dimitri_aidan (dimitri_aidan) wrote in da_requiem,
dimitri_aidan
dimitri_aidan
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Into The Fire

Into the Fire
I don’t own anything you can plainly identify. Makes me sad… Title is a song by Sarah McLachlan.

Author: Dimitri Aidan
Fandom: Supernatural
Betaed by Mechante Fille. Hail her and her ability to make me look like I can write…
Pairings: Dean/Sam.
Rating: ...R?
Warnings: Incest, Spanking, and Punishment. I like to mix my kinks…
Summery: Sam’s having issues with a mistake he thinks he made. Dean helps him work them out.
Spoilers for...eh, everything. Mostly the pilot, Scarecrow, and Asylum.
Notes: My first Supernatural fic so I ask you to do your worst. This whole story hinges on my belief that sometimes certain people need to be smacked before they can move on, even if they didn’t really didn’t do anything wrong in other people’s eyes. If that confuses you I wouldn’t read this. Written for my boyfriend, in honor of his 28th birthday.
I wasn’t going to post this here, actually, because I didn’t want to deal with the potential fallout but decided, after an idiotic anti-Wincest flame to do it anyway. Just call me passive aggressive.
The movie Sam mentions: House of Yes. Incest on the big screen.

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Into the Fire
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Dean wasn’t speaking, hadn’t spoken since they’d left that small town in Kentucky two nights ago. A steady stream of music filled the silence and with every new tape Dean put in the urge to curl up and die became harder and harder to resist. Dean’s left arm was no longer bandaged at least, as the damage Sam had done was mostly superficial and had mended together very well, though it may have had something to do with the paste that the women they’d gone to Kentucky to help had given them.

There was still a long jagged mark cutting across his skin from wrist to elbow and every time Dean shifted in his seat or rubbed at his arm Sam flinched. It hadn’t been bad but it could have been. He could blame the dark or the circumstances or fear but he had been training for this stuff since he was a child, a couple of years in school shouldn’t have dulled his senses so much. He should have known that it was Dean coming up behind him; the thing they were hunting flew and stuck to the treetops and even if it had come to the ground it wouldn’t have made so much noise.

Dean had been just a little louder than a hunter should be so he wouldn’t be startled but Sam had been so…so something that he’d just reacted. He should have known better, used his head but he’d lashed out with the short sword he was holding. If Dean hadn’t been on guard like he was, Sam probably would have stabbed him, but his brother had stumbled back into the tree to his side and had only been grazed. If he hadn’t been wearing his jacket and a long-sleeved shirt it would have been worse.

Dean hadn’t made a noise of pain, just grabbed his hand and glared at him, eyes bright in spite of the blackness pressing against them on all sides.

“Fuck.” Dean’s voice was a low hiss through his teeth and Sam took a step back, looking at the weapon in his hand and the blood that stained the edge. There wasn’t much but it was enough to make Sam’s heart drop. He looked back up and saw Dean poking a finger through the tear in the denim jacket he was wearing. “Fuck, Sammy-”

He wanted to apologize or something and could already feel the obligatory words starting to escape his lips but something heavy dropped onto his back and he got a mouthful of wet leaves and dirt instead. He felt the edge of the sword just out reach of his fingers and the weight on his back had crushed all of the air from his lungs. He couldn’t draw anymore in either, only getting a nose and mouthful of damp earth. The taste in his mouth was heavy and mud coated his tongue, the scent of earth so thick it almost made him dizzy. He coughed then shouted, however muffled, into the ground as sharp claws dug into his back. His own fingers tried to find purchase in the damp ground so he could try to force the thing off of him or move closer to his sword.

He didn’t really hear the shot but felt it hit the creature on his back when it’s claws jerked out of his skin in a way that hurt almost as when they dug in. There was a warm gush over his head as the creature shuddered before slumping over to the side.

It had taken some work but they had managed to pull him from underneath the creature, a gargoyle according to his research, and then set the body on fire. Dean had muttered something about ‘this being why he couldn’t use the gun anymore’ then walked off leaving Sam to stare at the burning corpse, which smelled more and more like someone was burning rotting meat the longer it burned.

Other than where the gargoyle had dug it’s stone- like claws into his back and the thick, putrid, green blood covering him, he was fine. He’d thrown up in the woods, the smell just that bad, and a shower, some of that paste, and a few bandages later he was good as new.

In a manner of speaking, anyway.

He’d be better if Dean would just fucking…say something. Sam knew he was mad, he had every right to be mad. Sam just kept…fucking things up, and not just a little bit. How many times had Dean been hurt because of him? The mistakes he made weren’t justifiable, they were stupid and it was obvious by the silent treatment that Dean knew it as well.

He slunk lower in his seat, head resting against the glass, which was kept cool by the rain coming down in sheets around them. Visibility extended a few feet, with the high beams on, and Dean was hunched over the wheel, knuckles white, from gripping it so hard. His lips pressed into a terse line, forehead wrinkled…Sam swore he could feel the tension rolling off of him in waves.

Sam looked back out of the window. A sign for a motel declared it to be a half-mile ahead. The signs had started some ten miles or so back, much to his relief. They’d taken turns sleeping in the car the past few days and to say it felt claustrophobic would have been a vast understatement.

They turned in the parking lot not too long after that, head beams cutting across the other cars in the lot. Sam had his door open and was sliding out before the car was even off, taking off at a run for the front desk. He opened the door and the bell above it rang, prompting the squat, balding man behind the counter to look up from what appeared to be a basketball game.

“Hello. I didn’t expect anyone else tonight in this weather.” Indeed he looked a little surprised. Weird, Sam would have thought places like this got most of their business in bad weather when people didn’t want to drive through the night. He just shrugged and raked a hand through his hair, which was already soaked and sticking to his head. His jacket had kept him mostly dry but he imagined that if it were raining any harder it wouldn’t have, even in that five second run.

The man smiled again and pulled what must have been the sign- in book out. “Well then young man, cash or credit and what kind of room would you like?”

Sam opened his mouth for a second then shut it. It wasn’t that he didn’t know what to say, he wasn’t a total idiot after all, it was just that this was usually Dean’s thing. He felt less guilty about the credit card scam Dean used to buy…everything when he just stood on the sidelines and watched. Not that not being directly involved made it okay or anything, just made it easier to sleep at night.

“Something wrong?” The man blinked at him, looking as confused as most people probably would in the face of his admittedly strange behavior. Sam started to turn and see what was taking Dean when the bell tinkled again. Dean brushed past him, sparing him nothing but a raised eyebrow.

“One room please.”

“One?” The man said, looking past Dean at Sam who looked away, suddenly finding his shoes interesting. The laces weren’t tied, which was strange because he distinctly recalled tying them at some vague point and he liked to think he was beyond his shoes becoming needlessly untied. What was he, a child?

He nudged the loose shoestring with the toe of his other shoe, glaring at it balefully. A few minutes later Dean nudged him before going back out into the rain, the bells tinkling almost swallowed by the sound of the rain. Sam followed Dean, hurrying down to room 5 and waiting for Dean to unlock it.

Something his brother wasn’t making a move to do. Sam looked down at him, hair dripping water into his face and frowned. Dean had his arms crossed over his chest, obviously waiting for something.

“What?”

There was a spark of anger in Dean’s eyes but it quickly vanished. “What’s going on with you, Sam?”

“Huh?” He pushed his hair out of his eyes, wondering why they had to have this conversation outside. While he was glad Dean was talking, because it meant they’d be able to resolve this, he was quickly getting soaked all the way through.

“What’s. Going. On?” Dean stretched the words out, sounding each one out in a way that would make most people feel stupid. Sam just shrugged. Dean looked almost disgusted for a moment, then, pushing the bag he was holding into Sam’s arms, unlocked the door and went in. Sam looked at the bag; it was his. He hadn’t even thought about it when he’d been getting out.

He sighed and walked in, shutting the door before dropping his bag. He looked over at Dean, who was sitting in one of the chairs, wet clothes and all, staring at him. He pushed his hair back again before crossing his arms over his chest. It was only a matter of time before Dean said something. While he had no problem bottling up ‘sappy’ emotions, things like anger and annoyance just wouldn’t stay buried for long, which is why the past two days had been agonizing.

Dean should have blown up and then moved on by now but once again he was just shrugging it off as if it were nothing at all.

“This is… I mean, first you don’t say a damn word to me for two days and now you’re acting weird in front of other people. What the fuck is wrong?”

Sam rocked back on his heels then shrugged again. “I thought you were mad?”

Dean’s expression became one of confusion. “Why? Did you destroy another one of my tapes? I let you off that first time but if you keep pushing me I’m going to have to ki-”

“About the gargoyle.” Sam interrupted, knowing that if he let him Dean would go on for an hour and then forget what the hell had set him off to begin with. Dean just stared and Sam sighed. “I could have hurt you.”

“What? This?” Dean pointed at his arm then snorted. “It’s just a scratch. I mean, I did just buy that coat, but it looks better with the hole. More rugged. Chicks like rugged guys.”

Sam frowned and sat down on his bed, clothes shifting uncomfortably against his skin. “But I could have. Like in the Asylum and with the Scarecrow-”

Like with Jess. He should have protected her…shouldn’t have even fucking left, should have been with her when it happened so he could…do something other than stare as his whole life erupted into flames around the woman he loved.

Not that it mattered now. This was about Dean anyway, not Jess.

“You had nothing to do with that; you weren’t even there.”

“Exactly! I should have been. Going off to find Dad like that and leaving her…you alone…what if I hadn’t come back?”

Dean’s eyes flashed for a second. “What did you say?”

“What if I hadn’t come back? You could have died and…I don’t know.”

“I could have died a lot of times. Besides, the thought never crossed my mind. You’re worse than some people’s mothers Sammy; I know you’ve got my back no matter what.” Dean’s tone was dismissive and he stood up, clearly ready to just push the whole thing aside and Sam should have just left it at that was well, but he knew that would do nothing for the guilt gnawing at his gut. It threatened to rip him apart and, even though it was selfish, he couldn’t just let it go.

“Unless I’m trying to kill you.”

It was barely noticeable; the clenching of the fists and the slight twitch, but Sam saw it all. Dean sat back in his seat, eyes narrowed as he swung his legs up onto the desk and narrowly missed the lamp. For a moment he said nothing, just watched him.


“Fine Sam, what do you want me to do? Yell at you? Kick your ass? Kick you out of the car and leave you on the side of the road in Tennessee or something?” Dean didn’t sound mad, his voice was almost conversational, just a few notes softer than it usually was.

Sam was surprised for a second then looked away. “I don’t know. Something other than pretending nothing’s wrong.”

There was another silence, longer than the first one. The minutes stretched on with only the sound of Dean’s breathing and the rain pounding outside. It made Sam’s skin itch with the intensity of it. He could almost hear the wheels turning in his brother’s head.

Finally he heard Dean’s feet hit the ground. “I’m going to take a shower. Don’t move. At all.”

Sam was suddenly reminded of being young and in trouble, a rare occurrence until he hit about twelve. Their father was always been too busy to take calls from school or visit teachers and had, instead, always opted to let Dean deal with it. Dean hadn’t been very good at it in the beginning since he’d always been in trouble himself and hadn’t seen a problem with the occasional rebellion.

Until the occasional rebellion became a constant one. It had suddenly dawned on him, one day in math class, that as long as he didn’t get expelled he could do whatever the hell he wanted. Dad didn’t care and would sooner move to a new district than deal with school crap and Dean was his older brother, always in trouble himself, what would he do except laugh about it with him later.

And so it had gone for about a month until something had…changed. One day he came home after securing a week of all-day detention and the moment he stepped into the apartment a cold feeling had rushed over him. In hindsight he’d wondered if it was some kind of precursor to what was going on with him now. Dean had been sitting on the couch, feet on the coffee table and eyes on the empty TV screen.

He didn’t even look up when Sam had walked in, simply ordered him to sit in the chair Dean had placed next to the couch and not move or else. Sam had been confused but had done it. Almost three hours had passed with the two of them just sitting as the sun went down, neither moving nor speaking.

Finally Dean had turned to him, eyes cold. “I dropped out today. If you fuck up half as bad as I have I’ll kill you. Beat it.”

Which had only expounded on the confusion. Their father hadn’t been upset. He’d been more like elated, declaring that Dean could work with him full time now. Sam hadn’t understood; how could Dean drop out and then threaten him? It was…stupid. Hypocritical…utterly and completely Dean. Do as I say, but not as I do…

The bathroom door creaked open and Dean, hair wet and fresh clothes sticking to him with dampness, walked out and pulled the chair he hadn’t been sitting in over to rest in front of Sam then sat down. His eyes were dark and thoughtful.

“Take your clothes off.” Sam’s mind did a fantastic job of grinding to a halt and he was almost positive his mouth dropped open. Dean’s expression didn’t even flicker. “Now, Sam.”

The words ’Don’t make me say it again’ hung in the air and, biting his lower lip, Sam stood up and popped the button on his jeans. He had a sick feeling swimming around in his stomach. There were only two places this was going and since the first involved incest and other words no one ever mentions in front of their own siblings he knew it was probably the second.

He toed off his shoes then hesitated, looking up at Dean who just stared at him, lips pressed into a thin line.

Sam hadn‘t stayed out of trouble because of Dean‘s threat. It wasn’t in the Winchester nature to do anything because of some stupid and cryptic threat, so he could hardly be blamed. He’d come home a few weeks later, in trouble again and his brother, newly sixteen, had taken him over his knee and spanked him.

Most kids were done with beatings at twelve and Sam had suffered his first one. More humiliating than painful, he hadn’t spoken to Dean for a week afterwards. Not that Dean had given a damn since he’d been gone the whole week, hunting with Dad. Sam could count on one hand the number of times he’d been spanked, all before his thirteenth birthday.

Sam wasn’t stupid after all. He’d learned to respect Dean’s hypocrisy for the sake of his ego because after the first time they became legitimately painful and there was nothing worse than a teenager crying in front of other people. His pride had kept him out of trouble.

His jeans stuck to his skin as he pulled them down, boxers following. On one hand he was glad to be getting out of the soaked clothing but on the other hand he doubted this could possibly be more humiliating. Dean was watching him unashamedly and Sam could feel himself blushing as he shucked his shirt and let it fall into the pile with the rest of his things.

It wasn’t like they’d never seen each other without clothes, of course. They’d shared a room most of Sam’s life; they’d seen more than just each other naked in that time. Not since Sam had gone to Stanford though, in spite of the sometimes too close way they lived. There was just something strange about seeing another guy naked, even your brother, after you hit a certain age.

For most it had been about 14; for Sam it had been 18 and only because he’d been away. If he’d never left, who was to say it would have ever become a problem?

He looked down at his arms feeling gooseflesh starting to rise up there. He was shivering, more cold than he’d realized. Dean’s hand closed around his wrist in a firm grip and his throat went dry as he was pulled into his brother’s lap. Dean’s hands rubbed down his arms, almost hot against his cold flesh and he tried to swallow so that he could say something…what, he couldn’t say, but something.

This was weird, as in slowly creeping past Winchester type weird into another kind of strange he couldn’t quite pinpoint just yet. He tried to stay perfectly still and stiff in Dean’s lap but the other man seemed to be radiating warmth and he was damn cold and it wasn’t like he’d put himself there and a million other rationalizations that would work in this scenario. He leaned closer, trying to soak in some of Dean’s heat and letting himself relax some. Hands rubbed over him and he had to confess it felt really…good.

He hadn’t really been touched by anyone since Jess. Hadn’t really allowed anyone else to touch him, though he’d certainly had his fair share of offers. He wasn’t Dean after all; couldn’t allow someone else to crawl into his bed and touch him knowing full well he’d be leaving in the morning. It might be one thing if he could pretend that maybe it was something more, but he couldn’t do that, not the way they lived.

Dean was all he had and, though Dean was everything else in the world to him, he couldn’t be that as well.

Eventually Dean pushed him up some and Sam complied, looking at his brother warily. “You know how this works.”

“You’re serious.” Sam said, keeping his voice carefully deadpan.

Dean smiled wryly. “You asked for it.”

Sam had to bite his tongue to keep from correcting his brother and instead just rolled his eyes. He couldn’t even see how this could work without being awkward.

“I changed my mind.”

“Turn over and shut up. I’m not going to listen to you whine anymore, end of story.” Dean still didn’t look mad, but he’d never looked mad when Sam was in trouble. Resigned, regretful, sad even…but never mad. Anger was a product of this new Dean, the Dean who was chasing their father and helping Sam avenge Jess.

This however…he was looking at someone he hadn’t seen in years. Not his brother, but the man who’d looked out for him, made sure he had food and helped him with homework and made sure he stayed out of trouble. Talked to teachers and signed permission slips and things like that. Things that he shouldn’t have had to do as the older brother but did anyway just because…because.

Sam shook his head, starting to stand. This was just too…too strange. Dean grabbed him again and pulled him harder, setting him off balance. Sam had to reach out and grab onto Dean’s arms to keep upright, stomach clenching and some part of his brain screaming that he was a grown man and this was the most ridiculous and demeaning thing that Dean could have possibly come up with. His brother was a sadist, the voice continued on, and he was apparently developing some crazed masochistic tendencies, because an arm was around his waist and pulling him until he was face down on Dean’s lap and he wasn‘t screaming in protest, and the voice just didn’t approve at all.

The carpet is a mixture of blue and red, swirling in some kind of pattern that made him almost sick to stare at like this.

He was a bit awkward, on his stomach with Dean‘s leg scant inches from his cock and the other under his chest. He wasn’t sure if he could have gotten up or not, as Dean’s arm was heavy across the small of his back. He could feel it flex and tense before his weight was shifted just slightly. Before he could try to move he was crying out as a kind of tingly pain crawled over his skin. He had heard the smack a second before he felt it and one of his hands had grabbed onto Dean’s leg reflexively.

He hadn’t cried out from pain exactly, more surprise and so when Dean’s hand came down again he kept his mouth shut. Two more smacks and the tingling became a burning and he bit his lip against it. Dean had always been stupidly heavy handed and apparently nothing had changed. Another crack, louder than all the others and that much harder and Sam jerked away, nearly toppling out of Dean’s lap.

He heard a soft sigh as he was pulled back into place and would have said something about Dean not having the right to be annoyed, considering. Another smack and he managed to stay still but his toes curled and his fingers dug into Dean’s calf more. He probably could have tried harder to get away, probably could have done it, but didn’t, half afraid that if he tried he’d end up falling and cracking his head on the bedside table, which loomed less than a foot from his face.

Another two smacks, practically on top of each other, and he tasted what could only be his own blood. He released his teeth, trying to draw in air he hadn’t realized he needed and Dean smacked him again. He couldn’t keep from crying out again. Pain crept its way over his entire backside, fierce and prickling, as did heat. He could only imagine the skin was turning bright red.

The rest came the same way, hard and with no pause in between and Sam didn’t even try to keep track, just squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to make any noise, though he failed at that rather spectacularly. Instead of hurting less each hurts more and he was very nearly crying which was the last thing he wanted to be doing.

Next to last.

Dean’s hand rested on his ass for a long moment, just sitting there and he wondered what was going on in his brother’s head. Both hands moved and Sam felt tears burning the back of his eyes worse than before. He tried to glare at Dean as he was placed upright but it was hard with his eyes stinging as they did. His ass stung and sitting on Dean’s leg didn’t help any. It must not have worked, the glaring, because Dean reached out and brushed what must have been an escaped tear from his face. Sam really wanted to be mad, really, but he was just…

Tired.

Dean’s finger traveled down to his lip, touching it so gently that Sam looked away, though he didn’t move, and sniffled. God this was humiliating. Dean’s other hand came up, touching the side of his face and again his thumb moved over the space just below his eyes.

Sam realized his vision was blurry.

“Hey, Sammy-”

That completely undid him, broke through things Sam hadn‘t even known were there and left them all shattered on the ground like Dean‘s windshield every other week. He choked on nothing and knocked Dean’s hand away even as the tears started coming down faster. Heard Dean sigh again before arms wrapped him in a hug he really didn’t want any part of but huddled into anyway.

Cried on Dean’s shoulder and felt hands rubbing circles on his back and couldn’t help but feel like a little kid. Not so much like a kid he refused the attention, in fact part of him was soaking it up, and so he stayed that way. He could hear Dean’s voice in his ear, low and soothing in a way Dean hadn‘t been since he was young and had nightmares that woke them both in the middle of the night.

“It’s over now. Don’t think about any of that shit anymore, it’s over. Over. Let it go.” He cried harder.

It took time but eventually he was just hiccupping softly and waiting for Dean’s smartass remarks to start, because there was no way Dean would be able to resist.

“Sammy.” Dean’s voice was quiet and his lips brushed over Sam’s ear gently. “Feeling better?”

Sam pulled back and rubbed at his eyes, considering the stupid question. Of course not, he had just been hauled over Dean’s lap and spanked like he hadn’t been in nearly a decade, cried and cried, and now he felt about ready to lie down and not get up for weeks. Plus, his ass hurt. Of course he didn’t feel better.

“Yeah. I am.”

“Okay.” Dean didn’t make any indication that he should move and instead forced Sam to look up again. There was a moment of charged silence that Sam couldn’t begin to explain and then Dean kissed him, slowly and lightly.

He felt a headache coming on. This was really fucked up. Far past their own special fucked up and straight into the kind of fucked up he’d seen in a movie he’d watched once. There had been a set of twins, male and female, who were sleeping together until the guy had gotten engaged and then his girl had slept with his younger brother and there had been murder and…

Very fucked up.

He didn’t really care. Let Dean kiss him and kissed back in spite of the dull pounding behind his eyes, because why the fuck not?

Dean was all he had, everything else, why not this? Dean’s hands on either side of his face, lips moving over his, tongue parting his lips and moving over his own…it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like something he’d been sorely missing.

Finally Dean pulled away and made him stand before standing himself. Raked a hand over his head and looked away for a second. “Get some sleep. We have to leave in the morning and this…this requires sleep.”

“My bed’s wet.” Sam didn’t mean to sound petulant but that was how it came out anyway.

“You whiney incestuous bastard.” There was no heat to the words, just faint amusement. “You think I can’t see through this? You just want an excuse to sleep with me.”

“Whatever.” Sam wasn’t much in the mood for Dean’s sarcasm. He just shuffled onto the bed and flopped on top of the covers, careful to lie on his stomach. He felt the bed dip down a second later and Dean prodded the tender flesh lightly then got up again. The lights went off a beat later and then he felt Dean sliding in next to him, on arm over his back and a leg tossed over his own.

He would have though that it would be hard to fall asleep, stinging ass, headache, and cuddling with his brother and all, but it took a few moments. The only sounds were the still pounding rain and Dean’s breathing and he felt strangely at ease.

Of course Dean couldn’t leave it at that.

“Remind me to get lotion for your ass in the morning.”

“Fuck you.” Dean made a noise like he was considering and Sam kicked him solidly which only made Dean laugh. “I hate you.”

“I hate you too.” A kiss on the nape of his neck punctuated this and Sam closed his eyes and tried not to smile.

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I’ve given it some thought, as I’m prone to do about such things, and I don’t know what kind of story this is. Angst, obviously, maybe kind of fluffy and lightly slashy…I don’t know. I give up. I don’t always understand my brain.
Reviews are nice, constructive flames even better, but pointless ones will only be used to fuel stuff like this. For the record.
Tags: spanking, wincest
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