He's Good and He's Bad and He's All That I've Got (Part 3/3)

[runedgirl]

Title: He’s Good and He’s Bad and He’s All That I’ve Got
Author: runedgirl
Artist: midnightsilvers
Other Pairing(if applicable): Sam/Dean/OFC
Rating:  NC17
Warnings/Spoilers: show level violence
Summary: Chuck punishes Sam and Dean by turning them back into their worst versions of themselves, Soulless Sam and Demon Dean. He just never expected them to keep hunting anyway - or to give in to impulses they'd never admitted to.


Art: Ao3



They made it to Idaho by midmorning. Dean kept his sunglasses on, and Sam did a respectable job of faking concern and empathy, hoping they’d be spared having to tell Jody the truth and maybe deal with her trying to kill them. That could end badly—for Jody—and if they ever did get their souls and humanity back, even Dean knew it would be tough to live with that.

“You sure you’re feeling up to this?” she asked as they headed out in search of the kitsune. She had good instincts.

“Fine and dandy,” Dean insisted. “Can’t wait to get out there and rip some monster ass to shreds, in fact.”

“Okay, okay, tough guy,” Sam interrupted, taking Dean by the shoulders and steering him toward the Impala.

“Cut it out,” Dean said, shoving at Sam. He realized when he saw Jody’s look of concern that it was probably harder than the old him would have shoved his little brother, but by then they were in the car and pulling away anyway.

It took almost all day, but they managed to find the kitsune and rip it to shreds just like Dean had promised. Jody got there after it was all over, and it wasn’t until Dean saw the shocked look on her face that he realized he’d lost his sunglasses at some point in the fun.

“Oh my god,” she said, gun raised. “What… what are you?”

Sam came up behind her so stealthily she never heard him coming, taking the gun out of her hand and holding her arm so she couldn’t pull another. “Jody,” he said, and his voice was calm but as commanding as Dean had ever heard it. Sam was not going to let anyone hurt Dean. Dean bit back a smile, that unfamiliar warmth stirring again. “It’s Dean. Yeah, he’s a demon right now thanks to Chuck being an asshole, but we’re working on figuring that out.”

Jody tried to pull away, but Sam held her fast.

“I can’t let you hurt him,” he said, and waited for her to still.

“Fine,” she said finally. “Now let me go.”

Sam looked at Dean. Dean nodded.

Jody spun around and confronted Sam. “And you? Are you a demon too?”

She was good, Dean had to give her that.

Sam took a step back, shaking his head. “No. But Chuck… took my soul. Temporarily.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jody swore, sinking down to sit on a fallen tree. They were in the woods, the grass reddened with the monster’s blood. “Does Bobby know?”

“No, and we don’t want him to. Just let us deal with it, okay? We will, Jody. We’ll deal with it.”

She stared hard at Dean, at his black eyes and the blood covering him, then turned back to Sam.

“You sure you can deal with—with him?”

Sam might remember how much he cared about her, but Dean was pissed. They’d just killed a monster for her, and this was the thanks they got? “Oh, yeah,” he said, lip curling up in a smirk. “You better believe that Sam can deal with me. Can’t ya, Sammy? He knows just how to help me let off steam.”

Jody’s face went white, a flash of understanding making her grimace.

“Shut the fuck up, Dean,” Sam said, all commanding and shit again.

“Make me,” Dean sneered back, but it came out more like a come-on.

Jody got up and turned toward her squad car, not even asking for her gun back. “I sure as hell hope you’re right,” she said to Sam as she left.

Dean figured he’d get shit for what he’d said, but he didn’t really care. The adrenaline high pumped through his veins, making him itch to fight or fuck or kill, and Sam was right there, looking pissed and dangerous as hell.

As soon as the sound of Jody’s car had faded, Sam rounded on him and got in his face, big hands sinking into Dean’s biceps painfully. “You fucking asshole,” he said, and Dean grinned and punched him in the face.

Sam gave a roar and tackled him, and it was on, the two of them grappling in the wet grass and dead leaves, sticky with monster blood. Neither of them bothered to pull their punches, so it was lucky they were closely matched and familiar with each other’s skills from a lifetime of sparring, so they didn’t do any significant damage. Sam got lucky and threw Dean down hard enough to knock the wind out of him eventually, climbing on top and straddling him while Dean wheezed and tried to catch his breath. Sam pinned his hands down on either side of his head and bent over him, panting. His long hair hung down, damp with sweat; a drop landed in Dean’s open mouth.

Dean licked his lips, chest heaving, tasting Sam’s salt.

Sam’s eyes tracked the movement, dark and menacing. His lip was split, bright red. A gash on his cheek bled sluggishly, a trickle of blood heading toward his chin from the impact of Dean’s fists.

Slowly, deliberately, he sank down, and Dean drew in a gasp when Sam’s body pressed against his.

Sam wiped the back of his hand over his own mouth, smearing the blood across his cheek like war paint. He looked wild, unhinged. Dangerous.

“Asshole,” Sam spat, and slapped Dean so hard across the face that he saw stars. “Don’t fucking move,” he ordered, and Dean was even more fucked up than before, because his dick was so hard he could barely keep his hips from shoving up against Sam’s firm body.

Sam grabbed both sides of his shirt and ripped it down the middle, buttons popping and cotton tearing. Dean felt like a rag doll, lifted up and slammed back down as Sam exposed his chest and then unbuckled his belt and went for his zipper. He struggled to kick his boots off as Sam tugged his jeans down his thighs, only managing to get rid of one. Sam extracted that leg from Dean’s jeans and left the other entangled, surging back up his body like he expected Dean was going to try to escape at any second.

“Fucking asshole,” he muttered again, and Dean only had a second to steel himself before Sam’s palm smacked the other side of his face with enough force to knock his head sideways. He could feel his nose bleeding, both cheeks on fire now.

“Sam,” he said, and it came out a moan, plaintive.

Sam leaned over him in response, setting his mouth to Dean’s throat while his head was knocked to the side and fastening his teeth there. Dean struggled to lie still, his legs kicking despite himself as Sam made it hurt like a bitch, leaving a mark that would be there for a week. Just when Dean thought he couldn’t stand it anymore, Sam let up with a cursory sweep of his hot, wet tongue before he found another place to bite, and another, and another. Dean let it happen, neck and shoulder and chest and one exposed nipple throbbing hard when Sam was done. He moaned with each new attack of Sam’s mouth, shuddering when Sam’s teeth drew a little blood, the pain making him arch his back and forget to breathe until the next brief reprieve.

“Sammy, Sam,” he said, because he couldn’t remember any other words, and he didn’t know if he was begging Sam to stop or keep going. By the time Sam got to his stomach and left a bruise beneath his navel, hands dug into the groove of Dean’s hips to hold him down, Dean’s dick, hard and twitching against his thigh, ached more than the bites Sam had left on his skin. Sam ignored it, shoved Dean’s legs wide and marked his inner thighs mercilessly, then threw his legs over his head like he was a pretzel and bit his way down to Dean’s ass.

“Sam!” Dean shouted when Sam’s teeth grazed him there, and Sam took a little pity and used his tongue instead, wet and sloppy and insistent, and Dean nearly sobbed with how much he needed Sam to just take what he wanted, all of it, whatever Dean had to give.

Sam held one leg up and gave him one long, spit-slicked finger, then two, muttering a warning that if he came, he’d be sorry. Dean didn’t doubt it, so he started begging even though he didn’t want to, pleading with Sam to just put it in him, his whole body shaking with the strain of waiting as Sam’s ridiculously long, thick fingers stroked again and again over the spot that spread sparks all through him.

“Fuck me, take me, take me,” he chanted, ready to say just about anything to get off, and when he hit on “Yours, Sam, yours,” Sam finally stopped fucking around and pulled his fingers out and unzipped his jeans. He went in just like that, only his big dick out, holding Dean’s legs up and spread so wide it hurt like hell as he pounded away, chasing his own orgasm and taking Dean along for the ride.

It was the closest Dean had come to blacking out, the pleasure almost violent when he came, and Sam kept thrusting into him the whole time, until Dean felt like he was split in two, spread-eagled and owned and shit, it was good.



Dean’s eyes were closed after, as they started to slowly come down, but suddenly it was so bright that it looked like midday even through his eyelids. Sam pulled out way too fast and stood up, and Dean’s eyes blinked open.

Chuck stood before them, his face red and his eyes bugged out. Dean giggled. Sam raised an eyebrow, like he was daring Chuck to do something, the badass.

“Seriously?” Chuck yelled, waving his hands at them. “I curse you with being what you were at the worst times of your life, and you turn it into this? Still hunting and… and… fucking each other? Really?”

Dean giggled again. Sam was still smirking.

“I’m not amused anymore!” Chuck yelled, and then there was a crack and the woods were plunged into darkness once again.

Dean woke up back in the shitty motel they’d been staying at before Jody had called. There was static on the television across the room, and Sam was sitting on the other bed, watching him.

“Oh god,” Dean said, as his stomach flipped over and sank, nausea flooding him. He wasn’t covered with leaves and dirt—or blood and come—but his thighs still ached, and his ass felt like he shouldn’t sit down for a long time. “Sammy, I’m so sorry, I’m—ohmygod, I didn’t… did I?”

He couldn’t go on because, obviously, he did. He had. They had. And he’d been planning on doing it again. The horror and panic that knowledge was creating made it crystal clear that he was no longer a demon.

Dean risked a glance at Sam. Sam wasn’t staring at him with disgust, but maybe that was because he still had no soul. If he was still soulless, he wouldn’t be upset—but, shit, if Sam had no soul, that meant he wasn’t Dean’s brother again. That was the most horrifying thing of all, the worst thing Chuck could do to them. Dean remembered now, with bitter clarity, how painful it had been to have Sam right in front of him but not be his Sam.

Sam bent down with his head in his hands for a few seconds, looking anguished, while Dean’s heart clenched. Finally, Sam straightened. “Yeah, you did. But it wasn’t just you,” he said, his voice soft.

Dean looked at him—really looked—and this time what flooded him was a wave of profound relief. That was Sammy. His Sammy. There was no doubt about it.

“Sam. Your soul?”

“Back,” Sam confirmed. “And your eyes are green.”

Dean rubbed his hand over his face; he’d known the second he woke up.

“Shit, Dean, we did some bad stuff these past few weeks.”

Dean rubbed his jaw, which was still sore. He thought about Sam holding him down and holding him open, then tried to stop thinking about that.

“We also killed some monsters,” Dean countered. “And I don’t think we actually killed any people. I, uh… I know there were some… injuries, but…”

Sam rolled his eyes, but he seemed a little less upset than before, so Dean counted that as a win. “I guess we should count our blessings.”

Dean nodded, and Sam held his gaze for a few moments. The warm feeling that had felt so unfamiliar pulsed in Dean’s chest at the look in Sam’s eyes.

“It wasn’t all bad, though,” Dean offered. “I mean, we had some really mind-blowing sex, right?”

Sam’s eyebrows went up, but he didn’t look mad, just surprised.

Dean attempted a cocky smirk, but couldn’t quite pull it off like his demon self could have. His stomach gave a nervous flip, waiting for Sam to say something.

Sam finally huffed a little laugh. “I don’t know if we should define that as ‘not bad,’ considering who we are.”

Dean guessed Sam was right, but he shrugged anyway. “Look, I’ve got my morality back, whatever—I don’t wanna kill people anymore—but I don’t know, I’m not sure I feel so bad about… that.” He waved his hand to encompass the both of them. “Not as bad as I always thought I would, anyway.”

Sam cocked his head and stared at Dean long enough to make him start to blush. Then he got up and came over to sit beside Dean, their thighs pressed together. Dean felt his dick twitch; he’d forgotten he was still naked except for the jeans tangled around one foot and the shredded remnants of his shirt.

Sam put a hand on Dean’s knee and gave it a little squeeze. “I guess there should be some silver lining. I mean, it would fuck with Chuck, right?”

“I like the way you think, Sammy.”

“I think we should take it a little easier than we did before, though,” Sam said, and his look was soft. He ran a fingertip over the bite mark on Dean’s throat, trailed it down over the one on his collarbone and the bruise around his right nipple. Dean shuddered, already hardening again.

“Yeah,” he said, and kissed Sam on the cheek that was already swelling and discolored. “Sorry.”

Sam took Dean’s hand and brushed his lips over the back of it. The tenderness was new, entirely different than the way they’d crashed together and tried to take each other apart.

“Sam,” Dean whispered, because his chest was so full he could barely make a noise. “Sammy.”

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam answered, and leaned in to bring their mouths together.

Dean hoped Chuck was watching.