Chosen (Part 1 of 2)
Title: Chosen
Author: hunters_retreat
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sam and Dean go undercover to investigate a series of unusual deaths but find far more than they bargained for in the process.
Author's Note: Written for spn_j2_xmas exchange. So I managed to get you a little h/c, some clichés, first time, pretending to be a gay couple (mention anyway), amnesia, and porny wing!fic! Hope you like! :P And sorry for the extremely late posting. My internet died on Christmas Day! And big thanks to miko_jasmine and mass_hipgnosis for betaing this for me! You guys are awesome!
Chosen
He heard the scream and was out of bed before he realized what he was doing. Pain and horror filled his ears and there was something… someone… he needed to get to. His mind felt clogged, like a sink drain that was filled with too much hair, but he couldn’t unplug it to get it to drain properly. Instead, he was left with a basin full of instinct and everything was telling him he had to get to the other person, the man screaming in pain somewhere else in the house.
He scrambled down the hall, feeling far too naked in his light sleeping pants without a shirt or jacket to cover his chest. He didn’t even have socks on, but he had been pulled from bed too quickly to bother and even if he felt too vulnerable like that, he had to stop the pain, stop the agony even if it wasn’t his own.
He was facing the door before his mind was fully awake but when he pushed at it, it gave way, not completely latched in the first place. It meant something that the door was unlocked, but he couldn’t register it exactly. Relief flooded him though as he threw himself into the room.
He didn’t know what he expected to see when he entered but the first thing that crossed his mind was that the crucifix hadn’t been so bloody, that God had never sent his son or his angels to bleed so much for mankind. It was there anyway, blood soaking the white rug, red squishing between his toes as little rivers of blood ran across his foot.
The man kneeling on the floor was tearing at his back, his fingers clutching at skin that ripped like paper and bled freely. He watched bone mending before his eyes, forming and reforming as two massive structures fused to the outside of his shoulder blades.
“My god…” he whispered as he knelt behind him, blood seeping through the light fabric of his sweats. One hand reached forward to trap the man’s hand as it shredded skin, the other rubbing between his shoulder blades, trying to ease the pain.
A pained sobbed ripped though him as the skin pulled away, but it had to be done. He knew that the mending of bone wouldn’t happen with the flesh in its way. He could make it easier though and he leaned closer, his chest pressed to the other man, his hand holding theirs against his rapidly beating heart. “I’ve got you.” He whispered and in his own ears it felt backwards, like it should be said to him and not by him.
The man shuddered though, his other hand coming back to his companion’s thigh and gripping it tight enough to bruise. Pain wracked the wounded man’s body but he held him close, held him as the blood gave way to pus and gore and then to something cleaner, something of healing and faith. It felt like hours they had been on the floor together, his face bloodied from resting against the other man’s body, but unwilling to move further away during the transformation.
He felt the flutter of wings against his back and the other man sighed, his chest rising between their hands and his own chest, still pressed firmly to his back. The other man’s hand pulled away from his thigh and he missed the contact until it came up to his hand, squeezing it gently.
“I’m okay now. I think.” He said, the words low from the night’s abuse, his screaming and sobbing having taken their toll on his otherwise beautiful voice. It was almost ethereal now, its grit giving it a more focused power. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. Just like he knew everything about the man before him was meant to sacrifice for him, his beautiful angel ready to avenge every slight he’d ever faced, every wrong that had been done him.
He sat back, letting his hands slide away from the perfect body before him. The other stood up, his movements graceful even after the night’s events. His strong back was covered in pale skin with a scattering of freckles and he had to knot his hands in fists to keep from reaching out to him. He would never desecrate his body by touching without permission; never give in to the lust that rode his veins without being asked. He knew he would break in hell first.
The wings spanned far over head and shimmered with the white that reflected everything around him. They looked nothing like the wings in pictures but like everything good in the world, soft to touch and beautiful to behold, strong and virile and nothing of an artist’s gossamer wings that would break in high wind.
When he turned, the wings folded further into him, hiding their full glory from those who did not deserve to see them. He cast his eyes down and it was only the warmth of the other man’s laugh that brought his eyes back up.
“When have I ever been able to keep anything from you?”
He smiled, because it was true even if he didn’t know why or how he knew it. It just was. Just like he was beautiful, or he was gentle. Or he was his. He let his eyes travel over his body, soft pants that matched his own, covered in blood but that looked so much more fitting on him.
His muscled torso and chest bore the same red stain and he wanted to touch him so much it hurt, but he kept to himself. Instead, he contented himself with looking up into his eyes, beautiful jade eyes that shone with so much more light and elegance than any stone ever could. Laugh lines danced on the outside of his eyes and at the corner of his mouth and he knew there was little in the world he wouldn’t do to make him laugh.
He was offered a hand up and he took it, the fingers that he had held still against the other man’s chest to keep from tearing at his own skin were calm now, strong and callused as he helped him from the floor. He was pulled gently into the other man’s chest and he couldn’t help but take in a deep breath as he rested his head into the curve of his neck, appalled at being taller than him when he felt his own presence was so much smaller.
He felt the chuckle more than heard it, their chests rubbing together, nestled close. He felt him nuzzle against his ear, his soft breath as it whispered between soft, plump lips. “Thank you.”
He nodded as he pulled back, not knowing what else to say. Instead, he turned to the sink and found a cloth, getting it warm in the water. He turned back to the man, eyes downcast until a hand raised his chin up. The other man smiled at him and he smiled back.
“Let me help you.” It wasn’t a question and he marveled for a minute at this presumption, but this was right, that he should help him. It was right that they did this together. He didn’t wait for an answer as he began to run the cloth over his shoulders. He wet the cloth again when it was too dry and too red to clean anything, this time squeezing the water out over his shoulders and letting it wet his chest thoroughly before trying to wipe away all that remained.
The floor was a mess as he was almost done and so he threw the rugs into the bathtub, running the water to let them soak. He’d deal with the rest of it in the morning. He threw two more towels on the floor as he reached up and began to pull at the waist of the other man’s pants. Blood has seeped into the waistband and pooled there against his skin. He pulled them off his slender hips and down the muscled thighs and calves. He felt a hand on his shoulder as the other man steadied himself to raise one foot at a time. With the pants off, he tossed them into the tub with the rugs and began to clean the rest of the blood from the other man’s body.
When he was done, he stood, pleased with himself. He felt fingers press into his hips as he turned to the sink, wringing out the rag one more time. It wasn’t until he looked up that he realized the other man was standing so close to him. He took the rag from him and felt his pants being tugged down. He realized then that he was covered in a good deal of blood himself and he was cleaned as well, the other man giving him the same dedication and adoration as he had given in his position.
It warmed him and humbled him, to see this proud creature kneeling before him, subservient to his needs yet strong enough to take anything he wanted, strong enough to defend them against anything that could ever come against them. He was humbled and there was nothing greater to him in that moment than this communion between them.
When they were done, all their dirty things thrown into the tub for later concern, a gentle hand laid against the small of his back led him back to the bed he’d woken from earlier. He crawled in quietly and turned to watch the other man as he took his place lying on his side beside him, arms opening to him as he settled there. He closed his eyes and soft lips brushed his. He’d never felt anything like the adoration there, the love and kindness that exuded from the other man and he let himself be pushed onto his back, opening to him immediately. The other man’s tongue dipped into his body, exploring and tasting as if it was the first time, and yet he knew this body above him better than his own, knew every scar and twisted bit of flesh without thought. He could count the years in teeth marks and the scores of fingernails and claws that weren’t his, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, all the way up to the all too new landmark on his shoulder. None of them were his, but they all were and that made no more sense in his mind than his heart but he knew it was true none the less.
The other man’s lips left a trail of holy fire across his neck and down his chest and nothing had ever hurt or felt as right as when fingers pressed inside him, stretching him out before the other man was thrusting his cock inside him.
Wings curled around them, encompassing them and he stroked his hand over the shoulders that had so recently born the brunt of their birth. He kissed at the other man’s lips to erase the pain they had tasted with his screams. When the other man thrust his hips against him, pinning him to the bed and gasping into his mouth, he pulled him closer, letting his body take the seed of his need and devouring everything he could of him, so that he would remember this need, this passion tonight and nothing else.
When his lover reached between them, fingers closing around his own hardened flesh, it took barely a tug before he was coming between them, painting them in creation and as he brought his eyes forward, pinning him even harder with his stare, he realized there was nothing more beautiful than his angel caught in the moment of his own creation.
He could feel the tremors that passed through his body, knew as he came inside him and he raised his hands to hold him there, to hold his eyes and keep them with him. He felt a tear drop on his cheek from the other man and it was only then that he realized he was crying as well, some sadness in him, some need to repent the deed and yet it was too late and whatever they should have kept leashed between them had long been broken tonight.
Lips crushed into his, no longer gentle, punishing but even then he knew it was not a punishment for himself but for his lover. He stilled the kiss, licked and nipped and sucked at his lips until they were calmer and it was just them, no premonition of wrong or uncertainty.
When they broke apart, his lover fell from his grasp, but he pulled him after him. He let himself fall into those arms and then felt the blanket of darkened wings that seemed to be reflecting the dim light of the room.
He felt a kiss on his temple and smiled against his chest.
“I know you, Sammy.” He heard the other man say. “I know you, even if I don’t know any other damn thing.”
He nodded as he closed his eyes, knowing it for the truth. His name was Sam, Sammy to his lover. He replied, knowing he needed to hear it as well, needed the calm that would come from the recognition and acceptance of it. Needed to hear the name that had only just then come to his tongue.
“I know you too, Dean. I’d remember you if there were nothing else in the universe to remember.”
When he fell asleep, Dean was singing softly to him, something about deserts and names and horses. It seemed to fit him and Sam found himself smiling again, knowing only the safety of Dean’s arms, and the name he’d given him.
He woke first, with the light of the morning spreading over his eyes like a warm blanket. He took a deep breath and felt more himself than he had in days. At least he thought he did. It felt like it even if he didn’t remember anything past waking the night before. He opened his eyes and there was nothing in the world but the gold sheen of wings that hovered protectively over him. He smiled, raising one hand to run over them. He had permission now, always, to touch and he didn’t plan on missing out. The wings were as soft as they looked and he had to bite down on the impulse to rub his lips over them to see if they were as soft as Dean’s lips.
He had something to do today, he knew, but he decided against waking Dean up just yet. Instead he got up, sliding gently out of his lover’s grasp before making his way to the bathroom and then to the kitchen.
The coffee was almost done as he reached up and pulled two mugs down. He set them on the counter and filled one cup up with the sugar and cream the way he liked and left the other empty. He was about to reach for the coffee pot when he felt a body pressed to his back. He closed his eyes and sighed, leaning his head to one side, knowing the press of lips that would wait him if he did.
He wasn’t disappointed and Dean kissed him slow and steady until he pulled away to turn and look at him.
“Morning.” Dean said, his hair sparkling wet from the shower he must have jumped into.
He thought about the rugs and things Dean must have done something with, but didn’t allow it to be more than a note in his head to check for later. “Good morning. Coffee?”
He poured without waiting for Dean’s answer, which he knew would be a quirk of his eyebrow because Dean didn’t do anything without coffee in the morning. Well… he could probably have lured him back to bed but not much else.
“Anything to do today?” Dean asked after he’d gulped down a bit of his coffee.
Sam smirked. “You remember as much as I do.” It felt odd to be so calm about it, but Dean was with him and he knew there was something about that, about having his lover with him that gave him that calm. Nothing could ever be really wrong so long as Dean was with him.
“Yeah.” Dean said, frowning suddenly into his mug. “I think we need to do something about that.”
“What do you think?”
“Research?”
Sam nodded, letting Dean take the lead. “Sure, I mean, there have to be some people around here. I haven’t heard any cars or anything pass by, but someone has to know something about us.”
Dean smiled as he leaned in, kissing Sam lightly. “Knew there was a reason I keep you around. Now, get in the shower and let’s see what we can find out.”
It was odd, less reverent than the night before, but more them. And for some reason, it felt more real like that, like the difference between the idolization of a false god before you come to god’s presence, feeling the full blessing of his love. Sam had Dean’s love and could feel it now, like last night had just been a poor imitation. He shivered at the thought, but covered it up, walking out of the room and up to the shower as he’d been told.
There were no locks as they left the house and Dean twitched as they looked at the empty driveway. Sam felt it too, something missing, and he wondered at the way Dean’s feathers seemed brushed in bronze at the edges of the white they had taken when Sam had gone to his shower. It didn’t seem right to ask Dean about the shifting colors, but it fascinated Sam all the same.
They saw a spattering of houses along the dirt road that went past their house and decided to ignore them in favor of what looked like a communal farm. They could see a few people walking in the distance and it was enough to keep them on their path. He didn’t know if there would be others there like Dean, angels who blessed them with their presence, but he knew they had to find out, even if his instinct was becoming more about protecting Dean and keeping him safe than worshiping him as he had the night before.
When they arrived at the main entrance there was a loud cheer and everyone was watching them. Smiles rode their faces and laughter rang in their cheers as they approached the semi-circle of Elders that waited at the other end.
“You have found your way brother.” The Elder in the center spoke. “You are truly among family now.”
Sam smiled, but something about Dean’s answering smile made him feel cold, like Dean’s smile was a façade that he didn’t want the others to see through. The bronze tinge was already turned black and Sam reached a hand out to his lover to assure him.
Dean’s smile came back to its full brilliance as he focused on Sam and then they were looking back at the Elders.
“There were some who doubted the truth of your vigilance, who did not believe in the strength of your love, but you have shown true. Welcome brothers, welcome back into the fold of your family.”
“Brothers.” Sam said softly. For the first time since he’d crawled away from the other man’s arms, something felt familiar. “Brothers.” He said again, smiling softly at his lover.
Dean smiled back at him, his hand caressing his cheek softly as one wing spread out between them and the Elders, cutting their view as he pressed his lips to Sam’s.
There was a warm laugh and beyond the cocoon Dean had created for them he heard the Elder speaking. “In time he’ll learn he doesn’t have to hide from us.” There was real warmth and it made Sam long for it, for the affection of it, like a grandfather doting on a favored grandchild, but it ached within him also.
“He will learn in time to spread his wings when he needs, and to hide them as well. Welcome them friends. They have passed from the darkness that was and into the light that they can be. Welcome the blessed and their chosen.”
“Chosen.” The word was murmured in a simultaneous plea by all those around them and it was then that Sam and Dean parted. Dean’s eyes were wide in surprise and full of mistrust. Sam knew his own held the same. He didn’t know why, but being named either blessed or chosen made him fearful. Instinct made him feel more like a lamb being led to slaughter than a sheep led out to green pastures and he could see the darkening of Dean’s wings that seemed to agree.
“What the hell?”
Sam tilted his head to look at Dean, a small smile on his face as he regarded his lover. “I didn’t think angels could curse.”
“I’m not an angel. And hell isn’t a curse word for an angel, is it? It’s a location.”
“I’m sure a real angel wouldn’t be able to say hell as a curse which you just did. And if you aren’t an angel, what are you?”
“Can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’d die for a library with a good occult section.”
Sam laughed as he collapsed onto the bed beside Dean. “Maybe we can find that tomorrow. How about tonight we just relax?”
Dean looked at him, eyes that had been full of concern suddenly looking at him with lust, an open leer as he pressed closer to Sam, pushing him back on the bed. “What did you have in mind?”
Sam let his fingers trail down Dean’s chest and push back the fabric of his tee shirt. He’d come home after working at the main complex garage and showered. Sam had found him dripping over the carpets and nearly fallen to his knees but then someone had knocked at the door, another visitor wishing them luck and bringing more food for them to share.
It hadn’t gotten rid of the desire though and Dean didn’t seem to mind either.
“Those are my favorite kind of thoughts, Sammy.”
He wasn’t sure why it was, but hearing Sammy from Dean’s lips, the way his name sounded like sin dripping from his lover’s tongue turned him on like nothing else could. “Get on your stomach.”
Dean gave him a look, but then Sam scrambled out from under him and Dean let himself fall onto his chest, arms crossed to pillow his head as he turned it to the side and looked back at Sam over his shoulder. “This good?”
“Spread ‘em.” He said with a smile and it grew brighter when Dean understood, spreading his wings until the tips hit the walls on either side of the bed.
His wings were a soft, pale gold when Sam reached down to touch him, one hand resting in between his wings, as they had the night before, Dean’s skin and flesh broken and bleeding before him. It had been comfort the night before, a need to stop the pain in his lover’s voice even before he’d know they were lovers. Tonight it was so much more. He pressed his fingers into the tired muscles and watched the way Dean’s body moved under him, pressing into a better position and rolling his neck to feel the full strength of his ministrations.
“God Sam… your huge freakin’ hands.”
“You love it and you know it.”
He got a small huff. “Love a massage is what I love.”
But his wings were taking on the bronzish color that only came when they were alone and Dean was able to let his guard down. His protecting angel, he’d come to think of him through out the day. Nothing pissed Dean off more than Sam getting pulled away from him and it didn’t take long for everyone else to figure it out. He’d pleaded anger at Dean’s soft, impatient growl whenever Sam got back to his side, but part of him was ecstatic at the thought of Dean needing him so completely.
He warmed Dean’s skin with his palms, running soft circles over his shoulders and down his back, then back up again. When he knew Dean was good and relaxed, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to the base of each wing and felt his lover shiver as his fingers brushed one of the wings.
“Sammy,” His voice was husky, sex laden, and Sam smiled as he let his fingers continue to work at his tired muscles, even as he leaned in again. This time, he let his lips trail over the edge of Dean’s wing, the strong bone barely masked by golden hued down.
Dean’s back arched under him and Sam pressed his lover’s shoulders into the mattress to keep him in place. When he was still, Sam sat up, straddling Dean’s hips and pinning him there as he pulled one wing tip closer to him.
He ran his fingers over the hard edge, light and teasing, pressing softly every so many inches as he got closer to his body. Dean moaned and Sam could tell it was more than sex, better than stroking his cock or letting him be buried inside his body. He brought his lips up to kiss along the seam of feathers, felt the way they shifted under his touch, breaking and reforming like waves on the surf, moving towards his touch and away again when it became too much. He let his fingers dig into the soft flesh under the wings and Dean’s murmurs were pain and pleasure, and he realized Dean was thrusting his hips into the mattress, trying to get the friction he needed.
“Need you, Dean.” He said softly, letting go and pulling away. He reached up to strip Dean of his sleep pants and pulled his own off as he watched Dean turning onto his back, perched up on his shoulders to watch Sam.
He smiled as he slid in beside Dean and then Dean was all around him, pressing inside him and it was everything he wanted. He arched off the bed and pulled at Dean. “All around me Dean, please…” he was begging but he didn’t care as he felt Dean’s wingtips slide behind him, felt the soft press of those feathers against his naked skin. Dean thrust into him again and this time Sam wrapped his fingers in the feathers again.
Dean screamed out his orgasm, the feeling of Sam’s fingers in his wings too much as he thrust into him. Dean’s wings pulsed bronze and blurred his vision with white hot desire and it was too much for Sam as well. He spilled over himself, coating their stomachs white as Dean finished with one final plunge.
He didn’t remember getting cleaned up in the morning. Dean did it for him since he whited out from the intensity of it all.
He didn’t remember ever having so much routine in his life, neither mind nor body remembered it. He was sure there was supposed to be something breaking up the monotony of the days and nights but nothing ever did. He remembered a month but nothing more, nothing except Dean’s name and the sense that this, in his lover’s arms, was where he was supposed to be.
When he started having the nightmares and dreams, he believed it was his mind’s way of breaking the steady rhythm of the days. At least until he woke one night to Dean thrashing in his sleep, calling his name over and over again, pain dripping from his voice. Sometimes, Dean’s pain tasted like venom, the poison that stole his lover’s life and left him nothing but a husk. Others, it smelled like blood, something soul drenched and making him clutch his lover to him so tight he left bruises in the morning.
No one ever commented on the two of them. The Elders worked with Dean to be less guarded around them and to learn to use his wings more. It was only around Sam though, that he was able to take them into control, to use them as he wanted and he did it without thought or question. Sam understood. Dean couldn’t just give them what they wanted, couldn’t allow them that sort of authority over him, but he showed off for Sam, showed him what he could do and how he could make people not see his wings anymore. It was harder to make Sam not see them, but after a while Dean figured it out. Once he’d got it down though, Sam begged him to stop because he hated to see Dean hiding something from him. Sam begged, but all it took was the single “please”, that fell from his lips as he grasped for something he knew was there, before Dean was dropping that particular illusion.
Dean called it glamour, but Sam argued with him over it. A glamour was meant to hurt and hide, to disguise and dissemble. It was for meaner creatures of the dark and not something as brilliant as Dean. Dean was light and laughter and everything beautiful in the world. Even in his anger, his glorious righteous anger, he was beautiful. His illusion would keep people from hurting him. It wasn’t meant as a deception, but a protection and in the end Dean stopped calling it glamour, even though Sam knew he still thought it in his head.
The nightmares began to come more often than the dreams though, and the dreams were sometimes more an idea than the moment. In his dreams, one of the really good ones, he was riding in a car. He was in the back seat, his head pillowed on his brother’s thigh as he laid back, book held up in the air as he studied for a test. He couldn’t remember his brother’s voice, but he heard the words none the less, teasing him for studying and not spending more time looking for girls. His brother’s words faltered though, his hands brushing the book away to look into his eyes when he answered that it didn’t matter what he did, but he was going to die old and grey with him anyway, no amount of schooling or sex could change that. His brother’s eyes had turned odd, agreement and pain and relief all at once. His brother hadn’t mentioned it again.
When he woke up that night, the same eyes stared back at him and he pulled away for the first time, needing space between himself and Dean, between Dean and the imaginary brother of his dreams.
Dean hadn’t followed him out and it wasn’t until later, as he slid into bed, that he wondered if maybe Dean had been dreaming as well.
They remembered being there for two months before Sam remembered something else. He looked at Dean as he sat at the edge of the bed and turned just slightly, still lying on his bed and propped up on his elbows. “Winchester.”
“What?” Dean’s head jerked around quickly, his eyes wide. His wings had taken on the slight tint of red and he wondered what about his word caused Dean to think of danger, but he pushed ahead without asking.
“Winchester. Your name is Dean Winchester.”
“No, it can’t be.”
“Yeah. I know… I mean… I know it seems odd to have been here so long without remembering anything else, but I know its right. Look, everyone keeps saying it will come back soon, that the blessing only takes your sacrifice for a few days-“
“Why is it taking so long for us, Sammy?” Dean asked as he stood up, pacing across the floor in just his pants. It was too hard to get the other shirts on so when they were alone he chose to stay bare-chested. Or so he claimed. He thought it might have to do with the way Sam had such a hard time not touching him like that.
Sam wasn’t sure what to say. It was true that their memories had been robbed for longer than anyone else in the community. Their sacrifice, as it was called, was supposed to show their true level of devotion, to prove their love to one another and the truth of it to the community. The Elders said it was a sign of their never-ending devotion to one another, that they were more susceptible to the blessings because of their deep seeded love.
Dean thought it was all a crock and they didn’t know what they were talking about. It was obvious that the longer they went without their memories, the more the Elders worried about them. The Elders walked around them as if they feared more questions and except for the Eldest’s wife, all the wives had stopped talking to them. Sam didn’t like the woman much, but they had no reason to dislike her. Dean followed his lead though and had as little to do with her as was politely possible.
“I don’t know.” He finally answered. “I don’t know what to say, Dean. But I know your name.”
Dean stopped, kneeling before Sam, crushing their lips together. “I know Sammy, I know. I don’t doubt you, I just…” He paused then shook his head, dropping it to Sam’s shoulder as he wrapped an arm around his back. “We need to get away from here. Away from people who think wings are normal and that people who can’t remember who they are were blessed for it.”
Sam ran his hands through his lover’s hair and wondered about Dean’s sudden need. He didn’t fight it, but pulled him up into bed. They were supposed to be elsewhere in the community that day, but the others could wait. Dean’s wings bled red from tip to base and Sam just held him closer, rubbing his fingers across the scarlet feathers until Dean stilled in his arms, then he followed him fast into sleep.
He turned just in time to see Dean thrown against a wall, his back taking the brunt but there was a small trail of red that made him afraid that Dean might have hit his head as well. He turned his gun on the woman in front of him and she smiled. He knew there was nothing human about her, but it never made it easier to pull the trigger. He did though, images of other women in his head, two different women on fire, trapped on the ceiling of his bedroom, a woman with claws and a horrible secret, tears filling her eyes as she begged him to do it, and always his brother on the other side of the door, waiting to put him together again.
Always Dean, there to heal him and make him whole, no matter how many times he’d walked away, knowing he was breaking his big brother little by little each time.
The creature died in a fury of fire because while the shot took her down it wasn’t until Dean scrambled to his side and threw the lighter on her that she was truly dead. They watched her catch fire and when she tried to stand he put two more bullets in her brain, trying to keep her on the floor so she couldn’t hurt them anymore in her death throws.
He didn’t take his eyes from her until she was dead, well and truly dead, and then he was turning to his brother. “Dean?”
Dean’s eyes closed as Sam’s hands gripped his shirt, pushing him back into a seat. “I’m alright, Sammy.”
“It’s Sam.” He said, without thinking, though there was a thrill whenever Dean called him Sammy, continued on when everyone else stopped. Dean had always known what he needed, even when he fought it. Dean claimed him every time he murmured that name, made Sam his with the pain and blood and suffering they’d shared, with the pure fact that it was his right and his right alone to name him.
“Let me take a look.”
“At the motel man. You can take care of it there. Just want to get away from that bitch.”
Sam nodded, but he held his hand out for the keys. Dean didn’t fight him on it and that was enough to make him worry about Dean’s injury. “Don’t fall asleep on me man.”
“Trying not to, Sammy. Just make it quick, and don’t you scratch her!”
He smiled, even through his worry. The drive back to the motel was fast and thankfully there were no people at the Wandering Inn lingering in the parking lot to see him manhandle his brother out of the car and into their room.
It wasn’t bad. He didn’t even have to give his brother stitches, but there was a concussion, he was sure of it. He let his brother have the remote as they sat side by side. Sam had his laptop on the table beside him for later, when Dean began to drift off and he could turn off the crap TV and look for their next gig.
When Dean did drift off, he leaned against Sam’s shoulder and Sam took a deep breath as he leaned his head over, allowing himself that moment to breath his brother in, to rest his head against his and take comfort in the fact that his brother was still alright. He didn’t have anything else in this life, just his brother and this life that he’d never wanted, but he’d come to make peace with it in the end. Having Dean, even like this, was enough.
He’d die before he’d confess his secret, before he’d make Dean throw him aside. And Dean would, for his own good. Dean would push Sam away if he got even a hint of his unnatural lust, if for no other reason that it would be best for Sam. He’d see it as something he’d done wrong, something flawed in himself and not Sam. He would never desecrate his brother with those thoughts, but sometimes, like this, he could close his eyes, and take a deep breath, and hold it close inside. Those moments made the rest of it bearable. Those moments kept him alive.
Sam sat straight up in bed, his hand reaching under his pillow for the knife he kept there, only to come away empty-handed. He took a deep breath because it’d been years since he’d slept with the knife. Dean had the gun, always had the gun and slept closest to the door so that anything that came in had to go through him first.
It only took a second before he realized where he was, remembered the job and the cult they were looking into. It only took a second before he was throwing himself out of the bed, naked and shaking as he looked back at his brother, sleeping fitfully with his wings turning an alarmed shade of red as he reached for Sam and found nothing.
Sam couldn’t let him wake, couldn’t face him just yet so he moved back to the bed and ran a hand over Dean’s arm, “Go back to sleep, Dean. I’m right here.”
Dean’s breathing slowed and his wings receded back to the almost white, but the tips stayed crimson in a way Sam had never seen before. He tripped back from the bed and decided he needed to get out of the room before he did anything stupid. Like wake his brother up and demand to know if the last two months had been nothing more than the cult’s fucked up ‘sacrifice’ or if there was more to it.
He made his way to the kitchen and made the coffee, settling into the morning routine they’d established, the one before the sacrifice that didn’t require sex and kisses and mornings spent pressed between sheets and wings and his brother’s hot flesh.
He was on his second mug of coffee when he felt Dean behind him, felt the awkward that hovered between them, and knew Dean had his memories back as well.
“Sam.”
He cringed at the name because it was hard and short and lacking in so many things he’d come to know in the last two months, so many things he’d always craved from his brother but could never have. He’d never let Dean know, never admitted his sick fantasies, and he had to cover it now. He filled a cup and finally turned to look at Dean. His brother’s body remained as hard and unwelcoming as possible, arms crossed over his chest and wings held back tight in preparation for a fight, but his eyes, hard as they were, barely covered the concern underneath it all. He wondered how long it would be before Dean was forced to ask if Sam was alright, if he’d hurt him, before he’d demand that Sam understand he hadn’t known.
He couldn’t break Dean like that this time though. “Coffee?” He said, extending it easily, like nothing had changed. Really, for him nothing had, except that now his fantasies had some real experience to back them up. He’d been hiding this from Dean for years. He could do it again.
Dean took the mug and then Sam was moving away from him to the kitchen table. He’d pulled their information from the hiding place under the floorboards, hidden the day they moved in and forgotten when their memories were stolen from them.
“So, I think we can rule out most of our original ideas about what this is.” Sam said, not meeting Dean’s eyes. “What I don’t understand are the wings though. We know they don’t let anyone in to see people who haven’t learned to control it yet so it makes sense that we hadn’t heard about it. But what can cause people to grow wings?”
Dean stared at him for a minute, shaking his head as if trying to get past the realization that Sam wasn’t going to make him talk about what had happened between them. It was the last thing he wanted. Dean hadn’t caught on about that yet, but no matter how much Sam pressed Dean to talk about his problems, Sam wasn’t all that keen on anteing up his own issues. And this was one of those elephants he was happy to have around for a long time. He’d grown used to it after all.
“The more I think about it, the more I think we should be looking at the Elder’s wives. We already agreed it was female because of the pattern of her victims, but I can’t think of anyone else that would have been able to do anything to us at the sacrifice.”
“Rhea.”
“What?”
“The Eldest’s wife, Rhea. She was the only one that came to check on us, when all the others started to worry. They wanted to distance themselves but she was always trying to see how we were doing. You never liked her and after everything, I’m willing to go with your instinct about her. Let’s check her out.”
“Tonight. I don’t want to put anyone else in danger if they weren’t involved.”
“Yeah, fine tonight. But I’m not leaving the house today. I’m not…” his words trailed off and he gave Sam a hard stare before he left the room without finishing.
Sam sat there, staring at his coffee as he listened to the sound of Dean walking down the hall and down to the bathroom. It only took a second before he heard the shower running. He knew there would be no hot water left for him until much later. Dean’s wings barely fit in the stall, even pulled in as tight as they could go and he was bound to try to wash away some of the memories, the guilt and shame at what they’d unknowingly done. To wash away the trace of sex that still clung to their skin from last night’s love making.
Sam closed his eyes and tried to forget the feel of Dean’s wings against him, his hands strong and firm as he held Sam close, his eyes as they lay together, both spent from their worship of one another. It had been that intense sense of reverence between them, the same sense that filled him every time one of them was hurt and the other reached out, holding one another close against the pain and fear of loss.
He didn’t want to face the others any more than Dean did. He didn’t think he could be among them and keep up the façade of happy lovers when he knew Dean wished he was anywhere but there. Hell, Dean had made it perfectly clear when Sam was still a teen that his need to be wrapped around Dean all the time wasn’t alright. He didn’t think hand holding was going to help them get through this.
He heard the water go off and realized he’d been thinking of Dean again, thinking of the way the water would run down his back, how it would pearl over his wings and fall as Dean shook them slightly in the shower, trying not to knock them into anything.
He closed his eyes and banged his head on the table a few times, trying to get the image out of his head. He needed to focus on the hunt.
He grabbed the notes and reviewed the facts they already knew. Seven men had been found within a 25 mile radius of the community in the last year and all had been former members. There had been similar deaths thirty years before, but the files had been pretty bare in facts. They stayed true to the current M.O. though. The men walked back to their former lives and within days of rejoining society, were found dead. Their wives walked away from the community and were never seen again. Nothing in the police reports showed foul play for the men, the toxicology came out clean. They died of heart attacks, all seven men in their mid twenties to early thirties. The local PD thought the community had something to do with it, but there was nothing to tie them to it so they couldn’t do anything. Not only that, they were fearful of turning the community from a peaceful religious commune to a full blown cult.
Couples were accepted into the community, regardless of ethnicity or orientation, country of origin or financial status. They were screened to show they were true followers of the lord and after a couple of interviews with the Elders Sam and Dean had passed with flying colors. When the Elders questioned them about God and the angels, it was easy enough. When asked about their lack of outward affection to one another, kissing or hand holding, they had that covered as well. They were from a very close minded community and while they had chosen to be together, they’d always kept their displays quiet in public to keep from causing any trouble.
Once they’d been accepted into the community, the Elders had assured them they wouldn’t need to hide anymore. Dean had smiled and said it would take time but they made an effort after that to touch each other more in front of the community of people they found themselves in. Some things about their relationship worked in their favor anyway. They had always gravitated towards one another, no matter the setting. They were most comfortable when they were close enough to touch, and it was normal to brush up against one another as they walked or sat close. It was just the rest they had to work on, allowing their hands to rest a little longer than needed, or to allow their eyes to catch across the room. They’d managed it and the Elders had been happy at their progress. Two weeks into their stay, the Elders asked if they were ready to prove themselves to their community.
They’d said yes without question and before they could even wonder about it, they were whisked off to one of the smaller outbuildings of the church. The Elders and their wives were all there, with Rhea brining a bowl forward to the Elders. They had passed it around praying softly over. It wasn’t until after they offered to ‘give up their past’ to show the ‘true light of their love’ that they’d drunk from the bowl, both knowing it was a bad idea but not able to stop without breaking their cover. It was only after that they recognized the taste that was hiding in the dark liquid. Metallic. Heavy. Blood.
They’d both been on edge when they got home but nothing happened. They’d drank the blood and whatever else had been mixed in and while it settled heavy in their stomachs, their night had been normal. They went home, ate something quickly to try to soak up anything that might have been given to them, and argued over who got the bed. It was a moot argument since Dean always won and they both knew Sam would crawl into the bed if he lost anyway, but it gave them the normalcy that they needed. Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary for that hunt, until Sam had woken up with no memories and his brother screaming in the bathroom as wings ripped from his flesh.
The memory gouged him, ripping him to shreds and the only comfort he had in it was that even without his memories he’d gone to his brother and comforted him. That in his own confusion, he’d taken care of Dean and never let him alone, never let him think for one moment that he had to deal with it by himself.
He didn’t know how long he’d been staring at the papers, his mind replaying that night over and over, from Dean’s pained screams waking him to the moment he drifted off to sleep, safe in Dean’s arms, covered in wings, and having been sated in ways he’d never been before. He didn’t look up until he felt something against his forearm. He looked up to see a plate pushed across the table at him and Dean was already walking away.
“Eat something, Sammy.”
He closed his eyes at the word, savoring it and trying to keep the tears at bay. The name was the same as always, but so much more, and less, now that they were awake and aware.
He took the sandwich and ate it, tasting ash but knowing that Dean would be back to check on him and see if he ate or not. He didn’t want to worry him anymore than normal so he swallowed each bite. He couldn’t concentrate after that though and decided he needed to sleep. He needed to get away from his head and it was the only solace he had in the community. He went up to the bedroom, ignoring the images that crossed his mind as he opened the door.
He thought about walking out, when he realized Dean was already there, asleep, but he couldn’t. He crawled in with his brother, careful not to wake him. Dean shifted closer to him, pulling him against his chest and Sam sighed as he turned onto his side. He thought it would take a long time to fall asleep, but as Dean’s bronze colored wing tipped over him, cocooning them from the world, his last thought was to wonder what that color really meant, now that he knew it wasn’t that sort of love, before his breathing settled and he was asleep in his lovers arms before he could puzzle it out.
On to Part II
Author: hunters_retreat
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sam and Dean go undercover to investigate a series of unusual deaths but find far more than they bargained for in the process.
Author's Note: Written for spn_j2_xmas exchange. So I managed to get you a little h/c, some clichés, first time, pretending to be a gay couple (mention anyway), amnesia, and porny wing!fic! Hope you like! :P And sorry for the extremely late posting. My internet died on Christmas Day! And big thanks to miko_jasmine and mass_hipgnosis for betaing this for me! You guys are awesome!
Chosen
He heard the scream and was out of bed before he realized what he was doing. Pain and horror filled his ears and there was something… someone… he needed to get to. His mind felt clogged, like a sink drain that was filled with too much hair, but he couldn’t unplug it to get it to drain properly. Instead, he was left with a basin full of instinct and everything was telling him he had to get to the other person, the man screaming in pain somewhere else in the house.
He scrambled down the hall, feeling far too naked in his light sleeping pants without a shirt or jacket to cover his chest. He didn’t even have socks on, but he had been pulled from bed too quickly to bother and even if he felt too vulnerable like that, he had to stop the pain, stop the agony even if it wasn’t his own.
He was facing the door before his mind was fully awake but when he pushed at it, it gave way, not completely latched in the first place. It meant something that the door was unlocked, but he couldn’t register it exactly. Relief flooded him though as he threw himself into the room.
He didn’t know what he expected to see when he entered but the first thing that crossed his mind was that the crucifix hadn’t been so bloody, that God had never sent his son or his angels to bleed so much for mankind. It was there anyway, blood soaking the white rug, red squishing between his toes as little rivers of blood ran across his foot.
The man kneeling on the floor was tearing at his back, his fingers clutching at skin that ripped like paper and bled freely. He watched bone mending before his eyes, forming and reforming as two massive structures fused to the outside of his shoulder blades.
“My god…” he whispered as he knelt behind him, blood seeping through the light fabric of his sweats. One hand reached forward to trap the man’s hand as it shredded skin, the other rubbing between his shoulder blades, trying to ease the pain.
A pained sobbed ripped though him as the skin pulled away, but it had to be done. He knew that the mending of bone wouldn’t happen with the flesh in its way. He could make it easier though and he leaned closer, his chest pressed to the other man, his hand holding theirs against his rapidly beating heart. “I’ve got you.” He whispered and in his own ears it felt backwards, like it should be said to him and not by him.
The man shuddered though, his other hand coming back to his companion’s thigh and gripping it tight enough to bruise. Pain wracked the wounded man’s body but he held him close, held him as the blood gave way to pus and gore and then to something cleaner, something of healing and faith. It felt like hours they had been on the floor together, his face bloodied from resting against the other man’s body, but unwilling to move further away during the transformation.
He felt the flutter of wings against his back and the other man sighed, his chest rising between their hands and his own chest, still pressed firmly to his back. The other man’s hand pulled away from his thigh and he missed the contact until it came up to his hand, squeezing it gently.
“I’m okay now. I think.” He said, the words low from the night’s abuse, his screaming and sobbing having taken their toll on his otherwise beautiful voice. It was almost ethereal now, its grit giving it a more focused power. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. Just like he knew everything about the man before him was meant to sacrifice for him, his beautiful angel ready to avenge every slight he’d ever faced, every wrong that had been done him.
He sat back, letting his hands slide away from the perfect body before him. The other stood up, his movements graceful even after the night’s events. His strong back was covered in pale skin with a scattering of freckles and he had to knot his hands in fists to keep from reaching out to him. He would never desecrate his body by touching without permission; never give in to the lust that rode his veins without being asked. He knew he would break in hell first.
The wings spanned far over head and shimmered with the white that reflected everything around him. They looked nothing like the wings in pictures but like everything good in the world, soft to touch and beautiful to behold, strong and virile and nothing of an artist’s gossamer wings that would break in high wind.
When he turned, the wings folded further into him, hiding their full glory from those who did not deserve to see them. He cast his eyes down and it was only the warmth of the other man’s laugh that brought his eyes back up.
“When have I ever been able to keep anything from you?”
He smiled, because it was true even if he didn’t know why or how he knew it. It just was. Just like he was beautiful, or he was gentle. Or he was his. He let his eyes travel over his body, soft pants that matched his own, covered in blood but that looked so much more fitting on him.
His muscled torso and chest bore the same red stain and he wanted to touch him so much it hurt, but he kept to himself. Instead, he contented himself with looking up into his eyes, beautiful jade eyes that shone with so much more light and elegance than any stone ever could. Laugh lines danced on the outside of his eyes and at the corner of his mouth and he knew there was little in the world he wouldn’t do to make him laugh.
He was offered a hand up and he took it, the fingers that he had held still against the other man’s chest to keep from tearing at his own skin were calm now, strong and callused as he helped him from the floor. He was pulled gently into the other man’s chest and he couldn’t help but take in a deep breath as he rested his head into the curve of his neck, appalled at being taller than him when he felt his own presence was so much smaller.
He felt the chuckle more than heard it, their chests rubbing together, nestled close. He felt him nuzzle against his ear, his soft breath as it whispered between soft, plump lips. “Thank you.”
He nodded as he pulled back, not knowing what else to say. Instead, he turned to the sink and found a cloth, getting it warm in the water. He turned back to the man, eyes downcast until a hand raised his chin up. The other man smiled at him and he smiled back.
“Let me help you.” It wasn’t a question and he marveled for a minute at this presumption, but this was right, that he should help him. It was right that they did this together. He didn’t wait for an answer as he began to run the cloth over his shoulders. He wet the cloth again when it was too dry and too red to clean anything, this time squeezing the water out over his shoulders and letting it wet his chest thoroughly before trying to wipe away all that remained.
The floor was a mess as he was almost done and so he threw the rugs into the bathtub, running the water to let them soak. He’d deal with the rest of it in the morning. He threw two more towels on the floor as he reached up and began to pull at the waist of the other man’s pants. Blood has seeped into the waistband and pooled there against his skin. He pulled them off his slender hips and down the muscled thighs and calves. He felt a hand on his shoulder as the other man steadied himself to raise one foot at a time. With the pants off, he tossed them into the tub with the rugs and began to clean the rest of the blood from the other man’s body.
When he was done, he stood, pleased with himself. He felt fingers press into his hips as he turned to the sink, wringing out the rag one more time. It wasn’t until he looked up that he realized the other man was standing so close to him. He took the rag from him and felt his pants being tugged down. He realized then that he was covered in a good deal of blood himself and he was cleaned as well, the other man giving him the same dedication and adoration as he had given in his position.
It warmed him and humbled him, to see this proud creature kneeling before him, subservient to his needs yet strong enough to take anything he wanted, strong enough to defend them against anything that could ever come against them. He was humbled and there was nothing greater to him in that moment than this communion between them.
When they were done, all their dirty things thrown into the tub for later concern, a gentle hand laid against the small of his back led him back to the bed he’d woken from earlier. He crawled in quietly and turned to watch the other man as he took his place lying on his side beside him, arms opening to him as he settled there. He closed his eyes and soft lips brushed his. He’d never felt anything like the adoration there, the love and kindness that exuded from the other man and he let himself be pushed onto his back, opening to him immediately. The other man’s tongue dipped into his body, exploring and tasting as if it was the first time, and yet he knew this body above him better than his own, knew every scar and twisted bit of flesh without thought. He could count the years in teeth marks and the scores of fingernails and claws that weren’t his, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, all the way up to the all too new landmark on his shoulder. None of them were his, but they all were and that made no more sense in his mind than his heart but he knew it was true none the less.
The other man’s lips left a trail of holy fire across his neck and down his chest and nothing had ever hurt or felt as right as when fingers pressed inside him, stretching him out before the other man was thrusting his cock inside him.
Wings curled around them, encompassing them and he stroked his hand over the shoulders that had so recently born the brunt of their birth. He kissed at the other man’s lips to erase the pain they had tasted with his screams. When the other man thrust his hips against him, pinning him to the bed and gasping into his mouth, he pulled him closer, letting his body take the seed of his need and devouring everything he could of him, so that he would remember this need, this passion tonight and nothing else.
When his lover reached between them, fingers closing around his own hardened flesh, it took barely a tug before he was coming between them, painting them in creation and as he brought his eyes forward, pinning him even harder with his stare, he realized there was nothing more beautiful than his angel caught in the moment of his own creation.
He could feel the tremors that passed through his body, knew as he came inside him and he raised his hands to hold him there, to hold his eyes and keep them with him. He felt a tear drop on his cheek from the other man and it was only then that he realized he was crying as well, some sadness in him, some need to repent the deed and yet it was too late and whatever they should have kept leashed between them had long been broken tonight.
Lips crushed into his, no longer gentle, punishing but even then he knew it was not a punishment for himself but for his lover. He stilled the kiss, licked and nipped and sucked at his lips until they were calmer and it was just them, no premonition of wrong or uncertainty.
When they broke apart, his lover fell from his grasp, but he pulled him after him. He let himself fall into those arms and then felt the blanket of darkened wings that seemed to be reflecting the dim light of the room.
He felt a kiss on his temple and smiled against his chest.
“I know you, Sammy.” He heard the other man say. “I know you, even if I don’t know any other damn thing.”
He nodded as he closed his eyes, knowing it for the truth. His name was Sam, Sammy to his lover. He replied, knowing he needed to hear it as well, needed the calm that would come from the recognition and acceptance of it. Needed to hear the name that had only just then come to his tongue.
“I know you too, Dean. I’d remember you if there were nothing else in the universe to remember.”
When he fell asleep, Dean was singing softly to him, something about deserts and names and horses. It seemed to fit him and Sam found himself smiling again, knowing only the safety of Dean’s arms, and the name he’d given him.
He woke first, with the light of the morning spreading over his eyes like a warm blanket. He took a deep breath and felt more himself than he had in days. At least he thought he did. It felt like it even if he didn’t remember anything past waking the night before. He opened his eyes and there was nothing in the world but the gold sheen of wings that hovered protectively over him. He smiled, raising one hand to run over them. He had permission now, always, to touch and he didn’t plan on missing out. The wings were as soft as they looked and he had to bite down on the impulse to rub his lips over them to see if they were as soft as Dean’s lips.
He had something to do today, he knew, but he decided against waking Dean up just yet. Instead he got up, sliding gently out of his lover’s grasp before making his way to the bathroom and then to the kitchen.
The coffee was almost done as he reached up and pulled two mugs down. He set them on the counter and filled one cup up with the sugar and cream the way he liked and left the other empty. He was about to reach for the coffee pot when he felt a body pressed to his back. He closed his eyes and sighed, leaning his head to one side, knowing the press of lips that would wait him if he did.
He wasn’t disappointed and Dean kissed him slow and steady until he pulled away to turn and look at him.
“Morning.” Dean said, his hair sparkling wet from the shower he must have jumped into.
He thought about the rugs and things Dean must have done something with, but didn’t allow it to be more than a note in his head to check for later. “Good morning. Coffee?”
He poured without waiting for Dean’s answer, which he knew would be a quirk of his eyebrow because Dean didn’t do anything without coffee in the morning. Well… he could probably have lured him back to bed but not much else.
“Anything to do today?” Dean asked after he’d gulped down a bit of his coffee.
Sam smirked. “You remember as much as I do.” It felt odd to be so calm about it, but Dean was with him and he knew there was something about that, about having his lover with him that gave him that calm. Nothing could ever be really wrong so long as Dean was with him.
“Yeah.” Dean said, frowning suddenly into his mug. “I think we need to do something about that.”
“What do you think?”
“Research?”
Sam nodded, letting Dean take the lead. “Sure, I mean, there have to be some people around here. I haven’t heard any cars or anything pass by, but someone has to know something about us.”
Dean smiled as he leaned in, kissing Sam lightly. “Knew there was a reason I keep you around. Now, get in the shower and let’s see what we can find out.”
It was odd, less reverent than the night before, but more them. And for some reason, it felt more real like that, like the difference between the idolization of a false god before you come to god’s presence, feeling the full blessing of his love. Sam had Dean’s love and could feel it now, like last night had just been a poor imitation. He shivered at the thought, but covered it up, walking out of the room and up to the shower as he’d been told.
There were no locks as they left the house and Dean twitched as they looked at the empty driveway. Sam felt it too, something missing, and he wondered at the way Dean’s feathers seemed brushed in bronze at the edges of the white they had taken when Sam had gone to his shower. It didn’t seem right to ask Dean about the shifting colors, but it fascinated Sam all the same.
They saw a spattering of houses along the dirt road that went past their house and decided to ignore them in favor of what looked like a communal farm. They could see a few people walking in the distance and it was enough to keep them on their path. He didn’t know if there would be others there like Dean, angels who blessed them with their presence, but he knew they had to find out, even if his instinct was becoming more about protecting Dean and keeping him safe than worshiping him as he had the night before.
When they arrived at the main entrance there was a loud cheer and everyone was watching them. Smiles rode their faces and laughter rang in their cheers as they approached the semi-circle of Elders that waited at the other end.
“You have found your way brother.” The Elder in the center spoke. “You are truly among family now.”
Sam smiled, but something about Dean’s answering smile made him feel cold, like Dean’s smile was a façade that he didn’t want the others to see through. The bronze tinge was already turned black and Sam reached a hand out to his lover to assure him.
Dean’s smile came back to its full brilliance as he focused on Sam and then they were looking back at the Elders.
“There were some who doubted the truth of your vigilance, who did not believe in the strength of your love, but you have shown true. Welcome brothers, welcome back into the fold of your family.”
“Brothers.” Sam said softly. For the first time since he’d crawled away from the other man’s arms, something felt familiar. “Brothers.” He said again, smiling softly at his lover.
Dean smiled back at him, his hand caressing his cheek softly as one wing spread out between them and the Elders, cutting their view as he pressed his lips to Sam’s.
There was a warm laugh and beyond the cocoon Dean had created for them he heard the Elder speaking. “In time he’ll learn he doesn’t have to hide from us.” There was real warmth and it made Sam long for it, for the affection of it, like a grandfather doting on a favored grandchild, but it ached within him also.
“He will learn in time to spread his wings when he needs, and to hide them as well. Welcome them friends. They have passed from the darkness that was and into the light that they can be. Welcome the blessed and their chosen.”
“Chosen.” The word was murmured in a simultaneous plea by all those around them and it was then that Sam and Dean parted. Dean’s eyes were wide in surprise and full of mistrust. Sam knew his own held the same. He didn’t know why, but being named either blessed or chosen made him fearful. Instinct made him feel more like a lamb being led to slaughter than a sheep led out to green pastures and he could see the darkening of Dean’s wings that seemed to agree.
“What the hell?”
Sam tilted his head to look at Dean, a small smile on his face as he regarded his lover. “I didn’t think angels could curse.”
“I’m not an angel. And hell isn’t a curse word for an angel, is it? It’s a location.”
“I’m sure a real angel wouldn’t be able to say hell as a curse which you just did. And if you aren’t an angel, what are you?”
“Can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’d die for a library with a good occult section.”
Sam laughed as he collapsed onto the bed beside Dean. “Maybe we can find that tomorrow. How about tonight we just relax?”
Dean looked at him, eyes that had been full of concern suddenly looking at him with lust, an open leer as he pressed closer to Sam, pushing him back on the bed. “What did you have in mind?”
Sam let his fingers trail down Dean’s chest and push back the fabric of his tee shirt. He’d come home after working at the main complex garage and showered. Sam had found him dripping over the carpets and nearly fallen to his knees but then someone had knocked at the door, another visitor wishing them luck and bringing more food for them to share.
It hadn’t gotten rid of the desire though and Dean didn’t seem to mind either.
“Those are my favorite kind of thoughts, Sammy.”
He wasn’t sure why it was, but hearing Sammy from Dean’s lips, the way his name sounded like sin dripping from his lover’s tongue turned him on like nothing else could. “Get on your stomach.”
Dean gave him a look, but then Sam scrambled out from under him and Dean let himself fall onto his chest, arms crossed to pillow his head as he turned it to the side and looked back at Sam over his shoulder. “This good?”
“Spread ‘em.” He said with a smile and it grew brighter when Dean understood, spreading his wings until the tips hit the walls on either side of the bed.
His wings were a soft, pale gold when Sam reached down to touch him, one hand resting in between his wings, as they had the night before, Dean’s skin and flesh broken and bleeding before him. It had been comfort the night before, a need to stop the pain in his lover’s voice even before he’d know they were lovers. Tonight it was so much more. He pressed his fingers into the tired muscles and watched the way Dean’s body moved under him, pressing into a better position and rolling his neck to feel the full strength of his ministrations.
“God Sam… your huge freakin’ hands.”
“You love it and you know it.”
He got a small huff. “Love a massage is what I love.”
But his wings were taking on the bronzish color that only came when they were alone and Dean was able to let his guard down. His protecting angel, he’d come to think of him through out the day. Nothing pissed Dean off more than Sam getting pulled away from him and it didn’t take long for everyone else to figure it out. He’d pleaded anger at Dean’s soft, impatient growl whenever Sam got back to his side, but part of him was ecstatic at the thought of Dean needing him so completely.
He warmed Dean’s skin with his palms, running soft circles over his shoulders and down his back, then back up again. When he knew Dean was good and relaxed, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to the base of each wing and felt his lover shiver as his fingers brushed one of the wings.
“Sammy,” His voice was husky, sex laden, and Sam smiled as he let his fingers continue to work at his tired muscles, even as he leaned in again. This time, he let his lips trail over the edge of Dean’s wing, the strong bone barely masked by golden hued down.
Dean’s back arched under him and Sam pressed his lover’s shoulders into the mattress to keep him in place. When he was still, Sam sat up, straddling Dean’s hips and pinning him there as he pulled one wing tip closer to him.
He ran his fingers over the hard edge, light and teasing, pressing softly every so many inches as he got closer to his body. Dean moaned and Sam could tell it was more than sex, better than stroking his cock or letting him be buried inside his body. He brought his lips up to kiss along the seam of feathers, felt the way they shifted under his touch, breaking and reforming like waves on the surf, moving towards his touch and away again when it became too much. He let his fingers dig into the soft flesh under the wings and Dean’s murmurs were pain and pleasure, and he realized Dean was thrusting his hips into the mattress, trying to get the friction he needed.
“Need you, Dean.” He said softly, letting go and pulling away. He reached up to strip Dean of his sleep pants and pulled his own off as he watched Dean turning onto his back, perched up on his shoulders to watch Sam.
He smiled as he slid in beside Dean and then Dean was all around him, pressing inside him and it was everything he wanted. He arched off the bed and pulled at Dean. “All around me Dean, please…” he was begging but he didn’t care as he felt Dean’s wingtips slide behind him, felt the soft press of those feathers against his naked skin. Dean thrust into him again and this time Sam wrapped his fingers in the feathers again.
Dean screamed out his orgasm, the feeling of Sam’s fingers in his wings too much as he thrust into him. Dean’s wings pulsed bronze and blurred his vision with white hot desire and it was too much for Sam as well. He spilled over himself, coating their stomachs white as Dean finished with one final plunge.
He didn’t remember getting cleaned up in the morning. Dean did it for him since he whited out from the intensity of it all.
He didn’t remember ever having so much routine in his life, neither mind nor body remembered it. He was sure there was supposed to be something breaking up the monotony of the days and nights but nothing ever did. He remembered a month but nothing more, nothing except Dean’s name and the sense that this, in his lover’s arms, was where he was supposed to be.
When he started having the nightmares and dreams, he believed it was his mind’s way of breaking the steady rhythm of the days. At least until he woke one night to Dean thrashing in his sleep, calling his name over and over again, pain dripping from his voice. Sometimes, Dean’s pain tasted like venom, the poison that stole his lover’s life and left him nothing but a husk. Others, it smelled like blood, something soul drenched and making him clutch his lover to him so tight he left bruises in the morning.
No one ever commented on the two of them. The Elders worked with Dean to be less guarded around them and to learn to use his wings more. It was only around Sam though, that he was able to take them into control, to use them as he wanted and he did it without thought or question. Sam understood. Dean couldn’t just give them what they wanted, couldn’t allow them that sort of authority over him, but he showed off for Sam, showed him what he could do and how he could make people not see his wings anymore. It was harder to make Sam not see them, but after a while Dean figured it out. Once he’d got it down though, Sam begged him to stop because he hated to see Dean hiding something from him. Sam begged, but all it took was the single “please”, that fell from his lips as he grasped for something he knew was there, before Dean was dropping that particular illusion.
Dean called it glamour, but Sam argued with him over it. A glamour was meant to hurt and hide, to disguise and dissemble. It was for meaner creatures of the dark and not something as brilliant as Dean. Dean was light and laughter and everything beautiful in the world. Even in his anger, his glorious righteous anger, he was beautiful. His illusion would keep people from hurting him. It wasn’t meant as a deception, but a protection and in the end Dean stopped calling it glamour, even though Sam knew he still thought it in his head.
The nightmares began to come more often than the dreams though, and the dreams were sometimes more an idea than the moment. In his dreams, one of the really good ones, he was riding in a car. He was in the back seat, his head pillowed on his brother’s thigh as he laid back, book held up in the air as he studied for a test. He couldn’t remember his brother’s voice, but he heard the words none the less, teasing him for studying and not spending more time looking for girls. His brother’s words faltered though, his hands brushing the book away to look into his eyes when he answered that it didn’t matter what he did, but he was going to die old and grey with him anyway, no amount of schooling or sex could change that. His brother’s eyes had turned odd, agreement and pain and relief all at once. His brother hadn’t mentioned it again.
When he woke up that night, the same eyes stared back at him and he pulled away for the first time, needing space between himself and Dean, between Dean and the imaginary brother of his dreams.
Dean hadn’t followed him out and it wasn’t until later, as he slid into bed, that he wondered if maybe Dean had been dreaming as well.
They remembered being there for two months before Sam remembered something else. He looked at Dean as he sat at the edge of the bed and turned just slightly, still lying on his bed and propped up on his elbows. “Winchester.”
“What?” Dean’s head jerked around quickly, his eyes wide. His wings had taken on the slight tint of red and he wondered what about his word caused Dean to think of danger, but he pushed ahead without asking.
“Winchester. Your name is Dean Winchester.”
“No, it can’t be.”
“Yeah. I know… I mean… I know it seems odd to have been here so long without remembering anything else, but I know its right. Look, everyone keeps saying it will come back soon, that the blessing only takes your sacrifice for a few days-“
“Why is it taking so long for us, Sammy?” Dean asked as he stood up, pacing across the floor in just his pants. It was too hard to get the other shirts on so when they were alone he chose to stay bare-chested. Or so he claimed. He thought it might have to do with the way Sam had such a hard time not touching him like that.
Sam wasn’t sure what to say. It was true that their memories had been robbed for longer than anyone else in the community. Their sacrifice, as it was called, was supposed to show their true level of devotion, to prove their love to one another and the truth of it to the community. The Elders said it was a sign of their never-ending devotion to one another, that they were more susceptible to the blessings because of their deep seeded love.
Dean thought it was all a crock and they didn’t know what they were talking about. It was obvious that the longer they went without their memories, the more the Elders worried about them. The Elders walked around them as if they feared more questions and except for the Eldest’s wife, all the wives had stopped talking to them. Sam didn’t like the woman much, but they had no reason to dislike her. Dean followed his lead though and had as little to do with her as was politely possible.
“I don’t know.” He finally answered. “I don’t know what to say, Dean. But I know your name.”
Dean stopped, kneeling before Sam, crushing their lips together. “I know Sammy, I know. I don’t doubt you, I just…” He paused then shook his head, dropping it to Sam’s shoulder as he wrapped an arm around his back. “We need to get away from here. Away from people who think wings are normal and that people who can’t remember who they are were blessed for it.”
Sam ran his hands through his lover’s hair and wondered about Dean’s sudden need. He didn’t fight it, but pulled him up into bed. They were supposed to be elsewhere in the community that day, but the others could wait. Dean’s wings bled red from tip to base and Sam just held him closer, rubbing his fingers across the scarlet feathers until Dean stilled in his arms, then he followed him fast into sleep.
He turned just in time to see Dean thrown against a wall, his back taking the brunt but there was a small trail of red that made him afraid that Dean might have hit his head as well. He turned his gun on the woman in front of him and she smiled. He knew there was nothing human about her, but it never made it easier to pull the trigger. He did though, images of other women in his head, two different women on fire, trapped on the ceiling of his bedroom, a woman with claws and a horrible secret, tears filling her eyes as she begged him to do it, and always his brother on the other side of the door, waiting to put him together again.
Always Dean, there to heal him and make him whole, no matter how many times he’d walked away, knowing he was breaking his big brother little by little each time.
The creature died in a fury of fire because while the shot took her down it wasn’t until Dean scrambled to his side and threw the lighter on her that she was truly dead. They watched her catch fire and when she tried to stand he put two more bullets in her brain, trying to keep her on the floor so she couldn’t hurt them anymore in her death throws.
He didn’t take his eyes from her until she was dead, well and truly dead, and then he was turning to his brother. “Dean?”
Dean’s eyes closed as Sam’s hands gripped his shirt, pushing him back into a seat. “I’m alright, Sammy.”
“It’s Sam.” He said, without thinking, though there was a thrill whenever Dean called him Sammy, continued on when everyone else stopped. Dean had always known what he needed, even when he fought it. Dean claimed him every time he murmured that name, made Sam his with the pain and blood and suffering they’d shared, with the pure fact that it was his right and his right alone to name him.
“Let me take a look.”
“At the motel man. You can take care of it there. Just want to get away from that bitch.”
Sam nodded, but he held his hand out for the keys. Dean didn’t fight him on it and that was enough to make him worry about Dean’s injury. “Don’t fall asleep on me man.”
“Trying not to, Sammy. Just make it quick, and don’t you scratch her!”
He smiled, even through his worry. The drive back to the motel was fast and thankfully there were no people at the Wandering Inn lingering in the parking lot to see him manhandle his brother out of the car and into their room.
It wasn’t bad. He didn’t even have to give his brother stitches, but there was a concussion, he was sure of it. He let his brother have the remote as they sat side by side. Sam had his laptop on the table beside him for later, when Dean began to drift off and he could turn off the crap TV and look for their next gig.
When Dean did drift off, he leaned against Sam’s shoulder and Sam took a deep breath as he leaned his head over, allowing himself that moment to breath his brother in, to rest his head against his and take comfort in the fact that his brother was still alright. He didn’t have anything else in this life, just his brother and this life that he’d never wanted, but he’d come to make peace with it in the end. Having Dean, even like this, was enough.
He’d die before he’d confess his secret, before he’d make Dean throw him aside. And Dean would, for his own good. Dean would push Sam away if he got even a hint of his unnatural lust, if for no other reason that it would be best for Sam. He’d see it as something he’d done wrong, something flawed in himself and not Sam. He would never desecrate his brother with those thoughts, but sometimes, like this, he could close his eyes, and take a deep breath, and hold it close inside. Those moments made the rest of it bearable. Those moments kept him alive.
Sam sat straight up in bed, his hand reaching under his pillow for the knife he kept there, only to come away empty-handed. He took a deep breath because it’d been years since he’d slept with the knife. Dean had the gun, always had the gun and slept closest to the door so that anything that came in had to go through him first.
It only took a second before he realized where he was, remembered the job and the cult they were looking into. It only took a second before he was throwing himself out of the bed, naked and shaking as he looked back at his brother, sleeping fitfully with his wings turning an alarmed shade of red as he reached for Sam and found nothing.
Sam couldn’t let him wake, couldn’t face him just yet so he moved back to the bed and ran a hand over Dean’s arm, “Go back to sleep, Dean. I’m right here.”
Dean’s breathing slowed and his wings receded back to the almost white, but the tips stayed crimson in a way Sam had never seen before. He tripped back from the bed and decided he needed to get out of the room before he did anything stupid. Like wake his brother up and demand to know if the last two months had been nothing more than the cult’s fucked up ‘sacrifice’ or if there was more to it.
He made his way to the kitchen and made the coffee, settling into the morning routine they’d established, the one before the sacrifice that didn’t require sex and kisses and mornings spent pressed between sheets and wings and his brother’s hot flesh.
He was on his second mug of coffee when he felt Dean behind him, felt the awkward that hovered between them, and knew Dean had his memories back as well.
“Sam.”
He cringed at the name because it was hard and short and lacking in so many things he’d come to know in the last two months, so many things he’d always craved from his brother but could never have. He’d never let Dean know, never admitted his sick fantasies, and he had to cover it now. He filled a cup and finally turned to look at Dean. His brother’s body remained as hard and unwelcoming as possible, arms crossed over his chest and wings held back tight in preparation for a fight, but his eyes, hard as they were, barely covered the concern underneath it all. He wondered how long it would be before Dean was forced to ask if Sam was alright, if he’d hurt him, before he’d demand that Sam understand he hadn’t known.
He couldn’t break Dean like that this time though. “Coffee?” He said, extending it easily, like nothing had changed. Really, for him nothing had, except that now his fantasies had some real experience to back them up. He’d been hiding this from Dean for years. He could do it again.
Dean took the mug and then Sam was moving away from him to the kitchen table. He’d pulled their information from the hiding place under the floorboards, hidden the day they moved in and forgotten when their memories were stolen from them.
“So, I think we can rule out most of our original ideas about what this is.” Sam said, not meeting Dean’s eyes. “What I don’t understand are the wings though. We know they don’t let anyone in to see people who haven’t learned to control it yet so it makes sense that we hadn’t heard about it. But what can cause people to grow wings?”
Dean stared at him for a minute, shaking his head as if trying to get past the realization that Sam wasn’t going to make him talk about what had happened between them. It was the last thing he wanted. Dean hadn’t caught on about that yet, but no matter how much Sam pressed Dean to talk about his problems, Sam wasn’t all that keen on anteing up his own issues. And this was one of those elephants he was happy to have around for a long time. He’d grown used to it after all.
“The more I think about it, the more I think we should be looking at the Elder’s wives. We already agreed it was female because of the pattern of her victims, but I can’t think of anyone else that would have been able to do anything to us at the sacrifice.”
“Rhea.”
“What?”
“The Eldest’s wife, Rhea. She was the only one that came to check on us, when all the others started to worry. They wanted to distance themselves but she was always trying to see how we were doing. You never liked her and after everything, I’m willing to go with your instinct about her. Let’s check her out.”
“Tonight. I don’t want to put anyone else in danger if they weren’t involved.”
“Yeah, fine tonight. But I’m not leaving the house today. I’m not…” his words trailed off and he gave Sam a hard stare before he left the room without finishing.
Sam sat there, staring at his coffee as he listened to the sound of Dean walking down the hall and down to the bathroom. It only took a second before he heard the shower running. He knew there would be no hot water left for him until much later. Dean’s wings barely fit in the stall, even pulled in as tight as they could go and he was bound to try to wash away some of the memories, the guilt and shame at what they’d unknowingly done. To wash away the trace of sex that still clung to their skin from last night’s love making.
Sam closed his eyes and tried to forget the feel of Dean’s wings against him, his hands strong and firm as he held Sam close, his eyes as they lay together, both spent from their worship of one another. It had been that intense sense of reverence between them, the same sense that filled him every time one of them was hurt and the other reached out, holding one another close against the pain and fear of loss.
He didn’t want to face the others any more than Dean did. He didn’t think he could be among them and keep up the façade of happy lovers when he knew Dean wished he was anywhere but there. Hell, Dean had made it perfectly clear when Sam was still a teen that his need to be wrapped around Dean all the time wasn’t alright. He didn’t think hand holding was going to help them get through this.
He heard the water go off and realized he’d been thinking of Dean again, thinking of the way the water would run down his back, how it would pearl over his wings and fall as Dean shook them slightly in the shower, trying not to knock them into anything.
He closed his eyes and banged his head on the table a few times, trying to get the image out of his head. He needed to focus on the hunt.
He grabbed the notes and reviewed the facts they already knew. Seven men had been found within a 25 mile radius of the community in the last year and all had been former members. There had been similar deaths thirty years before, but the files had been pretty bare in facts. They stayed true to the current M.O. though. The men walked back to their former lives and within days of rejoining society, were found dead. Their wives walked away from the community and were never seen again. Nothing in the police reports showed foul play for the men, the toxicology came out clean. They died of heart attacks, all seven men in their mid twenties to early thirties. The local PD thought the community had something to do with it, but there was nothing to tie them to it so they couldn’t do anything. Not only that, they were fearful of turning the community from a peaceful religious commune to a full blown cult.
Couples were accepted into the community, regardless of ethnicity or orientation, country of origin or financial status. They were screened to show they were true followers of the lord and after a couple of interviews with the Elders Sam and Dean had passed with flying colors. When the Elders questioned them about God and the angels, it was easy enough. When asked about their lack of outward affection to one another, kissing or hand holding, they had that covered as well. They were from a very close minded community and while they had chosen to be together, they’d always kept their displays quiet in public to keep from causing any trouble.
Once they’d been accepted into the community, the Elders had assured them they wouldn’t need to hide anymore. Dean had smiled and said it would take time but they made an effort after that to touch each other more in front of the community of people they found themselves in. Some things about their relationship worked in their favor anyway. They had always gravitated towards one another, no matter the setting. They were most comfortable when they were close enough to touch, and it was normal to brush up against one another as they walked or sat close. It was just the rest they had to work on, allowing their hands to rest a little longer than needed, or to allow their eyes to catch across the room. They’d managed it and the Elders had been happy at their progress. Two weeks into their stay, the Elders asked if they were ready to prove themselves to their community.
They’d said yes without question and before they could even wonder about it, they were whisked off to one of the smaller outbuildings of the church. The Elders and their wives were all there, with Rhea brining a bowl forward to the Elders. They had passed it around praying softly over. It wasn’t until after they offered to ‘give up their past’ to show the ‘true light of their love’ that they’d drunk from the bowl, both knowing it was a bad idea but not able to stop without breaking their cover. It was only after that they recognized the taste that was hiding in the dark liquid. Metallic. Heavy. Blood.
They’d both been on edge when they got home but nothing happened. They’d drank the blood and whatever else had been mixed in and while it settled heavy in their stomachs, their night had been normal. They went home, ate something quickly to try to soak up anything that might have been given to them, and argued over who got the bed. It was a moot argument since Dean always won and they both knew Sam would crawl into the bed if he lost anyway, but it gave them the normalcy that they needed. Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary for that hunt, until Sam had woken up with no memories and his brother screaming in the bathroom as wings ripped from his flesh.
The memory gouged him, ripping him to shreds and the only comfort he had in it was that even without his memories he’d gone to his brother and comforted him. That in his own confusion, he’d taken care of Dean and never let him alone, never let him think for one moment that he had to deal with it by himself.
He didn’t know how long he’d been staring at the papers, his mind replaying that night over and over, from Dean’s pained screams waking him to the moment he drifted off to sleep, safe in Dean’s arms, covered in wings, and having been sated in ways he’d never been before. He didn’t look up until he felt something against his forearm. He looked up to see a plate pushed across the table at him and Dean was already walking away.
“Eat something, Sammy.”
He closed his eyes at the word, savoring it and trying to keep the tears at bay. The name was the same as always, but so much more, and less, now that they were awake and aware.
He took the sandwich and ate it, tasting ash but knowing that Dean would be back to check on him and see if he ate or not. He didn’t want to worry him anymore than normal so he swallowed each bite. He couldn’t concentrate after that though and decided he needed to sleep. He needed to get away from his head and it was the only solace he had in the community. He went up to the bedroom, ignoring the images that crossed his mind as he opened the door.
He thought about walking out, when he realized Dean was already there, asleep, but he couldn’t. He crawled in with his brother, careful not to wake him. Dean shifted closer to him, pulling him against his chest and Sam sighed as he turned onto his side. He thought it would take a long time to fall asleep, but as Dean’s bronze colored wing tipped over him, cocooning them from the world, his last thought was to wonder what that color really meant, now that he knew it wasn’t that sort of love, before his breathing settled and he was asleep in his lovers arms before he could puzzle it out.
On to Part II