Big Bang: Hating the Weather Part VI
"You've really lost her now, Sam," Ruby said. She was leaning up against the door she'd just closed behind her, arms crossed, smug and tense all at once. The late afternoon light bleeding in around the edges of the motel's thick curtains was enough to let him see the way her lipstick had been mostly chewed off her bottom lip, like she'd been thinking too hard.
He was still finding Dee's lipsticks in the footwell of the Impala.
He looked away. That was Ruby's cue to peel herself off of the door and come to him, sliding up like smoke. His hands tensed to shove her away, but she tilted her head and blinked at him like he was some tempting but flawed property she was thinking of buying.
"You even remember she's a she?" Ruby's voice was sharper than usual.
"Shut up," Sam ordered, but she pressed herself against him, small tight body, soft breasts separated from his skin only by two layers of cotton. He could feel her cheek against his chest as she wrapped her arms around him, nestled close, grim parody of a hug that he'd never get from Dee unless one of them had been thought dead.
Ruby shouldn't have known so easily what had happened (though the smell of the room had to have been some sort of clue). She shouldn't be giving him almost exactly what he needed.
"What would Dee want you to do?" she whispered.
Since Dee had been absent for over twelve hours, he had some pretty clear ideas on that topic. If he manned up and learned how to change her back, she'd be willing to repress and deny. Otherwise there was a good chance she'd get as reckless as she'd been after Dad's death, guilt impelling her towards any sacrifice that looked painful.
"How much longer?" he asked.
Ruby pulled away and started to strip off her jacket. "Soon," she promised. "You gank Lilith and you'll know you're powerful enough to do it without hurting her."
****
Sam got his business with Ruby conducted as quickly as possible.
Dee didn't come back until night had fallen. Sam spent the time in between reading some of the more obscure texts Bobby had scanned for him, learning about as much relevant to averting the apocalypse as he had in Linear Algebra.
Dee didn't knock. She was carrying a bag of burgers, grease-stained and smelling strong enough to make Sam's mouth water. "Bet you were so busy researching you forgot to eat, freak," she said, like she'd just been out pounding the sidewalk on a case.
No surprise and kind of a relief. Sam could absolutely deal with not talking about how terrible his desires were and how he was dragging Dee down with him.
****
In Tempe, Ruby brought three stray dogs to her room.
Sam turned the first one inside out. He shot it (he'd brought his silencer just in case) before it could suffer more than a minute. But he'd felt what he'd done wrong, and he managed to wrench the second one into a different, functional shape. It looked like a female, at least, and its whimpers trailed into silence when he cradled it in his arms.
He did even better with the third dog, improving its ragged appearance along with changing its sex. What he really needed were some hormone tests to make sure that the change was more than cosmetic, so he sent Ruby off to double-check. He couldn't risk an attempt on Dee that might only make matters worse.
****
They were in the middle of a fight at a warehouse with a dozen demons when Castiel popped in, just in time to keep Dee from being eviscerated. He used his finger-mojo to dispatch the nearest demon, then announced over the yowls of the others, "We must talk."
"Kinda busy," Dee grunted as she kicked the body of a teenage girl in the stomach, sending the demon in possession staggering backwards. Sam slashed out with his knife, cutting a line across the forearm of an olive-skinned young man to get him far away enough that Sam could raise his right hand and begin the process of extracting. Before he could even get started, the demon opened its host's mouth and fled, leaving the man to collapse. Sam jumped over him and headed towards the next one.
Dee began to chant an exorcism. The words hit like bricks, forcing Sam to stop. The pain was so great he couldn't see, the way the visions had been in the beginning. He still held the knife out, trying to protect himself, but he was too vulnerable. "Dee," he ground out, pressing his hand to his head. His brain felt like it was bulging out of his skull, about to spray out of his ears if he didn't get some relief.
He felt more than saw Castiel step in front of him, taking out another demon. His blood was buzzing in his ears and it felt like his veins were on fire, stabbing through his body like wires.
More screams and grunts, then silence. Sam blinked as the pain faded. The hosts' bodies lay collapsed on the floor in various states of disrepair; he couldn't remember the last time they'd actually saved a life from possession. His nose was bleeding. He wiped it away and saw both Dee and Castiel staring at the red smears on his fingers.
"What the fuck," Dee said, but there was a note of despair in her voice that meant she didn't need an explanation except for the details.
Castiel frowned. "Your corruption is far advanced," he said. "This increases the urgency of my message."
"Increases?" Sam asked. His head still hurt, and the beams of sunlight stabbing through the decrepit roof blazed in his peripheral vision as he tried to find a way to watch Dee without fainting.
"Six seals remain between Lucifer and his freedom." That meant four down they hadn't heard about until now. "I have ... discovered that Michael plans to intervene."
"Michael, like the archangel," Dee clarified. Castiel didn't answer. "Okay, so, archangel coming down to get in the game, that's gotta be good, right?"
"Archangels are what their names portend, greater than the others. Michael must take a vessel to battle Lucifer on Earth. Otherwise his Grace would destroy the planet."
Dee made a little sound of disgust. "Figures. So who's the schmuck and why do we need to know so bad?"
Castiel was silent. Slowly, Sam raised his head. The air seemed to drain from the warehouse, until Sam had to brace himself against the nearest object, which turned out to be a crate that filled his hand with splinters. He didn't feel it.
"Dean," Castiel said, and the name was like a confession.
"No." Sam barely recognized his own voice, filled with the power he used to pull demons.
Dee had her head cocked like she was imitating Castiel's bird-stance. "Why me?"
"I don't know," Castiel said. But his shoulders were slumped and Sam bet that the angel could give a good guess. So much for his claim that the forces of Heaven weren't involved in what had happened to Dee. "Your essence-to survive such a transformation-there are aspects of humanity we can neither imitate nor change, only borrow."
"So, what, this meatsuit is recyclable now? Michael's gonna fill me up with his archangelness?" Dee didn't sound nearly as horrified as Sam was, more resigned.
"You'd have to say yes. She'd have to say yes, right?" Sam beseeched.
Castiel nodded, his lips pale and tight. "There are, however, many modes of persuasion that might be employed."
Of course, since why would angels shy away from torture if they had no problem with possession? Sam knew enough to believe that Dee would trade herself for him if Michael got convincing enough. But Castiel had been a good little soldier, a model of order-taking, since they'd met him. "Why are you telling us all this?" Sam demanded.
Castiel kept staring at Dee. "I admit that I have been experiencing ... doubts. The measures proposed-it is not for me to question-but I find I cannot refrain. This is why the last seals must not fall. If they remain, then Michael will have no need of a human host."
Once again, useless exhortation delivered as if it was gospel, and Dee nodding along because she was just annoying like that. Sam clenched his fists, even though that sent another spike of pain through his skull. "You have any advice for us on how to pull that one off?"
Castiel glared at him. "Do not have recourse to demons," he said. Then he disappeared, before Sam could ask him what they were supposed to do instead.
****
They didn't talk on the way back to the skeevy motel Dee had found for them. Sam was jittery in the passenger seat, tapping his fingers along the bottom of the window, shifting his knees and squirming until Dee threatened to kick him out at sixty miles an hour. After that he managed to draw in on himself, but that just made him more anxious to get back to fighting.
Dee stalked into the room like she was planning to set it on fire. With Sam inside. She stood with her back to him, shoulders shaking. "When were you gonna tell me you were back to hanging out with the demon chick, Sammy?"
Sam bit his lip. "We can't afford to give up any advantage, you know that."
Dee spun around and for a second Sam was sure she was going to hit him. "How is fucking around with a demon an advantage?"
"She's teaching me how to use my powers," Sam said evenly. "They're in me, they've been in me since I was a baby, and they're not going away, so we might as well do something with them."
"Sam," Dee said, voice rough and pleading, "it's changing you. Maybe you don't see that, but I do. Even this thing with us-"
It was the first time she'd even hinted about their half-drunken coupling, and a wave of lust surged through Sam, making it even more imperative that they change the subject.
"That's not because of Ruby," he snapped. In a flash he was pressed up against her-against Dean-pushing him back against the wall, hands fisted in Dean's shirt. The heat of Dean's body bled into him. "You feel it too."
He could feel Dean's shocked inhale. Their lips were inches apart, an invitation to sin. Sam shifted his weight forward and their legs entangled, grinding Dean against him. They both groaned, Dean turning his head and exposing his throat, a concession in more ways than one. Sam licked up the line of his jaw, across stubble that felt sharp enough to make him bleed. He bit lightly at Dean's earlobe, thrilling at the way that Dean trembled in his arms, like their hearts were pounding to the same beat.
"Let me," he murmured, then nosed against the soft skin just behind where Dean's sideburn ended. Nothing in his life felt good except killing demons and touching Dean. Dean's biceps were firm under his hands, perfect even through the rough cotton of his shirt.
Dean's "Sam ..." was no more than an exhale. When Sam backed away, though, Dean's hands went to his belt, stripping down still braced against the wall.
"Tell me you want me," Sam demanded. He couldn't have Dean pretending, not when the air between them already smelled like sex, not when they were already causing each other so much damage.
Dean didn't pause in shoving his jeans down as he toed off his boots. "You know I do," he said, low and overwhelmed.
"I want to shave you again," Sam said, figuring he ought as well to go for broke.
Dean's hands fumbled and stopped. He flushed, eyes sparkling like he had a fever, and his mouth compressed. But then he pulled off his shirts in a tangle together and moved decisively towards the bathroom, wearing only his tented-out black boxer-briefs.
Sam followed like he was attached by a chain, shedding his own clothes as he went.
This time Sam went slow, holding a hot wet towel to Dean's face to soften the skin first, then stroking the shaving cream on carefully, one finger at a time. Dean closed his eyes and tilted his head up like a penitent saint.
Sam didn't cut him once, even though he was resting his weight on Dean's thighs, both of them balanced precariously on the toilet seat, hips hitching involuntarily every half a minute so that their hard-ons brushed together through their shorts.
After the shave, Sam used the towel again, removing every trace of soap from Dean's skin. He smoothed over Dean's cheeks with his thumbs, feeling the slick new smoothness of the skin, pink with heat and lust. Dean's eyes were dilated, his hair standing up in sweaty spikes, his breath fast and loud in the tiny bathroom. Sam gave in and leaned forward so that he could lick over the lines of Dean's jaw, Dean clean and pure under his tongue.
Dean pushed up and Sam rose with him, turning and walking backwards, trusting Dean not to steer him wrong as they crossed from the cool tile to the tacky old carpet. When he sensed the bed behind him, he let himself fall, bouncing a little as he stared up at Dean.
"Get naked," Dean said, turning away like he was in pain, and Sam fumbled gracelessly to get out of his boxers. Just as he managed to lie back, Dean returned, straddling him with a tube in his hand. Sam whimpered as Dean settled onto his groin, feeling his cock brush against Dean's asscheeks. Dean leaned forward and his erection teased Sam's stomach. Then Dean's hand was behind himself, slicking Sam's cock fast and awkward, nothing close to enough.
Dean grimaced and rose up further, squeezing Sam's hips with his knees as if in reassurance. After a couple of fumbles that had Sam near to screaming, he seated Sam's cockhead just at his entrance, and paused. His face was in shadow, his lashes hiding his eyes, but there was no mistaking the uncertainty there.
"Please," Sam said, and that was enough. Dean sank down, the powerful muscles of his quads letting him control the motion, and Sam was finally inside him. Each inch was slow but inexorable, Dean pressing down with the same steadiness he would've used to stitch a wound. His mouth hung open as he panted. Sam wanted to curl up and kiss him, but was too busy having every synapse in his brain explode with pleasure.
Finally Dean was seated, his full weight driving Sam into the mattress so that it took every ounce of Sam's strength to thrust up. He put his hands on Dean's hips, digging his fingers into the swell of Dean's ass, and started setting a rhythm.
"I want more hands," he said, almost to himself, because Dean's ass was perfect but Dean's cock was being neglected right in front of him, red and hardening again after the first shock of penetration passed. Dean chortled, surprised, then grunted when Sam rolled his hips. He bent over and put one hand almost in the center of Sam's chest, fingertips just brushing the tattoo, and used his other to curl around his dick, jacking himself in time to Sam's movements.
It was too good. "Dean-"
Dean took the warning for what it was. "Don't you come," he ordered, moving his hand faster, soft slapping sound a counterpoint to the noise of their skin sticking and unsticking as Sam pounded into him.
He could feel it, rushing at him like a comet. He was trying so hard to keep it together, fighting not to close his eyes and lose the sight of Dean, the muscles of Dean's arm flexing as his cockhead disappeared into his fist and returned, the sweat on Dean's face making him glow like a golden idol.
He felt the first hot spurts of Dean's jizz at the same time as his own body surrendered, pulsing through him like they were coming together. He pumped up into Dean until he was too sensitive to keep going, and then Dean collapsed onto his chest, Dean's hands tight on his shoulders and their bellies sliding together with the mess Dean had made. Sam's dick slipped free with a jolt that made him gasp and Dean was heavy enough that Sam would've had trouble breathing even if he hadn't just had an orgasm that made him feel like shattered glass.
Lassitude swept over him, even though he knew better than to give into it. Dean squirmed a little, nuzzling his head into the space between Sam's chin and his collarbone, spreading the mess between them still further but moving to the side just enough to let Sam get some much-needed oxygen. Most of his weight was still on Sam, tethering him.
"Don't flip out again, okay?" Sam asked softly, rubbing his fingers over the nape of Dean's neck, up into his hair.
Dean arched into the touch, but: "Not a promise I can make," Dee said, a little sadly, and Sam pulled his hand back. "You're still Sam, you get that, right?"
"Yeah," Sam admitted. He was having trouble enough whiplashing between Dee and Dean, and he could see why it would be worse for her.
"I don't know if I can do this," Dee said.
"You don't have to," Sam offered, mostly meaning it.
She shook her head, pulling her arms away from him, shifting her weight so Sam was left sticky and cold, even though she was still next to him. "I don't know if I can stop. I don't know anymore if it would stop if I went back."
"I think it would," Sam said, because that was the truth. Dee would go back to her one-night stands and Sam would go back to nothing, except when he gave in and imitated her. It would have to be enough. He could live with it. He swallowed. "I hate that you hate it so much."
"I don't hate it," Dee said, like it hurt her to say. She sat up and began to scramble around for her clothes. Sam watched, because he wasn't going to be able to watch forever. Dee had more scars now, most of them from what Alastair had done while she was trapped with him. But she was still perfect, freckles scattered across her pale skin like instructions on where to kiss, muscles standing out with every motion. She kept glancing at him sidelong, which only highlighted how her eyelashes curled and her lower lip (Dean's lower lip, because those were Sam's kisses that had swollen it) had the perfect shape of a valentine's heart.
He needed to protect her, even from himself if necessary. Whatever he wanted didn't matter; it was nothing compared to the sacrifices she'd made. The rush of love he felt for her was overwhelming, greater even than the terror and uncertainty, greater even than the lust.
Watching her move around the hotel room, checking all their gear, it struck him that Ruby's goal for his readiness was oddly specific. All he should really need to do was take out a major demon, and he'd done that twice over, first Samhain and then Alastair. If he wanted to help Dee before their relationship was irreparably damaged, he needed to act now.
"I'm gonna go for a walk," he said, and Dee grunted acknowledgment. Sam slipped his flask into his pocket and headed out.
He chugged the rest of Ruby's blood, nearly the entire flask, standing out by the ice machine and then called her.
****
"Don't tell me we're doing this again," Ruby sighed. She pushed her hair back, a little gesture that reminded him of Dee, back when Dee could do that. "You'd have to be a monster to want to keep her trapped like that," Ruby said.
"I know."
She'd spent too much time with him-her face tightened with apprehension as he approached, as if she knew his plan. "Wait!" she said, holding her hands up in supplication. "You can't waste all your power on her while Lilith is still walking around. You shoot your wad switching her back and Lilith will just kill her. A corpse doesn't care whether it was a boy or a girl."
That was all too plausible. If Dee was especially suited for Michael, then killing her would clear the way for Lucifer.
But how would Ruby know about that, and why hadn't she said anything before? Her new argument was extremely convenient. Sam had seen convenience and demons before, with Azazel and his plans for the Colt.
"I'll kill anyone who tries to hurt Dee," Sam pointed out.
Ruby frowned. She widened her eyes, every atom projecting sincerity. "Lilith's not an ordinary demon, Sam. She's way too powerful for ordinary weapons. It's got to be you, and it's got to be before you weaken yourself for Dee."
And maybe if he hadn't just seen Dee, angry and desperate, he would have taken Ruby more seriously. But Dee was there and needed him now, and this thing between them was its own little gate to Hell. If he didn't fix it, then he couldn't fix anything else.
"I'm sorry," Sam said, and raised his hand. Ruby's mouth wrenched closed, and he ignored her muffled protests until she was too weak to make even those.
****
Stuffed full of Ruby's blood, more than he'd ever taken before, Sam felt he could float out into the parking lot. That would probably attract more attention than he wanted, though.
Off in the middle distance, he could feel something, a kind of sulfurous energy. Demons. Almost as if they were waiting for him. Maybe Ruby had brought them along as extra batteries. Maybe she would've warned him about them if he'd let her. Either way, they were next on the agenda. He hotwired a car and drove in the direction his blood told him to.
They were, of all things, hanging out in a diner, a demon in every patron. The only pure humans in the place were the cook and one waitress. They'd been kept busy with the demons' demands, if the scattered dirty plates full of half-eaten fries were any indication; they'd been kept from running, Sam figured, by the crucified body of the busboy pinned to the door between the kitchen and the counterspace. He raised his hand as he walked in, taking advantage of everyone's gaping surprise to yell "Get out!" while he did his thing.
The waitress dragged the cook out, neither of them touching him, both of them crying as they fled. Sam figured he needed to work fast just in case they got it together to call the cops.
The same sense that let him extract a demon also let him hold them in place, keeping their essence in the blood of the hosts despite their attempts to escape. That was good, not just because it let him feed, but because it also showed flexibility in the power, the kind of flexibility he'd need to pull Dee's essence out of the form in which it was trapped.
He had to expend some of the power of Ruby's blood to pin them to the wall in the back, lining them up, and that gave him another nosebleed, but the payoff was worth it. There was some violation of the law of conservation of energy there, maybe, but demon powers didn't follow the rules of physics anyway, and Sam was feeling too good to worry much about it.
There were enough of them that he didn't drain any one dry before banishing them.
****
Sam was all but bouncing with impatience, sitting on his bed, when Dee opened the door, two sacks of In-n-Out burgers clutched in the hand that wasn't busy with the motel key. "I can switch you back," he said before she was all the way inside. Dee wouldn't have to know about the blood. She wasn't the type to insist on double-checking his research, and she'd be too focused on the results to spend a long time thinking about the methods. And he'd quit after. Or after Lilith was out of the picture, anyway.
Dee stopped in the doorway, letting warm and muggy air into the room. After a long moment, she bumped the door closed with her shoulder, put the burgers on the table underneath the window, and tossed the keys onto one of the dressers. Her back was to him.
"There's probably gonna be a recovery period, so I figured we'll head out, be at Bobby's by Thursday-"
"No," Dee said, not turning around.
Sam squinted. Dee's shoulders were tense. Of course her body was different now, but the posture was sort of similar to how she'd looked every time Sam complained about some order of Dad's she passed on. Like she was pissed at him for fighting the inevitable.
"What?"
"No. Not goin' back."
"Not going back to Bobby's?" he asked, carefully misunderstanding.
Dee turned around now, her eyes already rolling. "Not going back to Dee. Not if it comes from you drinking demon blood."
"Castiel," Sam said grimly. Stood to reason that angelic busybody would be trying to get Dee to himself. But saying that would muddy the issue and anyway he was on admittedly shaky ground when it came to the whole sanguinary aspect of the procedure.
"It doesn't matter where the power comes from," Sam pushed back, breathing hard. "If I can save you, I can make it all mean something."
Dee's face twisted. "You think pumping a fuckton of demon power into my body would save me? I'd rather-"
Sam cut her off, because he couldn't hear her say what she'd rather. "At least we'll be the same then."
"Sam," she said, mouth twisting and eyes shining, and he decided he couldn't hear any of it. "I don't want this."
"You don't know how to want things for yourself." Yeah, Sam had mistaken that characteristic for a lot of things over the years, from perfection to martyrdom, but he'd eventually figured it out.
"Bullshit," Dee snapped and took two quick steps towards him, raising her hands as if she was considering hitting him. "I want you to be safe. That's not the same thing."
Sam's anger pulsed in his stomach, and he restrained himself from fisting his own hands. It was just typical for her to pull this sort of thing on him when he was finally ready to get the job done. "I need to protect you from Michael," Sam said, trying for reason, when he'd reasserted control over himself. She was at risk of turning into some kind of angel puppet, not to mention so miserable he'd gone out and gotten so pumped up he felt like a deer tick, full to bursting, and now she changed her mind?
Dee shook her head. "No reason to think Michael would give up if I got switched back, since they already think I'm something special. Changing back just proves I'll stretch to fit, I bet. I'll just have to say no when he shows up." She looked away and, probably unconsciously, brushed her hand over her gun.
Sam was usually pretty tolerant of Dee's bullshit, but-he'd been working on this for months, obsessed with doing one thing for Dee that might make up for some of the crap in her life. He'd been taking his shitty demonic destiny and revising it into something that could actually help.
"I'm sorry," he said, the same words he'd said to Ruby, and something in his tone alerted her, because her head jerked up and her mouth worked and then she was pushed back against the closed door, held there while he concentrated on finding her soul, seeing how it was threaded through her body. With the demons it was about pulling them out while leaving the body intact. This was just the opposite, and he could see exactly how it would work.
Sam could feel all the ways he could manipulate her body, inside and out. He had a thought, just for a moment, that he could take this one last chance to be with her, hold her close, breathe in Dean's scent, no one to blame this time but him. She was so beautiful, even with her lashes clumped with tears, her eyes so wide he could see white all around the irises.
He shook his head to clear it. He didn't know how long he could sustain this amount of power. He had to keep his eyes on the prize.
Dee was pinned, squirming like a grave worm, not able to move enough to interfere. He let his power curl through her, inside every cell, preparing for the change. It was strange: there was no sign of anything unnatural, nothing like the scent of sulfur that demons shed or the sticky, wrong taste of a possessed host's blood. Whatever Castiel had sensed in her was invisible to Sam. Dean's body gave the complete illusion of reality. Sam felt his own blood pounding, eager to work his will. He stepped closer, his hand up not just to channel the power but to reach out to her. He could have gutted her with a thought, but instead he was going to show her just how strong he was.
And now he did smell sulfur, curling thick in his nostrils, like it had been baking on a radiator. Dee's face was wet, weak, almost pathetic. He could fix lots of things about her, he thought. Andy's interventions had only been temporary, but Sam was so much stronger now than any of the other children had ever had opportunity to become.
"Please, Sammy," she gasped, tears streaming down her face. Like she'd said please to Dad, when he'd been possessed. Strange, because he hadn't seen her as weak then, only desperate. He remembered her telling him about how it had felt to use the Colt on a possessed human that first time. She'd been scared of herself, but never of Sam.
Clarity came like ice: everything he'd been thinking flipped, like looking in a mirror and seeing a black-eyed monster looking back.
He released her and collapsed to his knees, covering his face with his hands. He wanted to throw up, but the taste of the blood coming back up might be enough to drive him over the edge again, worthless junkie unable to see past the next hit. In a second, Dee was kneeling next to him, hugging him close, and he didn't know how she could bear to do it. He was shivering, the air in the room suddenly freezer-cold, unless the demon blood was burning him up from the inside the way it should if there was any justice in the world.
"You should kill me," he gasped out. "Like Dad said, you should-"
Dee grabbed his face in her hands and turned him towards her. "Sammy," she said, wrecked. "No, no. That isn't-okay, drinking demon blood, you screwed up this time. But you can stop. You are so much better than that."
Sam nearly snorted through his tears. What exactly was her evidence for that? "The angels say," but he choked and was unable to finish.
Dee grunted. "Like those whack-jobs have anything to talk about. Sam," she said, soft and careful. "I know I'm hard on you, but. I, uh, I measure the rest of the world by how well it stacks up to you." She tugged him forward until his face was mashed against her chest, hard and muscular but still somehow yielding to him.
When she spoke again, he felt the words vibrating through him, like they were coming from both of their bodies at the same time. "I guess I need to-look, I don't think what happened to me's part of somebody's big plan, even if it they tell you it is. Even if it was on purpose, it doesn't have to mean what anybody else says it does. Maybe it's not the body I'd choose if I got to go to the body Wal-Mart or whatever. But it's mine, okay. It's not-"
It's not yours. Sam heard it even if she didn't finish. "Okay," he said, meaning: I choose you. The tattoo, the new scars, the bulk of her body: she was choosing between losses.
Slowly, waiting for her to flinch, he slid his arms around her. She shifted and twisted to get them settled better, but she didn't move away. He sighed, and even with his congestion-numbed senses he reacted to how good she smelled, sharp with the day's sweat.
"There's one part we haven't talked about," he said softly.
He felt her nod. She wasn't so committed to denial that she didn't know this needed to be settled. If it could be. If she said no, Sam wasn't sure how long it would be before they'd be drunk again, giving in, both of them hating Sam a little more every time. Never enough to get Dee to leave, if he was very lucky, but enough to make them both constantly miserable, and maybe enough to make angelic sacrifice look good.
She was probably even more grateful than he was that, pressed up together like this, they couldn't see each other's faces. "So I'm Dean when we're fucking. But who am I the rest of the time?"
Sam knew he only had one chance. He opened his mouth before he could second-guess himself. "It doesn't matter as long as you're mine. I can't-I don't want to do this without you. So whatever you tell me, that's who you are."
"Stand up," Dee ordered. She didn't sound angry, not exactly. "Come on," when he didn't react fast enough for her.
Sam stood with her, separating hardly at all, just enough that they weren't going to knock each other over. "One way or another," she said, and her stubbled cheeks were flushed, "I'm always yours. I've always been yours. How can you not know that? So tell me, Sam-who am I?"
Dean tilted his head up-not as far as he used to, but there was still that gap-as Sam tightened his hand on Dean's shoulder. Now that Sam had let himself see Dean, stopped fighting the pronouns and the instinctive reaction, it was easy, so easy. He moved his hand over the strong curve of muscle, curled his fingers around Dean's neck. "Dean," he said, helpless with it. He could just barely handle being a monster, stuffed on demon blood and twisted desire, but not if Dean rejected him.
Dean nodded like he understood. If he did, Sam wished he'd explain. "Sammy, I know I'm selfish. But I don't want to stay just so we'll have this."
"I know that," Sam reassured him. What they had was wrong, and tangled, and maybe inevitable if Sam's powers were off-limits. But he never wanted to see that horror on Dean's face directed at him, never again.
"Do you?" Dean asked, waiting to speak again until Sam met his eyes. "'Cause I like it. I like how looking good makes people take me seriously. I like how nobody fucking volunteers to help me with the car or tries to jack up the prices just because he can. I like how every guy I meet is ten notches down on the threat level compared to how it was. How I was."
Sam had to close his eyes for a moment. That was hard to hear, not least because he'd always thought that none of that bothered Dee. She'd never have admitted to seeing guys as threats.
Or maybe Sam had never known to ask. "None of that was ever right," he said.
Dean shrugged. "World isn't gonna change. But I did. Least I can do is enjoy it."
The least I can do, Sam thought. He'd thought he was doing more than that, working with Ruby. Now he thought, remembering the arrogance that surged through him alongside the power, that he'd been doing the worst.
"We okay?" Dean asked at last. It was like the entire world let out a breath. His hands fell away from Sam and he took a half step back, but the space between them didn't feel like rejection, more like a pause so that they could remember how to stand on their own.
"Up to you," Sam said, meaning it. The ball's in your court, he thought, and almost sniggered.
Dean looked at him straight-on and clear-eyed, for the first time in too long. "So what are we gonna do about your little demon buddy? She ain't gonna be pleased you got off the powers train."
"Exorcise her?" Sam suggested. "Or I could-I mean, there are still the seals, and Lilith. We need something to fight her with."
Dean shook his head. "Nuh-unh. No fucking way. Demons lie, okay, and just because she's in a catfight with some other demon does not mean she's a friend."
Sam thought about his flask, and he had to admit that he was still drawn towards the power Ruby offered. But here was Dean, whole and finally with him all the way, only asking him to commit. Sam could do that. "So what do you want me to do?" he asked.
Dean shrugged. "Kill demons. Don't do shit demons want you to do."
"And what about angels? You gonna keep following Castiel around like he's-"
"A messenger from God?" Dean suggested.
"Like he pees whiskey and craps cheeseburgers, I was gonna say."
Dean's face contorted, half impressed and half disgusted. "Tell you what, I'll say no if you do."
Sam didn't have to think very hard about that one. "Everybody else can fuck off."
Dean grinned, broad and beautiful. "Sammy, I love it when you get all master planner on me."
Actually Sam was pretty confident that they were going to end up on the bad sides of Heaven and Hell both. And he still had no clue whether he was doing the right thing (fuck the wrong reason; he wasn't expecting to be asked to show his work). But he'd stared at his options, watched them pinned up against a wall, and he knew one thing for sure: he'd rather lose Dee to Dean than to the side of the angels.
END.
Notes: One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman. For the source of some story elements, have some James Tiptree. Also, Thomas Nagel, What Is It Like to Be a Bat? For contrast, Lee Ross.
Thanks: cathexys, beadslut, jenrose, on_verra, and thuviaptarth for thoughtful comments. None of them are responsible for the content.
Thanks also to dreamhunter (who came up with awesome art I never would have imagined), and the organizers of the Big Bang for encouraging me to give this a try. Special love to Thuvia for recognizing the book Sam was jerking off to, and also just to Sam for being my very favorite unreliable narrator. Oh Sam, the S4 angels' refusal to explain themselves was just so well calculated for their long game.
Check out the soundtrack by dreamhunter. And her final piece of art:
Prologue | Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI
He was still finding Dee's lipsticks in the footwell of the Impala.
He looked away. That was Ruby's cue to peel herself off of the door and come to him, sliding up like smoke. His hands tensed to shove her away, but she tilted her head and blinked at him like he was some tempting but flawed property she was thinking of buying.
"You even remember she's a she?" Ruby's voice was sharper than usual.
"Shut up," Sam ordered, but she pressed herself against him, small tight body, soft breasts separated from his skin only by two layers of cotton. He could feel her cheek against his chest as she wrapped her arms around him, nestled close, grim parody of a hug that he'd never get from Dee unless one of them had been thought dead.
Ruby shouldn't have known so easily what had happened (though the smell of the room had to have been some sort of clue). She shouldn't be giving him almost exactly what he needed.
"What would Dee want you to do?" she whispered.
Since Dee had been absent for over twelve hours, he had some pretty clear ideas on that topic. If he manned up and learned how to change her back, she'd be willing to repress and deny. Otherwise there was a good chance she'd get as reckless as she'd been after Dad's death, guilt impelling her towards any sacrifice that looked painful.
"How much longer?" he asked.
Ruby pulled away and started to strip off her jacket. "Soon," she promised. "You gank Lilith and you'll know you're powerful enough to do it without hurting her."
****
Sam got his business with Ruby conducted as quickly as possible.
Dee didn't come back until night had fallen. Sam spent the time in between reading some of the more obscure texts Bobby had scanned for him, learning about as much relevant to averting the apocalypse as he had in Linear Algebra.
Dee didn't knock. She was carrying a bag of burgers, grease-stained and smelling strong enough to make Sam's mouth water. "Bet you were so busy researching you forgot to eat, freak," she said, like she'd just been out pounding the sidewalk on a case.
No surprise and kind of a relief. Sam could absolutely deal with not talking about how terrible his desires were and how he was dragging Dee down with him.
****
In Tempe, Ruby brought three stray dogs to her room.
Sam turned the first one inside out. He shot it (he'd brought his silencer just in case) before it could suffer more than a minute. But he'd felt what he'd done wrong, and he managed to wrench the second one into a different, functional shape. It looked like a female, at least, and its whimpers trailed into silence when he cradled it in his arms.
He did even better with the third dog, improving its ragged appearance along with changing its sex. What he really needed were some hormone tests to make sure that the change was more than cosmetic, so he sent Ruby off to double-check. He couldn't risk an attempt on Dee that might only make matters worse.
****
They were in the middle of a fight at a warehouse with a dozen demons when Castiel popped in, just in time to keep Dee from being eviscerated. He used his finger-mojo to dispatch the nearest demon, then announced over the yowls of the others, "We must talk."
"Kinda busy," Dee grunted as she kicked the body of a teenage girl in the stomach, sending the demon in possession staggering backwards. Sam slashed out with his knife, cutting a line across the forearm of an olive-skinned young man to get him far away enough that Sam could raise his right hand and begin the process of extracting. Before he could even get started, the demon opened its host's mouth and fled, leaving the man to collapse. Sam jumped over him and headed towards the next one.
Dee began to chant an exorcism. The words hit like bricks, forcing Sam to stop. The pain was so great he couldn't see, the way the visions had been in the beginning. He still held the knife out, trying to protect himself, but he was too vulnerable. "Dee," he ground out, pressing his hand to his head. His brain felt like it was bulging out of his skull, about to spray out of his ears if he didn't get some relief.
He felt more than saw Castiel step in front of him, taking out another demon. His blood was buzzing in his ears and it felt like his veins were on fire, stabbing through his body like wires.
More screams and grunts, then silence. Sam blinked as the pain faded. The hosts' bodies lay collapsed on the floor in various states of disrepair; he couldn't remember the last time they'd actually saved a life from possession. His nose was bleeding. He wiped it away and saw both Dee and Castiel staring at the red smears on his fingers.
"What the fuck," Dee said, but there was a note of despair in her voice that meant she didn't need an explanation except for the details.
Castiel frowned. "Your corruption is far advanced," he said. "This increases the urgency of my message."
"Increases?" Sam asked. His head still hurt, and the beams of sunlight stabbing through the decrepit roof blazed in his peripheral vision as he tried to find a way to watch Dee without fainting.
"Six seals remain between Lucifer and his freedom." That meant four down they hadn't heard about until now. "I have ... discovered that Michael plans to intervene."
"Michael, like the archangel," Dee clarified. Castiel didn't answer. "Okay, so, archangel coming down to get in the game, that's gotta be good, right?"
"Archangels are what their names portend, greater than the others. Michael must take a vessel to battle Lucifer on Earth. Otherwise his Grace would destroy the planet."
Dee made a little sound of disgust. "Figures. So who's the schmuck and why do we need to know so bad?"
Castiel was silent. Slowly, Sam raised his head. The air seemed to drain from the warehouse, until Sam had to brace himself against the nearest object, which turned out to be a crate that filled his hand with splinters. He didn't feel it.
"Dean," Castiel said, and the name was like a confession.
"No." Sam barely recognized his own voice, filled with the power he used to pull demons.
Dee had her head cocked like she was imitating Castiel's bird-stance. "Why me?"
"I don't know," Castiel said. But his shoulders were slumped and Sam bet that the angel could give a good guess. So much for his claim that the forces of Heaven weren't involved in what had happened to Dee. "Your essence-to survive such a transformation-there are aspects of humanity we can neither imitate nor change, only borrow."
"So, what, this meatsuit is recyclable now? Michael's gonna fill me up with his archangelness?" Dee didn't sound nearly as horrified as Sam was, more resigned.
"You'd have to say yes. She'd have to say yes, right?" Sam beseeched.
Castiel nodded, his lips pale and tight. "There are, however, many modes of persuasion that might be employed."
Of course, since why would angels shy away from torture if they had no problem with possession? Sam knew enough to believe that Dee would trade herself for him if Michael got convincing enough. But Castiel had been a good little soldier, a model of order-taking, since they'd met him. "Why are you telling us all this?" Sam demanded.
Castiel kept staring at Dee. "I admit that I have been experiencing ... doubts. The measures proposed-it is not for me to question-but I find I cannot refrain. This is why the last seals must not fall. If they remain, then Michael will have no need of a human host."
Once again, useless exhortation delivered as if it was gospel, and Dee nodding along because she was just annoying like that. Sam clenched his fists, even though that sent another spike of pain through his skull. "You have any advice for us on how to pull that one off?"
Castiel glared at him. "Do not have recourse to demons," he said. Then he disappeared, before Sam could ask him what they were supposed to do instead.
****
They didn't talk on the way back to the skeevy motel Dee had found for them. Sam was jittery in the passenger seat, tapping his fingers along the bottom of the window, shifting his knees and squirming until Dee threatened to kick him out at sixty miles an hour. After that he managed to draw in on himself, but that just made him more anxious to get back to fighting.
Dee stalked into the room like she was planning to set it on fire. With Sam inside. She stood with her back to him, shoulders shaking. "When were you gonna tell me you were back to hanging out with the demon chick, Sammy?"
Sam bit his lip. "We can't afford to give up any advantage, you know that."
Dee spun around and for a second Sam was sure she was going to hit him. "How is fucking around with a demon an advantage?"
"She's teaching me how to use my powers," Sam said evenly. "They're in me, they've been in me since I was a baby, and they're not going away, so we might as well do something with them."
"Sam," Dee said, voice rough and pleading, "it's changing you. Maybe you don't see that, but I do. Even this thing with us-"
It was the first time she'd even hinted about their half-drunken coupling, and a wave of lust surged through Sam, making it even more imperative that they change the subject.
"That's not because of Ruby," he snapped. In a flash he was pressed up against her-against Dean-pushing him back against the wall, hands fisted in Dean's shirt. The heat of Dean's body bled into him. "You feel it too."
He could feel Dean's shocked inhale. Their lips were inches apart, an invitation to sin. Sam shifted his weight forward and their legs entangled, grinding Dean against him. They both groaned, Dean turning his head and exposing his throat, a concession in more ways than one. Sam licked up the line of his jaw, across stubble that felt sharp enough to make him bleed. He bit lightly at Dean's earlobe, thrilling at the way that Dean trembled in his arms, like their hearts were pounding to the same beat.
"Let me," he murmured, then nosed against the soft skin just behind where Dean's sideburn ended. Nothing in his life felt good except killing demons and touching Dean. Dean's biceps were firm under his hands, perfect even through the rough cotton of his shirt.
Dean's "Sam ..." was no more than an exhale. When Sam backed away, though, Dean's hands went to his belt, stripping down still braced against the wall.
"Tell me you want me," Sam demanded. He couldn't have Dean pretending, not when the air between them already smelled like sex, not when they were already causing each other so much damage.
Dean didn't pause in shoving his jeans down as he toed off his boots. "You know I do," he said, low and overwhelmed.
"I want to shave you again," Sam said, figuring he ought as well to go for broke.
Dean's hands fumbled and stopped. He flushed, eyes sparkling like he had a fever, and his mouth compressed. But then he pulled off his shirts in a tangle together and moved decisively towards the bathroom, wearing only his tented-out black boxer-briefs.
Sam followed like he was attached by a chain, shedding his own clothes as he went.
This time Sam went slow, holding a hot wet towel to Dean's face to soften the skin first, then stroking the shaving cream on carefully, one finger at a time. Dean closed his eyes and tilted his head up like a penitent saint.
Sam didn't cut him once, even though he was resting his weight on Dean's thighs, both of them balanced precariously on the toilet seat, hips hitching involuntarily every half a minute so that their hard-ons brushed together through their shorts.
After the shave, Sam used the towel again, removing every trace of soap from Dean's skin. He smoothed over Dean's cheeks with his thumbs, feeling the slick new smoothness of the skin, pink with heat and lust. Dean's eyes were dilated, his hair standing up in sweaty spikes, his breath fast and loud in the tiny bathroom. Sam gave in and leaned forward so that he could lick over the lines of Dean's jaw, Dean clean and pure under his tongue.
Dean pushed up and Sam rose with him, turning and walking backwards, trusting Dean not to steer him wrong as they crossed from the cool tile to the tacky old carpet. When he sensed the bed behind him, he let himself fall, bouncing a little as he stared up at Dean.
"Get naked," Dean said, turning away like he was in pain, and Sam fumbled gracelessly to get out of his boxers. Just as he managed to lie back, Dean returned, straddling him with a tube in his hand. Sam whimpered as Dean settled onto his groin, feeling his cock brush against Dean's asscheeks. Dean leaned forward and his erection teased Sam's stomach. Then Dean's hand was behind himself, slicking Sam's cock fast and awkward, nothing close to enough.
Dean grimaced and rose up further, squeezing Sam's hips with his knees as if in reassurance. After a couple of fumbles that had Sam near to screaming, he seated Sam's cockhead just at his entrance, and paused. His face was in shadow, his lashes hiding his eyes, but there was no mistaking the uncertainty there.
"Please," Sam said, and that was enough. Dean sank down, the powerful muscles of his quads letting him control the motion, and Sam was finally inside him. Each inch was slow but inexorable, Dean pressing down with the same steadiness he would've used to stitch a wound. His mouth hung open as he panted. Sam wanted to curl up and kiss him, but was too busy having every synapse in his brain explode with pleasure.
Finally Dean was seated, his full weight driving Sam into the mattress so that it took every ounce of Sam's strength to thrust up. He put his hands on Dean's hips, digging his fingers into the swell of Dean's ass, and started setting a rhythm.
"I want more hands," he said, almost to himself, because Dean's ass was perfect but Dean's cock was being neglected right in front of him, red and hardening again after the first shock of penetration passed. Dean chortled, surprised, then grunted when Sam rolled his hips. He bent over and put one hand almost in the center of Sam's chest, fingertips just brushing the tattoo, and used his other to curl around his dick, jacking himself in time to Sam's movements.
It was too good. "Dean-"
Dean took the warning for what it was. "Don't you come," he ordered, moving his hand faster, soft slapping sound a counterpoint to the noise of their skin sticking and unsticking as Sam pounded into him.
He could feel it, rushing at him like a comet. He was trying so hard to keep it together, fighting not to close his eyes and lose the sight of Dean, the muscles of Dean's arm flexing as his cockhead disappeared into his fist and returned, the sweat on Dean's face making him glow like a golden idol.
He felt the first hot spurts of Dean's jizz at the same time as his own body surrendered, pulsing through him like they were coming together. He pumped up into Dean until he was too sensitive to keep going, and then Dean collapsed onto his chest, Dean's hands tight on his shoulders and their bellies sliding together with the mess Dean had made. Sam's dick slipped free with a jolt that made him gasp and Dean was heavy enough that Sam would've had trouble breathing even if he hadn't just had an orgasm that made him feel like shattered glass.
Lassitude swept over him, even though he knew better than to give into it. Dean squirmed a little, nuzzling his head into the space between Sam's chin and his collarbone, spreading the mess between them still further but moving to the side just enough to let Sam get some much-needed oxygen. Most of his weight was still on Sam, tethering him.
"Don't flip out again, okay?" Sam asked softly, rubbing his fingers over the nape of Dean's neck, up into his hair.
Dean arched into the touch, but: "Not a promise I can make," Dee said, a little sadly, and Sam pulled his hand back. "You're still Sam, you get that, right?"
"Yeah," Sam admitted. He was having trouble enough whiplashing between Dee and Dean, and he could see why it would be worse for her.
"I don't know if I can do this," Dee said.
"You don't have to," Sam offered, mostly meaning it.
She shook her head, pulling her arms away from him, shifting her weight so Sam was left sticky and cold, even though she was still next to him. "I don't know if I can stop. I don't know anymore if it would stop if I went back."
"I think it would," Sam said, because that was the truth. Dee would go back to her one-night stands and Sam would go back to nothing, except when he gave in and imitated her. It would have to be enough. He could live with it. He swallowed. "I hate that you hate it so much."
"I don't hate it," Dee said, like it hurt her to say. She sat up and began to scramble around for her clothes. Sam watched, because he wasn't going to be able to watch forever. Dee had more scars now, most of them from what Alastair had done while she was trapped with him. But she was still perfect, freckles scattered across her pale skin like instructions on where to kiss, muscles standing out with every motion. She kept glancing at him sidelong, which only highlighted how her eyelashes curled and her lower lip (Dean's lower lip, because those were Sam's kisses that had swollen it) had the perfect shape of a valentine's heart.
He needed to protect her, even from himself if necessary. Whatever he wanted didn't matter; it was nothing compared to the sacrifices she'd made. The rush of love he felt for her was overwhelming, greater even than the terror and uncertainty, greater even than the lust.
Watching her move around the hotel room, checking all their gear, it struck him that Ruby's goal for his readiness was oddly specific. All he should really need to do was take out a major demon, and he'd done that twice over, first Samhain and then Alastair. If he wanted to help Dee before their relationship was irreparably damaged, he needed to act now.
"I'm gonna go for a walk," he said, and Dee grunted acknowledgment. Sam slipped his flask into his pocket and headed out.
He chugged the rest of Ruby's blood, nearly the entire flask, standing out by the ice machine and then called her.
****
"Don't tell me we're doing this again," Ruby sighed. She pushed her hair back, a little gesture that reminded him of Dee, back when Dee could do that. "You'd have to be a monster to want to keep her trapped like that," Ruby said.
"I know."
She'd spent too much time with him-her face tightened with apprehension as he approached, as if she knew his plan. "Wait!" she said, holding her hands up in supplication. "You can't waste all your power on her while Lilith is still walking around. You shoot your wad switching her back and Lilith will just kill her. A corpse doesn't care whether it was a boy or a girl."
That was all too plausible. If Dee was especially suited for Michael, then killing her would clear the way for Lucifer.
But how would Ruby know about that, and why hadn't she said anything before? Her new argument was extremely convenient. Sam had seen convenience and demons before, with Azazel and his plans for the Colt.
"I'll kill anyone who tries to hurt Dee," Sam pointed out.
Ruby frowned. She widened her eyes, every atom projecting sincerity. "Lilith's not an ordinary demon, Sam. She's way too powerful for ordinary weapons. It's got to be you, and it's got to be before you weaken yourself for Dee."
And maybe if he hadn't just seen Dee, angry and desperate, he would have taken Ruby more seriously. But Dee was there and needed him now, and this thing between them was its own little gate to Hell. If he didn't fix it, then he couldn't fix anything else.
"I'm sorry," Sam said, and raised his hand. Ruby's mouth wrenched closed, and he ignored her muffled protests until she was too weak to make even those.
****
Stuffed full of Ruby's blood, more than he'd ever taken before, Sam felt he could float out into the parking lot. That would probably attract more attention than he wanted, though.
Off in the middle distance, he could feel something, a kind of sulfurous energy. Demons. Almost as if they were waiting for him. Maybe Ruby had brought them along as extra batteries. Maybe she would've warned him about them if he'd let her. Either way, they were next on the agenda. He hotwired a car and drove in the direction his blood told him to.
They were, of all things, hanging out in a diner, a demon in every patron. The only pure humans in the place were the cook and one waitress. They'd been kept busy with the demons' demands, if the scattered dirty plates full of half-eaten fries were any indication; they'd been kept from running, Sam figured, by the crucified body of the busboy pinned to the door between the kitchen and the counterspace. He raised his hand as he walked in, taking advantage of everyone's gaping surprise to yell "Get out!" while he did his thing.
The waitress dragged the cook out, neither of them touching him, both of them crying as they fled. Sam figured he needed to work fast just in case they got it together to call the cops.
The same sense that let him extract a demon also let him hold them in place, keeping their essence in the blood of the hosts despite their attempts to escape. That was good, not just because it let him feed, but because it also showed flexibility in the power, the kind of flexibility he'd need to pull Dee's essence out of the form in which it was trapped.
He had to expend some of the power of Ruby's blood to pin them to the wall in the back, lining them up, and that gave him another nosebleed, but the payoff was worth it. There was some violation of the law of conservation of energy there, maybe, but demon powers didn't follow the rules of physics anyway, and Sam was feeling too good to worry much about it.
There were enough of them that he didn't drain any one dry before banishing them.
****
Sam was all but bouncing with impatience, sitting on his bed, when Dee opened the door, two sacks of In-n-Out burgers clutched in the hand that wasn't busy with the motel key. "I can switch you back," he said before she was all the way inside. Dee wouldn't have to know about the blood. She wasn't the type to insist on double-checking his research, and she'd be too focused on the results to spend a long time thinking about the methods. And he'd quit after. Or after Lilith was out of the picture, anyway.
Dee stopped in the doorway, letting warm and muggy air into the room. After a long moment, she bumped the door closed with her shoulder, put the burgers on the table underneath the window, and tossed the keys onto one of the dressers. Her back was to him.
"There's probably gonna be a recovery period, so I figured we'll head out, be at Bobby's by Thursday-"
"No," Dee said, not turning around.
Sam squinted. Dee's shoulders were tense. Of course her body was different now, but the posture was sort of similar to how she'd looked every time Sam complained about some order of Dad's she passed on. Like she was pissed at him for fighting the inevitable.
"What?"
"No. Not goin' back."
"Not going back to Bobby's?" he asked, carefully misunderstanding.
Dee turned around now, her eyes already rolling. "Not going back to Dee. Not if it comes from you drinking demon blood."
"Castiel," Sam said grimly. Stood to reason that angelic busybody would be trying to get Dee to himself. But saying that would muddy the issue and anyway he was on admittedly shaky ground when it came to the whole sanguinary aspect of the procedure.
"It doesn't matter where the power comes from," Sam pushed back, breathing hard. "If I can save you, I can make it all mean something."
Dee's face twisted. "You think pumping a fuckton of demon power into my body would save me? I'd rather-"
Sam cut her off, because he couldn't hear her say what she'd rather. "At least we'll be the same then."
"Sam," she said, mouth twisting and eyes shining, and he decided he couldn't hear any of it. "I don't want this."
"You don't know how to want things for yourself." Yeah, Sam had mistaken that characteristic for a lot of things over the years, from perfection to martyrdom, but he'd eventually figured it out.
"Bullshit," Dee snapped and took two quick steps towards him, raising her hands as if she was considering hitting him. "I want you to be safe. That's not the same thing."
Sam's anger pulsed in his stomach, and he restrained himself from fisting his own hands. It was just typical for her to pull this sort of thing on him when he was finally ready to get the job done. "I need to protect you from Michael," Sam said, trying for reason, when he'd reasserted control over himself. She was at risk of turning into some kind of angel puppet, not to mention so miserable he'd gone out and gotten so pumped up he felt like a deer tick, full to bursting, and now she changed her mind?
Dee shook her head. "No reason to think Michael would give up if I got switched back, since they already think I'm something special. Changing back just proves I'll stretch to fit, I bet. I'll just have to say no when he shows up." She looked away and, probably unconsciously, brushed her hand over her gun.
Sam was usually pretty tolerant of Dee's bullshit, but-he'd been working on this for months, obsessed with doing one thing for Dee that might make up for some of the crap in her life. He'd been taking his shitty demonic destiny and revising it into something that could actually help.
"I'm sorry," he said, the same words he'd said to Ruby, and something in his tone alerted her, because her head jerked up and her mouth worked and then she was pushed back against the closed door, held there while he concentrated on finding her soul, seeing how it was threaded through her body. With the demons it was about pulling them out while leaving the body intact. This was just the opposite, and he could see exactly how it would work.
Sam could feel all the ways he could manipulate her body, inside and out. He had a thought, just for a moment, that he could take this one last chance to be with her, hold her close, breathe in Dean's scent, no one to blame this time but him. She was so beautiful, even with her lashes clumped with tears, her eyes so wide he could see white all around the irises.
He shook his head to clear it. He didn't know how long he could sustain this amount of power. He had to keep his eyes on the prize.
Dee was pinned, squirming like a grave worm, not able to move enough to interfere. He let his power curl through her, inside every cell, preparing for the change. It was strange: there was no sign of anything unnatural, nothing like the scent of sulfur that demons shed or the sticky, wrong taste of a possessed host's blood. Whatever Castiel had sensed in her was invisible to Sam. Dean's body gave the complete illusion of reality. Sam felt his own blood pounding, eager to work his will. He stepped closer, his hand up not just to channel the power but to reach out to her. He could have gutted her with a thought, but instead he was going to show her just how strong he was.
And now he did smell sulfur, curling thick in his nostrils, like it had been baking on a radiator. Dee's face was wet, weak, almost pathetic. He could fix lots of things about her, he thought. Andy's interventions had only been temporary, but Sam was so much stronger now than any of the other children had ever had opportunity to become.
"Please, Sammy," she gasped, tears streaming down her face. Like she'd said please to Dad, when he'd been possessed. Strange, because he hadn't seen her as weak then, only desperate. He remembered her telling him about how it had felt to use the Colt on a possessed human that first time. She'd been scared of herself, but never of Sam.
Clarity came like ice: everything he'd been thinking flipped, like looking in a mirror and seeing a black-eyed monster looking back.
He released her and collapsed to his knees, covering his face with his hands. He wanted to throw up, but the taste of the blood coming back up might be enough to drive him over the edge again, worthless junkie unable to see past the next hit. In a second, Dee was kneeling next to him, hugging him close, and he didn't know how she could bear to do it. He was shivering, the air in the room suddenly freezer-cold, unless the demon blood was burning him up from the inside the way it should if there was any justice in the world.
"You should kill me," he gasped out. "Like Dad said, you should-"
Dee grabbed his face in her hands and turned him towards her. "Sammy," she said, wrecked. "No, no. That isn't-okay, drinking demon blood, you screwed up this time. But you can stop. You are so much better than that."
Sam nearly snorted through his tears. What exactly was her evidence for that? "The angels say," but he choked and was unable to finish.
Dee grunted. "Like those whack-jobs have anything to talk about. Sam," she said, soft and careful. "I know I'm hard on you, but. I, uh, I measure the rest of the world by how well it stacks up to you." She tugged him forward until his face was mashed against her chest, hard and muscular but still somehow yielding to him.
When she spoke again, he felt the words vibrating through him, like they were coming from both of their bodies at the same time. "I guess I need to-look, I don't think what happened to me's part of somebody's big plan, even if it they tell you it is. Even if it was on purpose, it doesn't have to mean what anybody else says it does. Maybe it's not the body I'd choose if I got to go to the body Wal-Mart or whatever. But it's mine, okay. It's not-"
It's not yours. Sam heard it even if she didn't finish. "Okay," he said, meaning: I choose you. The tattoo, the new scars, the bulk of her body: she was choosing between losses.
Slowly, waiting for her to flinch, he slid his arms around her. She shifted and twisted to get them settled better, but she didn't move away. He sighed, and even with his congestion-numbed senses he reacted to how good she smelled, sharp with the day's sweat.
"There's one part we haven't talked about," he said softly.
He felt her nod. She wasn't so committed to denial that she didn't know this needed to be settled. If it could be. If she said no, Sam wasn't sure how long it would be before they'd be drunk again, giving in, both of them hating Sam a little more every time. Never enough to get Dee to leave, if he was very lucky, but enough to make them both constantly miserable, and maybe enough to make angelic sacrifice look good.
She was probably even more grateful than he was that, pressed up together like this, they couldn't see each other's faces. "So I'm Dean when we're fucking. But who am I the rest of the time?"
Sam knew he only had one chance. He opened his mouth before he could second-guess himself. "It doesn't matter as long as you're mine. I can't-I don't want to do this without you. So whatever you tell me, that's who you are."
"Stand up," Dee ordered. She didn't sound angry, not exactly. "Come on," when he didn't react fast enough for her.
Sam stood with her, separating hardly at all, just enough that they weren't going to knock each other over. "One way or another," she said, and her stubbled cheeks were flushed, "I'm always yours. I've always been yours. How can you not know that? So tell me, Sam-who am I?"
Dean tilted his head up-not as far as he used to, but there was still that gap-as Sam tightened his hand on Dean's shoulder. Now that Sam had let himself see Dean, stopped fighting the pronouns and the instinctive reaction, it was easy, so easy. He moved his hand over the strong curve of muscle, curled his fingers around Dean's neck. "Dean," he said, helpless with it. He could just barely handle being a monster, stuffed on demon blood and twisted desire, but not if Dean rejected him.
Dean nodded like he understood. If he did, Sam wished he'd explain. "Sammy, I know I'm selfish. But I don't want to stay just so we'll have this."
"I know that," Sam reassured him. What they had was wrong, and tangled, and maybe inevitable if Sam's powers were off-limits. But he never wanted to see that horror on Dean's face directed at him, never again.
"Do you?" Dean asked, waiting to speak again until Sam met his eyes. "'Cause I like it. I like how looking good makes people take me seriously. I like how nobody fucking volunteers to help me with the car or tries to jack up the prices just because he can. I like how every guy I meet is ten notches down on the threat level compared to how it was. How I was."
Sam had to close his eyes for a moment. That was hard to hear, not least because he'd always thought that none of that bothered Dee. She'd never have admitted to seeing guys as threats.
Or maybe Sam had never known to ask. "None of that was ever right," he said.
Dean shrugged. "World isn't gonna change. But I did. Least I can do is enjoy it."
The least I can do, Sam thought. He'd thought he was doing more than that, working with Ruby. Now he thought, remembering the arrogance that surged through him alongside the power, that he'd been doing the worst.
"We okay?" Dean asked at last. It was like the entire world let out a breath. His hands fell away from Sam and he took a half step back, but the space between them didn't feel like rejection, more like a pause so that they could remember how to stand on their own.
"Up to you," Sam said, meaning it. The ball's in your court, he thought, and almost sniggered.
Dean looked at him straight-on and clear-eyed, for the first time in too long. "So what are we gonna do about your little demon buddy? She ain't gonna be pleased you got off the powers train."
"Exorcise her?" Sam suggested. "Or I could-I mean, there are still the seals, and Lilith. We need something to fight her with."
Dean shook his head. "Nuh-unh. No fucking way. Demons lie, okay, and just because she's in a catfight with some other demon does not mean she's a friend."
Sam thought about his flask, and he had to admit that he was still drawn towards the power Ruby offered. But here was Dean, whole and finally with him all the way, only asking him to commit. Sam could do that. "So what do you want me to do?" he asked.
Dean shrugged. "Kill demons. Don't do shit demons want you to do."
"And what about angels? You gonna keep following Castiel around like he's-"
"A messenger from God?" Dean suggested.
"Like he pees whiskey and craps cheeseburgers, I was gonna say."
Dean's face contorted, half impressed and half disgusted. "Tell you what, I'll say no if you do."
Sam didn't have to think very hard about that one. "Everybody else can fuck off."
Dean grinned, broad and beautiful. "Sammy, I love it when you get all master planner on me."
Actually Sam was pretty confident that they were going to end up on the bad sides of Heaven and Hell both. And he still had no clue whether he was doing the right thing (fuck the wrong reason; he wasn't expecting to be asked to show his work). But he'd stared at his options, watched them pinned up against a wall, and he knew one thing for sure: he'd rather lose Dee to Dean than to the side of the angels.
END.
Notes: One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman. For the source of some story elements, have some James Tiptree. Also, Thomas Nagel, What Is It Like to Be a Bat? For contrast, Lee Ross.
Thanks: cathexys, beadslut, jenrose, on_verra, and thuviaptarth for thoughtful comments. None of them are responsible for the content.
Thanks also to dreamhunter (who came up with awesome art I never would have imagined), and the organizers of the Big Bang for encouraging me to give this a try. Special love to Thuvia for recognizing the book Sam was jerking off to, and also just to Sam for being my very favorite unreliable narrator. Oh Sam, the S4 angels' refusal to explain themselves was just so well calculated for their long game.
Check out the soundtrack by dreamhunter. And her final piece of art:
Prologue | Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI