darkening sun - SN fic - R

[tigriswolf]

Title: darkening sun

Fandom: “Supernatural”

Disclaimer: not my characters. just for fun.

Warnings: spoilers for “Born Under A Bad Sign”

Pairings: um… NotDean/Sam, implied Dean/Sam, NotMegSam/NotDean, mentions of Sam/Jessica

Rating: R

Wordcount: 850
Point of view: third

Notes: I’ve wanted to write this(or, rather, something like it) since “Born Under A Bad Sign” first aired and never had the inspiration.

 

 

You know, Sammy, you should tell Dean what you really thought about his skin-thief, the body-stealer says, letting its words reach him in the darkness where he's been shoved.

 

Wh-what? he stutters, still weak from the fight to reclaim all it's stolen from him.

 

It chuckles, letting the sound twine about him, like a giant man-eating saber-toothed cat.  Come now, Samuel, it murmurs, reminding him of Maleficent from Sleeping Beauty—oh, Jess, he thinks, God, it still hurts—and he feels a phantom hand on his brow—but I'm stuck in my head, he refutes, so I can't have a physical body—You think too hard, lovely boy, the demon laughs.

 

So stop.  Just pause, Sam.  Let me shelter you within the darkness.  Just rest.  I promise, if you can trust a demon's word... everything will be fine in the morning.

 

And he's so tired.  Trapped in some hidden corner of his mind, he's never been so tired.  So he just... stops.

 

----

 

He sleeps and it watches, sending him dreams. He is buried deep, where he shall never find a way out, giving it free-run of his body.

 

It filters through his memories; it has days before contacting Dean becomes imperative. Days. Days of freedom within a psychic’s body, within Sam’s body.

 

It pauses on Sam’s recollection of Dean’s skin-thief, the ‘shifter that wore his form. The imposter nearly killed Sam, and all it did and said still haunts him. Oh, interesting, it purrs, peeking in on Sam’s dream—prone on the cold floor, Dean’s body above him, hands tight on his neck—

 

You dream of death? it asks, honestly shocked for a moment. But Sam doesn’t answer, too caught up in the dream/memory.

 

---

 

Sam can’t tell if this is Dean or not, hands warm on his skin, eyes cold with rage. Dean—NotDean?—hisses and snarls, curses at Sam for leaving, for wanting more. NotDean—Dean?—slaps him, kicks him, slams him into a wall, and Sam can’t fight, can’t do anything but wait. 

 

Something’s wrong, a part of him whispers. This isn’t right.

 

But Dean, NotDean, just yanks his head down by the hair and says, “You bastard, how dare you leave me alone,” and harshly kisses Sam, biting down on Sam’s bottom lip and breaking the skin.

 

Blood dribbles down Sam’s neck and Dean, NotDean, (this isn’t right!) follows the trail, nipping and sucking, and Sam just doesn’t know anymore…

 

---

 

Oh, Sammy, it howls, using his body to double over in laughter. You interesting boy! It can only suggest, not force, and it sending back the memory of that sewer, of the human-girl’s house—Sam did what he wanted from there. 

 

I wonder if Father knows? it asks rhetorically, before shrugging with Sam’s shoulders. Not like it matters anymore. Father is too late and you, Samuel, are mine now.

 

It looks in the mirror of the hotel room, studying his form from every angle. “Mine,” it says with his voice, his lips and tongue. It tries on a smile, a frown, a mocking smirk, a happy grin. It immerses itself in his soul and mind, wrapping every part of Sam Winchester around itself.

 

Dean’s skin-thief failed because it wasn’t Dean. It assumed his form but was not his body.

 

And the demon in Sam’s skin refuses to fail in such a way.

 

---

 

He wakes, still stuck in the dream, unable to tell fiction from reality.

 

Dean, NotDean, something in Dean’s body—presses against him, smiles with Dean’s lips but his eyes are still cold, still cruel.

 

“Mine,” he whispers and Sam’s voice is stolen, leaving him unable to cry out or demand answers.

 

A large form moves on the edge of his vision and NotDean—Dean—what, whoever it is—turns, so Sam looks.

 

It’s him. His body, identical in every way.

 

“Interesting,” the double says.

 

---

 

It steals with his body, food, smokes, and drinks. It rapes with his body, two women and a boy. It keeps him locked deep inside, unable to see or hear anything but his dream.

 

But it lets him out when it kills the hunter, because this? It wants him to remember.

 

---

 

The thing in Dean’s body cants its head, appraises Sam’s double.  He pads over, moving smoothly like a panther, and the double smirks, reaches out to pull Dean close. Sam can’t look away, can’t close his eyes. 

 

Can only watch as Dean’s body fucks his and then they take turns.

 

---

 

It raises Sam’s eyebrows when it looks in on his dream next and uses his voice to say, “Huh.” Then it chuckles and continues, “I wonder if Father knows what you really are, Sammy. Wonder if he has any fucking clue at all.”

 

Still covered in the hunter’s blood, it calls Dean.

 

---

 

There is nowhere to go. Memory and imaginings mingle, dance with each other, and he can’t tell which is which. He’ s stuck, hollow and fading, unable to find a way out, a way to freedom.

 

Trapped. He is trapped in his body, trapped in his mind, and here comes Dean—NotDean?—again.

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[tigriswolf]

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