My Brother's Keeper, Part 18 - Supernatural, NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: My Brother's Keeper, Part Eighteen( Part One Here, Part Two Here, Part Three Here, Part Four Here, Part Five Here, Part Six Here, Part Seven Here, Part Eight Here, Part Nine Here, Part Ten Here, Part Eleven Here, Part Twelve Here, Part Thirteen Here, Part Fourteen Here, Part Fifteen Here, Part Sixteen Here, Part Seventeen Here)
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Table: #1
Prompt: 073 Return
Word Count: 2457
Summary: Complete AU. On the night the demon kills Mary Winchester, John saves Dean, but before he can go back for Sam, the fire spreads. It is assumed that Sam is dead along with his mother. In reality, he has been taken and is raised by a family dedicate to the demon who killed Mary. One night after a hunt, Dean runs into him in a bar in Palo Alto, never a clue who he really is.
Warnings: Overall-Incest, m/m sex, blood play, bondage, non-con, including memories of under-age rape. Stuff happens (what, I have a new cold...my brain is all breaky)
This is my thirty-seventh ficlet for my Supernatural claim on 100_situations. Clicky for table
Dean rubbed his hands together as he climbed back into the Impala, handing his father the shotgun. He shook his head. “EMF is off the charts, but from outside there’s no signs of anything in there.”
John leaned forward, looking around Dean at the house. Once upon a time, this was his home, the place he and Mary had chosen to raise their boys. He couldn’t look at it without seeing flames shooting out of the second story window. He exhaled slowly and scrubbed at his face with a hand that still ached from hitting Sam.
“What are you thinking, Dad?”
He glanced at Dean and smiled softly. “I was thinking about the day your mother and I bought this place. She was pregnant with you. We signed the papers and had a picnic on the floor in the living room. The very first piece of furniture we moved in was your crib.”
“You never told me that.”
John shrugged. “I never expected to be here again.”
Dean looked back at the house. “Hey, did you see that?”
“What?”
“Something, movement. Upstairs window.” Dean was half way out of the car when John’s hand caught his arm.
“You do realize we could be walking into a trap.”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, I do. Never stopped me before.”
John released him and got out. “You know, it’s a wonder you aren’t dead yet.”
Dean grinned, holding out his arms. “Hey, I’m that good.”
John chuckled, but shook his head. “No, you’re just that lucky.”
“Rock salt and blessed rounds?” Dean asked, moving to the trunk.
“Holy water too. If this is a demon…”
Dean pulled out a second shot gun, pocketing the salt rounds while he rummaged through the other stuff in the trunk. “What else would it be? I mean Sam said it was, right?”
John nodded, his eyes on the window of the room where he had last seen his wife, pinned to the ceiling, bleeding and burning. “Yeah, that’s what he said.”
“Okay, let’s go then.” Dean led the way across the street and up the stairs to the porch. He tested the door, then cocked his head. “Door’s open. Kinda creepy.”
He pushed it open and moved inside, John following. Dean signaled that he was moving toward the stairs and John nodded, tilting his head toward the kitchen. “Be careful.” John said almost silently and Dean lifted his chin before moving away.
Dean moved slowly, up the stairs, holding the shot gun ready. His jaw was starting to ache from the way he was clenching his teeth together. He blew out a short breath and tried to calm his heart, tried to tell himself it was just another hunt.
It wasn’t, but he tried to convince himself anyway. The upstairs hall was dark and he jumped when lights from a passing car floated over the wall. “Stupid,” he muttered and he shook off the panic that had crept into him.
The door to what had been the nursery stood open, calling him and Dean swallowed. His last image of that room had been filled with flames, his father’s face, his mother’s screaming. He closed his eyes and told himself to get it together.
The room was cold, at least ten degrees colder than the hall. The EMF reader in his pocket was squealing, though he didn’t need it to know something was in that room. He sniffed at the ozone and adjusted his stance. “Come out, come out,” he whispered.
The closet door moved, popping open, then slowly swinging out. Dean stared into the dark recess, waiting. A black shape moved, separating itself from the dark around it only with moving. As it stepped out of the closet it burst into flames and Dean took a step backwards, raising the gun to sight down the barrel.
Dean
It came closer, moving erratically. Dean raised his chin and licked his lips. “That’s it, get closer, make it easier.” Only as it did, Dean started to see past the flames. “What the-“
Dean
The gun dipped a little and he felt tears rising in his eyes. “Fuck.” The flames grew brighter, then diminished, and as they faded away, Dean was left staring at the spirit of his mother. “Mom?” It came out as a strangled cry. All the years he’d been hunting, he’d never thought…never even considered. “Mom?”
Her hand rose between them and her face was sad. “My beautiful boy.”
Dean dropped the gun, wanting to reach for her, wanting to feel her touch. She shook her head. “Can’t touch, Dean.”
“I know. I know.” He stepped toward her anyway, watching as she twitched to the side and back. “Mom.” His tears were fiery hot on his cheeks.
“You shouldn’t be here. I can’t protect you.”
“But, we…need to find this thing, before…”
She smiled and shook her head. “Always looking for the fight. You’re so like your father.” She moved back, looking over her shoulder. “They know you’ve come. You don’t have much time.”
“What do they want?”
“They want you, and your daughter. They want to bring evil into the world.”
“Mary?”
Dean turned to see his father in the door, tears in his eyes. “Oh my god, Mary.”
Her smile was still sad, but Dean saw something change in her face. “John.” She turned to him. “Get Dean out of here. They’re coming.”
“Mary.” Her hand moved over his face, not really touching, but he leaned into it as if she had touched him. “Mary.”
“Take care of my boys John Winchester.”
“Mom!” Dean yelled as the flames slowly enveloped her and she moved away, back toward the closet. “No!” He started to follow her, but his father’s arm caught him around the chest.
“Dean, we have to go.”
“No. No.” Dean struggled, but John held him and started manhandling him toward the door. “Dad, please.”
“She’s right Dean. We need to go.”
Dean let him pull him toward the stairs and down and out onto the porch. The door closed and Dean shivered. “Dad, it was Mom. How can we just walk away?”
John sighed and stepped off the porch. “Because we aren’t ready for this, Dean.”
Dean shivered again. “Did it just get colder?”
John turned back to look at him, and his face was suddenly white, his mouth open as he started to yell a warning. Dean turned, looking over his shoulder a half second too late as large, dark hands grabbed his shoulders and yanked him backwards, into the house. The door slammed shut as John reached it, and the last thing Dean saw was his father’s face, screaming his name.
“Dean!” Sam sat up as the sound died on his lips, looking around him, half surprised to find himself in his bed. It was vivid and real and his heart was still pounding from the sight of Dean being pulled backwards into a dark house. The hands on Dean’s shoulders and hips were entirely too familiar for comfort.
His jaw hurt as he swung his legs to the floor and stood. Dean was in trouble. He paced between the dresser and the bed, then rummaged through the bag on the floor for clothes. Jeans and a sweatshirt, shoes…he paused to look in the mirror at the bruise on his face. The one left from Dean’s fist a week or more ago was nearly gone, but the new one was in nearly the same place. It must be a family thing.
He got to the bottom of the stairs before her voice stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
He turned. She sat nearby in her chair, watching him. “Dean’s in trouble.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“I have to help him.”
“Is going there right now the best way to do that?”
“I don’t know about best, but I have to do something.”
“You know what it wants, don’t you?”
Sam wouldn’t meet her eyes, his gaze skipping over to the playpen. “Uh-huh, that’s what I thought.”
“I don’t-I never planned to give her, them.”
“Don’t try lying to me Samuel Winchester. I’m too far inside your head for that to work. I can see what you have and haven’t planned.”
“Missouri.”
She stood, leveling a gun at him. “You may be able to mess with your Daddy’s head and Dean’s but I see through you.”
“Then you have to help me, Missouri. Before there’s no other way.”
She shook her head and took a step closer. “Right now, the best thing you can do is sit down in that chair and wait for your father to come back.”
“I can’t do that. I know how to help him, but I have to go now, while it’s just the Harriers.”
She lifted the gun a little higher and he sank into the chair. “I know you think you can handle this, Sam. But she’s playing you. It’s playing you.”
He seethed in frustration. “Maybe, maybe she is. But do you know what those things can do to him? Take a good look at me, and tell me if this is what you want for him.”
Her eyes flicked to his arm and hand, then back to his face. For the first time he saw something in her eyes waver. “If you can see through me like you say, see this.” He held his arms out to the side. “I love Dean. I would rather die than see him put through the hell that I’ve seen. Maybe she-it-is playing me, maybe I will die.” He sighed and dropped his gaze. “If I sit here and wait, she’ll keep coming into my dreams, and what happened tonight will only be a taste. I’ll break. I’ll fall. I’ll submit.” He looked up at her. “You can see that, Missouri. Its what I do. What I’ve always done. Its what I was raised to be.”
Missouri blinked away tears, but held the gun steady. “And when I do, none of you will be safe.” Sam finished, sinking back into the chair and covering his face with his hands.
The phone rang and they both jumped. Missouri picked up the phone, her eyes skimming over Sam. “John?” She nodded as he spoke. “I know. I know. We need to-No, I don’t think it’s wise.” There was a long pause, then Missouri held out the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”
Sam looked up, surprised, then stood slowly. He took the phone from her and lifted it to his ear. “Yeah? I…saw. I tried to come, but-no, no you can’t. You don’t know how to handle-these are different. I know something. It might work. You won’t like it.” Sam was quiet, his eyes flicking from Missouri and the gun, to the playpen and back. “I’ll explain it better when I get there, but I’m going to need to bring Dana and Missouri.”
His eyes lifted to Missouri’s and held. “I swear to you, I will not willingly give any of you over to them. This is all my fault. Let me fix it.” He waited, his breathing shallow, waiting for John to shut him down, to take away his last chance. “Okay, give us a few minutes, I’ll need a few things. Talk to Missouri. Ask her nicely to put the gun away?”
Dean groaned, tasting blood as he turned his head. He was on the floor, and everything felt slanted. Grotesque feet moved past his face and he followed them until it forced him to roll over, grimacing as pain shot through his back. “Not good.” It felt like something had ripped through his skin.
He took a look around him, up at the stack of boxes on his left, and up to the three…demons, he supposed on his left. His father was no where in evidence. He breathed a little easier at the thought. It meant a rescue would be coming.
Dean rolled back onto his side to ease the pain in his back. He didn’t like that it put him with his back to the demons, but the idea of rolling completely to his other side didn’t seem like a good one. It would draw far too much attention. Especially if these were those nasty things his father had talked about…which was likely. He’d never seen anything like these.
“Dean Winchester.” Dean lifted his head as two feet in impossibly high heels approached him. He followed up bare legs to a short skirt, and up to well displayed cleavage and up to a mouth smiling obscenely under glowing gold eyes.
“Get up.”
Dean didn’t move and two of the demons lumbered over to draw him to his feet. “You will obey me, Dean.” She said as she approached. “My pets know how to ensure that you will.”
“I don’t have a real good relationship with authority.” Dean quipped. For his trouble, the demon on his left dug a sharp nail into his upper arm. Dean yelled and she smiled.
“I’m sure you’ll discover that doesn’t matter.” She came closer and ran a hand over his chest before she ripped open his shirt. “So pretty, I can see what Sam sees in you.”
“Go to hell, lady.”
Her smile was wicked as her hand came to rest on his skin. It slid down until it was over the scar that ran from his navel off to his left side. Her face was close to his as she whispered. “He was my son. He almost had you, didn’t he.”
Her touch burned and Dean gasped, turning his head to the side. “Why don’t you just get it over with?”
She pulled back to look at him. “Get what over with?”
“This. Just kill me and get it over with.”
She laughed and paced away. “Oh no, Dean darling, I don’t want to kill you. Not yet anyway.” She turned back around, her face hot, her eyes glowing. “No, I want to break you. I want to teach you. I want you to give your daughter over to me and watch me be reborn.”
Her attention turned to the Harriers holding him. “We don’t have long to break him. Might as well get started.”
Dean heard licking and turned to the ugly son of a bitch on his right. It was licking its lips. “Disgusting. You might consider a breath mint.”
“You have a smart mouth, Dean. We’ll have to see if we can’t fix that.” She circled around behind him. “Will you scream for me?” She stuck two fingers into one of the long slashes in his back and he did scream, his knees buckling and his vision swimming. “Very nice, Dean. Very nice indeed.”
Title: My Brother's Keeper, Part Eighteen( Part One Here, Part Two Here, Part Three Here, Part Four Here, Part Five Here, Part Six Here, Part Seven Here, Part Eight Here, Part Nine Here, Part Ten Here, Part Eleven Here, Part Twelve Here, Part Thirteen Here, Part Fourteen Here, Part Fifteen Here, Part Sixteen Here, Part Seventeen Here)
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Table: #1
Prompt: 073 Return
Word Count: 2457
Summary: Complete AU. On the night the demon kills Mary Winchester, John saves Dean, but before he can go back for Sam, the fire spreads. It is assumed that Sam is dead along with his mother. In reality, he has been taken and is raised by a family dedicate to the demon who killed Mary. One night after a hunt, Dean runs into him in a bar in Palo Alto, never a clue who he really is.
Warnings: Overall-Incest, m/m sex, blood play, bondage, non-con, including memories of under-age rape. Stuff happens (what, I have a new cold...my brain is all breaky)
This is my thirty-seventh ficlet for my Supernatural claim on 100_situations. Clicky for table
Dean rubbed his hands together as he climbed back into the Impala, handing his father the shotgun. He shook his head. “EMF is off the charts, but from outside there’s no signs of anything in there.”
John leaned forward, looking around Dean at the house. Once upon a time, this was his home, the place he and Mary had chosen to raise their boys. He couldn’t look at it without seeing flames shooting out of the second story window. He exhaled slowly and scrubbed at his face with a hand that still ached from hitting Sam.
“What are you thinking, Dad?”
He glanced at Dean and smiled softly. “I was thinking about the day your mother and I bought this place. She was pregnant with you. We signed the papers and had a picnic on the floor in the living room. The very first piece of furniture we moved in was your crib.”
“You never told me that.”
John shrugged. “I never expected to be here again.”
Dean looked back at the house. “Hey, did you see that?”
“What?”
“Something, movement. Upstairs window.” Dean was half way out of the car when John’s hand caught his arm.
“You do realize we could be walking into a trap.”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, I do. Never stopped me before.”
John released him and got out. “You know, it’s a wonder you aren’t dead yet.”
Dean grinned, holding out his arms. “Hey, I’m that good.”
John chuckled, but shook his head. “No, you’re just that lucky.”
“Rock salt and blessed rounds?” Dean asked, moving to the trunk.
“Holy water too. If this is a demon…”
Dean pulled out a second shot gun, pocketing the salt rounds while he rummaged through the other stuff in the trunk. “What else would it be? I mean Sam said it was, right?”
John nodded, his eyes on the window of the room where he had last seen his wife, pinned to the ceiling, bleeding and burning. “Yeah, that’s what he said.”
“Okay, let’s go then.” Dean led the way across the street and up the stairs to the porch. He tested the door, then cocked his head. “Door’s open. Kinda creepy.”
He pushed it open and moved inside, John following. Dean signaled that he was moving toward the stairs and John nodded, tilting his head toward the kitchen. “Be careful.” John said almost silently and Dean lifted his chin before moving away.
Dean moved slowly, up the stairs, holding the shot gun ready. His jaw was starting to ache from the way he was clenching his teeth together. He blew out a short breath and tried to calm his heart, tried to tell himself it was just another hunt.
It wasn’t, but he tried to convince himself anyway. The upstairs hall was dark and he jumped when lights from a passing car floated over the wall. “Stupid,” he muttered and he shook off the panic that had crept into him.
The door to what had been the nursery stood open, calling him and Dean swallowed. His last image of that room had been filled with flames, his father’s face, his mother’s screaming. He closed his eyes and told himself to get it together.
The room was cold, at least ten degrees colder than the hall. The EMF reader in his pocket was squealing, though he didn’t need it to know something was in that room. He sniffed at the ozone and adjusted his stance. “Come out, come out,” he whispered.
The closet door moved, popping open, then slowly swinging out. Dean stared into the dark recess, waiting. A black shape moved, separating itself from the dark around it only with moving. As it stepped out of the closet it burst into flames and Dean took a step backwards, raising the gun to sight down the barrel.
Dean
It came closer, moving erratically. Dean raised his chin and licked his lips. “That’s it, get closer, make it easier.” Only as it did, Dean started to see past the flames. “What the-“
Dean
The gun dipped a little and he felt tears rising in his eyes. “Fuck.” The flames grew brighter, then diminished, and as they faded away, Dean was left staring at the spirit of his mother. “Mom?” It came out as a strangled cry. All the years he’d been hunting, he’d never thought…never even considered. “Mom?”
Her hand rose between them and her face was sad. “My beautiful boy.”
Dean dropped the gun, wanting to reach for her, wanting to feel her touch. She shook her head. “Can’t touch, Dean.”
“I know. I know.” He stepped toward her anyway, watching as she twitched to the side and back. “Mom.” His tears were fiery hot on his cheeks.
“You shouldn’t be here. I can’t protect you.”
“But, we…need to find this thing, before…”
She smiled and shook her head. “Always looking for the fight. You’re so like your father.” She moved back, looking over her shoulder. “They know you’ve come. You don’t have much time.”
“What do they want?”
“They want you, and your daughter. They want to bring evil into the world.”
“Mary?”
Dean turned to see his father in the door, tears in his eyes. “Oh my god, Mary.”
Her smile was still sad, but Dean saw something change in her face. “John.” She turned to him. “Get Dean out of here. They’re coming.”
“Mary.” Her hand moved over his face, not really touching, but he leaned into it as if she had touched him. “Mary.”
“Take care of my boys John Winchester.”
“Mom!” Dean yelled as the flames slowly enveloped her and she moved away, back toward the closet. “No!” He started to follow her, but his father’s arm caught him around the chest.
“Dean, we have to go.”
“No. No.” Dean struggled, but John held him and started manhandling him toward the door. “Dad, please.”
“She’s right Dean. We need to go.”
Dean let him pull him toward the stairs and down and out onto the porch. The door closed and Dean shivered. “Dad, it was Mom. How can we just walk away?”
John sighed and stepped off the porch. “Because we aren’t ready for this, Dean.”
Dean shivered again. “Did it just get colder?”
John turned back to look at him, and his face was suddenly white, his mouth open as he started to yell a warning. Dean turned, looking over his shoulder a half second too late as large, dark hands grabbed his shoulders and yanked him backwards, into the house. The door slammed shut as John reached it, and the last thing Dean saw was his father’s face, screaming his name.
“Dean!” Sam sat up as the sound died on his lips, looking around him, half surprised to find himself in his bed. It was vivid and real and his heart was still pounding from the sight of Dean being pulled backwards into a dark house. The hands on Dean’s shoulders and hips were entirely too familiar for comfort.
His jaw hurt as he swung his legs to the floor and stood. Dean was in trouble. He paced between the dresser and the bed, then rummaged through the bag on the floor for clothes. Jeans and a sweatshirt, shoes…he paused to look in the mirror at the bruise on his face. The one left from Dean’s fist a week or more ago was nearly gone, but the new one was in nearly the same place. It must be a family thing.
He got to the bottom of the stairs before her voice stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
He turned. She sat nearby in her chair, watching him. “Dean’s in trouble.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“I have to help him.”
“Is going there right now the best way to do that?”
“I don’t know about best, but I have to do something.”
“You know what it wants, don’t you?”
Sam wouldn’t meet her eyes, his gaze skipping over to the playpen. “Uh-huh, that’s what I thought.”
“I don’t-I never planned to give her, them.”
“Don’t try lying to me Samuel Winchester. I’m too far inside your head for that to work. I can see what you have and haven’t planned.”
“Missouri.”
She stood, leveling a gun at him. “You may be able to mess with your Daddy’s head and Dean’s but I see through you.”
“Then you have to help me, Missouri. Before there’s no other way.”
She shook her head and took a step closer. “Right now, the best thing you can do is sit down in that chair and wait for your father to come back.”
“I can’t do that. I know how to help him, but I have to go now, while it’s just the Harriers.”
She lifted the gun a little higher and he sank into the chair. “I know you think you can handle this, Sam. But she’s playing you. It’s playing you.”
He seethed in frustration. “Maybe, maybe she is. But do you know what those things can do to him? Take a good look at me, and tell me if this is what you want for him.”
Her eyes flicked to his arm and hand, then back to his face. For the first time he saw something in her eyes waver. “If you can see through me like you say, see this.” He held his arms out to the side. “I love Dean. I would rather die than see him put through the hell that I’ve seen. Maybe she-it-is playing me, maybe I will die.” He sighed and dropped his gaze. “If I sit here and wait, she’ll keep coming into my dreams, and what happened tonight will only be a taste. I’ll break. I’ll fall. I’ll submit.” He looked up at her. “You can see that, Missouri. Its what I do. What I’ve always done. Its what I was raised to be.”
Missouri blinked away tears, but held the gun steady. “And when I do, none of you will be safe.” Sam finished, sinking back into the chair and covering his face with his hands.
The phone rang and they both jumped. Missouri picked up the phone, her eyes skimming over Sam. “John?” She nodded as he spoke. “I know. I know. We need to-No, I don’t think it’s wise.” There was a long pause, then Missouri held out the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”
Sam looked up, surprised, then stood slowly. He took the phone from her and lifted it to his ear. “Yeah? I…saw. I tried to come, but-no, no you can’t. You don’t know how to handle-these are different. I know something. It might work. You won’t like it.” Sam was quiet, his eyes flicking from Missouri and the gun, to the playpen and back. “I’ll explain it better when I get there, but I’m going to need to bring Dana and Missouri.”
His eyes lifted to Missouri’s and held. “I swear to you, I will not willingly give any of you over to them. This is all my fault. Let me fix it.” He waited, his breathing shallow, waiting for John to shut him down, to take away his last chance. “Okay, give us a few minutes, I’ll need a few things. Talk to Missouri. Ask her nicely to put the gun away?”
Dean groaned, tasting blood as he turned his head. He was on the floor, and everything felt slanted. Grotesque feet moved past his face and he followed them until it forced him to roll over, grimacing as pain shot through his back. “Not good.” It felt like something had ripped through his skin.
He took a look around him, up at the stack of boxes on his left, and up to the three…demons, he supposed on his left. His father was no where in evidence. He breathed a little easier at the thought. It meant a rescue would be coming.
Dean rolled back onto his side to ease the pain in his back. He didn’t like that it put him with his back to the demons, but the idea of rolling completely to his other side didn’t seem like a good one. It would draw far too much attention. Especially if these were those nasty things his father had talked about…which was likely. He’d never seen anything like these.
“Dean Winchester.” Dean lifted his head as two feet in impossibly high heels approached him. He followed up bare legs to a short skirt, and up to well displayed cleavage and up to a mouth smiling obscenely under glowing gold eyes.
“Get up.”
Dean didn’t move and two of the demons lumbered over to draw him to his feet. “You will obey me, Dean.” She said as she approached. “My pets know how to ensure that you will.”
“I don’t have a real good relationship with authority.” Dean quipped. For his trouble, the demon on his left dug a sharp nail into his upper arm. Dean yelled and she smiled.
“I’m sure you’ll discover that doesn’t matter.” She came closer and ran a hand over his chest before she ripped open his shirt. “So pretty, I can see what Sam sees in you.”
“Go to hell, lady.”
Her smile was wicked as her hand came to rest on his skin. It slid down until it was over the scar that ran from his navel off to his left side. Her face was close to his as she whispered. “He was my son. He almost had you, didn’t he.”
Her touch burned and Dean gasped, turning his head to the side. “Why don’t you just get it over with?”
She pulled back to look at him. “Get what over with?”
“This. Just kill me and get it over with.”
She laughed and paced away. “Oh no, Dean darling, I don’t want to kill you. Not yet anyway.” She turned back around, her face hot, her eyes glowing. “No, I want to break you. I want to teach you. I want you to give your daughter over to me and watch me be reborn.”
Her attention turned to the Harriers holding him. “We don’t have long to break him. Might as well get started.”
Dean heard licking and turned to the ugly son of a bitch on his right. It was licking its lips. “Disgusting. You might consider a breath mint.”
“You have a smart mouth, Dean. We’ll have to see if we can’t fix that.” She circled around behind him. “Will you scream for me?” She stuck two fingers into one of the long slashes in his back and he did scream, his knees buckling and his vision swimming. “Very nice, Dean. Very nice indeed.”