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Personification	By : rue37 Category: Supernatural > General Views: 2959 -:- Recommendations : 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.

Chapter List
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Part IV
She goes back to her lair and leaves them in the wake of the
tornado, standing among blown down houses and twisted trees.
Dean�s a mess.� He�s
pacing, agitated and angry, but so exhausted that he�s stumbling.� His eyes are leaking tears and he�s pale,
worn down and out.� His hand is purple
and swollen, but he doesn�t seem to notice it.
Sam watches him from where he�s laid out on the couch, on
his stomach.� It hurts too much to
sit.� He�s already been in the bathroom,
where he wiped the blood and come from his ass, and tears and snot from his
face.� He�s more worried about his
brother than himself, though.� In the
best of times, Dean�s a jumble of pain and loyalty and love.� He can�t imagine the stew of guilt and
recrimination that�s whirling around in his head now.
�It�s going to be all right,� Sam says, forcing the words
through a closed-off throat.� He hurts,
internally and externally.� He feels like
a liar.�
Dean looks at him, stunned and pained and so stupid with
fatigue that he looks like a lost little kid.�
�Sleep,� Sam says gently.�
�I need you strong and rested.�
Dean mumbles something incoherent in response, and keeps
stumbling around, literally bouncing off the walls, for a while longer.� When he finally stretches out on the floor,
it�s a relief.� He falls asleep almost
immediately.
Sam wants to sleep, too.�
He�s bone-weary, but that doesn�t seem to matter.� The throbbing, burning pain in his ass is constant.� As injuries go, it�s not the worst he�s ever
had.� Not even close.� But it continues to remind him of what
happened, making his chest tighten and tears spring to
his eyes.� He thought that those few
minutes he�d spent crying in the bathroom, while he was cleaning up, would
suffice to release his agony for good.� Apparently not.�
He rests his forehead on his folded arms.� He tries to hold the tears back, but he�s
never been much good at stuffing emotions down, and the grief he feels now is
squeezing out through his pores and glands and tear ducts into the worn,
tattered sofa.�
---
Later, Sam chokes down half a can of cold Chef Boyardee
raviolis--a disgusting meal even when heated up.� He hunkers down on his heels across from
Dean, who�s sitting up against the wall in what appears to be his favorite
spot, and offers him the remainder of the can.�
Dean shakes his head.
�Come on, Dean.� You
need your strength.�
�Couldn�t keep it down if I tried,� he admits.
Dean�s better than earlier�less dazed, anyhow�and more
pulled together, more like his old self.�
Except that the toll of the past day (has it really been only one day?)
is etched in harsh lines on his face and in the exhausted slump of his
shoulders.� He wonders if he looks as
beaten down as well.
Setting the can aside, Sam sighs and goes to the bathroom to
wash his hands off.� When he comes back,
he hunkers down in front of Dean again and says, �She�s some sort of
succubus.� The � things � she�s making us
do,� The sex. �There�s a reason she�s
doing it to us.��
�Yeah,� Dean mutters.�
�She gets off on it.�
�No, it�s more than that. She�s feeding off of us.� Draining our energy.�
Dean�s gaze sharpens.�
�The lore about succubi always talks about
them drawing the life force from men while
having sex with them. �She hasn�t had sex
with us yet.� Not that I�m complaining,
cause don�t go getting any ideas, dude, but I�d choose you over her any day of
the week.�
Sam gives a pained smile at Dean�s attempt at humor.� He wishes he could give more, but it�s just
not in him.� �Maybe she�s some sort of
hybrid,� he ventures. �The lore says that succubi
drain men�s life force, but they also try to get pregnant by a human male.� I think that�s what she is, half succubus, half human.� It
explains why the Devil�s Trap didn�t work.�
She�s not really a demon.�
Dean considers this, then asks,
�She�s feeding off us to do what?� Grow
into her succubus powers?� Is that why
her appearance is changing?�� Sam should
have known his brother would notice the changes as well.
�Could be,� he accedes.�
�It doesn�t really matter, though.�
All that matters is that I know how we can stop her.�
---
Dean gets up, starts pacing in a wobbly burst of
outrage.� Jaw hard, he spits, �I can�t do
that.��
I can, Sam
thinks.� I can and I will.� Instead,
he says: �It�s the only way.� We have no
other power against her.� This is the
only way.� Think about it.� So far, our struggles have only made her
stronger.� I know it will work.�
�Sam, I�m not
doing that.�
He sees Dean�s chest rising and falling, can almost feel the
long, thumping heartbeats in his chest.�
He�s getting weaker hour by hour; his endless nervous energy,
transformed now into fury at their helplessness, is draining him faster than
Sam.� Sam realizes that he can�t afford
not to convince his brother that he�s right.�
�We�re dying,� Sam says bluntly.� �How much longer do you think we can last
against her?� One day?� Look at you � you can barely stand.�� He doesn�t mention the horrors she�s likely
to put them through in that time.�
�I don�t care!� Dean barks.
�Look at me, Dean,� he orders.� Dean resists for a moment, then
complies with reluctant wariness.� �I need you to do this.� For me,� Sam says.� It�s a low blow.� The lowest, to manipulate
Dean�s love for him.� But it will
keep both of them alive.�
Dean stills, a subtle change in muscles and energy, as
though the words themselves are blows landing dead center to his heart.� Then his eyes slide shut and he leans his
head back against the wall, exposing his neck.�
He swallows.�
�Sam, please ��
�Dean.� You�re not
doing it for her.� You�re doing it for
me.�� For yourself.
Dean�s face twists.�
He�s usually so good at keeping his emotions in check.� But that�s just another thing she�s taken
from them.� Dean is quiet for a long
time.� Sam has to force himself to
wait.� It�s like teetering on the edge of
a cliff.� Eventually, Dean says hoarsely,
�All right.�
Sam lets his head fall back with grim relief.� He will save his brother.� Afterward, they can heal.�
But first.�
First, they must live.
--
The next time (the last
time, Sam has vowed), she wakes both of them from a dead sleep.� Her hands are gnarled claws now, and her
teeth are elongated and pointed, hanging over her lower lip even when her mouth
is closed.� She stinks � like sulfur and
rot � and there are nubs that look like the beginnings of horns protruding from
either side of her skull.� She�s
radiating power and satisfaction and a kind of sickening anticipation that
makes him vaguely nauseous.
Sam�s still on his stomach on the couch.� He sits up gingerly, glances at his brother
on the floor a few feet away.� Dean is
wearing a dogged expression.� Sam wipes
at his eyes, smoothes his hair down, and takes a deep, calming breath.� That�s all the preparation he gets before
she�s making him crawl toward Dean.�
He doesn�t give her the chance to do anything further,
though, because he�s taking the initiative, reaching out to place his hand on
the side of Dean�s face.� He smoothes the
hot, razor-stubbled flesh there, feels it prickling
against his skin.� They gaze at each
other, and Sam is suddenly struck by how bright and green Dean�s eyes are,
blazing with life despite the paleness of his skin--or perhaps because of
it.� Sam draws Dean�s head toward him,
leans his forehead against his brother�s, just resting.� Their lips are close, their breaths
mingling.� Yes, Dean�s right.� This is so terribly, agonizingly intimate.� There are no walls between them, not any
more.� Sometimes, Sam thinks that Dean�s
walls are all that hold him together.
So it surprises him when Dean scales those walls.�
Dean makes a soft noise of desire and kisses him.� Sam doesn�t know what he�s expecting: a sharp
wrenching burst of disgust, perhaps?� But
it�s not like that.� No,
not at all.� The labels�indecent,
illegal, immoral, incest�are all
stripped away.� It doesn�t hurt; in fact,
it�s easy and painless, as though those labels have been soaking in soapy water
for hours.� Dean is a fire, hot and
consuming, burning with life and passion, and it�s not like he�s �blood of my
blood, bone of my bone.�� He�s just �
Dean.� Soft in some
places, hard and angular in others, but deliciously pleasurable all around.�
Sam�s breath catches as their kiss deepens, Dean�s skillful
tongue slip-sliding in a lazy, arousing path.�
Dean�s good hand is resting lightly on Sam�s flank.� As Sam�s fingers tighten on Dean�s back,
squeezing their bodies together, Dean�s touch grows more insistent.� He pulls Sam�s hip closer to his own.� The firm contact sends spikes of energy from
his balls straight up through the shaft of his cock.� He rocks his hip in a slow grinding rhythm
that hardens Dean�s cock, which lies trapped, hot and throbbing, between them.
Sam slides into the kiss heedlessly, a baseball player
sprinting for home, pressing their bodies close together.� His hands clutch Dean�s back, scrabbling
desperately to pull his t-shirt up to get to the smooth, warm skin
underneath.� When he feels it under his
fingertips Dean gives a groan of pure, animal pleasure, and desire rockets
straight to Sam�s dick.�
His heartbeat drums in his chest and in his ears, drowning
out reason and fear with the thud thud thud.� Somehow he�s urging Dean over on his side
onto the floor, so that he can press the entire length of his body against
Dean�s, and the feel of that � combined with the juxtaposition of cold hard
floor and hot living undulating flesh � is exquisite.
Sam breaks the kiss to explore the sensitive skin underneath
Dean�s earlobe with his tongue.� �God,
Dean.� I love you,� he murmurs, the words
spilling unexpectedly out of him.� �I
love you so much.��
And he does.� More than anyone, anything, any goal or aspiration or fleeting,
worldly pleasure.� The feeling is
fierce, unwavering, and all-consuming.�
The accompanying burst of tenderness he feels is thick sweet honey that
fuels the desire, making it sizzle along every nerve ending.� Dean�s proven that he loves Sam back with
every fiber of his being. He�s sacrificed his own wants and desires and goals
for Sam too many times to count.� And
between the two of them, Sam can feel
their love blazing clear and white enough to illuminate the dark, dark
sky.� It�s beautiful enough to make him
ache.
Dean squirms against him, nudging his knee between Sam�s
legs and rolling him over onto his back, his warm palm resting low on Sam�s
belly.� Sam�s hips rise up, trying to
urge Dean�s hand lower, to stoke the fire kindling in his cock.
�Sam,� he�s saying, low and urgent.� �You�re mine, Sammy.� Won�t let her have you.�
And he won�t, Sam knows.�
He�ll die first.�
But what if -- what if dying
is not required?
What if living is,
instead?
Dean shivers against him, muscles tight.� Instead of fighting the desire like he did
before, though, he�s giving into it, riding the tides.� Images of him flash into Sam�s mind:� Dean holding his hand as he walked Sam into
his first grade classroom that first day, Dean holding him as he cried about a
split lip or banged head or something else equally unimportant to an adult, but
earth-shattering to a child.� And more recently, Dean up against the wall in that Godforsaken
cabin, drawing their possessed father�s attention from Sam, taunting the demon
into spilling his heart�s blood �
Sam remembers the clerk, then.� Realizes that her brutal,
smothering power is absent.� Has
been absent since the beginning.
He draws back from Dean, takes in his brother�s rumpled,
beautiful form�the flushed cheeks, heavily lidded eyes, and passion-ripe
lips.� Coming back to this room, leaving
the cocoon he and Dean have formed around themselves, is like flinging open the
door from a warm home into the frigid cold of a howling blizzard.
She�s on the floor.� Writhing.� For an
instant he�s puzzled, thinking she�s thrashing in ecstasy.� Then he sees.�
It�s not ecstasy.� Not at all.
It�s pain.�
�It�s working,� Sam breathes in wonder.
Dean glances at her, dazed.�
��s good,� he manages.� He gives a
grim smile.� When he looks back at Sam,
though, the grimness falls away under blistering heat.� �We�d better not stop, then.�
He fists both hands in Sam�s t-shirt, hissing when he
apparently forgets about his injury, and tugs Sam down against his hard
chest.� �I want this,� he murmurs, then
uses those full lips to suck and nip at Sam�s mouth.
The warm soft feelings of love that sent the clerk to the
floor crack and fall apart.� Passion
burns like molten lava underneath.�
Breathing harshly, he grabs Dean�s ass and grinds his
erection into Dean�s hips. The feel of Dean�s own erection tight against Sam�s
groin makes him move frantically.� Dean
responds with equal fervor.� They tussle
for control, Sam humping his brother desperately, then
giving way to Dean as he rolls Sam over on his back.�
Dean jams his hand down Sam�s pajamas, sliding them down
over Sam�s hips, then forces his own down.
When their naked skin meets, Sam nearly comes from the blinding
pleasure.� Panting and gasping, their
cocks meet and rub against one another, hips bucking instinctively.� He grasps Dean�s rock hard cock,
and smoothes his thumb over the come-wet slit.�
Dean makes a ragged sound and comes in hot wet spurts.� When Dean fists Sam�s cock, their bodies both
jerk in rough opposing motions.� Sam�s
need for friction consumes him, building and climbing until he falls over that
same precipice, coming long and hard.�
As his sweat dries and his heaving breath calms, he rests himself
on one elbow, looking down at his brother.�
Dean�s hand is cupping Sam�s cheek, thumb caressing Sam�s jaw
slowly.� There�s such a tender, open look
on his face that Sam�s heart squeezes.�
He turns his head into Dean�s palm and kisses it, saying with the
gesture: I love you.� I love you. I love you.
A low, terrible moan from the clerk draws his attention.
She�s sprawled out all over the floor a dozen feet from
them.� Her appearance rivets Sam.� It�s as though she�s deflated.� The fat, lumpy skin is now smooth.� Her cheap, unflattering clothing is hanging
on her as though she�s instantly lost 50 pounds.� Her face is thinner, the skin unmarked and
ten years younger looking.� The nubs on
her head have receded, and her teeth are no longer yellow and pointed.� But her eyes are wild.� The expression of unbridled hatred in her
eyes remains, augmented by anger and pain.
�Stop it!� Stop it now
or I�ll make you very sorry!�� She spits
ferociously.� She draws to her hands and
knees, shakily, face shining with sweat.�
Sam knows she wants to gouge his eyes out, stab him in the
heart, throttle him until he turns blue.� She can�t, though.� She�s been immediately, amazingly
weakened.� Sam is suddenly certain that
more is needed.� For a moment, rebellion
surges up his windpipe, hot and wild.�
Disgust and rage are physical obstacles.�
He swallows them down through force of will, and moves toward her.
Dean grasps his arm, holding him back.�
�It�s all right,� Sam tells him.� Somehow, he knows she can�t hurt them
anymore, despite her bravado.
She hisses at him like some sort of wounded animal as he
draws nearer.� It�s hard not to recoil in
horror, to let his pain and anger get the best of him, but he keeps pushing
those emotions down and away and just focuses on her face.� Tears are falling in big, fat drops from her
dark, small eyes.
�Get away from me!� she cries, with an edge of panic.
Her hair is hanging in greasy tendrils across her face.� He thinks of the violation she visited on him
and his brother, the hatred and ugliness and pain that they are now left to
deal with.� He can�t focus on that now,
though.� Just like he hadn�t been able to
focus on that before, when it was occurring.
Hand trembling and breath hitching, he reaches his hand
forward.� Gently, he brushes her hair
from her face, hooking it behind her ears.
�No!� she moans.�
�Don�t do that ��
Her lips are still thin and wrinkled, framing a filthy
mouth.� She must be finished,
though.� Destroyed
completely.
So he leans in and kisses her.� His lips when they press against hers are as
soft and loving as he can manage.� She
slaps at him, crying, �No, no, no, no!�� Her blows are as weak and ineffectual as a
child�s.
The foul scent surrounding her dissipates, and the puffy
flesh surrounding her eyes disappears, making eyes that had previously appeared
cruel and piggish almost � pretty.
He draws back after a moment, feeling Dean�s attention on
him.� Dean�s face is still in that way it
gets when he�s feeling something deeply.�
His eyes are crowded rooms of disgust and outrage, and his chest heaves
with hard-to-take breaths.� Sam can see
the thoughts making plow lines across through his mind.� He looks to Sam for guidance, his gaze
pleading.� Sam wishes he could let him
off the hook.� But he can�t.� He nods at Dean, saying, Go ahead, do it.
Despite the fact that Dean�s emotions remain clearly
conflicted, he, too, creeps forward, his whole body wracked by almost invisible
tremors.� Something like hope flashes
across her face when she sees him.�
Then he reaches out a tremulous hand and smoothes her back
carefully, like he�s calming a skittish animal.�
Because he is.
She wrenches herself away from him, and gives a final,
agonizing cry.� Energy is sucked out of
the room with incredible speed and suction, creating a momentary airless
vacuum.�
Some sonic-boomlike barrier has
been breached, and the last of her ugliness evaporates, a mirage examined into
truth.�
Now she�s just a woman.�
Rather plain looking, rather thick around the middle, but no longer a
terrible monster.
Her hands fly to her cheeks and she scrambles backwards,
rising to her feet unsteadily, and dragging herself up the steel staircase to
the world above.�
She disappears out the hatch as though fleeing certain
death.� Sam sees the blue western sky up
above, and freedom.�
He and Dean help one another to stand, and climb upward,
through the open hatch.
---
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Personification