[Fic] Pork and Apathy

[ukefied.livejournal.com]

Series: SPN / Dark Angel
Disclaimer: No mummified cat juggling, no circumstantial evidence. Also, these series and their characters are not mine.
Word Count: 2,086
Rating/Warnings: R for violence, sex, & potentially disturbing imagery
Character/Pairing: robo!Sam/vamp!Dean, Ben
Notes: Crossover with Dark Angel, AU as of SPN S6, for jam_pony_fic’s Halloween fest. Prompt: I'm just gonna have to keep prompting dark!Winchesters + Ben until someone gives it to me. SPN crossover, obviously. Vamp!Dean & Robo!Sam critique Ben's hunting techniques. Y/y? (Dollarformyname)
Potentially triggering content:

Implied attempted non-con.

Summary: SO THESE THREE JERKS WALK INTO A HAUNTED TOWN…

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“Pork and Apathy”
by Mina Lightstar


Dean’s getting antsy. Ben can tell from the way he tosses and turns, sheets pulled over his head despite the shades being drawn against the morning light. It’s starting to get really annoying.

“Go to sleep,” Ben snarls from his bed. He’s been looking forward to this downtime for hours. North Bend is cold and gray at this time of year: perfect catnap weather.

Dean growls at him, tells him to fuck off or something — Ben doesn’t even care; he wants to sleep. By the window, Sam is watching them over the laptop. His eyes are empty and clinical, analyzing the bedroom like it’s a battleground and he’s planning his next move.

It’s disconcerting. Ben rolls over to escape it.

“I could fuck him,” Sam offers casually. “Might tire him out.”

“So damn practical,” Ben mutters, and doesn’t answer. He tugs at his own blankets until they cover his head and wishes he’d gotten a separate room. When the Lady gave him his new purpose, he hadn’t known his new allies would be a pair of cursed, depraved brothers. For a while, he thought he’d mistaken the vision, but no. “You will know them when you see them,” she’d said. When he’d come face to face with Dean that first time, his doppelganger had been all the answer he’d needed.

The other mattress creaks, startling Ben out of his reverie. Son of a bitch, Sam is actually following through. Fucking soulless freak moves with silent precision, can glide across the room with nary a sound even to a transgenic. Ben tries shoving his pillow into his ears, because all sense of propriety abandoned these two a long time ago. He supposes that’s what you get when you mix a man without a soul and a vampire.

Ben tries blocking it out — the squeaks, the grunts, the rustling. He can’t, can barely ignore it, and that makes the sudden silence even more jarring.

“Hey,” Sam sneers, low and dangerous.

The chilling tone makes Ben scramble upright and turn around. Before him is an eerie tableau. Sam and Dean are contorted, mid-coitus, the sheets in disarray. Sam has pulled back a little, one large hand holding Dean’s head to the pillow, fingers digging roughly into his cheeks. Sam’s other hand is pinning Dean’s left arm to his side.

“I wasn’t,” Dean squeezes past Sam’s grip, but Ben catches a glimpse of the partially descended fangs.

Dean could fight Sam off — he could fight both of them off, he’s that much stronger. But he doesn’t move beyond a token squirm, which Ben realizes is irritation because the fucking has stopped. Bloody vampires.

“You were,” Sam says. He tightens his grip and leans down, menacing. “I warned you once.”

Ben wasn’t there for that one. All he knows is that Sam keeps a small supply of dead man’s blood on hand in case Dean needs to be reined in. “He’s not an asset if he runs wild.”

If Dean’s considering taking a bite out of Sam, it must have been an eternity since he’s fed. “Guys,” Ben says. “Maybe we should go find Dean a pig or something.”

“Tonight.” Sam’s lips quirk upward. Smiles looks unnatural on him now. “You can wait until tonight,” he says to his brother. Then his hips start moving again, and he moves his hand so it covers Dean’s mouth entirely. “If you even graze me …” he leaves the threat unfinished.

So much for his goddamned nap. Ben grumbles something unsavory and leaves, barely pausing to slip on his shoes before slamming the door.

***

Ben’s never been part of a pack before. He often wonders if the Lady is testing him with this one. He’s not even sure it technically counts as a pack, and they don’t have a nest (unless the Impala counted) but there isn’t a more fitting term to describe them. They certainly aren’t a team. They are united by two common traits: they all want to eradicate monsters, and no one wants anything to do with them. Hell, Ben would have shot Dean on sight had it not been for his vision.

He leans against the counter, poking at a jack-o-lantern, and eyes the throng of people mingling about the diner. They sleep easy at night thanks to a trio of nocturnal abnormals. If they only knew.

Of course, Dean’s the only one who’s actually nocturnal — and that’s more for comfort than necessity. He’s not their pet, exactly, but Sam and Ben’s schedules revolve around Dean’s care and feeding. Dean’s the fastest and the strongest, but he also has the most limitations. Keeping him fed is their hardest challenge. Sam refuses him and they learned the hard way that transgenic blood and vampirism do not mix. Sometimes, they get lucky and Dean charms a lady at the right time of month. Other times, they take more drastic measures — poaching farmers’s livestock or … other things.

“Here you go, sweetie.” The waitress dumps his two containers of styrofoam on the counter. He’s got a burger and fries for himself, though Sam might pick at it if he feels he needs to. He bought Dean two slices of sugar pie. It’s not blood, but maybe it’ll help stave off the craving until later.

Ben gives her a winning smile and turns to go, pushing past truckers and an early-bird family whose toddlers are already dressed as pumpkins. He stifles a snort. Halloween. Like any of these sheep know the real horrors that lurk in the darkness.

Sometimes he wonders if any of them deserve to be saved.

***

“This will be annoying,” Ben grouses, loading his pistol with silver bullets. “We’re going to have to hunt a black dog while dodging a bunch of trick-or-treaters.”

“No,” Sam corrects him. “It’s going to be simple. The town will be full of children going door to door, and teenagers doing stupid things. The black dog is alone, from what we’ve heard, and from what Dean has smelled.”

“So…?”

“It’s not going to run into the middle of town, to the heart of things, surrounded by lights.” Sam smiles; it’s eerie in the near-darkness. “It’s going to pick off the sheep who’ve drifted from the herd. We’re going hunting in St. View Park. Hear that, Dean? We’re going hunting.”

Ben glances over to the bed. Dean’s head is in his hands, elbows on his knees, but he shivers a little at Sam’s voice. He doesn’t talk much when he’s starved like this; it takes all he has not to lash out for their throats.

“Soon,” Sam promises, sensing Dean’s distress.

***

Dean’s got the scent. He caught it before they were ten minutes into the trees. Ben had thought St. View was just a green area for dogs and children, but there is an isolated wooded area here. The moon is nearly full, and provides almost enough light to see by.

“It’s close,” Dean says, having taken point with his fangs lowered. Ben follows close behind, both hands on his gun. Sam brings up the rear with the flashlight.

“Are you sure?” Ben doesn’t flinch when Dean glares at him. “I mean, are you sure you’re not just smelling one of us? Are your senses distorted because you haven’t fed for so long?”

Behind him, he hears Sam laugh. Dean bares his fangs at Ben in a freakish grin. “Yes, I’m sure. This smells like fear and bloodlust. You smell like a cat who fell into some Axe shower gel.” He smirks over Ben’s shoulder. “And Sam smells like pork and apathy.”

“It’s true,” Sam says.

Ben makes a face, but doesn’t have time to argue. Dean takes off like a bullet, skidding around a cluster of trees. A scream rips through the night.

Sam and Ben start running, but everyone stops short when see what awaits them. A young couple huddles by one of the trees. They’re staring at Dean with wide, fearful eyes. Right, Ben realizes. The fangs.

“Dude,” the boy tries, “sweet teeth. Realistic.”

“Dean,” Ben says, quietly. “This isn’t what we’re looking for.” He wants Dean to close his mouth, step away, but the vampire shakes his head.

“I smell fear. Terror.” The girl flinches. Dean’s gaze snaps back to her. Sam aims the light at her, and Ben sees it. She’s a little dirty, her appearance is a little too mussed. She holds herself rigid, paralyzed with horror. “Arousal,” Dean adds with a spit. This time the boy starts, caught with his hands where they don’t belong.

Ben’s left hand drifts into his coat pocket and finds the forceps there. “A shame,” he says, startling the teenager. “Such blatant callousness against the Lady’s children.” He’s not too disappointed, though. Now he gets to mete out Her justice.

The girl’s starting to come back to herself now, realizing these new men are allies. “Hey whoa,” the guys says as she’s scooting away, “I didn’t, I wasn’t gonna—”

“I can smell you,” Dean replies simply.

Then the black dog appears, and everything happens at once.

Dean snarls. Shots are fired. Ben goes for the girl, seizing her arm and hauling her upright. She starts screaming then, having escaped the cold grip of fear. He drags her a few steps from the battlefield before shoving her forward.

“Go home,” he orders, “and thank the Lady. She chose you tonight.” The girl doesn’t even ask what he means. She starts running as though her life depends on it. It’s a little funny. She has no idea this battle’s already won.

Ben turns around, sliding his hand back into his pocket. The forest is quiet now. The black dog is lying on its side, bleeding out onto the earth. Looks like Sam finished it off with the silver knife he’s cleaning on the grass. Its bowels are spilling out; they reek of putrid decay.

“It would be more practical for them to come at us in packs,” Sam says, putting away his weapons.

“Don’t tell them that.” Ben looks over at Dean, crouched over their remaining guest.

The kid’s on his back, whiter than a sheet. Dean’s hand is so tight around his neck, the boy’s eyes are bugging out of his head. He’s trying to explain himself, mouth working to squeeze words past Dean’s grip.

“Don’t bother lying,” Ben says, pulling the forceps from his pocket. “He knows what you were up to.” He kneels, brandishing the small metal tool and smirking when the teen’s eyes widen. “I think two for this sin. Maybe three.” He pretends to think about it. “I don’t want to get carried away; you’re still young. If you displease Her again, it means I can come find you. I’d like that.” There are tears now, pooling at the corners of his eyes and dripping down his face. The Lady isn’t merciful; neither is Ben.

Dean is vibrating with impatience, so Ben only ends up taking one incisor. The boy’s wails of agony are lost in the trees. Dean stops him from blacking out as soon as Ben yanks the front tooth free, slapping his face with more force than necessary.

Ben moves away, pocketing the tooth. Sam says, “Try not to kill him.”

It’s all the permission Dean needs. He pulls the young man into a sitting position, lapping at the blood leaking down his chin before moving his sweater aside. Dean feasts for what seems like hours. Ben watches the boy become a rag doll, head lolling away from Dean’s fangs.

“That’s enough,” he says. Dean doesn’t listen, of course; Dean only listens to Sam.

So Sam shrugs and says, “Dean, stop.” And Dean does, dropping his prey and licking his bloodstained lips.

Ben stares at the boy until he blinks, dazed and weak, but conscious. “I’d call an ambulance.” He gestures to the black dog’s corpse. “And I’d blame all this on that, unless you’re keen on losing some more teeth.”

He leaves first, not bothering to wait and see if the kid can even dial. He was lenient enough already. His vampiric and soulless accomplices trail along behind him.

“Hey, Sam,” Dean says, sounding sated. “Wanna fuck?”

There’s a moment of silence while Sam considers it. “Let’s skip town first. More practical that way.”

Ben rolls his eyes. He’s never going to get that nap at this rate.


~End.

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