Disclaimer: Neither Supernatural nor its characters belong to me. Supernatural is (c) Eric Kripke and Warner Bros., etc. No infringement intended, no profit made— this story is just for fun.
Warnings: hurt!Dean, powers!Sam, lots o'blood, and a touch of wincest.
Spoilers: All of Season one and Season two— specifically "All Hell Breaks Loose" parts 1 and 2.
Summary: Dean is taken as bait in a trap for his brother. Sam battles for what's his and the aftermath will leave him forever changed.
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R for Wincest, language, horrific imagery
Beta'd by the most wonderful fortitudeisme, who is lovely to work with. Thank you very much, my dear.
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Heart Eater
By Libellule (aka Griselda Jane)
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Chapter Two
The rungs of the ladder crumble beneath Sam's grip as he heaves himself into the hayloft. He looks away as he climbs, avoiding an eyeful of splinters. When he reaches the top, he sees remnants of straw bundles scattered across the wooden planks, and more inky darkness.
He does not see Dean.
Winchester instinct keeps his suspicions sharp. Sam doesn't know what he's dealing with yet, what type of creature has Dean and has hurt him. Uneasiness coils tightly in his stomach as he thinks this. Reflecting back on the times when Dean has gone missing— Skinwalker, Djinn— Sam realizes it pales to insignificance next to his own MIA history, and that it might not even be Dean up here.
Sam pushes himself onto the loft floor, folding his long legs under him, and kneels by the edge. The barn was clearly built before any sort of safety laws went into effect, as there is nothing between the lip of the platform and a twenty-foot drop to the ground below. Ever aware of his stature, Sam makes as small a target of himself as he can, crouching on the balls of his feet as he scans the hayloft for his brother.
There is darkness where there shouldn't be. The far end of the platform is shrouded in black shadow even with sunlight peeking through the crevices in the roof.
Just when Sam starts to doubt that Dean is up here at all, Dean's voice cuts through him, jarring and terrible. "Sammy?" he breathes from the darkness, fear and pain shaking his voice.
Swallowing back his reply, Sam fights his instinct to rush to his brother's side, his want to protect him, to stop his pain—. Sam knows something is lurking in the darkened corner, something that might not be his brother. It's probably a trap, he tells himself.
"Please," Dean whispers, and it damn near breaks him. "Sammy," he pleads. His breath rattles in his chest, a pathetic rasp.
A knot of fright tightens in his stomach as Sam realizes he's listening to Dean choke.
"Dean," Sam shouts despite himself. Unable to withstand the sound of his brother's suffering, Sam is compelled forward regardless of what his intellect tells him.
There's no warning save for a gentle sweep of air, and it's the practiced skill of quick reflexes that saves him. A creature hurls out of the darkness, claws bared. Sam manages to catch its wrists just before the long nails reach his chest. He flips it, but the creature lands squarely, ready to rebound.
It's a woman— or it used to be. Her body curves in all the right places, but her skin is gray and withered as if a corpse come to life. The turquoise and gold necklace she wears catches the light coming through the roof and it reminds Sam of ancient treasures from a kingdom in the sun— Aztec gold. She holds his gaze like a woman used to adoration. Her eyes are dark, hungry, a wildcat one catch away from death.
Moving slowly, palms forward in a placating gesture, Sam straightens, drawing on his height advantage. Sam's downright weary, and though he knows chances of justifying his way out are slim, he tries reasoning with her first. "I don't want any trouble," Sam explains. "I came here for my brother."
She relaxes a little, smiling big and wide, remarkably like Dean, and she laughs— it's a man's laugh— It's Dean's laugh.
Though the light is dim, Sam's certain the creature sees the color drain from his face.
"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," she says, mocking him through his brother's voice. "You almost fell for it too." She cocks her head to the side thoughtfully and asks, "What gave me away?" Altering her entire manner, she unwinds into a casual stance as if Sam poses no threat to her at all.
And so far, he doesn't— not really. What she is exactly remains a mystery, and therefore how to kill her does as well. Squaring himself, Sam faces her. "I'll only ask you this one more time," Sam says, features pinched into a scowl. "Where is my brother?"
"I would be more concerned about yourself, little brother," she replies, Dean's you're-one-unlucky-sonuvabitch laugh bursting through her mouth.
Sam's jaw sets and his eyes narrow to a smoldering squint. He can plainly see it's not Dean speaking to him, yet it still rankles him, gets deep under his skin, to hear his brother's voice saying these things. Though it comes as no surprise, Sam never realized how attuned he is to Dean's gravelly baritone.
Raising her chin, she fixes Sam with an appraising look. "You think I'm a good mimic," she says, her smile broadening because she knows she's right. "But that's not it, baby." She steps forward, her bare feet padding softly across the old floorboards. "Ask me."
"Why do you sound like him?" Sam asks. Though his eyes turn an icy blue, he's afraid of the answer.
"You're not gonna like it, Sammy," she drawls, twisting Dean's voice.
But Sam's not playing her game. "What did you do to Dean?" he presses. A less ambitious creature would cower at his ferocity, but she stands with a causal, almost bored demeanor as if Sam were a toddler whose tantrum was no longer amusing.
"I took what I needed from your brother," she says cryptically.
"You stole his voice," Sam reasons, trying not to let horror show on his face. He has no idea what kind of creature can actually take someone's power to speak. He's in big trouble, he realizes, and Dean is in it even worse.
"But," the creature amends, "he's not really what I have my heart set on." She comes closer, moving within arms reach.
Sam ignores the arrogant swagger of her stride, ignores his own want to hurt her. The shadows are swimming, undulating in the oppressively hot loft, and Sam's willing to bet that Dean is not hidden within them. Where is he then? Sam wonders, eyes darting quickly to the edge of the platform. Beads of sweat form across his brow, trickle down, and burn his eyes.
"And what is it that you want?" Sam asks, though he's pretty sure he knows what her reply will be.
"You," she answers. With a ferocious cry, she speeds towards him.
Sam's not even sure what she is, so he sure as hell doesn't know how to kill her. But unless he convinces her to make a trip out to the Impala, his choices are limited. He dives away, pulling for his gun, cocking and aiming the piece at her.
She pauses a beat, annoyed. "That's not going to work on me, Sam. No weapon of mortal making can harm me."
He fires anyway, the bullet passing clean through her chest. Her simper tightens to a scowl. The darkness in the loft suddenly blackens around them and she disappears into it. Before Sam can think about what that means, Dean says, "Come on, Sammy. You can't win."
No, not Dean, Sam reminds himself. It's her.
Quickly, Sam reaches for the flask of holy water tucked away in his pocket. A lot of demons fought their way out of Hell, and though Sam's never heard of a demon that can literally steal just your voice, there's no telling what sort of monsters they let out of the Devil's Gate.
It's Dean's voice with an edge of accusation to it that stops him cold. "Well, you're too little too late to save me, brother."
Sam stills, suppressing a shudder. "What—."
It's the pause she wanted— she leaps at him, swiping with her clawed hands. Sam avoids her, throwing a punch of his own. The holy water sloshes over the side of the container, uselessly dousing both Sam and the creature. She's too fast, and uses the missed jab to her advantage, grabbing his arm, heaving him down. Losing his balance, Sam falls to the floor, but rolls with it away from her clutches.
Suddenly Sam feels restricted, like he can't move his arms and legs. She's standing over him, staring down at him intently. Fighting against the invisible hold, Sam feels the tethers stretch and strain, hairs on a rope unthreading one at a time before finally breaking upon his exertion.
Her darkness wavers, the loft filled momentarily with warm sunlight sifting through the rifts in the roof.
It cost her a lot to do that, Sam realizes. She's stalling because she needs a rest. Sam thinks that maybe she's not as powerful as he first thought. She used it up trapping Dean. Now she's left with brute strength and parlor tricks.
Coming to his feet, Sam catches her eye, seeing a trace of fright dance in them. "Not as powerful as you boast, old woman," he remarks. Sam takes a step forward and she inches back. "You still haven't told me where he is."
But any panic Sam sees in her vanishes quickly, and is replaced by a fearsome ire. "This," she sneers, gesturing to her throat, "is all that's left of your beloved brother." She steps forward, menacing in her intensity. "I took his heart!" she screams, contorting Dean's voice with rage. "He's dead," she hisses.
Sam is shaking his head before she gets the words out. It's not the truth. It can't be. "Liar," Sam whispers, disbelieving. So intimate with his brother is he, that Sam believes he will suffer the very instant of his death with him.
"Sammy, please," she says, teasing him with Dean's voice. The corners of her mouth upturn revealing a line of ferocious teeth. "He was exquisite, wasn't he? If you had had him beneath your hands, between your lips, I'm sure you would agree."
"You shut your mouth," Sam growls. Her words are debasing, a degradation to Dean, and Sam can't bear it.
A smile unfurls across her face, his anguish amusing her. "Now I will have your heart, too," she says.
"You wouldn't need my heart if you had his," Sam contends.
Nothing more than a smudge against the dark, she launches herself at him. Sam goes down hard, breath knocked clean out of him. Dust billows up in a gray cloud as he hits the floor. A clawed hand flies at him, and Sam uses both of his hands to keep her talons from digging into his chest. This close he sees that her hands are stained red, covered in blood.
It's Dean's blood, Sam thinks, horrified. Fear and anger simmer just below the surface.
Her necklace jingles against his chest as she presses closer. Pieces fall into place— Aztec gold— reaper of human hearts— Texas, straddling the Mexican border—
Sam knows what she is, or what she used to be— a God, an ancient Aztec Goddess. But why she thinks his heart will empower her, he doesn't know. Perhaps any sacrifice will do. But that can't be it, if she's already claimed Dean as she alleges.
Deep down, Sam knows why she wants him, but he pushes that fear away.
Desperation increases her strength and she overpowers Sam, sinking her talons into his chest. He groans in pain as she pushes, trying to breach flesh and bone.
With a grunt of effort, Sam bucks her off of him. She lands with an outraged cry on the floor a few feet away. Breathing hard, Sam presses a hand to his chest, checking the severity of the damage. He's bleeding a bit, but he's suffered worse.
Dean, where are you? Sam wonders again, beginning to think that maybe the creature isn't lying to him. Sam knew it was risky to enter into the situation right from the beginning, but what choice was there?
"It's over," she says, rising up from the floor. "Dean is all alone now— you know how that terrifies him. But you can join him," she cajoles. "You can be together. Stop fighting." Wrapping the darkness around her like a cloak, she masks herself and says, "C'mon, Sam. We can be together. No more pain, no more suffering, just us together— happy. Come home, Sammy."
Though Dean's voice twists something inside him, awakens an ache, a need deep in his heart, Sam isn't fooled. Anger boils up, a rich, black heat seething through his veins, taking over. It's probably not wise to provoke a crazy demigod, but if Sam can do nothing else he wants to damage her.
"So which one are you?" Sam asks. "Or does it even matter? All you ancient deities— consigned to oblivion. You're all forgotten— no worse, unremembered by history, discarded like a piece of trash. No longer worthy of even the slightest adoration. What a sorry bag of bones you are. Never to be worshipped—."
"Infidel!" she shrieks, flying at him enraged. "I will rip the beating heart from your chest and be reborn! Mortals will once again quake with fear and pay tribute to me!"
Sam laughs at her. "No, never again. You waited too long. Your world and would be followers have long since expired."
"Pathetic creatures, you humans— with your pitiably poor demon war," she sneers. "You think that will matter in the slightest when I have reclaimed my birthright? All will bow to me in this world and the next."
She grabs Sam by the throat, raising him up off the ground. Giving him a shake she asks, "What do you think demons fear? Surely not you, Sam Winchester— not as you are."
With a shriek she tosses Sam down. Sam is thrown several feet back, landing heavily with a roll towards the edge of the loft. He nearly falls from the dusty planks, but manages to hold on.
Though it's dark, there's just enough light filtering into the barn for Sam to see down over the edge into the animal stalls below. There, he glimpses his brother lying on his back, hands pulled overhead, his face turned away, blood dripping down from his rib cage, from his left side. It's dim, but Sam sees the blood pooled on his chest, the deep, dark stain marking his t-shirt where his heart is— was—
The breath goes out of him when he sees Dean lying there. Oh God, he thinks. His heart— did she— she took his heart—
"Dean!" he shouts, denial on his lips. "Oh my God—." From what Sam can see, Dean's heart has been ripped out.
A dam bursts inside of Sam, the barricade of whatever holds him together rupturing in splintered pieces, jagged and torn. Grief floods him. Dean can't have been taken from him early— that was not the deal that was made. Sam is supposed to have time to think, to figure this thing out. But Dean is dead— Dean is in hell. Worthlessness— how could I not know? How could I not feel it? Now there is no more thought, just emotion rushing through the ragged hole torn in him.
She's smiling, still thinking she has the upper hand, crazed in her thirst for power and rebirth. But she doesn't realize her fatal mistake. She thinks that Dean is Sam's weakness, that he will fall to pieces without him, but what she doesn't know is that his love for his brother strengthens him beyond her comprehension.
A cold, sick feeling spreads wide across his heart, circulating like a drug through his blood, and he dips down into a cold well of power he was always afraid he possessed. Ava's words are fresh in his mind and he's suddenly glad. The want for justice, the need for revenge is such a strong pull that he does not fight it even knowing that he'll embrace his dark side willingly just to kill her.
She suddenly stops smiling, eyes narrowing slightly as she studies him, not understanding the change she senses in him. Sam smiles, corner of his mouth quirked up, eyes hard as stone flint.
"Aww, Sammy. Don't be upset," she coos. It's his voice and it hurts so much more to hear that voice twisted through her mouth. Sam is going to crush that voice from her throat.
"Don't you dare call me that," Sam growls. He knows then that he's going to kill her and he'll feel no remorse.
To be continued…
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A/N: Don't forget to check out the illustration for this chapter at my LJ (griseldajane . livejournal . com)
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