Pairings: Dean/Shape Shifter
Warnings: NON-CON - Violence - Dean Abuse
Spoilers: Spoilers for episodes up to and including Skin
Summary: A Shaper Shifter in the guise of Sam takes Dean down into its lair and does what it does best: Creates another victim.
Dean lay panting on the gritty ground of the alleyway.
It really was humbling when and how he was reminded just exactly how much stronger his brother was compared to himself.
He only experienced it momentarily or fleetingly. The feel of the weight being lifted from Sam's end of the weapon's locker. A massive wooden altar. The stone slab of a crypt. The effortless way he could shove Dean aside when he was angry or even playful. Sam had never been the kind of guy that would ever completely reveal to anyone around him just what he was capable of for the pure sake of it. Sam was many things but he wasn't a show off. Dean knew on some level that his tall frame almost embarrassed his younger brother. He'd spent his life trying to hunch down and try to not be as noticeable as he already was. Quieter and somehow smaller. Soft spoken to compensate for the troubled looks strangers cast in his direction if they found themselves alone around him.
This creature had mimicked every aspect, every detail, including the power housed in his brother's body. This wasn't a facade with face. This was everything.
It confused him to be forced to now be wary of a person he knew so well and trusted so much. Stranger still was knowing that there really truly was nothing of Sam in this being, it was all and utterly a perfect replica.
He blinked, his eye sticky with blood from where it had struck him. Between the surprise of Sam striking him and his already wounded shoulder it hadn't taken him long to lose. It flipped him easily onto his face, a knee crushing down hard in the middle of his back. With all of his brother's weight pressing him down painfully into the wet asphalt, his shoulder spasmed in agony as his wrists were wrenched and pulled swiftly behind him. The ropes were fastened so tightly that his hands quickly went numb.
Dean was yanked up to his feet like a rag doll, the thing that looked like Sam leaned down and he was easily lifted and being carried quietly away on across his brother's broad shoulders like he weighed next to nothing.
His head ringing from the blows he had received, he hung upside down and felt waves of sickness as the creature quickly descended down a metal ladder, the height indiscernible in the darkness, the claustrophobic close of the tunnels making his heart pound with the uncertainty of what would happen next.
He had really fucked up.
Dean grimaced as he was seated hard on a cold rusted metal table, his struggles ended with a powerful closed handed punch to the stomach. Dizzy, he fought not to throw up, his gaze running over the glistening water pipes that lined the narrow low sewer service tunnel. It was a den of collected artifacts. Makeshift shelves of stained clothes, broken watches, and the dull gleam of jewelry. The orange glow of wavering candle light was oddly warm, the look and smell of them always reminding him of churches at night.
"And here we are yet again..." Dean mumbled, watching it watch him.
The rise and fall of the chest of his captor assured him that this was an animal that breathed air and pumped blood through its flesh. This wasn't a projection. This was no phantom leaving a hazy suggestion of Sam's image. Its perfection had worked. It had lulled Dean just long enough to lower his guard. It wasn't much but it was enough to bring him back to this place. He hadn't been paying close enough attention. Or had he? It occurred to him that he maybe he hadn't been paying much attention these past few weeks to anything but maybe the fact that he just wasn't for the first time in a long time, all alone.
And not for the first time that day did Dean think that time was indeed, an objective thing.
Take the course of two years for example.
Two years in the grand scheme of things didn't seem like an enormous amount of anything. It hadn't been for Dean anyway. It was a blur of being on the road with Dad with their hidden triumphs and all their little victories that they could barely celebrate even with one another. It hadn't exactly been boring but Dean knew the first second he saw Sam again in Pal Alto that for all his running around he had been standing still compared to his little brother. Two years could also give a guy a lot of room to shift and change into someone completely different if that was his goal.
So Sam had done it.
He changed his life.
Its blue eyes were still locked on him. His brother's familiar hands resting comfortably on the dirty knees of someone else's blue jeans. The soiled dress shirt was too small for his brother's frame. There was a wedding ring.
Dean watched the monster sit quietly across from him with a detached curiosity.
It was slightly sobering how much a person could actually change in just two years. Don't they always say that your college years are the best years of your life? And what was with that weird apartment of Sam's that Dean was pretty sure was a converted loft condo? It was that kind of place upper middle class aspiring college students used with pride on their way to future home ownership. It hadn't looked anything like the disheveled and fleeting series of apartments and rent houses they had followed their father around in growing up. No cheap left over furniture and leaky air mattresses in Sam's new life. There were even curtains for Christ's sake.
And of course, most of all, there had been Jess.
Dean still wondered why the sight of her had surprised him. He felt the corner of his mouth pull into a smile at the vague wonder for that picture of normalcy Sam had carefully crafted. Had they gone to movies every Friday? Was there a favorite take out place at the corner that had those noodles she loved? Did they talk about who would use the car while they brushed their teeth at the same sink in the morning? They probably sat around in coffee houses and dreamt about that perfect job Sam would score after he breezed through law school.
His smile faded.
Sam was so stupid. He was so fucking stupid.
He looked up to watch it smile Sam's smile as if it was reading each conclusion Dean made in their mutual silence.
Dean hissed as the sharp blow cracked up under his jaw, his head ringing as he connected with the metal piping against the wall behind him. He studied the set to Sam's eyes that he never bothered to understand until now. This was the betrayal that simmered just below that unyielding veneer of compliancy. There was the accusation. There sat the desperate pleading question of why had Dean pulled him back into the life he cast away. Sam had had a chance. He had had a good chance to leave all this bullshit behind him and not even stop to look backwards.
Dean groaned in protest at the bruising grip on his chin turned his face slowly, side to side.
It was a certainty, Dean knew, that this thing would not leave Sam alone now that it knew it was being hunted. Sam's soft gaze was studying his own and Dean briefly wondered at the science of what was to come. Did it have to memorize what shade his pupils were so it could take them on for its own? Would it have to will its skin to shape into Dean's so it could perform the same trick on his brother? Considering the consequences, Dean conceded that the details probably didn't really matter.
Its hand slipped into Dean's leather jacket and pulled it down off one shoulder at a time. Dean sighed shortly. It was going to be more careful this time. No mismatched clothing for Sam to wonder at when Dean showed up late at the agreed corner meeting point. It paused when the jacket fell around his waist and pulled his T-shirt free from his jeans to slowly push it up.
His necklace amulet glinted in the candle light from where it lay on his bared chest. A muscle in Dean's clenched jaw twitched as the chain was carefully unclasped and slipped off his neck. The hand returned to his body.
Dean tried to ignore what his head was shouting. The urge to react and flinch away to this being that appeared as his little brother was automatic. A wave of disgust roiled through his stomach as the creature's hand pressed and cupped him firmly between the legs. It was Sam's voice that was soft and low in his ear as Dean writhed and twisted his wrists so hard in his binds behind him that he knew they bled. A firm hand pushed him back against the concrete at his back, damp with sweat on his exposed lower stomach. It was undoing his belt, the button fly of his jeans, easily slipping open, one by one.
"What-what are you do- gah!" Dean's head whipped into the wall behind him with another close handed punch. "Son of a..."
Holding him tightly by the throat, it stood between Dean's sprawled knees. Sam's body kept his thighs apart while a hand slid into the tops of his boxers and down around to hold and feel his flesh. Dean gasped in disgust and confusion, working and twisting his burning wrists. Dean clenched his teeth, staring hard up at the thing that wore Sam's face as it leaned forward, its mouth and teeth on his neck. It methodically massaged the warm weight of him while it mouthed his neck and shoulder, the strength of it unchecked, painfully crushing him against the wall behind his head.
He struggled, his brother's hand to his horror shaping him and lengthening him, his body reacting to the violation. He cried out when it paused to squeeze the head of his cock much too hard, its desire for pain intermixed with its efforts to force him into some horrible unwanted shadow of pleasure. It tugged his jeans down lower to allow itself more access, his brothers mouth closing on his, causing him to redouble his efforts to somehow break free of its hold.
Writhing on the hand between his legs, Dean heard himself curse as he tried to turn away, but it had his chin in a vise like grip.
It smelled like Sam.
It breathed like Sam.
Dean squeezed his eyes shut, his mind screaming what he couldn't.
The hand suddenly stopped tormenting him, withdrawing long enough to brutally rip down his jeans to his thighs. Sam's hand grabbed the wadded material of his denims between his knees and with one hard pull, yanked him forward so he was on his back, Dean's head cracking loudly on the table. He groaned, seeing lights and unable to get his bearings. The ceiling swung wildly above him. He could feel his boots resting firmly on the ground. His hands trapped awkwardly under him at the small of his back.
Sam stood between his thighs and smiled down at him.
"I'm-I'm going to fucking kill you." Dean breathed.
Its smiled deepened. Stolen smile. Like when Sam was pretending to smile and then for some reason he actually did. It was that real unexpected morph from fake to the flash of true moment of happy that Dean didn't see that often anymore. It almost made him throw up that he was looking at it now. The hand was working him again, the smile now a smirk down at what Dean's body was doing against his will.
Dean's head rolled to the side, trying to not look back up into those eyes, his thighs shaking as they strained on either side the body that forced them wide apart, his growling protests making the creature laugh just a little bit. Like when Sammy laughed at a dumb joke. Or read something he found amusing. He tried not to moan between the crushing grip that alternated on his flesh. One moment it working him like some trained prostitute trying to finish up a trick as quick as possible, and then the next, it was a brutal squeeze of its fist that made him hiss and lift his hips from the table.
"Ah! Uhh.. stop ... stop..." Dean stuttered, the sweet sick burn of his body was beginning to flow red hot over his edge. He couldn't, not in Sam's hand, not by this freak that wanted nothing but him to suffer in his younger brother's grip. The sound of the plead in his own voice caused another roil of nausea flood through him.
To his frantic disbelief, it suddenly stopped.
Panting, Dean blinked his eyes open in baffled confusion. A hand under his knee roughly pivoted him sideways, swinging his legs up and forcing him to lay sprawled full on the table. Hands under his arms pulled him backwards until his head was hanging off the table edge. Dazed, he caught a brief upside down view of the flickering candle lit chamber before the creature's body blocked everything from his sight.
It leaned down over him, his brother's body heat, the familiar scent of his sweat in its clothing pressing down on his face and chest, smothering him. The strong grip of large hands slipped under Dean, thumbs painfully pressing into his hips as it lifted Dean's lower body right off the table, rolling him up onto his shoulders until his knees hung unseen on either side of his own chest. Dean cried out loudly, muffled under the things belly as it swallowed him whole, using its grip to push him slowly and hard in and out of its mouth. It got faster and faster, Dean struggling to brace his boots back down against the table as it used him.
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. Jesus, he couldn't even move.
This fucking thing was going to make him do it... It was going to fucking make him do it... The feel of his cock sliding in and out of that hot wet mouth, relentless and unflagging, just like the sounds he was making, his face hot and damp pressed into the fabric of its shirt and denim waist of its jeans.
He felt his body still with the start of it, his tensed thighs falling weakly apart on either side of its torso, his chest hitching from being half smothered. It paused, feeling him seize in its grip and buried its face between Dean's legs, swallowing him completely down its throat, taking in the soft flesh of his balls as well. He whimpered and convulsed, pinned under his brother's weight. He was beyond fighting it. It took him in one more time, in a long slow swallow...
Dean shuddered violently, one booted foot came crashing down against the wall and a cluttered shelf, the clamor of the falling debris far off and vague. It grabbed the backs of his knees in a crushing hold, keeping him prone as it finished him off. The sudden feel of fresh air made him thankfully gulp it in. His face hot, his chest heaving, the muscles of his arms and legs trembled uncontrollably in his desperate futile anger.
"Y-You fucking bastard..." Was all he could manage to wheeze.
The thing that looked like Sam smiled as it wiped its mouth with the back of its hand. Dean growled as that mouth covered his again, his tongue hot and salty with the taste of him.
"It is a lot better when they don't know." It said in Sam's soft voice.
Dean blinked rapidly as he shuddered in muted rage. Of course it meant all the humans it had taken. People who had welcomed it with open arms in the guise of a friend. Let it right into their bedrooms never realizing their mistake even after it was even all over. For no reason at all, Dean thought of Jess again. Standing in the bedroom doorway of his brother's apartment looking at him fearfully like the utter threat he was.
"Its a lot better when they die and they never know why."
Copied perfectly, Dean had searched for some sign of the mockery of the face he knew like he knew his own. He wanted to seize on that tired angry gaze and claim to know the difference between his blood and the forgery. But he realized, with a slow dulled surprise, that the match was indeed, flawless. That was how his brother regarded him every day. It was reckless of him to think he could be no fool for this creature. Why had he even for one second thought he knew Sam so well that he could never be deceived?
Dean found it ultimately and extremely strange what he noticed about Sam now that what he was looking at, wasn't Sam at all.
His heart thud in his chest as the hand between his legs slid to his belt, the leather strap hissed as it slid free through his denim belt loops. The impostor held the silver buckle thoughtfully before smiling warmly at him. Soon it would be perfectly Dean.
Dean let his head fall back and shut his eyes.
For a few moments, alone down in this darkness, Dean half hoped Sam would be fooled just like he was.