Drabble I wrote in class. Because I never pay attention in class. Obviously. I think of fucked up shit like this.
Seriously if you don't like wincest turn back now.
My own little version of the whole "he said 'shut up' to me" incident.
Shut Up
"You're pathetic, Sammy." I didn't much as flinch at the fallen angel's words. Completely made his presence unknown. Considering no one else was around, I wasn't sure why I bothered to act sane. Something told me interacting with the hallucination was going to lead to a whole load of bad, though, so I didn't even blink at him. Lucifer had a point, I had to admit. I was acting absolutely pathetic.
"Good, we're on the same page." Great. Perks of being in my head for the Devil. He could hear my every thought. "You're so…clingy. You never say anything to Dean, but lately, you never want him to leave you. Never want him too far out of reach." I sighed, trying to pay attention to the copy of The Hunger Games my brother had nicked for me. Knew your nerdy ass would like this, he'd said. "Never want him out of touching distance." Dammit, the stupid angel was talking again. "Hm, maybe those fan girls were right…" Okay, that lat remark hit a nerve, but I grit my teeth and simply turned the page a bit rougher then I'd normally treat a book. I still refused to give him any sort of acknowledgement. Not verbally, anyway. He laughed.
"Oh, so that gets you the most? Let's keep going with that then, shall we?" I shut the book with a loud huff, and stood up off the stiff motel bed. "You love him, don't you? And not in the normal brother way." I walked over to the fridge. "You're in love with your own brother." I opened it, grabbed a beer. Lucifer's voice dropped to a dangerous level. "You want to do terrible things to him." The hair on the back of my neck betrayed me, standing straight up and a shiver ran through the very core of my body. I ignored it, nervously coughing and sipping on my beer. "Things that make you think you still deserve to rot in that cage with my brother and I." he added, still in that dark, low tone. I finished off the beer in mere seconds. "You want to kiss him." I made my way to the door of our motel room, threw the bottle into the trash so hard, I heard it shatter at the bottom. "You wanna trace your tongue over that beautiful toned body." My knuckles were white, and I was probably bleeding from my nails digging into my own skin. "You wanna make him writhe and beg for your-"
"Shut up." I said. Curt. Quiet. Stern. Fuming. I glanced at his smirk of triumph then stormed out the door.
"He said 'shut up' to me."