Blood Turns Black
Summary: Written for the hoodie_time prompt: Dean is kidnapped (by a monster, or human, whatever) *favourite thing one*, hurt (bonus points for non-con) and then dumped out in the snow. Sam (bonus points for Cas too) finds him but not before hypothermia starts to set in. Cue protective!Sammy *favourite thing two* wrapping Dean up with added bed-sharing *favourite thing three*. Extra bonus points for confused!panicky!Dean waking up not knowing where he is after the rescue. Gen, Wincest, Dean/Cas or all three together are all fine. And, please don't kill anyone (except the perpetrator... revenge by Sam and/or Cas is extra extra bonus points).
Warnings: Contains rape, violence, language, psychological torture. If that's triggering for you at all, please do not read.
Blood turns black, the iron oxidized to rust, darkly metallic like machinated dust. Dean's blood was congealed opaque against his skin, frozen the black of a demon's eye. But it wasn't a demon that bled him almost dry.
The blood lust was true, but only partially. A half-truth that sent him off half-cocked to complete retribution, because the truth was always paid in full.
Blood lust, yes. And lust for power, for pain, for fear, just plain lust. He should never have thought a creature that would drink you dry would hesitate to take everything he had.
The tip of a knife traced all the way around his waist, the first few layers of skin peeling back white, bloodless, just a hair's breadth from the veins below, before the point sunk in deeper just below his navel. A single bead of blood bloomed, clung to the paper edges of the cut before losing purchase, sliding down his stomach. No waistband to stop its journey, it rolled slowly down, leaving a cold trail until the vamp caught it on the tip of his tongue, sliding his tongue up to the puncture, sucking so gently it was almost a kiss.
Dean's arms were bound above him, high enough that his feet just barely reach the ground, so when he tried to kick the vamp away, he ended up swinging back and forth, felt his bad shoulder tug ominously towards dislocation. The vamp chuckled low in his throat like choking, wrapped both his hands around Dean's waist so tight they almost met in front and back, and steadied him.
The vampire stood and he was taller than Dean, Sammy's height, with hair just the same length, but eyes too dark. He was so close Dean could smell the iron tang of his breath, and then the vamp pressed an inch closer, his knife tracing just under Dean's jaw. The ice of the blade was replaced immediately with the burn of a mouth, sucking hard enough to raise a bruise. He brought his mouth to Dean's hair, breath blood-hot and wet, voice husky in his ear.
"Taste like salt," he said and it was almost a purr. "Pure." And Dean felt fangs sink into his neck, grunted but couldn't pull away, one arm around his waist, the other hand digging into his shoulder, the vamp's leg pressed between his thighs.
The room beyond them was fading before he felt a push at his neck instead of a pull, the softness of a cloth instead of the roughness of a tongue. He opened his eyes to find himself nose to nose with the vampire, the creature's pupils blown wide and unfocused.
"Bet the rest of you is pure too, hmm?" the vamp asked, trailed his hands down the hard plane of Dean's stomach, past where his waistband should have been, and palmed his dick. Dean felt a muscle in his jaw twitch but forced himself to stay resolutely still, muscles tightening and flexing until he felt he could almost snap. Warm blood squeezed sluggishly from the bite at his neck and that was a horrible sign because it meant his skin was cold.
"You're a quiet one, aren't you?" the vamp said huskily, leaning in to nip shallowly at Dean's collarbone, like foreplay with a hint of fang.
Dean felt that muscle twitch again, exhaled loudly, kept his mouth shut. The vamp moved up so his forehead lay against Dean's, one large hand cupping the back of Dean's head so he couldn't lean back. Dean couldn't tell if it was the bloody breath or the words that turned his stomach. "If you don't say no, I'll have to assume yes."
"No," Dean said firmly, futilely. The vamp smiled wide, face so close Dean couldn't see the fangs but heard them descend.
"Good," he breathed. "I like a challenge." He pressed his lips to Dean's, holding Dean's hair in his fist when Dean squirmed, fangs sinking almost gently into Dean's lower lip, growling as he lapped up the blood. Then a fist slammed into Dean's side, the crack of his ribs audible even over his groan.
The vamp pulled back, panting lustily, let one hand slide slowly up Dean's bicep, all the way up to his wrists where they were bound and surely he wasn't letting Dean go? He felt the lock snick open, and just as he started to drop to the ground, the vamp drove his fist into Dean's stomach.
Dean doubled over, sinking to his knees, bound hands pulled in close to protect his injured stomach. His forehead pressed to the cold floor, his vision dark with blood loss and pain. A fist in his hair and he was pulled up, his hands dragged out in front of him and he heard a lock click. He shook his head, clearing his vision just enough to see his hands locked to a metal ring on the floor. He tugged weakly at the lock holding them in place, vision greying with the effort, entirely missing the footsteps, but becoming alert at the metal clank of the tongue of a belt buckle. And Dean froze.
The knife was arm against his throat, pressing in almost deep enough for blood. The vamp was between his legs, chest curved along Dean's back. Dean flailed weakly, uncoordinated and jerky, and the knife bit into his throat just enough to raise a thin line of sluggish blood.
"Now, now," the vampire murmured into his ear. "I'll just leave this knife here, yes? Give you an out. Any time you want it to end, you just go ahead and…" he pressed the knife a little deeper and Dean held his breath. "Until then…" the vamp chuckled. "Your choice."
He felt the vamp press at his entrance, took a single breath and exhaled hard. Relaxed his muscles one by one, but it didn't help.
"Tell me again," the vamp breathed into his ear.
Dean swallowed hard, Adam's apple scraping along the knife. "No."
He jerked when the vamp entered, knife sinking into his skin just below the first cut and an aborted whimper forced its way from his throat.
If you'd just learn to relax, Deano, Alastair told him a thousand times, smoke enveloping him inside and out. Just let it go. He would snort derisively, the sound echoing through Dean's stomach. Nothing left to lose, is there? You already gave it all away.
By the time there was enough blood for lubrication, it was time for Dean to get a new body. Start over, whole and pure.
He didn't get a new body.
A tongue ran along the back of his thigh through the warm blood, and the vamp spat. "Not so pure anymore, are you?
The old body was unhooked from the ring on the floor, hauled up limp and useless. Carried out to the cold, left in the white to learn to be clean. Discarded, the way it always should have been.
Eventually the scars glow silver-white, evidence of trauma bloodless and bright. A perfect white from bloody black, and all he wants is the purities back.
"It's got to be this way," Sam muttered, even though Castiel hadn't once questioned his ability to find a nest of vampires. "Just hold on a little bit longer." Maybe Cas knew Sam wasn't talking to him at all.
It was stupid to come at night because the goddamn vampires would be awake, but Sam wasn't about to leave Dean with them until daybreak. It had been too long already. Would have been shorter if Sam had been able to keep himself from pausing his research to see just how long it took to drain a person of blood. Not nearly long enough, as it turned out.
"Jesus motherfucking Christ." Sam slammed to his knees in the bloody snow, reaching tentatively for Dean's throat because under all the knife marks and bruises, there had to be a pulse, there had to be.
There was.
There was also a blue tinge to his lips, a black bruise spreading across his ribs, and black-dried blood at the backs of his thighs.
There were not any clothes, any signs of consciousness, and no shivers.
"Cas," Sam choked. "Can you…can you get us back to the motel?" He couldn't remember because he knew Cas was missing some powers but Jesus God he had better still have this because Dean was cold and still and so goddamn broken, and before Sam could process anymore, they were on the greasy grey carpet of the motel, Cas leaning over both of them.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I can't heal him. My powers…"
"I know," Sam said, subdued. "It's okay." He made a mental list. They had to warm Dean up, had to clean him up, check for injuries everywhere, Jesus, and they couldn't even go to a damn hospital because how do you explain the bite marks all over Dean's body?
He should warm Dean up first, he should. But he would be damned if he let Dean wake up covered in blood like this, especially like this. Because he could tell what had happened, and he couldn't let Dean wake up like this. He went to the bathroom for towels and warm water, adding, as he went, one more thing to his list: kill every single thing that ever tried to hurt Dean. Everything.
He worked quickly, wiping up the blood and…no, he wasn't thinking about that. He cleaned Dean up as gently as he could, Cas peering over his shoulder and Sam wanted to snap at him to get the fuck back because it was bad enough he was seeing this, Dean wouldn't want Cas to see it too.
"Help me move him to the bed," he said instead, pulling Dean's cold body up against his chest. Cas lifted with him and together they carefully laid Dean across the bed. Sam worked a pair of boxers over his brother's hips because he was not going to let Dean wake up so exposed, even if that made no difference at all, and then he began to strip his own clothes off.
"Sam?" Cas frowned, cocking his head a little like a bird.
"Strip," Sam said. "Down to your boxers. We've got to warm him up." He crawled into the bed next to Dean, wrapped the blankets around both of them, and pulled his brother's icy body to his chest, tucking Dean's head under his chin. Dean's belly was cold against his own and he shivered, held his brother even tighter.
"C'mon, Cas," he ordered. "We're making a sandwich."
It took him a moment, as removing three layers is wont to do, but Cas was in his boxers in under a minute, tugging up the blankets and settling himself behind Dean, wrapping his arms gently around both Dean and Sam. Sam felt Dean's nose press into his collarbone, felt Cas's breath on his shoulder.
Sam breathed deeply, trying to force himself to calm down, because they had a long wait ahead of them between the probably hour it would take Dean to come around enough to talk to them, hour it would take to warm him enough to leave him in bed alone, and years it would take before he would ever admit to what happened to him. He sighed. A long wait, for sure.
"I don't understand," Cas said finally and Sam snorted because Cas could mean anything.
"We have to warm him up slowly, from the inside out," Sam said, choosing to answer the easy things and hope Cas would have the good sense not to ask the tougher ones. "Body heat is the best way."
"The blood –" Cas started because he didn't have good sense, and Sam cut him off.
"He was raped." He said it flatly, like if he took the emotion out of his voice he could take the emotion out of what had happened. And then Dean snuffled against his shoulder and Sam closed his eyes. Of all the goddamn times for Dean to wake up.
He looked down at his brother, but Dean's eyes were still closed, face pressed against Sam's chest. Sam felt a shiver run through his brother's body and sighed, this time in relief.
"Feel that? Sam asked Cas. "It means he's warming up. His body is starting to try to generate its own heat."
Sam was dozing off by the time Dean woke up, shivering in full force, and it took Sam a minute to differentiate between Dean's shivers and his flailing.
"Dean. Dean," he said urgently as Dean pushed against his chest, twisting in his arms, trying to get away. "Dean, it's me, it's Sam. Dean!"
And then he realized Dean wasn't trying to get away from him. He was trying to get away from the body pressed against his back.
"Dean, it's Cas. Cas is behind you. It's okay," Sam tried, but Dean uncoordinatedly pushed against him.
"Cas, go," Sam ordered, and the angel responded immediately, ducking out from under the blankets, tucking them gently back around Dean before standing uncomfortably in his boxers next to the bed.
"There's a hot water bottle in our med kit," Sam offered, and Cas turned away, apparently glad to have a task.
With the angel out of earshot, Sam turned back to his brother, who still pushed against him, gasping for breath. "Dean. Dean, talk to me."
"No," Dean mumbled. "No."
"Dean, no one's going to hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you," Sam said. He pulled back, holding onto Dean's shoulder, so they could make eye contact. Dean's eyes were wide and afraid and empty, but they caught Sam's and focused, and all of a sudden, Dean was pressed against Sam's chest again.
"So fucking cold, Sammy," Dean mumbled into Sam's neck. "Can't feel a damn thing."
They both knew it was a lie. It hurt, it hurt all over, deep in his body and his mind. But they also both knew that the first step for pain was ice.
In the days before it fades white, the red shows through with all its might. Long before white and black is red, where both too little and too much mean dead.
It was his choice, he told Sam. You always had a choice, he'd told a reaper, he'd told a demon, he'd told an angel. You always have a choice, and maybe both choices suck, but you have a choice. You can let your brother die or you can sell your soul. You can let yourself die or you can stay and fight. You can let yourself hurt or you can let yourself die.
Sam left Dean with Cas because he didn't think Dean could be alone, and Dean showed the angel how to play poker, laughed outright when he refused to bluff. Sam came back covered in blood, drying black, none of it his own. It was far more than a mere beheading should warrant, but Dean didn't ask and Sammy didn't offer answers. Sam had a choice too, and he chose to protect his brother.
Dean chose to let it go. He's gone from human-blood red to demon black smoke inside to angel-white new body. This is just one more choice and one more would blend in, because now he's pure scar-white all outside and in.
End