With the Devil I Ride
By: Scarlet Wings Angel
Disclaimer: No, of course I don't own the Winchester brothers… although their Dad is… hmm!!
Summary: Super Demon wants Sam… like he always did. And he will get him; he has his means… but Dean is the cost to Sam's power raise. How far will Dean be tested till Sam is triggered to fight back?
A/N: Hey people just wanna say long time no see. Enjoy reading it and beware of the language (which ain't that heavy!). I just had to get this story out of my head...exams are haunting me! Please make sure you reply with lots and lots of reviews... and i promice the second Chapter doesn't disappoint!!! T...T
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"NO! Auugh! Damn you, stupid, predictable Sylvester Stalone…," yelled Big Winchester, at a relatively unresponsive piece of modern technology… the Television. "Everybody knows the enemy is either behind you or above you… useless big-lipped moron," he laughed out heartily, so much so that he began to wonder why his sides haven't started bursting.
Sam was standing at the doorway of their living room, staring at his brother, who was half-sitting, half-standing on the worn-out armchair. He's always the content one, do you not think so?, whispered a female voice in his head… which till now Sam can not, for the life of him, figure out. She's old and posh, that much he knows... and from Old England, perhaps?
Samuel, if you think about it carefully… he's the one who doesn't get to feel. He's the one who has a fort around his heart, guarding him from all that plagues you... love, for example, as the weakest of emotions. He's the one by whom trouble passes, leaving him unaffected. He's the one who, due to SOME sort of license, has a hundred percent permition to do with you as he pleases... to demonstrate to you how much stronger he is. Physically, Emotionally, and MENTALLY. This is the blood of yours that should never have been… who uses you, torments you, and then discards you.
Every.
Single.
Time.
By now, Sam was hovering at the neck of his brother, breathing irregularly, but trying to absorb back whatever exhalation which might give away to his presence in the room… which need not be so hard, Samuel, because you are hardly noticed, let alone missed. He blinked. Once, twice, thrice… huh!
He never noticed before, but Dean is NOT really a total Chestnut, he actually has some brown in there… and, wait for it... a little blond. Funny… Dean is not a pure Chestnut! Hah… finally, in less than two decades, one weakness was found! Alongside his DISGUSTING eating habits, too... the reason he is attracted to those Brunettes might have more to do with his feeling of genetic inferiority, than their seductiveness.
Samuel…how long? How many opportunities lay before him to trample upon you? How long a moment, or several, is he allowed to spend ridiculing you? How long, Samuel… is he given to emphasise to you, Each and Every Time, who the bigger, better, wiser Winchester really is? The one who naturally takes after your father? And talking about Daddy Winchester… when is any one of them ever going to admit…?
By now, Sam's breathing became incredibly laboured, and he found himself without control of how fast his skin trembles. He felt darker, sharper, and fiercer than ever before… and foreign, violent thoughts engulfed him. But it was at a cost, because he now has no control over his apparent invisibility. You could never be completely bad…you always were… the nicer one, Sam finished the thought.
The one who didn't fight, the one who contemplated, the one who felt. The one who COMPROMISED, time and time again.
Compromise seems to have been invented for him, and, through childhood, the word even seems to have personified him.
"Uuh… Sam, there's another chair over here, dude, in case you're interested in sitting down," said Dean, turning his head at such an acute angle that it is now fast becoming an unhealthy idea.
"Not much to watch, I must say; Sylvia here doesn't know the first rule in fighting," he turned back to the TV. "And you'd think that actually looking at who the hell you're beating up, would help you in the process of beating them up…" Laughing harder now, he stood up and tried to head for the kitchen. "Now where can I find a?"
Dean found Sam's hands on his throat, barely merciful, and it hurt!
"Ok, Sam, I'll give you that… you got me, and I'm scared. Do I get to go now?" Dean tried to smile, he did (honest, he was thought to himself), and thank God, Sam let go.
For a millisecond.
He then rammed Dean's upper torso hard against the wall of living room. You know, the one which was so damn creaky that come Evil Super Demon or Babe, Dean always, always groaned at the noice that it belches out.
"Granted, you got more muscle power than me, is that ok? Jeez man, after all I ain't been drinking my milk for years," mumbled Dean, hopelessly trying to joke out of the situation.
"Even here, even NOW you get to crack a stinker on me! Every damn time, man! WHAT D'YA THINK... THAT I'M YOUR STUPID PRACTICE PUNCH BAG?" yelled Sam at Dean, who was bewildered and dazed at the rather icky puddle into which he is now falling.
"That I won't speak out against what you and Dad did? That I'd take it laying low every day, smiling and laughing, pretending nothing ever happened? Like what you did was small and easy... and couldn't POSSIBLY have any effect? To me, that's easy... I can forgive you for being an outright asshole, the biggest in the States." Dean shook his head slowly; not this topic again. "But to HER?" Sam was shaking roughly, and the last sentence came out with a quiver, and was a little too quite for Dean to pick up on immediately.
"… What exactly was it that I was supposed to have done, Sam?" whispered Dean, looking around him as a double check… surely Sam is talking about, or, even better, to some one else.
Dean's head hit the wall, and again, after he tried to resist Sam's hand,which was forcing his head (and worse... my hair, thought Dean) into the wall. "DON'T... just Don't even TRY to lie anymore..." Sam hissed through his teeth, which were clattering violently.
He lost control of himself, thought Dean.
"Hmph… not any more, bro, not any more. Today… you don't get to joke on me any more. And today, I have the upper hand, in everything, and especially control" As if Sam could read Dean's mind, Dean's eyebrows burrowed into each other quizzically.
Sam drew his face towards Dean, who's getting more and more perplexed and frightened of the situation… yes, actually frightened.
What the HELL is going on?
"Today…" Sam got ready to finish, "I am the one who gets to have the last laugh." He let go of Dean's head... and Dean used his eyes intensively, searching over the valleys of his brother's face, the face which he carried so protectively over the years. A face which now speaks nothing but rage and hatred.
Dean has found an answer...
From Sam's facial expression, alright, but it sure isn't his manically wide smile, or his crazy hair.
Which would, on a normal day, be incredibly CUTE; that silly word that all those silly girls get to use.
Not today, though. Not Any More… just like Sam said.
"Dude… seriously," Dean tried to soften the awkward situation more… having a totally black eye ball is never, ever, a good idea… trust me! A little white in there is always good… and you got yourself a pair of pitch-black eyes… hmph; that's tomorrow's party outta the window. By the way, could you maybe tell this… whooshie voodoo thing inside you to get the hell out so we can go for a burger?" Dean waved his thumbs up in front of Sam's raging face.
Now, Samuel, now. Now he should be a "was", a past memory, a forgotten entity. Hit him, Samuel, hit him with the anger from all the things he took away from you… your father's favouritism, your social isolation, your inward naivety; how you think everyone is NICE and you give them a chance…
"What is it about you that girls are attracted to?" yelled Sam at Dean, and with that, delivered a swift punch to Dean's lower abdomen.
The recipient groaned and staggered, his arms shielding his already injured stomach. "One moment bro; gotta get my breath…" Dean's voice trailed off. He stood up, "because… uhhuum… well, honestly speaking," Dean started to move his hands up and down his own body, gesturing himself. "Honestly speaking, Sammy, it's probably because they see something they like", and with that, he trailed off, sniggering.
"Liar, you always seduced 'em away… you were the smooth talker" Sam delivered a Leftie to Dean's face. "What they were attracted to, I don't know, but they certainly…," Hook, to the right eye, "enjoyed…," Left, to the bottom left of the chin, "their time…," Uppercut, to the nose, "WITH YOU!" finished Sam with a final blow to Dean's aching chest.
Dean coughed blood. But seeing as Sam wasn't done, he better get a plan, and fast. He can't do a sudden exorcism – no salt around him, and he certainly wasn't gonna shoot his brother with the Colt
Samuel, remember Daddy's Soldier? Remember how Daddy Winchester tried to institutionalise you, and reform you, and clone you into a copy of Dean? Remember how he taught him to be a fighter, a caretaker, of you, a robot? Wasn't that what you were actually fighting against, and are fighting against now?
"You were always daddy's favourite," mocked Sam, "his little soldier." Here, he broke into uncontrollable fits of laughter…. And another… and some more.
A window of opportunity Dean gladly took… to think. Right, so what did he know so far? Well, Sam is possessed…yes? Well he sure looks like it, though he ain't acting like it. Scratch that, what he really means is that Sam, good old little bro, still has that… feeling. Of being the sensitive, anxious and anguished Winchester, the one who does all the thinking. But if he still has his soul, then he can't be possessed…right? 'coz if Sam still has his soul… then it's no demon that is telling him to act like this… Sam is choosing to beat Dean out of his own accord.
"The reason I'm laughing is…," smirked Sam, "is 'coz the only time you're so damn good a fighter, dear bro, is when you've got a gun to hide your face behind…hehehe… ever notice that bro?" and Sam rocked his body back and forth in twists of rapturous laughter.
"Err… no that's not true," replies Dean, defensively, "'coz there are times when…". And finally, seeing as he now got Sam's attention, hit Sam hard across the forehead with a baseball bat. Sam fell to the floor, unconscious, "…when I gotta use my hands and I really don't wanna," whispered Dean, jokingly but with a lot of inner pain, confusion and turmoil.
What has become of us? Dean thought as he turned around, away from the corpse that is his brother, which lay widespread on the ground, a testimony of Dean's actions.
But Dean sure wasn't paying attention himself when Sam's body began to rise, slowly… Well, Sam had to admit; Nike trainers are always a plus, quiet and thick, just how he likes his kicking helpers…
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A/N: ok peeps, this is the first half of the two chaptered Dean and Sam adventure. It'll get hotter, I promise you… and Dean will find in himself the power to utter the three little words he was careful to avoid. You'll like it… if not then sue me! Please review… it'll only take you a few seconds!