
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5488769.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Ellen_Harvelle, John_Winchester, Jo
      Harvelle
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, Extremely_Underage, Blood_and_Violence, violence_against
      a_minor, Possessive_Behavior, Exhibitionism, Non-consenting_voyeur,
      Underage_Sex, Dark_Sam_Winchester, Dark_Dean_Winchester, Alternate
      Universe_-_Serial_Killers, Hand_Jobs, Blood, Biting, Possessive_Sam
      Winchester, Dean_Encouraging_The_Aforementioned_Possessiveness, Permanent
      Mental_and_Physical_Scarring, Poor_Everyone, I'm_Sorry, Medical
      Inaccuracies
  Series:
      Part 8 of Cannibalism_Aside_(Samn)
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-12-22 Words: 1958
****** First Meetings ******
by formalizing
Summary
     Jo meets Sam and Dean Winchester for the first time when she's 11.
Jo’s seen them once or twice in passing, whenever their dad comes through
looking for advice or a lead. Her mom will mutter about how they’re nothing but
trouble, those Winchesters. She gets her first real look at them as she
crouches at the top of the stairs and looks down to the front door as they file
in.
Sam’s got long hair that hangs in his eyes a bit as he looks around, glancing
over their furniture and the framed photos on the shelves. She knows he’s only
got a couple of years on her, but he looks much older with that blank look on
his face as their dad thanks her mom again, orders “you boys mind Ms. Harvelle
this weekend” to a chorus of “yes, sir.”
Dean’s leaning against the wall across from where Jo’s hiding on the stairs,
wearing a broken-in, brown leather jacket and jeans with the beginnings of a
hole in one knee. She’s looking at the cute spray of freckles over his nose
when he seems to sense her there, eyes snapping to hers, and she’s frozen to
the spot. He grins slowly, holds her eyes for a long moment before he winks.
Jo can feel the heat of the blush on her face long after she retreats to her
bedroom to wait for her mom to call her down for lunch.
--
Lunch is quiet.
Sam doesn’t say much, except to politely refuse the bowl of soup her mom puts
in front of him. When Dean walks in with what looks like a ham sandwich in a
Ziploc, though, Sam takes it with a small smile. Her mom frowns, looking
between the two of them with narrowed eyes, but Dean at least sits down to eat,
calls her ‘Ms. Harvelle’ and thanks her for the soup, so she doesn’t comment.
Jo is too busy trying not to look at Dean to do much more than eat her own
lunch.
Mom makes her show them to the guest room after. There’s a double bed and a
rollaway cot in there, but they both throw their bags on the bed when they walk
in, Dean stripping off his jacket and tossing it as well. Jo tries not to stare
at the muscles in his back through his thin t-shirt, or the pocketknife she can
see sticking out of his back pocket as she stands awkwardly in the doorway. She
reaches across her chest with one arm to grab the elbow of the other, not sure
what to say or do, especially when Sam looks at her with those far-off eyes,
staring in a way that makes her shiver without knowing why.
“I’m, uh, gonna go do my homework, I guess,” she says with a shrug, wishing her
voice didn’t sound quite so much like a little girl’s.
“Sure,” Dean says, stretching his arms above his head in a way that she maybe
looks at out of the corner of her eye. She feels her face heat and hopes she
isn’t blushing again.
Sam stops staring at her in that unnerving way to glance over at Dean, who
turns to meet his eyes instantly, like he felt him looking, like he’s always
waiting for Sam’s eyes on him.
Dean’s smiling when he looks over at her a long moment later and says, “Sammy
and I were just thinkin’ of going out to spar a bit. You should come with us.”
Jo grips her elbow more tightly, shuffles her feet a bit.
“I don’t know. I don’t know much about that stuff.”
“We can show you,” Sam says, the first words he’s actually spoken to her since
they got there. The curl of his smile is meant to look friendly, but she can’t
help but swallow hard when she forces herself to meet his eyes.
--
Jo leads them out the back of the house, to the far part of the yard near the
tree line where her daddy used to teach her how to shoot. She thinks maybe she
should have asked her mom if it was okay, but she doesn’t want Sam and Dean to
think she’s even more of a little girl, asking her momma for permission. And
her mom’s been so careful with Jo ever since daddy, like she’s breakable, that
Jo knows she would have said no anyway.
She hops up onto a stack of old truck tires and settles in to watch as they
easily fall into it. They’re both good, and neither one is pulling his punches,
pained grunts of exertion and the smack of fists against skin echoing in the
empty space.
The struggle usually ends with Sam pinned in one way or another, because he’s
smaller and not as strong. Not yet, at least. But occasionally he manages to
dodge Dean’s hands, using agility to out-manoeuvre him and actually beats him
once. Dean comes back with new energy after that, lets loose with a wildness in
his eyes and takes Sam down with a leg hooked around his knees, presses him
facedown into the dirt with a knee in his back and both of Sam’s wrists caught
at the nape of his neck.
Sam’s panting and filthy but grinning widely as he extends his fingers in
surrender.
“Mercy,” he calls out, though it sounds almost sarcastic.
Dean leans down and murmurs something too low for Jo to hear, lips nearly
pressed against the shell of Sam’s ear. Whatever he says makes Sam laugh, and
she looks away, suddenly uncomfortable.
She pulls her thin jacket more tightly around herself and considers telling
them she’s changed her mind, going back in to do her homework after all. But
then they’re standing again, and Sam is gesturing her over with one hand.
“Your turn,” he says, squaring off and waiting for her to do the same. Dean
comes up behind her and positions her arms, twists her body into position with
one hand on her hip as Sam watches.
She clearly can’t keep up with Sam, can barely manage to execute the few basic
self-defence moves her daddy had taught her once upon a time. He doesn’t just
take her down and end it, though. He circles, patiently waits until she
overextends and darts out to jab her in the side, making her double over with
the force of it. He waits for her to recover and then does it again.
Dean calls out correction, instructions, finally, and she listens.
“There you go,” he praises when she finally manages to land a shot high on
Sam’s cheek. The impact is hard enough to hurt her hand, but Sam just shakes it
off like he barely felt it with a smirk that makes her insides twist up in
knots.
He neatly deflects both of her next attempts and drives his fist in just above
her stomach, buries it right between where the two sides of her ribcage join at
her chest.
It feels like all the air’s gone out of her, like a popped balloon. She hunches
forward and curls around herself, wraps her arms instinctively over her
midsection, mouth moving soundlessly around the words as she frantically tries
to tell him to stop, but she already can’t breathe when Sam knocks her off-
balance with a lazy swipe of his foot to her legs and her back hits the hard
ground.
She’s gasping and terrified as he follows her down, grabs her hand from where
she’s trying to protect her stomach and traps her right arm under his knee. She
doesn’t have her breath back enough to scream when the pain hits, a sparking
agony that engulfs her hand and up her wrist, shooting as far as her elbow like
shards of glass, but her mouth is wide with the attempt.
Sam slides his palm over her throat, fingers curling forward in a tight grip to
contain the few small, wheezing sounds she does manage.
“Ah ah ah,” he admonishes, punctuating each sound with a tap of his finger on
the handle of the small blade that’s embedded in her palm. Each touch sets off
a new flare of pain. “You’ll want to be very quiet and very still right now,
Jo. It’s just in a branch of the nerve right now, but a little slip and it
could sever an artery, and that could get messy.”
Her vision is starting to go a little fuzzy when he finally lets go of her
throat, grabbed by Dean’s hands, and pulled up, flush against him. One of
Dean’s hands settles on Sam’s hip, in the same spot he’d held Jo.
Risky, little brother, Dean murmurs in a low, rough voice that isn’t meant for
her. And completely unnecessary.
Jo can see the other hand working Sam’s jeans open, popping the button and
lowering the zipper, slipping in through the fabric and under the waistband of
his underwear beneath. Sam groans and Jo looks away.
She can breathe again, frantic little inhalations that barely feel like
breathing as she looks at her hand through her tears. There’s blood oozing up
around what she now recognizes as Dean’s pocketknife and pooling in her palm.
Two of her fingers are curved like claws and the other 3 are trembling like the
rest of her. She tastes the tang of terror at the back of her tongue as she
tries to straighten them and they don’t so much as twitch.
I don’t care, Sam says, breathless. His voice isn’t the blank, empty imitation
he uses for everyone else; it’s full of emotion and sounds too old for him. Jo
wishes she’d never heard it as Sam growls, You’re such a tease.
Dean laughs, and Jo thinks about trying to run. She wonders if she could get
her shaking legs to cooperate long enough to run to the house; she wonders if
they’d stop her.
“Look at me,” Sam says, a there’s a sharpness to it that cuts through her
thoughts and compels her to slowly sit up and look. Dean is wearing that same
wide, feral grin, chin resting on Sam’s shoulder as his hand moves in his
brother’s pants. He closes his teeth at the juncture of Sam’s neck and
shoulder, and even though it looks hard enough to hurt, to break the skin, Sam
just tilts his head to the side and lets him. The fingers of one Sam’s hands
are tightly gripping at Dean’s hand at his hip, nails dug in hard enough to
make him bleed, and the other is stroking through Dean’s hair. Sam’s eyes are
half-lidded and all wrong as he watches her, lips red and parted around each
breath.
I think she sees, now.
Jo shuffles across the ground until her back hits the tires. She pulls her
mangled hand close to her chest with a high, pained wail that makes Sam shudder
before sagging in his brother’s arms. Dean’s looking at her hand, at the blood
that’s getting all over her clothes now that the blade has shifted inside her
with the movement, torn open something new, as he brings his own up out of
Sam’s jeans and licks his palm.
“Can you keep a secret?” he says, with a smile wide enough that she can see the
sharp points of his incisors, the stain of Sam’s blood on his teeth.
She still isn’t sure they won’t stop her, if her legs will carry her,
especially now that she’s starting to feel light-headed and dizzy, but when Sam
opens his eyes and they both look at her, look at her with pupils blown like a
couple of hungry wolves might look at a rabbit, she wrenches the blade from her
hand, gets her feet under her, and runs.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
