Let Mercy Come Part 2
Sep. 19th, 2011 07:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grianchlochLet Mercy Come
Back to Part One
The last straw comes after Castiel burns Crowley’s bones and they watch as the demon goes up in flames. Sam saved Dean from Ghouls, he has to give him that, but now he’s determined he doesn’t want his soul back, and Dean’s running out of options.
Dean takes his stuff out of the Impala and walks towards the motel room. He doesn’t bother looking behind him to see if Sam is following. He doesn’t really care if the son of a bitch wanders off and never comes back. Scratch that, he only cares because he’s walking around in Sammy’s body. Dean’s hand is still sore from the way he landed in the fight they’d had taking down a poltergeist. It makes getting the key into the lock of the door difficult, but Dean doesn’t think of asking Sam to do it. It would be a sign of weakness, and he can’t show weakness to Sam, not now.
Once in, he drops his bag on the bed, and turns to go into the bathroom, wanting nothing more than a hot shower and a drink before he crashes out. But Sam’s standing right behind him, that damn smirk on his face.
“What?” Dean glares up at Sam, taking a step back when one of Sam’s large hands closes around his bicep.
“I need to take the edge off. Got all this adrenaline pumping through my veins. Hunting does that, remember?”
“So go buy yourself a hooker,” Dean growls, pulling out of Sam’s grasp.
“I’m not in the mood for pussy, Dean.” The smirk on Sam’s face darkened, his intent plain.
“Yeah, well, I’m not in the mood to be your bitch. Get out of my way.” Dean snarls, facing off with the thing that had fed him to a vamp. He’ll do a lot in the name of the cause, in the hope of getting Sammy’s soul back, but not this, not now he knows the truth.
Sam stands his ground as the seconds count down. Dean doesn’t budge either, just stares at Sam, until Sam huffs out a laugh and shrugs. “You liked it well enough before, Dean. You enjoy bending over and taking it all.”
“That was before I knew.”
“That I don’t have a soul?” Sam chuckles. “Why is that a necessity when you’re letting your little brother fuck your ass?”
“You’re not my brother,” Dean growls, pushing past him, and into the bathroom. He slams the door and locks it, letting out a shaky breath as he stands with his back to it.
He stays in the shower longer than usual, until the water is beginning to turn cold. He heard Sam leave, and hopes that whoever he picks up has somewhere for them to go because there is no way he’s going anywhere but bed right now.
As he opens the bathroom door, the motel room door opens too, and a lanky kid with dirty blond hair walks through it, followed by Sam. The kid can’t be more than sixteen and he’s trying his best to look laid back, but Dean can tell he’s skittish as hell. He stops dead when he sees Dean, and looks back over his shoulder.
“You never said there were two of you. That’ll … that’ll cost extra.”
“Relax kid, he’s only gonna watch,” Sam drawls, putting a hand on the kid’s shoulder.
Dean blanches. “Sam? What the hell?”
“Told you, I’m not in the mood for pussy. Kurt here is gonna let me fuck his sweet ass. That right, Kurt?” Sam runs his hand down the kid’s back, cups his ass and squeezes it.
“Yeah,” Kurt nods, still trying to look confident.
Sam walks past him, dropping his coat on a chair and pulling his shirt off over his head. He sits down on the bed and beckons to the boy.
“Why don’t you put those lips of yours to good use first?”
Kurt takes his jacket off, and walks towards Sam, swallowing as Sam pulls the zipper of his jeans down and frees his cock.
“Kurt’s only been doing this for a few weeks, right Kurt?”
“Yeah,” Kurt winces as Sam’s hand tightens in his hair, pushing his face down towards his hard dick.
“And no-one’s fucked you yet?”
“No, not yet.”
Sam holds him by the hair.
“Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna suck my dick until I tell you to stop, take it as deep as you can, get it good and wet, then you’re gonna crawl onto my lap, and I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll feel it for weeks. Gotta make your first time memorable, kid.”
“Enough!” Dean roars.
The boy flinches, but Sam just grins at him.
Dean strides across the room, pulls the boy out of Sam’s grasp, and thrusts his jacket at him.
“Get gone, kid.” Dean shoves him out of the door and slams it behind him.
He turns to glare at Sam, who’s lying back on the bed, lazily stroking his cock.
“I can always get another one. Plenty to choose from in this town.”
Without a word, Dean pulls off the sweats he’d put on after his shower, and joins Sam on the bed. He lies down, his mouth inches from where Sam’s hand is moving on himself. He moves closer, licking at the head of Sam’s cock, lapping sloppily over his fingers as he works. Sam pushes it further into Dean’s face and Dean takes it, swallowing it down as best he can.
“Knew you’d see sense.”
Dean squeezes his eyes shut. He concentrates on the hard flesh in his mouth, licking at the shaft as Sam fucks his face. Sam’s hand tightens, gripping Dean’s short hair and holding him steady as his pace increases.
“Swallow it down, Dean.” Sam presses Dean’s head further down and Dean has no choice but to relax his throat and take Sam’s full length.
He tells himself that it’s remnants of a gag reflex that has his eyes watering. Sam comes with a grunt, come pulsing straight down Dean’s gullet. Dean feels like a toy, used for someone else’s satisfaction, but he knows it isn’t over. Now that Sam’s had the edge taken off, he’ll want to play.
Sam’s hand lands sharply on Dean’s ass, the crack of flesh on flesh echoing round the room. Dean pulls back and glared at him, hating the smirk that’s back on Sam’s face.
“We’re not done, Dean. You heard what I want.”
Yeah, he’d heard. He moves up the bed, straddling Sam’s lap, sitting back so his temporarily soft cock presses between Dean’s cheeks. Sam cups Dean’s dick, also soft, but for a different reason.
“What’s the matter? Not enjoying it? I can change that,” Sam grins, trailing his hand up Dean’s chest to pinch his right nipple. He rolls it between his fingers, feeling it harden. Dean squirms, trying to ignore the way the stimulation radiates out from that spot, making his dick twitch. Sam’s other hand curves around Dean’s ass, grabbing one rounded cheek roughly, fingers grazing Dean’s hole.
Involuntarily, Dean shudders, moaning softly. Sam knows exactly how to touch him. Years of sleeping together, years of fucking, Sam’s got all that knowledge in his head, all those memories. Dean hates to think on that because it’s as if some stranger has gotten a hold of every intimate detail of their lives together and is using them to his advantage. Which is exactly what was happening, only the stranger was wearing Sam’s face.
Sam’s mouth replace his fingers and torment Dean’s nipple further, soft lips working in concert with sharp teeth. Sam’s free hand traces Dean’s ribcage, and slips round to move up his spine as his fingers continue to tease, the tip of one pressing against the tight ring of muscle. Sam’s dick is hard again, pressing up, demanding attention, which Sam gives it, smearing precome on his fingers so he can press further inside Dean. He grabs the lube from the nightstand and slicks it over Dean and his own dick, now thrusting his fingers deeper, making Dean cry out and arch his back, pushing onto the invading fingers and rubbing his own dick against Sam’s stomach.
“You want me to fuck you?” Sam asks as he licks his way across Dean’s chest to his other nipple.
“No …,” Dean groans and shakes his head, but he’s lying, they both know it.
Sam spreads his fingers inside Dean, opening him, working deeper, caressing his prostate just the way he knows will drive Dean to the edge, then he pulls almost all the way out.
Dean shudders and bucks, whimpering as Sam withdraws.
“Do you want me to fuck you open, Dean? Pound your ass until my come drips out of your hole?”
“No …!” Dean gasps as Sam pulls out altogether and wraps a hand around Dean’s dick.
Sam nuzzles Dean’s neck as his hand moves lazily, not nearly enough to make Dean come, just enough to keep him needy and wanting.
“Dean,” he whispers, “Wanna fuck you, please?” His voice is deliberately softer, and he peppers kisses over Dean’s shoulder, using the knowledge he carries with him from when he had a soul to help him get what he wants.
Dean knows he’s being played, manipulated by the best, but he’s human. He can only take so much and the body he’s straddling, the fingers that are touching him, the mouth that is now kissing him all belong to his Sammy and he misses him so badly. Hating himself, he gives in to what he needs.
“Yes,” Dean hisses as Sam trails his fingers over the head of Dean’s dick.
In one smooth movement, Sam throws him back on the bed and turns him onto his stomach. He pulls on his hips until Dean gets on his knees and presents his ass, shuddering as Sam lines up his cock and slides into Dean in one long stroke.
Dean keens as Sam fills him. It’s easier to pretend when he can’t see Sam’s face so he lets go, imagining that it’s Sammy fucking him hard, holding his hips tight enough to bruise. Sense memory dictates that Sam will always, no matter how hard he rides Dean like this, bend low and kiss his back. Dean even arches, in anticipation of a kiss that isn’t going to happen, unable to stop the fantasy blossoming in his mind.
Sam wraps one hand around Dean’s cock, pulling on it in time with his brutal thrusts, forcing Dean to the edge. He’s got memories of all the times he’s fucked Dean like this, on his knees, ass in the air, and knows what Sam with a soul would do. He bends forward and places a kiss on Dean’s back.
It’s a small touch, one press of lips on skin, but it’s all it takes to have Dean throwing his head back as he comes all over the bed. Sam milks him through it, hand tightening as his own orgasm tears through him.
Dean’s still panting when Sam pulls out, and he falls to the bed, curling onto his side away from Sam. He wants to keep the illusion going for a little longer, but he knows that Sam won’t be curling up behind him and falling asleep. He even misses the little huffs of breath on his shoulder and wonders when he became such a sap. He’s surprised when Sam brings a washcloth from the bathroom, and cleans him up, but he’s not surprised when Sam goes and sits at the table with the laptop open, looking for their next case as if nothing’s happened. As if he didn’t just blackmail his brother into having sex.
Next chance he gets, Dean ditches Sam at Bobby’s and goes looking for Death
~*~*~*~*~*~
“Dean?”
Dean whirls around to face Sam, and slowly gets to his feet. Sam’s standing there, looking like he’s just woken up from weeks of sleep. He’s blinking and focusing on Dean, then he’s moving forward and Dean does the same, letting Sam’s arms wrap around him before he does the same, holding Sam tight, closing his eyes and thanking Death that it worked, that Sam is back with him. Anything else he can take, now Sam’s here again. This time he feels it. Sam hugs him tighter than tight.
The difference between how Sam is crushing his ribs now, and the half-assed hug that Robo Sam gave Dean is huge, and Dean holds on for as long as he can, before he remembers Bobby is standing behind him, and there are some things it’s best that he never know.
Dean’s heart pounds in his chest as he watches Sam stride up to Bobby and hug him too. His brother is back, and Dean’s world can begin to right itself again.
Sam’s back. Dean will never get tired of reminding himself of that. With every mile of road the Impala eats up, with every step he takes with Sam at his side, his Sammy, bitching him out, or calling him on stealing a diary, or looking at him with that patently exasperated glance, Dean’s heart feels lighter. Slowly, he relaxes. The tightness that has been ever present across his shoulders when he was travelling with the other guy, the one that had worn his brother’s face, eases, as if invisible fingers have kneaded out the kinks.
In the motel room, they flow around each other and Dean relaxes further. He knows Bobby’s right, he’ll have to face up to telling Sam what had happened, and sooner rather than later. But Dean needs this, needs to bask in the warmth of Sam’s newly souled self for a while longer.
That night, Dean sleeps better than he has for months, and without the need for a fifth of whisky to help knock him out. He doesn’t have to worry about the Sam that didn’t sleep leaving in the middle of the night and doing something unforgiveable because he didn’t get that it was wrong. Dean wakes up early the next morning and watches Sam sleep. Sam starts off lying on his side, small huffy breaths that can’t really be called snores ghosting out of his mouth. Behind his eyelids, his eyes flick about. Dean wonders what he’s dreaming about, but Sam doesn’t become agitated, just twitches occasionally, his fingers moving against the bed covers with little jerky movements which remind Dean of an old dog of Bobby’s. Once it fell asleep, it’s paws would flop about as if it were chasing rabbits.
Dean grins at the comparison, imagining Sam’s face if he told him. How his brow would furrow, and his eyes would roll before he came back with a retort that would be spoken with a pout of lips. Dean’s grin widens, an easy smile, an outward sign of a heart full of joy to have back someone he thought he’d lost forever.
Sam chooses that moment to flop onto his stomach, pulling a pillow into his arms and mumbling against it. Dean has to stifle an out and out laugh, the happiness bubbling up and over spilling just enough to make Sam’s eyes flutter open.
“Wha?” he murmurs, blinking sleepily.
“Nothing.” Dean’s still grinning as he gets out of bed and pulls on his jeans. “Go back to sleep. I’ll go get us breakfast.”
“ ‘kay,” Sam pulls the pillow closer and goes back to sleep with a sigh.
Dean manages to keep a whoop of joy under wraps until he’s pulling out of the motel parking lot, the Impala’s windows all still firmly closed.
Sam’s back. His Sammy. He can deal with whatever the hell life throws at him now, he can even deal with Sam himself once he finds out exactly what happened. Because right now, for one perfect moment, his world makes sense again. He feels strong enough to take on Lucifer himself if the fucker ever dared crawl out of the damned cage again and show his face on earth.
He has Sam back.
He’s invincible.
He’s Batman.
Course, it’s not that simple.
Dean’s joy is tempered by guilt. His reasons for not wanting Sam to try and regain his memory aren’t all altruistic. He never wants Sam to find out how it was between him and Robo Sam. Dean knows it’s monumentally stupid to feel as if he cheated on Sam while his soul was in hell, but it’s more than that. He never wants Sam to find out how Dean allowed himself to be manipulated.
Bobby’s right. When Sam finds out what he did while he was gone, and realizes what Dean is keeping from him, it isn’t going to be cute.
Dean sighs, and steels himself for the battles ahead. Still, this way is better, this way he has Sammy back, even if, after one conversation with Castiel, he’s already mad at Dean for keeping things from him.
Sam comes back to himself lying on the floor, Dean’s concerned face the first thing he sees. Dean’s gently patting Sam’s cheek.
“Sammy, come back to me, stay with me. I got ya, okay?”
“Dean,” Sam’s head throbs, still filled with fleeting glimpses of hellfire and torn memories of pain.
“You okay?” Dean’s eyes are bright. Sam realizes with a start that he’s on the verge of tears.
“Yeah, I’m okay, I think. Head hurts.” He closes his eyes against the light of the room.
Dean pulls a cushion from the couch and lifts Sam’s head up a little to ease it under him. He cups Sam’s face again, as if he’s making sure Sam isn’t going to disappear any second. With a relieved sigh, he gets up and brings a glass of water back with him, tilting Sam’s head so he can take a drink.
“I was right.” Sam says in between sips. “You are my waitress.”
“Bite me, bitch.” Dean rolls his eyes, but doesn’t move from Sam’s side.
“Jerk.” Sam manages a weak smile as he relaxes back, thirst eased.
Dean huffs out the smallest of laughs at the retort he’s missed while Sam has been AWOL in one way or another.
“You okay to move or do you want to stay here for another night?”
“I’m fine, Dean.” He struggles to his feet, only half heartedly batting Dean’s helping hands away. It would take a lot for him to admit it, but Dean’s natural protective streak, amped way up due to the current circumstances, is making him feel safe. It’s a shock to his system, having memories of being soul-less break through. He remembers treating people with contempt, to taking what he wanted, to killing in cold blood. And then there’s hell.
Sam looks at Dean, focusing on him rather than think on the slivers of a nightmare existence that he’s glimpsed. In the middle of it all, Dean’s here, looking out for him. And he needs that. He also needs to leave behind the town that sparked the first onslaught of memories. “I don’t want to stay here. Let’s go.”
Dean nods, making sure Sam’s steady on his feet before grabbing their bags. Once they are in the trunk, he grabs a blanket for Sam, and digs out a pair of shades to shield his eyes from the light. Sam curls up as best he can on the front seat, refusing to travel in the back where he’d have more room. He needs Dean close. As he dozes, his hand creeps onto Dean’s thigh, resting lightly, making sure he has a connection to his brother before falling asleep.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Dean drives for hours, wanting to put as many miles between them and Bristol as he can. It feels reminiscent of leaving Broward County with a changed Sam in the seat beside him, a Sam that had lived what might as well have been a lifetime without Dean by his side.
It’s almost dark when he pulls into a motel parking lot. It’s a little pricier than their usual places, but looks more homey too. Dean pays the smiling woman behind the counter, and gets Sam and their gear settled into the room. He orders pizza, even getting salad for Sam to have with his, while Sam showers.
Sam stands under the warming spray for way too long. He hates how he feels, just as if he were having visions again. But then, he supposes he is. Only this time, they are of his past, not someone else’s twisted future.
Eventually, after Dean has banged on the door to tell him the pizza has arrived, he dries himself off and pulls on the sweats he picked out of his bag. Back in the main room with Dean, the smell of pizza makes his stomach rumble, and he eats his half down with enthusiasm, alternating slices with mouthfuls of salad, which for a takeaway place isn’t bad. He offers some to Dean, but his brother smiles and shakes his head. Sam shrugs and digs back in. He knows that before jumping into the pit, his appetite would have been quashed by the guilt and horror he’s going through, but it’s instinct to eat, and eat well, and he has to wonder if his body was programmed to do this during the 18 months it was walking around without a soul.
He wonders what else will turn out to be different. He glances up at Dean, who’s watching him with veiled contentment disguised as amusement on his face. His brother obviously approves of his appetite, even though Sam thinks it might belong to someone he’s not.
After the pizza is finished, and he’s washed it down with a soda, he wanders over to the bed farthest from the door, stopping briefly at the other one, but pushing that instinct away. Robo Sam, as he knows Dean called him, might have done that, but not him. Dean’s always slept closer to the door. It’s a given, and one he only used to test when he wanted to get under Dean’s skin.
He lies down, pulling the quilt up to his chest and turning onto his side to watch Dean finish the last slice of pizza. His brother sits back, nursing a glass of cheap whisky. He glances in Sam’s direction, and turns to face him when he realizes he’s being watched.
“Why did you bring me back?” Sam asks, watching the muscle in Dean’s jaw twitch, the one that always indicates he’s pissed at something.
“Sam …,” Dean warns, looking away.
“I need to know, I need you to talk to me, tell me.” Sam pleads.
When Dean gets up and walks towards him, sitting down on the edge of the other bed, ready to talk, it hits Sam just how much having the soul-less version around must have affected him. Dean would never willingly talk about anything remotely resembling feelings before unless he had no other choice.
“I know I promised that I wouldn’t try to get you out, but I couldn’t do it. I went to Lisa and she took me in, but that didn’t stop me looking for ways to free you. I tried everything, but it had never been done before, and there wasn’t anyone left to try and make a deal with, not that I could find, anyway.” Dean looks at Sam’s stricken face and shakes his head. “I know, back to going in circles, trading my life for yours, but dammit, Sammy, I couldn’t let it go.”
He takes a drink from his glass and goes on.
“But six months in, there was nowhere left to look, no ancient text I hadn’t read, no voodoo priestess I hadn’t talked to. So I tried to convince myself that if God had restored Cas’s grace, rewarded him for his part in taking down Lucifer, then maybe he’d rewarded you too. Maybe you’d died as you fell, and were up in heaven helping Ash keep the angels on their toes. Cas wasn’t around anymore, so I couldn’t ask him, but I held onto that hope and decided you were right about settling down. Course, then you came back, or what I thought was you.” Dean twirled the almost empty glass around in his hand. “Once I knew were your soul was, I couldn’t leave it there, couldn’t leave you there. He was walking around, in your body, but you weren’t there, you were down in the pit …”
The glass shatters in Dean’s hand as his grip tightens. Sam sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and taking Dean’s bleeding hands in his.
“Dean, look at me. I’m back, I’m here.” Sam checks out the damage. It looks superficial, but he gets up and fetches iodine and cotton to wipe away the blood.
There’s a deeper cut on the meaty part of Dean’s left hand, just under his thumb, so Sam dries his hand with another cloth and sticks a band-aid over it. He keeps hold of Dean’s hands after he’s done and Dean doesn’t pull away. He sits looking down at their joined hands, where Sam’s thumb is moving in small circles on his skin, comforting, connecting.
“God …,” Dean starts, but has to take a breath before he can continue. “God left you down there with Michael and Lucifer. You saved the world, Sammy.” Dean looks up at him with such pain and anger in his eyes that Sam’s taken aback. “You saved the fucking world and he left you down there to be their fucking chew toy.”
“Dean, it’s okay.”
“No! It’s not okay!” Dean wrenches his hands away, getting to his feet and pacing. “Nothing about this is okay! Just before I gave Death his ring back, he, Robo Sam, was lying unconscious in the panic room. I thought I’d blown it, lost the bet, thought there was no way to get your soul back. And right then, I knew that if I reached out, touched him, I could have killed him. It would have been easy. He was dangerous. Now you can remember some of it, you have to know that. But I couldn’t do that, because the only way to get you out of the cage was to put you back in there. I knew I was screwed, but I still couldn’t do it.”
“Dean,” Sam soothes. “It’s over, I’m back.”
He reaches for Dean, pulling him closer and cupping his cheek, but it has the opposite effect than he expects. Dean flinches away, eyes instantly full of guilt. Sam’s brow furrows and he hesitates just long enough for Dean to step back and turn away.
“I thought he was you,” Dean spits out, but Sam knows the vehemence isn’t meant for him, it’s aimed at Dean himself. “I thought a year of being on your own had changed you. I should have realized from the start there was more to it, but you were back, and I took what I could get.”
“Dean, look at me,” Sam pleads. “How could you know?”
Dean doesn’t turn around, so Sam goes to him, settles a hand on his shoulder. This time, Dean lets out a long breath and marginally relaxes.
“I let him fuck me,” Dean states, needing it out there.
There’s something wrong with that statement and the way Dean says it. Sam pulls Dean closer and Dean goes with it this time, leaning against his brother and closing his eyes.
Let him fuck me. Not “we fucked” or “we slept together”. Sam runs through the implications in his head. Dean hadn’t wanted it. Sam wants to scream, to punch something until it bleeds, but the object of his rage doesn’t exist anymore, and Sam has other things to worry about. He’s not sure what to say to make things better, but he tries.
“In a way, it was me …” he reasons, but doesn’t get any further before Dean is wrenching himself out of Sam’s arms and staring at him as if he’s crazy.
“It wasn’t you!” Dean yells. “It was a soulless dick and I should have known that, should never have touched him, never have let him … It wasn’t you!”
Dean’s hands are balled into fists at his side and Sam suddenly feels exhausted. He could insist that Dean’s wrong, because he knows he can’t pretend that the last year hasn’t happened, and that he’s done things he would never have done with his soul intact, but he can see that laboring the point won’t do any of them any good right now.
“It wasn’t me,” he agrees and immediately Dean sags, his shoulders dropping and his fists unclenching. He sits down on the edge of the bed and scrubs a hand over his face.
Dean’s straight at his side, fussing over him, so Sam takes a chance.
“Sleep with me? Just sleep.” He lies down on the bed and reaches up. “I always sleep better when you’re beside me.”
Dean nods, and strips down to his shorts and tee after a short moment of hesitation. He climbs into bed beside Sam and Sam’s right there, burrowing under his arm so he can lie with his head on Dean’s chest. Dean huffs a sigh over Sam’s hair and touches his arm, stroking his skin as Sam falls asleep.
It takes Dean longer. He lies awake listening to Sam sleep, the familiar rise and fall of Sam’s chest eventually lulling him into a dreamless slumber.
In the morning they wake all tangled up in each other. Sam’s draped over Dean like a warm, heavy blanket. He blinks awake, staring into Dean’s eyes. It’s as natural as breathing to lean in and kiss Dean, and his warm lips part to let Sam in.
It shouldn’t be perfect. They are both sleep sweaty, hair damp and breath stale. It shouldn’t be perfect, but it is. Moving away from each other as little as possible, they peel off shorts and tees leaving heated skin against skin. Sam rolls onto his back, pulling Dean on top of him, so Dean fits between his legs. He moans as Dean rocks against him, their dicks pressed together. Dean ducks his head low and kisses Sam as Sam’s arms wrap around him, pulling him closer. Sam coaxes Dean’s tongue into his mouth and groans as Dean gets with the program and pushes it deeper, in time with the little thrusts he makes with his hips.
Letting go of Dean but still kissing him, Sam reaches out to the side of the bed and over it, hoping that his bag is close. Dean shifts, letting Sam rock onto his side, and grab the handle. He has to sit up to rummage through it, and Dean eases back enough to lap at the head of his cock, distracting him so that Sam chuckles as he tries to concentrate at the task in hand. Dean grins, and doubles his efforts. It’s been a long time since he smiled in bed, and he likes the feeling.
He knows Sam’s found what he was looking for when the bag is pushed off the bed to land on the floor with a thud. When he looks up, Sam’s triumphant and already popping the cap on the tube of lube. Dean moves closer, expecting Sam’s slicked fingers to reach around and push at Dean’s hole, but they don’t. They curl around his cock as Sam shifts position, his intent plain.
Dean watches as Sam lies back against the pillows and opens his legs, holding his balls in one hand so Dean can clearly see the fingers of the other press inside his hole. Sam pushes his fingers deeper, moving them in and out and biting his lip. Dean’s in between his legs now, licking Sam’s balls and then the length of his shaft, scooping up the dribble of pre come on his tongue and savoring it as Sam whimpers.
“Dean!” Sam gasps, and Dean’s pushing his legs wider, and nudging his cock against Sam’s invading fingers.
Sam pulls them out, and wraps them around Dean, guiding him into his body and arching up to meet him as he thrusts in deep. They move together, Sam tilting his hips up to meet Dean’s every stroke as he fucks him. He holds Dean close, their mouths meeting again, both of them licking and nipping at the other’s as their bodies writhe and twist together.
Sam comes first, hot and sticky between them as he groans and lets his head fall back. Dean’s teeth latch onto his neck as he follows, pumping into Sam, digging his fingers into his hair and pulling his head further back so he can feast on the perfect arch of his throat and he growls as his balls tighten and he floods Sam’s ass with his come.
Dean stays where he is, releasing Sam’s hair so Sam can raise his head and smile lazily at him, nuzzling at his face and gently nipping at his ear lobe. Dean sighs happily and pushes back against Sam’s touch. The anguish he felt the night before is gone, and he feels lighter somehow.
Sam lets him lie there for another couple of minutes before he’s prodding and pushing Dean off the bed and in the direction of the bathroom.
They shower together, hand sliding over lathered skin, bringing each other off again before they finally get cleaned up.
They grab breakfast in the local diner and Sam watches Dean eat. Now Sam’s unsure about whether he wants to remember the past year or not. He doesn’t want to remember what he did to Dean, he’s just happy that Dean isn’t flinching away anymore. Dean looks up and smiles at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners and Sam makes the decision to quit poking at the wall. He can live without knowing.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Two weeks later, after a case that fills Sam with a sense of déjà vu, it happens again. Without warning, Sam’s burning, flames licking over his limbs as new memories break through. His mind floods with images, vague flashes of using Dean, lying to him to get him to do what he wanted. Of Dean kissing him with a desperation that tasted like fear, of Dean giving up because he couldn’t risk Sam hurting anyone else.
Sam’s lying on the bed when he comes to, Dean staring down at him.
“You can’t keep doing that to me, Sammy.”
“I remember what I did to you.” Sam’s stricken.
“It wasn’t you.” Dean breathes against his skin, trembling lightly.
Sam knows it was, but he also knows now why Dean has to think differently, has to compartmentalize Soulless Sam and his brother Sammy. And Sam can give him that. It wasn’t him, he would never have done those things with his soul intact.
“It wasn’t me.” Sam replies, and this time he means it.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Sam pads downstairs as Castiel leaves. He’s heard most of the conversation, and knows how devastated Dean must be. Sam’s pissed at the angel himself, for doing a half assed job of bringing him back, but it must be tougher for Dean, he muses. Yet one more betrayal heaped on top of everything else.
Sam doesn’t say a word, he wraps his arms round Dean, and holds on tight, hoping it’ll ease the heartache.
Dean turns in his arms, returns the embrace, fingers digging into Sam’s shoulders. His jaw clenches and he stares resolutely ahead, holding on tightly.
He hasn’t got much left, and Sam’s a solid reminder of what he has. Now he’s got Sam back, losing him again would be the last straw, so he holds on and prays to Death, the closest thing to God he still believes, in that the wall will hold.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Of everything Castiel has done, taking Sam away from him again is the worst betrayal. Dean watches Sam lying unresponsive on the cot in the panic room. It’s too soon, too soon to lose him again. Dean hardly knows why he’s trying to stop Cas from going through with the ritual.
Inside Sam’s head, the memories assail him as soon as the soul-less version of himself dies. As he absorbs everything he was, he reels at finally finding out everything he’s done. He’s killed civilians, all in the name of the hunt, but people died who he never would have killed … but he did. Their blood is, quite literally, on his hands. He scrubs his palms down his jeans, fearful as to what he might find when he meets his other self.
The pitiful ruin of a man who sits at Bobby’s table scares Sam more than the soulless version ever could. He doesn’t want to remember hell, knows it might tear him apart, but he doesn’t have a choice. Dean’s out there, and Sam can’t let him down. His other self helps plunge the knife into his chest and Sam’s world explodes into shrapnel.
Back in the real world, Sam screams himself awake.
Now he remembers everything. The human mind isn’t meant to bear the weight of 150 years of torture and humiliation at the hands of masters of the art, let alone the memories of a year lived as a cold blooded and very efficient monster. Sam shakes, covering his eyes with his hands, wanting to keep the world away. He shivers, as he had in the pit, cringing away from phantom hands and chains and whips and hooks and things that no human has ever seen, created in the minds of angels with no-one else to take their rage out on.
He curls into a tight ball, limbs curling around his body, trying to make a smaller target, not yet understanding that the threat is all in his head. But the mind is nothing if not resilient. Deep down, the instinct to survive kicks in. He can lie there, whimpering and drooling, letting the memories overwhelm him, or he can do what needs to be done.
His broken self told him he wouldn’t be strong enough to stand having the memories of hell back, and maybe it was right, but Sam had a reason to risk it, a reason to chance everything.
Dean.
Once the name has echoed round his head, it gives his shattered psyche something to focus on. Dean needs him, and he can’t let him down.
Sam runs around the corner of a dark alley and sees a vamp pining Dean down. He stops, considering the advantages of Dean being turned, how he’ll be able to use him to get into the nest of vamps and maybe find out more about their alpha. Samuel mentioned a cure, but even if it doesn’t work, Dean will have served a purpose.
“No!” Sam sits bolt upright.
He knew what he’d done, but seeing it, knowing how little he felt for Dean as he let him get turned is a whole different matter. Sam wretches, bending over the side of the cot and throwing up what little was left in his stomach.
He pushes a young hooker through the door of the motel room, grinning when he sees the shock on Dean’s face. The threat of fucking the kid is enough to get Dean with the program and give Sam what he wanted in the first place. He’s smugly satisfied when Dean climbs into his lap. Dean might be pissed, but he’s getting what he really wants too. Dean might say he doesn’t want to be fucked, but Sam knows how much he misses souled Sam, and uses his memories to manipulate Dean. Pretty soon, his brother is on his knees, groaning as Sam fucks him.
Sam grabs hold of handfuls of hair, pulling until it hurts. He rocks back and forwards, understanding too well what he’s done. He used Dean, played him and didn’t give a damn that he didn’t want it. He took it anyway. He wants to throw up again, but there’s nothing left, so his stomach heaves and he shivers, a chill settling deep inside.
He looks around the panic room searching for something, anything to focus on to keep the memories away. His hands shake as he wipes his mouth, and he wonders where Dean is. He remembers finding Bobby’s doctor friend in the alley, then Castiel …
“No,” Sam shakes the memory of the wall being ripped down away. He needs to focus, needs to look past the pain and the horror and the guilt and concentrate on what’s important right now.
Dean.
He swings his legs over the other side of the cot, and puts his feet on the floor. The earth is solid beneath his feet, solid and real and not just a painful memory in his head. He concentrates on that feeling and looks over to where Dean’s gun is sitting on a small table. Sam’s hand is still shaking as he reaches for it, and for the note, written in Dean’s neat script.
“Sammy …”
Sam doesn’t read any more. He sees the address on the bottom of the note and that’s all he needs to know. Dean leaving his favorite gun behind means that he doesn’t think he’ll be coming back, and Sam can’t read a goodbye note from his brother, not now.
The physical effort it takes to pull his boots on, find his jacket and leave the panic room is exhausting. With every step, he’s pushing away thoughts and memories that threaten to overwhelm him if he lets them. If that happens, he’ll never get to Dean, so he can’t let it happen.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Sam slams the blade into Castiel’s back with as much force as he can muster. The angel brought him back wrong, lied about it for almost two years, and brought the wall in his head crashing down. Sam doesn’t want him dead, he wants him to suffer, but he’ll settle for death under the circumstances.
Castiel stands there, as if nothing has happened, and in that moment of stillness, before his godhood is revealed, Sam looks across the room at Dean. Sam’s fighting to keep it together, and seeing Dean again helps, but he wants more, wants to apologize, wants to make him understand that he remembers everything now, and he can never make amends, although he wants to spend whatever life they have left trying. He wants to drive for miles in the Impala at Dean’s side, laughing at Dean’s bad jokes until his sides hurt, he wants to lie safe in Dean’s arms at least one more time, while Dean cards his fingers through his hair until he falls asleep.
Across the room, Dean stares back at him, and for a split second, his eyes soften, and Sam knows he understands everything that Sam can’t say.
It’s enough to give him a little strength to draw on as in the next moment, their former friend becomes their worst nightmare. The world needs them to step up to the plate, again, and Sam wonders if it will ever stop.
Now Dean’s gaze is hard, determined. It doesn’t matter how tired he is, or how much he wants to lie down and never get up, Sam knows his brother will keep going, keep fighting, and he guesses that’s all he can do too. They’ve still got each other’s backs, despite everything that’s come before, and that’s all that’s keeping Sam from crumpling to his knees and giving up.
If they live through this, Sam knows he’ll be a mess, but he’s got Dean on his side, and that, as always, is enough.
What I've Done
In this farewell
There’s no blood
There’s no alibi
Cause I’ve drawn regret
From the truth
Of a thousand lies
So let mercy come
And wash away
What I’ve done
I'll face myself
To cross out what i’ve become
Erase myself
And let go of what i’ve done
Put to rest
What you thought of me
While I clean this slate
With the hands of uncertainty
So let mercy come
And wash away
What I’ve done
I'll face myself
To cross out what i’ve become
Erase myself
And let go of what i’ve done
For what I’ve done
I start again
And whatever pain may come
Today this ends
I’m forgiving what I’ve done!!!
I'll face myself
To cross out what i’ve become
Erase myself
And let go of what i’ve done
What I’ve done
Forgiving what I’ve done
Free Hit Counter
Back to Part One
The last straw comes after Castiel burns Crowley’s bones and they watch as the demon goes up in flames. Sam saved Dean from Ghouls, he has to give him that, but now he’s determined he doesn’t want his soul back, and Dean’s running out of options.
Dean takes his stuff out of the Impala and walks towards the motel room. He doesn’t bother looking behind him to see if Sam is following. He doesn’t really care if the son of a bitch wanders off and never comes back. Scratch that, he only cares because he’s walking around in Sammy’s body. Dean’s hand is still sore from the way he landed in the fight they’d had taking down a poltergeist. It makes getting the key into the lock of the door difficult, but Dean doesn’t think of asking Sam to do it. It would be a sign of weakness, and he can’t show weakness to Sam, not now.
Once in, he drops his bag on the bed, and turns to go into the bathroom, wanting nothing more than a hot shower and a drink before he crashes out. But Sam’s standing right behind him, that damn smirk on his face.
“What?” Dean glares up at Sam, taking a step back when one of Sam’s large hands closes around his bicep.
“I need to take the edge off. Got all this adrenaline pumping through my veins. Hunting does that, remember?”
“So go buy yourself a hooker,” Dean growls, pulling out of Sam’s grasp.
“I’m not in the mood for pussy, Dean.” The smirk on Sam’s face darkened, his intent plain.
“Yeah, well, I’m not in the mood to be your bitch. Get out of my way.” Dean snarls, facing off with the thing that had fed him to a vamp. He’ll do a lot in the name of the cause, in the hope of getting Sammy’s soul back, but not this, not now he knows the truth.
Sam stands his ground as the seconds count down. Dean doesn’t budge either, just stares at Sam, until Sam huffs out a laugh and shrugs. “You liked it well enough before, Dean. You enjoy bending over and taking it all.”
“That was before I knew.”
“That I don’t have a soul?” Sam chuckles. “Why is that a necessity when you’re letting your little brother fuck your ass?”
“You’re not my brother,” Dean growls, pushing past him, and into the bathroom. He slams the door and locks it, letting out a shaky breath as he stands with his back to it.
He stays in the shower longer than usual, until the water is beginning to turn cold. He heard Sam leave, and hopes that whoever he picks up has somewhere for them to go because there is no way he’s going anywhere but bed right now.
As he opens the bathroom door, the motel room door opens too, and a lanky kid with dirty blond hair walks through it, followed by Sam. The kid can’t be more than sixteen and he’s trying his best to look laid back, but Dean can tell he’s skittish as hell. He stops dead when he sees Dean, and looks back over his shoulder.
“You never said there were two of you. That’ll … that’ll cost extra.”
“Relax kid, he’s only gonna watch,” Sam drawls, putting a hand on the kid’s shoulder.
Dean blanches. “Sam? What the hell?”
“Told you, I’m not in the mood for pussy. Kurt here is gonna let me fuck his sweet ass. That right, Kurt?” Sam runs his hand down the kid’s back, cups his ass and squeezes it.
“Yeah,” Kurt nods, still trying to look confident.
Sam walks past him, dropping his coat on a chair and pulling his shirt off over his head. He sits down on the bed and beckons to the boy.
“Why don’t you put those lips of yours to good use first?”
Kurt takes his jacket off, and walks towards Sam, swallowing as Sam pulls the zipper of his jeans down and frees his cock.
“Kurt’s only been doing this for a few weeks, right Kurt?”
“Yeah,” Kurt winces as Sam’s hand tightens in his hair, pushing his face down towards his hard dick.
“And no-one’s fucked you yet?”
“No, not yet.”
Sam holds him by the hair.
“Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna suck my dick until I tell you to stop, take it as deep as you can, get it good and wet, then you’re gonna crawl onto my lap, and I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll feel it for weeks. Gotta make your first time memorable, kid.”
“Enough!” Dean roars.
The boy flinches, but Sam just grins at him.
Dean strides across the room, pulls the boy out of Sam’s grasp, and thrusts his jacket at him.
“Get gone, kid.” Dean shoves him out of the door and slams it behind him.
He turns to glare at Sam, who’s lying back on the bed, lazily stroking his cock.
“I can always get another one. Plenty to choose from in this town.”
Without a word, Dean pulls off the sweats he’d put on after his shower, and joins Sam on the bed. He lies down, his mouth inches from where Sam’s hand is moving on himself. He moves closer, licking at the head of Sam’s cock, lapping sloppily over his fingers as he works. Sam pushes it further into Dean’s face and Dean takes it, swallowing it down as best he can.
“Knew you’d see sense.”
Dean squeezes his eyes shut. He concentrates on the hard flesh in his mouth, licking at the shaft as Sam fucks his face. Sam’s hand tightens, gripping Dean’s short hair and holding him steady as his pace increases.
“Swallow it down, Dean.” Sam presses Dean’s head further down and Dean has no choice but to relax his throat and take Sam’s full length.
He tells himself that it’s remnants of a gag reflex that has his eyes watering. Sam comes with a grunt, come pulsing straight down Dean’s gullet. Dean feels like a toy, used for someone else’s satisfaction, but he knows it isn’t over. Now that Sam’s had the edge taken off, he’ll want to play.
Sam’s hand lands sharply on Dean’s ass, the crack of flesh on flesh echoing round the room. Dean pulls back and glared at him, hating the smirk that’s back on Sam’s face.
“We’re not done, Dean. You heard what I want.”
Yeah, he’d heard. He moves up the bed, straddling Sam’s lap, sitting back so his temporarily soft cock presses between Dean’s cheeks. Sam cups Dean’s dick, also soft, but for a different reason.
“What’s the matter? Not enjoying it? I can change that,” Sam grins, trailing his hand up Dean’s chest to pinch his right nipple. He rolls it between his fingers, feeling it harden. Dean squirms, trying to ignore the way the stimulation radiates out from that spot, making his dick twitch. Sam’s other hand curves around Dean’s ass, grabbing one rounded cheek roughly, fingers grazing Dean’s hole.
Involuntarily, Dean shudders, moaning softly. Sam knows exactly how to touch him. Years of sleeping together, years of fucking, Sam’s got all that knowledge in his head, all those memories. Dean hates to think on that because it’s as if some stranger has gotten a hold of every intimate detail of their lives together and is using them to his advantage. Which is exactly what was happening, only the stranger was wearing Sam’s face.
Sam’s mouth replace his fingers and torment Dean’s nipple further, soft lips working in concert with sharp teeth. Sam’s free hand traces Dean’s ribcage, and slips round to move up his spine as his fingers continue to tease, the tip of one pressing against the tight ring of muscle. Sam’s dick is hard again, pressing up, demanding attention, which Sam gives it, smearing precome on his fingers so he can press further inside Dean. He grabs the lube from the nightstand and slicks it over Dean and his own dick, now thrusting his fingers deeper, making Dean cry out and arch his back, pushing onto the invading fingers and rubbing his own dick against Sam’s stomach.
“You want me to fuck you?” Sam asks as he licks his way across Dean’s chest to his other nipple.
“No …,” Dean groans and shakes his head, but he’s lying, they both know it.
Sam spreads his fingers inside Dean, opening him, working deeper, caressing his prostate just the way he knows will drive Dean to the edge, then he pulls almost all the way out.
Dean shudders and bucks, whimpering as Sam withdraws.
“Do you want me to fuck you open, Dean? Pound your ass until my come drips out of your hole?”
“No …!” Dean gasps as Sam pulls out altogether and wraps a hand around Dean’s dick.
Sam nuzzles Dean’s neck as his hand moves lazily, not nearly enough to make Dean come, just enough to keep him needy and wanting.
“Dean,” he whispers, “Wanna fuck you, please?” His voice is deliberately softer, and he peppers kisses over Dean’s shoulder, using the knowledge he carries with him from when he had a soul to help him get what he wants.
Dean knows he’s being played, manipulated by the best, but he’s human. He can only take so much and the body he’s straddling, the fingers that are touching him, the mouth that is now kissing him all belong to his Sammy and he misses him so badly. Hating himself, he gives in to what he needs.
“Yes,” Dean hisses as Sam trails his fingers over the head of Dean’s dick.
In one smooth movement, Sam throws him back on the bed and turns him onto his stomach. He pulls on his hips until Dean gets on his knees and presents his ass, shuddering as Sam lines up his cock and slides into Dean in one long stroke.
Dean keens as Sam fills him. It’s easier to pretend when he can’t see Sam’s face so he lets go, imagining that it’s Sammy fucking him hard, holding his hips tight enough to bruise. Sense memory dictates that Sam will always, no matter how hard he rides Dean like this, bend low and kiss his back. Dean even arches, in anticipation of a kiss that isn’t going to happen, unable to stop the fantasy blossoming in his mind.
Sam wraps one hand around Dean’s cock, pulling on it in time with his brutal thrusts, forcing Dean to the edge. He’s got memories of all the times he’s fucked Dean like this, on his knees, ass in the air, and knows what Sam with a soul would do. He bends forward and places a kiss on Dean’s back.
It’s a small touch, one press of lips on skin, but it’s all it takes to have Dean throwing his head back as he comes all over the bed. Sam milks him through it, hand tightening as his own orgasm tears through him.
Dean’s still panting when Sam pulls out, and he falls to the bed, curling onto his side away from Sam. He wants to keep the illusion going for a little longer, but he knows that Sam won’t be curling up behind him and falling asleep. He even misses the little huffs of breath on his shoulder and wonders when he became such a sap. He’s surprised when Sam brings a washcloth from the bathroom, and cleans him up, but he’s not surprised when Sam goes and sits at the table with the laptop open, looking for their next case as if nothing’s happened. As if he didn’t just blackmail his brother into having sex.
Next chance he gets, Dean ditches Sam at Bobby’s and goes looking for Death
“Dean?”
Dean whirls around to face Sam, and slowly gets to his feet. Sam’s standing there, looking like he’s just woken up from weeks of sleep. He’s blinking and focusing on Dean, then he’s moving forward and Dean does the same, letting Sam’s arms wrap around him before he does the same, holding Sam tight, closing his eyes and thanking Death that it worked, that Sam is back with him. Anything else he can take, now Sam’s here again. This time he feels it. Sam hugs him tighter than tight.
The difference between how Sam is crushing his ribs now, and the half-assed hug that Robo Sam gave Dean is huge, and Dean holds on for as long as he can, before he remembers Bobby is standing behind him, and there are some things it’s best that he never know.
Dean’s heart pounds in his chest as he watches Sam stride up to Bobby and hug him too. His brother is back, and Dean’s world can begin to right itself again.
Sam’s back. Dean will never get tired of reminding himself of that. With every mile of road the Impala eats up, with every step he takes with Sam at his side, his Sammy, bitching him out, or calling him on stealing a diary, or looking at him with that patently exasperated glance, Dean’s heart feels lighter. Slowly, he relaxes. The tightness that has been ever present across his shoulders when he was travelling with the other guy, the one that had worn his brother’s face, eases, as if invisible fingers have kneaded out the kinks.
In the motel room, they flow around each other and Dean relaxes further. He knows Bobby’s right, he’ll have to face up to telling Sam what had happened, and sooner rather than later. But Dean needs this, needs to bask in the warmth of Sam’s newly souled self for a while longer.
That night, Dean sleeps better than he has for months, and without the need for a fifth of whisky to help knock him out. He doesn’t have to worry about the Sam that didn’t sleep leaving in the middle of the night and doing something unforgiveable because he didn’t get that it was wrong. Dean wakes up early the next morning and watches Sam sleep. Sam starts off lying on his side, small huffy breaths that can’t really be called snores ghosting out of his mouth. Behind his eyelids, his eyes flick about. Dean wonders what he’s dreaming about, but Sam doesn’t become agitated, just twitches occasionally, his fingers moving against the bed covers with little jerky movements which remind Dean of an old dog of Bobby’s. Once it fell asleep, it’s paws would flop about as if it were chasing rabbits.
Dean grins at the comparison, imagining Sam’s face if he told him. How his brow would furrow, and his eyes would roll before he came back with a retort that would be spoken with a pout of lips. Dean’s grin widens, an easy smile, an outward sign of a heart full of joy to have back someone he thought he’d lost forever.
Sam chooses that moment to flop onto his stomach, pulling a pillow into his arms and mumbling against it. Dean has to stifle an out and out laugh, the happiness bubbling up and over spilling just enough to make Sam’s eyes flutter open.
“Wha?” he murmurs, blinking sleepily.
“Nothing.” Dean’s still grinning as he gets out of bed and pulls on his jeans. “Go back to sleep. I’ll go get us breakfast.”
“ ‘kay,” Sam pulls the pillow closer and goes back to sleep with a sigh.
Dean manages to keep a whoop of joy under wraps until he’s pulling out of the motel parking lot, the Impala’s windows all still firmly closed.
Sam’s back. His Sammy. He can deal with whatever the hell life throws at him now, he can even deal with Sam himself once he finds out exactly what happened. Because right now, for one perfect moment, his world makes sense again. He feels strong enough to take on Lucifer himself if the fucker ever dared crawl out of the damned cage again and show his face on earth.
He has Sam back.
He’s invincible.
He’s Batman.
Course, it’s not that simple.
Dean’s joy is tempered by guilt. His reasons for not wanting Sam to try and regain his memory aren’t all altruistic. He never wants Sam to find out how it was between him and Robo Sam. Dean knows it’s monumentally stupid to feel as if he cheated on Sam while his soul was in hell, but it’s more than that. He never wants Sam to find out how Dean allowed himself to be manipulated.
Bobby’s right. When Sam finds out what he did while he was gone, and realizes what Dean is keeping from him, it isn’t going to be cute.
Dean sighs, and steels himself for the battles ahead. Still, this way is better, this way he has Sammy back, even if, after one conversation with Castiel, he’s already mad at Dean for keeping things from him.
Sam comes back to himself lying on the floor, Dean’s concerned face the first thing he sees. Dean’s gently patting Sam’s cheek.
“Sammy, come back to me, stay with me. I got ya, okay?”
“Dean,” Sam’s head throbs, still filled with fleeting glimpses of hellfire and torn memories of pain.
“You okay?” Dean’s eyes are bright. Sam realizes with a start that he’s on the verge of tears.
“Yeah, I’m okay, I think. Head hurts.” He closes his eyes against the light of the room.
Dean pulls a cushion from the couch and lifts Sam’s head up a little to ease it under him. He cups Sam’s face again, as if he’s making sure Sam isn’t going to disappear any second. With a relieved sigh, he gets up and brings a glass of water back with him, tilting Sam’s head so he can take a drink.
“I was right.” Sam says in between sips. “You are my waitress.”
“Bite me, bitch.” Dean rolls his eyes, but doesn’t move from Sam’s side.
“Jerk.” Sam manages a weak smile as he relaxes back, thirst eased.
Dean huffs out the smallest of laughs at the retort he’s missed while Sam has been AWOL in one way or another.
“You okay to move or do you want to stay here for another night?”
“I’m fine, Dean.” He struggles to his feet, only half heartedly batting Dean’s helping hands away. It would take a lot for him to admit it, but Dean’s natural protective streak, amped way up due to the current circumstances, is making him feel safe. It’s a shock to his system, having memories of being soul-less break through. He remembers treating people with contempt, to taking what he wanted, to killing in cold blood. And then there’s hell.
Sam looks at Dean, focusing on him rather than think on the slivers of a nightmare existence that he’s glimpsed. In the middle of it all, Dean’s here, looking out for him. And he needs that. He also needs to leave behind the town that sparked the first onslaught of memories. “I don’t want to stay here. Let’s go.”
Dean nods, making sure Sam’s steady on his feet before grabbing their bags. Once they are in the trunk, he grabs a blanket for Sam, and digs out a pair of shades to shield his eyes from the light. Sam curls up as best he can on the front seat, refusing to travel in the back where he’d have more room. He needs Dean close. As he dozes, his hand creeps onto Dean’s thigh, resting lightly, making sure he has a connection to his brother before falling asleep.
Dean drives for hours, wanting to put as many miles between them and Bristol as he can. It feels reminiscent of leaving Broward County with a changed Sam in the seat beside him, a Sam that had lived what might as well have been a lifetime without Dean by his side.
It’s almost dark when he pulls into a motel parking lot. It’s a little pricier than their usual places, but looks more homey too. Dean pays the smiling woman behind the counter, and gets Sam and their gear settled into the room. He orders pizza, even getting salad for Sam to have with his, while Sam showers.
Sam stands under the warming spray for way too long. He hates how he feels, just as if he were having visions again. But then, he supposes he is. Only this time, they are of his past, not someone else’s twisted future.
Eventually, after Dean has banged on the door to tell him the pizza has arrived, he dries himself off and pulls on the sweats he picked out of his bag. Back in the main room with Dean, the smell of pizza makes his stomach rumble, and he eats his half down with enthusiasm, alternating slices with mouthfuls of salad, which for a takeaway place isn’t bad. He offers some to Dean, but his brother smiles and shakes his head. Sam shrugs and digs back in. He knows that before jumping into the pit, his appetite would have been quashed by the guilt and horror he’s going through, but it’s instinct to eat, and eat well, and he has to wonder if his body was programmed to do this during the 18 months it was walking around without a soul.
He wonders what else will turn out to be different. He glances up at Dean, who’s watching him with veiled contentment disguised as amusement on his face. His brother obviously approves of his appetite, even though Sam thinks it might belong to someone he’s not.
After the pizza is finished, and he’s washed it down with a soda, he wanders over to the bed farthest from the door, stopping briefly at the other one, but pushing that instinct away. Robo Sam, as he knows Dean called him, might have done that, but not him. Dean’s always slept closer to the door. It’s a given, and one he only used to test when he wanted to get under Dean’s skin.
He lies down, pulling the quilt up to his chest and turning onto his side to watch Dean finish the last slice of pizza. His brother sits back, nursing a glass of cheap whisky. He glances in Sam’s direction, and turns to face him when he realizes he’s being watched.
“Why did you bring me back?” Sam asks, watching the muscle in Dean’s jaw twitch, the one that always indicates he’s pissed at something.
“Sam …,” Dean warns, looking away.
“I need to know, I need you to talk to me, tell me.” Sam pleads.
When Dean gets up and walks towards him, sitting down on the edge of the other bed, ready to talk, it hits Sam just how much having the soul-less version around must have affected him. Dean would never willingly talk about anything remotely resembling feelings before unless he had no other choice.
“I know I promised that I wouldn’t try to get you out, but I couldn’t do it. I went to Lisa and she took me in, but that didn’t stop me looking for ways to free you. I tried everything, but it had never been done before, and there wasn’t anyone left to try and make a deal with, not that I could find, anyway.” Dean looks at Sam’s stricken face and shakes his head. “I know, back to going in circles, trading my life for yours, but dammit, Sammy, I couldn’t let it go.”
He takes a drink from his glass and goes on.
“But six months in, there was nowhere left to look, no ancient text I hadn’t read, no voodoo priestess I hadn’t talked to. So I tried to convince myself that if God had restored Cas’s grace, rewarded him for his part in taking down Lucifer, then maybe he’d rewarded you too. Maybe you’d died as you fell, and were up in heaven helping Ash keep the angels on their toes. Cas wasn’t around anymore, so I couldn’t ask him, but I held onto that hope and decided you were right about settling down. Course, then you came back, or what I thought was you.” Dean twirled the almost empty glass around in his hand. “Once I knew were your soul was, I couldn’t leave it there, couldn’t leave you there. He was walking around, in your body, but you weren’t there, you were down in the pit …”
The glass shatters in Dean’s hand as his grip tightens. Sam sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and taking Dean’s bleeding hands in his.
“Dean, look at me. I’m back, I’m here.” Sam checks out the damage. It looks superficial, but he gets up and fetches iodine and cotton to wipe away the blood.
There’s a deeper cut on the meaty part of Dean’s left hand, just under his thumb, so Sam dries his hand with another cloth and sticks a band-aid over it. He keeps hold of Dean’s hands after he’s done and Dean doesn’t pull away. He sits looking down at their joined hands, where Sam’s thumb is moving in small circles on his skin, comforting, connecting.
“God …,” Dean starts, but has to take a breath before he can continue. “God left you down there with Michael and Lucifer. You saved the world, Sammy.” Dean looks up at him with such pain and anger in his eyes that Sam’s taken aback. “You saved the fucking world and he left you down there to be their fucking chew toy.”
“Dean, it’s okay.”
“No! It’s not okay!” Dean wrenches his hands away, getting to his feet and pacing. “Nothing about this is okay! Just before I gave Death his ring back, he, Robo Sam, was lying unconscious in the panic room. I thought I’d blown it, lost the bet, thought there was no way to get your soul back. And right then, I knew that if I reached out, touched him, I could have killed him. It would have been easy. He was dangerous. Now you can remember some of it, you have to know that. But I couldn’t do that, because the only way to get you out of the cage was to put you back in there. I knew I was screwed, but I still couldn’t do it.”
“Dean,” Sam soothes. “It’s over, I’m back.”
He reaches for Dean, pulling him closer and cupping his cheek, but it has the opposite effect than he expects. Dean flinches away, eyes instantly full of guilt. Sam’s brow furrows and he hesitates just long enough for Dean to step back and turn away.
“I thought he was you,” Dean spits out, but Sam knows the vehemence isn’t meant for him, it’s aimed at Dean himself. “I thought a year of being on your own had changed you. I should have realized from the start there was more to it, but you were back, and I took what I could get.”
“Dean, look at me,” Sam pleads. “How could you know?”
Dean doesn’t turn around, so Sam goes to him, settles a hand on his shoulder. This time, Dean lets out a long breath and marginally relaxes.
“I let him fuck me,” Dean states, needing it out there.
There’s something wrong with that statement and the way Dean says it. Sam pulls Dean closer and Dean goes with it this time, leaning against his brother and closing his eyes.
Let him fuck me. Not “we fucked” or “we slept together”. Sam runs through the implications in his head. Dean hadn’t wanted it. Sam wants to scream, to punch something until it bleeds, but the object of his rage doesn’t exist anymore, and Sam has other things to worry about. He’s not sure what to say to make things better, but he tries.
“In a way, it was me …” he reasons, but doesn’t get any further before Dean is wrenching himself out of Sam’s arms and staring at him as if he’s crazy.
“It wasn’t you!” Dean yells. “It was a soulless dick and I should have known that, should never have touched him, never have let him … It wasn’t you!”
Dean’s hands are balled into fists at his side and Sam suddenly feels exhausted. He could insist that Dean’s wrong, because he knows he can’t pretend that the last year hasn’t happened, and that he’s done things he would never have done with his soul intact, but he can see that laboring the point won’t do any of them any good right now.
“It wasn’t me,” he agrees and immediately Dean sags, his shoulders dropping and his fists unclenching. He sits down on the edge of the bed and scrubs a hand over his face.
Dean’s straight at his side, fussing over him, so Sam takes a chance.
“Sleep with me? Just sleep.” He lies down on the bed and reaches up. “I always sleep better when you’re beside me.”
Dean nods, and strips down to his shorts and tee after a short moment of hesitation. He climbs into bed beside Sam and Sam’s right there, burrowing under his arm so he can lie with his head on Dean’s chest. Dean huffs a sigh over Sam’s hair and touches his arm, stroking his skin as Sam falls asleep.
It takes Dean longer. He lies awake listening to Sam sleep, the familiar rise and fall of Sam’s chest eventually lulling him into a dreamless slumber.
In the morning they wake all tangled up in each other. Sam’s draped over Dean like a warm, heavy blanket. He blinks awake, staring into Dean’s eyes. It’s as natural as breathing to lean in and kiss Dean, and his warm lips part to let Sam in.
It shouldn’t be perfect. They are both sleep sweaty, hair damp and breath stale. It shouldn’t be perfect, but it is. Moving away from each other as little as possible, they peel off shorts and tees leaving heated skin against skin. Sam rolls onto his back, pulling Dean on top of him, so Dean fits between his legs. He moans as Dean rocks against him, their dicks pressed together. Dean ducks his head low and kisses Sam as Sam’s arms wrap around him, pulling him closer. Sam coaxes Dean’s tongue into his mouth and groans as Dean gets with the program and pushes it deeper, in time with the little thrusts he makes with his hips.
Letting go of Dean but still kissing him, Sam reaches out to the side of the bed and over it, hoping that his bag is close. Dean shifts, letting Sam rock onto his side, and grab the handle. He has to sit up to rummage through it, and Dean eases back enough to lap at the head of his cock, distracting him so that Sam chuckles as he tries to concentrate at the task in hand. Dean grins, and doubles his efforts. It’s been a long time since he smiled in bed, and he likes the feeling.
He knows Sam’s found what he was looking for when the bag is pushed off the bed to land on the floor with a thud. When he looks up, Sam’s triumphant and already popping the cap on the tube of lube. Dean moves closer, expecting Sam’s slicked fingers to reach around and push at Dean’s hole, but they don’t. They curl around his cock as Sam shifts position, his intent plain.
Dean watches as Sam lies back against the pillows and opens his legs, holding his balls in one hand so Dean can clearly see the fingers of the other press inside his hole. Sam pushes his fingers deeper, moving them in and out and biting his lip. Dean’s in between his legs now, licking Sam’s balls and then the length of his shaft, scooping up the dribble of pre come on his tongue and savoring it as Sam whimpers.
“Dean!” Sam gasps, and Dean’s pushing his legs wider, and nudging his cock against Sam’s invading fingers.
Sam pulls them out, and wraps them around Dean, guiding him into his body and arching up to meet him as he thrusts in deep. They move together, Sam tilting his hips up to meet Dean’s every stroke as he fucks him. He holds Dean close, their mouths meeting again, both of them licking and nipping at the other’s as their bodies writhe and twist together.
Sam comes first, hot and sticky between them as he groans and lets his head fall back. Dean’s teeth latch onto his neck as he follows, pumping into Sam, digging his fingers into his hair and pulling his head further back so he can feast on the perfect arch of his throat and he growls as his balls tighten and he floods Sam’s ass with his come.
Dean stays where he is, releasing Sam’s hair so Sam can raise his head and smile lazily at him, nuzzling at his face and gently nipping at his ear lobe. Dean sighs happily and pushes back against Sam’s touch. The anguish he felt the night before is gone, and he feels lighter somehow.
Sam lets him lie there for another couple of minutes before he’s prodding and pushing Dean off the bed and in the direction of the bathroom.
They shower together, hand sliding over lathered skin, bringing each other off again before they finally get cleaned up.
They grab breakfast in the local diner and Sam watches Dean eat. Now Sam’s unsure about whether he wants to remember the past year or not. He doesn’t want to remember what he did to Dean, he’s just happy that Dean isn’t flinching away anymore. Dean looks up and smiles at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners and Sam makes the decision to quit poking at the wall. He can live without knowing.
Two weeks later, after a case that fills Sam with a sense of déjà vu, it happens again. Without warning, Sam’s burning, flames licking over his limbs as new memories break through. His mind floods with images, vague flashes of using Dean, lying to him to get him to do what he wanted. Of Dean kissing him with a desperation that tasted like fear, of Dean giving up because he couldn’t risk Sam hurting anyone else.
Sam’s lying on the bed when he comes to, Dean staring down at him.
“You can’t keep doing that to me, Sammy.”
“I remember what I did to you.” Sam’s stricken.
“It wasn’t you.” Dean breathes against his skin, trembling lightly.
Sam knows it was, but he also knows now why Dean has to think differently, has to compartmentalize Soulless Sam and his brother Sammy. And Sam can give him that. It wasn’t him, he would never have done those things with his soul intact.
“It wasn’t me.” Sam replies, and this time he means it.
Sam pads downstairs as Castiel leaves. He’s heard most of the conversation, and knows how devastated Dean must be. Sam’s pissed at the angel himself, for doing a half assed job of bringing him back, but it must be tougher for Dean, he muses. Yet one more betrayal heaped on top of everything else.
Sam doesn’t say a word, he wraps his arms round Dean, and holds on tight, hoping it’ll ease the heartache.
Dean turns in his arms, returns the embrace, fingers digging into Sam’s shoulders. His jaw clenches and he stares resolutely ahead, holding on tightly.
He hasn’t got much left, and Sam’s a solid reminder of what he has. Now he’s got Sam back, losing him again would be the last straw, so he holds on and prays to Death, the closest thing to God he still believes, in that the wall will hold.
Of everything Castiel has done, taking Sam away from him again is the worst betrayal. Dean watches Sam lying unresponsive on the cot in the panic room. It’s too soon, too soon to lose him again. Dean hardly knows why he’s trying to stop Cas from going through with the ritual.
Inside Sam’s head, the memories assail him as soon as the soul-less version of himself dies. As he absorbs everything he was, he reels at finally finding out everything he’s done. He’s killed civilians, all in the name of the hunt, but people died who he never would have killed … but he did. Their blood is, quite literally, on his hands. He scrubs his palms down his jeans, fearful as to what he might find when he meets his other self.
The pitiful ruin of a man who sits at Bobby’s table scares Sam more than the soulless version ever could. He doesn’t want to remember hell, knows it might tear him apart, but he doesn’t have a choice. Dean’s out there, and Sam can’t let him down. His other self helps plunge the knife into his chest and Sam’s world explodes into shrapnel.
Back in the real world, Sam screams himself awake.
Now he remembers everything. The human mind isn’t meant to bear the weight of 150 years of torture and humiliation at the hands of masters of the art, let alone the memories of a year lived as a cold blooded and very efficient monster. Sam shakes, covering his eyes with his hands, wanting to keep the world away. He shivers, as he had in the pit, cringing away from phantom hands and chains and whips and hooks and things that no human has ever seen, created in the minds of angels with no-one else to take their rage out on.
He curls into a tight ball, limbs curling around his body, trying to make a smaller target, not yet understanding that the threat is all in his head. But the mind is nothing if not resilient. Deep down, the instinct to survive kicks in. He can lie there, whimpering and drooling, letting the memories overwhelm him, or he can do what needs to be done.
His broken self told him he wouldn’t be strong enough to stand having the memories of hell back, and maybe it was right, but Sam had a reason to risk it, a reason to chance everything.
Dean.
Once the name has echoed round his head, it gives his shattered psyche something to focus on. Dean needs him, and he can’t let him down.
Sam runs around the corner of a dark alley and sees a vamp pining Dean down. He stops, considering the advantages of Dean being turned, how he’ll be able to use him to get into the nest of vamps and maybe find out more about their alpha. Samuel mentioned a cure, but even if it doesn’t work, Dean will have served a purpose.
“No!” Sam sits bolt upright.
He knew what he’d done, but seeing it, knowing how little he felt for Dean as he let him get turned is a whole different matter. Sam wretches, bending over the side of the cot and throwing up what little was left in his stomach.
He pushes a young hooker through the door of the motel room, grinning when he sees the shock on Dean’s face. The threat of fucking the kid is enough to get Dean with the program and give Sam what he wanted in the first place. He’s smugly satisfied when Dean climbs into his lap. Dean might be pissed, but he’s getting what he really wants too. Dean might say he doesn’t want to be fucked, but Sam knows how much he misses souled Sam, and uses his memories to manipulate Dean. Pretty soon, his brother is on his knees, groaning as Sam fucks him.
Sam grabs hold of handfuls of hair, pulling until it hurts. He rocks back and forwards, understanding too well what he’s done. He used Dean, played him and didn’t give a damn that he didn’t want it. He took it anyway. He wants to throw up again, but there’s nothing left, so his stomach heaves and he shivers, a chill settling deep inside.
He looks around the panic room searching for something, anything to focus on to keep the memories away. His hands shake as he wipes his mouth, and he wonders where Dean is. He remembers finding Bobby’s doctor friend in the alley, then Castiel …
“No,” Sam shakes the memory of the wall being ripped down away. He needs to focus, needs to look past the pain and the horror and the guilt and concentrate on what’s important right now.
Dean.
He swings his legs over the other side of the cot, and puts his feet on the floor. The earth is solid beneath his feet, solid and real and not just a painful memory in his head. He concentrates on that feeling and looks over to where Dean’s gun is sitting on a small table. Sam’s hand is still shaking as he reaches for it, and for the note, written in Dean’s neat script.
“Sammy …”
Sam doesn’t read any more. He sees the address on the bottom of the note and that’s all he needs to know. Dean leaving his favorite gun behind means that he doesn’t think he’ll be coming back, and Sam can’t read a goodbye note from his brother, not now.
The physical effort it takes to pull his boots on, find his jacket and leave the panic room is exhausting. With every step, he’s pushing away thoughts and memories that threaten to overwhelm him if he lets them. If that happens, he’ll never get to Dean, so he can’t let it happen.
Sam slams the blade into Castiel’s back with as much force as he can muster. The angel brought him back wrong, lied about it for almost two years, and brought the wall in his head crashing down. Sam doesn’t want him dead, he wants him to suffer, but he’ll settle for death under the circumstances.
Castiel stands there, as if nothing has happened, and in that moment of stillness, before his godhood is revealed, Sam looks across the room at Dean. Sam’s fighting to keep it together, and seeing Dean again helps, but he wants more, wants to apologize, wants to make him understand that he remembers everything now, and he can never make amends, although he wants to spend whatever life they have left trying. He wants to drive for miles in the Impala at Dean’s side, laughing at Dean’s bad jokes until his sides hurt, he wants to lie safe in Dean’s arms at least one more time, while Dean cards his fingers through his hair until he falls asleep.
Across the room, Dean stares back at him, and for a split second, his eyes soften, and Sam knows he understands everything that Sam can’t say.
It’s enough to give him a little strength to draw on as in the next moment, their former friend becomes their worst nightmare. The world needs them to step up to the plate, again, and Sam wonders if it will ever stop.
Now Dean’s gaze is hard, determined. It doesn’t matter how tired he is, or how much he wants to lie down and never get up, Sam knows his brother will keep going, keep fighting, and he guesses that’s all he can do too. They’ve still got each other’s backs, despite everything that’s come before, and that’s all that’s keeping Sam from crumpling to his knees and giving up.
If they live through this, Sam knows he’ll be a mess, but he’s got Dean on his side, and that, as always, is enough.
In this farewell
There’s no blood
There’s no alibi
Cause I’ve drawn regret
From the truth
Of a thousand lies
So let mercy come
And wash away
What I’ve done
I'll face myself
To cross out what i’ve become
Erase myself
And let go of what i’ve done
Put to rest
What you thought of me
While I clean this slate
With the hands of uncertainty
So let mercy come
And wash away
What I’ve done
I'll face myself
To cross out what i’ve become
Erase myself
And let go of what i’ve done
For what I’ve done
I start again
And whatever pain may come
Today this ends
I’m forgiving what I’ve done!!!
I'll face myself
To cross out what i’ve become
Erase myself
And let go of what i’ve done
What I’ve done
Forgiving what I’ve done
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