Depart From Me, Ye Cursed (Gen, R)
An Antichristmas pinch-hit for quickreaver
written for the prompt: Abaddon makes the tragic mistake of trying to possess Lucifer’s once-and-future vessel.
Also, heavily, heavily inspired by this gorgeousness:
click on the pic to admire quickreaver's vision of Abaddon!Sam in leather ; )
word-count: ~1,700
characters: Sam Winchester, Abaddon
warnings/enticements: possession, Abaddon!Sam, blood-drinking, Sam in leather pants
"Mm," Abaddon says, running her fingers down the lean torso of her newly acquired body. "It's even better than I imagined." She strips out of the grey t-shirt and walks to the full-length mirror mounted on the bathroom door. Sam's broad chest is marred only by a half-circle-the beginnings of a new anti-possession tattoo.
"Good thing I came when I did." She grins, curving Sam's lips into a wicked smile. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out the second you tried to take yourself off the market again?"
Possessing a Winchester is something nearly every demon dreams about, but very few of them ever try. The bloodline was meant to contain angels, made to hold power greater than any demon could ever conceive of. Once upon a time, Meg had taken Sam Winchester for a ride, and lived to tell the tale. For a little while, anyway. She'd been strong, but nowhere near as strong as Abaddon.
It seems fitting to Abaddon for her to be inside Sam's body. If anyone in Hell is worthy of it, it's her. She's Lucifer's chosen too, after all. Hand-picked as his knight.
Sam's body-inside and out-is remarkable the way only a true vessel for an archangel can be. Hell's God, her God, had lived here once. And it shows. Sam's insides aren't standard issue human, not by a long shot. Human doctors wouldn't be able to tell the difference, but to those who have eyes to see, like her, he is a work of art. His nervous system and circulatory system are doubled. There are his human veins and capillaries, nerves and spinal column, but intertwined with those are Lucifer's; the Devil's own wiring envelopes Sam's, veins as big as highways, capillaries that channel blood into lightning. Sam's body is a conduit for one of the strongest beings in existence. And Abaddon is going to enjoy every minute inside.
She intends to possess both brothers. Sam first, and then Dean. She has this little movie in the back of her head-a preview of things to come where she can see her mind wielding Sam's body like the weapon it was meant to be. She uses it to bring Dean to his knees. His face is open, confused but trusting. He's not afraid, why would he be? She uses the old Kurdish blade to carve away Dean's tattoo, stripping off the flesh one inch at a time. She brings her tongue, Sam's tongue down to lick away the blood, and-
Sam's body responds to the thought, far more intensely than Abaddon had expected; revulsion and anger at what she's picturing, but something else too. The imagined taste of blood sends a shiver running down his spine, and she remembers the bits and pieces she'd heard of his time as Lucifer's vessel. She pushes at his thoughts, and finds the memories floating right at the surface: sulfur and copper and an endless well of strength-intoxicating and euphoric. He'd hated himself for his weakness, screamed vengeance as Lucifer used his fully-fueled body for his own means.
"You liked it, didn't you?" Abaddon asks her reflection, watching Sam's eyes. She can see him pinned down underneath her will, rage shimmering strong enough to shine right through the black. "The power, the rush, hell-" she bites down on her lips hard until a bead of red wells up. "You liked the taste."
Sam's cock stirs and Abaddon laughs, pleased by the low rumbling sound of it. She unbuttons the top of his jeans and slides them down. They fall off his narrow hips to pool around his ankles.
"That's another thing I never understood about you Winchesters," she says, stepping out of the jeans. "But you especially." She walks over to the bed, reaches into the big shopping bag of clothes and pulls out a better pair of pants. The leather fits like a glove, melds to the curve of Sam's rear beautifully.
"You never, ever show off your assets." She zips up the leather pants and does one last turn in front of the mirror. "And you really should. A body like this is a real weapon," she says, "in more ways than one."
***
Sam claws weakly at the back of Abaddon's mind as she leaves the motel room, but falls quiet after a while.
"Poor thing. Tuckered out already?" she asks, laughing.
She heads to the nearest bar, orders a scotch, and sits across from the mirror, watching the patrons mull about. A woman sidles up next to her, eyeing Sam like he's a ribeye steak. It's fun, wrapping Sam's big hand around the smaller woman's wrist. It's less fun when she pulls an angel blade out of thin air. Abaddon brings Sam's other arm up to block, and the angel slices his forearm open, instead of his chest.
"Bitch!" Abaddon yells, knocking the angel onto the floor.
The other bar patrons gasp, and the bartender looks mortified. He stutters, "Calm down there, big fella. I've got a gun."
Abaddon meets his eyes, raises her hand and twists, snapping the bartender's neck. He falls to the floor, dead. The rest of the bar clears out in seconds, a panicked throng, people pushing each other aside to get away.
"Sam Winchester?" the angel hisses. "Really?"
Abaddon brings Sam's bleeding wrist to her mouth and runs her tongue across it. Inside her head, Abaddon hears Sam gasp, like he's coming up for air. She pulls away, or tries to, but his mouth stays clamped down over the wound, tongue pushing deep into the cut.
"How'd you pull that off?" The angel stands and raises her blade, ready to strike again.
Abaddon tries to pull away again, a snide answer on her lips. But she can't. She's lost control of Sam's body and before she can utter a curse, Sam has her pinned inside his mind, just as thoroughly as she'd held him moments earlier.
Sam sucks hard on the cut in his arm, and inside of him, the latticework of veins and their gargantuan echoes begin to fill with light. His blood, her blood, awakens Lucifer's gift and the smear of grace around his heart vanishes as it's siphoned inward. Now, Sam lowers his wrist, licking his lips.
The angel raises her hand, lays her palm against Sam's head and closes her eyes. Light starts to build, but she's weakened from the Fall, just like all the others. Her attempt at smiting does little more than tickle the inside of Sam's chest.
Abaddon wants to laugh at her luck, but she can't even do that much. Sam disarms the angel, grabs its blade and Abaddon thinks, Yes! One less angel is always a good thing. But instead, he flips the blade in his grip and draws it across his wrist, one cut, shorter and deeper than the other wound. It gushes blood. He brings it back to his mouth, eyes locked on the angel.
Lightning starts to flicker in the back of Sam's mind. His will wraps itself around Abaddon, coiling tighter and tighter.
"What-" the angel watches Sam and backs away.
Not as dumb as most of the Host, Abaddon thinks grimly. More power pushes against her as Sam swallows mouthful after mouthful of blood.
The angel takes another step back, bumping into the barstool behind her. Sam lets go of his wrist and grabs hers instead. "Leaving so soon?"
The pressure squeezing Abaddon is growing stronger by the second, and she can see little more than flickers of the world outside through Sam's eyes. She's starting to think this might have been a mistake, but tries to take solace in the fact that the angel isn't going to make it either.
"What do you want from me?" the angel asks.
Sam steps closer to her and brings her hand to his chest. "Heal."
The angel's eyes widen as she does what he asks.
The wounds on his wrist close, his breathing evens out and his heart fills with light. Power streams out from it into his veins, igniting the demon blood. It burns through him, each beat of his heart sending more energy through his body.
Trapped within the storm, Abaddon feels herself start to char. Bits of her soul are incinerated, one pulse at a time. Enough of her senses remain for her to see the angel turn and flee out the door. Then there's nothing but Sam's power. It's all around her, it's endless and in it she hears the voice of her God saying, "It's over." She wants to laugh and Sam laughs with her, a deep rumble in his chest as she turns to ash and dissolves.
Her last thought, her very last thought, is, I should've taken Dean.
written for the prompt: Abaddon makes the tragic mistake of trying to possess Lucifer’s once-and-future vessel.
Also, heavily, heavily inspired by this gorgeousness:
click on the pic to admire quickreaver's vision of Abaddon!Sam in leather ; )
word-count: ~1,700
characters: Sam Winchester, Abaddon
warnings/enticements: possession, Abaddon!Sam, blood-drinking, Sam in leather pants
"Mm," Abaddon says, running her fingers down the lean torso of her newly acquired body. "It's even better than I imagined." She strips out of the grey t-shirt and walks to the full-length mirror mounted on the bathroom door. Sam's broad chest is marred only by a half-circle-the beginnings of a new anti-possession tattoo.
"Good thing I came when I did." She grins, curving Sam's lips into a wicked smile. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out the second you tried to take yourself off the market again?"
Possessing a Winchester is something nearly every demon dreams about, but very few of them ever try. The bloodline was meant to contain angels, made to hold power greater than any demon could ever conceive of. Once upon a time, Meg had taken Sam Winchester for a ride, and lived to tell the tale. For a little while, anyway. She'd been strong, but nowhere near as strong as Abaddon.
It seems fitting to Abaddon for her to be inside Sam's body. If anyone in Hell is worthy of it, it's her. She's Lucifer's chosen too, after all. Hand-picked as his knight.
Sam's body-inside and out-is remarkable the way only a true vessel for an archangel can be. Hell's God, her God, had lived here once. And it shows. Sam's insides aren't standard issue human, not by a long shot. Human doctors wouldn't be able to tell the difference, but to those who have eyes to see, like her, he is a work of art. His nervous system and circulatory system are doubled. There are his human veins and capillaries, nerves and spinal column, but intertwined with those are Lucifer's; the Devil's own wiring envelopes Sam's, veins as big as highways, capillaries that channel blood into lightning. Sam's body is a conduit for one of the strongest beings in existence. And Abaddon is going to enjoy every minute inside.
She intends to possess both brothers. Sam first, and then Dean. She has this little movie in the back of her head-a preview of things to come where she can see her mind wielding Sam's body like the weapon it was meant to be. She uses it to bring Dean to his knees. His face is open, confused but trusting. He's not afraid, why would he be? She uses the old Kurdish blade to carve away Dean's tattoo, stripping off the flesh one inch at a time. She brings her tongue, Sam's tongue down to lick away the blood, and-
Sam's body responds to the thought, far more intensely than Abaddon had expected; revulsion and anger at what she's picturing, but something else too. The imagined taste of blood sends a shiver running down his spine, and she remembers the bits and pieces she'd heard of his time as Lucifer's vessel. She pushes at his thoughts, and finds the memories floating right at the surface: sulfur and copper and an endless well of strength-intoxicating and euphoric. He'd hated himself for his weakness, screamed vengeance as Lucifer used his fully-fueled body for his own means.
"You liked it, didn't you?" Abaddon asks her reflection, watching Sam's eyes. She can see him pinned down underneath her will, rage shimmering strong enough to shine right through the black. "The power, the rush, hell-" she bites down on her lips hard until a bead of red wells up. "You liked the taste."
Sam's cock stirs and Abaddon laughs, pleased by the low rumbling sound of it. She unbuttons the top of his jeans and slides them down. They fall off his narrow hips to pool around his ankles.
"That's another thing I never understood about you Winchesters," she says, stepping out of the jeans. "But you especially." She walks over to the bed, reaches into the big shopping bag of clothes and pulls out a better pair of pants. The leather fits like a glove, melds to the curve of Sam's rear beautifully.
"You never, ever show off your assets." She zips up the leather pants and does one last turn in front of the mirror. "And you really should. A body like this is a real weapon," she says, "in more ways than one."
***
Sam claws weakly at the back of Abaddon's mind as she leaves the motel room, but falls quiet after a while.
"Poor thing. Tuckered out already?" she asks, laughing.
She heads to the nearest bar, orders a scotch, and sits across from the mirror, watching the patrons mull about. A woman sidles up next to her, eyeing Sam like he's a ribeye steak. It's fun, wrapping Sam's big hand around the smaller woman's wrist. It's less fun when she pulls an angel blade out of thin air. Abaddon brings Sam's other arm up to block, and the angel slices his forearm open, instead of his chest.
"Bitch!" Abaddon yells, knocking the angel onto the floor.
The other bar patrons gasp, and the bartender looks mortified. He stutters, "Calm down there, big fella. I've got a gun."
Abaddon meets his eyes, raises her hand and twists, snapping the bartender's neck. He falls to the floor, dead. The rest of the bar clears out in seconds, a panicked throng, people pushing each other aside to get away.
"Sam Winchester?" the angel hisses. "Really?"
Abaddon brings Sam's bleeding wrist to her mouth and runs her tongue across it. Inside her head, Abaddon hears Sam gasp, like he's coming up for air. She pulls away, or tries to, but his mouth stays clamped down over the wound, tongue pushing deep into the cut.
"How'd you pull that off?" The angel stands and raises her blade, ready to strike again.
Abaddon tries to pull away again, a snide answer on her lips. But she can't. She's lost control of Sam's body and before she can utter a curse, Sam has her pinned inside his mind, just as thoroughly as she'd held him moments earlier.
Sam sucks hard on the cut in his arm, and inside of him, the latticework of veins and their gargantuan echoes begin to fill with light. His blood, her blood, awakens Lucifer's gift and the smear of grace around his heart vanishes as it's siphoned inward. Now, Sam lowers his wrist, licking his lips.
The angel raises her hand, lays her palm against Sam's head and closes her eyes. Light starts to build, but she's weakened from the Fall, just like all the others. Her attempt at smiting does little more than tickle the inside of Sam's chest.
Abaddon wants to laugh at her luck, but she can't even do that much. Sam disarms the angel, grabs its blade and Abaddon thinks, Yes! One less angel is always a good thing. But instead, he flips the blade in his grip and draws it across his wrist, one cut, shorter and deeper than the other wound. It gushes blood. He brings it back to his mouth, eyes locked on the angel.
Lightning starts to flicker in the back of Sam's mind. His will wraps itself around Abaddon, coiling tighter and tighter.
"What-" the angel watches Sam and backs away.
Not as dumb as most of the Host, Abaddon thinks grimly. More power pushes against her as Sam swallows mouthful after mouthful of blood.
The angel takes another step back, bumping into the barstool behind her. Sam lets go of his wrist and grabs hers instead. "Leaving so soon?"
The pressure squeezing Abaddon is growing stronger by the second, and she can see little more than flickers of the world outside through Sam's eyes. She's starting to think this might have been a mistake, but tries to take solace in the fact that the angel isn't going to make it either.
"What do you want from me?" the angel asks.
Sam steps closer to her and brings her hand to his chest. "Heal."
The angel's eyes widen as she does what he asks.
The wounds on his wrist close, his breathing evens out and his heart fills with light. Power streams out from it into his veins, igniting the demon blood. It burns through him, each beat of his heart sending more energy through his body.
Trapped within the storm, Abaddon feels herself start to char. Bits of her soul are incinerated, one pulse at a time. Enough of her senses remain for her to see the angel turn and flee out the door. Then there's nothing but Sam's power. It's all around her, it's endless and in it she hears the voice of her God saying, "It's over." She wants to laugh and Sam laughs with her, a deep rumble in his chest as she turns to ash and dissolves.
Her last thought, her very last thought, is, I should've taken Dean.