar one's brother It says, interrupts and tries to distract It. I hear Winchester, disgusted and contemptuous, at the loud forefront of Its thoughts and know that these men are Its enemies.
kill me, please. oh please, kill it and let me die.
I stay and hope and beg inside. I watch as Its pet shadows turn on It and drag my body through a window and I feel joy. But Its laugh is cold and cruel as It rushes past whatever passes for "me" anymore, when it crawls down deep inside to watch. It goes and shoves me back into my skin in time to feel the impact of what should be an instant death.
Should be. It's not though.
I feel my every bone break, I feel my spine splinter and crush and it hurts, oh God… But I haven't been inside me in so long… so many months.
I wait to die and I think thank you, thank you, thank you.
But then.
I wake up in the street as it peels my body off the asphalt and solidifies my organs, knits my broken bones just enough to support my weight. I feel the bones grind and grate against one another, against all my fleshy insides.
I'm screaming…screaming, screaming silently, forever. I'll never stop screaming. My throat doesn't get tired because it's not mine. It's not real. I'm not real.
I'm screaming always, I'll be trapped always, It'll never stop…
I break.
I go away again for a long time and do not come back until.
~~~~~
I wake up in Jefferson City for just a few minutes. It walks on my legs into in a modest apartment building and it all looks so normal. 'Sunrise', the sign says and I can't even appreciate the irony any longer. There are children playing and It smiles at them as It passes. I would shudder if I had skin.
It opens a door on the second floor and reveals another Thing just like It. The Thing is in a man and I wonder who's in there; if he screams, if he can go away too. The Other Thing is viciously beating a dark-haired, older man.
"John, really. Still?" It says, barely sounding like me anymore, angry and impatient. It throws a paper bag down into the man's lap and hits him hard with the back of my hand.
I know that it's the back of my hand - it's my hand, my knuckles and nails, I can see it, I can see the skin split over bone - but I'm so far now. I'm not sure I can feel it anymore. Every time I go, I stay a little further away.
"Where the fuck is the Colt? You give it to those two luscious little boys of yours? You know, I had a real… connection with that younger one. Sammy." It licks my lips. "Oh yeah, he's a special one. A nasty one, your baby boy. Gets off on all kinds of dirty things."
It reaches up to touch Its blond hair (not mine, not anymore). "He likes blondes, you know, just like his daddy. Oh wait, I remember." It gently touches the man's face. "That prettyboy brother of his is kinda blond too, isn't he? I wonder what those two get up to, all alone in the world together with their daddy gone. So young and virile, sharing motel rooms - maybe even sharing beds - with all those hormones and all that adrenaline just… pumping away. How to relieve all the tension? Mmm, yeah. That's a show I'd like to see."
The man struggles furiously, bloodying his wrists against the rough rope, and his eyes burn black and hot. He still doesn't speak. The second Thing holds him down while I watch my fingers rummage in the paper bag, produce a syringe and then slide a needle into the man's arm.
It shrugs. "Oh well, this is faster. Not that I'm knocking the classics but you humans come up with the most demonic ideas all on your own! Really, it's your best quality as a species. This is sodium pentothal, Johnny." My voice sounds cheerful. "It makes you susceptible to suggestion and truth-saying but you know how else it makes you vulnerable?" It leans in and I feel the man's ragged breath on my cheek.
It whispers in his ear, dirty and low. "Demonic possession. It's just so easy to get inside. Greases the way like melted butter. Even with guys like you."
I don't stay after that. I know what I'd see.
~~~~~
I feel Its panic first. Then I feel Its pain.
I feel as It starts to tear from me, fiber by fiber.
"Benedictus deus. Gloria patris!"
It leeches itself from my every cell, it rips itself from the chambers of my heart, from every pocket of air in my punctured lungs.
Then everything is quiet. Everything is still. I lift my head.
"Thank you," I say and it's me and my voice and my pain, my bones cracking and grinding, my skin splitting and I feel it all.
Oh God, thank you. Thank you.
I feel their hands untie me, their strong arms lift me and move me onto the floor. Sam mutters a litany of "it's okay, shhh, we got you, shhh, got you, it's okay" and it means nothing but I knew he was kind. His eyes always looked kind.
I want to tell them. I tell them everything I can because It took me and because I can feel their touch on my skin. It hurts, it hurts so fucking much, but I can feel it. I'm inside me again.
They killed it; I can go away forever now. They killed it and they know it wasn't me. Someone knows that all the things It did… it wasn't me.
I want to tell them more but it's getting darker now.
"Sunrise…"
I don't wake up again.
~
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralyzed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
~ T.S. Eliot, "The Hollow Men"
So. Yeah.
I've been wanting to write this fic since that scene in Devil's Trap where real!Meg says, "I was awake for some of it." I don't know how people will respond to what is basically 'Meg-fic' but it had to be written because that's just the most horrifying thing I can bear to contemplate - being stuck inside your own body while it goes around doing all these horrible awful things and you can't move or do anything at all to stop "yourself". It didn't make it into the fic, but I'd be willing to bet the demon even killed real!Meg's family and/or friends pretty horribly and made her watch. Because it's a demon, and it would be fun for it.
But being in there and conscious but unable to act or have any agency whatsoever just chills me to my core. Then I thought, what could you do in that scenario? Well, I'd learn to check the fuck out of my consciousness ASAP, you know? I'd learn to go away. Which is what canon hints at, or at least allows, for Meg to do.
It was kind of masterful, actually, how that one scene in DT made a character who was previously a really irritating, shrill villain - who of course had to be some "hot blond chick" (*cue my rolled eyes*) - and in one fell swoop, made the idea of "Meg" into something tragic. Something really poignant and dark. I was immediately interested in this character we only "see" for a few minutes. What was life like for her?
I dig that kind of stuff. :-) I hope that if you got this far, you dug it too. *blushes and takes little bow*
Author: mona1347
Word Count: 1,655
Rating/Warnings: This is horror. No porn (sorry! *dodges thrown stones*) but lots of violence and what can best be called "mind rape." The concept of Wincest is referenced but neither confirmed nor denied.
Spoilers: Through Devil's Trap, touching on Shadow and Scarecrow.
A/N: What the hell is up with me and all the sick-ass, disturbed fic I've been writing lately? What happened to the shiny porn? WHERE'S THE PORN GONE?!
Thanks to iamthedirtgirl for reminding me of T.S. Eliot's poem "The Hollow Men" recently and providing me with theme for this vague sketch I had before. Thanks and organ donation (and apparently hustler!porn) to poisontaster for the exceptional beta and all-around hand holding. We're going to have to come up with new words to thank each other soon before these get stale.
More rambly notes at the end.
I wake up in Worcester with a sweating trucker on top of me. I'm cooing and writhing under him and I'm not the one doing it. I'm not the one moving my body.
I scream and there is no sound. I struggle but there's nothing to struggle against. I'm nothing.
I'm not.
I can't tell what I am, where I am. Am I dead? I can see out of my eyes and feel drops of moisture roll off this man's brow, splash onto my collar bone, but I can't move. I can't even blink or shift the focus of my gaze. I feel him thrust between my legs, feel him inside me, but there's something else inside me too, in my head, and it moans and grinds my hips and it's not me, oh God, it's not me, it's not me, it's not me, it's not…
Something laughs, dark and abrasive, way in the back of my panicked brain.
We're in this together now sweet little Meghan. Nothing like the press of flesh on flesh, huh? Thanks for the loan baby, not something I get to experience all the time...
No.
It is the one in the front and I'm stuck behind. Back, way back inside. Behind control. I am stuck behind this laughing Something, imprisoned in a place reserved for idle thoughts and daydreams, where I can think and see and feel and scream but…
This is a nightmare. It's a nightmare and I'll wake up soon. I have to wake up soon.
~~~~~
I wake up in Cincinnati and I'm standing in front of a mirror. It has cut all my hair off and dyed it blond. It's smudged my eyes with black shadows. It smiles at me, at my reflection.
It speaks in my voice. "Not bad. Not bad at all. What do you think of the new look?" It turns my body away from the mirror and I realize It isn't even talking to me.
There is a man tied to a chair, head lolling, only barely conscious. There is blood everywhere and there is skin hanging off of him in strips (i did that. no. no, It did that. not me, never me. oh god). There is the way he whimpers and cries like a child when It rouses him again with a sharp slap of my hand against his bloodied cheek. There is nothing I understand. There is nothing I can do.
It leans in toward the man to speak and I see the bruises, burns and cuts ripped into his skin up close. "Where. Is. John Winchester?"
I learn that I have enough will left for some things. I learn that It cannot make me think Its thoughts or believe Its lies. I learn that It cannot stop me from screaming inside, which, by turns, It finds irritating and amusing. I learn that It can call me but It cannot make me stay to watch and listen and feel the things it does with my body.
I learn to go. I learn to simply melt away and leave It to my body and my name and my voice.
I will eventually learn to just go away.
But not yet. Not today.
~~~~~
I wake up in Chicago and I am straddling a man (again) tied to a pillar and he is bleeding freely (again). The man's cock is incongruously hard against my curled fingertips (mine. not 'ours', never. still my body. still belongs to me. still stolen.) and I hear my voice say, "Come on, Sammy. You and I can still have a little dirty fun."
He smiles - defiant, pained. "You wanna have fun? Go ahead, then. I'm a little tied up right now." He looks familiar. A flash of a deserted road, a bus station. This man's smiling eyes, his unbloodied face, his voice saying my name.
I don't remember. I don't really remember but there's something. Something is there.
Then another man, the familiar one's brother It says, interrupts and tries to distract It. I hear Winchester, disgusted and contemptuous, at the loud forefront of Its thoughts and know that these men are Its enemies.
kill me, please. oh please, kill it and let me die.
I stay and hope and beg inside. I watch as Its pet shadows turn on It and drag my body through a window and I feel joy. But Its laugh is cold and cruel as It rushes past whatever passes for "me" anymore, when it crawls down deep inside to watch. It goes and shoves me back into my skin in time to feel the impact of what should be an instant death.
Should be. It's not though.
I feel my every bone break, I feel my spine splinter and crush and it hurts, oh God… But I haven't been inside me in so long… so many months.
I wait to die and I think thank you, thank you, thank you.
But then.
I wake up in the street as it peels my body off the asphalt and solidifies my organs, knits my broken bones just enough to support my weight. I feel the bones grind and grate against one another, against all my fleshy insides.
I'm screaming…screaming, screaming silently, forever. I'll never stop screaming. My throat doesn't get tired because it's not mine. It's not real. I'm not real.
I'm screaming always, I'll be trapped always, It'll never stop…
I break.
I go away again for a long time and do not come back until.
~~~~~
I wake up in Jefferson City for just a few minutes. It walks on my legs into in a modest apartment building and it all looks so normal. 'Sunrise', the sign says and I can't even appreciate the irony any longer. There are children playing and It smiles at them as It passes. I would shudder if I had skin.
It opens a door on the second floor and reveals another Thing just like It. The Thing is in a man and I wonder who's in there; if he screams, if he can go away too. The Other Thing is viciously beating a dark-haired, older man.
"John, really. Still?" It says, barely sounding like me anymore, angry and impatient. It throws a paper bag down into the man's lap and hits him hard with the back of my hand.
I know that it's the back of my hand - it's my hand, my knuckles and nails, I can see it, I can see the skin split over bone - but I'm so far now. I'm not sure I can feel it anymore. Every time I go, I stay a little further away.
"Where the fuck is the Colt? You give it to those two luscious little boys of yours? You know, I had a real… connection with that younger one. Sammy." It licks my lips. "Oh yeah, he's a special one. A nasty one, your baby boy. Gets off on all kinds of dirty things."
It reaches up to touch Its blond hair (not mine, not anymore). "He likes blondes, you know, just like his daddy. Oh wait, I remember." It gently touches the man's face. "That prettyboy brother of his is kinda blond too, isn't he? I wonder what those two get up to, all alone in the world together with their daddy gone. So young and virile, sharing motel rooms - maybe even sharing beds - with all those hormones and all that adrenaline just… pumping away. How to relieve all the tension? Mmm, yeah. That's a show I'd like to see."
The man struggles furiously, bloodying his wrists against the rough rope, and his eyes burn black and hot. He still doesn't speak. The second Thing holds him down while I watch my fingers rummage in the paper bag, produce a syringe and then slide a needle into the man's arm.
It shrugs. "Oh well, this is faster. Not that I'm knocking the classics but you humans come up with the most demonic ideas all on your own! Really, it's your best quality as a species. This is sodium pentothal, Johnny." My voice sounds cheerful. "It makes you susceptible to suggestion and truth-saying but you know how else it makes you vulnerable?" It leans in and I feel the man's ragged breath on my cheek.
It whispers in his ear, dirty and low. "Demonic possession. It's just so easy to get inside. Greases the way like melted butter. Even with guys like you."
I don't stay after that. I know what I'd see.
~~~~~
I feel Its panic first. Then I feel Its pain.
I feel as It starts to tear from me, fiber by fiber.
"Benedictus deus. Gloria patris!"
It leeches itself from my every cell, it rips itself from the chambers of my heart, from every pocket of air in my punctured lungs.
Then everything is quiet. Everything is still. I lift my head.
"Thank you," I say and it's me and my voice and my pain, my bones cracking and grinding, my skin splitting and I feel it all.
Oh God, thank you. Thank you.
I feel their hands untie me, their strong arms lift me and move me onto the floor. Sam mutters a litany of "it's okay, shhh, we got you, shhh, got you, it's okay" and it means nothing but I knew he was kind. His eyes always looked kind.
I want to tell them. I tell them everything I can because It took me and because I can feel their touch on my skin. It hurts, it hurts so fucking much, but I can feel it. I'm inside me again.
They killed it; I can go away forever now. They killed it and they know it wasn't me. Someone knows that all the things It did… it wasn't me.
I want to tell them more but it's getting darker now.
"Sunrise…"
I don't wake up again.
~
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralyzed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
~ T.S. Eliot, "The Hollow Men"
So. Yeah.
I've been wanting to write this fic since that scene in Devil's Trap where real!Meg says, "I was awake for some of it." I don't know how people will respond to what is basically 'Meg-fic' but it had to be written because that's just the most horrifying thing I can bear to contemplate - being stuck inside your own body while it goes around doing all these horrible awful things and you can't move or do anything at all to stop "yourself". It didn't make it into the fic, but I'd be willing to bet the demon even killed real!Meg's family and/or friends pretty horribly and made her watch. Because it's a demon, and it would be fun for it.
But being in there and conscious but unable to act or have any agency whatsoever just chills me to my core. Then I thought, what could you do in that scenario? Well, I'd learn to check the fuck out of my consciousness ASAP, you know? I'd learn to go away. Which is what canon hints at, or at least allows, for Meg to do.
It was kind of masterful, actually, how that one scene in DT made a character who was previously a really irritating, shrill villain - who of course had to be some "hot blond chick" (*cue my rolled eyes*) - and in one fell swoop, made the idea of "Meg" into something tragic. Something really poignant and dark. I was immediately interested in this character we only "see" for a few minutes. What was life like for her?
I dig that kind of stuff. :-) I hope that if you got this far, you dug it too. *blushes and takes little bow*