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Fic: Winchester Synchronicity (NC17, Chapter 13b)
Title: Winchester Synchronicity, Chapter 13b of ? (WIP)
Author:
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rivestra Rating: NC-17 series wide
Warnings: violence, non-con, wincest
~ Story Index ~
Chapter Thirteen, Part B
*****
Dean had been watching vague hell reruns play on his closed eyelids for a while by the time Sam finally dragged his ass back to the room. Old grumpy-brother habits made him scrunch his eyes shut, feigning sleep. Sam stumbling against the door wasn’t foreign to this late-night game, but this time Dean’s heart lurched guiltily and his brain supplied an unsolicited inventory of their remaining bandages.
Sighing, Dean started to drag himself up just as a cardboard-crash sounded at the foot of the bed and he suddenly found himself buried under the full weight his brother, gasping for his lost wind in 100-proof air.
Wait. Drunk? Not hurt?
As if in answer, Sam shoved his nose into the side of Dean’s neck. He breathed in deep then exhaled tequila-scented air all over Dean’s face. Dean crawled out from under Sam and shoved his brother toward the far side of the bed before belatedly remembering he should have been cautious of Sam’s broken ribs. Sammy hadn’t so much as flinched at the manhandling, but Dean needed to be sure and he sighed again, edging back over, closing the distance he’d just created.
When Dean lifted Sammy’s shirt, the unexpected smell of sex hit him hard. He hesitated, frozen until Sam arched up, cat-like, toward him, seeking his touch. For a moment, Dean worked to hold Sam off enough to see under the shirt, but then Sam must have figured that part of it out because he stripped the tee off over his head with an eager little noise.
Dean drew his hand back involuntarily, away from that sudden expanse of skin. When his eyes caught up with the rest of him he stopped moving entirely and just stared at Sam’s exposed chest.
There wasn’t a mark on it anymore.
Sam, no longer held off, took the opportunity to move back into Dean, wrapping tightly around him like a boa constrictor, nose moving back into Dean’s neck, mouth moving wetly over the tendons there.
Trying to focus on being grateful that apparently Molly had been able to heal Sam up, Dean rolled his eyes at the ceiling and reached out to push Sam off again. Before he could do more than bring his hands up though, Sam started to snore gently against his ear. Dean checked his motion, instead trying to find a comfortable place to rest his hands that wasn’t on his brother.
Whatever.
Dean settled back down for the night.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He can see the nameless city stretching out endlessly to the East, skeletons still scraping the sky, a forest of rotting concrete and decaying metal. The wreckage of that last day litters the street, crashed cars and human debris strewn about, patternless. Bodies are stacked like cordwood along the edges, makeshift sandbags in someone’s last-ditch effort to stay free.
Something burns off to the West. It casts a dusky red glow on the urban corridor and stretches a long shadow down the street from the figure standing in the midst of the rubble. The man doesn’t fit the scene, isn’t dirty, isn’t simply waiting to die like most of the remaining people, paused instead in the middle of the street, alert and confident, waiting for… something.
Backlit by the burning suburbs, the man stares off to the East, expectant, shoulder-length hair escaping its confinement and catching in the wind that whips through the downtown valley. Earth-brown leather lays snug over legs and torso, fitting like a second skin, supple enough to show off the lean frame beneath. The man raises an arm, fist held up toward the sky, muscles bunching and stretching under the leather.
A sharp cry sounds across the city, echoing along the skyscrapers. The man looks skyward;, the shadowing hood slips loose and light catches on the familiar planes of a determined face. Focused on a distant but growing dark speck, Dean sways a bit, eyes glassy and distant as the speck resolves into a golden eagle hurtling toward the street.
She lands, swift and sure on the offered gauntlet, and Dean takes a practiced step back to absorb her weight. Once she’s settled, they walk deeper into the city, haloed by the fire behind them.
He cries out as his brother moves off, but the world flares and stretches, and he’s suddenly, brutally awake.
He tries to stay with the dream, refusing to open his eyes, postponing the inevitable for as long as he can. Right now, he can still feel it, the vital truth of the dream, coursing through his veins. That absolute certainty still rides him: This dream will be. He can still smell the smoke and feel the wind. He can still see Dean standing there, surrounded by chaos, but moving forward, strong and purposeful.
Alive.
He sucks in a shuddering breath and pulls away from the warm body in his bed. Tears leak out from behind his tightly shut eyes. They sting, but he curls around his pillow and keeps his eyes closed; an army could come through the door right now and he’d let them.
He knows better than to let the good dreams go without a fight.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Dean jolted awake sure he had heard someone call his name. There was no noise in the room. Nothing to indicate the call was anything other than part of his increasingly weird dreams. What the fuck was that, anyway?
He let the dream swirl around in the back of his head. Maybe his subconscious would know how to deal with it, because he sure as hell didn’t.
Okay, there was a rapidly cooling Sam-shaped void along his back. Dean groaned quietly. He must be really getting used to the way Sam now glommed onto him in sleep, if he was waking up when his brother moved away. Reluctantly, Dean had to admit to himself that it was nice to know Sam was really, really there. It was nice to feel it, even when they were asleep. That didn’t mean he was ever gonna admit that to anyone else.
It was kind of weird though. This was the first time Sam had pulled away from him in his sleep – well, the first time since all this freaky shit started. Dean turned toward his brother. He had to listen closely to hear Sam breathe and that was… weird. The line of Sam’s back was tense, and he was curled in on himself, almost around the pillow…
Fuck. The dream, all that Lord of the Rings weirdness with him and the bird… that was Sam’s dream? Sam’s dream, right now?
He’d dreamed Sammy dreaming about him, and now Sammy was crying, right there next to him.
That was just… Fuck. What the hell was he supposed to do with this information? He couldn’t reach out to him, he couldn’t just… He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, didn’t understand…
How the hell can Sam not know he’s still alive?
Fuck this. He couldn’t not reach out to Sam. Whatever was going on, Dean knew this, knew how much hope like this hurt.
He reached out and laid his hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam froze, becoming even more of a statue than he’d been before, so still Dean was afraid he’d shatter.
Dean could think of a hundred things to say, but couldn’t say any of them; the warning pressure in his head made his limits very clear. In the end, he just moved back into Sam’s space, curling protectively around his brother’s back.
He tried not to notice the rush of relief he felt when Sam let him.
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And I love your icon!
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One minute I feel so bad for Dean, then the next, for Sam. It really is a disaster for both.
So good to see Dean making demon buddies! :) The insight helped, I'm sure. Hopefully he will learn more.
Great update. I can't wait to for the next.
My trip was fantastic, by the way. I had a wonderful time.
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Thanks for sticking with me and this crazy story. I haven't given up on it, I promise!
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And I found some hope. Not sure I'd say I found the hope.
There's more in store though... eventually.
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Yay! It's your day, sending mega *hugs* with special wishes of good fortune your way. Hope it’s a kickass birthday that’s celebrated throughout the day, weekend and the rest of the year. Lots of ♥
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It was a good birthday. I miss you! We should get together sometime soon.
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