Deals with the Devil - SN fic - PG13
Mar. 13th, 2007 08:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tigriswolfTitle: Deals with the Devil
Fandom: “Supernatural”
Disclaimer: the boys, their daddy, their daddy’s friends, and the yellow-eyed demon/man/monster aren’t mine. The creepy-ass lady is, though.
Warnings: spoilers for pilot, “Asylum,” “Scarecrow,” “Faith,” “Devil’s Trap,” “In My Time Of Dying,” “Everybody Loves A Clown,” and “Born Under A Bad Sign.” Probable AU. Rampant and gleeful misuse of and.
Pairings: nada, really
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 710
Point of view: third
Point of view: third
Dedication: tempestquillfor writing “Don’t Fear The Reaper.” I finally got inspired to go somewhere with the plotwolf that bit me weeks and weeks ago(while doing the dishes) when I sat down to study for my Logic test(which is tomorrow).
tempestquillfor writing “Don’t Fear The Reaper.” I finally got inspired to go somewhere with the plotwolf that bit me weeks and weeks ago(while doing the dishes) when I sat down to study for my Logic test(which is tomorrow). I want…
What? You have to say the words.
I…
Say it. And it becomes true.
I don’t want Dean to ever leave me. Never ever.
And if he does?
He hurts. He hurts like I would.
Done.
Sam doesn’t remember making the wish. He doesn’t remember the woman with flaming red hair or dark forest-green eyes or ivory skin. He doesn’t remember that night when he was seven years old and she appeared in his dream and asked what he wanted most in the world.
He doesn’t remember for a decade-and-a-half.
And after he remembers… he can’t forget.
On a night full of anger, they both say things they regret. Dean is hurting—inside and out—and Sam keeps pushing long after he knows he should stop. He shoves hard, and it’s not even Dean he’s pissed at.
It’s never Dean he’s pissed at, but Dean still always bears the brunt of his fury anyway.
And on that night—still aching from the asylum and Sam’s half-assed apology and Dad’s complete lack of an apology—Dean drives away. First time he’s ever left Sam. Ever.
And Sam, watching him go, almost imagines a woman asking, And if he does?
On a night like any other, familiar and calming, they hunt a rawhide. He’s trapped some kids in a house and they chase after him fully prepared.
Sam gets the children out, leaving Dean to deal with the monster. Their usual parts. Nothing new.
Except something goes horribly, terribly, desperately wrong.
And running down those old rickety stairs, throwing himself by Dean’s side, not hearing his breath—an ache forms in Sam’s heart, a chasm opens in his soul, and later he’d nearly swear he heard a little boy say, He hurts like I would.
After Dean wakes up from his coma and Dad dies and they’re broken into so many pieces they’ll never be made whole again(seventeen times), Sam starts dreaming.
They’re not visions of the future, he doesn’t think, but of the past. There’s a woman—flaming red hair, dark forest-green eyes, pale ivory skin—with lips crimson as blood. She’s tall, tall as Dean at least, and thin. Like a living skeleton, skin and bones.
She’s terrifying, grinning madly, and he tries to back away but there’s nowhere to go.
“We made a bargain, remember, Samuel? I granted you a wish and you swore to play a game with me.” Her voice is the roar of the ocean, the wind rushing through a canyon, an avalanche rumbling down a mountain. He flinches from the sound and she smiles.
Each dream progresses further, and it gets harder to wake up.
“He should have died, Samuel.”
And then one night, it starts a different way.
“He’s dead three times over, yet still walking and talking and hurting. Because you couldn’t bear to be alone.”
She stalks closer, grabs his face with her cold hands, digs her sharp nails into his cheeks.
“Remember, boy,” she hisses and presses her dry lips to his. “Remember or it’s no fun at all.”
He wakes at Bobby’s cabin, three weeks after that fucking demon crawled out of Hell and possessed him.
And he can’t escape the memory of her coming to him and what he asked for—
“No,” he whispers. “Oh, God, no.”
Dean’s rattling around the kitchen, talking to Bobby and bile rises in Sam’s throat, his stomach churns, and he hears her say, I gave you your heart’s desire little boy. So now we play.
And suddenly, everything changes, shifts, and the world darkens a hue.
You’re mine, Sammy, she chortles, and he hears Dean cry out. I’ve stolen you out from under his nose. Oh, the fun we’ll have.
“No,” he whispers again.
Dean can’t die, Samuel, though he’ll wish he could. You saw to that sixteen years ago. He feels her cold fingers on his face. And this game, my dear, is that neither can you.
She appears before him in the same moment Dean bursts into the room. “My brother has sought soldiers of your caliber his whole existence,” she says, covering them both in a glance from her dark eyes. “And now, you two are mine.”
She laughs and the sound rolls over them like ocean waves.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-16 08:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-17 01:42 am (UTC)*ducks head*
*blushes some more*
*thanks you*
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-17 02:30 am (UTC)And I just posted the third installment in my Kinky!Devils!Verse. Just wow. I am still blushing over having written it. *blush*