theladyscribe: Etta Place and Butch Cassidy laughing. (we could be heroes)
a subtle sort of brilliance ([personal profile] theladyscribe) wrote in [community profile] avandell2008-11-17 03:33 pm

To cope with heaven and earth and sea and hurricane [The What's Your Sin Remix]

Written for [community profile] kamikazeremix
[re-post for archival purposes]

Title: To cope with heaven and earth and sea and hurricane [The What's Your Sin Remix]
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13, for language
Warnings: Wincest, blasphemy
Spoilers: None
Title, Author and URL of the original story: Thou born to match the gale (thou art all wings) by [personal profile] tabaqui
Summary: Do you know I can smell the sin on you, hunter?
Notes: This is set during chapter four of [personal profile] tabaqui's original story. Many thanks to my betas. Full notes to come after the reveal. Enjoy.

To cope with heaven and earth and sea and hurricane [The What's Your Sin Remix]

The diner reeks of fish and grease and a sugary sweet smell that Rafe can't identify. It makes him edgy, makes the new-old coat Sam procured from the local church feel snug against the sharp pain in his shoulder blades. Besides that, he can feel the nervous energy radiating from Dean, wave after wave of worry and an underlying hint of fear.

He looks at the older brother, and Dean glares back. As he barks "What?" everything around them slows like molasses, moving sluggishly in counterpoint to the sudden feeling of whiplash that hits Rafe.

It's like being jerked backward, and he realizes he's not alone. There's someone with him, and that someone has suddenly taken over his mouth.

Do you know I can smell the sin on you, hunter? It's his voice, but not his words, an invasion he can't counter-act. But the words are true, and Rafe can now identify that sugar-sweet smell as sin, rich and fattening as butter, bloating everything and everyone, the stench of it almost overpowering.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" Dean's jaws are snapping in outrage, an angry frightened animal kept on a tight leash. He yanks Rafe toward him, knocking over the mugs of scalding coffee, the sound of breaking china faint in comparison to Dean's growl.

Rafe wants to tell him that it's not him, but the thing pushes him further back and all he can do is choke on the scent of lust and gluttony emanating from Dean.

It's like caramel and cream, it moans. Ooh, rich enough to make you sick. I could eat it, the air of your sin. Incest, murder… do you have no shame?

"I will kill you," Dean growls.

The thing laughs cruelly. You'll try.

"Dean - Dean? Hey, you okay?" And just like that, the world around them speeds back up, everyone moving in tempo with the universe again.

"Let her put your order down, Dean," says Sam, a harbor of calm in an otherwise dizzy and disoriented trio.

Dean moves, the tension leaving his body, and Rafe's own heart begins to slow back to normal, though the pain in his back hurts worse than before. He tries to make himself smaller – the copper scent of Dean's rage still floods the air even though the moment has passed. Dean looks down at the table, and Rafe follows his gaze.

The coffee mugs are still there. Rafe doesn't understand it; to his knowledge he's never lost control of his faculties like that. Of course, he's also never felt so violated, so wrong, before either. Something is off, and he's certain it has something to do with the stinging pain in his shoulder blades.

He comes back into the conversation just as Dean says, "I'll tell you in the car, okay? I'm – okay." It's a lie, the tell clear as day in his false bravado.

Dean's still edgy, flashes of fear and worry and anger dancing against Rafe's consciousness. His motions are choppy, and he shovels food into his mouth one-handed, the other hidden by his side. Judging by the periodical whisper of reassurance, Rafe suspects he has a weapon at his hip.

Finally, Rafe's hands stop shaking enough that he can trust himself to eat, but he still drops food from his fork more than once. The brothers either don't notice or ignore it.

When they get to the car, their voices are hushed, Sam using that same soothing voice he used on Rafe when they found him, and he's sure it will only serve to piss Dean off.

"Okay, tell me what happened."

"I was…you were looking at that book and I was…" Dean is at a loss for words, and Rafe can sympathize. There really is no way to explain what happened, no words to describe that push-pull, back-forward sensation.

"You were staring at me like I was gonna disappear."

"No, I—"

"Dude, you do it all the time. I'm used to it." Sam's smile is amused and easy, but Rafe can feel the I swear I won't leave you again that reverberates from him, something simultaneously soothing and guilty, sharp and raw like soured milk. He's surprised Dean can't feel it, too, but from him, there's a corresponding disbelief and an anticipation of betrayal followed by complete bafflement. It hurts worse, almost, than physical pain, and Rafe can't bear to look at him, can barely stand to be in the same space, cloying bitter smell of bleak fear like rotten apples encapsulating the entire car.

"Fine, whatever. Cool guy back there was staring at me and I – said something and then he said something and it really pissed me off and I – I grabbed him and jerked him up and my coffee hit the floor and so did yours."

"Dean, that…didn't happen."

"I know that. I mean – I know it didn't really but…it really did. In my – head or something."

"What – what did he say?"

"Oh fuck, Sammy –" Rafe flinches at the anger that shoots out of Dean. "I really don't wanna talk about it, okay? Just a bunch of shit."

Rafe feels awkward, embarrassed, hearing their argument. It's an intrusion of privacy, but there's no way to escape it even as it escalates. He wants to be free of it, to end it, but he doesn't know how.

"Dean –"

"I don't – remember." The lie comes to Rafe suddenly, burned sugar in the air around him, but he's ready to say anything that will end the argument – too much underlying distrust and worry coming from both people in the front seat. Dean's scared, probably that he'll tell everything, but Rafe isn't stupid and he knows what both brothers need. "I m-mean – I felt…strange, as if I were…looking at myself from outside."

"Like – an out of body experience? Like you were – floating?" Sam is all quiet concern, like a doctor trying to pinpoint a disease.

Rafe keeps talking, unable to stop the lies pouring from his mouth, feeling nauseous even as Dean's tension starts to filter out of the car. "As if… I were watching a – a movie. Standing there… I saw your brother pull me up but… I couldn't feel it. I couldn't hear what we…said."

Dean meets his eyes in the rearview, and Rafe knows he's seen right through it. There's a tiny nod of thanks, and his eyes are back on the road ahead of them.


He sleeps for what feels like days but is really only a few hours. He wakes groggy and disoriented, a freight train running through the middle of his head. The brothers are arguing again, Dean's concern pulsing through the room.

"Follow the lead in half an hour, Sam. You're starting to look worse than him." At the mention, Rafe raises his head, but even that is a chore. The pain in his back has dulled to a constant throb, no doubt aided and abetted by the way he's curled up in this chair. Everything hurts, from his own body to the waves of emotion crashing into him from both brothers.

The waves ebb and eddy as Dean stands and shoves money into Sam's hand.

"Go get some sodas, okay? Some… chocolate or something. Stand up and unkink your spine before you turn into a fucking hunchback." He helps his brother up and manhandles him out the door, shutting it behind them.

He can't hear it, but he can feel the conversation between them, the tenderness of Sam's love and the shock and brittle lust from Dean, overwhelming in its straightforward adoration.

He's sure he should revile it – lust is a sin and incest is an abomination – but he can't. To them, it's a comfort, a homecoming, something that's always there, just below the surface. He marvels at the warmth that spreads from the two souls standing just outside. It's something he's never encountered before.

A full-body shudder runs through him as a tremor of need and want hits him. He can't tell which one it comes from – it might be a mutual sensation, their emotions playing in tandem. His eyes grow heavy and he's about to drift back to sleep when the door opens and Dean comes back.

Rafe glances up, and the world slows again as Dean says, "Sam went to get some soda."

The creature inside him moves, standing fluidly even though moments ago he was wondering if he'd ever be able to put his spine back in alignment.

Dean immediately moves toward his jacket, where Rafe knows he is hiding a weapon. The thing inside him speaks, its poison dripping from every word.

Sam. Samuel. Your brother. He has his voice of God – blessed among men. And you would take it from him. The words are cruel, but more than that, they're untrue. Sam is special – there's no doubt of that, with the way he seems to glow with power – but it's not got anything to do with God, not really.

Dean pulls his gun, demanding, "Back the fuck up."

If he had control of himself, Rafe would be following the order, but the creature ignores the command. It wasn't that Abel's gift was better before God, but that he wished to marry and rut upon his wife. Cain lusted for his brother, and killed him to keep him. Satan-El tempted Jesus in the desert – eldest wooing the youngest, jealous of the favored son. Is that why you lured your brother into sin, hunter? To stain his snowy wings?

"Whatever you are, get out. If that body dies, so do you." Dean is taking careful aim, and Rafe is sure this is it. He's going to die with – no, because of – this parasite in him, and there's nothing he can do to stop it.

The thing takes off his shirt, surprising and confusing both of them. Rafe doesn't understand, and he's frightened. It keeps talking, stroking his hands down his body in a way that makes him distinctly uncomfortable.

The only true sin… is lying. Lie about your lusts, lie about your desires…lie about your hate. What lies are you telling, hunter?

The gunshot is impossibly loud, painful in his ears, but it startles Rafe into action. He moves just in time it seems, pain blooming in his arm rather than in his chest. It takes him several long seconds to realize two things: first, the thing is gone from him again. Second, the ever-present glow of Sam is gone, too.

"What the fuck was that?"

"I think—" Rafe licks his lips, his eyes fluttering almost closed. "I think that was a distraction."

It takes ten seconds for Dean to run outside, scent of rotten apples trailing behind. He's back in even less. He doesn't have to say the words for Rafe to know he was right; Sam is gone.

A war cry pounds in Dean's veins, as clear and loud as the gunshot that still seems to echo in the room. Rafe would like to comfort him, or to apologize, but how can he do either? Dean still smells of sin, but beneath that is a warm, earthy scent, like good coffee or crisp clean air after a terrible rainstorm. He knows that smell – it's pure, unadulterated love, the kind that makes you do stupid things like let yourself be murdered for the good of the world.

He hopes Dean never gets that opportunity.

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