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Fic: Winchester Synchronicity (NC17, Chapter 15 of ?)
Ok, here’s fifteen. It’s a bit short, but I think it packs enough of a punch to satisfy anyway.
As always, much thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
varkelton for being an amazing beta (go read her big bang, An Issue of Consent, if you haven’t yet! She shakes up fuck-or-die conventions in some delicious ways). Also to ailise for being ever vigilant: she makes me look close so that when my style collides with grammar rules I don’t always cast off the rules. They make me a much better writer.
And thanks again to everybody who’s reading. I covet your feedback (be it praise or concrit) more than rich chocolate cake slathered with fluffy vanilla frosting and piled high with ripe summer strawberries.
Though I am hungry now, for some reason.
Title: Winchester Synchronicity, Chapter 15 of ? (WIP)
Author:rivestra
Rating: NC-17 series wide
Warnings: violence, non-con, wincest
Chapter Fifteen
~Go back to Fourteen~
~Story Index~
Dean’s heart was pounding when he woke up. He rolled over and stared up at the ceiling for a while, mind carefully blank. Eventually, he unclenched his hand from around the keys and turned his stare to the deep indentations they’d left in his palm. No pain came as he stared at the welts, not even when he flexed his hand and blood welled up in the deepest marks.
He felt numb.
On autopilot, Dean swung himself off the bed. Without looking at them again, he tucked the keys down deep into the bottom of Sam’s duffle. As he stood back up, the blood on his palm caught his eye again, and he realized belatedly that he’d probably just stained half of Sam’s clothes.
Sam probably wouldn’t even notice; he was clearly used to blood on him now.
The marks had healed before his brother returned.
*****
Dean was washing his face when he heard the hall door open. He didn’t turn around, just lowered his head to rinse it in the basin, knowing it was Sam. He didn’t react when Sam came up behind him. He didn’t flinch when Sam put a hand on his back and said, “Hey.”
It was still Sam. Just Sam. Dean pulled away a bit as he straightened up, just to reach for the towel, he told himself.
Sam let his hand drop and continued in a quiet voice, “Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll get us set up?” Dean stared at him, face scrubbing arrested mid-motion. Sam handed him a small glass bottle. “Use this to wash. It’ll make things…” Was Sam flushing? It was hard to tell in the damn always gray light “…easier.”
Dean stared down at the bottle in his hand. Sam retreated to the outer room, and there was no doubt in Dean’s mind that “retreated” was the right word for it. He popped the top and sniffed the contents. They smelled sweet and flowery, but there was something else there, almost hidden underneath. It took another deep breath before he recognized the sulfur scent under that thick honeyed mask.
No thanks, Sammy. He set the bottle on the sink and stripped his clothes off, dumping them carelessly on the floor. Easy’d never really been in his future anyway. He stepped into the shower and scrubbed up with the bar of regular-old ivory, trying not to think about anything at all.
Dean ducked his head under the spray. He just had to get through this ceremony-thing, and they’d be out of here. Just the two of them, on the open road.
*****
His clothes had disappeared, so Dean was wrapped in just a towel when he came out into the room. Jeans and a tee were laid out on the bed, and he made a beeline for them, but Sam’s firm, “Come here,” stopped him cold.
Tightening his towel a bit, Dean strode across the room to where his brother stood at the foot of the bed, changed into those fucking favorite jeans but otherwise bare. Sam’s nose twitched as Dean approached, but he didn’t say a word.
He tried to watch Sam, to figure out what was going on, but his eyes kept drawing away. The rug beneath their feet was new, wool, tightly woven and dense, colored like a southwestern sunset. So were the things scattered on it behind Sam: a clay bowl, inlaid with bright blue and full of water, a fat pillar candle, ringed in silver and trailing smoke thickly into the air. Eagle feathers and spring-green leaves were scattered between the two, and there was sand, spread out salt-like, enclosing them and the rug beneath their feet.
Dean swallowed back the questions from the tip of his tongue, asking instead, “What do I need to do?”
Sam pointed at the rug, right in front of where he stood, “Kneel here,” When, growing desperate to look at something else, Dean started to turn away, gentle hands on his shoulders kept him from doing so. Sam guided him down until they both knelt, facing each other, ringed in sand.
Sam let his hands drop and rocked his weight back onto his heels, giving Dean a little breathing room. Unconsciously, Dean mimicked the action, licking his lips nervously as he leaned back and adjusted his towel where it threatened to gape. Sam was solid and real in front of him, almost glowing in the candle’s light, and now Dean’s eyes couldn’t look anywhere else. They traveled up, lingering over the angry scars still marring his brother’s torso, then up to that calm, achingly familiar face.
Dean sucked in a deep breath when he caught the flash of candle flame in Sam’s eyes, ruthlessly pushing down his own flash of burning metal and muscle, of writhing flesh and melting vinyl. He told himself firmly that whatever Sam did, he was still Sam. His brother may have traveled a long way down a dark road, but he wasn’t alone any more… even if he didn’t know it. Whatever Sam had done, however fucked up he’d become, he’d done it for Dean.
Now it was Dean’s turn.
He straightened up on his heels and leaned in toward Sam a bit, arms loose at his sides and his best let’s do this thing expression on his face.
Sam leaned in as well and took Dean’s forearms in his hands. Eyes locked on Dean’s, Sam asked, “Are you ready? Because if we stop this once it’s started, we’ll have to do it the other way, and…”
Dean cut him off with a rock-serious, “I’m ready, Sam,” and Sam nodded at him. He drew his right hand away from Dean’s arm, his left staying firm on Dean. Without looking, he grabbed up some sand and spread it over the break Dean hadn’t noticed in the circle, closing it around them.
For a moment, Dean couldn’t breathe. Power surged all around him, chaotic sensory overload, and he could feel the surf crashing into his body again and again, driving him into the sand below, then back up to the blue-blue sky, the burning heat of the sun baking into his bones. The wind, too, swirled possessively around him, all at once bringing the rich smells of the field, the salt-smell of the sea and the cool bite of snow; the green tang of spring, the sweet fullness of summer fruit; and fall colors swimming with the scents of leaf-musk and apple blossoms and baking pie. All that while it sucked the breath from him and squeezed so tight, and he crashed under the power of that surf again and again and again and…
It all faded the instant Sam’s hand was back on his arm. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but it felt like so much more, and his hands tightened on Sam’s forearms, gripping like they were his only anchor, which had always been true, anyway. Sam gripped back, and the tumultuous sensations receded a little bit more.
By the time Sam began to chant, Dean could barely feel the maelstrom; it was just a constant pressure on his skin, a reminder, an almost-caress. He leaned into it as Sam’s chant grew – not louder but stronger. He felt the incomprehensible words flow through him, cracking into each knob of his spine as they traveled down to pool, warm and strong, in his belly before rushing down his legs and out through the upturned soles of his feet – a cooling gust of air and water and fire, running out and deep, connecting him to the earth below.
He clutched Sam’s shoulders as the chanting continued to flow through him, realizing only distantly that, at some point, they’d both risen up and were now pressing together from chest to thigh. When Sam stopped chanting, it was sudden and the shock flung him open again; the storm rushed in, filling all the places where Sam’s words had been. They clung to each other, solid against the whipping wind, bathed in the pounding rain and lit by flashes of lightening.
Dean watched Sam’s face as he reached down blindly again, unbothered now by the lightening reflected in his brother’s eyes. Eventually, Sam’s hand came back up, clutching a thin strap. Still feeling that solid strength, Dean nodded. He’d been expecting something like this and was unsurprised when Sam brought the strap to rest wetly against his throat.
He hadn’t expected the leather to be so warm or for Sam’s hands to feel so hot and huge up against his throat. Hadn’t expected to hear himself moan at the contact, or to lean that much harder into Sam, but it felt right. He certainly hadn’t expected to be disappointed when he didn’t immediately feel the leather close around his neck, but Sam just held it there with one hand.
Sam’s other hand ran down Dean’s back, firmly sliding over wet skin, the pressure shifting Dean until he was twisted, face to the right of Sam’s. He moved easily, not even trying to anticipate where Sam wanted him.
He was facing into the rain once he was positioned, and it pounded into his eyes; he let his head drop, sheltering against Sammy’s shoulder. Sam trembled a little against him then shifted around a bit more, bringing Dean’s arm between their bodies, his own head leaning around to Dean’s back. Dean pressed forward to make the position easier, stretching deeper into Sam.
Sam sucked in a deep breath, and in that instant the wind tightened its hold on them, swirling faster than before. The lightening flared all around them, and the rain drove into them like needles: Sam the only warmth in his whole world. Dean couldn’t help but hold his breath, certain that something was about to change, maybe everything, and then the collar clicked shut and Sammy sank his teeth deep into Dean’s shoulder.
Everything Dean was ripped into a billion tiny pieces, and he was torn apart – shattered, yet whole – anchored only by the pressure of Sam’s teeth dug deep into the blade of his shoulder.
Fire burned across his back, rippling through him, tearing a breathless scream from his lungs as it passed on its way through his chest. He bucked into Sam’s hold as the fire raced along his nerves and muscles, finally slamming into his rib cage and flaring, fracturing out prismatically from there. White-hot and solid, the fire hit his skin in a million places at once then contracted sharply, coalescing again where he and Sam were pressed hardest together, just to the left of his heart.
They both screamed this time, the sound ripping from their throats. The power surged through them, warm and rich and wild. It wrapped around them again and again, pulling at all the billion bits of Dean and putting them back together; their bright-sharp edges and copper cutting clean and fierce, tearing him open. He spilled out to swirl in the wind, in the universe, anchored in it all still, filled to the brim with the sights and sounds and smells of the maelstrom and, suddenly, he knew it was Sam.
All of it.
Sam was everywhere, in everything, and Dean screamed out, “Sammy!” and came and came and came.
On to Sixteen
~ Fic Index ~
As always, much thanks to
varkelton for being an amazing beta (go read her big bang, An Issue of Consent, if you haven’t yet! She shakes up fuck-or-die conventions in some delicious ways). Also to ailise for being ever vigilant: she makes me look close so that when my style collides with grammar rules I don’t always cast off the rules. They make me a much better writer.And thanks again to everybody who’s reading. I covet your feedback (be it praise or concrit) more than rich chocolate cake slathered with fluffy vanilla frosting and piled high with ripe summer strawberries.
Though I am hungry now, for some reason.
Title: Winchester Synchronicity, Chapter 15 of ? (WIP)
Author:
rivestra Rating: NC-17 series wide
Warnings: violence, non-con, wincest
Chapter Fifteen
~Go back to Fourteen~
~Story Index~
Dean’s heart was pounding when he woke up. He rolled over and stared up at the ceiling for a while, mind carefully blank. Eventually, he unclenched his hand from around the keys and turned his stare to the deep indentations they’d left in his palm. No pain came as he stared at the welts, not even when he flexed his hand and blood welled up in the deepest marks.
He felt numb.
On autopilot, Dean swung himself off the bed. Without looking at them again, he tucked the keys down deep into the bottom of Sam’s duffle. As he stood back up, the blood on his palm caught his eye again, and he realized belatedly that he’d probably just stained half of Sam’s clothes.
Sam probably wouldn’t even notice; he was clearly used to blood on him now.
The marks had healed before his brother returned.
*****
Dean was washing his face when he heard the hall door open. He didn’t turn around, just lowered his head to rinse it in the basin, knowing it was Sam. He didn’t react when Sam came up behind him. He didn’t flinch when Sam put a hand on his back and said, “Hey.”
It was still Sam. Just Sam. Dean pulled away a bit as he straightened up, just to reach for the towel, he told himself.
Sam let his hand drop and continued in a quiet voice, “Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll get us set up?” Dean stared at him, face scrubbing arrested mid-motion. Sam handed him a small glass bottle. “Use this to wash. It’ll make things…” Was Sam flushing? It was hard to tell in the damn always gray light “…easier.”
Dean stared down at the bottle in his hand. Sam retreated to the outer room, and there was no doubt in Dean’s mind that “retreated” was the right word for it. He popped the top and sniffed the contents. They smelled sweet and flowery, but there was something else there, almost hidden underneath. It took another deep breath before he recognized the sulfur scent under that thick honeyed mask.
No thanks, Sammy. He set the bottle on the sink and stripped his clothes off, dumping them carelessly on the floor. Easy’d never really been in his future anyway. He stepped into the shower and scrubbed up with the bar of regular-old ivory, trying not to think about anything at all.
Dean ducked his head under the spray. He just had to get through this ceremony-thing, and they’d be out of here. Just the two of them, on the open road.
*****
His clothes had disappeared, so Dean was wrapped in just a towel when he came out into the room. Jeans and a tee were laid out on the bed, and he made a beeline for them, but Sam’s firm, “Come here,” stopped him cold.
Tightening his towel a bit, Dean strode across the room to where his brother stood at the foot of the bed, changed into those fucking favorite jeans but otherwise bare. Sam’s nose twitched as Dean approached, but he didn’t say a word.
He tried to watch Sam, to figure out what was going on, but his eyes kept drawing away. The rug beneath their feet was new, wool, tightly woven and dense, colored like a southwestern sunset. So were the things scattered on it behind Sam: a clay bowl, inlaid with bright blue and full of water, a fat pillar candle, ringed in silver and trailing smoke thickly into the air. Eagle feathers and spring-green leaves were scattered between the two, and there was sand, spread out salt-like, enclosing them and the rug beneath their feet.
Dean swallowed back the questions from the tip of his tongue, asking instead, “What do I need to do?”
Sam pointed at the rug, right in front of where he stood, “Kneel here,” When, growing desperate to look at something else, Dean started to turn away, gentle hands on his shoulders kept him from doing so. Sam guided him down until they both knelt, facing each other, ringed in sand.
Sam let his hands drop and rocked his weight back onto his heels, giving Dean a little breathing room. Unconsciously, Dean mimicked the action, licking his lips nervously as he leaned back and adjusted his towel where it threatened to gape. Sam was solid and real in front of him, almost glowing in the candle’s light, and now Dean’s eyes couldn’t look anywhere else. They traveled up, lingering over the angry scars still marring his brother’s torso, then up to that calm, achingly familiar face.
Dean sucked in a deep breath when he caught the flash of candle flame in Sam’s eyes, ruthlessly pushing down his own flash of burning metal and muscle, of writhing flesh and melting vinyl. He told himself firmly that whatever Sam did, he was still Sam. His brother may have traveled a long way down a dark road, but he wasn’t alone any more… even if he didn’t know it. Whatever Sam had done, however fucked up he’d become, he’d done it for Dean.
Now it was Dean’s turn.
He straightened up on his heels and leaned in toward Sam a bit, arms loose at his sides and his best let’s do this thing expression on his face.
Sam leaned in as well and took Dean’s forearms in his hands. Eyes locked on Dean’s, Sam asked, “Are you ready? Because if we stop this once it’s started, we’ll have to do it the other way, and…”
Dean cut him off with a rock-serious, “I’m ready, Sam,” and Sam nodded at him. He drew his right hand away from Dean’s arm, his left staying firm on Dean. Without looking, he grabbed up some sand and spread it over the break Dean hadn’t noticed in the circle, closing it around them.
For a moment, Dean couldn’t breathe. Power surged all around him, chaotic sensory overload, and he could feel the surf crashing into his body again and again, driving him into the sand below, then back up to the blue-blue sky, the burning heat of the sun baking into his bones. The wind, too, swirled possessively around him, all at once bringing the rich smells of the field, the salt-smell of the sea and the cool bite of snow; the green tang of spring, the sweet fullness of summer fruit; and fall colors swimming with the scents of leaf-musk and apple blossoms and baking pie. All that while it sucked the breath from him and squeezed so tight, and he crashed under the power of that surf again and again and again and…
It all faded the instant Sam’s hand was back on his arm. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but it felt like so much more, and his hands tightened on Sam’s forearms, gripping like they were his only anchor, which had always been true, anyway. Sam gripped back, and the tumultuous sensations receded a little bit more.
By the time Sam began to chant, Dean could barely feel the maelstrom; it was just a constant pressure on his skin, a reminder, an almost-caress. He leaned into it as Sam’s chant grew – not louder but stronger. He felt the incomprehensible words flow through him, cracking into each knob of his spine as they traveled down to pool, warm and strong, in his belly before rushing down his legs and out through the upturned soles of his feet – a cooling gust of air and water and fire, running out and deep, connecting him to the earth below.
He clutched Sam’s shoulders as the chanting continued to flow through him, realizing only distantly that, at some point, they’d both risen up and were now pressing together from chest to thigh. When Sam stopped chanting, it was sudden and the shock flung him open again; the storm rushed in, filling all the places where Sam’s words had been. They clung to each other, solid against the whipping wind, bathed in the pounding rain and lit by flashes of lightening.
Dean watched Sam’s face as he reached down blindly again, unbothered now by the lightening reflected in his brother’s eyes. Eventually, Sam’s hand came back up, clutching a thin strap. Still feeling that solid strength, Dean nodded. He’d been expecting something like this and was unsurprised when Sam brought the strap to rest wetly against his throat.
He hadn’t expected the leather to be so warm or for Sam’s hands to feel so hot and huge up against his throat. Hadn’t expected to hear himself moan at the contact, or to lean that much harder into Sam, but it felt right. He certainly hadn’t expected to be disappointed when he didn’t immediately feel the leather close around his neck, but Sam just held it there with one hand.
Sam’s other hand ran down Dean’s back, firmly sliding over wet skin, the pressure shifting Dean until he was twisted, face to the right of Sam’s. He moved easily, not even trying to anticipate where Sam wanted him.
He was facing into the rain once he was positioned, and it pounded into his eyes; he let his head drop, sheltering against Sammy’s shoulder. Sam trembled a little against him then shifted around a bit more, bringing Dean’s arm between their bodies, his own head leaning around to Dean’s back. Dean pressed forward to make the position easier, stretching deeper into Sam.
Sam sucked in a deep breath, and in that instant the wind tightened its hold on them, swirling faster than before. The lightening flared all around them, and the rain drove into them like needles: Sam the only warmth in his whole world. Dean couldn’t help but hold his breath, certain that something was about to change, maybe everything, and then the collar clicked shut and Sammy sank his teeth deep into Dean’s shoulder.
Everything Dean was ripped into a billion tiny pieces, and he was torn apart – shattered, yet whole – anchored only by the pressure of Sam’s teeth dug deep into the blade of his shoulder.
Fire burned across his back, rippling through him, tearing a breathless scream from his lungs as it passed on its way through his chest. He bucked into Sam’s hold as the fire raced along his nerves and muscles, finally slamming into his rib cage and flaring, fracturing out prismatically from there. White-hot and solid, the fire hit his skin in a million places at once then contracted sharply, coalescing again where he and Sam were pressed hardest together, just to the left of his heart.
They both screamed this time, the sound ripping from their throats. The power surged through them, warm and rich and wild. It wrapped around them again and again, pulling at all the billion bits of Dean and putting them back together; their bright-sharp edges and copper cutting clean and fierce, tearing him open. He spilled out to swirl in the wind, in the universe, anchored in it all still, filled to the brim with the sights and sounds and smells of the maelstrom and, suddenly, he knew it was Sam.
All of it.
Sam was everywhere, in everything, and Dean screamed out, “Sammy!” and came and came and came.
On to Sixteen
~ Fic Index ~
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...
holy crap.
how horrible is it that the first thing that popped into my head after reading was: sam's gonna KILL HIM for calling him "sammy".
:D yay! another chapter! seriously, i'm becoming pretty invested in this 'verse. one can only wonder what's in store for the boys next. :DDD so excited. haha
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And it's possible - just possible, mind you - that Sam was a little distracted at the time of Dean's little name slip...
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Yay update! I hope every day to see something on this, hope you continue soon! <3
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::Dr Evil style voice-over:: If only I could make the universe run on porn, then people would pay me to write all day... I'll invent a PORN RAY! ::scurries off to get to work::
::realizes she now has yet another project that doesn't involve writing::
::sighs dramatically:: Well, at least I have cool comments to sustain me! Thanks for reading!
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I loved Dean's acceptance of "whatever it took" to help Sam. That he knows Sam is still Sam no matter what he has done was also very reassuring.
I do love this story. I look so forward to your updates.
Thanks for writing!
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I was quite pleased with Dean in this chapter and I'm glad his progress shows. I can do all the plotting I want, but it does no good if the boys won't get with the program. At the moment, Dean's pretty much right where I'd like him to be and that's very nice.
Of course, it also means Sam's probably about to go off the rails on me, because I'm never this lucky. Given how flashback heavy 16's gonna be, this could be a problem... (but one I'll likely enjoy, ultimately.)
Thanks for commenting (and for listening to me babble)!
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::pokes::
::waves a bit pathetically::
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That is one of the nicest things you could have said about that scene. Thank you.
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I just discovered this fic & boy am I glad I clicked onit & read it.
Can't wait for your next update :)
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Thanks for the comment!
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And more importantly will you continue this fic - if not that's ok I understand RL can take a bite and interests change too - just wondering if it is worth continuing to check
Thanks
Zaz
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Seriously. She'll kill me dead. And I've got a good start on the next chapter. I keep looking at it longingly and wanting to continue, so keep checking!
And thanks so much for reading!!!
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And please, friend away!
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The good news here is that I am writing (if slowly and only in what meager free time I can scrape up) and that the hold up hasn't really been with the next chapter, it's been me trying to sort out the plot for the rest of section 2. Hopefully this means that the next few chapters will come much faster than I've been managing.
Anyway, sorry for the TMI and thank you so much for reading!