beanside | Fic: Fallen, 4

Title: Fallen
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: Adult only, just to be on the safe side.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, this is just for entertainment until the new season starts. Damn you, Kripke.
Warnings: Probable Wincest. Definite blood and gore. Disturbing mental images. Aside from that, we'll take it as we go, shall we?

The next morning, after a mostly sleepless night, Dean headed to the office for coffee, leaving Sam a note and the Colt by the bed. He knew it was a risk, but he couldn’t stand staying in that room any longer, feeling the walls closing around him.

If Dad was there, he’d have torn a strip off Dean, but he’d made sure Sam was safe. That was all that mattered.

The coffee looked like tar, with grease floating on top. Dean poured himself a generous cup anyhow, adding sugar and grimacing. Jesus, that was nasty. But, it was hot.

He walked back outside, looking up at the steel gray sky above. Another day in Paradise.

He was walking through the lot when he heard the scream from in between the buildings. Even knowing it was probably a trap, Dean headed towards it. He was what he’d been trained to be, no more, no less.

As he rounded the corner, he tripped over the body. A young woman, blonde hair, blue eyes. Looked a lot like mom-- shit. Time to run.

An invisible hand slammed him against the wall, and he cursed, struggling. “You son of a bitch,” he raged.

The demon in his father’s skin stepped out from behind an air conditioner unit, smiling cheerfully at him. “You talk to your Daddy like that, boy?”

“You’re not my father,” Dean spat.

“Oh, but he’s in here, too,” the demon purred, stepping closer.

“Fuck you. It won’t stop Sam or I from putting a bullet in your heart next time.”

The demon backhanded him, almost casually, and Dean felt his lip split, blood beginning to run down his chin.

The demon tilted its head, staring at the crimson trickle and stepped closer. “I’m sure you would if you could,” he said, bending closer, and inhaling. “You smell like fear, Dean.” One callused hand came up to stroke his cheek, thumb pressing on the cut like a parody of a lover. “Are you afraid of me? Of your father?”

Dean didn’t answer, just turned his head so he wouldn’t have to look in its eyes. It smirked, licking it’s bloodstained thumb. “Ah, you are. But not for yourself,” it said. “For Sammy. Because he’s special, and I want him for his power.”

Dean shook his head, as though he could block out the demon’s voice—his father’s voice. “I’m not afraid of you.”

The demon smiled. “I can make you afraid of me.” He stepped closer, leaning in. “Because I’ll tell you a secret. I want Sam’s power, but I want you. I want to break you down until you’ll beg for what I give you. I want to own a Winchester, body and soul.”

Before Dean could process what the demon had said, it gripped his chin and bent, lips pressing against his, demanding.

When he didn’t open, it bit at his split lip until he gasped, letting it in.

It tasted like brimstone, and death and decay. Everything he’d fought against all his life. He bit down, trying to push it away, and he heard his father’s laugh, its laugh. A hand slid down the front of his pants, gentle in comparison to the kiss, and he squirmed, trying to pull away from the sensation.

Abruptly, it pulled away, hand going to its head. His father’s brown eyes, horrified met his. “Run, Dean. Get the hell out of here,” John hissed.

“Dad-“ Dean said, eyes filling with tears.

“Run, dammit!”

Like the good soldier he’d always been, Dean ran.