Fade to Black 5-6/18 [NC-17] Dean/Sam
Oct. 28th, 2008 07:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runedgirlTitle: Fade To Black (Not While Your Hand’s In Mine) Ch 5-6/18
Author: runedgirl
Rating: NC17 for sexual content and violence (yes, there might be sex this chapter….)
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/demon!Dean
Summary: The brother that Sam gets back isn’t the same, but Sam’s love is. Sam risks everything and leaves everyone he’s ever cared about behind in the desperate hope that the bond between him and Dean might just be strong enough to transcend what hell did to his brother.
Set post Season 3, seven months after Dean’s deal came due and written over the summer before it was AU, this story just kept writing itself and wouldn’t let go until it was an epic love story in every sense, eventually spanning five decades with enough twists and turns to make me dizzy.
Warning: Spoilers for S3 finale; violence; Wincest (obviously)
Beta: Big thanks to K for caring enough to make awesome suggestions *hugs*
AN: Not a WIP – story is finished with 18 chapters and will be posted regularly. Feedback is adored and promptly savored. Please let me know what you think? Two chapters this time, since some of the awesome FList asked.
Chapter Five
It’s dangerous to allow himself to be fooled by how much the demon looks like his brother. Sam learns this the hard way on the thirteenth day. The demon’s been agitated for hours, woke up surly and snappy and complained about every single fucking thing since 9 am. Dunkin Donuts has shitty coffee. The reception on the motel tv sucks. Sam used up all the hot water in the shower (because you’re a selfish prick, Sam, always have been). Demons can die from blue balls. (Sam’s pretty sure that one’s a lie, but the demon’s making a good show of grabbing his crotch and moaning about it nevertheless). Sam’s trying to make him anorexic (when do we get to eat steak, Sam, like two grown men should?)
The demon has most of Dean’s worst qualities, only now they seem to be magnified exponentially. Maybe he was a jerk sometimes before, but now he’s pretty damn close to insufferable. Unfortunately, it’s not just his propensity for being annoying, Sam’s kinda used to that. Most of it goes with the territory of ‘little brother’, so half of the demon’s attempts to drive Sam nuts just end up making him nostalgic.
It’s the other changes that are making Ruby’s little joke not very fucking funny, because Sam can’t get away. And the demon knows it. Dean has always been good looking. Even when Sam was fourteen and green with envy, hating the way Dean could walk into a room and effortlessly draw heated gazes, Sam’s eyes were drawn there along with everyone else’s. Dean’s always been aware of his effect on people, wasn’t above joking about being fucking hot or god’s gift to the women of Small Town Whatever. But now he’s ridiculous – doesn’t shut the door when he’s in the bathroom, and he likes to stand in front of the mirror when he gets out of the shower and just look. Maybe it was the prospect of losing his body, his fear of not being able to get back into it. Or maybe it’s knowing his body will look exactly like this forever, frozen perfect just before thirty with every muscle honed and hard and the only lines on that pretty face the fine crinkles that border his eyes. Whatever’s going through the demon’s head, he’s taken Dean’s swaggering appreciation of his own assets to an unhealthy near-obsession.
Sam’s left tugged up reluctantly close against the doorjamb, trying not to stare and cursing Ruby’s three foot tether. This stupid little motel they’re staying in barely has room for the double bed he has to request, since twin beds put too much room between them. The motel clerks always glare when he does, which makes the demon say stupid things like ‘is the bed gonna be big enough for both of us, big boy?’ and Sam’s cheeks flame with embarrassment. Tiny room notwithstanding, for some inexplicable reason (okay, Sam probably could come up with an explanation, since it’s called the Sneakaway Motel), the bathroom is nearly as big as the rest of it, and the mirror takes up almost an entire wall. Sam’s surprised it’s not over the bed, and is suddenly grateful for that small favor, imagining the demon laying next to him half the night studying his own gorgeousness. Instead he primps and preens in front of the giant bathroom one, unashamedly naked, skin still glistening damp from the shower.
“You gonna get dressed any time today?” Sam asks, turning around so the demon won’t see the blush coloring his cheeks. Dean’s body is as beautiful as ever, and the demon is much more willing to show it off than Dean ever was. To Sam, anyway.
“What’s your hurry, Sam?” His voice is taunting, and Sam knows why. “See something you like more than you should?”
Yep. There it is. The fact that it’s sort of true just makes it more annoying. “Fuck you.”
“Fuck me? Great idea!”
Sam wonders why he chose that stupid phrase. He turns around to come up with another, only to choke on the words, and it comes out just a sputter.
“C’mon then,” the demon says in a voice that’s suddenly an octave deeper, “your idea, so c’mon and do it. You know you want my tight little ass.” He bends himself over the sink and wiggles his naked buttocks in what really should be more ridiculous than seductive, but somehow it makes Sam’s dick do an acrobatic trick inside his jeans anyway. “Or maybe you wanna spank me first, huh Sammy? I know ‘m a bad boy sometimes.”
Sam doesn’t even try to answer, just spins around and holds his breath, willing his cock down. Not before the demon’s seen its stupid little display of interest probably.
The whole thing does nothing to improve the demon’s mood – or Sam’s.
In retrospect, Sam realizes it wasn’t a good idea to leave the motel room that day, but being locked inside for twelve hours with nothing but the demon’s constant bitching or maddening attempts at seduction have made Sam too desperate to care.
“C’mon, we’re going out.” The demon claps his hands together, gleeful like a little kid who’s finally allowed to go outside to play. He tugs on jeans and a tee shirt, and puts on the shades he’s been wearing to hide his black eyes even though it’s long after sundown. Sam idly wonders what people will think of that, but doesn’t care enough to turn around and go back to the motel like he should.
There’s a bar a few miles down the road, neon flashing and Harleys alternating with pickups in the lot. The demon grins, thrumming with anticipation as he leads the way across the smoke-saturated room, Sam hurrying to keep up. Things go wrong fairly quickly. The demon orders a beer, turns to Sam with a look that’s pure challenge. “Your treat, right?” he smiles, and waits for Sam to pull out his wallet, running his tongue from one corner of those full smirking lips to the other suggestively. Sam barely has time to grab a beer of his own (only one, since the last thing he needs is to be drunk and joined at the hip with a demon – sober is proving enough of a challenge) before he’s being tugged along to the pool tables.
Amazingly, the demon’s still got Dean’s skill – but very little of Dean’s charm. He shoulders right in, lines up a shot that belonged to someone else and sinks it perfectly. “Move over, girls, lemme show ya how it’s done,” he says loudly, to the assorted leather-jacketed and inked and not-at-all-girly big dudes who were in the middle of a game. They gape for a moment, caught off guard by this pretty boy’s brash swagger, and for a split second Sam thinks he’s gonna get away with it.
“Show us how it’s done, will ya?” a very large man with a very bald head and shoulders the width of a refrigerator drawls, “Maybe we should show you instead – show you who’s the girl here, prettyboy.” And he grabs the demon with one ham hock of an arm and tosses him on his belly over the pool table. The demon stays still for a moment, bent over with his ass in the air, then he slowly and deliberately slides his feet apart on the floor and spreads his legs provocatively. The biker dudes whistle, catcalling and grinning, and one of them slaps the demon’s ass appreciatively.
They can’t see the demon’s face, but Sam can. White teeth slowly bared in a feral grin, and Sam warns, “Get back, don’t –
Of course it’s too late, and none of them would have listened to him anyway. Sam can only stand staring at the stunned expression on the bald guy’s face as he clutches the broken-off pool cue that’s now piercing his chest, then crumples to the floor at Sam’s feet. Oh Jesus.
The demon’s already going for the next man when Sam’s hunter instincts kick in, and lucky for the rest of them the demon can’t get far enough away to elude him. He fights, though, landing a vicious kick to Sam’s knee and a punch to the jaw before Sam can get the holy water out of his pocket. The demon makes a grab for it, and might have succeeded if the dead guy’s friends didn’t choose that moment to pull out of their shock and crack another pool cue right over the demon’s head. He laughs like a madman as the blood runs down his forehead, has the splintered cue in his hands and well-aimed before they can even back up, but it’s all the time Sam needs to depress the trigger and loose a stream of holy water that strikes the demon square in the throat, splashing up into his face and soaking down into his shirt. He goes down like a shot, and Sam gets hold of an arm and just fucking pulls, drags him kicking and screaming out the door and throws him into the back of the Impala, the crack of a gunshot whizzing overhead as Sam screeches away.
The demon curses him all the way back to the motel, fidgeting uncomfortably in the back seat and threatening to beat Sam to a pulp in his sleep, and Sam can’t even see he’s so furious – with himself as much as the demon. What in god’s name was he thinking, doing this? This isn’t his brother, who just impaled a human being on a pool cue. This is a fucking demon, and that guy’s death is on Sam’s shoulders. Ohgod, what has he done? What has he fucking done?
He wants to haul off and just pummel the demon while he’s still weak from the holy water bath, beat that demonic grin off his fucking face, make him cry and bleed and beg, rip him apart until he finds his brother somewhere underneath. But Sam’s stomach rebels when he remembers the blood spurting from around the wooden cue embedded in that guy’s ribs and he ends up on his knees hanging on the toilet. The demon’s yanked along with him, landing on the floor of the tiny bathroom, still cursing and threatening while Sam pukes his guts up.
All the sickening terror he’s been holding back comes up, violent and painful, and Sam doesn’t realize the demon’s quieted beside him until he finally slumps over emptied and spent.
“You okay?” the demon asks after a minute or two of only the sound of Sam’s shallow breaths.
Sam twists to stare, eyebrows raised right up into his damp bangs. “Am I okay?” he repeats incredulously. “You just stabbed a guy to death with a pool cue, and you wanna know if I’m okay?”
The demon shrugs, his neck and chest still red from the holy water, pink patches on his cheeks and nose from the splatters. “Might not’ve been dead. He was a big fucker.” He glances at Sam, then ducks his head and stares at the tiled floor. “So…. Are you?”
“What d’you fucking think?” The anger’s pouring back in now, hot and urgent, and Sam swallows hard.
“I dunno, that’s why –
“You don’t know? Well fine, I’ll tell you then – NO, no I’m not okay, you – you probably just killed somebody back there, and –
“He had it comin’” the demon insists, petulant, and that just sends Sam into overdrive. He’s on top of the demon in an instant, hauls him up to his feet with hands fisted into his still-damp shirt, and slams him back against the wall with all the strength he has left.
“No he fucking didn’t, and you fucking know it! You went in there and picked a fight with them, you lying filthy bastard, and why? Just so you could have an excuse to kill someone?”
“I’m a demon!” the demon protests, trying to knee Sam in the groin.
“You get your kicks from hurting people, is that it?”
“Maybe,” the demon snarls, and manages to kick Sam’s knee right where he injured it before.
Sam’s breath hisses through his teeth with the pain, but he doesn’t let go even as his vision swims with it.
“Let’s see how you like it then,” Sam growls back, and from this close the spray he aims covers the demon’s entire right side. He curses and tries to duck away, but Sam’s still got hold of his tee shirt, hangs on as the demon scrambles backwards and falls. Sam lands on top of him, holy water raining down over the demon’s chest in streams. There’s so much steam Sam can barely see through it, and the demon’s screams are so loud in his ear he’s half deafened, but his finger on the trigger keeps squeezing and squeezing as the demon writhes and bucks beneath him. When he runs out of holy water, Sam starts punching instead, relishing the satisfying thud as his fist connects with cheekbone, nose, stomach.
“Fucker,” Sam’s yelling between blows, “Give him back, give him the fuck back – risked everything, fucking everything, and this – this – is what you do? Motherfucker – gimme –dammit --
He doesn’t know how long he lashes out, hits until he’s too exhausted to hit anymore, and then he sits back breathless, straddling the demon’s thighs, and just stares.
Dean’s face. Blood runs from his nose and trickles from his mouth, lips cut and swollen. Dean’s body. Ribs probably bruised, maybe broken, from Sam’s fists. Ohgod.
The demon twitches beneath him, full body shudder as he moans and tries to lick his lips. “S-sam,” he says, opens his eyes and they’re black as night, but somehow Sam can still see the expression there, wonders when he learned to read it. “Hurts.”
“So does my knee, you bastard.”
The demon shivers again, wet clothes and skin still tormenting him. “Sorry,” he whispers.
The fight goes out of Sam as quickly as it came, and he rolls to the side to let the demon up. The demon stays down though, just tries to pull his wet tee shirt off with fingers trembling so badly he can’t get a grip on it, hisses out a “fuck, fuck” through his bloody lips and starts shaking so much his teeth are chattering with it.
“Jesus, I didn’t mean,” Sam starts, but can’t finish it, because hell, he did mean it, and the demon knows it as well as he does. Instead, he pulls off the demon’s saturated shirt and jeans, wrangles him naked and swaying into the shower and props him against the tile. The demon keeps his eyes closed the entire time, shivering as Sam soaps the holy water off his skin and shampoos it out of his hair. It’s ridiculous, he knows it is, but he’s washing Dean’s body as much as he’s taking care of the demon, and Sam can’t help but dab the blood from his brother’s nose and swollen mouth, stroke a finger over the bruise already purpling over his cheekbone.
Sam doesn’t even bother dressing him, just towels him off and pushes him onto one side of the bed before stripping to his boxers and climbing onto the other. He’s too exhausted to care whether the demon will decide to make good on any of his threats, isn’t sure he’s really afraid of dying anymore. Might be better than this hell on earth of a life he’s consigned himself to.
* * *
He wakes up with the sun high enough to pour through the motel windows and give Sam a tan on one arm. The demon’s dressed in Sam’s discarded tee shirt and a clean pair of his boxers, the only things he could reach without moving more than three feet away. He has a black eye – around his black eye – and his lower lip is so swollen it’s twice the size it should be. “You gonna freak out like that every time I get outta line?” he asks tentatively.
Sam rubs his eyes. “Yeah. Probably.”
The demon sighs, rubs at the bruise on his cheek, turns to stare out the window away from Sam.
“Don’t think I can help it,” he finally says, his voice quieter than Sam’s ever heard it.
“What does that mean?”
“I just --- don’t know if I can explain it, Sam. Sometimes it just – it builds up, inside me, it’s like – I gotta do something, gotta kill, gotta fight, gotta – something, gotta do something, or it’ll make me crazy, and I can’t stand it.” He runs his hand through his short hair, leaving haphazard spikes in his wake that look incongruously adorable. Sam’s too-big tee shirt gaps at his neck and slides a little down one sparsely freckled shoulder, and the fine blonde hairs on his thighs catch the sun and glimmer. He’s boyish and beautiful, sitting there telling Sam he doesn’t think he can stop killing people.
“Well you’ve got to.”
“Good thing you can apparently kick my ass every once in a while then,” the demon answers, and he manages a hint of a smirk even with his badly cut lips.
“Apparently,” Sam agrees.
“I taught you well,” the demon says, considering, and Sam suddenly remembers late afternoons when they fell together behind the garage of a house in Iowa, Dean letting Sam practice the moves that would keep him alive, his strong body pliant and willing in Sam’s inexperienced hands. Remembers the bruises on Dean’s arms, the scrapes raw on his back where his tee shirt pushed up as he fell too hard. The ones Dean never complained about, just shrugged a satisfied grin at his little brother’s growing strength and skill like it was worth a few bruises.
“Never thought it’d come back to haunt me,” the demon complains, but there’s that same satisfaction underneath the gruff words, and he slants his gaze to Sam across the bed as he says it.
Now Sam’s the one who has to know how to keep them both alive – and how to keep the rest of the world alive too -- and he feels the unfamiliar burden settle like stone on his shoulders. Sam’s turn to teach, and disregard the bruises. He remembers the clap of his brother’s hand against his back as they brushed off the dirt and headed back to the house, the flush of pride that burned its way up Sam’s neck at the warmth in Dean’s touch. Dean, who gave his body to Sam to bruise back then to keep Sam safe, as easily as he gave his soul to hell for the same reason.
Sam meets the black eyes and swallows down the memory of the blood sticky under his shoes as they left the bar. “We’ll figure it out,” he promises.
Chapter Six
Help comes from unlikely places, but Sam will take it where he can find it.
“I always thought bruised and bloody was a good look on you, Dean,” Ruby smiles when Sam opens the door only three hours later. “Get into a fight?”
“Something like that,” the demon snarls back, circling in front of Sam and narrowing his eyes at their visitor.
“Oh come on Dean, that’s no way to treat family,” she taunts, and his lip curls up so much it splits again. He licks at the blood and doesn’t move back.
Sam motions her inside reluctantly. “What do you want, Ruby?”
“Just curious, actually. About how he’s doing. How you’re doing. I mean, nobody’s ever tried this before. Demons and humans, not really meant to hang out together, you know?”
Sam sighs. “Yeah. I know.”
She softens a little, sits down on one of the beds and pushes her long dark hair behind one ear. “Well, you’re still alive. That’s a surprise right there. Wanna tell me what happened?”
“Not really,” the demon answers before Sam can.
“Embarrassed, Dean?” she purrs. “Let some weak humans get the better of you?”
Sam grabs the demon’s clenched fist before he can connect it with Ruby’s challenging grin. “Cut it out,” he warns. “I’ve had enough of him fighting.”
The demon allows Sam to hold him back, but Sam can feel the muscles tense and ready, the effort it’s taking for him to stay still.
“He says it gets overwhelming, that he has to fight, has to kill, or it – it builds up and gets to be too much.”
Ruby laughs, smoothes her hands over the bedspread, crosses her legs. She casts an almost fond smile at Dean, who bristles and growls low in his throat. Sam squeezes his wrist.
“He’s young,” she shrugs, matter of factly. “I’d almost forgotten, but yeah, it’s like that, especially in the beginning. For some of us, it’s always like that. If you can’t get the rage out, remember it -- deal with everything that happened. Most demons never do get it out, they just keep fighting. Different faces, same fight.”
She cocks her head, and her eyes slide up and down Sam, travel over to the demon and do the same, finally land on the point where Sam’s hand still grips the demon’s wrist. “But you know,” she says, and her brown eyes are glinting with what looks like mischief, “Fighting isn’t the only way to dissipate all that energy, boys.”
She’s still smirking when she leaves.
Later that day, when they’ve put two hundred miles between them and the violence at Lenny’s Place, the demon sulks over their well-done burgers and greasy diner fries. “Next time I’ll find some sweet young thing and take all my excess ‘energy’ out on her then,” he grumbles.
“You mean you’ll rape some innocent girl,” Sam corrects, scowling.
The demon scowls right back. “Semantics.”
“It’s not semantics, De—you, it’s not – you can’t rape or kill people!” Sam stabs at the plate with his fork, sending it screeching across the cheap china. “I won’t let you,” he adds, glaring.
“Then you’d better get used to beating the shit outta me,” the demon yells, and three elderly women in the next booth stop talking to stare.
Sam shoots them an apologetic fake smile, narrows his gaze at the demon to shush him. “Eat your burger,” he says, and wonders if the demon’s right.
* * *
Sam beating the shit out of him that one night keeps the demon in line for three more days. Three days of the demon leering at everyone who comes into his line of sight – which, of course, includes Sam. Constantly. He crowds up against Sam in the bathroom, elbows him out of the way when they’re both at the tiny sink only to reach out and haul him back by the belt loop before the binding spell pulls them tight and knocks the breath out of them. At night Sam wakes to find them rolled to the center of the bed, whether by gravity or the demon’s machinations, he doesn’t know. Only knows that the demon’s hip is pressed to his own, heat of his skin burning deep, right to the center of Sam. His brother’s warmth, solid and sure and so close, nothing between them, and all Sam wants is to forget this isn’t Dean. Forget that the demon’s eyes are black and he wants to fuck Sam, not love him. Wants to pretend that he can have the things he’s always wanted in the dark depths of his heart.
He doesn’t. Sam rolls away whenever he wakes, shoves the demon back to his side of the bed. Ignores the muttered complaints, the demon’s accusations (you’re such a little cocktease, Sam) and pleas (just one kiss, Sammy, lemme taste you, gonna taste so fuckin’ good, god, your pretty mouth). Pretends to be asleep when the demon jerks off in the dark beside him, Sam’s ears pricked for the bitten off grunts and harsh breaths, the slight bounce of the bed when he gets close and can’t inhibit the thrust of his hips. Ignores the sharp smell of sex in the room after, and the way the demon stretches his lean body under the quilts, curls to his side with a sigh. Sam lays there hard and scared and biting his lip, tells himself he can ignore this forever.
Sam’s determined ignorance and the demon’s fragile acquiescence goes to hell on the fourth day when the girl waiting on them in the convenience store is a teenager in a very short skirt and a tank top that doesn’t quite cover the swell of her breasts . The demon’s leapt the counter and slid one hand over her mouth and the other under her skirt to rip the fabric of her panties aside, so quickly it all happens while Sam’s back is turned buying a box of Lucky Charms. He barely has time to tackle the demon before he forces his way inside her, and the demon fights hard to get away from Sam and get what he wants, cursing and thrashing and still grabbing at the girl even as she’s turning around and kicking him in the balls and calling him a filthy pig. The girl’s good aim does Sam a favor, sending the demon to his knees long enough for Sam to get the spray bottle out and get him wet and out of there.
He’s still cursing and thrashing when Sam shoves him into the motel room, and his fists come close to connecting with Sam’s face even when he’s got his eyes closed against the holy water splashed on his face. They grapple backwards, the demon lashing out blindly and Sam blocking punches with one hand and brandishing the holy water with the other.
“Go ahead, fuckin’ go ahead,” the demon spits as Sam gets a hand around his throat and shoves him hard against the wall, pinning him there with the weight of his body. “Do it.”
It’s not what Sam expected, and his finger pauses on the trigger. “What?”
The demon doesn’t try to protect himself from Sam’s strangle hold, and he’s stopped throwing punches. He has a hand on Sam’s chest, not pushing him away, just flat and unmoving, and Sam can feel him shaking, muscles so taut they’re trembling. “What’re you waiting for?” he demands, voice rough as he chokes out the words. “For fucks sake, do it, I – I can’t stop, Sam, I can’t – just do it or I’m gonna –
He groans, hitches his hips and writhes against the wall like he’s in agony, and fuck, his fly’s still undone and his jeans have slipped low on his belly, and his dick’s still obscenely hard, pushing against the denim. “Fuckin’ hit me,” the demon growls, voice sandpaper deep but it still sounds like a plea as he meets Sam’s gaze. He flinches as Sam raises an arm, then closes his eyes and drops his head back to the wall, the bare of his throat working as he waits for Sam’s hand.
The sudden submission makes Sam’s gut twist so hard he groans with it. Fuck. Sam doesn’t stop to think. The holy water hits the floor with a thunk and Sam pushes his hand up underneath the demon’s tee shirt, fingers skittering across his flat belly, sliding down over muscled abs that quiver at his touch. The demon gasps, hisses out a sound that’s nothing more than a single consonant as Sam gets his hand inside the opened jeans, wraps his fingers around hot hard cock and tries not to think it’s his brother’s. Sam pumps him dry and brutal until the bursts of precum slick his strokes, and the demon’s fist curls in Sam’s shirt as he shudders. Sam jacks him fast, wants to have it over as quickly as he can, but it’s not so quick that he doesn’t hear the demon’s gasps turn to whimpers, broken off moans as he twists his hips up into Sam’s grasp and his fingers flex and relax in spasms clenching around Sam’s shirt. “Yeah, ohgod, fuck yes,” he groans, cock so wet now that Sam’s fist squelches and slaps as he slides it up and around and back down, and the demon bucks up hard and moans “Sammy” as he shoots again and again all over Sam’s belly.
“I still gotta spray you?” Sam asks as the demon comes down, and his voice is as shaky as his hand when he lets go, rubbing his sticky fingers against his jeans.
The demon sighs, opens his eyes lazily as he slowly releases his grip on Sam’s shirt and sinks back to lean boneless and breathless against the wall. “Nahhhh,” he drawls, “’m good.” He almost smiles with his swollen lips, but all Sam can see is the green of his eyes.
“Fuck. Dean,” Sam whispers, and his stomach flips hard.
* * *
Sam wakes up still thinking about it, his brother’s green eyes and his brother’s hard cock, the way he gasped out Sam’s name and moaned when he came, and how much jizz he left on Sam’s tee shirt, like it’d been months since he got off instead of probably days. Like he was so excited by the touch of Sam’s hand that he just came and came and came, and something about that thought has Sam wound up tight as a fucking drum. He wakes up with serious morning wood for the first time since the demon’s been sleeping in the bed next to him, trapped by the proximity of the binding spell. Fuck.
“Problem?” the demon asks sleepily, lashes still mostly shading the darkness of his eyes. He rolls to his side and runs his gaze slowly along Sam’s body, smirking appreciatively. Sam can feel the blush wash over him, coloring his cheeks and creeping down his bare chest, and he wishes suddenly that his tee shirt wasn’t lying on the floor in a cum-stiff ball right now or that he hadn’t kicked most of the sheets off in restless sleep. Or even that he wasn’t lying on his back, which is making things….obvious.
“No, no problem. I’m just gonna get up, take a shower.”
The demon smirks more. “How ya gonna do that without me seeing that really impressive hardon you’re sporting, Sammy?”
That’s it. Sam throws off the sheets and stalks to the bathroom, tossing the demon a “Fuck you” as he goes and yanking him painfully out of bed when the limits of their binding are stretched too far.
The demon half falls, half scrambles off the bed cursing, naked from the waist down and sporting his own really impressive erection, but Sam just heads into the bathroom and slams the door. The demon bumps against it from the outside, cursing Sam and kicking his bare foot against the wood. “Goddammit Sammy, why you gotta be like that?” he complains, and kicks the door again. “Ow, fuck, jesuschrist, c’mon Sam, I can suck you off so good, swear I can, make you come like a freight train. Learned a lot of tricks in hell, sucked a lot of dicks, c’mon.”
Sam freezes on the other side of the door, suddenly anything but excited. He leans against it, has to fight to keep his footing as his stomach heaves. “What did you say?” he asks through the door.
The demon stops kicking and complaining, and Sam can hear the thunk of his forehead against the wood. “You heard me,” he says, annoyed.
“They made you do that?”
The demon doesn’t answer for a long time, and when he does his voice is quiet, anger bled out. “Way to kill the mood, Sam. Take your fuckin’ shower.”
When it’s Sam’s turn to wait against the door, he finds he can’t stop thinking about it. About hell. About what happened there to turn his brother into – into this. This demon with some of Dean’s memories, with Dean’s face and his voice and so many of his expressions. There’s continuity there, Sam can feel it, can sense his brother’s presence somewhere inside the familiar body, but everything is different. What happened, to erase so much?
The demon comes out in a towel, the cuts and bruises Sam left on his face and body already healing.
“Tell me what happened,” Sam says as the demon pulls on his jeans.
His hand pauses on the zip for a moment, then the demon finishes getting dressed and shrugs. “Happened when?”
“Just tell me,” Sam insists, pushes ahead even though he’s rapidly losing his nerve and terrified to really hear the truth.
“You don’t wanna know, Sam.”
“Yeah, I do. I – I think I need to.”
The demon sits heavily on the bed, shakes his head and swallows. “Don’t think I can,” he says after a long pregnant pause.
“Why not? You don’t remember?” Part of Sam wants to let it go, wants to pat himself on the back for doing the right thing and asking, then retreat into blessed ignorance once again. But the other part knows he has to keep pushing. “I think you do.”
The demon sighs, lifts his head slowly to meet Sam’s gaze. “But I don’t want to.”
Okay, Sam can understand that. Who would want to remember being tortured in hell? But the demon does remember, Sam’s certain of it. “I don’t think you have a choice. Your dreams – every night you remember in your dreams anyway. Maybe you need to – I dunno, talk about it or something. Let yourself remember, just a little maybe.”
“This Demon Psychoanalysis 101 or something?” If black eyes could spark with anger, the demon’s would definitely be doing just that.
Sam, however, has never been accused of not being stubborn when he gets an idea into his head. Dean’s told him that a million times over the years, and it’s still true, even if whatever’s left of Dean doesn’t know it. “Something Ruby said’s bothering me – something about needing to fight and kill and fuck and whatever, about how you need to do that to dissipate all that energy. But it’s rage, that’s what it is – you need to do all those things because you’ve got it all stuck inside, and there’s nowhere for it to go except to take it out on anyone who’s unlucky enough to get in your way.”
The demon gawks at him. “You’re a crazy sonofabitch, Sam,” he says dismissively. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about.”
But Sam’s like a dog with a bone now, won’t let go or give up, pacing the three feet he can comfortably walk back and forth like a caged tiger in his excitement. “Yeah? Well, I think I do. Ruby can talk about it – she understands it, and it doesn’t rule her anymore. She can make choices, doesn’t have to act on everything she feels, doesn’t have to kill people to keep the rage at bay anymore. But you do, you’re stuck in it.”
“Fuck off,” the demon mutters, gets up and tries to put distance between them, but only succeeds in tripping Sam up and sending them both tumbling to the floor awkwardly. “Shit, now look what you did,” he grumbles, still trying to get away as Sam gets hold of both his arms and hauls him up to sitting.
“Tell me – just tell me one thing, just one thing to start,” Sam insists.
The demon finally meets his eyes, his expression both challenging and pleading. “You gonna get out the holy water if I don’t?”
Sam’s tempted to say yes, doesn’t know how else to get the goddamn thing to do what he says any other way, but the words stick in his throat this time. Somehow he doesn’t think it’ll work if the confession’s forced. Sam lets him go. “Fine, never mind.”
Sam gets slowly to his feet, sits wearily on the bed, the hopelessness of his situation – their situation – falling on him heavily. The silence sits between them like a dead thing.
“Yeah,” the demon finally says softly, still sitting on the floor and staring at a spot on the wall away from Sam. “They made me suck a lot of cock down there. Said I had the mouth for it. Such girly cocksucker lips.”
Sam’s stomach lurches, and he wants to scream stop, don’t tell me anymore, I can’t hear this, but he blinks hard and forces himself to stay silent.
“Not the good kind of cocksucking either. Not pretty cocks like yours, Sammy. No. Strangers’ dicks, too big to go down easy, but then nobody’s really does when they’ve got you by the ears and down on your knees and are ramming all the way in, feels like it’s gonna stab right through the back of your throat sometimes when they fuck your mouth like that. You can’t pass out in hell, didja know that, Sam? Even when you’ve got your throat full of dick, gagging on it, even when you can’t breathe you’re choking so hard, but it just goes on and on. More and more and more, always more.”
Sam doesn’t mean to, but his sob comes out audible instead of silent, and the demon seems to snap out of his memory, jerks his head up to stare at Sam.
“I – I’m sorry, didn’t mean to,” Sam apologizes, and then he can’t think of another bloody thing to say.
The demon’s oddly impassive, expression betraying no emotion at all, like he’s telling a story that happened to someone else. “That’s okay Sammy,” he says. “It was a long time ago,” and Sam realizes with a sudden shock that the demon is actually protecting him. It’s such a Dean impulse that it makes Sam’s stomach even queasier, emotions ricocheting from loss and love to revulsion and fury so quickly it’s making Sam’s head spin. He doesn’t even know who he’s mad at anymore. Everyone, everything.
“No, it’s okay,” he manages finally, when he’s fairly certain his voice won’t crack. “I wanna hear it. If you can experience it, I think I can stand to just hear about it, right?” He tries a lame attempt at humor. “I mean, I’m not that much of a wuss, y’know.”
Surprisingly, the demon smiles. Not his usual smirk, but an actual smile, though it’s tight and tentative. “Yes you are, Sam,” he says. And Sam – for the first time since the day he lost his brother -- smiles back.
Chapter Seven
Author: runedgirl
Rating: NC17 for sexual content and violence (yes, there might be sex this chapter….)
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/demon!Dean
Summary: The brother that Sam gets back isn’t the same, but Sam’s love is. Sam risks everything and leaves everyone he’s ever cared about behind in the desperate hope that the bond between him and Dean might just be strong enough to transcend what hell did to his brother.
Set post Season 3, seven months after Dean’s deal came due and written over the summer before it was AU, this story just kept writing itself and wouldn’t let go until it was an epic love story in every sense, eventually spanning five decades with enough twists and turns to make me dizzy.
Warning: Spoilers for S3 finale; violence; Wincest (obviously)
Beta: Big thanks to K for caring enough to make awesome suggestions *hugs*
AN: Not a WIP – story is finished with 18 chapters and will be posted regularly. Feedback is adored and promptly savored. Please let me know what you think? Two chapters this time, since some of the awesome FList asked.
Chapter Five
It’s dangerous to allow himself to be fooled by how much the demon looks like his brother. Sam learns this the hard way on the thirteenth day. The demon’s been agitated for hours, woke up surly and snappy and complained about every single fucking thing since 9 am. Dunkin Donuts has shitty coffee. The reception on the motel tv sucks. Sam used up all the hot water in the shower (because you’re a selfish prick, Sam, always have been). Demons can die from blue balls. (Sam’s pretty sure that one’s a lie, but the demon’s making a good show of grabbing his crotch and moaning about it nevertheless). Sam’s trying to make him anorexic (when do we get to eat steak, Sam, like two grown men should?)
The demon has most of Dean’s worst qualities, only now they seem to be magnified exponentially. Maybe he was a jerk sometimes before, but now he’s pretty damn close to insufferable. Unfortunately, it’s not just his propensity for being annoying, Sam’s kinda used to that. Most of it goes with the territory of ‘little brother’, so half of the demon’s attempts to drive Sam nuts just end up making him nostalgic.
It’s the other changes that are making Ruby’s little joke not very fucking funny, because Sam can’t get away. And the demon knows it. Dean has always been good looking. Even when Sam was fourteen and green with envy, hating the way Dean could walk into a room and effortlessly draw heated gazes, Sam’s eyes were drawn there along with everyone else’s. Dean’s always been aware of his effect on people, wasn’t above joking about being fucking hot or god’s gift to the women of Small Town Whatever. But now he’s ridiculous – doesn’t shut the door when he’s in the bathroom, and he likes to stand in front of the mirror when he gets out of the shower and just look. Maybe it was the prospect of losing his body, his fear of not being able to get back into it. Or maybe it’s knowing his body will look exactly like this forever, frozen perfect just before thirty with every muscle honed and hard and the only lines on that pretty face the fine crinkles that border his eyes. Whatever’s going through the demon’s head, he’s taken Dean’s swaggering appreciation of his own assets to an unhealthy near-obsession.
Sam’s left tugged up reluctantly close against the doorjamb, trying not to stare and cursing Ruby’s three foot tether. This stupid little motel they’re staying in barely has room for the double bed he has to request, since twin beds put too much room between them. The motel clerks always glare when he does, which makes the demon say stupid things like ‘is the bed gonna be big enough for both of us, big boy?’ and Sam’s cheeks flame with embarrassment. Tiny room notwithstanding, for some inexplicable reason (okay, Sam probably could come up with an explanation, since it’s called the Sneakaway Motel), the bathroom is nearly as big as the rest of it, and the mirror takes up almost an entire wall. Sam’s surprised it’s not over the bed, and is suddenly grateful for that small favor, imagining the demon laying next to him half the night studying his own gorgeousness. Instead he primps and preens in front of the giant bathroom one, unashamedly naked, skin still glistening damp from the shower.
“You gonna get dressed any time today?” Sam asks, turning around so the demon won’t see the blush coloring his cheeks. Dean’s body is as beautiful as ever, and the demon is much more willing to show it off than Dean ever was. To Sam, anyway.
“What’s your hurry, Sam?” His voice is taunting, and Sam knows why. “See something you like more than you should?”
Yep. There it is. The fact that it’s sort of true just makes it more annoying. “Fuck you.”
“Fuck me? Great idea!”
Sam wonders why he chose that stupid phrase. He turns around to come up with another, only to choke on the words, and it comes out just a sputter.
“C’mon then,” the demon says in a voice that’s suddenly an octave deeper, “your idea, so c’mon and do it. You know you want my tight little ass.” He bends himself over the sink and wiggles his naked buttocks in what really should be more ridiculous than seductive, but somehow it makes Sam’s dick do an acrobatic trick inside his jeans anyway. “Or maybe you wanna spank me first, huh Sammy? I know ‘m a bad boy sometimes.”
Sam doesn’t even try to answer, just spins around and holds his breath, willing his cock down. Not before the demon’s seen its stupid little display of interest probably.
The whole thing does nothing to improve the demon’s mood – or Sam’s.
In retrospect, Sam realizes it wasn’t a good idea to leave the motel room that day, but being locked inside for twelve hours with nothing but the demon’s constant bitching or maddening attempts at seduction have made Sam too desperate to care.
“C’mon, we’re going out.” The demon claps his hands together, gleeful like a little kid who’s finally allowed to go outside to play. He tugs on jeans and a tee shirt, and puts on the shades he’s been wearing to hide his black eyes even though it’s long after sundown. Sam idly wonders what people will think of that, but doesn’t care enough to turn around and go back to the motel like he should.
There’s a bar a few miles down the road, neon flashing and Harleys alternating with pickups in the lot. The demon grins, thrumming with anticipation as he leads the way across the smoke-saturated room, Sam hurrying to keep up. Things go wrong fairly quickly. The demon orders a beer, turns to Sam with a look that’s pure challenge. “Your treat, right?” he smiles, and waits for Sam to pull out his wallet, running his tongue from one corner of those full smirking lips to the other suggestively. Sam barely has time to grab a beer of his own (only one, since the last thing he needs is to be drunk and joined at the hip with a demon – sober is proving enough of a challenge) before he’s being tugged along to the pool tables.
Amazingly, the demon’s still got Dean’s skill – but very little of Dean’s charm. He shoulders right in, lines up a shot that belonged to someone else and sinks it perfectly. “Move over, girls, lemme show ya how it’s done,” he says loudly, to the assorted leather-jacketed and inked and not-at-all-girly big dudes who were in the middle of a game. They gape for a moment, caught off guard by this pretty boy’s brash swagger, and for a split second Sam thinks he’s gonna get away with it.
“Show us how it’s done, will ya?” a very large man with a very bald head and shoulders the width of a refrigerator drawls, “Maybe we should show you instead – show you who’s the girl here, prettyboy.” And he grabs the demon with one ham hock of an arm and tosses him on his belly over the pool table. The demon stays still for a moment, bent over with his ass in the air, then he slowly and deliberately slides his feet apart on the floor and spreads his legs provocatively. The biker dudes whistle, catcalling and grinning, and one of them slaps the demon’s ass appreciatively.
They can’t see the demon’s face, but Sam can. White teeth slowly bared in a feral grin, and Sam warns, “Get back, don’t –
Of course it’s too late, and none of them would have listened to him anyway. Sam can only stand staring at the stunned expression on the bald guy’s face as he clutches the broken-off pool cue that’s now piercing his chest, then crumples to the floor at Sam’s feet. Oh Jesus.
The demon’s already going for the next man when Sam’s hunter instincts kick in, and lucky for the rest of them the demon can’t get far enough away to elude him. He fights, though, landing a vicious kick to Sam’s knee and a punch to the jaw before Sam can get the holy water out of his pocket. The demon makes a grab for it, and might have succeeded if the dead guy’s friends didn’t choose that moment to pull out of their shock and crack another pool cue right over the demon’s head. He laughs like a madman as the blood runs down his forehead, has the splintered cue in his hands and well-aimed before they can even back up, but it’s all the time Sam needs to depress the trigger and loose a stream of holy water that strikes the demon square in the throat, splashing up into his face and soaking down into his shirt. He goes down like a shot, and Sam gets hold of an arm and just fucking pulls, drags him kicking and screaming out the door and throws him into the back of the Impala, the crack of a gunshot whizzing overhead as Sam screeches away.
The demon curses him all the way back to the motel, fidgeting uncomfortably in the back seat and threatening to beat Sam to a pulp in his sleep, and Sam can’t even see he’s so furious – with himself as much as the demon. What in god’s name was he thinking, doing this? This isn’t his brother, who just impaled a human being on a pool cue. This is a fucking demon, and that guy’s death is on Sam’s shoulders. Ohgod, what has he done? What has he fucking done?
He wants to haul off and just pummel the demon while he’s still weak from the holy water bath, beat that demonic grin off his fucking face, make him cry and bleed and beg, rip him apart until he finds his brother somewhere underneath. But Sam’s stomach rebels when he remembers the blood spurting from around the wooden cue embedded in that guy’s ribs and he ends up on his knees hanging on the toilet. The demon’s yanked along with him, landing on the floor of the tiny bathroom, still cursing and threatening while Sam pukes his guts up.
All the sickening terror he’s been holding back comes up, violent and painful, and Sam doesn’t realize the demon’s quieted beside him until he finally slumps over emptied and spent.
“You okay?” the demon asks after a minute or two of only the sound of Sam’s shallow breaths.
Sam twists to stare, eyebrows raised right up into his damp bangs. “Am I okay?” he repeats incredulously. “You just stabbed a guy to death with a pool cue, and you wanna know if I’m okay?”
The demon shrugs, his neck and chest still red from the holy water, pink patches on his cheeks and nose from the splatters. “Might not’ve been dead. He was a big fucker.” He glances at Sam, then ducks his head and stares at the tiled floor. “So…. Are you?”
“What d’you fucking think?” The anger’s pouring back in now, hot and urgent, and Sam swallows hard.
“I dunno, that’s why –
“You don’t know? Well fine, I’ll tell you then – NO, no I’m not okay, you – you probably just killed somebody back there, and –
“He had it comin’” the demon insists, petulant, and that just sends Sam into overdrive. He’s on top of the demon in an instant, hauls him up to his feet with hands fisted into his still-damp shirt, and slams him back against the wall with all the strength he has left.
“No he fucking didn’t, and you fucking know it! You went in there and picked a fight with them, you lying filthy bastard, and why? Just so you could have an excuse to kill someone?”
“I’m a demon!” the demon protests, trying to knee Sam in the groin.
“You get your kicks from hurting people, is that it?”
“Maybe,” the demon snarls, and manages to kick Sam’s knee right where he injured it before.
Sam’s breath hisses through his teeth with the pain, but he doesn’t let go even as his vision swims with it.
“Let’s see how you like it then,” Sam growls back, and from this close the spray he aims covers the demon’s entire right side. He curses and tries to duck away, but Sam’s still got hold of his tee shirt, hangs on as the demon scrambles backwards and falls. Sam lands on top of him, holy water raining down over the demon’s chest in streams. There’s so much steam Sam can barely see through it, and the demon’s screams are so loud in his ear he’s half deafened, but his finger on the trigger keeps squeezing and squeezing as the demon writhes and bucks beneath him. When he runs out of holy water, Sam starts punching instead, relishing the satisfying thud as his fist connects with cheekbone, nose, stomach.
“Fucker,” Sam’s yelling between blows, “Give him back, give him the fuck back – risked everything, fucking everything, and this – this – is what you do? Motherfucker – gimme –dammit --
He doesn’t know how long he lashes out, hits until he’s too exhausted to hit anymore, and then he sits back breathless, straddling the demon’s thighs, and just stares.
Dean’s face. Blood runs from his nose and trickles from his mouth, lips cut and swollen. Dean’s body. Ribs probably bruised, maybe broken, from Sam’s fists. Ohgod.
The demon twitches beneath him, full body shudder as he moans and tries to lick his lips. “S-sam,” he says, opens his eyes and they’re black as night, but somehow Sam can still see the expression there, wonders when he learned to read it. “Hurts.”
“So does my knee, you bastard.”
The demon shivers again, wet clothes and skin still tormenting him. “Sorry,” he whispers.
The fight goes out of Sam as quickly as it came, and he rolls to the side to let the demon up. The demon stays down though, just tries to pull his wet tee shirt off with fingers trembling so badly he can’t get a grip on it, hisses out a “fuck, fuck” through his bloody lips and starts shaking so much his teeth are chattering with it.
“Jesus, I didn’t mean,” Sam starts, but can’t finish it, because hell, he did mean it, and the demon knows it as well as he does. Instead, he pulls off the demon’s saturated shirt and jeans, wrangles him naked and swaying into the shower and props him against the tile. The demon keeps his eyes closed the entire time, shivering as Sam soaps the holy water off his skin and shampoos it out of his hair. It’s ridiculous, he knows it is, but he’s washing Dean’s body as much as he’s taking care of the demon, and Sam can’t help but dab the blood from his brother’s nose and swollen mouth, stroke a finger over the bruise already purpling over his cheekbone.
Sam doesn’t even bother dressing him, just towels him off and pushes him onto one side of the bed before stripping to his boxers and climbing onto the other. He’s too exhausted to care whether the demon will decide to make good on any of his threats, isn’t sure he’s really afraid of dying anymore. Might be better than this hell on earth of a life he’s consigned himself to.
* * *
He wakes up with the sun high enough to pour through the motel windows and give Sam a tan on one arm. The demon’s dressed in Sam’s discarded tee shirt and a clean pair of his boxers, the only things he could reach without moving more than three feet away. He has a black eye – around his black eye – and his lower lip is so swollen it’s twice the size it should be. “You gonna freak out like that every time I get outta line?” he asks tentatively.
Sam rubs his eyes. “Yeah. Probably.”
The demon sighs, rubs at the bruise on his cheek, turns to stare out the window away from Sam.
“Don’t think I can help it,” he finally says, his voice quieter than Sam’s ever heard it.
“What does that mean?”
“I just --- don’t know if I can explain it, Sam. Sometimes it just – it builds up, inside me, it’s like – I gotta do something, gotta kill, gotta fight, gotta – something, gotta do something, or it’ll make me crazy, and I can’t stand it.” He runs his hand through his short hair, leaving haphazard spikes in his wake that look incongruously adorable. Sam’s too-big tee shirt gaps at his neck and slides a little down one sparsely freckled shoulder, and the fine blonde hairs on his thighs catch the sun and glimmer. He’s boyish and beautiful, sitting there telling Sam he doesn’t think he can stop killing people.
“Well you’ve got to.”
“Good thing you can apparently kick my ass every once in a while then,” the demon answers, and he manages a hint of a smirk even with his badly cut lips.
“Apparently,” Sam agrees.
“I taught you well,” the demon says, considering, and Sam suddenly remembers late afternoons when they fell together behind the garage of a house in Iowa, Dean letting Sam practice the moves that would keep him alive, his strong body pliant and willing in Sam’s inexperienced hands. Remembers the bruises on Dean’s arms, the scrapes raw on his back where his tee shirt pushed up as he fell too hard. The ones Dean never complained about, just shrugged a satisfied grin at his little brother’s growing strength and skill like it was worth a few bruises.
“Never thought it’d come back to haunt me,” the demon complains, but there’s that same satisfaction underneath the gruff words, and he slants his gaze to Sam across the bed as he says it.
Now Sam’s the one who has to know how to keep them both alive – and how to keep the rest of the world alive too -- and he feels the unfamiliar burden settle like stone on his shoulders. Sam’s turn to teach, and disregard the bruises. He remembers the clap of his brother’s hand against his back as they brushed off the dirt and headed back to the house, the flush of pride that burned its way up Sam’s neck at the warmth in Dean’s touch. Dean, who gave his body to Sam to bruise back then to keep Sam safe, as easily as he gave his soul to hell for the same reason.
Sam meets the black eyes and swallows down the memory of the blood sticky under his shoes as they left the bar. “We’ll figure it out,” he promises.
Chapter Six
Help comes from unlikely places, but Sam will take it where he can find it.
“I always thought bruised and bloody was a good look on you, Dean,” Ruby smiles when Sam opens the door only three hours later. “Get into a fight?”
“Something like that,” the demon snarls back, circling in front of Sam and narrowing his eyes at their visitor.
“Oh come on Dean, that’s no way to treat family,” she taunts, and his lip curls up so much it splits again. He licks at the blood and doesn’t move back.
Sam motions her inside reluctantly. “What do you want, Ruby?”
“Just curious, actually. About how he’s doing. How you’re doing. I mean, nobody’s ever tried this before. Demons and humans, not really meant to hang out together, you know?”
Sam sighs. “Yeah. I know.”
She softens a little, sits down on one of the beds and pushes her long dark hair behind one ear. “Well, you’re still alive. That’s a surprise right there. Wanna tell me what happened?”
“Not really,” the demon answers before Sam can.
“Embarrassed, Dean?” she purrs. “Let some weak humans get the better of you?”
Sam grabs the demon’s clenched fist before he can connect it with Ruby’s challenging grin. “Cut it out,” he warns. “I’ve had enough of him fighting.”
The demon allows Sam to hold him back, but Sam can feel the muscles tense and ready, the effort it’s taking for him to stay still.
“He says it gets overwhelming, that he has to fight, has to kill, or it – it builds up and gets to be too much.”
Ruby laughs, smoothes her hands over the bedspread, crosses her legs. She casts an almost fond smile at Dean, who bristles and growls low in his throat. Sam squeezes his wrist.
“He’s young,” she shrugs, matter of factly. “I’d almost forgotten, but yeah, it’s like that, especially in the beginning. For some of us, it’s always like that. If you can’t get the rage out, remember it -- deal with everything that happened. Most demons never do get it out, they just keep fighting. Different faces, same fight.”
She cocks her head, and her eyes slide up and down Sam, travel over to the demon and do the same, finally land on the point where Sam’s hand still grips the demon’s wrist. “But you know,” she says, and her brown eyes are glinting with what looks like mischief, “Fighting isn’t the only way to dissipate all that energy, boys.”
She’s still smirking when she leaves.
Later that day, when they’ve put two hundred miles between them and the violence at Lenny’s Place, the demon sulks over their well-done burgers and greasy diner fries. “Next time I’ll find some sweet young thing and take all my excess ‘energy’ out on her then,” he grumbles.
“You mean you’ll rape some innocent girl,” Sam corrects, scowling.
The demon scowls right back. “Semantics.”
“It’s not semantics, De—you, it’s not – you can’t rape or kill people!” Sam stabs at the plate with his fork, sending it screeching across the cheap china. “I won’t let you,” he adds, glaring.
“Then you’d better get used to beating the shit outta me,” the demon yells, and three elderly women in the next booth stop talking to stare.
Sam shoots them an apologetic fake smile, narrows his gaze at the demon to shush him. “Eat your burger,” he says, and wonders if the demon’s right.
* * *
Sam beating the shit out of him that one night keeps the demon in line for three more days. Three days of the demon leering at everyone who comes into his line of sight – which, of course, includes Sam. Constantly. He crowds up against Sam in the bathroom, elbows him out of the way when they’re both at the tiny sink only to reach out and haul him back by the belt loop before the binding spell pulls them tight and knocks the breath out of them. At night Sam wakes to find them rolled to the center of the bed, whether by gravity or the demon’s machinations, he doesn’t know. Only knows that the demon’s hip is pressed to his own, heat of his skin burning deep, right to the center of Sam. His brother’s warmth, solid and sure and so close, nothing between them, and all Sam wants is to forget this isn’t Dean. Forget that the demon’s eyes are black and he wants to fuck Sam, not love him. Wants to pretend that he can have the things he’s always wanted in the dark depths of his heart.
He doesn’t. Sam rolls away whenever he wakes, shoves the demon back to his side of the bed. Ignores the muttered complaints, the demon’s accusations (you’re such a little cocktease, Sam) and pleas (just one kiss, Sammy, lemme taste you, gonna taste so fuckin’ good, god, your pretty mouth). Pretends to be asleep when the demon jerks off in the dark beside him, Sam’s ears pricked for the bitten off grunts and harsh breaths, the slight bounce of the bed when he gets close and can’t inhibit the thrust of his hips. Ignores the sharp smell of sex in the room after, and the way the demon stretches his lean body under the quilts, curls to his side with a sigh. Sam lays there hard and scared and biting his lip, tells himself he can ignore this forever.
Sam’s determined ignorance and the demon’s fragile acquiescence goes to hell on the fourth day when the girl waiting on them in the convenience store is a teenager in a very short skirt and a tank top that doesn’t quite cover the swell of her breasts . The demon’s leapt the counter and slid one hand over her mouth and the other under her skirt to rip the fabric of her panties aside, so quickly it all happens while Sam’s back is turned buying a box of Lucky Charms. He barely has time to tackle the demon before he forces his way inside her, and the demon fights hard to get away from Sam and get what he wants, cursing and thrashing and still grabbing at the girl even as she’s turning around and kicking him in the balls and calling him a filthy pig. The girl’s good aim does Sam a favor, sending the demon to his knees long enough for Sam to get the spray bottle out and get him wet and out of there.
He’s still cursing and thrashing when Sam shoves him into the motel room, and his fists come close to connecting with Sam’s face even when he’s got his eyes closed against the holy water splashed on his face. They grapple backwards, the demon lashing out blindly and Sam blocking punches with one hand and brandishing the holy water with the other.
“Go ahead, fuckin’ go ahead,” the demon spits as Sam gets a hand around his throat and shoves him hard against the wall, pinning him there with the weight of his body. “Do it.”
It’s not what Sam expected, and his finger pauses on the trigger. “What?”
The demon doesn’t try to protect himself from Sam’s strangle hold, and he’s stopped throwing punches. He has a hand on Sam’s chest, not pushing him away, just flat and unmoving, and Sam can feel him shaking, muscles so taut they’re trembling. “What’re you waiting for?” he demands, voice rough as he chokes out the words. “For fucks sake, do it, I – I can’t stop, Sam, I can’t – just do it or I’m gonna –
He groans, hitches his hips and writhes against the wall like he’s in agony, and fuck, his fly’s still undone and his jeans have slipped low on his belly, and his dick’s still obscenely hard, pushing against the denim. “Fuckin’ hit me,” the demon growls, voice sandpaper deep but it still sounds like a plea as he meets Sam’s gaze. He flinches as Sam raises an arm, then closes his eyes and drops his head back to the wall, the bare of his throat working as he waits for Sam’s hand.
The sudden submission makes Sam’s gut twist so hard he groans with it. Fuck. Sam doesn’t stop to think. The holy water hits the floor with a thunk and Sam pushes his hand up underneath the demon’s tee shirt, fingers skittering across his flat belly, sliding down over muscled abs that quiver at his touch. The demon gasps, hisses out a sound that’s nothing more than a single consonant as Sam gets his hand inside the opened jeans, wraps his fingers around hot hard cock and tries not to think it’s his brother’s. Sam pumps him dry and brutal until the bursts of precum slick his strokes, and the demon’s fist curls in Sam’s shirt as he shudders. Sam jacks him fast, wants to have it over as quickly as he can, but it’s not so quick that he doesn’t hear the demon’s gasps turn to whimpers, broken off moans as he twists his hips up into Sam’s grasp and his fingers flex and relax in spasms clenching around Sam’s shirt. “Yeah, ohgod, fuck yes,” he groans, cock so wet now that Sam’s fist squelches and slaps as he slides it up and around and back down, and the demon bucks up hard and moans “Sammy” as he shoots again and again all over Sam’s belly.
“I still gotta spray you?” Sam asks as the demon comes down, and his voice is as shaky as his hand when he lets go, rubbing his sticky fingers against his jeans.
The demon sighs, opens his eyes lazily as he slowly releases his grip on Sam’s shirt and sinks back to lean boneless and breathless against the wall. “Nahhhh,” he drawls, “’m good.” He almost smiles with his swollen lips, but all Sam can see is the green of his eyes.
“Fuck. Dean,” Sam whispers, and his stomach flips hard.
* * *
Sam wakes up still thinking about it, his brother’s green eyes and his brother’s hard cock, the way he gasped out Sam’s name and moaned when he came, and how much jizz he left on Sam’s tee shirt, like it’d been months since he got off instead of probably days. Like he was so excited by the touch of Sam’s hand that he just came and came and came, and something about that thought has Sam wound up tight as a fucking drum. He wakes up with serious morning wood for the first time since the demon’s been sleeping in the bed next to him, trapped by the proximity of the binding spell. Fuck.
“Problem?” the demon asks sleepily, lashes still mostly shading the darkness of his eyes. He rolls to his side and runs his gaze slowly along Sam’s body, smirking appreciatively. Sam can feel the blush wash over him, coloring his cheeks and creeping down his bare chest, and he wishes suddenly that his tee shirt wasn’t lying on the floor in a cum-stiff ball right now or that he hadn’t kicked most of the sheets off in restless sleep. Or even that he wasn’t lying on his back, which is making things….obvious.
“No, no problem. I’m just gonna get up, take a shower.”
The demon smirks more. “How ya gonna do that without me seeing that really impressive hardon you’re sporting, Sammy?”
That’s it. Sam throws off the sheets and stalks to the bathroom, tossing the demon a “Fuck you” as he goes and yanking him painfully out of bed when the limits of their binding are stretched too far.
The demon half falls, half scrambles off the bed cursing, naked from the waist down and sporting his own really impressive erection, but Sam just heads into the bathroom and slams the door. The demon bumps against it from the outside, cursing Sam and kicking his bare foot against the wood. “Goddammit Sammy, why you gotta be like that?” he complains, and kicks the door again. “Ow, fuck, jesuschrist, c’mon Sam, I can suck you off so good, swear I can, make you come like a freight train. Learned a lot of tricks in hell, sucked a lot of dicks, c’mon.”
Sam freezes on the other side of the door, suddenly anything but excited. He leans against it, has to fight to keep his footing as his stomach heaves. “What did you say?” he asks through the door.
The demon stops kicking and complaining, and Sam can hear the thunk of his forehead against the wood. “You heard me,” he says, annoyed.
“They made you do that?”
The demon doesn’t answer for a long time, and when he does his voice is quiet, anger bled out. “Way to kill the mood, Sam. Take your fuckin’ shower.”
When it’s Sam’s turn to wait against the door, he finds he can’t stop thinking about it. About hell. About what happened there to turn his brother into – into this. This demon with some of Dean’s memories, with Dean’s face and his voice and so many of his expressions. There’s continuity there, Sam can feel it, can sense his brother’s presence somewhere inside the familiar body, but everything is different. What happened, to erase so much?
The demon comes out in a towel, the cuts and bruises Sam left on his face and body already healing.
“Tell me what happened,” Sam says as the demon pulls on his jeans.
His hand pauses on the zip for a moment, then the demon finishes getting dressed and shrugs. “Happened when?”
“Just tell me,” Sam insists, pushes ahead even though he’s rapidly losing his nerve and terrified to really hear the truth.
“You don’t wanna know, Sam.”
“Yeah, I do. I – I think I need to.”
The demon sits heavily on the bed, shakes his head and swallows. “Don’t think I can,” he says after a long pregnant pause.
“Why not? You don’t remember?” Part of Sam wants to let it go, wants to pat himself on the back for doing the right thing and asking, then retreat into blessed ignorance once again. But the other part knows he has to keep pushing. “I think you do.”
The demon sighs, lifts his head slowly to meet Sam’s gaze. “But I don’t want to.”
Okay, Sam can understand that. Who would want to remember being tortured in hell? But the demon does remember, Sam’s certain of it. “I don’t think you have a choice. Your dreams – every night you remember in your dreams anyway. Maybe you need to – I dunno, talk about it or something. Let yourself remember, just a little maybe.”
“This Demon Psychoanalysis 101 or something?” If black eyes could spark with anger, the demon’s would definitely be doing just that.
Sam, however, has never been accused of not being stubborn when he gets an idea into his head. Dean’s told him that a million times over the years, and it’s still true, even if whatever’s left of Dean doesn’t know it. “Something Ruby said’s bothering me – something about needing to fight and kill and fuck and whatever, about how you need to do that to dissipate all that energy. But it’s rage, that’s what it is – you need to do all those things because you’ve got it all stuck inside, and there’s nowhere for it to go except to take it out on anyone who’s unlucky enough to get in your way.”
The demon gawks at him. “You’re a crazy sonofabitch, Sam,” he says dismissively. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about.”
But Sam’s like a dog with a bone now, won’t let go or give up, pacing the three feet he can comfortably walk back and forth like a caged tiger in his excitement. “Yeah? Well, I think I do. Ruby can talk about it – she understands it, and it doesn’t rule her anymore. She can make choices, doesn’t have to act on everything she feels, doesn’t have to kill people to keep the rage at bay anymore. But you do, you’re stuck in it.”
“Fuck off,” the demon mutters, gets up and tries to put distance between them, but only succeeds in tripping Sam up and sending them both tumbling to the floor awkwardly. “Shit, now look what you did,” he grumbles, still trying to get away as Sam gets hold of both his arms and hauls him up to sitting.
“Tell me – just tell me one thing, just one thing to start,” Sam insists.
The demon finally meets his eyes, his expression both challenging and pleading. “You gonna get out the holy water if I don’t?”
Sam’s tempted to say yes, doesn’t know how else to get the goddamn thing to do what he says any other way, but the words stick in his throat this time. Somehow he doesn’t think it’ll work if the confession’s forced. Sam lets him go. “Fine, never mind.”
Sam gets slowly to his feet, sits wearily on the bed, the hopelessness of his situation – their situation – falling on him heavily. The silence sits between them like a dead thing.
“Yeah,” the demon finally says softly, still sitting on the floor and staring at a spot on the wall away from Sam. “They made me suck a lot of cock down there. Said I had the mouth for it. Such girly cocksucker lips.”
Sam’s stomach lurches, and he wants to scream stop, don’t tell me anymore, I can’t hear this, but he blinks hard and forces himself to stay silent.
“Not the good kind of cocksucking either. Not pretty cocks like yours, Sammy. No. Strangers’ dicks, too big to go down easy, but then nobody’s really does when they’ve got you by the ears and down on your knees and are ramming all the way in, feels like it’s gonna stab right through the back of your throat sometimes when they fuck your mouth like that. You can’t pass out in hell, didja know that, Sam? Even when you’ve got your throat full of dick, gagging on it, even when you can’t breathe you’re choking so hard, but it just goes on and on. More and more and more, always more.”
Sam doesn’t mean to, but his sob comes out audible instead of silent, and the demon seems to snap out of his memory, jerks his head up to stare at Sam.
“I – I’m sorry, didn’t mean to,” Sam apologizes, and then he can’t think of another bloody thing to say.
The demon’s oddly impassive, expression betraying no emotion at all, like he’s telling a story that happened to someone else. “That’s okay Sammy,” he says. “It was a long time ago,” and Sam realizes with a sudden shock that the demon is actually protecting him. It’s such a Dean impulse that it makes Sam’s stomach even queasier, emotions ricocheting from loss and love to revulsion and fury so quickly it’s making Sam’s head spin. He doesn’t even know who he’s mad at anymore. Everyone, everything.
“No, it’s okay,” he manages finally, when he’s fairly certain his voice won’t crack. “I wanna hear it. If you can experience it, I think I can stand to just hear about it, right?” He tries a lame attempt at humor. “I mean, I’m not that much of a wuss, y’know.”
Surprisingly, the demon smiles. Not his usual smirk, but an actual smile, though it’s tight and tentative. “Yes you are, Sam,” he says. And Sam – for the first time since the day he lost his brother -- smiles back.
Chapter Seven
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-10-28 01:52 pm (UTC)Poor broken D/Dean. Being raped in hell sounds more devastating than being raped on earth.
Sam has some troubling days ahead huh.
Psych 101, here we come!!!
no subject
Date: 2008-10-28 07:08 pm (UTC)Thanks!
Lynsey
no subject
Date: 2008-10-28 01:55 pm (UTC)I like the tightrope you're walking with the rageful demon, the way its eyes are always black and the way Sam keeps it in line with the holy water. How long before Sam gives in to his more primal urges?? Nice tension there! I really liked the way after Sam jerked him off, Dean's green eyes reappeared. Casting forward, it looks to me like if Sam can help the demon bleed off more of its rage, he might get more of Dean back.
I remember in canon the similarity between the face demon Dean made in the dreamroot vision, and the face Dean made when he told the YED he'd be the one to kill him. Sam's brother always did have the potential for that consuming rage ---
in a semi-theological aside -- I can't believe in a sentient creature that is "made of evil" with no room for repentance. Free will has to mean the possibility of self-determination. I actually love the character of Ruby for that reason -- she doesn't just act out of blind evil -- and it seems like in this story she's done the boys a big favor linking them together and I like that! So I want to believe that the Demon can learn control. I guess I've been reading a lot of BDSM, but he looks like he needs a strong Master, and top!Sam is my favorite!! Spiritual redemption through submission FTW!! :)
I guess in my icon it should be Dean in the cage!!
no subject
Date: 2008-10-28 07:10 pm (UTC)Hugs,
Lyns
no subject
Date: 2008-10-29 12:27 am (UTC)Can't wait for the rest!! I enjoy the doling out!
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2008-10-28 02:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-28 07:12 pm (UTC)Hugs,
Lynsey
no subject
Date: 2008-10-28 07:15 pm (UTC)Hugs,
Lyns
no subject
Date: 2008-10-28 04:46 pm (UTC)And dude, that demon can be so annoying. But then he goes and tells stories about hell and I whimper.
I love it.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-28 07:15 pm (UTC)Hugs,
Lynsey
no subject
Date: 2008-10-28 07:17 pm (UTC)Hugs,
Lynsey
no subject
Date: 2008-10-28 07:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-28 06:24 pm (UTC)Dean is clearly still there and I'm sure Sam'll know how to get to him.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-28 07:18 pm (UTC)Hugs,
Lynsey
no subject
Date: 2008-10-28 09:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-29 01:00 am (UTC)Hugs,
Lynsey
no subject
Date: 2008-10-28 11:42 pm (UTC)The story is running.... well running...
Demon!Dean is an asshole, but soooooo awsome... and he continues taking care of Sammy....
thanks!
no subject
Date: 2008-10-29 01:00 am (UTC)Hugs,
Lynsey
no subject
Date: 2008-10-28 11:47 pm (UTC)I can't wait for more.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-29 01:01 am (UTC)Thanks so much,
Lynsey
no subject
Date: 2008-10-29 01:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-30 01:40 am (UTC)Thanks again,
Lynsey
no subject
Date: 2008-10-30 01:41 am (UTC)Hugs,
Lynsey
no subject
Date: 2008-10-30 01:42 am (UTC)Thanks so much for reading!
Lynsey
no subject
Date: 2008-10-29 11:33 pm (UTC)That was just...oddly beautiful, and horribly sad all at once, and it was so perfectly placed in between the akward stories and the smile ending...just absolutely great.
This fic is coming along so wonderfully, I absolutely love every chapter. I literally squeed when I saw this update.
♥ Keep it up.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-30 01:43 am (UTC)Hugs,
Lynsey
no subject
Date: 2008-10-30 03:17 pm (UTC)I love how the demon was showing that bit of protectiveness towards Sam.
Sam realizes with a sudden shock that the demon is actually protecting him.
And I'm still completely crazy about the way we get glimpses of the old Dean, calling Sam "Sammy" and all of that.
It's nice to see the ways they're progressing in the story too. I've noticed how Demon!Dean is giving Sam a little less of a hard time now and not really threatening him anymore. But poor Sam is not responding well to some of Demon!Dean's actions. : (
no subject
Date: 2008-10-30 08:11 pm (UTC)Hugs,
Lynsey
no subject
Date: 2008-10-31 02:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-31 02:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-01 03:28 pm (UTC)The boys starting to connect...it hurts so good.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-02 06:15 am (UTC)Lots of hugs,
Lynsey
no subject
Date: 2008-11-02 02:34 am (UTC)You're amazing.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-02 06:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-02 06:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-07 02:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-07 04:45 pm (UTC)Thanks so much for the thoughtful feedback :)
Hugs,
Lynsey
no subject
Date: 2009-01-29 05:34 am (UTC)After the bar incident when Sam is getting sick in the bathroom and Demon!Dean asks if he is okay and how violent Sam's response is and he asks the Demon to give Dean back: I ache for them. This was so intense and just right for the moment.
What I loved most: Sam has started recognizing the expression in the eyes of Demon!Dean; eyes that are black. That was the most beautiful moment for me.
They are different but have retained their qualities and I like how Demon!Dean remembers things and occasionally mentions them, how proud he is that he taught Sam well.
Thank you for writing this and sharing.
ch 6
Date: 2009-01-29 06:36 am (UTC)I am glad that they do communicate with each other and that Demon!Dean mentioned to Sam that he cannot control himself and Sam responded that they will do it together.
The total submission of Demon!Dean to Sam for any torture after the demon almost raped the girl, and Sam's response were phenomenal. I especially liked the description of the holy water being dropped on the floor.
It hurts so much to hear of Dean's time in hell. He still wants to spare Sam the details.
Oh boys, they are so broken, so hurt, so confused, and just so very perfect.
Thanks for writing this and sharing.
Re: ch 6
Date: 2009-01-30 06:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-03 01:37 pm (UTC)All the intense moments between the boys are so, um, intense. This is a killer idea, but the execution of the idea is some gorgeous writing.
Plus I'm tickled that Sam found Dean in Lebanon, my home town. EEEEE! How I wish they really would stop by, I know quite a few possessed people.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-25 08:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-01 07:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-02 01:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-25 04:18 pm (UTC)That really made me shiver, the juxtaposition of Dean slaughtering someone like that and then trying to look after Sam.
The realization of what Dean's seeing in those nightmares floored me.
But Dean's eyes showing green when Sam gets him off? Oddly hopeful.
no subject
Date: 2009-10-26 12:42 am (UTC)