SPN Fic: Last Exit - R
Title: Last Exit
Fandom: SPN
Pairing/s: Sam/OFC, Sam/OMC, Sam/Dean implied.
Rating: R
Summary: Sam was asleep for some of it. Not as much as you'd think, though.
Word Count: 1005
Notes: Written for missing_spn. Missing scene from 2x14, "Born Under A Bad Sign".
Credits: veronamay for slapping me around and making this resemble a story.
Last Exit
You don't see it coming. You're exhausted, heavy with fatigue and hungry. You can almost taste the food you're carrying, the smell of grease and salt sinking into your skin and the brown paper bag feels heavy between your fingers.
You're distracted, thinking of food and bed. So much so, that when the little girl with the skinned knees comes up to you and asks you how to get to Walker Street and calls you by your name, your brain doesn't kick into gear for a few seconds.
By that time it's too late and there's smoke. Thick and black and cloying and It's. She's. In there with you. You feel like you're being held underwater, like you're struggling to breathe, like you're sinking and there's no way you'll ever get back to the surface. You've dreamed about it before, dreamed about being taken a dozen times and you always figured it was just him fucking with you, playing with your subconscious to make you feel even more of a freak than usual.
Turns out it was just like the other dreams after all.
You fight it at first. Try to will her out. Try every spell, every charm you can think of for what feels like hours, but it's like there's a brick wall stopping your thoughts from forming sounds. The words stick in your throat. When that doesn't work you beg, plead, try to make her see reason. Like that was ever going to work with a demon.
So you give in. There's a part of you that feels like it's inevitable anyway.
It's your destiny, after all.
Giving in feels peaceful, just like you've always imagined drowning would be. There's a sort of serenity in letting go. You don't want to think about how easy it is, giving in like this, and you definitely don't want to think about what Dean would say.
She laughs at you. Tells you not to worry about what Dean'll say, that you'll find out soon enough.
You wish you could kill yourself and her, right then and there.
***
She lets you sleep. You don't know exactly how long for, but when you wake up, you can feel it coursing, thrumming through your whole body.
Want.
Like a current. Consuming, unbridled want and need, like you've never felt before. The need to fuck, to hurt. You remember what Dad said, that demons only know two things: appetite and satisfaction. That's exactly what it feels like. Hunger. Starvation.
You shower and dress, trying to ignore the fact that she's making you run your hands all over your body, leering at you, saying things like, Nice, Sammy. Very nice, and I'm looking forward to getting to know this skin very well. Later. It could take days.
You sleep again, while she drives. She tells you that you need your rest and she knows exactly where she's taking you, anyway. Tells you that she's the one pulling the strings and all you can do now is watch.
You stop at a diner, steaming cup of black coffee and a piece of banana cream pie. The waitress's name is Stacey; she's short and dark, with amazing tits and she blushes as you lick crumbs from your bottom lip.
She says she's always wanted to know what it was like. To fuck a woman like a man would, so you screw Stacey facedown on the back seat of the car, pressing her face into the upholstery, ignoring her breathy whimpering that you're hurting her, going too fast and too hard.
It's shocking really, just how easy it is to shut out the crying and the screaming now that you know how.
***
The next night, the night before she makes you murder Steve Wandell, you wind up at some club in the middle of town. You can feel your heart pounding in time to the beat of the music and you wonder just what's so special about this place, why she would take a detour here.
You're sitting in a booth sipping your bourbon and coke when he comes over and sits opposite you. He smiles, and the likeness is so insane that you wonder whether you might be dreaming.
You're not, Sammy. Just my little gift to you.
He takes you into the bathroom stall and measures out perfect lines of white, pristine powder. You've never done drugs, but she does and that means now you do too. You can feel it working its way through your bloodstream, making your blood race and your head spin.
Making you want even more.
He gets down on his knees and you unzip yourself, rub your dick over those pretty full lips. When he swallows you down you grab handfuls of his hair and fuck into his mouth. You're not gentle and you know it has to hurt, can see him struggling; you don't care, you just ram yourself in over and over until you come, your fingers twisting in his hair.
You leave him there, used and broken, on the bathroom floor like a whore you haven't paid, trying to block out her taunts.
I think you enjoyed that, didn't you, Sam? Maybe a bit too much.
***
You don't tell Dean everything. It's easier that way, to pretend that you weren't awake for most of it. That you didn't want. That you were completely helpless. You feel guilty as hell for it too, it's not like you want to lie to him, but there are some things that even Dean can't know.
Some things especially Dean can't know.
You can't tell him about the fact that you didn't fight it, that you stopped trying to and you can't tell him that you came harder than you have in years, using someone, hurting someone who looked so much like him.
Most of all though, you can't tell him the worst part, the part you can't even admit to yourself yet; that you're not even sure you're sorry that any of it happened.
end
Fandom: SPN
Pairing/s: Sam/OFC, Sam/OMC, Sam/Dean implied.
Rating: R
Summary: Sam was asleep for some of it. Not as much as you'd think, though.
Word Count: 1005
Notes: Written for missing_spn. Missing scene from 2x14, "Born Under A Bad Sign".
Credits: veronamay for slapping me around and making this resemble a story.
Last Exit
You don't see it coming. You're exhausted, heavy with fatigue and hungry. You can almost taste the food you're carrying, the smell of grease and salt sinking into your skin and the brown paper bag feels heavy between your fingers.
You're distracted, thinking of food and bed. So much so, that when the little girl with the skinned knees comes up to you and asks you how to get to Walker Street and calls you by your name, your brain doesn't kick into gear for a few seconds.
By that time it's too late and there's smoke. Thick and black and cloying and It's. She's. In there with you. You feel like you're being held underwater, like you're struggling to breathe, like you're sinking and there's no way you'll ever get back to the surface. You've dreamed about it before, dreamed about being taken a dozen times and you always figured it was just him fucking with you, playing with your subconscious to make you feel even more of a freak than usual.
Turns out it was just like the other dreams after all.
You fight it at first. Try to will her out. Try every spell, every charm you can think of for what feels like hours, but it's like there's a brick wall stopping your thoughts from forming sounds. The words stick in your throat. When that doesn't work you beg, plead, try to make her see reason. Like that was ever going to work with a demon.
So you give in. There's a part of you that feels like it's inevitable anyway.
It's your destiny, after all.
Giving in feels peaceful, just like you've always imagined drowning would be. There's a sort of serenity in letting go. You don't want to think about how easy it is, giving in like this, and you definitely don't want to think about what Dean would say.
She laughs at you. Tells you not to worry about what Dean'll say, that you'll find out soon enough.
You wish you could kill yourself and her, right then and there.
***
She lets you sleep. You don't know exactly how long for, but when you wake up, you can feel it coursing, thrumming through your whole body.
Want.
Like a current. Consuming, unbridled want and need, like you've never felt before. The need to fuck, to hurt. You remember what Dad said, that demons only know two things: appetite and satisfaction. That's exactly what it feels like. Hunger. Starvation.
You shower and dress, trying to ignore the fact that she's making you run your hands all over your body, leering at you, saying things like, Nice, Sammy. Very nice, and I'm looking forward to getting to know this skin very well. Later. It could take days.
You sleep again, while she drives. She tells you that you need your rest and she knows exactly where she's taking you, anyway. Tells you that she's the one pulling the strings and all you can do now is watch.
You stop at a diner, steaming cup of black coffee and a piece of banana cream pie. The waitress's name is Stacey; she's short and dark, with amazing tits and she blushes as you lick crumbs from your bottom lip.
She says she's always wanted to know what it was like. To fuck a woman like a man would, so you screw Stacey facedown on the back seat of the car, pressing her face into the upholstery, ignoring her breathy whimpering that you're hurting her, going too fast and too hard.
It's shocking really, just how easy it is to shut out the crying and the screaming now that you know how.
***
The next night, the night before she makes you murder Steve Wandell, you wind up at some club in the middle of town. You can feel your heart pounding in time to the beat of the music and you wonder just what's so special about this place, why she would take a detour here.
You're sitting in a booth sipping your bourbon and coke when he comes over and sits opposite you. He smiles, and the likeness is so insane that you wonder whether you might be dreaming.
You're not, Sammy. Just my little gift to you.
He takes you into the bathroom stall and measures out perfect lines of white, pristine powder. You've never done drugs, but she does and that means now you do too. You can feel it working its way through your bloodstream, making your blood race and your head spin.
Making you want even more.
He gets down on his knees and you unzip yourself, rub your dick over those pretty full lips. When he swallows you down you grab handfuls of his hair and fuck into his mouth. You're not gentle and you know it has to hurt, can see him struggling; you don't care, you just ram yourself in over and over until you come, your fingers twisting in his hair.
You leave him there, used and broken, on the bathroom floor like a whore you haven't paid, trying to block out her taunts.
I think you enjoyed that, didn't you, Sam? Maybe a bit too much.
***
You don't tell Dean everything. It's easier that way, to pretend that you weren't awake for most of it. That you didn't want. That you were completely helpless. You feel guilty as hell for it too, it's not like you want to lie to him, but there are some things that even Dean can't know.
Some things especially Dean can't know.
You can't tell him about the fact that you didn't fight it, that you stopped trying to and you can't tell him that you came harder than you have in years, using someone, hurting someone who looked so much like him.
Most of all though, you can't tell him the worst part, the part you can't even admit to yourself yet; that you're not even sure you're sorry that any of it happened.
end