![[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 9/18
Author: runedgirl
Rating: NC17 for sexual content and violence
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.
With all the discussion of how Dean would be when he came back from hell recently, I wonder what Kripke and co. would think of this fic – definitely not a ‘Dean came back okay’ version. Hmmm.
Chapter Nine
Sam starts looking after that, tries to find hunts that aren’t high profile, that won’t attract the attention of other hunters. The demon has good instincts, can often suss out when something’s not right before Sam can, so they have an advantage over the other – human – hunters. He’s reckless when he hunts, doesn’t have Dean’s careful calm or his determined patience. He’s too full of bloodlust to wait, wants to plunge ahead as soon as they’ve got the target within reach, which gets him torn up and stabbed and even bitten (that was one shocked vampire) at least half the time. But it gives them a fucking spectacular record of saving people and hunting things.
“Didya see her face, Sammy?” the demon gloats as he staggers back to the Impala and half flops onto the seat. “She couldn’t believe it, thought she was gonna put one over on us just like those other poor schlubs.” He bites off a laugh, choking on the blood in his mouth, leans against the passenger door and tries to swipe it away with one hand. “Didya Sam?”
“Yeah, I saw.” Sam eyes him sideways, cataloging the blood leaking through the hand the demon has pressed to his stomach. “How bad did she get you?”
The demon shrugs. “Dunno. Bad, I guess. Not as bad as I got her though.” He grins again, blood red lips a striking contrast to his white teeth.
“Lemme see,” Sam says when they’re back at the motel.
The demon eyes him warily. “Why?” They both know he’ll be healed tomorrow or the next day, no matter what Sam does or doesn’t do, and Sam doesn’t know why it’s so important. Only that it tosses something around in his insides to see all that blood on Dean’s body, to know he’s hurt and not do anything about it.
The demon drops his hands to his sides awkwardly. “Whatever.”
Sam’s fingers shake as he unbuttons the blood-soaked overshirt and slips it off, the shredded flesh of his brother’s chest and stomach visible through the torn tee shirt. “Jesus,” Sam says, curls his fingers under the hem and tugs it up slowly. The demon hisses as the cotton catches in the wounds, and Sam murmurs a “Sorry, sorry,” waiting for the demon to raise his arms so Sam can pull it off
He pulls out the first aid kit that was theirs – is theirs – hasn’t used it on anyone but himself in so long, and just holding the antibiotic cream makes his throat tighten with the ache of loss. Their rituals, the things that connected them and made them brothers, that strengthened the bond between them until it was so much more than that – Sam misses them, misses what they were. His fingers dab gently at the smaller cuts, spreading the cream, moving more quickly as the familiarity grounds him. The demon doesn’t move, not even when Sam tends to the worst of the wounds, the pads of his fingers red by the time he’s done. He stops over the demon’s heart, lays his hand flat over the broken tattoo to feel the strong beat beneath. Dean’s heart, still beating.
The demon swallows hard, and Sam backs up a half step, recaps the antibiotic. “You want a bandage?” he asks, and his voice comes out rough, too loud in the quiet room.
“I – the demon starts, then pauses. “I -- yeah, sure.”
Sam nods, unwinds the tape, places the nonstick squares carefully and wraps them tight with long-practiced movements, certain and sure. The demon holds his arms out from his sides so Sam can tape around his chest, around his waist. He doesn’t say thanks, but he doesn’t move away either, and Sam smiles at his own handiwork when he’s finished. “Now you won’t bleed all over the bed,” he offers, and the demon offers back a weary half-smile.
The next day Sam jerks off in the bathroom, the demon pressed to the other side of the closed door like always, and thinks about the soft pink nubs of Dean’s nipples under his fingers, the hard muscle defined in his shoulders and forearms. Thinks about the way the demon shivered just slightly when Sam wrapped the bandaging tight around his waist, fingers skimming over the dip of his navel and catching in the trail of hair beneath. He cries out when he comes, stifles it enough to hear the echo of the demon’s groan from the other side as he follows, and the sound brings a last spasm so intense Sam just about passes out with it.
* * *
It’s a while – months – before Sam’s the one to get hurt. The demon’s too quick, always seems to get in the way of whatever is coming in Sam’s direction, so it’s always Sam with the antibiotic and the needle and synthetic catgut and the bandages. This time there are two of them though, and they’re demons just like he is, and Sam’s pinned to the floor before he can get out the holy water or the rebuilt Colt he still carries in the waist of his jeans. It feels like his heart is being dragged out of his body right through his chest, the world narrowing and going black and all Sam can think is who’s gonna take care of Dean now? It’s a stupid thought, Dean isn’t even Dean, but there it is, and it gives Sam a reason to force out a strangled shout.
He hears the demon’s voice cut through the blackness a moment later, and struggles to hold onto consciousness. “Hey!” the demon yells, Dean’s deep commanding tone echoing through the deserted convenience store where they’ve tracked the demons. “Get your fucking hands off him.”
The female demon sitting on him twists to see who’s got the audacity to order her to do anything, but Sam’s demon is there before she can move away, and Sam feels the drag of the Colt against his hip. The weight on his chest disappears to the crack of shots above him, and Sam passes out to the demon’s hands pulling him upright, still growling, "Don't fucking touch him." The strength he can feel in the demon’s touch is strangely comforting for the first time, the words full of a familiar possessiveness, tinged with something Sam never heard in Dean’s voice except in his dreams.
“Sam! Sammy, c’mon man, wake up!” Sam struggles to open his eyes through the pain and exhaustion when the demon unexpectedly slaps him hard across the face.
“Don’t you ever fucking do that again, Sam,” he yells, “I thought you were dead.”
“I practically am,” Sam says, trying to assess the damage.
Dean bats his hand away, unbuttons Sam’s shirt. “Lots of blood, dammit,” he says, like it’s all Sam’s fault.
“Am I – Am I gonna?” Sam can’t quite say it, and he feels so close to losing consciousness again that he’s really not sure.
“No,” the demon says instantly, loudly. “No. You’re gonna be fine. Fine. Just need to get you back to the motel. Gonna be fine.”
The demon half carries him to the Impala, puts him on the passenger seat. Sam doesn’t feel well enough to protest, closes his eyes against the pain and listens to the sound of the engine starting, the feel of the car pulling onto the road. It’s all achingly familiar, his brother beside him, tense and angry with worry, and the Impala beneath them, and Sam’s scared to open his eyes and see that it’s not the same at all and never will be
Like most things Dean could do in his sleep, the demon can drive just as well as ever, glides them to a stop smooth and easy and comes around to help Sam. Just like always. Nothing like always.
Sam keeps his eyes closed, floating on the fringes of consciousness and not wanting to crawl his way back to full awareness. Vaguely he knows the demon’s laying him on the bed, removing his shirts. He hears the click of the first aid kit like it’s miles away, smells the harsh bitterness of the antibiotic, tastes the whiskey pushed to his lips. “C’mon Sammy, drink, you have to.” Dean’s voice, protective, insistent. Sam opens obediently, lets the liquid burn down his throat, tastes the warmth of Dean’s fingers as he holds the bottle to Sam’s mouth. “That’s right, that’s good,” he urges, and everything’s fine, Sam’s sure of it, Dean’s here, like always.
Sam wakes up with a pounding head, 32 stitches under almost-professionally applied bandages, and the demon’s black eyes on him. He misses Dean so much his eyes water.
“Umm,” the demon says awkwardly. “Feeling better?”
Sam nods, tries to make it look sincere. “Yeah. Uh, thanks. For, y’know, stitching me up.”
The demon shrugs. He has on a pair of Sam’s too-big pajamas. Red plaid. “Didn’t want you to bleed all over the bed.”
Sam manages a tired smile in spite of himself. “Oh, right. Right. Well, thanks anyway.”
“Whatever,” says the demon, but his lips curl up in a smirk. “I’m starving. Can you get your lazy stitched-together human ass outta bed long enough for us to get some food?”
Sam groans, tests the limits of his injuries, and the demon’s face stiffens. “Hey, just – kidding, you know, demon humor, just – just stay there.”
“Are you actually – do you actually care?” It just comes out, Sam didn’t even realize he was gonna say it. Must be the leftover whiskey and whatever painkillers followed it. Come to think of it, Sam does feel a little drunk, and the pain is just a dull throb beneath the haze of feeling kinda stupidly good.
The demon looks horrified. “What? No! I hate humans.”
“But you stitched me all up, bandaged me – regular Florence Nightingale – even made the pain all better.” Sam smiles sweetly.
“Florence fucking Nightingale?” the demon demands, and fuck if he doesn’t look really funny with his eyes all wide since they’re just even more black that way. Kinda defeats the purpose if you can’t see the whites of his eyes anyway. I mean, he doesn’t have any whites….which is pretty fucking funny. Sam giggles.
“You high?” the demon asks, finally getting a clue.
Sam huffs another laugh. “Maybe.”
“Oh god,” the demon groans, flopping back to the bed dramatically. “You are.”
He looks just like Dean – except for the red flannel pajamas which Dean wouldn’t have been caught dead in – and oh god, isn’t that a bad pun -- all ridiculously long eyelashes and freckled cheeks. He’s gorgeous. The demon suddenly rolls over, closer to Sam, and smiles. Not sweetly though, not at all. That’s Dean’s predatory smile, and it’s dangerous. Sam thinks he should probably be afraid, but he’s too busy watching Dean’s pretty pretty mouth.
“ ‘sokay Sam,” the demon purrs, slinking even closer. “Just relax and enjoy it.”
Sam has time to ask “Enjoy what?” but just barely, before the demon gets to his knees and leans over, hooking both hands in Sam’s boxers and sliding them down his hips and then inhaling his dick so fast he probably didn’t even get to see it first.
“What’re you doing?” Sam stupidly asks, like he’s never had a blow job before or something, but hell, he’s never had one from his brother – from a demon – from either of those, dammit. He reaches down to bat the demon’s head away, but his cock clearly has other ideas, hardening with surprising speed and making Sam even more dizzy with the rush of blood south. His fingers tangle in the demon’s short silky hair instead, and the demon hums in appreciation – which makes Sam even harder. It’s been so long since anyone has touched him like this, and it feels so fucking good, and it’s Dean even if it isn’t, and hell, Sam can’t bring himself to say stop. Instead he just rides it out and lets it happen, the demon’s tongue swirling around the head of his dick like he’s a fucking popsicle until Sam can’t breathe with how good it is.
“Mmmm,” the demon growls, fisting the stiff length while he slurps up and down, and Sam can feel the wet of his spit trickle down to slick the coarse hairs at the base, dirty and messy, and he should stop it, he should. It’s so good though, Dean’s strong fingers wrapped around his dick, just the right grip, like he knows – and fuck, he’s always known -- how to take care of Sam. The thought’s a twisted mix of feels so right edging close to horribly fucking wrong, but Sam can’t think straight enough to care, can only gasp and stammer and groan at the sensation of his brother’s slick hot tongue. The demon’s other hand presses and rubs beneath his balls, and Sam’s hips jerk up as he loses it.
“That’s right, Sammy, come for me, come in my mouth, wanna drink you down,” the demon says, and the last word is muffled as he takes Sam deep, and that’s it. The orgasm feels like it goes on forever, almost painful at the end as the demon jacks him through it, squeezes the last drops up and out of him like he can’t get enough of Sam on his tongue.
Sam opens his eyes again at the first warm splatter on his stomach, watches the expression of pain-pleasure on the demon’s face as he kneels beside Sam and jerks his own dick, moaning softly – and ohgod, this time Sam lets himself really look. That’s what Dean looks like when he comes, Sam thinks, that’s what he sounds like. Sam’s spent cock gives a weak twitch at the thought. The demon falls forward over him, catches himself on his hands to not lay down on Sam’s bandaged chest, and meets Sam’s gaze with heavy lidded, sated eyes. Green eyes.
“Fuck, Sam,” he says, “Jesus fuck.”
“Your eyes,” Sam whispers, like he’s afraid if he talks too loud he’ll break the spell. “They’re green.”
“Huh?” The demon looks rattled.
“Your eyes are green,” Sam repeats. “They’re – they’re Dean’s eyes.”
The demon sits up on his haunches with a start, his spent dick still hanging out of his red flannel pajamas, and runs a hand over his eyes as though he expects to be able to feel what color they are. When he looks back at Sam, his eyes are wide, frightened. “Sam?” he says, and Sam can feel him tremble. “Sammy, I – what – ohgod, Sam, what did I do?”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Sam tries to reassure, but the demon pulls away, looking anguished. “Ohgod, no, don’t wanna --
“Don’t wanna what?”
The demon closes his eyes, digs the heels of his hands into them like it’ll stop whatever’s happening. “Don’t wanna remember.”
Sam pulls him down with one hand, ignores the pain of his stitches as he settles Dean – the demon -- next to him on the bed and pulls him in close. The demon doesn’t struggle, just collapses there still trembling, and lets Sam pull his hands away from his face and tip his chin up. “Open your eyes,” Sam orders gently, and to his surprise, the demon does. They’re the color of emeralds, and so wide the whites are showing.
Sam smiles, slips his arms around his brother’s back. “It’s okay. I’ve gotcha,” he says. “Just – just let me, okay? Let me hold you for a little while.”
That first time – the first time Sam asks -- the demon can only manage it for three minutes, but to Sam it feels like falling into a waterfall after years of drought. There’s so much emotion, so much of Dean there, and even though Sam can see the fear and pain, there’s a glimmer of something else too, something Sam’s greedy for. Dying for.
When the green starts to fade, Sam can’t stay quiet. “Stay with me,” he pleads, the ache of loss already overwhelming him. “Please, Dean – I love you, stay.
The demon closes his eyes, trembling hard in Sam’s arms, and Sam can feel the moment he retreats back into himself, knows that behind the long lashes the blackness is back.
The demon pulls away a second later, rolls away from Sam and adjusts his pajamas. They don’t talk about it, but when they go out to find food later, the demon puts his arm around Sam to help him to the car without preamble, settles him on the passenger side without jarring his bandages, and takes the bends in the road so slowly the turn of the wheel is almost audible. Sam manages to smile even though the effects of the whiskey and painkillers are long gone.
Chapter Ten
Author: runedgirl
Rating: NC17 for sexual content and violence
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.
With all the discussion of how Dean would be when he came back from hell recently, I wonder what Kripke and co. would think of this fic – definitely not a ‘Dean came back okay’ version. Hmmm.
Chapter Nine
Sam starts looking after that, tries to find hunts that aren’t high profile, that won’t attract the attention of other hunters. The demon has good instincts, can often suss out when something’s not right before Sam can, so they have an advantage over the other – human – hunters. He’s reckless when he hunts, doesn’t have Dean’s careful calm or his determined patience. He’s too full of bloodlust to wait, wants to plunge ahead as soon as they’ve got the target within reach, which gets him torn up and stabbed and even bitten (that was one shocked vampire) at least half the time. But it gives them a fucking spectacular record of saving people and hunting things.
“Didya see her face, Sammy?” the demon gloats as he staggers back to the Impala and half flops onto the seat. “She couldn’t believe it, thought she was gonna put one over on us just like those other poor schlubs.” He bites off a laugh, choking on the blood in his mouth, leans against the passenger door and tries to swipe it away with one hand. “Didya Sam?”
“Yeah, I saw.” Sam eyes him sideways, cataloging the blood leaking through the hand the demon has pressed to his stomach. “How bad did she get you?”
The demon shrugs. “Dunno. Bad, I guess. Not as bad as I got her though.” He grins again, blood red lips a striking contrast to his white teeth.
“Lemme see,” Sam says when they’re back at the motel.
The demon eyes him warily. “Why?” They both know he’ll be healed tomorrow or the next day, no matter what Sam does or doesn’t do, and Sam doesn’t know why it’s so important. Only that it tosses something around in his insides to see all that blood on Dean’s body, to know he’s hurt and not do anything about it.
The demon drops his hands to his sides awkwardly. “Whatever.”
Sam’s fingers shake as he unbuttons the blood-soaked overshirt and slips it off, the shredded flesh of his brother’s chest and stomach visible through the torn tee shirt. “Jesus,” Sam says, curls his fingers under the hem and tugs it up slowly. The demon hisses as the cotton catches in the wounds, and Sam murmurs a “Sorry, sorry,” waiting for the demon to raise his arms so Sam can pull it off
He pulls out the first aid kit that was theirs – is theirs – hasn’t used it on anyone but himself in so long, and just holding the antibiotic cream makes his throat tighten with the ache of loss. Their rituals, the things that connected them and made them brothers, that strengthened the bond between them until it was so much more than that – Sam misses them, misses what they were. His fingers dab gently at the smaller cuts, spreading the cream, moving more quickly as the familiarity grounds him. The demon doesn’t move, not even when Sam tends to the worst of the wounds, the pads of his fingers red by the time he’s done. He stops over the demon’s heart, lays his hand flat over the broken tattoo to feel the strong beat beneath. Dean’s heart, still beating.
The demon swallows hard, and Sam backs up a half step, recaps the antibiotic. “You want a bandage?” he asks, and his voice comes out rough, too loud in the quiet room.
“I – the demon starts, then pauses. “I -- yeah, sure.”
Sam nods, unwinds the tape, places the nonstick squares carefully and wraps them tight with long-practiced movements, certain and sure. The demon holds his arms out from his sides so Sam can tape around his chest, around his waist. He doesn’t say thanks, but he doesn’t move away either, and Sam smiles at his own handiwork when he’s finished. “Now you won’t bleed all over the bed,” he offers, and the demon offers back a weary half-smile.
The next day Sam jerks off in the bathroom, the demon pressed to the other side of the closed door like always, and thinks about the soft pink nubs of Dean’s nipples under his fingers, the hard muscle defined in his shoulders and forearms. Thinks about the way the demon shivered just slightly when Sam wrapped the bandaging tight around his waist, fingers skimming over the dip of his navel and catching in the trail of hair beneath. He cries out when he comes, stifles it enough to hear the echo of the demon’s groan from the other side as he follows, and the sound brings a last spasm so intense Sam just about passes out with it.
* * *
It’s a while – months – before Sam’s the one to get hurt. The demon’s too quick, always seems to get in the way of whatever is coming in Sam’s direction, so it’s always Sam with the antibiotic and the needle and synthetic catgut and the bandages. This time there are two of them though, and they’re demons just like he is, and Sam’s pinned to the floor before he can get out the holy water or the rebuilt Colt he still carries in the waist of his jeans. It feels like his heart is being dragged out of his body right through his chest, the world narrowing and going black and all Sam can think is who’s gonna take care of Dean now? It’s a stupid thought, Dean isn’t even Dean, but there it is, and it gives Sam a reason to force out a strangled shout.
He hears the demon’s voice cut through the blackness a moment later, and struggles to hold onto consciousness. “Hey!” the demon yells, Dean’s deep commanding tone echoing through the deserted convenience store where they’ve tracked the demons. “Get your fucking hands off him.”
The female demon sitting on him twists to see who’s got the audacity to order her to do anything, but Sam’s demon is there before she can move away, and Sam feels the drag of the Colt against his hip. The weight on his chest disappears to the crack of shots above him, and Sam passes out to the demon’s hands pulling him upright, still growling, "Don't fucking touch him." The strength he can feel in the demon’s touch is strangely comforting for the first time, the words full of a familiar possessiveness, tinged with something Sam never heard in Dean’s voice except in his dreams.
“Sam! Sammy, c’mon man, wake up!” Sam struggles to open his eyes through the pain and exhaustion when the demon unexpectedly slaps him hard across the face.
“Don’t you ever fucking do that again, Sam,” he yells, “I thought you were dead.”
“I practically am,” Sam says, trying to assess the damage.
Dean bats his hand away, unbuttons Sam’s shirt. “Lots of blood, dammit,” he says, like it’s all Sam’s fault.
“Am I – Am I gonna?” Sam can’t quite say it, and he feels so close to losing consciousness again that he’s really not sure.
“No,” the demon says instantly, loudly. “No. You’re gonna be fine. Fine. Just need to get you back to the motel. Gonna be fine.”
The demon half carries him to the Impala, puts him on the passenger seat. Sam doesn’t feel well enough to protest, closes his eyes against the pain and listens to the sound of the engine starting, the feel of the car pulling onto the road. It’s all achingly familiar, his brother beside him, tense and angry with worry, and the Impala beneath them, and Sam’s scared to open his eyes and see that it’s not the same at all and never will be
Like most things Dean could do in his sleep, the demon can drive just as well as ever, glides them to a stop smooth and easy and comes around to help Sam. Just like always. Nothing like always.
Sam keeps his eyes closed, floating on the fringes of consciousness and not wanting to crawl his way back to full awareness. Vaguely he knows the demon’s laying him on the bed, removing his shirts. He hears the click of the first aid kit like it’s miles away, smells the harsh bitterness of the antibiotic, tastes the whiskey pushed to his lips. “C’mon Sammy, drink, you have to.” Dean’s voice, protective, insistent. Sam opens obediently, lets the liquid burn down his throat, tastes the warmth of Dean’s fingers as he holds the bottle to Sam’s mouth. “That’s right, that’s good,” he urges, and everything’s fine, Sam’s sure of it, Dean’s here, like always.
Sam wakes up with a pounding head, 32 stitches under almost-professionally applied bandages, and the demon’s black eyes on him. He misses Dean so much his eyes water.
“Umm,” the demon says awkwardly. “Feeling better?”
Sam nods, tries to make it look sincere. “Yeah. Uh, thanks. For, y’know, stitching me up.”
The demon shrugs. He has on a pair of Sam’s too-big pajamas. Red plaid. “Didn’t want you to bleed all over the bed.”
Sam manages a tired smile in spite of himself. “Oh, right. Right. Well, thanks anyway.”
“Whatever,” says the demon, but his lips curl up in a smirk. “I’m starving. Can you get your lazy stitched-together human ass outta bed long enough for us to get some food?”
Sam groans, tests the limits of his injuries, and the demon’s face stiffens. “Hey, just – kidding, you know, demon humor, just – just stay there.”
“Are you actually – do you actually care?” It just comes out, Sam didn’t even realize he was gonna say it. Must be the leftover whiskey and whatever painkillers followed it. Come to think of it, Sam does feel a little drunk, and the pain is just a dull throb beneath the haze of feeling kinda stupidly good.
The demon looks horrified. “What? No! I hate humans.”
“But you stitched me all up, bandaged me – regular Florence Nightingale – even made the pain all better.” Sam smiles sweetly.
“Florence fucking Nightingale?” the demon demands, and fuck if he doesn’t look really funny with his eyes all wide since they’re just even more black that way. Kinda defeats the purpose if you can’t see the whites of his eyes anyway. I mean, he doesn’t have any whites….which is pretty fucking funny. Sam giggles.
“You high?” the demon asks, finally getting a clue.
Sam huffs another laugh. “Maybe.”
“Oh god,” the demon groans, flopping back to the bed dramatically. “You are.”
He looks just like Dean – except for the red flannel pajamas which Dean wouldn’t have been caught dead in – and oh god, isn’t that a bad pun -- all ridiculously long eyelashes and freckled cheeks. He’s gorgeous. The demon suddenly rolls over, closer to Sam, and smiles. Not sweetly though, not at all. That’s Dean’s predatory smile, and it’s dangerous. Sam thinks he should probably be afraid, but he’s too busy watching Dean’s pretty pretty mouth.
“ ‘sokay Sam,” the demon purrs, slinking even closer. “Just relax and enjoy it.”
Sam has time to ask “Enjoy what?” but just barely, before the demon gets to his knees and leans over, hooking both hands in Sam’s boxers and sliding them down his hips and then inhaling his dick so fast he probably didn’t even get to see it first.
“What’re you doing?” Sam stupidly asks, like he’s never had a blow job before or something, but hell, he’s never had one from his brother – from a demon – from either of those, dammit. He reaches down to bat the demon’s head away, but his cock clearly has other ideas, hardening with surprising speed and making Sam even more dizzy with the rush of blood south. His fingers tangle in the demon’s short silky hair instead, and the demon hums in appreciation – which makes Sam even harder. It’s been so long since anyone has touched him like this, and it feels so fucking good, and it’s Dean even if it isn’t, and hell, Sam can’t bring himself to say stop. Instead he just rides it out and lets it happen, the demon’s tongue swirling around the head of his dick like he’s a fucking popsicle until Sam can’t breathe with how good it is.
“Mmmm,” the demon growls, fisting the stiff length while he slurps up and down, and Sam can feel the wet of his spit trickle down to slick the coarse hairs at the base, dirty and messy, and he should stop it, he should. It’s so good though, Dean’s strong fingers wrapped around his dick, just the right grip, like he knows – and fuck, he’s always known -- how to take care of Sam. The thought’s a twisted mix of feels so right edging close to horribly fucking wrong, but Sam can’t think straight enough to care, can only gasp and stammer and groan at the sensation of his brother’s slick hot tongue. The demon’s other hand presses and rubs beneath his balls, and Sam’s hips jerk up as he loses it.
“That’s right, Sammy, come for me, come in my mouth, wanna drink you down,” the demon says, and the last word is muffled as he takes Sam deep, and that’s it. The orgasm feels like it goes on forever, almost painful at the end as the demon jacks him through it, squeezes the last drops up and out of him like he can’t get enough of Sam on his tongue.
Sam opens his eyes again at the first warm splatter on his stomach, watches the expression of pain-pleasure on the demon’s face as he kneels beside Sam and jerks his own dick, moaning softly – and ohgod, this time Sam lets himself really look. That’s what Dean looks like when he comes, Sam thinks, that’s what he sounds like. Sam’s spent cock gives a weak twitch at the thought. The demon falls forward over him, catches himself on his hands to not lay down on Sam’s bandaged chest, and meets Sam’s gaze with heavy lidded, sated eyes. Green eyes.
“Fuck, Sam,” he says, “Jesus fuck.”
“Your eyes,” Sam whispers, like he’s afraid if he talks too loud he’ll break the spell. “They’re green.”
“Huh?” The demon looks rattled.
“Your eyes are green,” Sam repeats. “They’re – they’re Dean’s eyes.”
The demon sits up on his haunches with a start, his spent dick still hanging out of his red flannel pajamas, and runs a hand over his eyes as though he expects to be able to feel what color they are. When he looks back at Sam, his eyes are wide, frightened. “Sam?” he says, and Sam can feel him tremble. “Sammy, I – what – ohgod, Sam, what did I do?”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Sam tries to reassure, but the demon pulls away, looking anguished. “Ohgod, no, don’t wanna --
“Don’t wanna what?”
The demon closes his eyes, digs the heels of his hands into them like it’ll stop whatever’s happening. “Don’t wanna remember.”
Sam pulls him down with one hand, ignores the pain of his stitches as he settles Dean – the demon -- next to him on the bed and pulls him in close. The demon doesn’t struggle, just collapses there still trembling, and lets Sam pull his hands away from his face and tip his chin up. “Open your eyes,” Sam orders gently, and to his surprise, the demon does. They’re the color of emeralds, and so wide the whites are showing.
Sam smiles, slips his arms around his brother’s back. “It’s okay. I’ve gotcha,” he says. “Just – just let me, okay? Let me hold you for a little while.”
That first time – the first time Sam asks -- the demon can only manage it for three minutes, but to Sam it feels like falling into a waterfall after years of drought. There’s so much emotion, so much of Dean there, and even though Sam can see the fear and pain, there’s a glimmer of something else too, something Sam’s greedy for. Dying for.
When the green starts to fade, Sam can’t stay quiet. “Stay with me,” he pleads, the ache of loss already overwhelming him. “Please, Dean – I love you, stay.
The demon closes his eyes, trembling hard in Sam’s arms, and Sam can feel the moment he retreats back into himself, knows that behind the long lashes the blackness is back.
The demon pulls away a second later, rolls away from Sam and adjusts his pajamas. They don’t talk about it, but when they go out to find food later, the demon puts his arm around Sam to help him to the car without preamble, settles him on the passenger side without jarring his bandages, and takes the bends in the road so slowly the turn of the wheel is almost audible. Sam manages to smile even though the effects of the whiskey and painkillers are long gone.
Chapter Ten
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 04:14 pm (UTC)And I am overjoyed to see that Dean is still in there. Lovely!
no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 10:20 pm (UTC)Also, see you in 2 days!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :)
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 10:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 04:18 pm (UTC)**so very impatient**
no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 10:22 pm (UTC)And so very thankful for your encouragement -- more soon!
no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 04:44 pm (UTC)"Didya see her face Sammy", ..."didya Sam", like a kid at the circus.
Fighting evil certainly comes as naturally to d/Dean as it did to human Dean; even if a little over zealous hehe.
The second half was bril. Perfectly timed appearance from Dean *giggles*. And he managed to stay for a huggles, beautiful.
Another 9 - great.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 10:25 pm (UTC)Halfway through -- hope you'll keep reading!
Tears in my eyes
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2018-01-05 05:51 pm (UTC) - ExpandRe: Tears in my eyes
From:no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 04:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 10:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 10:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 07:10 pm (UTC)Loved the chapter. And the sex. Yum. But when Dean opened his eyes and they were green, my heart just turned over.
I can't wait for the next part. Please hurry.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 10:27 pm (UTC)More soon -- only halfway through the story, believe it or not!
no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 07:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 10:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 07:39 pm (UTC)But oh the love I have for this 'verse. You're probably tired of hearing my say but I do, I do I do!!!!
Next bit after Chicago I imagine? Have fun btw!
no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 10:30 pm (UTC)I'll try to post the next chapter from Chicago, if the boys don't keep us too busy :)
Thanks so much!
no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 10:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 08:26 pm (UTC)"Sam's demon", that had me smile somewhat, I don't know why. He is still a demon.
The possessive demon who cares for Sam and let's Dean through more and more now is getting to me.
The lines are getting blurry between demon and Dean.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 10:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 08:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 10:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 09:31 pm (UTC)Amazing chapter. And I only say that because I can't find a word more powerful than amazing but it really was! The demon caring was excellent and then I love how him acting so demonlike made him channel Dean back a bit. And he can still pretend he doesn't care, his behaviour shows better!
I can't wait to read the rest. Awesome chapter!
no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 10:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 09:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 10:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 11:44 pm (UTC)Dean is back.... more or less xDDDDD... and he is back with a sex meeting hahhahahha..... ahá, Sammy, you know... a good night with the demon and your brother is with you again... remember that...
thanks!!
no subject
Date: 2008-11-12 01:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 11:51 pm (UTC)Thank you, beautiful chapter !
no subject
Date: 2008-11-12 01:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-12 07:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-12 03:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-12 07:12 pm (UTC)I liked the schmoop too, of course, it was hot and I like that every time they do something like that Dean comes back a little more, with green eyes and all, even though I'm kind of concerned about how it happened. I hope Sam doesn't think that Dean took advantage of him while he was drugged, although cosidering the outcome I doubt he'll be mad, right?
I'll be waiting for more, thanks!
no subject
Date: 2008-11-13 03:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-12 09:20 pm (UTC)I love Sam's confusion and conflicted feelings -- but their world isn't black-and-white so it seems very real to me that he would be conflicted.
Oh, to see more of Dean's green eyes!
no subject
Date: 2008-11-13 03:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-12 10:23 pm (UTC)Came back after reading to try to post something coherent, the portions that moved me most. But re-reading isn't helping. The demon protectievness, the bandaging, the p0rn. And Deans eyes.....his eyes.
Beautiful
no subject
Date: 2008-11-13 03:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-13 08:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-17 11:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-13 11:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-17 11:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-14 03:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-17 11:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-17 08:31 am (UTC)And...just...aw, this was so epic. You had me giggling for the first half and then my stomach was just twisting with all emotion. You're still making the demon's transition back into something Dean very believable, and making that final leap through sex with Sam was just genius on your part.
I can't believe how vulnerable and simultaneously harsh you keep his characterization.
In conclusion, you are still epic, and this fic is just getting better and better.
I still can't wait for another update. Keep up the magnificent work. ^_^
no subject
Date: 2008-11-17 11:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-19 10:17 pm (UTC)This killed me. My throat is tight, I think I'm gonna cry, and you really need to update this soon, 'cause I need to know what happens next. Seriously, this is just so beautiful.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-20 03:57 am (UTC)