Rating: PG-R ish
Warnings: Violence, incest
Notes: Thank you so much to liebesdammerung for the quick and dirty beta. Written for picfor1000. Mine's here. Title from Mirah’s Bones and Skin
feedback would be awesome.
it's sweet the taste this bit of love
"Get up, Sam."
She presses her forehead into the mat, battered and bruised, sweaty sports bra and stretch pants molded to her body like she took dip in a pool. She curses under her breath, willing her hands to push herself back up. Pain echoes through her body, muscles screaming at her to stay down, you stupid bitch, stay the fuck down.
She never was good at being told what to do.
“I fucking hate you,” she moans, hands flat on the mat, wet hair shivering across her vision. She pushes herself up, swaying, little lights bursting along the edge of her vision.
He stalks around her, sneakered feet barely making a noise on the gym pad the old man dragged home one day. “Don’t care,” he says from behind her. “My job is to teach you to stay alive.”
“It’s not a fucking job if you enjoy it, sadist,” she spats.
“You start bleeding yet, little girl?” He taunts, fitting a foot to her ass and kicking her back down on her face. “You tell me when you start and then we got a reason to take you with us on hunts,” Dean grabs her hair and yanks her head back, his breath sour on her cheek. “We need bait, french fry.”
Exhaustion settles on her like a warm blanket, a numb coldness seeping through her, pulse thundering in her ears. Body refuses to bear her weight and she rests her cheek against the floor, the hurts too numerous to count.
“Come on,” he yells in her face. “Get up!”
Sleep would be good. She could just close her eyes, shut him out and float away.
But then he’ll win. And she’ll never hear the end of it.
Taking a deep breath, she pushes through the pain, rising to her knees before him. One leg slides under her, then the other and she’s standing.
“You have a nice nap? Let’s go,” he says, slapping her upside the head. “Enough of this pussy girl bullshit, Sam. Fight me.”
Pulling intent from somewhere, she’s spinning with the quickness of a cat, catching him off guard, heel slamming into his knee and bringing him down. Right palm up, she slams it across the bridge of his nose, the other hand grabbing his balls and twisting, pulling, shoving him down.
He shouts in pain and she falls on top of him, flicking the wet hair from her eyes. She grinds down, gasping when he grows hard beneath her. A shock of surprise and pleasure shoots through her and she's frightened by what she feels, seeing clearly through the blinding white flash in front of her eyes.
She wants him. She's always wanted him.
Dean shifts his weight and she rolls away, knees flexing into a crouch, breathing hard. He’s a few feet away, smearing the blood from his nose across his face. “Christ girl,” he bitches, cupping himself. “Maybe I wanna have kids one day, you ever think about that?”
Not waiting for him to catch his breath, she rushes him, kicking, taking out the other knee, slashing upward and connecting her fist with his face, once, twice, three times —want to fuck your brother? Freak, Sam, you're a fucking disgusting freak, feeling this way— then a quick twist and she’s behind him, his neck in the crook of her elbow, one more move and she can snap his neck, leave him dead in the basement and run, run, run.
She breathes hard, sweat dripping on his shoulder, running in rivulets down his bicep, his arms loose at his side. Something telling her to do it, do it now, kill him—
With a cry of disgust, she lets go and pushes him away. “Enough. I’m done.”
Dean snorts a bloody booger up and hocks it onto the concrete floor alongside the mat.
Sam towels the sweat from her face and chest. “I almost killed you.”
“It’s about damn time you start getting nasty. You’re too small to do damage any other way. You gonna hunt, you need to do whatever it takes to survive.”
Sam closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, her heart beating so fucking loud against her chest. “Dean,” she whispers when he’s silent, “I almost killed you.” Weariness seeps into her, goose pimples rising against her skin, suddenly chilled to the bone. “And I could do it. Take you and Dad both out and then and then and then—”
She covers her mouth with her hands. “What’s the matter with me?”
He clears the mat in three steps, stooping and picking up a discarded knife. He flips it in his hand and presents it to her hilt first, dropping to his knees before her. “You want to kill me so fucking bad, here do it. Right here,” he says, pointing at his chest, pressing his fingers into a space between his ribs. “Take that bitch and shove it up, don’t hesitate, twist it good, get it straight into my heart. I’ll die a happy man, Sam, you the last thing I ever see.”
“Fuck you,” her eyes stinging, blaming it on the sweat blurring her vision, knocking the knife from his hand. She’s sixteen years old and can’t decide if she wants to kill her brother or fuck him.
His arms circle her waist, face against her damp belly. “You hate me, Sam?”
“God, no,” she says.
“You should.” He tongues the skin below her belly button, rough and soft at the same time, her breath catching in her throat. “You’d hate me if you knew the things I want to do to you,” he says, grasping the back of her pants and pushing them down, palming her ass.
“Please,” she rasps, pleasure at his touch frying the circuits in her brain.
He takes out her knees and she falls against him, arms around his neck, thighs spread over his. “Stop me, Sam. Make me stop.”
“Dean,” she whispers, Hell burning bright in his green, green eyes. “I don’t want to.”