And I Feel Fine, Sam/Dean, Hard R
A change stylistically. I might have to try it again ;) A very big thanks to deirdre_c for her incredibly supportive and insightful beta help. Thanks to tvm for running the challenge, and letting me join in last minute.
Title: And I Feel Fine
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warning: Sex, Language
Summary: Written to spn_apocasmut prompt “It’s The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine).”
*
The thin curtains are no match for the sunlight. It streams in, brilliant and blazing. Sam wriggles and stretches out his legs. His skin is a perfect fit over his bones.
Dean’s hand slides onto his chest, splaying out in a shaft of the sun. Sam gazes into Dean’s radiant eyes. He leans in, tasting the happiness in Dean’s kiss.
Dean wraps himself gently around Sam as he thrusts. The warmth from where their skin rubs together permeates him. Their curves and grooves interlock, two pieces of a puzzle fit into place.
Sam watches Dean’s face as he comes. He can’t remember a time he was this happy.
*
Coffee is lingered over, each sip interrupted by a caught glance and a shared smile. Nowhere to rush to; there’s only each other to luxuriate over.
Dean hand curls into Sam’s t-shirt. Sam moves forward with the pull, meeting Dean’s lips, then tongue.
“Don’t let me interrupt.” There’s a tapping of pencil on paper, but not impatient, amused. They break apart and he sheepishly gives his order.
A shadow flits past the corner of Sam’s eye. He turns his head but it only moves further, slipping out of sight. An unfamiliar uncertainty throbs low in his chest, but when he peers inside himself and tries to look directly at it, it bobs away.
“You okay?” Dean grasps Sam’s wrist. “You’re pale.” He rubs his thumb across the base of Sam’s palm. “It’s over Sam. I’m still here. The demons are staying put in hell.”
Sam nods. He likes to hear the words out loud, to revel in the roll of them off Dean’s tongue. Dean licks his lips and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepen.
Sometimes the joy is so intense, Sam shivers from it.
*
The asphalt shimmers in the midday sun, a haze hanging low over their destination. The silence in the car is comfortable. Sam stops watching the passing cars with their smiling passengers and instead focuses on Dean. He traces Dean’s jaw with his eyes and trails his gaze down to his chest. By the time he’s staring at Dean’s crotch, he’s pressing his hand firm against his fly.
The side road is empty but for short shrubbery and the caw of passing birds. They park the car carelessly and scramble into the back.
The air is thick and heavy and their breaths pant loudly into it. Sam slides off Dean as they kiss and his feet hit the door, legs cramped. By the time Sam is slipping a finger into Dean, telling him what he’s going to do to him, he doesn’t notice the lack of space. By the time Sam is pushing into Dean, his whole world is where they join; Dean, tight around him, smelling of sweat.
There’s only Dean’s grunts of pleasure, matching Sam’s own. There’s only Sam’s come, trickling out of Dean’s ass. He puts his hand in it. It’s beautiful. They’re beautiful.
*
The drive into town is slow because Dean’s got one hand on the wheel and one reaching over, pulling Sam in for a kiss. Sam pushes him away, laughter bright and bubbling. “Watch the road.”
“Rather watch you,” Dean answers. He leaves an arm looped around Sam’s shoulders and Sam rests against it.
The houses they pass gleam from layers of new paint. An old woman waves hello as they drive by and Sam raises his hand in response. Four girls play jump-rope and the rhythm of their shouts accompanies them around a corner. A woman on her front porch crumples her hands into her brown curls and pushes them over her crying face. As they turn into the motel parking lot, a man runs too close to the front of the car and grins his apology.
They check-in and fall onto the flowery bedspread with a muffled laugh. They kiss languidly, faces, shoulders, collarbones. They’re both half-hard and Sam thinks this could go on all day. Hours spent sucking each other’s skin. Hours spent trailing his hands over Dean’s lines, familiar but always new.
Dean moans in Sam’s ear, sliding his hand into Sam’s boxers. Sam’s not ready but he knows he’ll swell into Dean’s hand, he’ll soon be hard and aching.
He’ll soon be complete.
*
A shared shower and they hit the bar. The beer only adds to the light-headed feeling Sam has from the way Dean’s t-shirt is sticking to him from the sweat. Sam gulps down his beer, choking on the bubbles.
“Steady,” Dean laughs and clinks his bottle against Sam’s empty one.
“I’ll get more,” Sam says. He alters his path to allow for a dancing couple, who are swaying to the juke-box even at this early hour. “Two, please.”
Through the crowd wends an old friend, Bela, eyes widening as she sees Sam, hands lacing into a pendant at her neck. Sam holds his arms out for a hug and she steps out of them, shaking her hair into her eyes. The kernel in his chest swells again, that feeling that something is wrong.
Bela gives a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and steps close. She threads both hands into Sam’s t-shirt and presses her breasts against his chest as she whispers in his ear. “That’s what’s wrong, Sam. You hate me. You’d never greet me with a hug. You know it.”
Her eyes narrow when they meet his. Sam doesn’t know what she’s looking for. “Keep on focusing on what’s missing. What you’re not seeing. Tell Dean too.” Bela steps back. “Then call me.”
Sam repeats her words to Dean. “Crazy,” Dean says and drowns Sam in a beer-soaked kiss.
*
Sam shields his eyes from the sun while he watches Dean both negotiate the door and lean down to capture escaping drops from his ice-cream. A small voice sounds inside Sam’s head, a whisper of a forgotten job, or duty, or memory trying to get his attention. Sam shifts his body, gazes down at his feet, focusing on the whisper but hearing nothing.
The squeal of brakes, harsh and loud. Sam snaps his head up. Dean’s sprawled on the road, ice-creams flung near Sam’s feet, dripping onto the dark surface. Blood spools out of Dean’s head and Sam’s breath with it.
He kneels by Dean and cups his head with one hand, dialing emergency services with the other.
“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine,” the driver says.
Sam swivels his eyes around the smiling faces. They don’t get it: if Dean’s hurt, nothing is fine.
*
“I’m fine, quit fussing.” Dean bats at Sam as he tries to adjust the bandage. Dean leans over, but Sam ducks his distraction of a kiss.
“You have to rest. A concussion can’t be taken lightly.”
Dean’s hand rests on Sam’s belt buckle. “It’s not ‘rest’ I need.” Sam pulls away. Dean’s face creases into a frown.
It’s been a while since Sam saw Dean do anything other than give a wide, stomach-melting smile. There’s something about that that feels wrong. Bela’s words echo in Sam’s head and he stumbles backwards.
“Dean. Something’s wrong. Inside.” Sam pokes his own chest. “I just can’t see it. I think we need to see it.”
Dean’s eyes flick from Sam’s chest to his face. He jokes that maybe Sam’s the one with the bump on his head. Sam moves close again, spreading fingers over Dean’s heart. “Look inside. For me.”
A slow nod answers him. Sam pushes Dean back onto the bed. Afterward, he sleeps with his forehead pressing into Dean’s hair.
*
Dull rays of sun greet Sam in the morning. He lifts his head. Dean stares back at him without amusement. “I’m fine,” he says. The words vibrate with uncertainty.
Dean slides away from Sam, sitting up and twisting his head back over his shoulder. As Sam watches a grimace fracture Dean’s face, the light inside Sam shatters into a million small scraps that swirl and smash into each other. Sam can’t grasp onto any of it. He can only feel a new darkness swimming with confusion.
“I shouldn’t feel so happy about being run over,” Dean says at last. He gives a small head shake. “A car accident and everyone was happy.”
“I know.” Sam runs his mind over everything they’ve seen. There must be someone who’s suffered a loss, who’s not euphoric.
“The woman crying on the way into town,” Dean says and when his eyes meet Sam’s they’re hard.
*
She’s on her porch again, dressed entirely in black, burying her tears in her curls. Her sobs are quiet but steady as they draw near.
Sam rests a hand on her shoulder and she jumps. “You lost someone?” Sam asks quietly.
She lets go of her hair, tensing. A scared animal poised for flight. Dean kneels by her side. “I nearly died,” Dean says. “Sam too, once. We know.”
She stutters out a story, of a husband who shot himself, of a loss so great it’s too much for her to bear, weighing her down, rooting her to the spot. “What makes it worse, is the acceptance of it, by everyone. Nobody mourns him, nobody questions it.” She wipes her tears away with the back of her hand, steel glinting in her eyes. “Only me. He would never have killed himself. He was happy, even before this.” Her hand encompasses jumping children, coffee drinkers, a laughing couple. She spits the words out as if they’re poison. “He had no reason. Something’s wrong.”
Dean straightens. “Bela,” he bites out, brittle.
*
Bela sits, isolated from the rest of the bar. Her fingers touch her pendant lightly. Sam cocks his head. Its brilliance is familiar, tugs at the part of his brain he can’t access.
“Sam. Dean.” A sharp nod as they slide into the seats opposite her. She answers their questions before they’re asked. “I was wearing this, delivering it for a client, when it happened,” she tightens her grasp around the pendant, then lets it go. A red stone drops, brilliant against her milky skin. “It shielded me.” She raps a delicate pink nail on the bloody stone. “A utopian wonderland is bad for business.”
Sam feels Dean’s body tighten next to his. He rests a hand on Dean’s thigh, warning. “Go on.”
Bela’s hair falls around her face and she pushes it impatiently back. “Everyone I’ve met, heard of, who’s not under the spell … they go crazy in the end.” Her hand tightens around the pendant again. “I think about smashing it all the time.” She sways, leaning so close Sam can feel her breath on his face. “You two have to do something.” She shifts across, her nose nearly touching Dean’s. “Make this right.”
*
Four months Bela tells them, four months of bliss and joy for everyone but her.
It feels like a lifetime. Sam can’t remember what pain feels like. He can only just touch it by remembering the cold grip of fear when he saw the blood gushing out of Dean.
They trawl the town and hear about many deaths - too many, and each one sharpens the edges inside Sam. They only find a few people with a plastered-on smile: a man with a brother who threw himself off the bridge; a woman with a sister who choked to death; a teenager with a father who shot himself, then her mother. She escaped by running away, crying into oblivious, identical faces about her sorrow.
None of them seem to know how to cope, their misery made all the more heavy by their surroundings.
“The paper has no obituary section,” Sam throws it down on the table and leans back in his chair. “That can’t be right.”
“We’ll be making the world unhappy,” Dean says quietly, pushing his hands into his pockets and staring out the window.
“Are you saying we shouldn’t?”
“No, I’m saying… fuck, Sam. I don’t know what I’m saying.” Dean sags backwards, stumbles his way to the bed. “Four months. Jesus, Sam.”
“What?” Sam rushes over and kneels at Dean’s feet. Dean’s pale and shivering, arms wrapped around himself. Sam’s brain whirls. What happened four months ago?
The realization hits him like bricks. He sits back on his heels. “The deal,” he breathes.
“To save me,” Dean spits. “When the demons said they’d stay put in hell, why didn’t that seem odd to us? Fuck, they must have cast this-“ Dean waves his hand in the air -“spell already. When the contract was broken... Fuck!” Dean slaps his fist on the bed. “We did this. We turned the world into Shiny Happy People.”
Sam shakes his head violently. “No! No, they offered a new deal. To keep us quiet. To… to argue among them-“ Sam breaks off because his head is too full. Empty of denial. “Fuck.”
Their eyes meet and Dean’s face is grim, set like granite.
“We have to go fix this.” Dean stands up. “No matter what it means for me. For us.”
*
They dig out their weapons, Sam grateful for whatever whim made them keep them. They hunt through their books. A summoning spell. Exorcisms. The magic to cause this must be housed somewhere.
They’ve no idea where. Bullets and guns and only hope to prop them up.
They stand on the dirt crossroads, their misery strengthening with every passing heartbeat.
No replacement lackey for Sam to kill; the boss himself appears and doesn’t seem surprised to see them. “If you break the spell, demons will return,” it threatens.
“You’re here anyway. Killing more than ever. We’re just too blind to see.” Sam searches the scene for an answer but finds only roads that disappear off in all directions.
Sam’s eyes end at the demon’s neck. That’s where he’d seen Bela’s pendant before. This stone is a darker red, running deep with blood.
Sam talks while Dean circles. A carefully aimed shot and a black fissure cracks the stone.
The world falls back to its pieces.
*
Cobwebs cloud the previously blue sky.
“We did the right thing, right?” Sam whispers, as they both stare at the chaos and confusion outside. “People were dying then, people are dying now…”
“Nobody wants to believe a lie.” Dean turns, his arm brushing Sam’s.
Sam examines the lines etching Dean’s face, the guilt that’s embedded deep. The weight that’s returned to push them both down.
Sam balls his hand into Dean’s shirt and yanks him in for a kiss. Their teeth clack violently against each other, their noses bump, and lips slide off each other.
Sam scrabbles fiercely at Dean’s clothes, breaking buttons in the process. Dean scratches Sam’s side in his haste, fingernails raking red marks across Sam’s fading tanned skin.
They tumble to the floor, bodies bumping hard as they go, refusing to find a proper purchase.
Sam doesn’t wait until Dean’s fully prepped, giving a cursory lube and then forcing his way inside him, difficult, struggling. Dean breathes out harshly, then he grunts. Sam thrusts, skin slapping against skin, sweat starting to slick where their bodies meet. Dean’s fingers dig sharply into muscle and bone.
The orgasm rips through Sam, tearing a cry out of him as he empties himself into Dean.
They lie on the floor, not speaking, waiting for breath to level out. Sam will have bruises in the morning.
Dean’s hand pats Sam’s side gently.
“We’ll be fine,” Sam tells the silence.
**
Some inspiration must go to certain episodes of Angel Series 4.
Feedback is ♥. Thank you for reading.
**
Title: And I Feel Fine
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warning: Sex, Language
Summary: Written to spn_apocasmut prompt “It’s The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine).”
*
The thin curtains are no match for the sunlight. It streams in, brilliant and blazing. Sam wriggles and stretches out his legs. His skin is a perfect fit over his bones.
Dean’s hand slides onto his chest, splaying out in a shaft of the sun. Sam gazes into Dean’s radiant eyes. He leans in, tasting the happiness in Dean’s kiss.
Dean wraps himself gently around Sam as he thrusts. The warmth from where their skin rubs together permeates him. Their curves and grooves interlock, two pieces of a puzzle fit into place.
Sam watches Dean’s face as he comes. He can’t remember a time he was this happy.
*
Coffee is lingered over, each sip interrupted by a caught glance and a shared smile. Nowhere to rush to; there’s only each other to luxuriate over.
Dean hand curls into Sam’s t-shirt. Sam moves forward with the pull, meeting Dean’s lips, then tongue.
“Don’t let me interrupt.” There’s a tapping of pencil on paper, but not impatient, amused. They break apart and he sheepishly gives his order.
A shadow flits past the corner of Sam’s eye. He turns his head but it only moves further, slipping out of sight. An unfamiliar uncertainty throbs low in his chest, but when he peers inside himself and tries to look directly at it, it bobs away.
“You okay?” Dean grasps Sam’s wrist. “You’re pale.” He rubs his thumb across the base of Sam’s palm. “It’s over Sam. I’m still here. The demons are staying put in hell.”
Sam nods. He likes to hear the words out loud, to revel in the roll of them off Dean’s tongue. Dean licks his lips and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepen.
Sometimes the joy is so intense, Sam shivers from it.
*
The asphalt shimmers in the midday sun, a haze hanging low over their destination. The silence in the car is comfortable. Sam stops watching the passing cars with their smiling passengers and instead focuses on Dean. He traces Dean’s jaw with his eyes and trails his gaze down to his chest. By the time he’s staring at Dean’s crotch, he’s pressing his hand firm against his fly.
The side road is empty but for short shrubbery and the caw of passing birds. They park the car carelessly and scramble into the back.
The air is thick and heavy and their breaths pant loudly into it. Sam slides off Dean as they kiss and his feet hit the door, legs cramped. By the time Sam is slipping a finger into Dean, telling him what he’s going to do to him, he doesn’t notice the lack of space. By the time Sam is pushing into Dean, his whole world is where they join; Dean, tight around him, smelling of sweat.
There’s only Dean’s grunts of pleasure, matching Sam’s own. There’s only Sam’s come, trickling out of Dean’s ass. He puts his hand in it. It’s beautiful. They’re beautiful.
*
The drive into town is slow because Dean’s got one hand on the wheel and one reaching over, pulling Sam in for a kiss. Sam pushes him away, laughter bright and bubbling. “Watch the road.”
“Rather watch you,” Dean answers. He leaves an arm looped around Sam’s shoulders and Sam rests against it.
The houses they pass gleam from layers of new paint. An old woman waves hello as they drive by and Sam raises his hand in response. Four girls play jump-rope and the rhythm of their shouts accompanies them around a corner. A woman on her front porch crumples her hands into her brown curls and pushes them over her crying face. As they turn into the motel parking lot, a man runs too close to the front of the car and grins his apology.
They check-in and fall onto the flowery bedspread with a muffled laugh. They kiss languidly, faces, shoulders, collarbones. They’re both half-hard and Sam thinks this could go on all day. Hours spent sucking each other’s skin. Hours spent trailing his hands over Dean’s lines, familiar but always new.
Dean moans in Sam’s ear, sliding his hand into Sam’s boxers. Sam’s not ready but he knows he’ll swell into Dean’s hand, he’ll soon be hard and aching.
He’ll soon be complete.
*
A shared shower and they hit the bar. The beer only adds to the light-headed feeling Sam has from the way Dean’s t-shirt is sticking to him from the sweat. Sam gulps down his beer, choking on the bubbles.
“Steady,” Dean laughs and clinks his bottle against Sam’s empty one.
“I’ll get more,” Sam says. He alters his path to allow for a dancing couple, who are swaying to the juke-box even at this early hour. “Two, please.”
Through the crowd wends an old friend, Bela, eyes widening as she sees Sam, hands lacing into a pendant at her neck. Sam holds his arms out for a hug and she steps out of them, shaking her hair into her eyes. The kernel in his chest swells again, that feeling that something is wrong.
Bela gives a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and steps close. She threads both hands into Sam’s t-shirt and presses her breasts against his chest as she whispers in his ear. “That’s what’s wrong, Sam. You hate me. You’d never greet me with a hug. You know it.”
Her eyes narrow when they meet his. Sam doesn’t know what she’s looking for. “Keep on focusing on what’s missing. What you’re not seeing. Tell Dean too.” Bela steps back. “Then call me.”
Sam repeats her words to Dean. “Crazy,” Dean says and drowns Sam in a beer-soaked kiss.
*
Sam shields his eyes from the sun while he watches Dean both negotiate the door and lean down to capture escaping drops from his ice-cream. A small voice sounds inside Sam’s head, a whisper of a forgotten job, or duty, or memory trying to get his attention. Sam shifts his body, gazes down at his feet, focusing on the whisper but hearing nothing.
The squeal of brakes, harsh and loud. Sam snaps his head up. Dean’s sprawled on the road, ice-creams flung near Sam’s feet, dripping onto the dark surface. Blood spools out of Dean’s head and Sam’s breath with it.
He kneels by Dean and cups his head with one hand, dialing emergency services with the other.
“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine,” the driver says.
Sam swivels his eyes around the smiling faces. They don’t get it: if Dean’s hurt, nothing is fine.
*
“I’m fine, quit fussing.” Dean bats at Sam as he tries to adjust the bandage. Dean leans over, but Sam ducks his distraction of a kiss.
“You have to rest. A concussion can’t be taken lightly.”
Dean’s hand rests on Sam’s belt buckle. “It’s not ‘rest’ I need.” Sam pulls away. Dean’s face creases into a frown.
It’s been a while since Sam saw Dean do anything other than give a wide, stomach-melting smile. There’s something about that that feels wrong. Bela’s words echo in Sam’s head and he stumbles backwards.
“Dean. Something’s wrong. Inside.” Sam pokes his own chest. “I just can’t see it. I think we need to see it.”
Dean’s eyes flick from Sam’s chest to his face. He jokes that maybe Sam’s the one with the bump on his head. Sam moves close again, spreading fingers over Dean’s heart. “Look inside. For me.”
A slow nod answers him. Sam pushes Dean back onto the bed. Afterward, he sleeps with his forehead pressing into Dean’s hair.
*
Dull rays of sun greet Sam in the morning. He lifts his head. Dean stares back at him without amusement. “I’m fine,” he says. The words vibrate with uncertainty.
Dean slides away from Sam, sitting up and twisting his head back over his shoulder. As Sam watches a grimace fracture Dean’s face, the light inside Sam shatters into a million small scraps that swirl and smash into each other. Sam can’t grasp onto any of it. He can only feel a new darkness swimming with confusion.
“I shouldn’t feel so happy about being run over,” Dean says at last. He gives a small head shake. “A car accident and everyone was happy.”
“I know.” Sam runs his mind over everything they’ve seen. There must be someone who’s suffered a loss, who’s not euphoric.
“The woman crying on the way into town,” Dean says and when his eyes meet Sam’s they’re hard.
*
She’s on her porch again, dressed entirely in black, burying her tears in her curls. Her sobs are quiet but steady as they draw near.
Sam rests a hand on her shoulder and she jumps. “You lost someone?” Sam asks quietly.
She lets go of her hair, tensing. A scared animal poised for flight. Dean kneels by her side. “I nearly died,” Dean says. “Sam too, once. We know.”
She stutters out a story, of a husband who shot himself, of a loss so great it’s too much for her to bear, weighing her down, rooting her to the spot. “What makes it worse, is the acceptance of it, by everyone. Nobody mourns him, nobody questions it.” She wipes her tears away with the back of her hand, steel glinting in her eyes. “Only me. He would never have killed himself. He was happy, even before this.” Her hand encompasses jumping children, coffee drinkers, a laughing couple. She spits the words out as if they’re poison. “He had no reason. Something’s wrong.”
Dean straightens. “Bela,” he bites out, brittle.
*
Bela sits, isolated from the rest of the bar. Her fingers touch her pendant lightly. Sam cocks his head. Its brilliance is familiar, tugs at the part of his brain he can’t access.
“Sam. Dean.” A sharp nod as they slide into the seats opposite her. She answers their questions before they’re asked. “I was wearing this, delivering it for a client, when it happened,” she tightens her grasp around the pendant, then lets it go. A red stone drops, brilliant against her milky skin. “It shielded me.” She raps a delicate pink nail on the bloody stone. “A utopian wonderland is bad for business.”
Sam feels Dean’s body tighten next to his. He rests a hand on Dean’s thigh, warning. “Go on.”
Bela’s hair falls around her face and she pushes it impatiently back. “Everyone I’ve met, heard of, who’s not under the spell … they go crazy in the end.” Her hand tightens around the pendant again. “I think about smashing it all the time.” She sways, leaning so close Sam can feel her breath on his face. “You two have to do something.” She shifts across, her nose nearly touching Dean’s. “Make this right.”
*
Four months Bela tells them, four months of bliss and joy for everyone but her.
It feels like a lifetime. Sam can’t remember what pain feels like. He can only just touch it by remembering the cold grip of fear when he saw the blood gushing out of Dean.
They trawl the town and hear about many deaths - too many, and each one sharpens the edges inside Sam. They only find a few people with a plastered-on smile: a man with a brother who threw himself off the bridge; a woman with a sister who choked to death; a teenager with a father who shot himself, then her mother. She escaped by running away, crying into oblivious, identical faces about her sorrow.
None of them seem to know how to cope, their misery made all the more heavy by their surroundings.
“The paper has no obituary section,” Sam throws it down on the table and leans back in his chair. “That can’t be right.”
“We’ll be making the world unhappy,” Dean says quietly, pushing his hands into his pockets and staring out the window.
“Are you saying we shouldn’t?”
“No, I’m saying… fuck, Sam. I don’t know what I’m saying.” Dean sags backwards, stumbles his way to the bed. “Four months. Jesus, Sam.”
“What?” Sam rushes over and kneels at Dean’s feet. Dean’s pale and shivering, arms wrapped around himself. Sam’s brain whirls. What happened four months ago?
The realization hits him like bricks. He sits back on his heels. “The deal,” he breathes.
“To save me,” Dean spits. “When the demons said they’d stay put in hell, why didn’t that seem odd to us? Fuck, they must have cast this-“ Dean waves his hand in the air -“spell already. When the contract was broken... Fuck!” Dean slaps his fist on the bed. “We did this. We turned the world into Shiny Happy People.”
Sam shakes his head violently. “No! No, they offered a new deal. To keep us quiet. To… to argue among them-“ Sam breaks off because his head is too full. Empty of denial. “Fuck.”
Their eyes meet and Dean’s face is grim, set like granite.
“We have to go fix this.” Dean stands up. “No matter what it means for me. For us.”
*
They dig out their weapons, Sam grateful for whatever whim made them keep them. They hunt through their books. A summoning spell. Exorcisms. The magic to cause this must be housed somewhere.
They’ve no idea where. Bullets and guns and only hope to prop them up.
They stand on the dirt crossroads, their misery strengthening with every passing heartbeat.
No replacement lackey for Sam to kill; the boss himself appears and doesn’t seem surprised to see them. “If you break the spell, demons will return,” it threatens.
“You’re here anyway. Killing more than ever. We’re just too blind to see.” Sam searches the scene for an answer but finds only roads that disappear off in all directions.
Sam’s eyes end at the demon’s neck. That’s where he’d seen Bela’s pendant before. This stone is a darker red, running deep with blood.
Sam talks while Dean circles. A carefully aimed shot and a black fissure cracks the stone.
The world falls back to its pieces.
*
Cobwebs cloud the previously blue sky.
“We did the right thing, right?” Sam whispers, as they both stare at the chaos and confusion outside. “People were dying then, people are dying now…”
“Nobody wants to believe a lie.” Dean turns, his arm brushing Sam’s.
Sam examines the lines etching Dean’s face, the guilt that’s embedded deep. The weight that’s returned to push them both down.
Sam balls his hand into Dean’s shirt and yanks him in for a kiss. Their teeth clack violently against each other, their noses bump, and lips slide off each other.
Sam scrabbles fiercely at Dean’s clothes, breaking buttons in the process. Dean scratches Sam’s side in his haste, fingernails raking red marks across Sam’s fading tanned skin.
They tumble to the floor, bodies bumping hard as they go, refusing to find a proper purchase.
Sam doesn’t wait until Dean’s fully prepped, giving a cursory lube and then forcing his way inside him, difficult, struggling. Dean breathes out harshly, then he grunts. Sam thrusts, skin slapping against skin, sweat starting to slick where their bodies meet. Dean’s fingers dig sharply into muscle and bone.
The orgasm rips through Sam, tearing a cry out of him as he empties himself into Dean.
They lie on the floor, not speaking, waiting for breath to level out. Sam will have bruises in the morning.
Dean’s hand pats Sam’s side gently.
“We’ll be fine,” Sam tells the silence.
**
Some inspiration must go to certain episodes of Angel Series 4.
Feedback is ♥. Thank you for reading.
**