Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Sam or Dean, but that's just because Dean hasn't met me yet. Set before the rift formed between the brothers. They're still brothers in my stories, I refuse to write them any other way.
WARNINGS!: **Mature readers only** Some language, blood, sexual content, NO WINCEST, if you don't see a warning for it chances are you don't need one. This story was born as a result of my need to work through one of my writing issues, one that keeps me from writing freely. This is where the story starts to get challenging for me to write, so go easy on me please. :-) Also, as promised, the identity of the narrator will be revealed.
I took a deep breath and looked away, loathing myself and angry at the situation that was forcing me to do what I was about to do.
I knew how it would look to him. I knew how it felt for me. Despite that, the only other alternative I could see was to let him die and that was so not happening on my watch. Even without the threat of Sam's spirit being irreparably shattered, I had been traveling with these two incredible men long enough for them to find the weakest crack in my barricaded heart and they both climbed inside.
Not to mention the fact that they had saved my life. (*)
I rolled him over onto his back. I carefully propped his shoulders up on pillows and hoped his lungs had cleared enough to not drown him before I could finish. With a final look into his eyes, one last confirmation of his cooperation, I climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips. His eyes flicked slightly wider and I tried to ignore it as I settled partially onto him, trying not to put too much pressure on his tortured stomach.
I reached back to unhook my bra in order to free my movements for what was to come and a cold stab of uncertainty hit the pit of my stomach. Not wanting to waste time, I decided to drag the restricting item through the sleeve of my shirt.
"Ren." I flinched at the gurgle in his chest and rawness in his voice as he spoke the nickname they had given me.
My clan had named me Serendipity when they first accepted me and I had always loved and hated the name. It had not taken Sam and Dean long to name me again as they had accepted me.
I realized I was hanging my head as I moved, staring at a spot on the bedspread somewhere to the right of his hip below me. My eyes flicked up beyond where his hands were fisted into his sweat-soaked black t-shirt clenching it against his suffering, to look into his eyes again.
Despite his pain and fear, he had seen my uncertainty. My shame. He looked into my eyes and, though I was looking for accusation or wariness, all I saw was trust and acceptance. And hope. He did not know what I was about to do, he did not know how I was going to try to help him, and he did not care. His face creased with pain, struggling to breathe, staring down death itself, he was trying to comfort me. He was letting me see the hope I had given him. I had thought it impossible, but somewhere along the way I had been gifted with his trust.
I clenched my teeth. No more whining, no more self-abuse. Help him, dammit.
It occurred to me as I tossed my bra aside that this would be easier without his jeans as well. I lifted myself completely off of him, reached down between my legs and undid his belt. I took a deep breath as I undid the button and unzipped his jeans. He trusted me and I had to make sure I got this right. If I was fretting over every little thing, I was guaranteed to fail. No more distraction, head in the game girl.
I slid back over him and off the bed, gently but quickly dragging his faded jeans over his hips and down his long legs making sure his black boxer-briefs stayed in place. He was so exhausted he couldn't even help, his body shuddered under my hands as another wave of pain hit him. I heard him bite back a groan as his abused body tensed against it.
As I pulled his jeans over his bare feet I looked up at his face, his eyes were open but he was struggling. He tried to draw his knees back up, but I put my hands on his thighs and gently prevented him from moving them. His eyes squeezed shut and he drew a shivering breath and nodded, a tiny movement of his head.
I climbed back up onto the bed and straddled his hips again as quickly and carefully as I could.
"Dean, I need for you to take my hands and place them where the worst of the pain is." His eyes opened and he looked at me for half a second, processing what I had said. I knew after so much time spent huddling in on himself that his arms and hands must have been nearly locked up with muscle cramps he could no longer feel, overshadowed by the pain in his torso.
I reached out and gently took his large hands in my smaller ones. With trembling hands, he placed mine as near as he could to where the most severe pain was. My right hand now lay palm down on his stomach, just above his navel, my left was curled around his ribs higher up on his right. I was leaned slightly forward, still trying not to put too much pressure on him.
Closing my eyes I focused in on his heartbeat, fluttery and erratic with stress and exertion. I reached down into that piece of me that allowed me to both feel and fix the hurts of others, the healing portion dusty with disuse. Surprisingly fast, I felt it trickle out through my hands into him like miniscule jolts of electricity. The warmth began to spread between us, and I focused first on leveling out his heartbeat.
As it calmed and beat more regularly, falling into cadence with mine, I switched my focus to his pain. I opened myself up to it, reached into him and found the worst of his suffering. I took a deep breath and drew it up, out, through my hands, up my arms, into myself.
The pain slid home inside my body and I struggled not to vomit, curling around myself and trying to keep my breathing even. It hurt so bad my vision left me momentarily and I struggled not to show my distress to him. I was afraid he would make me stop. I knew he would allow himself to die before inflicting harm on someone.
Gods, I did not know how he took it as long as he did. It had only been a few seconds and I was already wishing for a bullet in my head. I had not even taken all of it away from him, needing to leave enough of myself open to concentrate on the ritual. I felt him take a shallow quivering breath beneath me, it helped to clear my head some. I had taken his worst pain into myself, but he was not out of the woods yet. His body was still badly damaged inside, the bleeding severe.
I opened my eyes and looked up at him, forcing myself to straighten again. His brows were drawn up in amazement. Arching my back slightly, I ghosted my pelvis over his sensitive groin. I was rewarded with a tiny gasp, a momentary fluttering of his eyelids. I repeated the motion and he began to harden against me. I allowed myself one moment of guilt as I forced his body to betray him once again. I nodded in response to the question in his eyes, a question that was quickly replaced with something Dean never doubted. I dragged my pelvis against his a bit more firmly on the third pass, and his hands left mine to slide up my legs to my hips.
A/N Okay, I am sure I am going to catch some flak for this, but I need to work through it so here we are.
* Refers to a story still in progress, the meeting of Dean, Sam and our lovely heroine Ren. Since this is up first, though, I will answer whatever questions I can without giving away that plot since that will likely be the next post.