BLR Part 2

[mf_luder_xf]

Part 2/2

***************************************
Or consecutive
***************************************
“Shit, Sam! Look out!”

Sam ducked as the spirit touched down again and shut his eyes against the whipping sand.

This job had turned out to be harder than they expected. It was supposedly a simple sand demon that was having fun skinning alive tourists who wandered outside the Las Vegas limits. Instead, it seemed to be some sort of angry Native American spirit back for vengeance against the people who took its land. It took the form of a dust devil and swallowed its victim into its mouth, ripping their skin right off and leaving them and their innards haphazardly strew across the Nevada desert.

The worst part was, every time they shot it, it broke into more little dust devils, hydra-like. It had taken them a few tries to find that out and now there were six of the damn things flying around. They had to try a new tactic.

“Dean!” he yelled. “Get the dead man's dust!! And the Shaman stick! If anything'll work, that will.”

It was all he could think of. To distract the spirit from Dean, he started shooting near the swirls, though not at them. He began to run, pulling them away from his brother who bent down to fish through their bag.

In twenty seconds he was surrounded. “Shit,” he muttered. Now what? He couldn't shoot and they were slowly closing in, making a high pitched siren noise. It started getting louder and Sam dropped to his knees, covering his ears in pain.

“Dean!” he yelled, as he felt the beginnings of sand abrading his skin.

And then Dean was there with the Shaman stick, completing a protection circle around him. The spirit devils screamed even louder and Sam's ears began to bleed. But Dean was solid, steadfast, stepping through the space between dust swirls and he took his handful of dead man's dust and spinning slowly, blew it at the dust twirls and they vanished when the dust hit them, unable to go anywhere, thanks to the circle Dean had already scratched outside them, effectively trapping the spirit.

In a moment, all screaming stopped and Sam dropped, chest heaving, blinking into the burning afternoon sun.

“Sam. Sam! You ok, bro?”

Sam huffed for another few breaths before responding, “Fine, I'm fine.” Dean's frame leaning over him was blocking the sun, forming a halo around his head and Sam laughed lightly because it reminded him of The Little Mermaid when Ariel saved the prince. And wasn't that what Dean was? His savior?

“Jesus, your skin's all cut up. To think if I'd been a minute later...” Dean trailed off staring at his brother, before he suddenly clasped Sam to himself in a big bear hug.

Sam hung on, whispering, “I'm here. It's alright.” His love for his brother was overwhelming right now. Love as a brother, as a savior and protector.

He lessened his hold and stared into Dean's face whose eyes were shining a bright green, brimming with tears, though they didn't fall. He watched as his brother gently touched Sam's face with his fingertips, gently kissing each spot where Sam winced. He licked his thumb and wiped at each of Sam's ears, presumably cleaning the blood away. Finally, his lips sought out Sam's and he gladly gave himself up to Dean's passionate and needy kiss. It tasted bitter; like adrenaline, like salt and tears.

“Baby, baby,” he heard himself muttering cliché endearments he never thought he'd say after Jess, but he was suddenly feeling especially romantic towards Dean. They managed to stand and shuffle all the way back to their truck, never letting each other go, alternating kisses with gropes and death-frightened gazes.

When they made it to their vehicle, they both climbed into the enormous backseat, shedding clothing as they went. Sam was hot and sticky already and his shoulders against the vinyl didn't make him feel any better, but then Dean was above him again, bare skin shining golden, and Sam's breath was stolen away.

“Dean...” he managed to get out but was shushed by Dean's gentle lips on his. They made out for awhile, bodies sensuously rubbing together even when Dean would scrape over an abrasion, heated skin burning in a pleasant way, as though fire ran through his veins. As Dean's calloused hands gently, ran up and down his sides and his mouth descended on his neck, breathing hot air and slowly licking his way down, tears sprang to Sam's eyes.

He was a monster, he decided. Freaky powers and an inability to show his love for Dean the way Dean showed his. Had Sam ever had a doubt that Dean loved him to his very soul, it vanished in the time they spent in the car that day.

Dean detached from him for a moment, reaching over the front seat to grab lube and a condom from the glove box.

“You want...” Dean looked at him and Sam was tempted, but gave in to the pleading look in his brother's eyes to let Dean love him. Sam knew, he couldn't love him like this, but he could let Dean show him.

He took his brother's hand and laid it over his heart, trying to convey everything he felt with his heartbeat. It was fast, but steady, and Sam was awed by Dean's look of utter concentration and amazement.

“Ok. Ok,” Dean whispered.

He climbed over Sam, so that his back was to the seat of the back bench, Sam cradled to his chest. He leaned up and over, brushing Sam's bangs from his eyes.

“I never wanted this, you know,” he spoke as he bent to kiss Sam's nose, trace the outline of his ear with fingertips.

“I know.”

“But now? It seems to be all I want. And I fight it, God knows I fight it, but you're in me, Sam. Everything...I am yours.”

Sam couldn't say anything because how did you tell your brother you felt the same and were sickened by it all? Knowing it wasn't normal and yet loving every bit of it. That you enjoyed the pain you took from him, enjoyed the utter devotion, while at the same time it suffocated you and made you want to run far, far away?

No, that wasn't something Sam could say. So instead he just grabbed Dean's head and kissed him hard and hungry, almost wishing Dean could read his thoughts. But there was no easy way to make Dean understand—especially when Sam wasn't sure he did himself.

Dean's hand smoothed down his body, fingers dancing over hard stomach muscles, twisting and tickling in the hair that led to his cock. Every touch was light and gentle and definitely not enough. He was soon arching into each kiss on his body, each breath, each lick and nibble.

His brother sucked at his nipples for seeming forever, blowing cool air, then hot, swiping his tongue across each like a cat, and then going back to sucking while rolling his tongue across the nubs.

“Jesus, Dean!” Sam keened, unable to make it stop, unable to make it more.

Dean just smiled sadly and slowly made his way down Sam's body at a leisurely pace that had Sam panting and begging and mentally scolding himself. He wasn't supposed to want this—not the gentleness, not the attention. He was only supposed to extract his pound of flesh and then stop. It was never meant to have gone this long.

By the time Dean actually touched his cock, Sam was ready to come.

“Dean, I need...suck me or fuck me or something! God, I need more. I need all of you.”

While Dean seemed to debate, Sam got himself in on the action. He slid big hands up and down Dean's spine, over his chest, reaching up to suckle on a nipple, slipping his fingers in between Dean's cheeks.

That got him moving.

“Alright. Turn on your side,” Dean's voice was husky and low; the rawness hit Sam to the core. He did as his brother told him to.

Once on his side, he listened to the tube of lube being cracked open and a moment later, a wet, slippery finger breached him. He moaned, tossing his head. It felt good, oh-so good. He hadn't done this in forever. Sam never let Dean do this—he was always the one controlling it. This would be a first for them and Sam wasn't sure if this would make them better or break them. Sam thought, making love.

Then Dean slid in two fingers and Sam's hips canted, seeking pressure, seeking comfort.

“Don't worry. I got you, I got you...”

Sam listened to Dean babble, words incoherent, into his ear. He felt his top leg lifted and he held it up as the sound of foil being ripped open silenced his elder brother for a moment. Then Dean's cock entered him, and a calloused hand slid up and down the inside of his thigh. The hand crept intimately closer, rolling each ball, caressing each thigh, sliding back and making him see stars as it pressed down his perenium and going back even further to feel where Dean entered and slid out of him.

He was so open, so vulnerable. Sam wanted to curl up inside himself, turn around and have his brother's arms around him, holding and smoothing his fears away like when he was ten. He'd forgotten why he'd stopped being a bottom ever—he wasn't comfortable. Winchesters weren't made to be open and that included their bodies. How could Dean stand it? Knowing what Dean must feel like every time when Sam did this to him, when Sam practically raped him, nearly made him sick. But Dean seemed to know exactly what was going through his mind and he whispered into Sam's neck.

“No, Sam, it's ok. I know how you feel, don't beat yourself up, not for me. I love it when you do this to me. I know I shouldn't, but God, I do. I could never hate you...love you...mine...”

And Sam slowly relaxed, knowing it was his brother's arms around him, not someone else and no matter what Sam did to him, Dean would never hurt him. And so he gave into it, feeling Dean push in slow and hard, making Sam see spots from time to time as he'd just brush against his prostate.

Finally, Sam couldn't stand it anymore and with low moan, he turned his head around, albeit awkwardly, and found his brother's lips. Knowing what Sam needed now, Dean's hand slid home at last, jerking his cock fast and hard and shortening his thrusts.

Sam came hard and dirty, with Dean pumping into him full speed and his brother's tongue in his mouth. Still Dean jacked him off, making sure every last bit of come left Sam's body, making him feel boneless and useless; used. He writhed a bit more, and combined with Sam's flexing inner muscles, Dean came, throwing his head back into the seat and letting out a panting moan.

His hips kept thrusting until Sam thought he couldn't take it anymore, and he pulled away just as Dean slid out. Sam started to move, started to leave, but an arm shot out and wrapped around his middle, snugging him back in. Calming his breathing so as not to hyperventilate, Sam made himself relax into Dean's embrace.

“Stay,” the older whispered, and they both knew he didn't mean for just that moment.

Some time later they were bedded down in the back of the truck.

“Dude, can you imagine Dad's face if he saw one of us, not to mention both of us, having sex in his vehicle?” Dean asked.

“You mean to tell me you never did when you were younger? “

“Nope. Only the Impala.”

They both went silent for a moment in an almost-prayer over the Impala.

“So much has changed since then,” Sam said, rhetorically.

“And so much hasn't.” Dean's voice was bitter.

Sam scootched over to rest his head on Dean's chest. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

For everything, he thought. For being what I am, for getting Mom killed, for not being able to save Dad, for us—for this. For messing you up when I didn't want to, for wanting it, for not being able to stay.

All he said though, was, “For, you know. In advance.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed, “in advance.”

They were silent for awhile and Sam was drifting off to sleep when Dean spoke.

“All these stars. Even on the country roads, they're not like this. They're endless.”

“Hmmm?” Sam mumbled, looking up at Dean and following his gaze to the sky.

“You ever wonder...maybe we aren't alone?”

“I thought you didn't believe in aliens.”

“I don't. I mean, not little green men, or gray, or freaky robots and cyborgs. But I guess...if there's evil on our planet, why not elsewhere? Or are we some freak spot that attracts it? With science--”

“What do you know about science?” Sam smirked.

“Enough,” was the defensive reply. “Anyway, with everything science shows, I guess it's hard to think there's nothing else out there but dark matter and rocks. And when you can see the thousands of stars...”

“Kind of makes you feel small, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Dean looked down at Sam. “But then, I often feel that way.”

And Sam knew he wasn't talking about his brother's height. He moved up and laid a small kiss on plump lips. “You're my brother.”

“I know.”

*************************************
But we can't give you love and rhetoric without the blood. Blood is compulsory. They're all blood, you see.
***********************************
Dean should have seen it coming. Had seen it coming. In fact, Sam had never bothered to hide it from him. It had only been a question of time and place.

That didn't make it hurt any less. Or make him hate Sam more. He couldn't. Sam was kin. Hate was never an option.

Sam was standing in the doorway of the motel, bags packed only with clothes and body products. All guns had been thrown in with Dean's, lying haphazard like toys thrown away when a child grew bored. Knives still lay in their cases. Even Sam's favorite books lay with Dad's journal—with Dean's stuff.

It was four years later, almost to the day, that they had vanquished the Demon and Dad had died. Two years since they started fucking. Dean was thirty, and maybe, maybe that should have tipped him off. After all, thirty was the start up that long mountain of age which eventually sent you crashing back down into slow motor flexes and even slower wits. What twenty-six-year-old would want to hang out with someone like that? He couldn't blame Sam.

Especially seeing the bleak future of emptiness and loneliness that stretched before him in those years.

“Sam, please. At least take some salt and a gun. I want to know you'll be safe.”

“Getting away from this is what will make me safe. Getting away from you,” Sam lashed out, angrily. “Don't you see? I never wanted this! I never wanted you! All I wanted was me and Jess and yet, I had to be born with fucking powers that aren't of any use anyway, except to make me a freak. I was born to a father who could only live for revenge after his wife was taken from him. I know I had the same tendencies but I've been with you for years now and that thing's been dead for some time. I'm ready to move on. I have to move on.

“I was born to a brother who developed a case of knight-in-shining armor syndrome, who felt he had to cater to all my needs. You helped push me away, Dean. You. If it weren't for what we do, maybe I wouldn't be leaving. But I can't handle it anymore, I--”

Dean lept off the bed, outraged. “You son of a bitch! Don't you dare try to pin this on me, like I fucking tainted you, or something! You came onto me—you were the one who raped me, Sam!”

He watched as Sam flinched and he started to apologize. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean--”

“Yeah, maybe I did, but who fucking started it again? I could have left it alone after one time, but the very next night you crawled into my bed.”

Sam's face was twisted and his eyes burned bright with anger. He stalked towards Dean, and shoved him against the wall. “You kissed me that night. You were the fucking slut of a brother I've always known you were and you didn't care that I was your brother—you just wanted more!”

Dean shoved him off, with a just-missed kick at the groin and then Sam was the one pinned to the wall. He struggled, but Dean had the better grip and better leverage and soon, Sam just slumped back.

“I did want more, you're right. But it was because you were my brother. I thought it was just something new with us, another way to express...whatever we don't say. Maybe that makes me sick as fuck. But you kissed me back. Never forget that. You were the one fucking me all those times.

“God, Sam. You know I would do anything for you. I can't stand to see you get hurt. And if you wanted to hurt me or fuck me, I'd let you. Whatever it took. Whatever it takes.”

At that moment, Sam's eyes turned to liquid brown and he raised a large hand to Dean's face. “What did I do to you, without ever knowing? How did you become my everything?”

Dean just turned his head, still gazing at Sam, and kissed his palm.

Sam's grip tightened and he brought their lips together, a kiss without finesse, but warm and wet and desperate. When it ended, Dean leaned his head onto Sam's shoulder, lips over the pulse that beat strongly in his neck.

“Maybe, we're just ill-fated, two star-crossed lovers, never meant to be.”

“We're only that way if you make it so, Sammy,” he whispered.

“It's Sam.” Sam had straightened and his tone was cold again.

Dean pulled away. “Damn it, Sam! Why can't you just stay?” He took a breath. “What will I do without you? Without someone guarding my back?”

“You'll live. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if you outlive me.”

Dean just nodded. There was nothing he could do. It didn't matter that they were family. Blood. Or maybe, it was because they were. He didn't know anymore.

“Go, then. Have your normal life. Forget about me and Dad and all the things that go bump in the night. I just hope, you have the decency to kill the monster under your kids' bed before someone gets hurt. Best of luck, Sam.”

Sam pushed away form the wall and grabbed his stuff, slinging it over his shoulder. The bus station wasn't far from the motel and once he got to Kansas City, he'd catch a flight. Dean had saved enough money, knowing one day Sam would use it. There was also a thousand dollars, a .45 and two knives tucked away in hidden pockets Dean had made in Sam's bag, that he didn't know about, but would find. Sam could try to forget, but Dean was sure he wouldn't.

Sam leaned in for one final kiss, but Dean turned his head, and it landed on his neck. His pulse beat faster once, twice, and then Sam pulled back, eyes angry, then sad.

Sam turned and walked away.

Dean's heart broke into a million shattered pieces. Blood. Blood was all he could see.


Guildenstern: Is that what people want?
Player: It's what we do.




Author's Notes Continued: I can't claim the concept for my own. Not the base concept anyway. A long while ago I came across a Mulder/Krycek written by Sleeps With Coyotes. She based the entire fic around one quote from the play/movie, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, written by Tom Stoppard. I read the play in high school and found it interesting so I decided to read the fic. Little was I to know the concept and the fic would blow me away. It is to this day, my favorite M/K. So yes, I take credit for the plot, but the concept—all Sleeps With Coyotes. No infringement meant. You can find that fic HERE I fully recommend it, even if you're not an X-Files fan. Another side note, my version of the quote is taken from the movie, which is slightly altered from the book, though only in terms of compactness.
Oh, so much is taken from other sources...but just think of me as Shakespeare. ;-) After all, that's what he did, isn't it? Tristan and Isolde came before Romeo and Juliet and it's been proven many of his ideas were taken from other bits of stories. Plus, we all use basic legends for these things, so it's no worse than that, right? Mmm. Anyway, my point. The idea in the second part came from a) the shapeshifter and b) a book entitled Heaven Cent, by Piers Anthony. But in that book, they're not creatures of snow and they aren't shapeshifters like on Supernatural, whose qualities I tried to instill in these demons, though they decided they wanted to be more refined than the one we saw on SPN. Who knew demons had manners? I'd originally planned on the game being Questions, which they do in R&G Are Dead, but then someone else posted a fic like that about a month and a half ago, so there went that idea.
And the last thing credited to anyone else, is the dust devil being a Native American spirit in part four. The idea originally popped into my head from the X-Files novel, Whirlwind.
So it's really a compilation of everything and I hope that doesn't ruin it for you, because I did work to make everything mine, still.
The ending note is that I used a prompt from phantomas for spn_gleeweek in order to push myself to finish this fic I started several months ago. She wanted: Sam and Dean UNHAPPY Wincest. Because, you know, they are brothers. And one of them could have feeling and desires, and the other be disgusted, or both just be horrified even if feeling the impulse...but, it doesn't happy 'who cares, let's fuck'. I think I twisted it a bit to match my fic, but I still think it works.