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Hear the Keening Cry

Friday, April 25, 2008

12:09AM - Something More than this (2/?)

Something More Than This
Author: Dimitri Aidan
Follow up to ‘Falling is Easier’ and ‘Sweet Dreams’
Rating: I’d give it a hard R, to be careful
Dedicated: Mechante Fille and La Folle Allure.
Warnings: Slutty!Sam, Dark!Sam, Possessive!Dean, VaguelyDisgusted!Dean, violence, mentions of unprotected sex, and the beginnings of a D/s relationship.
Notes: I’ve been busy. I joined the Navy! Seaman Apprentice Dimitri at your service. (Eh. I needed the money…) Basic training and A-school are, let me tell you, long and tedious, and really doesn’t give one a chance to indulge in fanfiction writing time. My most humble of apologies.
Now, let’s see if I can still do this.
Summery: Dean takes the first steps to take control of Sammy. 

I Wish You'd Just Quit BreathingCollapse )

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

12:34AM - Myself or Someone Like You (1/?)

Myself or Someone like You

I don’t own the Mighty Ducks

Authors: Taiorami, Solis, Selena, Rochelle, and Dimitri.

Summery: The hell that is the Reed Cousins is about to hit Eden Hall and nothing will be the same. Between Fulton, Blair, and Damien everything the Ducks have faced so far will be a cakewalk.

Warnings: Slash, language, drug use, violence, original characters, and…such.

Dimitri: Attention span of a crazed gnat. I'm not ashamed to admit that.

Rochelle: The Word of the Day is Dysfunction. As in "We love Dysfunction' not as in "Erectile". Thank you.

Tai: I think we should fix up the summery, now that we have an actual plot and all.

Dimitri: But it's so upbeat and positive. There should be upbeat and positive somewhere.

Chapter OneCollapse )

Tuesday, December 5, 2006


And I don’t Feel Right

I own all. I am GOD!!!!! In this story anyway…

Author: Dimitri Aidan, as started by Aloysha

Thought up while listening to “Broken”…I do enjoy that song quite a bit. A repost, edited and hopefully going somewhere this time.

Summery: Van has wanted to be a police detective his entire life and he’s made it…but one case, where young women surface drained of their life force, threatens to destroy everything he’s fought to build.
[Unknown LJ tag]
Chapter One
Why the Sky is Blue


“Van, have you been here all night?” Shawn Walsh clapped a hand on his partner’s shoulder. The younger man jumped, hand going towards his hip before his eyes even focused… Shawn chuckled. “I guess so. You ever heard of sleeping kid? It’s this thing that most of the human race likes to do…”

“I slept in the bunks.” Came the hoarse reply. “For like two or three hours.”

“You’re going to end up burning yourself out.” Shawn said, shaking his head.

Shawn was a tall stocky white man with graying red hair and blue eyes in his late forties who still managed to wrestle more than one criminal to the ground when it was necessary, though he was closer to his fifties than he’d like to admit to, and had been on the job for almost twenty-five years. He’d been married to the same (absolutely gorgeous in his humble opinion) woman for nearly twenty-one years and his oldest daughter was 16.

He was Irish Catholic, had grown up middle-class, and had spent his entire life in New York; in the same home his immigrant grandparents had bought years before. He had a host of brothers and sisters who lived no further away than New Jersey and had no plans to ever leave. He believed in hard work and earning your place in life so it was safe to say that when he’d met his partner, two years ago, it had been a bit of a culture shock.

Donavan Robinson had grown up in Harlem, lower class at the best of times. He was just shy of six feet with black curls and amber colored eyes, which matched his deep tan skin tone perfectly. He was the third son of Marisa Robinson, a nanny who worked in Queens six days a week and had grown up in Spanish Harlem, and Elden Robinson, a meat packer originally from Jersey. After marrying and having their first child they’d settled into Harlem and had been there ever sense.

They had eight children, two boys and two girls older than Van and two girls younger. Well into their sixties, they were seeing their youngest through her final years of high school and doing the best they could to assure her a chance to pursue a career in medicine. They already had a host of grandchildren, none from Van, many of whom lived in the same neighborhood as they did.

Van was just about twenty years younger than he was at twenty-seven and the youngest detective on the force. He had moved up through the ranks quickly and made a name for himself as one of the most dedicated and serious officers, while still maintaining his roots. For Shawn, a man who was used to dragging kids from Donavan’s neighborhood to jail, being saddled with the ‘new kid’ who actually came from that environment and went to these ’punks’ for information had been stressful.

He hadn’t wanted to like Van.

That mentality hadn’t lasted for long though.

Van’s family was big and close and accepting. They’d taken Shawn, in all his white guy glory, in as one of the family, accepted his children and wife without question, and always made sure they got an invitation to family functions and graduations and the like. It had been impossible to maintain any distance the moment he’d met Marisa and been sat at her table for five minutes. There was something about the Robinsons that made you want to love them like family and Shawn had a feeling he was just one of the dozens who’d fallen under their sway.

They were good people, no matter what went on around them, and raised their children to be good honest people and Shawn had come to realize that the world needed a few more people like them.

He reached over and moved aside Van’s notes, then arched an eyebrow. A 5x10 glossy photo of a young black girl, tied up and gagged, naked and black and blue, with her throat more on the floor than inside of her. It was the third murder of its kind, one of the Harlem Basement murders. Tortured, beaten, and raped only to have their throats ripped out savagely.

“Van, you know this isn’t our jurisdiction.” They worked Brooklyn mainly, save the occasional spill over onto other precincts turfs. Donavan had never really got that ‘territory’ thing and was fond of poking his nose into Harlem business.

“But it’s my people.” Van said softly, glancing up through red-rimmed and sleep eyes. “My sisters and my nieces are the ones in danger out there. The girls I knew growing up. They’re all expecting me to handle this and bring this guy to justice. Keep it safe.”

“Not by killing yourself.” Sawn said, shaking his head. “You’re no good to anyone if you’re too burnt out to think properly. God home kid.”

“What? No, I-”

“Home. I’ll tell the captain you’re sick. Don’t let me see you again today.” Shawn said using the same voice he used when enforcing his daughters curfew.

Van blinked at him, hazel eyes wide and startled at the forceful tone. Then he nodded slowly, almost as if he was slightly afraid, and gathered up his things quickly, shoving them all into his book bag. He slid on his black leather jacket, slightly worn and…lived in, in a sense.

“Good. I’ll see if Amy can drop by and bring you something to eat.”

“Thanks.” Van said swallowing. Shawn ruffled his curls then headed towards where the coffee was warming. Van had most likely put it on at some point, needing the caffeine boost. He poured himself a cup and then dropped in more sugar than he probably needed.

His doctor would throw a fit if he knew.

When he turned around again Van was gone, as where the files he’d been working with. That did make sense; it wasn’t one of their cases so if someone found out he was working on it he was in for some trouble.

On the other hand taking the files home kind of defeated the purpose of leaving the station, since he’d only work himself sick there.

There was no getting through to Van though. The most he could hope for was to call his lovely wife and have her take him a meal that consisted of actual food, as opposed to processed meat and dairy substitutes and sugar.

Probably not even real sugar.


Van pulled into his usual parking spot in his building’s garage before he gathered up his things, mind wandering back to this case. He didn’t really know any of the victims or their families personally, but the fact someone was killing girls around where he’d grown up was enough to get, and hold, his full attention.

He didn’t want to mourn anyone in his family before it was their time to go.

He walked to the elevator, finding and pressing the button for the fourth floor without even looking. Apartment 4-F of the Dep apartment complex had been the place he called home since he’d made detective and finally moved out of his parent’s basement. He was the first to actually leave Harlem as he moved to be closer to the station, but he hadn’t really gone too far. He still went to church and home for dinner on Sunday’s and was always ready to take one of the siblings or nieces and nephews somewhere.

Family was important to him. In a way it was all he had beyond his job.

He took out his key and let himself into the apartment, balancing the files carefully. It was a little bit after nine in the morning and, in spite of what he’d told Shawn, he hadn’t slept for more than four hours in the past six days. Though he loathed to actually admit Shawn was right it was starting to take a serious toll on him. He could feel the effects and caffeine was only going to hold him together for so much longer.

He pushed his door shut and slid the chain back into place, then put on the sliding lock, and finally locked the doorknob. It was a touch on the paranoid side but he’d also never had his place broken into despite the numerous threats he’d received so he wasn‘t ready to stop doing it just yet. He dropped his stuff onto the kitchen table and took out the pitcher of tea he kept in the refrigerator. He placed of glass of it into his microwave and pushed the reheat button.

That part of his usual routine done, he shuffled to the bathroom, jumping out of his shoes as he went. He leaned over the sink and took out his contacts, wincing at how dry his eyes had become. He dropped them into the solution then reached for his glasses.

He walked back into the kitchen, grabbling a roll of cookie dough from the ‘frig and his tea, before sitting at the table. He pretty much lived on crap like that, with tea as the healthiest thing he downed on a daily basis, because he was addicted to the stuff.

He began to once again sort out his information, stifling a yawn as he did.

Back to work again.


“He’s very meddlesome.” He said coolly, deathly pale fingers dipping into his ornate goblet and becoming stained with red. “He’s getting very close to something he doesn’t need to know about.”

“Or, perhaps, he’d be a useful ally.”

“Him? His type is never an ally to ours Cyrstian you know this. They either refuse to believe, or view us as animals, lesser beings, to be destroyed and eliminated for the well being of man kind.”

“Can you blame them for their fear?” Cyrstian asked, looking up through inky-black bangs. “With all due respect sir, we have sealed our own fate by letting these…ideas of vampires run rampant and unchecked. If humans and vampires are ever to co-exist, as you dream, we must first leave the underground and prove our willingness to work with them.”

The other man was silent for a moment, golden eyes glowing brightly. Cyrstian looked down, expecting punishment to follow, but instead he chuckled.

“Perhaps you are right my Cyrstian. If we are ever to enact this change, we must stop the creature terrorizing the city. I must confess the mayor has expressed doubts concerning our people’s interest in combining our worlds.I have been watching this mortal, since his obsession with the case became evident. He is loyal and fierce…but also very human.”

“I was human once.” Cyrstian pointed out lightly.

He laughed. “Hardly. However, go to him, keep him out of trouble. I’ll talk to the mayor.”

“Sir.” Cyrstian bowed then left the room, hair shimmering in the dim candlelight

Monday, May 8, 2006

11:37PM - Not Tragedies: Patience (2/14)

Not Tragedies: Patience
Disclaimer: I don’t own Marvel or DC comics, a near constant source of pain for me.

Author: Dimitri Aidan
Beta: Mechante Fille.
Fandom: DC Comics, Marvel Comics
Pairings/Characters: Jason Todd and Thomas Shepard
Sin/Virtue: Patience
Word Count: 2,847
Rating: Patience: Pg-13, Overall: NC-17
Warnings: Jason’s using his ‘detective’ skills and Tommy’s…uh. Well, between you and me he's being crazy off camera.
Notes: Well, I picked up the Seven Virtues as well, so the whole series is extending. Sadly this means Billy won’t be appearing for a bit.
MGH, for those of us not up on our Marvel, is Mutant Growth Hormone.
Timeline: Post Nightwing118 and Young Avengers 11, then happily into Alternate Universe Land.
Summary: “Maybe, sometimes, the bad guys just need to die. Does that make me a bad person?" Jason Todd, Thomas Shepard, and the sins and virtues that push them together.

Maybe he had a soft skull.Collapse )

Current mood: confused

Monday, May 1, 2006



Don’t own anything.

Author: Dimitri Aidan
Beta: Mechante Fille, who is the best in the world if she can somehow suffer through this 100_comm with me.
Universe: Young Avengers: Earth 295
Warnings: The beginning is a little disturbing, because Sinister displays a really cavalier manner towards the ‘failed’ experiments.
Prompt: 76, Rebirth, for the AU_100Comm.
Notes: Oh look, you’re still here.
Summary: Sinister had Shifter’s boyfriend killed. He feels bad and decides to give him a gift or…something.

“Scott informed me that you’ve been… restless since Victor’s execution.”Collapse )

Current mood: devious


Don’t own anything and this is just an example of why.

Author: Dimitri Aidan
Beta: Mechante Fille, who is the best in the world if she can somehow suffer through this 100_comm with me. She’s promised to help protect me from any pitchfork wielding crowds that may show up.
Universe: Young Avengers do Earth 295: Age of Apocalypse
Warnings: Major/Minor character death, OOC (Though Teddy is still Teddy at heart, it’s just buried underneath years of training.). And really really inappropriate "Princess Bride' quotes. Like I said, he's still Teddy and thus a dork.
Pairings: Various implied things.
Prompt: 89, She
Timeline: If I had to give this a timeline I’d say…after the Scarlet Witch died and before Factor X 1.
Notes: I look back on AoA fondly, mainly for X-Man and Blink, and I think every title should suffer through it. As always, the table gave me an excuse.
Linky: My Big Damn Young Avengers Table
Summary: Sinister created hybrid soldiers using alien material. Shifter, a member of the Elite Mutant Force and one of Sinister’s ‘sons,’ is one of those hybrids.

Please. You never know which one might pull an ‘Inigo Montoya’.Collapse )

Current mood: worried

Saturday, April 15, 2006

4:35PM - Not Tragedies: Wrath 1/14

Not Tragedies: Wrath
Disclaimer: I don’t own Marvel or DC comics, a near constant source of pain for me.

Author: Dimitri Aidan
Fandom: DC Comics, Marvel Comics
Pairing/Characters: Jason Todd and Thomas Shepard
Beta Reader: Mechante Fille. Without her I’d be a good deal less coherent.
Prompt: Wrath
Word Count: 2,312
Rating: Wrath: Pg-13, Overall: NC-17
Warnings: Jason’s insane, violent, angry, and a bit of a sadist. Tommy’s hanging out with a sadist while refusing to hear any warnings given to him regarding said sadist. I think he has co-dependency issues. Everything you need to be warned about results from those factors.
Notes: I had the strange urge to write Jason/Tommy and the 7 Deadly Sins challenge gave me the inspiration (excuse). I could blame a lot of people for this trek into madness (DC for putting Dick and Jason in New York which is just screaming for spillover and Marvel for giving Tommy so much ‘screwed up’ potential that they’ll probably never acknowledge) but it’s best I admit to being a sick sick man and get on with the show.
Timeline: Post Nightwing 118 and Young Avengers 11, then wanders off in AU-land.
Summary: “Maybe, sometimes, the bad guys just need to die. Does that make me a bad person?" Jason Todd, Thomas Shepard, and the seven sins that pull them together. Wrath: All of this was dangerously close to orgasmic

All of this was dangerously close to orgasmicCollapse )

Current mood: busy

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

9:09PM - Rules to Live By, Young Avengers

The Rules: Young Avengers
Author: Dimitri Aidan
Rating: Pg-13, because Tommy says a bad word.
Thanks to: Aloysha Star, for putting the idea for the Movie Drabble in my head and lending his ‘voice’ for Tommy.
Pairings: Billy/Teddy, implied Cap/Ironman, and a strange amount of Vision/Tommy/Teddy friendshippy goodness. I guess, since it makes sense that Tommy and Teddy would be staying in the Tower they might end up hanging out. (Tommy to avoid being taking in and Teddy for lack of other places to go since Billy’s place is a big gaping hole.)
Series: Rules to Live By

Rule Three: You can never watch too many Horror MoviesCollapse )

Ten: Argue not which Robin is better because no one ever wins and feelings always get hurtCollapse )

Rule Two: Sock on the door means beat it. Respect the sock.Collapse )

Rule Four: Thou shall not mention Sue Dibny,Jason Todd, Bucky, Spoiler, Blue Beetle, Synch, Skin, Nate Grey, Jean Grey... If you do there will be retribution.Collapse )

Current mood: amused

1:18AM - Rules to Live By

Rules to Live By

I don’t own the Titans, the Bat-crew, or anything of that nature. I have cruddy luck like that.

Author: Dimitri Aidan
Rating: Dunno…PG? Pg-13?
Pairings: Robin/Arsenal, implied Gar/Vic.
Series: Rules to Live By Drabbles
Warnings: Well…there is no way in hell these could ever happen without massive amounts of bloodshed/therapy. They’re just strange and fairly nonsensical drabble. Rejoice in the insanity.
Notes: Just one of the multi-fandom drabbles I’m doing based on random ‘rules’ I live by that amuse me.
Rule Twenty Nine: It’s not that I don’t adore you, but I will never touch you in public because your brothers are scary.Collapse )
I don’t care how cute you think he is, don’t make out with your barely legal boyfriend on the couch.Collapse )

Current mood: creative

Friday, March 24, 2006


Being a Hero

Logic Puzzle: A, WB, DC, and Marvel own just about everything in here. B, I am not WB or DC or Marvel. If A and B are true then C, I don’t own, must also be true.

Title: Being a Hero

Rating: Ranges from Pg-13 to a few borderline NC-17 moments.

Pairings: In the end it’ll be Richie/Virgil. We may take a few twists and turns to get there though.

Warnings: Be prepared for violence, language, pain, angst, sex (of the slash and het nature) and just general chaos.

Notes: Umm...I torment the ones I love?

Summary: Everything before the Second Bang only scratches the surface of what made Static the hero he is. Graduation’s close, Dakota is falling apart, new meta-humans are showing up, and that’s just the easy stuff.

Once Upon a TimeCollapse )

Current mood: annoyed

Sunday, February 5, 2006

5:47PM - I Smell Sex and Candy (1/?)

I Smell Sex and Candy
I don’t own Supernatural and Sebastian Richards belongs to my friend Rochelle B.

Author: Dimitri Aidan
Rating: Borderline R/NC-17.
Spoilers: Pilot, Scarecrow, and Faith most obviously.
Unbeated at the moment. I suck at editing…don’t hurt me.
Pairings: One-sided Sam/Dean, Forced Dean/Other, and Light Sam/OMC.
Warnings: Angst, Violence, Language, Torture, Rape, Sexual Tension, Incest, general badness, and some vaguely religious themes. Lets just leave it at ‘Dean’s having a bad day’.
Summary: Dean and Sam are investigating a series of infant deaths and find themselves in over their heads. When Dean is kidnapped by a demon, Sam is left with no idea of what to do next.
Notes: For the hurt Dean Challenge. I admit, I had some writers block with this one but I did something I never did, not even for school, and did some demon research and it pretty much wrote itself from there. My English teacher would, I’m sure, be proud.

Damn TonightCollapse )


Current mood: busy

5:35PM - Something More Than This (1/?)

Something More Than This

Author: Dimitri Aidan

Follow up to ‘Falling is Easy’ and ‘Sweet Dreams’

Rating: I’d say Hard R/NC-17 depending on where you pick it up.

Unbetaed at the moment, please excuse my poor editing skills.

Dedicated: Mechante Fille and La Folle Allure.

Warnings: Slutty!Sam, Dark!Sam, Possessive!Dean, VaguelyDisgusted!Dean, violence, mentions of unprotected sex, and the beginnings of a D/s relationship.

Notes: Ways to get Sam on His Knees: 2) Go "Bitch, LOOK AT ME" and Sam just drops to his knees and worships. La Folle Allure (Truth)

Dean needs to march him to a clinic, first thing. You know, when he reasserts himself as number one in Sam's life. Mechante Fille (Logic)

I wrote this with the X-Files Soundtrack on loop, the title comes from The Cure’s track from that. It’s…oh my god, too great for words.

Summary: Dean’s fed up, but Sam isn’t quite there yet. Dean decides to change everything.


Part the First

Your lips lies the secret


Dean didn’t think about it…or at least he pretended not to think about it. Then again Sam didn’t know that he knew what he was actually up to when he went vanishing at random points, and so Dean’s fantastic acting job was kind of lost on him.

And was thus totally lost, because Dean couldn’t very well deny thinking about it to himself.

They were in Dallas and it made Dean very uneasy for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was the crazed demon snake thing that was somehow coming out of toilets and drains and eating people whole in one of the Dallas suburbs. Dean had flunked Physics, twice, and even he knew that just didn’t make any kind of sense.

Still they were tracking it and doing a pretty good job except for one small detail: Sam was sick. He’d written it off at first, claiming it was probably due to that flood they had gotten caught in ten days back. Dean had been counting from the moment he woke up in the Impala to find they had pulled over and Sam was outside of the car, on his hands and knees, retching. He could have believed it, they had, after all, been up against the spirit of a little girl who had drowned fifty years ago when a storm made the river level rise and swept her house away with her still inside.

To say she’d been pissed was a gross understatement. The river along where her house had once been, but now a library stood, had been spilling over the banks faster than was possible and she’d been tossing them around like rag dolls, having the nerve to giggle as she did it. Though, considering how mad she’d been, giggle may have been the wrong term for it.

Dean hadn’t been worried about it though. Once upon a time seeing his brother slam into a wall and vanish underneath churning black waters for almost an entire minute would have killed him, clawed at his heart and sent him down there after Sam, fuck the ghost.

But he didn’t worry about Sam drowning anymore. Had simply finished burning the bones, buried in a small tomb next to the library, and a few of the girl’s possessions and by then Sam had hauled himself back out.

They, and by they Dean meant he, drove from Mississippi to Texas. Sam had begun shivering, coughing, and throwing up along the way and Dean had more or less told him to stay in the motel room and research. It was nerve wracking, having to do the hunting and interviewing alone, but he knew he couldn’t take Sam along either. He couldn’t risk Sam’s health.

Of course part of him wondered if it was just something he caught due to the flood. Sam was just getting worse and worse, wandering off more often and becoming even more indiscriminate in with whom he wandered off with. He wasn’t even putting as much effort into being discreet anymore.

Dean wasn’t disgusted or angry about it anymore, he was just…afraid, which was by far more annoying than Sam’s actions on their own. The fact that Dean was now more worried that Sam would pick something up from one of the men he let touch him, than he was about Sam being eaten or possessed or killed by an angry spirit who could spontaneously make buildings flood and rivers overflow, was fucking annoying.

There were simply no other words for it.

But still he wasn’t thinking about it, because thinking about it meant his slightly overactive imagination would force him to see it and it was bad enough that every time he looked at Sam he was taken back to that bathroom in that pool hall. Beating up the guy had made him feel better, after dragging Sam out of the pool hall and sending him back to the motel, but not by much. It wasn’t like it made a difference or that Sam had ever intended to see the guy again. Just a quick bit of fun…

For the guy anyway. Right up until Dean’s fist had come slamming into his nose. He’d apologized the minute he had explained why he was kicking his ass, swearing he hadn’t known that the guy in the bathroom was with anyone and that he hadn’t wanted to hurt him or anything.

“He practically begged for it man! Look, I’m sorry.”

Dean had only hit him harder, seeing red at the first mention that this guy had not only touched his brother, but had hurt him as well. When it was all said and done he’d stumbled back to the motel down the street with blood that wasn‘t his own covering his hands and shirt. He’d sent Sam off with the Impala and had needed the walk to clear his head anyway. Sam had already been peacefully asleep and Dean had managed to resist the urge to kick him out of the bed and beat him senseless as well.

Now however he wondered if that would have helped things. He was covered in slime, sewer water, and dead serpent bits plus his back was sore from where he‘d hit the service ladder. He’d had to walk from the reservoir since he’d left the Impala here in case he was covered in crap yet again and so his feet hurt as well. He was just having a shitty day, aside from killing the serpent. He’d taken Sam’s suggestion and blown the thing straight to hell with some handy homemade explosives. (Other kids had made volcanoes with their dads, but they had learned how to make something with the explosive force of C4 with household stuff.) Unfortunately he’d failed to factor in how the resulting explosion would affect him.

He unlocked the door and stopped, staring. Sam was sitting on his bed, pointedly not looking in his direction while Random Guy number whothefuckknewanymore scrambled to get off of his brother‘s bed. Dean considered the situation for a moment, forcing himself to not get mad. Enough things had exploded today without him joining the ranks. Sam, some guy, in their motel room. Not even being so sick he couldn’t hunt was a deterrent.

He should have kicked his ass the first time. Or the second…or any time, really. He shouldn’t have let it go this far.

He tried to count backwards from thirty, because ten just wasn’t going to cut it, but the guy was still hopping around like a moron trying to get his clothes on and beat a hasty escape, only ‘hasty’ had gone to hell and now he’d be lucky if he managed ‘timely’. Every time he moved made Dean go back to thirty and he kept shooting these little looks at Sam and…

Maybe fifty would work.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was thin and tinged with worry. Dean almost laughed; worry. Sam should, at the very least, be terrified because this whole calming himself down thing wasn’t working so well. He looked over, eyebrow arching. “I…didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”

Obviously. It was clearly his fault for coming back so soon, he should have been more considerate of the fact Sam was being a whore. Silly him.

Dean didn’t say his out loud because he knew he’d start yelling. He was probably going to yell anyway, he could feel a hundred things that begged to be said very loudly and with lots of curse words mixed in, itching the back of his throat.

The guy tripped, slamming into the table and Dean growled. He was moving across the room and had the guy against the wall with his elbow colliding with his nose solidly before he‘d made the conscious decision to quit trying to calm down. Dean could hear the crack and crunch that could only mean he’d broken it. The guy shouted, hands going up to push Dean away.

He just batted the hands away and dragged the guy out of the room before dropping him none too gently on the ground. Dean glared down at him, taking a moment to delight in the expression of fear on the man’s face. He had one hand on his nose as if to stop the stream of blood flowing from it and another on the pavement, which he was trying to backpedal across. Dean kicked him as hard as he could manage and he went sprawling. He coughed and blood splattered on the pavement.

Dean stepped on his hand, hard, and was rewarded with another scream. He put all his weight on the hand, crouching down to see the look of pain and probably would have broken it if a hand hadn’t grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He knew it was Sam and that was the only thing that kept him from lashing out.

Barely, because he really wanted to knock the shit out of Sam as well.

“Dean! What the hell are you doing?”

Good question. Dean turned to look at Sam, who was wearing only a pair of loose sweatpants, Dean’s sweatpants actually, and glaring at him like he’d kicked a puppy or something equally defenseless. A glance at the man who was clutching his hand to his chest and Dean could kind of see his point. He opened his mouth, anger wavering enough for him to acknowledge that this wasn’t helping, then stopped, reached out and forcibly pushed Sam’s head to the side, exposing his neck. Sam twitched, as if he was going to try and stop him but one glare made him go still. There were dark marks around his neck and Dean could count five of them, oval smudges. He was sure if he turned Sam’s head the other way he’d see the same thing.

Out in the light of day he could see bruises, some old and some new, overlapping over his chest and arms, long scratches just beginning to heal up, and finger shaped smudges on his hips where the pants went low.

“Inside.” Dean kept his voice even, forgetting about the man on the ground. He’d either stay there and pass out or he’d get up and run away. Dean didn’t care because he’d just come to a very important revelation.

Misplaced rage was wrong.

Sure, this guy had touched Sam, bruised him even, and Dean wanted to kill him and then drag him into the middle of the desert, skin him, and leave him for buzzards to pick at, but that was wrong. It wasn’t like he knew that Sam was his and that touching him was pretty much admitting to a death wish.

This was information Sam wasn’t giving out. Maybe he didn’t know it either. Dean was just going to have to make it absolutely clear who Sam belonged to. He should have done this before. In a weird sort of way this was Dean’s fault for pulling away like he had. The visions had freaked him out and he’d distanced himself and the fact Sam was doing…this had freaked him out even worse. He couldn’t even look at his brother sometimes without feeling sick and so he’d let it get like this so he wouldn’t have to deal with it. Dean was the king of not dealing; it was so much easier to just ignore a problem until it got to big to be disregarded.


“I said get inside. Now.” Sam hesitated a moment, eyes flicking over Dean’s shoulder but he moved to block his view. “Look at him and I will break his legs, throw him in the trunk, and dump him somewhere no one will ever find him.”

That was all the incentive Sam needed. He turned and went inside, Dean following after him closely. He shut and locked the door. Sam walked into the middle of the room, watching as Dean closed the blinds and flicked on the light.

Finally Sam sighed. “Dean-”

“Shut up.” Dean didn’t want to hear him. He didn’t know what would happen if Sam tried to talk to him but he doubted it would be good and apparently his brother understood because he shut his mouth and blinked at him slowly.

He walked over to him, noting the way Sam stiffened and narrowed his eyes. He reached out, let his fingers touch bruises and scabs lightly and could feel his brother trembling under his touch. Sam’s lips were parted and his eyes were so dark they were almost black, breathe escaping him in quick bursts.

His tongue darted out, wetting his lips and Dean watched the action intently.

He couldn’t lie and say he’d never wondered what it’d be like to be with Sam, more lately than ever before. He’d just never acted on it because it was wrong on so many obvious levels and probably a few Dean wouldn’t let him think about. He was supposed to protect his brother, not want to fuck him until the other man couldn’t move. He wasn’t supposed to wish it were him Sam was on his knees for. He fucked other people and thought about Sam and felt as if he’d done some kind of great sacrilege afterwards, and so they were always gone by the time the sun came up so he wouldn’t be reminded in the light of day.

Sam was his entire world, the light and the darkness, everything that made him happy and tore him apart in one person and he’d told himself that he couldn’t want it. Couldn’t have it. He’d tried to make himself not want him.

But Sam was wrong on just as many levels and while two wrongs didn’t exactly make a right, Dean supposed they made something he could live with. He clenched his fist for a moment and then did something he had never thought he’d do.

He smacked his brother, a solid backhand that sent Sam stumbling backwards. A misplaced shoe had his brother tripping and hitting the ground but he didn’t seem to notice, too busy staring up at Dean with eyes too wide for his face. His tongue flicked out again, licking over his lip and gathering a spot of blood. His hand followed his tongue, touching his lip carefully, but never looking away from Dean.

He’d hit Sam before; they’d had some serious fights over the years, which had resulted in numerous broken bones, scars, and bruises. They had hurt each other worse than most of the things they hunted in those days, but their father allowed it because it was good practice, or something along those lines. That was just how they’d dealt with things when they were younger, and even now when they got frustrated with each other and flinging insults back and forth didn’t cut it, coming to blows was a perfectly reasonable outcome.

This was different. He couldn’t explain it in words how it was different but the way Sam was staring at him, as if Dean had just totally sent his world off axis and that he didn’t get up or go to hit him back, said it loud and clear. Dean moved so he was standing over him, feet planted on either side of Sam’s body.

A perverse kind of thrill went through him as he watched Sam watch him, chest heaving and fingers fisted in the carpet. If he didn’t know better he’d think that Sam liked it…who was he kidding, he probably did liked it.

Dean kind of liked it too.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you or why you’re doing this but it’s going to stop.” Sam swallowed, throat moving, but he didn’t say anything. “I swear to God, the next person to touch you who isn’t me is going to wish they had never met you. No more of this shit Sam; you’re going to get yourself killed like this, or worse. If you want someone to hurt you, fine, you’ve got me but don’t forget you brought it on yourself.”

Sam’s mouth worked for a moment, but no sound was forthcoming. After a few seconds he just shut it and looked away. He was shivering and still breathing deeply but other than that wasn’t moving at all. Dean nudged him lightly with the toe of his shoe.

“Get up.”

Sam scrambled to his feet, ending up with his face scant inches from Dean. Dean reached out for a moment, fingers twining in Sam’s hair. His brother reacted, moving into his hand, and Dean drew back before shaking his head.

“I can’t…touch you.” Touching him, after seeing that…he couldn’t. Not after someone else had,; it made him feel sick. Sam’s eyes reflected hurt and something else that Dean couldn’t read. He let his hand fall away. “Take a shower.”

Sam looked like he might speak for a moment but just turned and walked into the bathroom, door slamming after him. Dean ignored it and walked over to the table, where a phone book was sitting. Every room he had ever stayed in either had a phone book or a bible, but rarely both.

He sat down and flipped it open, eyes scanning the headings until he found what he was looking for. Free clinics. He ran down the list until he found one on a street that he could recall driving along once, which was more than he could say for the rest of them.


Sam had argued and Dean had pointed out, in what he felt was a very calm and rational tone, that they wouldn’t have to fucking do this if Sam hadn’t taken to doing people in rest stop bathrooms every other day. He’d gone silent after that, leaving Dean to shower, check themselves out of the motel and into a new one, least Sam’s ‘friend’ decide to turn them in, and drive to the clinic.

Sam had gone in and, as far as he knew, Dean had sat outside in the parking lot and waited. While it was true the car never moved Dean figured that the fact he was supposedly waiting would be enough to keep Sam from doing something stupid, and had made a quick run to the drug store down the street.

Now, a few very tense hours later, Dean was looking through the newspaper for anything else that seemed to be up their alley while Sam stared at his bowl of soup dispassionately, looking over at Dean whenever he thought Dean wouldn’t notice and then looking back down just as fast.

After staring at the Obituaries for thirty minutes and not really absorbing anything Dean looked up, catching Sam’s eye and rolling his own when Sam blushed and looked away. He supposed they were kind of required to talk now, which was why Dean hated confrontation. It always lead to having to talk about things and Dean wasn’t much of a talker…or a listener. He didn’t actually like other people all that much and avoided sappy emotional moments as much as possible.

He blamed his father and severely stunted emotional growth. He was almost positive that Dr. Phil would agree with him.

Dean stood up and dragged his chair over to the bed, the one bed, in the room, then sat back down, crossing his arms over his chest. “Lets hear it Sammy.”

“Hear what?”

“I’m not in the mood.” Dean said, tone deliberately dull. Sam sighed, setting the bowl on the bedside table and drawing his legs up to his chest.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t care.” He said, tone harsher than he meant it to be. Sam flinched then nodded slowly.

“It’s the nightmares I guess. They’re getting worse, almost every night and the more I have, the more real…it’s not just being there anymore, seeing it, it’s like living it. Sometimes I can’t tell if I’m awake or dreaming or having a vision. Sometimes I think I‘m going crazy.” He didn’t look at Dean as he spoke, but at the cover he was on top of, slowly drawing a loose thread out of it. “It was never like this before, when I was with Jess.”

“So it’s about Jess?”

“No. Jess…I loved her, but not…not her. She’s was…she…”

“Looked almost exactly like mom?” Dean had noticed, he just hadn’t said anything. If Sam needed to find himself a ‘Mommy replacement’ far be it from Dean to rag on him about it after the girl died. Sam’s lips quirked slightly.

“A lot like you.” Sam looked up at him for a moment, eyes reflecting so many things all at once that Dean couldn’t even begin to sort them all out. “She would have really liked you. You…you would have wondered why I was dating a girl who was almost exactly like you. She kept the nightmares away, just by being there. Being with me. If I had a nightmare I could wake up and she’d be right there, real, like…an anchor. Exactly the way it had been before I went to sleep and so I knew it was the truth.

“The marks…the pain. It’s all there when I go to sleep and its there when I wake up and I know it’s real. It helps keep me here. At first it was easy, just once and I‘d be fine for days but now…it‘s like its compounding, building up inside of me and the only way to keep it from just burning me up on the inside is to get it out and this is the only way, but as things go it starts to build up faster and faster.”

Sam did sound like he was going crazy, or at least starting to lose it.

“You should have said something.”

“Like what? ‘Dean, I’m going insane and I need you to either fuck me or hurt me to stop it. Preferably both.’ Right.” Sam snorted darkly while resting his head on his knees. “I don’t understand it really. With Jess if she was just there it was fine but now…I don’t think that would be enough. I think it’s out of control.”

“Obviously, dumbass. You should have told me before it got like this.”

“What would you have done?”

Dean watched him for a moment, already knowing the answer and strangely…offended that Sam didn’t already know it as well. “I would have done anything you asked.”

Sam bowed his head, looking ever inch the scolded child. Dean sincerely hoped that the way he felt now wasn’t similar to the way a deeply disappointed parent felt because the whole scenario was messed up enough without throwing in those parental feelings he’d only admit to having under extreme duress.

His relationship with Sam pretty much spanned the entire scope of things. They were a psychologist’s wet dream. The fact that he was being slightly dishonest and didn’t exactly hate the way this was turning out would only add to that. He wasn’t happy about it but he wouldn’t have been happy about any of those other things either; he was…not entirely adverse to any of them though.


Until now they hadn’t touched since Dean had hit him, Sam carefully in the center of the bed and trying to shy away without it being obvious. But now he seemed to just deflate and Dean jumped up to grab him before he just slumped over. He turned, burying his face in Dean’s shirt while curling closer. Dean held him, fingers threading through his hair. The feelings from earlier, disgust and anger, were gone and it was easy to touch him.

“I’d never hurt you.”

“I know…” Sam sounded apologetic and distressed all at once. “You would never, and I shouldn‘t-”

“Unless you asked.” Dean finished, feeling Sam jerk slightly in surprise before going still again.

Things were going to change, veer off in a direction that Dean probably wouldn’t have even entertained in his wildest dreams. But, as his free hand moved over Sam’s marked back, he figured it was the only direction they could go now.


Happy endings are for suckers!

There we go, three parts, I think my moral obligation is now fulfilled, don’t you?

Current mood: awake

Saturday, February 4, 2006

1:22PM - Sweet Dreams

Sweet Dreams
I don’t own Sam or Dean

Author: Dimitri Aidan
Dean’s view of ‘Falling is Easy’
Rating: Pg-13 or R-ish.
Pairings: One-sided Dean/Sam, Sam/OMC
Warnings: Angst and random sex.
Summary: Dean can’t even look at him anymore.
Notes: 100 words, five minutes.

Sweet Dreams

Dean isn’t blind, no matter what Sam thinks.

He’s got the redhead in their booth and asking the right questions and saying the right things, but is very aware of his brother getting up to leave and of the slightly pained, but pleased, expression when he returns.

Dean saw him once, walked halfway into the bathroom and saw Sam on his knees for some random pool player.

Dean had caught the guy and beat him bloody. How dare he touch what was Dean’s? How could Sam let him?

He doesn’t really touch Sam anymore…can’t even look at him.

Something More Than This

Current mood: busy

Thursday, February 2, 2006

9:18PM - Falling is Easy (1/1) Supernatural

Falling is Easy (1/1)

Don’t own Sam, Dean, or the Impala. The title comes from the Staind song, Falling.

Author: Dimitri Aidan

Rating: Nc-17, I suppose…

Pairings: Sam/OMCx2, one-sided Sam/Dean.

Warnings: General screwed up behavior, ranging from unprotected bathroom sex to choking. Silly boy.

Notes: I wanted to write something short for a change, ended up with 1,000 words. (After chopping out about 300 and forcing myself to make it work anyway. It was…fun.)

Summery: Sam has some really bad habits.

Falling is EasyCollapse )


Current mood: accomplished

Saturday, January 28, 2006

1:44PM - I Just Died in Your Arms Tonight (2/?)

Just Died in Your Arms Tonight (2/?)

I don’t own anything you can clearly identify.

Author: Dimitri Aidan and Aloysha

Fandom: Supernatural, Smallville, and Charmed

Unbeated for the moment. Tremble...

Pairing: Eventual Dean/Sam, Lex/Clark, Chloe/Pete, and Chris/OMC. But until then other not nearly as important things.

Warnings: Umm…Language, Violence, Smut, Slash, and such.

Summery: When Dean and Sam head to Kansas after they get a call for help, they find that a haunted house is their least of their worries.

Aloysha: God, I just love a good trippy dream.

Dimitri: Quite pleased with yourself are you?

Aloysha: Fuck yeah.

Notes: Would have been done faster but we thought ‘Hey, lets check this ‘Reckoning’ thing out and then wrap this chapter up. It’s like crack…we should have just said ‘no’.


Chapter Two



Sam was still a little out of it when they left the motel, opting to just roll out of bed, walk out to the car, and crash in the back. He wasn’t asleep as far as Dean could tell, just drifting. Dean had put in AC/DC and left his brother to his own thoughts or…whatever was going on back there. He was tempted to pull over and force Sam to tell him what was going on but he was half-afraid showing an interest would just scar his brother indefinitely.

Or leave him open for miles and miles of teasing about ‘touchy feely girly crap’. He wasn’t sure which idea appealed to him less and, as such, didn’t want to risk either. To matters worse Dean had some kind of headache forming, pressure building right behind his eyes and at the base of his neck, throbbing in time. He tried to ignore it but it just got steadily worse until his couldn’t even see straight.

It was about noon when he pulled off of the road, if you could call the dirt-covered gravel a road and leaned his head against the wheel. He reached back, rubbing at his neck.


“Sam.” He didn’t hear the other man move but at least he was awake and paying attention. Dean had been a little bit worried as to whether or not Sam was still in there…more than once the lights had been on but Sam had been miles away, deep in a waking dream.

Dean had wanted to ask if Sam was up to driving but instead continued to rub his neck. “So…that dream of yours? Anything worthwhile in it?”

“Maybe.” He heard the soft noise of movement and could almost imagine Sam sitting up and staring at him. “I don’t really understand it. It was very…surreal. Gave me a headache.”

Dean waited and, when it became obvious that Sam wasn‘t going to say anything else, spoke again. “Like?”

“Hmm?” Sam’s voice was deep and slow, almost lazy. “Oh. Umm…bleeding sky, grass, dancing, monsters. I think I stabbed someone.”


“Are you okay?”

“Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

His tone was a little too sharp and his words come out too fast, angry. Dean sighed and lifted his head up. His head still pounding and was more than ready to finally ask Sam to take the wheel. He turned slightly and found that Sam was leaning over into the front, face mere inches from his own. Sam’s eyes were dark, almost black, and a shiver went through Dean.

Sam’s lips parted in an almost wicked smile, reveling too white teeth, and Dean felt like the proverbial deer in the headlights. He could already tell nothing good would be coming of this at all but found he couldn’t speak or move. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Sam look so intense.

“What’s going on?”

Sam moved closer, lips so close he could feel each time his brother breathed out and another shiver ran through his body but it wasn’t as unpleasant as the first one. Sam’s tongue darted out, licking over his lips, and a hand brushed over Dean’s cheek gently.

“So beautiful.” Nails scrapped over his stubble almost teasingly, but Dean could feel them scrapping along the inside of his skull slowly. He winced and tried to jerk back but Sam’s hand moved faster, grabbing him by the throat, fingers digging into his flesh. He gasped and grabbed onto his brother’s wrists and tried to pull the hand away but found it held fast with a purely unnatural grip.

“You aren’t my brother.” Never let it be said he was slow on the uptake, choking usually got the point across to him. Though there had been that one time with that one girl in Las Vegas but when most people wanted to choke him it was a bad thing.

“Nope.” Sam’s lips twisted into something that resembled a pout. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun, does it? I can smell how much you want him.”

“…eww.” Like his life wasn’t fucked up enough, he got a demon that wanted to fuck him in his brother’s body. Of all the good looking people in the world it had to jump into Sam.

The demon chuckled and moved closer to him. Warm breath played over his lips and there was a flash of pink as the thing in Sam’s body slowly licked his lips. “Don’t lie to me. You could have him…I can share. I’ll even give him back when we’re done.”

Dean just glared, hoping that would get his point across. Somehow ’fuck you’ just didn’t feel like it’d be strong enough in this case.

“Fine.” It was a full-blown pout now, complete with the sad eyes. All the thing would need is Sam’s ‘fine, you win, I hope its worth it’ sigh and it’d be right on track, except that Dean wouldn‘t cave this time. Dean let his arms go limp, trying to give the appearance of starting to pass out.

Which wasn’t overly far from the truth; black spots danced over Sam‘s face and Dean doubted they were anywhere but in his mind. Though he wouldn’t go one record about that sort of thing because in their line of work you just didn’t know. He kind of suspected his throat would be crushed before lack of oxygen got to him though. The thing in his brother chuckled and shook his a little bit. Dean’s fingers brushed the water bottle, which was just where he‘d been hoping it would be.

He felt something warm trickle down his neck as Sam’s thumb moved to press against his windpipe. He ignored it and the fun little warning bells his brain was giving off and instead focused on the water bottle in the passenger seat. He kept a few bottles of holy water and salt water around for just these kinds of occurrences. …Not Sam in particular but any possessed person. Holy water for demons and salt for the spirits.

Normally they were on the floor but with Sam in the back…well, he’d gotten lucky.

“I expected so much more of you two. You weren’t much of a challenge.” Dean rolled his eyes mentally. Whatever; the longer the thing was having a ‘personal’ moment the more time he could buy. He’d never understand why demons wanted to monologue though. Did they spend all their time in hell plotting with no one to listen and then wanted to bore their victims to death?

It was a real mystery. And not like Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster, but an actual legitimate mystery that Dean just couldn’t wrap his mind around.

His fingers closed around the cool plastic of the top of the bottle and managed to drag it forward enough over the seat that he could get a good grip.

“Your brother’s mind is so open and…exposed. He’s like a lighthouse that’s always left unlocked. So bright.” Figured. First the Shine and now this shit. A lighthouse… His brother was going to be the fucking death of him. “And you…your mind is closed to me but if I hadn’t been trying so hard to get in I doubt you would have noticed I wasn’t your brother.”

Dean had the bottle firmly in grasp and upright. Unscrewing the top one-handed was proving to be a bit of a hassle and the spots were dancing frantically in front of his eyes, pulsing in time to the steady throbbing in his head.

Finally…success. The top tipped onto the seat and he all but threw the water into his brother’s face. He heard a hiss followed by a shriek as he was all but thrown back against the wheel. Gasped, trying to draw in air while searching along the floor for his bag.

Exorcism in the middle of the desert, far away from the nearest rest stop let alone a church, after pretty much throwing all the holy water he had into the demon’s face. …He so loved a challenge.

There was a cry of rage and he looked up just in time to see himself get backhanded. The force was unnatural, something not even Sam at his worst (or best) could have managed and Dean not only went slamming into the door of his car, but ended up falling out and rolling over the dusty ground as well. He looked up at the cloudless blue sky, wondering for a moment if people ever actually saw stars after getting smacked and, if so, why wasn’t he seeing any?

The air was dry and seemed almost tight. He could feel it closing in around him and forced himself to his knees while he drew in wheezing breaths even though the air seemed to claw at his throat on the way down.

His vision was blurry and even if it had been focused the world was spinning around him. One of his few intact memories of his mother was of a carousal and going around and around while she stood just outside of the safety gate, taking pictures every time he went past, waving and smiling so hard her face had to hurt. She’d been pregnant with Sam, he remembered because she’d been huge and Dad hadn’t wanted her to take him to the Fair. She’d agreed only to sneak them out while Dad worked on something in the basement.

It was kind of like that, only he wanted to throw up now and had been intent on getting an ice cream cone then. He saw sneakers come into his line of sight as a shadow fell over him. He shook his head, crawling back some.

He had to get it together; no way was he going to let his little brother kick his ass, possessed by evil or not.

“You thought Holy Water would stop me?” The thought had occurred to him. He’d thought it’d at least buy him time. One leg arced up and caught him in the chest. Dean gave up on breathing and instead rolled with the kick. Distance. He needed distance so he could try and clear his head. Air was clearly a secondary need to that one.

This would be so much easier if his brain wasn’t trying to implode inside of his skull.

“It’s too late for that Winchester. Even if you get rid of me we know where you are just by following your pretty little brother. We will find you and we will destroy you.”

“Take a number.” Dean rasped. He was on his knees again and trying to force himself to get a bit higher than that, to his feet perhaps, but he had the worst feeling of vertigo all of a sudden. It laughed and walked closer to him. A hand touched his shoulder and pushed him onto his back. The metallic gleam of the gun in his brother’s hand was too bright for him to stare at and he looked away. He heard it cock as a foot landed on his chest, pressing hard.

“Stay away from Kansas. This is all that awaits you.”

Dean groaned and the world seemed to just cut away for a moment, not like he passed out but simply as if nothing existed for a moment but there wasn’t dark or light or even nothingness. It was simply a jump from one place to another.

When it was back he was in the motel room, staring at the ceiling. He could hear the sounds of typing and when he forced himself up, pain still very much there, Sam turned to look at him, eyebrow arching slightly.

“You know, for a guy who didn’t think he was going back to sleep you’ve been out of it for almost…three hours.”

Dean nodded, mouth dry with the taste of sand. He held up a hand then motioned that his brother should come over. Sam stood, looking a little wary.

“I looked up that town like you asked. It’s pretty weird, some kind of Mecca of weird shit. Far as I can tell it‘s all because of some kind of meteor shower in the late eighties and-” Sam was in reach now and, glaring darkly at his brother, Dean punched in his arm as hard as he could manage without over-balancing. Sam reared back. “Ow! Dude, what the fuck?”

Dean just shrugged and hauled himself completely out bed. “Funky dream.”

“Which is my fault how?”

“Sam.” Dean stared at his brother, trying to communicate without speaking that it should be obvious.

Everything was Sam’s fault; it was a well-documented and unavoidable fact. Sam must have gotten the point because he just turned and went back to his laptop. Dean stretched a bit then shuffled over to the table. He sat across from his brother and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, trying to will the headache away.

From the corner of his eyes he saw a pad of paper with the name of the motel scrawled across the bottom. In the middle of the paper was a harsh drawing of…a room maybe. The lines were thick and black, all sharp angles and edges, from the row of windows along one side to the table in the center. There was nothing really descript about it, beyond the fact it seemed to stretch on and on.

“What’s this?”

“What?” Sam looked up and followed Dean’s gaze. “I don’t know. Maybe something from my dream. I don‘t really remember anything exact, it was so weird, so I was just drawing, like with the tree, and this is what I got.”

Dean nodded and looked up at Sam. “What do you remember?”

“Blood falling from the sky, people dancing, really old grass, a knife…I think I stabbed someone. It was just…why’re you looking at me like that?”

Dean stared at him for a moment then kicked him underneath the table, smiling as Sam cursed at him. He really had a foul mouth when he put his mind to it. Finally Sam calmed down and sat back in his seat, muttering irritably under his breath. Dean grabbed his cell phone from the table and stood up, quashing the rush of dizziness he felt.

He needed an aspirin or six. Or a beer. Maybe both. He’d have to look into that. Right now however he had to make a phone call.

“I’ll be back.”

“Fuck you.”

He waved at Sam over his shoulder before opening the door and slipping outside. He all but collapsed onto the ground outside of the door, squinting against the sun, which seemed to be throwing all of its light right into his eyes. The Impala was right in front of their room, lightly covered in dust and in need of a wash. There was a little girl, or at least he assumed it was a girl since they were in a skirt, across the road peddling slowly on a bike.

Finding the number was easy, the number of people in his phone was almost depressing, and he put it to his ear. Each ring seemed a hundred times louder, echoing on the inside of his head with scary intensity.

Yeah, probably both. He’d let Sam drive; the only thing he hadn’t worked his brother down about was driving after drinking. Dean didn’t have to heart to tell him that he’d driven while drinking more than a few times. He was saving it for either a serious Chick Moment or for the next time Sam started to lecture him about something.

There was a click and Dean sighed. “Missouri-”

“Hello, this is Missouri and I’m not available at the moment. If you want to schedule an appointment leave a message and I‘ll get back to you.” There was a beep and Dean hung up, frowning. Well that…had been useless. He leaned back against the door, rubbing at his head again. His head was still pounding and he sure as hell wasn’t getting beer or aspirin sitting outside with no shoes on.

He stood and, taking a moment to make sure he didn’t just pitch over, opened the door again. Sam put a hand up to shield his eyes from the outside light while giving him a questioning look. He just shrugged and sat down on his bed, reaching for his shoes.

“We should get going. This guy wants to met us tonight and it’s a long drive.”

“Lex Luthor.”

Dean stopped what he was doing. While he wasn’t one for politics or the news or tabloids even he couldn’t deny knowing who Lex Luthor was. One of the richest men in America, son to the richest man in America, and in the center of almost every major scandal in the nation. If not him than Bruce Wayne.

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense; someone in Smallville who thinks discretion is the most important thing and is willing to pay ‘anything’?”

Dean had to confess the prospect of a decent payout eased the pounding in his head. Money was the best pain reliever in the world.


Lex eyed the floating fruit bowl with something between annoyance and amusement. He had known this was going to happen, had told Clark it was gong to happen and, per usual, his concerns had been brushed aside. By acknowledging the spirits, or whatever they were, they now felt they had license to annoy him whenever they felt like. No longer were they regulated to the nighttime and dark hours, it was noon and he was watching a floating fruit bowl.

Damn annoying.

Much like a certain farm boy he knew who had invited himself over for the night, citing wanting to met these guys that Lex had gotten in contact with and protect him from any angry ghosts lurking about. Lex, personally, didn’t think he was in danger.

The flying chairs had been the first semi-dangerous things and if his spirits had an ounce of common sense they had to know that, while Clark was the eye in the storm of trouble that followed Lex he was also the calm after that storm.

Sure, Clark would probably never stop almost getting him killed but he’d also never stop saving him. And then claiming that he hadn’t saved him and that his latest blow to the head that week had him seeing things once again.

Clark was really a terrible liar. Lex almost wanted to cringe in pain every time Clark opened his mouth to lie because it was really awful to watch. Lex figured he was just going to stop questioning Clark one day to save himself from watching the display.

The fruit bowl was almost dancing, tilting this way and that in some kind of strange rhythm. The fruit inside shifted around, sometimes threatening to come out but the bowl would always tilt away before that happened.

He didn’t mind Clark staying over exactly and in fact looked forward to hanging out with the teen. He just wasn’t looking forward to tonight in general. Ghost hunters in his home. If anyone ever found out he’d be a laughingstock. Shit, he was almost laughing at himself. Would be only he was afraid someone would hear and tell people about it. He had an image of shaky sanity to maintain.

Still he supposed it couldn’t be that bad; if people found out they’d just label him eccentric and that would probably be a step up from where he was.

It was still ridiculous though. He didn’t even believe in ghosts.

“Ah, Lex.” The bowl crashed onto his desk, shattering on impact, as his father strode into the room. He sneered at the mess, watching as a red apple wobbled to the edge and rolled along the floor. It came to a halt eventually and was picked up by his father who eyed it before turning to look at him. “Is something wrong Lex?”

Figured. Even ghosts fled at the sight of Lionel Luthor. Lex really wished he had that kind of power at the moment.

“No, why do you ask?” Lex leaned back in his chair, acting for all the world as if nothing was going on. For all he knew he was hallucination. Mass hallucinations were known to happen and as often as Clark and his friends were around it‘d make sense they‘d be affected like him. Maybe there was a gas leak. “Does something seem wrong?”

His father set the apple down, handily crushing Lex’s theory because you couldn’t really touch hallucinations to his knowledge, before sitting in the chair that Clark had sat in some nine hours before. Lex was going to have to burn it now.

“You have been oddly jumpy for a few weeks now son.” Lionel said finally. “Not yourself at all, and I’ve just been told you canceled your dinner arrangement with one of your investors for tonight. I‘ve never known you to slack on responsibility when it comes to LexCorp.”

“Where did you hear that?” Lex asked, not really needing to be told. He suspected his secretary, a nice guy a year or so younger than Lex fresh out of college with a useless degree, was on Lionel’s pay role. He flirted too hard and confidently and was entirely too pretty to be anything else.

Maybe not a gas leak, maybe something in the water that…brought hallucinations to life. It would hardly be the oddest thing to ever happen. Had he ever seen Lionel drink any of the water beyond the bottled stuff? …Did Lex drink anything beyond the bottled stuff?

Ice cubes maybe.

“I saw the windows in the dining room, whatever happened? Those things are almost thirty pounds apiece, not to mention a good ten feet off the ground. That was the original stained glass, it‘ll be impossible to replace accurately.”

Kind of like those stupid chairs. Lex shrugged. “I really can’t imagine what happened, I’m just as shocked as you are.”

It probably wasn’t that. Lex had a very fertile imagination and there were a lot of…daydreams that had yet to pop into existence, much to his dismay. Though did he really want strange chemicals bringing his less than pure thoughts to life?

He’d only end up being strangled by a naked imaginary Clark or something equally as arousing/terrifying and that just wasn’t acceptable.

“I see.” Lionel’s eyes went to the bowl again. “Are you feeling alright son? I’m very worried.”

And, if that didn’t work, there was always the good old standard, but usually right, paranoia: His father was out to get him. Well…the man was always out to get him of course, but was once again out of the plotting stages and in the ‘active’ stage. Though how the hell even Lionel would manage something this elaborate and insane was beyond him.

If anyone could though it was surely his father.


“Perhaps you need to…talk to someone. You don’t look fine.” Lionel said, leaning forward some. Lex closed his eyes, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. What he needed was sleep. Here was his father, the off-and-on bane of his very existence, and he wasn’t even coming up with decent responses. If Lionel hadn’t really been bothered before he was now.

Lex was usually much better at the verbal sparring they did but really didn’t feel like getting into it today and it showed.

Though he had to admire his father’s ability to turn just about everything into another ‘Lex is crazy/incompetent/evil’ situation.

“Lex?” Clark, displaying good timing for a change of pace, called out. An expression crossed Lionel’s face as if he’d just tasted something bitter and Lex’s lips quirked slightly. Clark walked in, bag slung over his shoulder, but slowed to stop when he saw Lionel. “Mr. Luthor. Sorry to interrupt.”

“You weren’t. My father was just about to leave. Why don’t you go ahead and I’ll be around in a few minutes.”

Clark nodded and, with another glance at his father, turned and left. Lex watched him go and then turned his gaze back to this father, who still look rather displeased.

“I take it the Kent boy is the reason you canceled your meeting.”

Lex frowned at is father. Anytime Lionel showed interest in Clark was a dangerous time. His father was rather fond of tainting things he cared about and, though Clark seemed to be untouchable most of the time, he could never be too sure.


“I’m concerned about you of course…who you spend your time with. People talk Lex and some may think you spend an…unhealthy amount of time with the Kent boy and speculate on your relationship with him. Especially considering past indiscretions on your part.” Lex just blinked at him, wondering why his father had any interest in who he was sleeping with.

As long as it wasn’t front-page news more than once a season and no one ended up dead Lex was left to his own devices. Lionel had even moved past his original hesitation over Lex’s appreciation for both genders. Apparently it made them look better amongst certain communities that they were both so ‘open minded’ and what made them look better was good for business. What was good for business was more than acceptable by Lionel’s standards.

“How is your new secretary working out?”

Lex twitched. One day he was going to find someone not working for his father. “He’s nice. I’ll probably bend him over a desk and fire him next week. I assume you have a nice package lined up so he doesn’t leak it out.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Lionel said, leaning back in his seat some. “I thought you might like this one. He’s from a small town in Texas and he certainly seems to resemble your…type as of late. And he’s old enough to vote.”

“I see.” Lex smiled. As always it was an image thing and he could see how people thinking he was involved with someone Clark’s age could make a few people frown. Though he suspected Clark’s gender would have more to do with the frowns than his actual age. He didn’t have to let Lionel know that he agreed though. “I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that he isn’t Martha Kent’s son. How is she doing by the way…unless the Kent farm was your next stop?”

Lionel was really quite the hypocritical bastard when he was wanted to be. Scolding Lex when he was all but obsessed with a married woman. And, while that was hardly new territory for his father to dwell in, this was the one woman Lex knew he couldn’t have. As long as Jonathan Kent was around there just wasn’t a comparison.

Lionel’s cool mask slipped for a moment and anger flashed in his eyes. Lex smirked, knowing that this round had gone to him. The anger was quickly snuffed out and his father stood, smoothing down the front of his suit.

“Be careful son.”

Lex nodded, waiting until he was sure his father was gone to glare at the shattered fruit bowl. “I’m not picking this up.” There was a moment where nothing happened then the pieces of bowl and fruit slid across his desktop to the garbage can. Satisfied he shut down his laptop and stood up.

Clark was either upstairs dropping his stuff off in the bedroom he used when he stayed over or he was in the room where Lex kept his DVDs. Knowing Clark it was probably the latter, as the teen rarely let anything get between him and Lex’s collection. He made a detour to the kitchen and made some popcorn before heading to find the teen.

He was right, as he typically was; Clark was sitting cross-legged on the floor and staring at movie discs. Lex dropped onto his couch and glanced at the movies Clark was choosing between. Somehow it didn’t surprise him to see that most of them were horror and ghost themed.

He could tell it was going to be a long night.


Kit sighed, looking around him. He knew where he was, the throne room of the Necromancer in the Underworld. It wasn’t where he’d intended to end up, he’d been aiming for the new seer but when a more powerful demon wanted to intercept him there wasn’t much he could do.

Sitting on the gray stone throne was the Necromancer herself, long black hair done in a braid and a jeweled crown on her head, dressed in silk and velvet. She was sitting pretty for someone who’d been put down like a weak rabid dog in his timeline by a teenage witch. He sneered at her and she lifted her head, snorting at him.


“Kit.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t particularly like the underworld, it made his skin itch uncomfortably, as if it didn‘t fit properly and was rubbing against all of the stuff on the inside. He belonged here and part of him wanted nothing more than to stay but at the same time he knew he couldn’t. “What do you want?”

“To speak to you of course. I assume your little witch sent you here to find information. Doesn‘t he know how this place effects you?”

He didn’t say anything, simply rocked back on his heels. Chris didn’t know of course, otherwise he wouldn’t have sent him. Chris was the sort of person who would say screw the greater good for someone he loved and Kit knew this was the least he could do for that whole greater good thing.

She smirked, lips painted the color of blood. He swallowed, trying to drive the taste of sulfur and ash the air carried from his mouth. “I need you to kill someone.”

“Blow me.” Her smile only widened and he stepped back, hands clenching. “No. I don’t kill people.”

“Of course not you just flit from person to person, seducing and taking small parts of their essence away.” She was mocking him, mocking what he was and what he’d become. He didn’t care; he was what he was for a reason. “You’re foolish but you’ll still be useful to us.”

“Us who?”

“All demon kind. You’re going to Smallville to play a role in stopping something that isn’t meant to be stopped. It’s been in the works for longer than you’ve been alive and it’s the destiny of those involved.” She stood; dress flowing after her like a river of blood. “You’re going to sabotage your little lover and, to finally turn things to our side, destroy one of our greatest threats.”

“No. I’m not.”

She waved a hand and the air rippled before parting like a veil. He sighed; why was it always theatrics with her? He looked though and saw the image of two men. One was leaner and taller with longer brown hair and the other more solidly built with closely cropped blond-brown hair. They had the same eyes in shade and the darkness they carried.

An obscene part of his mind wondered if they’d taste as good as they looked.

The one with the shorter hair seemed to surge forward in the image. “This is the one you must kill.”

“I don’t kill people.” He glanced at her then back up at the image. “I’m not going to change my mind because you show me pretty pictures.”

The image rippled again and showed the two in a scene that could only be described as carnal. Kit could feel a buzz just from watching it. Well there was no way he was going to kill them now; people who radiated that kind of sexual energy were on his list of people to never kill.

Spy on maybe.

“If this happens these two will become one of the greatest threats to our kind. They will hunt us and do their hardest to eradicate demon kind. They do it now, but on a small almost meaningless scale. But if they become intimate…” Her lips twisted into a frown. He smiled.

“I like them more with every passing moment. Who are they?”

“The Winchester brothers.”

Kit’s eyebrow quirked. He’d heard of them, a bit of a thorn in the paw of the Underworld, slowly working themselves into something more than an occasional pain. Still, it wasn’t his business; it wasn‘t like a pair of hunters could do anything to him. He shook his head. “No thanks. It’s been lovely though, we should really visit more often-”

He didn’t even have time to think as she raised a hand and a dagger slammed into his gut. He stumbled and fell to his knees, hands going to his stomach, trying to hold in the blood starting to pour out. He stared up at her, not able to form any words.

She glared. “They will kill us all. Even you, pathetic excuse for a demon you are. You think only a witch can destroy you but they will.” She looked furious with him but he could even bring himself to really listen. He had a knife sticking out of him. “And your witch. Yes, that makes you pay attention; you care nothing for your family but for him you’d kill wouldn’t you?”

He realized he must have shown his surprise when she mentioned Chris then looked down, closing his hand around the ornate gold hilt of the dagger. He couldn’t believe she’d actually stabbed him. She was a bitch and delighted in tormenting him and Chris, but she didn‘t usually try to hurt him beyond trying to turn his lover into a pile of smoldering ash.

“Chris is good.”

He could taste his own blood in the back of his throat and knew this had to end quickly before he ended up bleeding out down here. He also knew he couldn’t leave until she was done with him.

She sneered for a moment then turned her back to him, walking back to her throne. “They will kill him. They know nothing of ’good magic’ or the balance and would as soon kill him as you and me. To protect him you have to kill them.”

She sat, crossing her legs slowly while smiling. “I’m trying to help you Christian. I want only the best for you.”

“You…stabbed…” He coughed and put a hand onto the ground to steady himself. She laughed, a harsh sound that made him cringe.

“I just wanted your full attention.” Blood was making the dagger slick and though he knew had to remove it to leave, he wasn’t sure if he could. “You always think I‘m out to do you harm but this time I mean it. I don‘t want anyone but me to kill your witch.”

He glared and, taking a breath, drew the weapon out. It fell to the ground with a clatter and he moaned, pressing his hands on the wound. He glared at her one last time then made his mind focus on Chris and the car and the park they’d stopped in. He felt the tug and the snap of his mind racing back. She must have been done with him.

He sat up, gasping. He was back, on the picnic table he’d laid down on to send his mind to the Underworld. Stupid Astral Projection, it always ended badly. It made him very wary to leave his body and go wandering about like that.

Chris was sitting on the table next to him, pale and staring. Kit sagged against him while tugging on his t-shirt to examine his stomach. There was a long white scar, smooth under his fingertips.

“What happened?”

“Oh you know I got stabbed by the Necromancer. Same shit, different day.” He pulled his shirt down and slid to the ground, grass cool under his bare feet. “Gave me the usual ‘demons must stick together, ditch the witch’ speech.”

“I was worried.” Chris stood as well, one arm going around him. Kit watched him from the corner of his eye, forcing himself not to shrug Chris off or shove him away. “You were gone a while. Your body was getting cold.”

“No worries. Nothing short of a witch is going to do me in, you know that.” He moved out of Chris’ arm length and headed for the car quickly, talking to the other man over his shoulder. “We should hurry, we have people to meet and things to kill.”


Reviews are, as always, lovely. Feed us?

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

7:38PM - Multi-Fandom Theater

Multi Fandom Theater: An MST

Part Zero: WTF

This is a story written by, at most, eight different people. We are willing to venture into any fandom and utterly rip apart the dregs of said fandom. Some of us were wary of entering into such an unholy alliance and subjugating ourselves to such filth, because we wouldn’t want our own stories, but the Mistress (Selena) has old stories, for years ago, not fit for public viewing and threatened to plastered them all over the ‘net. We caved. Still some of us would rather just leave constructive reviews and try to help.
That is not going to happen apparently. Oh well.
If the immorality and wrongness of this sort of thing bothers you, we would just fleeing the story immediately. If not sit back and enjoy.


Christian ‘Kit’ Doss
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Species: Incubus
How’d he/she get here: Saw a flier advertising ‘Cash for experiment’ and thought it sounded good.

Evan ’Eva’ Winters
Gender: Male…more or less.
Age: 18
Species: Human
How’d he/she get here: Picked the wrong warehouse to crash in.

Lisa Ross
Gender: Female
Age: 26
Species: Human
How’d he/she get here: She helped set the experiment up and is now being held to be kept from talking.

Lance Rose
Gender: Male
Age: 19
Species: Human, Psychic
How’d he/she get here: His brother thought it would be a good idea and he came along for the ride.

Luke Rose
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Species: Human, Psychic
How he/she got here: Saw the flier, needed cash, drug his poor brother along so they could score twice as much.

Andrea Nivill
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Species: Werewolf
How he/she got there: Was being chased by a hunter and end ended up inside.

Blair Cassidy
Gender: Male
Age: 18
Species: Fallen Angel
How he/she got here: Was chasing a werewolf and got trapped inside.

There you go, all you need to know. If you’re here you probably followed one of the stories to find out how this came out. …you may now return to the original tale. Thanks for stopping by. Unless you want to stay for the song and dance! (It’s pretty bad…)

At this very moment
Somewhere in time and space
Seven unlucky characters
Are caught in an endless chase
Hunted by a whacked out demon
Who wants to hear them screamin’
He threw them all into a warehouse
And watches from his mansion
Somewhere in the south 

‘I’ll send them terrible fanfics
The worst I can find
They’ll have to sit and watch
While I monitor their minds’
Now keep in mind only he can control
Where the stories begin and end
They’ll try to hold only sanity
But might kill each other before it begins

Roll Call

Blair! (Fuck you)
Lisa (I need a raise!)
Andrea (*growl*)
Luke (I see stupid people)
Lance (…)
Evan (That’s Mr. Cross dresser to you.)
Kit (I need to get laid.)

If you’re wondering why no ones looking
Or other important facts
Just repeat ‘It’s just a story
I should really just relax.’

Current mood: amused

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

3:28AM - I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight (1/?)

I Just Died in Your Arms Tonight (1/?)

I don’t own anything you can clearly identify.

Author: Dimitri Aidan and Aloysha

Fandom: Supernatural, Smallville, and Charmed

Unbeated for the moment. Tremble...

Pairing: Eventual Dean/Sam, Lex/Clark, Chloe/Pete, and Chris/OMC. But until then other not nearly as important things.

Warnings: Umm…Language, Violence, Smut, Slash, and such.

Summery: When Dean and Sam head to Kansas after they get a call for help, they find that a haunted house is their least of their worries.

Losha: Sam’s dream is based off an acid trip I had once. There are less black and white images, snakes, and ramblings about the evils of Democracy…but its still kind of trippy.

Dimitri: …right. Anyway. Be on the look out for Tortured!Sam, Angsty!Dean, Mildly Insane!Lex, Dark Humor!Lex, and Oddly Accepting!Lex in this chapter.


Chapter One

It Rains Inside My Head


Somewhere in Texas,

4:45 AM

He could see the bodies, though only in flashes like in those really annoying movies where they tried to make things ‘mysterious’ by having a random club scene and using strobe lights. They melded, stretching and arching into each other, until they became like one body, trapped in the middle of a sea of withered dry grass, burning around them as the sky let loose bloody tears. Their bodies were stained, handprints in oozing crimson, smeared all over by cherry dripping lips. He could taste the metallic tang in his mouth and when he reached up to touch his lips he saw his hands were covered in steadily cooling blood.

He could see long smooth columns, pillars of ivory. His hand touched the cold stone only to find it was cold metal, which bite into his hand, deep and stinging. The blade fell and when it hit the ground the ground reared up, arms stretching out as lips parted and let out a wet gasp.

He took a step back and found himself in a dark place, the darkness so thick that when he reached out it moved, warm and soft like velvet. In the middle, drowning in the darkness, two people cowered, trying to hide from the things lurking just beyond the edge of the warm shadow, ready to pounce upon them, rip into their bodies, shatter their bones and pull their insides out with wet sounds that he could hear. They held onto to each other, dancing just along the edge of shadow.

Blue eyes with black smeared into the corners and streaming down perfectly smooth pale skin, mixed with tears. A low wail left red painted lips and

Sam almost choked on his tongue when he found himself very rudely jarred into the world of the waking, not that he wasn’t grateful for the reprieve. His eyes snapped open and he was looking into the almost frantic face of his brother. A hand was clamped on his mouth, pressing had enough that his teeth were starting to cut into his lips and his jaw was beginning to hurt. His stomach lurched and he could feel the greasy heart destroying food he’d forced down earlier making it’s presence known. He reached up and pushed at Dean’s hand, making a noise to indicate he really needed to be let go of.

He was let go immediately, as if he’d burned Dean by touching him, and his lips tingled in a way that wasn’t unpleasant, but was really weird. He only had a moment to reflect on it before all but jumping from his bed and running to the bathroom, nearly skidding when his bare feet met bitterly cold tile. He managed to stay upright long enough to fall to his knees and lean over the toilet.

Dean tried to shut out the sounds of his brother retching but didn’t really succeed. Any other time he’d have been in there with Sam, keeping his hair back and cracking really inappropriate jokes at his brother’s expense but tonight he couldn’t make himself move from Sam’s bed. He’d woken up almost fifteen minutes ago to Sam’s screaming.

And not just screams, but screams, as if something was trying to kill him. Each one had ripped through Dean making him feel…weak because all he could do was shake Sam’s shoulder with one hand while trying to muffle his screams with the other. And it hadn’t worked, Sam had just kept screaming and thrashing, catching Dean with a fist to the side of the head at one point.

There was silence from the bathroom again, save heavy raspy breathing and then the sound of running water. Sam stumbled out a minute later, looking worse for wear, and fell onto the bed rather ungracefully. His legs were more off than one and the way he’d landed with his arms underneath him had to be awkward but he didn’t seem at all inclined to move.

Finally Dean had to speak because the silence was cold and smothering, like the tentacle of a very nasty water monster thing they’d killed a week before. It had pulled Dean under, tried to suffocate him with its frigid slimy appendage and, his crude dick jokes from later that night aside, it had rattled him a little bit. He’d blacked out and been sure he was going to die until he’d woken up with Sam’s lips on his, warm and wet, forcing air back into him.

Even in his half dazed, about to die state Dean had pressed back and Sam had lingered for a moment. Then Dean had started coughing up water and that had been it. Neither was saying a thing.

“Shit…Sammy, don’t fucking scare me like that.”

“’M names Sam.” Sam’s voice, muffled as it was by the bed, was harsh and weary. His throat was raw, as if someone had reached down it and rubbed sandpaper all over. He swallowed and tried to ignore it. “What the hell happened?”

“I think you had a nightmare. You probably woke the whole fucking motel.” Dean muttered while rubbing a hand over his face. He stopped when he realized his hand was trembling and put it into his lap, putting his other hand on top. “It must have been a bad one.”

“I was screaming?”

Dean hesitated and Sam brought his head up. His eyes were red with dark shadows lingers under them and his hair slung to his head with sweat. He looked like he might fall asleep at any moment. He wanted to reach out and touch him, make sure he was really okay. He wanted to tell him that he’d been doing more than screaming, he’d been driving Dean insane and had him mentally reciting every demon and entity that could attack a person in their sleep, nearly wetting himself and about to start screaming as well. Instead he just nodded and looked away.


“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Not really, but what else could he say. “It’s almost five and I know I’m not sleeping anymore, so I’m going to take a shower. Why don’t you go back to sleep and I’ll wake you up later?”

Sam nodded and Dean stood up stiffly. He walked away, watching as Sam crawled all the back onto his bed and collapsed again, before shutting the door of the bathroom. He waited a few moments and, as he’d suspected, he heard Sam’s breathing even out. He let out a deep breath and let himself slid down to sit on the cold floor.

Holy fucking shit. He didn’t even know what the hell had just gone on but he knew, with total certainty, that it sure as hell wasn’t good. First that screaming, and there was no way he’d be able to sleep again for a few days at least if he was lucky, and instead of waking up and trying to write what he’d seen down or make Dean understand Sam had just fallen back asleep like it was nothing.

And it couldn’t have been nothing, it had to have been terrible, but Sam hadn’t so much as hesitated before passing out again. It wasn’t like him and it didn’t make sense. It…well, it freaked him out like few things were able to.

Dean liked to think he was pretty much desensitized at this point in his life, having witnessed things that most people wouldn’t even imagine existing let alone would have the balls to stand up to. But, somehow, his brother always left him at a loss. Sam had always confused him, from his desire to get away from hunting and lead a ‘normal’ life (Which had always seemed impossible because how could you just ignore what went on?) to this recent development. Every time he thought he had a little bit figured out Sam just went and changed again.

Dean had to confess this was the first time he’d ever felt so…he couldn’t even think of a good word. Sam probably would, or else what good was a college education, but Dean wasn’t Sam and wasn’t particularly good at putting a label to stuff like this.

He was still shaking, now that he was away from his brother he was trembling all over. He didn’t think he’d be able to get up for a few minutes. He bowed his head, bring his legs up to meet his chest, and let his arms fall over his head.

Jesus Fuck…

The shower didn't help in the least. The water was lukewarm at best and the pressure sucked pretty bad. It took more effort to get the cheap motel soap off of him than he really felt up to and by the time he walked out to dress he could tell today was going to be a really bad day. He started to pull clothes from his bag when he noticed the red light on his cellphone blinking to tell him he had a message.

Clothes forgotten he grabbed it and sat in the chair. Only a few people had this number and he couldn't help but hope it was their father. Instead a smooth voice, skeptical with just a hint of bemusement, greeted him.

"Hello Mr. Winchester, I got this number through your father's message and hope you may able to be of help in a small-" Here a voice in the background snorted rudely and the person speaking sighed. "Large matter with my home. If you can help, in a discreet manner, you can contact me at-"

Dean hung up, knowing the number would be in his miss calls log. Something to get his mind off of this recent curve ball life had cracked in the head with he hoped.


Smallville, Kansas

3:02 AM

Lex just wanted to state, for the record, that he didn’t believe in ghosts or haunting or anything along that vein. Now, Lex believed in genetically altered freaks, up to and including himself, that roamed the town of Smallville and made the life of all those around them living hells. Anything more than that was just asking too much of a man who prided himself on his scientific mind and nature.

Now having stated that, he didn’t know how exactly to explain the weird things he kept seeing late at night, when he was in that space between light and deep sleep. He’d written it off as dreams at first but then things had begun to happen.

Chairs and desks moved from where he recalled seeing them the night before, windows being open where none had been open before, cold spots in the middle of the room when everything else was warm. Things missing from his desk that he knew had been there five minutes before…

Little things that made Lex think he was losing his mind. Again.

It happened more often than he was comfortable getting into.

Which was to say Lex was fucking clueless and he really didn’t like being clueless. In fact it pissed him off quite a bit.

So, understandably, rather than being disturbed over the fact ever electronic device in his house had suddenly come on at their highest setting he was angry. And when everything went off, including the lights and heat and the emergency generator didn‘t kick in a few moments later, he was seriously considering breaking something. He stood up from his desk, closing his laptop with a scowl. Thankfully he hadn’t had it plugged in so it was still working and no information had been lost.

This was starting to get ridiculous though. He’d spent a lot of money to get the whole castle hooked up to the emergency generator when the lights had started getting all weird on him, and the damn thing didn’t even work.

Or else whatever was causing all this ‘disturbance’ had taken that out as well, but he couldn’t help but think that was rather unlikely. As far as he could tell it hadn’t even come on, let alone gone off, which led him to believe it was some kind of technical problem that he’d have to fire someone over in the morning, thus being the ‘evil Luthor’ yet again.

He grabbed a flashlight from the inside of his desk then headed out of his office towards the basement. He was sure most people would be shocked to discover that he not only knew where his circuit breaker was but how to get the lights going again, but he liked to think he wasn’t nearly as high maintenance as the tabloids suggested.

And, as often as weird shit happened in his home, he would either have to keep staff on call at all times or learn how to fend for himself. After the incident with the invisible stalker he’d decided it was best to learn to handle the little things himself.

Sometimes he regretted his love of art. This, as he wandered the long silent halls of his home, was one of them. With only a thin beam of light and what little came from the sliver of moon outside to illuminate his way the portraits seemed to be smirking at him cruelly, sculptures looming terribly, shadows seeming to move along the floor and walls like they had minds of their own. He didn’t let it bother him of course, because Lex was a man of science and he knew it was simply the darkness playing tricks with his eyes, making him see things that were not there.

Simply the result of pulling an all-nighter yet again. He hadn’t slept in some time, days, and now it was catching up with him.

When a shadow at the end of the hall unattached itself from the larger mass and started in his direction he continued on, not so much as moving his flashlight to acknowledge it. The moment he started to give into his delusions was the moment he needed to call a shrink and he wasn’t quite ready for that.


The shadow continued towards him, becoming vaguely human shaped. Large and broad, male or else a very unfortunate girl. Not that it mattered. Because he wasn’t giving in to his delusions.

“Lex?” The shadow spoke and it sounded amazingly like a certain farm boy Lex knew. He sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward and wondering why someone up there hated him. He moved his flashlight up and caught the farm boy in question right in the face, causing him to put his hands up to protect his eyes. “Um. Hey.”

“Clark.” He said, keeping his tone light. This was fine. It was…three in the morning, give or take, and here was a seventeen-year-old with the most anal retentive father in the world, standing in his hallway after all of the lights had gone out only to not click back on. It made sense, since where Clark was chaos seemed to follow.

He was like…Lex’s own living breathing voodoo doll…not that he believed in that sort of thing, but if he did it would have been Clark. Lex would have had him killed or sent away but he found Clark was the only source of intelligent conversation beyond a certain blond reporter in Smallville and Lex would rather suffer than be left with only farmers to talk too.


“Hello.” Lex turned the flashlight down finally, high lightly Clark’s chest and the hallway behind him. “Can I help you?”

“I was actually wondering the same about you. We were over in the field, helping Pete with some astronomy thing when we saw all your lights go off. Chloe and I thought we should come see what‘s going on and I came in through the kitchen.”

Clark moved his hands as he spoke as if waving around would somehow help explain things to Lex, who was too busy staring at what was very much not light streaming out from underneath the door that lead to his dining room to really care. One of the dining rooms anyway…he had a few. He never used any of them though…didn’t even think he’d ever been in most of them.


“I was not listening at all. Do you see light coming from in there?” There was a moment of hesitation and he could picture Clark’s confused look perfectly. Then the teen turned slightly.

“Yes. Were you in there?”


“Should we check it out?”

“No.” Lex said, moving his flashlight away finally.

“So that doesn’t bother you at all?” Clark seemed really insistent that they go investigate the strangeness that was Lex’s house. He couldn’t imagine why.

“Nothing bothers me anymore.” Lex sighed, sounded more resigned than he would have liked. Something bad was going to come of this; he just knew it. Clark was here and as long as Clark was here bad things had to happen. The kid was a fucking magnet. “You can look if you want, but if something slimy kills you I can’t be held accountable.”

Clark made a noise in what may have been disgust then stomped over to the large double doors and threw them open. Flickering golden light streamed out, bathing Clark and the section of hall he was in. Lex crossed his arms over his chest, adamantly refusing to go any further. And he would have stayed there had the rest of Clark’s Scooby gang have not showed up in the form of Chloe Sullivan and Pete Ross. They both rounded the corner same as Clark had and came to a halt next to their friend.

Lex watched as they both turned and stared into his dinning room, eyes widening until he thought they might just roll out of their heads. He sighed again and walked over, looking inside as well.

There were chairs floating around the room, at least eight feet off the ground and climbing higher. They bobbed and weaved in their air, dancing around each other, casting strange shadows on the wall in the light of the hundreds of candles that had become lit in the room.

Lex honestly couldn’t say how long this little chair dance may have gone on by itself because Chloe, ever the reporter, held up a camera. He saw the movement from the corner of his eye and before he could even suggest that she reconsider that line of action the flash went off.

Of course.

Everything went still. Even the air around them seemed to halt and for a long moment Lex couldn’t even draw in air. The chairs all turned slowly, like something out of one of the really cheesy horror movies Lex had a secret weakness for, until the fronts were aimed at them. The windows blew upon, hitting the stone with enough force to shatter and send glass shards raining. The candles went out at once, plunging them into blackness.

Lex started to move his flashlight up to see what the chairs were doing when he felt a strong grip on his arm yanking him away from the door. He found himself pressed against the wall next to the door hard enough to feel the chill of the stone cutting through the linen shirt he was wearing, with Clark so close that Lex could smell the grass and soap on him. He couldn’t see him, as his flashlight was currently spinning on the ground, but he swore he could hear his heart beating.


There was a crash as the chairs all hurtled towards their personal destruction, as suicidal furniture is prone to do, and hit the wall, shattering under the impact and then falling to the ground like puppets that’d had their strings cut. For a moment there was only the sound of Clark’s breathing. A light at the end of the hall flickered and then, one by one, they came on.

Once they were all on Lex could see Pete and Chloe, in a position similar to the one he and Clark were in, on the other side of the doors. The chairs were little more than a pile of firewood, a shame since they’d been circa the 1920’s and would be near impossible to replace, and would be an hassle to clean up. He didn’t even want to look at the damage his windows must have suffered.

At least the lights were on.

“You okay?”

He looked up at Clark, smirking. “Fine. Your assistance was, as always, appreciated. And I have to admit this is very cozy. I imagine your father would want me to propose before things got any further. I‘m loathe to have him come after me with a shot gun you understand.”

Clark leapt away from him with the speed that only those in unwanted awkward situations can and Lex pushed himself off the wall, stretching some before turning and heading back towards his office. Clark was just so damn easy to get flustered, an unbelievably wonderful change from the hard and fashionably jaded people he usually dealt with.

He noted, as he glanced back to make sure Clark was following, that Chloe and Pete were taking a considerable amount more time to untangle themselves.

Young Love. Or…something. Lex hadn’t been subject to things like puppy love, innocent crushes, and falling for his best friend in some sickly sweet display. He’d simply never had the time, or childhood, to indulge in such things. He wasn’t sure if he was thankful or bitter.

Back in his office things were just as he’d left him, thankfully. So far he was under control, nothing really having bothered him too much, but if anything had happened in here he’d probably have been more than a little upset. LexCorp was in a very precarious place as far as firmly establishing itself separately of LuthorCorp went and he couldn’t allow anything to screw that up, least of all Smallville’s general weirdness.

He sat back at his desk then looked up at Clark who sat across from him with no hesitation. Familiarity and time (with a bit of Lex’s urging) had broken Clark out of his awkwardness in the castle. He’d been so uncomfortable once, afraid to touch anything least it break and end being worth more than his life. Now the only thing keeping him from putting his feet on Lex’s desk was his laptop, which was probably on equal footing with Clark worth wise.

Or that’s what Lex told him anyway. In reality it wasn’t a real contest. But he didn’t want Clark knowing what a short leash he had him on until he was at least old enough to vote.

“What’re you going to do?”

He opened up his laptop while arching an eyebrow. “About?”


“Ignore it. Acknowledging it will only give it ideas.” Lex said smoothly while calling up financials for the week before. “Luthors do not negotiate with terrorists, least of all invisible ones who acknowledging could give my father the perfect opportunity to commit me.”

Again. But there was no reason to bore Clark with sordid tales of his misspent youth and how his father had thought sending him to Smallville was a last resort after committing him.


Lex blinked, feigning confusion over Clark’s apparent outrage. “What?”

“This is insane.” Lex agreed so he nodded slowly, folding his hands on his desktop as he did. Clark glared and Lex couldn’t stop his smile. “I’m serious. Weird things have been going on for almost a month now and you keep looking the other way, but what if something happens and you get hurt?”

“Your concern for me causes a warm fuzzy feeling.” Lex deadpanned. He got another, more intense, glare for that. “Whatever is going on is just some strange Smallville shit. I have more important things on my mind than…what does Chloe call them? Freaks of the Week.”

Clark shifted in his chair, looking almost uncomfortable for a moment and very much like there was something he wanted to say. Lex just stared, waiting for the teen to speak his mind. Finally Clark sighed and Lex began to wonder where his little friends were. Probably poking around in the dining room. Nothing short of death would make Chloe leave a mystery alone. Damn shame really, Lex really liked her and hated to think that someone would eventually have her killed for being nosy.

It was inevitable though.

“I think you have ghosts.”

Lex blinked slowly then nodded. “I can see that.”

“I think you should call someone?”

“Like who? The Ghostbusters? Somehow I doubt Bill Murray and Ernie Hudson are going to save me.”

“…Huh?” Clark looked confused and Lex could tell he’d just inadvertently geeked out on the teen. Waved a hand dismissively and Clark shrugged. It wasn’t that obscure a reference though; they’d had a sequel for God’s sake. “Well, no. Chloe found out about this guy who apparently goes all around the country and handles stuff like this and I figured that it wouldn’t hurt things any if you checked it out.”

He was serious. Goddamn.

Lex would have said no to anyone else but Clark asked for very little, and it usually centered around Lex’s personal well being when he did, so it was hard to refuse him just on that. But that fact that it was Clark, with those wide blue eyes and pouty lips and tanned skin and…

Lex was going to hell. Not yet, but eventually. He was looking forward to it actually. “Fine. What’s his name?”

Clark seemed to almost bounce in his seat like an overexcited puppy and Lex knew instantly he’d done the right thing. …For him of course, because watching Clark this happy, and knowing he’d done it, was a purely selfish thing he liked to indulge in. Better than aged scotch.

“John Winchester.”


Somewhere in Virgina,

6:30 AM

Chris reached up and adjusted the rearview mirror, giving him a good view of the man curled up in the back seat. Kit was asleep, and had been for a couple cities now. They hadn’t talked much in a few days and Chris knew it was his fault. He just had this…terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, the kind he only got when he was hurtling towards impending doom but couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. He hadn’t really wanted to talk once the feeling had made itself known.

It was all so much to handle. He’d died, after coming back from a future that didn’t exist and thus he didn’t’ have a place in, then had been brought back to life, a reward for stopping his brother from becoming an evil sociopath, under the condition that he give up who he was and never come back to San Francisco. He’d been stripped of his natural powers as a witch only to have some new ones thrown at him that he couldn’t even begin to properly…comprehend yet.

The only that thing that had remained even partially constant was Kit and even their relationship was far from what it had been. He swore if he saw the older man run off with one more person for a quick grope or fuck or whatever he was going to bash his head against the hood of the fucking car. He hadn’t always been like this…a little adventurous and outside of the box, sure. But an out and out slut?

That was a new one. Still, Chris would rather have him being a slut where he could keep an eye on him, to a degree, then off on his own. Besides, he needed him.

He turned his eyes back to the road, headlights cutting across the predawn darkness, when he felt a cold prickle run up his spine. He swerved for a moment as a cold sweat broke out over his body before forcing himself to focus. It was slowly becoming a familiar feeling, but he wasn’t used to it, and he found himself looking over at the passenger seat warily. Sitting there was a woman, dressed in a long flowing gown, bright red hair pinned to the top of her head, and long elegant fingers folded in her lap primly.

Chris moaned softly and reached up to rub at the bridge of his nose. He hated to say it but he was starting to get used to the whole ‘visited by spirits’ thing. So used to it, in fact, that he had to admit he was confused at how…whole she looked. Most of the ones he saw were the results of murder or suicide or something along those lines and carried the wounds from their deaths.

This woman looked fine, aside from the fact she was clearly dead. She wasn’t translucent or anything like that, but she seemed to flicker in and out of existence from one moment to the next. She turned to look at him and smiled kindly.

He was reminded of his mother, which brought a dull ache to his chest. “Hello.”

Her smile widened. “Hello. I was afraid you wouldn’t see me. I can feel the pull from you but it can be very misleading sometimes.”

He tightened his grip on the wheel and nodded. “Not everyone who can see wants to.”

“I suppose not.” She looked over her shoulder at Kit and reached out, hand seeming to brush over his face in a motherly fashion. “You care for him so much that it kills you on the inside. The way he treats himself…it’s tragic.”

“He’s adjusting.” Chris snapped, finding himself defending Kit despite himself. Yes, he’d thought it and he knew it, every time he waited up for Kit to stumble back into their motel room, but he didn’t need anyone else saying it to him. “He’s…he’s…”

“He took your name and pledged to love you and betrays you in front of your eyes.” Her fingers traveled down, hesitating over the simple silver band around Kit’s finger. “At least my husband tried to be discreet.”

Chris doubted that had made it hurt any less. He just shook his head. “He’s hurt. When he’s ready he’ll come back to me.”

“That’s what I thought. I died thinking that. You shouldn‘t.” Her voice wasn’t angry like most spirits who sought him out, just soft and whispery. That was the worst part...anger, violence, rage he could deal with but this aching sadness that she was causing to well up inside of him was... She was just so sad…he couldn't even imagine what had been so terrible. His heart clenched to hear it. He could tell someone had hurt her very badly when she’d been alive. “I need your help. My son…my Alex. He hurts so much.”

“You want me to talk to him, tell him you’ve moved on?”

She laughed, a tinkling sound like rain hitting pavement. “No. I need you to save him from himself. He’ll destroy the world if he isn’t more careful…but, for now, he’ll just lose his mind. Something is going on in the house.”

Chris nodded, reaching up to rake a hand through his hair. There was always something going on somewhere and someone always needed him and today it was some woman tapping into Oprah. Why the hell not, really? He’d seen just about everything else so far. He was sleeping with an Incubus for all intents and purposes, how could anything possibly be more alarming than that?

“So, where is this house?”

“Smallville. Kansas.”

They were on the east coast, just crossed into Virginia an hour or so ago. Not that they had any real destination, just floating around aimlessly until the ‘Higher Powers’ decided to send some restless spirit in their direction or guide them towards some display of evil and then command they kick its ass. It was a sucky job with sucky pay. But helping people was all Chris knew how to do, so he did it. It was what he’d been born for.

A warm feeling washed over him, chasing the cold chill away. He felt a hand touching his hair, seeming to run through it the uneasy feeling he'd been battling seemed to just melt away. He looked up, not surprised but almost disappointed to find the woman gone. He reached over and picked up his American road atlas and tossed it at the sleeping man in back, smiling at the angry curses that met him.

“What the fucking hell?”

“Smallville, Kansas. Start mapping.”

“Felt a disturbance in the force did you?”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Geek.”


“Slut.” Kit snorted softly before falling silent again. A look found that he was indeed flipping through the pages with a highlighter and making marks. Chris turned his eyes onto the road once again and let it stand at that.

Impending doom here they came.


Err…well. Reviews and such are always appreciated. Please, revel in our shared insanity while it‘s still at a containable level. It so only gets worse from here.

Part Two

Sunday, January 15, 2006

12:13PM - Lie Better Than the Truth (1/2)

Lie Better Than The Truth

I don’t own the Weasleys, JK does. I’ve been petitioning her for joint ownership though.

Author: Dimitri Aidan

Fandom: HP

Part 1 of 2. I hope…

Pairings: Fred/George, Mentioned Fred/George/Oliver, One-sided Oliver/Percy, Fred/George/Percy.

Warnings: Incest, Spanking, Punishment, Bondage, Anal, Oral, Angst, Past Suicide Attempts, and language.

Summery: After the war Percy goes to the Twins seeking forgiveness. They demand something…unique to prove he’s sorry: Control.

Notes: Story in a series of tales I’m writing for my boyfriend’s birthday. You know, I didn’t want this to be longer than ten pages. That went well…stupid Percy and his damn issues. Stupid Plot!



Lie Better Than The Truth


Percy stood outside of the joke shop, bouncing from one foot to another and trying to decide if this was really where he wanted to be. He knew he had to do this but that didn’t mean he wanted to do it. It wouldn’t be as easy with them as with the others because nothing was ever easy with them. They were never apart and there was never a chance to just address one because they were always two.

Someone had once described them as two sides of a whole, as most Wizarding Twins were. Multiple births in their world were uncommon, though not so uncommon as to cause a stir when they happened, and the children were always different from any other siblings they may have had. Two sides of the whole…incomplete without each other. One twin could be hit and the other would feel. Their magic feed off of each other and for that they were always just much stronger together than when apart.

Percy of course knew that was rubbish. Fred and George were two very distinct people, with different reactions and feelings. Fred was the stronger twin, not so much psychically as mentally. He was louder, blunter, and always a few paces ahead of George, protecting. George could be almost shy if you got him away from Fred, preferring quiet one-word answers to the long rambling ones his twin offered. And yes, together it all balanced out to something in between, something almost normal, but that didn’t mean they were a ‘whole’ or something stupid like that.

They complimented each other in a way most would never understand, had the power to see into each other in ways no one else was meant to understand, but they were never the same. Never.

And that’s where the deception began. You couldn’t separate twins because they needed each other and so no matter how close they became or how queer it seemed to outsiders, it was never challenged. Beyond that, getting others to think of them as dimwitted jokesters who cared for nothing beyond pranking and making others miserable was their greatest prank of all.

They were brilliant in the purest way. They hadn’t needed schooling to bring out their potential; it had already been spilled out in the floor and scribbled down in elaborate schemes before the Hogwarts owl so much as received their letter. One, it was always one letter, addressed to Misters Fred & George Weasley. Absolute geniuses, they could have had top marks in everything from Transfiguration to Potions if they had been so inclined.

They choose not to.

That was why Percy had never understood them. While he was struggling to be better than his brothers, surpass the not-considerable academic record Bill and Charlie had left behind, they were content with mediocrity. While Percy was buried in schoolbooks to manage perfect marks they never so much as cracked one open or took a single note. If Percy had done that he would have been kicked out his first year for incompetence but they skated through easily. If they had put forth any effort they would have somehow shattered the perfection Percy left behind and he knew that.

It had always made him so mad. He worked and worked and they just didn’t care. They…threw it in his face with their attitudes and jokes and teasing… He’d wanted to strangle the life out of them on more than one occasion. Never had, of course, but frequently wanted to.

They’d always been so much better than him at everything. Smarter, more athletic, more outgoing…

They’d even taken the one thing he’d wanted for himself, coveted even.

Percy ran through the common room, breathing heavily. He didn’t get much exercise, unless constantly dashing around Hogwarts counted, but he wanted to get up to his dorm room before the end of his free period. He still had thirty minutes left but he’d already gotten caught up talking to Penelope in the hallway. She was a nice girl he supposed, but she didn’t really do much for him and he wasn’t really interested in her, or any girl, in the way she seemed to be interested in him.

No, he was only interested in one person and he hoped to tell him soon. The thought made his stomach twist in a way that wasn’t bad, but wasn’t really good either. There was fear and anticipation there, all jumbled up inside of him, but he had to do this. For once in his life he had to take a risk.

Fred and George would surely laugh if they knew about it.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself when he finally made it up to the sixth year boys’ dorm room. He smoothed his hair back into place, adjusted his glasses and hoping he didn’t look like he’d just run from the dungeons, which he had, put his hand on the door to open it.

A low warbling moan drifted to his ears from the other side of the door and he faltered, drawing back and blinking. He stood there for a long moment and another noise, a breathless laugh and a sound like a slap assaulted him.

“Oliver…” A soft voice, familiar in a way that made Percy want to be sick. He could taste the bile in the back of his throat, burning there, and he swallowed thickly to keep it down. He wiped at his eyes then took a step back.

Percy wasn’t an idiot, not in the least. A little ‘innocent’, something his roommate teased him about sometimes, but not stupid. He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned, walking back into the still empty common room. He sat down in one of the armchairs and pulled his legs up until he could wrap his arms around them. And so he stayed.

The minutes ticked themselves away and the silence was thick and heavy until it threatened to just crush him. The pressure in his chest grew, as did the strange burning behind his eyes.

“Percy!” He didn’t move when Fred knelt in front of him, brown eyes calm and sated, but a little wary. “What’re you doing here?”

Percy looked past his brother to see George and Oliver standing at the bottom of the stairs, both looking rumpled and embarrassed. Percy saw George’s hand, which had been resting on Oliver’s arm, move to his own side quickly. Turned his gaze back to Fred and spoke even though his mind was empty.

“Sitting, obviously. Shouldn’t you and George be in Herbology? I wish you would just go to class like you’re supposed to; it’d be less trouble for everyone the house would lose a lot less points-” Building up the walls, turning into ‘Perfect Percy’ with only his rules and power beside him. It didn’t have to hurt as long as he didn’t let it. It didn’t matter.

Nothing had to matter.

“Percy, please!” Fred laughed and Percy wanted to flinch away from him. Or smash his face in. Either one would have sufficed. “Some things are more important than Herbology.”

His smile was supposed to be a secretive one, shared with George and Oliver while Percy was left in the cold to wonder what was going on. Only it wasn’t. Percy really did want to just hit him. How dare he…Oliver had been his first. His roommate, his best friend, his…his nothing now. Percy knew he’d never look at him and not think of the twins.

Percy hated all of them.

He’d thrown himself even deeper into his work. Took up with Penelope Clearwater, who was so much like the ‘Percy’ he projected for everyone to see that it made him want to kill himself. Of course by the time it occurred to him he wanted to kill himself, or maybe her, he hadn’t really had the energy to do either and had just allowed the relationship to continue. He imagined he’d always hate himself for that, for allowing Penny to fall in love with him and be with him, only to crush her by telling her that he had never cared about her. The look on her face still haunted him, the way the tears had pooled in her eyes but refused to go any farther, the shaking of her hand, and the twist of her lips.

He had pulled away from Oliver until they were simply two people who shared a room. Hadn’t even spoken to him since graduation. He’d gone from being in love with him, honest to god soul burning heart twisting love, to hating him. He’d wanted Oliver so much that he’d been willing to risk his families traditional views and the Ministry’s less than favorable view and poor treatment of queer wizards just to be with him.

Him, Percy who never took any risks and had chosen the Ministry over his own family, had been willing to put it all on the line for one person.

He swallowed, looking away from the ‘closed’ sign on the door and looking down at the ground. His pacing footprints revealed the cobblestone path, but all around him the snow was a few centimeters deep. It was falling softly, just barely sticking to his coat and scarf.

He’d gone to his parents first, explained why he’d said what he had and then begged their forgiveness. His mother had sobbed, crushing him in her grip until he lost feeling in his arms and still he’d let her hug him. He’d been crying as well; he hadn’t even realized how much he missed her until then. His father had stood behind his mother and had just offered him a smile, letting him know all was forgiven.

Ginny had cried as well, hitting him and calling him stupid as she did before finally crushing him in a hug their mother would have been proud of. Bill had rolled his eyes and shrugged. Charlie had called him an overdramatic prat then asked how things were at the Ministry.

Percy had quit two weeks before. Charlie was the first to know it. Even their father had yet to hear it. He’d laughed and pulled him into a quick hug then suggested they get coffee or something the next day. Tonks, his girlfriend, was due to be by so they couldn’t talk too long. Percy had accepted and now he was here.

He’d also gone to Ron’s but the younger man had taken one look at him and slammed the door in his face. He had heard Hermione and Harry protesting on the inside but Ron had started shouting and so he’d just left. He’d go back later.

Ron should have been saved for last anyway because…well, it was Ron. Ron was the one person he knew for sure would refuse his apology and slam the door in his face (again) and he wanted to save that for last. Ron was bullheaded and Percy couldn’t imagine where it had come from. Sure, the Weasley Pride and Stubbornness afflicted them all, but Ron was…bullheaded.

So stubborn he’d rather cut off his own arm than admit he was wrong.

So he’d do this then go back to his flat and enjoy it while he still had the money to do just that, go to the apartment Ron, Harry, and Hermione shared in London and get the door slammed in his face, and go out with Charlie. He’d look up Oliver and Penny and try to see them as well.

Of course…this all hinged on his ability to do this.

Stupid therapist. Had to absolve himself before he could move on with his life…bullocks. Percy was willing to admit he had hit a snag in the grand scheme of sanity for a few months there, pretty much the entire end of the war, but this was just…bullocks.

He wouldn’t go but it had been a condition…

Yes, he was guilty because he’d been an ass but going around and telling everyone he’d wronged sorry just seemed to be overdoing it. And yet he was doing it and he had to admit with each person he saw the weight he’d felt since he’d fought with his father lifted some.

He’d done a lot of shitty things to people he cared about, treated them badly for no real reason in most cases and…

He rang the bell and rocked back on his heels to wait. There was a light on in the window above the shop but Merlin only knew if they would be inclined to come down and answer the door. It was late, nearly eleven, and they were closed. They were probably up to something more worthwhile then seeing who was crazy enough to be out this late in the middle of December.

Percy wouldn’t hold that against them.

A light came on and Percy blinked against it. He heard the bell tinkle as the door opened and looked down at Fred. Percy was taller, he was the tallest one in their family, but Fred and George had always been the strongest looking. Built more solidly, not willowy like the rest.

Not that Percy was willowy. He was simply skinny. He could still count his ribs by sight. If his mother ever saw him out of too-big sweaters and baggy jeans she’d probably go on some kind of cooking binge and not let him leave the Burrow until he’d put on all the weight he’d lost.

Percy knew it was Fred because the freckles across his nose were heavy, where as George’s were a bit lighter, his hair was longer, not as long as Percy or Bill wore theirs but still, and one of his ears was pierced. Ever the rebel, something that seemed even more fitting since he was just wearing a pair of worn blue jeans.

“Percy.” Cold. Fred’s voice was colder than the weather.

“Fred.” Percy mimicked his brother then looked over his shoulder at George who was leaning against the front counter and watching. “George. I expect we’re all acquainted now, but I could whip up some nametags if you think there‘s going to be a problem.”

Fred looked surprised. “Did you just make a joke?”

Percy narrowed his eyes slightly. “Yes. Not a very good one since you had to ask, but yes.”

“…Huh. What do you want?”

“To talk to you, if you’ll allow it.”

“It’s late.”

Percy snorted. “That didn’t bother you when you had a curfew, why should it now?”

“He’s got a point.” George said, fingers rapping on the counter softly. Fred shot him a look and George made a face before looking away. Fred was in control here, he always had been. Percy had never understood why George allowed it, but he did without so much as a complaint (that Percy had ever been privy to at least.)

“So. Talk.”

Percy blinked, looked down at the snow gathering around his feet once again then nodded. He had known this was going to be hard and at least they hadn’t slammed the door. Yet anyway. “I’m sorry. About the things I said and how I acted the last time we saw each other. I was wrong for the things I said.”

“You called us ‘Freaks’.” Fred spit the word out like a curse.

Fred and George were sitting in the living room, waiting for him. Percy had bought a flat and was now moving all of his things out of the Burrow. He’d waited until he’d known everyone would be gone and yet here they were, the bloody banes of his existence, sitting and watching.

He’d ignored them until there was only one box left to floo and if he left now he’d never have to see them again, of that he was sure.

“You’re a bastard. A miserable worthless bastard.” Fred said as he stood up. George didn’t move, just turned his head so he was glaring at Percy as well. “You’re going to up and leave without so much as saying goodbye? Its one thing to be a git but this…you’re going to break Mum’s heart. I can’t believe you’d do something like that. Fudge must be rubbing off.”

Percy felt himself blushing at the words and knew he had to lash out. He couldn’t let him get away with that. “I’ll break Mum’s heart? I wonder what would happen if she knew about you two, what you do to each other. How close you really are.”

George went pale and a hand reached up and grabbed Fred’s sleeve. Fred took a step back, closer to his twin and for a moment said nothing. Then, licking his lips, he spoke.

“You know?”

“I’ve always known. You sleep bloody next door and you aren’t that quiet.” Percy spat. He didn’t say, though, how often he’d stayed awake listening and touching himself to the sounds of his brothers. He couldn’t say that because then he was just as bad as they were and it was damn hard to be self-righteous when you were a pervert as well. “Don’t talk to me about what’s wrong. You two are freaks.”

He should have apologized, because it wasn‘t right to say things like that…to be such a bastard when he was no better than they were in reality, but he’d just watched his younger brother flinch and look away, brushing George’s hand away, and stalk off. Percy didn’t think he’d ever seen Fred walk away from George before and even if he had something else to say he couldn‘t have after that. George hadn’t followed or spoken a word to Percy. Just pulled his legs up and bowed his head.

Percy had thought it served him right and left.

“You are.” Percy said before he could halt the words. George sighed loudly, shaking his head as if disappointed in him. Fred scowled and Percy knew the door was about to be shut and he couldn’t allow that, not yet. If they wanted to reject him after he was done, fine, but not yet. He reached out and put a hand on Fred’s arm, frigid fingers curling around the warm flesh. A warm tingle went through him and Percy let go quickly. He didn‘t want to get too close…“Wait.”

“For what? It’s obvious you aren’t really sorry.”

“I am sorry, but…in a factual sense, I‘m pretty sure you are in fact freaks.” Fred was silent for a moment then took his hand off of the door. “But I shouldn’t have made that a bad thing. I was angry. I…I thought I hated you and that was the worst thing I could think to say, to try and make what you two are…have something wrong and sick.”

“Isn’t it? The two of us…it isn‘t okay is it? As caught up as you are with the proper image it must be driving you crazy to be near us.” George asked and this time Fred didn’t make any indication that he should shut up. Just stared up at him with those intense brown eyes, waiting.

Percy paused for a moment, considering his words carefully but everything that ran through his mind just seemed so wrong. Finally he reached up and raked his hands through his hair. “Bugger this…I don’t know what to say. I was wrong and I just said what I said so that you would feel bad like I did. What I think about what you two do doesn’t matter in the least. I was an ass.”

“Just to us.” George said, fingers still drumming. “And Dad, but everyone else you didn’t say a word to no matter how many owls or Howlers they sent. You just ignored them. Why?”

The words were stuck in Percy’s throat but he knew he had to say them. Had to get it out all there before he could start over. “I hated you.”

Fred went rigid. “Hated us?”

“Hated you. Everything about you. You were always so much better at me without even trying…it just came so naturally. I had to give up any chance of a social life to get the grades I had and you could have done it if you’d just paid attention in class. You had Quidditch and friends and everyone always loved you and I didn’t have…anything. I tried so hard just to be seen and it came so easily to you that it was almost like you were mocking me and it drove me crazy just to watch you two sometimes. And of course you always had each other… Bill had Charlie, Ron had Ginny, and you two had each other. I was the odd one out in our home as much as I was at school. That other Weasley. I had to be perfect just for people to look at me and that wouldn‘t have worked if you two had ever given a damn.”

He shook his head, feeling the old familiar heat of anger stir again. “But that wasn’t enough, you had to take the one thing that ever mattered to me too and…fuck, I wanted to kill you both for it. Or one of you. …You understand for torture purposes, not because I hated one more than the other.” Because that would have been wrong.


That last comment might have been a little bit too much honesty. George’s drumming stopped and his eyes were wide. Fred looked like he was considering shutting the door again but just shifted his weight to his right foot while his left one went up and pushed his jeans up to rub at his calf.

“…Sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“No, it’s fine. I guess. You should come inside.”

Percy hesitated. “No. I’d rather do this outside so I don’t have to worry about being kicked out.” Fred’s lips twitched into an almost smile before he nodded. “Well…well, like I said I wanted to hurt you and…prove I was better. Prove that you didn’t have me fooled like you did everyone else and that I could see right through you.”

Fred did smile this time, but it was a slow wicked smile. “We know that now. It was surprising that it was you. You never seemed to notice anything but yourself.”

“I suppose.” Percy said, rubbing his hands together to generate some kind of warmth. He couldn’t help but feel he was going to be sick after all of this. “It doesn’t matter though, I shouldn’t have done it and I’m trying to make up for how I acted.”

“We heard. Bill fire called us to let us know we could expect you.” Fred looked embarrassed for a moment. “I wasn’t going to answer the door but George thought we should at least hear you out since you were trying so hard.”

George smiled at him slightly. Percy returned it then sighed, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. He should really invest in some gloves.

“I’m glad you did. I was…worried.”

“Obviously. You were out here for what, twenty minutes pacing?” Fred leaned against the doorframe and shook his head. “I didn’t know we were that scary.”

Percy looked down at the ground, not sure how to respond to that. How could he explain to Fred that they were utterly terrifying to him? As much as Penny had represented everything he hated but forced himself to pretend to be these two represented everything he wished he could have and pretended to hate. If they had rejected his apology, or not even opened the door, he…well, he didn’t know what he would have done. Gone home and wallowed.

Which was bad. Constant wallowing was the start of the unfortunate sequence of events that had lead him to his lapse in sanity and eventually here. …So maybe not all bad. He wished it had taken something less serious than a near death experience for him to pull his head out of his ass, but at least he’d finally done it. But…not anymore. He was tired, so tired that it made his bones ache sometimes, and he couldn’t take just taking everything in and letting it build up anymore. He’d been doing it his entire life, or most of it at least, and he just couldn’t anymore.

It had nearly destroyed him.

“This is where it all started.” Percy said finally then mentally smacked himself. That wasn’t really what he’d meant to say. “Not…here but…apologizing to you two was important, almost more important than Mum and Dad. I was wrong, very wrong, and nothing can change that but I didn’t just spontaneously become a bastard.”

“So it’s our fault you’re an idiot?” Fred shrugged slightly. “Yeah, I can see that. We were pretty awful to you. You made it easy though; you never even tried to defend yourself.”

“It didn’t seem right. It was easier to just let you do and then hate you for it later. I never had to get my hands dirty and it was always your fault.” Percy admitted.

They were his brothers and families were supposed to love and help each other and, as much as they had tormented him, it had never seemed right in his head to lash out at them. He was supposed to protect them and keep them safe, not seek revenge over pranks. If they wanted to be childish and act that way they could, but he wasn’t going to lower himself to their level.

At least that’s what he’d thought for a long time. His therapist had told him that his delusions of martyrdom were very amusing. He supposed she was right.

Fred snorted softly then took a step back into the shop. “Come inside. I’m cold, you’re cold, and I promise not to kick you out.”

Percy stepped in and the warmth seemed to reach out and envelope him the moment he was inside. Fred shut the door behind him and George was already making his way up the flight of stairs behind the front counter. Percy started to follow, at a loss for what else to do, when Fred’s hand caught his elbow. He turned and almost jumped back. His younger brother almost standing right on top of him and his eyes were dark and intense.

Fred licked his bottom lip in an almost deliberate fashion before speaking; voice low enough to send chills up Percy’s spine. “So. How sorry are you?”

Percy suddenly had the feeling like someone who had walked into an extremely stupid situation. He swallowed but didn’t move back. His pride, that damn Weasley Pride, would never allow such a thing of him.

“Sorry enough to stand outside of your shop for thirty minutes in December.”

Fred smiled again and his hand left Percy’s elbow, traveling up his arm with careful slowness. “And that’s a very good start. But you have to admit you were really out of line…Freaks. You called your own brothers freaks, made Mum crazy…er, and sided with Fudge over us. You’re a Weasley Percy, nothing is more important than family.”

It as a bit of an unwritten rule really. …Actually it may have been a written rule, now that he thought about it. It was that one thing that they were never supposed to go against and he’d done that. That’s why he had to do this, really. More than just his therapist’s advice or his own guilt, he had done the one truly unacceptable thing: He’d hurt his family.

And they’d all forgiven him so easily because, even though he had screwed up, they still abided by that rule. He’d done it but they would never do it back.

Percy had that lightheaded feeling that came with all major revelations and reached back to grab onto something to hold onto, the counter perhaps, but found only air. He knew he was going to fall but then hands grabbed his arms and held him still until the room stopped spinning and he was steady on his feet again.

“You okay?”

“Fine. Thanks.”

“I wasn‘t going to let you fall.” Fred said almost dismissively. Percy raked his fingers through his hair again before nodding. Funny how he’d missed that all this time.

“What do you want? I would…fuck, anything.” Fred blinked slowly then snickered. Percy shoved him lightly. “Don’t be a pervert.”

“It’s my nature.” Fred smirked at him before stepping back into his personal space. Actually the line of personal space had long since been crossed and Percy had been considering drawing new lines but Fred’s body was all but pressed against his and there didn’t seem to be much point in new lines since clearly Fred didn’t care about respecting them.

“You realize anything is a very…open term?”

Did he? Fred’s eyes glinted at him in a way that spoke of many things, none of which were the least bit pure and acceptable. “Yes.”

“Really?” He could feel Fred’s breath against his lips and he couldn’t help but look down. Dusky pink, surrounded by tanned skin and dark brown freckles. Percy had never tanned, always burned and flaked and ended up just as pale as he’d been before he’d going into the sun. He nodded. “Percy…do you know what I’m asking?”

“Bloody hell Fred, I’m not totally brain dead! If you ask me again I‘ll leave!” He wanted to smack him but Fred moved forward and sealed his lips over Percy’s so all he could do was whimper instead. A hand touched the back of his head, pulling him down while another rested at the small of his back, pushing him against the more muscular form.

Teeth nibbled at his bottom lip teasingly and then Fred’s tongue followed, swiping over his lip lightly. Percy had never been a really good kisser…at least, he didn’t think he was. He’d only kissed one person and he’d always though of it as more of an obligation, something he had to do because he was with her, then because he wanted to. That thought brought a pang of guilt but when his lips parted, more of their own volition than a conscious thought on his part, he forgot about it. Fred’s tongue moved over his own and Percy’s knees went weak.

Fred was very good at this.



Stupid story is getting a bit longer than I wanted it to be. As in a lot. This story wants to be something more than I want it to be but I shan’t allow it… actually I probably will. Oh well.

This is mostly written, though not typed, but I had to cut it off because my already abysmal editing skills get steadily worse as a section grows longer.

Current mood: tired

Saturday, January 14, 2006

5:24PM - 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.

Into the Fire

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.


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…


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.

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.

Current mood: confused