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tebtoscaTitle: Filthy Fingers
Pairing: Lisa/Meg, past Lisa/Dean
Rating: R
Word Count: 1343
Warnings: Noncon and dubcon
Summary: Lisa can't quite forget.
Author's Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kalliel for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spnspringfling ♥
Title from my favorite Florence + the Machine song, the deliciously creepy Girl With One Eye. I listened to it on repeat while writing this
“Hey there, pretty lady.”
Lisa opens her eyes slowly, pushing against the pressure on her lids. It feels like needy little fingers tapping against the skin.
A woman is sitting in the chair next to the bed, and Lisa’s hazy vision scans her once, and then again. The woman’s face is round and pale like a porcelain doll, soft edges and a wisp of a smile.
Lisa closes her eyes again. Can’t bear the thought of false kindness.
“They say you’re a real storyteller, Lisa Braeden.”
Lisa’s eyelids twitch.
“They say you keep talking about invisible men, men that don’t exist.”
Lisa swallows. Her voice is raspy from days of disuse and the after-effects of newly-introduced chemicals. Yet, she needs to speak, to correct. It’s suddenly important that at least one goddamn person understands.
“One man. It’s just the one man,” Lisa says. Her eyes open at last, fluttering against the moonlight coming through the window. “And he exists.”
The woman cocks her head, her smile spreading. Her eyes are dark, too dark. She leans over to stroke Lisa’s hair and it makes Lisa shiver even though the room is warm. She whispers her next words right into Lisa’s ear, breath tickling the lobe like the legs of a caterpillar.
“I’m Nurse Masters. But you can call me Meg.”
****
When Lisa was five years old, she had a friend named Sally.
Sally was her best friend, always ready to sit down and have tea with Lisa or play with the doll her Mommy got her for her birthday. Sally wore pink lace and knee socks, and was the most beautiful thing Lisa had ever seen.
Sally’s face was round and pale. Like a porcelain doll.
Daddy came to Lisa one day while she was having a tea party with Sally and said that they had to go to the hospital to meet Lisa’s new baby sister. Lisa asked if Sally could come. Daddy said “Who is Sally, honeybear?”
Sally looked at her and smiled from where she sat cross-legged on the floor of Lisa’s bedroom.
Mommy told Lisa later that she was a big girl now and was too old for imaginary friends. She had a sister now, didn’t she want to look after her? But Lisa didn’t want to be her sister’s caretaker. It wasn’t her job.
She wanted Sally, but Sally was gone. After a little while, Lisa could only remember her smile.
****
Lisa had tried to get people to believe her.
At first it was just flashes, glimpses of memories that Lisa didn’t have. Tactile things like the slide of leather or the smell of frying bacon. Common, everyday things that should have been normal, but became twisted and unsure when filtered through the idea that they never happened.
She moved, took her son and headed one state over, thinking that distance would make her forget all these things that she shouldn’t quite remember. But every box she packed made her remember packing another box that didn’t exist.
Ben noticed her crying one night and crept into her bed to comfort her. He was too old for this, but he held her strong and sure as she begged him to remember as well. He was her big boy, her strong, wonderful boy, but he couldn’t help her.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Later, much later, Lisa’s baby sister took her boy.
“It’s for the best, Lis,” she had said, eyes wary as she took in Lisa’s disheveled appearance. “Just until you get better.”
“It’s never going to make him not real.”
Lisa’s baby sister had looked like she was going to touch Lisa’s face, but thought better of it.
****
Meg comes to her in the middle of the night, every night, sneaking closer and closer to her body until finally she is lying beside Lisa in the tiny little hospital bed.
“Why are you here?” Lisa asks her one night, and can feel the vibrations from Meg’s chuckles.
“Let’s just say that my current charge is a total snoozefest,” Meg says, rolling her eyes, that pouty little mouth twisting into a grin.
She swings one leg over Lisa’s body suddenly, trapping them together as she curls closer. She strokes down Lisa’s jaw, over her cheekbones, and across the slope of her nose.
“I wore your face for over a year back then,” Meg breathes against Lisa’s mouth. “Made him whimper like a baby every single time.”
Lisa doesn’t understand, but it doesn’t matter. The sedative Meg slips onto her tongue like a communion is strong and Lisa hasn’t been kissed since before. Lisa’s entire body relaxes in submission and she allows herself to taste Meg on her tongue.
“He killed my father, you know. Your man.”
Lisa’s eyes open just briefly enough to see Meg’s eyes flash black, but Meg eats the scream right out of her mouth.
****
“You’re a monster.”
“I’m also the only one that believes you, darlin’.”
Lisa curls into herself and cries for the first time since she entered the hospital.
Meg presses against her from behind and slips delicate fingers down her thigh, biting words of fire and ice into Lisa’s skin.
****
The first time Meg opens up her mouth and pours her vileness inside of her, Lisa tries to fight against it, but fails.
It feels like she’s being suffocated and, as she gasps for breath, Lisa remembers another time.
Green eyes glassy with tears, breath warm with whiskey. Fingers pressing into her windpipe, cutting off air, thought, life. She smacks at the hands, the knuckles hard with calluses, and the green eyes clear as the pressure lifts.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” the man, a good man, her man, says, and kisses her mouth as the calluses skim gently, so gently, against the bruised skin of her neck.
“What have I done to you?”
Lisa lies in the hospital bed, staring at the tendrils of black smoke that are rising up to the ceiling.
****
The night the lights go out, Meg comes to her later than usual.
“He’s coming,” Meg says breathlessly, straddling Lisa and pulling up the material of Lisa’s shirt until she lies there exposed and aching.
“Who’s coming?” Lisa asks, pulling at Meg’s hands where they are twisting her nipples into raw points.
“Your mystery man, pretty lady. He’s on his way right now.”
Meg’s eyes are pitch black and her smile is cruel in her porcelain doll face. Her teeth are sharp and she smells like rotten eggs and bile.
Lisa gasps, not knowing whether to fight Meg off or promise her anything so she’ll tell her more.
“What? Oh God, why are you lying to me?” Lisa sobs, her shoulders shaking as Meg licks blood off her skin.
“Didn’t you get the memo, sweetpea? There is no more fucking God for either of us.”
Later, when Meg is sated and Lisa feels tremors course throughout her body, she finally dares to ask again.
“He’s real, isn’t he?”
Meg nuzzles her neck, nose slicked wet with Lisa’s still-drying tears. “Oh he’s real all right, but you won’t know that for long.”
Lisa wants to ask what she means, but the press of Meg’s fingers on her neck brings nothing but darkness.
****
When Lisa opens her eyes again, there is a man next to her bedside. He’s dressed like her, a patient, the ones that no one else believes. He’s not the man in her head, but his presence fills her with a wash of light that almost cancels out the black of Meg’s evil.
“I don’t think this is right,” the man says, his voice halting. His eyes are haunted as he stares at Meg over Lisa’s shoulder.
“It’s like putting down a wounded bird, Castiel,” Meg’s voice drawls from behind her. “I think you angels call it mercy.”
Heavy, familiar fingers touch Lisa’s forehead and she remembers.
“Castiel?” Lisa echoes.
Castiel. His friend. Dean’s friend.
Dean, his name is Dean.
She remembers.
But then she blinks.
Pairing: Lisa/Meg, past Lisa/Dean
Rating: R
Word Count: 1343
Warnings: Noncon and dubcon
Summary: Lisa can't quite forget.
Author's Notes: Written for
kalliel for spnspringfling ♥Title from my favorite Florence + the Machine song, the deliciously creepy Girl With One Eye. I listened to it on repeat while writing this
“Hey there, pretty lady.”
Lisa opens her eyes slowly, pushing against the pressure on her lids. It feels like needy little fingers tapping against the skin.
A woman is sitting in the chair next to the bed, and Lisa’s hazy vision scans her once, and then again. The woman’s face is round and pale like a porcelain doll, soft edges and a wisp of a smile.
Lisa closes her eyes again. Can’t bear the thought of false kindness.
“They say you’re a real storyteller, Lisa Braeden.”
Lisa’s eyelids twitch.
“They say you keep talking about invisible men, men that don’t exist.”
Lisa swallows. Her voice is raspy from days of disuse and the after-effects of newly-introduced chemicals. Yet, she needs to speak, to correct. It’s suddenly important that at least one goddamn person understands.
“One man. It’s just the one man,” Lisa says. Her eyes open at last, fluttering against the moonlight coming through the window. “And he exists.”
The woman cocks her head, her smile spreading. Her eyes are dark, too dark. She leans over to stroke Lisa’s hair and it makes Lisa shiver even though the room is warm. She whispers her next words right into Lisa’s ear, breath tickling the lobe like the legs of a caterpillar.
“I’m Nurse Masters. But you can call me Meg.”
****
When Lisa was five years old, she had a friend named Sally.
Sally was her best friend, always ready to sit down and have tea with Lisa or play with the doll her Mommy got her for her birthday. Sally wore pink lace and knee socks, and was the most beautiful thing Lisa had ever seen.
Sally’s face was round and pale. Like a porcelain doll.
Daddy came to Lisa one day while she was having a tea party with Sally and said that they had to go to the hospital to meet Lisa’s new baby sister. Lisa asked if Sally could come. Daddy said “Who is Sally, honeybear?”
Sally looked at her and smiled from where she sat cross-legged on the floor of Lisa’s bedroom.
Mommy told Lisa later that she was a big girl now and was too old for imaginary friends. She had a sister now, didn’t she want to look after her? But Lisa didn’t want to be her sister’s caretaker. It wasn’t her job.
She wanted Sally, but Sally was gone. After a little while, Lisa could only remember her smile.
****
Lisa had tried to get people to believe her.
At first it was just flashes, glimpses of memories that Lisa didn’t have. Tactile things like the slide of leather or the smell of frying bacon. Common, everyday things that should have been normal, but became twisted and unsure when filtered through the idea that they never happened.
She moved, took her son and headed one state over, thinking that distance would make her forget all these things that she shouldn’t quite remember. But every box she packed made her remember packing another box that didn’t exist.
Ben noticed her crying one night and crept into her bed to comfort her. He was too old for this, but he held her strong and sure as she begged him to remember as well. He was her big boy, her strong, wonderful boy, but he couldn’t help her.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Later, much later, Lisa’s baby sister took her boy.
“It’s for the best, Lis,” she had said, eyes wary as she took in Lisa’s disheveled appearance. “Just until you get better.”
“It’s never going to make him not real.”
Lisa’s baby sister had looked like she was going to touch Lisa’s face, but thought better of it.
****
Meg comes to her in the middle of the night, every night, sneaking closer and closer to her body until finally she is lying beside Lisa in the tiny little hospital bed.
“Why are you here?” Lisa asks her one night, and can feel the vibrations from Meg’s chuckles.
“Let’s just say that my current charge is a total snoozefest,” Meg says, rolling her eyes, that pouty little mouth twisting into a grin.
She swings one leg over Lisa’s body suddenly, trapping them together as she curls closer. She strokes down Lisa’s jaw, over her cheekbones, and across the slope of her nose.
“I wore your face for over a year back then,” Meg breathes against Lisa’s mouth. “Made him whimper like a baby every single time.”
Lisa doesn’t understand, but it doesn’t matter. The sedative Meg slips onto her tongue like a communion is strong and Lisa hasn’t been kissed since before. Lisa’s entire body relaxes in submission and she allows herself to taste Meg on her tongue.
“He killed my father, you know. Your man.”
Lisa’s eyes open just briefly enough to see Meg’s eyes flash black, but Meg eats the scream right out of her mouth.
****
“You’re a monster.”
“I’m also the only one that believes you, darlin’.”
Lisa curls into herself and cries for the first time since she entered the hospital.
Meg presses against her from behind and slips delicate fingers down her thigh, biting words of fire and ice into Lisa’s skin.
****
The first time Meg opens up her mouth and pours her vileness inside of her, Lisa tries to fight against it, but fails.
It feels like she’s being suffocated and, as she gasps for breath, Lisa remembers another time.
Green eyes glassy with tears, breath warm with whiskey. Fingers pressing into her windpipe, cutting off air, thought, life. She smacks at the hands, the knuckles hard with calluses, and the green eyes clear as the pressure lifts.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” the man, a good man, her man, says, and kisses her mouth as the calluses skim gently, so gently, against the bruised skin of her neck.
“What have I done to you?”
Lisa lies in the hospital bed, staring at the tendrils of black smoke that are rising up to the ceiling.
****
The night the lights go out, Meg comes to her later than usual.
“He’s coming,” Meg says breathlessly, straddling Lisa and pulling up the material of Lisa’s shirt until she lies there exposed and aching.
“Who’s coming?” Lisa asks, pulling at Meg’s hands where they are twisting her nipples into raw points.
“Your mystery man, pretty lady. He’s on his way right now.”
Meg’s eyes are pitch black and her smile is cruel in her porcelain doll face. Her teeth are sharp and she smells like rotten eggs and bile.
Lisa gasps, not knowing whether to fight Meg off or promise her anything so she’ll tell her more.
“What? Oh God, why are you lying to me?” Lisa sobs, her shoulders shaking as Meg licks blood off her skin.
“Didn’t you get the memo, sweetpea? There is no more fucking God for either of us.”
Later, when Meg is sated and Lisa feels tremors course throughout her body, she finally dares to ask again.
“He’s real, isn’t he?”
Meg nuzzles her neck, nose slicked wet with Lisa’s still-drying tears. “Oh he’s real all right, but you won’t know that for long.”
Lisa wants to ask what she means, but the press of Meg’s fingers on her neck brings nothing but darkness.
****
When Lisa opens her eyes again, there is a man next to her bedside. He’s dressed like her, a patient, the ones that no one else believes. He’s not the man in her head, but his presence fills her with a wash of light that almost cancels out the black of Meg’s evil.
“I don’t think this is right,” the man says, his voice halting. His eyes are haunted as he stares at Meg over Lisa’s shoulder.
“It’s like putting down a wounded bird, Castiel,” Meg’s voice drawls from behind her. “I think you angels call it mercy.”
Heavy, familiar fingers touch Lisa’s forehead and she remembers.
“Castiel?” Lisa echoes.
Castiel. His friend. Dean’s friend.
Dean, his name is Dean.
She remembers.
But then she blinks.
