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[SPN fic - Decorated - Sam/Dean NC-17]
Title: Decorated
Author: Lily, annabeth_fics
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: strong language, incestuous themes, darkfic, angst, dubcon, violence incl. sexual violence.
Notes: spoilers for “Born Under a Bad Sign” but this fic is somewhat divergent from the events of that episode after the beginning. I wrote this as a gift for my best friend for Christmas, because she wanted “mindfucking.” 2593 words.
Disclaimers: I don’t own anything. Supernatural belongs to a lot of people much more important than me.
Summary: When Sam finally called, Dean was so beside himself with worry that he didn’t even think before getting into the Impala and screaming out of the little deserted stretch of road.


Decorated

When Sam finally called, Dean was so beside himself with worry that he didn’t even think before getting into the Impala and screaming out of the little deserted stretch of road. When Dean found Sam, covered in blood, it was all he could do to hide his fear that his brother was seriously injured. Patting and pawing at Sam’s bloody shirt, he couldn’t find any tears in the fabric and Sam didn’t seem to be wincing any, so Dean started to relax. He was so thrown by Sam’s disappearance that he was totally off his game.

“I don’t think it’s my blood,” Sam said softly, a tremor in his voice.

“Well, thank goodness for that,” Dean said, only marginally startled when Sam gave him a very uncharacteristic glare. Not that Sam didn’t glare at him on a regular basis; but this was different. Those green eyes were a little bit cool in a way that Sam’s eyes never were. Sam was such a pussy, a bleeding heart, that seeing that expression was almost enough to make Dean uneasy. Almost. But his relief was so great that he dismissed the sensation immediately; Sam was just worried, that was all.

“I can’t remember anything, Dean,” Sam said just as softly, meeting his brother's gaze and looking lost and wounded.

“We’ll figure it out, Sammy,” Dean replied, and started scouting the room. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

---

The Impala was flying down the highway, Dean’s eyes peeled for any turn off with a motel they could stay at. They were getting as far away as they could from that motel where he’d found Sam. No reason to push their luck and all that.

“Dean,” Sam said quietly, staring out the passenger window. “I think I may have...really hurt someone.”

“Nah, of course ya didn’t.” Dean sounded over confident even to his own ears.

“I could have killed someone,” Sam went on, voice still quiet. Just like Sam. Except...

“Or you could have wasted some kind of monster with human-looking blood, Sammy. Try not to get too worried about something you don’t even know happened.”

“I could have killed you, Dean,” Sam said, and this time he stopped staring out the window and Dean felt that intense gaze focus on the side of his face. The hair on the back of Dean’s neck prickled.

“Dude, shut up,” Dean said finally. Sam was starting to scare him. His tone of voice was flat and uninflected and he seemed to be staring without blinking, which was impossible, of course. He only seemed not to be blinking because Dean wasn’t looking at him straight-on.

“I still could,” Sam murmured and turned his face back to the window. “Do you think I’m dangerous, Dean? Do you think people should be afraid of me?”

“Hell, no.” Dean ground the gears of the Impala without even thinking about it. “Evil fucking things should be afraid of you. But you know as well as I do that the people always warm up to you first.”

“I think you should be afraid of me, Dean,” Sam said, and when Dean glanced over at him he’d closed his eyes, still facing the window, as if going to sleep any minute. Dean shivered. In the yellow light of the street lamps Sam looked sallow and his cheeks sunken and for some reason it made Dean really uneasy this time. And then, in the unbroken silence in the car, Sam said something so softly Dean was sure he couldn’t have heard correctly. “You ought to be afraid, Dean.”

“Go to sleep for awhile, Sammy. I don’t see shit for turnoffs. It could be awhile.”

---

Sam seemed to sleep for an hour at least, and no nightmares disturbed him. But Dean was cold in a way that his leather jacket couldn’t allay. But for some reason he didn’t think Sam had been talking about killing anymore, that last time. It sounded like something different, much more ominous, which didn’t make any sense. Sam was, unless he was hunting, like a tamed kitten. The only times he got violent were with evil fucking monsters and his brother, in that order; he knew Dean could take it, and they’d had their share of tussles where they’d beaten the fuck out of each other. But now, stealing glances at him, Dean was struck just how big Sam was. He looked lanky until you engaged him, and then he was pure muscle and strength, and he could overpower most men easily. He could even overpower Dean at times, and Dean was usually the much stronger fighter, having spent more time and energy practising. His brother’s head was flush against the leather seat, his skin still very pale, his eyelashes smudges against hollowed cheeks. It was like something was eating at his vitality from the inside out; yet before, when they’d been talking, there had been a core of steel in Sam’s voice. Whatever he looked like, he hadn’t sounded like it.

But there was more. He hadn’t sounded like Sam, either, which didn’t make any fucking sense.

“Dean,” Sam said, and once again there was something unearthly in his tone. Dean was starting to wonder if a shape shifter had taken his brother’s place and hidden Sam somewhere. But that was nonsense. Sam hadn’t said anything unusual, when you came right down to it. He was probably just tired and freaked and that’s why he seemed different. He turned green eyes so shiny they looked wet on his brother, and Dean found himself pulling the car off to the side of the road and meeting that gaze.

“What’s up, bro?” he said, and reached out to push some strands of stringy unwashed hair out of those eyes. Obviously Sam hadn’t showered in days. What he didn’t expect was the way that Sam closed his eyes and leaned in ever so slightly to Dean’s touch. If Dean had been any less observant, he would have missed it completely. Whatever Sam had been doing, he was definitely freaked.

“I’m so fucking scared, man,” Sam said. He kept his eyes closed but leaned forward, forcing Dean to catch his head with his shoulder. “I have no fucking clue what I did for the last week.”

“I don’t think you ate much,” Dean said, and it was only partially snarky. Sam looked a lot thinner than usual. He ran his fingers through sweaty dirty hair and tried not to let his own anxiety show. It wasn’t like Sam not to shower or take care of himself.

“I just...I’m so fucking cold, Dean,” he muttered, and burrowed his face deeper into the crease between Dean’s shoulder and his chest. “God, just...could you just...”

Dean had no idea what Sam was asking for by now, though. Completely out of his fucking league. They were not strangers to touching each other, but this was fuckin’ strange. Sam was cuddling up like some affection-starved girl looking for a little bit of Dean’s special technique.

“Listen, I’ve got a blanket in the trunk, dude,” Dean said. “You can fuck that to your heart’s content.”

“No,” and now his voice was a hazy whisper, “I can’t get warm. Please, Dean.”

“Well,” Dean trailed off uncertainly. “I can try to find a motel room, but then, that’s what I’ve been doing.” He pushed Sam away, gently, and turned the key in the ignition enough to start the heater.

“I could’ve really hurt someone, Dean,” Sam repeated. “That fucking scares me.”

“But you likely didn’t.”

“But I could...” and then Sam was dragging sharp fingernails down the side of Dean’s neck as if to illustrate his point. “I could be capable of anything. You should watch yourself around me, Dean.”

“Dude, get a fucking hold of yourself. You’re not like a bomb going to go off, I’m not afraid, I can take care of myself.” Dean went to turn the key all the way and start driving, but Sam was faster. Sharp-edged, bony cold fingers wrapped around his wrist hard enough to grind the bones together.

“Don’t turn that fucking car on,” Sam said, voice low. Too low for Dean to make out the inflection. Dean turned and met eyes that were again sparking with something like malice.

“Dude, get off me,” Dean said, and broke the hold easily. He went for the key again and this time Sam grabbed and tightened his hand so much that Dean could feel the bones straining, on the verge of breaking. “All right, man, I won’t. But dude, you’re gonna fucking break my wrist.”

“I know,” Sam said, and he smiled.

---

It was way past the point for thinking that Sam was just tired or freaked. He might attack Dean out of anger or punch him or whatever, but he’d never break a bone on purpose and he’d certainly never fucking smile about it. Now that Dean thought about it, even with the heat on, the car was freezing. But it was the smile that did it, really. That was what drove home that there was really something fucking wrong about Sam. His smile had never looked that cold or reptilian.

“You know, Dean, you’ve always been the pretty one. Like a girl.”

“Yeah,” Dean forced a laugh. “The girls don’t think that way.”

“Unless the reason they fuck you is because it’s like fucking a woman with a cock.” Sam slammed his wrist against the dashboard so hard that Dean’s teeth clicked together and pain shot through his arm. Not broken. Yet.

“I think it’s more the technique.” Dean gave his trademark smirk. No way in fucking hell he was going to let Sam know how freaked he was. Sam leaned in so close his breath was sweet and warm against Dean’s ear.

“I like your lips, Dean,” Sam said, and the exhale gave Dean a soft shudder throughout his body. “Just like a woman’s lips.”

“Can’t argue much with ya there, but the ladies find it sexy--” Dean broke off when Sam back handed him across the mouth.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sam said, voice low and lethal. “I’m talking, and you will fucking LISTEN when I am talking to you.”

Dean tried to keep his mouth shut, but really, when did Dean ever know what was good for him? “I might if you ever said anything worth listening to.”

Sam slammed his forehead this time into the dashboard and Dean tasted blood as his teeth went through his lip.

“Maybe I’ve said things and you just haven’t been listening.” He softly, gently, ran cold fingers through Dean’s short spiky hair. “Like I told you to be afraid, big brother, but you’re too smart for that, eh? You think you could really win in a fight against me? You think I haven’t LET you win every single fucking time you’ve ever pinned me?”

Another tender caress, this one Sam’s nails across Dean’s lips.

“I like your lips even better bloody,” he said, and Dean suppressed a shiver. There was something even more totally fucking wrong about where this seemed to be going. “Do the girls you fuck like you with a little blood on you? Heightens the flavour, don’t you think?” And Sam bit his own lip, sucking the blood into his mouth. He didn’t have the signs of vampirism, though, so Dean relaxed just a bit. This change might be some type of spell, not unbreakable, and not permanent.

Dean had finally lost his desire to be flippant and just settled for staring daggers back at Sam. “Whatever you have done with my brother, you fucking monster, I am going to waste you.”

“Oh no,” Sam said, and smiled again. “I am your brother, sweetheart.”

“No fucking way,” Dean said, his disbelief evident.

“I’ve always felt this way about you, Dean. You were Daddy’s little soldier. No brains of your own. No brawn you came by honestly. All fake and fraudulent, from the credit cards to your smile. But that’s okay. Because I know the Dean inside, and he’s a frightened little boy who still whimpers for his mommy.” Sam grinned, teeth looking sharp and white in the street lamps.

He pressed Dean’s face into the dashboard, away from Sam, so he couldn’t see what was going on -- but he heard the click and snap of the switchblade as Sam opened the knife and lay it against his neck.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he said. “What I am going to do is much worse.”

Dean heaved in a breath, fear turning over in his heart. He wasn’t afraid of much, but he was afraid of Sam. His brother was bigger, stronger, and once Dean had thought he’d never seriously hurt his older brother. But this was uncharted territory. The knife bit into his skin just a little, under his left ear, and Dean felt blood trickle down his neck.

And then he felt his brother’s tongue follow the trickle of blood.

“I like your eyes, too, Dean,” he said in a smoky voice. “Green like mine, but pretty like a girl’s. And I like your cock, Dean. I’ve seen it. I’ve watched you in the shower. I’ve watched you changing. And I like your ass, and you better fucking believe, your ass is mine.”

Dean started to hyperventilate a little bit. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be ashamed of the fear that lay queasy in his belly. This wasn’t Sam. It couldn’t be. But it didn’t matter, not really; this was Sam’s body and his voice and his eyes, and if he fucked Dean, it would still be fucking his own brother.

Sam was right. This was way, the fucking hell, much fucking worse than Sam just killing him. It wasn’t even about the fact that Sam was talking about rape. It was the fact that Dean would never have violated Sam this way. Dean would never admit to liking the shape of Sam’s lips or the way he shrugged his broad shoulders like he couldn’t find clothes to fit.

“I love you, dude,” Sam said softly right into his ear, and Dean shuddered violently. Sam kissed the outer shell of his ear. “I’m going to make you scream, Dean,” he said, and the knife sliced into the tender flesh of his ear lobe. “I like you decorated and flavoured with blood, dude.”

There was no earthly reason why Dean wasn’t struggling. Maybe because he was afraid of hurting Sam. Or maybe because he’d long ago given up on the idea of freeing himself. If he tried Sam would just start breaking bones. That was evident from that smile earlier.

---

Dean would never know how Bobby found them, but a gobletful of holy water later and an unconscious Sam tied in the back seat with the Impala roaring towards Bobby’s cabin, Dean could never find a way to express how grateful he was that Bobby had shown up just as Sam’s lips had found Dean’s, tracing blood and tears into the cracked, chapped skin. Thank goodness Bobby was smart enough to know that wasn’t normal behaviour for Sam, because that punch that had knocked Sam’s lights out had saved a lot of things in Dean.

It had saved his self-respect, for one. And a lot more physical injury, for another. If it couldn’t save Dean’s soul entirely, well, that was a story for another day.

end.