Fic - Phoenix from the ashes - Part 1 - Sam/Dean - bitch_jerkoff for kashmir1
Title: Phoenix from the ashes
Author: benitle
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural FPS
Summary: After burning down a church during a job, Dean develops two painful bumps. He never dared imagine them turn into this…
Word count: 17,715 words
Warnings, spoilers: incest, rimming, wing!fic. hurt/comfort, angst, future!fic. No real spoilers, set a few months after the S2 finale.
Notes: First of all, many, many thanks to aynslee for the fantastic and überfast beta. Thank you so much, honey for finding each of my stupid typos and comma mistakes! ♥ This fic was written for the bitch_jerkoff challenge and is a gift to kashmir1. Her original prompt can be found here. I hope you'll enjoy the fic, babe! Many thanks also to drvsilla and moveablehistory for organizing this fun challenge! Can we have round two now please? If anyone is curious about the resources I used for this, you'll find a link at the end of the fic.
The characters don't belong to me, I only borrowed them. No money is being made, no copyright infringement intended. Feedback is appreciated. Enjoy!
Most people you ask are going to tell you that burning down a church is not a good idea. They'll tell you that a church is a sacred and holy place, a place for prayer and worship, for sacrifice and salvation. They'll tell you about respect for the Lord and his great creation but what most can't even imagine is that there are people who abuse such places to use them for their own dark, satanic religion, their own cult, until there is nothing sacred and pure left.
After finishing their latest job - a bunch of kids, Satanists no less, that managed to get themselves possessed by demons to summon even more demons - there's so much evil and unholy in the church that there's no real alternative left. The evil is in each and every corner of the church, in every pore of the dark mahogany benches, in each and every tear of the gray marble stone. The leftover symbols of the satanic rituals are still clearly visible, carved into the floors, the walls; they're everywhere. The air stinks of spilled blood, reeking like the venom it is.
There's no priest around, the church - just like the whole surrounding area - having been abandoned what seems like years ago. That's why Sam and Dean checked with Bobby, asked for advice on what to do with this soiled place. Bobby wasn't one hundred percent sure that it was a good idea, but still it was the best he could think of: salt and burn it down and with it, all evil that there might still be.
"I don't have a good feeling about this," Sam admits as he watches the flames lick at the heavy, wooden doors of the church, the heat of the fire warming their faces. There are huge, dark gray clouds of smoke coming out of it as they stand there, not doing anything but watching it burn.
When Sam turns to look at Dean, Dean doesn't say anything. His face is lit by the fire; shimmering in the orange light of the flames. Dean looks strangely peaceful like this, his beautiful features relaxed and even - almost like the impressive and flawless marble statues of the angels in the church.
"Yeah," Dean states. That's all he's got to say about this and Sam knows that pressing things further won't lead him anywhere.
Ever since the yellow-eyed demon has been defeated - the Winchester lifetime mission accomplished - Dean has been strangely at ease, strangely calm and strangely okay with the fact that his clock is continuously ticking. They're still working their jobs and Dean's main complaint is that he's sick of all the demons and that he wishes they could work on a job that's not a demon for once, a chupacabra maybe or even some normal, restless spirit. But no such luck, not with that amount of demons released.
***
They're back at the motel and sometimes Sam has to smirk at how little has changed ever since it's supposedly over. The motels are still crappy, the food is still too greasy and the endless hours in the Impala are still far too many. He knows that deep inside, Dean always feared that Sam would take off, maybe go back to school and find himself a new girl once it's all over. But Sam never thought about it, not since Dean and he became serious.
That's another thing that didn't change after defeating the big, bad demon - and Sam's glad for that.
Dean's currently lying on the bed, face down and dressed in nothing more than a pair of worn-out boxers, with Sam sitting on his butt. He had complained that his back felt sore and Sam didn't need to be asked twice to do something about it. So now, Sam's hands are carefully working over Dean's dry skin, kneading through the little knots and kinks of Dean's back. Whenever Sam hits a particularly tense spot, Dean groans, the pillow absorbing it almost completely, so that it's nothing more than a muffled sound.
"You got two funny-looking red spots here," Sam says, his hands making clear what he means with "here".
Dean doesn't say anything - apart from his moans - and lets Sam work over the marks. They're located on the upper part of Dean's back, maybe about a palm below the top points of Dean's shoulder blades. When Sam works over them, they're hot and particularly hard. No matter how much he tries, he just can't solve those two knots - it goes as far as Dean even telling him to stop at a certain point because it gets painful.
Sam shrugs it off and simply works with the lower regions of Dean's body, neither minding too much.
***
Sam should have known something's off the minute Dean untangles himself and starts writhing. Even though Dean's a light sleeper, he's not one of those people to keep moving from one side to the other because they can't sleep properly, no, most of the time, Dean stays perfectly still in his sleep.
Sam's brain is still fogged, waking up only slowly. But when he looks over to Dean, he sees that Dean's eyes are covered with a hand, the grimace on his face clearly giving away his discomfort.
"Hey," Sam says softly, bringing a hand up to Dean's face to stroke the unease away. "What's wrong?"
But Dean wouldn't be Dean if he'd spill that easily. When he mumbles, "nothing," Sam's almost tempted to let it go, to pull Dean close again, snuggle up and go back to sleep to deal with it tomorrow. Well, almost. Sam runs a hand from Dean's cheek to his arms and then to his shoulders.
"Huh?" Sam says confused as his fingers touch something hot and sticky.
Dean hisses and writhes away from Sam like a child shies away from the hot stove after burning its fingers. When Sam brings his hand to his own face, smelling the liquid now coating his digits, he realizes that it's blood.
"You're bleeding, Dean!" Sam gasps, clumsily trying to reach the bedside table to turn on the old-fashioned lamp sitting there. Dean's quicker though, pushing down the switch.
That's when Sam finally gets a good look. Indeed, Dean's back is bleeding, not heavily in the life-threatening kind of way, but enough to get dark-red blood smeared everywhere. Carefully, Sam pushes Dean down onto his belly so that he can have a good look at Dean's back and assess the wound.
"Wow," Sam says, not really believing what he sees.
When Dean twists, trying to get a look himself, Sam pushes him down again. "What?" Dean snarls impatiently.
"You're not going to believe this, Dean. Looks as if something was growing out of your back," Sam says, carefully touching.
There are two bumps on Dean's back, exactly where the red marks were earlier. Sam would say they look like ganglions, except for they actually broke the skin, causing the bleeding. They're a few inches long already and quite thick, by all means looking like real bone covered in real callus.
"Careful there, Dr. Frankenstein," Dean hisses as Sam touches and squeezes a little.
Sam says with concern in his voice, "yeah, bet you wanna play doctor games, Dean. But seriously, does it hurt?"
The geek inside him can't help but think that it's kind of interesting to know that Dean actually feels something and he's sensitive to pressure, but of course, he doesn't tell Dean because Dean's most definitely not up for any kind of fascination right now.
"No," is Dean's immediate and defiant reply, but Sam's known Dean long enough to see right through him; Dean's lying.
"Right. Anyways, looks like bones or something. I can't really tell what it is, but it's still growing. And growing fast," Sam states. When he strokes over the skin around the excrescences, it's hot and tense.
"Comforting," Dean says, slowly pushing himself up, "let me get cleaned up."
Sam watches Dean walk into the small motel room bathroom, his whole back bloody now. He gives Dean a few moments to himself, knowing too well that Dean wouldn't want him in the room anyway. Sam would bet his soul that Dean's standing awkwardly in front of the mirror, trying to get a look at what's going on.
What Sam also knows is that it's going to be impossible for Dean to wash his back without being in pain all by himself (especially after he was already so sensitive to Sam's soft touch) but that he's not going to ask for help on the other hand either. That's why Sam gets up from the bed - there's blood on the sheets, he definitely needs to treat Dean's wounds - and walks into the bathroom.
He's right. Dean's indeed in the shower, trying to wash his back awkwardly and cussing under his breath because it's not going as planned.
"Let me help you, Dean," Sam says softly and when Dean only grunts, he takes that as all the agreement he needs. Sam slips out of his shirt and boxers and gets into the shower behind Dean. Even within only a few minutes the limb-like things have become bigger.
Sam starts with Dean's shoulders, using soft touches to clean away the blood. When he moves his fingers around the strange limbs, Dean hisses, the area obviously extremely sensitive. Even with the blood gone, the skin is deep red, just like angry skin tends to be like. Sam quickly cleans Dean's lower back, using his fingers to massage it a little, trying to take Dean's mind off of everything that's happening right now, at least for a little while. When he's done, he even smacks Dean's ass, winking at him cheekily as Dean glares at him.
They get out of the shower before the water turns cold, quickly drying off with the cheap, thin motel room towels. Sam steals a few glances at Dean, noticing how tired and uneasy he looks. When Dean bends down to rub the towel over his calves, he hisses at the discomfort.
"Want me to look for painkillers, Dean?" Sam asks softly, carding his fingers through Dean's short hair. Dean doesn't even answer, simply shakes his head. But when Sam looks him in the eyes, they are glassy and clouded with pain.
Sam quickly leans in to kiss Dean on the lips before he whispers, "lie down on the bed and let me have another look, okay?"
Dean simply nods and does as Sam asks him to.
"At least it's not bleeding anymore," Sam says, mostly talking to himself. When he first looked at the excrescences, they were about three or four inches, now it's probably nine to ten, still growing. They look as if they had joints, almost as if Dean were growing two more arms. Sam doesn't really want to dwell on it, and what he wants even less, is to upset Dean with it right now.
"Try and get some sleep, okay? We'll see what we can do about it tomorrow, all right?" Sam soothes, running a soft hand over Dean's lower back, a gesture he knows Dean always found very comforting.
"Yeah," Dean says, his voice raspy and edgy.
Sam doesn't get much sleep himself that night but when Dean leaves his side to search through their duffels for some painkillers, he lets Dean keep up his charade by pretending to be fast asleep.
***
When Sam wakes up - looks like he did get some sleep after all - Dean's still dead to the world. Sleepily, Sam rubs his eye with one hand while his other tries lazily to shove the blanket away. Slowly awakening, he opens his eyes and only then he realizes that it isn't a blanket he's currently covered with. No, he's actually covered with a wing. A fucking wing; attached to Dean's back.
"Holy shit," Sam yelps, jumping a little.
The sudden movement wakes Dean up, making him tense and stir before he slowly opens his eyes. "What is it, Sammy?" he mumbles sleepily.
For a moment Sam doesn't know what to say, not really believing it himself even though he clearly sees how last night's new limbs turned into two big wings, adhered to Dean's shoulders.
"You- you got wings," Sam stutters and it takes Dean only a few split seconds until his eyes spring wide open in shock and he twists his head to see.
"Shit," Dean says, letting his head fall back onto the pillow, face first.
"Yeah," Sam murmurs, his hand slowly reaching out to touch.
If Sam had to guess, he'd say each stretched out wing exceeds the two feet mark, two and a half maybe. They're covered in feathers, long and black. There's what Sam would call a claw or a hook at the very top of the joint, barely visible underneath all those feathers. The little skin on the bone that is not entirely covered is dry and hard and kinda feels like leather. It's such a contrast to the plumage that is soft and reminds Sam of velvet or silk, or something equally pansy.
When Sam turns over to have a look to where the wings are attached to Dean's back, he sees that the skin is still angry and red, dried splatters of blood all around the area where the wings broke the skin. At least the wounds are no longer bleeding.
"We're gonna figure it out, okay? Let's get dressed and then we'll think of what to do," Sam says, stroking a hand through Dean's hair.
Dean only looks up briefly and nods at Sam. "Yeah," he says.
"Do you think you can bend these so that I can get up?" Sam asks while stroking Dean's wings once more. He knows that last night, Dean felt Sam's touches but of course, they can't tell whether Dean can actually control the wings without having tried.
"Let me try," Dean says with a look of concentration on his face.
Indeed the wings do flutter a little but they don't bend. At least not until Sam lends a helping hand; first the wing that's covering him, then the other.
"Guess we have to practice a bit," Sam says as he finally gets up, heading for the bathroom to brush his teeth and take a piss.
"Dude, not planning on having these things for long," Dean calls out for him from the room.
Sam smiles to himself because, you know, fair enough.
***
After Sam and Dean are through with the whole morning ritual - bathroom routine and breakfast - they're sitting by the small table, eyes fixated on the laptop screen.
Dressing turns out to be a problem because the wings are huge by now, still growing even, and none of Dean's t-shirts fit. In the end, Dean gives up and decides to remain shirtless. He's cranky as hell and Sam knows it's only partly to blame on the frustrating dressing situation.
When spread, each wing probably has a length of around three feet by now and they must be heavy. Sam asked Dean about it but Dean being Dean only gave a snotty remark, saying that they better start researching on curses that could have lead to this.
Of course they both assume that it has to do with the demonic possession the day before and the burning down of the church, especially with Dean actually being the one to set it on fire. But this still doesn't give them a lead on what to do and how to get rid of the wings.
In the course of the day, Dean looks paler and paler, sweat pooling on his skin. By late afternoon, Sam insists that Dean lie down a little to take away some of the pressure on his back. At first, Dean protests and says that he wants to help research - after all, he's the one directly affected - but when Sam argues that he'll be faster to search for hints if he doesn't have to worry about Dean passing out from pain any minute, Dean finally gives in. He even agrees to take a painkiller and Sam makes sure not to mention that he saw him take one last night. Judging from Dean's soft snores, he manages to get some rest. Sam's grateful for that because it means he can fully concentrate on his research.
The main problem is that there are too many leads to chose from, none of them fitting one hundred percent. Angels or winged creatures go back thousands of years to different cultures and each source Sam finds has a different interpretation. Most of those sources also portray wings as something heavenly, something pure or God-like, none mentions them in combination with something demonic or evil.
Both Dean and Sam have had their fair share of curses, most of them just tiring but nothing dangerous. After they found a way to break them or after they wore off themselves, they usually laughed about it and went back to their usual business. This time though, Sam doesn't have a good feeling about it, the pitch-black color of the wings hinting at something that should be taken care of. Taken care of soon.
"Hey," Dean suddenly says, the wings making it impossible to roll even onto his side, let alone his back. Dean turns his head as far as he can to look at Sam, and only when Sam looks up from the bright computer screen, he realizes that the sun must have set a few hours ago. The contrast of the screen to the darkness of the room requires a moment of adjustment.
"Hey," Sam says back, getting up to walk over to Dean. Quickly, he stretches his tired limbs, making them pop loudly. It's already past midnight; Sam totally lost track of the time.
"Did you catch some sleep?" Sam asks, even though it's obvious. Still he needs to hear the confirmation from Dean that he's okay, that he'll be okay. That they'll be okay.
"Some, yeah," Dean yawns, not bothering to cover his mouth with a hand.
"Good," Sam says, leaning down for a soft kiss. When their lips part, Dean's eyes are closed and his tongue flicks out to absorb the last bit of taste of Sam from his lips.
They're quiet for a moment until Dean looks at him to ask, "did you find anything?"
Sam hates the look of disappointment on Dean's face; it's there, no matter how much Dean tries to hide it or how quick Dean is to put on his no-shit-poker face. He's a split second too slow and it stings to see that flicker of disappointment in his eyes.
"No, there's too many different sources, none of them leading to anything." Sam confesses, only to add quickly, "but we'll find something. I promise."
Dean nods tiredly at him before yawning again. When he stretches, there's a brief moment in which his discomfort shows. It gives Sam an idea.
"Hey, want me to rub your back a little?" Sam asks. He's prepared for Dean telling him to fuck off - maybe not exactly with those words, but something with essentially the same meaning. However, Dean only moans in return and nods his head and Sam doesn't need any other invitation. While silently working Dean's back, he even manages to draw a few soft groans from him, those little sounds of pleasure Dean makes when it's just them, together and intimate. Only whenever he comes too close to the area where the wings exited Dean's body, where they're attached to him, Dean hisses slightly in pain. So in the end, Sam concentrates on the area directly above the wings, where Dean told him he feels the most pressure.
By the time Sam decides he's done, Dean's already half-asleep again and Sam hopes he'll make it through the night without having to take another pill. Turning out the lights and leaning in to kiss Dean one last time, Sam whispers, "we'll find something tomorrow."
***
The next day isn't much different from the day before. The wings have stopped growing, but otherwise the day is the same. Out of curiosity - even though Dean bitches at him and accuses Sam of selling him to the circus come the next chance - Sam measures the size of the wings. They're about five feet each and when Sam asks whether he could measure the wingspan too Dean nearly hits him. Um, right.
Dean wakes up with a fever and Sam insists he stays in bed, no matter how much Dean whines that he can help. Sam's worried that it has something to do with the demonic curse or that Dean's body is trying to fight off the wings because they're a foreign body.
Sam only leaves the laptop around midday to fetch them something from the diner and by the time he gets back, Dean's hanging half off the bed, face down.
"Dean!" Sam gasps, dropping their food and running over to Dean. What he sees isn't pretty because apparently Dean's been sick and couldn't make it to the bathroom, barely managed to turn over so it's all on the carpet.
"'m sorry," Dean whispers, trying to bring a shaky hand up to wipe at his mouth.
"It's all right, don't worry." Sam rubs a soothing hand over Dean's back, exactly over the spot where he knows Dean's the most uncomfortable right now. Dean's skin is hot and clammy, his fever having risen even more. "Let me help you," Sam says softly, supporting Dean and helping him up.
Dean groans in pain when his back has to hold up the full weight of the wings once more, but he makes it to the bathroom without throwing up on Sam or the floor again. Quickly, Sam cleans Dean's face and helps him brush his teeth, only to bring him back to the other bed and make him lie down again.
"Okay," Sam says, while stroking Dean's back, "I'm calling Bobby. I've checked everything and I didn't get any further. Maybe Bobby knows something or at least someone to help, all right?"
Dean nods before he closes his eyes and groans miserably again. For a moment Sam fears that he's going to throw up once more, but when he doesn't, Sam considers it safe enough to make a quick call. He wouldn't dare leave the room though and as he hits speed dial, he thinks about having to deal with Dean-puke on the carpet, as well as their take-away. Neither's going to be hungry anymore, that's for sure.
***
By the time, Sam gets off the phone with Bobby, Dean has fallen back into a feverish sleep. Sam tries to be as quiet as possible as he packs their few belongings and cleans up the mess as much as he can, leaving most for the cleaning service though. As soon as it's getting dark outside - in another 5 hours maybe - he'll take Dean and get out of here.
Bobby couldn't tell him either what exactly it is but he said that he has a rough idea. When he insisted so fiercely that they'd drive all the way from their current location in Idaho to South Dakota, Sam eventually gave in, even though he doesn't think that Dean's in a good condition to drive.
Eventually Sam lies down too, knowing too well that it might be the last sleep he'll be getting for a while.
***
The motel room has been paid for, the Impala loaded, all that's missing is Dean. Carefully, Sam strokes over Dean's skin that's still as hot as a few hours ago. Dean stirs and then finally wakes up. When he looks at Sam, his eyes are empty and clouded.
"Sammy?" he asks, barely whispering. Dean clears his throat but Sam makes shushing noises, not wanting Dean to exhaust himself further by speaking more than necessary.
"We gotta go, Dean," Sam says. He bends down to kiss the top of Dean's head. "We're going to Bobby's. He'll be able to help," Sam explains.
Dean doesn't answer anything, just closes his eyes again. Quickly, Sam stands up to fetch Dean's leather jacket and to finally get on the road before Dean falls asleep again.
"Here, try this," Sam holds Dean's jacket with one hand while with the other, he tries to pull Dean up. Dean's hot and sweaty body is limp in his arms and Sam has to struggle a bit until he can cover Dean's shoulders with his jacket. He doesn't even try to make him wear the jacket properly, knows it's impossible with the huge wings. Sam's only hope is that no one will see them in the black of the night as they stumble over the parking lot and to the Impala.
Once they've reached the car, Sam's faced with the next problem: how to get Dean settled at least somewhat comfortable. He decides to try and fold the wings as much as he can (as much as anyway possible with a shivering and feverish Dean clinging to him) and then lie him down on the backseat of the Impala. Dean's lying on his side now and Sam hopes he's not crushing the wings too much. Judging from Dean's miserable moans, it's not all cozy and perfect but it'll have to do for the next few hours.
"Hey, buddy," Sam says softly, leaning over the front seat to the backseat. He's stroking Dean's hot face and then covers him with a few shirts and an old blanket he found in the trunk of the car. "Promise to ask for a painkiller when it gets too bad, okay? Now's not the time to play macho man, Dean."
Sam's tone is gentle but also warning. When Dean nods at him, Sam bends forward a little until he reaches the side of Dean's face to place a kiss on Dean's temple and stroke the side of his face.
"Try and get some more sleep. I'll take care of you," Sam says and when Dean nods again, almost drifted off again, Sam adds, "just like I promised."
***
After about three hours Dean asks for some painkillers and some water for the first time. Apart from Dean's needs the rest of the drive is fairly unspectacular. Sam only stops when he has to, like for refueling or pee breaks.
When he finally drives through the large iron gate, signalizing that they've reached their final destination, Sam's sure he's never been so relieved to arrive at Bobby's. Their drive took about 13 hours and Sam drove them straight, only drinking coffee during the whole journey. He's ready to drop dead now, but he knows he can't yet.
Parking right in front of Bobby's door, Sam honks the horn twice to announce their presence. The noise wakes Dean up and he groans again in pain. Stealing a glance whether Bobby's already coming out to help Sam get Dean out of the car, Sam turns around to Dean once more, running a soft hand over his face.
"We're there, Dean," Sam says gently before he bends over to Dean to kiss him. "Everything's going to be all right now."
Dean tries to smile but with the pain he must be in, it turns into a grimace, shadowing his beautiful face. When he lifts his hand a little, it's shaking and Sam has to reach down to actually take it because Dean's too weak now.
"Sam!" Bobby says, a little out of breath, yanking the back door open.
Sam didn't hear Bobby coming at all, totally fixated on Dean and trying everything he can to give Dean at least a little bit of comfort. Squeezing Dean's hand one last time, Sam lets go and gets out of the car to help Bobby settle Dean inside the cabin and get him more comfortable.
Bobby makes them drink a glass of holy water each, just to be sure. Once he's got the proof that neither Sam nor Dean are actually possessed, he helps Sam get Dean settled in one of the rooms. It's the same room they always used to stay in as kids with two narrow, smallish beds that still never kept them from sharing.
Bobby brings more painkillers, plus something that's supposed to lower the fever for Dean and before he leaves the room, he says, "I'll be waiting for you in the kitchen, Sam."
"Yeah," Sam mumbles softly but as soon as the door closes, his attention is back to Dean. "How you're holding up? Want some more painkillers?"
Dean nods weakly and gratefully takes the pills Sam slips into his mouth. His skin is still hot and clammy, his fever obvious. Sam assumes that it's some kind of immune reaction, Dean's body trying to fight off the alien wings in a way it would fight off any other foreign body that doesn't belong there.
Even though the wings stopped growing, they're still huge, no signs of regressing or the curse ending in any other way. Sam lost track of the time, his body and mind exhausted, but he does know that it's been more than 24 hours already, so it's not one of those one-day curses. Carefully, he strokes a hand over Dean's back, using a little bit of pressure to massage and relax Dean's tired and strained muscles.
"D'you want me to massage you a little later?" Sam asks softly and Dean only nods at him.
With a last kiss to the top of Dean's head, Sam gets up to go find Bobby. But before he can make it to the door, Dean weakly calls out for him.
"Sammy," he caws.
"Yeah?" Sam asks carefully.
"Can- can you do me a favor?" Dean sounds defeated, almost at unease for having to ask for help. Of course, Sam knows all about Dean and his pride and his lifetime job of looking out for him. This still hasn't changed, even though it should be Sam looking out for Dean now, now that Dean's time is limited ever since he made a deal with the demon. But old habits die hard, they say. It's especially true if you're dealing with a stubborn Winchester.
"Sure," Sam says, "what d'you need, Dean?"
Dean sighs heavily but eventually he goes on, "can you maybe stretch the wings? Guess they didn't like me laying on them. Just help me fold and unfold them a few times."
Sam nods, more to himself than anyone else, as he strides back to the bed where Dean is lying. Carefully, he grabs one of the wings; the feathers still so soft and delicate under his touch. He runs his fingers over them before he moves to the upper part of the wings, where the bones are, one had left and one right of the joint. The bones are strong and thick and it would take a lot of force to break them, Sam thinks. Not that he ever would, he never would hurt Dean on purpose.
Dean groans loudly in pain as Sam moves the wings, the movement a bit stiff at first but then Sam realizes that it's becoming easier with each bend they do. The second wing is fluttering a little and when he lets go of the one he's currently holding, it keeps folding and unfolding - or rather Dean keeps folding and unfolding it.
Sam climbs onto the bed, so that he's straddling Dean's lower back. He takes the second wing into his hands and starts working out the kinks, just like he did minutes before with the first one.
At first Dean doesn't seem to register that Sam's no longer helping him with the first wing but is currently dedicating himself to the second one but when he does, he gasps, "holy shit, Sammy." Both wings flutter in excitement.
Sam laughs softly for a brief moment, stroking over Dean's back. "Yeah, looks like you can actually control them now," he states the obvious.
"Don't ask me how I'm doing it 'cause I got no clue," Dean says though. When he folds his wings again, they brush over Sam softly, the feathers tickling his skin. Sam actually has to get up so that they can snuggle close to Dean's back.
It's time to talk to Bobby anyway and see whether there's a solution to the problem. Before he leaves the room though, Sam turns around to Dean one last time, "I'm just outside with Bobby, okay? Try and get some more sleep and yell if you need anything. I'll come and check up on you later."
Dean mumbles something that Sam doesn't get - he's sure it's better that way anyway because Dean never enjoyed Sam going all mother hen on him. Yawning tiredly, Sam closes the door behind him and wanders off to find Bobby in the kitchen.
***
Bobby refuses to give Sam more coffee. Counting the number of cups Sam already has had to even make it to South Dakota, this is definitely a wise decision, but it doesn't stop Sam from nearly dropping dead now that the tension and pressure, at least some of it, fall from his shoulders for the first time.
Dean is taken care of for now, safely settled and Sam's dying to get at least a few hours of shuteye himself. After he talks to Bobby about what they can do, though.
"So, after you burned down the church, right?" Bobby clarifies, drinking a cup of coffee himself.
Sam nods and tells Bobby again what he already knows, "first he had red marks on his back, exactly where the wings came out of his body. They were pretty hard and I passed it off as Dean being tense. Then I woke up during the night when he was obviously in pain. That's when we saw the wings for the first time, well, without knowing they're going to be wings, of course. They grew ever since and well, you know the rest."
Taking another sip from his coffee, Bobby sighs and hums only slightly. What he then says isn't very pretty. But then, Sam never expected it to be.
"It's a demonic curse, I'm sure of it. See it as the last gift these fuckers gave you when you burned down the church. And since Dean was the one to actually set it on fire, he was hit." Bobby takes off his hat to run a hand through his hair before putting it back on.
It's a gesture so typically Bobby that it reminds Sam of many hours and hot summer days spent outside on the junkyard, playing hide and seek in old cars. Sam nearly loses himself in the memory until he remembers the reason why they're here.
"Why wings?" Sam asks eventually. He's been wondering about it for a while now. Sure thing, it's black wings and they're causing Dean more pain and stress than doing him any good or making him look angelic, but still, wings are the last thing Sam would have thought of when it comes to a demonic curse. A tail and horns maybe, hell, even goat feet or whatever is used in personifications of the evil, but certainly not feathered wings.
"Honestly, Sam? I have no idea," Bobby then says.
Sam has the impression that this is the only answer he'll get. Not that the why wings is the important issue anyway. "Okay, what do we do? He can't stay like that. His immune system's fighting them off and I'm pretty worried about the fever," Sam states the obvious.
"No, he can't," Bobby agrees and after a short pause, he adds, "we'll have to cut them off. It's the only chance we have."
"What?" Sam says, shocked. He'd burst out laughing if Bobby didn't look so dead serious about it. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem to be joking. Not at all. "You want to cut them off? Bobby, we're not surgeons."
"We aren't, Sam, but would you rather let Dean be miserable until he dies from the fever? I'm afraid the wings won't go away by themselves," Bobby insists.
Sam knows that Bobby's right; it's their only chance. They're good at research, always have been, both of them and if there were any other way to deal with this, one of them would have found it by now. Bobby's probably the best and most reliable source of demonology Sam has ever known, better than any book could be and Sam's sure that if Bobby suggests something like cutting off the wings then it's the last resort.
This still doesn't mean he has to like it. He wants to argue some more, maybe convince Bobby to search for an alternative but when he sees the stern look on Bobby's face and thinks about Dean, barely awake, in the other room, that's all the convincing Sam needs - at least to listen to what Bobby has to say.
"Okay, what do you suggest?" Sam asks.
"We start off with a Christian ritual tomorrow for purification," Bobby explains.
Sam wants to interrupt that neither he or Dean are possessed or that they're both baptized, that's why he doesn't see the need, but then he bites his tongue to let Bobby continue.
"Then we cut them off," Bobby's gaze is fixated on his hands as he fiddles with his fingernails. "I have a friend coming to help."
Sam worries about the ritual immediately disappear as soon as he realizes that someone's going to join them the next day. He knows that he shouldn't get up his hopes, but his mouth works faster than his mind. "Is it a doctor?"
Bobby briefly looks up, his eyes clouded with worry and then he only shakes his head. "No, Peter's a priest."
Neither speaks for a while until Bobby finally breaks the silence. "Listen, Sam. I know you don't like this, believe me, I don't like it either, but it's the only way to help Dean. We should try and catch some sleep, take a sleeping pill if you must and try not to worry as much. We'll get started tomorrow morning, at seven."
With finishing the sentence, Bobby gets up, his last facial expression making it clear that he thinks Sam should do the same. "Call me, if you boys need anything," he says before he disappears in his own bedroom.
***
Sam tries to be as quiet as he can as he enters the room Dean is supposed to be sleeping in. When he comes close to the bed, he notices Dean watching him through half-lidded eyes.
"Hey," Sam says softly, immediately reaching out for Dean to stroke his skin and check on his fever - as subtly as possible.
"Hey, yourself," Dean whispers in return, his skin still hot and sticky, but not quite as when they first arrived. At least the meds help a bit to lower the fever.
"You're supposed to be asleep," Sam smiles at Dean while he caresses him gently.
"Slept all the way from Idaho," Dean states and he even manages to grin weakly.
There's a burn in Sam's chest, the worries about Dean suddenly washing over him, hitting him hard with such a force that he nearly forgets how to breathe. The tiredness finally gets to him and Sam can't suppress the tears that pool in the corner of his eyes.
"What's up, Sammy? Someone kill your puppy?" Dean attempts lamely to joke.
Sam wants to say, "no, not yet," but instead he just shakes his head and says, "Dean, don't."
Dean sighs heavily, before he awkwardly tries to turn around to face Sam. The room is barely lit and it's hard to make out any facial expressions, but it's enough for Sam to see the frown on Dean's face.
"Look, Sammy," Dean whispers, "whatever Bobby told you, man, you gotta tell me. Don't think you gotta sugarcoat anything for me, I can handle it."
Sam almost doesn't want to, doesn't want to speak it out loud and finally accept what Bobby suggested, cutting off Dean's wings, hurting Dean and risking his life. Sam's no fool and no matter how dumb Dean sometimes likes to play, Sam knows that Dean isn't either. Cutting off the wings, causing two huge wounds, especially without professional equipment and Dean already being weak due to days of high fever, could kill Dean and end his life before his final year is up.
"He," Sam starts but then trails off. It takes him another moment until he can go on. "Bobby suggested we cut off your wings."
There's a brief moment of silence, the only sounds in the room caused by their breathing. Sam sits down on the edge of Dean's bed, stroking his back softly. His hand slides over the wings, the beautiful wings that have caused Dean already so much pain.
"Ah, thank God," Dean groans, a weak smile on his face. "You have no idea how heavy those fuckers are, Sammy."
Sam can't help but smile at that, because you know, that's probably the most Dean-like thing that Dean could have said. No worries about the threatening surgery, if you even can call it like that, no worries about pain, infections, blood loss, no worries about maybe not making it.
On the one hand, Sam's glad that at least one of them is not meeting trouble halfway, but on the other it makes him sad, knowing too well that it's because Dean thinks his time was up anyway, even though it's not yet been six months since the yellow-eyed demon's defeat. That's when he thinks back to Dean's apparent ease about his life, as if he already made his peace with it, ready for his final year to be up. And just be okay with that.
But Sam isn't. And he will never be, he's not going to be okay with the fact that Dean might die. Fact is, Sam didn't handle it very well when their father passed over a year ago, and he damn well knows that losing Dean, his Dean, is more than he could ever cope with. It goes far beyond the fear of being alone, of losing the last member of his family. It's about losing the person he loves more than anyone else in his life.
"If you start bawling on me now, I'm gonna whup your ass as soon as I'm better. Don't think I wouldn't," Dean warns, a wink on his face despite the admonitory tone.
And maybe, he's right, maybe lightening things up and being a little more positive is not a bad thing to do. That's why Sam says, with a wink also, "hm, I might even like that."
"Yeah, nice image," Dean's hand falls onto Sam's thigh and he squeezes briefly. "Now tell me what else Bobby said."
Sam takes a deep breath and while his hand rubs a soothing circle over Dean's back. Finally, he tells him. "See, you're not possessed, but still, Bobby wants to do a christening ritual. I guess for purification or…" Sam pauses a moment. "Or for the case you don't make it. I didn't really ask."
Sam takes another deep breath and watches Dean from the corner of his eyes. Dean only nods at him, signalizing that he understands, absolutely no signs of worry on his face.
"He has a friend coming to help. Peter, I think that was his name. He- he's a priest. And then, yeah, we'll cut them off, hoping…" Sam doesn't go on.
He doesn't have to because Dean finishes the sentence for him, "hoping that I survive."
"Yeah," Sam whispers hoarsely.
They're quiet once more, not looking at each other. Absent-mindedly, Sam continues rubbing Dean's back while Dean's hand strokes lightly over Sam's thigh. There's no need to say anything right now because in fact everything that needs to be said, is said through the simple gesture of touch.
And just like that, they let the subject drop. It's not that Sam wouldn't need to talk about it more, make Dean understand that he's not giving up on him so easily, but he knows that Dean wouldn't appreciate it anyway. No, Dean needs other forms of communication and reassurance.
Sam adds a little more pressure, gently massaging Dean's upper back. The area around the exit wounds is red and slightly swollen, torn and angry; it's a good starting point.
"That feel good?" Sam asks before he bends forward and places a soft kiss to Dean's shoulder.
"Hm- hm," Dean hums in return as Sam works his back quietly.
Sam lets the movement of his hands speak for him. Thoroughly he works on Dean's shoulders, further down his back, trying to ease out the tension. Dean moans softly as Sam strokes his sides and eventually drops his hands to his ass.
Dean sucks in a breath before he says, "don't give me ideas, Sammy."
There's a sudden and indescribable need within Sam, the need to feel and to taste Dean, to show him how much he means to Sam. Sam doesn't answer immediately, only murmurs to himself as he continues working Dean's back. He loves how Dean relaxes under his touch, he loves how much he relaxes himself when touching Dean.
"Hm, maybe I want you to have certain ideas," Sam says with a smile. Quickly, he adds though, "unless you're too tired."
He knows that Dean won't let him get away with that, no that's against the manly pride of Dean Winchester. Indeed Dean's easy enough and doesn't disappoint in any way.
"Me? Too tired to get laid? I got no idea what you're talking about, Sammy," Dean says with a grin and before Sam can come up with a witty remark, Dean adds, "you might have to be a little creative today though, 'cause, you know, might not work in your usual missionary position with the wings."
That's the Dean Sam knows. Maybe he should be offended because their sex isn't even vanilla to begin with, but on the other hand, Sam knows that this is Dean's way to deal with his emotions.
If Dean wants it to be that way, Sam can do him the favor and play along. "Hm, bad luck. I was planning on giving it to you real hard and I guess the good, old-fashioned vanilla way would have made it most comfortable for you. Lie down now and spread your legs for me."
Dean grins broadly at Sam before he shifts again so that he's lying down, ass turned up. For a brief moment, Sam admires Dean's backside and then he brings his hands up to undress Dean. "Lift a bit," he orders, squeezing Dean's hips.
Dean complies and gives Sam the necessary room to reach underneath him and work the buttons and fly of his worn-out jeans open. Gently, Sam tugs at them, finally undressing Dean not only with his eyes. Sam removes the rest of Dean's clothing quickly - his socks and boxer-briefs - until Dean's in front of him in his naked glory. It's a sight Sam will never get tired of, the hard edges and strong muscles of Dean's body, everything burned into his mind.
"Come on," Dean whispers hoarsely, "you needa get naked for this to work too."
Sam smiles at Dean's need and urgency, but doesn't lose any more time as he gets rid off his own clothes. Once he's naked, he climbs onto the bed, straddling Dean from behind. The wings are folded at Dean's back and yet they tickle against Sam's thighs - since they're so incredibly huge.
Sam starts with a few soft kisses to Dean's neck and shoulders. He's very gentle at first, but as their arousal grows, he uses more teeth, biting Dean and sucking at his skin. Dean moans his approval, his hips writhing against the mattress for some friction.
"Sammy," Dean groans, trying to twist around and reach for Sam.
Sam tears his mouth away from Dean and stretches out on top of him so that his half-hard cock is nestled comfortably between Dean's ass cheeks. He leans in, trying not to squish Dean but on the other hand trying to get as much physical contact as they can. He needs the reassurance, he needs the closeness. He needs… to feel.
"I got you," Sam whispers before he kisses the side of Dean's face. He's not whispering because of Bobby, sleeping in the room down the hall, no, he whispers to keep the moment - their moment - intimate. "Let me take care of you," Sam says and it doesn't take long for Dean to nod and answer, "yeah, Sammy. Yeah."
Sam writhes against Dean, his cock rubbing satisfyingly against Dean. It grows from half-hard to hard within seconds, so fast that Sam hears the blood rushing in his ears and his head feels a little dizzy. It's comforting how smoothly they fit together, Sam's cock nestled against Dean's ass, as if it belonged there. Dean moans at the friction and lifts his hips a little to press against Sam.
Dean lifting his hips gives Sam ideas almost immediately. He sits back on his heels as his hands move underneath Dean. Gently, Sam pulls Dean up and helps him bring his knees underneath him for leverage. Dean's face is still on the soft pillow, while his ass is in the air. When Dean looks at him, he smirks, a loving and trusting expression on his face.
Sam licks his lips and nods at Dean one last time before he bends forward. Placing his hands on Dean's cheeks, he pushes them apart carefully. He hesitates only a second, licking his lips yet again and then he connects his lips to Dean's soft skin. Sam's teasing at first, his tongue running lightly between Dean's parted cheeks. Dean rewards Sam's efforts with a long groan and a tremendous shiver.
Sam has to smirk to himself because of Dean's reaction - because Dean, you know, he's never been someone who doesn't know how to enjoy the guilty pleasures of flesh. Softly Sam brushes his tongue against Dean's entrance, barely touching; he's yet again rewarded with a deep, satisfied moan, carrying his name.
He could go on like this forever, lick, tease, lick, tease; and so on, and so on. Sam's sure that he'd never get tired of it. Yet, he decides to bring things a little further. When he pushes his tongue against Dean, pushes in after a little bit of resistance, Dean moans again, loud enough to have Sam worry whether they'll be waking Bobby. He doesn't spend a second thought on this though as he wiggles his tongue inside Dean; pleasing him, tasting him. Sam will never get tired of this, of Dean's musky and manly taste, stronger than ever, or how easily he comes undone when he's underneath Sam like this.
"Holy shit, Sammy," Dean pants, squirming underneath Sam's hands.
Sam has to hold him still as he uses his tongue to circle Dean's entrance, stimulating it lightly, just to push back in greedily. The words Dean utters stop making any sense, but Sam doesn't mind, doesn't mind at all, proud of what he can do to Dean. Sam doesn't really want to stop kissing and licking and sucking Dean's most intimate places, being so incredibly close to him like no one else ever could be.
"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, please," Dean chants as his whole body quivers, his arousal so painfully obvious.
Eventually, Sam tears himself away, straightens a little and gives both of them a moment to catch their breaths. He's achingly hard himself by now, his full cock already leaking pre-come and ready for what comes next.
"D'you want me now, Dean?" Sam asks, his voice low and deep, "d'you want my big dick inside you, hm?" With finishing the sentence, Sam grips his hard cock and rubs the slick head over Dean's spit-wet hole. He presses against it, but doesn't push in; yet.
"Yeah," Dean moans, leaning back and making it clear where he wants Sam's cock to be right now. "Yeah, want you. Want you to give it to me. Please, Sammy, please."
Sam nods, even though he sees that Dean's currently hiding his face in the pillow and that he doesn't look back to see what Sam's doing, doesn't see him nod. One of his hands strokes over Dean's back once more, caressing the hot and sweaty skin. His fingers wander over the wings, feeling them once more, as they're slightly damp with Dean's sweat. Sam's hand continues its movements until it reaches Dean's shoulder. Firmly, he pushes and holds Dean down.
Dean's worn out and tired enough to not put up much of a fight anyway, still Sam uses his hand to keep him in place. With his other hand, Sam reaches into his duffle bag, searching for the tube of lube he carries there. It takes him a moment to find it, he didn't particularly fold their clothes neatly as he spontaneously decided that Bobby is the only person able to help them. Eventually, he succeeds though, fishing out of his bag what he's searching, a nearly empty tube of KY.
"Sam, hurry," Dean pleads, pushing his ass against Sam's crotch and reminding Sam again of his painfully hard erection.
"Yeah, okay," Sam mumbles absent-mindedly as he fidgets with the cap of the tube. Once it's open, he drips a generous amount of the clear liquid directly onto Dean's entrance, making Dean moan, as the cool liquid lands on his hot skin. Sam smirks and then he uses one finger first to push the lube into Dean and smear it around his hole. A second finger follows the first and by the time Sam's stimulating Dean with a third, Dean curses filthily under his breath.
"Ready," Sam whispers as he bends over Dean, his lips directly at Dean's ear, his fingers still in his ass.
"Yeah, always, Sammy, always ready for you," Dean says, pushing back against Sam's fingers.
Quickly, Sam removes them and reaches for the tube of lube again. He squeezes another good amount of the liquid, this time onto his palm. The tube makes a funny sound because it's nearly empty and Sam can think of at least ten awkward things Dean could say now to ruin the mood. Dean in fact opens his mouth to say something, so that's why Sam slicks up his cock and pushes into Dean all in one go.
"Ah, fuck!" Dean moans - this time definitely loud enough that Bobby must have heard it. Sam prays quickly that Bobby doesn't have the light sleep of a hunter and that maybe he did not just hear them.
"Dude, warn a guy," Dean pseudo-complains.
Sam only hums softly, giving Dean another moment to adjust before he pulls out a little. Slowly, he pushes back in, drawing another moan from Dean. He's thrusting in and out of Dean carefully at first but as Dean starts pushing back against him, encouraging Sam to do him harder, Sam's strokes become more forceful.
"Hm, yeah," Sam groans, the tightness around his dick, hot and stimulating. "Feel so good, Dean. So good."
Sam licks his dry lips as he sets a fast pace. One of his hands is on Dean's hip to keep him in place, the other is on Dean's back, comforting between the two black wings. He doesn't need to hold Dean down though, not really, not after days of high fever. Dean pushes his ass back as much as he can, meeting Sam's thrusts and clearly not getting enough. Dean hums softly, murmuring how good it feels, how only Sam can give it to him like, fill him like that, do him so good. When Sam changes the angle a bit, he finally manages to hit Dean's prostate.
"Fuck, yeah!" Dean practically shouts. "Sammy, please, please."
"Yeah, yeah," Sam chants, not slowing the urgent thrusts of his hips. He feels his orgasm building in the pit of his stomach, the warmth beginning to spread and the nerves beginning to tickle. It won't take him long now until he's coming, white and hot. The hand on Dean's hip slides to Dean's front until it finds his dick. When Sam jerks it, rubbing his thumb over the head, it's already heavily leaking pre-come. It's only a matter of seconds now, a matter of few, last and desperate thrusts.
Suddenly, there's a huge lump in Sam's throat; the thought that, you know, maybe this is the last time they're doing this crossing his mind. Maybe this is the very last time that he can be so physically close, so intimate with Dean. The idea alone is nearly killing him, making him push his hips even harder into Dean.
Sam jerks and pulls out of Dean as release washes finally over him. His come splatters over Dean's ass and lower back, even lands up so far to be caught in his wings, the milky white of Sam's come a contrast against the pitch blackness of the feathers. Sam groans long and low, ready to sag down now, his tiredness and exhaustion surfacing once more.
He takes a few deep breaths and only when Dean whines and wriggles underneath him, Sam remembers that they're not quite done. Not yet. The hand on Dean's back moves around to his chest so that Sam can pull him upright. Sam needs to steady Dean, the sex exhausting him and adding to the weakness from the last few days.
"I'll get you there. I'll take care of you," Sam whispers softly against Dean's ear while his hand strokes up and down Dean's cock, squeezing a little each time it reaches he head, just like he knows Dean likes it.
He nuzzles Dean's neck as he jerks Dean off, only a couple more strokes and Dean's spilling over Sam's hand with a deep and satisfied groan. Dean's wings flutter nervously as he comes, as if to share the excitement that must be running through Dean's body.
Sam finally allows himself to collapse forward, landing on Dean. They stay like this for a while until Dean once more writhes underneath Sam.
"Get off me, Sammy," he says hoarsely, but with a gentle smile on his face.
Sam's smiling too as he rolls off Dean and off the bed. He searches for a shirt, a worn one and when he finally succeeds in finding one, he uses it to clean Dean and himself.
After discarding the shirt and stuffing it back into his duffle, along with the clean clothes, Sam settles down next to Dean. Neither speaks for a while, there's no need because everything they needed to say to each other, every bit of reassurance, has been said through touch. Sam even thinks that Dean already fell asleep, so when he turns to his side - to secretly watch Dean sleep - he's surprised to see Dean still awake.
"Hey," Sam says, bringing a hand up to stroke Dean's face.
"Hey back atcha," Dean smiles, closing his eyes at the touch.
"Ready for tomorrow?" Sam asks, not sure whether he's ready himself.
Dean takes a moment before he responds but when he does there's a tired but confident smile on his face. "Yeah, ready for whatever's to come."
Sam leans in and kisses Dean lazily, all passion gone now that they're so fucked out and satisfied. They don't say anything else and quickly fall asleep to recharge the batteries for the next day. The big day.
Part 2
Author: benitle
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural FPS
Summary: After burning down a church during a job, Dean develops two painful bumps. He never dared imagine them turn into this…
Word count: 17,715 words
Warnings, spoilers: incest, rimming, wing!fic. hurt/comfort, angst, future!fic. No real spoilers, set a few months after the S2 finale.
Notes: First of all, many, many thanks to aynslee for the fantastic and überfast beta. Thank you so much, honey for finding each of my stupid typos and comma mistakes! ♥ This fic was written for the bitch_jerkoff challenge and is a gift to kashmir1. Her original prompt can be found here. I hope you'll enjoy the fic, babe! Many thanks also to drvsilla and moveablehistory for organizing this fun challenge! Can we have round two now please? If anyone is curious about the resources I used for this, you'll find a link at the end of the fic.
The characters don't belong to me, I only borrowed them. No money is being made, no copyright infringement intended. Feedback is appreciated. Enjoy!
Most people you ask are going to tell you that burning down a church is not a good idea. They'll tell you that a church is a sacred and holy place, a place for prayer and worship, for sacrifice and salvation. They'll tell you about respect for the Lord and his great creation but what most can't even imagine is that there are people who abuse such places to use them for their own dark, satanic religion, their own cult, until there is nothing sacred and pure left.
After finishing their latest job - a bunch of kids, Satanists no less, that managed to get themselves possessed by demons to summon even more demons - there's so much evil and unholy in the church that there's no real alternative left. The evil is in each and every corner of the church, in every pore of the dark mahogany benches, in each and every tear of the gray marble stone. The leftover symbols of the satanic rituals are still clearly visible, carved into the floors, the walls; they're everywhere. The air stinks of spilled blood, reeking like the venom it is.
There's no priest around, the church - just like the whole surrounding area - having been abandoned what seems like years ago. That's why Sam and Dean checked with Bobby, asked for advice on what to do with this soiled place. Bobby wasn't one hundred percent sure that it was a good idea, but still it was the best he could think of: salt and burn it down and with it, all evil that there might still be.
"I don't have a good feeling about this," Sam admits as he watches the flames lick at the heavy, wooden doors of the church, the heat of the fire warming their faces. There are huge, dark gray clouds of smoke coming out of it as they stand there, not doing anything but watching it burn.
When Sam turns to look at Dean, Dean doesn't say anything. His face is lit by the fire; shimmering in the orange light of the flames. Dean looks strangely peaceful like this, his beautiful features relaxed and even - almost like the impressive and flawless marble statues of the angels in the church.
"Yeah," Dean states. That's all he's got to say about this and Sam knows that pressing things further won't lead him anywhere.
Ever since the yellow-eyed demon has been defeated - the Winchester lifetime mission accomplished - Dean has been strangely at ease, strangely calm and strangely okay with the fact that his clock is continuously ticking. They're still working their jobs and Dean's main complaint is that he's sick of all the demons and that he wishes they could work on a job that's not a demon for once, a chupacabra maybe or even some normal, restless spirit. But no such luck, not with that amount of demons released.
***
They're back at the motel and sometimes Sam has to smirk at how little has changed ever since it's supposedly over. The motels are still crappy, the food is still too greasy and the endless hours in the Impala are still far too many. He knows that deep inside, Dean always feared that Sam would take off, maybe go back to school and find himself a new girl once it's all over. But Sam never thought about it, not since Dean and he became serious.
That's another thing that didn't change after defeating the big, bad demon - and Sam's glad for that.
Dean's currently lying on the bed, face down and dressed in nothing more than a pair of worn-out boxers, with Sam sitting on his butt. He had complained that his back felt sore and Sam didn't need to be asked twice to do something about it. So now, Sam's hands are carefully working over Dean's dry skin, kneading through the little knots and kinks of Dean's back. Whenever Sam hits a particularly tense spot, Dean groans, the pillow absorbing it almost completely, so that it's nothing more than a muffled sound.
"You got two funny-looking red spots here," Sam says, his hands making clear what he means with "here".
Dean doesn't say anything - apart from his moans - and lets Sam work over the marks. They're located on the upper part of Dean's back, maybe about a palm below the top points of Dean's shoulder blades. When Sam works over them, they're hot and particularly hard. No matter how much he tries, he just can't solve those two knots - it goes as far as Dean even telling him to stop at a certain point because it gets painful.
Sam shrugs it off and simply works with the lower regions of Dean's body, neither minding too much.
***
Sam should have known something's off the minute Dean untangles himself and starts writhing. Even though Dean's a light sleeper, he's not one of those people to keep moving from one side to the other because they can't sleep properly, no, most of the time, Dean stays perfectly still in his sleep.
Sam's brain is still fogged, waking up only slowly. But when he looks over to Dean, he sees that Dean's eyes are covered with a hand, the grimace on his face clearly giving away his discomfort.
"Hey," Sam says softly, bringing a hand up to Dean's face to stroke the unease away. "What's wrong?"
But Dean wouldn't be Dean if he'd spill that easily. When he mumbles, "nothing," Sam's almost tempted to let it go, to pull Dean close again, snuggle up and go back to sleep to deal with it tomorrow. Well, almost. Sam runs a hand from Dean's cheek to his arms and then to his shoulders.
"Huh?" Sam says confused as his fingers touch something hot and sticky.
Dean hisses and writhes away from Sam like a child shies away from the hot stove after burning its fingers. When Sam brings his hand to his own face, smelling the liquid now coating his digits, he realizes that it's blood.
"You're bleeding, Dean!" Sam gasps, clumsily trying to reach the bedside table to turn on the old-fashioned lamp sitting there. Dean's quicker though, pushing down the switch.
That's when Sam finally gets a good look. Indeed, Dean's back is bleeding, not heavily in the life-threatening kind of way, but enough to get dark-red blood smeared everywhere. Carefully, Sam pushes Dean down onto his belly so that he can have a good look at Dean's back and assess the wound.
"Wow," Sam says, not really believing what he sees.
When Dean twists, trying to get a look himself, Sam pushes him down again. "What?" Dean snarls impatiently.
"You're not going to believe this, Dean. Looks as if something was growing out of your back," Sam says, carefully touching.
There are two bumps on Dean's back, exactly where the red marks were earlier. Sam would say they look like ganglions, except for they actually broke the skin, causing the bleeding. They're a few inches long already and quite thick, by all means looking like real bone covered in real callus.
"Careful there, Dr. Frankenstein," Dean hisses as Sam touches and squeezes a little.
Sam says with concern in his voice, "yeah, bet you wanna play doctor games, Dean. But seriously, does it hurt?"
The geek inside him can't help but think that it's kind of interesting to know that Dean actually feels something and he's sensitive to pressure, but of course, he doesn't tell Dean because Dean's most definitely not up for any kind of fascination right now.
"No," is Dean's immediate and defiant reply, but Sam's known Dean long enough to see right through him; Dean's lying.
"Right. Anyways, looks like bones or something. I can't really tell what it is, but it's still growing. And growing fast," Sam states. When he strokes over the skin around the excrescences, it's hot and tense.
"Comforting," Dean says, slowly pushing himself up, "let me get cleaned up."
Sam watches Dean walk into the small motel room bathroom, his whole back bloody now. He gives Dean a few moments to himself, knowing too well that Dean wouldn't want him in the room anyway. Sam would bet his soul that Dean's standing awkwardly in front of the mirror, trying to get a look at what's going on.
What Sam also knows is that it's going to be impossible for Dean to wash his back without being in pain all by himself (especially after he was already so sensitive to Sam's soft touch) but that he's not going to ask for help on the other hand either. That's why Sam gets up from the bed - there's blood on the sheets, he definitely needs to treat Dean's wounds - and walks into the bathroom.
He's right. Dean's indeed in the shower, trying to wash his back awkwardly and cussing under his breath because it's not going as planned.
"Let me help you, Dean," Sam says softly and when Dean only grunts, he takes that as all the agreement he needs. Sam slips out of his shirt and boxers and gets into the shower behind Dean. Even within only a few minutes the limb-like things have become bigger.
Sam starts with Dean's shoulders, using soft touches to clean away the blood. When he moves his fingers around the strange limbs, Dean hisses, the area obviously extremely sensitive. Even with the blood gone, the skin is deep red, just like angry skin tends to be like. Sam quickly cleans Dean's lower back, using his fingers to massage it a little, trying to take Dean's mind off of everything that's happening right now, at least for a little while. When he's done, he even smacks Dean's ass, winking at him cheekily as Dean glares at him.
They get out of the shower before the water turns cold, quickly drying off with the cheap, thin motel room towels. Sam steals a few glances at Dean, noticing how tired and uneasy he looks. When Dean bends down to rub the towel over his calves, he hisses at the discomfort.
"Want me to look for painkillers, Dean?" Sam asks softly, carding his fingers through Dean's short hair. Dean doesn't even answer, simply shakes his head. But when Sam looks him in the eyes, they are glassy and clouded with pain.
Sam quickly leans in to kiss Dean on the lips before he whispers, "lie down on the bed and let me have another look, okay?"
Dean simply nods and does as Sam asks him to.
"At least it's not bleeding anymore," Sam says, mostly talking to himself. When he first looked at the excrescences, they were about three or four inches, now it's probably nine to ten, still growing. They look as if they had joints, almost as if Dean were growing two more arms. Sam doesn't really want to dwell on it, and what he wants even less, is to upset Dean with it right now.
"Try and get some sleep, okay? We'll see what we can do about it tomorrow, all right?" Sam soothes, running a soft hand over Dean's lower back, a gesture he knows Dean always found very comforting.
"Yeah," Dean says, his voice raspy and edgy.
Sam doesn't get much sleep himself that night but when Dean leaves his side to search through their duffels for some painkillers, he lets Dean keep up his charade by pretending to be fast asleep.
***
When Sam wakes up - looks like he did get some sleep after all - Dean's still dead to the world. Sleepily, Sam rubs his eye with one hand while his other tries lazily to shove the blanket away. Slowly awakening, he opens his eyes and only then he realizes that it isn't a blanket he's currently covered with. No, he's actually covered with a wing. A fucking wing; attached to Dean's back.
"Holy shit," Sam yelps, jumping a little.
The sudden movement wakes Dean up, making him tense and stir before he slowly opens his eyes. "What is it, Sammy?" he mumbles sleepily.
For a moment Sam doesn't know what to say, not really believing it himself even though he clearly sees how last night's new limbs turned into two big wings, adhered to Dean's shoulders.
"You- you got wings," Sam stutters and it takes Dean only a few split seconds until his eyes spring wide open in shock and he twists his head to see.
"Shit," Dean says, letting his head fall back onto the pillow, face first.
"Yeah," Sam murmurs, his hand slowly reaching out to touch.
If Sam had to guess, he'd say each stretched out wing exceeds the two feet mark, two and a half maybe. They're covered in feathers, long and black. There's what Sam would call a claw or a hook at the very top of the joint, barely visible underneath all those feathers. The little skin on the bone that is not entirely covered is dry and hard and kinda feels like leather. It's such a contrast to the plumage that is soft and reminds Sam of velvet or silk, or something equally pansy.
When Sam turns over to have a look to where the wings are attached to Dean's back, he sees that the skin is still angry and red, dried splatters of blood all around the area where the wings broke the skin. At least the wounds are no longer bleeding.
"We're gonna figure it out, okay? Let's get dressed and then we'll think of what to do," Sam says, stroking a hand through Dean's hair.
Dean only looks up briefly and nods at Sam. "Yeah," he says.
"Do you think you can bend these so that I can get up?" Sam asks while stroking Dean's wings once more. He knows that last night, Dean felt Sam's touches but of course, they can't tell whether Dean can actually control the wings without having tried.
"Let me try," Dean says with a look of concentration on his face.
Indeed the wings do flutter a little but they don't bend. At least not until Sam lends a helping hand; first the wing that's covering him, then the other.
"Guess we have to practice a bit," Sam says as he finally gets up, heading for the bathroom to brush his teeth and take a piss.
"Dude, not planning on having these things for long," Dean calls out for him from the room.
Sam smiles to himself because, you know, fair enough.
***
After Sam and Dean are through with the whole morning ritual - bathroom routine and breakfast - they're sitting by the small table, eyes fixated on the laptop screen.
Dressing turns out to be a problem because the wings are huge by now, still growing even, and none of Dean's t-shirts fit. In the end, Dean gives up and decides to remain shirtless. He's cranky as hell and Sam knows it's only partly to blame on the frustrating dressing situation.
When spread, each wing probably has a length of around three feet by now and they must be heavy. Sam asked Dean about it but Dean being Dean only gave a snotty remark, saying that they better start researching on curses that could have lead to this.
Of course they both assume that it has to do with the demonic possession the day before and the burning down of the church, especially with Dean actually being the one to set it on fire. But this still doesn't give them a lead on what to do and how to get rid of the wings.
In the course of the day, Dean looks paler and paler, sweat pooling on his skin. By late afternoon, Sam insists that Dean lie down a little to take away some of the pressure on his back. At first, Dean protests and says that he wants to help research - after all, he's the one directly affected - but when Sam argues that he'll be faster to search for hints if he doesn't have to worry about Dean passing out from pain any minute, Dean finally gives in. He even agrees to take a painkiller and Sam makes sure not to mention that he saw him take one last night. Judging from Dean's soft snores, he manages to get some rest. Sam's grateful for that because it means he can fully concentrate on his research.
The main problem is that there are too many leads to chose from, none of them fitting one hundred percent. Angels or winged creatures go back thousands of years to different cultures and each source Sam finds has a different interpretation. Most of those sources also portray wings as something heavenly, something pure or God-like, none mentions them in combination with something demonic or evil.
Both Dean and Sam have had their fair share of curses, most of them just tiring but nothing dangerous. After they found a way to break them or after they wore off themselves, they usually laughed about it and went back to their usual business. This time though, Sam doesn't have a good feeling about it, the pitch-black color of the wings hinting at something that should be taken care of. Taken care of soon.
"Hey," Dean suddenly says, the wings making it impossible to roll even onto his side, let alone his back. Dean turns his head as far as he can to look at Sam, and only when Sam looks up from the bright computer screen, he realizes that the sun must have set a few hours ago. The contrast of the screen to the darkness of the room requires a moment of adjustment.
"Hey," Sam says back, getting up to walk over to Dean. Quickly, he stretches his tired limbs, making them pop loudly. It's already past midnight; Sam totally lost track of the time.
"Did you catch some sleep?" Sam asks, even though it's obvious. Still he needs to hear the confirmation from Dean that he's okay, that he'll be okay. That they'll be okay.
"Some, yeah," Dean yawns, not bothering to cover his mouth with a hand.
"Good," Sam says, leaning down for a soft kiss. When their lips part, Dean's eyes are closed and his tongue flicks out to absorb the last bit of taste of Sam from his lips.
They're quiet for a moment until Dean looks at him to ask, "did you find anything?"
Sam hates the look of disappointment on Dean's face; it's there, no matter how much Dean tries to hide it or how quick Dean is to put on his no-shit-poker face. He's a split second too slow and it stings to see that flicker of disappointment in his eyes.
"No, there's too many different sources, none of them leading to anything." Sam confesses, only to add quickly, "but we'll find something. I promise."
Dean nods tiredly at him before yawning again. When he stretches, there's a brief moment in which his discomfort shows. It gives Sam an idea.
"Hey, want me to rub your back a little?" Sam asks. He's prepared for Dean telling him to fuck off - maybe not exactly with those words, but something with essentially the same meaning. However, Dean only moans in return and nods his head and Sam doesn't need any other invitation. While silently working Dean's back, he even manages to draw a few soft groans from him, those little sounds of pleasure Dean makes when it's just them, together and intimate. Only whenever he comes too close to the area where the wings exited Dean's body, where they're attached to him, Dean hisses slightly in pain. So in the end, Sam concentrates on the area directly above the wings, where Dean told him he feels the most pressure.
By the time Sam decides he's done, Dean's already half-asleep again and Sam hopes he'll make it through the night without having to take another pill. Turning out the lights and leaning in to kiss Dean one last time, Sam whispers, "we'll find something tomorrow."
***
The next day isn't much different from the day before. The wings have stopped growing, but otherwise the day is the same. Out of curiosity - even though Dean bitches at him and accuses Sam of selling him to the circus come the next chance - Sam measures the size of the wings. They're about five feet each and when Sam asks whether he could measure the wingspan too Dean nearly hits him. Um, right.
Dean wakes up with a fever and Sam insists he stays in bed, no matter how much Dean whines that he can help. Sam's worried that it has something to do with the demonic curse or that Dean's body is trying to fight off the wings because they're a foreign body.
Sam only leaves the laptop around midday to fetch them something from the diner and by the time he gets back, Dean's hanging half off the bed, face down.
"Dean!" Sam gasps, dropping their food and running over to Dean. What he sees isn't pretty because apparently Dean's been sick and couldn't make it to the bathroom, barely managed to turn over so it's all on the carpet.
"'m sorry," Dean whispers, trying to bring a shaky hand up to wipe at his mouth.
"It's all right, don't worry." Sam rubs a soothing hand over Dean's back, exactly over the spot where he knows Dean's the most uncomfortable right now. Dean's skin is hot and clammy, his fever having risen even more. "Let me help you," Sam says softly, supporting Dean and helping him up.
Dean groans in pain when his back has to hold up the full weight of the wings once more, but he makes it to the bathroom without throwing up on Sam or the floor again. Quickly, Sam cleans Dean's face and helps him brush his teeth, only to bring him back to the other bed and make him lie down again.
"Okay," Sam says, while stroking Dean's back, "I'm calling Bobby. I've checked everything and I didn't get any further. Maybe Bobby knows something or at least someone to help, all right?"
Dean nods before he closes his eyes and groans miserably again. For a moment Sam fears that he's going to throw up once more, but when he doesn't, Sam considers it safe enough to make a quick call. He wouldn't dare leave the room though and as he hits speed dial, he thinks about having to deal with Dean-puke on the carpet, as well as their take-away. Neither's going to be hungry anymore, that's for sure.
***
By the time, Sam gets off the phone with Bobby, Dean has fallen back into a feverish sleep. Sam tries to be as quiet as possible as he packs their few belongings and cleans up the mess as much as he can, leaving most for the cleaning service though. As soon as it's getting dark outside - in another 5 hours maybe - he'll take Dean and get out of here.
Bobby couldn't tell him either what exactly it is but he said that he has a rough idea. When he insisted so fiercely that they'd drive all the way from their current location in Idaho to South Dakota, Sam eventually gave in, even though he doesn't think that Dean's in a good condition to drive.
Eventually Sam lies down too, knowing too well that it might be the last sleep he'll be getting for a while.
***
The motel room has been paid for, the Impala loaded, all that's missing is Dean. Carefully, Sam strokes over Dean's skin that's still as hot as a few hours ago. Dean stirs and then finally wakes up. When he looks at Sam, his eyes are empty and clouded.
"Sammy?" he asks, barely whispering. Dean clears his throat but Sam makes shushing noises, not wanting Dean to exhaust himself further by speaking more than necessary.
"We gotta go, Dean," Sam says. He bends down to kiss the top of Dean's head. "We're going to Bobby's. He'll be able to help," Sam explains.
Dean doesn't answer anything, just closes his eyes again. Quickly, Sam stands up to fetch Dean's leather jacket and to finally get on the road before Dean falls asleep again.
"Here, try this," Sam holds Dean's jacket with one hand while with the other, he tries to pull Dean up. Dean's hot and sweaty body is limp in his arms and Sam has to struggle a bit until he can cover Dean's shoulders with his jacket. He doesn't even try to make him wear the jacket properly, knows it's impossible with the huge wings. Sam's only hope is that no one will see them in the black of the night as they stumble over the parking lot and to the Impala.
Once they've reached the car, Sam's faced with the next problem: how to get Dean settled at least somewhat comfortable. He decides to try and fold the wings as much as he can (as much as anyway possible with a shivering and feverish Dean clinging to him) and then lie him down on the backseat of the Impala. Dean's lying on his side now and Sam hopes he's not crushing the wings too much. Judging from Dean's miserable moans, it's not all cozy and perfect but it'll have to do for the next few hours.
"Hey, buddy," Sam says softly, leaning over the front seat to the backseat. He's stroking Dean's hot face and then covers him with a few shirts and an old blanket he found in the trunk of the car. "Promise to ask for a painkiller when it gets too bad, okay? Now's not the time to play macho man, Dean."
Sam's tone is gentle but also warning. When Dean nods at him, Sam bends forward a little until he reaches the side of Dean's face to place a kiss on Dean's temple and stroke the side of his face.
"Try and get some more sleep. I'll take care of you," Sam says and when Dean nods again, almost drifted off again, Sam adds, "just like I promised."
***
After about three hours Dean asks for some painkillers and some water for the first time. Apart from Dean's needs the rest of the drive is fairly unspectacular. Sam only stops when he has to, like for refueling or pee breaks.
When he finally drives through the large iron gate, signalizing that they've reached their final destination, Sam's sure he's never been so relieved to arrive at Bobby's. Their drive took about 13 hours and Sam drove them straight, only drinking coffee during the whole journey. He's ready to drop dead now, but he knows he can't yet.
Parking right in front of Bobby's door, Sam honks the horn twice to announce their presence. The noise wakes Dean up and he groans again in pain. Stealing a glance whether Bobby's already coming out to help Sam get Dean out of the car, Sam turns around to Dean once more, running a soft hand over his face.
"We're there, Dean," Sam says gently before he bends over to Dean to kiss him. "Everything's going to be all right now."
Dean tries to smile but with the pain he must be in, it turns into a grimace, shadowing his beautiful face. When he lifts his hand a little, it's shaking and Sam has to reach down to actually take it because Dean's too weak now.
"Sam!" Bobby says, a little out of breath, yanking the back door open.
Sam didn't hear Bobby coming at all, totally fixated on Dean and trying everything he can to give Dean at least a little bit of comfort. Squeezing Dean's hand one last time, Sam lets go and gets out of the car to help Bobby settle Dean inside the cabin and get him more comfortable.
Bobby makes them drink a glass of holy water each, just to be sure. Once he's got the proof that neither Sam nor Dean are actually possessed, he helps Sam get Dean settled in one of the rooms. It's the same room they always used to stay in as kids with two narrow, smallish beds that still never kept them from sharing.
Bobby brings more painkillers, plus something that's supposed to lower the fever for Dean and before he leaves the room, he says, "I'll be waiting for you in the kitchen, Sam."
"Yeah," Sam mumbles softly but as soon as the door closes, his attention is back to Dean. "How you're holding up? Want some more painkillers?"
Dean nods weakly and gratefully takes the pills Sam slips into his mouth. His skin is still hot and clammy, his fever obvious. Sam assumes that it's some kind of immune reaction, Dean's body trying to fight off the alien wings in a way it would fight off any other foreign body that doesn't belong there.
Even though the wings stopped growing, they're still huge, no signs of regressing or the curse ending in any other way. Sam lost track of the time, his body and mind exhausted, but he does know that it's been more than 24 hours already, so it's not one of those one-day curses. Carefully, he strokes a hand over Dean's back, using a little bit of pressure to massage and relax Dean's tired and strained muscles.
"D'you want me to massage you a little later?" Sam asks softly and Dean only nods at him.
With a last kiss to the top of Dean's head, Sam gets up to go find Bobby. But before he can make it to the door, Dean weakly calls out for him.
"Sammy," he caws.
"Yeah?" Sam asks carefully.
"Can- can you do me a favor?" Dean sounds defeated, almost at unease for having to ask for help. Of course, Sam knows all about Dean and his pride and his lifetime job of looking out for him. This still hasn't changed, even though it should be Sam looking out for Dean now, now that Dean's time is limited ever since he made a deal with the demon. But old habits die hard, they say. It's especially true if you're dealing with a stubborn Winchester.
"Sure," Sam says, "what d'you need, Dean?"
Dean sighs heavily but eventually he goes on, "can you maybe stretch the wings? Guess they didn't like me laying on them. Just help me fold and unfold them a few times."
Sam nods, more to himself than anyone else, as he strides back to the bed where Dean is lying. Carefully, he grabs one of the wings; the feathers still so soft and delicate under his touch. He runs his fingers over them before he moves to the upper part of the wings, where the bones are, one had left and one right of the joint. The bones are strong and thick and it would take a lot of force to break them, Sam thinks. Not that he ever would, he never would hurt Dean on purpose.
Dean groans loudly in pain as Sam moves the wings, the movement a bit stiff at first but then Sam realizes that it's becoming easier with each bend they do. The second wing is fluttering a little and when he lets go of the one he's currently holding, it keeps folding and unfolding - or rather Dean keeps folding and unfolding it.
Sam climbs onto the bed, so that he's straddling Dean's lower back. He takes the second wing into his hands and starts working out the kinks, just like he did minutes before with the first one.
At first Dean doesn't seem to register that Sam's no longer helping him with the first wing but is currently dedicating himself to the second one but when he does, he gasps, "holy shit, Sammy." Both wings flutter in excitement.
Sam laughs softly for a brief moment, stroking over Dean's back. "Yeah, looks like you can actually control them now," he states the obvious.
"Don't ask me how I'm doing it 'cause I got no clue," Dean says though. When he folds his wings again, they brush over Sam softly, the feathers tickling his skin. Sam actually has to get up so that they can snuggle close to Dean's back.
It's time to talk to Bobby anyway and see whether there's a solution to the problem. Before he leaves the room though, Sam turns around to Dean one last time, "I'm just outside with Bobby, okay? Try and get some more sleep and yell if you need anything. I'll come and check up on you later."
Dean mumbles something that Sam doesn't get - he's sure it's better that way anyway because Dean never enjoyed Sam going all mother hen on him. Yawning tiredly, Sam closes the door behind him and wanders off to find Bobby in the kitchen.
***
Bobby refuses to give Sam more coffee. Counting the number of cups Sam already has had to even make it to South Dakota, this is definitely a wise decision, but it doesn't stop Sam from nearly dropping dead now that the tension and pressure, at least some of it, fall from his shoulders for the first time.
Dean is taken care of for now, safely settled and Sam's dying to get at least a few hours of shuteye himself. After he talks to Bobby about what they can do, though.
"So, after you burned down the church, right?" Bobby clarifies, drinking a cup of coffee himself.
Sam nods and tells Bobby again what he already knows, "first he had red marks on his back, exactly where the wings came out of his body. They were pretty hard and I passed it off as Dean being tense. Then I woke up during the night when he was obviously in pain. That's when we saw the wings for the first time, well, without knowing they're going to be wings, of course. They grew ever since and well, you know the rest."
Taking another sip from his coffee, Bobby sighs and hums only slightly. What he then says isn't very pretty. But then, Sam never expected it to be.
"It's a demonic curse, I'm sure of it. See it as the last gift these fuckers gave you when you burned down the church. And since Dean was the one to actually set it on fire, he was hit." Bobby takes off his hat to run a hand through his hair before putting it back on.
It's a gesture so typically Bobby that it reminds Sam of many hours and hot summer days spent outside on the junkyard, playing hide and seek in old cars. Sam nearly loses himself in the memory until he remembers the reason why they're here.
"Why wings?" Sam asks eventually. He's been wondering about it for a while now. Sure thing, it's black wings and they're causing Dean more pain and stress than doing him any good or making him look angelic, but still, wings are the last thing Sam would have thought of when it comes to a demonic curse. A tail and horns maybe, hell, even goat feet or whatever is used in personifications of the evil, but certainly not feathered wings.
"Honestly, Sam? I have no idea," Bobby then says.
Sam has the impression that this is the only answer he'll get. Not that the why wings is the important issue anyway. "Okay, what do we do? He can't stay like that. His immune system's fighting them off and I'm pretty worried about the fever," Sam states the obvious.
"No, he can't," Bobby agrees and after a short pause, he adds, "we'll have to cut them off. It's the only chance we have."
"What?" Sam says, shocked. He'd burst out laughing if Bobby didn't look so dead serious about it. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem to be joking. Not at all. "You want to cut them off? Bobby, we're not surgeons."
"We aren't, Sam, but would you rather let Dean be miserable until he dies from the fever? I'm afraid the wings won't go away by themselves," Bobby insists.
Sam knows that Bobby's right; it's their only chance. They're good at research, always have been, both of them and if there were any other way to deal with this, one of them would have found it by now. Bobby's probably the best and most reliable source of demonology Sam has ever known, better than any book could be and Sam's sure that if Bobby suggests something like cutting off the wings then it's the last resort.
This still doesn't mean he has to like it. He wants to argue some more, maybe convince Bobby to search for an alternative but when he sees the stern look on Bobby's face and thinks about Dean, barely awake, in the other room, that's all the convincing Sam needs - at least to listen to what Bobby has to say.
"Okay, what do you suggest?" Sam asks.
"We start off with a Christian ritual tomorrow for purification," Bobby explains.
Sam wants to interrupt that neither he or Dean are possessed or that they're both baptized, that's why he doesn't see the need, but then he bites his tongue to let Bobby continue.
"Then we cut them off," Bobby's gaze is fixated on his hands as he fiddles with his fingernails. "I have a friend coming to help."
Sam worries about the ritual immediately disappear as soon as he realizes that someone's going to join them the next day. He knows that he shouldn't get up his hopes, but his mouth works faster than his mind. "Is it a doctor?"
Bobby briefly looks up, his eyes clouded with worry and then he only shakes his head. "No, Peter's a priest."
Neither speaks for a while until Bobby finally breaks the silence. "Listen, Sam. I know you don't like this, believe me, I don't like it either, but it's the only way to help Dean. We should try and catch some sleep, take a sleeping pill if you must and try not to worry as much. We'll get started tomorrow morning, at seven."
With finishing the sentence, Bobby gets up, his last facial expression making it clear that he thinks Sam should do the same. "Call me, if you boys need anything," he says before he disappears in his own bedroom.
***
Sam tries to be as quiet as he can as he enters the room Dean is supposed to be sleeping in. When he comes close to the bed, he notices Dean watching him through half-lidded eyes.
"Hey," Sam says softly, immediately reaching out for Dean to stroke his skin and check on his fever - as subtly as possible.
"Hey, yourself," Dean whispers in return, his skin still hot and sticky, but not quite as when they first arrived. At least the meds help a bit to lower the fever.
"You're supposed to be asleep," Sam smiles at Dean while he caresses him gently.
"Slept all the way from Idaho," Dean states and he even manages to grin weakly.
There's a burn in Sam's chest, the worries about Dean suddenly washing over him, hitting him hard with such a force that he nearly forgets how to breathe. The tiredness finally gets to him and Sam can't suppress the tears that pool in the corner of his eyes.
"What's up, Sammy? Someone kill your puppy?" Dean attempts lamely to joke.
Sam wants to say, "no, not yet," but instead he just shakes his head and says, "Dean, don't."
Dean sighs heavily, before he awkwardly tries to turn around to face Sam. The room is barely lit and it's hard to make out any facial expressions, but it's enough for Sam to see the frown on Dean's face.
"Look, Sammy," Dean whispers, "whatever Bobby told you, man, you gotta tell me. Don't think you gotta sugarcoat anything for me, I can handle it."
Sam almost doesn't want to, doesn't want to speak it out loud and finally accept what Bobby suggested, cutting off Dean's wings, hurting Dean and risking his life. Sam's no fool and no matter how dumb Dean sometimes likes to play, Sam knows that Dean isn't either. Cutting off the wings, causing two huge wounds, especially without professional equipment and Dean already being weak due to days of high fever, could kill Dean and end his life before his final year is up.
"He," Sam starts but then trails off. It takes him another moment until he can go on. "Bobby suggested we cut off your wings."
There's a brief moment of silence, the only sounds in the room caused by their breathing. Sam sits down on the edge of Dean's bed, stroking his back softly. His hand slides over the wings, the beautiful wings that have caused Dean already so much pain.
"Ah, thank God," Dean groans, a weak smile on his face. "You have no idea how heavy those fuckers are, Sammy."
Sam can't help but smile at that, because you know, that's probably the most Dean-like thing that Dean could have said. No worries about the threatening surgery, if you even can call it like that, no worries about pain, infections, blood loss, no worries about maybe not making it.
On the one hand, Sam's glad that at least one of them is not meeting trouble halfway, but on the other it makes him sad, knowing too well that it's because Dean thinks his time was up anyway, even though it's not yet been six months since the yellow-eyed demon's defeat. That's when he thinks back to Dean's apparent ease about his life, as if he already made his peace with it, ready for his final year to be up. And just be okay with that.
But Sam isn't. And he will never be, he's not going to be okay with the fact that Dean might die. Fact is, Sam didn't handle it very well when their father passed over a year ago, and he damn well knows that losing Dean, his Dean, is more than he could ever cope with. It goes far beyond the fear of being alone, of losing the last member of his family. It's about losing the person he loves more than anyone else in his life.
"If you start bawling on me now, I'm gonna whup your ass as soon as I'm better. Don't think I wouldn't," Dean warns, a wink on his face despite the admonitory tone.
And maybe, he's right, maybe lightening things up and being a little more positive is not a bad thing to do. That's why Sam says, with a wink also, "hm, I might even like that."
"Yeah, nice image," Dean's hand falls onto Sam's thigh and he squeezes briefly. "Now tell me what else Bobby said."
Sam takes a deep breath and while his hand rubs a soothing circle over Dean's back. Finally, he tells him. "See, you're not possessed, but still, Bobby wants to do a christening ritual. I guess for purification or…" Sam pauses a moment. "Or for the case you don't make it. I didn't really ask."
Sam takes another deep breath and watches Dean from the corner of his eyes. Dean only nods at him, signalizing that he understands, absolutely no signs of worry on his face.
"He has a friend coming to help. Peter, I think that was his name. He- he's a priest. And then, yeah, we'll cut them off, hoping…" Sam doesn't go on.
He doesn't have to because Dean finishes the sentence for him, "hoping that I survive."
"Yeah," Sam whispers hoarsely.
They're quiet once more, not looking at each other. Absent-mindedly, Sam continues rubbing Dean's back while Dean's hand strokes lightly over Sam's thigh. There's no need to say anything right now because in fact everything that needs to be said, is said through the simple gesture of touch.
And just like that, they let the subject drop. It's not that Sam wouldn't need to talk about it more, make Dean understand that he's not giving up on him so easily, but he knows that Dean wouldn't appreciate it anyway. No, Dean needs other forms of communication and reassurance.
Sam adds a little more pressure, gently massaging Dean's upper back. The area around the exit wounds is red and slightly swollen, torn and angry; it's a good starting point.
"That feel good?" Sam asks before he bends forward and places a soft kiss to Dean's shoulder.
"Hm- hm," Dean hums in return as Sam works his back quietly.
Sam lets the movement of his hands speak for him. Thoroughly he works on Dean's shoulders, further down his back, trying to ease out the tension. Dean moans softly as Sam strokes his sides and eventually drops his hands to his ass.
Dean sucks in a breath before he says, "don't give me ideas, Sammy."
There's a sudden and indescribable need within Sam, the need to feel and to taste Dean, to show him how much he means to Sam. Sam doesn't answer immediately, only murmurs to himself as he continues working Dean's back. He loves how Dean relaxes under his touch, he loves how much he relaxes himself when touching Dean.
"Hm, maybe I want you to have certain ideas," Sam says with a smile. Quickly, he adds though, "unless you're too tired."
He knows that Dean won't let him get away with that, no that's against the manly pride of Dean Winchester. Indeed Dean's easy enough and doesn't disappoint in any way.
"Me? Too tired to get laid? I got no idea what you're talking about, Sammy," Dean says with a grin and before Sam can come up with a witty remark, Dean adds, "you might have to be a little creative today though, 'cause, you know, might not work in your usual missionary position with the wings."
That's the Dean Sam knows. Maybe he should be offended because their sex isn't even vanilla to begin with, but on the other hand, Sam knows that this is Dean's way to deal with his emotions.
If Dean wants it to be that way, Sam can do him the favor and play along. "Hm, bad luck. I was planning on giving it to you real hard and I guess the good, old-fashioned vanilla way would have made it most comfortable for you. Lie down now and spread your legs for me."
Dean grins broadly at Sam before he shifts again so that he's lying down, ass turned up. For a brief moment, Sam admires Dean's backside and then he brings his hands up to undress Dean. "Lift a bit," he orders, squeezing Dean's hips.
Dean complies and gives Sam the necessary room to reach underneath him and work the buttons and fly of his worn-out jeans open. Gently, Sam tugs at them, finally undressing Dean not only with his eyes. Sam removes the rest of Dean's clothing quickly - his socks and boxer-briefs - until Dean's in front of him in his naked glory. It's a sight Sam will never get tired of, the hard edges and strong muscles of Dean's body, everything burned into his mind.
"Come on," Dean whispers hoarsely, "you needa get naked for this to work too."
Sam smiles at Dean's need and urgency, but doesn't lose any more time as he gets rid off his own clothes. Once he's naked, he climbs onto the bed, straddling Dean from behind. The wings are folded at Dean's back and yet they tickle against Sam's thighs - since they're so incredibly huge.
Sam starts with a few soft kisses to Dean's neck and shoulders. He's very gentle at first, but as their arousal grows, he uses more teeth, biting Dean and sucking at his skin. Dean moans his approval, his hips writhing against the mattress for some friction.
"Sammy," Dean groans, trying to twist around and reach for Sam.
Sam tears his mouth away from Dean and stretches out on top of him so that his half-hard cock is nestled comfortably between Dean's ass cheeks. He leans in, trying not to squish Dean but on the other hand trying to get as much physical contact as they can. He needs the reassurance, he needs the closeness. He needs… to feel.
"I got you," Sam whispers before he kisses the side of Dean's face. He's not whispering because of Bobby, sleeping in the room down the hall, no, he whispers to keep the moment - their moment - intimate. "Let me take care of you," Sam says and it doesn't take long for Dean to nod and answer, "yeah, Sammy. Yeah."
Sam writhes against Dean, his cock rubbing satisfyingly against Dean. It grows from half-hard to hard within seconds, so fast that Sam hears the blood rushing in his ears and his head feels a little dizzy. It's comforting how smoothly they fit together, Sam's cock nestled against Dean's ass, as if it belonged there. Dean moans at the friction and lifts his hips a little to press against Sam.
Dean lifting his hips gives Sam ideas almost immediately. He sits back on his heels as his hands move underneath Dean. Gently, Sam pulls Dean up and helps him bring his knees underneath him for leverage. Dean's face is still on the soft pillow, while his ass is in the air. When Dean looks at him, he smirks, a loving and trusting expression on his face.
Sam licks his lips and nods at Dean one last time before he bends forward. Placing his hands on Dean's cheeks, he pushes them apart carefully. He hesitates only a second, licking his lips yet again and then he connects his lips to Dean's soft skin. Sam's teasing at first, his tongue running lightly between Dean's parted cheeks. Dean rewards Sam's efforts with a long groan and a tremendous shiver.
Sam has to smirk to himself because of Dean's reaction - because Dean, you know, he's never been someone who doesn't know how to enjoy the guilty pleasures of flesh. Softly Sam brushes his tongue against Dean's entrance, barely touching; he's yet again rewarded with a deep, satisfied moan, carrying his name.
He could go on like this forever, lick, tease, lick, tease; and so on, and so on. Sam's sure that he'd never get tired of it. Yet, he decides to bring things a little further. When he pushes his tongue against Dean, pushes in after a little bit of resistance, Dean moans again, loud enough to have Sam worry whether they'll be waking Bobby. He doesn't spend a second thought on this though as he wiggles his tongue inside Dean; pleasing him, tasting him. Sam will never get tired of this, of Dean's musky and manly taste, stronger than ever, or how easily he comes undone when he's underneath Sam like this.
"Holy shit, Sammy," Dean pants, squirming underneath Sam's hands.
Sam has to hold him still as he uses his tongue to circle Dean's entrance, stimulating it lightly, just to push back in greedily. The words Dean utters stop making any sense, but Sam doesn't mind, doesn't mind at all, proud of what he can do to Dean. Sam doesn't really want to stop kissing and licking and sucking Dean's most intimate places, being so incredibly close to him like no one else ever could be.
"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, please," Dean chants as his whole body quivers, his arousal so painfully obvious.
Eventually, Sam tears himself away, straightens a little and gives both of them a moment to catch their breaths. He's achingly hard himself by now, his full cock already leaking pre-come and ready for what comes next.
"D'you want me now, Dean?" Sam asks, his voice low and deep, "d'you want my big dick inside you, hm?" With finishing the sentence, Sam grips his hard cock and rubs the slick head over Dean's spit-wet hole. He presses against it, but doesn't push in; yet.
"Yeah," Dean moans, leaning back and making it clear where he wants Sam's cock to be right now. "Yeah, want you. Want you to give it to me. Please, Sammy, please."
Sam nods, even though he sees that Dean's currently hiding his face in the pillow and that he doesn't look back to see what Sam's doing, doesn't see him nod. One of his hands strokes over Dean's back once more, caressing the hot and sweaty skin. His fingers wander over the wings, feeling them once more, as they're slightly damp with Dean's sweat. Sam's hand continues its movements until it reaches Dean's shoulder. Firmly, he pushes and holds Dean down.
Dean's worn out and tired enough to not put up much of a fight anyway, still Sam uses his hand to keep him in place. With his other hand, Sam reaches into his duffle bag, searching for the tube of lube he carries there. It takes him a moment to find it, he didn't particularly fold their clothes neatly as he spontaneously decided that Bobby is the only person able to help them. Eventually, he succeeds though, fishing out of his bag what he's searching, a nearly empty tube of KY.
"Sam, hurry," Dean pleads, pushing his ass against Sam's crotch and reminding Sam again of his painfully hard erection.
"Yeah, okay," Sam mumbles absent-mindedly as he fidgets with the cap of the tube. Once it's open, he drips a generous amount of the clear liquid directly onto Dean's entrance, making Dean moan, as the cool liquid lands on his hot skin. Sam smirks and then he uses one finger first to push the lube into Dean and smear it around his hole. A second finger follows the first and by the time Sam's stimulating Dean with a third, Dean curses filthily under his breath.
"Ready," Sam whispers as he bends over Dean, his lips directly at Dean's ear, his fingers still in his ass.
"Yeah, always, Sammy, always ready for you," Dean says, pushing back against Sam's fingers.
Quickly, Sam removes them and reaches for the tube of lube again. He squeezes another good amount of the liquid, this time onto his palm. The tube makes a funny sound because it's nearly empty and Sam can think of at least ten awkward things Dean could say now to ruin the mood. Dean in fact opens his mouth to say something, so that's why Sam slicks up his cock and pushes into Dean all in one go.
"Ah, fuck!" Dean moans - this time definitely loud enough that Bobby must have heard it. Sam prays quickly that Bobby doesn't have the light sleep of a hunter and that maybe he did not just hear them.
"Dude, warn a guy," Dean pseudo-complains.
Sam only hums softly, giving Dean another moment to adjust before he pulls out a little. Slowly, he pushes back in, drawing another moan from Dean. He's thrusting in and out of Dean carefully at first but as Dean starts pushing back against him, encouraging Sam to do him harder, Sam's strokes become more forceful.
"Hm, yeah," Sam groans, the tightness around his dick, hot and stimulating. "Feel so good, Dean. So good."
Sam licks his dry lips as he sets a fast pace. One of his hands is on Dean's hip to keep him in place, the other is on Dean's back, comforting between the two black wings. He doesn't need to hold Dean down though, not really, not after days of high fever. Dean pushes his ass back as much as he can, meeting Sam's thrusts and clearly not getting enough. Dean hums softly, murmuring how good it feels, how only Sam can give it to him like, fill him like that, do him so good. When Sam changes the angle a bit, he finally manages to hit Dean's prostate.
"Fuck, yeah!" Dean practically shouts. "Sammy, please, please."
"Yeah, yeah," Sam chants, not slowing the urgent thrusts of his hips. He feels his orgasm building in the pit of his stomach, the warmth beginning to spread and the nerves beginning to tickle. It won't take him long now until he's coming, white and hot. The hand on Dean's hip slides to Dean's front until it finds his dick. When Sam jerks it, rubbing his thumb over the head, it's already heavily leaking pre-come. It's only a matter of seconds now, a matter of few, last and desperate thrusts.
Suddenly, there's a huge lump in Sam's throat; the thought that, you know, maybe this is the last time they're doing this crossing his mind. Maybe this is the very last time that he can be so physically close, so intimate with Dean. The idea alone is nearly killing him, making him push his hips even harder into Dean.
Sam jerks and pulls out of Dean as release washes finally over him. His come splatters over Dean's ass and lower back, even lands up so far to be caught in his wings, the milky white of Sam's come a contrast against the pitch blackness of the feathers. Sam groans long and low, ready to sag down now, his tiredness and exhaustion surfacing once more.
He takes a few deep breaths and only when Dean whines and wriggles underneath him, Sam remembers that they're not quite done. Not yet. The hand on Dean's back moves around to his chest so that Sam can pull him upright. Sam needs to steady Dean, the sex exhausting him and adding to the weakness from the last few days.
"I'll get you there. I'll take care of you," Sam whispers softly against Dean's ear while his hand strokes up and down Dean's cock, squeezing a little each time it reaches he head, just like he knows Dean likes it.
He nuzzles Dean's neck as he jerks Dean off, only a couple more strokes and Dean's spilling over Sam's hand with a deep and satisfied groan. Dean's wings flutter nervously as he comes, as if to share the excitement that must be running through Dean's body.
Sam finally allows himself to collapse forward, landing on Dean. They stay like this for a while until Dean once more writhes underneath Sam.
"Get off me, Sammy," he says hoarsely, but with a gentle smile on his face.
Sam's smiling too as he rolls off Dean and off the bed. He searches for a shirt, a worn one and when he finally succeeds in finding one, he uses it to clean Dean and himself.
After discarding the shirt and stuffing it back into his duffle, along with the clean clothes, Sam settles down next to Dean. Neither speaks for a while, there's no need because everything they needed to say to each other, every bit of reassurance, has been said through touch. Sam even thinks that Dean already fell asleep, so when he turns to his side - to secretly watch Dean sleep - he's surprised to see Dean still awake.
"Hey," Sam says, bringing a hand up to stroke Dean's face.
"Hey back atcha," Dean smiles, closing his eyes at the touch.
"Ready for tomorrow?" Sam asks, not sure whether he's ready himself.
Dean takes a moment before he responds but when he does there's a tired but confident smile on his face. "Yeah, ready for whatever's to come."
Sam leans in and kisses Dean lazily, all passion gone now that they're so fucked out and satisfied. They don't say anything else and quickly fall asleep to recharge the batteries for the next day. The big day.
Part 2