Supernatural: A Good Exit
Title: A Good Exit
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, Castiel, Lucifer
Genre: Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Apocalypse Schmoop
Rating: NC-17 for Graphic Sexual Content, Language, and, you know, incestuous brothers.
Word Count: 6,910
Author’s Note: Written for aramuin as part of the spn_j2_xmas. I really hope you enjoy it! I’m sorry it’s so late but when I saw the deadline extension, I decided a “Happy New Years!” present made more sense than a “Happy Random Day in December!” present :). Thanks to lavendergaia for an incredible last minute beta and to scorpiod1 for her excellent guinea pig work. Hopefully my attempt at killing Lucifer won’t be too wanky. ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: Dean kills Lucifer and is nearly killed himself. When Dean’s left physically and emotionally drained, Sam finally gets his chance to save his brother.
It was a bad idea. Even Castiel knew it was a bad idea and it had been his bad idea. But they had no other options. The Colt hadn’t worked-a fact that Dean had to confess (in retrospect), should have been a given. They were running out of time.
Dean wanted to strike before Detroit. Sam told him what Lucifer said the night they tried to kill him and Sam didn’t know what Dean knew. Dean never told him about the little fieldtrip into the future Zachariah had taken him on while they were apart; Dean wouldn’t tell his brother that in some other world, he had said yes. But Dean had to do everything he could to stop Detroit from happening, had to strike before whatever the Devil was planning was ready. It took four months after finding out the Colt was a dead-end to find the ritual and another month to get everything they needed. They had one month to Detroit, so it was now or never.
Dean had actually thought the angel was making a joke when he suggested this…then he remembered Castiel didn’t really know how to do that yet. In order to kill Lucifer, Dean had to bond to Lucifer. Not in the way archangels were bonded to prophets, this was something else entirely. Lucifer was, for six hours only, Dean Winchester’s guardian angel. Dean’s greatest regret was that he probably wouldn’t survive long enough for the irony in that to start being funny. The concept worked nothing like people thought it did, which was pretty much in line with everything else Dean had learned about angels.
All it took was some blood, the ritual Cas had found, and a whole lot of angel mojo. It was only supposed to work between angels and their vessels as a way of keeping them in good condition until the angel was ready to take over, but Dean had enough of Sam’s blood in him to do it and getting Lucifer’s blood had been less difficult than expected. His vessel was falling apart fast; everywhere the devil went he left behind the patches of skin that were falling. The cuts were no longer only skin deep and the patches had blood on them. If it hadn’t been for the fact that most angels had seen the obvious flaws in bonding themselves to humans and thus let the practice fall almost completely out of recollection, Lucifer may have covered his tracks a little better. He was a cocky son-of-a-bitch, and that was all the hunters had going for them.
Guardian angels, it turned out, didn’t protect people; they just made those people capable of protecting themselves. A link between an angel and a man that gave the man some of the angel’s powers, which meant the angel losing them. Dean would have been stronger if he were fighting anyone else; Lucifer was still an archangel outside of that fight. They became equals, the man and his guardian. Lucifer couldn’t use his powers on Dean, would grow tired just like a human-he had to win with sheer strength. After spending eternity being nearly all-powerful, Lucifer hadn’t really had much occasion to learn how to fight and there was the failing vessel to take into account. He was still strong, too strong, but it was as balanced as the battle was going to get.
They had used Castiel’s mojo. They hadn’t been sure using another angel’s power would work but in the end it had and it even created a weaker link between Dean and Castiel that helped them communicate while Dean was fighting. It took almost everything Cas had in him and he was still only able to make it work for a few hours. Sam let the demons think he was being sloppy, made sure they knew where he was going to be. Castiel had set the warehouse up-God had been a disappointment, but he’d taught Castiel a few tricks before refusing to get involved-so that Lucifer would be trapped once inside. It was up to Dean to go in and take him out, it was up to Dean to die fighting.
It could have been either of them; it probably would have been easier if it had been Sam. Dean had begged Castiel not to tell his brother this and had only been able to convince the angel on the grounds that bonding the devil with his vessel and then giving them five hours alone was a very bad idea. His last act was to lie to Sam, “the angels said it has to be me, so it has to be me.” Whenever he felt bad about this, he just remembered Lucifer talking through Sam’s mouth and the guilt dissipated. He had to protect Sam. That was all that had ever really mattered.
When it came down to it, Sam had gone back on all his promises to go with the plan, had begged to go with Dean until Castiel had to restrain him by force. Dean thanked the angel for all his help, for his friendship, and said goodbye as if it was only for an hour. Sam’s anger gave way to grief: he substituted struggling against Castiel’s invisible hold with making those damn eyes Dean could usually not say no to, but which were doing him no favors this time around. Dean didn’t know what to say to Sam, so he just broke protocol and took what was probably going to be his last kiss. He could taste Sam’s tears; he could feel Sam’s arms straining to pull him in.
“I can help you, Dean, let me help you.”
Dean turned his back and left his brother with the angel.
*~*~*
Dean hadn’t expected to survive this one, so things were really just going according to plan.
Dean could tell that Lucifer was on his last ounce of strength. He’d been hunting long enough to know when an enemy was getting desperate. The angel was still fighting and fighting hard, but Dean recognized the caged animal look in his eyes. Dean knew Lucifer wouldn’t be able to strike much longer.
Problem was, neither could Dean. His arms and legs all ached from exertion and Lucifer put enough power into his blows to draw some blood and slow him down. He’d been injured worse in hunts, but he’d been fighting for four hours straight. Lucifer was stronger than he was, and something would have to give soon. Dean had the dagger, Lucifer had no weapon, but the angel moved too fast for Dean to have time to pull the knife out. They were both exhausted, but Dean’s hits did nothing to Lucifer but force him back on the rare occasion they landed. Dean was doing his best not to feel hopeless.
Dean didn’t usually put much stock in Sam’s hippie theories about how his state of mind was the most important part of the fight, but Dean did notice that Lucifer’s technique had taken a significant hit when he realized he had to take Dean’s threats seriously. Lucifer’s confidence had begun to waver after an hour when Dean had finally managed to strike him, though he’d already been taken by surprise by the bond and Dean could tell the angel did not handle confusion well. Lucifer clearly also took enemy morale seriously, he was trying to mask his concern that Dean was still going strong, but Dean could read it on his face. Lucifer knew how the bond worked…Dean should have given up hours ago; he didn’t have any kind of special strength. But Lucifer didn’t know what Dean could put up with for his brother. That was the only mistake he made. It was enough.
Lucifer smiled, kept running his mouth, and dodged all of Dean’s attacks. Dean just got more exhausted and more nervous as the time slipped away. He ignored the things Lucifer said; Dean knew he was trying to distract him. If anything, Lucifer’s threats made him more determined, because Lucifer was right. If Dean failed, Sam would be right there and Lucifer would get his vessel-Sam would be torn to shreds until he said yes. That was what kept Dean going when it got down to it. If it had just been the Apocalypse, he would have collapsed under the strain hours ago. Anyone would have. But Sam…he had to fight for Sam. Lucifer was wasting his focus trying to make him forget that.
The angel spat something ugly out and in the time it took him to try and crush Dean’s spirit, Dean landed the hit. Sword through the heart. That was it. That was all it should have taken. Both the man and the angel cried out in pain; Lucifer’s chest burst, Dean’s only felt like it did.
The catch was in the binding. Everything that happened to one, the other would feel it. This did not mean that it actually happened to them, Dean’s chest was not ripped open like Lucifer’s. But Dean never really wanted to know what it felt like to get a knife through the heart. The pain should have been enough to force him back, make him pass out, but Dean wouldn’t let go. He plunged the sword in again and again, stabbing through the pain, not caring that he was probably going to kill himself by doing it.
“You’re never getting Sam,” he growled, piercing Lucifer’s chest after every word he could barely force out. He was right, Sam was safe. The devil’s eyes stared up at Dean with hatred, as dead as anything the hunter had ever seen. Dean didn’t relent until he literally couldn’t handle the pain-his body went into shock and he knew he was going to die. He had enough time to smile.
*~*~*
“One of them is dead, the other is dying,” the gravelly voice wavered, nearly cracked. Dean had to wonder how much angel was left in his friend. “You shouldn’t go in yet, if Lucifer is alive, he may still be able to-“
The angel’s warning was half-hearted at best. Dean heard it through a haze, if he heard it at all. The bond hadn’t worn off and he felt more than heard Castiel’s words, felt the angel following just steps behind his brother. It was only seconds before he was being pulled into Sam’s arms-so strong and so warm-and carried out. He didn’t know if he was dead yet, but this was better than Heaven could ever be. It was home. He let his fingers grab weakly at the collar of his brother’s shirt and Sam looked down at him, so tender that Dean didn’t blink, just prayed that it would be the last thing he saw.
“I did it, Sammy, I saved you. You’re going to be okay now.”
“Please, please, please don’t go. Hold on, okay? Just a few more seconds, Dean. Hold on.”
But Dean had been holding on for four hours. He wanted to stay for Sam, he was sure he couldn’t. His body ached everywhere; the hole in his chest seemed deeper after every second, even though his skin was still unbroken. Sun hit him as Sam carried him out of the warehouse; too harsh at first, but warm and reassuring.
“Heal him. Right now. Come on.”
Castiel pressed his hands against Dean’s chest and the pain dulled, was replaced by warmth that wouldn’t spread fast enough. It hit something cold, something dark inside of him and Dean couldn’t swallow the gasp as the two forces battled.
“Something is wrong,” Castiel said, sounding worried. “I don’t know how much I can do for him. He’s…tainted.”
“What the fuck do you mean tainted?”
“The bond must have connected them mentally, as well. I can save his body, Sam. But I can’t fix this; I can’t tell you what it will do. It may be better to let him go.”
“I don’t care if it takes everything you have in you, fix him. Please, Cas. Fix him. It doesn’t matter if he’s a vegetable, or if he doesn’t know who I am. I can’t let him go like this, not now. Please, you have to. You have to.”
Dean couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell Sam how ugly whatever it was Castiel had found was. He knew the angel could see more clearly, would understand that Dean didn’t want to take the risk of letting it win out. But Sam’s pleas were heartbreaking-Dean wouldn’t have refused them and he almost didn’t want Castiel to, not for his sake.
“Sam, he may not be Dean when he wakes up from this. Whatever is inside of him is pure evil; I won’t be able to save him.”
“No, you won’t. Not this time.”
Dean thought he saw Sam smile and wondered if his brother had really understood Castiel’s words.
“You don’t have to. Fix his body, Cas. I’m going to make sure he’s alright.”
It was the same determination Dean had felt after his father had warned him about Sam. The same unwavering confidence that he would save his brother that Sam had never quite had before, despite his strong words and promises in the past. Sam’s assurances had always been overconfident, laced with a desperate lack of conviction. Dean knew that Sam had never quite forgiven Castiel for being the one to rescue him from Hell, despite the friendship that now existed between his brother and the angel. Sam smiled at Castiel-almost smug-and not a doubt crossed his countenance for a second.
If anyone knew about overcoming something like this, it was Sam. Dean trusted and for the first time ever, things seemed okay. The Apocalypse was over, Lucifer was dead, Sam was safe and maybe he would be, too. Dean lost track of the conversation, let himself relax into the angel’s attempt to heal him, and slipped into a surprisingly easy sleep.
*~*~*
Dean expected to wake up in a hospital or a cheap motel room, but when he opened his eyes and looked around, he was somewhere between the two. It wasn’t the bland white walls and blinding ceiling lighting Dean had woken up to so many times when a hunt had landed him in the emergency room, but it wasn’t the stale scent and cardboard mattress of the rooms Dean and Sam had been sharing their entire lives. It was…actually kind of homey. Comfortable. Dean was out of his element.
“Sam,” Dean heard Castiel say sharply as soon as he had opened his eyes. Dean turned to face the rush of movement on his left and saw Sam starting awake in an arm chair.
“Up, he’s up? Is he up?” Sam looked around hysterically before realizing there was really only one place Dean could be. He fixed his eyes on the bed and all his features blurred into dimples.
“You’re up,” he informed Dean, as if Dean hadn’t noticed.
“Yeah, no fucking shit, Sherlock. And I’m starving.”
Sam leaned closer to the bed, still smiling at Dean as if Dean would pass out again if he looked anywhere else.
“Cas, he’s hungry. Get him something to eat.”
Castiel made an indignant face, but relented as soon as Sam turned to look at him. The angel rolled his eyes as if this was not the first time this happened and disappeared. Dean had always wondered how long it took his brother to get people to the point where they couldn’t say no to him.
“How long have I been-?“
“A week and a half.”
Cas had held on longer than he ever had, at least.
“Jesus. And, uh, everything turned out the way it was supposed to?”
Sam nodded, and if his smile could have gotten any wider, it probably would have. Dean was a little enraptured with it.
“Dude, give me some bad news or something, you’re weirding me out with that freaky grin.”
“I’m sorry. Just…we weren’t sure you were going to, I mean, we were pretty sure but it’s nice to…Cas said that if you wake up, your body will definitely heal, eventually.”
“Eventually?”
Dean tried to sit up and oh.
“Fuck!”
“Is it really bad? You look okay, so I didn’t know how bad it would be.”
“The fuck do you mean is it really bad? I fucking hurt everywhere.”
Sam’s face fell and Dean wished he’d kept it locked up. He was already kind of attached to the freaky grin.
“I’m sorry, Dean. There was nothing else we could do. We tried going to a hospital for the first few days but it wasn’t the kind of thing they can fix. They had no idea what was wrong with you, and then they started asking all these questions about your drug history and stuff. I figured you would be better off somewhere calmer. I was worried they’d take your prints or something. Now really isn’t the time to suddenly be FBI’s Most Wanted…again.”
“I hear that.”
“So, yeah. That’s why we’re here. I know it’s kind of, umm, not your style-“
“You mean so gay the walls are making my balls shrink?”
“It was the closest hotel to the hospital and I didn’t think you’d want to be sleeping on some crappy motel bed if we had to stay put for a while. Looks like it was the right choice, you feel crappy enough as is, right?”
“It’s okay, Sam. I’m completely unsurprised that you chose to trap me in a twelve year old girl’s bedroom.”
“Fuck you, dude. It’s not even that gay.”
“I am lying on frills, Sammy. My pillow has embroidery on it.”
“It’s a thankless job, looking after you.”
“Oh, that’s adorable coming from you of all people. If I could move my hands, I’d pop you one.”
“Aww, big talk!” Sam mimed pinching Dean’s cheeks and Dean couldn’t help laughing. It had been years since talking to his brother had been that easy.
Castiel suddenly appeared with bacon cheeseburgers for Dean and a kid’s meal for Sam. Sam threw his head back laughing and tossed the toy at the angel. Dean felt as if he’d missed a lot more than a week.
*~*~*
“So what have you two been doing while I was taking my hard-earned nap?”
“Same old, saving the world. Cas has been talking to some of the angels on our side, organizing hunters and stuff, finishing off the last of the really tough demons.”
“And you?”
Sam flushed. “I…have been sitting in this here chair alternating between drooling on my shoulder and making sure you’re okay.”
“Wow, that’s pathetic.”
Sam nodded knowingly. “It has been pretty pathetic, but then, you know. It’s us.”
“That’s an excellent point.”
“Well, I always was the brains.”
Dean was three days into not being able to move without hurting himself and so far, Sam had been so attentive that it was only times like these when he wanted to give his brother a friendly jab that he really regretted it. Relaxing for once was not as boring as Dean had always forced himself to believe it would be.
*~*~*
Sam was always there and Dean was getting better. There was very little to complain about. Dean spent most of his time sleeping and the rest of it with Sam.
Sam, on the other hand, was sleeping less than was normal, even with all the off time they had. Dean attributed this to the fact that Sam was still sleeping in the chair. They couldn’t afford two beds in a place as nice as this was for as long as they were staying and Sam didn’t want to risk making Dean uncomfortable by sharing the bed. Dean wasn’t allowed to tell Sam that he had never been uncomfortable like that. There were very serious unspoken rules to respect in their relationship, after all.
Sam and Dean had been fucking for nearly ten years, but that was it. That was all it was allowed to be. Fucking. They weren’t exclusive. They weren’t together. And if sometimes their fucking was a little softer than it should have been, that was just their brotherly affection sneaking its way in. That was different than being together. It had to be.
They went out drinking and they looked at girls, they (usually just Dean unless Sam was especially loaded) made crude jokes. Very rarely, one of them would act on it just to prove that they weren’t exclusive: Madison, Dr. Not-Really-a-Siren-After-All, that actress chick Dean couldn’t really remember anymore, but most of the time it was all talk and they went home mumbling excuses about how there just hadn’t been anyone there that night. Then they would reach for each other in the dark. If it had been awkward or anything less than perfect just once, Dean was sure he would have had the self-respect to cut it out.
He wasn’t fucking his little brother for kicks; it was a line he wouldn’t have crossed if it had just been sex. Dean wasn’t fucking his little brother at all. Sam was (always had been) everything Dean had, everything Dean wanted, everything Dean Loved. But Sam was just having fun, getting his urges out of the way in the easiest way possible, Dean didn’t know his exact motives-after all, they’d never talked about it-but he knew they weren’t the same as his. Sam would have said something; Sam lived for talking things out. Sam had been just as silent on the matter as Dean had, which meant Sam didn’t have feelings to discuss. And there was no way Dean was going to tell him and risk losing whatever Sam was giving him. He’d always known that Sam would go one day, find someone he really could love, and Dean would be his brother again. Dean just didn’t let himself think about that, did his best to exist while Sam was still there, took what he could get. The only time he’d ever risked letting Sam find out how he really felt was the kiss he’d stolen before the fight-he’d been expecting not to ever have to face his brother again. Sam was politely pretending it had never happened and had likely chalked it up to “last-moment-on-Earth” impulse.
So it was another two weeks before Dean finally got so fed up with looking at Sam’s mammoth body trying to fit in the chair that he manned up and said something. Sam had already been sitting on the bed, after all, Dean just pointed out that it was a king and there was enough room for both of them. Sam agreed to stay. Dean assumed he had been right because Sam slept quietly that night. Dean could feel his brother’s warmth on his side of the bed and his already-too-comfortable sleep got even better.
*~*~*
After that, Sam slept there every night and Dean was relieved to see the tension ebbing out of his body language. Even though Dean was still too weak to have sex, Sam held him close (a luxury they’d only indulged when they’d fallen asleep still slicked in each other’s sweat and freshly sated). Sam kissed him now…Sam kissed him a lot. Dean wasn’t one for high hopes, but sometimes it felt like Sam really was in Love with him. Sometimes it felt like he always had been.
Sam had been waiting his entire life to be able to do the kinds of things Dean did for him when he was hurt or sick but had never allowed anyone to do in return. He made no secret of enjoying the fact that Dean couldn’t fight him on it anymore. Some of it made sense: supporting him when he had to get out of bed, letting Dean hog the remote, and being more patient with Dean’s bad moods than ever. Some of it was ridiculous: force feeding him soup no matter how many times Dean reminded him he wasn’t that kind of sick…and then there was the touching. It helped; it’s not that it didn’t help. Dean’s muscles ached; Sam’s hands knew how to soothe. But Dean could feel Sam hard against his back and it was frustrating them both. Dean was sure Sam could go out and take care of those issues, a thought that drove him wild with years of pent-up jealousy, but he couldn’t even get turned on properly and he was sure he would burst pretty soon.
Dean looked forward to it nevertheless, made sure not to complain too convincingly when Sam got close. Dean had long lost track of time but he was sure it had been over a month before Sam managed to get Dean hard. Dean was so used to being turned on and frustrated that he hadn’t even realized his dick was working until Sam was licking his lips and promising to do things Dean had already been thinking about. He moved down and Dean tried to warn Sam, remind him that he wasn’t going to be able to return the favor but Sam just murmured something about Dean deserving it and swallowed him whole. They’d never done that, given favors without expecting anything in return, and Dean felt equal parts guilty and thrilled that for whatever reasons, Sam was willing to do this just for him. Things were almost perfect and Dean had forgotten the taint that had given him and Castiel such anxiety on the day he’d killed Lucifer, remembered it only as if it had been a dream.
*~*~*
More often than not, Sam got Dean off at least once a day. Dean started to suspect he was just trying to pass time. He’d been so content that he hadn’t realized how boring things must have been for Sam. Even after he had realized, he was still taken by surprise when Sam announced he wanted to hunt during the day now that Dean was on the mend and Cas would have more time to stop in and make sure he was alright. Dean had just assumed his brother would never want to hunt again; he’d thought they would both be done with it.
Dean had rationalized that Sam would only be gone for a few days. How many hunts could there possibly be in the area that Sam could drive and be back by night? But Sam left every morning and stayed out the entire day. It wasn’t something Dean could blame Sam for. If he hadn’t been restricted to bed, he would bolt, too. But things got ugly when Sam wasn’t around. Whatever Lucifer had done to him, Sam had been right that he was the only thing that could fix it. It hid from Sam as if it knew he could kill it, but it haunted Dean every instant that he wasn’t there.
At first it was just nightmares, always something to do with Sam. Sam dying while he was on those hunts without Dean to watch him, Sam saying nasty things, or worst of all, Sam wearing a white suit and not really Sam at all. Dean hated it so much he stopped sleeping during the day, wouldn’t even try to relax unless Sam was safe behind him, warm and breathing on his neck. But the longer Dean spent in the room alone day after day the more Lucifer’s threats came back to him, and an ugly little voice taunted him with things he hadn’t believed in years. Things he wouldn’t have believed if it wasn’t forcing him.
He doesn’t care like you do, he would hate you if he knew. You’re a burden to him. He’s only doing this because he has to. He can’t wait until you’re better so that he can forget you. He’s going to leave. He’s not coming back. He’s with someone else right now, someone better than you. You were never good enough. He’s going to die. You’ll never see him again. He was already mine, he’s going to Hell and you can’t save him.
Dean was going crazy with only those thoughts for company. They went away as soon as Sam walked in the door but they terrified him even when Sam was right there, alive and whole and just as fond and familiar as he had been before Dean had ever heard the word Stanford and felt sick at the memories.
*~*~*
When Dean looked at him too heavy in the morning, Sam would tell Dean to trust him and Dean had no idea what to say. Dean trusted Sam. But Dean wasn’t all Dean when his brother wasn’t there. Still, Dean had never jumped to let his brother see his weakness and he kept this hidden for as long as he could. Sam knew. He knew something was wrong and stressed that Dean was getting worse, but Dean couldn’t tell his brother the lies that he was starting to believe. Sam wouldn’t understand why Dean was thinking those things, would take it wrong and flip.
In his usual style, Dean didn’t say anything until finally he woke up one morning and he didn’t suspect, he was positive. If he let Sam leave, he would never come back. So Dean grabbed at Sam as he tried to get up, begged him to stay just one day and Sam wavered.
“Any other day, Dean, why’d you have to ask today?”
“Stay, Sam, please. Just don’t leave. Don’t leave me.”
“I have to, Dean. People will die. I have to today. Please don’t make this hard for me.”
Dean’s grip weakened immediately, he turned away from his brother and fell back into bed. Sam was right. Every day he wasn’t hunting, people were dying. Dean was already responsible for the lives he didn’t save every day he was still too weak to go out, and he wasn’t about to kill the people Sam could save.
“Yeah, Sam, you go ahead. I’ll see you later.”
“Hey, get some sleep while I’m gone, alright? You won’t even miss me.”
Of course, Dean did. He spent the rest of the day staring at the door, waiting for the knob to turn and for Sam to come and prove him wrong. Sam didn’t come back all day, not for hours after dark, not until Dean had already long given up hope.
Sam came in softly, as if he was trying not to wake his brother but Dean immediately sat up, turned on the lights, made sure Sam knew he was awake. Sam always kissed him first thing when he got back but Sam didn’t move closer to him and it took Dean several seconds before he realized Sam was hurt. Dean hadn’t thought about how weird it was that Sam had come home every day exhausted and drenched in sweat but never once bloody. It was unusual to get through a whole hunt without getting a least a little hurt when they were working together and Dean felt more useless than ever that Sam had been hunting for months without his protection and had been doing better than before. Dean wouldn’t even be able to patch his brother up, Sam had spent weeks sitting next to Dean and comforting him and Dean couldn’t even put a damned bandage on Sam’s wounds.
Dean crawled to the end of the bed and reached out to Sam. Sam got closer but pulled away as soon as Dean tried to kiss him.
“My lip is bleeding, Dean. You don’t want to get my blood in your-“
“My blood, too,” Dean murmured, before forcing his lips against Sam’s. Sam finally relaxed into it, returned it.
“You should lie down, Dean, you’re gonna hurt yourself,” Sam finally said, pulling away and easing Dean slowly back onto the bed.
“Sammy, you came back,” Dean said, before he could stop himself.
“Obviously, what the hell were you expecting?”
“You should wash off and come to bed, I’m tired.”
Sam made a face at Dean’s obvious avoidance but nodded and went to the bathroom. Sam was doing a remarkable job of keeping his bitchiness locked up for Dean’s sake and Dean was wondering how long Sam was going to let him push that when he felt Sam settle into the covers behind him and wrap his entire body around Dean’s. Dean pushed back into him and pulled his brother’s arm around him. He could feel Sam half-hard-he hadn’t forgotten how hot a good hunt always left them, how he and Sam would wrestle and fuck each other’s brains out and he wanted Sam so bad he didn’t care if he could take it or not.
“Sam,” he groaned and Sam tried to pull his arm back. Dean held on to it, he knew Sam was going to try to get his mouth on him but that wasn’t what Dean wanted. He wanted to get Sam off and feel every single inch of him. He arched his back, pushed his ass back into Sam and felt Sam’s erection go from half mast to all-the-way.
“Dean, we can’t. You, can you?”
“I don’t know. But try.”
Sam’s hands were shaking and his breath was ragged. It had been so long, Dean almost couldn’t remember what it felt like but he knew it would be better than it ever had been. Sam got out of bed long enough to undress and grab lube and Dean did his best to get his own clothes off before Sam distracted him with a kiss to the neck so that Dean wouldn’t feel as pathetic about needing his help. Sam was wrapped around him again; skin touching skin from toe to where Sam’s mouth was working on Dean’s neck and Dean’s senses were already overloading when Sam gently pressed one slick finger into him.
“That okay?” Sam asked, out of breath.
“More.”
Sam hesitated for a few seconds before removing and reinserting two fingers, he was working slowly but thoroughly, as anxious to get on with it as Dean was.
“I’m ready, Sammy. Just go slow.”
Sam’s hand took hold of Dean’s thigh as gently as he could manage and he pushed in slowly. Dean wanted to throw himself back or beg Sam to go faster but he knew his limitations and so did Sam. Still, the aching of his muscles was nothing compared to how good Sam’s slow thrusts felt and it wasn’t long before Dean’s hand was gripping the sheets in front of him with more power than he should have been capable of. He knew his knuckles would hurt in the morning but he couldn’t restrain himself and he figured an aching hand was better than the alternative.
Sam’s tender kisses didn’t let up and Dean let Sam’s slow rhythm lull away his dissatisfaction. Sam wasn’t holding anything back; Dean realized he was perfectly content to be tender. He closed his eyes and let out a whimpering sound that he was more than happy to let Sam misunderstand as frustration.
“Mmm, sorry, Dean. I’m sorry, I’ll take care of you.”
Sam’s hand snaked around Dean’s body and curled around his dick, began to work the same slow pace that Sam was fucking into him with. Dean turned his head to catch Sam’s lips in a kiss and he could feel Sam’s thrusting becoming strained, wanting to get faster as he got close to climax.
Dean felt heat pooling in his stomach; Sam came hard inside of him, and seconds later Sam’s hand was covered in his cum.
“I’m always going to come back,” Sam whispered into his neck and finally satisfied, Dean drifted off to sleep.
*~*~*
For the first time in his life, Dean was sure. The voice didn’t go away, but Dean held on to the memory of Sam’s promise. He trusted Sam and Sam understood what was wrong with him, at least to some degree. Dean just had to ask and Sam would stay with him, Dean knew which days he could press it and which days to let Sam go to work. Recovery came at an astonishing rate after that. Once Lucifer’s taunting was gone, Dean’s body was able to make real progress and it was finally starting to look like weeks, not months, before Dean could be back out at his brother’s side, doing what he’d always been doing.
When Castiel came by, he looked at Dean for a long moment before informing Dean that he seemed different and smiling. Dean knew that whatever Lucifer had left in him was completely killed off like Sam had known it would be. He figured that meant he was ready to hunt. Sam felt differently.
They fought about it for weeks. At first, maybe, Sam had been right. Dean’s body was healing but it wasn’t perfect and he would have been an easy target for even the simplest ghost. But after a while, Sam was just being overprotective and that, Dean pointed out with annoyance, was his job. He had been in the same room for what was probably half a year, he was finally capable of moving around and he felt as good as he ever had. Sam always asked for one more day and however much he hated it, Dean had to agree.
*~*~*
Finally one morning, Sam woke Dean by throwing something at his head and telling him to get his lazy ass out of bed. There was a hunt to check out three hours away and if Dean was going to sleep all day, they wouldn’t be back before dark. Dean was too confused to think of something smart to counter with, so he got dressed and followed Sam to the car. Dean hadn’t been inside the Impala for more than half an hour since he’d gotten well enough to drive to diners and the idea of three hours at her wheel made Dean perk up even more than the idea of going on a hunt. In all honesty, Dean was just glad Sam would have a little protection-he would have been content to never go on another hunt in his life. Not that Dean was going to complain if it was what Sam wanted. But Sam snatched the keys out of Dean’s hands and got into the driver’s seat with so much finality that Dean knew better than to argue. Annoyed, Dean got into the passenger’s seat and tried to guess where they were going from what they passed-he had no idea where they were, though Sam had told him the name of the town at least thirty times.
When finally Sam pulled into a quiet little suburban house, Dean was sure he was joking. The place didn’t look old enough to have a proper ghost and the whole thing just didn’t feel right. Still, Sam seemed sure. Dean followed him into the house.
“Are you sure this place is haunted?” Dean asked as they passed through the living room and he failed to pick up any EMT, creepy vibes, or hints that anyone even lived in the place to be haunted.
“Shut up,” Sam replied, moving past the living room without any of his usual attention to details. Sam seemed comfortable, as if he knew the place too well, and Dean smelled something familiar as soon as Sam pushed the door to the kitchen open.
He hurried to catch up with his brother and saw that he was right about the smell, the table was laid out with Boston Market the same way Dean had spread so many tables for holidays when they were kids and he was still in the habit of trying to give Sam the upbringing he deserved. Dean looked around the kitchen, at the sports car calendar on the wall and butch attempt at decorating and everything clicked. The whole house looked like Dean and smelled like Sam and he wondered that he hadn’t figured it out before he’d even walked in the door.
“You weren’t hunting.”
“Just that one time with the blood…I’m so tired of hunting, Dean. I can’t do it anymore and I don’t want you doing it anymore. I can’t watch you die again. I won’t, not until you’re old and begging for it.”
“So, what…you built us a home, Sammy?” Dean wasn’t even going to bother trying to name all the emotions bubbling up and threatening to overtake him.
He turned to look at his brother and Sam had wide pleading eyes, as if he was terrified Dean was going to reject his offering.
“I built you a home, Dean. It’s yours,” Sam moved closer, kissed Dean and pulled him close. His lips strayed to the marks he’d left on Dean’s neck over multiple nights. “And you’re mine,” he said forcefully.
“What are you saying, Sam?”
“I’m tired of sharing you. I’m tired of pretending I want anyone else and acting as if this isn’t what it is. No more bullshit, no more hunting. Just you and me, here. Please tell me that’s what you want, too.”
Dean broke out of Sam’s too-intense grip, sat at the table, and casually changed the subject to how the hell Sam had gotten dinner there before they’d arrived (Castiel was apparently good for nothing post-apocalypse but going on fast food runs). Dean knew Sam would understand what he meant. He smiled at his little brother; he didn’t have to say anything else.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, Castiel, Lucifer
Genre: Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Apocalypse Schmoop
Rating: NC-17 for Graphic Sexual Content, Language, and, you know, incestuous brothers.
Word Count: 6,910
Author’s Note: Written for aramuin as part of the spn_j2_xmas. I really hope you enjoy it! I’m sorry it’s so late but when I saw the deadline extension, I decided a “Happy New Years!” present made more sense than a “Happy Random Day in December!” present :). Thanks to lavendergaia for an incredible last minute beta and to scorpiod1 for her excellent guinea pig work. Hopefully my attempt at killing Lucifer won’t be too wanky. ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: Dean kills Lucifer and is nearly killed himself. When Dean’s left physically and emotionally drained, Sam finally gets his chance to save his brother.
It was a bad idea. Even Castiel knew it was a bad idea and it had been his bad idea. But they had no other options. The Colt hadn’t worked-a fact that Dean had to confess (in retrospect), should have been a given. They were running out of time.
Dean wanted to strike before Detroit. Sam told him what Lucifer said the night they tried to kill him and Sam didn’t know what Dean knew. Dean never told him about the little fieldtrip into the future Zachariah had taken him on while they were apart; Dean wouldn’t tell his brother that in some other world, he had said yes. But Dean had to do everything he could to stop Detroit from happening, had to strike before whatever the Devil was planning was ready. It took four months after finding out the Colt was a dead-end to find the ritual and another month to get everything they needed. They had one month to Detroit, so it was now or never.
Dean had actually thought the angel was making a joke when he suggested this…then he remembered Castiel didn’t really know how to do that yet. In order to kill Lucifer, Dean had to bond to Lucifer. Not in the way archangels were bonded to prophets, this was something else entirely. Lucifer was, for six hours only, Dean Winchester’s guardian angel. Dean’s greatest regret was that he probably wouldn’t survive long enough for the irony in that to start being funny. The concept worked nothing like people thought it did, which was pretty much in line with everything else Dean had learned about angels.
All it took was some blood, the ritual Cas had found, and a whole lot of angel mojo. It was only supposed to work between angels and their vessels as a way of keeping them in good condition until the angel was ready to take over, but Dean had enough of Sam’s blood in him to do it and getting Lucifer’s blood had been less difficult than expected. His vessel was falling apart fast; everywhere the devil went he left behind the patches of skin that were falling. The cuts were no longer only skin deep and the patches had blood on them. If it hadn’t been for the fact that most angels had seen the obvious flaws in bonding themselves to humans and thus let the practice fall almost completely out of recollection, Lucifer may have covered his tracks a little better. He was a cocky son-of-a-bitch, and that was all the hunters had going for them.
Guardian angels, it turned out, didn’t protect people; they just made those people capable of protecting themselves. A link between an angel and a man that gave the man some of the angel’s powers, which meant the angel losing them. Dean would have been stronger if he were fighting anyone else; Lucifer was still an archangel outside of that fight. They became equals, the man and his guardian. Lucifer couldn’t use his powers on Dean, would grow tired just like a human-he had to win with sheer strength. After spending eternity being nearly all-powerful, Lucifer hadn’t really had much occasion to learn how to fight and there was the failing vessel to take into account. He was still strong, too strong, but it was as balanced as the battle was going to get.
They had used Castiel’s mojo. They hadn’t been sure using another angel’s power would work but in the end it had and it even created a weaker link between Dean and Castiel that helped them communicate while Dean was fighting. It took almost everything Cas had in him and he was still only able to make it work for a few hours. Sam let the demons think he was being sloppy, made sure they knew where he was going to be. Castiel had set the warehouse up-God had been a disappointment, but he’d taught Castiel a few tricks before refusing to get involved-so that Lucifer would be trapped once inside. It was up to Dean to go in and take him out, it was up to Dean to die fighting.
It could have been either of them; it probably would have been easier if it had been Sam. Dean had begged Castiel not to tell his brother this and had only been able to convince the angel on the grounds that bonding the devil with his vessel and then giving them five hours alone was a very bad idea. His last act was to lie to Sam, “the angels said it has to be me, so it has to be me.” Whenever he felt bad about this, he just remembered Lucifer talking through Sam’s mouth and the guilt dissipated. He had to protect Sam. That was all that had ever really mattered.
When it came down to it, Sam had gone back on all his promises to go with the plan, had begged to go with Dean until Castiel had to restrain him by force. Dean thanked the angel for all his help, for his friendship, and said goodbye as if it was only for an hour. Sam’s anger gave way to grief: he substituted struggling against Castiel’s invisible hold with making those damn eyes Dean could usually not say no to, but which were doing him no favors this time around. Dean didn’t know what to say to Sam, so he just broke protocol and took what was probably going to be his last kiss. He could taste Sam’s tears; he could feel Sam’s arms straining to pull him in.
“I can help you, Dean, let me help you.”
Dean turned his back and left his brother with the angel.
*~*~*
Dean hadn’t expected to survive this one, so things were really just going according to plan.
Dean could tell that Lucifer was on his last ounce of strength. He’d been hunting long enough to know when an enemy was getting desperate. The angel was still fighting and fighting hard, but Dean recognized the caged animal look in his eyes. Dean knew Lucifer wouldn’t be able to strike much longer.
Problem was, neither could Dean. His arms and legs all ached from exertion and Lucifer put enough power into his blows to draw some blood and slow him down. He’d been injured worse in hunts, but he’d been fighting for four hours straight. Lucifer was stronger than he was, and something would have to give soon. Dean had the dagger, Lucifer had no weapon, but the angel moved too fast for Dean to have time to pull the knife out. They were both exhausted, but Dean’s hits did nothing to Lucifer but force him back on the rare occasion they landed. Dean was doing his best not to feel hopeless.
Dean didn’t usually put much stock in Sam’s hippie theories about how his state of mind was the most important part of the fight, but Dean did notice that Lucifer’s technique had taken a significant hit when he realized he had to take Dean’s threats seriously. Lucifer’s confidence had begun to waver after an hour when Dean had finally managed to strike him, though he’d already been taken by surprise by the bond and Dean could tell the angel did not handle confusion well. Lucifer clearly also took enemy morale seriously, he was trying to mask his concern that Dean was still going strong, but Dean could read it on his face. Lucifer knew how the bond worked…Dean should have given up hours ago; he didn’t have any kind of special strength. But Lucifer didn’t know what Dean could put up with for his brother. That was the only mistake he made. It was enough.
Lucifer smiled, kept running his mouth, and dodged all of Dean’s attacks. Dean just got more exhausted and more nervous as the time slipped away. He ignored the things Lucifer said; Dean knew he was trying to distract him. If anything, Lucifer’s threats made him more determined, because Lucifer was right. If Dean failed, Sam would be right there and Lucifer would get his vessel-Sam would be torn to shreds until he said yes. That was what kept Dean going when it got down to it. If it had just been the Apocalypse, he would have collapsed under the strain hours ago. Anyone would have. But Sam…he had to fight for Sam. Lucifer was wasting his focus trying to make him forget that.
The angel spat something ugly out and in the time it took him to try and crush Dean’s spirit, Dean landed the hit. Sword through the heart. That was it. That was all it should have taken. Both the man and the angel cried out in pain; Lucifer’s chest burst, Dean’s only felt like it did.
The catch was in the binding. Everything that happened to one, the other would feel it. This did not mean that it actually happened to them, Dean’s chest was not ripped open like Lucifer’s. But Dean never really wanted to know what it felt like to get a knife through the heart. The pain should have been enough to force him back, make him pass out, but Dean wouldn’t let go. He plunged the sword in again and again, stabbing through the pain, not caring that he was probably going to kill himself by doing it.
“You’re never getting Sam,” he growled, piercing Lucifer’s chest after every word he could barely force out. He was right, Sam was safe. The devil’s eyes stared up at Dean with hatred, as dead as anything the hunter had ever seen. Dean didn’t relent until he literally couldn’t handle the pain-his body went into shock and he knew he was going to die. He had enough time to smile.
*~*~*
“One of them is dead, the other is dying,” the gravelly voice wavered, nearly cracked. Dean had to wonder how much angel was left in his friend. “You shouldn’t go in yet, if Lucifer is alive, he may still be able to-“
The angel’s warning was half-hearted at best. Dean heard it through a haze, if he heard it at all. The bond hadn’t worn off and he felt more than heard Castiel’s words, felt the angel following just steps behind his brother. It was only seconds before he was being pulled into Sam’s arms-so strong and so warm-and carried out. He didn’t know if he was dead yet, but this was better than Heaven could ever be. It was home. He let his fingers grab weakly at the collar of his brother’s shirt and Sam looked down at him, so tender that Dean didn’t blink, just prayed that it would be the last thing he saw.
“I did it, Sammy, I saved you. You’re going to be okay now.”
“Please, please, please don’t go. Hold on, okay? Just a few more seconds, Dean. Hold on.”
But Dean had been holding on for four hours. He wanted to stay for Sam, he was sure he couldn’t. His body ached everywhere; the hole in his chest seemed deeper after every second, even though his skin was still unbroken. Sun hit him as Sam carried him out of the warehouse; too harsh at first, but warm and reassuring.
“Heal him. Right now. Come on.”
Castiel pressed his hands against Dean’s chest and the pain dulled, was replaced by warmth that wouldn’t spread fast enough. It hit something cold, something dark inside of him and Dean couldn’t swallow the gasp as the two forces battled.
“Something is wrong,” Castiel said, sounding worried. “I don’t know how much I can do for him. He’s…tainted.”
“What the fuck do you mean tainted?”
“The bond must have connected them mentally, as well. I can save his body, Sam. But I can’t fix this; I can’t tell you what it will do. It may be better to let him go.”
“I don’t care if it takes everything you have in you, fix him. Please, Cas. Fix him. It doesn’t matter if he’s a vegetable, or if he doesn’t know who I am. I can’t let him go like this, not now. Please, you have to. You have to.”
Dean couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell Sam how ugly whatever it was Castiel had found was. He knew the angel could see more clearly, would understand that Dean didn’t want to take the risk of letting it win out. But Sam’s pleas were heartbreaking-Dean wouldn’t have refused them and he almost didn’t want Castiel to, not for his sake.
“Sam, he may not be Dean when he wakes up from this. Whatever is inside of him is pure evil; I won’t be able to save him.”
“No, you won’t. Not this time.”
Dean thought he saw Sam smile and wondered if his brother had really understood Castiel’s words.
“You don’t have to. Fix his body, Cas. I’m going to make sure he’s alright.”
It was the same determination Dean had felt after his father had warned him about Sam. The same unwavering confidence that he would save his brother that Sam had never quite had before, despite his strong words and promises in the past. Sam’s assurances had always been overconfident, laced with a desperate lack of conviction. Dean knew that Sam had never quite forgiven Castiel for being the one to rescue him from Hell, despite the friendship that now existed between his brother and the angel. Sam smiled at Castiel-almost smug-and not a doubt crossed his countenance for a second.
If anyone knew about overcoming something like this, it was Sam. Dean trusted and for the first time ever, things seemed okay. The Apocalypse was over, Lucifer was dead, Sam was safe and maybe he would be, too. Dean lost track of the conversation, let himself relax into the angel’s attempt to heal him, and slipped into a surprisingly easy sleep.
*~*~*
Dean expected to wake up in a hospital or a cheap motel room, but when he opened his eyes and looked around, he was somewhere between the two. It wasn’t the bland white walls and blinding ceiling lighting Dean had woken up to so many times when a hunt had landed him in the emergency room, but it wasn’t the stale scent and cardboard mattress of the rooms Dean and Sam had been sharing their entire lives. It was…actually kind of homey. Comfortable. Dean was out of his element.
“Sam,” Dean heard Castiel say sharply as soon as he had opened his eyes. Dean turned to face the rush of movement on his left and saw Sam starting awake in an arm chair.
“Up, he’s up? Is he up?” Sam looked around hysterically before realizing there was really only one place Dean could be. He fixed his eyes on the bed and all his features blurred into dimples.
“You’re up,” he informed Dean, as if Dean hadn’t noticed.
“Yeah, no fucking shit, Sherlock. And I’m starving.”
Sam leaned closer to the bed, still smiling at Dean as if Dean would pass out again if he looked anywhere else.
“Cas, he’s hungry. Get him something to eat.”
Castiel made an indignant face, but relented as soon as Sam turned to look at him. The angel rolled his eyes as if this was not the first time this happened and disappeared. Dean had always wondered how long it took his brother to get people to the point where they couldn’t say no to him.
“How long have I been-?“
“A week and a half.”
Cas had held on longer than he ever had, at least.
“Jesus. And, uh, everything turned out the way it was supposed to?”
Sam nodded, and if his smile could have gotten any wider, it probably would have. Dean was a little enraptured with it.
“Dude, give me some bad news or something, you’re weirding me out with that freaky grin.”
“I’m sorry. Just…we weren’t sure you were going to, I mean, we were pretty sure but it’s nice to…Cas said that if you wake up, your body will definitely heal, eventually.”
“Eventually?”
Dean tried to sit up and oh.
“Fuck!”
“Is it really bad? You look okay, so I didn’t know how bad it would be.”
“The fuck do you mean is it really bad? I fucking hurt everywhere.”
Sam’s face fell and Dean wished he’d kept it locked up. He was already kind of attached to the freaky grin.
“I’m sorry, Dean. There was nothing else we could do. We tried going to a hospital for the first few days but it wasn’t the kind of thing they can fix. They had no idea what was wrong with you, and then they started asking all these questions about your drug history and stuff. I figured you would be better off somewhere calmer. I was worried they’d take your prints or something. Now really isn’t the time to suddenly be FBI’s Most Wanted…again.”
“I hear that.”
“So, yeah. That’s why we’re here. I know it’s kind of, umm, not your style-“
“You mean so gay the walls are making my balls shrink?”
“It was the closest hotel to the hospital and I didn’t think you’d want to be sleeping on some crappy motel bed if we had to stay put for a while. Looks like it was the right choice, you feel crappy enough as is, right?”
“It’s okay, Sam. I’m completely unsurprised that you chose to trap me in a twelve year old girl’s bedroom.”
“Fuck you, dude. It’s not even that gay.”
“I am lying on frills, Sammy. My pillow has embroidery on it.”
“It’s a thankless job, looking after you.”
“Oh, that’s adorable coming from you of all people. If I could move my hands, I’d pop you one.”
“Aww, big talk!” Sam mimed pinching Dean’s cheeks and Dean couldn’t help laughing. It had been years since talking to his brother had been that easy.
Castiel suddenly appeared with bacon cheeseburgers for Dean and a kid’s meal for Sam. Sam threw his head back laughing and tossed the toy at the angel. Dean felt as if he’d missed a lot more than a week.
*~*~*
“So what have you two been doing while I was taking my hard-earned nap?”
“Same old, saving the world. Cas has been talking to some of the angels on our side, organizing hunters and stuff, finishing off the last of the really tough demons.”
“And you?”
Sam flushed. “I…have been sitting in this here chair alternating between drooling on my shoulder and making sure you’re okay.”
“Wow, that’s pathetic.”
Sam nodded knowingly. “It has been pretty pathetic, but then, you know. It’s us.”
“That’s an excellent point.”
“Well, I always was the brains.”
Dean was three days into not being able to move without hurting himself and so far, Sam had been so attentive that it was only times like these when he wanted to give his brother a friendly jab that he really regretted it. Relaxing for once was not as boring as Dean had always forced himself to believe it would be.
*~*~*
Sam was always there and Dean was getting better. There was very little to complain about. Dean spent most of his time sleeping and the rest of it with Sam.
Sam, on the other hand, was sleeping less than was normal, even with all the off time they had. Dean attributed this to the fact that Sam was still sleeping in the chair. They couldn’t afford two beds in a place as nice as this was for as long as they were staying and Sam didn’t want to risk making Dean uncomfortable by sharing the bed. Dean wasn’t allowed to tell Sam that he had never been uncomfortable like that. There were very serious unspoken rules to respect in their relationship, after all.
Sam and Dean had been fucking for nearly ten years, but that was it. That was all it was allowed to be. Fucking. They weren’t exclusive. They weren’t together. And if sometimes their fucking was a little softer than it should have been, that was just their brotherly affection sneaking its way in. That was different than being together. It had to be.
They went out drinking and they looked at girls, they (usually just Dean unless Sam was especially loaded) made crude jokes. Very rarely, one of them would act on it just to prove that they weren’t exclusive: Madison, Dr. Not-Really-a-Siren-After-All, that actress chick Dean couldn’t really remember anymore, but most of the time it was all talk and they went home mumbling excuses about how there just hadn’t been anyone there that night. Then they would reach for each other in the dark. If it had been awkward or anything less than perfect just once, Dean was sure he would have had the self-respect to cut it out.
He wasn’t fucking his little brother for kicks; it was a line he wouldn’t have crossed if it had just been sex. Dean wasn’t fucking his little brother at all. Sam was (always had been) everything Dean had, everything Dean wanted, everything Dean Loved. But Sam was just having fun, getting his urges out of the way in the easiest way possible, Dean didn’t know his exact motives-after all, they’d never talked about it-but he knew they weren’t the same as his. Sam would have said something; Sam lived for talking things out. Sam had been just as silent on the matter as Dean had, which meant Sam didn’t have feelings to discuss. And there was no way Dean was going to tell him and risk losing whatever Sam was giving him. He’d always known that Sam would go one day, find someone he really could love, and Dean would be his brother again. Dean just didn’t let himself think about that, did his best to exist while Sam was still there, took what he could get. The only time he’d ever risked letting Sam find out how he really felt was the kiss he’d stolen before the fight-he’d been expecting not to ever have to face his brother again. Sam was politely pretending it had never happened and had likely chalked it up to “last-moment-on-Earth” impulse.
So it was another two weeks before Dean finally got so fed up with looking at Sam’s mammoth body trying to fit in the chair that he manned up and said something. Sam had already been sitting on the bed, after all, Dean just pointed out that it was a king and there was enough room for both of them. Sam agreed to stay. Dean assumed he had been right because Sam slept quietly that night. Dean could feel his brother’s warmth on his side of the bed and his already-too-comfortable sleep got even better.
*~*~*
After that, Sam slept there every night and Dean was relieved to see the tension ebbing out of his body language. Even though Dean was still too weak to have sex, Sam held him close (a luxury they’d only indulged when they’d fallen asleep still slicked in each other’s sweat and freshly sated). Sam kissed him now…Sam kissed him a lot. Dean wasn’t one for high hopes, but sometimes it felt like Sam really was in Love with him. Sometimes it felt like he always had been.
Sam had been waiting his entire life to be able to do the kinds of things Dean did for him when he was hurt or sick but had never allowed anyone to do in return. He made no secret of enjoying the fact that Dean couldn’t fight him on it anymore. Some of it made sense: supporting him when he had to get out of bed, letting Dean hog the remote, and being more patient with Dean’s bad moods than ever. Some of it was ridiculous: force feeding him soup no matter how many times Dean reminded him he wasn’t that kind of sick…and then there was the touching. It helped; it’s not that it didn’t help. Dean’s muscles ached; Sam’s hands knew how to soothe. But Dean could feel Sam hard against his back and it was frustrating them both. Dean was sure Sam could go out and take care of those issues, a thought that drove him wild with years of pent-up jealousy, but he couldn’t even get turned on properly and he was sure he would burst pretty soon.
Dean looked forward to it nevertheless, made sure not to complain too convincingly when Sam got close. Dean had long lost track of time but he was sure it had been over a month before Sam managed to get Dean hard. Dean was so used to being turned on and frustrated that he hadn’t even realized his dick was working until Sam was licking his lips and promising to do things Dean had already been thinking about. He moved down and Dean tried to warn Sam, remind him that he wasn’t going to be able to return the favor but Sam just murmured something about Dean deserving it and swallowed him whole. They’d never done that, given favors without expecting anything in return, and Dean felt equal parts guilty and thrilled that for whatever reasons, Sam was willing to do this just for him. Things were almost perfect and Dean had forgotten the taint that had given him and Castiel such anxiety on the day he’d killed Lucifer, remembered it only as if it had been a dream.
*~*~*
More often than not, Sam got Dean off at least once a day. Dean started to suspect he was just trying to pass time. He’d been so content that he hadn’t realized how boring things must have been for Sam. Even after he had realized, he was still taken by surprise when Sam announced he wanted to hunt during the day now that Dean was on the mend and Cas would have more time to stop in and make sure he was alright. Dean had just assumed his brother would never want to hunt again; he’d thought they would both be done with it.
Dean had rationalized that Sam would only be gone for a few days. How many hunts could there possibly be in the area that Sam could drive and be back by night? But Sam left every morning and stayed out the entire day. It wasn’t something Dean could blame Sam for. If he hadn’t been restricted to bed, he would bolt, too. But things got ugly when Sam wasn’t around. Whatever Lucifer had done to him, Sam had been right that he was the only thing that could fix it. It hid from Sam as if it knew he could kill it, but it haunted Dean every instant that he wasn’t there.
At first it was just nightmares, always something to do with Sam. Sam dying while he was on those hunts without Dean to watch him, Sam saying nasty things, or worst of all, Sam wearing a white suit and not really Sam at all. Dean hated it so much he stopped sleeping during the day, wouldn’t even try to relax unless Sam was safe behind him, warm and breathing on his neck. But the longer Dean spent in the room alone day after day the more Lucifer’s threats came back to him, and an ugly little voice taunted him with things he hadn’t believed in years. Things he wouldn’t have believed if it wasn’t forcing him.
He doesn’t care like you do, he would hate you if he knew. You’re a burden to him. He’s only doing this because he has to. He can’t wait until you’re better so that he can forget you. He’s going to leave. He’s not coming back. He’s with someone else right now, someone better than you. You were never good enough. He’s going to die. You’ll never see him again. He was already mine, he’s going to Hell and you can’t save him.
Dean was going crazy with only those thoughts for company. They went away as soon as Sam walked in the door but they terrified him even when Sam was right there, alive and whole and just as fond and familiar as he had been before Dean had ever heard the word Stanford and felt sick at the memories.
*~*~*
When Dean looked at him too heavy in the morning, Sam would tell Dean to trust him and Dean had no idea what to say. Dean trusted Sam. But Dean wasn’t all Dean when his brother wasn’t there. Still, Dean had never jumped to let his brother see his weakness and he kept this hidden for as long as he could. Sam knew. He knew something was wrong and stressed that Dean was getting worse, but Dean couldn’t tell his brother the lies that he was starting to believe. Sam wouldn’t understand why Dean was thinking those things, would take it wrong and flip.
In his usual style, Dean didn’t say anything until finally he woke up one morning and he didn’t suspect, he was positive. If he let Sam leave, he would never come back. So Dean grabbed at Sam as he tried to get up, begged him to stay just one day and Sam wavered.
“Any other day, Dean, why’d you have to ask today?”
“Stay, Sam, please. Just don’t leave. Don’t leave me.”
“I have to, Dean. People will die. I have to today. Please don’t make this hard for me.”
Dean’s grip weakened immediately, he turned away from his brother and fell back into bed. Sam was right. Every day he wasn’t hunting, people were dying. Dean was already responsible for the lives he didn’t save every day he was still too weak to go out, and he wasn’t about to kill the people Sam could save.
“Yeah, Sam, you go ahead. I’ll see you later.”
“Hey, get some sleep while I’m gone, alright? You won’t even miss me.”
Of course, Dean did. He spent the rest of the day staring at the door, waiting for the knob to turn and for Sam to come and prove him wrong. Sam didn’t come back all day, not for hours after dark, not until Dean had already long given up hope.
Sam came in softly, as if he was trying not to wake his brother but Dean immediately sat up, turned on the lights, made sure Sam knew he was awake. Sam always kissed him first thing when he got back but Sam didn’t move closer to him and it took Dean several seconds before he realized Sam was hurt. Dean hadn’t thought about how weird it was that Sam had come home every day exhausted and drenched in sweat but never once bloody. It was unusual to get through a whole hunt without getting a least a little hurt when they were working together and Dean felt more useless than ever that Sam had been hunting for months without his protection and had been doing better than before. Dean wouldn’t even be able to patch his brother up, Sam had spent weeks sitting next to Dean and comforting him and Dean couldn’t even put a damned bandage on Sam’s wounds.
Dean crawled to the end of the bed and reached out to Sam. Sam got closer but pulled away as soon as Dean tried to kiss him.
“My lip is bleeding, Dean. You don’t want to get my blood in your-“
“My blood, too,” Dean murmured, before forcing his lips against Sam’s. Sam finally relaxed into it, returned it.
“You should lie down, Dean, you’re gonna hurt yourself,” Sam finally said, pulling away and easing Dean slowly back onto the bed.
“Sammy, you came back,” Dean said, before he could stop himself.
“Obviously, what the hell were you expecting?”
“You should wash off and come to bed, I’m tired.”
Sam made a face at Dean’s obvious avoidance but nodded and went to the bathroom. Sam was doing a remarkable job of keeping his bitchiness locked up for Dean’s sake and Dean was wondering how long Sam was going to let him push that when he felt Sam settle into the covers behind him and wrap his entire body around Dean’s. Dean pushed back into him and pulled his brother’s arm around him. He could feel Sam half-hard-he hadn’t forgotten how hot a good hunt always left them, how he and Sam would wrestle and fuck each other’s brains out and he wanted Sam so bad he didn’t care if he could take it or not.
“Sam,” he groaned and Sam tried to pull his arm back. Dean held on to it, he knew Sam was going to try to get his mouth on him but that wasn’t what Dean wanted. He wanted to get Sam off and feel every single inch of him. He arched his back, pushed his ass back into Sam and felt Sam’s erection go from half mast to all-the-way.
“Dean, we can’t. You, can you?”
“I don’t know. But try.”
Sam’s hands were shaking and his breath was ragged. It had been so long, Dean almost couldn’t remember what it felt like but he knew it would be better than it ever had been. Sam got out of bed long enough to undress and grab lube and Dean did his best to get his own clothes off before Sam distracted him with a kiss to the neck so that Dean wouldn’t feel as pathetic about needing his help. Sam was wrapped around him again; skin touching skin from toe to where Sam’s mouth was working on Dean’s neck and Dean’s senses were already overloading when Sam gently pressed one slick finger into him.
“That okay?” Sam asked, out of breath.
“More.”
Sam hesitated for a few seconds before removing and reinserting two fingers, he was working slowly but thoroughly, as anxious to get on with it as Dean was.
“I’m ready, Sammy. Just go slow.”
Sam’s hand took hold of Dean’s thigh as gently as he could manage and he pushed in slowly. Dean wanted to throw himself back or beg Sam to go faster but he knew his limitations and so did Sam. Still, the aching of his muscles was nothing compared to how good Sam’s slow thrusts felt and it wasn’t long before Dean’s hand was gripping the sheets in front of him with more power than he should have been capable of. He knew his knuckles would hurt in the morning but he couldn’t restrain himself and he figured an aching hand was better than the alternative.
Sam’s tender kisses didn’t let up and Dean let Sam’s slow rhythm lull away his dissatisfaction. Sam wasn’t holding anything back; Dean realized he was perfectly content to be tender. He closed his eyes and let out a whimpering sound that he was more than happy to let Sam misunderstand as frustration.
“Mmm, sorry, Dean. I’m sorry, I’ll take care of you.”
Sam’s hand snaked around Dean’s body and curled around his dick, began to work the same slow pace that Sam was fucking into him with. Dean turned his head to catch Sam’s lips in a kiss and he could feel Sam’s thrusting becoming strained, wanting to get faster as he got close to climax.
Dean felt heat pooling in his stomach; Sam came hard inside of him, and seconds later Sam’s hand was covered in his cum.
“I’m always going to come back,” Sam whispered into his neck and finally satisfied, Dean drifted off to sleep.
*~*~*
For the first time in his life, Dean was sure. The voice didn’t go away, but Dean held on to the memory of Sam’s promise. He trusted Sam and Sam understood what was wrong with him, at least to some degree. Dean just had to ask and Sam would stay with him, Dean knew which days he could press it and which days to let Sam go to work. Recovery came at an astonishing rate after that. Once Lucifer’s taunting was gone, Dean’s body was able to make real progress and it was finally starting to look like weeks, not months, before Dean could be back out at his brother’s side, doing what he’d always been doing.
When Castiel came by, he looked at Dean for a long moment before informing Dean that he seemed different and smiling. Dean knew that whatever Lucifer had left in him was completely killed off like Sam had known it would be. He figured that meant he was ready to hunt. Sam felt differently.
They fought about it for weeks. At first, maybe, Sam had been right. Dean’s body was healing but it wasn’t perfect and he would have been an easy target for even the simplest ghost. But after a while, Sam was just being overprotective and that, Dean pointed out with annoyance, was his job. He had been in the same room for what was probably half a year, he was finally capable of moving around and he felt as good as he ever had. Sam always asked for one more day and however much he hated it, Dean had to agree.
*~*~*
Finally one morning, Sam woke Dean by throwing something at his head and telling him to get his lazy ass out of bed. There was a hunt to check out three hours away and if Dean was going to sleep all day, they wouldn’t be back before dark. Dean was too confused to think of something smart to counter with, so he got dressed and followed Sam to the car. Dean hadn’t been inside the Impala for more than half an hour since he’d gotten well enough to drive to diners and the idea of three hours at her wheel made Dean perk up even more than the idea of going on a hunt. In all honesty, Dean was just glad Sam would have a little protection-he would have been content to never go on another hunt in his life. Not that Dean was going to complain if it was what Sam wanted. But Sam snatched the keys out of Dean’s hands and got into the driver’s seat with so much finality that Dean knew better than to argue. Annoyed, Dean got into the passenger’s seat and tried to guess where they were going from what they passed-he had no idea where they were, though Sam had told him the name of the town at least thirty times.
When finally Sam pulled into a quiet little suburban house, Dean was sure he was joking. The place didn’t look old enough to have a proper ghost and the whole thing just didn’t feel right. Still, Sam seemed sure. Dean followed him into the house.
“Are you sure this place is haunted?” Dean asked as they passed through the living room and he failed to pick up any EMT, creepy vibes, or hints that anyone even lived in the place to be haunted.
“Shut up,” Sam replied, moving past the living room without any of his usual attention to details. Sam seemed comfortable, as if he knew the place too well, and Dean smelled something familiar as soon as Sam pushed the door to the kitchen open.
He hurried to catch up with his brother and saw that he was right about the smell, the table was laid out with Boston Market the same way Dean had spread so many tables for holidays when they were kids and he was still in the habit of trying to give Sam the upbringing he deserved. Dean looked around the kitchen, at the sports car calendar on the wall and butch attempt at decorating and everything clicked. The whole house looked like Dean and smelled like Sam and he wondered that he hadn’t figured it out before he’d even walked in the door.
“You weren’t hunting.”
“Just that one time with the blood…I’m so tired of hunting, Dean. I can’t do it anymore and I don’t want you doing it anymore. I can’t watch you die again. I won’t, not until you’re old and begging for it.”
“So, what…you built us a home, Sammy?” Dean wasn’t even going to bother trying to name all the emotions bubbling up and threatening to overtake him.
He turned to look at his brother and Sam had wide pleading eyes, as if he was terrified Dean was going to reject his offering.
“I built you a home, Dean. It’s yours,” Sam moved closer, kissed Dean and pulled him close. His lips strayed to the marks he’d left on Dean’s neck over multiple nights. “And you’re mine,” he said forcefully.
“What are you saying, Sam?”
“I’m tired of sharing you. I’m tired of pretending I want anyone else and acting as if this isn’t what it is. No more bullshit, no more hunting. Just you and me, here. Please tell me that’s what you want, too.”
Dean broke out of Sam’s too-intense grip, sat at the table, and casually changed the subject to how the hell Sam had gotten dinner there before they’d arrived (Castiel was apparently good for nothing post-apocalypse but going on fast food runs). Dean knew Sam would understand what he meant. He smiled at his little brother; he didn’t have to say anything else.