FINISH THE FIC CONTEST!
I know you're all wondering why this isn't a new chapter of "Incubus" but I just couldn't help myself. The other night, unable to sleep with my husband gone, I had a supremely hot and unexpected wincest dream. I know. Me, who hates wincest generally. But who am I kidding, it has a certain appeal even I can't resist on occasion. So therefore, I decided to write it up as a fic. The problem was that I woke up right when it was getting good! I figured I'd just keep writing beyond the point I woke up but no matter what I do I just can't seem to come up with something satisfying. So instead I've decided to make a contest! Finish the fic! Let me know in review what you think of this and whether or not you'll send me an entry continuing where the fic ends. You can send them to me when they're done through my email, visible on my profile page. I'll give you...a week to complete them. They can be as short or as long as you like. It can end hot and steamy, or completely non-wincest if you manage it. Anything is acceptable. Please help finish this awesome dream for me. ;-)
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The Dream
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If ever Dean had doubted his mantra of 'monsters he gets; people are crazy', his and Sam's current hunt would have quickly set him straight again. Monsters and serial killers were not supposed to mix. That's why there were hunters for one and Feds for the other. But apparently, Ernie Kittleson, douchebag extraordinaire, hadn't gotten that memo when he decided to summon an actual real as life harpy to do his bidding.
Those things were considered 'that which snatches' for a reason, it seemed, as Ernie had used the harpy to help him snatch up kids—freakin' kids—that he abducted, did things to Dean didn't even want to think about, and then killed, usually leaving a few parts leftover for the harpy to chow down on.
That just wasn't okay.
It was also not okay that instead of the hot chick with wings and bird claws Dean was anticipating, the real thing was not like the myths. Okay, so according to Sam it was exactly like the myths for a harpy to have a head like Medusa, beady eyes, and tusks of all things, the whole sexy version having come later when harpies were romanticized, but god damn. Dean really should have learned his lessen from "Fantasia" that droopy-ass tits flapping in your face was never a good thing.
Dean had already taken care of Ernie, no regret in him at all for killing a human either considering what a poor excuse for one the guy had been, but not before the bastard had snatched up Sam first. Ernie had chained Sam—Dean's frickin' baby brother—up to a pulley system rigged to crank Sam face-first into what looked like a slaughter house meat grinder. Why random warehouses and factories always had shit like that as part of the décor, Dean would never understand.
So Ernie was out of commission, but Sammy was up a level about ready to be done in damsel-in-distress on the train tracks style, and even though Dean could frickin' see Sam above him since the floor was metal grating, he still had to deal with the god damn harpy.
Which was ugly.
Really fucking ugly.
And damn it all to Hell those claws stung when they tore into his shoulder.
"Dean!"
"I'm working on it!" Dean called as he dodged yet another swipe of those claws.
"Work faster!"
Yeah, coz this was so frickin' easy, Dean thought with clenched teeth. He was just thankful he had left his leather in the Impala because if this bitch had sliced through his father's jacket, it would have really pissed Dean off.
Of course his bleeding shoulder had him pretty well pissed anyway, and god damn it, why wouldn't this thing die.
"You have to cut its head off!" Sam was yelling.
Dean knew that already, thank you very much, Mr. I-Went-To-College-So-I'm-Obviously-So-Much-Smarter-Than-You. Dean's problem was that he didn't have anything to cut the harpy's head off with. A gunshot wouldn't do it, and his knife had been knocked away to some unknown corner of the building about twenty minutes ago.
Ducking to avoid a slash from the harpy's taloned feet this time, Dean rolled to the nearest table covered in what were probably Ernie's torture tools. Unfortunately, Dean immediately regretted that roll as the movement tore open the wound in his shoulder about two more inches, and damn that was gonna need stitches.
Jumping back to his feet, Dean focused on the tools in front of him. There were a few knives but nothing big enough for the job. He needed something with leverage, with distance so the bitch wouldn't slash his arm off while he swung.
Then he spotted the pickaxe.
A deafening screech sounded near Dean's ear. He instinctively ducked, which was a good thing, considering if he hadn't, he would have been the one missing a head.
"Dean!"
Dean didn't want to look up and see how close Sam's face was to the grinder. If he could just kill the damn harpy, he could mess up the pulley system from down here and save Sam without even having to go upstairs.
Rolling again to avoid the harpy's attack, his shoulder tore just a little more but he managed to slip under the table and pop back up on the other side. He snatched up the pickaxe.
"Come here, Ugly," Dean sneered at the harpy, "Time for you to meet my little friend." And then Dean thought, really, why did he have to use that particular way of putting it, since it sent his mind straight to the gutter, and with this thing looking skeevy three ways this side of Sunday, that was not a pleasant thought. "Gross."
"Dean!" Sam's voice sounded muffled now. Not a good sign.
The harpy flapped closer to Dean, swiping with her feet several times while Dean swerved to avoid them. Finally, the bitch came at him with her front claws, and with one good swing, Dean lopped her head clean off her ugly-ass shoulders. "Fuck," he gasped, grimacing at the extra pain swinging anything caused his shoulder, "I think you just redefined fugly there, sweetheart." He panted as he stared down at the now twitching headless body of the beast.
"Dean!"
Shit.
Sam was right above Dean but the start of the pulley system was across the room. Dean had to hurry. He hefted up the pickaxe, walking determinedly over to the wrapped up chains of the crank pulling Sam into the grinder upstairs. Dean hissed as he pressed his free hand to his bloodied and torn up shoulder. He didn't have time to worry about that now. As soon as he was at those chains, he gripped the base of the pickaxe and swung.
CHINK.
The chains shifted but didn't bust. Dean swung again.
"Hurry!"
CHINK.
One more for the win, Dean thought, even though his shoulder was throbbing. He swung the pickaxe as hard as he could.
"Dean!"
CLANG.
The chains snapped and immediately began to unravel along the pulley, fast enough that Dean stepped back, afraid the ends would whip up and strike him. Up on the other level, Dean heard Sam pulling on the chains as he was fed the slack, finally able to unwrap himself and get free. Dean smiled weakly to himself as he slumped against the nearest…whatever. Damn he was tired.
"Dean!" Sam called again, racing across the upper level to the stairs, yelling for Dean with concern now instead of urgency, "Dean! Holy shit, are you okay?!"
Sure, Dean thought, still half grinning, now the princess was worried. "M'fine…Sammy," Dean slumped a little further against what now looked a little like a control panel and…huh. If Dean didn't have such a stigma against big red doomsday buttons, he might have thought to press that instead of using the pickaxe.
"Fine?" Sam scoffed as he rushed down the steps over to Dean, kind of smiling deliriously like he couldn't believe either of them was actually alive, "Your shoulder's half ripped off, but Heaven forbid Dean Winchester be anything but fine." Still grinning madly, Sam tackled Dean with a clumsy hug, careful to hook Dean under the arms instead of up around his injured shoulder.
Dean 'ouffed' and cringed a little anyway since the great force of his oversized baby brother was pressing his hip into the corner of the control panel. "Jesus, Sammy…gimme a break here," he pat Sam's back awkwardly as the larger hunter squeezed him too tightly, "It's not like it was all that…well, okay, so it was a little…touch and go for a second maybe, but…I'm fine. Honest. Lay off with the…PDA…already." Dean huffed, trying to catch his breath. He was really fucking tired.
"You have strips of blue T-shirt dug down two inches into your shoulder," Sam was still laughing as he said that because that wasn't even close to being the worst injury Dean had ever had. Besides, with the right stitch job, Dean would be fine, sure enough. "God, Dean, you took down a harpy!" Sam exclaimed, "A fucking harpy right out of Homer! I was so ready to be ground beef up there," he chuckled.
That finally had Dean laughing too, though a little dizzily. He was still seeping blood, after all. "Yeah, well, ya know…all in a day's work, right?" He pat Sam's back again, trying to indicate that now would be a good time to stop squeezing the life out of him, but Sam didn't seem to get it. He just sort of pulled back a little, still clinging. Dean understood that, of course, he understood why Sam was reluctant to let go. They had lost each other so many times for various reasons that when it came down to it neither of them would be able to survive it if they lost the other again.
"We should get out of here," Sam said, and Dean was so ready to second that, only he also sort of didn't think he could move.
"Just...wanna rest a sec," he more or less gasped, clutching Sam's arms when he realized he was about two seconds from crumbling. And then he was crumbling, just falling straight down like his knees had given out, which they probably had, because after all, his arm was half torn off, like Sam had said, and he was really fucking tired.
Clutching Sam as he was, and with Sam still hanging onto him, Dean going suddenly limp was more than enough to bring Sam down too. Dean slumped back away from the control panel, the weight of Sam pulling the 6'4" behemoth right down on top of Dean when they hit the ground. Pain ricocheted all throughout Dean's shoulder from the impact but he couldn't seem to care right now.
Even though Sam hurriedly mumbled out apologies—like the fall had been his fault—and asked if Dean was okay, he was still obviously giddy, his voice half laughing with every word he spoke. Dean wondered if there was something in the air, maybe a little fallout from harpy blood or something, making them both crack, but the truth was it had just been one too many close calls. For both of them.
Dean was laughing right along with Sam despite the pain of his injury. It felt nice just lying there, all that weight of Sam's draped over Dean like some great blanket, and not too much weight because Sam was at least holding himself up enough not to crush Dean with his 200 plus pounds of muscle. If he hadn't been so tired he might have thought it was a little weird the way Sam settled in instead of rolling away, his face buried in Dean's neck like when they were real little and Sammy would fall asleep on Dean watching some stupid movie.
About the time Dean thought better of the situation and was going to tell Jumbo to get the fuck off already, Sam finally moved. But it was only a little, a slight shift like he had meant to get up but changed his mind. His face remained down by Dean's neck, his lips pretty much on the skin anyway, so Dean almost didn't notice when Sam first pressed them a little more firmly.
A shudder ran through Dean's body, surprising him at the feel of the light, tingly sensation caused by Sam's lips pressing just a little harder to his sweat-dampened skin. Dean's brain caught up pretty quickly after that.
"Sammy…?" Dean couldn't really speak what with Sam being all over him and all, Dean himself being not so lucid anyway, and oh yeah, seeing as how he was still bleeding out of his fucking torn up shoulder.
Sam didn't reply though, just breathed a little more deeply, breathed hot against the skin all down Dean's neck, and pressed his lips to Dean again.
Like before, Dean shuddered, feeling those tingles go straight to his groin, and that was weird, not to mention a whole lot of wrong, but all he could do was give another hushed, "Sammy…"
Sam breathed deep and hot almost like a hush, like he was trying to quiet Dean as he moved slowly along the tender skin beneath Dean's chin, planting little…kisses. Fuck, they weren't just presses of lips, harmless and accidental, they were god damn kisses, and that was about five thousand miles away from being okay.
But Dean didn't move, didn't try to push Sam away, didn't even protest really. His eyes were open but the ceiling above was a blur, Sam still comfortably heavy atop him as he continued to graze Dean's skin with 'testing the waters', tingly kisses all along his neck. Dean shuddered with every one, breathing out, "Sammy," several more times, each successive exhale more like a gasp than an actual word.
"Dean…"
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tbc...BY YOU!
A/N: Imagine having to end it there when you're right IN IT. Yeah, it sucked. Stupid Minnesota cold waking me up! Anyway, please help me finish this fic and I'll post the winner as a second chapter. Winner can also request anything they want of me. Keep in mind I'm married though. ;-)
Crimson