Dancing with the Devil
Apr. 20th, 2012 06:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grianchlochTitle: Dancing with the Devil
Characters: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1751
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seleneheart
Disclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine, I'm just playing with them for a while.
Notes: Coda for 7.17 The Born Again Identity. Witten for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
silverbullets for majestic_shriek's prompt "I'm only dancing".
Summary: Dean takes care of Sam after they leave Castiel behind in the hospital. Told from Sam's POV.
In the room he’d honestly thought he was going to die in, Sam sits with Castiel for as long as he can. He holds Castiel’s hands in his, and stares at his face. He’s got a good idea of what’s going on behind the now vacant blue eyes and he shudders.
Sam danced with the devil for long enough himself. Just when he thought he knew all the moves, Lucifer would pull the rug from under Sam’s feet and leave him disorientated and lost again. Lost inside himself in a way that he really can’t describe with words. Now Castiel is where he was, being dip-smooched by Satan, twirled around and spun off in whichever direction suits Lucifer’s mood.
Because of Castiel, Sam feels clean inside for the first time since the wall came down. Outwardly, he feels gross, but that can be dealt with. Inwardly, he feels so light he wants to laugh out loud, but he can’t. Not now, when Castiel is right there, bearing the burden of Lucifer in his head that Sam carried for so long.
“Thank you.” Sam whispers, again.
Castiel is the reason that he was fucked up in the first place, Sam knows that, but he also knows all about making mistakes. How easy it is to be utterly convinced that you are the only one that can fix something, to be willing to go against everything you’ve been brought up to believe is right because you’re arrogant enough to think that no-one else is up to the task. Sam understands that only too well.
A hand falls on his shoulder, firm, yet gentle. Sam doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s Dean.
“Sammy, we gotta go.”
Sam squeezes Castiel’s hands, lingering for a few seconds more, before Dean pats the spot his hand’s been lying on. Sam reluctantly lets go. Logically, he knows that there’s no way they can take Cas with them. He’s lost inside himself, lost with Lucifer on his trail, and they couldn’t take care of him with the Leviathans breathing down their necks and no home base to take him to. But logic has never played much of a part in any of their lives and it doesn’t stop him from wanting to stay, wanting to help him carry the burden he’s taken on.
“Sam.” Dean’s voice is more urgent now.
They have to go before the nurses and doctors that weren’t possessed by demons find them and start asking questions. Sam gets to his feet and walks towards the door at Dean’s continued urging. But once Sam walks past him, Dean hesitates. He looks back at Cas, his eyes full of regret, then strides over to where Cas is sitting. He puts his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, and it hits Sam that Dean’s leaving behind one of the few friends he’s ever had, leaving him alone with the devil, locked in a cage.
Dean bends down and whispers something into Cas’s ear. Sam can’t hear what he said, and then they’re moving, heading out to where the latest car is waiting for them. Sam aches for it to be the Impala. He’s exhausted, doesn’t know how he’s moving at all, and would like nothing more than to curl up inside her and fall asleep in the one place he’s always thought of as home.
Sam tries one more time to convince Dean that they can’t leave Cas behind, but he knows that set of Dean’s jaw. He’s made his decision and nothing can change it, especially as Sam understands that it’s the right one.
As soon as they pull away, Sam falls asleep. He doesn’t know anything more until Dean shakes him awake.
“How long?” His voice is raw and rough.
“Ten hours, give or take. We’re already checked in. Let’s get you to bed.”
Sam grunts, and climbs out, too tired to stretch out the kinks left behind from curling his tall frame into a smaller space than the one he’s used to. Dean’s already got the door open and Sam stumbles through it as Dean grabs their bags from the trunk. The bed farthest from the door is inviting despite the worn bed linen, but Dean catches a hold of his arm before he can faceplant and sleep for a week.
“Shower first.”
Sam tries to object, but he hasn’t got the strength, and lets it go, shuffling after Dean into the bathroom. His fingers fumble on his clothes, but Dean’s there, pushing the jacket off his shoulders, tugging his shirts off over his head, and pulling his jeans down his long legs. Sam steps out of his boots, and the jeans pooled around his ankles when Dean taps his calves one at a time.
Sam becomes aware of warm water pounding down into the tub and wonders when Dean turned it on. If he’d fallen asleep on his feet for a moment, but then he forgets anything but Dean guiding him under the water, and slipping in behind him.
Sam remembers the warmth of his brother’s skin against his, and sighs as Dean runs the soap over his body. At any other time, he would want more, but he’s too exhausted to react. His ribs still ache and his fingers are sore and tender. Dean’s quick and efficient, cleaning the hospital stink from his skin, but Sam hears the hiss of breath as Dean glides the soap over the bruises that litter Sam’s skin, and he washes Sam’s hands one at a time with a gentleness that makes Sam’s breath hitch. He thinks he manages to keep himself from breaking down and crying right there, but when he washes Sam’s face, Dean smoothes his thumb under Sam’s eyes. It must be bad, he thinks, if Dean doesn’t call him on it, doesn’t tease him even a little.
Dean wraps a towel around Sam after he shuts the water off, drying himself as Sam manages to blot most of the water from his skin. As soon as Dean’s done, he turns his attention to Sam, pulling him through to the bedroom and sitting him down on the edge of the bed while he towels most of the moisture from Sam’s hair. It’s not dry, but he doesn’t care; he needs to sleep.
The next thing Sam remembers is blinking half awake. He doesn’t know how long has passed, but he doesn’t really care. Dean grunts in his ear, tightening the hold he’s got around Sam’s waist, and Sam closes his eyes again.
It’s the first time he’s had any real sleep for what feels like an age. No dreams either, not that he can remember, and he’s thankful for that. He reaches back and slips a hand onto Dean’s hip, which his brother seems to approve of, if the way he snuffles against Sam’s shoulder is anything to go by. Then Sam's falling asleep again, letting the slow, delicious tug of it take him down.
Next time he opens his eyes, it’s dark, and Dean’s not where he was. He’s still there, but he’s dressed and sitting with his back against the headboard, his legs against Sam’s side as he frowns at whatever he’s looking at on the laptop.
“Hey,” Dean murmurs as soon as he notices Sam watching him. “You hungry?”
“Starving,” Sam says and adds a yawn.
Dean grins at him, and fetches a still warm pizza box from the table. It’s half full, and Sam’s groaning around the taste of it within seconds. He demolishes the lot in record time, Dean’s eyes widening with amusement as he wolfs it down, followed by a cold soda.
Sam thought that might have been enough, a good sleep and some food to recharge his batteries, but his body tells him different. Five minutes later, his eyes begin to close again. He puts his head in Dean’s lap while Dean watches some show that looks suspiciously like Dr Sexy on TV. Dean cards his fingers through Sam’s hair, and that’s it for him. He fades back to sleep.
The next time he wakes, he’s face to face with Dean, who’s back in bed with him, only boxers keeping him from being naked. Dean blinks awake and stares at him for a long moment, running the back of his hand down Sam’s face. Sam pushes into the touch, and Dean smiles.
“What did you say to Cas? Back in the hospital?” Sam asks.
Dean shrugs, but Sam’s insistent.
“I told him to hang on in there, that we’d be back for him, that he’s … family.”
Sam nods and burrows closer. Family means never giving up, it means knowing that someone always has your back, even if they are pissed at you. Sam knows how much Castiel’s betrayal had hurt Dean, even before he brought the wall in Sam’s head crashing down, but he also knows that it hurt so badly because Dean did … does think of Cas as family.
There’s still hurt in Dean’s eyes when he talks about Castiel, but it’s tempered now. He’s seen that look before, but last time, he put it there himself. Yet after all he’s done, Dean’s still there for him time after time, pulling him from the fire, often literally, patching him up and doing his best to make Sam whole again. If it hadn’t been for Dean’s unshakeable belief that he could fix Sam, Lucifer would have danced Sam to death.
“Thank you,” Sam whispers. Two small words that can’t possibly convey the full weight of what it means to be free. Between them, Dean and Castiel saved him, and he’ll never be able to repay them in full.
A whole myriad of emotions cross Dean’s face. Confusion leads to embarrassment, which comes with a warm blush that Dean’s obviously aware of as he coughs and tries to think of something to say to lighten the mood. Sam smiles and takes pity on his brother, kissing him softly until he feels Dean relax again. He thinks he’s ready for more, but Dean has other ideas.
Dean rolls onto his back, instinctively knowing that Sam’s not finished sleeping yet, even though Sam makes a half hearted effort to resist. He settles Sam, his head resting on Dean’s chest, and Sam drifts off again into a deep and Lucifer-free sleep, warm and safe in the circle of Dean’s arms.
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Characters: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1751
Beta:
seleneheartDisclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine, I'm just playing with them for a while.
Notes: Coda for 7.17 The Born Again Identity. Witten for
silverbullets for majestic_shriek's prompt "I'm only dancing". Summary: Dean takes care of Sam after they leave Castiel behind in the hospital. Told from Sam's POV.
In the room he’d honestly thought he was going to die in, Sam sits with Castiel for as long as he can. He holds Castiel’s hands in his, and stares at his face. He’s got a good idea of what’s going on behind the now vacant blue eyes and he shudders.
Sam danced with the devil for long enough himself. Just when he thought he knew all the moves, Lucifer would pull the rug from under Sam’s feet and leave him disorientated and lost again. Lost inside himself in a way that he really can’t describe with words. Now Castiel is where he was, being dip-smooched by Satan, twirled around and spun off in whichever direction suits Lucifer’s mood.
Because of Castiel, Sam feels clean inside for the first time since the wall came down. Outwardly, he feels gross, but that can be dealt with. Inwardly, he feels so light he wants to laugh out loud, but he can’t. Not now, when Castiel is right there, bearing the burden of Lucifer in his head that Sam carried for so long.
“Thank you.” Sam whispers, again.
Castiel is the reason that he was fucked up in the first place, Sam knows that, but he also knows all about making mistakes. How easy it is to be utterly convinced that you are the only one that can fix something, to be willing to go against everything you’ve been brought up to believe is right because you’re arrogant enough to think that no-one else is up to the task. Sam understands that only too well.
A hand falls on his shoulder, firm, yet gentle. Sam doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s Dean.
“Sammy, we gotta go.”
Sam squeezes Castiel’s hands, lingering for a few seconds more, before Dean pats the spot his hand’s been lying on. Sam reluctantly lets go. Logically, he knows that there’s no way they can take Cas with them. He’s lost inside himself, lost with Lucifer on his trail, and they couldn’t take care of him with the Leviathans breathing down their necks and no home base to take him to. But logic has never played much of a part in any of their lives and it doesn’t stop him from wanting to stay, wanting to help him carry the burden he’s taken on.
“Sam.” Dean’s voice is more urgent now.
They have to go before the nurses and doctors that weren’t possessed by demons find them and start asking questions. Sam gets to his feet and walks towards the door at Dean’s continued urging. But once Sam walks past him, Dean hesitates. He looks back at Cas, his eyes full of regret, then strides over to where Cas is sitting. He puts his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, and it hits Sam that Dean’s leaving behind one of the few friends he’s ever had, leaving him alone with the devil, locked in a cage.
Dean bends down and whispers something into Cas’s ear. Sam can’t hear what he said, and then they’re moving, heading out to where the latest car is waiting for them. Sam aches for it to be the Impala. He’s exhausted, doesn’t know how he’s moving at all, and would like nothing more than to curl up inside her and fall asleep in the one place he’s always thought of as home.
Sam tries one more time to convince Dean that they can’t leave Cas behind, but he knows that set of Dean’s jaw. He’s made his decision and nothing can change it, especially as Sam understands that it’s the right one.
As soon as they pull away, Sam falls asleep. He doesn’t know anything more until Dean shakes him awake.
“How long?” His voice is raw and rough.
“Ten hours, give or take. We’re already checked in. Let’s get you to bed.”
Sam grunts, and climbs out, too tired to stretch out the kinks left behind from curling his tall frame into a smaller space than the one he’s used to. Dean’s already got the door open and Sam stumbles through it as Dean grabs their bags from the trunk. The bed farthest from the door is inviting despite the worn bed linen, but Dean catches a hold of his arm before he can faceplant and sleep for a week.
“Shower first.”
Sam tries to object, but he hasn’t got the strength, and lets it go, shuffling after Dean into the bathroom. His fingers fumble on his clothes, but Dean’s there, pushing the jacket off his shoulders, tugging his shirts off over his head, and pulling his jeans down his long legs. Sam steps out of his boots, and the jeans pooled around his ankles when Dean taps his calves one at a time.
Sam becomes aware of warm water pounding down into the tub and wonders when Dean turned it on. If he’d fallen asleep on his feet for a moment, but then he forgets anything but Dean guiding him under the water, and slipping in behind him.
Sam remembers the warmth of his brother’s skin against his, and sighs as Dean runs the soap over his body. At any other time, he would want more, but he’s too exhausted to react. His ribs still ache and his fingers are sore and tender. Dean’s quick and efficient, cleaning the hospital stink from his skin, but Sam hears the hiss of breath as Dean glides the soap over the bruises that litter Sam’s skin, and he washes Sam’s hands one at a time with a gentleness that makes Sam’s breath hitch. He thinks he manages to keep himself from breaking down and crying right there, but when he washes Sam’s face, Dean smoothes his thumb under Sam’s eyes. It must be bad, he thinks, if Dean doesn’t call him on it, doesn’t tease him even a little.
Dean wraps a towel around Sam after he shuts the water off, drying himself as Sam manages to blot most of the water from his skin. As soon as Dean’s done, he turns his attention to Sam, pulling him through to the bedroom and sitting him down on the edge of the bed while he towels most of the moisture from Sam’s hair. It’s not dry, but he doesn’t care; he needs to sleep.
The next thing Sam remembers is blinking half awake. He doesn’t know how long has passed, but he doesn’t really care. Dean grunts in his ear, tightening the hold he’s got around Sam’s waist, and Sam closes his eyes again.
It’s the first time he’s had any real sleep for what feels like an age. No dreams either, not that he can remember, and he’s thankful for that. He reaches back and slips a hand onto Dean’s hip, which his brother seems to approve of, if the way he snuffles against Sam’s shoulder is anything to go by. Then Sam's falling asleep again, letting the slow, delicious tug of it take him down.
Next time he opens his eyes, it’s dark, and Dean’s not where he was. He’s still there, but he’s dressed and sitting with his back against the headboard, his legs against Sam’s side as he frowns at whatever he’s looking at on the laptop.
“Hey,” Dean murmurs as soon as he notices Sam watching him. “You hungry?”
“Starving,” Sam says and adds a yawn.
Dean grins at him, and fetches a still warm pizza box from the table. It’s half full, and Sam’s groaning around the taste of it within seconds. He demolishes the lot in record time, Dean’s eyes widening with amusement as he wolfs it down, followed by a cold soda.
Sam thought that might have been enough, a good sleep and some food to recharge his batteries, but his body tells him different. Five minutes later, his eyes begin to close again. He puts his head in Dean’s lap while Dean watches some show that looks suspiciously like Dr Sexy on TV. Dean cards his fingers through Sam’s hair, and that’s it for him. He fades back to sleep.
The next time he wakes, he’s face to face with Dean, who’s back in bed with him, only boxers keeping him from being naked. Dean blinks awake and stares at him for a long moment, running the back of his hand down Sam’s face. Sam pushes into the touch, and Dean smiles.
“What did you say to Cas? Back in the hospital?” Sam asks.
Dean shrugs, but Sam’s insistent.
“I told him to hang on in there, that we’d be back for him, that he’s … family.”
Sam nods and burrows closer. Family means never giving up, it means knowing that someone always has your back, even if they are pissed at you. Sam knows how much Castiel’s betrayal had hurt Dean, even before he brought the wall in Sam’s head crashing down, but he also knows that it hurt so badly because Dean did … does think of Cas as family.
There’s still hurt in Dean’s eyes when he talks about Castiel, but it’s tempered now. He’s seen that look before, but last time, he put it there himself. Yet after all he’s done, Dean’s still there for him time after time, pulling him from the fire, often literally, patching him up and doing his best to make Sam whole again. If it hadn’t been for Dean’s unshakeable belief that he could fix Sam, Lucifer would have danced Sam to death.
“Thank you,” Sam whispers. Two small words that can’t possibly convey the full weight of what it means to be free. Between them, Dean and Castiel saved him, and he’ll never be able to repay them in full.
A whole myriad of emotions cross Dean’s face. Confusion leads to embarrassment, which comes with a warm blush that Dean’s obviously aware of as he coughs and tries to think of something to say to lighten the mood. Sam smiles and takes pity on his brother, kissing him softly until he feels Dean relax again. He thinks he’s ready for more, but Dean has other ideas.
Dean rolls onto his back, instinctively knowing that Sam’s not finished sleeping yet, even though Sam makes a half hearted effort to resist. He settles Sam, his head resting on Dean’s chest, and Sam drifts off again into a deep and Lucifer-free sleep, warm and safe in the circle of Dean’s arms.
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