Song of Ruin

Title: A Song of Ruin
Rating: NC-17 / MA
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. In truth, I don't really know who does. But definitely not a lowly fangirl like me.
Warning: angst, m/m, really rough sex, but mostly the angst
Pairing: Short Sam/OMC
Word Count: 2056
A/N: This is written in the first season. I didn't have it beta'd, but I did have someone listen to my creative process if that helps. Anyone wanna beta for me in the future? This is my first actually published fic. I never had the nerves to publish one before, so don't be too hard on me. Constructive criticism is encouraged. It was going to be longer, but I decided to stop it where I did just to see if it would do anything. If you want a sequel, just tell me and it's done!
Spoilers: Bloody Mary and back

~!~

"I thought you loved me."

Green eyes flared open, searching the ceiling for a loved one. Thoughts, remnants of the nightmare, raced through Sam's mind like a speeding train, eventually crashing into the back of his head. Sam's skin felt as if flames were licking against it. This problem wasn't solved, despite the sheets and bedspread kicked onto the floor. The pain was all in his head, but that didn't stop Sam from wincing as the flames burned him to the core.

As the hazy voice dissipated completely, Sam was able to hear the comforting sound of his brother snoring in the other bed. This noise brought Sam down from horrifying nightmares more than once in his life; proof that he wasn't in his Palo Alto house, watching Jess die on the ceiling above him. Just knowing that Dean was only a few feet away made the flames die down and the headache dull.

A chill ran through his body, reminding him his blankets were at the end of the bed and out of reach. Still on his back, a slight shivering going through his appendages, Sam reached toward the floor where he knew his jeans would be, along with his backpack.

His Levi's were cold against his already chilled skin as he slipped them on over his boxers. Sam's eyes drifted to the mound of body lying in the other bed, blocked by the shadow he cast with the light from the window. He frowned at the thought of continuously lying to his brother. But he didn't need to trouble Dean with his morbid dreams. He already had enough to worry about without adding Sam's guilt into the equation.

The night air was warm and humid against his bare chest when Sam opened the door to the room. The motel was a stereotypical Winchester abode somewhere outside of Stillwater, OK. The red neon from the vacancy sign was the only light in the parking lot, save for the one streetlight, which lit a foot outward at best. Sam moved away from his and Dean's room, not wanting to cast shadows through the window into the room.

Sam looked around the lot once more, searching for any signs of life (or death) before letting down his guard and reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes. He had smoked some during school when the stress of his exams would be too much, but had quit shortly before Dean came and found him and Jess had… You can't even think it, you pussy. Sam frowned and lit up the last of the pack with a flick of his Bic. The first drag was long and deep, soothing his nerves. The nicotine high chased off the last of his nightmare, but Sam made sure to take it slow anyway. Dean didn't know he had started up his habit again. Hell, Sam wasn't sure his brother knew he had started in the first place. But he wasn't planning on Dean finding out anytime soon, so these times in the middle of the night were the only times he had to sate his addiction.

After a few minutes of going through the therapeutic motions, Sam turned the cigarette around in his hand to flick the cherry off. Before he could get a good grip on the butt, the fag fell into his palm and proceeded to burn through the first few layers of skin.

"Fuck!" Sam yelled as he flipped the butt out of his hand. His curse echoed through the empty parking lot as he stared at the burning cigarette on the asphalt below him.

The pain in his hand ceased to dull, telling Sam it was a second-degree burn and it was going to hurt like a bitch for a few days. But… It was okay. Sam stared at the burning cigarette on the ground, an inkling of curiosity growing larger in his mind.

The pain was immediate as Sam placed his index finger on the burning cigarette.

"I thought you loved me."

A hiss escaped through his clenched teeth, but his finger didn't move off of the ashes until they were out and there was no more fire; no more pain except the dull throbbing of his now bleeding finger. The only thought crossing his mind was one of his lost love and how the very thing he touched killed her. Fire.

Tears streamed down Sam's face as he stood and stared at his hand, his whole body shaking.

"I'm so sorry, Jess."

Touching a burning cigarette was so small compared the burning Sam had witnessed that night. Nothing could compare to the agony she had gone through. He could never know. And the throbbing burn on his hand would never be punishment enough for what he did. He left her and he knew. Sam knew she would be dead when he returned. And he did nothing.

Sam reached for the dead ashes again when movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. The light in the room was on. Dean was up and probably wondering where the hell Sam was.

The door opened and Dean was framed in the dull light, looking into the parking lot. Sam quickly threw the empty pack of cigarettes away from him and pocketed his lighter, keeping his burnt hand in his pocket, relishing the pain the pressure caused him.

"What the fuck are you doing out here? You left your gun in the room." Dean's eyes searched over Sam's body, obviously checking to make sure he had all body parts attached.

Sam just looked past Dean into the shadows, smiling wistfully. He stepped forward, carefully hiding the smoke trail from the dead cigarette.

The door to the room looked so far away, and Dean so close. His gaze found his brother's eyes and winced at the worried look Dean sent back at him. Sam momentarily placed his aching hand on his brother's shoulder then began to walk.

"I just needed some air. S'alright."

Dean followed after him, eyes no longer worried, but hard. Those nightmares were killing Sam; he knew this. But – Dean turned and looked back at the asphalt – he never thought he would see his brother actually killing himself. Anger shot through him at the thought of Sam actually hiding something as stupid as smoking from him. But as soon as it came, the fury was gone, replaced with the constant worry.

The door slammed behind Dean as he stomped into the room. Sam turned to look at him, a blank, uncaring expression on his face.

"You do realize that I need you in top shape, right? If you're gonna save my ass, you can't be running around, out of breath. Or… Or drop dead of a heart attack. That's not how you're gonna go."

Dean wanted to shut the hell up so bad, but he knew something worse was wrong with Sam. And if this was the only way to open that, door so be it. It just sucked that he sounded like the nagging brother that Sam thought he was.

Sam sighed and flopped back onto the bed, kicking off his shoes with his feet.

"It's not a big deal, Dean. Don't yell."

Dean couldn't even see a spark of fight in the kid. Like he truly didn't care what Dean was saying; only entranced with the movie going on in his mind.

"Whatever. I'm just not going to get my ass killed because you can't fucking breathe." But it was so much more than that. "Sammy… What's wrong?"

Dean's tone softened and Sam could feel the bed dip by his feet. A hand rested on his shin, thumb playing back and forth on the seam of the pant leg.

"Nothing, Dean. Just a regular, run-of-the-mill nightmare." Sam cringed again at the lies he was spouting to his brother. Of course it was nothing.

"I thought you loved me."

Sam's eyes closed and he pulled his leg out from under Dean's hand, rolling onto his side. He reached his arm up and clicked the lamp off, blanketing the room in darkness.

After a few minutes, Sam could hear his brother sigh and stand. The pain in his hand had receded enough that he could uncurl his fingers.

In the dark, Dean would see nothing.

= = = 3 months later

A bandage and a lie covered the injury until it left nothing but a scar. The blood and pain was left behind in the hotel room with all of Sam's pride.

But the hand on his cock was all he thought of now. Gripping, squeezing. Light exploded in his head as the sensation crossed the line between pleasure and pain.

A whimper escaped through a panting mouth and a swift punch to the ribs followed. The man behind him breathed into his ear as he entered into Sam. The pain of no prep was almost too much for Sam, but he pushed himself back onto the stranger. The burning, searing pain shot through him, eliciting a cry from his lips.

Another blow to the side. If he wasn't peeing blood in the morning, he'd count himself lucky.

Sam struggled to hold onto the wall in front of him, but the orgasm crashed through him so fast, his grip slipped. A kick to the back of the leg gave him the strength to pull himself back up as the stranger pounded into him.

Sam was sitting in a booth, watching his brother flirt with a leggy blonde at the bar when he had walked in. A look was exchanged between them, both knowing what was about to happen. Sam stood and passed by the man on his way toward the bathroom.

Thoughts raced back to the tiled wall in front of him and the sudden pain of a blade trailing down his shoulder. Sam shivered under the cold metal and the sharpness of the shallow cut. A warmth followed the cold as a tongue licked the same trail as the knife.

Sam had loosened up enough to start feeling the pleasure pooling at the base of his spine again. With one hard thrust and teeth sinking into Sam's shoulder, the stranger emptied himself into Sam and pulled out immediately.

Sam whined and placed his cheek against the cold tile. His cock was still hard, brushing against his stomach when he turned to see the man; pants pulled up and bathroom door opening.

This is what was meant to be. Anonymous. Painful. Suffering.

Sam made sure the hard cloth of his jeans brushed against his erection as he slipped back into his clothes. A breath hissed through his teeth at the sensitivity, but it's what he deserved.

"I thought you lo-"

The thought was cut from his mind as the bathroom door squeaked, signaling someone coming in. Under the stall door, Sam recognized Dean's boots and started panicking. His shoulder was still bleeding and other spots of blood needed to be tended to before he could face his brother.

"Sam?" Dean sounded a little more than drunk as he rustled around the bathroom. "Didja fall in?"

As tempting as the thought of crouching on the toilet so Dean couldn't see his boots was, it was childish and completely predictable, so Sam opened the door.

"What the fu… I'm gonna kill… Who did this?" Dean reached for Sam's arm. Obviously the blood has succeeded in seeping through the t-shirt Sam was wearing and Dean has seen.

"It's fine, Dean. I handled it." And he had. He felt so much better. The stress was gone for now. He had gotten his rocks off and sated his guilt.

The pain from the death of Jess (and the fact it was his fault) still haunted him. The nightmares no longer invaded his mind when he slept, but Sam had a feeling it was because of what he did when no one was looking. The submission and the beatings. They helped. Helped him feel like he was serving the sentence he deserved.

"You do love me."

A small smile graced Sam's lips as he walked toward the bathroom door.

"Let's just go, Dean."

A/N: See? It wasn't as sexy as you thought it would be. Like I said before, if you want a sequel or something, tell me and I'll write one. And I'll take longer to do it so I can find a beta and maybe make the next one a little better.

I'm finally glad I finally grew the pair I needed to post this. So don't be too mean. Comments are appreciated though. I won't be mad! ^^ I like constructive criticism.

Thanks for reading!