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New Fic: Winchester Synchronicity (NC17, Story Notes & Prologue)
Winchester
Summary: Sam saves Dean. Dean saves Sam. If these boys ever manage to really work together, nothing will stand a chance against them, even an apocalypse.
Author: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
rivestra
Parts: 3 sections planned, and I'm deep into # 2 (about 50,000 words)
Warnings: Apocalyptic, fuck-or-die slave!fic. Starts out just dark but veers into NC17, first for violence, then for sex by the time I get to the end of Section 1. So don’t go there if you have problems with violence, non-con, torture or brothercest. It’s just not a good plan. Also, in my head the boys cuss a lot more than’s acceptable on TV (yeah Ghostfacers!)
Notes: Leaves Kripkeland after Mystery Spot. The important thing to know is that Dean’s still got about a month left on his contract with the crossroads demon when the story opens. Section 2 contains vague spoilers for season 4.
Many Thanks: to my tireless betas varkelton and snarkgoddess , who put up with more obsessive neediness than anyone should ever have to. All remaining mistakes are mine, some through pure stubbornness. Thanks also my darling hubby, who encouraged me to write, even after he realized my writing meant me vanishing into my computer for long hours at a time.
This fic is dedicated to varkelton , just for being born. That means I can blame her for it all, right? It’s her (very late) birthday fic, after all. She requested a slave fic with an emotionally damaging fuck-or-die situation set in a post-apocalyptic world. Her desire for hurt/comfort with extra helpings of angst didn’t need to be spoken. Thanks for pushing me into actually writing, hon, and for being a really, really good friend.
Chapter Index
In exactly 3 minutes, it will officially be spring in Bumfuck
Of course, Dean doesn’t have time to check out the stars, really, and the quiet is fractured by the ragged sound of his breathing, fogging the air white as he runs through the orchard. It’s cold as hell out here.
Dean tries not to wonder if that’s just an expression.
Sam’s somewhere off to his left, trying to get behind the thing, trying to help Dean lure it into the grove of trees ahead. Dean glances down at his watch: 90 seconds now. Sam’s got this operation timed down to the second, so Dean dodges right, heading away from Sam and circling the outer edge of the grove until it’s time to cut inside.
He slows slightly, letting the thing catch up a bit just before he hears Sam’s signal shot ring out through the still air. Perfect timing, yet again.
Things have gotten so fluid between them lately, it’s like they have their own kind of ESP just for hunting. Sam might hate it when Dean talks about the swath they’re cutting through the demon community as his legacy, but it’ll make a damn fine one. They’ve been busy, busy boys this year.
Dean darts inside the grove with the thing right on his heels, just as his watch beeps. Sam lays down the final lines, slamming the trap shut behind them and Dean’s breath is knocked right out of him as the trees’ circle becomes suffocatingly tight. His lungs scream and every hair on his body stands on end as his brother begins to chant from outside the ancient grove. He can almost see the power surging from Sam and into their trap, whipping the snow on the ground up into an unnatural, frigid wind. Sam’s in fine form tonight.
Dean sucks air into his lungs and looks around for his pursuer, only to find it rigid on its mark – another example of perfect
Gods are a lot trickier to exorcise than demons, but he’d put his money on his little brother over a minor pagan deity any day.
*****
An endless twenty minutes later, and Dean sure as hell hopes the ritual’s winding down. Odin-Lite’s constant stares are giving him the creeps – he almost recognizes that scarred, blandly handsome face, but can’t quite get it – and it’s taking all of his concentration just to keep still. To be honest though, he’s not sure he could move off his mark if he wanted to – the cold has numbed his legs up past his knees, and his arms aren’t far behind in spite of his constant rubbing. Even so, sweat drips down his face as Sam’s chanting takes on a sharp edge, then stops abruptly. Sudden nausea surges through Dean, accompanied by a wave of dizziness so strong it sends him careening off his rune-bedecked patch of earth.
That’d better have been Sam’s final whoomph. Dean slips in the wet muck the snow’s left behind, struggling to rise on his still-numb feet. He’s grateful for the steadying hand that guides his elbow from behind, even as he considers pulling his brother down into the muck with him.
Dean’s not together enough yet to mask the pride in his voice as he complains. “Give a guy a little warning the next time we’re expecting a sudden warm spell, huh Sammy?” He’s almost hot now, and the vertigo is still intense. After a moment, he finally gets his feet under him enough to turn around, expecting a face full of snow for his trouble, but it’s not Sam behind him.
All the breath leaves his body in a rush, and he nearly goes down again. He’s caught up by that same helping hand, this time gripping his shoulder, effortlessly keeping him upright. Their not-so-vanquished prey holds him easily in place as Dean begins to struggle violently, eyes casting about, looking frantically for his brother.
Sam’s nowhere to be seen, and Dean’s fading fast, much weaker than he’d thought. He has time for one heartfelt, “Oh shit,” before he passes out in his captor’s firm grip: the snow’s not just gone, the whole grove is covered with spring apple blossoms, hanging down low above their carpet of fresh spring grass.
~ On to Chapter One ~
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