dragonspell: (Default)
dragonspell ([personal profile] dragonspell) wrote2011-07-29 11:03 am

The Fires of Beltane | Sam/Dean | NC-17 | 8875 words

Title: The Fires of Beltane
Author: [personal profile] dragonspell
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: NON-CON, Possession, misuse of pagan mythology
Summary: Sam and Dean investigate reports of odd plant behavior and a horned man. They find more than they bargained for.
Word Count: 8875
A/N: Written for a July 2011 [livejournal.com profile] blindfold_spn prompt (Sam/Dean or J2 - Horned God, dubcon/noncon)

His panting echoed through the dark woods, sounding unnaturally loud in the eerie silence. Gulping in air, feeling like he’d never get enough, Dean slowed his mad sprint through the forest, stopping beside a pine tree to try and get himself back under control. There was a knife-edge of panic roiling just underneath the surface and he was about half a step away from hyperventilating—which wouldn’t get him anything but dead. He ruthlessly squashed the little voice inside his head that was shrieking about how he’d never escape, that he wasn’t going to make it, and forced himself to remain calm. He braced himself against the tree, the bark rough under his palm and grabbed at the stitch in his side, pressing down to try and ease the pain. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered into the darkness. He hunched over but kept peering into the looming trees, looking for any sign that he wasn’t alone. Again.

Dean was hard-pressed to remember the last time he’d ever had to run so far so fast. Usually, he and Sam just had to book it to the Impala or the nearest gun. Either one of those tended to work quite well. Thing was, the Impala was sitting back in town in her space at the motel and, while his colt was neatly tucked away in the waistband of his jeans, using it wasn’t an option. It wouldn’t do him any good anyway. The only choice left was to hide and keep out of sight until the morning.

Everything would be okay in the morning. Back to normal—as normal as it got for a Winchester, that was.

And then, once he was sure that he and Sam were safe, Dean was going to start shooting.

Leaves rustled behind him and Dean didn’t bother to waste the time to see who—or more like what—it was. He pushed away from the tree and ran deeper into the woods.

The Impala’s engine rumbled as Dean pulled it into the town’s one lone gas station with the tank running damn near on empty. His baby was many things but fuel efficient just wasn’t one of them.

Dean winced at the price per gallon, grateful that he’d managed to convince Sam to help him work over that bar last night. Between the two of them—Dean playing the gambling drunk and Sam his straight man—they’d managed to haul in about $500 off a group of truckers and townies.

The passenger side door squeaked as Sam got out and leaned back against the car, stretching his legs as he flipped through the newspaper clippings that he and Dean had found just a few days ago. “Seems like most of the occurrences happened in the surrounding woods,” he said and Dean snorted.

“Have you seen this place?” He waved a hand at the supposed town that they were in. There were about six buildings including the gas station and then a whole lot of forest with the road cutting straight through, heading for anywhere but here. “If we don’t run into Hansel and Gretel, man, I’ll be surprised.”

Sam ignored him, continuing on like Dean hadn’t said a word. “Emily Clarkson lives about three miles south of here.” He raised his eyebrows and held up one of the newer print-outs that he and Dean had gotten at the library about an hour away. “She’s chopped down every tree around her house?

“Can’t say as if I blame her,” Dean said, watching the numbers on the old gas pump climb higher and higher. “If I nearly got violated by plants, I’d hold a grudge, too.” He tossed a grin over his shoulder at Sam. “Unless they were plant women like on that—”

“It was a horned man that she says tried to rape her, Dean,” Sam said, cutting him off. He glared at Dean and Dean snickered to himself, remembering just how disgusted Sam had been when Dean had found that little piece of cinematography history on one of the pay per view channels. Dean hadn’t watched the porno for the strange, naked green women with the odd plant growths assaulting a multitude of horny men; he’d watched it the looks on Sam’s face. Totally worth the $19.95.

“So we start with Emily Clarkson, plant-hater extraordinaire, and ask her about her run-in with the goat-man. Got it.”

“Something like that,” Sam replied wryly, folding the printouts to tuck into his back pocket. He headed inside the small station and once he was out of sight, Dean frowned at the pump in front of him but it wasn’t because of the numbers. He had an odd feeling about this case—something that he couldn’t shake. He didn’t know if it was the plant thing bothering him—how do you defend yourself against a forest like some of the wilder reports were saying, for fuck’s sake?—or something else. Dean was willing to write off a great deal of the stories as just that: stories brought on by too much alcohol and a lot of alone time but he couldn’t do the same with the uneasiness in his gut.

Something caught Dean’s foot, sending him sprawling to the ground, his hands just barely catching him in time. He landed hard on his knees, hissing in pain in between gasping from exertion. There was no time for this shit. No fucking time! Dean pushed himself up and then swore as his foot came out from under him again.

He flipped over to try and figure out what he was caught on and his jaw dropped. That was… “Oh, no fucking way…” He’d thought that the reports had been delusions or, at the very least, exaggerations, but it wasn’t a delusion that was currently wrapped around his foot and slowly growing up over his leg. The vine writhed over his jeans, tightening down and Dean stared in disbelief. The fucking plants were attacking him.

Something touched his left hand and Dean jerked away, whipping his head around to see a bush creeping up on him. His skin crawled, goosebumps forming because of something that Dean wasn’t ready to admit was fear. He refused to be afraid of some fucking touchy-feely plants.

Snarling, Dean jerked a knife out of his boot and brought it down viciously on the vine that was encircling his leg, hacking it off at the base where it attached to the ground. A plant through and through, the vine bled green and felt no pain, continuing to slowly grow until he managed to saw it in half. Disgusted, he pulled off the remains, tossing them away from him and pushed himself to his feet. The vine that he had just attacked was already starting to grow again, reaching for him with its severed limb. Dean kicked it away and ran, delving deeper into the woods.

The further that he ran, the bigger chance he stood of getting lost. Dean knew this. He just also knew that he didn’t have a choice. Ever since that…thing had arrived, there’d only been one damn choice to make and that was to run. But if the fucking forest was attacking him, Dean didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to keep himself out of danger.

And Sam…

Dean shoved the thought away. Sam would be fine. Dean just had to get himself out of the damn mess and then Sam would be fine. Or at least he’d better be. If there was anything wrong with Sam after all this was said and done, there was going to be nowhere for those responsible to hide. Dean would make sure of that.

A tree branch caught at Dean’s arm and he batted at it, knocking it away. Another one snagged his elbow, pulling him around and Dean growled as he broke it off, the snapping of the wood echoing through the forest. After this was done, he was considering burning it all to the ground. Maybe Emily had had it right. Nature was all well and good but if it turned on you, it was going down.

A large shadow moved in the darkness, blotting out some of the moonlight that was hitting the leaves of the tree and Dean’s stomach dropped as he saw the horns. Long and sharp, they curved backwards over the creature’s head and were instantly recognizable despite the knot of tree branches that they were emerging from. Dean shuddered and scrambled backwards, dodging around another groping tree at swatting a bush on his way by. He had to get away. He had to put some distance between himself and the thing behind him.

He leaped over a log and zigzagged through the forest, his boots pounding on the hard-packed dirt. For some reason, it seemed like the farther away he got from the horned creature, the less the plants tried to grope him and Dean resolved to put as much ground between him and it as possible. He slid down a small embankment into a valley and kept running.

He couldn’t let himself be caught. If he was, Dean was as good as dead. Or, more appropriately, fucked, but he was trying to avoid that word in that context. It just made the panic that was threatening that much sharper.

As they neared Emily Clarkson’s place, Dean whistled. He’d heard of a scorched earth policy but this was ridiculous. Emily’s little house was sitting in the middle of a large clearing with nothing but dirt surrounding it for at least a quarter mile radius. “Somebody’s been busy…” he said.

Sam stared out the window, his eyebrows drawn down low like he was trying to understand but coming up a little short. “The house has been on the market for about a year.”

“Can’t imagine why it hasn’t sold yet,” Dean said. “Practically the American dream.” He parked the Impala next to a beat-up Jeep Wrangler on the dirt in front of the small ranch-style house and got out, taking in the surrounding area before looking back at the house and discovering that he wasn’t the only one looking. There in the doorway was a rather petite brunette, staring suspiciously at them.

“Emily Clarkson?” Sam called, moving towards her with his ‘I’m perfectly harmless’ smile. “I’m Sam and this is Dean. We’re researching for a paper at our school.”

“I have nothing to say,” Emily replied flatly and closed the door. Sam tried a few more times but all he got was the firm snick of a lock.

“Well,” Dean said. “That went well.”

Sam shook his head at him and stalked back to the car. “Not the time, Dean.”

They drove back into town and ended up in the town’s lone diner as it seemed as good a place as any. Dean pushed his cup of coffee across the checkered table cloth and glanced around the room. A man in overalls was sitting at the table across from them, having introduced himself shortly before as Fred Cruthers, a local handyman. Two big bruisers were sitting up at the counter, talking with the older woman minding the restaurant as they ate their pie and Cindy, the restaurant’s little blonde waitress and looking fresh out of high school was stopping every now and then to talk to a teenage boy in a leather jacket on the other side of the room. It wasn’t exactly a bustling place but Dean had to admit, it was the most people he’d seen in one area since he and Sam had hit town.

Sam had the clippings out again, pouring over them, looking for something that he might have missed—plant attacks, horned men, a couple of reported rapes dating back a few years—and every now and then, Dean took it upon himself to move the clippings around. It was under the guise of helping but both he and Sam knew that it was more about fucking with Sam than anything else. Dean grinned as he did it again and Sam glared. “Stop,” Sam said.

Dean pointed innocently at the date of the article. “Just trying to help.” He picked up his coffee and took a sip while Sam moved all the articles to the far side of the table. But, he was still looking at the date.

“May…” He frowned. “They all happen in May.”

Dean set the coffee down. “Some kind of freaky springtime allergy?” he joked and Sam actually took him partially seriously.

“I’m thinking more like…a springtime…ritual.”

“What, like pagan ritual?”

“Yeah.” Sam spread out the pages beneath his big hands, looking at them one last time before piling them all up again and stuffing them back into his shirt. “There’s lots of woods around and this—horned men and nature fighting back—seem like they could be part of a pagan worship. Sounds like a god, actually.”

“Great,” Dean said. That was all they needed in their lives: more pagan gods. Fuckers were damn hard to kill at times.

“So, you boys from out of town?” a low but still female voice asked. Dean turned towards the sound to see the older woman out from behind her counter, standing beside their table with a coffee pot. “We don’t get many visitors on this side of the state.”

“Uh…yeah,” Sam said, recovering the fastest. “Yeah, we’re just touring the area.”

The woman smiled. “Well that’s good. It’s beautiful out here. I’m Gretchen McAlister. I own the diner.” She jerked her head over where Cindy had perched herself on top of the teenage boy’s table. “Cindy can get a little distracted when Alec’s in.” She smiled indulgently at the girl before coming back to Sam and Dean. “You boys don’t seem like the ordinary type.”

Dean blinked, wondering what that meant. “Well,” he said, “you did say that you don’t get many visitors. We’re extraordinary just for being here.”

“True.” Gretchen nodded and swung her head to Sam. She frowned a little and her hand rose to finger the amulet that hung by her throat—a mess of knots and what seemed to be two ruby red eyes staring out of the middle. “Just…never seen somebody like you before…” She trailed off and then laughed, quick and sudden. “Tall, I mean. Why, even the Hotchkins boys over there are some of the biggest in town and I don’t think they even come up to your shoulders.”

“Now, Gretch,” one of the guys at the counter said. “We’re plenty big enough.”

“Yes, I know you are,” Gretchen threw back. She headed over to where the two were sitting, set on placating them. Sam stared after him, clearly confused and Dean would have done the same if he hadn’t caught sight of the worn-out Jeep parked just across the street.

He tapped Sam’s arm and pointed out the window. “Isn’t that…?”

Sam nodded. “Looks like Emily’s.”

Dean kept a close eye on the Jeep for the hour that he and Sam occupied the restaurant booth but Emily never appeared. The Jeep was still there when they paid their bill, Gretchen smiling at them. “So, we got it covered then?” Fred asked Gretchen as Sam and Dean left.

The door closed on Gretchen’s answer, the jingling bells drowning her out.

Dean had thought that the town shut down completely at nine but that was definitely one hell of a bonfire that he and Sam were heading towards. Maybe it was the thing to do—head out into the woods and get rip-roaring drunk. Dean squinted in the darkness, holding his flashlight down. The fire itself was still a ways up ahead but Dean could see flickering through the trees and every now and then, he caught sight of a group of shadows jumping rhythmically in front of the fire and he swore. “Looks like you were right, Sammy.”

Sam shifted beside him. “A ritual?”

Dean nodded. “Or one hell of a frat party. We should go check it out.” He really didn’t want to—that was one big goddamned fire and what looked to be a lot of crazy people dancing around it which never boded well—but they didn’t have an option.

It was their only lead.

Dean moved forward, slinking down the little forest path but stopped when he realized that Sam wasn’t following him. “Sam?” he whispered, swinging his flashlight back up, his hand automatically flying to where his gun was tucked in his waistband, fingering the handle nervously. “Sam?”

“Dean, I’m—” Sam cut himself off but it was enough for Dean to make out where he was. Dean swung to his right, seeing Sam standing just off of the path, pulling at his leg.

“What are you…?” He shown the flashlight curiously at Sam’s leg, letting it slid down to his foot where Sam seemed to be ensnarled in some of the local undergrowth. “What, are you kidding me?”

Dean was unprepared for the shove against his shoulder and went flying backward into the bushes, landing hard on his ass and tumbling down a small hill. He rolled into a tree, his stomach slamming into the trunk and forcing the air out of his body. He gasped and then pushed himself back, ready to demand just what the hell Sam thought he was doing. The voices stopped him cold.

“Where’s your friend?” he heard a man ask.

“Back in his room,” Sam replied. “I just went for a walk.”

“Kind of late for a walk,” another one said.

“And town’s a long way from here.” Dean blinked. There was no mistaking Gretchen McAlister’s voice. She sounded exactly as she had back in the diner, her voice low and raspy but still feminine. “Why don’t you come with us, Sam? We wouldn’t want you to get lost. We don’t mind having another one.” Dean crawled back up the hill on his hands and knees to peer through the bushes. A group of the townsfolk were standing around Sam, all smiling at him. He recognized Gretchen and the Hotchkins twins from the diner, Fred the handyman, and even little Cindy, still looking like she was as pure as snowflakes despite the gigantic torch that she was holding.


“Sam. Lighten up. It’s a party.” Gretchen reached down to pull Sam free, seeming to have a lot less difficulty than Sam himself and before Sam could refuse, the Hotchkins twins stood on either side, not really threatening just…existing. “You’ll love it, I’m sure.” Gretchen fingered the amulet around her neck, wrapping it into her hand. “Like I said: I’ve never seen somebody like you. You’re perfect.”

“Perfect for what?” Sam asked, tossing his head back and Dean wondered the exact same thing. He didn’t like the way that Gretchen was looking at Sam.

Gretchen ignored Sam’s question and turned towards Fred. “Tell your boy not to bother going to the motel, Fred. Sam’s going to join us.” Fred nodded and pulled out a phone while Sam glanced around nervously, looking ready to bolt. “It’s a bit early,” Gretchen said, looking back at Sam, “but that’s okay. We can start before your friend will miss you. It’s just for a little while. Come on and have some fun.”

Yeah, and Dean had a bridge that he wanted to sell. If the group, with their torches and creepy smiles just wanted Sam to go to a nice little gathering with them, Dean would eat the Impala’s front seat.

Despite Sam’s reluctance, the locals started to march Sam down the path and Dean stuck to them like glue. There were too many for him to take at once—not without killing them outright and Cindy wasn’t the only kid hovering around the outskirts—but as soon as they let their guard down, Dean was going to grab Sam and they were out of there before the crazy people got a chance to sacrifice Sam or whatever shit they were planning.

It looked like Sam had been right on the money on all accounts.

Sam thumped a book onto the motel bed next to Dean and Dean glanced up from the one that he had been page-thumbing through. Stretching his neck, Sam gave Dean a grim look. “Think I found it.”

Dean picked up the old book, holding it carefully as he read through the first paragraph. “The Horned God?” he asked.

“It fits, Dean. The horned man, the nature attacks, May. It’s all related.”

“The Horned God,” Dean read aloud, “is associated with nature, wilderness, sexuality, hunting and the life cycle. Commonly celebrated at Beltane.” He dropped the book onto his lap and glanced up at Sam again. “So…we’re thinking that somebody’s probably off in the woods worshipping this thing?”

“And sacrificing people to it,” Sam confirmed. “Think about it, Dean. Beltane happens every year in May and it’s always May when these attacks take place? And…” Sam grabbed the laptop off the table where he’d been working, putting it on top of the book in Dean’s lap. “Beltane is a fertility celebration. Well, if the local townspeople are summoning the Horned God, it’s probably to bring about prosperity. Guess what county had an abnormally low birthrate—low as in none—and more than triple the number of miscarriages of any other area in the state last year?”

Dean peered at the statistics that were on the laptop screen, scrolling downward. “Because Emily Clarkson got away,” he said softly, putting it together.

Sam nodded. “Exactly.”

“So, what? They summon this creature to rape some poor girl and if it succeeds, then, voila, everybody’s fertile for a year?”

“And if it doesn’t, then…”

“Then everything goes to shit.” Dean sighed. “Why can’t these people ever just leave well enough alone?” he asked the ceiling.

Sam quirked an eyebrow and snatched the laptop away from Dean, clicking at the mouse pad. “I also checked online for when Beltane’s supposed to be celebrated and, Dean, it’s tonight.”

“Awesome,” Dean said, bringing his head back down to glare sourly at the rendered drawing of the supposed god in the book. “I love tramping around unknown woods at night.”

Dean hated the fucking woods. There was nowhere that he could really go to put one side to a wall—it was all an open hunting range. If someone was faster than him or knew a shortcut or if he made a wrong turn, they’d be able to come shooting out of any direction to surprise him. Dean tried to keep himself going straight, just to try and avoid that, but it was impossible: some of the trees were too densely packed together.

His left foot sank into an unseen hole and Dean’s entire body jolted with pain as he crashed to the ground. “Fuck!” He pounded the dirt with a fist and pushed himself back to his feet, stuttering for a few steps, his left knee and ankle throbbing, before getting his stride back.

He had to keep running, keep going. He didn’t know what was up in front of him but he sure as hell knew what was behind him, having been summoned by those freaks and the fire. The firelight had glinted off the impossible horns that arched over its head and it had moved with a purpose as it had turned those pure white eyes onto Dean.

Dean hit a small outcropping and veered left, not wanting to take the time to climb it. He slammed into something solid in the shadows, something that hadn’t been there just a few seconds ago, and panicked, swinging his arms to push it away. When he got a glimpse of the creature’s eyes, focused unerringly on him, Dean’s fear ramped itself up and he shoved the creature backwards, fingers sliding against its oil-slicked chest. He twisted to avoid its grasping hands and bolted into the night.

He panted, feeling the panic rising despite his near escape. It wasn’t for him anyway. Dean wasn’t afraid for himself.

It was all his fault. He should have shot them all the moment that they’d grabbed a hold of Sam, Cindy’s innocent eyes or no, and just hauled Sam out of there. Come back with a gigantic firetruck to put out the bonfire and hose them all down. He could have swept them all back into the river and let them wash down the stream.

But now it was too late. Those pure white eyes were tracking him with an unnatural focus and were staring out of Sam’s face. It was Sam’s head that those horns arched over, standing tall and proud, pushing out of Sam’s hair and if even one strand of that hair was hurt, Dean was shooting the whole damn town.

Just as soon as he made sure that Sam was safe. He jumped over a fallen tree, breaking off a branch that caught on his hip, and hoped like hell that he could keep this up. He was already beginning to run out of breath, feeling the pain of exhaustion creeping up on him as he pushed his body to his limits.

Knowing that it was Sam’s only chance was what kept him going.

As Dean had watched from the woods, the group of locals—just over twenty if Dean was counting correctly, though it was hard to tell with all the dancing and wild jumping and the huge-ass fire in the middle of it all—had hauled Sam to the center of the small clearing. They placed him in front of the fire that threatened to burn down the whole area with its towering flames that licked out towards the trees and then danced around him as well. Dean’s fingers tightened on his gun, wondering if he should pull it out now or wait and see what was going on. So far, none of the villagers had so much as threatened Sam beyond the creepiness that was just par for the course at this point. They were laughing and joking and trying to pull Sam into a conversation about the weather while Sam smiled awkwardly.

Little Cindy was dancing with her boyfriend, spinning around and around while others clapped and sang until Dean thought that he was going to have to save Sam from the horror that would be a real life musical. Then the chanting started.

Immediately stopping what they were doing, everyone turned as one to face Gretchen who was standing in front of the fire with her arms raised, chanting in a lilting language that Dean couldn’t quite make out. He moved closer, slithering forward through the grass. Sam was still in the thick of the crowd but if push came to shove, Dean would take them all out.

As he emerged at the edge of the clearing, Dean heard a muted sobbing from the bushes, too far away for Sam and the others to hear, and, when he cautiously peaked between them, he swore. “Son of a bitch…” Emily Clarkson was done up in ropes like a cow at a rodeo, gagged. Her hair was dirty and tangled from where she’d been frantically rocking against the dirt and probably waiting for her chance to be sacrificed again.

Trusting that Sam would be able to handle himself for a few minutes, Dean stepped over the underbrush to kneel beside Emily. She bucked wildly, trying to get away and he placed a finger against his lips, shaking his head. “Easy,” he whispered, pulling a knife from his boot. “I’m going to get you out of here, okay?” He didn’t dare remove the gag until he had her freed. One wrong move from her could bring the whole damn thing crashing down on top of them and Dean couldn’t afford that. Emily stared at him, her eyes full of distrust but she still let him bring the knife closer to the ropes that bound her ankles, no doubt knowing that it was her only option if she wanted to escape this nightmare intact.

He quickly sawed through the cord, loosing the restraints and Emily began shedding them as soon as she was able, kicking them away and bringing her arms forward to work at the knots while Dean continuing cutting. At last, she pulled down the gag, her mouth opening to suck down air, and she undid the knot behind her head tossed that away as well. Dean tapped her shoulder, wincing as she flinched and then pointed back the way that he’d just come when he’d been following Sam. Emily nodded, not needing to be twice, and scrambled away, her fingers digging in the dirt as she started to run almost before she had her legs completely underneath of her. Dean watched her go just to make sure that she was safe before turning back to the bonfire. Sam had disappeared.

Dean searched the crowd frantically, looking for any sign of Sam but only seeing the chanting townsfolk in their loose circle, their hands moving rhythmically up and down, following Gretchen’s lead. Where was Sam?

A gun cocked behind Dean’s head and he froze. “Raise those hands,” a man told him. Already considering his odds, Dean did as he was told, slowly lifting his hands upward. If he turned to face the man, he had a chance of disarming him but there was also no way of knowing if the man was alone or not. “Where’s the girl?” Dean didn’t answer and the man pushed the barrel of the gun against Dean’s head. “Where’s the girl?” he demanded.

“Who’s this?” another man asked, the grass rustling around him as he came closer. “Where’s the woman?” Well wasn’t that just the question of the night.

“He’s the man’s friend,” the first answered, poking the gun against Dean’s head again. “And I think that she escaped thanks to him.”

“What?” The word was infused with horror. “But…the ceremony. Dave, we can’t fail again.”

“I know that,” Dave snarled. “Come on, we’ve got to go ask Gretchen what we should do.” The metal barrel bumped against Dean’s head one more time. Dean was starting to have fantasies about making Dave eat that same gun if he got the chance. “Get up, you.”

Dean slowly began to rise to his feet but apparently he was too slow as hands grabbed a hold of his arms and hauled him upward. “The ceremony’s almost done,” Dave’s friend hissed. “And if we don’t have a woman by then—”

“Shut up already,” Dave snapped. “Let’s just go get Gretchen.” Dean was pushed forward out of the bushes and he stumbled into the clearing, his hands still raised high. He used the stumble as an excuse to partially turn and catch sight of the two men behind him. The one was big, with thick arms that strained his T-shirt while the other with the gun—Dave most likely—was slighter and dressed in plaid. Dean decided he’d have to knock the gun away and then take out Dave’s friend first. Dave would probably be too shell-shocked at being disarmed to react until after Dean had the first few hits in on the big guy. Of course, that all depended on how long it would take Dean to drop the big guy and how good Dave’s reflexes were. Either one carried a whole lot of room for error.

Dean moved where he was prompted, heading steadily towards the group in front of the bonfire, while the two men argued behind him. “Gretchen’s busy,” Dave’s friend was saying and Dave once again hissed at him to shut up. As they approached the circle, Dean’s heart gave a sudden, painful leap as he finally caught sight of Sam, kneeling in the middle with his head bowed.

Sam was still as a stump, making no move to escape and he was naked from his head to his toe, his skin glistening in the firelight, smeared with some kind of oil. Apprehension stabbed into Dean’s gut. Something wasn’t right. In fact, he was pretty sure that something—everything—was very, very wrong.

Sending up one last chant to the sky, Gretchen dropped her head and fixed her steely eyes on Dean, her gray hair falling about her face. “Where is the sacrifice?” she asked. Dean curled his upper lip. He’d show her a sacrifice.

“Gone,” Dave said and his gun was right back at Dean but instead of butting up against his head, it slammed into his back, sending him sprawling to the ground. “He helped her escape.”

Dean coughed on the ground, trying to catch his breath again, and raised his head to see Sam again. “Sam?” Sam didn’t even twitch from his kneeling position, his hands curled into fists solid against the ground. He was a breathing statue. “Sammy?” Dean half-crawled towards Sam until a boot stepped into the middle of his back, not pressing down hard enough to hurt, but just telling him to stay where he was.

“We must have a sacrifice,” Gretchen said, her voice nearly monotone. “The Horned One is nearly here.” The grass whispered beneath her long robes as she moved from her spot in front of the fire.

“What about…what about just picking someone else?” The suggestion from Dave was followed by a few horrified gasps and a hiss of impatience from Gretchen.

“We can’t just pick a sacrifice. They must be chosen by the god himself. Emily was perfect. That’s why we didn’t bother looking for another as long as she was here! The strangers arriving in town were a stroke of luck in itself. I’ve never seen someone so suited!” She snarled. “And now he will be wasted. The ceremony will be wasted.” Dean’s blood ran cold. He knew that the ‘someone’ that Gretchen was talking about could only refer to Sam. He stared at Sam, fear gripping his heart. What had they done to him? “Unless…”

A hand fisted in Dean’s hair, pulling him upright. “The ceremony only calls for a receptacle,” Gretchen said, her voice as flat as if she were talking about the weather. “A female is always chosen as it is easier on all involved but…I see no reason why this one would not do. If he and his friend share a bond at all, maybe the Horned One will accept him. A bond between the two would overcome any of the Horned One’s…objections.”

“Let go of me,” Dean growled, yanking his head away.

Gretchen smiled humorlessly at him, a few unknown words spilling from her lips and then she was stepping backward, melting into the surrounding woods. Dean pushed himself to his knees, staring as the rest of the townsfolk followed suit, their eyes full of reverence. Dean turned away from them and crawled over to Sam. Whatever was going on, he needed to make sure that Sam was safe first and then he and Sam could face down whatever this was together.

He touched Sam’s shoulder, his fingers sliding over Sam’s oiled skin. “Sam, you alright?” Sam jerked as if Dean’s fingers were pure electricity and Dean flinched but pressed down harder. “Sam, answer me!”

Sam’s head rose and Dean felt the first stirrings of hope mixing in with his fear—until Sam’s eyes met his. They were pure white, all trace of his iris and pupil gone. “Sam?”

Fingers traced down Dean’s cheek and he darted his eyes downward to look at them before coming back up to meet Sam’s milky eyes. A spike of horror slammed down Dean’s spine, nailing him ramrod straight as he saw the long, narrow curving horns emerging from beneath Sam’s hair. “No…” Dean choked out. “No, no, no…”

The creature that was wearing Sam’s skin quirked Sam’s lips into a smile and leaned forward to press those lips against Dean’s in a parody of a kiss. Dean threw himself backward, propelled by horror and revulsion, and scrambled to his feet. The creature rose opposite him, its—Sam’s—hands reaching out for Dean and Dean moved backward out of its reach. Dean couldn’t help but let his eyes travel down Sam’s naked body to the hard jut of his cock between his legs.

“It is done,” Gretchen’s intoned, echoing from the woods. “The Horned One has accepted his sacrifice. May the sun not rise until they have joined.”

Dean dodged Sam’s grasping paws again, dancing to the side as terror squeezed his heart tight. Oh, God, Sam… “You fucking bitch!” Dean yelled to the woods at large. “I swear to fucking God, I’m going to kill you! I’m going to kill you all!” The creature reached for him again and Dean knew that he didn’t have any other choice.

He ran.

Even the fucking grass was against him now, catching at his feet and trying to wrap around his ankles. Dean burst through a thick clump of trees and charged into a clearing. A wave of confusion washed over him, making him stumble as he saw the fire. It was no where near as large as it had been but there was no mistaking the bonfire. Somehow, someway, he must have traveled in one big circle.

The clearing was empty of all inhabitants, no doubt the locals going back to their houses, content that their job was done and Dean snarled in frustration as he headed towards the far end where the lone path out of the woods was located.

He never got there.

As soon as he was in the middle of the clearing, just rounding the bonfire, a bush wrapped around his ankles, slowing him down, and something large and solid slammed into his shoulders, taking him to the ground. Dean rolled with the motion but his attacker used it against him, flipping him onto his stomach.

Strong legs gripped at Dean’s sides while his overshirt was pulled up and over his head to tangle around his arms and knot. Dean struggled, bucking and trying to get his knees underneath himself but he couldn’t manage to get his belly off the ground with the amount of space he was given.

“Get off of me!” He yelled, his legs churning uselessly in the grass until the long blades wrapped around his ankles and calves and held him tight. “Fuck!”

Above him, he could hear Sam’s—the creature’s—harsh breathing, not sounding like it was getting tired—more that it was excited. Dean gasped against the ground as he tried to twist around, to get his bound hands anywhere that they could do some damage. He didn’t want to hurt Sam but he would for Sam’s own good if he had to. Sam wouldn’t want this—Dean knew that. Sam wouldn’t want this.

A massive hand slammed him back into the ground, flattening Dean against the grass, as hips rolled against his ass, riding out his attempts to escape. Dean could feel a hard cock—Sam’s massive, monster cock—pushing against him and his best efforts to control the panic that had been threatening since the moment he entered the clearing and saw Sam kneeling were shot to shit. He panted, writhing frantically, no longer having a rhyme or reason beyond needing to escape now. His hands clutched at clumps of grass, trying to pull himself out from under the creature and, for a moment, he even thought it worked.

His jeans were yanked down over his hips, his still buckled belt scraping roughly over his skin as the creature took advantage of Dean’s distraction. “No!” Dean shouted and contorted, trying to roll over. Blades of grass were curling over his fingers, clutching at them and holding them in place. Dean tugged, ripping the grass from the ground but more shot up to keep wrapping around him.

The sound of his underwear tearing echoed through the clearing and the creature on top of him growled now—a rumbling, pleased sound in Sam’s lower registers—as it rubbed its cock against Dean’s naked ass. Dean’s eyes went wide as it finally hit home that this was happening. This was really happening. He was about to be fucked in some godforsaken forest by his little brother who was possessed by some freak-nasty fertility god.

Fingers that felt more like claws curled around Dean’s hips, pulling him up onto his knees and before Dean even had a chance to blink, Sam’s thick cock was being pushed inside of him, lubed only by the leftover oil from the ceremony. Dean screamed, his head dropping against the ground as his back bowed, pain rippling up his spine and spreading outward. He had no control, no say in what happened, couldn’t do anything but let it happen.

His legs were kicked apart as the creature settled in between them and began to thrust, its hands on Dean’s hips to hold him steady as it slammed into him again and again.

Dean choked back a sob and tried to force himself to relax. No matter what parasite was currently riding him, it was still Sam behind him and Sam would be devastated to know that he hurt Dean. Dean didn’t know whether the knowledge that the creature fucking him was using his brother’s cock to do it was supposed to make him feel better or more horrified by the experience but it was doing a little of both. Knowing that it was Sam made it better and worse at the same time.

The thrusts were starting to push him into the grass and Dean braced against them, pushing back to try and keep himself stationary. The beast seemed to appreciate that, humming in response as Dean felt a hand fumble beneath him to grab at his limp cock.

He sucked in a harsh breath, his head jerking upwards as his eyes opened wide. “No…” he whispered as fingers played with his dick, pulling teasingly at it until, despite the pain still radiating through his nerves, it began to harden. A heavy weight settled against his back as a wet tongue licked at the junction of Dean’s neck and shoulder followed by a quick nip. Dean shuddered, his hands curling into fists, his fingernails digging into his palms.

He couldn’t deny that, underneath the pain, there was a certain kind of pleasure. And it was growing, starting to drown out everything else. Dean panted against the ground, feeling shame and guilt mixing in with all the rest; it made his arousal that much sharper.

The creature grunted as it came, hands hauling Dean backward while the cock inside of him pulsed and emptied. Dean writhed, rocking from side to side but there was nowhere for him to go. While he’d been a helpless thrall to his own involuntary reaction, the grass had grown around them and now bound his arms and legs tightly, making it so that he couldn’t do much beyond moving his hips in time with the creature’s and clenching his hands uselessly against the dirt.

Dean moaned, half in pain and half in shamed dissatisfaction, as the creature sat up and pulled out of him, Sam’s cock smacking against Dean’s thigh before sliding away. Without Sam’s body on top of him, the night air felt cold against Dean’s flushed skin. He shivered, rocking forward in his grassy restraints.

Fingers pushed against Dean’s hole, spreading and holding him open as they gently traced along the edge. The tip of one dipped inside and Dean leaned forward in a futile attempt to dislodge it. He groaned when it only slid farther inside, feeling up his sore inner walls.

Something wet and warm moved over Dean’s balls and he jolted. He swung his head around, trying to find out what the creature behind him was doing but only seeing the side of Sam’s kneeling body and the long horns looking like they were emerging from Dean’s back. The creature sucked Dean’s balls into its mouth one at a time and Dean moaned with pleasure, his eyes narrowing as they threatened to close.

With a finger still inside of him, the creature quickly moved on to lick at Dean’s half-hard cock, its tongue trailing over Dean’s shaft before it swallowed the head of Dean’s dick and started to suck. Dean bit his lip, his hips moving in small, halting circles as his eyes closed and his head dropped back to the ground. “God…” he moaned.

Warm, wet, and perfect, Dean was helpless to resist the creature’s steady ministrations and he shuddered as he felt an orgasm fast approaching like a freight train coming off the tracks. It was wrong and it was sick but there was nothing that Dean could do to stop it. The fact that it was Sam’s mouth on him just made it that much harder to resist. He came with a muffled scream, burying his face into the crook of his elbow while his hips jerked forward. His back arched as he rode out the pleasure, gasping and shuddering against the ground.

The god behind him let Dean’s dick drop out of its mouth and pulled its finger out of Dean’s ass to spread him wide and Dean could only moan weakly as it plunged itself back inside of him. He tried to move away, his ass sore and his nerves tingling with the aftershocks of his orgasm but he was still stuck.

Helpless as the creature used Sam’s body to take him again and again. Somewhere in the middle, Dean lost himself—lost his focus, lost his mind, lost everything—and he stopped fighting. When the creature flipped him over and Dean was left staring up at Sam’s familiar face, recognizable even despite the sightless eyes and the arching horns, Dean wrapped his arms around Sam’s shoulders, and closed his eyes. He couldn’t shake the knowledge that it was Sam’s body between his legs but somehow pretending that it was actually Sam working inside of him made it better. It was better to give himself over to the pleasure overloading his body than to think about that.

Dean came to on his back, blinking up at the bright blue sky. He frowned it, not quite understanding, and scratched at where the grass was tickling his side. Wait. Grass?

Dean tried to sit up only to realize that he couldn’t—that something was holding him down. He felt a moment of panic as he rolled his head upward, trying to see what was on top of him but it eased when he saw the top of Sam’s head. Just Sam. It was just Sam.

Bits of last night began to float back to Dean, filled with pictures of fire and woods and running. On reflex, he brought two fingers down to feel underneath Sam’s jaw for his pulse, relieved when he was able to find the steady thrumming. He sighed, letting himself fall back against the grass, too exhausted to want to get up just now.

Everything hurt. It seemed like every muscle in his body was screaming at him including his ass which was a dull ache in the middle of it all. Dean groaned and moved his hand, stroking it down over Sam’s back.

Over Sam’s naked back.

The previous night came streaming into his head with perfect clarity and Dean stiffened as he finally remembered. “I’m going to shoot them all,” he muttered.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was hoarse, like he’d spent the night screaming when Dean knew for a fact that it had been him that had been doing the yelling while Sam had only been giving little growls and purrs. “Where…?” Dean rested his hand against Sam’s hair, rubbing his head just to let him know that Dean was there. “Oh God…” Sam scrambled away, his limbs tangling awkwardly with Dean’s until he managed to put some distance between them. “Dean, I’m…”

Dean didn’t know how Sam planned on finishing that sentence but if it included the word ‘sorry,’ he was going to be pissed. If anyone should be sorry, it should have been him. He was the one that hadn’t managed to run fast enough. He waved Sam off and then rolled himself up, powered with sheer pride, finally closing his spread legs, feeling the ache in his thighs. He doubted that there had been even a moment last night after he’d been caught that they’d been anywhere near where they were normally supposed to be. “If you say sorry, Sam, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Sam closed his mouth and looked like he was the one who was wrecked when Dean tried to push himself to his feet. “Uh, here…” Sam said, moving towards Dean to help him up. Dean accepted the offer if only because he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to stand without Sam’s assistance. His legs trembled underneath his weight, threatening to buckle.

“Take it you remember?” Dean asked, just having to make sure.

“Parts,” Sam muttered, keeping his eyes low.

Dean took a stumbling step forward and scanned the ground for his jeans. He remembered the creature being too impatient to get them off for the first few rounds but there had been a definite moment when it had stripped him bare and then pushed his knees up around his ears. Dean grimaced. He didn’t think that he was meant to be that flexible. “Then you know that we’ve got to go kill some sons of bitches.” Sam stumbled, nearly taking both of them to the ground and Dean put a hand against Sam’s chest. “You alright?” he demanded. Christ. He hadn’t even thought about what that thing must have done to Sam.

Sam nodded, straightening back up. “Just…drained.”

“Not surprised. Having an ancient motherfucker inside of you got to be tiring.” Not to mention all the ‘draining’ that Sam was doing into Dean… Dean forced that particular line of thinking by focusing on putting one step in front of the other as he headed to the pile of denim that he hoped like hell were his. He had no idea where Sam’s clothes would be.

“Dean, I don’t think that we have to…”

“Kill them?” Dean supplied. “But I want to.”

“Last night,” Sam started, “I was talking to Gretchen and everything was fine but then she touched her necklace and it was just… Like something else had taken over.”

Dean frowned. “So…that creepy amulet thing she wears around her neck? You think that’s it?”

Sam bobbed his head. “I’m sure of it. We just need to get that away from her. Melt it down or something.”

“We’ll salt and burn the fucker,” Dean grumbled. Just as soon as they got back into town. And found their clothes. Dean found himself giving Sam’s crotch a few covert glances, eyeing the limp cock that dangled between Sam’s legs, as a constant loop of ‘holy fuck, that had been inside him’ ran through his head.

Somewhere, there was a stray thought about maybe finding out what Sam was like when he wasn’t being possessed by a millennia-old, horny pagan god but Dean smothered it. He didn’t need to be thinking things like that.

He just needed to be focused on finishing the job and then getting him and Sam the hell out of the state before they began even more fucked up than they already were.

The metal of the amulet twisted and coiled in the fire, every now and then a spark flying upward as a rune was destroyed. As far as he and Sam could tell, the amulet had been a hold over from the Old World and Bobby swore that it was the runes that gave it the power. “There’s blood magic in that,” he’d said over the phone. “You melt it and there’s no way that they’ll be able to use it—just be a hunk of metal.”

Gretchen—and the whole town, actually—was probably going to be pissed when they woke up in the morning but, at this point, Dean didn’t care if the whole damn place became barren. He glanced over at Sam to see the firelight playing over Sam’s face, highlighting Sam’s thoughtful frown. “You alright?” he asked. The flickering light made Sam seem somehow dangerous—dangerous in a way that made Dean want to step closer like a moth to a flame.

“Huh, what?” Sam jerked his head up to look at Dean. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Dean nodded and watched as the last of the amulet melted away. He kicked dirt on the fire and slapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You wanna beer? I sure do.”

“Yeah. Sounds great,” Sam replied. The exchange was completely ordinary, something that they’d done a million times before, but Dean knew that it was also somehow different. There was something changed in the way that Sam looked at him, some new kind of heat.

And Dean knew that he was sending the same right back.

Somehow, someway, he and Sam had never left that bonfire—it was just inside of them, smoldering slowly and waiting for them to acknowledge it. It made Dean’s insides churn with the wrongness of it all but he knew that he couldn’t stop it.

He didn’t want to.

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