Work Text:
It’s a rabbit, the first time. She comes back, blood on her mouth, senses humming. But Madison’s ashamed. Even wolfed out, she feels that and waits the night out before letting the others see her. She cleans herself off with water from the spigot out back and tosses out her muddied clothes. No evidence.
Days later, when the moon’s gone skinny again, she tells Sam. He’s hard to lie to, even with silence.
“Well,” he says, swallowing hard, “you’re a hunter. The real kind, I guess. Who do it for food.”
Predator, she thinks.
“Did you want to kill a person?” he asks softly.
“No!” she insists, shaking her head vigorously, and she gets it. This is better.
She likes her meat rare even during the middle of the month, during the day. The next time, it’s a deer and she brings it home. Dean makes cracks about her being a “good provider.” She punches him on the shoulder with one small, balled-up fist. Sam smiles, reassuring. Bobby remains oblivious, talking about venison and his mother’s recipes. They all eat well.
It’s still weird as hell.
~
Guns have always freaked Madison out. Made her think rednecks and war and scary things outside of the purview of liberal San Francisco.
Now Sam’s teaching her how to use one. Her aim’s not amazing, but he says she’s learning fast. It must be these reflexes that she has now. Far-reaching vision.
Just another element of how she never thought her life would turn out.
~
All the same, she doesn’t go on their ghost hunts with them. Research though, yes. Her googling skills can’t be beat.
She doesn’t go, that is until Sam comes back with his arm in a make-shift sling. Dean looks scared. Sam looks angry. That night she hears them whispering furiously about what a bitch the thing–whatever it was–is to track.
Turns out it’s some kind of baby-killing monster with a strange, unpronounceable name. She finds it by following the stench it left lingering all over her Sam. Dean shoots it dead, then plugs three more rounds in for good measure. Baby-killing. There really are things out there far worse than her.
~
Still, most of the time, she stays up all night during the full moon time, willing herself not to change via lack of sleep. No longer restricted to the basement since her wolf-self gained consciousness (conscience?), her self-induced insomnia leads to endless hours of reading books–tomes–about demon-lore. She pores through John Winchester’s journal using lamplight as Sam conks out on the couch. It’s so domestic.
And Dean’s happy to have some nights free to hit on girls at local bars.
“You had such a weird childhood,” she says to Sam, stating the obvious. He scrubs his hair and nods uncomfortably. “I’m sorry,” she adds. “It’s just, this is all so much for me. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you as a kid.”
“It was...yeah.” He falls silent again, wrapping his hands, big and warm, around her waist.
Madison changes the subject. “So, if I weren’t here, would you be chasing tail with your brother?” She ignores the dirty almost-pun there. She doesn’t actually have a tail, after all.
“Uh,” Sam says intelligently. She grins, and he tickles her sides, knocking them both onto the carpet. Pausing for breath, he continues,“You remember what a dork I was around you when we first met?”
Madison can’t deny the truth. She wraps an overgrown curl sprouting from his forehead around her finger. Kisses his nose.
“That’s what I’m like around girls I’m into. Always have been. It used to be worse actually.”
“A treacherous ploy.” She squeezes her thighs tight around his flanks, teasing.
“Maybe,” he replies, and flips them over, attacking her neck with lips and tongue.
~
Too many months of not giving in and there’s this tension. It flares up through her body, stronger than hunger, different from lust.
Usually, one night out will suffice. The stirring in her belly calms, and Madison can go back to as-normal-as-it-gets-now.
She still doesn’t like Sam to see her “other face.” He respects her wishes.
So she goes out alone, comes back by morning-light.
~
With Sam, Madison likes to flip-flop in bed. Before, she never trusted any of the guys she slept with enough to let them top her. She’d just picture her arms held down by strong arms as she rubbed herself off in tandem to too-often clumsy thrusts. Wrists tied. Resonant slaps to her ass.
Now her most secret fantasies involve howls instead of moans.
~
“Baby,” Sam says randomly one night, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” she says immediately, knowing he’s not talking about drinking all the milk and putting the carton back in the fridge.
“Yeah, I know,” he murmurs, stroking her back and nudging the underside of her leg with his naked knee, “but I’m just...you had this whole life before.”
“I’m not dead,” she says out loud. Just a monster.
Of course, she’s also thinking that the life she had before wasn’t all it could have been either. Answering phones at an auto shop is more honest than taking messages for a sleazy lawyer.
~
It had to happen eventually. She falls asleep in Sam’s arms by accident. Wakes up able to see in the dark, air pulsing around her loudly. She can taste Sam’s sweat just by smelling it. She wants to lick.
Instead, she recoils, waking him up in the process.
“Maddie?” he calls out. She growls.
“It’s...it’s cool, don’t freak out.” His voice is level, calm. He touches her gently and it’s like burning. She rubs her head against his chest, whimpering softly.
“I know you’re you,” he says, and she has never wanted him more.
Thoughts turn to instincts. She turns her body around, presents, picturing herself in non-words, totally open to him, cunt raised up high, fangs bared. Sam’s palm stretches across her ass, his fingers indenting–asking permission. Madison lowers her head, touching her forehead to the sheets.
Sam fucks her hard, fists on her hips, but still leans down to kiss between her shoulder-blades.
It feels like truth.