The Promise 'Verse
folder
Supernatural › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
3,617
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Supernatural › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
3,617
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Supernatural, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Sidestory I
Author's Note: This sidestory was intended as one possible future for this 'verse. Character death. I wrote this before what happened at the end of season 2, so it was like a very bizarre parallel to see the exact way I'd written Sam's death happen in canon, only under different circumstances. Sidestory II is the lighter happier future for this 'verse.
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The Promise 'Verse
Sidestory I
Blood
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There's blood on your hands. You suppose it could be your own, but you doubt it. You can't feel anything. Broken or bleeding, except maybe your heart. But then you think to yourself, that maybe that's gone too. Like him. Ripped from your hands. Oh, maybe that's why you're bleeding. You stare down at them. And try not to think about what he felt like beneath them. All smooth skin, over hard muscle. It's a common enough description for any other guy that's good looking enough. But there was something about him that just couldn't compare. There is no one like him. Not anymore, not even him. You made sure of that.
Your mind pleads with you, a voice filled with logic and reason, and right now you think that that’s what compassion sounds like. It tells you, in dulcet tones, you were already losing him. It tells you, had he changed, he wouldn't have been yours anymore. That he would have belonged to them. To night and to darkness. But you argue back, No, he's not like that, he's not. And the voice responds in silence, a silence that somehow cuts deeper than words ever could. It's a silence that tells you that he’s not like that, he’s not, but only because he wasn't given the chance.
He made you do it, the voice returns, and this time it sounds a bit more emotional, less mechanic, maybe even a little bit panicked. He made me do it, you think back in wonder. And you find it to be the truth. Although he'd begged it of you. You'd been unable. You always had been. Though this time you both knew, this time it had been for real. So he continued in that voice you could never say no to, with those eyes you always drown in, he said the last words you'd ever hear out loud from him, Do it, Dean. I can't go on like this. I can feel it. It's taking hold, slowly, but surely. Oh, God… I need you to do this, Dean. It can only be you...
And it was. But though it was your hand, holding the knife that drove in deep, and though it was your lips that touched his, stealing from him his last breath, it wasn't you. And worse than anything you've ever done, worse than any pain you've ever felt, it was Sam inside you, the feel of his mind brushing against yours, I love you, he whispered before taking control, of all that you are, and were and will be, for moments that spanned an eternity. It had been sensational, sweet, and so intimate that you’d admitted defeat. You'd let your guard down and opened yourself whole, body and soul. Only and always for him, because it was him, and he was as much you as you were he. Or so you'd been led to believe.
You've never felt so violated, as you did when you came back to yourself to find him slumped against you, his blood on your hands.
But you love him still. Now and forever.
You always will.
†
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The Promise 'Verse
Sidestory I
Blood
†
There's blood on your hands. You suppose it could be your own, but you doubt it. You can't feel anything. Broken or bleeding, except maybe your heart. But then you think to yourself, that maybe that's gone too. Like him. Ripped from your hands. Oh, maybe that's why you're bleeding. You stare down at them. And try not to think about what he felt like beneath them. All smooth skin, over hard muscle. It's a common enough description for any other guy that's good looking enough. But there was something about him that just couldn't compare. There is no one like him. Not anymore, not even him. You made sure of that.
Your mind pleads with you, a voice filled with logic and reason, and right now you think that that’s what compassion sounds like. It tells you, in dulcet tones, you were already losing him. It tells you, had he changed, he wouldn't have been yours anymore. That he would have belonged to them. To night and to darkness. But you argue back, No, he's not like that, he's not. And the voice responds in silence, a silence that somehow cuts deeper than words ever could. It's a silence that tells you that he’s not like that, he’s not, but only because he wasn't given the chance.
He made you do it, the voice returns, and this time it sounds a bit more emotional, less mechanic, maybe even a little bit panicked. He made me do it, you think back in wonder. And you find it to be the truth. Although he'd begged it of you. You'd been unable. You always had been. Though this time you both knew, this time it had been for real. So he continued in that voice you could never say no to, with those eyes you always drown in, he said the last words you'd ever hear out loud from him, Do it, Dean. I can't go on like this. I can feel it. It's taking hold, slowly, but surely. Oh, God… I need you to do this, Dean. It can only be you...
And it was. But though it was your hand, holding the knife that drove in deep, and though it was your lips that touched his, stealing from him his last breath, it wasn't you. And worse than anything you've ever done, worse than any pain you've ever felt, it was Sam inside you, the feel of his mind brushing against yours, I love you, he whispered before taking control, of all that you are, and were and will be, for moments that spanned an eternity. It had been sensational, sweet, and so intimate that you’d admitted defeat. You'd let your guard down and opened yourself whole, body and soul. Only and always for him, because it was him, and he was as much you as you were he. Or so you'd been led to believe.
You've never felt so violated, as you did when you came back to yourself to find him slumped against you, his blood on your hands.
But you love him still. Now and forever.
You always will.
†