SPN fic: 'Sacraments' [R] Sam/Dean
Title: Sacraments
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Thanks to: My beta, monicawoe for asking the most intriguing questions.
Length: 3,300 words
Spoilers: This is a pre-series AU with mild spoilers for events in seasons 1 and 2.
Disclaimer: The concepts and characters of Supernatural belong to the CW.
Written for: This is a pinch-hit gift for hunters_retreat in the sammessiah Anti-Christmas challenge. Prompt: Dean was always a demon and raised Sam to be one too.
Warnings/Enticements: Sibling incest, underage sexuality, demon!Dean, dark!Sam, violence, bloodplay, power dynamics, and blasphemy.
Summary: I’ve been known by a thousand names over the ages. Raum, Akoman, Mara, Azazel’s Hound. Lately, I go by Dean Winchester.
ETA: reena_jenkins has recorded an incredible podfic of this story. You can download the mp3, or a podbook with gorgeous coverart. Whichever you choose, you're in for a treat! Make sure to leave some feedback for reena!
I’ve been known by a thousand names over the ages. Raum, Akoman, Mara, Azazel’s Hound. Lately, I go by Dean Winchester. While my Lord slipped past simple hunter’s wards to give the younger Winchester boy his baptismal taste of demon blood, I possessed the elder son. When my Lord burned the infant’s mother, his father thrust him into my arms.
“Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don't look back! Now, Dean! Go!”
I took him, and I went. I stood outside with the babe in my arms, basking in the heat of the flames and looking down at my prize. So fragile, with large dark eyes, his breath rich with hints of milk and sulfur. Samuel Winchester.
Sammy, insisted the child-soul that I had shoved aside to take possession of this meat-suit. He’s MY little brother.
I was intrigued. The souls of humans I’d possessed before had only screamed, or begged incoherently. This soul was confused but strong, and devoted to the infant that had become my charge. I could crush it to silence, or toss it up to Heaven. But I was meant to pass as a human, as this particular child. While it wasn’t part of Azazel’s plan, the soul might prove useful.
Now he’s OUR little brother, I told it.
John Winchester ran out of the burning house, snatched us both up, and took the babe away from me. I wanted to tear him apart for that. I could easily have ignored the angry kick from the child-soul and done it, but Azazel’s orders were clear and specific. John Winchester was not to be harmed. Samuel Winchester would be raised as a human.
And raise him I did. Sammy was clever, curious, and stubborn as Hell. Even as a baby - if he didn’t want mashed bananas, you might as well eat them yourself, because he’d starve to death before opening his mouth. If Sammy decided he did want something, he’d get it, sooner or later. I taught him that. To take what he wanted, by skill, charm, cunning, or force.
On Sammy’s seventh birthday he reached the age of reason. I shared the sacrament with him; my blood in his mouth, his blood in mine.
“Blood brothers,” Sammy repeated after me, tilting his head to peer through his bangs. I felt it when his tongue wiggled a sore loose tooth. My heart sped up at the ghost-sensation, and so did his, twinned with mine. I grinned, and Sammy threw himself at me, arms clasped trustingly around my neck.
“Forever,” he said solemnly.
“Forever,” I agreed, pressing my lips to the soft skin behind his ear.
Sammy Sammy Sam Sam, the soul within me murmured indistinctly, content to savor the new connection to our brother. I was in complete agreement with it, as usual.
I taught Sammy to read and to write. To drive and to shoot. To enjoy everything this world had to offer - the taste of chocolate ice cream and my blood, the heat of summer sun and my mouth, the soft brush of pussy willow buds and the rasp of stubble against tender skin. The electric adrenaline thrill of the hunt. The satisfaction of taking control, and the bliss of losing it.
Sam read William Blake and Ayn Rand, Nietzsche and Machiavelli like he was chatting with old friends. He read people like they were open books. Sam always knew which lie would work best, which men could be cowed by threats, and when the shock of sudden violence would be most effective.
Sam wanted me. I made sure of it. Hot glances, massages, soft almost-brotherly kisses, sparring that turned to wrestling that had him moaning, dick pressed hard against my thigh before I pinned him and walked away. I left the bathroom door open when I showered and shared a bed with him wearing just my boxers.
Sam was fourteen and I’d gone to bed drunk off my ass the night he finally snapped. I woke up stripped naked and cuffed to the bed. I dared him to do it, to fuck me, to take everything he wanted. Sam came in my mouth that night, in my ass, all over my stomach, cussing me out for being such a prick tease when I was even more desperate for it than he was. By the time he let me come I would have cut out my heart for him, I was so fucking proud of my little brother.
Despite all my efforts, Sam was … gentle. He took no pleasure in the suffering of others; not even in my own when I offered it to him with both hands. When he was younger I thought that was a weakness. But as Sam grew up, he bent me to his will with kindness more thoroughly than Azazel ever had with torments. Sam’s way was better. Stronger. Humans and demons alike would love him as much as they would fear him, and that would make him unstoppable.
We wrapped around each other until I couldn’t tell where Sam ended and I began, and Dad didn’t even notice until Sam was eighteen.
“Damn it, Sam,” Dad shouted from inside the motel room. I froze just outside the door. “Your brother would do anything for you, and you took advantage of that. You need to put a stop to this, and you need to do it now.”
Sam murmured a reply, long and low. Dad answered him, calmer now, too quiet to hear. I considered sneaking away and coming back singing something real loud. Bon Jovi, maybe. Or Metallica.
“Stanford?” Dad yelped. “Fine. Fine! That’ll work. I’ve got three grand stashed away. You can take it as seed money. But you need to leave as soon as you graduate.”
Dad was trying to take Sam away from me! I shifted my weight forward, ready to burst through the door, and slammed into a wall of agony. For the first time in centuries I fought to disobey Azazel’s command. It was - the pain - I couldn’t. I bent over, hands on my thighs, taking tiny sips of air until it was possible to stand again. I slipped away and hot-wired a car. Three hundred miles down the highway I slit a whore’s throat and used her blood to contact Azazel.
He was amused. It’s about time for the boy to stretch his wings. Let him run away to college. Once he’s there, keep your distance. Let’s see if he’ll indulge some darker appetites once he gets out from under the watchful eyes of Daddy and big brother.
The next six weeks were torture. Dad was away on one hunt after another, just stopping in long enough to restock his ammo. Sam avoided me, shutting down the bond between us until I could barely tell he was alive. He went straight from school to the library and slept over at a friend’s house every night. I waited outside Sam’s school to talk to him. Sam smiled pleasantly and walked right past me, like I was a stranger. Alastair himself would have been impressed by the cruelty.
I fucked a girl in the backseat of the Impala, parked outside the library window where Sam sat working on his homework. I made her scream my name. I’d have ripped her throat out for Sam if he’d so much as glanced at me, but when I looked up at the window, he’d gotten up and moved away.
I went to Sam’s graduation. He was there, tall and graceful, a wolf among sheep in his cap and gown. I tracked Sam down after the ceremony. He saw me and broke away from the group of kids talking to him, eyes a little wild, then hugged me tight and said Dad was expecting us for dinner.
Over dinner, Sam announced that he was going to Stanford in the fall. They fought, and Dad kicked him out. It was a well-planned con. Elegant; lies mixed in with the truth, real emotions powering the yelling. I recognized Sam’s fingerprints all over it. I’d taught him how to do that, and I’d be impressed if he wasn’t using it on me.
Sam left. Dad crawled into a bottle. I worked my way west across five states, slaughtering everything Dad would recognize as monsters, and a few things he wouldn’t. When I talked to Dad on the phone, it was awkward; information about hauntings, warlocks and werewolves scattered around the dead silences where we didn’t mention Sam.
I looked for jobs on the West Coast, just in case Sam needed me. Azazel’s order to keep my distance set a precise minimum distance between me and Stanford. I bought a P.O. Box in Sacramento and subscribed to the Palo Alto Daily Post and the San Jose Mercury News. I swung by my mailbox every week to read through the crime page, the obituaries, and the rest of the paper. Whenever I found something suspicious, something nasty, I wondered if it was a monster. If Sam was hunting it. Or if maybe Azazel’s predictions had come true, and Sam was the monster behind the story in the paper.
Sam called that spring. It was the first time he’d spoken to me in almost a year, and he called to tell me he’d met a girl. Jessica had a boyfriend back home, but Sam knew from the moment he met her she was the one. She even smelled right.
I barely kept myself from snarling into the phone. Demon. Sam had found another demon to give him the blood he wasn’t getting from me.
I gave him some good fucking advice on how to break them up. Then I suggested some things he should do to her, once she was his. After all, I’d sure enjoyed them. Sam laughed nervously and cut the conversation short.
I snatched a pretty little co-ed from a bar in Crescent City - a blonde. Sam said Jessica had long blonde hair. I drove her out to an empty warehouse by the docks. I took my time with her, nice and messy the way I hadn’t allowed myself since I took this meat suit. When the body was cold, I contacted Azazel. I demanded to know if he had sent a demon to Sam.
You didn’t think I’d leave him with no guidance at all, did you? Don’t worry. I’ve got someone keeping Sammy warm for me.
I told Azazel that since little Sammy was all grown up now, my job was done, and I wanted back in Hell pronto.
My my, you are picking up bad habits up there, aren’t you? Tempting as it is to bring you home and remind you of your place, Hound, Dean Winchester still has a role to play. Clean up after yourself.
It took four hours to clean up the warehouse. Salt water on the rags burned my skin, a dull ache I’d learned to ignore over the years. Bleach to destroy the DNA. I buried the body, instead of salting and burning it. Screw it. If she came back vengeful, she’d probably be more fun than she was alive.
Time passed. It was November 2nd, 2005. I’d spent twenty-two years as Dean Winchester - eighteen years with Sam, and three alone. I was sitting in an all-night diner, drinking coffee and playing solitaire exactly fifty miles away from Palo Alto, pressed up against the edge of Azazel’s command like a dog pacing an electric fence.
My phone rang. It was Dad. I was surprised; hadn’t heard from him in months. I got my head in the game and answered.
“Hey, Dad! What’s -”
“I know.” Dad interrupted, voice ice cold.
“Know what? Dad, are you drunk?” Of course he was drunk. It was November 2nd. “Where are you?”
“Sitting outside Sam’s apartment,” Dad answered. “Only, it’s not Sam, is it? I didn’t just lose Mary that night. You sons of bitches murdered my entire family.”
Oh shit. “Look, Dad, I don’t know what you think is going on, but -”
“Shut up,” Dad spat, and I did, through pure force of habit. “I’m gonna go in there. I’m going to destroy the thing pretending to be my son. And then I’m coming for you.” Click. Silence.
I called back. It went straight to voicemail.
I ran for the car and pulled out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires. I slammed into and through the wall of pain that tried to keep me away from Sam. My baby hit 120 mph, engine roaring, as I finally gave in to the force that had been pulling me towards Sam every minute since he’d left. If any cops tried to get in my way I’d run them off the road.
Dad. Dad was going after Sam. Had I screwed up somehow? Had Sam? Or had all Dad’s research finally, somehow, led him to the truth? Not even the truth. I was a demon, sure. But Sam? Sam was human. Mostly.
I had to park two blocks away from Sam’s apartment. The road was blocked off by cop cars, fire engines, and ambulances. I ran towards the building, dodging a patrolman who tried to stop me, and then found myself walking, racing heart slowing, comforted by a familiar smell.
The night was painted red and blue by the emergency vehicle lights. A few firefighters were spraying water onto the nearby buildings. Everyone else on the scene was staring at Sam’s building. At the collapsed ruin that had been Sam’s building.
It was still burning; radiating heat like a blast furnace. But these flames gave off darkness, not light. I smelled burning hair, charred flesh, human fear, and sulfur. Hellfire. Right here on Earth. It shouldn’t even be possible. I guess no one ever told Sam that.
There were a dozen ambulances, but the EMTs were just standing around and watching. Of course. What hellfire touched, it took. There’d be no survivors. I found Sam sitting huddled in a blanket in the back of one of the ambulances. He stared at me blankly, and didn’t say a word.
“Come on, Sammy, we need to get out of here.”
Sam didn’t answer, but he followed willingly when I grabbed him by the hand, like when he was little, and led him through the crowd to the Impala.
I drove out of town and checked us into a motel. Sam settled down onto his bed, the one farthest from the door. I got him a glass of water. He took it and gulped the water down, spilling some because his hands were shaking so bad. I took the glass back from him.
“More?” I asked.
Sam shook his head no. He took a breath like he was about to say something, then let it out on a sigh and slumped down, elbows on his knees. I left the glass by the sink, settled on my bed across from him, and waited.
“I was in bed with Jess when someone pounded on the door,” Sam said eventually, his voice rough with smoke and emotion, staring down at his hands. “It was Dad, so I let him in. He started waving this old Colt around, saying crazy shit about how he’d found a gun that could kill anything, even me.” Sam peered at me through his bangs. “At first I was scared, but then Jess screamed, and she tried to hit Dad, and the gun went off. I … there was this lightning crackle, and she fell down, and I,” his voice dropped even lower and I leaned forwards to hear him. “I got angry. So angry. It was like this tidal wave inside me.”
Sam stood up, towering over me as I sat on the bed. I had to tilt my head way back to see him. Damn, the kid had grown another couple inches while he was away. “I burned them, Dean. Dad, Jess, my neighbors. I wanted them gone, and then the fire came, and when the screaming started I didn’t even care. I burned them all, just like Mom.”
“Not like Mom,” I corrected him. On his best day, Azazel could never have called hellfire to Earth.
Sam suddenly lashed out, his fist connecting with my chin. As I rocked back with the force of it his weight was on me, pressing me back down onto the bed. I started to struggle and felt the cold edge of a blade against my throat. No idea where Sam had concealed that, but I noticed his hands weren’t shaking any more.
“Nice move, little brother,” I told him. Not just the take-down. The whole thing. Sam made me think he was in shock, completely harmless, so I would take him to a private location and leave myself vulnerable. He’d manipulated me from the moment he saw me at the fire.
Sam smiled a tight little smile. “No more lies,” he said. I could smell the hellfire on him, on his clothes, on his soul. “Tell me the truth.” The knife was nothing. Sam could poke holes in me all day long, if that’s what flicked his Bic. But Sam’s eyes, hard with a rage that could command the fires of Hell. His voice, ringing with power. It made me want to fall to my knees, beg to suck his dick, give him anything he wanted. And Sam wanted the truth.
“What am I?” Sam demanded.
“The Boy King,” I answered, not able to lie, not even wanting to.
Sam’s teeth bit into his lower lip. A dot of red appeared there. A tiny, needy sound escaped my throat.
“King of what?” he asked.
“Hell. Earth. Everything.”
He closed his eyes, jerked his chin in a sideways nod, and looked back down at me. “Then what are you?”
So many possible answers to that, but Sam wanted the truth. There was only one true answer to that question. “Yours,” I told him.
Sam sat back. I gasped at the pressure against my half-hard dick. Sam put the knife down on the bed-side table. His eyes roved over my body and by the time they returned to my face they were dark with hunger.
“Dean,” Sam said in a whisper that echoed through me. It was as if Sam summoned me; created me out of the empty dark with a single word. Sam reached towards my face. His fingers curled around the back of my neck. I shivered into his touch as his thumb brushed across my eyelid, down my cheekbone, along my lips, and into my mouth. I sucked eagerly on his thumb until he pulled it away and leaned down for a kiss.
“Mine,” he breathed into my mouth just before he bit through my lip. His tongue lapped at the wound and I sank my teeth into it. Our kisses were frantic, devouring. This is my body, this is my blood. What we join together, none may tear asunder. Sam took possession of me, every ounce of flesh and drop of blood, every fleeting thought and spark of power, and I gave it all willingly.
Later we lay entwined in bed, the sheets soaked in our sweat and blood and come. I ached in the best possible way, a reminder of recent pleasures. Even sound asleep, Sam’s power was like the heartbeat of a Leviathan. I could sense demons gathering to pledge their allegiance, to worship Him.
Soon. Soon Azazel will jerk my leash, and it will snap. When he comes looking for me and Sam, he’ll find out that while he was trying to create a pawn, I raised a King.
I’ve been known by a thousand names, but Dean is what He calls me, and it is the only one I answer to.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Thanks to: My beta, monicawoe for asking the most intriguing questions.
Length: 3,300 words
Spoilers: This is a pre-series AU with mild spoilers for events in seasons 1 and 2.
Disclaimer: The concepts and characters of Supernatural belong to the CW.
Written for: This is a pinch-hit gift for hunters_retreat in the sammessiah Anti-Christmas challenge. Prompt: Dean was always a demon and raised Sam to be one too.
Warnings/Enticements: Sibling incest, underage sexuality, demon!Dean, dark!Sam, violence, bloodplay, power dynamics, and blasphemy.
Summary: I’ve been known by a thousand names over the ages. Raum, Akoman, Mara, Azazel’s Hound. Lately, I go by Dean Winchester.
ETA: reena_jenkins has recorded an incredible podfic of this story. You can download the mp3, or a podbook with gorgeous coverart. Whichever you choose, you're in for a treat! Make sure to leave some feedback for reena!
I’ve been known by a thousand names over the ages. Raum, Akoman, Mara, Azazel’s Hound. Lately, I go by Dean Winchester. While my Lord slipped past simple hunter’s wards to give the younger Winchester boy his baptismal taste of demon blood, I possessed the elder son. When my Lord burned the infant’s mother, his father thrust him into my arms.
“Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don't look back! Now, Dean! Go!”
I took him, and I went. I stood outside with the babe in my arms, basking in the heat of the flames and looking down at my prize. So fragile, with large dark eyes, his breath rich with hints of milk and sulfur. Samuel Winchester.
Sammy, insisted the child-soul that I had shoved aside to take possession of this meat-suit. He’s MY little brother.
I was intrigued. The souls of humans I’d possessed before had only screamed, or begged incoherently. This soul was confused but strong, and devoted to the infant that had become my charge. I could crush it to silence, or toss it up to Heaven. But I was meant to pass as a human, as this particular child. While it wasn’t part of Azazel’s plan, the soul might prove useful.
Now he’s OUR little brother, I told it.
John Winchester ran out of the burning house, snatched us both up, and took the babe away from me. I wanted to tear him apart for that. I could easily have ignored the angry kick from the child-soul and done it, but Azazel’s orders were clear and specific. John Winchester was not to be harmed. Samuel Winchester would be raised as a human.
And raise him I did. Sammy was clever, curious, and stubborn as Hell. Even as a baby - if he didn’t want mashed bananas, you might as well eat them yourself, because he’d starve to death before opening his mouth. If Sammy decided he did want something, he’d get it, sooner or later. I taught him that. To take what he wanted, by skill, charm, cunning, or force.
On Sammy’s seventh birthday he reached the age of reason. I shared the sacrament with him; my blood in his mouth, his blood in mine.
“Blood brothers,” Sammy repeated after me, tilting his head to peer through his bangs. I felt it when his tongue wiggled a sore loose tooth. My heart sped up at the ghost-sensation, and so did his, twinned with mine. I grinned, and Sammy threw himself at me, arms clasped trustingly around my neck.
“Forever,” he said solemnly.
“Forever,” I agreed, pressing my lips to the soft skin behind his ear.
Sammy Sammy Sam Sam, the soul within me murmured indistinctly, content to savor the new connection to our brother. I was in complete agreement with it, as usual.
I taught Sammy to read and to write. To drive and to shoot. To enjoy everything this world had to offer - the taste of chocolate ice cream and my blood, the heat of summer sun and my mouth, the soft brush of pussy willow buds and the rasp of stubble against tender skin. The electric adrenaline thrill of the hunt. The satisfaction of taking control, and the bliss of losing it.
Sam read William Blake and Ayn Rand, Nietzsche and Machiavelli like he was chatting with old friends. He read people like they were open books. Sam always knew which lie would work best, which men could be cowed by threats, and when the shock of sudden violence would be most effective.
Sam wanted me. I made sure of it. Hot glances, massages, soft almost-brotherly kisses, sparring that turned to wrestling that had him moaning, dick pressed hard against my thigh before I pinned him and walked away. I left the bathroom door open when I showered and shared a bed with him wearing just my boxers.
Sam was fourteen and I’d gone to bed drunk off my ass the night he finally snapped. I woke up stripped naked and cuffed to the bed. I dared him to do it, to fuck me, to take everything he wanted. Sam came in my mouth that night, in my ass, all over my stomach, cussing me out for being such a prick tease when I was even more desperate for it than he was. By the time he let me come I would have cut out my heart for him, I was so fucking proud of my little brother.
Despite all my efforts, Sam was … gentle. He took no pleasure in the suffering of others; not even in my own when I offered it to him with both hands. When he was younger I thought that was a weakness. But as Sam grew up, he bent me to his will with kindness more thoroughly than Azazel ever had with torments. Sam’s way was better. Stronger. Humans and demons alike would love him as much as they would fear him, and that would make him unstoppable.
We wrapped around each other until I couldn’t tell where Sam ended and I began, and Dad didn’t even notice until Sam was eighteen.
“Damn it, Sam,” Dad shouted from inside the motel room. I froze just outside the door. “Your brother would do anything for you, and you took advantage of that. You need to put a stop to this, and you need to do it now.”
Sam murmured a reply, long and low. Dad answered him, calmer now, too quiet to hear. I considered sneaking away and coming back singing something real loud. Bon Jovi, maybe. Or Metallica.
“Stanford?” Dad yelped. “Fine. Fine! That’ll work. I’ve got three grand stashed away. You can take it as seed money. But you need to leave as soon as you graduate.”
Dad was trying to take Sam away from me! I shifted my weight forward, ready to burst through the door, and slammed into a wall of agony. For the first time in centuries I fought to disobey Azazel’s command. It was - the pain - I couldn’t. I bent over, hands on my thighs, taking tiny sips of air until it was possible to stand again. I slipped away and hot-wired a car. Three hundred miles down the highway I slit a whore’s throat and used her blood to contact Azazel.
He was amused. It’s about time for the boy to stretch his wings. Let him run away to college. Once he’s there, keep your distance. Let’s see if he’ll indulge some darker appetites once he gets out from under the watchful eyes of Daddy and big brother.
The next six weeks were torture. Dad was away on one hunt after another, just stopping in long enough to restock his ammo. Sam avoided me, shutting down the bond between us until I could barely tell he was alive. He went straight from school to the library and slept over at a friend’s house every night. I waited outside Sam’s school to talk to him. Sam smiled pleasantly and walked right past me, like I was a stranger. Alastair himself would have been impressed by the cruelty.
I fucked a girl in the backseat of the Impala, parked outside the library window where Sam sat working on his homework. I made her scream my name. I’d have ripped her throat out for Sam if he’d so much as glanced at me, but when I looked up at the window, he’d gotten up and moved away.
I went to Sam’s graduation. He was there, tall and graceful, a wolf among sheep in his cap and gown. I tracked Sam down after the ceremony. He saw me and broke away from the group of kids talking to him, eyes a little wild, then hugged me tight and said Dad was expecting us for dinner.
Over dinner, Sam announced that he was going to Stanford in the fall. They fought, and Dad kicked him out. It was a well-planned con. Elegant; lies mixed in with the truth, real emotions powering the yelling. I recognized Sam’s fingerprints all over it. I’d taught him how to do that, and I’d be impressed if he wasn’t using it on me.
Sam left. Dad crawled into a bottle. I worked my way west across five states, slaughtering everything Dad would recognize as monsters, and a few things he wouldn’t. When I talked to Dad on the phone, it was awkward; information about hauntings, warlocks and werewolves scattered around the dead silences where we didn’t mention Sam.
I looked for jobs on the West Coast, just in case Sam needed me. Azazel’s order to keep my distance set a precise minimum distance between me and Stanford. I bought a P.O. Box in Sacramento and subscribed to the Palo Alto Daily Post and the San Jose Mercury News. I swung by my mailbox every week to read through the crime page, the obituaries, and the rest of the paper. Whenever I found something suspicious, something nasty, I wondered if it was a monster. If Sam was hunting it. Or if maybe Azazel’s predictions had come true, and Sam was the monster behind the story in the paper.
Sam called that spring. It was the first time he’d spoken to me in almost a year, and he called to tell me he’d met a girl. Jessica had a boyfriend back home, but Sam knew from the moment he met her she was the one. She even smelled right.
I barely kept myself from snarling into the phone. Demon. Sam had found another demon to give him the blood he wasn’t getting from me.
I gave him some good fucking advice on how to break them up. Then I suggested some things he should do to her, once she was his. After all, I’d sure enjoyed them. Sam laughed nervously and cut the conversation short.
I snatched a pretty little co-ed from a bar in Crescent City - a blonde. Sam said Jessica had long blonde hair. I drove her out to an empty warehouse by the docks. I took my time with her, nice and messy the way I hadn’t allowed myself since I took this meat suit. When the body was cold, I contacted Azazel. I demanded to know if he had sent a demon to Sam.
You didn’t think I’d leave him with no guidance at all, did you? Don’t worry. I’ve got someone keeping Sammy warm for me.
I told Azazel that since little Sammy was all grown up now, my job was done, and I wanted back in Hell pronto.
My my, you are picking up bad habits up there, aren’t you? Tempting as it is to bring you home and remind you of your place, Hound, Dean Winchester still has a role to play. Clean up after yourself.
It took four hours to clean up the warehouse. Salt water on the rags burned my skin, a dull ache I’d learned to ignore over the years. Bleach to destroy the DNA. I buried the body, instead of salting and burning it. Screw it. If she came back vengeful, she’d probably be more fun than she was alive.
Time passed. It was November 2nd, 2005. I’d spent twenty-two years as Dean Winchester - eighteen years with Sam, and three alone. I was sitting in an all-night diner, drinking coffee and playing solitaire exactly fifty miles away from Palo Alto, pressed up against the edge of Azazel’s command like a dog pacing an electric fence.
My phone rang. It was Dad. I was surprised; hadn’t heard from him in months. I got my head in the game and answered.
“Hey, Dad! What’s -”
“I know.” Dad interrupted, voice ice cold.
“Know what? Dad, are you drunk?” Of course he was drunk. It was November 2nd. “Where are you?”
“Sitting outside Sam’s apartment,” Dad answered. “Only, it’s not Sam, is it? I didn’t just lose Mary that night. You sons of bitches murdered my entire family.”
Oh shit. “Look, Dad, I don’t know what you think is going on, but -”
“Shut up,” Dad spat, and I did, through pure force of habit. “I’m gonna go in there. I’m going to destroy the thing pretending to be my son. And then I’m coming for you.” Click. Silence.
I called back. It went straight to voicemail.
I ran for the car and pulled out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires. I slammed into and through the wall of pain that tried to keep me away from Sam. My baby hit 120 mph, engine roaring, as I finally gave in to the force that had been pulling me towards Sam every minute since he’d left. If any cops tried to get in my way I’d run them off the road.
Dad. Dad was going after Sam. Had I screwed up somehow? Had Sam? Or had all Dad’s research finally, somehow, led him to the truth? Not even the truth. I was a demon, sure. But Sam? Sam was human. Mostly.
I had to park two blocks away from Sam’s apartment. The road was blocked off by cop cars, fire engines, and ambulances. I ran towards the building, dodging a patrolman who tried to stop me, and then found myself walking, racing heart slowing, comforted by a familiar smell.
The night was painted red and blue by the emergency vehicle lights. A few firefighters were spraying water onto the nearby buildings. Everyone else on the scene was staring at Sam’s building. At the collapsed ruin that had been Sam’s building.
It was still burning; radiating heat like a blast furnace. But these flames gave off darkness, not light. I smelled burning hair, charred flesh, human fear, and sulfur. Hellfire. Right here on Earth. It shouldn’t even be possible. I guess no one ever told Sam that.
There were a dozen ambulances, but the EMTs were just standing around and watching. Of course. What hellfire touched, it took. There’d be no survivors. I found Sam sitting huddled in a blanket in the back of one of the ambulances. He stared at me blankly, and didn’t say a word.
“Come on, Sammy, we need to get out of here.”
Sam didn’t answer, but he followed willingly when I grabbed him by the hand, like when he was little, and led him through the crowd to the Impala.
I drove out of town and checked us into a motel. Sam settled down onto his bed, the one farthest from the door. I got him a glass of water. He took it and gulped the water down, spilling some because his hands were shaking so bad. I took the glass back from him.
“More?” I asked.
Sam shook his head no. He took a breath like he was about to say something, then let it out on a sigh and slumped down, elbows on his knees. I left the glass by the sink, settled on my bed across from him, and waited.
“I was in bed with Jess when someone pounded on the door,” Sam said eventually, his voice rough with smoke and emotion, staring down at his hands. “It was Dad, so I let him in. He started waving this old Colt around, saying crazy shit about how he’d found a gun that could kill anything, even me.” Sam peered at me through his bangs. “At first I was scared, but then Jess screamed, and she tried to hit Dad, and the gun went off. I … there was this lightning crackle, and she fell down, and I,” his voice dropped even lower and I leaned forwards to hear him. “I got angry. So angry. It was like this tidal wave inside me.”
Sam stood up, towering over me as I sat on the bed. I had to tilt my head way back to see him. Damn, the kid had grown another couple inches while he was away. “I burned them, Dean. Dad, Jess, my neighbors. I wanted them gone, and then the fire came, and when the screaming started I didn’t even care. I burned them all, just like Mom.”
“Not like Mom,” I corrected him. On his best day, Azazel could never have called hellfire to Earth.
Sam suddenly lashed out, his fist connecting with my chin. As I rocked back with the force of it his weight was on me, pressing me back down onto the bed. I started to struggle and felt the cold edge of a blade against my throat. No idea where Sam had concealed that, but I noticed his hands weren’t shaking any more.
“Nice move, little brother,” I told him. Not just the take-down. The whole thing. Sam made me think he was in shock, completely harmless, so I would take him to a private location and leave myself vulnerable. He’d manipulated me from the moment he saw me at the fire.
Sam smiled a tight little smile. “No more lies,” he said. I could smell the hellfire on him, on his clothes, on his soul. “Tell me the truth.” The knife was nothing. Sam could poke holes in me all day long, if that’s what flicked his Bic. But Sam’s eyes, hard with a rage that could command the fires of Hell. His voice, ringing with power. It made me want to fall to my knees, beg to suck his dick, give him anything he wanted. And Sam wanted the truth.
“What am I?” Sam demanded.
“The Boy King,” I answered, not able to lie, not even wanting to.
Sam’s teeth bit into his lower lip. A dot of red appeared there. A tiny, needy sound escaped my throat.
“King of what?” he asked.
“Hell. Earth. Everything.”
He closed his eyes, jerked his chin in a sideways nod, and looked back down at me. “Then what are you?”
So many possible answers to that, but Sam wanted the truth. There was only one true answer to that question. “Yours,” I told him.
Sam sat back. I gasped at the pressure against my half-hard dick. Sam put the knife down on the bed-side table. His eyes roved over my body and by the time they returned to my face they were dark with hunger.
“Dean,” Sam said in a whisper that echoed through me. It was as if Sam summoned me; created me out of the empty dark with a single word. Sam reached towards my face. His fingers curled around the back of my neck. I shivered into his touch as his thumb brushed across my eyelid, down my cheekbone, along my lips, and into my mouth. I sucked eagerly on his thumb until he pulled it away and leaned down for a kiss.
“Mine,” he breathed into my mouth just before he bit through my lip. His tongue lapped at the wound and I sank my teeth into it. Our kisses were frantic, devouring. This is my body, this is my blood. What we join together, none may tear asunder. Sam took possession of me, every ounce of flesh and drop of blood, every fleeting thought and spark of power, and I gave it all willingly.
Later we lay entwined in bed, the sheets soaked in our sweat and blood and come. I ached in the best possible way, a reminder of recent pleasures. Even sound asleep, Sam’s power was like the heartbeat of a Leviathan. I could sense demons gathering to pledge their allegiance, to worship Him.
Soon. Soon Azazel will jerk my leash, and it will snap. When he comes looking for me and Sam, he’ll find out that while he was trying to create a pawn, I raised a King.
I’ve been known by a thousand names, but Dean is what He calls me, and it is the only one I answer to.