Caught in a Moment
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Supernatural › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,537
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Supernatural › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,537
Reviews:
0
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.
Caught in a Moment
Title: Caught in a Moment
Author: Angel Jade
Rating: R
Warnings: Technically incest-ish (not graphic), slash, non-con, language
Spoilers: Up to 3x10
Pairings: Dean/Dean, possibly Dean/Sam
Summary: Dean’s trapped in his nightmare, facing the one person he knows he can never beat. Himself.
Setting: 3x10
Distribution: If you’ve had my permission before, you have it now. Anyone else, ask first please.
Disclaimer: I do not claim to own the characters in the fic, nor do I make money from borrowing them.
Dean’s back presses against the cold concrete wall almost as if he believes he can pass through it. It’s his dream after all. Why not?
But it’s been a long time. Immeasurable for Dean himself, who’s only seen these four walls for a sadistic period of time. And himself, of course. Who better to torture Dean than himself? But time, time is no longer relevant. Could be days, weeks, months…does it even matter anyway?
All Dean knows is pain and fear. He can’t escape himself in here. His fears, his guilt… Every pain-filled second of every unmarked day is crammed with words designed to slowly drive him insane. Details of his failure, inadequacy, uselessness, inability to even free himself from his own nightmare, let alone save the one person who matters to him.
And yet Dean holds onto the hope that Sam will come. Sam will save him, bring him back to reality where facing himself is hidden away, reserved for the night and forgotten by day. Dean dreams, within his nightmare, of his escape.
But it never seems to come. And Dean knows what awaits him if he should return to reality. Death. Hell.
Maybe the nightmare isn’t so bad after all.
He can take the jeers. The mockery. The insults and threats, venomous words that are designed solely to pierce through his ‘tough guy’ façade and damage what little life he has left in him. Dean knows he’s fighting a losing battle. He knows he can’t defeat himself, not when every last accusation is right, justified...true.
He’s killed, stolen, hurt, threatened, tempted, baited, lied and controlled. He’s lusted after women, men…people he should never have wanted and still dreamt about. And the other him, the other Dean knows this. Knows everything. Knows how sick he is.
So when the punishment comes, Dean almost welcomes it. He knows what he deserves and so does his counterpart. Together they tear apart his soul, ripping into every last piece of dignity and hope he has left. He surrenders beautifully after a while, as if he knows he can’t be saved, knows he deserves every last mark on his skin…every last bruise. Lashes and burns, agony and broken bones…pain that is more than just the physical, tearing into every inch of his tainted soul.
The pain is never-ending in here, it never stops, never gives a moment reprieve. Dean supposes he deserves it, and maybe that moment of peace is too much to ask for anyway.
He gives in. So prettily. But not easily. It takes time.
***
The other brother isn’t easily distracted. Many deaths surrounding him, so many demons and ghosts to deal with. But he doesn’t leave, won’t leave this town. Won’t leave his sleeping brother, won’t stop searching until they’re together again.
***
Determination used to run in the blood. The face of not-Dean reminds the real Dean of that as the agony begins. Dean feels his twin tear into him, raping him of so much more than the physical. Weakness breeds like a virus, breaking him down, bringing him to his knees. He’s pinned down by his own self-doubt, imaginary fingers pressing into muscled skin. Every tactic, every move, everything his father ever taught him, gone, as he’s violated by his own version of the truth. Agonising screams, no longer masked like the first few times. Dean is broken. Dean is loosing the battle. Dean can’t take it anymore. He’s his own worst enemy. Always has been.
“Sam’s better off without someone as sick as you.” Fake Dean smirks, fingers tightening in short dark blond hair. “You deserve this.”
Dean can’t argue with that. Wishes he could, but he just can’t.
***
Meanwhile Sam has a lead. So close. Knows he’s that much closer to reviving his brother, bringing him back. Needs it like an insatiable craving, unable to sleep, eat…he knows what he has to do now. Knows what it will take. Feels it more than anything he’s ever experienced. Dean is coming back.
Tonight.
***
Dean is a mess. On the floor, limbs surrounding a broken body, blood covering the pale skin like perverse paint splatters. He looks like something out of a horror film. Feels like it, too. Almost prays for it to end. Almost. But right at the end, right before he loses everything…there is Sam. Deeper than any trust in his own strength, he believes in his brother. Maybe fake Dean doesn’t know that.
Maybe he does.
Dean doesn’t care. He just prepares for another beating. Another round. He’ll hold on as long as it takes.
He knows.
***
So does Sam.
***
That night, Dean’s eyes open for the first time in months. Sam is there, eyes red, sore and filled with pain. He’s been waiting for this, praying for this.
Dean is afraid to believe it’s real. Sam’s right in front of him, expression tinged with pain and relief. Dean lets himself believe it, forces the fear down, never to resurface. He’s too strong for fear. He’s a Winchester. Sam never needs to know what he’s endured at the hands of his own persona.
***
Only a week later, they sleep in an unremarkable motel room. Wallpaper starting to peel away from the walls, paint on the door chipped with overuse…TV barely able to pick up a single channel.
Dean’s never felt so good and so bad at the same time. So free and trapped. He wants to tell Sam. Wants to explain why. But he doesn’t.
Sam shivers as he sleeps. Not from the cold, but from fear. He almost lost Dean. Time is running out. Dean’s time, is running out. He wants to say the words that have been waiting for so many years, but perhaps now is the worst time for that. Maybe it’s the best. Sam barely knows what to think these days. So he tries not to.
Dean is sleeping, so Sam closes his eyes too. He dreams of a world where words can be spoken and happy endings aren’t too much to ask for. It’s the best he’s ever had.
End.
Author: Angel Jade
Rating: R
Warnings: Technically incest-ish (not graphic), slash, non-con, language
Spoilers: Up to 3x10
Pairings: Dean/Dean, possibly Dean/Sam
Summary: Dean’s trapped in his nightmare, facing the one person he knows he can never beat. Himself.
Setting: 3x10
Distribution: If you’ve had my permission before, you have it now. Anyone else, ask first please.
Disclaimer: I do not claim to own the characters in the fic, nor do I make money from borrowing them.
Dean’s back presses against the cold concrete wall almost as if he believes he can pass through it. It’s his dream after all. Why not?
But it’s been a long time. Immeasurable for Dean himself, who’s only seen these four walls for a sadistic period of time. And himself, of course. Who better to torture Dean than himself? But time, time is no longer relevant. Could be days, weeks, months…does it even matter anyway?
All Dean knows is pain and fear. He can’t escape himself in here. His fears, his guilt… Every pain-filled second of every unmarked day is crammed with words designed to slowly drive him insane. Details of his failure, inadequacy, uselessness, inability to even free himself from his own nightmare, let alone save the one person who matters to him.
And yet Dean holds onto the hope that Sam will come. Sam will save him, bring him back to reality where facing himself is hidden away, reserved for the night and forgotten by day. Dean dreams, within his nightmare, of his escape.
But it never seems to come. And Dean knows what awaits him if he should return to reality. Death. Hell.
Maybe the nightmare isn’t so bad after all.
He can take the jeers. The mockery. The insults and threats, venomous words that are designed solely to pierce through his ‘tough guy’ façade and damage what little life he has left in him. Dean knows he’s fighting a losing battle. He knows he can’t defeat himself, not when every last accusation is right, justified...true.
He’s killed, stolen, hurt, threatened, tempted, baited, lied and controlled. He’s lusted after women, men…people he should never have wanted and still dreamt about. And the other him, the other Dean knows this. Knows everything. Knows how sick he is.
So when the punishment comes, Dean almost welcomes it. He knows what he deserves and so does his counterpart. Together they tear apart his soul, ripping into every last piece of dignity and hope he has left. He surrenders beautifully after a while, as if he knows he can’t be saved, knows he deserves every last mark on his skin…every last bruise. Lashes and burns, agony and broken bones…pain that is more than just the physical, tearing into every inch of his tainted soul.
The pain is never-ending in here, it never stops, never gives a moment reprieve. Dean supposes he deserves it, and maybe that moment of peace is too much to ask for anyway.
He gives in. So prettily. But not easily. It takes time.
***
The other brother isn’t easily distracted. Many deaths surrounding him, so many demons and ghosts to deal with. But he doesn’t leave, won’t leave this town. Won’t leave his sleeping brother, won’t stop searching until they’re together again.
***
Determination used to run in the blood. The face of not-Dean reminds the real Dean of that as the agony begins. Dean feels his twin tear into him, raping him of so much more than the physical. Weakness breeds like a virus, breaking him down, bringing him to his knees. He’s pinned down by his own self-doubt, imaginary fingers pressing into muscled skin. Every tactic, every move, everything his father ever taught him, gone, as he’s violated by his own version of the truth. Agonising screams, no longer masked like the first few times. Dean is broken. Dean is loosing the battle. Dean can’t take it anymore. He’s his own worst enemy. Always has been.
“Sam’s better off without someone as sick as you.” Fake Dean smirks, fingers tightening in short dark blond hair. “You deserve this.”
Dean can’t argue with that. Wishes he could, but he just can’t.
***
Meanwhile Sam has a lead. So close. Knows he’s that much closer to reviving his brother, bringing him back. Needs it like an insatiable craving, unable to sleep, eat…he knows what he has to do now. Knows what it will take. Feels it more than anything he’s ever experienced. Dean is coming back.
Tonight.
***
Dean is a mess. On the floor, limbs surrounding a broken body, blood covering the pale skin like perverse paint splatters. He looks like something out of a horror film. Feels like it, too. Almost prays for it to end. Almost. But right at the end, right before he loses everything…there is Sam. Deeper than any trust in his own strength, he believes in his brother. Maybe fake Dean doesn’t know that.
Maybe he does.
Dean doesn’t care. He just prepares for another beating. Another round. He’ll hold on as long as it takes.
He knows.
***
So does Sam.
***
That night, Dean’s eyes open for the first time in months. Sam is there, eyes red, sore and filled with pain. He’s been waiting for this, praying for this.
Dean is afraid to believe it’s real. Sam’s right in front of him, expression tinged with pain and relief. Dean lets himself believe it, forces the fear down, never to resurface. He’s too strong for fear. He’s a Winchester. Sam never needs to know what he’s endured at the hands of his own persona.
***
Only a week later, they sleep in an unremarkable motel room. Wallpaper starting to peel away from the walls, paint on the door chipped with overuse…TV barely able to pick up a single channel.
Dean’s never felt so good and so bad at the same time. So free and trapped. He wants to tell Sam. Wants to explain why. But he doesn’t.
Sam shivers as he sleeps. Not from the cold, but from fear. He almost lost Dean. Time is running out. Dean’s time, is running out. He wants to say the words that have been waiting for so many years, but perhaps now is the worst time for that. Maybe it’s the best. Sam barely knows what to think these days. So he tries not to.
Dean is sleeping, so Sam closes his eyes too. He dreams of a world where words can be spoken and happy endings aren’t too much to ask for. It’s the best he’s ever had.
End.