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Black Is The Color of My True Love’s Eyes (8/8) - Complete!
Title:Black Is The Color Of My True Love’s Eyes - Sequel to Fade To Black (Ch 8/8)
Author: runedgirl (Lynsey)
Rating: NC17 overall
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/demon!Dean, Dean/Ruby
Warning: violent and sexual content - see pairings above
Word Count this chapter: 7000
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 Chapter Six Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Summer makes the demon crankier than usual. He complains about the way his sweat-soaked shirt’s sticking to his back or how the dust kicked up beside the highway is going up his nose, everything scorched brown in the Arizona sun. Sam watches him, remembering the striking green of his brother’s eyes in other summers, jewel-bright against the pink flush of his cheeks and abundant freckles. They hunt without a break, needing the feel of walking in step, being on the same side, as much as the distraction of keeping busy.
“What’re you making up for, Sam?” the demon asks as Sam packs them up once again with first morning light, pushing to get to the next hunt, vanquish the next big bad.
Sam doesn’t answer, and the demon catches his wrist, pulls him away from shoving clothes in his duffel. “What I did? Is that it, Sammy?”
Sam yanks his arm back and says no, but he wonders if the demon’s right. How many things do they have to kill before the death toll of that year apart feels bearable?
His pushing finally gets them in trouble in the little town of Eckert, Colorado. Four people have drowned in the picturesque lake outside Hummingbird Lodge, perched on the foot of the mesa there. Or at least that’s the assumption – no bodies were ever found, but there are plenty of witnesses who saw good swimmers thrash and yell and go under for good. The first time Sam and the demon go in, they’re cocky enough to do it at night, the edge of reckless that’s been tugging at them both getting in the way of decades of hunting judgment. It’s only the chill of the water making them take it slow – leaving them still in the shallows -- that allows them to escape the clutches of the water wraiths that have them both by the ankles in minutes. Sam can still feel the tightening of their fingers around his legs, like a slippery caress of seaweed, deceptively soft and benign until it was almost too late. He calls Ruby for help for the first time once they're back at the car, spooked by the way they almost didn’t get their knives out in time.
She comes without question, showing up at their door the next day with three coffees and a dismissive wave of the hand when Sam tries to hug her. “What’s the job?” she asks instead, brown eyes darting back and forth between Sam and the demon. “And how the hell are you two doing?”
“We’re fine,” the demon barks, much too quickly.
Ruby looks at Sam. “Are you?”
“I said we were!” the demon bristles, and Ruby smiles sweetly at him.
“Maybe I wanna hear it from Sam. Maybe you’re not the most reliable –
“We’re fine, okay?” Sam interrupts. “Now can we figure out a way to get rid of the wraiths in the lake?”
“Cranky,” Ruby grumbles, but she puts down the coffees.
The demons are still brittle with each other, but they settle in, heads together to work out a plan and both of them looking to Sam to lead them in it. It’s a good plan, right up until the moment there’s one more wraith than they counted on. The demons are already climbing up the lake bank when Sam feels that telltale slithering slippery grip tighten around his legs. He gets out half of a frantic yelp before the water is over his head and his face is being dragged through the silt of the lake bed as the wraith pulls him deeper with alarming speed.
Sam’s arms grapple wildly, hands trying to catch on rocks and lake grass and an old tire sunk into the mud as the pull on him tightens relentlessly, tugging, tugging, deeper. It’s colder now, brown and muddy, so thick he can’t see, the sound of churning water all around him as he thrashes, lungs burning up, and he thinks shit, I’m gonna die after all.
The blackness is just taking over his thoughts and stilling his body’s instinctive fight when he hears a muffled shout, and then there’s a hand grabbing for his own. Sam opens his mouth to shout back, and the ice cold lake rushes in.
* * *
He comes to with his body on the sand and his feet still in the water, tangled in the amputated limbs of the water wraith and a mess of trash and mud and old fishing line. The demon’s mouth is on his, huffing out frantic breaths forced between Sam’s opened lips, fingers pinching his nostrils closed so hard it feels like he’s about to rip Sam’s nose right off. Ruby’s pounding on his chest every bit as frantically, and every bit as painfully, the two of them trying to drag him back to life with the sheer force of their combined demonic strength. It takes Sam a minute to muster enough strength to push them off.
Trying to talk just brings up a choking cough of lake water that burns his throat like lava, and he turns enough to heave it up again and again, both demons still with their hands all over him like they can’t stop touching him or he might fall back into unconsciousness.
“Sam – Sammy,” the demon’s saying, trying to wipe the mud off Sam’s face and pry his eyes open. “Sammy, be okay, you okay?”
Sam manages a nod, catches the demon’s hand with his own and squeezes. “Jesus,” the demon says, almost a sob. “Sam, fuck, I – jesus, Sam.”
Ruby sighs and lets go of Sam’s soaked shirt to get up, but the demon reaches up to grab her, pulls her back down. The two demons lock eyes as he threads his fingers through hers and presses their hands to Sam’s chest, over his pounding heart. They don’t speak, but Sam can feel the grip of their fingers twist together on his chest before Ruby nods and gets up.
He lets them sling him between them on the way to the car, strong shoulders supporting Sam’s 6 foot 4 frame easily, and he can feel how scared they were, the adrenaline still pumping in them both. They’ve been reckless all this time, feeling immortal and taking it for granted, but they don’t really know whether Sam can die. Or whether the wraith would ever have let him go. The demons are spooked, unsure, and Sam thinks for the first time how much they both need him. It’s a warm thought, as he shivers on the back seat where they lay him, soaked and bruised and covered in mud.
They nudge him into the motel bathroom and strip him, shucking their own wet clothes once they’ve pushed Sam into the shower. The hot water feels like heaven, and Sam gets lost in the bliss of it, letting it rinse away the residue of the lake and the wraith and the fear. When he opens his eyes again, the demons are staring at each other. Neither of them have moved, but their eyes rake over each other’s nude bodies, catching on the stiff points of her nipples, the stiff rise of his cock. Ruby licks her lips and the demon’s dick twitches, hardens further between muscled thighs. They’re both quivering, too much adrenaline and emotion, but still they’re frozen, waiting.
“Go ahead,” Sam says from the shower.
Ruby moves like she’s on a slingshot, on the other demon in an instant, shoving his bulkier body to sit down hard on the closed toilet and then dropping to the floor as she pushes his knees apart and puts his cock in her mouth. Sam hasn’t gotten to watch in a long long time – feels like a lifetime – and he’s mesmerized now by the violence of it, fear of almost losing Sam tangled up with pent up rage and hurt and the love they’d never admit for each other all wound into the lust of this moment. Fully aroused, the demon’s long and thick, but Ruby swallows most of him, one hand sliding up his taut belly to play with his nipples. She pinches him hard there, uses her long nails until he stiffens and groans, but his hands stay at his sides, and he lets her. She leaves deep red marks all around the tender nubs when she lets go, slides her hand down beneath where her mouth is working on his cock and squeezes his balls. His whole body jerks and he whimpers loudly, hands gripping the sides of the lid with white knuckles. Ruby grins with her mouth full at the mix of pain and pleasure in his voice, squeezes harder before she lets go and yanks him to his feet.
He’s dizzy, dumb with it, so turned on he just gapes at her. Ruby leers at his erection, licks her red lips like she’s tasting the way he drips as she sits down and spreads her legs.
“C’mon, you bastard,” she taunts, grabbing him by an arm and putting him on his knees. The demon goes easy, pushes her thighs wide and dives in to where she’s dripping too, and Sam has to take himself in hand at that. His knees are still shaky, but this is too hot for even a near-drowning incident to keep his dick down, jesus.
Ruby’s every bit as loud as the other demon, cursing and thrashing and grabbing him by the ears to push his mouth where she wants it. She tosses him off finally, and he sprawls awkwardly on the wet tile floor, mouth red and swollen and still open as he breathes hard.
“Up, move,” Ruby demands, gives him a hand only to spin him around and plant his ass back on the seat, and the demon moans plaintively, reaches out for her like he never does, pleading. She grins and doesn’t make him wait, straddles his thighs and wraps her delicate fingers around his slick cock to hold him steady as she sinks down.
Sam jerks himself in time with Ruby as she bounces up and down, in time with the demon as he grunts and tries to thrust his hips up, his hands tangled in Ruby’s wild wet hair, and they come one right after the other, Sam nearly losing his footing in the tub and the two demons too caught up in each other to notice.
“A little help here,” he pants as he tries to catch his breath, and the demons detach themselves and reach in to steady Sam, trying not to make eye contact with each other now that they’re no longer in the grip of passion. It’s kind of cute.
Sam sleeps between them that night, all three passed out on the big king bed instead of Ruby taking the couch like she’d planned. Sam wakes before the sun rises to the unfamiliar feeling of being safe, surrounded. Ruby’s hair tickles his cheek on one side, and the demon’s pressed up against the other. He’s dreaming, soft unintelligible words strung together urgently, his brows drawing together in deep furrows and his eyes darting rapidly back and forth beneath closed eyelids. “Sammy,” he whispers, and his hands come up to fumble blindly across Sam’s chest.
“I’m here, I’m okay,” Sam whispers back, catching the demon’s hands in his own larger ones, holding on. The demon twitches, pushes up closer, and Sam twists to kiss his forehead gently, smoothing out the worry lines. “Shh,” he says again, “It’s me, I’m here.”
Gradually his brother’s face – beautiful in the muted moonlight – relaxes back into sleep, lips parting and breath evening out. “Sammy,” he whispers again as he curls against Sam’s side in what could really only be described as cuddling. A ghost of a smile crosses Dean’s pretty mouth when Sam brushes another kiss to his cheek, and Sam feels closer to his brother than he has since he came back. He can almost believe that underneath the closed eyes, there’s emerald green waiting.
Ruby leaves in the morning, but this time she lets Sam give her a one-armed hug before she shrugs him off, and she tweaks the other demon’s chest with a smirk before she goes, right over a still-sore nipple.
“Ow,” he growls, but he smirks back.
* * *
Johnny allows the demon into the house for Thanksgiving that year, though he keeps a salt gun very obviously propped in the corner of the kitchen and Sam knows there’s plenty of holy water nearby. The demon is as nervous as his son, refusing to move from the big chair in the living room where Sam deposited him when they first came in like it’s the only way he can be certain he won’t damage anything.
Little Mary immediately wants to know why he’s wearing sunglasses in the house, wisely pointing out that it’s raining outside. The demon yells for Sam instead of attempting an answer, refusing to take them off, and squirms uncomfortably when Sam sits on the arm of the chair to give Mary an explanation. She ponders for a minute, then pats the demon on the knee.
“Black’s my favorite color,” she announces. The demon just nods, but the tips of his ears go crimson.
“Mine too,” Sam says, and tries to mean it.
Jen is heavy with child, and Sam thinks again what a miracle it is, that she’s carrying Dean’s grandchild. He hopes for another baby with green eyes.
There’s turkey and yams and green bean casserole and peas with onions and two kinds of cranberry, and Sam and the demon both eat way too much and it feels like heaven after months of diner food and McDonald’s. Mikey’s eyes go comically wide as the demon shovels in gigantic spoonfuls of mashed potatoes with one hand and entire dinner rolls with the other, his lips slick with melted butter and Jen’s homemade gravy that he can’t be bothered to wipe off. Twice Mikey opens his mouth to protest the unfairness of having to demonstrate table manners when the adult across the table doesn’t, but each time his mother shakes her head sternly and Mikey pouts and stays quiet.
Ruby pointedly thrusts a napkin into the demon’s hands midway through the meal, which earns her a growled fuck off, and little Dean hoots and grins as he announces, “You said a bad word!”
“Dean,” Jen scolds, and gets two matching scowls in return.
“It’s just a word, mom,” little Dean points out. “And he’s a grownup.”
The demon eats a little more carefully after that.
After dinner everyone piles out the back door to watch the autumn sun streak the sky with burnt oranges striping the blue. Little Dean shows off his bb gun skills knocking cans off the back porch rail, which brings an unexpected yelp of “Hell, yes!” from the demon who has hardly said a word the whole day. Sam grins agreement, and little Dean beams like he’s just won a gold medal.
Johnny and Glen bring in an armload of fire wood and start the fire roaring when they come back inside, the three kids constructing building block garrisons and fighting imaginary wars on the floor in its heat.
Sam watches from the dining room, familiar howls of mock aggression and feigned surrender as little Dean and Mikey let Mary’s troops roll over their own again and again, her two year old shrieks of triumph setting the boys off into peals of delighted laughter.
At first the adults shoo the kids protectively away from the demon, who’s taken refuge in the armchair again across from the big stone hearth. But the fire is warm and so is the feeling of family, and eventually the grown-ups wander back to the kitchen to start the clean up. As the sun goes down, the little plastic soldiers and the little fingers arranging them inch closer and closer, until Mary sets her sentry on one of the demon’s boots, standing him up on the roughened leather to keep watch on her cousin’s troops. The demon doesn’t move or say a word, but Sam can see the stiffness in the back of his neck as he watches them play from behind his sunglasses, fingers drumming anxiously against the armrests. Sam wonders what he remembers of Johnny and Sammi at that age, autumn nights in front of another roaring fire, the kids laughing and Sam and Dean sharing soft kisses with so much to be thankful for. His heart thumps with it, longing mixed with joy mixed with sadness. Sam wipes his eyes, impatient with himself. Old enough to know better.
Mary falls asleep with her hand still clutching her sentry on top of the demon’s boot, sucking her thumb and curling into a little ball at his feet. The demon stays frozen until Sammi scoops her daughter up with an apologetic laugh and carries her up to bed, and even then he only shuffles his feet back and forth a few times like he’s forgotten how to move them.
Sammi tries to draw the demon out with pie and questions once the kids are in bed. He eagerly accepts the former and deflects the latter, until Sammi sighs in exasperation. “You were always stubborn,” she says, poking him in the chest. “But I know you’re in there.” His cheeks match his ears when she leans down to hug him.
Another cup of coffee later, Sam’s talking hunting with Johnny in the kitchen when suddenly the demon’s at his side, gripping Sam’s elbow so tightly it hurts. “Sam,” he rasps, out of breath like he’s just run a marathon, and his shoulders tremble. “Have to get outta here.”
“What? Why?” Johnny’s looking alarmed, and damn, Sam just wants to enjoy this night, the first time anything has felt normal in forever.
The demon gives a full body shudder, shaking like his knees are gonna give out. “Please,” he whispers, “Now, g-gotta go. Now.” He presses up close to Sam, like he needs to feel his brother’s heat to ground himself, and Sam can feel the jackrabbiting beat of his heart slamming against his chest. What the fuck? The panic’s coming off him in waves, infectious and compelling, and suddenly Sam’s just as desperate. God, he doesn’t want anything bad to happen. Not again.
“Yeah, okay,” Sam says, grabbing their coats and his car keys and heading straight out the back door.
“Tell everyone we said goodbye,” he yells over his shoulder to Johnny, and his son nods, doesn’t question the decision for a second.
“Drive,” the demon squeaks out as soon as the doors close, almost no voice left he’s shaking so hard, and Sam doesn’t know if he’s having a heart attack or trying to head off a random act of violence or just plain losing his mind. He asks in thirty seven different ways as the miles stretch out beneath them, but all the demon will say is “drive.”
Sam drives until he can’t see the road anymore, then turns into the first motel, exhausted from anger and fear and confusion. Just when things were getting better, just when Johnny and Sammi and the kids were getting used to him again, and now the demon has to go and fuck it all up?
He slams the door as soon as they’re inside and has the demon up against the wall, frustration fueling a sudden white hot rage. “What the fuck is going on with you? Why did we have to get out of there like that? Were you gonna hurt them?” Sam’s got both hands fisted in the demon’s shirts, slamming him into the wall with every question. Ready to knock the answer out of him if he has to, because jesus, he’s just had it.
The demon is still breathing way too fast, ghostly pale and trembling in Sam’s hands. “I dunno, I don’t feel – don’t feel right -- had to get away from them, had to make sure I didn’t –
“You fucker!” Sam yells, disappointment crushing him after a day of such hope. “Why can’t you just fucking control yourself?” He slams the demon into the wall again, hard enough to knock the sunglasses he’s still wearing right off his face.
“I don’t fucking know,” the demon’s shouting, “I just couldn’t, it just happened, all of a sudden everything just started to slip, and I –
“Oh my god.”
Sam cuts him off, gaping in astonishment.
He stumbles them over to the bureau with the mirror above it, still holding the demon by the shoulders, and turns them to face it.
Together they stare into Dean’s shocked green eyes.
* * *
Sam tries to keep them both awake, terrified that the green will fade to black as soon as he’s not paying attention and determined to take advantage of every single second he has with his brother. They tumble to the bed fully dressed, and Sam’s desperate to do everything at once, haul Dean close against him and keep enough distance that Sam can look into his eyes. He pulls his brother close, Dean burying his face gratefully into Sam’s neck until Sam pushes him back to drink up the startled bottle-green he’s been longing for, one hand fisted in Dean’s tee shirt.
Dean’s exhausted, frightened without the defensive walls he’s kept up for two solid years.
“’m scared, Sammy,” he says as Sam lets him go to run his hands over his brother’s face for the millionth time, stroking over the long lashes with gentle fingertips, kissing his open mouth.
“I know, I know, but it’s okay, I’m right here, not gonna leave you.”
Dean trembles, clutches at Sam’s shoulder with one hand, the other spread over Sam’s chest to feel the pounding of his heart.
“Dean,” Sam whispers, mouth pressed to his brother’s tender throat so he can feel the soft moan in answer. “Dean.” To his stubbled chin, rough against Sam’s lips. “Dean, Dean.”
Sam’s been saying his name over and over, like he’s been waiting all this time and now he can’t leave it alone, can’t get enough of the word rolling off his tongue. Sam’s still saying it when Dean’s eyes finally fall closed and Sam can’t kiss him back to wakefulness, so he curls them together under the blankets and tries not to dread the morning.
* * *
It’s not like the first time.
He’s not sure when he finally fell asleep, but when the sun comes up, Sam’s terrified it was just a dream. He lies there for a long time, frozen, afraid to move, afraid to find out it wasn’t real. He feels like a fool when he finally clears his throat and says his brother’s name, when he knows – he just knows -- there will only be black eyes and a disdainful correction in response. His heart pounds wildly, but he can’t help saying “Dean” and kissing one freckled shoulder, little bits of hope flickering in his chest.
He gets a half hearted shove and a sleepy “Lemme alone, sleepin’ Sammy,” but when the long lashes finally flutter open there’s emerald green shining underneath, and Sam attacks him with a whoop, all the tender desperation of the night before firing a burst of love and lust. Dean’s here, and Sam’s got to have him. Sam works Dean out of his jeans and underwear before he’s even awake enough to help and sucks his brother’s cock into his mouth with an exuberant slurp.
“Shit,” Dean gasps, hands tangling in Sam’s long hair, then “Oh fuck, yeah.”
Sam’s still trying to say his name while swallowing his dick, and Dean’s getting hard fast, hips trying to push up into the delicious heat of his brother’s mouth, when Sam pulls off. Grinning, Sam kisses up his stomach and chest to lean over and just stare down into his brother’s pretty face.
“Sammmmm,” Dean whines, trying to rub his neglected cock against Sam’s thigh.
“Deannnnnn,” Sam smiles, and he looks goofy, feels goofy, like he did when he was seven and looked up to his big brother as though he was God and Superman all rolled into one.
Sam strips them both, wanting all of Dean, and his brother's eyes slip closed, a pained expression crossing his face as he struggles with the unfamiliar rush of emotions. He ducks his face into Sam’s neck, bites down on the taste of Sam’s skin and drinks in the scent to ground himself as he hikes his legs up around Sam’s hips and bucks up into the lean body covering him, rubbing his ass against the length of Sam’s cock. “Need you, Sammy,” he pleads, and Sam says “Yeah, god Dean, yes.”
Dean’s trembling hard as Sam slicks up his dick and pushes in, but he spreads his legs and cants his hips to stretch himself around Sam. “C’mon,” he moans, “Wanna -- uhh-- feel it Sam,” and Sam groans and sinks all the way in, wanting to make it burn so sweet that Dean can’t think of anything else, only how they are together.
Sam leans down to take his brother’s mouth too, tangles their tongues, his blood rushing hot when Dean’s body sucks him in all over. Dean chases him up when Sam breaks the kiss, greedy for more, his lips swollen and red and saliva-slick, and Sam feels his climax suddenly ripple up his spine, taking him by surprise.
“Open your eyes,” he gasps, and Dean obeys, the vivid green pushing Sam over the edge as he stutters his hips against his brother’s ass, spilling long and hard and still moaning “Dean, Dean.”
Dean’s quivering beneath him as Sam slips free and eases his brother’s legs down, his eyes wide and glistening, too wet.
“Hey, Dean, hey,” Sam soothes, palming his cheek where a tear has overflowed. Dean’s still hard between their bellies, panting, and Sam slides off him slowly, afraid of spooking him, and takes him in hand.
He jerks at Sam’s touch, makes a choked off cry and arches his back like he’s trying to get away and get closer all at the same time, but his cock drips and twitches under Sam’s fingers. “Sam, it’s – it feels – it’s too much,” he manages, fisting the bedsheets, muscles corded tight in his arms, thighs.
“Shhhh, I’ve got you,” Sam says, and he kisses the freckled skin of Dean’s shoulders as he strokes his cock, licks and sucks at his pebbled nipples, works his way lower to nip at the sparse trail of hair bisecting his stomach, until his brother is whimpering and his legs have fallen open again, wanton.
“Love you, Dean,” Sam whispers against the tattoo on his hipbone, and Dean comes, his whole body shuddering, moaning Sam’s name and random curses. He sounds nothing like the demon does when he gets off, soft whimpers instead of rumbling growls, and Sam thinks he’s never heard anything hotter.
* * *
“You sure you’re not infected by an incubus or something?” Dean demands a week later, flinching as he tries to settle himself comfortably in the driver’s seat.
“Can I help it if I have a thing for green eyed men?” Sam grins back.
They’ve been laying low, not hunting, just talking and fucking and a lot of Sam staring and Dean blushing. Dean’s eyes have been green most of the time, except for once when the maid barged in unannounced while Sam was in the shower and then ran out screaming bloody murder when the naked man on the bed turned black-eyed. And once when a big rig driver made a comment about Sam’s ass when they stopped at a truckstop for lunch. Funny how high pitched his scream was for such a big guy.
Both times Sam panicked, hauling the demon back to the bed or into the car and kissing him like he was attempting green-eyed CPR. Weirdly, that strategy seemed to work just fine, Dean blinking and staring back at him once they’d both calmed down.
Dean has most of the memories he’d painstakingly recovered before, though he still doesn’t clearly remember much of what happened in the year after Sam died and disappeared. Maybe that’s a good thing, from what Sam can gather from Ruby’s intelligence about the demon’s stint with organized crime. He’s more affectionate than he was before, and more easily overcome by emotion, like being without Sam for that year ripped away his human defenses and left only his demonic ones. Now that those are mostly down, Dean’s eyes are shot through with warmth when he’s looking at Sam, the corners of his generous mouth crooked up in a smile he still tries to hide. Sam relishes it, loves Dean’s hands on him even when he’s not horny, the soft brush of Dean’s fingers through his hair when Sam’s leaning over the laptop researching, the way Dean curls against him when they sleep. Even when they’re just sleeping.
“You’re so goddamned gorgeous,” Dean tells him as they toss duffles and weapons onto one bed and shut the motel door after a long drive and a successful hunt, green eyes hot as they travel the length of Sam’s body, sparkling with mischief and lust. So Dean.
“Look who’s talking,” Sam smirks back, and god, he feels lucky. Ridiculously, improbably lucky.
Their mutual eyefucking is interrupted by Sam’s cell, and he nearly drops it in his excitement.
“It’s a girl,” Johnny says, pride and exhaustion in his voice.
“We’re on our way,” Sam answers, and grabs his brother’s hand.
* * *
Ruby’s already there. They haven’t told anyone about Dean, lingering superstition from a lifetime of the unexplained making Sam want to keep the little bits of good news he can find in the world to himself. But Ruby knows as soon as she sees him, before he takes off the sunglasses he’s been wearing on the drive down.
“Dean!” she shouts as he climbs out of the car, sounding like the girl she might have been a long long time ago, joyful and carefree for a moment. She tackles him in a spontaneous hug before she realizes how much she’s giving away, then extracts herself with a dismissive shrug. “Um, good to see you,” she says, and he takes off his sunglasses and gives her that patented Dean Winchester gleaming white grin until she has to smirk back.
“Dean?” Sammi’s out of the house, running before she gets across the porch. “Ohmygod, ohmygod, Dean!” she screams, and the kids tumble out behind her, Glen following with a dishtowel still in his hands. Sammi covers his face with kisses until Dean is blushing crimson, little Dean whooping around his legs and Mikey imitating his big brother’s happiness even if he’s not sure why.
Sam waits for his turn for hugs from their kids and grandkids, tears in his eyes as he watches Dean soak up the affection, part awkward demon and part family-is-everything Dean.
Johnny finally makes his way outside when he hears the commotion, stops dead with his mouth open when he sees his father.
“Johnny,” Dean says, red faced and struggling to keep his voice even.
“Dad,” Johnny answers, then jumps off the porch and wraps Dean up in a bear hug that lifts him clear off his feet. “God, it’s good to see you.”
Dean splutters and pats his back, clears his throat and adjusts himself to regain some masculinity when his son puts him down, but he’s smiling too.
“Come see the baby,” Johnny offers, and Dean coughs into his hand at the forgiveness it is, shuffles his feet and looks to Sam. His throat is suddenly too tight to speak, but Sam nods at Johnny to lead the way.
Jen’s propped up in the recliner, a tiny still-wrinkled pink infant with a head full of blonde curls at her breast. She holds the baby up when Sam and Dean come in, gives them a tired smile.
“These are your grampas,” Jen announces, while the baby roots and squirms and tries to find her way back to a nipple. “Grampa Sam and Grampa Dean. You’ll get used to the fact that they don’t look like grampas,” she adds. “And this little thing,” she tells them, smiling at the baby. “This is Ruby.”
“She’s perfect,” Sam says.
“Not the greatest name,” Dean says. He’s still part demon. And he’s still Dean.
Ruby whacks him on the back of the head. “It’s a perfect name, and you know it.”
“Bet she’ll have my eyes,” Dean predicts, still taunting.
* * *
They give Sam and Dean the guest room that Ruby usually uses when she’s there, big overstuffed Queen bed and a stone fireplace already roaring. Framed photos in tarnished silver and painted wood sit on the mantle – Johnny in diapers holding his father’s hand, their matching green eyes focused impatiently on Sam as he takes the picture. Sammi and Ruby when they didn’t know anyone was watching, Sammi on her lap and Ruby braiding the unruly blonde curls, a length of purple ribbon tucked into her jeans pocket and a knife tucked into her boot. Sam and Dean on Sam’s 80th birthday, his hair white and his eyes cloudy. Sam’s smiling, looking into the camera, and Dean’s looking at Sam like there’s nothing else in the universe.
Dean slips his arms around Sam’s waist from behind, goes up on his toes to lean his chin on his brother’s shoulder.
“Come to bed, Sammy,” he says, in that voice that drips sex and makes Sam shiver.
Dean’s clever fingers slip beneath Sam’s shirt, slide into his pants with practiced ease. Sam reaches back to fumble for Dean’s belt, gets him unbuckled and unzipped blind, and Dean laughs, impressed with his dexterity. Sam’s too hungry to turn around, to turn away from Dean’s hands pushing his jeans over his hips. Shirts tugged over shoulders, boots kicked across the floor because they can’t get close enough fast enough, everything in a pile as they tumble to the bed. Dean’s splayed out on top of Sam seconds later, bodies sweat-slippery and hard cocks sliding slick between their bellies, hips rocking not quite fast enough, not quite rough enough, and Sam groans a protest because shit, Dean’s taking it slow.
“Deeaaaaan,” he whines, trying to buck up, speed up.
Dean bends to bite Sam’s shoulder, huffs a laugh that’s more like a growl. “I remember when you had a lot more stamina,” he says, soothing the imprint of his teeth with wet licks.
“Yeah, well I was eighty something then, and I’m twenty something now, so move,” Sam complains back, grabbing his brother’s ass rough enough to leave nail marks.
Dean just growls louder, thrusting slow, pushing their dicks together in a lazy slide that’s driving Sam crazy. “Patience Sammy, patience,” he says, though his next words catch in his throat when Sam’s finger slips between his cheeks, teasing over his hole and trying to press inside.
He moans when Sam succeeds, muscles going rigid as his hips stutter, their bodies pressed tight. “You know,” he pants against Sam’s ear, trembling with the strain of not rutting the way his body wants, “You were beautiful then too Sammy. Wanted you just as much, always.”
“Dean,” Sam cries out as he comes, clutching Dean to him and sobbing against his brother’s mouth when Dean bends to kiss him. A few rough stabs of Sam’s long finger buried in Dean’s ass, unerringly finding the spot that makes him come apart, and Dean spills between them, sticky and messy and wonderful.
* * *
The sheets are stuck to Sam in multiple places when a chorus of ‘wake up grampas’ catapults him from sleep at barely sunrise. Dean’s stuck to him too, in places that are thankfully under the blankets.
“Ow, fuck,” Dean curses before he’s even awake, trying to separate himself from Sam, and Sam shushes him. The familiarity of it makes Sam’s eyes water.
Mary and Mikey are still in pajamas, but their eyes are wide. “Time to get up!” Mikey announces.
“Heard you the first ten times, kid,” Dean grumbles, then startles when he opens his eyes and sees two pairs of curious kid eyes on him. He tugs the sheets higher on his naked chest self-consciously. It makes Sam grin, though he does the same.
“Kids, are you disturbing your grandfathers?” comes a voice from the doorway. Ruby stops to look in, with a smile that says she might have had something to do with that fact.
“No?” Mikey tries.
“I told them you were probably busy,” Ruby continues, her eyes lingering on the pile of clothes on the floor and Sam and Dean’s bare shoulders.
“Oh, fu--” Dean starts, but Sam elbows him before he can get the rest of it out. Dean whacks him on the back of the head, and Ruby laughs victoriously.
“C’mon kids, let your grampas get decent so we can all have breakfast.”
* * *
Sammi stacks the blueberry pancakes up so high on Dean’s plate they wobble every time he stabs into one, and grins indulgently when he helps himself to six strips of bacon. Mikey and little Dean immediately do the same.
“Bad influence,” Ruby says, sipping black coffee across the kitchen.
Dean gives her the finger with the hand that isn’t shoveling in pancakes.
“See what I mean?” Ruby frowns at Sam. Like he’s ever been able to do anything about his brother’s eating habits, demon or no demon.
“Give it a break, Ruby –
“Always defending him, jesus –
“Oh come on –
Mary’s little two year old voice shuts them both up. She’s been sitting across the table staring at Dean, and Sam has the sudden irrational thought that she remembers that terrible day.
Dean stops eating and stares back, looking as terrified as Sam.
“Your eyes change colors,” she announces, looking puzzled.
Dean blinks and nods, and Sam can see the guilt he still feels when he looks at their little granddaughter. “Yeah, umm. Yeah they do. Sometimes.”
Mary purses her little lips in thought, furrowing her brow in concentration. Then she graces her Grampa Dean with a beaming smile. “Green is my favorite color,” she tells him.
Sam slips an arm around his brother’s back, pulls Dean up close against him. “Mine too,” he says.
Epilogue
Carter’s been a hunter for a long time, too long to believe everything he hears, and this is no exception. He downs another whiskey at the bar where hunters passing through always gather, and shakes his head at the familiar argument. Joe insists the two mysterious men who took out an entire nest of vampires two towns over in under twenty minutes are devils, more dangerous than the creatures they killed. Ricky says he caught a glimpse of them leaving, both of them bigger than life, tall and strong and damn, if he swung that way he’d be bowled over by the looks of ‘em both. No way are they from down there, he says. More like angels than devils.
The argument’s been going on for decades now, and hunters grab drinks and take sides tonight like they always do. Dean and Sam, that’s all the names they’ve ever heard given them, and nobody knows if those are right or just part of the legend. They haven’t changed, Jessie says, look just the same now as when she first caught sight of them almost thirty years ago. Ain’t natural, that’s for sure, she says, and they all nod in agreement. Rumor is they’ve looked the same for a lot longer than that.
Carter and another hunter are the only ones staying out of it, and he watches her over the bent heads of the others, the corners of her generous mouth turned up in a smirk, like maybe she finds this funny. He hasn’t seen her before, guesses she’s not from around here, but then again most hunters don’t stay in one place too long. Carter gets lonely sometimes, figures it goes with the territory. After a while the rest of them notice her silence too, and one of them calls her on it, drawing her into the conversation.
“Hey sweetheart,” one of the older hunters asks, “Whaddya think? Heaven or hell, where do those boys belong?”
“Neither,” she says with unexpected authority. “Hell couldn’t hold them, and neither could heaven.”
She takes off her hat as the room full of hunters falls quiet to listen, waves of short blonde curls falling over the freckles that splatter her nose, and her green eyes sparkle with conviction. Carter admires the ease with which she commands their attention, the smooth lay of the gun at her hip and the slight swell of the dagger in her boot. There’s a scripted W engraved on the hilt, worn with more years than this girl’s seen. Hunter, born and raised. He knows the type – hell, he’s the type himself.
She swivels on her barstool and raises her shot glass to the room. Startles Carter by catching his eye, like he’s the only one in the room who will know just what she means, and he realizes he suddenly very much wants to. She smiles at him, secret and heated, when she answers.
“They only belong to each other,” she says.
Fin.
Author: runedgirl (Lynsey)
Rating: NC17 overall
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/demon!Dean, Dean/Ruby
Warning: violent and sexual content - see pairings above
Word Count this chapter: 7000
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 Chapter Six Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Summer makes the demon crankier than usual. He complains about the way his sweat-soaked shirt’s sticking to his back or how the dust kicked up beside the highway is going up his nose, everything scorched brown in the Arizona sun. Sam watches him, remembering the striking green of his brother’s eyes in other summers, jewel-bright against the pink flush of his cheeks and abundant freckles. They hunt without a break, needing the feel of walking in step, being on the same side, as much as the distraction of keeping busy.
“What’re you making up for, Sam?” the demon asks as Sam packs them up once again with first morning light, pushing to get to the next hunt, vanquish the next big bad.
Sam doesn’t answer, and the demon catches his wrist, pulls him away from shoving clothes in his duffel. “What I did? Is that it, Sammy?”
Sam yanks his arm back and says no, but he wonders if the demon’s right. How many things do they have to kill before the death toll of that year apart feels bearable?
His pushing finally gets them in trouble in the little town of Eckert, Colorado. Four people have drowned in the picturesque lake outside Hummingbird Lodge, perched on the foot of the mesa there. Or at least that’s the assumption – no bodies were ever found, but there are plenty of witnesses who saw good swimmers thrash and yell and go under for good. The first time Sam and the demon go in, they’re cocky enough to do it at night, the edge of reckless that’s been tugging at them both getting in the way of decades of hunting judgment. It’s only the chill of the water making them take it slow – leaving them still in the shallows -- that allows them to escape the clutches of the water wraiths that have them both by the ankles in minutes. Sam can still feel the tightening of their fingers around his legs, like a slippery caress of seaweed, deceptively soft and benign until it was almost too late. He calls Ruby for help for the first time once they're back at the car, spooked by the way they almost didn’t get their knives out in time.
She comes without question, showing up at their door the next day with three coffees and a dismissive wave of the hand when Sam tries to hug her. “What’s the job?” she asks instead, brown eyes darting back and forth between Sam and the demon. “And how the hell are you two doing?”
“We’re fine,” the demon barks, much too quickly.
Ruby looks at Sam. “Are you?”
“I said we were!” the demon bristles, and Ruby smiles sweetly at him.
“Maybe I wanna hear it from Sam. Maybe you’re not the most reliable –
“We’re fine, okay?” Sam interrupts. “Now can we figure out a way to get rid of the wraiths in the lake?”
“Cranky,” Ruby grumbles, but she puts down the coffees.
The demons are still brittle with each other, but they settle in, heads together to work out a plan and both of them looking to Sam to lead them in it. It’s a good plan, right up until the moment there’s one more wraith than they counted on. The demons are already climbing up the lake bank when Sam feels that telltale slithering slippery grip tighten around his legs. He gets out half of a frantic yelp before the water is over his head and his face is being dragged through the silt of the lake bed as the wraith pulls him deeper with alarming speed.
Sam’s arms grapple wildly, hands trying to catch on rocks and lake grass and an old tire sunk into the mud as the pull on him tightens relentlessly, tugging, tugging, deeper. It’s colder now, brown and muddy, so thick he can’t see, the sound of churning water all around him as he thrashes, lungs burning up, and he thinks shit, I’m gonna die after all.
The blackness is just taking over his thoughts and stilling his body’s instinctive fight when he hears a muffled shout, and then there’s a hand grabbing for his own. Sam opens his mouth to shout back, and the ice cold lake rushes in.
* * *
He comes to with his body on the sand and his feet still in the water, tangled in the amputated limbs of the water wraith and a mess of trash and mud and old fishing line. The demon’s mouth is on his, huffing out frantic breaths forced between Sam’s opened lips, fingers pinching his nostrils closed so hard it feels like he’s about to rip Sam’s nose right off. Ruby’s pounding on his chest every bit as frantically, and every bit as painfully, the two of them trying to drag him back to life with the sheer force of their combined demonic strength. It takes Sam a minute to muster enough strength to push them off.
Trying to talk just brings up a choking cough of lake water that burns his throat like lava, and he turns enough to heave it up again and again, both demons still with their hands all over him like they can’t stop touching him or he might fall back into unconsciousness.
“Sam – Sammy,” the demon’s saying, trying to wipe the mud off Sam’s face and pry his eyes open. “Sammy, be okay, you okay?”
Sam manages a nod, catches the demon’s hand with his own and squeezes. “Jesus,” the demon says, almost a sob. “Sam, fuck, I – jesus, Sam.”
Ruby sighs and lets go of Sam’s soaked shirt to get up, but the demon reaches up to grab her, pulls her back down. The two demons lock eyes as he threads his fingers through hers and presses their hands to Sam’s chest, over his pounding heart. They don’t speak, but Sam can feel the grip of their fingers twist together on his chest before Ruby nods and gets up.
He lets them sling him between them on the way to the car, strong shoulders supporting Sam’s 6 foot 4 frame easily, and he can feel how scared they were, the adrenaline still pumping in them both. They’ve been reckless all this time, feeling immortal and taking it for granted, but they don’t really know whether Sam can die. Or whether the wraith would ever have let him go. The demons are spooked, unsure, and Sam thinks for the first time how much they both need him. It’s a warm thought, as he shivers on the back seat where they lay him, soaked and bruised and covered in mud.
They nudge him into the motel bathroom and strip him, shucking their own wet clothes once they’ve pushed Sam into the shower. The hot water feels like heaven, and Sam gets lost in the bliss of it, letting it rinse away the residue of the lake and the wraith and the fear. When he opens his eyes again, the demons are staring at each other. Neither of them have moved, but their eyes rake over each other’s nude bodies, catching on the stiff points of her nipples, the stiff rise of his cock. Ruby licks her lips and the demon’s dick twitches, hardens further between muscled thighs. They’re both quivering, too much adrenaline and emotion, but still they’re frozen, waiting.
“Go ahead,” Sam says from the shower.
Ruby moves like she’s on a slingshot, on the other demon in an instant, shoving his bulkier body to sit down hard on the closed toilet and then dropping to the floor as she pushes his knees apart and puts his cock in her mouth. Sam hasn’t gotten to watch in a long long time – feels like a lifetime – and he’s mesmerized now by the violence of it, fear of almost losing Sam tangled up with pent up rage and hurt and the love they’d never admit for each other all wound into the lust of this moment. Fully aroused, the demon’s long and thick, but Ruby swallows most of him, one hand sliding up his taut belly to play with his nipples. She pinches him hard there, uses her long nails until he stiffens and groans, but his hands stay at his sides, and he lets her. She leaves deep red marks all around the tender nubs when she lets go, slides her hand down beneath where her mouth is working on his cock and squeezes his balls. His whole body jerks and he whimpers loudly, hands gripping the sides of the lid with white knuckles. Ruby grins with her mouth full at the mix of pain and pleasure in his voice, squeezes harder before she lets go and yanks him to his feet.
He’s dizzy, dumb with it, so turned on he just gapes at her. Ruby leers at his erection, licks her red lips like she’s tasting the way he drips as she sits down and spreads her legs.
“C’mon, you bastard,” she taunts, grabbing him by an arm and putting him on his knees. The demon goes easy, pushes her thighs wide and dives in to where she’s dripping too, and Sam has to take himself in hand at that. His knees are still shaky, but this is too hot for even a near-drowning incident to keep his dick down, jesus.
Ruby’s every bit as loud as the other demon, cursing and thrashing and grabbing him by the ears to push his mouth where she wants it. She tosses him off finally, and he sprawls awkwardly on the wet tile floor, mouth red and swollen and still open as he breathes hard.
“Up, move,” Ruby demands, gives him a hand only to spin him around and plant his ass back on the seat, and the demon moans plaintively, reaches out for her like he never does, pleading. She grins and doesn’t make him wait, straddles his thighs and wraps her delicate fingers around his slick cock to hold him steady as she sinks down.
Sam jerks himself in time with Ruby as she bounces up and down, in time with the demon as he grunts and tries to thrust his hips up, his hands tangled in Ruby’s wild wet hair, and they come one right after the other, Sam nearly losing his footing in the tub and the two demons too caught up in each other to notice.
“A little help here,” he pants as he tries to catch his breath, and the demons detach themselves and reach in to steady Sam, trying not to make eye contact with each other now that they’re no longer in the grip of passion. It’s kind of cute.
Sam sleeps between them that night, all three passed out on the big king bed instead of Ruby taking the couch like she’d planned. Sam wakes before the sun rises to the unfamiliar feeling of being safe, surrounded. Ruby’s hair tickles his cheek on one side, and the demon’s pressed up against the other. He’s dreaming, soft unintelligible words strung together urgently, his brows drawing together in deep furrows and his eyes darting rapidly back and forth beneath closed eyelids. “Sammy,” he whispers, and his hands come up to fumble blindly across Sam’s chest.
“I’m here, I’m okay,” Sam whispers back, catching the demon’s hands in his own larger ones, holding on. The demon twitches, pushes up closer, and Sam twists to kiss his forehead gently, smoothing out the worry lines. “Shh,” he says again, “It’s me, I’m here.”
Gradually his brother’s face – beautiful in the muted moonlight – relaxes back into sleep, lips parting and breath evening out. “Sammy,” he whispers again as he curls against Sam’s side in what could really only be described as cuddling. A ghost of a smile crosses Dean’s pretty mouth when Sam brushes another kiss to his cheek, and Sam feels closer to his brother than he has since he came back. He can almost believe that underneath the closed eyes, there’s emerald green waiting.
Ruby leaves in the morning, but this time she lets Sam give her a one-armed hug before she shrugs him off, and she tweaks the other demon’s chest with a smirk before she goes, right over a still-sore nipple.
“Ow,” he growls, but he smirks back.
* * *
Johnny allows the demon into the house for Thanksgiving that year, though he keeps a salt gun very obviously propped in the corner of the kitchen and Sam knows there’s plenty of holy water nearby. The demon is as nervous as his son, refusing to move from the big chair in the living room where Sam deposited him when they first came in like it’s the only way he can be certain he won’t damage anything.
Little Mary immediately wants to know why he’s wearing sunglasses in the house, wisely pointing out that it’s raining outside. The demon yells for Sam instead of attempting an answer, refusing to take them off, and squirms uncomfortably when Sam sits on the arm of the chair to give Mary an explanation. She ponders for a minute, then pats the demon on the knee.
“Black’s my favorite color,” she announces. The demon just nods, but the tips of his ears go crimson.
“Mine too,” Sam says, and tries to mean it.
Jen is heavy with child, and Sam thinks again what a miracle it is, that she’s carrying Dean’s grandchild. He hopes for another baby with green eyes.
There’s turkey and yams and green bean casserole and peas with onions and two kinds of cranberry, and Sam and the demon both eat way too much and it feels like heaven after months of diner food and McDonald’s. Mikey’s eyes go comically wide as the demon shovels in gigantic spoonfuls of mashed potatoes with one hand and entire dinner rolls with the other, his lips slick with melted butter and Jen’s homemade gravy that he can’t be bothered to wipe off. Twice Mikey opens his mouth to protest the unfairness of having to demonstrate table manners when the adult across the table doesn’t, but each time his mother shakes her head sternly and Mikey pouts and stays quiet.
Ruby pointedly thrusts a napkin into the demon’s hands midway through the meal, which earns her a growled fuck off, and little Dean hoots and grins as he announces, “You said a bad word!”
“Dean,” Jen scolds, and gets two matching scowls in return.
“It’s just a word, mom,” little Dean points out. “And he’s a grownup.”
The demon eats a little more carefully after that.
After dinner everyone piles out the back door to watch the autumn sun streak the sky with burnt oranges striping the blue. Little Dean shows off his bb gun skills knocking cans off the back porch rail, which brings an unexpected yelp of “Hell, yes!” from the demon who has hardly said a word the whole day. Sam grins agreement, and little Dean beams like he’s just won a gold medal.
Johnny and Glen bring in an armload of fire wood and start the fire roaring when they come back inside, the three kids constructing building block garrisons and fighting imaginary wars on the floor in its heat.
Sam watches from the dining room, familiar howls of mock aggression and feigned surrender as little Dean and Mikey let Mary’s troops roll over their own again and again, her two year old shrieks of triumph setting the boys off into peals of delighted laughter.
At first the adults shoo the kids protectively away from the demon, who’s taken refuge in the armchair again across from the big stone hearth. But the fire is warm and so is the feeling of family, and eventually the grown-ups wander back to the kitchen to start the clean up. As the sun goes down, the little plastic soldiers and the little fingers arranging them inch closer and closer, until Mary sets her sentry on one of the demon’s boots, standing him up on the roughened leather to keep watch on her cousin’s troops. The demon doesn’t move or say a word, but Sam can see the stiffness in the back of his neck as he watches them play from behind his sunglasses, fingers drumming anxiously against the armrests. Sam wonders what he remembers of Johnny and Sammi at that age, autumn nights in front of another roaring fire, the kids laughing and Sam and Dean sharing soft kisses with so much to be thankful for. His heart thumps with it, longing mixed with joy mixed with sadness. Sam wipes his eyes, impatient with himself. Old enough to know better.
Mary falls asleep with her hand still clutching her sentry on top of the demon’s boot, sucking her thumb and curling into a little ball at his feet. The demon stays frozen until Sammi scoops her daughter up with an apologetic laugh and carries her up to bed, and even then he only shuffles his feet back and forth a few times like he’s forgotten how to move them.
Sammi tries to draw the demon out with pie and questions once the kids are in bed. He eagerly accepts the former and deflects the latter, until Sammi sighs in exasperation. “You were always stubborn,” she says, poking him in the chest. “But I know you’re in there.” His cheeks match his ears when she leans down to hug him.
Another cup of coffee later, Sam’s talking hunting with Johnny in the kitchen when suddenly the demon’s at his side, gripping Sam’s elbow so tightly it hurts. “Sam,” he rasps, out of breath like he’s just run a marathon, and his shoulders tremble. “Have to get outta here.”
“What? Why?” Johnny’s looking alarmed, and damn, Sam just wants to enjoy this night, the first time anything has felt normal in forever.
The demon gives a full body shudder, shaking like his knees are gonna give out. “Please,” he whispers, “Now, g-gotta go. Now.” He presses up close to Sam, like he needs to feel his brother’s heat to ground himself, and Sam can feel the jackrabbiting beat of his heart slamming against his chest. What the fuck? The panic’s coming off him in waves, infectious and compelling, and suddenly Sam’s just as desperate. God, he doesn’t want anything bad to happen. Not again.
“Yeah, okay,” Sam says, grabbing their coats and his car keys and heading straight out the back door.
“Tell everyone we said goodbye,” he yells over his shoulder to Johnny, and his son nods, doesn’t question the decision for a second.
“Drive,” the demon squeaks out as soon as the doors close, almost no voice left he’s shaking so hard, and Sam doesn’t know if he’s having a heart attack or trying to head off a random act of violence or just plain losing his mind. He asks in thirty seven different ways as the miles stretch out beneath them, but all the demon will say is “drive.”
Sam drives until he can’t see the road anymore, then turns into the first motel, exhausted from anger and fear and confusion. Just when things were getting better, just when Johnny and Sammi and the kids were getting used to him again, and now the demon has to go and fuck it all up?
He slams the door as soon as they’re inside and has the demon up against the wall, frustration fueling a sudden white hot rage. “What the fuck is going on with you? Why did we have to get out of there like that? Were you gonna hurt them?” Sam’s got both hands fisted in the demon’s shirts, slamming him into the wall with every question. Ready to knock the answer out of him if he has to, because jesus, he’s just had it.
The demon is still breathing way too fast, ghostly pale and trembling in Sam’s hands. “I dunno, I don’t feel – don’t feel right -- had to get away from them, had to make sure I didn’t –
“You fucker!” Sam yells, disappointment crushing him after a day of such hope. “Why can’t you just fucking control yourself?” He slams the demon into the wall again, hard enough to knock the sunglasses he’s still wearing right off his face.
“I don’t fucking know,” the demon’s shouting, “I just couldn’t, it just happened, all of a sudden everything just started to slip, and I –
“Oh my god.”
Sam cuts him off, gaping in astonishment.
He stumbles them over to the bureau with the mirror above it, still holding the demon by the shoulders, and turns them to face it.
Together they stare into Dean’s shocked green eyes.
* * *
Sam tries to keep them both awake, terrified that the green will fade to black as soon as he’s not paying attention and determined to take advantage of every single second he has with his brother. They tumble to the bed fully dressed, and Sam’s desperate to do everything at once, haul Dean close against him and keep enough distance that Sam can look into his eyes. He pulls his brother close, Dean burying his face gratefully into Sam’s neck until Sam pushes him back to drink up the startled bottle-green he’s been longing for, one hand fisted in Dean’s tee shirt.
Dean’s exhausted, frightened without the defensive walls he’s kept up for two solid years.
“’m scared, Sammy,” he says as Sam lets him go to run his hands over his brother’s face for the millionth time, stroking over the long lashes with gentle fingertips, kissing his open mouth.
“I know, I know, but it’s okay, I’m right here, not gonna leave you.”
Dean trembles, clutches at Sam’s shoulder with one hand, the other spread over Sam’s chest to feel the pounding of his heart.
“Dean,” Sam whispers, mouth pressed to his brother’s tender throat so he can feel the soft moan in answer. “Dean.” To his stubbled chin, rough against Sam’s lips. “Dean, Dean.”
Sam’s been saying his name over and over, like he’s been waiting all this time and now he can’t leave it alone, can’t get enough of the word rolling off his tongue. Sam’s still saying it when Dean’s eyes finally fall closed and Sam can’t kiss him back to wakefulness, so he curls them together under the blankets and tries not to dread the morning.
* * *
It’s not like the first time.
He’s not sure when he finally fell asleep, but when the sun comes up, Sam’s terrified it was just a dream. He lies there for a long time, frozen, afraid to move, afraid to find out it wasn’t real. He feels like a fool when he finally clears his throat and says his brother’s name, when he knows – he just knows -- there will only be black eyes and a disdainful correction in response. His heart pounds wildly, but he can’t help saying “Dean” and kissing one freckled shoulder, little bits of hope flickering in his chest.
He gets a half hearted shove and a sleepy “Lemme alone, sleepin’ Sammy,” but when the long lashes finally flutter open there’s emerald green shining underneath, and Sam attacks him with a whoop, all the tender desperation of the night before firing a burst of love and lust. Dean’s here, and Sam’s got to have him. Sam works Dean out of his jeans and underwear before he’s even awake enough to help and sucks his brother’s cock into his mouth with an exuberant slurp.
“Shit,” Dean gasps, hands tangling in Sam’s long hair, then “Oh fuck, yeah.”
Sam’s still trying to say his name while swallowing his dick, and Dean’s getting hard fast, hips trying to push up into the delicious heat of his brother’s mouth, when Sam pulls off. Grinning, Sam kisses up his stomach and chest to lean over and just stare down into his brother’s pretty face.
“Sammmmm,” Dean whines, trying to rub his neglected cock against Sam’s thigh.
“Deannnnnn,” Sam smiles, and he looks goofy, feels goofy, like he did when he was seven and looked up to his big brother as though he was God and Superman all rolled into one.
Sam strips them both, wanting all of Dean, and his brother's eyes slip closed, a pained expression crossing his face as he struggles with the unfamiliar rush of emotions. He ducks his face into Sam’s neck, bites down on the taste of Sam’s skin and drinks in the scent to ground himself as he hikes his legs up around Sam’s hips and bucks up into the lean body covering him, rubbing his ass against the length of Sam’s cock. “Need you, Sammy,” he pleads, and Sam says “Yeah, god Dean, yes.”
Dean’s trembling hard as Sam slicks up his dick and pushes in, but he spreads his legs and cants his hips to stretch himself around Sam. “C’mon,” he moans, “Wanna -- uhh-- feel it Sam,” and Sam groans and sinks all the way in, wanting to make it burn so sweet that Dean can’t think of anything else, only how they are together.
Sam leans down to take his brother’s mouth too, tangles their tongues, his blood rushing hot when Dean’s body sucks him in all over. Dean chases him up when Sam breaks the kiss, greedy for more, his lips swollen and red and saliva-slick, and Sam feels his climax suddenly ripple up his spine, taking him by surprise.
“Open your eyes,” he gasps, and Dean obeys, the vivid green pushing Sam over the edge as he stutters his hips against his brother’s ass, spilling long and hard and still moaning “Dean, Dean.”
Dean’s quivering beneath him as Sam slips free and eases his brother’s legs down, his eyes wide and glistening, too wet.
“Hey, Dean, hey,” Sam soothes, palming his cheek where a tear has overflowed. Dean’s still hard between their bellies, panting, and Sam slides off him slowly, afraid of spooking him, and takes him in hand.
He jerks at Sam’s touch, makes a choked off cry and arches his back like he’s trying to get away and get closer all at the same time, but his cock drips and twitches under Sam’s fingers. “Sam, it’s – it feels – it’s too much,” he manages, fisting the bedsheets, muscles corded tight in his arms, thighs.
“Shhhh, I’ve got you,” Sam says, and he kisses the freckled skin of Dean’s shoulders as he strokes his cock, licks and sucks at his pebbled nipples, works his way lower to nip at the sparse trail of hair bisecting his stomach, until his brother is whimpering and his legs have fallen open again, wanton.
“Love you, Dean,” Sam whispers against the tattoo on his hipbone, and Dean comes, his whole body shuddering, moaning Sam’s name and random curses. He sounds nothing like the demon does when he gets off, soft whimpers instead of rumbling growls, and Sam thinks he’s never heard anything hotter.
* * *
“You sure you’re not infected by an incubus or something?” Dean demands a week later, flinching as he tries to settle himself comfortably in the driver’s seat.
“Can I help it if I have a thing for green eyed men?” Sam grins back.
They’ve been laying low, not hunting, just talking and fucking and a lot of Sam staring and Dean blushing. Dean’s eyes have been green most of the time, except for once when the maid barged in unannounced while Sam was in the shower and then ran out screaming bloody murder when the naked man on the bed turned black-eyed. And once when a big rig driver made a comment about Sam’s ass when they stopped at a truckstop for lunch. Funny how high pitched his scream was for such a big guy.
Both times Sam panicked, hauling the demon back to the bed or into the car and kissing him like he was attempting green-eyed CPR. Weirdly, that strategy seemed to work just fine, Dean blinking and staring back at him once they’d both calmed down.
Dean has most of the memories he’d painstakingly recovered before, though he still doesn’t clearly remember much of what happened in the year after Sam died and disappeared. Maybe that’s a good thing, from what Sam can gather from Ruby’s intelligence about the demon’s stint with organized crime. He’s more affectionate than he was before, and more easily overcome by emotion, like being without Sam for that year ripped away his human defenses and left only his demonic ones. Now that those are mostly down, Dean’s eyes are shot through with warmth when he’s looking at Sam, the corners of his generous mouth crooked up in a smile he still tries to hide. Sam relishes it, loves Dean’s hands on him even when he’s not horny, the soft brush of Dean’s fingers through his hair when Sam’s leaning over the laptop researching, the way Dean curls against him when they sleep. Even when they’re just sleeping.
“You’re so goddamned gorgeous,” Dean tells him as they toss duffles and weapons onto one bed and shut the motel door after a long drive and a successful hunt, green eyes hot as they travel the length of Sam’s body, sparkling with mischief and lust. So Dean.
“Look who’s talking,” Sam smirks back, and god, he feels lucky. Ridiculously, improbably lucky.
Their mutual eyefucking is interrupted by Sam’s cell, and he nearly drops it in his excitement.
“It’s a girl,” Johnny says, pride and exhaustion in his voice.
“We’re on our way,” Sam answers, and grabs his brother’s hand.
* * *
Ruby’s already there. They haven’t told anyone about Dean, lingering superstition from a lifetime of the unexplained making Sam want to keep the little bits of good news he can find in the world to himself. But Ruby knows as soon as she sees him, before he takes off the sunglasses he’s been wearing on the drive down.
“Dean!” she shouts as he climbs out of the car, sounding like the girl she might have been a long long time ago, joyful and carefree for a moment. She tackles him in a spontaneous hug before she realizes how much she’s giving away, then extracts herself with a dismissive shrug. “Um, good to see you,” she says, and he takes off his sunglasses and gives her that patented Dean Winchester gleaming white grin until she has to smirk back.
“Dean?” Sammi’s out of the house, running before she gets across the porch. “Ohmygod, ohmygod, Dean!” she screams, and the kids tumble out behind her, Glen following with a dishtowel still in his hands. Sammi covers his face with kisses until Dean is blushing crimson, little Dean whooping around his legs and Mikey imitating his big brother’s happiness even if he’s not sure why.
Sam waits for his turn for hugs from their kids and grandkids, tears in his eyes as he watches Dean soak up the affection, part awkward demon and part family-is-everything Dean.
Johnny finally makes his way outside when he hears the commotion, stops dead with his mouth open when he sees his father.
“Johnny,” Dean says, red faced and struggling to keep his voice even.
“Dad,” Johnny answers, then jumps off the porch and wraps Dean up in a bear hug that lifts him clear off his feet. “God, it’s good to see you.”
Dean splutters and pats his back, clears his throat and adjusts himself to regain some masculinity when his son puts him down, but he’s smiling too.
“Come see the baby,” Johnny offers, and Dean coughs into his hand at the forgiveness it is, shuffles his feet and looks to Sam. His throat is suddenly too tight to speak, but Sam nods at Johnny to lead the way.
Jen’s propped up in the recliner, a tiny still-wrinkled pink infant with a head full of blonde curls at her breast. She holds the baby up when Sam and Dean come in, gives them a tired smile.
“These are your grampas,” Jen announces, while the baby roots and squirms and tries to find her way back to a nipple. “Grampa Sam and Grampa Dean. You’ll get used to the fact that they don’t look like grampas,” she adds. “And this little thing,” she tells them, smiling at the baby. “This is Ruby.”
“She’s perfect,” Sam says.
“Not the greatest name,” Dean says. He’s still part demon. And he’s still Dean.
Ruby whacks him on the back of the head. “It’s a perfect name, and you know it.”
“Bet she’ll have my eyes,” Dean predicts, still taunting.
* * *
They give Sam and Dean the guest room that Ruby usually uses when she’s there, big overstuffed Queen bed and a stone fireplace already roaring. Framed photos in tarnished silver and painted wood sit on the mantle – Johnny in diapers holding his father’s hand, their matching green eyes focused impatiently on Sam as he takes the picture. Sammi and Ruby when they didn’t know anyone was watching, Sammi on her lap and Ruby braiding the unruly blonde curls, a length of purple ribbon tucked into her jeans pocket and a knife tucked into her boot. Sam and Dean on Sam’s 80th birthday, his hair white and his eyes cloudy. Sam’s smiling, looking into the camera, and Dean’s looking at Sam like there’s nothing else in the universe.
Dean slips his arms around Sam’s waist from behind, goes up on his toes to lean his chin on his brother’s shoulder.
“Come to bed, Sammy,” he says, in that voice that drips sex and makes Sam shiver.
Dean’s clever fingers slip beneath Sam’s shirt, slide into his pants with practiced ease. Sam reaches back to fumble for Dean’s belt, gets him unbuckled and unzipped blind, and Dean laughs, impressed with his dexterity. Sam’s too hungry to turn around, to turn away from Dean’s hands pushing his jeans over his hips. Shirts tugged over shoulders, boots kicked across the floor because they can’t get close enough fast enough, everything in a pile as they tumble to the bed. Dean’s splayed out on top of Sam seconds later, bodies sweat-slippery and hard cocks sliding slick between their bellies, hips rocking not quite fast enough, not quite rough enough, and Sam groans a protest because shit, Dean’s taking it slow.
“Deeaaaaan,” he whines, trying to buck up, speed up.
Dean bends to bite Sam’s shoulder, huffs a laugh that’s more like a growl. “I remember when you had a lot more stamina,” he says, soothing the imprint of his teeth with wet licks.
“Yeah, well I was eighty something then, and I’m twenty something now, so move,” Sam complains back, grabbing his brother’s ass rough enough to leave nail marks.
Dean just growls louder, thrusting slow, pushing their dicks together in a lazy slide that’s driving Sam crazy. “Patience Sammy, patience,” he says, though his next words catch in his throat when Sam’s finger slips between his cheeks, teasing over his hole and trying to press inside.
He moans when Sam succeeds, muscles going rigid as his hips stutter, their bodies pressed tight. “You know,” he pants against Sam’s ear, trembling with the strain of not rutting the way his body wants, “You were beautiful then too Sammy. Wanted you just as much, always.”
“Dean,” Sam cries out as he comes, clutching Dean to him and sobbing against his brother’s mouth when Dean bends to kiss him. A few rough stabs of Sam’s long finger buried in Dean’s ass, unerringly finding the spot that makes him come apart, and Dean spills between them, sticky and messy and wonderful.
* * *
The sheets are stuck to Sam in multiple places when a chorus of ‘wake up grampas’ catapults him from sleep at barely sunrise. Dean’s stuck to him too, in places that are thankfully under the blankets.
“Ow, fuck,” Dean curses before he’s even awake, trying to separate himself from Sam, and Sam shushes him. The familiarity of it makes Sam’s eyes water.
Mary and Mikey are still in pajamas, but their eyes are wide. “Time to get up!” Mikey announces.
“Heard you the first ten times, kid,” Dean grumbles, then startles when he opens his eyes and sees two pairs of curious kid eyes on him. He tugs the sheets higher on his naked chest self-consciously. It makes Sam grin, though he does the same.
“Kids, are you disturbing your grandfathers?” comes a voice from the doorway. Ruby stops to look in, with a smile that says she might have had something to do with that fact.
“No?” Mikey tries.
“I told them you were probably busy,” Ruby continues, her eyes lingering on the pile of clothes on the floor and Sam and Dean’s bare shoulders.
“Oh, fu--” Dean starts, but Sam elbows him before he can get the rest of it out. Dean whacks him on the back of the head, and Ruby laughs victoriously.
“C’mon kids, let your grampas get decent so we can all have breakfast.”
* * *
Sammi stacks the blueberry pancakes up so high on Dean’s plate they wobble every time he stabs into one, and grins indulgently when he helps himself to six strips of bacon. Mikey and little Dean immediately do the same.
“Bad influence,” Ruby says, sipping black coffee across the kitchen.
Dean gives her the finger with the hand that isn’t shoveling in pancakes.
“See what I mean?” Ruby frowns at Sam. Like he’s ever been able to do anything about his brother’s eating habits, demon or no demon.
“Give it a break, Ruby –
“Always defending him, jesus –
“Oh come on –
Mary’s little two year old voice shuts them both up. She’s been sitting across the table staring at Dean, and Sam has the sudden irrational thought that she remembers that terrible day.
Dean stops eating and stares back, looking as terrified as Sam.
“Your eyes change colors,” she announces, looking puzzled.
Dean blinks and nods, and Sam can see the guilt he still feels when he looks at their little granddaughter. “Yeah, umm. Yeah they do. Sometimes.”
Mary purses her little lips in thought, furrowing her brow in concentration. Then she graces her Grampa Dean with a beaming smile. “Green is my favorite color,” she tells him.
Sam slips an arm around his brother’s back, pulls Dean up close against him. “Mine too,” he says.
Epilogue
Carter’s been a hunter for a long time, too long to believe everything he hears, and this is no exception. He downs another whiskey at the bar where hunters passing through always gather, and shakes his head at the familiar argument. Joe insists the two mysterious men who took out an entire nest of vampires two towns over in under twenty minutes are devils, more dangerous than the creatures they killed. Ricky says he caught a glimpse of them leaving, both of them bigger than life, tall and strong and damn, if he swung that way he’d be bowled over by the looks of ‘em both. No way are they from down there, he says. More like angels than devils.
The argument’s been going on for decades now, and hunters grab drinks and take sides tonight like they always do. Dean and Sam, that’s all the names they’ve ever heard given them, and nobody knows if those are right or just part of the legend. They haven’t changed, Jessie says, look just the same now as when she first caught sight of them almost thirty years ago. Ain’t natural, that’s for sure, she says, and they all nod in agreement. Rumor is they’ve looked the same for a lot longer than that.
Carter and another hunter are the only ones staying out of it, and he watches her over the bent heads of the others, the corners of her generous mouth turned up in a smirk, like maybe she finds this funny. He hasn’t seen her before, guesses she’s not from around here, but then again most hunters don’t stay in one place too long. Carter gets lonely sometimes, figures it goes with the territory. After a while the rest of them notice her silence too, and one of them calls her on it, drawing her into the conversation.
“Hey sweetheart,” one of the older hunters asks, “Whaddya think? Heaven or hell, where do those boys belong?”
“Neither,” she says with unexpected authority. “Hell couldn’t hold them, and neither could heaven.”
She takes off her hat as the room full of hunters falls quiet to listen, waves of short blonde curls falling over the freckles that splatter her nose, and her green eyes sparkle with conviction. Carter admires the ease with which she commands their attention, the smooth lay of the gun at her hip and the slight swell of the dagger in her boot. There’s a scripted W engraved on the hilt, worn with more years than this girl’s seen. Hunter, born and raised. He knows the type – hell, he’s the type himself.
She swivels on her barstool and raises her shot glass to the room. Startles Carter by catching his eye, like he’s the only one in the room who will know just what she means, and he realizes he suddenly very much wants to. She smiles at him, secret and heated, when she answers.
“They only belong to each other,” she says.
Fin.