Log in

No account? Create an account
do i dare or do i dare? [userpic]

Fic: The Schemes of Mice and Men 2/2

January 7th, 2009 (10:46 pm)

Part One


She sidled down, the bare flesh of her thigh warm against his chest.  Her fingers kneaded into his shoulders and she smiled.  “This one is definitely for me,” she said.  She let her fingers linger down his arms and up again.  “When I started these rituals, I had no idea it would be so intimate.”

Intimate was hardly the word for it.  Her touch was warm and soft and pervasive, and Sam willed his body not to respond.

He turned his head away from her, clenching his teeth and closing his eyes.

Laughing, she leaned down, her hair dancing across his naked chest.  “It’s okay to like it,” she said.

“Lisa, please,” he ground out.  “I don’t--”

“Want this?” she asked, her mouth touching down on his chest.  “Your mind is telling you that, but, baby, listen to your body.”

He was and he tried anew to pull away.  He’d signed on to play bait, to let her set up her ritual, but this was not part of what he’d counted on.

Her mouth trailed down his torso and he flinched.  When her fingers tickled the top of his underwear, he couldn’t help but whimper. 

Feeling the tension, she paused sitting up, still perched over him.  Her hands rested on his chest.  “You’re really that uncomfortable?” she asked, oddly aware and almost sympathetic.

“I don’t want this,” he said.  “Please.”

She looked thoughtful for a moment before pursing her lips.  “You’re not like the others,” she said again.  “Normally I wouldn’t care what they want.”

Sam felt hope build in him.

Her demeanor shifted and she straightened herself.  “Then no foreplay for you,” she said.  “We’ll just get straight down to business.”

And just like that, Sam felt his hope plummet.

Dean needed to get here.  Soon.  Because no foreplay might spare him some indignity, but it would only take him one step closer to an end he really wanted to avoid.


Dean was close.

Granted, there were no telltale signs that he was following at this point.  No, right now it was all instinct, all in his gut, that innate big brother sense that he was almost there.

There was no room for him to believe otherwise.  The clock was ticking, fast and furious, and his little brother was depending on him to not become a human version of a prune.

It was a good thing his mind was moving too fast to dwell on that less than savory image.

He’d seen Sam after long baths as a child, after all.

He so needed to focus right now.

The door at the end of the hall had opened into a dark stairwell, which wound both up and down.  He had considered checking out the upper floors, but his gut told him basement.  Cliched, yes, but Dean had trusted his instincts in more situations than this and he didn’t have time to second guess himself now.

When he reached the basement, he found the place much cleaner than he’d expected.  Some chairs, some cheesy Chinese decor, some boxes. 

No altar.  No witch.  No Sam.

Maybe he’d been wrong.

No, he wasn’t wrong.  He could feel it.

Then he saw the door.

At the far end, not blocked like the rest.  The path to it, in fact, was oddly cleared.  Like it’d been accessed frequently.

As he approached, he felt the shift in energy and the hairs rose on the back of his neck.

Gripping his gun tighter, he paused behind it, listening.

Then he heard the chanting.

Chanting in a dark basement?

That was their witch all right.

Which meant Sammy was there as well.

Time for one big rescue, Winchester style.

Fingers on the doorknob, Dean took a deep breath, before pushing the door open and charging in.


The words weren’t Latin, Sam was certain of that much.  Probably an earlier derivation, something even more ancient, even more obscure.

Which usually meant that the power that was being summoned was all the nastier.

Which crap.

Lisa was still straddling him, her arms pushing down hard on his shoulders and her eyes closed as she chanted.  Sam tried to buck, wanted to, but the chains were solid and immovable, and the weight of Lisa’s toned body made it a little hard to breathe.

Then he felt it.  A shift in energy, almost imperceptible but there.   A coldness tickling the exposed length of his skin.

A smile crept across Lisa’s face as she continued to chant, almost moaning the words now, and Sam could only wonder where the hell his brother was.

His mind scrambled, trying to think of some kind of counter curse, a protection ritual, something, anything, but all he could come up with was panicked reality that this would be a crappy way to die.

A wind picked up with a howl and Lisa opened her eyes, the smile sickeningly content across her face now.  “It’s time, Sam,” she said and Sam wanted to say no, it wasn’t, but then he saw the flash of black in her eyes.

She wasn’t possessed, but she sure as hell wasn’t alone in there. 

That’s when it occurred to him that the ritual, her need for demonic assistance, probably meant summoning a demon and letting it work through her to get what she wanted.  She could attain the high of strength she craved and the demon got a taste of mortality.  A win-win all around.

Well, except for him, of course.

Which reminded him that he really needed to stop thinking so damn much when he was about to die.

He didn’t have a chance to utter a word before Lisa plunged her lips toward his and caught his mouth in a kiss that he was unprepared for.  For a second, he thought maybe she’d changed her mind about the whole foreplay thing, but it only took a second before his entire body jolted with cold.

His strength.  She was taking it.  Taking his strength, his life essence, all of it, like the shtriga only more pervasive. 

Faster and more painful, too.

She took a deep breath, sucking hard into his mouth and his body jerked with it, almost as if he were feeling the ripping of synapses in his body.

The dark power wormed its way through every cell in his body, and he felt it, he felt it as clearly as he felt the cold floor under his bare back and the warmth of Lisa’s thighs against his chest.  Felt it like her tongue in his mouth and the bite of the shackles into his appendages.

So this was what it felt like to die.

Damned if he never wanted to feel this way again.

Which, if Lisa had her way, he wouldn’t.

She bore down again, harder this time, but Sam’s voice was gone.  The tension was leaving his limbs, depriving him even of the ability to strain in resistance.

It was almost over.

And where the hell was Dean?


Dean wasn’t sure what he was expecting.

The witch, yes.  Some kind of weird satanic ritual, most likely.  And his little brother, totally.

So, yeah, all three of those things were present, he just didn’t expect it to be quite like that.

In fact, he was so distracted by the fact that Sam was nearly naked, tied down to the floor, mounted by the blonde from the bar that for a second he wondered if Sam had been captured at all or if he was just engaged in some weird sexual kink that Dean wanted to know nothing of.

But there was the altar and the reddish markings on the floor and the way Sam’s body was taut against the girl on top of him.

The girl who, if Dean could tell, was making out with his brother?

Though, from the look of it, it wasn’t exactly consensual and given the dark vibrations in the room, it wasn’t exactly platonic, romantic, or sexual.

And that was all he needed to see.

“Hey!” he called, his voice cutting through the energy.

The witch jerked up, surprised, her eyes flashing darkly as she took in Dean’s presence.

She was human, Dean remembered.  One screwed up chick, but human nonetheless, which was the only reason he hesitated to pull the trigger.

A hesitation he would live to regret.

She lunged, pushing up off of Sam, and moving straight to Dean.  By the time Dean’s mind let himself pull the trigger, she was moving too fast and his shot went wide, imbedding into the concrete walls.

Dean didn’t have time to bemoan that mistake because she was on him, taking him to the ground with a force that shocked the hell out of him.  He’d guessed all along she was super-charged, but feeling it first hand was unnerving.

She was on top of him now, her fist flying against his face and Dean worked in vain to raise the gun to finish her off.

But her blows were strong--stronger than most guys or ghosts he’d tangled with.  It was almost like a sparring session gone awry with Sam, it carried that much force.

Dean spit a curse, pushing hard to unseat her.

She had started the ritual.  This was like fighting his brother, because she’s started taking his strength.

He was on top for only a moment before she used the momentum to tumble them again before they both crashed into the wall.  Dean’s head spun and he realized he’d lost his gun.

Before he could take another moment to figure out where it had fallen and just how screwed he was, she was pounding on him.

Stars were exploding behind his eyes and for a second he couldn’t remember how it had ended up like this.  He was supposed to be saving Sam.  No, check that, he was supposed to be the one tied spread \-eagle to the floor.  This part of the plan was Sam’s.


If he didn’t do something soon, he’d be unconscious and this freaky-ass witch would be able to not only finish him off, but finish Sam off, and what kind of big brother would he be if he let that happen?

A big brother who was getting his head pounded in by some witch on a power trip.

Arms up, he went on the defense, hoping to gain enough of a reprieve to figure out his next move.  In the flurry of activity, he could see Sam on the ground.

Then, there.  The altar.  He had to get to the altar.

But then he was being pulled, yanked hard, until he was up and not just to his feet, but in the air. flying with a power he would expect from demons or ghosts.

And no, that never ended well.

He wasn’t surprised by the feeling of the wall against his back, smacking hard against his head.  He wasn’t even surprised by the instant of blinding pain and the subsequent draw of darkness.

No, not surprised.

Just disappointed.  Pissed.  Scared.

And he didn’t feel himself hit the floor.


It took Sam a moment to realize it had stopped.

It being whatever demonic process Lisa was using.  Stopped being...well, Sam wasn’t sure about that one yet.  He still felt disconnected from his body, like he wasn’t sure he was really in it anymore.

It took Sam another moment that it had stopped and that he wasn’t dead.  He sort of wished he was given the weird numbness that had a firm hold of his body, but he was sort of glad he wasn’t because dying wasn’t really high on his list of things to try today.

Moreover, if it had stopped, then it had stopped for a reason.  And given that Lisa didn’t seem to have much of a conscience left in her emotionally bankrupt, he was pretty sure that Dean had something to do with it.

By the time he figured that much out, he realized he was still strapped to the floor and that Lisa wasn’t there anymore, but given the sounds nearby, she was still around.

So was Dean.

That was about the time Sam’s eyes really began working again, at least in a rudimentary kind of way, and though it took him a long, hard moment to crane his head up, he saw his brother engaged in what looked to be pretty hardcore one-on-one with Lisa.

And it wasn’t going well.

Lisa was manhandling Dean, a feeling Sam remembered all too well, but worse this time because the blonde witch seemed to have ramped it up a notch.

Which, really made sense since Sam felt so weak.

Which also made sense since Dean would never get his ass handed to him so readily by anybody or anything, especially a witch.

Which also meant that they were all screwed.  Well, Dean and him, anyway.  Because if Dean didn’t manage to defeat Lisa, then Lisa would have her way with Sam and him, and that wasn’t a something Sam really wanted to think about.

Not to mention the fact that if he died and if Dean died then who knows how many more people would die before another hunter caught wind of all this and really, more deaths was not something Sam wanted on his conscience right now.

Though, he supposed being dead sort of negated the idea of a conscience. 

He needed to stop thinking metaphysically when he was half-dead.  It didn’t do him any good. 

As in, it didn’t help him escape.

With renewed effort, he tried to move his arms again before recalling that even if he had strength left to lift them, they were pretty well shackled to the floor.

So movement was out.

Which left...


Words.  It left words.

Dean always accused him of wanting to talk too much, so he might as well make it count.  He might die devoid of strength and tied down to the floor but he didn’t have to die silently.

Besides, he needed to give Dean enough time to get his stuff together.  To at least overturn the altar.

Opening his mouth, nothing came out and his throat felt dry and he winced, gagging a little at the effort it took.

There was fresh ruckus over by his brother and Sam strained to see but couldn’t make out much more than a blur of bodies and a hard thudding sound.

“Hey!” Sam tried again, relieved this time when sound came out. 

It had gotten quieter and he could just make out Lisa, standing with a smug look on her face, but not looking at Sam.  Looking at Dean.

And Dean...where was Dean?

“Hey,” Sam tried again, hoping to pull something like malice into his voice but failing pretty miserable.

Lisa spared him a glance, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

“Pick on someone,” Sam heaved, “your own size.”

She laughed, giving her blonde hair a shake.  “What, like you?” she asked with a snort.  “If I didn’t like you so much, I might just leave you like that.”

Sam wasn’t sure if that meant just tied to the floor or mostly drained of strength.  Knowing his luck, both.

“So this is what you do?” he ventured.  He couldn’t see Dean, couldn’t hear Dean, and that wasn’t a good sign and he needed time.  He needed much more time.  “You take strength from people and use it against others?”

She moved back toward him, standing over him thoughtfully.  “Not usually so dramatically,” she said.  “But there’s something funny going on here, isn’t there?  I mean, that guy showing up?  After all those passes he made at me in the bar?”

“Maybe he liked you,” Sam said.

Her eyes narrowed and her smile grew pointed as she squatted next to Sam.  “And I thought you were a nice guy,” she purred.  “I was going to spare you the worst parts and make it quick.  But you’re hunters, I think.  I’ve been warned by others about your type.  Maybe when more hunters find your bodies, they’ll think twice about messing with me.”

With that, she swung herself over Sam again, bearing her full weight on his chest remorselessly.  Leaning forward, she tangled her hands in his hair, pulling his head back viciously.  Sam tried to strain away but it was useless.  Even if he had some strength left and even if she didn’t have his pulsing through her body, his position offered him no leverage.

Bending down, she breathed heavily on him.  “You smell of fear now,” she mused.  “Pathetic.  I get it now, though.  The power rush that comes from dominating things.  That’s why I can’t stop.  Why I won’t stop.  And to think, I was going to show you some compassion.”

Her lips pressed down hard on his and Sam felt himself shudder as the last of his meager reserves were shaken.  Darkness encroached on his vision and he felt like he was suffocating.

She pulled away though, grinning madly.  “But you were just the bait to trap me,” she said.  “Let me know how that plan worked for you, okay?”

Sam didn’t have time to respond, not that he could at this point.  She ravaged him again, the jolt of her attack rattling him so deeply that Sam was sure his very essence ached.  This had to be like dying, which meant he had to be dying.

Which wasn’t very good at all.

His mind was racing, tripping, slowing down, clogging, and all he could think about was the need for date rape prosecution and his brother’s unwavering propensity to get thrown into walls.


He had a headache.

Normally, he might just attribute this to a terrible diet and living out of the Impala.  He loved his car, but comfort was not exactly one of its biggest attributes. 

Secondary causes of headaches included hangovers and listening to Sam ramble on about the ancient roots of the latest exorcism they came across.

But he wasn’t in the Impala, he was painfully sober, and Sam was...

Sam was tied up.

The witch.

Damn.  The witch had thrown him into the wall.  That explained the headache at least, but it just opened up a whole new can of worms that he had to figure out.

Namely, where was their witch, where was Sam, and could Dean still save the day in typical big brother fashion?

Opening his eyes would probably be the first step.

It was that nagging fear for his brother’s safety and that insatiable need to do his duty that made Dean open his eyes despite the throbbing in his skull and the weird sense of heaviness in his limbs. 

What he saw, however, was not exactly very encouraging.

He supposed the scene was to be expected.  Sam still tied to the ground, still disturbingly mostly naked.  And worse, the blonde witch with no taste in men and a freaky-ass superpowered bod was literally mounted on Sam and seemed to have her tongue shoved down Sam’s throat.

So either the witch was deeply sexually charged in a really unsettling way or she was about to finish whatever ritual it was she had started on Sam.

It didn’t matter which, really.  Dean wasn’t about to let his little brother get seriously groped any more than he was going to let him get sucked bone dry until he was nothing but a shriveled excuse for a man.

Now was not the time for headaches or musings or anything.  Now was the time to save his brother’s ass and finish this god-forsaken hunt before he had any more of a headache than he already did.

He was on his feet when he remembered the utter lack of a plan.  His gun was...somewhere.  The witch was unnaturally strong.  And Dean wished that he’d paid a bit of attention when Sam had delineated his options for ending this.  There was something about incantations, about bondage, the altar...

The altar!

Take the simple route.  Avoid confrontation.  Avoid the possibility of failure.  Overturn the altar and the entire thing just falls apart.  With any luck, the ritual would not only be halted, but it might be reversed and their witch might just go back to being a power-hungry little bitch.

His vision was a little clearer now, clear enough to see that Sam’s body was tense and more than clear enough to feel the evil vibrating throughout the room.  He needed to end this--now.

It only took a few steps, stumbling as they were, before he reached the altar.  He didn’t spare the time to look at it, to analyze its content, to do anything.  He heard a yell, a screech, and he was turning the table, sending it flying with a clatter to the floor.

Debris scattered.  Parts skittered across the floor and Dean felt his chest heave with relief.

“No!” the witch was yelling, and Dean turned around to see her flying toward him.  “What have you done?”

Dean just grinned.  “Sorry, sister,” he said.  “I wasn’t so fond of your decorating.”

Her eyes were wide and they were turning hard with rage.  Rage that turned just that fast to terror before she even had a chance to respond.

And terror Dean got.  Because whatever she was messing with, whatever this was an altar to, it wasn’t going to be very happy about the current state of affairs.  He’d seen what a reaper had done to Sue Ann.  He’d guessed what they could have done to the likes of Meg had she not actually been a demon herself.  Whatever power this chick was wielding, it wasn’t just from her victims.  Her spells had power from the demons she was summoning.

All well in good as long as all her i’s were dotted and t’s were crossed.

Not so good when all the contents of her altar were spread haphazardly across the floor.  Blood, bones, charred somethings-or-other and any other freakish thing.

He’d done what he had to do to save Sam’s life.

There was nothing he could have done for her, not even if he wanted to.

Which, well, he didn’t.  Since she was a witch who had killed about five people and had tried to kill his brother after groping him.  And then, of course, there was her complete lack of taste, which normally he wouldn’t have held such a grudge about, but she simply was not high on his list of people to have pity for.

So when the air cracked and something bright flashed and he heard her scream, he got his priorities in order and ducked.

The screaming went on for a few seconds, strangled and pained, and they were cut off in a blast of light that Dean could see from behind closed lids.

And just like that, it was over.  The whole painful, screwed up, angst-ridden night was over.

Well, almost.

Dean hesitated, then opened his eyes.  The first thing he saw was hard to miss--there, on the floor, a small, shriveled mess.  It was almost unrecognizable except for the blonde hair with hints of purple.

Suddenly Dean had the urge to hurl.

Whatever Lisa had done, he wasn’t sure he’d thought she’d deserved that.  Not just death, but...she looked empty and vacant, limp and flaccid, a deflated version of a human being.

Dean had seen her victims, he knew she was evil, but...damn.  She’d gotten what she dished out and then some.  Of all the ways to go, it certainly didn’t look pleasant and if she hadn’t been a damn witch, he might have felt sorry for her.

But she was a witch and one who had nearly...


Focus renewed, Dean turned, his mind suddenly racing and his entire body tense.  She’d been part way through the ritual and he had no idea what would happen now that she was dead.  Would the strength she had taken be returned?  Would it not? 

His brother was still tied to the floor, which was no surprise, and Dean couldn’t tell if he was moving, if he was conscious, if he was...

He had to be alive.  He had to be.

Going to his knees, he looked desperately at his brother.  “Sam?”

Sam’s limbs were still pulled taut, which looked uncomfortable as hell, but Sam’s face was lax in unconsciousness--and it was unconsciousness, because Dean could see the shallow, rapid rise and fall of his brother’s chest.

But that was the good news.

The bad news was that Sam was unconscious and remained that way no matter what Dean did, no matter how he called or put a reassuring hand on his brother’s naked shoulder--nothing.  On top of that, Sam was pale, his features a little drawn.

But not shriveled.  It sounded a little weird to even think it, but he had to be relieved.  There was no prune-like quality to his little brother’s visage, which, at the very least, meant that she hadn’t completed the ritual.

Dropping his head, Dean let out a sigh.  “Damn it, Sammy,” he said.  “I need you to wake up.”  Because hearing Sam’s voice would make a world of difference.  Hearing a bitchy comeback, a sarcastic swipe at Dean’s timing--those were the things that told Dean normal and okay more than anything else. 

Besides, Dean sort of wanted to make sure Sam still had his strength.  As in, he could still lift his head

No matter how much he wanted to. he couldn’t make Sam wake up.  What he could do in the meantime was to take care of the kid.  After all, strength sucking aside, Sam was still tied to the floor mostly naked.  Maybe he’d be able to mock that someday (soon) but for right now, he wanted to keep his little brother’s pride as intact as possible.

He couldn’t do anything, though, until Sam was detached from the floor.  It took a great deal of his willpower, but he forced his eyes from Sam’s face and let them trail down Sam’s elongated limbs to where each one was shackled to the floor.


This witch kept getting freakier and freakier.

The time she’d taken to attach shackles to the floor.  That was time she could have spent bolstering her maniacal ways or even seducing unsuspecting men to a prune-y death.

Upon closer examination, the shackles were bolted to the floor--bolted, metal bolts pounded into the concrete floor.  And the shackles themselves were almost archaic, probably made of steel, thick and a little corroded and this was like some terrible cliche that he should be making fun of were his little brother not in the shackles.

Of course now he had to undo the shackles, which were annoyingly well clasped.  Which, would be the point of shackles, Dean supposed but he needed to get Sam out of them now.

Pulling out his knife, Dean fiddled the locks, cursing as his hand slipped and Sam’s hand jostled limply.

Repositioning, he fiddled the lock again, this time with success as the shackle popped open.  Relieved, Dean moved swiftly over to Sam’s other side and did the same thing on that shackle as well.  Just as fast, Dean undid Sam’s ankles before moving back up to his brother’s face.

“Sammy?  Hey, Sammy?”

Still nothing.

Sighing, Dean sat back on his heels, looking at the ceiling.  This entire night was one screwed up mess.  This entire stupid hunt was screwed up.  He should know better than to hunt witches.  Witches and their altars and their spells and their damn bad taste.

He should have planned more.  He should have known the plan better.  He should have set up a contingency in case she didn’t take the bait.  He should have made her take the bait.  He should have tracked her better, he should stopped her before she’d half-sucked Sam dry, he should have--

There was a groan.

Since the witch was dead and he was too busy monologuing to himself that left--


His brother was moving slightly, his head rolling a little and his limbs jittering ever-so-slightly.

Leaning forward, Dean positioned himself in Sam’s line of sight.  “Sammy?  You with me?”

Sam groaned again, louder this time, his eyelids fluttering open.  His brow furrowed a little and his mouth straightened thinly.  “Dean?”

Dean grinned.  He still didn’t know the whole situation, the full extent of whatever damage had been incurred and retained, but damn, it just felt good to hear his brother say his name.  “Right here,” he assured his brother.

Sam’s nose wrinkled.  “Lisa?”

“Our friendly soul sucking witch?”

Sam licked his lips, looking like he was still gathering himself.  “Yeah.”


Sam sighed a little, closing his eyes.

“Couldn’t be helped,” Dean told him.  “I got here in time to see her making out with you or something equally disturbing.”

Sam flinched a little at that, looking a little nauseated as he opened his eyes.  “Yeah, apparently the ritual was a bit...intimate.”

“That the reason she had you in your boxers.”

Sam tried to sit up a little at that, looking down over his own body with a look of faint horror.  “I sort of forgot about that.”

Dean offered him a hand, propping his brother up to a sitting position.  “Well, trust me, I’d like to forget it, too.  Do you know where your clothes are?”

“Gee, I forgot to ask her that as she was going on about her maniacal plans of control and summoning demons to steal my strength.”

“Getting sloppy then, little brother,” Dean quipped.  “So you’re sure that’s what it was then?”

“I had a nice, front row seat to the summoning ritual,” Sam confirmed.  “Not to mention the firsthand account I could give you of what it feels like to have someone try to pull your strength out of you.”

“I was wondering how she managed to haul you out of there like that.”

Sam looked disturbed.  “Took you long enough to follow me,” he said.  “I mean, after she knocked me out, you thought, what, you’d take a detour?”

“I got sidetracked,” Dean protested.

“I got choked out!”

“I know,” Dean said.  “Makes me want to make you brush up on your hand to hand.”

Sam rolled his eyes.  “We had to find the lair.  That was the whole point of you being bait to begin with.”

“Not my fault she had bad taste.”

“More than bad taste,” Sam said.

“Proof that she was insane.”

“In more ways than one.”

Dean sighed, patting Sam’s shoulder.  “You’re not feeling sorry for her, are you?”

Sam took a deep breath.  “She was attacked, Dean,” he said.  “Some guy took advantage of her.”

“Doesn’t give her the right to take advantage of others,” Dean said.  “Much less practice this kind of dark magic.”

“I know,” Sam agreed.  “Makes her a little more human, though.”

“Are you forgetting about the part where she choked you out, dragged you to a basement and chained you to a floor before groping you and trying to steal your strength to the point where you died?”

Sam just rolled his eyes, trying to push up to his feet.  Paranoid, Dean followed him up, hovering conspicuously.  Sam wavered for just a moment before steadying himself and looking resolved.

“You going to be okay?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said, a little breathless.  “Whatever she did, you must have undone it.”

“Given the way she looks, she certainly doesn’t seem to have any strength left in her,” Dean said.  “Which is good, because I didn’t want to have to drag around a shriveled up excuse for a little brother.  You’re enough work as it is.”

Sam just snorted.  “Need I remind you who she passed up in that bar?”

“Yeah, well, you attract the demonic psychos and I’ll stick to the eligible girls who don’t want to kill me.”

“Are you just going to stand there and make excuses or help me find my clothes there, Romeo?”

“At this rate, I may just leave you without your clothes and see how far you get.”

Sam pulled away, glaring at him.  “Do I need to remind you how I ended up this way?”

Dean just shook his head, the tension leaving his body.  It had been a long night, a way too long night.  Between the witch and the abduction and all of it, it was just a relief for it to be over.  He had Sam, they finished the hunt.  And hell, ding, dong, the witch was dead, and that was good enough for him.


Sam could sort of understand why Dean hated witches.  Not that he hadn’t had reason to hate them before, but now, after being abducted by one and chained to the floor by one, then the groping and that didn’t even start him thinking about the whole idea of one sucking his strength out while shoving her tongue down his throat.

So much of it was part of the job.  The abduction, even the chaining, and sometimes even the groping.  But damn, that strength sucking thing sort of lingered with him.

Despite many protestations and various wisecracks, Dean had helped him find his clothes and had hovered discreetly while they cleaned up the mess and made their way back to the car.  He’d slept hard that night and hadn’t wanted to wake up until Dean forced him to get up for lunch the next day.  After which, he promptly went back to sleep for another 18 hours.

When he finally woke up for real, it was late morning.  Dean had been restless and had sort of pounced on him like a caged animal, desperate to do something, anything.  After a shower, which Dean had begrudgingly consented to allow Sam to take (because after two days, Sam looked pretty gross), they headed out for an early lunch or a late breakfast or both, given Dean’s order of eggs and a cheeseburger.

They would have hit the road after that, since the hunt was done and they’d checked out of the motel, but Dean was loitering, leaned up against the car, playing with a toothpick he’d gotten from the restaurant.

“So we can make it to the state line before nightfall,” Sam said.  “You know, if we get started now.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, shrugging.

Not exactly a ringing endorsement.  “Or we could just sit here.”

“It’s a nice day,” Dean said.

Sam leaned against the car next to him, looking out over the parking lot.  “I guess.”

“We spend too much time indoors.”


“You slept for like two days,” Dean pointed out.

“I had the strength sucked out of me.”

“That’s because you got abducted by a witch.”

Sam bristled a little, annoyed.  “That was part of the plan.”

“She choked you out.”

“Again, part of the plan,” Sam said, feeling his ire rankling.

“Just made me think.”


Dean turned and looked at him.  “We need to practice.”

Sam rolled his eyes, sighing.  “Are you serious?”

“Well we don’t want any chicks getting the one up on you again, do we?”

“I don’t suppose me reminding you of the plan will do much good, will it?”

Dean patted Sam on the shoulder.  “Always full of excuses.”

And that was about all Sam could take.  “Bring it.”

Dean just grinned.  “You’re on.”


They found a field just outside of town.  Right off the highway and abandoned enough that no one would see them or care to stop if they did.

Their lives were full of fields like this, makeshift training grounds, target ranges, the works.  With a lack of constancy in their lives, Sam had learned to both count on these things and loathe them all at once.

They had stripped their layers and their jackets until they were clad only in jeans and t-shirts.  And tennis shoes--no sense risking serious harm with the boots they sometimes wielded.

The day was warm and the sun was still high in the sky.  The field was dusty and a little brownish, and Sam tried to loosen his muscles.  He was good and he was in shape, no doubt, but the whole thing with the witch, he had to admit, was leaving him feeling a little rundown.

They were circling each other.  Dean was smirking, his body crouched and ready to pounce.  Sam cracked his neck and prepared himself.

This was Dean’s idea.  Dean would strike first.

The first assault was a barrage of punches, which Sam easily dodged and blocked.  Sam returned with a kick that only caught Dean glancingly. 

They parried like that for awhile, back and forth, blocking more than they landed, a testing of the waters.

It was Dean who made the first breakthrough, a well-placed charge at Sam’s legs, which sent him to the ground hard on his backside.

Sam felt the thump and stifled a curse as Dean followed it up by grappling at Sam’s arm.  Knowing this was not a position he wanted to be in, Sam scrambled, rolling away the best he could, but Dean was on him hard and fast, nearly succeeding in mounting him from behind.

It was sheer strength and size that allowed Sam to escape at all, and he forced his way out of Dean’s firm grasp and found his way to his feet, throwing a kick at Dean’s upper body before his brother had a chance to follow suit.

Dean went down and Sam launched himself.  Anticipating the action, Dean turned to his side, which caused Sam to throw himself wide, and they tussled in the dirt.

They kicked up dust and Sam felt the grass rub rough against his arms.  It was a blur of motion and Sam worked to regain his bearings.  Then, for one horrible moment, Sam was beneath, Dean on top with a grin on his face.

He had to move--now, or risk brotherly humiliation.  He couldn’t go down quite this quickly on the first round. 

Using their momentum, Sam hurtled his body as best he could, using an arm to wrench Dean to the side.

They rolled again and Sam ended up on his feet, hunched defensively while his brother regrouped.

Dean was smirking.  Positively smirking.  He was loving this.

Sam was a bit flabbergasted.  His brother was something else indeed.  “You like this?”

Dean just grunted a bit, breathlessly.  “Aw, come on, Sammy?  You love it, too.”

And Sam just grinned.  “I’m going to love kicking your ass.”

“Nah, you’re going to love trying,” Dean said.

Sam’s mouth turned up in amused provocation.  “Bring it.”

Dean charged and Sam had to stop thinking and just react.  They didn’t stop until they were both panting and breathless, smudged with dirt and aching.  Dean had landed a pin or two and Sam had nailed Dean with a handful of submissions that would leave them both sleeping hard that night.

And as they both sat in the field, trying to catch their breath, not talking, just breathing, Sam couldn’t help but think that this was part of the plan all along.


Posted by: Dani (pinkphoenix1985)
Posted at: January 8th, 2009 08:11 pm (UTC)

I LOVE the ending!!! just wonderful!

Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: January 9th, 2009 01:50 pm (UTC)
bruised sam

Much thanks! You are always a faithful reviewer and you make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside because you're usually my first reviewer and you get me over that posting anxiety of "Will anyone actually CARE?"

So thanks so much!

Posted by: Dani (pinkphoenix1985)
Posted at: January 10th, 2009 02:13 pm (UTC)

you're so welcome!!! I get giddy when I see that you've posted!!

Posted by: supernaturalmommy (supernatrlmommy)
Posted at: January 8th, 2009 09:45 pm (UTC)

absolutely awesome! I loved it! I like how you handled the delicate bits and kept the flow going and I loved how you kept the suspense there. *Claps* great fic!

Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: January 9th, 2009 01:51 pm (UTC)
heres the thing

Heh. The delicate bits.

Sorry :)

And thanks! And when do I get to see fic from you? Or even your novel? I miss your writing!

Posted by: supernaturalmommy (supernatrlmommy)
Posted at: January 9th, 2009 02:22 pm (UTC)


"Look over there!" *points and runs away*

Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: January 14th, 2009 12:37 am (UTC)
bruised sam

You can't fool me! I need more of Sam down the hole! Come on! You can do it!

Posted by: supernaturalmommy (supernatrlmommy)
Posted at: January 14th, 2009 02:06 am (UTC)

the next update is posted *runs away screaming*

Posted by: sendintheclowns (sendintheklowns)
Posted at: January 9th, 2009 02:19 am (UTC)

There is too a plot and I love it! And I love choked out Sam, and woozy Sam, and sparring and everything!

And thank you doesn't cover all of my lovely user pics you made for me. But thank you!

Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: January 9th, 2009 01:52 pm (UTC)

You are so easy to please with plot :) But, hey, you are the birthday girl, so what you say, goes!

And the fic and pics don't do you justice. Trust me, you deserve so much more :)

Posted by: Nebula (authoressnebula)
Posted at: January 9th, 2009 03:11 am (UTC)
spn sam pretty

SO MUCH LOVE. Seriously, what you can do to Sam makes me so very happy. ^_^ I love your limp!Sam. For real. *is a total fangirl*

Also, I just rec'd this on my journal; I hope you don't mind. Good limp!Sam should be shared. *nodnod*


Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: January 9th, 2009 01:53 pm (UTC)
little bro

Aw, thanks! I happen to have this slight thing for limp!Sam, so I'm glad I do that alright. And I suppose if I'm known for only one thing, limp!Sam is okay with me :)

And, you recc'ed? Seriously? I always get all gooey and flattered when people rec me.


Posted by: Not Quite by Firelight (tahirire)
Posted at: January 9th, 2009 05:10 am (UTC)

Dude, for real, this whole story was great, but all I can think right now is how I've been saying for at least 2 seasons that I would KILL to get a sparring scene on the show.



Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: January 9th, 2009 01:54 pm (UTC)
more pretty sam

Yes to sparring! I mean, it would make every fangirl in the world squee, so why would they keep depriving us?!

I feel bad, though, because I totally skimmed on my sparring scene. I was going to make it longer and more interesting before I realize I didn't really know anything about sparring!

Thanks :)

Posted by: Not Quite by Firelight (tahirire)
Posted at: January 9th, 2009 01:56 pm (UTC)
Happy Place

Lol. We used to take classes, and my hubby and I used to spar all the time in college. It's so fun. We were watching IFC the other night and I was like "nggg, SamnDean SO need to get in some PRACTICE." ;-)

Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: January 10th, 2009 03:19 pm (UTC)
behold the limp

Your name very much amuses me to the point where I want to friend you. I mean, Samgirl territory is exactly where I want to be. Do you mind?

And if you have the sparring background, why have you not written a sparring fic?

Posted by: Not Quite by Firelight (tahirire)
Posted at: January 10th, 2009 03:22 pm (UTC)

LOL. Pretty much my whole flist is Samgirl territory. Come on over!! *makes tea*

Well, mainly because it's so technical I find it intimidating, and also because I read an awesome awesome one once and so I feel like I don't need to. LOL. (In a zine, sadly, not on lj) I find that most of my own stuff is stuff I really want to see that I haven't seen anywhere else. Otherwise I bore myself. Does that make sense?

.... if you are going to add me, just so you know, I talk a lot. You have been warned. ;-)

Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: January 10th, 2009 03:33 pm (UTC)

I think I know the fic you're talking about. Or if not, I've read another one (by Kohadril?).

Still, you can never have enough of sparring.

And I like to read more than I do post anyway, so I won't mind. I need more Samgirls to listen to.

Posted by: Not Quite by Firelight (tahirire)
Posted at: January 10th, 2009 03:35 pm (UTC)

YES!!! ISN'T IT AMAZING!! *dies*

*shakes self*

HEE. Well then welcome aboard! *twirls you*

Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: January 10th, 2009 03:37 pm (UTC)
broken together

It IS amazing. It makes me unduly happy. Darn it! I loaned that zine to a friend and now I have an incredible desire to reread it!

I need to stop be generous.

And I look forward to the insanity you promise :)

Posted by: Not Quite by Firelight (tahirire)
Posted at: January 10th, 2009 03:39 pm (UTC)
Silly face!Sam

Oh, there is a backlog. Feel free to skip around. ;-)

*goes to lunch*

Posted by: mimblexwimble (mimblexwimble)
Posted at: January 9th, 2009 12:36 pm (UTC)

Lovely, as always. :)

Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: January 9th, 2009 01:54 pm (UTC)

Thanks so much :)

23 Read Comments