Psych 101 - Chapter 5
Time is running out. Dean can feel it. Michael invades his dreams regularly and Sam wakes from Lucifer’s visits dazed and shaking. His encounters with Michael are becoming more and more combative as Michael becomes more impatient with Dean’s continued refusal to say yes.
They’re both exhausted from lack of sleep and continually running, hunting, trying to stay one step ahead - or at least not too far behind - Meg, the Horsemen, Lucifer…everything.
Dean just wants it over. Wants it done. Doesn’t much mind how it ends for him - dead, alive, Heaven, Hell - he just wants it done. There are moments, fleeting moments, when he doesn’t even care what the outcome is. Sometimes he’s just so tired that he doesn’t care if Lucifer wins.
He just wants it over.
The one bright spot happens when Dean goes to drag Sam out of Bobby’s library to help with an engine and finds every piece of furniture in the room floating several feet above the ground, Sam standing in the middle of the room, face slack, blood running freely from his nose.
“Sam!” Dean calls out for his brother but Sam doesn’t hear him, doesn’t flinch when Dean slams the door shut.
This isn’t the first time Dean’s seen his brother practicing. It still makes him uncomfortable, still wary of Sam nurturing them but Sam’s been discreet and Dean’s stayed quiet and so far everything has been fine.
This is not fine.
Sam’s never had this kind of reaction while practicing. He doesn’t know what to do, scared to touch Sam when he’s like this, afraid of hurting him in some way.
But Sam doesn’t respond to his voice, doesn’t give any indication that he hears Dean calling his name.
Not sure what else to do Dean reaches out and grips Sam’s should, shaking him gently. Sam’s head falls back sharply before snapping back up. His eyes fly open, blank and milky, he gulps in a huge breath before his legs give out and he goes crashing to the ground.
“Sam.” Dean crowds forward, dropping down into Sam’s space, desperate for Sam to look at him, to focus on the here and now instead of wherever he’s gone in his head.
“Dean?” Sam’s voice is shaky, quiet, like he’s not sure exactly where he is.
“Yeah Sammy. Time to come back.” Sam’s eyes clear as they flit around the room to where all the furniture has come crashing back to the ground. Bobby is not going to be pleased.
“Dean…”
“You’re bleeding. Here, let me.” Dean wipes at Sam’s nose, wiping the blood away with his sleeve, just like when Sam was a boy.
“I’ve got it. I’ve got it Dean.” He’s still a bit groggy, still a bit unfocused but there’s a smile on his brother’s face. Big and dimpled.
“Looks like.” Dean’s still wiping away blood when Sam meets Dean’s eyes, sharp and clear.
“Dean…we’re going to win.” Sam’s belief is infectious and Dean believes him, believes they’ll find a way to send Lucifer back to Hell and stop the Apocalypse.
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Dean’s excitement only lasts a few days. As they chart more omens and track more demons and get more reports from hunters across the country Dean feels his exhaustion creep back in and his fatalism return.
Sam has his powers under control and at his command and Dean has to admit it’s kinda cool and that it’ll come in handy but he doesn’t have Sam’s faith that his powers are the answer to all their questions, that with it they can defeat Lucifer.
He’s at his breaking point when Michael invades his dreams again, demanding he say yes, demand he fulfill his destiny.
“I told you. No. Never going to happen. Find someone else. Or better yet, help us defeat Lucifer. The world doesn’t need to end because you and your brother are in a pissing match.”
“There is no other way.”
“Bullshit!” Dean’s furious, so furious that he doesn’t care that he’s yelling at God’s most powerful archangel. “There’s always another way! And if there isn’t find one. You’re an archangel.”
“My Father’s instructions are clear Dean. And I am a good son.” The angel’s monotone is infuriating.
“And your father wants you to kill your brother and end the world? That’s what your father wants? I know all about being a good son Michael but this, this is fucked. How many innocent people die if I say yes? How many?”
Michael almost seems confused that Dean would even consider the human cost of the Apocalypse. He’s clearly never considered it himself.
“Humans beings can be reborn. I seek to bring about paradise, God’s true vision of the world for all eternity. Is that not worth the lives of a few humans?”
He’s tired. So tired of having this same argument every night for months, over and over again, never making any progress. Michael refuses to consider another path, Dean’s not sure he actually can. And of course there’s the bit where Michael wants to face Lucifer and bring about the end of the world.
“No. It’s not worth it. Find another destiny. ‘Cause this ain’t it.”
“You will never say yes will you?”
“I will never say yes. Never.” Michael looks confused. As if the idea that Dean meant what he said never occurred to him.
Michael looks at him for a very long time, looks deep inside him, probing and prodding his mind in ways he’s never done before. It seems to take a very long time.
When he’s finished Michael steps back and starts to glow and Dean has to look away. When he can look again Michael has a sword rest across his hands. It’s beautiful, gleaming silver double edge longsword, perfectly balanced with a silver hilt. It’s simple and elegant, similar to the weapon Castiel used. Dean can feel his fingers itching to touch it, hold it.
“If I give this to you, do swear on your immortal soul that you will drive it through Lucifer’s heart? No matter who his vessel.”
Dean knows that Michael believes Sam will say yes to Lucifer. He’s asking Dean if, when the time comes, he’ll kill his brother just as Michael was willing to do. The difference is that while Dean doesn’t want to kill his brother, he’ll do it if it means preventing the end of the world. Sam would want him to.
“I swear.” Michael lays the sword in his hands and Dean feels something rush through him, something heady and powerful. Despite it’s size the sword weights nothing. It fits in his hand perfectly, as if it was made for him. it feels amazing.
“If you break your vow the years you spent in Hell will be nothing compared to Heaven’s retribution. We will be watching Dean Winchester.”
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Dean wakes with a jolt. Michael’s sword sits on the table, gleaming, silver reflecting off the moonlight and Dean can’t stop staring at it. Can’t stop thinking about what it means.
They left Bobby’s yesterday, tracking down omens that may lead to the final Horseman, omens that may lead to Death. They’d driven through the rain till the storm got so bad they had to pulling into a motel, lucky enough to get the last room.
Beside him Sam falls into another nightmare, Lucifer invading his dreams, begging and torturing, and demanding Sam say yes. Yes to Lucifer, yes to Hell, yes to the Apocalypse. Despite his resolution, despite what he’s convinced himself he can do Dean knows that it’s tearing his brother apart. Sam wakes every morning looking like he just got hit by a truck, eyes red and puffy, dark circles surrounding his eyes, skin sallow, cheekbones sharp, always a worry line between his eyes. He’s losing weight, weight he can’t afford to lose, his ribs becoming more prominent, hipbones jutting out razor sharp. It worries Dean. Just like he knows his appearance worries Sam.
Forcing himself out of bed Dean crawls in next to Sam, wraps him up in his arms, pulling him in tight. Sam’s shaking and Dean can feel his brother’s power thrumming through him, as if he’s trying to use it against Lucifer in his dreams. He shakes Sam, whispers his name, tells him to wake up, that it’s just a dream and Dean’s here, right here.
It doesn’t work. It’s getting more difficult to wake Sam each night. “Sam! Wake up Sam! Wake up now!” He’s ordering Sam now, finds that tends to work better than asking. Still, it takes a bit too long and a bit too much handling to finally draw Sam out of it.
Usually when Sam wakes he’s shouting and mumbling and defiant, tears held at bay. But now, now he’s quiet, letting the tears fall and that terrifies Dean. He gives Sam a tight squeeze before forcing him over onto his back so he’s looking down at Sam, looking into his brother’s stormy hazel eyes.
“Shhh, it’s okay Sammy. Just a dream. You’re awake now. Safe. It’s alright.” Dean gently rubs his hand over San’s chest, trying to sooth him. Sam’s eyes fly over Dean’s face, he looks devastated, defeated and Dean feels his heart clench, not liking that look on his brother’s face.
“Dean…”
“It’s okay Sam…”
Sam’s hand slides up Dean’s arm, wrapping around his back, gripping his neck and tugs gently. Dean goes with it, not sure what his brother’s after, never expecting Sam to pull him down into a kiss. It’s soft, gentle, just a brush of their lips but Dean pulls back as far as Sam will let him. His eyes searching, questioning.
“Sam?”
“Dean. Dean.” Sam’s whispering, pulling him back down, into another kiss. This time it’s a real kiss, intent clear, firm and real and Dean isn’t sure what’s happening but he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t stop when Sam’s tongue flicks out, swiping across Dean’s lips, seeking entrance. Dean’s mouth falls open, letting Sam in, his tongue curling around Sam’s, searching his brother’s mouth the way Sam’s searching his.
Dean still has no real idea what’s going on, what he’s doing but he can’t stop, doesn’t care that it’s wrong or sick or whatever anyone else wants to call it because this is the best kiss of Dean’s life. And he wants this. God he wants this. He wants his brother close to him, touching him, loving him.
Sam’s leg slides up Dean’s and he falls forward, blanketing Sam, touching him from hip to lips, fingers twining through Sam’s long curling hair. He feels Sam’s hands roaming his back, sliding under his T-shirt, rucking it up. They stops kissing long enough for Dean to pull it over his head and off before he reaches for Sam’s, tugging it off, revealing his brother’s perfect chest.
Dean’s experimented with men when he was younger and curious but he’s never found them particularly attractive, not like he finds Sam. His brother is beautiful, even with the weight loss Sam’s all smooth muscle and strength and Dean finds himself dipping down to lick and suck and bite on his brother’s nipple. Sam lets out the most delicious moan, hands cupping the back of Dean’s head, keeping him there.
He works his way from one to the other before trailing down, tongue tripping along his brother’s cut abs, nipping at his bellybutton before he hits Sam’s boxers, tracing his tongue along the waistband. Sam hauls him up before he can go any lower, attacking his mouth with sharp biting kisses that Dean feels all the way down to his toes.
He can’t help grinding down again Sam, feels his brother hot and hard through his boxers, just two thin layers separating them and Dean can’t wait to get them skin to skin, to feel Sam bare against him.
Sam’s hands are tugging at his boxers, hands squeezing his ass and pulling the material down, wanting them off as much as Dean wants Sam’s off. He shimmies out of them without breaking away from Sam’s kiss, not wanting to let go of his brother’s mouth. Once Dean’s boxers are gone Sam pulls his off and Dean almost loses it at the first touch of Sam’s dick against his, has to pulls back and concentrate on getting himself under control when Sam spreads his legs further and lets Dean fall down between them before wrapping his legs loosely around Dean, keeping him there as he rubs up against Dean.
“Sam…jesus Sammy, gotta…gonna…oh god.” Dean doesn’t know what he’s saying, doesn’t know what he wants, doesn’t know anything beyond the feel of his brother loving all over him.
“Dean. Want you Dean. Need you to. Fuck me. Please. Please.” Sam’s voice sounds a bit wrecked, his eyes blown when he meets Dean’s eyes. Dean’s sure he’s going to come before they go any further.
“Want you to Dean. Want it. Come on. Please Dean…please.” Sam’s biting along his jaw, begging and pleading, nuzzling into Dean’s throat, licking and nipping and Dean can’t think straight.
“Okay. Yeah…god Sammy, yeah…okay.” Dean knows they need lube, knows he needs to open Sam up, knows he needs to be doing something beyond letting Sam nuzzle and kiss, something beyond kissing Sam but he just can’t make himself stop. Never wants to stop kissing Sam.
“Dean…” Sam’s voice sounds more coherent than Dean but not much. “My bag. Stuff…in my bag. Dean. Dean god.”
Forcing himself to stop licking and tasting Sam’s skin Dean stumbles over to Sam’s bag, digging through the side pocket where he keeps his toiletry bag. He finally finds the small tube of lube and turns back for the bed, freezing in his tracks at the sight of Sam on the bed, laid out for him, so careless and natural, not even aware of how he looks. His legs spread waiting for Dean to slide back in, hand resting on his chest while the other gently jacks his cock. Dean feels his mouth water, finds himself wanting to taste it, lap up the pre-come that dripping from it, feel the weight of it in his mouth all the way into the back of his throat, wants to swallow his brother down before Sam fucks him. Wants to feel his brother inside him.
But Sam’s begging him to fuck him and god yeah Dean wants to sink into his brother, wants to feel Sam surrounding him, all that tight heat squeezing him. Yeah.
Dean crawls back up the bed, can’t stop himself from nuzzling at Sam’s cock, giving it a few swipes with his tongue, suckling the head and tasting before Sam’s grabbing his hair and tugging, pulling him back up.
“Don’t…gonna…not till your inside me.”
“Yeah Sammy. Gonna be inside you. Gonna be so good.” They’re kissing again and Dean forgets the lube till Sam wraps his legs around Dean’s waist and rolls his hips up and Dean’s dick rubs against Sam’s balls and his ass, can’t stop the hiss he lets out at the feeling.
Popping the lid on the lube he manages to coat his fingers without having to stop kissing Sam. He slides his fingers down, finds Sam’s asshole and rubs it, small circling motion. Dean has no idea if his brother’s ever done this before and he wants to be careful, needs to not hurt Sam.
Sam’s making the most amazing moans and gasps, hips pushing back a bit, silently begging Dean for more. Never able to say no to his little brother Dean pushes his finger inside, only pausing when Sam inhales sharply, gibing him a second to get used to the feeling, before he’s pushing all the way in and pulling back out, dropping little kisses across Sam’s face, his lips, his neck, shushing him.
When Sam’s pushing back on his finger Dean slips a second in, just as gentle as the first, searching for his brother’s sweet spot while Sam gets used to another finger. When Dean finds it Sam shouts out surprised, his dicks pulses and Dean can’t help a smug smirk.
“God Dean. Want…want…god again, do that again.” Dean keeps rubbing against that spot till Sam’s babbling and squirming and pushing back on Dean begging for more, his dick leaking all over between them. He pushes a third finger in, working till Sam is practically crying with need and ready to come any second.
Pulling his fingers out Sam lets out a moan, his ass squeezing, trying to keep his fingers inside and Dean can’t wait to slide inside his brother. “Shhh…Sammy, gonna fuck you now. Gonna feel so good, better than my fingers, better than anything.”
“Yeah. Yeah Dean…fuck, yeah.” Dean grabs the lube and slathers up his dick, not bothering with a condom, he’s clean and so is Sam and regardless, Dean doesn’t care. Doesn’t want anything between them.
Pushing in is glorious. Sam’s so tight, so hot, so desperate he doesn’t seem to care about the pain, biting his lip to distract himself till Dean swoops down and starts kissing him till he’s fully inside. “Sam. Sammy.” He knows how he sounds, knows he sounds amazed and awestruck, he can’t help it, he’s inside his brother and Sam’s looking at him like he’s the single most amazing thing in the world. No one’s ever looked at him like that; no one’s ever felt that way about him before.
When he pulls out Sam hisses and moans and clutches at Dean, cries out when Dean pushes back in. After a few careful thrusts Dean can’t help slamming into Sam, taking him hard, wanting his brother to feel him, remember this moment, wanting it to be so good.
Sam’s right there with him, kissing and licking and biting, rolling his hips, meetings Dean’s thrust just as hard and hot, squeezing his ass so tight Dean can barely breath. It’s the best sex Dean’s ever had. Amazing and powerful and worshipful, he can’t stop staring at Sam, can’t take his eyes off his brother who looks so beautiful and debauched beneath him, who’s begging and moaning and desperate for more. He can’t feel Sam getting even harder, feel him leaking even more till finally Dean starts pounding his prostate over and over and over till Sam’s screaming and coming and biting deep into Dean’s shoulder, breaking skin, making him bleed.
The sting of breaking skin sets Dean off and after one two three hard thrusts Dean’s coming harder than he’s ever come before.
When he regains awareness he’s still buried inside Sam, head resting on his brother’s chest, can hear Sam’s heart beat settling down. Sam’s petting his hair and rubbing his back, dropping kisses on his forehead. Slowly he lifts his head to look up at Sam. His brother smiles till there are dimples, contagious till Dean’s smiling just a big.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” Sam’s voice is quite and almost shy and Dean has to kiss him.
They make out for a while, just enjoying the afterglow and the comedown, enjoying the act of kissing. Dean feels calm and content; happy in a way he hasn’t been in a while. He’s tired but not exhausted, just wanting a good sleep after amazing sex. Sam notices him fighting to stay awake and chuckles.
“Come on Dean, time to sleep.” Groaning Dean reluctantly slips out of Sam, both of them hissing at the feeling. He misses being inside Sam already, wishing he had the energy to go again. Hopes morning sex is on the menu.
Flopping besides Sam he lets Sam cuddle up with him, enjoys the feeling of Sam spooning him, Dean falls into a dreamless sleep to the sound of his brother’s heart beating.
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When Dean wakes Sam is gone. And Dean knows, he knows the next time he sees his brother it won’t be Sam inside but Lucifer, wearing his brother like a glove.
He’s just woken up but already Dean is exhausted, the minimal rest he got vanished in waking. The memory of last night threatens to drown him, the memory of Sam over him and under him and surrounding him. Of Sam Sam Sam Sammy clinging to him, begging him, loving him.
Dean hangs onto it, lets it wash through him, locking it away for later, when he’ll need the comfort most.
Getting out of bed is difficult. He’s tired, his body sore, creaky, resisting the act of sitting up, standing. He doesn’t remember when his body got so old, joints popping and muscles stung too tight. Whatever calm Sam had laid upon him, whatever rest and peace left with Sam.
He shuffles into the bathroom, avoiding looking in the mirror, turning the shower as hot as he can, barely feeling the scalding water as he showers last night off, glad he can’t wash away the bruises Sam’s hands left on his chest, his arms; can’t wash away the scratches Sam left along his back, the bite on his neck.
After Dean sits back on the bed, towel wrapped around his waist, water drying, hair dripping. He needs to snap out of this haze he’s in, needs to get his head straight, man up and prepare himself for the inevitable. He needs to prepare for war. Needs to prepare himself for facing Sam, for killing Lucifer.
Dean knows this was what Sam wanted. That this was Sam’s choice. That this is probably the only way they’ll be able to stop Lucifer and prevent the Apocalypse. He knows this.
Still.
Still. Killing Lucifer means killing his meatsuit. Means killing Sam. Means condemning his brother to death, to eternity in Hell.
He knows he has to do it. Knows he can do it physically, knows he can punch and kick and drive Michael’s sword through Lucifer’s heart. He just doesn’t know if he can do it all to Sam.
Except he doesn’t have a choice. Fate and destiny and history and God and myth and the future have left him no choice. Sam has left Dean no choice.
So he has to get himself together, find the warrior inside himself, reclaim the hunter. Or else he and Sam and God and the world are damned.
He dresses in his thickest jeans, his most fitted shirt under a tough flannel, his boots soft and warn, perfectly broken in; slides his leather jacket on top of it all. It’s almost like putting on a suit of armor; his father’s jacket the final piece of protection resting across his shoulders.
Sam left his knives, his gun, his laptop; all his weapons laid out across the motel table. Dean picks up Sam’s favorite knife, slides it into his boot holster; tucks his favorite gun into the small of his back. Gently he picks up Michael’s sword, heavy and perfect in his hand, slides it carefully into the scabbard resting across his back, hidden under his jacket.
Bags packed in the trunk Dean takes one last look at the motel room before sliding into the Impala, doing his best to ignore the empty space next to him, and pulls out of the motel parking lot.
Heading east. Towards home.
Chapter 5b