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writingbyebonioTitle: Dreamwalking [Evil!Sammy Universe]
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eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Act 1: The Sam Out There
"You're not supposed to be here."
"I can be anywhere I like, Dean. You belong to me, remember? All of you."
"Not this. Not here." Dean could hear the rawness of his own voice, but didn't care. This was not how things were supposed to go.
"This and here and everywhere else, whore."
Dean shook his head and, no, his eyes weren't wet, he was just … stressed … because He wasn't supposed to be Here.
Here, of course, was a nondescript motel room, as always: strange fading wallpaper, mottled carpet eaten by too many shoes, and a tiny bathroom tucked in the back corner that somehow seemed impossibly large whenever Dean walked into it. There were two beds this time, which wasn't always the case, but it had happened before so it wasn't any cause for worry. And the soft glow of light that filtered into almost every corner all day every day here seemed to pour out from a lamp on the nightstand between the beds, keeping company with the remote to the bureau-top TV.
Dean had been here too many times to count now, not every night, but many, and most times he was glad to see the place. It was comfortable and familiar and it always had his Sam, which would have been enough even if it hadn't been all that comfortable or familiar. Tonight, though, his haven had been infiltrated.
The man who was not his Sam, the man from out there who sent him to his knees for use, for pain, and for pleading, had found his way in here and it made Dean's stomach crawl up slowly in his throat like an overfed python just waiting to dump itself out and onto the floor.
Not-his-Sam was like a high-shine version of himself here and as much as Dean hated who he was a good deal of the time, he couldn't deny that his new status as a sadistic bastard didn't seem to make the man any less captivating. His over-shirt tapered for a classic fit across his broad chest and down over his waist, shirt tails curving over denim. It was casually half-buttoned and light in hue, a soft contrast to the middling dark of his t-shirt and loose-fit jeans.
He could have just been Sam. But he wasn't.
The confident off-angle of his shoulders made it seem like he was swaggering somewhere, though he was standing still at the foot of the farthest bed, and the smirk tilting his lips said that he was used to being the man on top and he liked it up there. His eyes, though, were the dead give away. There was always something dark and hard in those eyes, like the gleam of a gun quickly hidden away. When he had any choice in the matter, Dean never trusted a man with eyes like that. He didn't really have a choice, though, with Sam. All his choices had been stolen away.
Sammy stayed quiet, sitting on the closest bed, his well-worn t-shirt and boxers mirroring Dean's in every way but color, as they always did here when it was dark outside. He wasn't relaxing, though, like usual, lounging back, pecking away at his computer. He wasn't making cheesy jokes with the hint of a dorky grin, or even throwing a seemingly inexhaustible string of not-so-fluffy pillows at Dean's head while pretending to be immensely annoyed. He was barely breathing, body tense, and looking up at Dean with wide eyes, as if Dean could really fix this.
Not-his-Sam turned to Sammy, then, smirk bleeding into a leer. "You boys gonna put on a show for me?"
Dean stepped between them, his voice strained but forceful as he stared down the antagonist in front of him. "Leave him alone."
Not-his-Sam just quirked one eyebrow up, uncharacteristic amusement apparent in the lilt of his voice. "Why? He's me. Or a pathetic imitation of an already obsolete model." He paused, though, blinking, as if one thought had interrupted another, before continuing at a slower, warier, pace. "At least … that's what I thought, but …" Not-his-Sam leaned around him to peer at Sammy, his forehead crinkled in puzzlement and suspicion. "You feel … different … than other things here, Sammy … if that's really what I should call you." His head angled to the side a moment, lips pouting with the strength of his concentration. "You're like part him … and part me … and part something else … but that doesn't make any sense." Not-his-Sam's expression was hard, then, his lip slanting into a snarl. "What are you and why are you here?"
Dean didn't know what was going on, but Sammy sighed behind him, seemingly tired.
"If we need to have this conversation … we can't do it like this."
There seemed to be a hint in there that Dean didn't get. At least, not until Not-his-Sam had pushed him away, pressing his back against the nearest wall. It wasn't a hard shove, but he didn't do it with his hands. Apparently his powers worked even here.
Then, the Sams were talking, something he could see happening, but not really hear because his ears felt plugged somehow, so the sound was almost totally muffled. He could sometimes read lips, especially when either Sam was being particularly animated and speaking with his hands. Not-his-Sam, though, was turned partly away from him, facing Sammy, so he missed massive chunks of the dialogue, but he still caught a few of Sammy's words here and there.
"… … coping mechanism … …"
"… … broken … …"
"… … then leave … …"
"… … not just a copy … …"
"… … the bond between you … …"
"… … he doesn't even know … …"
"… … the visions … …"
"… … talk to him … …"
"… … he'll get there … …"
"… … I know that … …"
The conversation ended, almost abruptly, and both of them turned to him, though Sammy quickly looked away. Dean heard his ears pop and opened his mouth to see if his hearing was back.
"What was that all about?"
"Don't you worry your pretty little head about that. Everything's under control. … Just like you."
Not-his-Sam had that dark sheen in his eyes that he always got just before succumbing to some urge that usually turned Dean's stomach. So, Dean addressed his Sam instead.
"Sammy, you want to tell me what's going on?"
Sam lifted a hand to ruffle his hair with a frown of apology. "I can't directly tell you anything that you don't know or that you don't want to know."
Dean felt his eyebrows bunch and lift, alternating, as he tried to make sense of everything. "And … why is that?"
"It's just how these kinds of dreams work, Dean. They're your mind's way of processing things. So, you can't process pieces you don't have or don't want access to."
Dean huffed loudly, perplexed and incredulous. "Are you saying that you two can have a conversation in my dream and I can not know about it?"
"Maybe you don't want to know, Dean." Not-his-Sam's expression of fake compassion made Dean want to shove him into the bathroom or out the door, as if his darkness might infect his Sam. "Maybe you don't want to think about the fact that the only real Sam Winchester in this room … is me."
Dean felt his teeth click together, before the word pushed its way out of his mouth. "No."
Not-his-Sam flicked his wrist in Sammy's general direction with no small bit of disgust. "He's a figment of your imagination, Dean. He's a coping mechanism created so you can handle the reality you're living in."
"No, he's- … Sammy." Dean didn't really know what he was saying with that. He just felt like it was the truth somehow.
"Uh huh, sure." Not-his-Sam's tone was patronizing, the words flowing out slowly and over-enunciated as if Dean wouldn't be able to understand unless the language was superficially simplified for him. "Except … the real me grew and changed. Have you ever taken a really good look at your little dream-me here? He's a few years behind, don't you think?"
"No." Dean shook his head, but he could see it now, a bit. Sammy wasn't just a nice, sweet version of the man who called himself Sam Winchester nowadays. He was slightly younger, softer, not by much, but enough. Two years were apt to make a difference, especially if they'd been spent in stress and deception. This was Sam before he'd left, before everything had gotten so messed up.
"Maybe you modeled him after some rare day when I was smiling instead of sniffling pathetically in the passenger seat of the car." Not-his-Sam inched closer, eyes shifting from Dean to Sammy and back again. "When you look at him, does he remind you of some better time, even if you don't know quite when that was?"
Dean shrugged, uncomfortable all of a sudden, his unease only heightened by the way that Sammy was looking at him, so sad, like he wished this wasn't the truth. Dean could feel the truth in some of it, though, even if he didn't want to admit it, but he was sure that there was more to the Sam in his dreams than Not-his-Sam was suggesting.
"He's your security blanket, Dean! " Not-his-Sam spat out the words as if Sammy was a diseased insect instead of a pseudo-living being sitting only a few feet away from him. "He's a fucking stuffed bear, a night light, your favorite childhood handgun, whatever works for you. He's a thing made for comfort and not a person … certainly not me."
The whole conversation made Dean's head and stomach ache with the strain of keeping himself from doing something truly idiotic, like stuffing his fist in the crease of Sam's lip. He only narrowly resisted, sucking in air like oxygen alone could cool his suicidal defensiveness. "No! I mean- … I know he's part of the dream, but- … he's more than that. … I can feel it." He didn't really know what it was that he was feeling, but his gut said Sammy was somehow more and his gut was rarely wrong.
"I am." Sammy gave him a slight smile, nodding, and it seemed like he'd said the right thing, the true thing, even if he didn't know what it meant exactly.
Not-his-Sam's exhale was explosive, but his tone had the weight of easy resolve. "Fine. You can keep him around, if you want, but he needs to know who you belong to … whore."
Dean felt the drag of unseen nails over his skin, just before he heard the rip of his t-shirt and boxers shredding and falling to the floor around him. He moved to cover himself, but Not-his-Sam's power wound around him, keeping his arms at his sides. Then Not-his-Sam walked up and slid in behind him, soft cotton and rough denim brushing against his skin as Sam wrapped his arms around him, through the casing of his powers.
Sammy stuttered a little, looking anywhere but at them, though he didn't move to intervene. "I'll just- … go sit in the bathroom for a little while. Just- … knock when you're done."
"Oh, I wouldn't do that, Sammy." Sam mouthed at the back rim of Dean's ear as he spoke. "You're no match for me here and I will hurt Dean even more than I intend to, if you don't watch, or if you try to interfere."
Sam's breath was too heavy and too hot on Dean's skin, making him tense but he tried to spare his Sam the sight of what was to come, of his weakness and Sam's own cruelty.
"Go on to the bathroom, Sammy. It's okay. I'll- … I'll be okay."
Sam snickered behind him. "You know that's not true, Dean. If he doesn't want to watch, then I'm going to have to make sure he hears enough to understand. … You know you only scream for me when I really tear you up." A shiver started at Dean's shoulders and slowly spread down from there.
Sammy shook his head, expression troubled as he looked at Dean. "I'm in your head, Dean. I've already … seen … a lot. So … I'm staying, okay? You don't need to hurt for me any more than you already have to."
Dean let his eyes drop, then, but the rumble of Sam's laugh behind him made him freeze, stuck in the feel of fear.
"That's sweet. Worthless … but sweet." Dean felt Sam's whistled exhale flow by as Sam slid back into business mode. "You don't get to avert your eyes this time, though, whore. I want you to look at your little dreamboy and tell him what you are."
Dean thought to refuse for a moment, but the compulsion passed, training or maybe self-preservation instincts kicking in, and he lifted his head. He angled it away, though, as he started to mumble the words that seemed ten times more shameful when his Sam was right there, when he would hear and be tainted by those words, and when he would see how much Dean was already tainted by them. "I'm your … property. … I'm your-"
Sam's strength, in arms and powers, squeezed painfully around Dean briefly and he stopped with a grunt.
"Look at him and start over, whore." Sam's words were heated and deliberate. "This is for both of you, so that neither of you gets confused during your little visits here. He needs to know what you are and who you belong to."
Lifting his head to look into his Sam's eyes made his stomach fill with tiny heavy stones, one dropping in with every blink.
"Tell him."
Sam left Dean no room for rebellion and if Dean thought about this logically, he'd know that Sammy lived in his head and that they'd talked about Not-his-Sam sometimes, so this wouldn't be new information. It was just … kind of horrific and surreal, being there with both of them. This was the place he went to be with the Sam he remembered and now his outside life was being forced into a space where it wasn't supposed to be.
He swallowed, making his mouth work over words learned by rote. "I'm your property. … I'm your whore. … Always and everywhere."
"Hear that, Sammy? Property. Whore. Always. Everywhere. … Mine." The fingers of Sam's right hand splayed as he pressed against Dean's abdomen, displaying his ownership "It could have been yours Sam, but you were too weak to claim what rightfully belonged to you."
The rapid rise and fall of his Sam's chest was the only indication that he even heard what his twisted alter ego was saying. He had eyes only for Dean and they were bright with determination.
Not-his-Sam's voice was smooth but somehow slimy as it crawled out of his mouth like it had been greased just to make this pitch. "Dean always wanted to be this. He- ..."
"No." Dean was shaking his head subtly, but his eyes were pleading with his Sam, pleading for him to not believe this.
"He always wanted to know that he belonged to you. But you, the way you were then? Some weak little punk who maybe had the balls to talk, but hardly had the strength to act? You weren't ever going to be able to handle Dean like he needed." Sam's left hand slid down to squeeze Dean's thigh, as if to somehow symbolize all the techniques, born of sex and pain, that he used to 'handle' Dean, and Dean couldn't hide his sharp intake of breath, though the touch itself didn't hurt. "And that's why he belongs to me, that's why you're in here and I'm out there. I'm the one with enough power and skill to be a good owner for my whore brother and still have the energy to make sure that we live the good life. You couldn't do that and you didn't want to."
It was hard, knowing that any of Not-his-Sam's words true, but some of them were, in a way, and Dean could see acknowledgement of those bits of truth reflected back at him from his Sam's eyes. Besides Dad, Sam was all Dean had ever had and he'd wanted it to be them, Sam and Dean, pretty much 'til Judgement Day, which ironically seemed pretty close at hand right then. But Sam never really understood how much Dean needed that connection, that bond. Dean had been left on wayside far more times than he'd have liked, whenever things came up in Sam's life. So yeah, some part of him did almost want to belong to Sam, but that didn't have anything to do with wanting to be some kind of slave.
Not-his-Sam moved in closer behind him and Dean's whole body locked up as he felt the outline of Sam's rising erection, knowing, before Sam even opened his mouth, just what would come next. "So … now that you know what he is and that you could have had him, but were too fucking weak. I'm going to show you that he's mine, so that neither of you will forget that."
"Please- …" Dean stopped, mid-plea, before he said anything negative about what Sam was going to do, knowing it would just earn him something worse and punishment to boot.
"You see what a slut he is for me?" Dean felt Sam's grin against his neck, even though Sam had to know that Dean hadn't meant it like that. "You could have had this, Sammy, but you missed out. … He's mine now."
Sam brought two fingers to Dean's lips, angling for entry. "Open." Dean slowly unlocked his jaw, inching his mouth open as Sam's fingers began to slide in. "Get them all wet for me, whore."
Dean shuddered, shamed, but knew that Sam wouldn't hesitate to punish him here, in front of his Sam, and he just couldn't deal with having to watch Sammy see the cold pleasure of the man who claimed his name when he was in punishment mode. So, he sucked then laved his tongue around and between the two fingers in his mouth until Sam pulled them out again. Then, Sam shifted back a little before sliding those wet fingers into the cleft of Dean's ass and pressing them both into him at once. Dean gasped as they shoved their way inside and his eyelids fell closed as he arched up.
"Open your eyes, whore, and look!" Sam's tone was more than commanding, almost angry, despite the slow roll of his fingers inside Dean, which was far from brutal.
Dean struggled to keep his eyes open and looking at Sammy. His Sam's eyes weren't brimming over with pity, instead they held only concern and a lot of misplaced guilt.
"He's not you." Dean pressed the words out into the air, half-cry and half-plea, for understanding from Sammy, and for belief from himself.
Not-his-Sam at his back spoke harsh over his shoulder, though, as he began to fuck Dean roughly with his fingers. "No, I'm not, whore. Not only am I real, but I actually want you to belong to me. I made you belong to me. You think your sweet little Sammy would've let you belong to him? You think he would've stopped trying to get away from you long enough to give you what you needed? Huh?" Sam implied all the content of those needs in the way the fingertips of his free hand ran over Dean's no longer wholly soft cock. "He'd still be looking for that white picket fence and those two-point-five kids that he'd be scared to leave you alone with, in case you taught them something about the creatures lurking in the dark."
Dean shook his head because he knew that wasn't true. He did. They'd talked and Sam was- … He was thinking about sticking around and- … They were going to keep hunting. Family business and everything. Sam was going to stay this time. He'd said he would. He just- … He didn't stay because Dean had said things he shouldn't, done things he shouldn't. Sam would've stayed if he hadn't pushed him away. He knew that. He did.
"Sammy didn't want you, Dean." As if to punctuate his words, Sam's fingers curved inside him, dragging roughly until Dean couldn't tell if his groan was more from pain or pleasure.
His Sam jumped in, though, as Dean found his way back to staggered breathing, his voice quiet but earnest. "Dean, you know that's not true."
"Shut up!" Not-his-Sam gritted the words out, the trunk of his body stiffening, as his fingers stilled and heated in Dean's ass. "What did I tell you about interfering?!"
A low throaty cry ripped out of Dean as a talon of Sam's power slashed a thin red line just below his pecs and when he glanced down, he could see the slow drip of blood even though the wound felt shallow. He snapped his eyes back up quickly, though, before Sam could choose to do more damage. His Sam looked upset and worried and horrified all at once, shifting his jaw as he glared over Dean's shoulder at his darker half before reconnecting his gaze with Dean's. Dean thought to open his mouth and say that he was okay, but then, Sam's fingers were shifting again, twisting inside him and pushing themselves deeper until his breaths stumbled in and out and his cock rose hard and fast.
"Sammy didn't want you, whore. Nobody wanted you. They all left you and with hardly a look back." Sam was steadily toying with all of Dean's sensation buttons as he spoke, fingers moving deftly in Dean's ass as his other hand slid up to press against the newly opened cut. "They were never going to stay with you or let you stay with them. … One day, you would've just been alone."
The pain and the pleasure mixed with Not-his-Sam's words, affecting Dean deeper than conditional truths really should. He was shaking his head, but his movements became slower and slower. Sammy's eyes had that same look of sad truth and it triggered a dull pain just below Dean's throat as if his heart muscles were overworked and seizing up. Not-his-Sam gave him no time to process anything, though. He just drove through Dean's hurt until it was just another bit of mental disruption, further jumbling Dean's thoughts.
Dean fought to find his mental footing, but tripped again and again as the sweep of lust and the sting of split flesh drowned out half his mind's coherency. Then Sam was smearing blood down Dean's front as he fucked his fingers into him faster and even with the swath of red, sticky on his skin, Dean knew that he'd be halfway to coming right then if there'd been a hand on his cock. There were things he should be worrying over, words that needed evaluating, but it was hard when his natural inclination was to focus on the way his hole was being stretched around long thick fingers and his cock was throbbing for attention. It made him hate that he was so easy, that Sam knew his body so well that physical want could be built with the slightest strum of Sam's hands on him.
"I'm giving you a chance to really be with me, Dean, to be with me always. All I'm asking you to do is be my good boy, service me like a good whore, and attend to my needs, because you belong to me, because you're meant to be mine." Sam's words held all the profound conviction of a zealot calling for converts. "And you love this, being my whore. You're so hard right now because you want this. More than that, I bet you want me to fuck you. I bet it's driving you crazy that I'm not slamming my cock into you and fisting your dick right now."
Dean couldn't stifle the cracked moan that leaked out of his throat as Sam's fingers shifted again, making quick hard sweeps over his prostate. He knew that he didn't want to be a whore, even if Sam's ministrations made him ache to come. Sam just knew how to play his body into whatever needy shape that he wanted it to be in. In the mind-melting heat of sexual need, however, Dean couldn't ignore the fact that some part of him did want always, and that some small bit of him, rational or not, might even want always even if it had to be like this. If this was really the only way he'd ever get it. But he just couldn't yet believe that there was no other way to belong to Sam, his Sam, so he couldn't wholly give himself over to this warped version of his brother.
He let himself arch against the man who was not his Sam. He let himself moan as Not-his-Sam fucked him with his fingers. He even begged for the feel of Not-his-Sam's hand wrapped around his cock and begged that same man for the privilege to come, like a good whore should. But he knew that even if the man at his back was the one who owned him out in the world right then, deep down, he'd always be holding out for Sammy.
When Dean came, Sam's hand slid to catch the bulk of the spunk as Dean's cock jerked in time with his gasps. Then Sam raised that hand to Dean's lips, coating them before reminding Dean that the 'fun' to come had been his idea.
"Is this what you wanted, whore? I know you begged for this a few weeks back, but … I never got around to letting you really do it, did I? I thought maybe now that you have an audience that you'd like this even more."
Dean could see the question in his Sam's eyes as he watched Not-his-Sam rub a come-slick palm over Dean's mouth. And Dean thought he knew, maybe, what this might be about, but that just made his lungs shudder with every breath.
"Well get to it, whore. You begged for this." Sam's speech skirted the line between indulgent and impatient, as if this really was just as much about giving Dean what he wanted as it was about making Dean do what Sam wanted. "I let you ride my fingers in front of your dreamboy and I even let you come. Don't you want to show me what good little whore you are?"
When Dean didn't move to do anything, Sam flicked his tongue out to trace the bottom of Dean's ear, his voice playful and demanding at the same time. "Oh, don't play coy with me, whore. You said that you wanted to eat your own spunk out of my hand, didn't you?"
Dean allowed himself a slow blink, remembering the words leaving his mouth, and he cringed even though the circumstances had been very particular. Sam always had a way of taking everything out of context and screwing him over with even the softest of reminders.
Sam sucked Dean's earlobe into his mouth, teeth denting the skin and throwing Dean's thoughts into chaos again, before he let his words out in a darkly flirtatious gust of warm air. "You did say that, didn't you? You begged for this, right, whore?"
It took a few tries, but Dean's mouth finally formed around the proper words, even as he tried not to notice the way his Sam had glanced away from him just then. "Yes, sir."
"Well then … enjoy."
Dean felt his cock twitch, attempting to respond to the lusty timbre of his owner's voice, but his brow bent and his eyes pleaded with Sammy to look away for real this time, to get up and leave even. But he opened his mouth, lips and tongue slowly moving over Sam's hand, licking Sam's palm clean then sucking down the droplets clinging to each of Sam's fingers. He swallowed as Sam pulled his hand away, but his tongue darted back out to drag away the stray traces of come from his lips. And for a second, he saw the way his Sam's expression twisted, likely in disgust, and something in his gut clenched hard until he was aching inside.
It made him wonder if his Sam would even still want him after everything that he'd been and done for the man his brother had become.
Sam's hands were riding low at Dean's hips, then, and despite the way that Sam's cock pressed, hard, against the curve of his ass, Sam didn't seem revved up to demonstrate his ownership in more ways, allowing an uncommon reprieve. Dean stifled a sigh of relief, but let some of the tension in his body slip away when he could feel Sam's hum of satisfaction all the way from his collarbone to the soles of his feet. He may have shuddered as Sam's hands slid over his skin, but there was a well-trained little part of him that was glad that he'd been pleasing to his owner. It seeped contentment into his bloodstream in a way that he wouldn't examine but couldn't ignore. What it really meant, though, was that he was a good boy and that meant less yelling, less punishment, more kindness, more rewards, and even though the fear was always there, the few perks of being good were hard to say no to.
"I'm done with you … for now … but make sure to be good boy for me, even when I'm not here." Sam's tone dropped, low and sinister, as his lips and teeth scraping over the skin at the back of Dean's jaw. "Anything done in here will still have consequences out there. You understand that, don't you, whore?"
Dean bit his lip and nodded slowly, trying not to think about how thoroughly fucked up it was that he couldn't even do what he wanted in his own dreams.
Sam's fingers were tracing over Dean's chest, down his sides, and along the tops of his thighs, before brushing over his cock, claiming him, as his words slithered into Dean's ear. "Mine, whore. Always … and everywhere … mine."
Then Sam was gone, vanishing in the same startling way he'd arrived, and suddenly the room seemed a tone brighter, the air less weighty on Dean's shoulders, and the walls stopped their crawl towards the center of the room. Dean was left naked and used, looking into the eyes of the man he'd been holding out for, the man he'd been enduring everything for, and yet, when it was just them, he looked into those eyes and felt like he was the one who'd been lost and corrupted and stained.
Act 2: The Sam In Here
Author:
eboniorchidFull Header for the Series
Act 1: The Sam Out There
"You're not supposed to be here."
"I can be anywhere I like, Dean. You belong to me, remember? All of you."
"Not this. Not here." Dean could hear the rawness of his own voice, but didn't care. This was not how things were supposed to go.
"This and here and everywhere else, whore."
Dean shook his head and, no, his eyes weren't wet, he was just … stressed … because He wasn't supposed to be Here.
Here, of course, was a nondescript motel room, as always: strange fading wallpaper, mottled carpet eaten by too many shoes, and a tiny bathroom tucked in the back corner that somehow seemed impossibly large whenever Dean walked into it. There were two beds this time, which wasn't always the case, but it had happened before so it wasn't any cause for worry. And the soft glow of light that filtered into almost every corner all day every day here seemed to pour out from a lamp on the nightstand between the beds, keeping company with the remote to the bureau-top TV.
Dean had been here too many times to count now, not every night, but many, and most times he was glad to see the place. It was comfortable and familiar and it always had his Sam, which would have been enough even if it hadn't been all that comfortable or familiar. Tonight, though, his haven had been infiltrated.
The man who was not his Sam, the man from out there who sent him to his knees for use, for pain, and for pleading, had found his way in here and it made Dean's stomach crawl up slowly in his throat like an overfed python just waiting to dump itself out and onto the floor.
Not-his-Sam was like a high-shine version of himself here and as much as Dean hated who he was a good deal of the time, he couldn't deny that his new status as a sadistic bastard didn't seem to make the man any less captivating. His over-shirt tapered for a classic fit across his broad chest and down over his waist, shirt tails curving over denim. It was casually half-buttoned and light in hue, a soft contrast to the middling dark of his t-shirt and loose-fit jeans.
He could have just been Sam. But he wasn't.
The confident off-angle of his shoulders made it seem like he was swaggering somewhere, though he was standing still at the foot of the farthest bed, and the smirk tilting his lips said that he was used to being the man on top and he liked it up there. His eyes, though, were the dead give away. There was always something dark and hard in those eyes, like the gleam of a gun quickly hidden away. When he had any choice in the matter, Dean never trusted a man with eyes like that. He didn't really have a choice, though, with Sam. All his choices had been stolen away.
Sammy stayed quiet, sitting on the closest bed, his well-worn t-shirt and boxers mirroring Dean's in every way but color, as they always did here when it was dark outside. He wasn't relaxing, though, like usual, lounging back, pecking away at his computer. He wasn't making cheesy jokes with the hint of a dorky grin, or even throwing a seemingly inexhaustible string of not-so-fluffy pillows at Dean's head while pretending to be immensely annoyed. He was barely breathing, body tense, and looking up at Dean with wide eyes, as if Dean could really fix this.
Not-his-Sam turned to Sammy, then, smirk bleeding into a leer. "You boys gonna put on a show for me?"
Dean stepped between them, his voice strained but forceful as he stared down the antagonist in front of him. "Leave him alone."
Not-his-Sam just quirked one eyebrow up, uncharacteristic amusement apparent in the lilt of his voice. "Why? He's me. Or a pathetic imitation of an already obsolete model." He paused, though, blinking, as if one thought had interrupted another, before continuing at a slower, warier, pace. "At least … that's what I thought, but …" Not-his-Sam leaned around him to peer at Sammy, his forehead crinkled in puzzlement and suspicion. "You feel … different … than other things here, Sammy … if that's really what I should call you." His head angled to the side a moment, lips pouting with the strength of his concentration. "You're like part him … and part me … and part something else … but that doesn't make any sense." Not-his-Sam's expression was hard, then, his lip slanting into a snarl. "What are you and why are you here?"
Dean didn't know what was going on, but Sammy sighed behind him, seemingly tired.
"If we need to have this conversation … we can't do it like this."
There seemed to be a hint in there that Dean didn't get. At least, not until Not-his-Sam had pushed him away, pressing his back against the nearest wall. It wasn't a hard shove, but he didn't do it with his hands. Apparently his powers worked even here.
Then, the Sams were talking, something he could see happening, but not really hear because his ears felt plugged somehow, so the sound was almost totally muffled. He could sometimes read lips, especially when either Sam was being particularly animated and speaking with his hands. Not-his-Sam, though, was turned partly away from him, facing Sammy, so he missed massive chunks of the dialogue, but he still caught a few of Sammy's words here and there.
"… … coping mechanism … …"
"… … broken … …"
"… … then leave … …"
"… … not just a copy … …"
"… … the bond between you … …"
"… … he doesn't even know … …"
"… … the visions … …"
"… … talk to him … …"
"… … he'll get there … …"
"… … I know that … …"
The conversation ended, almost abruptly, and both of them turned to him, though Sammy quickly looked away. Dean heard his ears pop and opened his mouth to see if his hearing was back.
"What was that all about?"
"Don't you worry your pretty little head about that. Everything's under control. … Just like you."
Not-his-Sam had that dark sheen in his eyes that he always got just before succumbing to some urge that usually turned Dean's stomach. So, Dean addressed his Sam instead.
"Sammy, you want to tell me what's going on?"
Sam lifted a hand to ruffle his hair with a frown of apology. "I can't directly tell you anything that you don't know or that you don't want to know."
Dean felt his eyebrows bunch and lift, alternating, as he tried to make sense of everything. "And … why is that?"
"It's just how these kinds of dreams work, Dean. They're your mind's way of processing things. So, you can't process pieces you don't have or don't want access to."
Dean huffed loudly, perplexed and incredulous. "Are you saying that you two can have a conversation in my dream and I can not know about it?"
"Maybe you don't want to know, Dean." Not-his-Sam's expression of fake compassion made Dean want to shove him into the bathroom or out the door, as if his darkness might infect his Sam. "Maybe you don't want to think about the fact that the only real Sam Winchester in this room … is me."
Dean felt his teeth click together, before the word pushed its way out of his mouth. "No."
Not-his-Sam flicked his wrist in Sammy's general direction with no small bit of disgust. "He's a figment of your imagination, Dean. He's a coping mechanism created so you can handle the reality you're living in."
"No, he's- … Sammy." Dean didn't really know what he was saying with that. He just felt like it was the truth somehow.
"Uh huh, sure." Not-his-Sam's tone was patronizing, the words flowing out slowly and over-enunciated as if Dean wouldn't be able to understand unless the language was superficially simplified for him. "Except … the real me grew and changed. Have you ever taken a really good look at your little dream-me here? He's a few years behind, don't you think?"
"No." Dean shook his head, but he could see it now, a bit. Sammy wasn't just a nice, sweet version of the man who called himself Sam Winchester nowadays. He was slightly younger, softer, not by much, but enough. Two years were apt to make a difference, especially if they'd been spent in stress and deception. This was Sam before he'd left, before everything had gotten so messed up.
"Maybe you modeled him after some rare day when I was smiling instead of sniffling pathetically in the passenger seat of the car." Not-his-Sam inched closer, eyes shifting from Dean to Sammy and back again. "When you look at him, does he remind you of some better time, even if you don't know quite when that was?"
Dean shrugged, uncomfortable all of a sudden, his unease only heightened by the way that Sammy was looking at him, so sad, like he wished this wasn't the truth. Dean could feel the truth in some of it, though, even if he didn't want to admit it, but he was sure that there was more to the Sam in his dreams than Not-his-Sam was suggesting.
"He's your security blanket, Dean! " Not-his-Sam spat out the words as if Sammy was a diseased insect instead of a pseudo-living being sitting only a few feet away from him. "He's a fucking stuffed bear, a night light, your favorite childhood handgun, whatever works for you. He's a thing made for comfort and not a person … certainly not me."
The whole conversation made Dean's head and stomach ache with the strain of keeping himself from doing something truly idiotic, like stuffing his fist in the crease of Sam's lip. He only narrowly resisted, sucking in air like oxygen alone could cool his suicidal defensiveness. "No! I mean- … I know he's part of the dream, but- … he's more than that. … I can feel it." He didn't really know what it was that he was feeling, but his gut said Sammy was somehow more and his gut was rarely wrong.
"I am." Sammy gave him a slight smile, nodding, and it seemed like he'd said the right thing, the true thing, even if he didn't know what it meant exactly.
Not-his-Sam's exhale was explosive, but his tone had the weight of easy resolve. "Fine. You can keep him around, if you want, but he needs to know who you belong to … whore."
Dean felt the drag of unseen nails over his skin, just before he heard the rip of his t-shirt and boxers shredding and falling to the floor around him. He moved to cover himself, but Not-his-Sam's power wound around him, keeping his arms at his sides. Then Not-his-Sam walked up and slid in behind him, soft cotton and rough denim brushing against his skin as Sam wrapped his arms around him, through the casing of his powers.
Sammy stuttered a little, looking anywhere but at them, though he didn't move to intervene. "I'll just- … go sit in the bathroom for a little while. Just- … knock when you're done."
"Oh, I wouldn't do that, Sammy." Sam mouthed at the back rim of Dean's ear as he spoke. "You're no match for me here and I will hurt Dean even more than I intend to, if you don't watch, or if you try to interfere."
Sam's breath was too heavy and too hot on Dean's skin, making him tense but he tried to spare his Sam the sight of what was to come, of his weakness and Sam's own cruelty.
"Go on to the bathroom, Sammy. It's okay. I'll- … I'll be okay."
Sam snickered behind him. "You know that's not true, Dean. If he doesn't want to watch, then I'm going to have to make sure he hears enough to understand. … You know you only scream for me when I really tear you up." A shiver started at Dean's shoulders and slowly spread down from there.
Sammy shook his head, expression troubled as he looked at Dean. "I'm in your head, Dean. I've already … seen … a lot. So … I'm staying, okay? You don't need to hurt for me any more than you already have to."
Dean let his eyes drop, then, but the rumble of Sam's laugh behind him made him freeze, stuck in the feel of fear.
"That's sweet. Worthless … but sweet." Dean felt Sam's whistled exhale flow by as Sam slid back into business mode. "You don't get to avert your eyes this time, though, whore. I want you to look at your little dreamboy and tell him what you are."
Dean thought to refuse for a moment, but the compulsion passed, training or maybe self-preservation instincts kicking in, and he lifted his head. He angled it away, though, as he started to mumble the words that seemed ten times more shameful when his Sam was right there, when he would hear and be tainted by those words, and when he would see how much Dean was already tainted by them. "I'm your … property. … I'm your-"
Sam's strength, in arms and powers, squeezed painfully around Dean briefly and he stopped with a grunt.
"Look at him and start over, whore." Sam's words were heated and deliberate. "This is for both of you, so that neither of you gets confused during your little visits here. He needs to know what you are and who you belong to."
Lifting his head to look into his Sam's eyes made his stomach fill with tiny heavy stones, one dropping in with every blink.
"Tell him."
Sam left Dean no room for rebellion and if Dean thought about this logically, he'd know that Sammy lived in his head and that they'd talked about Not-his-Sam sometimes, so this wouldn't be new information. It was just … kind of horrific and surreal, being there with both of them. This was the place he went to be with the Sam he remembered and now his outside life was being forced into a space where it wasn't supposed to be.
He swallowed, making his mouth work over words learned by rote. "I'm your property. … I'm your whore. … Always and everywhere."
"Hear that, Sammy? Property. Whore. Always. Everywhere. … Mine." The fingers of Sam's right hand splayed as he pressed against Dean's abdomen, displaying his ownership "It could have been yours Sam, but you were too weak to claim what rightfully belonged to you."
The rapid rise and fall of his Sam's chest was the only indication that he even heard what his twisted alter ego was saying. He had eyes only for Dean and they were bright with determination.
Not-his-Sam's voice was smooth but somehow slimy as it crawled out of his mouth like it had been greased just to make this pitch. "Dean always wanted to be this. He- ..."
"No." Dean was shaking his head subtly, but his eyes were pleading with his Sam, pleading for him to not believe this.
"He always wanted to know that he belonged to you. But you, the way you were then? Some weak little punk who maybe had the balls to talk, but hardly had the strength to act? You weren't ever going to be able to handle Dean like he needed." Sam's left hand slid down to squeeze Dean's thigh, as if to somehow symbolize all the techniques, born of sex and pain, that he used to 'handle' Dean, and Dean couldn't hide his sharp intake of breath, though the touch itself didn't hurt. "And that's why he belongs to me, that's why you're in here and I'm out there. I'm the one with enough power and skill to be a good owner for my whore brother and still have the energy to make sure that we live the good life. You couldn't do that and you didn't want to."
It was hard, knowing that any of Not-his-Sam's words true, but some of them were, in a way, and Dean could see acknowledgement of those bits of truth reflected back at him from his Sam's eyes. Besides Dad, Sam was all Dean had ever had and he'd wanted it to be them, Sam and Dean, pretty much 'til Judgement Day, which ironically seemed pretty close at hand right then. But Sam never really understood how much Dean needed that connection, that bond. Dean had been left on wayside far more times than he'd have liked, whenever things came up in Sam's life. So yeah, some part of him did almost want to belong to Sam, but that didn't have anything to do with wanting to be some kind of slave.
Not-his-Sam moved in closer behind him and Dean's whole body locked up as he felt the outline of Sam's rising erection, knowing, before Sam even opened his mouth, just what would come next. "So … now that you know what he is and that you could have had him, but were too fucking weak. I'm going to show you that he's mine, so that neither of you will forget that."
"Please- …" Dean stopped, mid-plea, before he said anything negative about what Sam was going to do, knowing it would just earn him something worse and punishment to boot.
"You see what a slut he is for me?" Dean felt Sam's grin against his neck, even though Sam had to know that Dean hadn't meant it like that. "You could have had this, Sammy, but you missed out. … He's mine now."
Sam brought two fingers to Dean's lips, angling for entry. "Open." Dean slowly unlocked his jaw, inching his mouth open as Sam's fingers began to slide in. "Get them all wet for me, whore."
Dean shuddered, shamed, but knew that Sam wouldn't hesitate to punish him here, in front of his Sam, and he just couldn't deal with having to watch Sammy see the cold pleasure of the man who claimed his name when he was in punishment mode. So, he sucked then laved his tongue around and between the two fingers in his mouth until Sam pulled them out again. Then, Sam shifted back a little before sliding those wet fingers into the cleft of Dean's ass and pressing them both into him at once. Dean gasped as they shoved their way inside and his eyelids fell closed as he arched up.
"Open your eyes, whore, and look!" Sam's tone was more than commanding, almost angry, despite the slow roll of his fingers inside Dean, which was far from brutal.
Dean struggled to keep his eyes open and looking at Sammy. His Sam's eyes weren't brimming over with pity, instead they held only concern and a lot of misplaced guilt.
"He's not you." Dean pressed the words out into the air, half-cry and half-plea, for understanding from Sammy, and for belief from himself.
Not-his-Sam at his back spoke harsh over his shoulder, though, as he began to fuck Dean roughly with his fingers. "No, I'm not, whore. Not only am I real, but I actually want you to belong to me. I made you belong to me. You think your sweet little Sammy would've let you belong to him? You think he would've stopped trying to get away from you long enough to give you what you needed? Huh?" Sam implied all the content of those needs in the way the fingertips of his free hand ran over Dean's no longer wholly soft cock. "He'd still be looking for that white picket fence and those two-point-five kids that he'd be scared to leave you alone with, in case you taught them something about the creatures lurking in the dark."
Dean shook his head because he knew that wasn't true. He did. They'd talked and Sam was- … He was thinking about sticking around and- … They were going to keep hunting. Family business and everything. Sam was going to stay this time. He'd said he would. He just- … He didn't stay because Dean had said things he shouldn't, done things he shouldn't. Sam would've stayed if he hadn't pushed him away. He knew that. He did.
"Sammy didn't want you, Dean." As if to punctuate his words, Sam's fingers curved inside him, dragging roughly until Dean couldn't tell if his groan was more from pain or pleasure.
His Sam jumped in, though, as Dean found his way back to staggered breathing, his voice quiet but earnest. "Dean, you know that's not true."
"Shut up!" Not-his-Sam gritted the words out, the trunk of his body stiffening, as his fingers stilled and heated in Dean's ass. "What did I tell you about interfering?!"
A low throaty cry ripped out of Dean as a talon of Sam's power slashed a thin red line just below his pecs and when he glanced down, he could see the slow drip of blood even though the wound felt shallow. He snapped his eyes back up quickly, though, before Sam could choose to do more damage. His Sam looked upset and worried and horrified all at once, shifting his jaw as he glared over Dean's shoulder at his darker half before reconnecting his gaze with Dean's. Dean thought to open his mouth and say that he was okay, but then, Sam's fingers were shifting again, twisting inside him and pushing themselves deeper until his breaths stumbled in and out and his cock rose hard and fast.
"Sammy didn't want you, whore. Nobody wanted you. They all left you and with hardly a look back." Sam was steadily toying with all of Dean's sensation buttons as he spoke, fingers moving deftly in Dean's ass as his other hand slid up to press against the newly opened cut. "They were never going to stay with you or let you stay with them. … One day, you would've just been alone."
The pain and the pleasure mixed with Not-his-Sam's words, affecting Dean deeper than conditional truths really should. He was shaking his head, but his movements became slower and slower. Sammy's eyes had that same look of sad truth and it triggered a dull pain just below Dean's throat as if his heart muscles were overworked and seizing up. Not-his-Sam gave him no time to process anything, though. He just drove through Dean's hurt until it was just another bit of mental disruption, further jumbling Dean's thoughts.
Dean fought to find his mental footing, but tripped again and again as the sweep of lust and the sting of split flesh drowned out half his mind's coherency. Then Sam was smearing blood down Dean's front as he fucked his fingers into him faster and even with the swath of red, sticky on his skin, Dean knew that he'd be halfway to coming right then if there'd been a hand on his cock. There were things he should be worrying over, words that needed evaluating, but it was hard when his natural inclination was to focus on the way his hole was being stretched around long thick fingers and his cock was throbbing for attention. It made him hate that he was so easy, that Sam knew his body so well that physical want could be built with the slightest strum of Sam's hands on him.
"I'm giving you a chance to really be with me, Dean, to be with me always. All I'm asking you to do is be my good boy, service me like a good whore, and attend to my needs, because you belong to me, because you're meant to be mine." Sam's words held all the profound conviction of a zealot calling for converts. "And you love this, being my whore. You're so hard right now because you want this. More than that, I bet you want me to fuck you. I bet it's driving you crazy that I'm not slamming my cock into you and fisting your dick right now."
Dean couldn't stifle the cracked moan that leaked out of his throat as Sam's fingers shifted again, making quick hard sweeps over his prostate. He knew that he didn't want to be a whore, even if Sam's ministrations made him ache to come. Sam just knew how to play his body into whatever needy shape that he wanted it to be in. In the mind-melting heat of sexual need, however, Dean couldn't ignore the fact that some part of him did want always, and that some small bit of him, rational or not, might even want always even if it had to be like this. If this was really the only way he'd ever get it. But he just couldn't yet believe that there was no other way to belong to Sam, his Sam, so he couldn't wholly give himself over to this warped version of his brother.
He let himself arch against the man who was not his Sam. He let himself moan as Not-his-Sam fucked him with his fingers. He even begged for the feel of Not-his-Sam's hand wrapped around his cock and begged that same man for the privilege to come, like a good whore should. But he knew that even if the man at his back was the one who owned him out in the world right then, deep down, he'd always be holding out for Sammy.
When Dean came, Sam's hand slid to catch the bulk of the spunk as Dean's cock jerked in time with his gasps. Then Sam raised that hand to Dean's lips, coating them before reminding Dean that the 'fun' to come had been his idea.
"Is this what you wanted, whore? I know you begged for this a few weeks back, but … I never got around to letting you really do it, did I? I thought maybe now that you have an audience that you'd like this even more."
Dean could see the question in his Sam's eyes as he watched Not-his-Sam rub a come-slick palm over Dean's mouth. And Dean thought he knew, maybe, what this might be about, but that just made his lungs shudder with every breath.
"Well get to it, whore. You begged for this." Sam's speech skirted the line between indulgent and impatient, as if this really was just as much about giving Dean what he wanted as it was about making Dean do what Sam wanted. "I let you ride my fingers in front of your dreamboy and I even let you come. Don't you want to show me what good little whore you are?"
When Dean didn't move to do anything, Sam flicked his tongue out to trace the bottom of Dean's ear, his voice playful and demanding at the same time. "Oh, don't play coy with me, whore. You said that you wanted to eat your own spunk out of my hand, didn't you?"
Dean allowed himself a slow blink, remembering the words leaving his mouth, and he cringed even though the circumstances had been very particular. Sam always had a way of taking everything out of context and screwing him over with even the softest of reminders.
Sam sucked Dean's earlobe into his mouth, teeth denting the skin and throwing Dean's thoughts into chaos again, before he let his words out in a darkly flirtatious gust of warm air. "You did say that, didn't you? You begged for this, right, whore?"
It took a few tries, but Dean's mouth finally formed around the proper words, even as he tried not to notice the way his Sam had glanced away from him just then. "Yes, sir."
"Well then … enjoy."
Dean felt his cock twitch, attempting to respond to the lusty timbre of his owner's voice, but his brow bent and his eyes pleaded with Sammy to look away for real this time, to get up and leave even. But he opened his mouth, lips and tongue slowly moving over Sam's hand, licking Sam's palm clean then sucking down the droplets clinging to each of Sam's fingers. He swallowed as Sam pulled his hand away, but his tongue darted back out to drag away the stray traces of come from his lips. And for a second, he saw the way his Sam's expression twisted, likely in disgust, and something in his gut clenched hard until he was aching inside.
It made him wonder if his Sam would even still want him after everything that he'd been and done for the man his brother had become.
Sam's hands were riding low at Dean's hips, then, and despite the way that Sam's cock pressed, hard, against the curve of his ass, Sam didn't seem revved up to demonstrate his ownership in more ways, allowing an uncommon reprieve. Dean stifled a sigh of relief, but let some of the tension in his body slip away when he could feel Sam's hum of satisfaction all the way from his collarbone to the soles of his feet. He may have shuddered as Sam's hands slid over his skin, but there was a well-trained little part of him that was glad that he'd been pleasing to his owner. It seeped contentment into his bloodstream in a way that he wouldn't examine but couldn't ignore. What it really meant, though, was that he was a good boy and that meant less yelling, less punishment, more kindness, more rewards, and even though the fear was always there, the few perks of being good were hard to say no to.
"I'm done with you … for now … but make sure to be good boy for me, even when I'm not here." Sam's tone dropped, low and sinister, as his lips and teeth scraping over the skin at the back of Dean's jaw. "Anything done in here will still have consequences out there. You understand that, don't you, whore?"
Dean bit his lip and nodded slowly, trying not to think about how thoroughly fucked up it was that he couldn't even do what he wanted in his own dreams.
Sam's fingers were tracing over Dean's chest, down his sides, and along the tops of his thighs, before brushing over his cock, claiming him, as his words slithered into Dean's ear. "Mine, whore. Always … and everywhere … mine."
Then Sam was gone, vanishing in the same startling way he'd arrived, and suddenly the room seemed a tone brighter, the air less weighty on Dean's shoulders, and the walls stopped their crawl towards the center of the room. Dean was left naked and used, looking into the eyes of the man he'd been holding out for, the man he'd been enduring everything for, and yet, when it was just them, he looked into those eyes and felt like he was the one who'd been lost and corrupted and stained.
Act 2: The Sam In Here
Tags:
- !fanfic,
- category: slash,
- challenge: 100moods,
- challenge: 365wprompts,
- challenge: 50kinkyways,
- character: dean winchester,
- character: sam winchester,
- fandom: supernatural,
- fic series: walking,
- fic universe: spn evil!sammy,
- genre: angst!fic,
- genre: apocalypse!fic,
- genre: au!fic,
- genre: dark!fic,
- genre: dream!fic,
- genre: future!fic,
- genre: kink!fic,
- genre: plot!fic,
- genre: smut!fic,
- genre: wincest!fic,
- kink: bdsm,
- kink: domination/submission,
- kink: doubles/twins/clones,
- kink: dubious-consent,
- kink: manipulation,
- kink: voyeurism,
- pairing: sam/dean,
- rating: nc-17,
- type: multi-chapter,
- warning: violence
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 03:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-12 02:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 04:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-12 02:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 07:44 pm (UTC)I just read the evil!Sam verse and I'm so messed up right now!
It chilled me right through the bones.
It's weird, that I fucking loved each story!
And want to read more about this evil!Sam and a Dean, who just has no choices other than submition, pain or drug...
Dean so helpless, it's freaking me out!
no subject
Date: 2007-05-12 02:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-12 03:45 pm (UTC)I LOVE IT! As weird as it sounds, I LOVE IT!
And I'm so waiting for more!
no subject
Date: 2007-05-12 03:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-08 01:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-12 02:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-08 07:38 am (UTC)Damn, but this part is good.
Okay, that's about as coherent as I'm going to get and if the next part is even as close to the intensity of this part, I'm going to need a day off work because you've scrambled my brain like eggs.
I'm kind of feeling like Dean right now, thank you very much.
:Saves to memories:
no subject
Date: 2007-05-12 02:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-08 10:24 am (UTC)Dean had just lost the only place in which he was even remotely safe with his Sammy.
I love that you divided them into No-his-Sam and Sammy.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-12 02:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-08 01:09 pm (UTC)I love when fic does that to me.
Thanks for sharing this.
I'm on my way to reading more.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-12 02:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-13 10:33 pm (UTC)And you take beta feedback really well: this piece just gets better every time I read it! :D
no subject
Date: 2007-05-22 03:52 am (UTC)And thank you! I admit I'm not always such a great beta customer, but I do appreciate betas taking the time to read things through, so I try to be as reasonable about their suggestions as possible. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-06-12 12:21 pm (UTC)As for the Sam/Dean dependency/love thing ... it's a little tricky. For now, I'll just say that things aren't as black-and-white as either Dean or most readers would like to think. I have a very particular premise for both of these characters and maybe people won't like it, but I'll generally say that I think Dean (in this 'verse and even in the SPN canon 'verse) has so much of his identity and sense of self-worth tangled up with Sam, so I'm not sure how independent he really is in the first place. And as for love, I'd say that there is love there and always has been, but love never means the absence of hurt.
The endings are tricky. I don't think they're sad, but they don't fit the traditional notion of "happy" either really, I don't think. I do think they fit this series, though, so I hope people enjoy them, when we get there.
Whore Academy might actually be the piece that goes up this month, we'll see, and it's not quite a Training Day, but it should be a bit of sexy, angsty fun with some more character insights. But, I'm glad you're looking forward to it and that you enjoy the plot as well as the porn in my pieces. :)