Possession

Fandom: SPN X-Over Twilight
Co-written with Fetish

Pairing: Vamp!Sam/Dean, the Cullen family (from Stephenie Meyer’s “Twilight”)
Rating/Warnings: NC 17; Slash; light vamp bloodplay (Sam and Dean are not brothers in this fic)
Characters: SPN, Twilight and the characters from these t.v. shows and movies/books are not ours, we're just playin' with 'em
Summary: For years, Sam Cullen has been held and tortured, death denied to him because he's a vampire. When Dean Winchester saves him and Sam gets a whiff of Dean's intoxicating scent, a new sort of torture ensues. He could just end it, end Dean's life and find peace, but their history as well as feelings that run deeper than Dean could ever understand, make that an impossible solution. How far will he allow the human brat of a teenager to push him before all hell explodes? Setting: Partly in Forks.

* * *

[Five years ago]


The light glared off the pale body on the table. It belonged to what seemed to be a tall youth with dark hair. Sam's inky black eyes moved from one figure to the other, as he lay there, dreading what was to come next, fear coiling tight in his belly and making his chest ache.

"Is he secure?" Angelo asked, as he selected a scalpel. "I don't want a repeat of what happened last time."
As if to test that theory, Sam struggled against the chains holding him, hands curling into tight fists as he tried to break free, but nothing, he was bound and helpless and at the mercy of these two loons, God help him.

Paul went around the operating table and pulled on the strangely glowing chains that bound the subject to the table. They were made of one of the few materials known to be capable of holding a vampire, at least in a weight that was reasonable and usable. "He can't move."

"Alright. Let's see.... we need liver tissue and a piece of intestine. It shouldn't take too long." He ignored the whimpering from the table, and looked down under it at the bucket filled with blood drained from the vampire earlier, to make sure he stayed docile, and for its valuable properties. "Redirect the light."

Sam's gaze shot to the one holding the scalpel. He bit his lip, tasted his own blood, fear and panic gripping him as he struggled harder. No. No. No! Sam mentally screamed, eyes wide, as he shook his head slightly.

When Paul did as he asked, Angelo pushed the scalpel, made of the same material as the magic enhanced metal chains, into the vampire's skin, cutting through flesh and muscle until he had the abdominal cavity open to view.

Sam tried not to scream, tried not to make a sound, he really did. He didn't want to give these bastards the satisfaction of knowing how badly they were hurting him, but it didn't take long before his lips parted in a pain filled gasp, eyes wide, before he squeezed them closed, and a scream tore from his throat. Perhaps from the very depths of his soul.

Somewhere outside, birds flew and scattered at the sound of the vampire’s anguished, pain-filled screams.

The screams coming from the vampire started to irritate him. "Gag the bastard," Angelo ordered, moving the subject’s internal organs roughly aside as he made his way to the liver. "I want this over as soon as possible, I have a date tonight." He needed to go home and wash the stink of this underground facility off him within two hours, and he had no intention of staying late tonight.

"Right." Paul took a tattered cloth and loomed over the youth. "Try to bite me, and I'll remove every one of your teeth. Again." He secured the bloodied and rough cloth over the vampire's mouth, pulling it as tight as he could. "Not so big and mighty now, Mr. Vampire," he said jamming his fist into the youth's jaw.

Sam's eyes had slowly opened, tears having gathered in them, now slowly streaming from the corners down the sides of his face, wetting his matted hair as he looked up at the bastard grinning over him. His teeth ached, his blood, what was left, pounded in his temples, pain ... in great heated waves... flowed through his body, his breaths ragged and sloppy. Though Sam didn’t really need to breath at all, it was funny how the body thought itself human in times like this. The gag was shoved into his mouth and Sam whimpered against it. The punch wasn't expected, but he wasn't all that surprised either. His head snapping to the side, as he once again tasted his own blood.

"Stop playing around, idiot." Angelo shook his head, and single-mindedly continued his work to the sound of whimpers still escaping through the gag.

* * *

[Present day ]

It was night, darkness filled the underground facility. Darkness and silence. The only sound was that of the metal scraping of chains against the cement floor every time Sam tried to move, to get more comfortable. He had grown used to laying on the cold dirty cement floor inside the ‘cage’ they kept him in, but tonight, he was restless.

His teeth ached, it was a continuous feeling, one that never seemed to leave him since the day he had been captured for the second time in his life. He wasn't sure exactly how long he had been here now. Weeks? Months? Years? Surely it couldn't have been that many years... could it?

He thought of the family that had adopted him, taken him in. Thought of her, of Alice, and a small smile pulled at the corner of the vampire's mouth. So much like Abigail, she was, like his baby sister. He missed them, all of them, every one of the Cullens so much, but he had given up on ever seeing them again, on escaping. Pain, fear, misery, and weakness were his only companions now.

A lone rat scurried by and Sam quickly snatched it up off the floor, sinking his teeth into the wiggling rodent. Within seconds it was nothing but a dry carcass, though it was nowhere near enough to quench his hunger, to ease the pain that wracked his body.

The sound of shuffling feet had Sam's muscles tensing. No, they couldn't be back. Not already. Not for more. Please, no. He tried to scoot farther into the darkened corner of his cell, not that it would do any good, but then sometimes things didn't have to make complete and total sense now did they?

*

Holding the pistol with two hands in front of him, Dean pushed the heavy door open and found himself staring into a dimly lit hallway. This area of the facility was separate from the rest, and he saw nothing to indicate why. But the doors were thicker here, and it was absolutely silent, like there was sound-proofing. What the fuck?

It was worse than anything he'd imagined when he'd first started to follow the story about people disappearing and being found tossed in parks or hotel lobbies with missing organs and even limbs. Some of them had died of infection. All of them remembered nothing but the smell of chloroform, and the sound of shouting.

The stories came from all over, but Dean had pieced some of the stuff together, and it all lead to Kentucky... at least his gut had told him that. He'd left school mid-semester, and gone for it. It was nothing new... the school would give him some bullshit, but they'd let him back in if he caught up on school work. Ever since dad had ... since he'd been killed, they'd been a little easier on him over his absences.

Alright, so he'd found this place and freed four people, one looked like she was on the verge of death since a butcher had sewn up her stomach. But who else was here? He was gonna find out.

Taking a few more steps down the hall, he used his foot to open a door. It squeaked. He looked inside, almost gagging at the scent of blood. The room was empty, but it was another one of those operating theaters. What the fuck were these people doing? If that one victim hadn't been close to dying, he might not have called the cops. He'd have told the others to beat it and waited for the things who were running this place.

Sam lay listening to the sounds, listened as the sound of a beating heart drew close. Not two of them, only one. Which of them had come back? Did he really want to know?

But then, as he listened, the beat was all wrong for it to be one of the two who had always come for him, always inflicted pain, taken from him and not cared how badly they were hurting him. Their hearts beat slow, steady, as if this hell was nothing to them, but this heart was beating fast. Like it's owner was agitated, scared maybe. Who...?

And then he caught the scent. Sam's eyes widened as he breathed in the familiar scent. No, no, they couldn't have taken him. He was just a kid, surely even these heartless, cruel bastards wouldn't do this to a kid... Would they?

Sam started tugging on the chains that held him, fear for the one who's scent he smelled, pushing him to try, to try for an escape he had given up on. He had to help him, had to get him out of there.

Dean's head jerked, his gun moving higher and pointing toward the sound. With his back close to the wall, he headed toward the last door, but made sure the others were free of people. He didn't want to leave anyone behind or have one of the monsters who ran this place behind him.

Reaching the door, he saw it was triple locked. What the fuck did they have here? He started to push levers, and draw deadbolts, wanting to find out what these people could be afraid of.

Sam's head turned abruptly, inky black eyes staring at the door to his cell. The scent was stronger now. Surely they weren't bringing him in here!? No. Oh God, no. Sam knew he wouldn't be able to hold back, knew he would sink his fangs into the child, the child he had once protected... would drink him dry. His teeth ached, more than before, if it were possible, as he tried to scoot further away from the door, hiding his face against his own bicep, pressing his lips together tightly. Tried to breathe only his own scent, block out the other one that had always for some reason called to him.

Run! Run away! Go! Get free! Please!

Throwing the last lock back, Dean cautiously pulled the door open. It was pitch black inside, and the sickening smell of blood struck him again. Pushing the door wider to allow the some of the light in the hallway to flood inside, he saw a switch and hit it. The fluorescent lights spat and flashed for a second, before staying on.

Sam squeezed his eyes closed as the lights flickered on. If his heart had worked, it would be hammering in his chest right now. As it was, he was close to trembling. Please, no. Go away. I don't want to hurt you.

Seeing the figure chained up and curled into himself in the corner of the room, as scared as the other victims, Dean put the safety on and shoved his gun under his belt, behind his back. "Hey, you alright? Help is coming," he said approaching and getting down next the half naked guy left tied up in this cold room. There were blood stains, old and new on the ground around him. "Let me see, are you hurt?"

The voice was wrong, but the scent... Sam would know that scent anywhere. How...? Slowly, he turned his head, just enough so that he could see the man crouching beside him as he held his breath, tried not to breathe, tried with all his might to ignore his own body, his instincts to attack this guy, to pin him to the floor and drink his blood, to use him to quench his thirst, to rid his body of it's pain.

Sam's dark eyes, rimmed in red and shining with unshed tears, took in the guy beside him, before he turned his head again, turning away. "Run away," he told him, his voice, soft and rough from misuse, from years of screaming in pain.

"Yeah. You're getting out of here," Dean tried not to show his reaction to the barely sewn together surgical cut that went from the guy's navel to his chest. He put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and raised his eyes. "I'm gonna get you out of these."
Sam tensed as soon as the guy touched him. Slowly, Sam turned his head back to look at him, offering him a pleading look. Please, just leave. Go. How could he make him understand?

The instant the guy'looked back and their eyes met, time stood still. Those eyes... that face... it couldn't be. It was so long ago, but Dean hadn't been able to forget, even when he tried so fucking hard.

He remembered to breath, and took in a lungful of air. This guy just looked like him. That had to be it.

That's what he wanted to believe, but Dean’s gut told him no... this was him. Alright Winchester, this isn't the time. Pull your shit together. "I’m Dean." Dragging his gaze away, he reached up and started to work on the lock on the chain. Something about the chain looked familiar but his mind was too busy racing, making him think of possibilities that this was that same man. Well... teen. "What's your name?"

Sam took in the guys appearance, really took it in as he lay, not breathing, just looking at him with wide eyes, lips pressed so tightly together, it was no wonder that the line of his lips had turned white. His hands curled into fists as he fought against the hunger, the need to possess this guy, to take from him what he needed to survive, to heal.
Dean. It was.... No, it couldn't be. That would mean he had been in here for... Oh God... five, six years? Sam turned away, shook his head, "Please, go," he told him. He’d tried to say the words louder, firmer, but after all these years, his voice was shot, and it merely came out in a hushed tone.

"It's alright. You're gonna go, we both are... right.... now," he said, pausing as he worked on the lock, then watched the chain drop to the ground. Putting an arm under the guy's he started to help him up. "Paramedics will be here in a few minutes, they'll fix you up. You're gonna be okay, all of you guys are gonna be okay."

Sam gasped softly as he looked up at the chains. Oh God... No, put them back, put them back. I don't what to hurt you.

Bearing the brunt of the boy's weight, he got him up, his expression darkening at the sight of the dirty hospital pajama pants. "You cold? Can you stand against the wall," he asked, already half shrugging out of his jacket.

Sam leaned against the wall, teeth aching, blood pounding in his temples, Dean's scent so intoxicating, so close, so very close. And Sam was free. All he had to do was reach out and take that which his body screamed for. Sam drew in a shaky breath and shook his head, eyes focused on some point on the ceiling as he tried to fight to not hurt Dean. "No, I'm fine. Please... go... get out." Sam raised his head off the wall, eyes narrowing at Dean, "Now!" he all but screamed at him as his fingertips dug into the metal of the walls.

"Dude, calm down, I'm not gonna hurt you." Loosening his grip, he added, "I remember you."

Sam relaxed slightly, but only slightly. It was him. Reaching a shaking hand out, Sam ran the tips of his fingers down the side of Dean's face.

The sound of others, paramedics and police arriving at the underground facility filled Sam's ears and he quickly pulled his hand back as his head turned in that direction with a start. He pushed away from the wall, and rushed from the room, his movements a blur to the human eye, as he hurried down the hall and out a window, disappearing into the night.

"Hey... Hey!" Dean shouted, reaching the door and looking out. There was no sign of the guy, only the paramedics and cops coming in. Dean thought back to the last time he'd seen the guy... how he'd disappeared just like this. His heart sank. It wasn't a he, it was an it.

The next hour was a blur to Dean. He gave the law enforcement a fake name and bullshitted about having come to hike the hills when he'd seen the opening to the mines had been tampered with and got curious. While they were busy getting the victims into the ambulances, he disappeared.

*

For one week, Dean hung around, waiting on the people who had run the facility to show, but they never did. The police said it was some sort of ring selling organs, and yeah, they were probably right. But there was more to this than that, there had to be. But what?

If he was honest with himself, Dean would have admitted that part of the reason he stayed was to look for him. To scour the streets and the papers, to find out if anyone had seen or heard anything that could help him.

Years ago, he'd thought of the guy as a man. Now that he himself was a man, or close to, he saw the guy wasn't old at all. Under the grime and tear stains, he'd looked about his own age. But was that how he'd always looked? Dean didn't even want to think about him being supernatural. No. He'd dreamed about that guy so often. Protector. Guardian. Lover. No, just no.

Reaching for the beer next to the bed, he took a long swig. It had cost him double, seeing as he had to pay someone to get it for him, but it was worth it, he needed to take the edge off. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember the first time... he'd only been six then.

*

"Stay there, don't come out for anything boy, not unless I say so," John Winchester yelled at his son, forcing him to go into the dark cave and slapping his shoulder. "I'll be back for you. Let me see your gun," he looked down, gave his son a nod and pointed.

I wanna stay with you, dad. I don't want to... His dad's eyes were growing colder by the second as if he were disappointed. Dean nodded his head, "yes sir."

Turning, he walked into the darkness though the howling from outside was scaring the crap out of him. He was allowed to say crap. He wasn't allowed to say shit, but he did anyway. "Shit, shit, shit..."

Finding the back of the cave, he pressed his back against it and hoped his dad would hunt that thing fast. Don't let it get dad, please. Don't let it get dad.

The next few minutes were a blur. There were teeth, and claws, and they were sinking into him faster than he could pull the trigger. His dad was gonna kill him for not paying attention.

Dean forced his eyes open and felt the tears on his cheeks. The memory of pain slammed into him hard enough to have him crying again, but then he saw the tall man standing over him. The man’s arm was cut and his blood was dripping down, right onto Dean. Dean shivered, fear stopping the scream in his throat. And then the man was gone.

By the time his dad came for him, Dean hadn't figured out who's blood was all over him. Was it his own? He'd swear that creature had bitten him. Or was it that man's?

"Good work, son. That thing was bleeding by the time I got to it." John winchester made sure the blood on his son was the creatures, then he lifted him up into his arms. "You are one helluva fighter," he grinned and marched out of the cave. It wasn't the way he or Mary would have wanted, but it was the way it had to be. He was proud of his son, damned proud.

*

Dean blinked the images away, rolled over, and tried to get some sleep. In a few more days, he'd hit the road and go home to Forks. There was nothing more he could do here.


* * *

[1 week later]


Sam was laying on his settee in his room on the top floor of the Cullen home, in Forks, Washington State. Alice sat beside him, listening silently as he told her everything that had happened over the past five years, his hand gripping hers tightly as he spoke.

"And then I saw him, Alice."

Alice frowned and raised a perfect brow. "Saw who, Sam?"

"Him. The boy I use to visit. The one I saved that night in the caves. I saw him, he was the one," Sam sighed, licked his lips and looked away, "he was the one who saved me from those men holding me." He looked back at her, a small sad smile pulling at his lips. "Karma, I guess, huh?" he shrugged slightly.

Alice reached a hand out and with delicate long fingers pushed Sam's long bangs from his brow. "And yet you were able to not..." she didn't finish the sentence, she didn't have to.

Sam looked down, not meeting her gaze, "I ran." he told her softly.

Alice nodded before pulling to her feet, slowly slipping her hand from his. "Well, I'm glad you're back now. And I'm glad you were able to..... run," she told him, then turned and stepped quietly out of the room, pulling his door closed behind her.

Sam rolled onto his side, curling into a ball as he had done so many times before in his prison. His thoughts now were not on pain and salvation, but on a young boy, who he used to watch from outside his window, or from inside his room, on nights when his window was left open and Sam was feeling exceptionally brave.

A small smile pulled at his lips as he thought of his Dean.