Until the Truth Becomes a Lie
May. 2nd, 2009 11:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grianchlochTitle: Until The Truth Becomes A Lie
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Beta: The lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seleneheart
Disclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine, I'm just playing with them for a while.
Warnings: NON-CON. Secondary character death. Dark fic. Dubious use of elements of canon. Assumptions made about Mary that are all my own.
Summary: After Dean is taken to interrogate Alistair, Sam has finally had enough and goes to get his brother back.
Notes: Written forinkbymidnight as part of the Anti-Christmas Gift Exchange over at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sammessiah. The prompts were non-con, bottom!Dean and “Evil!Sam binds Dean to him”. Hope this pushes the right buttons. Enjoy!!
“Dammit!” Sam yelled at the empty room.
How dare the fucking angels just take him like that. Dean wasn’t strong enough to go up against Alistair and Sam cursed Castiel and his kin while pulling out his cell.
She came to him willingly, the obedient bitch that she was, hips swaying, eyes filled with arrogance that she had him exactly where she wanted him, tame and at her feet. She opened a vein for him, offering up a taste of her tainted blood as if she were tossing scraps to a dog, but when she tried to pull away, Sam held her fast.
Her eyes widened, flicking to black and back as she struggled against him, but Sam held her firm in his grasp. He drank deep, pulling the sluggish liquid from her, feasting on it until she began to weaken. He flipped her onto her back and took the knife she had so casually wielded and neatly sliced into the pulsing vein that lay so perilously close to the surface under the soft skin of her neck.
“No! Sam, please no.”
His lips sealed over the wound, letting her borrowed life pump one heartbeat at a time into his mouth.
As his belly filled with blood, power sizzled through his veins, setting a fire in his soul so bright and terrible he feared that he wouldn’t be able to contain it. Light flared in Sam’s mind as the one who had been sleeping awoke and fused with him. He pulled back, staring down at Ruby with eyes that glittered gold.
“Sam, stop.” Ruby struggled to speak. “You can still walk away, you can ...”
“No, he can’t.” Sam ran a finger through the trickle still leaking from the nick in Ruby’s jugular.
“My ... my Lord?”
“Too late for flattery, Ruby. You thought that when this day came, you would be venerated? Held in high esteem for your part in my rising? Think again. Sam and I are one. You and your mistress played a dangerous game when you sent my brother to hell and that cannot go unpunished. “
The Morning Star sat back on his heels and held a hand out towards Ruby, pulling her writhing demon from the dying body on the bed. He pulled the dark energy from it, absorbing it as he had the power in the blood until all that was left of Ruby was a layer of fine grey ash on the worn motel bedspread.
He walked from the room without looking back.
Sam strode into the warehouse, his eyes fixing first on Dean, lying battered and bruised on the floor. He growled, low and feral and without even raising a hand, Alistair was jerked away from Castiel and pinned halfway up the wall. The angel fell to the ground and turned as Sam strode further into the room.
Alistair grinned at Sam.
“Winchester number three. Think you’re going to have any more luck with me than your brother did, Sammy? Think again.”
Sam looked at him and tilted his head. Alistair swivelled on the wall, and his eyes became wary.
“You’ve been eating your Wheaties, Sam.” The torturer quipped.
“Alistair. Your days were numbered from the moment you touched my brother.”
Sam raised his hand and began to pull the demon from his meat suit. Inch by inch he dragged it out, until Alistair was screaming for mercy.
“No, Sam, we need to know ...”
But Alistair was already dust on the floor, the unfortunate man he’d been possessing dead in the corner. Sam rounded on Castiel.
“What makes you think I care who’s killing angels?”
“Sam ...” Castiel gasped.
“None of that matters now.”
Sam’s eyes flicked to where the angel lay.
“You used him. You knew the risks and you used him anyway, even though you knew he wasn’t strong enough. You’re no better than them, Castiel.”
Sam raised his hand and slowly, torturously, dragged the angel from the body it had been inhabiting.
Castiel hung in the air, his true form shining, brighter than the sun. Sam looked straight at him.
“You lied to him, you told him you didn’t know Azreal’s true purpose, but you did.”
Sam watched the angel twist and writhe in the air, trying to escape the hold Sam had on him.
“And Lucifer will be born to a fallen angel and a righteous man and will not know his true form until he feasts on unclean blood and drinks his fill and in that moment, the final seal will be broken.” Sam quoted, his eyes flickering to gold.
“No ...”
“I drank my fill, Cas, and it was good, real good.”
“What will you do with him?”
“What you couldn’t. Heal him. Make sure no-one can hurt him again.”
“But ...”
“But what? You thought I wouldn’t care what happens to him now I know who I am? He’s my brother, he raised me, he sold his soul for me, willingly went into the pit so I would survive. I would do the same for him, even now. He is my weakness, Castiel, but he is also my strength.”
“He’ll never join you! He’ll deny you!”
“Maybe at first, but he’ll come to see that together, we are stronger.”
Sam clenched his fist and Castiel turned to dust in the air around him.
Each time Dean woke, he felt a little better. And each time he woke, Sam was there, tending his injuries with gentle hands and soothing his mind with loving words, promising to keep him safe, that no-one would ever hurt him again. The ache around his ribs where Alistair had pounded on his chest, breaking bones and bruising flesh, eased as they healed. His eyes became easier to open as the swelling around them went down and it no longer felt as if every breath he took might be his last. He couldn’t quite remember where he was or how he’d got there, but it didn't matter, not with Sam there beside him.
“What happened? Dean asked, sleepily as Sam wiped a cool cloth across his forehead, his memory of recent days foggy and vague.
“We won. It’s over.”
Dean slipped back into a dreamless sleep, safe in the knowledge that Sam was with him.
The next time he woke, confusion clouded his eyes. He was cuffed to shackles hanging from the ceiling by his wrists. He struggled against the restraints that held him in place, naked and vulnerable.
“The less you struggle, the easier this will be.” Sam walked into the room and stood in front of Dean, peeling off his shirt, then his tee.
“What the fuck is this? I don’t want to play games.”
“It’s no game, Dean. To keep you safe, you must be bound to me.”
“Bound to you?” Dean watched as Sam unzipped his jeans and stepped out of them. “Sammy, you’re scaring me. You said the good guys won, so who do you need to keep me safe from?”
Sam stepped closer and ran a finger down the side of Dean’s face.
“Don’t be afraid. Once this is done, nothing will harm you.” Sam picked up a knife and turned back to his brother. “And I didn’t say the good guys won. I said we won.”
“We? Who’s we?” Dean’s pulse raced.
Sam blinked, his eyes flicking to gold and Dean gasped.
“No! You’re not my brother!” He pulled on the chains, his body jerking away from Sam’s touch as Sam’s hand reached for him.
“Yes I am, Dean.” Sam walked behind him and roughly grabbed his hips, still holding the knife in one hand. “Still the boy you raised.” He ground his rampant cock against the crack of Dean’s ass. “Still the brother you love.”
“Sammy, no, please, if it’s still you, then not like this, not like this.” Dean begged.
“Has to be done. If you aren’t bound to me, you’ll be fair game, fresh meat.” Sam ran his thumb over Dean’s hole, slick fingers opening him. With one thrust, he was buried balls deep in his brother.
“No.” Dean tried to move away, but he was held fast as Sam took him, chanting harsh and cruel words as old as time over Dean’s skin.
Sam cut into his own forearm with the knife then dropped it to the floor. Words still flowed from him as he forced Dean’s mouth to his arm and smeared blood over his lips. Dean grimaced, trying to pull away, and a tear ran down his cheek as he struggled. Sam kept his arm over Dean’s mouth forcing him to taste the coppery liquid that dripped from it.
The last words of the chant were shouted out to the heavens and as Sam came with roar, he bit down on Dean’s neck, breaking the skin and completing the circle, forming a bond that could not be broken.
Sam pulled out and Dean hung limply from the cuffs, his eyes dull. Sam released him and carried him to the bed, laying him down and tending to him, wiping the blood from his face.
“Now you’re safe and you need to make a choice. You can fight me, and stay here in this room or you can join me and stand by my side as an equal It’s your choice, Dean.”
Sam held his hand out and Dean stared at it for a long moment before he turned his back to Sam. His brother stood up and looked down at him.
“Fine. I’ll ask you again tomorrow.” He picked up the knife and closed the door behind him as he left the room.
Dean curled into a ball and hugged his knees to him. He’d lasted 30 years the last time he’d been in hell.
Thirty long years.
He closed his eyes and hoped and prayed to a God he no longer knew if he believed in that he’d have the strength to last longer this time.
Classroom Furniture
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Beta: The lovely
seleneheartDisclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine, I'm just playing with them for a while.
Warnings: NON-CON. Secondary character death. Dark fic. Dubious use of elements of canon. Assumptions made about Mary that are all my own.
Summary: After Dean is taken to interrogate Alistair, Sam has finally had enough and goes to get his brother back.
Notes: Written for
inkbymidnight as part of the Anti-Christmas Gift Exchange over at sammessiah. The prompts were non-con, bottom!Dean and “Evil!Sam binds Dean to him”. Hope this pushes the right buttons. Enjoy!!“Dammit!” Sam yelled at the empty room.
How dare the fucking angels just take him like that. Dean wasn’t strong enough to go up against Alistair and Sam cursed Castiel and his kin while pulling out his cell.
She came to him willingly, the obedient bitch that she was, hips swaying, eyes filled with arrogance that she had him exactly where she wanted him, tame and at her feet. She opened a vein for him, offering up a taste of her tainted blood as if she were tossing scraps to a dog, but when she tried to pull away, Sam held her fast.
Her eyes widened, flicking to black and back as she struggled against him, but Sam held her firm in his grasp. He drank deep, pulling the sluggish liquid from her, feasting on it until she began to weaken. He flipped her onto her back and took the knife she had so casually wielded and neatly sliced into the pulsing vein that lay so perilously close to the surface under the soft skin of her neck.
“No! Sam, please no.”
His lips sealed over the wound, letting her borrowed life pump one heartbeat at a time into his mouth.
As his belly filled with blood, power sizzled through his veins, setting a fire in his soul so bright and terrible he feared that he wouldn’t be able to contain it. Light flared in Sam’s mind as the one who had been sleeping awoke and fused with him. He pulled back, staring down at Ruby with eyes that glittered gold.
“Sam, stop.” Ruby struggled to speak. “You can still walk away, you can ...”
“No, he can’t.” Sam ran a finger through the trickle still leaking from the nick in Ruby’s jugular.
“My ... my Lord?”
“Too late for flattery, Ruby. You thought that when this day came, you would be venerated? Held in high esteem for your part in my rising? Think again. Sam and I are one. You and your mistress played a dangerous game when you sent my brother to hell and that cannot go unpunished. “
The Morning Star sat back on his heels and held a hand out towards Ruby, pulling her writhing demon from the dying body on the bed. He pulled the dark energy from it, absorbing it as he had the power in the blood until all that was left of Ruby was a layer of fine grey ash on the worn motel bedspread.
He walked from the room without looking back.
Sam strode into the warehouse, his eyes fixing first on Dean, lying battered and bruised on the floor. He growled, low and feral and without even raising a hand, Alistair was jerked away from Castiel and pinned halfway up the wall. The angel fell to the ground and turned as Sam strode further into the room.
Alistair grinned at Sam.
“Winchester number three. Think you’re going to have any more luck with me than your brother did, Sammy? Think again.”
Sam looked at him and tilted his head. Alistair swivelled on the wall, and his eyes became wary.
“You’ve been eating your Wheaties, Sam.” The torturer quipped.
“Alistair. Your days were numbered from the moment you touched my brother.”
Sam raised his hand and began to pull the demon from his meat suit. Inch by inch he dragged it out, until Alistair was screaming for mercy.
“No, Sam, we need to know ...”
But Alistair was already dust on the floor, the unfortunate man he’d been possessing dead in the corner. Sam rounded on Castiel.
“What makes you think I care who’s killing angels?”
“Sam ...” Castiel gasped.
“None of that matters now.”
Sam’s eyes flicked to where the angel lay.
“You used him. You knew the risks and you used him anyway, even though you knew he wasn’t strong enough. You’re no better than them, Castiel.”
Sam raised his hand and slowly, torturously, dragged the angel from the body it had been inhabiting.
Castiel hung in the air, his true form shining, brighter than the sun. Sam looked straight at him.
“You lied to him, you told him you didn’t know Azreal’s true purpose, but you did.”
Sam watched the angel twist and writhe in the air, trying to escape the hold Sam had on him.
“And Lucifer will be born to a fallen angel and a righteous man and will not know his true form until he feasts on unclean blood and drinks his fill and in that moment, the final seal will be broken.” Sam quoted, his eyes flickering to gold.
“No ...”
“I drank my fill, Cas, and it was good, real good.”
“What will you do with him?”
“What you couldn’t. Heal him. Make sure no-one can hurt him again.”
“But ...”
“But what? You thought I wouldn’t care what happens to him now I know who I am? He’s my brother, he raised me, he sold his soul for me, willingly went into the pit so I would survive. I would do the same for him, even now. He is my weakness, Castiel, but he is also my strength.”
“He’ll never join you! He’ll deny you!”
“Maybe at first, but he’ll come to see that together, we are stronger.”
Sam clenched his fist and Castiel turned to dust in the air around him.
Each time Dean woke, he felt a little better. And each time he woke, Sam was there, tending his injuries with gentle hands and soothing his mind with loving words, promising to keep him safe, that no-one would ever hurt him again. The ache around his ribs where Alistair had pounded on his chest, breaking bones and bruising flesh, eased as they healed. His eyes became easier to open as the swelling around them went down and it no longer felt as if every breath he took might be his last. He couldn’t quite remember where he was or how he’d got there, but it didn't matter, not with Sam there beside him.
“What happened? Dean asked, sleepily as Sam wiped a cool cloth across his forehead, his memory of recent days foggy and vague.
“We won. It’s over.”
Dean slipped back into a dreamless sleep, safe in the knowledge that Sam was with him.
The next time he woke, confusion clouded his eyes. He was cuffed to shackles hanging from the ceiling by his wrists. He struggled against the restraints that held him in place, naked and vulnerable.
“The less you struggle, the easier this will be.” Sam walked into the room and stood in front of Dean, peeling off his shirt, then his tee.
“What the fuck is this? I don’t want to play games.”
“It’s no game, Dean. To keep you safe, you must be bound to me.”
“Bound to you?” Dean watched as Sam unzipped his jeans and stepped out of them. “Sammy, you’re scaring me. You said the good guys won, so who do you need to keep me safe from?”
Sam stepped closer and ran a finger down the side of Dean’s face.
“Don’t be afraid. Once this is done, nothing will harm you.” Sam picked up a knife and turned back to his brother. “And I didn’t say the good guys won. I said we won.”
“We? Who’s we?” Dean’s pulse raced.
Sam blinked, his eyes flicking to gold and Dean gasped.
“No! You’re not my brother!” He pulled on the chains, his body jerking away from Sam’s touch as Sam’s hand reached for him.
“Yes I am, Dean.” Sam walked behind him and roughly grabbed his hips, still holding the knife in one hand. “Still the boy you raised.” He ground his rampant cock against the crack of Dean’s ass. “Still the brother you love.”
“Sammy, no, please, if it’s still you, then not like this, not like this.” Dean begged.
“Has to be done. If you aren’t bound to me, you’ll be fair game, fresh meat.” Sam ran his thumb over Dean’s hole, slick fingers opening him. With one thrust, he was buried balls deep in his brother.
“No.” Dean tried to move away, but he was held fast as Sam took him, chanting harsh and cruel words as old as time over Dean’s skin.
Sam cut into his own forearm with the knife then dropped it to the floor. Words still flowed from him as he forced Dean’s mouth to his arm and smeared blood over his lips. Dean grimaced, trying to pull away, and a tear ran down his cheek as he struggled. Sam kept his arm over Dean’s mouth forcing him to taste the coppery liquid that dripped from it.
The last words of the chant were shouted out to the heavens and as Sam came with roar, he bit down on Dean’s neck, breaking the skin and completing the circle, forming a bond that could not be broken.
Sam pulled out and Dean hung limply from the cuffs, his eyes dull. Sam released him and carried him to the bed, laying him down and tending to him, wiping the blood from his face.
“Now you’re safe and you need to make a choice. You can fight me, and stay here in this room or you can join me and stand by my side as an equal It’s your choice, Dean.”
Sam held his hand out and Dean stared at it for a long moment before he turned his back to Sam. His brother stood up and looked down at him.
“Fine. I’ll ask you again tomorrow.” He picked up the knife and closed the door behind him as he left the room.
Dean curled into a ball and hugged his knees to him. He’d lasted 30 years the last time he’d been in hell.
Thirty long years.
He closed his eyes and hoped and prayed to a God he no longer knew if he believed in that he’d have the strength to last longer this time.
Classroom Furniture
