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phantismaFandom: Supernatural
Title: The Demons Winchester
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: John/Mary, Dean/OFC, John/OFC, John/Dean, Dean/Sam, Sam/OMC(s), Dean/OMC(s), John/Dean/Sam, Bobby, Caleb (Total story)
Word Count: ~20,000 (total story)
Summary: What if? What if John and Mary were possessed? What would Dean and Sam be? How evil would Demon Winchesters be? Several nights before their wedding, John and Mary are taken by a pair of demon lovers. The next few years are much the same as canon...until their demon master comes looking for them, and takes Mary, sending John and the boys on the run.
A/Ns & Warnings: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
johnsgillygirl who won me and paid an enormous sum of money for the privilege during the March special auction over at Sweet Charity. She wanted 20,000 words of Demon boys...(I'm looking for one or two high quality caps of the scenes in "Dream a Little Dream" when double!Dean had black eyes...or for someone who reads this to make me a pretty cover with demony boys!). As to warnings...there is violence and mayhem, there is violent sex, some of which is consensual, some of which really isn't: Non-Con, Dub-Con, Drug use, violence, bondage, knife play, blood play, incest of every configuration including Daddy!cest, character death (none of the Winchesters).
Prologue
Sulfur and brimstone gave way to the sweet air of freedom in a rush. He threw himself gladly into the night air, into the world he hadn’t known in centuries, heady with the scent of life…and more than that…lust.
He couldn’t believe his luck, moving swiftly through the air, his mate writhing around him as they moved swiftly toward it…the sticky heat of coupling…a beacon of sin just awaiting their arrival…warm, mortal bodies ripe for the occupation.
The vehicle rocked with the rhythm as the man rutted wildly, madly…passion and need and danger. The cracked window was the last bit of invitation he needed. They swarmed into the car, filling the steamy confines with darkness, filling the needy bodies with fire.
His body was tight, firm, strong…and it never stopped fucking into her, not even as he pushed the consciousness down, held it under. He growled through his new mouth, with his new voice and bit down on her breasts, marking the milk white skin.
Her eyes opened, the inky black of his companion filling them, swallowing the woman whole. Their bodies climaxed even as the people within them lost the battle to retain them. He threw back his head, roaring in victory.
“We did it.” His voice was gruff, deep. She squeezed her legs around him. “My love, we did it.”
She grinned, tossing her sweaty blond hair. “Mary. This one is named Mary.”
He reached inside for the presence within, sorting through memories and knowledge. “John. John Winchester. And you, Mary are going to be my wife in two days.”
“But I couldn’t wait anymore for you to fuck me.” She pushed hands through his hair, then pulled him down to kiss.
“Good thing, or we’d still be out there looking for bodies to inhabit.” He kissed her then, exploring the taste of her on this tongue, the feeling of her under him, around him. He was still inside her, his cock stirring.
There was a flash of lights, the crunch of tires on gravel. He squinted, then reluctantly pulled out. “Cover up. We’ve got company.”
He tucked in and climbed over the seat behind the wheel. Before the cop could approach, he had the engine started and was pulling away. An hour later, he held the door for her. “Remember, we lay low. Azazel won’t give up easily.”
She stood on tip toes and kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry. He won’t find us.”
He watched her go, hips moving to her own rhythm as she walked up the stairs and into the apartment building.
Two days later they suffered through a church wedding and headed off to Las Vegas for their honeymoon…a week filled with every kind of debauchery they could manage in mortal form.
Which, he was pleased to discover, was pretty damn debauched.
It wasn’t until a few months later that he learned the cost of that debauchery.
“I’m pregnant,” she announced without preamble, as if she was telling him what was for dinner. “You fucking got me pregnant.”
Six months later, he was a father, and the boy was certainly a chip off the old block. His eyes were inky black and it took more than milk to satisfy the kid, right from the start.
He’d never really contemplated it before…the idea of fatherhood…but he liked the things it did to Mary’s body, the way it filled out her ass and breasts. Apparently John did too, judging by the near constant state of arousal through the pregnancy.
There were those who would say that demons weren’t capable of love, but he knew better. Centuries he’d loved her. Would love her. And there, in that mortal body, as she pushed his son into the world, he loved her more.
Perhaps part of that was the love of the people they occupied, but he chose to ignore them.
The second time it wasn’t nearly as much of a surprise. It wasn’t as if they took precautions.
He would never have seen what was coming though. What the birth of his second son would herald. Four years they’d lived and breathed as John and Mary Winchester with hardly a whisper of their master finding them.
He was vigilant at first. But over time that vigilance fell to boredom and he gave in to his baser needs. Nothing major, of course. Little tricks. Infesting the cars he worked on with various nasties. Bringing Mary home presents of pretty things that didn’t always come willingly.
She had become maternal…in a demon-from-hell sort of way. Protective and fierce. She slipped onto his lap in front of the television. “That boy of yours is going to ruin my breasts.” She opened her shirt to show him the bloody bite marks.
“He thinks you taste good.” He licked over the bloody nipples. “Mmmm…you do.”
She rolled her eyes. “You Winchester men.”
His whiskers trailed over her skin, up to her neck. “I’m going to fill you up with an army of babies…we’ll raise them up and use them to take back what’s ours.”
“He might have something to say about that.” She said it softly, concerned now.
He shook his head. “He hasn’t shown any interest so far.”
Her head quirked to the side. “Dean, I thought I told you to go to bed.”
“There’s a man in the dark.”
Mary rose and smiled at the boy. “There’s no man.”
“He was in my room.”
“Want me to--?”
She shook her head. “I’ve got this.”
“I’ll be up in a minute. I want to watch humanity rip itself apart a little more.”
The news never failed to cheer him up. Murder. Mayhem. People treating each other like monsters. Sex and violence. Music to his ears.
He heard her take Dean in to say goodnight to the baby. Heard her pad down the hall, his little feet making almost no sound as she took him back to his room. It shouldn’t bring him as much joy as it did. He smiled and turned back to the television.
It was a little while later that he heard Sam cry. He started to get up, but heard her already moving toward the nursery. It wasn’t until he heard her scream that he lurched up and flew up the stairs.
There was fire, burning, purging fire. Sam was crying louder now. In the midst of the flames she looked down at him. Her stomach dripped blood, the fire licked at her hair, Her eyes filled with black. She was fighting, but when He turned, when his eyes glowed yellow, he knew it was a lost cause.
“Did you think you could hide forever?”
Dean’s voice was behind him. Sam was crying and Azazel stood between him and his son. Mary’s voice, marked by his mate’s burning demise screamed his name…not John…but the name he hadn’t spoken in four years. With her last ounce of strength, she pushed herself off the ceiling, launched herself at her executioner.
He reached past the flames and scooped the infant up in his arms, turning and thrusting the screaming, bloody-faced infant into the chubby arms of his older son. “Take your brother outside Dean. As fast as you can.”
He turned to throw himself at Azazel, to save her…but they were both gone and the fire licked at the curtains and carpet and he ran. She had sacrificed herself, fought until his fire consumed her and depleted him and that gave him, and their children, a chance to disappear.
***
Those first years were filled with running and hiding and lashing out angrily at things that reminded him of everything he’d lost, or those who had taken them from him. When Dean was seven, he cleaned out a nest of vampires just to work the edge off his anger. When Sam was five, he sent two pedophile priests on a one way ticket to hell just for fun.
By the time the boys were teenagers, they’d become thieves and hunters, knew how to take out most demons, most half-breeds like werewolves and vampires…knew how to stay alive and free of hell. They also knew a fair bit of demon lore, their history. They knew they weren’t strictly human, that they were special. Above the rules set out for mortals.
They walked between the worlds, taking what they wanted and protecting each other. Most people didn’t really know they were there. Hunters were a little different. They saw the world differently…and part of that was noticing the little Winchester clan.
John managed to stay on the ambiguous side, tossing a hunter a bone here and there, trading magic and muscle for a look the other way, for the doubt. That got a little harder as Dean got older. The boy had a mean streak. It reminded John of his mother.
He watched Dean stalk the girl, watched him toy with her, pull her into the alley and take her, hard and dirty in a pile of garbage behind a Chinese grocery, raking his nails down her back to release the scent of her blood to the air before licking it up.
John was there when the boy came, pulled him off the girl and fell on her himself, snapping her neck as he finished. “Never leave them breathing once you’ve bloodied them, boy.”
Dean stood there defiantly, her blood on his face, his chest heaving. John felt his cock flood again. He stood, shoved Dean into the wall, his mouth closing over Dean’s, licking at the blood. For a minute Dean resisted, pushing back at him, holding his jaw tight…then John’s hand closed on his dick and it was like pressing a button.
Dean’s mouth opened, his body went slack. John growled possessively, wrapping one meaty hand over both of their cocks, rubbing them together. Dean hissed through his teeth, pressed his fingers into John’s shoulder. He gasped when John tightened his grasp, when he squeezed and pulled and Dean yelled as he came again, the heat of his come splashing over John’s cock and it was enough to have him coming again too.
Of course, that was only a beginning. John’s appetite grew after that, because after all the boy was painfully pretty, and it was only days before he was shoving Dean’s face into the mattress of whatever filthy motel they found and pushing into him. Only days before he caught Dean doing the same thing to Sam.
Only Sam didn’t take it as easily as Dean. He pushed back, he struggled…not to end it or to get away, but to get the upper hand. He used his hands and feet and magic and for a moment John wasn’t sure if they were fighting or fucking. Dean eventually won that round…but it was obvious it wouldn’t stay that way for long.
Sam was shooting up, already almost as tall as his brother, and strong…and while Dean had a mean streak, Sam was just plain mean. He had the sexual appetite of a grown man by the time he was fourteen. He’d watch as John fucked Dean, jerking himself until John was done, then leaping on his brother himself.
He liked to inflict pain, almost as much as Dean enjoyed getting hurt…and when it wasn’t his brother, when he didn’t have to worry about his partner living through the experience? Well Sam was a goddamn artist, and that was before the kid was even sixteen.
Their lives were far from normal, no matter whose version of normal one ascribed too. And that was just fine with him. He’d never really liked living by the rules anyway.
***
There was, however, the small matter of their mortality. The boys were born to human bodies, though they weren’t human…strictly speaking…and come the advent of twenty-five years of living in said human body, they would each face a trial…one that would see them sent screaming off to hell to pay penance for their parents’ presumption or firmly and permanently seated in a body that would never age again…never die…by conventional means anyway.
All they had to do was pass the test.
It was complicated and difficult, a ritual written in a language that even demons didn’t speak anymore…with blood to be sacrificed and physical pain to be endured…marks to be made in the flesh.
No one had managed it in over a thousand years.
They started preparing Dean when he was twenty-two. He would be alone when the time came, and he would have to have the words memorized, the ritual had to come as easy as water rolling off his back.
There was a collection of items needed. Some were easy. Ritual knives and bowls. A chalice once hallowed and de-sanctified, to be filled with holy water. A Seal of Dameron, which had many uses, none of them anything short of dark and dangerous. In this case it would put the final seal on the ritual, binding spirit and body forever. Every aspect of the day would be controlled and planned. From midnight to midnight, culminating in his boy becoming something he himself never could.
All they had to do was gather the pieces and get him there.
Title: The Demons Winchester
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: John/Mary, Dean/OFC, John/OFC, John/Dean, Dean/Sam, Sam/OMC(s), Dean/OMC(s), John/Dean/Sam, Bobby, Caleb (Total story)
Word Count: ~20,000 (total story)
Summary: What if? What if John and Mary were possessed? What would Dean and Sam be? How evil would Demon Winchesters be? Several nights before their wedding, John and Mary are taken by a pair of demon lovers. The next few years are much the same as canon...until their demon master comes looking for them, and takes Mary, sending John and the boys on the run.
A/Ns & Warnings: Written for
johnsgillygirl who won me and paid an enormous sum of money for the privilege during the March special auction over at Sweet Charity. She wanted 20,000 words of Demon boys...(I'm looking for one or two high quality caps of the scenes in "Dream a Little Dream" when double!Dean had black eyes...or for someone who reads this to make me a pretty cover with demony boys!). As to warnings...there is violence and mayhem, there is violent sex, some of which is consensual, some of which really isn't: Non-Con, Dub-Con, Drug use, violence, bondage, knife play, blood play, incest of every configuration including Daddy!cest, character death (none of the Winchesters).Prologue
Sulfur and brimstone gave way to the sweet air of freedom in a rush. He threw himself gladly into the night air, into the world he hadn’t known in centuries, heady with the scent of life…and more than that…lust.
He couldn’t believe his luck, moving swiftly through the air, his mate writhing around him as they moved swiftly toward it…the sticky heat of coupling…a beacon of sin just awaiting their arrival…warm, mortal bodies ripe for the occupation.
The vehicle rocked with the rhythm as the man rutted wildly, madly…passion and need and danger. The cracked window was the last bit of invitation he needed. They swarmed into the car, filling the steamy confines with darkness, filling the needy bodies with fire.
His body was tight, firm, strong…and it never stopped fucking into her, not even as he pushed the consciousness down, held it under. He growled through his new mouth, with his new voice and bit down on her breasts, marking the milk white skin.
Her eyes opened, the inky black of his companion filling them, swallowing the woman whole. Their bodies climaxed even as the people within them lost the battle to retain them. He threw back his head, roaring in victory.
“We did it.” His voice was gruff, deep. She squeezed her legs around him. “My love, we did it.”
She grinned, tossing her sweaty blond hair. “Mary. This one is named Mary.”
He reached inside for the presence within, sorting through memories and knowledge. “John. John Winchester. And you, Mary are going to be my wife in two days.”
“But I couldn’t wait anymore for you to fuck me.” She pushed hands through his hair, then pulled him down to kiss.
“Good thing, or we’d still be out there looking for bodies to inhabit.” He kissed her then, exploring the taste of her on this tongue, the feeling of her under him, around him. He was still inside her, his cock stirring.
There was a flash of lights, the crunch of tires on gravel. He squinted, then reluctantly pulled out. “Cover up. We’ve got company.”
He tucked in and climbed over the seat behind the wheel. Before the cop could approach, he had the engine started and was pulling away. An hour later, he held the door for her. “Remember, we lay low. Azazel won’t give up easily.”
She stood on tip toes and kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry. He won’t find us.”
He watched her go, hips moving to her own rhythm as she walked up the stairs and into the apartment building.
Two days later they suffered through a church wedding and headed off to Las Vegas for their honeymoon…a week filled with every kind of debauchery they could manage in mortal form.
Which, he was pleased to discover, was pretty damn debauched.
It wasn’t until a few months later that he learned the cost of that debauchery.
“I’m pregnant,” she announced without preamble, as if she was telling him what was for dinner. “You fucking got me pregnant.”
Six months later, he was a father, and the boy was certainly a chip off the old block. His eyes were inky black and it took more than milk to satisfy the kid, right from the start.
He’d never really contemplated it before…the idea of fatherhood…but he liked the things it did to Mary’s body, the way it filled out her ass and breasts. Apparently John did too, judging by the near constant state of arousal through the pregnancy.
There were those who would say that demons weren’t capable of love, but he knew better. Centuries he’d loved her. Would love her. And there, in that mortal body, as she pushed his son into the world, he loved her more.
Perhaps part of that was the love of the people they occupied, but he chose to ignore them.
The second time it wasn’t nearly as much of a surprise. It wasn’t as if they took precautions.
He would never have seen what was coming though. What the birth of his second son would herald. Four years they’d lived and breathed as John and Mary Winchester with hardly a whisper of their master finding them.
He was vigilant at first. But over time that vigilance fell to boredom and he gave in to his baser needs. Nothing major, of course. Little tricks. Infesting the cars he worked on with various nasties. Bringing Mary home presents of pretty things that didn’t always come willingly.
She had become maternal…in a demon-from-hell sort of way. Protective and fierce. She slipped onto his lap in front of the television. “That boy of yours is going to ruin my breasts.” She opened her shirt to show him the bloody bite marks.
“He thinks you taste good.” He licked over the bloody nipples. “Mmmm…you do.”
She rolled her eyes. “You Winchester men.”
His whiskers trailed over her skin, up to her neck. “I’m going to fill you up with an army of babies…we’ll raise them up and use them to take back what’s ours.”
“He might have something to say about that.” She said it softly, concerned now.
He shook his head. “He hasn’t shown any interest so far.”
Her head quirked to the side. “Dean, I thought I told you to go to bed.”
“There’s a man in the dark.”
Mary rose and smiled at the boy. “There’s no man.”
“He was in my room.”
“Want me to--?”
She shook her head. “I’ve got this.”
“I’ll be up in a minute. I want to watch humanity rip itself apart a little more.”
The news never failed to cheer him up. Murder. Mayhem. People treating each other like monsters. Sex and violence. Music to his ears.
He heard her take Dean in to say goodnight to the baby. Heard her pad down the hall, his little feet making almost no sound as she took him back to his room. It shouldn’t bring him as much joy as it did. He smiled and turned back to the television.
It was a little while later that he heard Sam cry. He started to get up, but heard her already moving toward the nursery. It wasn’t until he heard her scream that he lurched up and flew up the stairs.
There was fire, burning, purging fire. Sam was crying louder now. In the midst of the flames she looked down at him. Her stomach dripped blood, the fire licked at her hair, Her eyes filled with black. She was fighting, but when He turned, when his eyes glowed yellow, he knew it was a lost cause.
“Did you think you could hide forever?”
Dean’s voice was behind him. Sam was crying and Azazel stood between him and his son. Mary’s voice, marked by his mate’s burning demise screamed his name…not John…but the name he hadn’t spoken in four years. With her last ounce of strength, she pushed herself off the ceiling, launched herself at her executioner.
He reached past the flames and scooped the infant up in his arms, turning and thrusting the screaming, bloody-faced infant into the chubby arms of his older son. “Take your brother outside Dean. As fast as you can.”
He turned to throw himself at Azazel, to save her…but they were both gone and the fire licked at the curtains and carpet and he ran. She had sacrificed herself, fought until his fire consumed her and depleted him and that gave him, and their children, a chance to disappear.
Those first years were filled with running and hiding and lashing out angrily at things that reminded him of everything he’d lost, or those who had taken them from him. When Dean was seven, he cleaned out a nest of vampires just to work the edge off his anger. When Sam was five, he sent two pedophile priests on a one way ticket to hell just for fun.
By the time the boys were teenagers, they’d become thieves and hunters, knew how to take out most demons, most half-breeds like werewolves and vampires…knew how to stay alive and free of hell. They also knew a fair bit of demon lore, their history. They knew they weren’t strictly human, that they were special. Above the rules set out for mortals.
They walked between the worlds, taking what they wanted and protecting each other. Most people didn’t really know they were there. Hunters were a little different. They saw the world differently…and part of that was noticing the little Winchester clan.
John managed to stay on the ambiguous side, tossing a hunter a bone here and there, trading magic and muscle for a look the other way, for the doubt. That got a little harder as Dean got older. The boy had a mean streak. It reminded John of his mother.
He watched Dean stalk the girl, watched him toy with her, pull her into the alley and take her, hard and dirty in a pile of garbage behind a Chinese grocery, raking his nails down her back to release the scent of her blood to the air before licking it up.
John was there when the boy came, pulled him off the girl and fell on her himself, snapping her neck as he finished. “Never leave them breathing once you’ve bloodied them, boy.”
Dean stood there defiantly, her blood on his face, his chest heaving. John felt his cock flood again. He stood, shoved Dean into the wall, his mouth closing over Dean’s, licking at the blood. For a minute Dean resisted, pushing back at him, holding his jaw tight…then John’s hand closed on his dick and it was like pressing a button.
Dean’s mouth opened, his body went slack. John growled possessively, wrapping one meaty hand over both of their cocks, rubbing them together. Dean hissed through his teeth, pressed his fingers into John’s shoulder. He gasped when John tightened his grasp, when he squeezed and pulled and Dean yelled as he came again, the heat of his come splashing over John’s cock and it was enough to have him coming again too.
Of course, that was only a beginning. John’s appetite grew after that, because after all the boy was painfully pretty, and it was only days before he was shoving Dean’s face into the mattress of whatever filthy motel they found and pushing into him. Only days before he caught Dean doing the same thing to Sam.
Only Sam didn’t take it as easily as Dean. He pushed back, he struggled…not to end it or to get away, but to get the upper hand. He used his hands and feet and magic and for a moment John wasn’t sure if they were fighting or fucking. Dean eventually won that round…but it was obvious it wouldn’t stay that way for long.
Sam was shooting up, already almost as tall as his brother, and strong…and while Dean had a mean streak, Sam was just plain mean. He had the sexual appetite of a grown man by the time he was fourteen. He’d watch as John fucked Dean, jerking himself until John was done, then leaping on his brother himself.
He liked to inflict pain, almost as much as Dean enjoyed getting hurt…and when it wasn’t his brother, when he didn’t have to worry about his partner living through the experience? Well Sam was a goddamn artist, and that was before the kid was even sixteen.
Their lives were far from normal, no matter whose version of normal one ascribed too. And that was just fine with him. He’d never really liked living by the rules anyway.
There was, however, the small matter of their mortality. The boys were born to human bodies, though they weren’t human…strictly speaking…and come the advent of twenty-five years of living in said human body, they would each face a trial…one that would see them sent screaming off to hell to pay penance for their parents’ presumption or firmly and permanently seated in a body that would never age again…never die…by conventional means anyway.
All they had to do was pass the test.
It was complicated and difficult, a ritual written in a language that even demons didn’t speak anymore…with blood to be sacrificed and physical pain to be endured…marks to be made in the flesh.
No one had managed it in over a thousand years.
They started preparing Dean when he was twenty-two. He would be alone when the time came, and he would have to have the words memorized, the ritual had to come as easy as water rolling off his back.
There was a collection of items needed. Some were easy. Ritual knives and bowls. A chalice once hallowed and de-sanctified, to be filled with holy water. A Seal of Dameron, which had many uses, none of them anything short of dark and dangerous. In this case it would put the final seal on the ritual, binding spirit and body forever. Every aspect of the day would be controlled and planned. From midnight to midnight, culminating in his boy becoming something he himself never could.
All they had to do was gather the pieces and get him there.
