SPN fic: "Dare Frame Thy Fearful Symmetry" [NC-17] Sam/Dean
Title: Dare Frame Thy Fearful Symmetry
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Thanks to: My alpha-reader, Steven, who gave this fic a real ending, and to aerye for the fabulous double beta.
Length: 7,800 words
Spoilers: All the way up to 5x22, 'Swan Song'. I consider this a hinge-point AU.
Written for: leonidaslion, one of my top ten favorite authors alive or dead. I wanted to write you something special for Antichristmas, so I hit as many of your buttons as I could here. I hope you enjoy it!
Warnings/Enticements: Graphic violence and explicit incest with bloodkink and dubcon between evil!Sam and animalistic!Dean, all in a dark post-apocalyptic setting. What can I say? The woman writes one hell of a prompt.
Summary: At the start of the war, Sam said yes and Dean was sent to Hell. This is the story of what happened once the war was over.
Chapter 1
Sam stalked across the vast plain of Gehenna surrounded by his entourage, eager to claim what was his. As an acknowledged demon lord trespassing in another’s kingdom, he’d brought just a handful of his most powerful demons. They were strong enough to discourage a casual ambush, but too few to be considered an incursion.
Dean had shown up at Stull Cemetery. Had tried to stop the apocalypse. Sam vaguely remembered trying to save Dean. He’d scratched and screamed at Lucifer from the inside; thrown everything he had at the bright, blank walls that kept him from controlling his own body. Lucifer had understood. ‘Don’t worry, Sam. I have to kill my brother, but I’ll keep yours safe for you.’ And then Lucifer sent Dean to Hell with a snap of his fingers. He'd sworn that no demon would harm Dean, and that Sam could retrieve him once the war was over.
On Dean’s first visit to Hell he’d been given VIP treatment in the Pit. Torture designed and personally administered by Alastair himself. This time, Dean had been tossed into gen pop. Sam hadn’t found out how Lucifer kept His promise until much later. Of course, by that point he’d realized it was the only practical solution.
There was an admirable efficiency to this part of Hell. It swarmed with uncounted damned souls. The strong preyed on the weak, and on each other. The free-range torment churned out new demons like a perpetual motion machine.
Dean’s soul was a beacon burning through the sulfurous clouds of ash. Sam found himself hurrying, breaking into a run. When Lucifer ascended to rule in Heaven, He’d left His vessel hollow. There weren’t enough pieces of Sam left to fill the empty places. But with Dean at his side, he could do it.
As Sam neared, the damned ceased their eternal battle of all against all to flee like deer from a grassfire. Roving packs of hellhounds whined, cowering from Sam’s power. Only one creature had the courage to stand before him. Dean.
Sam slowed to a stop, savoring the moment, comparing the figure before him to his fragmented memories.
Dean was naked and scarred, blood dripping freely from a bite on his forearm. He slipped into a knife-fighter’s stance as Sam approached, a sharp fragment of black stone in his right hand. There was no sign of recognition in those green eyes, and the snarl that came from his lips was pure animal challenge.
Sam flushed with pride. His brother was John’s son, and Alastair’s pupil. He was predator, not prey, and fully prepared to defend his territory. Sam knew that Dean had been different, before. So had he. So had the world. Sam thought that the before-Dean might not have liked this world. Might not have liked this Sam. He’d worried about that, from time to time. But Lucifer had taken care of everything.
Sam waved his escorts away and stepped closer. Even closer, with Dean trembling on the verge of attack. ‘Move into your opponent from a 45 degree angle, not head on,’ someone had once taught him.
“Dean,” Sam called softly.
The inhuman speed of Dean’s lunge caught Sam by surprise. The stone knife came within an inch of his stomach before he deflected it and smashed Dean to the ground with his power. Dean struggled. Sam flipped him onto his back and let the tendrils of his power grow claws, to force his brother to submit.
Dean arched hard, blank-faced and utterly silent, impaling himself on Sam’s power. Sam stood over him for long minutes as Dean fought the bonds that held him down, berserker-careless of pain or injury. Dean coughed, and a froth of blood appeared on his lips. Sam ... didn’t like that.
The direct approach might work better.
Sam threw himself on top of Dean. “Dean!” he yelled in his writhing brother’s face. “Look at me!”
Dean froze and stared back at him, panting hard.
Sam let his power fade, pinning his brother down with just his weight and physical strength. “You’re mine, Dean. Mine. So stop fighting me!”
Dean blinked, and then turned his head to look away. Good. A consistent system of rewards and punishments would tame him quickly enough.
Sam felt his brother’s body slowly relax under him, warm and familiar. He took the chance for a closer look. Dean had freckles - he’d forgotten about them. His brother’s body was covered in scars, some faded, some recent. There was a raised burn scar on his shoulder in the shape of a handprint. Sam’s lip lifted in a snarl of his own at the sudden jolt of memory of the last time Dean had been pulled out of Hell. Angels.
After Michael’s death, the angels had attacked with every destructive power they had, no matter the cost. Earthquakes, volcanoes, and tornadoes; plagues and darkness and death. If they couldn’t own the Earth, then they would destroy it along with as many of Lucifer’s forces as possible. Sam had willingly opened himself, given all he had to be Lucifer’s perfect vessel so that together they could drive every last fucking angel off the planet.
The angels had tried to claim Dean as theirs, had tried to take his brother from him. Sam’s demons edged away as the forces conjured by Sam’s emotions pulsed through him. He breathed slowly, struggling for control. Sometimes Sam felt he was just skin and bone wrapped around a hollow space. Sometimes there was nothing to him but rage. Now he had Dean back, he could control it. He could.
Sam leaned down and sunk his teeth into the base of Dean’s throat, by his collarbone. Dean bucked. Sam tasted blood with just a teasing hint of demon and pushed raw power into his brother. Damned souls were as easy to repair as they were to rip apart, but Dean was here in the flesh. Demons were only meant to be able to heal their own meat suits. Sam didn’t care. He wanted those marks off Dean. All of them, and especially that one. Dean was his. Sam’s teeth grated on bone as he forced more power into Dean. His brother convulsed and then went limp.
Sam sat up to inspect the results, tired but automatically concealing it as a sign of weakness. He really should have waited to heal Dean until they were home. Dean’s skin was smooth and unmarked, except for the teeth marks at his throat. There was an impressed murmur from the watching demons.
Gehenna was Belial’s kingdom. Like most of the other demon lords, he didn’t approve of Sam. Lucifer had ordered Belial to release Dean, and he would. But that didn’t mean he had to make it easy. Following the traditional strictures would be easier than fighting their way out. Dean was meant to walk out of here, to follow Sam out of Hell.
Sam considered the demons he’d brought with him. Nazir, the general of his armies, carrying a naked blade and spoiling for a fight. Este, Sam’s most capable assassin, was covered in tattooed sigils for silence and shadow that let her drift in and out of the edges of Sam’s perception. Venes, a consummate witch and manipulator, was Sam’s envoy to the lords of Hell. She’d been trying to maneuver her way into his bed recently, angling for a position behind the throne. Kaleb, his head torturer, was staring at Dean with a fixed intensity that Sam immediately distrusted. Not that he trusted any one of them. These were the four of his demons powerful enough to offer a real threat, if they thought him vulnerable.
“Venes,” Sam called. She moved forwards wearing a statuesque blonde almost as tall as he was. “Pick Dean up and follow me out.”
“Yes, lord,” she said, hauling Dean off the ground and into her arms. There was a pleased gleam in her eyes, and it occurred to Sam that Venes might view Dean as a rival.
Sam reached out a hand, turned her head towards him, and smiled.
Venes blanched.
“If Dean comes to any harm from now until we leave Hell,” Sam purred, “I’ll make you beg for weeks before I destroy you. Understood?”
Venes tried to nod her head yes, but couldn’t move against the vice-grip his fingers applied to her chin.
Reassured by the terror in her eyes, Sam released Venes and set his eyes on the sullen red volcano on the horizon. “I want you no more than five steps away, Venes. The rest of you form up behind us. I’ll take care of any attack from the front,” he instructed his demons. Sam kicked aside the gutted corpse of a hellhound and set out without a backward glance.
Belial must have been satisfied, because they soon reached the dark, narrow path that meandered up the side of the volcano and out of Hell. Sam climbed steadily. He couldn’t relax his guard until they were back in his kingdom. Sam finally saw light up ahead and moved forwards, wary of an ambush, resisting the impulse to look back and check on Dean.
He emerged, squinting, into the crater that had once been Stull Cemetery. Bright daylight reflected off bedrock melted to glass. This part of the continent had been destroyed by hellfire and heavenfire both, a release of power that had destroyed all life for hundreds of miles in every direction.
North America was Lucifer’s gift to him; Sam’s for as long as he had the strength to hold it. His kingdom was free of toxins and the Croatoan virus. It was something of a preserve. Plant and animal life was gradually returning to the blast zone. There were almost a million unpossessed humans roaming free on the edges of the continent. They were unpredictable and sometimes dangerous, but Sam viewed them as a valuable natural resource.
Judging that he’d waited long enough, Sam turned around. Venes was standing behind him, Dean unconscious and shivering in her arms. Sam gently pulled Dean out of her arms, closed his eyes, and said, “Home.”
Chapter 2
They appeared in Sam’s room at the top of a tower in what had once been called Boldt Castle. He laid Dean down carefully on the bearskin rug by the fireplace. The black bears had made quite a comeback - this one had tried to swim out to his island. With a snap of Sam’s fingers, a fire crackled to life in the fireplace. There. Dean was safe. As safe as Sam could make him.
The castle’s stones were carved with protective sigils and runes, reinforced with defensive spellcraft that drew energy directly from the ley line under Heart Island. The tiny island had been drenched with blood sacrifices to make it respond to his will, and his alone. Sam hadn’t been openly attacked here since he’d called the massive storm surge that had forced salt water back up the St. Lawrence River and drowned Mammon’s forces. Lucifer had been irritated by the ecological damage, but impressed with Sam’s ingenuity and raw power. Now that He had taken His rightful place in Heaven, Lucifer didn’t seem to care what happened on Earth anymore.
Sam suddenly wondered what Dean would think of this room. It was a bright empty space with stone walls and bare wooden floorboards. There were four pieces of furniture: one large bed, one comfortable armchair by the western window, and one long work table with a chair in front of it. There was the one bearskin rug and several piles of books on the floor. Sam thought, vaguely, that there should be more … things. The demons kept many things in their quarters. Valuable objects, trophies, artwork. Sam tried to remember what their home had been like, before, and drew a familiar, terrifying blank. That shouldn’t happen, now he had Dean back. Sam pushed harder, burrowing inwards with his power, and got a momentary glimpse of gleaming black metal. Then nothing.
Sam wiped irritably at the blood trickling from his nose. Well. It didn’t matter. The room was certainly a step up from Gehenna.
Sam slumped into his chair near the window, nursing a headache. Dean’s soft half-snores kept away the silence. The sun slowly dropped below the tree line on the far shore. Sam sighed and sent a weary mental command for a slave to fetch him food and water. Dean would need both when he woke up. What did Dean like to eat? Sam flashed on Dean grinning around a mouthful of meat and bun. Hamburgers. ‘Send hamburgers,’ he ordered, and sensed the cook’s sudden panic. Ah well. She was the highest ranked human on the island, and infinitely resourceful. She’d manage.
Once it was fully dark, Sam lit the candles around the room with a thought. There was a knock at the door. A scrawny human female limped in, shaking so hard that the dishes in her hands rattled. Sam looked her over, exasperated. Apparently the cook was cutting her losses, sending this one up with a meal that might displease him. He hadn’t lost control and killed a slave in weeks. Sam took the carafe of water and mug from her hands before she could drop them, put both down on the table, and then lifted the lid off the tray. Sizzling hot slices of pork on split loaves of bread. Huh.
“Close enough,” Sam said, taking the tray. The female ran, slamming the door closed behind her. Sam used his power to shove aside the pages of mystical diagrams he’d been working on and set the food on the table. It smelled surprisingly good. Sam didn’t often crave food, but suddenly he felt hungry. He had a seat, poured himself a mug of water, and chewed his way through one of the sandwiches.
Dean stirred a few minutes later, sniffing the air. He sprang up, rushed the table, and grabbed the carafe of water.
“No,” Sam said sharply, shoving the carafe down with his power. The pottery shattered on the floor. Water splashed them both. Dean froze, glaring at him.
“You want some water? “ Sam kept his voice soft, gentle. “You can have some. Come get it.” He held the mug of water out.
Dean approached warily, ready to bolt. He stretched his hand out and carefully pulled the mug from Sam’s hand.
“Good. That’s good, Dean,” Sam said. He stretched out his power and delicately explored his brother’s body, applying a gentle pressure to his prostate.
Dean shivered and retreated to his bearskin to drink the water. Sam smiled. Dean would learn quickly that all good things came from Sam - water, food, pleasure. An hour later Dean had accepted three sandwiches from him, been rewarded each time, discovered and used the bathroom in a civilized fashion, and was curled up by the fire for a nap.
Sam’s eyes kept closing. He hadn’t slept in the long years he shared his body with Lucifer. Now he surrendered to sleep only when it was a necessity, when exhaustion smudged his thoughts into dead-ends and his temper grew short and sharp beyond even the demonic definition of reasonable. There was something horribly vulnerable about sleeping, lying there insensible and unable to defend himself. He had an army of demons, but they could turn on him at any moment.
Then there were the dreams. Ever since Lucifer abandoned him, Sam’s dreams were full of blood, battle, and pain. He didn’t know if they were memories, visions of the future, a connection to Hell, or some ridiculous human nightmare. Sam just knew he wanted nothing to do with them.
But he’d burned a lot of power today, healing Dean, and he couldn’t stay awake any longer. Sam stripped off his clothes, sent a command to his guards to make sure he wasn’t disturbed, banked the fire, and slipped under the covers of his bed.
Chapter 3
Sam floundered up from unconsciousness into sleep-soaked panic. Something was in the room. Something was attacking.
The fireplace and candles blazed up, flames arcing high. Dean was in the corner by the door, growling at something on the floor, slamming its head into the stone wall over and over.
“Dean,” Sam called, slowing his pounding heart as he reached Dean’s side. “Dean, that’s enough. It’s dead.”
Dean rolled to his feet and stalked from one side of the room to the other, the whites of his eyes showing.
Sam knelt down next to the corpse. He lifted the shattered remains of the skull and recognized the female slave from earlier. There was a bottle clasped in her hand. Sam opened it and sniffed before rearing back, coughing. Holy water spiked with something that made his skin crawl. Sam carefully resealed the bottle and placed it on his table for later study. He tasted the blood on his fingers. No trace of possession, which made it an unusually subtle attempt at assassination. Asmodeus, perhaps. It seemed like his style, and with a kingdom in South America, he’d be the demon lord best placed to benefit from Sam’s fall.
‘Get in here,’ Sam ordered the two demons assigned to guard the base of the stairs that provided the only access to this room. The door burst open a moment later. Both demons seemed surprised by the bloody corpse that greeted them. Sam didn’t particularly care if they had failed him through treachery or incompetency. Either way, the penalty was the same. With a touch, he locked each demon in its meat suit. Then he pinned them against the wall with his power.
“Take that down to the meat locker in the kitchen,” Sam ordered. With this much damage the corpse wasn’t worth possessing. “And then report to the dungeon.” These two were too weak to even want to disobey. Pathetic. Sam issued a flurry of commands - directions to Kaleb on the disposition of the guards, fresh demon guards for the stairs, a slave to come and clean up the mess.
The slave finished quickly, leaving behind a bucket of water and soft cloths. Dean was still agitated, standing with his back against the far wall, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The fresh blood had mixed with the remnants of Gehenna’s ash to form a thin brown mud smeared across Dean’s skin. Sam placed the bucket on the floor by the bed and warmed the water with a trickle of hellfire.
“Dean”, he called quietly. Dean tossed his head and looked at Sam. “Come here.”
Dean swallowed and then took a single hesitant step away from the wall. Sam rewarded him, not with the delicate touch of before, but a slow, strong rub against his prostrate. Dean swayed, eyes closed.
“That’s it,” Sam coaxed. “Come here. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
A dozen staggering steps later Dean fetched up against Sam, half-hard and shaky. Sam wet the cloth with warm water and dabbed at the blood spattered on his cheek. Dean flinched violently.
“Shhhh,” Sam whispered. “It’s all right, Dean, I’ve got you.”
Sam gentled him with soft strokes, using both his hands and his power; slowly washing away the blood and ash from the matted hair on his forehead down the tense muscles of his neck, strong back, the curve of his ass. He knelt to clean Dean’s trembling thighs and calves. The water in the bucket tinted pink, then gradually darkened to a dull red. Sam dried his brother with another cloth.
“Lie down, Dean.”
Dean immediately let himself fall backwards. Exhilarated by the display of trust, Sam caught his brother and eased him onto the bed with a breath of power.
“There, that’s better,” he said, rewarding Dean with a deep, rhythmic touch inside. Sam continued cleaning Dean. When the cloth reached the sole of his foot, Dean twitched away. “Oh, that’s right,” Sam couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice at the vivid memory of childish wrestling matches that always ended with Dean’s indignant squawk. “Your feet are ticklish. Sorry, I forgot.”
Finally Dean was clean and dry. He was sprawled on the bed, hands fisting the covers, head thrown back and legs open to Sam’s power, cock fully erect now. Sam pressed his fingertips to the bite mark on Dean’s collarbone. “Mine,” he whispered. His brother arched into the touch.
Sam knelt between Dean’s legs and ran his hand down his chest to his stomach. He paused, cleared his throat to get the words out. “You did good tonight, Dean.” He wrapped his hand around Dean’s cock and gave it a squeeze. Dean gasped, eyes dark with arousal. “So good. You protected me,” Sam said, slowly stroking his brother’s cock. “That’s how it should be. You take care of me. I take care of you.”
Dean was panting now, hips shifting, quick thrusts into Sam’s fist.
“You gonna take care of me, Dean? Watch over me while I sleep? Protect your little brother? Keep Sammy safe?”
There was a sharp, indrawn breath from Dean and then he was coming, shooting all over Sam’s hand and his own stomach.
“Fuck, Dean,” Sam’s hand was wet with Dean’s come as he grabbed his own cock, hard and already so close. “Missed you. Missed you, big brother. Oh fuck …” He pumped his own release onto Dean’s stomach.
Sam sat up, shaken by the intensity of his response. This was supposed to be about taming Dean, not that. It was better than the rage, but still felt dangerous. Out of control.
It must have been all the blood. Even though it was only human, he must have reacted to it. Like the… Sam groped through his memory … the dog that drooled when it heard a dinner bell. Like that.
Sam picked up the dry cloth and wiped himself and Dean clean. Dean yawned, slid off the bed, walked over to the bearskin rug, and lay down. Soon Dean was snoring. Sam got under the covers and found himself drifting back to sleep. In his dreams, Dean took the bed by the door and kept him safe.
Chapter 4
Over the next few days, Dean spent most of his time asleep. Sam wasn’t willing to leave Dean alone. He coordinated his forces without leaving the room. Now that Lucifer reigned in Heaven, Sam’s army could focus on rebuilding and defense against the other demon lords.
A couple of times a day, Dean would wake up, eat whatever Sam fed him, and then stumble back to his rug for another nap.
Sam lost another team of demons to the ghost-wilds of Chicago. The Midwest’s inhabitants had been wiped out in that first apocalyptic battle of the war at Stull Cemetery. The doors of both Heaven and Hell had been slammed shut while Lucifer and Michael fought. Not a single human soul had crossed over while Armageddon raged. And their spirits were still pissed about the whole thing. Sam was poring over an ancient necromantic grimoire, searching for a way to either disperse a few million vengeful spirits or bind them to his will. Dean licked his fingers clean of the pottage he’d been gulping down, leaned against Sam’s leg, and fell asleep. Sam ran a gentle hand through his hair, grateful to finally have Dean back where he belonged.
With some careful divination work, Sam discovered the source of the poison the slave had carried. It was an extract of the Saint Gothard orchid, native to the Brazilian rainforest. That made it almost certainly Asmodeus’ work. Sam ordered Este to infiltrate the region. He wanted viable rootstock of the orchid to experiment upon. If he reacted to it that strongly, it was probably even more dangerous to the full-blood demon lords.
The next time Dean woke up, he spent some time investigating the fixtures in the bathroom, looked out the windows for a bit, and then started restlessly wandering around the room.
“Ready for the grand tour?” Sam asked. Dean didn’t react to the sound of his voice. Sam grabbed his brother by the hand. “Let’s go, Dean.” Dean’s hand felt too small as Sam tugged him from the room. Dean followed him readily enough down the winding stairs, but watched every demon and human they came across as if it posed a threat.
Sam showed him around the arched ballroom he’d converted to a throne room, the library, the kitchen, and down to the dungeon in the basement. Kaleb was excited to have Dean inspect his work in the dungeons. Dean had been the one to break him, as Alastair's pupil in Hell. Apparently he’d made quite the first impression. Dean stared at the demon with tiger-calm eyes until Kaleb cut the account of his favored techniques short and retreated fearfully.
Dean showed some signs of interest when they toured the armory. He strung a crossbow and tested the pull, picked up a dagger and tossed it into the air a few times, checked that the chamber was empty on an AR-15. Sam encouraged him to choose a personal weapon, but Dean returned everything exactly as he’d found it.
Sam led him outside. He thought Dean might be interested in the steam-powered generator housed on the eastern end of the island. It worked flawlessly, whenever Sam wasn’t in residence. There must be some way to shield the mechanism from his energy, but none of Sam’s trials had succeeded yet. Dean froze as they stepped out into the sunlight. He stared up into the sky, an osprey skirling a challenge far above, and gulped in deep breaths of the fresh, cool spring air.
Sam stepped behind his brother, protecting him from prying eyes, and ordered that they not be disturbed as tears ran down his brother’s cheeks. Dean wasn’t hollow. He was full, overflowing, and Sam pressed close, wanting to feel what that was like. When his brother calmed down, Sam led Dean back to their room and tucked him into bed.
Chapter 5
Sam didn’t sleep that night. There was too much excitement thrumming under his skin. Tomorrow was a Blood Day. Sam indulged at the new and full moon. As Lucifer’s vessel, drinking demon blood had been a necessity. With the blood ritual, Lucifer had taught him to turn it into so much more; an exhilarating way to enhance his power and reinforce his authority over the demons. Since Lucifer’s ascension, the ritual was the only time Sam felt real, felt whole. Dean was pale and tense that morning, with no more appetite for breakfast than Sam. Perhaps he sensed what was coming.
As the sun and moon neared their apex, Sam walked down to his throne room, his brother a shadow behind him. Kaleb knelt in the entryway, offering up Ruby’s knife to Sam. Thirteen demons had already been positioned around the ritual circle, sigils carved into their flesh. The two former guards were there. The rest had all trespassed somehow - unsanctioned human kills, treachery, cowardice, disobedience. They’d broken the only law that truly mattered in Sam’s kingdom. They’d pissed him off. And now one of them would pay the price. Sam chanted in Enochian, feeling the energy of the ritual build.
But something was missing. As Sam imprisoned the demons with his power, there was nothing but dull resignation in their eyes. Sam wanted their fear. It gave the ritual more power, the blood more kick. And it was fun. He was struck by inspiration.
“Dean,” Sam called in a voice that rang from the walls. Dean tilted his head. Sam tossed him Ruby’s knife. Dean caught it and took a graceful step towards Sam, shifting his grip on the knife until it seemed a natural extension of his arm. “Hunt me a demon?” Sam invited in a rough, eager voice.
A feral grin spread over Dean’s face. He looked like a hellhound. And he looked like Dean Winchester, for the first time since Sam pulled him out of Hell. Terror arced around the ritual circle like lightning. Dean wove in and out of the circle, inspecting each demon. He stepped up behind Moa, the strongest of the sacrifices, a former general in Sam’s army, and licked the skin behind its ear. The demon whimpered. Sam spoke the final word of the ritual, and released them. All thirteen bolted. Dean was gone in a blur of speed, pursuing his chosen prey.
Sam sauntered after them. There was nowhere for the sacrifices to run, no way off the island. Sam savored his brother’s lust for the kill, felt the demon’s death at the base of his spine. He found them along the western shore, within sight of the docks. Dean had brought the demon down with a stab to the kidney from behind, and then torn its throat out with his teeth. The demon was gone, but the meat-suit’s heart was still pumping. Sam cuffed Dean aside and drank the blood, sliding down his throat rich and thick with sulfur, until it grew cold and still.
Sam’s heart was racing, his body hot and aroused. Sam always fucked after the ritual’s climax. Always. But none of his demons were here. Just Dean, crouched a few feet away in the sand, knife in his hand, watching him with strange eyes. Dean was soaked in bright arterial blood, and Sam found himself shaking with pure want at the sight.
“Dean,” Sam commanded, “on your hands and knees.” He reached out with his power, so easy with the sacrifice’s blood fresh in his mouth, and pushed Dean down to the ground. Dean yelped and struggled.
“Don’t,” Sam managed, head pounding with need; he slid inside Dean with his power. Not a slender tendril to apply delicate pressure, but thick, pressing, opening Dean up. “You’ll like it. You used to …” Girls. Dean flirted with so many girls, easy grins and hot eyes. But sometimes, he’d look at men. Big, strong men. “Men who could make you. I can do that, Dean. I can make you.”
Sam was stripping down, his clothes, his brother’s, all of his attention on Dean, Dean, so gorgeous, on making Dean need this like he did. And then he was behind Dean, whole body arched over his brother, cock rubbing back and forth against Dean’s ass. He shouldn’t. Not yet. Too big, too soon, it would hurt. But the thought of Dean’s blood, their blood, slicking the way, was too much, and Sam pushed inside.
Just a few inches, and Sam stopped, gasping. Tight and hot and good. So good, and Sam wanted this, so much, he didn’t even know … “Dean? Is it … Can I? Dean?”
Dean shuddered, and bucked back against Sam. Then they were, they were fucking, and it was good, it was everything. Dean was making sounds like he was dying, and when Sam got a hand on Dean’s cock it was hard, hard for him, leaking. Sam thrust hard, harder, his power keeping Dean from sliding away in the sand, just them, just this.
“Got to come, Dean. Please. Need you to. For me. For me, Dean, fuck, please.” Dean’s ass tightened even more around him as Dean’s cock jerked, and Sam couldn’t even move, didn’t want to, just wanted to feel it all, and his orgasm crashed over him even as undirected power ricocheted through his body.
When Sam woke up, Dean was stretched out beside him on the ground, watching him. Dean yawned and stretched sensuously. He was covered in blood and come like some invitation to a paradise of the damned. The power from the ritual was singing to Sam, making him want to lay a battlefield of sacrifices at Dean’s feet, to pull the sun out of the sky for him.
Instead he reached for the knife and slowly, sensuously, slid it along the line of his forearm. The blade was hungry for his death, not that an astrapi blade could harm him. Dean watched him, a concerned line creasing his forehead. Blood dripped from the cut. Winchester blood. Demon blood. Sam dropped the knife in the sand.
He rolled on top of Dean and smeared his brother’s mouth with the blood. Dean’s tongue flickered out, tasting. He suddenly broke into a cold sweat and shuddered, eyes rolling back in his head. Sam fed Dean some of the power raging through him, fucked him with it as his brother writhed under him. Sam ripped every shred of mortality out of his brother’s body.
Dean hadn’t aged a day while he spent centuries in Hell. And now he never would. Nothing would ever take Dean away from him.
Chapter 6
Seasons flowed from one to another. Sam never tired of the thrill of flipping the knife to Dean, slipping the collar off his own personal Dog of War. Not that his brother wasn’t formidable without it. They were passing the kitchen once when there was a short, choked-off scream. Dean charged in. Sam followed to see his brother throw a demon into the wall while a crying human slave scrambled for her clothes. Sam idly trapped the demon in its meat suit while Dean tore it apart with his bare hands. Then he sent the demon to the dungeons and took his brother upstairs to lick the blood off his body. Five nights later, under the full moon, Dean chose that demon out of the thirteen sacrifices. He took his time, and the sun was setting the next day when he let the demon die.
After that, the demons of the island were terrified of Dean. The humans worshipped him. All the cold, empty places in Sam were gradually filled by his brother’s warmth.
The cold war with Asmodeus turned hot when the demon lord sent an assassination team after Dean. The battle was prearranged and limited, all very civilized. No point to settling a dispute over territory by destroying the territory, after all. They met at the Mayan pyramids of Chichén Itzá under a lunar eclipse. By the end of the eclipse, one demon lord would rule all of the Americas, and the other would be dead.
Asmodeus had brought six times six soldiers recruited from the depths of Hell - abominations melding animal, demon, and elemental in a fashion meant to horrify. He had claimed the open space of the Temple of the Warriors to make his stand. Sam stood atop the high ground of the Temple of Kukulcan with just General Nazir and Dean.
As the moon turned blood-red, Asmodeus’s shrill cry launched his troops into action, pouring through the stone columns that edged the jungle-choked battleground. Nazir ran to meet the enemy with a howl, his greatsword flickering with hellfire. Sam tossed Ruby’s knife to his brother. Dean caught it with a fierce grin and bounded down the temple stairs to join the battle. He flowed from one creature to another, meeting each for just a moment, a few steps in a dance that left his partner sinking to the ichor-stained ground in time for Dean to meet the next. Sam took a minute to enjoy the view. He had watched avenging angels challenge incubi on the battlefield, but he had never seen anything like the deadly grace that was his brother at war.
Sam looked down on Asmodeus across the field of battle, and smiled. Eliminating him would be easy enough. The demon lords all underestimated how much power Sam had gained from Lucifer. The real challenge was, how much could Sam make it hurt?
As the white light of the moon breached the eclipse’s shadow, Sam sighed and released Asmodeus from a private little eternity of suffering to crumple to dust. After all, a time limit had been part of the agreement.
Only one thing lived in the space between the two temples. Dean was kneeling over Nazir’s body. The vessel’s chest cavity had been pried open by brute force. Dean looked up at Sam as if sensing his gaze. His eyes caught the moonlight oddly. Sam hadn’t realized that Dean was powerful enough to destroy Nazir. Then again, they had been sharing the blood ritual ever since he brought Dean back from Hell. Sam wondered if Nazir had tried to turn on him while he was distracted with Asmodeus, or if Dean had just run out of things to kill and gotten bored. He didn’t really care one way or the other.
“Good boy, Dean,” Sam called out, and joined his brother in celebrating their victory.
Sam was busier than ever, pacifying South America, distributing Asmodeus’ forces through his own. The salt of the oceans protected his expanded territory from conventional assault, but he was still vulnerable to attack through the Hell Gates. Sam spent a great deal of time in Hell with Venes playing the demonic game of thrones; negotiation, treachery, and threat, with the occasional application of overwhelming force. He left his brother behind, not willing to risk him in Hell.
Kaleb pulled him aside when he returned from one trip Below to warn him that Dean had been arming and training the slaves. Sam would have worried about the empire-building from anyone else, but it was Dean, pliant and eager as always for his touch. Besides, nothing in that armory could possibly hurt him. He was, however, captivated by the thought of a human army.
Sam had never given up trying to reclaim the great cities of the Midwest from vengeful spirits. Salt-and-burns on a massive scale could do it, carried out by humans trained to defend themselves. There were salt mines throughout the area. “There’s one directly under Detroit, Dean,” Sam told his brother that night in bed. “We could really do it! What do you think, am I crazy?” Dean blinked up at him and went back to licking his cock. Sam laughed, and then gasped. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Kaleb’s remains were found splashed all over the walls of his quarters. His four lieutenants immediately began battling for his position without any attaining a clear advantage. Sam, distracted by a plague in Mexico, offered Dean the position of head torturer, but he just shrugged and indicated which of the demons should take the job.
With Dean in his arms, Sam’ dreams were a jumble of human memories. He gradually remembered more and more of his life before. It hurt, sometimes. He woke up one night with Jess’ name on his lips and couldn’t stop crying. Dean held him through it, humming a song that Sam recognized but couldn’t place.
Sam eventually consolidated his hold on South America. The other demon lords were bored with the limitations of existence on Earth, and had returned to squabbling over territory in Hell. None of them would risk a confrontation with him. Venes returned from Hell to serve as Sam’s second-in-command and died in agony, poisoned by orchid extract. Sam was irritated. She had certainly made plenty of enemies in Hell, but Sam thought he controlled the only source of that poison. He asked Este to look into how much of the extract was missing, and which demon lord might be responsible.
Sam turned his attention to the ghost-wilds of the Midwest. The ecology of the region had almost completely recovered. Humans were steadily migrating into the area. But Sam couldn’t get reliable information on conditions there. Demon troops sent in to explore vanished without a trace. Este went in to investigate personally, and was never heard from again. Divination spells failed. For decades Sam had been blaming it on the mass haunting, but what if there was something else going on? One of the demon lords could be setting up a staging area for an invasion, right in the heart of Sam’s kingdom.
Chapter 7
One warm summer day Sam sat down on a rock over-looking the water. The dock bustled with human slaves loading and unloading crates. There’d been a lot of boat traffic in the past few years, far more than what used to be a weekly supply run. One of the boats launched into the river and began patiently tacking upstream. Sam wrapped his senses around it. No demons at all; the crew must be well-trained. He quested west, and was frustrated to find the images grow vague and dim near the edge of the blast zone.
On an impulse, Sam possessed a seagull. He flew it west up the St. Lawrence River, and along the Great Lakes. He must have entered the blast zone without realizing it. The shores of Lake Ontario teemed with life. Niagara Falls thundered with a mindless power that reminded Sam of the blood ritual. It was almost dawn when he caught sight of a great city sparkling a warm electric welcome on the western edge of Lake Erie. A little closer and he felt the unsettling buzz of holy ground. Detroit wasn’t haunted anymore. It was full of humans.
Sam spent the day flying through Detroit, dodging salt lines, power lines, and defensive wards. There were men and women drilling with weapons in a central square. In a green space, humans ran screaming from each other. Sam rested in a tree, observing them. They were unusually small. Sometime later, he recognized them as children playing tag, and swooped back into the sky. Sam eventually found a human female who seemed to be in a position of authority. With a wrench of power he transported her to him on the island.
She collapsed on the sand before him. Sam’s body was stiff and chilled, his mind whirling. The city was nothing compared to his memories of before, but it was more than he’d imagined humans were capable of in this world. He had the female carried to the dungeon and retreated to his room where Dean waited for him.
From the moment they lay down in bed Sam dreamed of his brother giving him Lucky Charms and dirty magazines, carving their initials into the Impala, of Dean and Dean and Dean.
The next morning Sam had the female dragged before him in his throne room. He’d expected terror or possibly defiance. But she calmly stood up and dusted off her knees. She reminded him of someone … Ellen. She looked up at Sam, no, past him, and nodded respectfully. Sam spun around and saw his brother wink at her.
Sam was shaking with … it should be rage he was feeling. Or jealousy, at his brother’s betrayal. But his head hurt so much, he just didn’t know. Sam called Ruby’s knife and tossed it to Dean. It caught the sunlight as it arced through the air, and then clattered to the floor as Dean took a step backwards.
“Everyone out. Now,” Sam commanded. Windows shattered and the glass cascaded to the floor as the throne room cleared. Sam made note of which demons looked to Dean for confirmation before hurrying away. Sam waited until they were alone, and then advanced on his brother. Dean’s attention was fixed on the knife on the floor, his hair hanging down and hiding his eyes.
“You have to kill her for me, Dean,” Sam snarled.
His brother looked up, and it wasn’t Sam’s beloved Dog of War meeting his gaze. “No,” before-Dean said quietly.
Sam was drowning in a flood of human memories. His demon-self instinctively tried to fight back, power arrowing inwards. A massive, blinding headache sent Sam crashing to his knees.
“He just said that I had to save you, that nothing else mattered; and that if I couldn't, I'd … that I'd have to kill you. He said that I might have to kill you, Sammy.”
"If I didn't know you, I'd want to hunt you.”
“We're not stronger when we're together, Sam. I think we're weaker. “
“It means you're a monster.”
“You’re angry, you’re self-righteous. Lucifer's gonna wear you to the prom, man. It's just a matter of time.”
The amulet clinked softly when Dean dropped it into the trashcan.
Dean was the enemy at the heart of Sam’s kingdom. Sam had to destroy him, like Lucifer had killed Michael. Had to. And if he did, Dean would be gone. Sam would be alone again, hollow again, for eternity. He couldn’t survive that. Sam, all of Sam, human and demon, needed his brother. But before-Dean would always choose humans over him.
Venes had taught Sam well. If you can’t win - change the rules.
Sam opened his eyes and looked up at his brother hovering a few feet away. He let real desperation color his voice. “Please Dean. You win. I don’t … I don’t care that you’re not on my side. I’ll join your side. Okay? Please,” Sam begged. “I can help you, help the humans. Just please don’t leave me alone.”
Dean dropped to the floor and pulled him into a hug. “I'm here. It’s okay, Sammy. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave. Promised I’d save you, right? So I'm not gonna leave.”
Epilogue
Years passed. In Heaven, renegade angels kept up the search for God. In Hell, Mammon’s armies won a major victory against the forces of Belial before both retreated to lick their wounds. And on Earth, an armada neared the continent of Europe, propelled by an unnatural wind.
“We nearly there?” moaned a sea-sick young soldier.
A grizzled older man nodded. “Just another few hours,” he agreed, checking the load-out on the last of the shotguns. He settled down next to the boy. “Don’t worry, son,” he said quietly over the cursing of soldiers and the slap of the waves. “The demons we’ll be going up against aren’t much tougher than the spirits out in the ghost wilds. And with Dean and his brother on our side … well. Those sons of bitches won’t know what hit ‘em.”
Sam chuckled. Morale was high. Dean was everywhere on the flagship, practically vibrating with eagerness for battle; sighting-in artillery, reinforcing soldiers’ anti-possession charms, wincing and playing up the discomfort as he personally checked that every single vessel of water had been sanctified, before joining Sam at the bow of the ship as if he wanted to get out and push. Sam concentrated on drawing a bit more wind into their sails and then quested ahead with his senses.
The demonic forces of England were just starting to mobilize against them. They needed to strike hard and fast to establish a strong beachhead on the island. That would put them in position to retake the entire continent, bit by bit.
Someday, there might actually be peace on Earth.
Sam sent out a command. Four Hell Gates spread across England clicked open and demons loyal to him whispered out to skirmish, ambush, sabotage, and distract. Sam opened his eyes and nodded to Dean, who flashed back an exultant grin.
Someday. But not today.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Thanks to: My alpha-reader, Steven, who gave this fic a real ending, and to aerye for the fabulous double beta.
Length: 7,800 words
Spoilers: All the way up to 5x22, 'Swan Song'. I consider this a hinge-point AU.
Written for: leonidaslion, one of my top ten favorite authors alive or dead. I wanted to write you something special for Antichristmas, so I hit as many of your buttons as I could here. I hope you enjoy it!
Warnings/Enticements: Graphic violence and explicit incest with bloodkink and dubcon between evil!Sam and animalistic!Dean, all in a dark post-apocalyptic setting. What can I say? The woman writes one hell of a prompt.
Summary: At the start of the war, Sam said yes and Dean was sent to Hell. This is the story of what happened once the war was over.
Chapter 1
Sam stalked across the vast plain of Gehenna surrounded by his entourage, eager to claim what was his. As an acknowledged demon lord trespassing in another’s kingdom, he’d brought just a handful of his most powerful demons. They were strong enough to discourage a casual ambush, but too few to be considered an incursion.
Dean had shown up at Stull Cemetery. Had tried to stop the apocalypse. Sam vaguely remembered trying to save Dean. He’d scratched and screamed at Lucifer from the inside; thrown everything he had at the bright, blank walls that kept him from controlling his own body. Lucifer had understood. ‘Don’t worry, Sam. I have to kill my brother, but I’ll keep yours safe for you.’ And then Lucifer sent Dean to Hell with a snap of his fingers. He'd sworn that no demon would harm Dean, and that Sam could retrieve him once the war was over.
On Dean’s first visit to Hell he’d been given VIP treatment in the Pit. Torture designed and personally administered by Alastair himself. This time, Dean had been tossed into gen pop. Sam hadn’t found out how Lucifer kept His promise until much later. Of course, by that point he’d realized it was the only practical solution.
There was an admirable efficiency to this part of Hell. It swarmed with uncounted damned souls. The strong preyed on the weak, and on each other. The free-range torment churned out new demons like a perpetual motion machine.
Dean’s soul was a beacon burning through the sulfurous clouds of ash. Sam found himself hurrying, breaking into a run. When Lucifer ascended to rule in Heaven, He’d left His vessel hollow. There weren’t enough pieces of Sam left to fill the empty places. But with Dean at his side, he could do it.
As Sam neared, the damned ceased their eternal battle of all against all to flee like deer from a grassfire. Roving packs of hellhounds whined, cowering from Sam’s power. Only one creature had the courage to stand before him. Dean.
Sam slowed to a stop, savoring the moment, comparing the figure before him to his fragmented memories.
Dean was naked and scarred, blood dripping freely from a bite on his forearm. He slipped into a knife-fighter’s stance as Sam approached, a sharp fragment of black stone in his right hand. There was no sign of recognition in those green eyes, and the snarl that came from his lips was pure animal challenge.
Sam flushed with pride. His brother was John’s son, and Alastair’s pupil. He was predator, not prey, and fully prepared to defend his territory. Sam knew that Dean had been different, before. So had he. So had the world. Sam thought that the before-Dean might not have liked this world. Might not have liked this Sam. He’d worried about that, from time to time. But Lucifer had taken care of everything.
Sam waved his escorts away and stepped closer. Even closer, with Dean trembling on the verge of attack. ‘Move into your opponent from a 45 degree angle, not head on,’ someone had once taught him.
“Dean,” Sam called softly.
The inhuman speed of Dean’s lunge caught Sam by surprise. The stone knife came within an inch of his stomach before he deflected it and smashed Dean to the ground with his power. Dean struggled. Sam flipped him onto his back and let the tendrils of his power grow claws, to force his brother to submit.
Dean arched hard, blank-faced and utterly silent, impaling himself on Sam’s power. Sam stood over him for long minutes as Dean fought the bonds that held him down, berserker-careless of pain or injury. Dean coughed, and a froth of blood appeared on his lips. Sam ... didn’t like that.
The direct approach might work better.
Sam threw himself on top of Dean. “Dean!” he yelled in his writhing brother’s face. “Look at me!”
Dean froze and stared back at him, panting hard.
Sam let his power fade, pinning his brother down with just his weight and physical strength. “You’re mine, Dean. Mine. So stop fighting me!”
Dean blinked, and then turned his head to look away. Good. A consistent system of rewards and punishments would tame him quickly enough.
Sam felt his brother’s body slowly relax under him, warm and familiar. He took the chance for a closer look. Dean had freckles - he’d forgotten about them. His brother’s body was covered in scars, some faded, some recent. There was a raised burn scar on his shoulder in the shape of a handprint. Sam’s lip lifted in a snarl of his own at the sudden jolt of memory of the last time Dean had been pulled out of Hell. Angels.
After Michael’s death, the angels had attacked with every destructive power they had, no matter the cost. Earthquakes, volcanoes, and tornadoes; plagues and darkness and death. If they couldn’t own the Earth, then they would destroy it along with as many of Lucifer’s forces as possible. Sam had willingly opened himself, given all he had to be Lucifer’s perfect vessel so that together they could drive every last fucking angel off the planet.
The angels had tried to claim Dean as theirs, had tried to take his brother from him. Sam’s demons edged away as the forces conjured by Sam’s emotions pulsed through him. He breathed slowly, struggling for control. Sometimes Sam felt he was just skin and bone wrapped around a hollow space. Sometimes there was nothing to him but rage. Now he had Dean back, he could control it. He could.
Sam leaned down and sunk his teeth into the base of Dean’s throat, by his collarbone. Dean bucked. Sam tasted blood with just a teasing hint of demon and pushed raw power into his brother. Damned souls were as easy to repair as they were to rip apart, but Dean was here in the flesh. Demons were only meant to be able to heal their own meat suits. Sam didn’t care. He wanted those marks off Dean. All of them, and especially that one. Dean was his. Sam’s teeth grated on bone as he forced more power into Dean. His brother convulsed and then went limp.
Sam sat up to inspect the results, tired but automatically concealing it as a sign of weakness. He really should have waited to heal Dean until they were home. Dean’s skin was smooth and unmarked, except for the teeth marks at his throat. There was an impressed murmur from the watching demons.
Gehenna was Belial’s kingdom. Like most of the other demon lords, he didn’t approve of Sam. Lucifer had ordered Belial to release Dean, and he would. But that didn’t mean he had to make it easy. Following the traditional strictures would be easier than fighting their way out. Dean was meant to walk out of here, to follow Sam out of Hell.
Sam considered the demons he’d brought with him. Nazir, the general of his armies, carrying a naked blade and spoiling for a fight. Este, Sam’s most capable assassin, was covered in tattooed sigils for silence and shadow that let her drift in and out of the edges of Sam’s perception. Venes, a consummate witch and manipulator, was Sam’s envoy to the lords of Hell. She’d been trying to maneuver her way into his bed recently, angling for a position behind the throne. Kaleb, his head torturer, was staring at Dean with a fixed intensity that Sam immediately distrusted. Not that he trusted any one of them. These were the four of his demons powerful enough to offer a real threat, if they thought him vulnerable.
“Venes,” Sam called. She moved forwards wearing a statuesque blonde almost as tall as he was. “Pick Dean up and follow me out.”
“Yes, lord,” she said, hauling Dean off the ground and into her arms. There was a pleased gleam in her eyes, and it occurred to Sam that Venes might view Dean as a rival.
Sam reached out a hand, turned her head towards him, and smiled.
Venes blanched.
“If Dean comes to any harm from now until we leave Hell,” Sam purred, “I’ll make you beg for weeks before I destroy you. Understood?”
Venes tried to nod her head yes, but couldn’t move against the vice-grip his fingers applied to her chin.
Reassured by the terror in her eyes, Sam released Venes and set his eyes on the sullen red volcano on the horizon. “I want you no more than five steps away, Venes. The rest of you form up behind us. I’ll take care of any attack from the front,” he instructed his demons. Sam kicked aside the gutted corpse of a hellhound and set out without a backward glance.
Belial must have been satisfied, because they soon reached the dark, narrow path that meandered up the side of the volcano and out of Hell. Sam climbed steadily. He couldn’t relax his guard until they were back in his kingdom. Sam finally saw light up ahead and moved forwards, wary of an ambush, resisting the impulse to look back and check on Dean.
He emerged, squinting, into the crater that had once been Stull Cemetery. Bright daylight reflected off bedrock melted to glass. This part of the continent had been destroyed by hellfire and heavenfire both, a release of power that had destroyed all life for hundreds of miles in every direction.
North America was Lucifer’s gift to him; Sam’s for as long as he had the strength to hold it. His kingdom was free of toxins and the Croatoan virus. It was something of a preserve. Plant and animal life was gradually returning to the blast zone. There were almost a million unpossessed humans roaming free on the edges of the continent. They were unpredictable and sometimes dangerous, but Sam viewed them as a valuable natural resource.
Judging that he’d waited long enough, Sam turned around. Venes was standing behind him, Dean unconscious and shivering in her arms. Sam gently pulled Dean out of her arms, closed his eyes, and said, “Home.”
Chapter 2
They appeared in Sam’s room at the top of a tower in what had once been called Boldt Castle. He laid Dean down carefully on the bearskin rug by the fireplace. The black bears had made quite a comeback - this one had tried to swim out to his island. With a snap of Sam’s fingers, a fire crackled to life in the fireplace. There. Dean was safe. As safe as Sam could make him.
The castle’s stones were carved with protective sigils and runes, reinforced with defensive spellcraft that drew energy directly from the ley line under Heart Island. The tiny island had been drenched with blood sacrifices to make it respond to his will, and his alone. Sam hadn’t been openly attacked here since he’d called the massive storm surge that had forced salt water back up the St. Lawrence River and drowned Mammon’s forces. Lucifer had been irritated by the ecological damage, but impressed with Sam’s ingenuity and raw power. Now that He had taken His rightful place in Heaven, Lucifer didn’t seem to care what happened on Earth anymore.
Sam suddenly wondered what Dean would think of this room. It was a bright empty space with stone walls and bare wooden floorboards. There were four pieces of furniture: one large bed, one comfortable armchair by the western window, and one long work table with a chair in front of it. There was the one bearskin rug and several piles of books on the floor. Sam thought, vaguely, that there should be more … things. The demons kept many things in their quarters. Valuable objects, trophies, artwork. Sam tried to remember what their home had been like, before, and drew a familiar, terrifying blank. That shouldn’t happen, now he had Dean back. Sam pushed harder, burrowing inwards with his power, and got a momentary glimpse of gleaming black metal. Then nothing.
Sam wiped irritably at the blood trickling from his nose. Well. It didn’t matter. The room was certainly a step up from Gehenna.
Sam slumped into his chair near the window, nursing a headache. Dean’s soft half-snores kept away the silence. The sun slowly dropped below the tree line on the far shore. Sam sighed and sent a weary mental command for a slave to fetch him food and water. Dean would need both when he woke up. What did Dean like to eat? Sam flashed on Dean grinning around a mouthful of meat and bun. Hamburgers. ‘Send hamburgers,’ he ordered, and sensed the cook’s sudden panic. Ah well. She was the highest ranked human on the island, and infinitely resourceful. She’d manage.
Once it was fully dark, Sam lit the candles around the room with a thought. There was a knock at the door. A scrawny human female limped in, shaking so hard that the dishes in her hands rattled. Sam looked her over, exasperated. Apparently the cook was cutting her losses, sending this one up with a meal that might displease him. He hadn’t lost control and killed a slave in weeks. Sam took the carafe of water and mug from her hands before she could drop them, put both down on the table, and then lifted the lid off the tray. Sizzling hot slices of pork on split loaves of bread. Huh.
“Close enough,” Sam said, taking the tray. The female ran, slamming the door closed behind her. Sam used his power to shove aside the pages of mystical diagrams he’d been working on and set the food on the table. It smelled surprisingly good. Sam didn’t often crave food, but suddenly he felt hungry. He had a seat, poured himself a mug of water, and chewed his way through one of the sandwiches.
Dean stirred a few minutes later, sniffing the air. He sprang up, rushed the table, and grabbed the carafe of water.
“No,” Sam said sharply, shoving the carafe down with his power. The pottery shattered on the floor. Water splashed them both. Dean froze, glaring at him.
“You want some water? “ Sam kept his voice soft, gentle. “You can have some. Come get it.” He held the mug of water out.
Dean approached warily, ready to bolt. He stretched his hand out and carefully pulled the mug from Sam’s hand.
“Good. That’s good, Dean,” Sam said. He stretched out his power and delicately explored his brother’s body, applying a gentle pressure to his prostate.
Dean shivered and retreated to his bearskin to drink the water. Sam smiled. Dean would learn quickly that all good things came from Sam - water, food, pleasure. An hour later Dean had accepted three sandwiches from him, been rewarded each time, discovered and used the bathroom in a civilized fashion, and was curled up by the fire for a nap.
Sam’s eyes kept closing. He hadn’t slept in the long years he shared his body with Lucifer. Now he surrendered to sleep only when it was a necessity, when exhaustion smudged his thoughts into dead-ends and his temper grew short and sharp beyond even the demonic definition of reasonable. There was something horribly vulnerable about sleeping, lying there insensible and unable to defend himself. He had an army of demons, but they could turn on him at any moment.
Then there were the dreams. Ever since Lucifer abandoned him, Sam’s dreams were full of blood, battle, and pain. He didn’t know if they were memories, visions of the future, a connection to Hell, or some ridiculous human nightmare. Sam just knew he wanted nothing to do with them.
But he’d burned a lot of power today, healing Dean, and he couldn’t stay awake any longer. Sam stripped off his clothes, sent a command to his guards to make sure he wasn’t disturbed, banked the fire, and slipped under the covers of his bed.
Chapter 3
Sam floundered up from unconsciousness into sleep-soaked panic. Something was in the room. Something was attacking.
The fireplace and candles blazed up, flames arcing high. Dean was in the corner by the door, growling at something on the floor, slamming its head into the stone wall over and over.
“Dean,” Sam called, slowing his pounding heart as he reached Dean’s side. “Dean, that’s enough. It’s dead.”
Dean rolled to his feet and stalked from one side of the room to the other, the whites of his eyes showing.
Sam knelt down next to the corpse. He lifted the shattered remains of the skull and recognized the female slave from earlier. There was a bottle clasped in her hand. Sam opened it and sniffed before rearing back, coughing. Holy water spiked with something that made his skin crawl. Sam carefully resealed the bottle and placed it on his table for later study. He tasted the blood on his fingers. No trace of possession, which made it an unusually subtle attempt at assassination. Asmodeus, perhaps. It seemed like his style, and with a kingdom in South America, he’d be the demon lord best placed to benefit from Sam’s fall.
‘Get in here,’ Sam ordered the two demons assigned to guard the base of the stairs that provided the only access to this room. The door burst open a moment later. Both demons seemed surprised by the bloody corpse that greeted them. Sam didn’t particularly care if they had failed him through treachery or incompetency. Either way, the penalty was the same. With a touch, he locked each demon in its meat suit. Then he pinned them against the wall with his power.
“Take that down to the meat locker in the kitchen,” Sam ordered. With this much damage the corpse wasn’t worth possessing. “And then report to the dungeon.” These two were too weak to even want to disobey. Pathetic. Sam issued a flurry of commands - directions to Kaleb on the disposition of the guards, fresh demon guards for the stairs, a slave to come and clean up the mess.
The slave finished quickly, leaving behind a bucket of water and soft cloths. Dean was still agitated, standing with his back against the far wall, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The fresh blood had mixed with the remnants of Gehenna’s ash to form a thin brown mud smeared across Dean’s skin. Sam placed the bucket on the floor by the bed and warmed the water with a trickle of hellfire.
“Dean”, he called quietly. Dean tossed his head and looked at Sam. “Come here.”
Dean swallowed and then took a single hesitant step away from the wall. Sam rewarded him, not with the delicate touch of before, but a slow, strong rub against his prostrate. Dean swayed, eyes closed.
“That’s it,” Sam coaxed. “Come here. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
A dozen staggering steps later Dean fetched up against Sam, half-hard and shaky. Sam wet the cloth with warm water and dabbed at the blood spattered on his cheek. Dean flinched violently.
“Shhhh,” Sam whispered. “It’s all right, Dean, I’ve got you.”
Sam gentled him with soft strokes, using both his hands and his power; slowly washing away the blood and ash from the matted hair on his forehead down the tense muscles of his neck, strong back, the curve of his ass. He knelt to clean Dean’s trembling thighs and calves. The water in the bucket tinted pink, then gradually darkened to a dull red. Sam dried his brother with another cloth.
“Lie down, Dean.”
Dean immediately let himself fall backwards. Exhilarated by the display of trust, Sam caught his brother and eased him onto the bed with a breath of power.
“There, that’s better,” he said, rewarding Dean with a deep, rhythmic touch inside. Sam continued cleaning Dean. When the cloth reached the sole of his foot, Dean twitched away. “Oh, that’s right,” Sam couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice at the vivid memory of childish wrestling matches that always ended with Dean’s indignant squawk. “Your feet are ticklish. Sorry, I forgot.”
Finally Dean was clean and dry. He was sprawled on the bed, hands fisting the covers, head thrown back and legs open to Sam’s power, cock fully erect now. Sam pressed his fingertips to the bite mark on Dean’s collarbone. “Mine,” he whispered. His brother arched into the touch.
Sam knelt between Dean’s legs and ran his hand down his chest to his stomach. He paused, cleared his throat to get the words out. “You did good tonight, Dean.” He wrapped his hand around Dean’s cock and gave it a squeeze. Dean gasped, eyes dark with arousal. “So good. You protected me,” Sam said, slowly stroking his brother’s cock. “That’s how it should be. You take care of me. I take care of you.”
Dean was panting now, hips shifting, quick thrusts into Sam’s fist.
“You gonna take care of me, Dean? Watch over me while I sleep? Protect your little brother? Keep Sammy safe?”
There was a sharp, indrawn breath from Dean and then he was coming, shooting all over Sam’s hand and his own stomach.
“Fuck, Dean,” Sam’s hand was wet with Dean’s come as he grabbed his own cock, hard and already so close. “Missed you. Missed you, big brother. Oh fuck …” He pumped his own release onto Dean’s stomach.
Sam sat up, shaken by the intensity of his response. This was supposed to be about taming Dean, not that. It was better than the rage, but still felt dangerous. Out of control.
It must have been all the blood. Even though it was only human, he must have reacted to it. Like the… Sam groped through his memory … the dog that drooled when it heard a dinner bell. Like that.
Sam picked up the dry cloth and wiped himself and Dean clean. Dean yawned, slid off the bed, walked over to the bearskin rug, and lay down. Soon Dean was snoring. Sam got under the covers and found himself drifting back to sleep. In his dreams, Dean took the bed by the door and kept him safe.
Chapter 4
Over the next few days, Dean spent most of his time asleep. Sam wasn’t willing to leave Dean alone. He coordinated his forces without leaving the room. Now that Lucifer reigned in Heaven, Sam’s army could focus on rebuilding and defense against the other demon lords.
A couple of times a day, Dean would wake up, eat whatever Sam fed him, and then stumble back to his rug for another nap.
Sam lost another team of demons to the ghost-wilds of Chicago. The Midwest’s inhabitants had been wiped out in that first apocalyptic battle of the war at Stull Cemetery. The doors of both Heaven and Hell had been slammed shut while Lucifer and Michael fought. Not a single human soul had crossed over while Armageddon raged. And their spirits were still pissed about the whole thing. Sam was poring over an ancient necromantic grimoire, searching for a way to either disperse a few million vengeful spirits or bind them to his will. Dean licked his fingers clean of the pottage he’d been gulping down, leaned against Sam’s leg, and fell asleep. Sam ran a gentle hand through his hair, grateful to finally have Dean back where he belonged.
With some careful divination work, Sam discovered the source of the poison the slave had carried. It was an extract of the Saint Gothard orchid, native to the Brazilian rainforest. That made it almost certainly Asmodeus’ work. Sam ordered Este to infiltrate the region. He wanted viable rootstock of the orchid to experiment upon. If he reacted to it that strongly, it was probably even more dangerous to the full-blood demon lords.
The next time Dean woke up, he spent some time investigating the fixtures in the bathroom, looked out the windows for a bit, and then started restlessly wandering around the room.
“Ready for the grand tour?” Sam asked. Dean didn’t react to the sound of his voice. Sam grabbed his brother by the hand. “Let’s go, Dean.” Dean’s hand felt too small as Sam tugged him from the room. Dean followed him readily enough down the winding stairs, but watched every demon and human they came across as if it posed a threat.
Sam showed him around the arched ballroom he’d converted to a throne room, the library, the kitchen, and down to the dungeon in the basement. Kaleb was excited to have Dean inspect his work in the dungeons. Dean had been the one to break him, as Alastair's pupil in Hell. Apparently he’d made quite the first impression. Dean stared at the demon with tiger-calm eyes until Kaleb cut the account of his favored techniques short and retreated fearfully.
Dean showed some signs of interest when they toured the armory. He strung a crossbow and tested the pull, picked up a dagger and tossed it into the air a few times, checked that the chamber was empty on an AR-15. Sam encouraged him to choose a personal weapon, but Dean returned everything exactly as he’d found it.
Sam led him outside. He thought Dean might be interested in the steam-powered generator housed on the eastern end of the island. It worked flawlessly, whenever Sam wasn’t in residence. There must be some way to shield the mechanism from his energy, but none of Sam’s trials had succeeded yet. Dean froze as they stepped out into the sunlight. He stared up into the sky, an osprey skirling a challenge far above, and gulped in deep breaths of the fresh, cool spring air.
Sam stepped behind his brother, protecting him from prying eyes, and ordered that they not be disturbed as tears ran down his brother’s cheeks. Dean wasn’t hollow. He was full, overflowing, and Sam pressed close, wanting to feel what that was like. When his brother calmed down, Sam led Dean back to their room and tucked him into bed.
Chapter 5
Sam didn’t sleep that night. There was too much excitement thrumming under his skin. Tomorrow was a Blood Day. Sam indulged at the new and full moon. As Lucifer’s vessel, drinking demon blood had been a necessity. With the blood ritual, Lucifer had taught him to turn it into so much more; an exhilarating way to enhance his power and reinforce his authority over the demons. Since Lucifer’s ascension, the ritual was the only time Sam felt real, felt whole. Dean was pale and tense that morning, with no more appetite for breakfast than Sam. Perhaps he sensed what was coming.
As the sun and moon neared their apex, Sam walked down to his throne room, his brother a shadow behind him. Kaleb knelt in the entryway, offering up Ruby’s knife to Sam. Thirteen demons had already been positioned around the ritual circle, sigils carved into their flesh. The two former guards were there. The rest had all trespassed somehow - unsanctioned human kills, treachery, cowardice, disobedience. They’d broken the only law that truly mattered in Sam’s kingdom. They’d pissed him off. And now one of them would pay the price. Sam chanted in Enochian, feeling the energy of the ritual build.
But something was missing. As Sam imprisoned the demons with his power, there was nothing but dull resignation in their eyes. Sam wanted their fear. It gave the ritual more power, the blood more kick. And it was fun. He was struck by inspiration.
“Dean,” Sam called in a voice that rang from the walls. Dean tilted his head. Sam tossed him Ruby’s knife. Dean caught it and took a graceful step towards Sam, shifting his grip on the knife until it seemed a natural extension of his arm. “Hunt me a demon?” Sam invited in a rough, eager voice.
A feral grin spread over Dean’s face. He looked like a hellhound. And he looked like Dean Winchester, for the first time since Sam pulled him out of Hell. Terror arced around the ritual circle like lightning. Dean wove in and out of the circle, inspecting each demon. He stepped up behind Moa, the strongest of the sacrifices, a former general in Sam’s army, and licked the skin behind its ear. The demon whimpered. Sam spoke the final word of the ritual, and released them. All thirteen bolted. Dean was gone in a blur of speed, pursuing his chosen prey.
Sam sauntered after them. There was nowhere for the sacrifices to run, no way off the island. Sam savored his brother’s lust for the kill, felt the demon’s death at the base of his spine. He found them along the western shore, within sight of the docks. Dean had brought the demon down with a stab to the kidney from behind, and then torn its throat out with his teeth. The demon was gone, but the meat-suit’s heart was still pumping. Sam cuffed Dean aside and drank the blood, sliding down his throat rich and thick with sulfur, until it grew cold and still.
Sam’s heart was racing, his body hot and aroused. Sam always fucked after the ritual’s climax. Always. But none of his demons were here. Just Dean, crouched a few feet away in the sand, knife in his hand, watching him with strange eyes. Dean was soaked in bright arterial blood, and Sam found himself shaking with pure want at the sight.
“Dean,” Sam commanded, “on your hands and knees.” He reached out with his power, so easy with the sacrifice’s blood fresh in his mouth, and pushed Dean down to the ground. Dean yelped and struggled.
“Don’t,” Sam managed, head pounding with need; he slid inside Dean with his power. Not a slender tendril to apply delicate pressure, but thick, pressing, opening Dean up. “You’ll like it. You used to …” Girls. Dean flirted with so many girls, easy grins and hot eyes. But sometimes, he’d look at men. Big, strong men. “Men who could make you. I can do that, Dean. I can make you.”
Sam was stripping down, his clothes, his brother’s, all of his attention on Dean, Dean, so gorgeous, on making Dean need this like he did. And then he was behind Dean, whole body arched over his brother, cock rubbing back and forth against Dean’s ass. He shouldn’t. Not yet. Too big, too soon, it would hurt. But the thought of Dean’s blood, their blood, slicking the way, was too much, and Sam pushed inside.
Just a few inches, and Sam stopped, gasping. Tight and hot and good. So good, and Sam wanted this, so much, he didn’t even know … “Dean? Is it … Can I? Dean?”
Dean shuddered, and bucked back against Sam. Then they were, they were fucking, and it was good, it was everything. Dean was making sounds like he was dying, and when Sam got a hand on Dean’s cock it was hard, hard for him, leaking. Sam thrust hard, harder, his power keeping Dean from sliding away in the sand, just them, just this.
“Got to come, Dean. Please. Need you to. For me. For me, Dean, fuck, please.” Dean’s ass tightened even more around him as Dean’s cock jerked, and Sam couldn’t even move, didn’t want to, just wanted to feel it all, and his orgasm crashed over him even as undirected power ricocheted through his body.
When Sam woke up, Dean was stretched out beside him on the ground, watching him. Dean yawned and stretched sensuously. He was covered in blood and come like some invitation to a paradise of the damned. The power from the ritual was singing to Sam, making him want to lay a battlefield of sacrifices at Dean’s feet, to pull the sun out of the sky for him.
Instead he reached for the knife and slowly, sensuously, slid it along the line of his forearm. The blade was hungry for his death, not that an astrapi blade could harm him. Dean watched him, a concerned line creasing his forehead. Blood dripped from the cut. Winchester blood. Demon blood. Sam dropped the knife in the sand.
He rolled on top of Dean and smeared his brother’s mouth with the blood. Dean’s tongue flickered out, tasting. He suddenly broke into a cold sweat and shuddered, eyes rolling back in his head. Sam fed Dean some of the power raging through him, fucked him with it as his brother writhed under him. Sam ripped every shred of mortality out of his brother’s body.
Dean hadn’t aged a day while he spent centuries in Hell. And now he never would. Nothing would ever take Dean away from him.
Chapter 6
Seasons flowed from one to another. Sam never tired of the thrill of flipping the knife to Dean, slipping the collar off his own personal Dog of War. Not that his brother wasn’t formidable without it. They were passing the kitchen once when there was a short, choked-off scream. Dean charged in. Sam followed to see his brother throw a demon into the wall while a crying human slave scrambled for her clothes. Sam idly trapped the demon in its meat suit while Dean tore it apart with his bare hands. Then he sent the demon to the dungeons and took his brother upstairs to lick the blood off his body. Five nights later, under the full moon, Dean chose that demon out of the thirteen sacrifices. He took his time, and the sun was setting the next day when he let the demon die.
After that, the demons of the island were terrified of Dean. The humans worshipped him. All the cold, empty places in Sam were gradually filled by his brother’s warmth.
The cold war with Asmodeus turned hot when the demon lord sent an assassination team after Dean. The battle was prearranged and limited, all very civilized. No point to settling a dispute over territory by destroying the territory, after all. They met at the Mayan pyramids of Chichén Itzá under a lunar eclipse. By the end of the eclipse, one demon lord would rule all of the Americas, and the other would be dead.
Asmodeus had brought six times six soldiers recruited from the depths of Hell - abominations melding animal, demon, and elemental in a fashion meant to horrify. He had claimed the open space of the Temple of the Warriors to make his stand. Sam stood atop the high ground of the Temple of Kukulcan with just General Nazir and Dean.
As the moon turned blood-red, Asmodeus’s shrill cry launched his troops into action, pouring through the stone columns that edged the jungle-choked battleground. Nazir ran to meet the enemy with a howl, his greatsword flickering with hellfire. Sam tossed Ruby’s knife to his brother. Dean caught it with a fierce grin and bounded down the temple stairs to join the battle. He flowed from one creature to another, meeting each for just a moment, a few steps in a dance that left his partner sinking to the ichor-stained ground in time for Dean to meet the next. Sam took a minute to enjoy the view. He had watched avenging angels challenge incubi on the battlefield, but he had never seen anything like the deadly grace that was his brother at war.
Sam looked down on Asmodeus across the field of battle, and smiled. Eliminating him would be easy enough. The demon lords all underestimated how much power Sam had gained from Lucifer. The real challenge was, how much could Sam make it hurt?
As the white light of the moon breached the eclipse’s shadow, Sam sighed and released Asmodeus from a private little eternity of suffering to crumple to dust. After all, a time limit had been part of the agreement.
Only one thing lived in the space between the two temples. Dean was kneeling over Nazir’s body. The vessel’s chest cavity had been pried open by brute force. Dean looked up at Sam as if sensing his gaze. His eyes caught the moonlight oddly. Sam hadn’t realized that Dean was powerful enough to destroy Nazir. Then again, they had been sharing the blood ritual ever since he brought Dean back from Hell. Sam wondered if Nazir had tried to turn on him while he was distracted with Asmodeus, or if Dean had just run out of things to kill and gotten bored. He didn’t really care one way or the other.
“Good boy, Dean,” Sam called out, and joined his brother in celebrating their victory.
Sam was busier than ever, pacifying South America, distributing Asmodeus’ forces through his own. The salt of the oceans protected his expanded territory from conventional assault, but he was still vulnerable to attack through the Hell Gates. Sam spent a great deal of time in Hell with Venes playing the demonic game of thrones; negotiation, treachery, and threat, with the occasional application of overwhelming force. He left his brother behind, not willing to risk him in Hell.
Kaleb pulled him aside when he returned from one trip Below to warn him that Dean had been arming and training the slaves. Sam would have worried about the empire-building from anyone else, but it was Dean, pliant and eager as always for his touch. Besides, nothing in that armory could possibly hurt him. He was, however, captivated by the thought of a human army.
Sam had never given up trying to reclaim the great cities of the Midwest from vengeful spirits. Salt-and-burns on a massive scale could do it, carried out by humans trained to defend themselves. There were salt mines throughout the area. “There’s one directly under Detroit, Dean,” Sam told his brother that night in bed. “We could really do it! What do you think, am I crazy?” Dean blinked up at him and went back to licking his cock. Sam laughed, and then gasped. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Kaleb’s remains were found splashed all over the walls of his quarters. His four lieutenants immediately began battling for his position without any attaining a clear advantage. Sam, distracted by a plague in Mexico, offered Dean the position of head torturer, but he just shrugged and indicated which of the demons should take the job.
With Dean in his arms, Sam’ dreams were a jumble of human memories. He gradually remembered more and more of his life before. It hurt, sometimes. He woke up one night with Jess’ name on his lips and couldn’t stop crying. Dean held him through it, humming a song that Sam recognized but couldn’t place.
Sam eventually consolidated his hold on South America. The other demon lords were bored with the limitations of existence on Earth, and had returned to squabbling over territory in Hell. None of them would risk a confrontation with him. Venes returned from Hell to serve as Sam’s second-in-command and died in agony, poisoned by orchid extract. Sam was irritated. She had certainly made plenty of enemies in Hell, but Sam thought he controlled the only source of that poison. He asked Este to look into how much of the extract was missing, and which demon lord might be responsible.
Sam turned his attention to the ghost-wilds of the Midwest. The ecology of the region had almost completely recovered. Humans were steadily migrating into the area. But Sam couldn’t get reliable information on conditions there. Demon troops sent in to explore vanished without a trace. Este went in to investigate personally, and was never heard from again. Divination spells failed. For decades Sam had been blaming it on the mass haunting, but what if there was something else going on? One of the demon lords could be setting up a staging area for an invasion, right in the heart of Sam’s kingdom.
Chapter 7
One warm summer day Sam sat down on a rock over-looking the water. The dock bustled with human slaves loading and unloading crates. There’d been a lot of boat traffic in the past few years, far more than what used to be a weekly supply run. One of the boats launched into the river and began patiently tacking upstream. Sam wrapped his senses around it. No demons at all; the crew must be well-trained. He quested west, and was frustrated to find the images grow vague and dim near the edge of the blast zone.
On an impulse, Sam possessed a seagull. He flew it west up the St. Lawrence River, and along the Great Lakes. He must have entered the blast zone without realizing it. The shores of Lake Ontario teemed with life. Niagara Falls thundered with a mindless power that reminded Sam of the blood ritual. It was almost dawn when he caught sight of a great city sparkling a warm electric welcome on the western edge of Lake Erie. A little closer and he felt the unsettling buzz of holy ground. Detroit wasn’t haunted anymore. It was full of humans.
Sam spent the day flying through Detroit, dodging salt lines, power lines, and defensive wards. There were men and women drilling with weapons in a central square. In a green space, humans ran screaming from each other. Sam rested in a tree, observing them. They were unusually small. Sometime later, he recognized them as children playing tag, and swooped back into the sky. Sam eventually found a human female who seemed to be in a position of authority. With a wrench of power he transported her to him on the island.
She collapsed on the sand before him. Sam’s body was stiff and chilled, his mind whirling. The city was nothing compared to his memories of before, but it was more than he’d imagined humans were capable of in this world. He had the female carried to the dungeon and retreated to his room where Dean waited for him.
From the moment they lay down in bed Sam dreamed of his brother giving him Lucky Charms and dirty magazines, carving their initials into the Impala, of Dean and Dean and Dean.
The next morning Sam had the female dragged before him in his throne room. He’d expected terror or possibly defiance. But she calmly stood up and dusted off her knees. She reminded him of someone … Ellen. She looked up at Sam, no, past him, and nodded respectfully. Sam spun around and saw his brother wink at her.
Sam was shaking with … it should be rage he was feeling. Or jealousy, at his brother’s betrayal. But his head hurt so much, he just didn’t know. Sam called Ruby’s knife and tossed it to Dean. It caught the sunlight as it arced through the air, and then clattered to the floor as Dean took a step backwards.
“Everyone out. Now,” Sam commanded. Windows shattered and the glass cascaded to the floor as the throne room cleared. Sam made note of which demons looked to Dean for confirmation before hurrying away. Sam waited until they were alone, and then advanced on his brother. Dean’s attention was fixed on the knife on the floor, his hair hanging down and hiding his eyes.
“You have to kill her for me, Dean,” Sam snarled.
His brother looked up, and it wasn’t Sam’s beloved Dog of War meeting his gaze. “No,” before-Dean said quietly.
Sam was drowning in a flood of human memories. His demon-self instinctively tried to fight back, power arrowing inwards. A massive, blinding headache sent Sam crashing to his knees.
“He just said that I had to save you, that nothing else mattered; and that if I couldn't, I'd … that I'd have to kill you. He said that I might have to kill you, Sammy.”
"If I didn't know you, I'd want to hunt you.”
“We're not stronger when we're together, Sam. I think we're weaker. “
“It means you're a monster.”
“You’re angry, you’re self-righteous. Lucifer's gonna wear you to the prom, man. It's just a matter of time.”
The amulet clinked softly when Dean dropped it into the trashcan.
Dean was the enemy at the heart of Sam’s kingdom. Sam had to destroy him, like Lucifer had killed Michael. Had to. And if he did, Dean would be gone. Sam would be alone again, hollow again, for eternity. He couldn’t survive that. Sam, all of Sam, human and demon, needed his brother. But before-Dean would always choose humans over him.
Venes had taught Sam well. If you can’t win - change the rules.
Sam opened his eyes and looked up at his brother hovering a few feet away. He let real desperation color his voice. “Please Dean. You win. I don’t … I don’t care that you’re not on my side. I’ll join your side. Okay? Please,” Sam begged. “I can help you, help the humans. Just please don’t leave me alone.”
Dean dropped to the floor and pulled him into a hug. “I'm here. It’s okay, Sammy. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave. Promised I’d save you, right? So I'm not gonna leave.”
Epilogue
Years passed. In Heaven, renegade angels kept up the search for God. In Hell, Mammon’s armies won a major victory against the forces of Belial before both retreated to lick their wounds. And on Earth, an armada neared the continent of Europe, propelled by an unnatural wind.
“We nearly there?” moaned a sea-sick young soldier.
A grizzled older man nodded. “Just another few hours,” he agreed, checking the load-out on the last of the shotguns. He settled down next to the boy. “Don’t worry, son,” he said quietly over the cursing of soldiers and the slap of the waves. “The demons we’ll be going up against aren’t much tougher than the spirits out in the ghost wilds. And with Dean and his brother on our side … well. Those sons of bitches won’t know what hit ‘em.”
Sam chuckled. Morale was high. Dean was everywhere on the flagship, practically vibrating with eagerness for battle; sighting-in artillery, reinforcing soldiers’ anti-possession charms, wincing and playing up the discomfort as he personally checked that every single vessel of water had been sanctified, before joining Sam at the bow of the ship as if he wanted to get out and push. Sam concentrated on drawing a bit more wind into their sails and then quested ahead with his senses.
The demonic forces of England were just starting to mobilize against them. They needed to strike hard and fast to establish a strong beachhead on the island. That would put them in position to retake the entire continent, bit by bit.
Someday, there might actually be peace on Earth.
Sam sent out a command. Four Hell Gates spread across England clicked open and demons loyal to him whispered out to skirmish, ambush, sabotage, and distract. Sam opened his eyes and nodded to Dean, who flashed back an exultant grin.
Someday. But not today.