Title: Writhe: The Director's Cut

Author: Thru Terry's Eyes

Genre: Horror

Author's Notes: Some of you may have read this story forever ago in its original, more innocent, version. At that time I was constrained by a word limit, terrified by a deadline and had a certain hesitance about content that no longer concerns me. And I'm not quite the person I was then.

This is the story that should have been. Padded, polished and a little more than it was before. Whether it's better or not, I'll leave it to you to decide.

Gaelicspirit needs to be commended for bravely gathering her nerve and beating me over the head with the POV stick. Then having the patience to actually explain what the hell I was doing wrong and why. I went back after her tireless and repeated efforts and tried to fix my POV fuck-ups, and trust me, there were MANY once I understood, to some extent, what I was doing. Hopefully, I found and fixed the rest that she didn't have time to show me. I really appreciate her efforts. Trying to stick to a specific POV is HARD, but hopefully, even an old dog can learn new tricks. Huggles her.

There is a a myth that I wrote to go with this cause I needed a backstory. I will post it at the end of the last chapter for anyone who would like to read it. It was not rewritten and I'm gonna leave it that way, good bad or ugly.

Summary: Forced to lay over in Athens, Georgia, after Dean becomes desperately ill, the brothers encounter a creature that has killed its way through the centuries preying on young men. Takes place Season 1ish, 'cause while they weren't innocent by any means, in the grand scheme they still sorta were, and I liked it. No spoilers. There is an OFC. And dancing. Don't let that fool you...


Writhe Prologue: All that glitters…

Heavy, rhythmic music throbbed and pulsated through the dimly lit room. A heartbeat of bass vibrated the walls, the floor, shifted the glasses on the bar, moved tables ever so slightly and thrummed across the skin of the men and women pressed against each other in the limited space allotted for the public sex that passed for dancing.

Shafts of blue and red lights pierced the intimate darkness and starbursts of spot lighting swept over the crowded dance floor in time to the deep trembles of music so loud it consumed the twisting figures locked in its embrace.

To be still was not an option.

With each passing second the primal pulse of the beat grew in intensity and speed, the friction of heated flesh against sweating skin as the dancers wound around each other, offering a teasing promise in an unchanging ritual as old as time.

This was a hunting ground. Only the give and take of bodies sliding against each would determine who was hunter and who was the prey.

Lost in the music and movement, Matt Lewis rolled his body to the sound washing over and through him. Eyes closed, enjoying the feel of his partner's body against his, holding them both clasped together at the hips with his hands.

His tall, lean, well-muscled body, dark hair and slightly exotic looks that hinted at a mixed parentage, assured he would always have a willing partner. He was especially pleased with tonight's choice. The slim girl he held had long, blonde hair, a vacant smile and wore a dress that revealed more than it covered. Her long, sparkling fingernails were dancing and drifting across the skin of his arms in time with the music. The drag of her nails sped up his breathing as the music built to a slow crescendo. Matt opened his eyes and smiled.

It was going to be a good night.

Across the floor, up-slanted eyes were watching avidly as Matt shifted and swayed with his blonde trophy, their bodies moving as one. Leaning an elbow on the glass-topped bar, draped languidly on a stool, Elana stared at Matt and sipped her drink.

Silver dust shimmered across olive skin that was almost nakedly on display in a low cut, backless dress that appeared to be held in place by the grace of God. It was entirely composed of tiny sparkling silver discs scattered where they were needed most, caressing and hugging the curves of the body contained within it. Thin ropes of silver serpentine chain dangled in glittering waterfalls from her ears and numerous strands of it were wound around her wrists. A mane of dark red hair tumbled around her shoulders, framing high, slanted cheekbones, full lips painted a deep crimson, and wide topaz-colored eyes—each with tiny diamonds sparkling at the corners.

The slide of her legs against each other as she crossed them caused a minor sensation among several young men watching. She ignored them, her eyes only for the dark young man. Hunger stirred her body the longer she watched. The tip of her tongue drifted across red lips as she studied him: her chosen prize for the night.

She stretched out long fingers tipped in chrome polish and plucked the cherry out of her drink. Holding it by the stem, she slid it between her lips, kissing the juice from it, then pulled it from the warm prison of her mouth and began to move toward Matt and his partner, cherry dangling from her fingers. Several of the men at the bar followed her movements with open mouths after watching the cherry disappear and reappear. She undulated through the packed dancers with surprising ease, adjusting her body to accommodate the shifting crowd, every movement a study of sinuous grace.

Momentarily separated, Matt and his partner were facing away from each other. Moving closer, Elana insinuated herself into the small space between the two dancers and with gentle pressure from her hips and the touch of her free hand against his waist, used her body to move Matt away from his partner.

Enjoying the sudden warm contact, Matt turned and was surprised to see a dark beauty in place of the blonde whose name he hadn't know anyway. His confusion was short lived and he smiled at this definite step up in the evening's plans. He took in the slow roll of her body as she moved against him, brushing her lips with the cherry as she watched him from under her lashes. His hands cupped her hips, fingertips digging in slightly and they start to move with the music.

Matt's eyes were locked on that cherry as she parted her lips enough to slide it in between her teeth. She stretched her face upwards to tease his lips with the stem as she moved her head with the music, her eyes never leaving his. Matt's breathing quickened with every tickle across his mouth.

Finally, he caught the stem between his own teeth, as close to the red globe as he could get, tugging gently, their lips not quite touching, looking at each other over the fruit.

As the song ended she bit down, pressing warm lips against his, the sweet juice mingling with their kiss. She pulled back from him, taking the rest of the cherry with her and leaving him tonguing the stem. Her head tilted slightly and she watched him from the corners of her sparkling eyes, chewing on the cherry slowly, tongue lazily collecting juice from her lips.

Matt's mouth fell open letting the stem fall and after two abortive efforts, he choked out. "Hi…."

Elana smiled.

Moonlight lessened the darkness in Matt's bedroom as he lay naked on the bed, scarcely believing the sight of this silver goddess straddling him, her hands moving over his body with a skill and touch unlike anything he had ever experienced. The trace of her nails on his skin shot fire through his body.

Slowly Elana slipped her fingers beneath the hem of her shimmering dress and slid it upward, freeing her full breasts. Pulling it over her head, she dropped it on the floor. Leaning closer to Matt, she shook out her long tresses, brushing over his face and chest with the tumultuous waves.

He drank in her scent, a warm sweetness, his hands trembling as they cupped her skin, his body on fire. He didn't know how much more of this he could stand. Her lips pressed against his and she plundered his mouth, her hands on his body gripping him so fiercely it was almost as painful as it was arousing. He couldn't stop the groan that escaped him. Hands tangling in her long, auburn hair, he pulled her tightly against him as she undulated her body over his.

"Elana…," he gasped out, feeling lightheaded. "My God…." His body shuddered.

"Do you love me?" Her throaty voice was a deep, moist purr in his ear, her hot breath against his skin a maddening sensation, teasing him on.

"Oh, God…please…." He moaned the words brokenly as she brushed her lips against his ear, tongue flicking.

"Say it!"

His brain stuttered for an instant. "What…?"

She pushed herself down on him, burying him in heat and need.

"Do you love me?" she repeated, over and over, more intensely with each repetition, driving her own desire on, her hunger...

Matt writhed helplessly beneath her, teetering on the edge of insanity, gasping for breath as she took him, claimed him as hers.

He would have told her anything. Given her everything

"God, yes, I love you!" he finally cried out in answer to her demands, clutching desperately at her body.

Elana cried out in return, her body arching back away from him even as he reached for her. Her head was thrown back, arms crossed over her chest, hands grasping opposite shoulders. Her breath rushed out as a shuddering groan, drawing back in as a deep, sizzling hiss.

Even lost in bliss, Matt congratulated himself on a job well done.

Sudden weight pressed his legs painfully into the mattress and his eyes blinked open.

Horror paralyzed him as he beheld the form swaying over him.

Muscles like steel bands suddenly clamped around him, squeezing him in a slow roll, driving the blood up his body The scream that rode the air being crushed from his lungs left no room to draw in more. Blood began to pound in his skull, bursting from his ears and nose in a crimson spray; bones cracked and snapped from the increasing, relentless pressure.

Greenish liquid dripped onto his face, burning into his skin like acid. Unable to draw in air, he could do nothing but lie there with no way to vent the searing agony. His mouth opened as his tongue began to bulge outward, his eyes popping from their sockets, the last of his air bursting out in bubbles of blood.

To Elana, hunger burning, the hot softness of Matt's open mouth was an invitation.

She took it.


Chapter 1: Any port in a storm.

Lulled by the quiet darkness surrounding them and by the welcome silence instead of the blaring music Dean usually listened to when he drove, Sam had allowed himself to drift into a pleasant state wherein he was neither asleep, nor totally awake. His muscles relaxed; his mind, for once at peace, as they sped through the humid Georgia night. The A/C in the Impala was working sporadically as usual, which meant not at all at the moment, but even the warm air blowing in the windows was nice.

The feel of the car suddenly slowing and swaying to the right startled him from his trance. Blinking he sat up slightly and looked around, seeing they were headed down an off ramp. A short distance ahead the lights of a gas-and-go glared.

"What's up?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. Maybe he had been asleep.

Dean glanced at him. "Nothin'. Thought I'd fill her up, maybe get some coffee." His face was tight in the glow of the dash lights, knuckles gripping the wheel.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked, watching Dean shift uncomfortably.

Dean chose not to reply, turned into the gas station and pulled up to the pump.

Looking closely at Dean in the better lighting, Sam could see a fine sheen of sweat on Dean's forehead and upper lip, eyes slightly squinted, shadows under his eyes a dead giveaway. If the light had been better Sam would've laid money Dean was positively green.

"I'll put the gas in," Sam volunteered, still eyeing Dean.

Dean nodded, swallowing. He opened his door slowly and climbed out. "'Kay. I'm gonna hit the head."

Sam nodded, climbing out of his side. It took all of two minutes to add the one and a half gallons it took to fill the tank, since they had filled it shortly before stopping for dinner a little more than two hours ago. It seemed to take Dean at least that long to creak across the parking lot and disappear into the building while Sam watched from under his bangs.

He leaned against the car for ten minutes before he started to become antsy. Five more and antsy became concerned. Realizing he was going to incur Dean's wrath no matter what he did, he crossed the parking lot and went inside the store.

A quick recon told him Dean wasn't lingering in the candy aisle or occupying some pretty clerks time, so he walked to the area where the restrooms were. He shoved on the door to the men's room just as Dean pulled it open causing Sam to stumble into him.

"What the hell, Sam?" Dan snapped in hoarse surprise, pushing Sam away. His face was grey, his eyes bloodshot.

"Sorry," Sam said, "you were gone so long-"

"Awww," Dean replied, "you missed me." He moved past Sam and stalked toward the door.

Sam bounded after him and caught his arm before Dean could escape and take refuge in the car. "Dean, if something's wrong, just say so," he said, giving Dean 'the face'. "You look like shit. And there's no point in lying," he added. "If you're sick, you're body's gonna give you away eventually no matter what you do, and you know it."

Dean sighed and turned back, seeing Sam's pinched expression and rolled his eyes. "Oh, for…fine," he said. "My stomach hurts like hell and I feel like I'm gonna puke. I wish I would, I'd probably feel better. Are you happy now?" He made a face and rubbed a hand across his stomach.

Dean's candid reply caught Sam by surprise. "No, I'm not happy-I mean I'm glad you told me, but I'm not happy you feel sick-"

"You feel okay?" Dean asked, cutting him off, his voice strained.

"Huh?" Sam replied, startled. "Me? Dude, I was asking you."

Dean hesitated, shrugged, frowned, did an obvious mental hem-haw, then gave in. "I started feeling like crap a little while ago, thought maybe it was what we had for dinner, but… we had the same thing, and you seem okay." He closed his eyes, grunting softly as another cramp rolled through his belly.

"I'm fine," Sam stated, taking quick stock of himself, just in case. "Are you running a fever?" he reached out.

Dean jerked back. "You touch me and I swear they'll be calling you lefty from now on!" He turned on his heel and went up to the desk to pay for the gas, snagging a bottle of pepto-bismol on the way and slamming it on the counter. He shoved past Sam and stomped back outside, throwing himself in the passenger seat.

Opening the driver's door, Sam managed to catch the keys Dean threw in the general direction of his head. Before he could open his mouth, Dean growled, "Just drive." He unscrewed the cap from the bottle and knocked back a slug of the chalky liquid, shuddering. He leaned his head back and turned to the window, crossing his arms.

Sam shook his head and started the car. "Let me know if you need me to pull over."

Dean ignored him.

They drove along in painful silence for about thirty minutes, Sam flicking looks at Dean when he thought Dean wasn't watching.

Dean sat with his eyes closed, arms hugged against his middle, every few minutes the skin around his eyes would tighten and kept shifting uncomfortably.

"Dean," Sam began with great reluctance, seeing Dean stiffen the instant the first word left Sam's mouth. "You wanta lie down in the backseat? Might be more comfortable if you wanta try to sleep."

Dean swallowed, shaking his head minutely . "No… makes it…worse." He pressed the back of his hand to his lips, taking a few short breaths. Saliva began to pool in his mouth.

"Dean? " Sam's query was tentative as he watched Dean's face, but he knew that look and started depressing the brake in earnest.

Dean straightened abruptly and pawed at the door handle. "Pull over…pull over now… "

Sam instantly swerved the wheel to the right and slid onto the shoulder, barely getting the car stopped before Dean bailed. Stumbling a few steps away from the car, he fell to his hands and knees in the rough grass beside the road and retched in pink tinged violence.

Sam slammed the car into park and threw on the hazards. He was forced to wait for a few passing cars to speed by, horns honking, then jumped out into the sticky heat of the mid-summer Georgia night.

Sam hovered nervously as Dean's body spasmed relentlessly for ten solid minutes before allowing him some respite. There really wasn't much Sam could do and his one attempt had been met with a choked, "Le' me 'lone!" and a flail of Dean's arm as he coughed.

When Dean finally stopped vomiting, between the heat and his exertions he was drenched in sweat and shaking so badly when he tried to get up he fell back to the ground.

"Sit still for a minute." Sam admonished, producing a wad of drive-thru napkins and an unopened bottle of water he'd found on the floorboards in the back seat. "Here, you can rinse your mouth out. You feel any better now?" He squatted on the ground next to Dean, one hand resting on Dean's shoulder which trembled slightly.

Dean coughed again, rinsing his mouth with the warm water and spitting. He poured some of the water in his hand and splashed his face with it.

"Feel like I just got off the Tilt-o-Whirl," Dean gasped hoarsely, leaning his head back. He puckered and spat again, making a face, pressing a hand against his belly. "Not kiddin', man, my stomach's killin' me," Dean repeated. "S'gotta be food poisoning…"

"Like you said though, we had the same thing for dinner and I'm not sick," Sam reminded him. "Maybe you're just coming down with the flu or something. " He reached out a hand to Dean's forehead without thinking and got whacked with the water bottle.

"Dean! Jesus!" Sam exclaimed, snatching back his smarting hand.

"I told you to keep your hands to yourself!" Dean growled. "Help me up…"

Ignoring the contradictory statement, Sam grabbed Dean's arm and hauled, pulling him to his feet. Dean staggered slightly, clasping Sam's arm more than he would ever admit to, forcing himself to straighten. They made it the few steps to the car and he lowered himself to the seat.

"You good?" Sam asked, eyeing him.

Dean swallowed. "Yeah, " he said, closing his eyes. "Find a motel so I can sleep this off. And try not to hit every fucking pot hole!" He muttered something under his breath and reached for the door handle.

"I got it," Sam said, closing the door. He jogged back around to the driver's side and slid in. "We're about forty miles from Athens, I'd like to make it to the city and we can get a room there, if you can hang on 'til then."

Dean had curled up against the passenger door, arms hugged to himself, making small sounds of discomfort. "Whatever…" he breathed. "Just go…"

The next part of the trip was a stop-and- go nightmare that turned a thirty minute drive into an hour as Sam stopped repeatedly for Dean to be sick even though he was well past having anything left to throw up. Dean was so overheated it was impossible for Sam to tell if he was actually running a fever or not. Dean was long past giving a damn where Sam put his hands. By the time Sam got off the Number 10 loop and located a motel they could afford, Dean was sprawled bonelessly across the backseat moaning softly, sweat soaked and half- conscious.

Hastily booking a room, Sam parked the car, managing to pull Dean out of the car and get them both stumbling toward the right door. He barely had the door open before Dean made it clear he was going to be sick again and Sam literally dragged him to the bathroom in time.

Leaving Dean kneeling there, he ran back to the car and grabbed their duffels, locked the car and raced back into the room.

Dean was leaning over the sink, having managed to haul himself that far, cupping water to his mouth and spitting it out. Whether he knew Sam was there or just couldn't stand any longer, the second Sam touched him, Dean slumped back against him. Heat was pouring off of him.

"Whoa! Hang on…I gotcha," Sam replied to Dean's groan, managing to keep them both from tumbling to the floor. Gripping Dean tightly, Sam started them back toward the bed with slow, shuffling steps, feeling as though Dean would collapse if Sam weren't holding him up.

"I dunno what the hell's…wrong with me…." Dean rasped, throat raw. He sank down on the first bed they came to, bracing himself with his hands. "Jesus, it's hot in here…"

Sam knelt and swiftly untied Dean's boots, tugging them off. "It's okay, Dean. Let's just get you comfortable and you can rest. I'll get the air conditioner going. I'm sure it's just the flu. Probably just one of those twenty-four hours things." Continuing to rattle reassurances, It didn't take long for Sam to strip Dean down to his boxers since Dean did nothing to help or hinder him, simply allowed himself to be manhandled and then fell face down into the pillows.

Sam pulled a sheet up over him, then put the trash can next to the bed. Dean shifted uneasily, but seemed comfortable enough. Sam blew out an exhausted breath, a drop of sweat rolling down his face. It was hot in the room, sticky stagnant heat. So thick it had presence.

He crossed over to the A/C unit and flipped it on.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, he flipped switches and spun the temperature dial.

Still nothing.

Sam sighed and closed his eyes. He was hot, the room was hot and most importantly, Dean was hot. It had been a long evening, he was tired and not in the mood for a recalcitrant air conditioner to give him any crap.

He kicked it.

For a moment silence reigned, then with an asthmatic wheeze and a shudder the machine began to rattle and pump slightly cooler air into the stifling room. Sam stared at it for a minute then pointed his finger at it. "And don't you forget it," he said. "There's more where that came from."

He turned away and began stripping off his shirt, heading for the shower. He took another look at Dean, grabbed his stuff and went into the bathroom, leaving the door open.

Just in case.


End notes: I'll have a new chapter up every few days. If anyone is interested.