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For Warnings and Summary, see Master Post
Part Ten
A small, wounded sound forces it’s way out of Sam’s throat, panic, heavy and thick, pouring over him and weighing him down until he can’t move.
“Sam, it’s okay. I swear,” Dean murmurs, pulling Sam up and into his arms. “I wasn’t supposed to talk to you again. I fixed it by coming back. You’re okay. It’s okay. I changed everything.”
“I don’t… I think Lucifer’s winning, Dean.” The words are tumbling out of Sam now, fueled by the desperate fear he’s been living with for weeks. “I can’t… He comes in my dreams all the time, and when he does… he does… stuff. When I wake up, it’s all real, and I can’t… he’s winning, Dean. I don’t know how much more I can take. I’m not strong enough. I was wrong, before. I’m not strong like you…”
“Hey, stop that,” Dean says forcefully. “Look at me.”
Sam can’t make himself move, but Dean doesn’t wait, he moves around until he’s in front of Sam, forcing Sam to meet his eyes. “You haven’t said yes. Right?”
He gives Sam a small shake and Sam responds by shaking his head.
“You haven’t said yes, and it’s not going to come to that.”
“I’m not you… Thirty years is…” the terror racing through his body claws at his throat, and his voice sounds strained and high pitched when he adds, “I can’t last that long! I’m not going to…”
“Sam,” Dean interrupts loudly, “You. Haven’t. Said. Yes.” Dean’s looking at Sam like he’s trying to bore that message into Sam’s head.
Dean takes a deep breath and his gaze bleeds some of its intensity. The usual mask is suddenly gone and Dean looks… haunted. “They were toying with me. It was the same thing everyday. The routine made it easier, I could lose myself in the pain and know that it would simply start over again the same way the next day. I didn’t have anything to gain by saying yes. It was torture or be tortured. Nobody seemed to really care which choice I made. So I chose to take it until I just… couldn’t anymore.
“But it was the relentlessness of the pain, always the same… that’s what wore me down. It wasn’t any particular event. Nothing changed between the day I said no and the day I said yes, because nothing really ever changed.
“I don’t know what I would have done if I’d have had to wake up to normal everyday, if I knew saying yes would make everything stop. But I know you, Sam, and knowing what Lucifer will be capable of if you say yes, knowing what saying no will prevent? You’re gonna be able to hold on longer than you think you are.”
“But you…” Sam starts.
“No! You can’t keep comparing yourself to me, damn it. It’s not a fucking competition! You’re gonna make yourself nuts.”
“Samuel, come here.” Nick is standing at the foot of the bed, glaring at Sam. His voice is cold, angry.
Sam shivers even though he isn’t cold, even though Lucifer’s appearance leaves him dead inside.
“Shit, Sam! Stay here, stay with me!” Dean yells frantically, clutching at Sam, grabbing at his face, trying to get his focus back, but his eyes are locked on Lucifer; Sam can’t look away.
Sam can feel his cheek splitting open, his teeth breaking, can feel the lashes that cover his body tearing back open. He’s completely helpless against the onslaught; there’s nothing he can do to stop it. “No,” he moans as he drops to the floor, unable to support his own weight.
His ass is on fire once again, dripping with come and blood, used. The disgusting slip-slide of body fluids is sticky between his legs and on his back. The device is once again wrapped around his dick, holding him hard, burning its way inside of him, all the way to his center. He’s desperate to get the thing off, can’t help but grab at himself to pull on the metal, even though it intensifies the burn and the fullness, leaves him even more desperate and needy. Even though he knows there’s no removing it until Lucifer allows him to. Dean is bearing witness to his shame this time, and that knowledge fans his self-disgust, his self-loathing, into an unbearable inferno.
His skin is burning again – the brands bubble up, then burst. He screams in agony, unable to stop the harsh sounds that rip his throat to shreds. Even the strangulation bruises which decorate once more his neck can’t cut off the hideous, useless noise. His bones shatter into pieces, the crushing, grinding noise of it somehow audible even over his cries. His ear explodes, leaking down the side of his face and leaving everything muffled only moments before everything goes dark once more. His eyes drip gore down his cheeks like tears, and all he can do is writhe helplessly on the floor as the hopeless, agonizing torment overwhelms his mind and batters his sanity.
He’s barely aware of Lucifer picking him up and carrying him over to the bed. He can’t do anything but whimper and moan and scream for his brother to stop this, to help him, but somehow, Lucifer’s words still filter through his consciousness, “You want your brother, Sam?”
“Yes,” Sam gasps, “please, please.” He’s not above begging, not anymore.
Dean wraps himself around Sam’s broken body, whispers soothingly, “shh… I’m here, Sammy.” The pain fades, and Sam turns his head towards his brother to press their lips together gratefully. Dean returns the kiss fiercely, answering Sam’s aching hunger with wanton abandon. He rolls towards his brother and presses his already rigid dick against Dean’s, seeking comfort, seeking a relief from the pain, seeking out anything that might make him feel good for even a moment in the midst of the never-ending cycle of hurt.
“Do you want me, Sam?” Dean asks huskily, his voice burning with lust.
“Please, Dean, need you, need you inside me, now, please.”
“Yeah, Sam, that’s good, that’s good…” Dean’s hands are everywhere, stroking his hard length, reaching around to prod at Sam’s hole, and grasping his face in both hands… Sam is suddenly dizzy and sick. Dean is both above him and beside him, and the double image is making his eyes water.
“Sam,” Dean’s yelling, anger and frustration and raw panic edging his voice. “Sam!” the one gripping his face yells, “That’s not me! It’s not me, damn it!” Dean goes down on him at the same moment, hot and filthy, his tongue slipping between Sam’s skin and the metal encasing him. His tongue is playing with the piercing, sending jagged fireworks of sensation through him, pleasure mixing with pain until Sam is desperate to come, stopped only by the ring at the base of his dick.
He wants to let his eyes roll back in his head, wants to close his eyes altogether and just lose himself in the sensation, but, he stubbornly keeps his eyes locked on his brother’s anxious face. He whimpers in confusion, unable to form words, to even chain thoughts together in his head.
“I’m here!” Dean’s still yelling at him, desperate, scared, “Take us back to the Impala, Sammy! You’re the one in control – this is your dream, damn it!” Dean only receives a startled gasp of pleasure for all his demands, and suddenly, the fear slips away from Dean. He’s glaring at Sam, the expectation of being obeyed as clear as it ever was when Dad was training them. “Sam,” he barks out angrily, “Go back to the Impala. Now!”
Sam can’t not obey that order, his instincts have been too long ingrained. Obey without question or die. It’s as simple as that. The room flickers, disappears only to be replaced with the star filled canopy and open field, plus the only thing he’s ever really been able to call home. He slaps a hand against the cool, black metal, lets the familiar weight soothe his shattered nerves. He’s still throbbing, hard, wanton lust for his brother riding him, keeping him on the edge. The contraption is still wrapped around him though, keeping him from release.
He whimpers helplessly when Dean pulls Sam’s unresisting body against his own, holding Sam in a tight embrace as if Dean’s never going to let him go. “Jesus, Sam,” Dean whispers against Sam’s neck. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Sam can feel moisture seeping onto his shoulder. He can’t make sense of it, can’t do anything but cling to his brother and pray that Dean’s never going to leave him again.
“You’re running out of time, Dean.” Cas’ voice startles Sam, fills him with fear, and he tries to break away from Dean’s hold to scurry away, but Dean refuses to let him go.
“Fuck,” Dean mutters, still wrapped around Sam tightly. “He’s not ready. I can’t do this to him. Not right now.”
“Lucifer knows what you are attempting to do here, Dean,” Cas rasps, “Your presence makes it more difficult for him, but it is not yet enough to keep him away for long. You need to either do what you came here to do, or we need to retreat and try to figure out another plan to save your brother.
“No!” Dean spits out, his hold tightening around Sam to the point of being painful once again. “No, I’m not leaving Sam to that monster.”
“Then you know what needs to be done,” Cas says gravely.
Sam’s having trouble focusing. The hotel room is superimposed over the grassy field and he can feel Lucifer’s rage, knows he’s only making things worse by ignoring him. He can’t make himself push Dean away despite the dread that’s burning through him, pulsing stronger and stronger as each moment passes.
“Samuel,” the voice slithers across the grass. No one seems to hear it but Sam. “You’re only making this worse for your brother by hiding from me. Do you really want to sacrifice him to save yourself a bit of pain?”
“No!” Sam cries out angrily. The room sharpens and the field fades, until they’re equal in opacity.
“Fuck!” Dean swears, grabbing Sam’s face and forcing Sam to look at him. “You’re mine,” he says furiously. “You’ve always been mine, Sam, and I’m not letting you go. You stay with me, you hear me?” Dean orders angrily. “You stay with me, Sammy, or so help me God…”
Dean seems to run out of words and trails off. His anger fades slightly, and he looks suddenly unsure of himself. Cas has sunk down into the grass and is chanting words Sam has never heard before in Enochian. He opens his mouth to ask what’s happening, but before he can get the words out, his name echoes across the field like a thunder clap, dark and foreboding, and this time, even Dean seems to hear it.
Sam jerks back, fear licking up his spine, but something… something almost primal steals over Dean, and suddenly he’s pulling Sam in, crashing their mouths together and demanding entrance.
Sam opens under the onslaught, eagerly accepts Dean’s tongue as Dean sinks against him with a needy moan. Dean’s biting and licking at Sam’s mouth, his lips, his tongue, exploring him hungrily. If Sam had any doubts about truly wanting this before, they’re gone now. Sam kisses back, this time answering need with need as equals.
Dean pulls back just enough to mutter fiercely, “You’re mine, Sam,” before biting down on Sam’s lower lip so hard Sam can taste the sharp, copper tang of blood. Dean pulls Sam’s lip into his mouth, sucking on it greedily before biting on it harshly again and pulling back, letting his teeth scrap over the skin, stretching Sam’s lip taught until it slips free with a soft popping noise.
Dean stands, pulling Sam up with him, and walks Sam backwards until they’re standing in front of the hood of the Impala. Dean kisses him again, worrying at the wound in his lip and causing more blood to flow before licking at it tenderly.
Impatiently, Dean pushes Sam back until he’s splayed over the Impala’s hood and then reluctantly lets Sam’s lips go. He pulls back, stripping off his clothes before leaning forward and sliding down Sam’s torso slowly. His tongue travels over the skin of Sam’s chest, tentative at first, and then growing bolder, licking long swaths across Sam’s skin, stopping to nibble at Sam’s nipples, one and then the other until they’re just as hard as the rest of him.
Sam can feel Dean’s mood change as he shifts his attention to the hand print burned over Sam’s heart. He kisses the scarred skin gently once, twice, three times, before tenderly licking across it, exploring the hurt with his tongue. Sam can’t help but flinch back a bit under the attention, even as his dick pulses hungrily with the stimulation. He doesn’t want anyone looking at the mark, let alone touching the filthy thing. He can’t keep his disgust inside, and it escapes in the form of tears that slip down the side of his face.
Dean moves back up until they’re face to face again. He places a light kiss against Sam’s temple, again whispers, “You’re mine,” against Sam’s moist skin. Dean licks at the trail of tears, first one side, then the other, before adding, “He doesn’t get you, Sammy. I’m taking you back. D’you understand?” He says the last looking intently into Sam’s eyes, and Sam nods once; not giving Dean permission for this is simply not an option. He’s far too selfish to deny it.
Dean pushes Sam further up the Impala’s hood, so that his ass is resting at the edge, his feet on the fender. The metal under him is warm despite the coolness of the night, as if her motor was running not so long ago, as if she’s prepared to welcome them home. Sam’s suddenly aching to climb inside with his brother, tell Dean to just drive until they’re lost from all the things they’re responsible for, lost from everything that wants to use them.
Dean slides down until he’s kneeling in the grass, keeping the contact between them as much as possible as he moves, letting warm skin, slick with sweat, slide gently between them until his knees hit the ground and he is forced to stop.
Sam can feel Dean’s warm breath against his dick, can hear his brother’s harsh, pained sob as he kneels in front of Sam, positioning himself between Sam’s legs. Sam raises his head and looks down at himself. The cage is gone from around his genitals, but the skin is still irritated, red and angry, the puncture wound still visible along the sides. “Mine,” Dean mutters furiously, just before taking Sam into his mouth and slipping down until Sam can feel the back of his throat. Pleasure swells along his dick as Dean sucks him in, and Sam can’t hold back is small needy moans. Dean gags a little, it’s clear he isn’t practiced with this, but he doesn’t pull off, just slides back until his lush lips are kissing Sam’s tip before sliding back down.
Dean plays with the skin of his dick as he bobs up and down, raises his other hand to play with Sam’s sack and the skin right behind it as he moves. It only takes half a dozen pulses before Sam’s ready to lose it. “Dean,” he gasps out frantically, “Dean, I’m… I’m gonna…”
Sam tries to push Dean away, but Dean swallows Sam down as far as he can, plunging Sam deep into the back of his throat, and there isn’t anymore holding back.
He erupts upwards into Dean’s mouth, screaming out his pleasure and fear, but his brother doesn’t pull away, keeps his mouth locked over Sam, coaxing each throb of ecstasy out of Sam and swallowing everything he has to give.
“I’m sorry,” Sam’s mumbling fearfully, gasping out the words, “I’m sorry, I didn’t… mean…”
“Shhh…” Dean hisses as he slides back up Sam’s body. Sam’s lip is still bleeding sluggishly, and Dean licks over it, sucks on it, before bring his gaze up to meet Sam’s. “I’m okay, Sam. You’re mine.” Sam’s not sure why Dean keeps repeating that, but he can’t deny that it’s true so he doesn’t question, just nods his acquiescence.
Dean closes his eyes, looking guilty for the first time, and Sam is suddenly aware that Cas is still chanting in the grass, the urgency clear in his ever increasing volume. He brings his gaze up to Dean’s uncertainly when Dean clears his throat nervously. “I need to… god, Sam, I’m gonna need to come inside of you.”
Dean dips his head and buries his face in the crook of Sam’s neck. He nibbles over the skin lightly, teasingly, before gathering more skin between his teeth and biting down hard. Sam’s dick twitches gamely, trying to perk back up as Dean sucks the skin of Sam’s neck into his mouth hard enough to bruise. He lets it go briefly, then bites down hard once more, making his attempt to mark Sam clear. Sam can’t deny the spark of pleasure the thought of Dean’s mark on his neck gives him.
“I need you, Sam, please,” he mutters between pressing kisses against the tender skin. “I don’t want to hurt you, but… I need to do this, please. Say you’re okay with it, please. I need to know you’re okay with this.”
Dean’s sweating heavily, and a drop crests to slide down the side of Dean’s face. Sam leans forward to lick it away, presses a kiss against the skin before slowly pulling his feet all the way up, until they’re resting on the hood, leaving himself open and exposed. “I trust you, Dean,” he manages to rasp out around the tension in his throat.
“Sam…” Dean breathes out before leaning forward to press their bodies together. He reaches between them to run his fingers over Sam’s hole, tapping gently to get try to get Sam to loosen up, to let him in. Dean’s breath hitches and he pulls his hand back, looking at Sam with a hint of fear in his eyes. “This is going to hurt, Sammy,” Dean whispers. “We can’t…” he glances at Cas, but Cas is so lost in his mysterious chanting that he doesn’t give any hint of noticing. Dean drags his gaze back to Sam’s. The fear is blazing fiercely now. “We can’t, shit, we can’t use any lube,” he rushes out, “He said… there can’t be anything between us.”
Dean looks like he’s two seconds away from bolting, and Sam doesn’t really understand what’s going on, but it’s clear Dean and Cas are trying to do something, and he’s learned his lesson about not trusting his brother. He grabs Dean’s hand and brings Dean’s fingers to his mouth, kissing the tips before sucking them wetly into his mouth, his eyes pleading with Dean to know that Sam trusts him. Slowly, Dean’s fear bleeds away to be replaced with resolute determination.
Without breaking eye contact, Dean stands and steps back. A small, worried moan tickles the back of Sam’s throat, but Dean shakes his head slightly and crouches down to pick something up from the grass.
When he stands, Sam sees a glint of steel in his hand. Sam doesn’t quite have time to process the implications before Dean steps back between Sam’s legs, takes the knife and curls his right hand along the blade, pulling it free with a rapid, downward jerk.
“Dean?” Sam questions, alarmed.
“It’s okay, Sam,” Dean mutters. He strokes his hand over Sam’s face for a moment, letting the blood slick down his fingers, and then gently presses the reddened digit against Sam’s lips. Sam whimpers, can’t quite keep the fear and shame from rushing through his veins as Dean pushes his bloody finger into Sam’s mouth.
He licks the skin tentatively, but it’s nothing like the rush of demon blood. It’s simple and clean and Dean, and his fear inches back as he swallows what Dean’s giving him. Dean pulls his hand free and quickly runs the blade against Sam’s chest in the center of Lucifer’s mark before Sam can even think to protest. Sam barely feels it – Dean keeps his blades sharp, but he can feel the sudden well of blood that immediately spills out over the burn. Dean places his own freely bleeding hand over Lucifer’s mark and presses the mirrored wounds together. Cas’ chanting simultaneously grows in intensity, his voice booming out across the field.
“You ready, Sam?” Dean asks.
Sam nods, once, and Dean tosses the knife aside to clatter softly against the hood, pushes his now freed hand into Sam’s mouth, letting Sam slick up the digits as much as he can before Dean pulls free and presses his fingers back against Sam’s hole. Sam clenches up, he can’t help it; the fear of pain and humiliation are too much to bear, even if it is Dean’s hand resting against him, asking permission.
Dean keeps his right hand against Sam’s chest, leans in until his lips tickle against Sam’s ear. “It’s going to be okay, Sam. I’ve got you.”
Sam feels his muscles relax at the promise, and Dean pushes his thumb inside, sinking into Sam’s body insistently.
Cas is suddenly there, standing over them, picking up the bloodied knife and sliding it along his own hand before pressing it over Dean’s, increasing the pressure against Sam’s chest, all the while continuing his chanting. The need in Sam is building faster than he’s ever experienced before. Dean’s thumb isn’t enough, and he whispers, begs, “Dean…” as he pushes himself against Dean’s hand, willing it deeper.
Dean pulls free, but replaces his thumb with only two fingers. The burn is intense, the pain firing through his body, but he needs more – the pain is nothing compared to the burning need to have Dean inside of him now. “Dean!” he shouts, “Please, just do it already!”
Dean’s breaths are coming out hard and fast, his eyes glazed with lust, and he doesn’t argue, simply nods once and pulls himself free, lining up his dick. Sam doesn’t wait for Dean to push in – he surges up, forcing the breach, and Dean lets out an obscene moan as he sinks into Sam. Dean pushes back, gasping as their bodies join like they’ve always belonged together. Cas’ hand is still pinning Sam to the Impala under Dean’s grasp, and the chanting is almost deafening now.
Sam undulates up at the same time as Dean pulses down, pressing himself in deeply, and they instinctively set a rhythm together, building quickly to a climax, and Sam can tell they aren’t going to last any longer than he did the first time.
It isn’t enough, Sam doesn’t want it to end, but he can already feel his balls drawing up, can already feel the tremors in Dean’s body, and he knows there’s nothing he can do to stop this. Dean crashes their mouths together as the first pulse of ecstasy hits them simultaneously, their bodies slapping together in a staccato rhythm. Dean yells into Sam’s mouth, and Sam joins him, their voices merging as the world is devoured around them, leaving them devoid of anything but each other.
Another wave of pleasure washes over Sam, and then another, and then suddenly Cas is gone, and Dean’s body is cooling against his own, both of them tangled together on the hood of the Impala, with the stars shining down.
~o0O0o~
Sam came awake slowly, filled with a sense of contentment and peace that hadn’t been with him for weeks… months, really, maybe even more like years. He could tell his body was entwined with someone else’s, but he couldn’t seem to make his mind analyze who. He inhaled deeply, let it out with a long sigh, and then his brain picked up a bit, trying to decipher the smells that lingered around him. The bed stank of sweat and sex. Which… was odd. Of course, he was in bed with someone, so it kind of made a certain amount of sense. For Dean more than him, admittedly, but still… The person shifted and moaned softly…
Sam was off the bed and scrambling backwards so fast he dragged all the blankets with him, leaving Dean’s very naked body exposed to the world. Memories of the dream he’d had came flooding back, and by the time Sam was able to sort them all out, he was practically hyperventilating.
“Sam?” Dean’s voice was frighteningly close, and Sam startled, flinching back when Dean’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. “Sam, I… shit.” Dean pulled away, snagging one of the blankets back from Sam as he moved, and leaned back against the bed, his gaze on Sam wary.
Sam looked away first, feeling guilty and confused and unsure who to blame for that. Unsure what to blame for that.
“Holy crap,” Dean murmured, wide eyes locked on Sam’s chest.
Sam looked down self-consciously at his mutilated chest, only to discover that the scar was completely different than it had been. It was small and no longer hand shaped, no longer ugly, even. It was… it looked… Enochian, but it wasn’t a tattoo – it looked like something had carved it into his skin, and then healed it to form a pattern of long, slightly raised scars. It looked purposeful now, meaningful, instead of dirty and possessive.
Still, it wasn’t anything he’d agreed to, not anything he’d asked for, and that was… He could feel his eyes burning with anger, with rage. He pulled his knees up and placed his fists on them, hunching forward to press them into his eyes. He was so tired. He just wanted everything to stop.
“I think it…” Dean had to stop and clear his throat, “I think maybe it worked. At least, that scar is… I don’t know, man, can you talk?”
Sam stiffened, his mind blank. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Nothing besides a No that had the power to deafen the universe. That’d be good payback. He was still not above a little revenge, apparently.
There was no pain, he realized suddenly. Well, at least, comparatively little. It still felt like he was fucked raw, and given the smell… but there was no pain like what he’d been living with. He eased back from his hands and threw off the blankets to look at himself.
“Sam?” Dean asked, his voice raw with concern, with fear.
Sam ignored him. His vision was clear. There were no scars that couldn’t be explained by old hunts. He didn’t know what to do with that. Rage burned in his gut. He should be happy, should be…
“Sam?” Dean was starting to sound panicked, and he reached out towards Sam, probably to soothe, but Sam couldn’t…
He slammed his brother’s hand away with a harsh sob, yelling out, “No!” loud enough to echo slightly in the small room. He kept his shaking hand in front of him like a shield, warding his brother away. “Don’t…” his voice caught when the word actually came out, continued, “Don’t touch me. I don’t… Just, don’t, please.”
Dean backed slowly away, pushing himself up from the floor to perch on the edge of the bed, looking at Sam like Sam was a wild animal that needed to be approached with caution.
Sam was shaking so badly that he couldn’t keep his hand up anymore, and he wrapped his arms around his knees as best as he could. He couldn’t seem to stop the tears that were falling down his face, even though the rage had gone out like a match, leaving him feeling nothing, leaving him empty. He didn’t have anything left. It was like his soul was gone and he’d become the epitome of a vessel, Lucifer could step in now, and there would be nothing there to expunge.
“I’m sorry, Sam. Cas said it was the only way to… Cas said it was the only way to… God, please don’t hate me. I don’t think I could handle that… just… please don’t…”
“Just leave, Dean,” Sam whispered.
“Wh… What?” Dean stammered.
“Just… I don’t… I can’t do this right now. Just… just go.”
Dean rose slowly, reluctantly, keeping – thank God – the blanket wrapped around himself. “Yeah. Okay. I can… I’m not… I’ll just be downstairs, or something. I’m not going far,” Dean’s voice was shaking, scared, but Sam still couldn’t find it in himself to feel anything. “I promised I wouldn’t leave you again and I meant it. I’ll be back to check on you in a little while, o…”
“Just, Go!” Sam yelled at the floor.
“Yeah, yeah okay,” Dean said, moving to the door. The door snicked quietly shut behind him.
Sam didn’t move from the floor, couldn’t seem find the energy to do anything other than stare morosely into space. It was a relief, in a way, not to have to think, not to feel fear, not to feel anything at all.
Eventually he lay down where he was, let his eyes drop closed. Everything was over. He could sleep without fear, if Dean could be believed, and he let that relief carry him away.
~o0O0o~
When he woke up in Bobby’s house again, with no real memories of dreaming, Sam realized that a lot of the tension he’d been carrying around was just… gone. He was okay. Everything that had happened, had happened in dreams, and the good thing about dreams was that they had a tendency to fade pretty quickly. Everything he went through felt blurry and surreal. It was over. He made it through, and he was back with Dean…
Okay, so that dream was still pretty vivid. His cheeks burned as he remembered Dean’s fingers pushing inside of him, a ghost of sensation that felt raw and good, but, it was more than that, it was gentle caresses and heat and intimacy with Dean like he’d always craved. Not… not like that, of course, but, for as close as they always were, there’d always been a physical disconnect between them that had never really sat well with him. Ever since Dean had really started hunting, Dean had acted like he didn’t need to be touched, like, if Sam gave him a hug, it would be admitting that the job, that their lives, were getting to him. No chick-flick moments. Dean had insisted on that over and over again. So Sam had held back, respecting Dean’s silent cues.
Sam had practically shoved Dean out of the room thinking that Sam hated him for what they’d done together. Shit. Dean wasn’t the one Sam hated. Shame left him gasping for breath as he tried to keep everything under control. He was more than ready to go back to normal. Well, normal for them, at least. He needed to find Dean and admit his screw up. He wasn’t even sure why he had pushed his brother away, now.
Sam dragged his sorry ass off of the floor, snagged a pair of boxers and slipped them on before moving to open the door so he could find Dean. He didn’t have to look far – Dean was on the floor in the hallway, asleep sitting up with his back to the opposite wall, still covered by the blanket and not much else.
“Dean?” Sam rasped out. His voice sounded like shit.
Dean startled awake and then scrambled to his feet, the blanket forgotten on the floor. “What…” he started groggily.
Sam had to work to keep the smirk off his face as he interrupted, “Hey, can you just… can we talk?”
“O…kay,” Dean replied slowly, warily. Sam wasn’t sure what clued him in, but suddenly Dean was collapsing back to the floor to cover himself back up with the blanket. “What do… um, what do you want to talk about?” he stammered out, a pretty red blush fanning out across his skin.
“Well, for starters, how ‘bout the fact that your dick was up my ass…” Sam snapped caustically.
Dean flinched back, and Sam silently cussed himself out. He wasn’t even sure where that had come from. He wasn’t angry. Not at Dean, at least. God, his comment made him sound like a first class asshole.
“I need a drink for this conversation,” Dean muttered.
He started to get up and Sam lunged forward and grabbed Dean’s arm angrily. “No. You don’t… you don’t get to walk out on this conversation, Dean. Sit the fuck down and talk to me.” Okay, so much for not being angry. What the hell was wrong with him?
Dean grudgingly sat back down on the floor, which was good – saved Sam from having to deck him. His anger mellowed a bit when he remembered the last time he’d done that. He couldn’t take that fight back no matter how much it still hurt.
“We had to find a way to block Lucifer from hurting you in your dreams,” Dean muttered defensively.
“Oookay,” Sam replied slowly. “So… obviously, the way to accomplish that was to fuck your own brother.” Dean flinched again and Sam was about ready to deck himself, but he couldn’t seem to keep his feelings in check. Guilt was coursing through him, but he didn’t know how to take the words back – the sentiment was true enough, even if he knew it was completely unfair to blame Dean.
“No, I… It… was Cas’ idea… not that I’m blaming this on him or anything, I just...” Dean paused, took a deep breath before continuing in his usual husky voice, the one he saved for the serious discussions. “Anyway, he noticed a pattern between the visitations, and concluded that my presence was what was keeping Lucifer away. He said Lucifer was trying to put a claim on your soul, and that what we did, it was a way to block that.” Dean’s face was fire-engine red by that point. Sam didn’t think he’d ever seen Dean blush that hard, and it twitched his lips up slightly, despite the seriousness of the situation.
“What we did… it’s incest, Dean,” Sam said quietly. And he’d do it again in a heartbeat, if he thought Dean wanted it, but he wouldn’t be admitting that out loud any time soon. He couldn’t do that to Dean.
“I know,” Dean replied miserably. “If we had any other ideas… but, we didn’t, and… God, Sam, I’m so fucking sorry. I… we were losing you. I didn’t know what else to do. I can leave, if you don’t want me around anymore. I… I’ll understand.”
“Dean, I…” God, Sam didn’t want to confess, didn’t want to talk about it at all, but Dean was self-flagellating in a spectacular way, and Sam couldn’t not put the blame where it belonged. “You saw, Dean. I know you did. How can I hate you? I’ve been fantasizing about having sex with you practically since this whole thing started.”
“That was only because Lucifer was screwing with you,” Dean growled.
Sam flinched. He couldn’t help it. Dean’s words were a little too literally true, even if Dean didn’t mean them that way.
Cas abruptly appeared between them.
“Fuck!” Dean complained sourly. “Couldn’t you appear downstairs and just walk up the damn stairs?”
Ignoring Dean, Cas’ worried gaze locked on Sam, lingering more on Sam’s new scar than on anything else.
Cas had been there. Cas had been there when he and Dean had been…
Sam had momentarily blocked that out, but now he kind of wanted to sink into the floor. Like the angels needed more reasons to think he was an abomination.
Cas’s stare wavered, and he silently turned his attention back to Dean. “I believe it worked,” he said cautiously. “Lucifer will no longer have access to Sam’s subconscious.”
Dean stood up from his position on the floor, clutching his blanket close, and looked Cas in the eyes. “That’s… good right? Why do you still look vaguely constipated?”
“I do not have to…”
“Okay, dude,” Dean cut him off, “over-sharing there. Just tell me why the hell you’re still worried.”
Cas nodded, “Lucifer is strong. I believe it may be necessary to refresh your claim, occasionally. In the mean time, I do not belie…”
“Wait, hold on there, cowboy, there was no mention of refreshing before! What the hell?”
Dean sounded completely panicked, and suddenly the fear of Dean abandoning Sam was back with a vengeance, leaving him shaking and restless, but with nowhere to go.
“I had hoped it would not be needed, but, after seeing what we are up against, I believe it would be a wise precaution. A simple exchange of fluids, with intent behind it, should be enough.”
Dean interrupted, “Cas, please tell me you’re planning to clarify that statement?”
Cas gave Dean a puzzled look, then added, “A kiss, a kiss with intent to claim. That should be enough to accomplish what you need, give you enough to keep the magic fueled.”
Dean sighed heavily, muttered a somewhat sarcastic sounding, “Okay,” under his breath.
Cas rewarded Dean with a pensive look. “In the meantime, what you did will only be effective as long as you are not found. You should leave here immediately. This place is too obvious, and you put Bobby Singer in danger by being here. Actually,” Cas reconsidered, “Bobby should probably leave here as well, he is an obvious choice to attempt to torture for information, and an obvious choice to be used against you.”
“Cas…” before Dean could get out another word, Cas was gone. “God damn it, Cas!” Dean yelled after him.
Bile stirred in Sam’s gut. Dean had been forced to fuck him, and now his brother couldn’t escape. Dean had tied himself to Sam, and that was probably never his intention.
Sam couldn’t do this. It was stuffy in the small, narrow hallway, making it feel as if there wasn’t enough air; Sam’s breathing sped up in response. It didn’t really help. It was way too warm. The sweat was beading on his skin uncomfortably. He didn’t remember Bobby’s house ever being this warm before. He swiped a trembling hand across his forehead, his breathing stepping up even more as the air thinned. He couldn’t…
“Hey, Sam…” Dean was crouching in front of him, blanket forgotten, steady hands holding his face. “Come on, man, you’re going to hyperventilate. You need to slow your breathing down.” Dean settled down next to Sam and pulled him in close, looking intently at nothing. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just match your breathing to mine, okay?”
Sam tried to do what Dean was asking, and it did help some, but the panic wasn’t easing back. “I can’t… I can’t do this by myself,” he gasped out hopelessly.
“Who said you’re gonna have to?” Dean growled.
“I… You can’t seriously be thinking of sticking around after what Cas said?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean responded, a touch of confusion in his voice, “I think I might be. Do you think I shouldn’t?”
“Yes,” Sam replied. There was no force behind the word, though. Not near enough anyway.
“Well, fuck that. I’m not leaving you again. We face Lucifer together, or not at all.”
“You’re stronger without me, you said it yourself. And I’m not… I can’t…”
“Then I’ll be strong for you,” Dean interrupted, “just like you were for me, last year. Look, ever since this all started, they’ve been trying to split us apart, Ruby, Lucifer, all the god damn angels. I think it’s about time we gave all of them the finger and choose our own damn path, don’t you?”
“But…”
Dean cut his protest off by leaning in and pressing their mouths together. Sam collapsed against Dean with a needy moan as Dean pushed into Sam’s mouth greedily. Sam was left dizzy, off kilter, by the time Dean moved away. “And if you need that,” Dean rasped breathlessly, “then I’m down for it. And if you don’t, I’ll find a way to be okay with that too. But they are not. Going. To push. Us. Apart. I am done with that. Are you?”
Dean’s tone was a challenge, and the child inside was desperate to rise to it – the desire to impress his older brother, to compete despite the odds in Dean’s favor, it was an ingrained need. Sam closed his eyes, imagined trying to gather all of the frayed pieces of his psyche that Lucifer had left him with, and somehow put them back together. It was overwhelming. He wasn’t sure he could. But maybe… if Dean was really willing to stand by him… he focused on his anger, his indignation over how he’d been used and manipulated his whole fucking life, and he thought maybe he found a spark. “Fuck,” he breathed. He opened his eyes and looked at Dean. “I’m not okay.”
“I know.” Dean laughed, “If you think I am, though, you aren’t as bright as you think you are.”
Sam managed a small, answering snort. It wasn‘t much, but it was a start.
“Good,” Dean grinned, pushing Sam away gently. “I don’t know about you, but I think maybe having a confrontation with Bobby in nothing more than our birthday suits could be a little awkward. I’ll meet you downstairs in ten to break the news.”
Part Nine | Part Eleven
Part Ten
A small, wounded sound forces it’s way out of Sam’s throat, panic, heavy and thick, pouring over him and weighing him down until he can’t move.
“Sam, it’s okay. I swear,” Dean murmurs, pulling Sam up and into his arms. “I wasn’t supposed to talk to you again. I fixed it by coming back. You’re okay. It’s okay. I changed everything.”
“I don’t… I think Lucifer’s winning, Dean.” The words are tumbling out of Sam now, fueled by the desperate fear he’s been living with for weeks. “I can’t… He comes in my dreams all the time, and when he does… he does… stuff. When I wake up, it’s all real, and I can’t… he’s winning, Dean. I don’t know how much more I can take. I’m not strong enough. I was wrong, before. I’m not strong like you…”
“Hey, stop that,” Dean says forcefully. “Look at me.”
Sam can’t make himself move, but Dean doesn’t wait, he moves around until he’s in front of Sam, forcing Sam to meet his eyes. “You haven’t said yes. Right?”
He gives Sam a small shake and Sam responds by shaking his head.
“You haven’t said yes, and it’s not going to come to that.”
“I’m not you… Thirty years is…” the terror racing through his body claws at his throat, and his voice sounds strained and high pitched when he adds, “I can’t last that long! I’m not going to…”
“Sam,” Dean interrupts loudly, “You. Haven’t. Said. Yes.” Dean’s looking at Sam like he’s trying to bore that message into Sam’s head.
Dean takes a deep breath and his gaze bleeds some of its intensity. The usual mask is suddenly gone and Dean looks… haunted. “They were toying with me. It was the same thing everyday. The routine made it easier, I could lose myself in the pain and know that it would simply start over again the same way the next day. I didn’t have anything to gain by saying yes. It was torture or be tortured. Nobody seemed to really care which choice I made. So I chose to take it until I just… couldn’t anymore.
“But it was the relentlessness of the pain, always the same… that’s what wore me down. It wasn’t any particular event. Nothing changed between the day I said no and the day I said yes, because nothing really ever changed.
“I don’t know what I would have done if I’d have had to wake up to normal everyday, if I knew saying yes would make everything stop. But I know you, Sam, and knowing what Lucifer will be capable of if you say yes, knowing what saying no will prevent? You’re gonna be able to hold on longer than you think you are.”
“But you…” Sam starts.
“No! You can’t keep comparing yourself to me, damn it. It’s not a fucking competition! You’re gonna make yourself nuts.”
“Samuel, come here.” Nick is standing at the foot of the bed, glaring at Sam. His voice is cold, angry.
Sam shivers even though he isn’t cold, even though Lucifer’s appearance leaves him dead inside.
“Shit, Sam! Stay here, stay with me!” Dean yells frantically, clutching at Sam, grabbing at his face, trying to get his focus back, but his eyes are locked on Lucifer; Sam can’t look away.
Sam can feel his cheek splitting open, his teeth breaking, can feel the lashes that cover his body tearing back open. He’s completely helpless against the onslaught; there’s nothing he can do to stop it. “No,” he moans as he drops to the floor, unable to support his own weight.
His ass is on fire once again, dripping with come and blood, used. The disgusting slip-slide of body fluids is sticky between his legs and on his back. The device is once again wrapped around his dick, holding him hard, burning its way inside of him, all the way to his center. He’s desperate to get the thing off, can’t help but grab at himself to pull on the metal, even though it intensifies the burn and the fullness, leaves him even more desperate and needy. Even though he knows there’s no removing it until Lucifer allows him to. Dean is bearing witness to his shame this time, and that knowledge fans his self-disgust, his self-loathing, into an unbearable inferno.
His skin is burning again – the brands bubble up, then burst. He screams in agony, unable to stop the harsh sounds that rip his throat to shreds. Even the strangulation bruises which decorate once more his neck can’t cut off the hideous, useless noise. His bones shatter into pieces, the crushing, grinding noise of it somehow audible even over his cries. His ear explodes, leaking down the side of his face and leaving everything muffled only moments before everything goes dark once more. His eyes drip gore down his cheeks like tears, and all he can do is writhe helplessly on the floor as the hopeless, agonizing torment overwhelms his mind and batters his sanity.
He’s barely aware of Lucifer picking him up and carrying him over to the bed. He can’t do anything but whimper and moan and scream for his brother to stop this, to help him, but somehow, Lucifer’s words still filter through his consciousness, “You want your brother, Sam?”
“Yes,” Sam gasps, “please, please.” He’s not above begging, not anymore.
Dean wraps himself around Sam’s broken body, whispers soothingly, “shh… I’m here, Sammy.” The pain fades, and Sam turns his head towards his brother to press their lips together gratefully. Dean returns the kiss fiercely, answering Sam’s aching hunger with wanton abandon. He rolls towards his brother and presses his already rigid dick against Dean’s, seeking comfort, seeking a relief from the pain, seeking out anything that might make him feel good for even a moment in the midst of the never-ending cycle of hurt.
“Do you want me, Sam?” Dean asks huskily, his voice burning with lust.
“Please, Dean, need you, need you inside me, now, please.”
“Yeah, Sam, that’s good, that’s good…” Dean’s hands are everywhere, stroking his hard length, reaching around to prod at Sam’s hole, and grasping his face in both hands… Sam is suddenly dizzy and sick. Dean is both above him and beside him, and the double image is making his eyes water.
“Sam,” Dean’s yelling, anger and frustration and raw panic edging his voice. “Sam!” the one gripping his face yells, “That’s not me! It’s not me, damn it!” Dean goes down on him at the same moment, hot and filthy, his tongue slipping between Sam’s skin and the metal encasing him. His tongue is playing with the piercing, sending jagged fireworks of sensation through him, pleasure mixing with pain until Sam is desperate to come, stopped only by the ring at the base of his dick.
He wants to let his eyes roll back in his head, wants to close his eyes altogether and just lose himself in the sensation, but, he stubbornly keeps his eyes locked on his brother’s anxious face. He whimpers in confusion, unable to form words, to even chain thoughts together in his head.
“I’m here!” Dean’s still yelling at him, desperate, scared, “Take us back to the Impala, Sammy! You’re the one in control – this is your dream, damn it!” Dean only receives a startled gasp of pleasure for all his demands, and suddenly, the fear slips away from Dean. He’s glaring at Sam, the expectation of being obeyed as clear as it ever was when Dad was training them. “Sam,” he barks out angrily, “Go back to the Impala. Now!”
Sam can’t not obey that order, his instincts have been too long ingrained. Obey without question or die. It’s as simple as that. The room flickers, disappears only to be replaced with the star filled canopy and open field, plus the only thing he’s ever really been able to call home. He slaps a hand against the cool, black metal, lets the familiar weight soothe his shattered nerves. He’s still throbbing, hard, wanton lust for his brother riding him, keeping him on the edge. The contraption is still wrapped around him though, keeping him from release.
He whimpers helplessly when Dean pulls Sam’s unresisting body against his own, holding Sam in a tight embrace as if Dean’s never going to let him go. “Jesus, Sam,” Dean whispers against Sam’s neck. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Sam can feel moisture seeping onto his shoulder. He can’t make sense of it, can’t do anything but cling to his brother and pray that Dean’s never going to leave him again.
“You’re running out of time, Dean.” Cas’ voice startles Sam, fills him with fear, and he tries to break away from Dean’s hold to scurry away, but Dean refuses to let him go.
“Fuck,” Dean mutters, still wrapped around Sam tightly. “He’s not ready. I can’t do this to him. Not right now.”
“Lucifer knows what you are attempting to do here, Dean,” Cas rasps, “Your presence makes it more difficult for him, but it is not yet enough to keep him away for long. You need to either do what you came here to do, or we need to retreat and try to figure out another plan to save your brother.
“No!” Dean spits out, his hold tightening around Sam to the point of being painful once again. “No, I’m not leaving Sam to that monster.”
“Then you know what needs to be done,” Cas says gravely.
Sam’s having trouble focusing. The hotel room is superimposed over the grassy field and he can feel Lucifer’s rage, knows he’s only making things worse by ignoring him. He can’t make himself push Dean away despite the dread that’s burning through him, pulsing stronger and stronger as each moment passes.
“Samuel,” the voice slithers across the grass. No one seems to hear it but Sam. “You’re only making this worse for your brother by hiding from me. Do you really want to sacrifice him to save yourself a bit of pain?”
“No!” Sam cries out angrily. The room sharpens and the field fades, until they’re equal in opacity.
“Fuck!” Dean swears, grabbing Sam’s face and forcing Sam to look at him. “You’re mine,” he says furiously. “You’ve always been mine, Sam, and I’m not letting you go. You stay with me, you hear me?” Dean orders angrily. “You stay with me, Sammy, or so help me God…”
Dean seems to run out of words and trails off. His anger fades slightly, and he looks suddenly unsure of himself. Cas has sunk down into the grass and is chanting words Sam has never heard before in Enochian. He opens his mouth to ask what’s happening, but before he can get the words out, his name echoes across the field like a thunder clap, dark and foreboding, and this time, even Dean seems to hear it.
Sam jerks back, fear licking up his spine, but something… something almost primal steals over Dean, and suddenly he’s pulling Sam in, crashing their mouths together and demanding entrance.
Sam opens under the onslaught, eagerly accepts Dean’s tongue as Dean sinks against him with a needy moan. Dean’s biting and licking at Sam’s mouth, his lips, his tongue, exploring him hungrily. If Sam had any doubts about truly wanting this before, they’re gone now. Sam kisses back, this time answering need with need as equals.
Dean pulls back just enough to mutter fiercely, “You’re mine, Sam,” before biting down on Sam’s lower lip so hard Sam can taste the sharp, copper tang of blood. Dean pulls Sam’s lip into his mouth, sucking on it greedily before biting on it harshly again and pulling back, letting his teeth scrap over the skin, stretching Sam’s lip taught until it slips free with a soft popping noise.
Dean stands, pulling Sam up with him, and walks Sam backwards until they’re standing in front of the hood of the Impala. Dean kisses him again, worrying at the wound in his lip and causing more blood to flow before licking at it tenderly.
Impatiently, Dean pushes Sam back until he’s splayed over the Impala’s hood and then reluctantly lets Sam’s lips go. He pulls back, stripping off his clothes before leaning forward and sliding down Sam’s torso slowly. His tongue travels over the skin of Sam’s chest, tentative at first, and then growing bolder, licking long swaths across Sam’s skin, stopping to nibble at Sam’s nipples, one and then the other until they’re just as hard as the rest of him.
Sam can feel Dean’s mood change as he shifts his attention to the hand print burned over Sam’s heart. He kisses the scarred skin gently once, twice, three times, before tenderly licking across it, exploring the hurt with his tongue. Sam can’t help but flinch back a bit under the attention, even as his dick pulses hungrily with the stimulation. He doesn’t want anyone looking at the mark, let alone touching the filthy thing. He can’t keep his disgust inside, and it escapes in the form of tears that slip down the side of his face.
Dean moves back up until they’re face to face again. He places a light kiss against Sam’s temple, again whispers, “You’re mine,” against Sam’s moist skin. Dean licks at the trail of tears, first one side, then the other, before adding, “He doesn’t get you, Sammy. I’m taking you back. D’you understand?” He says the last looking intently into Sam’s eyes, and Sam nods once; not giving Dean permission for this is simply not an option. He’s far too selfish to deny it.
Dean pushes Sam further up the Impala’s hood, so that his ass is resting at the edge, his feet on the fender. The metal under him is warm despite the coolness of the night, as if her motor was running not so long ago, as if she’s prepared to welcome them home. Sam’s suddenly aching to climb inside with his brother, tell Dean to just drive until they’re lost from all the things they’re responsible for, lost from everything that wants to use them.
Dean slides down until he’s kneeling in the grass, keeping the contact between them as much as possible as he moves, letting warm skin, slick with sweat, slide gently between them until his knees hit the ground and he is forced to stop.
Sam can feel Dean’s warm breath against his dick, can hear his brother’s harsh, pained sob as he kneels in front of Sam, positioning himself between Sam’s legs. Sam raises his head and looks down at himself. The cage is gone from around his genitals, but the skin is still irritated, red and angry, the puncture wound still visible along the sides. “Mine,” Dean mutters furiously, just before taking Sam into his mouth and slipping down until Sam can feel the back of his throat. Pleasure swells along his dick as Dean sucks him in, and Sam can’t hold back is small needy moans. Dean gags a little, it’s clear he isn’t practiced with this, but he doesn’t pull off, just slides back until his lush lips are kissing Sam’s tip before sliding back down.
Dean plays with the skin of his dick as he bobs up and down, raises his other hand to play with Sam’s sack and the skin right behind it as he moves. It only takes half a dozen pulses before Sam’s ready to lose it. “Dean,” he gasps out frantically, “Dean, I’m… I’m gonna…”
Sam tries to push Dean away, but Dean swallows Sam down as far as he can, plunging Sam deep into the back of his throat, and there isn’t anymore holding back.
He erupts upwards into Dean’s mouth, screaming out his pleasure and fear, but his brother doesn’t pull away, keeps his mouth locked over Sam, coaxing each throb of ecstasy out of Sam and swallowing everything he has to give.
“I’m sorry,” Sam’s mumbling fearfully, gasping out the words, “I’m sorry, I didn’t… mean…”
“Shhh…” Dean hisses as he slides back up Sam’s body. Sam’s lip is still bleeding sluggishly, and Dean licks over it, sucks on it, before bring his gaze up to meet Sam’s. “I’m okay, Sam. You’re mine.” Sam’s not sure why Dean keeps repeating that, but he can’t deny that it’s true so he doesn’t question, just nods his acquiescence.
Dean closes his eyes, looking guilty for the first time, and Sam is suddenly aware that Cas is still chanting in the grass, the urgency clear in his ever increasing volume. He brings his gaze up to Dean’s uncertainly when Dean clears his throat nervously. “I need to… god, Sam, I’m gonna need to come inside of you.”
Dean dips his head and buries his face in the crook of Sam’s neck. He nibbles over the skin lightly, teasingly, before gathering more skin between his teeth and biting down hard. Sam’s dick twitches gamely, trying to perk back up as Dean sucks the skin of Sam’s neck into his mouth hard enough to bruise. He lets it go briefly, then bites down hard once more, making his attempt to mark Sam clear. Sam can’t deny the spark of pleasure the thought of Dean’s mark on his neck gives him.
“I need you, Sam, please,” he mutters between pressing kisses against the tender skin. “I don’t want to hurt you, but… I need to do this, please. Say you’re okay with it, please. I need to know you’re okay with this.”
Dean’s sweating heavily, and a drop crests to slide down the side of Dean’s face. Sam leans forward to lick it away, presses a kiss against the skin before slowly pulling his feet all the way up, until they’re resting on the hood, leaving himself open and exposed. “I trust you, Dean,” he manages to rasp out around the tension in his throat.
“Sam…” Dean breathes out before leaning forward to press their bodies together. He reaches between them to run his fingers over Sam’s hole, tapping gently to get try to get Sam to loosen up, to let him in. Dean’s breath hitches and he pulls his hand back, looking at Sam with a hint of fear in his eyes. “This is going to hurt, Sammy,” Dean whispers. “We can’t…” he glances at Cas, but Cas is so lost in his mysterious chanting that he doesn’t give any hint of noticing. Dean drags his gaze back to Sam’s. The fear is blazing fiercely now. “We can’t, shit, we can’t use any lube,” he rushes out, “He said… there can’t be anything between us.”
Dean looks like he’s two seconds away from bolting, and Sam doesn’t really understand what’s going on, but it’s clear Dean and Cas are trying to do something, and he’s learned his lesson about not trusting his brother. He grabs Dean’s hand and brings Dean’s fingers to his mouth, kissing the tips before sucking them wetly into his mouth, his eyes pleading with Dean to know that Sam trusts him. Slowly, Dean’s fear bleeds away to be replaced with resolute determination.
Without breaking eye contact, Dean stands and steps back. A small, worried moan tickles the back of Sam’s throat, but Dean shakes his head slightly and crouches down to pick something up from the grass.
When he stands, Sam sees a glint of steel in his hand. Sam doesn’t quite have time to process the implications before Dean steps back between Sam’s legs, takes the knife and curls his right hand along the blade, pulling it free with a rapid, downward jerk.
“Dean?” Sam questions, alarmed.
“It’s okay, Sam,” Dean mutters. He strokes his hand over Sam’s face for a moment, letting the blood slick down his fingers, and then gently presses the reddened digit against Sam’s lips. Sam whimpers, can’t quite keep the fear and shame from rushing through his veins as Dean pushes his bloody finger into Sam’s mouth.
He licks the skin tentatively, but it’s nothing like the rush of demon blood. It’s simple and clean and Dean, and his fear inches back as he swallows what Dean’s giving him. Dean pulls his hand free and quickly runs the blade against Sam’s chest in the center of Lucifer’s mark before Sam can even think to protest. Sam barely feels it – Dean keeps his blades sharp, but he can feel the sudden well of blood that immediately spills out over the burn. Dean places his own freely bleeding hand over Lucifer’s mark and presses the mirrored wounds together. Cas’ chanting simultaneously grows in intensity, his voice booming out across the field.
“You ready, Sam?” Dean asks.
Sam nods, once, and Dean tosses the knife aside to clatter softly against the hood, pushes his now freed hand into Sam’s mouth, letting Sam slick up the digits as much as he can before Dean pulls free and presses his fingers back against Sam’s hole. Sam clenches up, he can’t help it; the fear of pain and humiliation are too much to bear, even if it is Dean’s hand resting against him, asking permission.
Dean keeps his right hand against Sam’s chest, leans in until his lips tickle against Sam’s ear. “It’s going to be okay, Sam. I’ve got you.”
Sam feels his muscles relax at the promise, and Dean pushes his thumb inside, sinking into Sam’s body insistently.
Cas is suddenly there, standing over them, picking up the bloodied knife and sliding it along his own hand before pressing it over Dean’s, increasing the pressure against Sam’s chest, all the while continuing his chanting. The need in Sam is building faster than he’s ever experienced before. Dean’s thumb isn’t enough, and he whispers, begs, “Dean…” as he pushes himself against Dean’s hand, willing it deeper.
Dean pulls free, but replaces his thumb with only two fingers. The burn is intense, the pain firing through his body, but he needs more – the pain is nothing compared to the burning need to have Dean inside of him now. “Dean!” he shouts, “Please, just do it already!”
Dean’s breaths are coming out hard and fast, his eyes glazed with lust, and he doesn’t argue, simply nods once and pulls himself free, lining up his dick. Sam doesn’t wait for Dean to push in – he surges up, forcing the breach, and Dean lets out an obscene moan as he sinks into Sam. Dean pushes back, gasping as their bodies join like they’ve always belonged together. Cas’ hand is still pinning Sam to the Impala under Dean’s grasp, and the chanting is almost deafening now.
Sam undulates up at the same time as Dean pulses down, pressing himself in deeply, and they instinctively set a rhythm together, building quickly to a climax, and Sam can tell they aren’t going to last any longer than he did the first time.
It isn’t enough, Sam doesn’t want it to end, but he can already feel his balls drawing up, can already feel the tremors in Dean’s body, and he knows there’s nothing he can do to stop this. Dean crashes their mouths together as the first pulse of ecstasy hits them simultaneously, their bodies slapping together in a staccato rhythm. Dean yells into Sam’s mouth, and Sam joins him, their voices merging as the world is devoured around them, leaving them devoid of anything but each other.
Another wave of pleasure washes over Sam, and then another, and then suddenly Cas is gone, and Dean’s body is cooling against his own, both of them tangled together on the hood of the Impala, with the stars shining down.
~o0O0o~
Sam came awake slowly, filled with a sense of contentment and peace that hadn’t been with him for weeks… months, really, maybe even more like years. He could tell his body was entwined with someone else’s, but he couldn’t seem to make his mind analyze who. He inhaled deeply, let it out with a long sigh, and then his brain picked up a bit, trying to decipher the smells that lingered around him. The bed stank of sweat and sex. Which… was odd. Of course, he was in bed with someone, so it kind of made a certain amount of sense. For Dean more than him, admittedly, but still… The person shifted and moaned softly…
Sam was off the bed and scrambling backwards so fast he dragged all the blankets with him, leaving Dean’s very naked body exposed to the world. Memories of the dream he’d had came flooding back, and by the time Sam was able to sort them all out, he was practically hyperventilating.
“Sam?” Dean’s voice was frighteningly close, and Sam startled, flinching back when Dean’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. “Sam, I… shit.” Dean pulled away, snagging one of the blankets back from Sam as he moved, and leaned back against the bed, his gaze on Sam wary.
Sam looked away first, feeling guilty and confused and unsure who to blame for that. Unsure what to blame for that.
“Holy crap,” Dean murmured, wide eyes locked on Sam’s chest.
Sam looked down self-consciously at his mutilated chest, only to discover that the scar was completely different than it had been. It was small and no longer hand shaped, no longer ugly, even. It was… it looked… Enochian, but it wasn’t a tattoo – it looked like something had carved it into his skin, and then healed it to form a pattern of long, slightly raised scars. It looked purposeful now, meaningful, instead of dirty and possessive.
Still, it wasn’t anything he’d agreed to, not anything he’d asked for, and that was… He could feel his eyes burning with anger, with rage. He pulled his knees up and placed his fists on them, hunching forward to press them into his eyes. He was so tired. He just wanted everything to stop.
“I think it…” Dean had to stop and clear his throat, “I think maybe it worked. At least, that scar is… I don’t know, man, can you talk?”
Sam stiffened, his mind blank. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Nothing besides a No that had the power to deafen the universe. That’d be good payback. He was still not above a little revenge, apparently.
There was no pain, he realized suddenly. Well, at least, comparatively little. It still felt like he was fucked raw, and given the smell… but there was no pain like what he’d been living with. He eased back from his hands and threw off the blankets to look at himself.
“Sam?” Dean asked, his voice raw with concern, with fear.
Sam ignored him. His vision was clear. There were no scars that couldn’t be explained by old hunts. He didn’t know what to do with that. Rage burned in his gut. He should be happy, should be…
“Sam?” Dean was starting to sound panicked, and he reached out towards Sam, probably to soothe, but Sam couldn’t…
He slammed his brother’s hand away with a harsh sob, yelling out, “No!” loud enough to echo slightly in the small room. He kept his shaking hand in front of him like a shield, warding his brother away. “Don’t…” his voice caught when the word actually came out, continued, “Don’t touch me. I don’t… Just, don’t, please.”
Dean backed slowly away, pushing himself up from the floor to perch on the edge of the bed, looking at Sam like Sam was a wild animal that needed to be approached with caution.
Sam was shaking so badly that he couldn’t keep his hand up anymore, and he wrapped his arms around his knees as best as he could. He couldn’t seem to stop the tears that were falling down his face, even though the rage had gone out like a match, leaving him feeling nothing, leaving him empty. He didn’t have anything left. It was like his soul was gone and he’d become the epitome of a vessel, Lucifer could step in now, and there would be nothing there to expunge.
“I’m sorry, Sam. Cas said it was the only way to… Cas said it was the only way to… God, please don’t hate me. I don’t think I could handle that… just… please don’t…”
“Just leave, Dean,” Sam whispered.
“Wh… What?” Dean stammered.
“Just… I don’t… I can’t do this right now. Just… just go.”
Dean rose slowly, reluctantly, keeping – thank God – the blanket wrapped around himself. “Yeah. Okay. I can… I’m not… I’ll just be downstairs, or something. I’m not going far,” Dean’s voice was shaking, scared, but Sam still couldn’t find it in himself to feel anything. “I promised I wouldn’t leave you again and I meant it. I’ll be back to check on you in a little while, o…”
“Just, Go!” Sam yelled at the floor.
“Yeah, yeah okay,” Dean said, moving to the door. The door snicked quietly shut behind him.
Sam didn’t move from the floor, couldn’t seem find the energy to do anything other than stare morosely into space. It was a relief, in a way, not to have to think, not to feel fear, not to feel anything at all.
Eventually he lay down where he was, let his eyes drop closed. Everything was over. He could sleep without fear, if Dean could be believed, and he let that relief carry him away.
~o0O0o~
When he woke up in Bobby’s house again, with no real memories of dreaming, Sam realized that a lot of the tension he’d been carrying around was just… gone. He was okay. Everything that had happened, had happened in dreams, and the good thing about dreams was that they had a tendency to fade pretty quickly. Everything he went through felt blurry and surreal. It was over. He made it through, and he was back with Dean…
Okay, so that dream was still pretty vivid. His cheeks burned as he remembered Dean’s fingers pushing inside of him, a ghost of sensation that felt raw and good, but, it was more than that, it was gentle caresses and heat and intimacy with Dean like he’d always craved. Not… not like that, of course, but, for as close as they always were, there’d always been a physical disconnect between them that had never really sat well with him. Ever since Dean had really started hunting, Dean had acted like he didn’t need to be touched, like, if Sam gave him a hug, it would be admitting that the job, that their lives, were getting to him. No chick-flick moments. Dean had insisted on that over and over again. So Sam had held back, respecting Dean’s silent cues.
Sam had practically shoved Dean out of the room thinking that Sam hated him for what they’d done together. Shit. Dean wasn’t the one Sam hated. Shame left him gasping for breath as he tried to keep everything under control. He was more than ready to go back to normal. Well, normal for them, at least. He needed to find Dean and admit his screw up. He wasn’t even sure why he had pushed his brother away, now.
Sam dragged his sorry ass off of the floor, snagged a pair of boxers and slipped them on before moving to open the door so he could find Dean. He didn’t have to look far – Dean was on the floor in the hallway, asleep sitting up with his back to the opposite wall, still covered by the blanket and not much else.
“Dean?” Sam rasped out. His voice sounded like shit.
Dean startled awake and then scrambled to his feet, the blanket forgotten on the floor. “What…” he started groggily.
Sam had to work to keep the smirk off his face as he interrupted, “Hey, can you just… can we talk?”
“O…kay,” Dean replied slowly, warily. Sam wasn’t sure what clued him in, but suddenly Dean was collapsing back to the floor to cover himself back up with the blanket. “What do… um, what do you want to talk about?” he stammered out, a pretty red blush fanning out across his skin.
“Well, for starters, how ‘bout the fact that your dick was up my ass…” Sam snapped caustically.
Dean flinched back, and Sam silently cussed himself out. He wasn’t even sure where that had come from. He wasn’t angry. Not at Dean, at least. God, his comment made him sound like a first class asshole.
“I need a drink for this conversation,” Dean muttered.
He started to get up and Sam lunged forward and grabbed Dean’s arm angrily. “No. You don’t… you don’t get to walk out on this conversation, Dean. Sit the fuck down and talk to me.” Okay, so much for not being angry. What the hell was wrong with him?
Dean grudgingly sat back down on the floor, which was good – saved Sam from having to deck him. His anger mellowed a bit when he remembered the last time he’d done that. He couldn’t take that fight back no matter how much it still hurt.
“We had to find a way to block Lucifer from hurting you in your dreams,” Dean muttered defensively.
“Oookay,” Sam replied slowly. “So… obviously, the way to accomplish that was to fuck your own brother.” Dean flinched again and Sam was about ready to deck himself, but he couldn’t seem to keep his feelings in check. Guilt was coursing through him, but he didn’t know how to take the words back – the sentiment was true enough, even if he knew it was completely unfair to blame Dean.
“No, I… It… was Cas’ idea… not that I’m blaming this on him or anything, I just...” Dean paused, took a deep breath before continuing in his usual husky voice, the one he saved for the serious discussions. “Anyway, he noticed a pattern between the visitations, and concluded that my presence was what was keeping Lucifer away. He said Lucifer was trying to put a claim on your soul, and that what we did, it was a way to block that.” Dean’s face was fire-engine red by that point. Sam didn’t think he’d ever seen Dean blush that hard, and it twitched his lips up slightly, despite the seriousness of the situation.
“What we did… it’s incest, Dean,” Sam said quietly. And he’d do it again in a heartbeat, if he thought Dean wanted it, but he wouldn’t be admitting that out loud any time soon. He couldn’t do that to Dean.
“I know,” Dean replied miserably. “If we had any other ideas… but, we didn’t, and… God, Sam, I’m so fucking sorry. I… we were losing you. I didn’t know what else to do. I can leave, if you don’t want me around anymore. I… I’ll understand.”
“Dean, I…” God, Sam didn’t want to confess, didn’t want to talk about it at all, but Dean was self-flagellating in a spectacular way, and Sam couldn’t not put the blame where it belonged. “You saw, Dean. I know you did. How can I hate you? I’ve been fantasizing about having sex with you practically since this whole thing started.”
“That was only because Lucifer was screwing with you,” Dean growled.
Sam flinched. He couldn’t help it. Dean’s words were a little too literally true, even if Dean didn’t mean them that way.
Cas abruptly appeared between them.
“Fuck!” Dean complained sourly. “Couldn’t you appear downstairs and just walk up the damn stairs?”
Ignoring Dean, Cas’ worried gaze locked on Sam, lingering more on Sam’s new scar than on anything else.
Cas had been there. Cas had been there when he and Dean had been…
Sam had momentarily blocked that out, but now he kind of wanted to sink into the floor. Like the angels needed more reasons to think he was an abomination.
Cas’s stare wavered, and he silently turned his attention back to Dean. “I believe it worked,” he said cautiously. “Lucifer will no longer have access to Sam’s subconscious.”
Dean stood up from his position on the floor, clutching his blanket close, and looked Cas in the eyes. “That’s… good right? Why do you still look vaguely constipated?”
“I do not have to…”
“Okay, dude,” Dean cut him off, “over-sharing there. Just tell me why the hell you’re still worried.”
Cas nodded, “Lucifer is strong. I believe it may be necessary to refresh your claim, occasionally. In the mean time, I do not belie…”
“Wait, hold on there, cowboy, there was no mention of refreshing before! What the hell?”
Dean sounded completely panicked, and suddenly the fear of Dean abandoning Sam was back with a vengeance, leaving him shaking and restless, but with nowhere to go.
“I had hoped it would not be needed, but, after seeing what we are up against, I believe it would be a wise precaution. A simple exchange of fluids, with intent behind it, should be enough.”
Dean interrupted, “Cas, please tell me you’re planning to clarify that statement?”
Cas gave Dean a puzzled look, then added, “A kiss, a kiss with intent to claim. That should be enough to accomplish what you need, give you enough to keep the magic fueled.”
Dean sighed heavily, muttered a somewhat sarcastic sounding, “Okay,” under his breath.
Cas rewarded Dean with a pensive look. “In the meantime, what you did will only be effective as long as you are not found. You should leave here immediately. This place is too obvious, and you put Bobby Singer in danger by being here. Actually,” Cas reconsidered, “Bobby should probably leave here as well, he is an obvious choice to attempt to torture for information, and an obvious choice to be used against you.”
“Cas…” before Dean could get out another word, Cas was gone. “God damn it, Cas!” Dean yelled after him.
Bile stirred in Sam’s gut. Dean had been forced to fuck him, and now his brother couldn’t escape. Dean had tied himself to Sam, and that was probably never his intention.
Sam couldn’t do this. It was stuffy in the small, narrow hallway, making it feel as if there wasn’t enough air; Sam’s breathing sped up in response. It didn’t really help. It was way too warm. The sweat was beading on his skin uncomfortably. He didn’t remember Bobby’s house ever being this warm before. He swiped a trembling hand across his forehead, his breathing stepping up even more as the air thinned. He couldn’t…
“Hey, Sam…” Dean was crouching in front of him, blanket forgotten, steady hands holding his face. “Come on, man, you’re going to hyperventilate. You need to slow your breathing down.” Dean settled down next to Sam and pulled him in close, looking intently at nothing. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just match your breathing to mine, okay?”
Sam tried to do what Dean was asking, and it did help some, but the panic wasn’t easing back. “I can’t… I can’t do this by myself,” he gasped out hopelessly.
“Who said you’re gonna have to?” Dean growled.
“I… You can’t seriously be thinking of sticking around after what Cas said?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean responded, a touch of confusion in his voice, “I think I might be. Do you think I shouldn’t?”
“Yes,” Sam replied. There was no force behind the word, though. Not near enough anyway.
“Well, fuck that. I’m not leaving you again. We face Lucifer together, or not at all.”
“You’re stronger without me, you said it yourself. And I’m not… I can’t…”
“Then I’ll be strong for you,” Dean interrupted, “just like you were for me, last year. Look, ever since this all started, they’ve been trying to split us apart, Ruby, Lucifer, all the god damn angels. I think it’s about time we gave all of them the finger and choose our own damn path, don’t you?”
“But…”
Dean cut his protest off by leaning in and pressing their mouths together. Sam collapsed against Dean with a needy moan as Dean pushed into Sam’s mouth greedily. Sam was left dizzy, off kilter, by the time Dean moved away. “And if you need that,” Dean rasped breathlessly, “then I’m down for it. And if you don’t, I’ll find a way to be okay with that too. But they are not. Going. To push. Us. Apart. I am done with that. Are you?”
Dean’s tone was a challenge, and the child inside was desperate to rise to it – the desire to impress his older brother, to compete despite the odds in Dean’s favor, it was an ingrained need. Sam closed his eyes, imagined trying to gather all of the frayed pieces of his psyche that Lucifer had left him with, and somehow put them back together. It was overwhelming. He wasn’t sure he could. But maybe… if Dean was really willing to stand by him… he focused on his anger, his indignation over how he’d been used and manipulated his whole fucking life, and he thought maybe he found a spark. “Fuck,” he breathed. He opened his eyes and looked at Dean. “I’m not okay.”
“I know.” Dean laughed, “If you think I am, though, you aren’t as bright as you think you are.”
Sam managed a small, answering snort. It wasn‘t much, but it was a start.
“Good,” Dean grinned, pushing Sam away gently. “I don’t know about you, but I think maybe having a confrontation with Bobby in nothing more than our birthday suits could be a little awkward. I’ll meet you downstairs in ten to break the news.”
Part Nine | Part Eleven
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