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runedgirlTitle:Black Is The Color Of My True Love’s Eyes (Ch 6/8)
Author: runedgirl (Lynsey)
Rating: NC17 overall
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/demon!Dean
Warning: violent and sexual content
Word Count this chapter: 3000
Beta: My sexyboy![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pure_shite (Ashton). Thanks!!
Summary: Sam tried to thwart death in a desperate attempt to keep his brother human. Did it work or did heaven come between them the way hell never could? Sequel to the story Fade To Black - this one will make more sense if you read the original fic first. Previous chapters: Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five
AN: Not a WIP – story is finished with 8 chapters and will be posted regularly with each final beta. Feedback is adored and promptly savored.
The motel room is so quiet, Sam can hear every creak of the cheap mattress as the demon slides closer to him in the dark. Rough fingers brush over his hip, tugging at the cotton of his boxers before reaching inside to curl around Sam’s soft cock. The demon’s being uncharacteristically gentle, like he thinks he can get Sam riled up enough that he’ll just play along when he wakes up. Sam’s good at feigning sleep though, one of those skills you pick up being a hunter for eight decades.
He waits until the demon’s impatience is getting the better of him, until he can feel the warm press of the demon’s bare chest and stomach all along his side, hard cock poking his hip. The demon rumbles deep in his throat, noses against Sam’s neck and flicks his hot wet tongue against the shell of Sam’s ear. Dirty tricks, ones that would usually work.
Not tonight.
The demon’s completely caught off guard when Sam twists to lay him out flat on his back on the bed, both wrists pinned beside his head by Sam’s big hands and Sam’s substantial weight pressing him to the mattress.
“You want something?” Sam growls, every bit as feral as the demon can sound. Black eyes blink up at him in surprise in the dim light.
“Do you?” Sam demands, fingers braceleting the demon’s wrists until he can feel the bones grind painfully as Sam bears down on him. The demon’s mouth falls open, half shock, half arousal. For all that he goes wild animal on Sam most of the time, the demon will drop and roll instantly for Sam manhandling him and they both know it. He pants as Sam slowly grinds his hips down into the demon’s, rubs their cocks together. Lets Sam hold him down and set the pace, rocking into the friction and leaning up to lick whatever part of Sam he can reach, making eager little noises against Sam’s ear.
“Yeah, I know what you want,” Sam tells him, hint of iron in his voice as he keeps their eyes locked.
The demon bucks his hips up as much as he can under Sam’s weight, his cock smearing wet streaks on Sam’s stomach. He’s close to getting off already after three days without, squirming frantically to get one leg around Sam’s hips so he can rut harder. Sam lets him keep going until he’s gasping out harsh breaths that sound like wordless curses, lean body sweat-damp and hot beneath Sam’s, muscles flexing and relaxing in constant motion, desperate. Until his thrusts grow frantic, arrhythmic. Until he’s right on the brink. Then Sam lifts himself off enough to take away the delicious friction, and lets go of the demon’s wrists to reach down and squeeze the base of his dick. Hard. The demon’s body stretches rigid beneath him, black eyes snapping open wide to stare up at Sam.
“But you’re not gonna get it til you tell me.”
The noise the demon makes is more a roar than anything else, shockingly loud in the quiet room and full of rage. He tries to twist out from under, but Sam’s got him by the balls – almost literally – and he can’t quite manage it without making things worse for himself.
“Tell me what you want,” Sam grits out, moving his hand back up the demon’s rock hard cock and stroking him back to the brink. The roughness only has the demon more worked up, and he whimpers painfully, back arching so far Sam nearly gets bucked off. Slick fluid dribbles over Sam’s hand and the demon tenses, close, but once again Sam stops and lets go. The demon’s cock slaps back against his own stomach with a smack.
“You wanna come?” Sam taunts him, sucking a bruise into the flushed pink of his chest. “Then tell me.”
The demon writhes like he’s dying, frantic to get his dick up against anything, but Sam angles his body away, leaves the demon hanging. He gets the nub of a taut nipple between his teeth and bites down hard, slips a hand between his legs to fondle his balls, plays Dean's body with everything Sam knows will make him crazy, and the demon jerks and cries out beneath him. He could fight if he wanted to, could hold Sam down and take what he wants. Instead he fists his hands in the bedsheets, lets Sam lay him out while he moans like he’s in agony.
“C’mon,” Sam growls against the demon’s stomach, nipping at the wiry hair beneath his navel, tugging with his teeth while he holds the demon’s hips in a punishing grip, keeps him flat on the mattress. “Just fucking tell me.”
The demon whines, his head thrashing back and forth against the pillow and his eyes screwed tightly shut, his whole body strung tight. He lets Sam push his legs apart, bend them up so far his knees are touching his chest, and just the position makes him start to tremble with the need to come. Broken, harsh pants escape from gritted teeth as Sam licks the insides of his thighs, works his way over the curve of his cheeks and in between.
“Say it,” Sam mouths against his ass, tongue teasing around his hole to make it twitch and clench, until there’s gooseflesh pinking the tender skin, panting himself with the scent-taste-heat of Dean all around him. “Fucking say it, you stubborn bastard.”
The demon’s close to coming just from humping the air, so Sam doesn’t pull any punches. He digs both hands into the tender flesh of the demon’s thighs and hauls his ass up off the mattress to Sam’s mouth, plunging his tongue inside the tight hole and speaking right up against the hot skin. “Say it,” he says between filthy wet licks, “Say it and I’ll fuck you so good, make you come so hard, c’mon.”
One last time, he stops and raises his head, breath coming fast against the slick wet spread of the demon’s ass held tightly in Sam’s big hands.
The demon howls then, bucking and writhing and Sam can barely hang onto his hips, but the staccato “ah- ah- ah- ah” turns into “f – f- fuck”, and when Sam still doesn’t move, he finally manages a strangled “fuckfuckfuckmeSamfuck ahhhfuck.”
Amazingly, Sam manages to get to his knees between the demon’s legs and get his dick inside before the demon comes all over himself, but just barely. He hangs on for about two more seconds before he loses it too, and jesus, Sam can’t remember the last time he came that hard.
The demon’s trembling beneath him by the time Sam catches his breath enough to pull out and roll off.
“Was that so hard?”
Sam means it to be teasing, but the demon lying beside him looks stricken when Sam turns on the bedside light.
“Look, I just want you to talk to me. That’s not really too much to ask after a year, is it?”
The demon tries to roll away, but Sam grabs his shoulder and pulls him back.
“Stay,” he says, and feels the demon’s body go limp in surrender. “Talk to me.”
The noise the demon makes in answer isn’t words, just an incoherent sob. He doesn’t meet Sam’s eyes, just stares up at the ceiling, quiet for so long Sam starts to think those few words are all he’s going to get. The demon’s still shaking when he finally speaks.
“Should leave me, Sam. Too broken now. Can’t come back this time.” His voice is a gruff whisper in the dark, but the words are clear, sinking into Sam like arrows. Maybe the demon was right about not talking.
“No.” Sam reaches over to touch the demon’s arm, squeezes the hard muscle there. “No, not leaving you. Not ever again.”
“Hurt you,” the demon whispers. “Hurt you every day.”
“Sometimes, yeah. Still not leaving.”
“Sam.” He’s trying to pull his arm away, but Sam holds tighter. Needs to hear his brother’s voice, needs to believe he’s still human, that a part of him is still human.
“Love you, Dean.”
“Not Dean,” the demon growls, and this time he gets away. He doesn’t get far though, not expecting Sam’s reach and the arm that wraps around his waist and unbalances him, bringing him down on the mattress with a startled oomph. Sam scrambles on top and pins him again before he can catch his breath, knowing the demon could toss him off this time if he wanted to.
“Not Dean,” the demon repeats, black eyes glittering in the moonlight seeping through the shabby curtains, but he doesn’t fight.
“Whoever you are – whatever you are – him, you, what all this hell has made you – it’s still true,” Sam insists. “And I’m not leaving.”
The demon closes his eyes and turns his head to the side like he can’t bear Sam’s eyes on him any longer. The long line of his throat stretches pale and vulnerable, stirs Sam’s body and his battered heart regardless of his emotional exhaustion and the unbelievable orgasm he just had. The demon squirms under him again and half-heartedly tries to buck Sam off.
“Uh uh,” Sam says, and pulls the demon’s hands above his head, anchoring them there with one hand. The demon’s eyes flutter open reluctantly.
Sam breathes against his ear as he sprawls on top of the demon, still holding his hands above his head.
“Just want you to talk to me. Not gonna take no for an answer.”
The demon stretches, flexes his wrists inside the bracelet of Sam’s hand, testing. Sam presses tighter, doesn’t let go, and the demon relaxes into the hold, muscles going lax beneath the weight of Sam’s body. He doesn’t answer, but he’s firm and warm and Sam can feel the beat of Dean’s heart against his chest, strong and even and familiar. They fall asleep like that, sticky and sweaty, the demon’s arms still crossed above his head.
In his dreams that night, Sammi and Johnny are screaming, both of them infants again, naked and helpless, squalling as their cribs are torn apart by something huge and dark that Sam can’t see. Crack of splintering wood, of breaking bones, and Sam can’t move, his feet too heavy, too slow, and he’s calling for his brother, wanting Dean to come save him, save them. He can hear his brother’s voice, far away but moving closer, calling for him, and if he can just hang on, if they can just hang on… It’s only then he sees that the big dark thing is wearing his brother’s face, grinning with sharp fanged teeth and blood on his hands as he calls Sam’s name.
“Sam!”
“No, no, god, no.” He’s still shaking his head and trying to move his feet, which are tangled tightly in the bedsheets and blankets, when Sam finally opens his eyes.
The demon’s got hold of his shoulders, shaking him awake none too gently. “Sam, for chrissakes,” he says, letting go when he sees that Sam’s looking back. It’s still dark in the room, not quite sunrise. Sam’s heart is pounding triple time, and he reaches for the lamp, needing to get the nightmare images out of his head.
“You – you’re shaking.” The demon reaches for him, then drops his hand suddenly and averts his eyes. “Was it me?” His voice is still rough, the words awkward and deliberate.
Only then does Sam realize that they’re having a conversation. The demon is talking to him.
“You’re talking,” he says, still not quite sure he’s awake.
The demon rolls his black eyes, and the gesture is so familiar, so human, that Sam just wants to kiss him.
Instead he lets himself smile, something he’s done so little of recently that it feels unfamiliar on his face. The demon huffs in response and shakes his head to let Sam know he’s an idiot, but that feels good too so really it’s all a win for Sam’s side.
“No,” he says, and it’s not entirely a lie. “Wasn’t you. It was a nightmare, just a mixed up jumble of bad shit.”
“You screamed for Johnny,” the demon says, and their son’s name sounds so normal in Dean’s voice, it makes Sam’s chest clench painfully.
“It was just a dream,” Sam sighs, dropping back to the bed and hoping it won’t be a recurring one.
The demon matches his sigh and gets up to go back to the other bed, but Sam grabs his arm before he can go far, pushes the covers back and pats the mattress. The demon’s brows draw together in hesitation for a second, then he relents and slips under the sheets. The warmth of his body is comforting, hard muscle and soft skin. Sam turns his head into the familiar scent of sex and Dean and pulls the demon closer, wraps an arm around his waist.
“Talk to me,” Sam whispers sleepily, nuzzling into the demon’s shoulder, the bristles of Dean’s short silky hair tickling his cheek.
The demon is quiet for so long that Sam gives up on the request, dozing off in spite of himself, so he startles when the silence is suddenly broken.
“I don’t remember,” the demon confesses, gruff whisper against the top of Sam’s head. “Don’t remember anything after you died.” Sam can feel the bob of the demon’s Adam’s apple as he swallows hard and goes on. “Tried to wake you, tried to make you come back. Promised you anything -- anything, everything -- begged you. But you wouldn’t wake up, just laid there, just –
The demon’s got one hand around Sam’s bicep, holding on like he doesn’t trust Sam not to disappear even now, fingers digging in painfully, but Sam stays still and quiet. If he interrupts, he’s not sure the demon will ever try to tell him again.
“And I don’t remember – they pulled you away from me, made me let go, and I couldn’t, I couldn’t, Sammy.”
“I know, I know,” Sam says, getting an arm around the demon’s shoulder and pressing closer. The demon’s heartbeat thuds wildly against Sam’s chest, his breath coming fast with the memories.
“I just wanted to stay with you,” he moans finally, and the pain in his voice cuts right into Sam’s heart. He knows that pain. Remembers how it almost consumed him when Dean went to hell, when Sam was left cradling his cold lifeless body. How impossible it felt to let go of the only person he loved. Tearing his own heart out felt easier than unwrapping his arms from his brother’s dead body.
Sam doesn’t realize he’s crying until the demon pulls back enough to brush his fingers over Sam’s face, trying to wipe the wetness away. His black eyes don’t give away any emotion, but his throat works silently as he stares at Sam’s tear-streaked face.
“I’m sorry,” Sam says, trying to push away his own memories. “Sorry the spell didn’t work the way we thought it would.”
The demon brushes Sam’s cheek again, pushes a strand of damp hair from his face carefully and tucks it behind an ear. It makes Sam blush, the gesture unexpectedly protective, tender. Another tear spills over when he thinks of Dean, the way Dean touched him like that, protective even when Sam was thirty, forty, fifty. Older.
“Don’t cry, Sammy,” the demon whispers, and that just makes it worse. How many times has he heard those words in his brother’s voice? Maybe the first words he remembers hearing, and always it was Dean who cared enough to dry his tears. It works paradoxically now, opens the floodgates of all the longing he keeps trying to push down, all the fear and sorrow and rage that has nowhere to go. They hit so hard and fast that Sam doesn’t even register the demon’s arms wrapping around him and pulling him in, only his own overwhelming pain.
Awareness seeps back as the sun’s starting to come up outside the motel window. Sam’s face is pressed to the demon’s chest, his skin wet with Sam’s tears and slick with snot where Sam cried out his anguish. One of the demon’s hands pats Sam’s back awkwardly, and the other rubs tentatively at Sam’s temple, the spot where Dean used to press his talented fingers to soothe Sam’s migraines. Sam hiccups the last few sobs out and rolls away, flat on his back and staring at the cracked paint on the ceiling. The demon pulls both hands off, runs one over his own damp chest and makes a face.
“Man, we’re fucked up,” Sam croaks, voice almost gone.
“You just realizing that now?” the demon asks incredulously, wiping Sam’s snot on the bedspread.
It’s a familiar response, so familiar it almost makes Sam break down all over again, but instead he pushes up on his elbows and manages to curve the very corner of his mouth up in acknowledgement. The demon is talking, and if that’s the only good thing Sam can salvage out of this unholy mess, then Sam will take it.
“I’m a slow learner,” he answers, and the demon snorts.
“No, you’re an idiot,” the demon retorts, not missing a beat. “And an optimist. For no conceivable reason.”
Sam raises his eyebrows. “Conceivable? Optimist? Talking in big words now and everything.”
“Oh fuck you, bitch,” the demon growls back, then frowns as Sam’s smile makes its way across his whole wet red puffy face. “What?” he demands.
“Nothing,” Sam shrugs. “Jerk.
The demon rolls his eyes, but doesn’t turn away fast enough to conceal the way his lip curls.
“First shower,” he announces, stalking naked across the room and shutting the bathroom door with a bang to avoid any further conversation. Sam can’t believe how much he’s missed those obnoxious two words. He sleeps for another three hours, until the morning sun is high in the sky, without any dreams.
Chapter Seven
Author: runedgirl (Lynsey)
Rating: NC17 overall
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/demon!Dean
Warning: violent and sexual content
Word Count this chapter: 3000
Beta: My sexyboy
pure_shite (Ashton). Thanks!!Summary: Sam tried to thwart death in a desperate attempt to keep his brother human. Did it work or did heaven come between them the way hell never could? Sequel to the story Fade To Black - this one will make more sense if you read the original fic first. Previous chapters: Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five
AN: Not a WIP – story is finished with 8 chapters and will be posted regularly with each final beta. Feedback is adored and promptly savored.
The motel room is so quiet, Sam can hear every creak of the cheap mattress as the demon slides closer to him in the dark. Rough fingers brush over his hip, tugging at the cotton of his boxers before reaching inside to curl around Sam’s soft cock. The demon’s being uncharacteristically gentle, like he thinks he can get Sam riled up enough that he’ll just play along when he wakes up. Sam’s good at feigning sleep though, one of those skills you pick up being a hunter for eight decades.
He waits until the demon’s impatience is getting the better of him, until he can feel the warm press of the demon’s bare chest and stomach all along his side, hard cock poking his hip. The demon rumbles deep in his throat, noses against Sam’s neck and flicks his hot wet tongue against the shell of Sam’s ear. Dirty tricks, ones that would usually work.
Not tonight.
The demon’s completely caught off guard when Sam twists to lay him out flat on his back on the bed, both wrists pinned beside his head by Sam’s big hands and Sam’s substantial weight pressing him to the mattress.
“You want something?” Sam growls, every bit as feral as the demon can sound. Black eyes blink up at him in surprise in the dim light.
“Do you?” Sam demands, fingers braceleting the demon’s wrists until he can feel the bones grind painfully as Sam bears down on him. The demon’s mouth falls open, half shock, half arousal. For all that he goes wild animal on Sam most of the time, the demon will drop and roll instantly for Sam manhandling him and they both know it. He pants as Sam slowly grinds his hips down into the demon’s, rubs their cocks together. Lets Sam hold him down and set the pace, rocking into the friction and leaning up to lick whatever part of Sam he can reach, making eager little noises against Sam’s ear.
“Yeah, I know what you want,” Sam tells him, hint of iron in his voice as he keeps their eyes locked.
The demon bucks his hips up as much as he can under Sam’s weight, his cock smearing wet streaks on Sam’s stomach. He’s close to getting off already after three days without, squirming frantically to get one leg around Sam’s hips so he can rut harder. Sam lets him keep going until he’s gasping out harsh breaths that sound like wordless curses, lean body sweat-damp and hot beneath Sam’s, muscles flexing and relaxing in constant motion, desperate. Until his thrusts grow frantic, arrhythmic. Until he’s right on the brink. Then Sam lifts himself off enough to take away the delicious friction, and lets go of the demon’s wrists to reach down and squeeze the base of his dick. Hard. The demon’s body stretches rigid beneath him, black eyes snapping open wide to stare up at Sam.
“But you’re not gonna get it til you tell me.”
The noise the demon makes is more a roar than anything else, shockingly loud in the quiet room and full of rage. He tries to twist out from under, but Sam’s got him by the balls – almost literally – and he can’t quite manage it without making things worse for himself.
“Tell me what you want,” Sam grits out, moving his hand back up the demon’s rock hard cock and stroking him back to the brink. The roughness only has the demon more worked up, and he whimpers painfully, back arching so far Sam nearly gets bucked off. Slick fluid dribbles over Sam’s hand and the demon tenses, close, but once again Sam stops and lets go. The demon’s cock slaps back against his own stomach with a smack.
“You wanna come?” Sam taunts him, sucking a bruise into the flushed pink of his chest. “Then tell me.”
The demon writhes like he’s dying, frantic to get his dick up against anything, but Sam angles his body away, leaves the demon hanging. He gets the nub of a taut nipple between his teeth and bites down hard, slips a hand between his legs to fondle his balls, plays Dean's body with everything Sam knows will make him crazy, and the demon jerks and cries out beneath him. He could fight if he wanted to, could hold Sam down and take what he wants. Instead he fists his hands in the bedsheets, lets Sam lay him out while he moans like he’s in agony.
“C’mon,” Sam growls against the demon’s stomach, nipping at the wiry hair beneath his navel, tugging with his teeth while he holds the demon’s hips in a punishing grip, keeps him flat on the mattress. “Just fucking tell me.”
The demon whines, his head thrashing back and forth against the pillow and his eyes screwed tightly shut, his whole body strung tight. He lets Sam push his legs apart, bend them up so far his knees are touching his chest, and just the position makes him start to tremble with the need to come. Broken, harsh pants escape from gritted teeth as Sam licks the insides of his thighs, works his way over the curve of his cheeks and in between.
“Say it,” Sam mouths against his ass, tongue teasing around his hole to make it twitch and clench, until there’s gooseflesh pinking the tender skin, panting himself with the scent-taste-heat of Dean all around him. “Fucking say it, you stubborn bastard.”
The demon’s close to coming just from humping the air, so Sam doesn’t pull any punches. He digs both hands into the tender flesh of the demon’s thighs and hauls his ass up off the mattress to Sam’s mouth, plunging his tongue inside the tight hole and speaking right up against the hot skin. “Say it,” he says between filthy wet licks, “Say it and I’ll fuck you so good, make you come so hard, c’mon.”
One last time, he stops and raises his head, breath coming fast against the slick wet spread of the demon’s ass held tightly in Sam’s big hands.
The demon howls then, bucking and writhing and Sam can barely hang onto his hips, but the staccato “ah- ah- ah- ah” turns into “f – f- fuck”, and when Sam still doesn’t move, he finally manages a strangled “fuckfuckfuckmeSamfuck ahhhfuck.”
Amazingly, Sam manages to get to his knees between the demon’s legs and get his dick inside before the demon comes all over himself, but just barely. He hangs on for about two more seconds before he loses it too, and jesus, Sam can’t remember the last time he came that hard.
The demon’s trembling beneath him by the time Sam catches his breath enough to pull out and roll off.
“Was that so hard?”
Sam means it to be teasing, but the demon lying beside him looks stricken when Sam turns on the bedside light.
“Look, I just want you to talk to me. That’s not really too much to ask after a year, is it?”
The demon tries to roll away, but Sam grabs his shoulder and pulls him back.
“Stay,” he says, and feels the demon’s body go limp in surrender. “Talk to me.”
The noise the demon makes in answer isn’t words, just an incoherent sob. He doesn’t meet Sam’s eyes, just stares up at the ceiling, quiet for so long Sam starts to think those few words are all he’s going to get. The demon’s still shaking when he finally speaks.
“Should leave me, Sam. Too broken now. Can’t come back this time.” His voice is a gruff whisper in the dark, but the words are clear, sinking into Sam like arrows. Maybe the demon was right about not talking.
“No.” Sam reaches over to touch the demon’s arm, squeezes the hard muscle there. “No, not leaving you. Not ever again.”
“Hurt you,” the demon whispers. “Hurt you every day.”
“Sometimes, yeah. Still not leaving.”
“Sam.” He’s trying to pull his arm away, but Sam holds tighter. Needs to hear his brother’s voice, needs to believe he’s still human, that a part of him is still human.
“Love you, Dean.”
“Not Dean,” the demon growls, and this time he gets away. He doesn’t get far though, not expecting Sam’s reach and the arm that wraps around his waist and unbalances him, bringing him down on the mattress with a startled oomph. Sam scrambles on top and pins him again before he can catch his breath, knowing the demon could toss him off this time if he wanted to.
“Not Dean,” the demon repeats, black eyes glittering in the moonlight seeping through the shabby curtains, but he doesn’t fight.
“Whoever you are – whatever you are – him, you, what all this hell has made you – it’s still true,” Sam insists. “And I’m not leaving.”
The demon closes his eyes and turns his head to the side like he can’t bear Sam’s eyes on him any longer. The long line of his throat stretches pale and vulnerable, stirs Sam’s body and his battered heart regardless of his emotional exhaustion and the unbelievable orgasm he just had. The demon squirms under him again and half-heartedly tries to buck Sam off.
“Uh uh,” Sam says, and pulls the demon’s hands above his head, anchoring them there with one hand. The demon’s eyes flutter open reluctantly.
Sam breathes against his ear as he sprawls on top of the demon, still holding his hands above his head.
“Just want you to talk to me. Not gonna take no for an answer.”
The demon stretches, flexes his wrists inside the bracelet of Sam’s hand, testing. Sam presses tighter, doesn’t let go, and the demon relaxes into the hold, muscles going lax beneath the weight of Sam’s body. He doesn’t answer, but he’s firm and warm and Sam can feel the beat of Dean’s heart against his chest, strong and even and familiar. They fall asleep like that, sticky and sweaty, the demon’s arms still crossed above his head.
In his dreams that night, Sammi and Johnny are screaming, both of them infants again, naked and helpless, squalling as their cribs are torn apart by something huge and dark that Sam can’t see. Crack of splintering wood, of breaking bones, and Sam can’t move, his feet too heavy, too slow, and he’s calling for his brother, wanting Dean to come save him, save them. He can hear his brother’s voice, far away but moving closer, calling for him, and if he can just hang on, if they can just hang on… It’s only then he sees that the big dark thing is wearing his brother’s face, grinning with sharp fanged teeth and blood on his hands as he calls Sam’s name.
“Sam!”
“No, no, god, no.” He’s still shaking his head and trying to move his feet, which are tangled tightly in the bedsheets and blankets, when Sam finally opens his eyes.
The demon’s got hold of his shoulders, shaking him awake none too gently. “Sam, for chrissakes,” he says, letting go when he sees that Sam’s looking back. It’s still dark in the room, not quite sunrise. Sam’s heart is pounding triple time, and he reaches for the lamp, needing to get the nightmare images out of his head.
“You – you’re shaking.” The demon reaches for him, then drops his hand suddenly and averts his eyes. “Was it me?” His voice is still rough, the words awkward and deliberate.
Only then does Sam realize that they’re having a conversation. The demon is talking to him.
“You’re talking,” he says, still not quite sure he’s awake.
The demon rolls his black eyes, and the gesture is so familiar, so human, that Sam just wants to kiss him.
Instead he lets himself smile, something he’s done so little of recently that it feels unfamiliar on his face. The demon huffs in response and shakes his head to let Sam know he’s an idiot, but that feels good too so really it’s all a win for Sam’s side.
“No,” he says, and it’s not entirely a lie. “Wasn’t you. It was a nightmare, just a mixed up jumble of bad shit.”
“You screamed for Johnny,” the demon says, and their son’s name sounds so normal in Dean’s voice, it makes Sam’s chest clench painfully.
“It was just a dream,” Sam sighs, dropping back to the bed and hoping it won’t be a recurring one.
The demon matches his sigh and gets up to go back to the other bed, but Sam grabs his arm before he can go far, pushes the covers back and pats the mattress. The demon’s brows draw together in hesitation for a second, then he relents and slips under the sheets. The warmth of his body is comforting, hard muscle and soft skin. Sam turns his head into the familiar scent of sex and Dean and pulls the demon closer, wraps an arm around his waist.
“Talk to me,” Sam whispers sleepily, nuzzling into the demon’s shoulder, the bristles of Dean’s short silky hair tickling his cheek.
The demon is quiet for so long that Sam gives up on the request, dozing off in spite of himself, so he startles when the silence is suddenly broken.
“I don’t remember,” the demon confesses, gruff whisper against the top of Sam’s head. “Don’t remember anything after you died.” Sam can feel the bob of the demon’s Adam’s apple as he swallows hard and goes on. “Tried to wake you, tried to make you come back. Promised you anything -- anything, everything -- begged you. But you wouldn’t wake up, just laid there, just –
The demon’s got one hand around Sam’s bicep, holding on like he doesn’t trust Sam not to disappear even now, fingers digging in painfully, but Sam stays still and quiet. If he interrupts, he’s not sure the demon will ever try to tell him again.
“And I don’t remember – they pulled you away from me, made me let go, and I couldn’t, I couldn’t, Sammy.”
“I know, I know,” Sam says, getting an arm around the demon’s shoulder and pressing closer. The demon’s heartbeat thuds wildly against Sam’s chest, his breath coming fast with the memories.
“I just wanted to stay with you,” he moans finally, and the pain in his voice cuts right into Sam’s heart. He knows that pain. Remembers how it almost consumed him when Dean went to hell, when Sam was left cradling his cold lifeless body. How impossible it felt to let go of the only person he loved. Tearing his own heart out felt easier than unwrapping his arms from his brother’s dead body.
Sam doesn’t realize he’s crying until the demon pulls back enough to brush his fingers over Sam’s face, trying to wipe the wetness away. His black eyes don’t give away any emotion, but his throat works silently as he stares at Sam’s tear-streaked face.
“I’m sorry,” Sam says, trying to push away his own memories. “Sorry the spell didn’t work the way we thought it would.”
The demon brushes Sam’s cheek again, pushes a strand of damp hair from his face carefully and tucks it behind an ear. It makes Sam blush, the gesture unexpectedly protective, tender. Another tear spills over when he thinks of Dean, the way Dean touched him like that, protective even when Sam was thirty, forty, fifty. Older.
“Don’t cry, Sammy,” the demon whispers, and that just makes it worse. How many times has he heard those words in his brother’s voice? Maybe the first words he remembers hearing, and always it was Dean who cared enough to dry his tears. It works paradoxically now, opens the floodgates of all the longing he keeps trying to push down, all the fear and sorrow and rage that has nowhere to go. They hit so hard and fast that Sam doesn’t even register the demon’s arms wrapping around him and pulling him in, only his own overwhelming pain.
Awareness seeps back as the sun’s starting to come up outside the motel window. Sam’s face is pressed to the demon’s chest, his skin wet with Sam’s tears and slick with snot where Sam cried out his anguish. One of the demon’s hands pats Sam’s back awkwardly, and the other rubs tentatively at Sam’s temple, the spot where Dean used to press his talented fingers to soothe Sam’s migraines. Sam hiccups the last few sobs out and rolls away, flat on his back and staring at the cracked paint on the ceiling. The demon pulls both hands off, runs one over his own damp chest and makes a face.
“Man, we’re fucked up,” Sam croaks, voice almost gone.
“You just realizing that now?” the demon asks incredulously, wiping Sam’s snot on the bedspread.
It’s a familiar response, so familiar it almost makes Sam break down all over again, but instead he pushes up on his elbows and manages to curve the very corner of his mouth up in acknowledgement. The demon is talking, and if that’s the only good thing Sam can salvage out of this unholy mess, then Sam will take it.
“I’m a slow learner,” he answers, and the demon snorts.
“No, you’re an idiot,” the demon retorts, not missing a beat. “And an optimist. For no conceivable reason.”
Sam raises his eyebrows. “Conceivable? Optimist? Talking in big words now and everything.”
“Oh fuck you, bitch,” the demon growls back, then frowns as Sam’s smile makes its way across his whole wet red puffy face. “What?” he demands.
“Nothing,” Sam shrugs. “Jerk.
The demon rolls his eyes, but doesn’t turn away fast enough to conceal the way his lip curls.
“First shower,” he announces, stalking naked across the room and shutting the bathroom door with a bang to avoid any further conversation. Sam can’t believe how much he’s missed those obnoxious two words. He sleeps for another three hours, until the morning sun is high in the sky, without any dreams.
Chapter Seven
