SPN: Dealing With Devils 2/2 {Sam/Dean; Sam/Jake; NC-17}
Title: Dealing With Devils
Fandom: Supernatural/DeVour [crossover]
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean; Sam/Jake; Ruby
Rating/Warnings: NC-17; graphic m/m content, graphic incest, dark themes [including dub-con]
Word Count: 10,000+
Summary: […] he looks with tired eyes at all the people hypnotized // and wonders what can save him from a self-created hell.
Notes: Dedicated to mona1347 on the occasion of her birthday. Because I adore her verily. See the end of fic for further necessary details.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Notes/Acknowledgments & Soundtrack
Dealing With Devils
by keepaofthecheez.
Part 2.
Two hours after Dean falls asleep, Sam plays the Pathway. Two hours after Sam wakes up, he gets the first phone call.
They’re holed up in a diner just off the main highway, early morning rain coming down soft and sweet outside. It’s a sharp contrast to frying meat and grease, but not altogether unpleasant, and Sam relaxes for the first time in days. Drinks hot coffee and studies his laptop.
Dean’s in the corner chatting up their friendly-eyed waitress about the latest victim-fair-haired Amy Baker from Keizer-but he keeps glancing Sam’s way every few moments, checking up, unable to keep up the usual flirty pretense. Any other time and Sam might’ve felt a perverse sort of satisfaction in that. Instead, he wishes Dean far away and frowns as his research reaches yet another dead end.
The grisly details surrounding Jake’s arrest and trial aren’t too difficult to find, but there the trail just…ends. No follow-up articles mentioning the victims’ families, friends, or their reactions, and nothing at all about Jake’s family. Sam does read about an adoption in early May, 1983, and an odd weight settles in his gut. The coffee at his elbow is cold by the time he brings it back to his lips.
When the screen fades to black, too long, Sam frowns and wonders if he’s just gone and unleashed some kind of deadly virus into his own unsuspecting system. His cell phone rings, unknown tone, local area code and a flash of 666-5983.
Sam’s pretty sure the city of Salem put an exchange policy on numbers with the mark of the beast starting back in 2000. It doesn’t stop him from answering anyway.
The voice on the other end is female, rich and sultry, and completely unfamiliar. “Why do you continue to deny what you really want, Sam?”
Sam’s eyes immediately pass over Dean, his brother’s easy grin and the welcoming invitation answered on the pretty waitress’s face. “Who is this?” he asks, ignoring the flash of irritation, goddamn jealousy over something he has no control over. Never has, and never will.
“A friend. Someone who wants to help.” Soothing, peaceful. Persuasive. “There’s always a way, Sam. You know that better than anyone.”
Sam opens his mouth to reply, unsure of what he even plans to say, and then the dial tone is buzzing in his ear and Dean’s at his side.
“So, get this.” Dean leans a hip against the table, close enough for Sam to feel heat through layers of cotton and denim.
Sam shuts the laptop with a loud clap, gazing up at Dean in forced innocence. “Huh?”
Dean smirks, but Sam glimpses irritation behind the expression. “Up to no good, Sammy?” he wonders, chewing on a sugary doughnut, and the idle comment feels more like a punch to the mouth. Dean’s always had a nasty right hook.
Sam still hesitates. Isn’t sure why he just…doesn’t want to tell Dean about it. Any of it, the Pathway, what he’s learned about Jake, the ideas slowly taking shape in his mind. He’s not blind, and it’s hard to ignore the telltale frown lurking in Dean’s eyes. The increasing wariness every time he doesn’t think Sam is paying attention.
“Um. Just checking email, what’s up?” he says, lies, and offers up a smile that’s two shades too bright.
“Right.” Dean clears his throat, shaking his head and sliding into the opposite chair from Sam. Any previous warmth is gone, and Sam mourns it for all of a moment before reminding himself: this is just the way it has to be. If he’s learned anything on this never-ending, horrific journey, it’s that what he wants to be true--and what actually is--often falls short of what’s really important.
Dean’s fingers fumble with a shaker of salt, quicksilver pain flashing across his features before they’re wiped clean again, and Sam’s determination solidifies.
“Do you need-”
“Don’t,” comes Dean’s gruff reply, spots of color blooming across his cheeks. “Just…don’t ask me, all right?”
“Dean.” Helpless hands, and God, but Sam would make it all go away if he could.
“So,” Dean speaks over him, and it’s that brash, obnoxious tone Sam knows all too well. And what it means. “Linda-hot blonde, bringer of bagels?-she knows a guy named Andrew, who was apparently friends with some chick named Beth, who dated our dead girl’s brother like two weeks before she went all Lizzie Borden whacky-whacky.”
Despite himself and the situation, Sam can’t help but blow out a frustrated laugh. “Dude, run that by me again? I don’t have any junior high school girls around for translation.”
“It means that I got us some info, Sammy, while you were here moping in your Kool-Aid.” But this time, there’s little to no heat, and the two share a small smile that quickly turns hot and uncomfortable. At least, for Sam. He’s pretty certain Dean’s not imagining the many things Sam’s mouth could accomplish, but hell, crazier things have been known to happen in Sam’s life.
Speaking of which. “I think I should go and see Jake again.” He stares carefully at the remains of buttered toast on his plate before risking a glance back at Dean. Sure enough, his brother’s jaw is working, but then Dean surprises him by offering a slight nod.
“Yeah. Maybe we should.”
Not ‘we’, Sam starts to speak, then his pocket vibrates again. Sam goes stock-still, unable to keep from letting the surprise cross his face, and Dean snags a slice of bacon and watches, waits, pointedly.
“Gonna answer that?”
When Sam doesn’t answer, Dean’s lips go flat and before Sam can even widen his eyes, his brother’s up and shoving five fingers down Sam’s jeans. “Jesus!” he gasps, hips bucking, wild, ridiculous hope warring with some reason he should be protesting…not letting Dean get his hands on-
“Who the hell is this?” Dean spits out. Sam moves to grab the receiver away, and Dean stabs him with the tines of his fork. Sam bites back a curse, runs a hand through his hair and glares at anything and everything but his overbearing asshole of a brother.
Dean’s looking more like the growing thunderstorm outside by the time he ends the call, tossing Sam’s phone on the table. Neither of them have much of anything to say, and Dean’s questioning anger is eclipsed by honest-to-God worry that has Sam’s chest clenching, even as he picks up the phone and stands.
“It’s nothing, just a stupid game.” Sam’s already walking away. “Don’t ask me, all right?”
xxx
It’s easy to get in and see Jake again, maybe too easy, and Sam’s a bit shaken when he’s led without question down to a different room than before. No windows, just a wall of cement and white paint. He’s never felt claustrophobic in his life; now he wants to claw his way back out to sunshine and sky.
Jake doesn’t turn around to greet him or show any sign that he even realizes Sam is there. Just continues tracing his forearm while Sam vibrates with nervous tension, the faint outline of a tattoo Sam can’t make out until he comes closer.
An orchid. Symbol of lust, greed, wealth. The facts fly through Sam’s mind almost on auto-pilot, and he wets his lips uncertainly.
“When’s your birthday, Sam?”
The question doesn’t take him off-guard like maybe it should have. “Um. May second,” he says, staring at the back of Jake’s neck. The short hairs catching the light, freckles almost identical to Dean’s creating a hypnotizing star point.
“Interesting coincidence, don’t you think?” He can’t see Jake’s sly smile, but he hears it. “I wonder what else we have in common.”
Sam frowns and shakes off the cryptic warning, thinks of Dean sitting in the motel room. Feverish and completely disconnected, unable to argue Sam’s departure. “I found the Pathway,” he says, and Jake’s idle stroking stills.
“That’s not how it works.” Jake bows his head, and again Sam’s fighting an almost desperate urge to submit. To what, isn’t the problem. “It’s…more complicated than that. If anything, it found you.”
“And why would it do that?” When Jake remains silent, turned away, Sam finally breaks. “Look at me, damn it!”
He isn’t sure why he needs that, just that those eyes are a source of both unexplainable panic and serenity. The relief that settles into his bones when Jake finally turns is second only to the urge to run from the room before he can hear anything more.
But Sam’s a Winchester, and he’s used to fighting his own desires on principle.
“You were supposed to be mine,” is all Jake says, as if he’s simply repeating a line that’s been cemented into his brain. He licks his lips, eyes sparking. “Now you will be.”
There’s a beat of silence; Sam’s fists curl at his sides. “Help me understand,” he grits out. What you are.
“Do you know what you are, Sam?” There’s an almost pitying chord in Jake’s voice, his head tilted and gaze direct, thoughtful.
“I know I’m not whatever you think I am.”
“Then why don’t you just ask me what you want to know and be done with it,” Jake says, and now his expression is drawn, tired, and Sam feels a pang of regret he can’t understand.
He wants to shout, he has been asking. But he knows it isn’t true. He’s said nothing of his true intentions. He’s terrified of Jake’s answer.
“Can you…” His tongue thickens on the question, and it’s the reminder of Dean spread out on the bed, flushed, in denial, the sounds of hellhounds shrieking in his ears that finally gets it out. “Can you help him?”
Jake stares at him for a long moment. Several emotions pass through those green-gold eyes, and Sam’s desperation mounts with every single second. Promises he knows he’ll never keep, begging.
“Help him, or save him?” Jake asks softly. “Does this mean you believe, Sam?”
Sam forces it out. “Please.”
Jake’s relentless gaze is starting to give him a headache, although Sam isn’t sure if it’s because he’s trying to resist it, or simply can’t. “There’s always a trade. What are you willing to sacrifice?”
There’s always a way, Sam.
And there’s really only one answer. “I want Dean’s contract.” Sam can’t believe he’s asking, can’t believe he accepts this, any of it, but there’s no mistaking the triumph coloring Jake’s features, or the sinking feeling in Sam’s gut.
“Then you come back to me.” Jake steeples his fingers against his mouth. “And we’ll make a new deal.”
xxx
All things considered, Sam’s not the least bit surprised when he gets back to the Travelodge and Ruby’s there waiting for him.
“Since you’re not bleeding, I’ll assume Dean hasn’t seen you yet.” Sam climbs the stairs and ignores the knowing glint in demon-black orbs.
“Brother Dear passed out an hour ago. I gave him a little something to ease the way, he’ll sleep it off until morning.” She falls into step beside him, red jacket fluttering in the wind as Sam takes off toward the back of the building. A beat later, “You can thank me any time, you know.”
Sam’s thoughts are on Dean, the Crossroads deal, and the little time they have left. “Thank you?” His fingers feel clumsy and too-big as he searches for his keys. “If it wasn’t for you-”
“You wouldn’t have this opportunity,” Ruby reminds him, leaning in and licking shiny-red lips. Sam’s jaw clenches, he shoves the key in the lock. “Sam, we need to talk.”
Sam finally turns, one hand gripping the doorknob. “The only thing I need right now is to make sure my brother’s still alive and breathing.” The dismissal is evident, but Ruby just smirks. Runs a finger along the sleeve of Sam’s shirt, digging in just enough to get Sam’s attention.
“Oh, honey. Don’cha trust me?”
Sam shakes her off. Goes inside and sees a familiar lump buried under threadbare sheets, Dean’s breathing uneven but strong. Alive. He’s not too late, the deal isn’t early.
He forgets Ruby’s in the room as his legs give out and he sinks to the floor. Head in his hands, shoulders quaking with silent relief. “God.” Sam’s breath hitches, and then he looks up and sees Ruby watching. “Why are you here?”
There’s something almost pitying the way she looks at him, and it makes Sam stand tall. He’s not quite able to pull it together completely, and settles for restacking a bunch of skin mags Dean’s left scattered across the table.
“It’s about the Pathway,” Ruby says, and Sam stills. “About your involvement…Sam, listen to me, okay?”
Sam waves a magnanimous hand.
“Jake’s my…well, he saved me. When I needed it, when no one of my kind would.” Ruby’s lips twist, but with a certain fondness even she can’t hide, and Sam’s momentarily fascinated. “I’ve been loyal to him ever since. I do whatever he asks of me, whatever he wants.”
“How adorable.” There’s a pulsing ache in his head that threatens to grow stronger. “Listen, Ruby, I-”
“What he wants most of all, is you. Sam.” Ruby lifts a hand, twists at a thick, decorative silver band around her finger. “It’s time you knew the truth.”
“Yeah,” Sam echoes, barely loud enough to make a point. “I think it’s time I did.”
“The night Azazel came for you, the night your mother died…” Ruby looks almost as discomfited as Sam feels. It makes her sarcasm thicker. “What you don’t know, what none of you ticking time bombs know is that Lucifer’s son was stolen from her the night he was born. The same night a rogue army tried to overthrow and take over Hell as we know it. The same night Samuel Winchester took his first breath, all of these things came to pass and jumpstarted a chain of events inevitably leading to this moment, this conclusion.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re saying.” But he was terrified he did.
“You were Chosen, Sam. You know this.” Even now, Ruby’s voice still took on a reverent edge whenever she spoke of Azazel’s ultimate plan, and a deep-seated fury began to take root in Sam’s breast. “But then, so was Dean.”
Sam’s blood goes cold.
“He’s a vessel. Azazel needed an easy fix, so he used Dean that night as a human mold for Lucifer’s son to survive in this world until she could find a way to find him, bring him back. Weed out the people who betrayed and used her, hid him from her. Those who loved Jake she saw as an opportunistic threat, and she-”
“Killed them,” Sam finished hollowly, realization dawning. “Drove them to do it to themselves. The Pathway?”
Ruby’s tight smile was enough of an answer. “Only…Jake ended up betraying her far worse. Refused to come back, shunned her methods, tried to kill her. And so she punished him. All of us, really.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“You were meant to rule at Jake’s side. Without the two of you, things divided down the middle. What’s leaking out of that gate is nothing, Sam. I’m talking true war.” Ruby cocks her head. “And to answer the bigger question you refuse to ask, Dean’s supposed to die.”
The truth of that statement steals Sam’s breath. “It’s why they want him so bad.”
“Bingo, cutie. You belong to Jake in their minds; they can’t touch your soul. But Dean…Dean was never meant to survive.” She pauses for a moment, watches Sam carefully. Then, softer, “I promised you-that night in Cicero-I would find a way to save your brother.”
Sam wants to laugh, feels hysterical and broken. “And this is your idea? Trading Dean for some fucked-up son of Satan so there isn’t a goddamn civil war in Hell?”
“No, Sam.” Ruby’s eyes flicker between black and green. “I’m talking about giving Jake what he wants. Having him break the deal.”
And what he wants most of all, is you.
xxx
“No.”
It kills a little more of Sam to see the wild-eyed terror in Dean’s eyes when they break the news, but there’s no other option. Dean’s dying; not the quick, instant blow they were expecting, but slow, costly, and much more vicious. One final joke the Crossroads demon failed to mention before Sam blew her brains out across the cold, hard ground.
“Dean.” Sam wants to explain, force him to understand, but Dean’s already shaking his head and backing far away from Sam’s questing reassurance. “Please,” he chokes out. “I can’t just let this happen to you, not when I can do something to stop it. Okay?”
“Fuck you, Sam.” The curse is bitter and weighted and hurts them both. “You think this is what I want? I’ve had my goddamn fill of self-sacrifice in this goddamn fucking family, and I just…” Dean’s eyes are shining, and Sam can’t look away no matter how much he wants to. “I don’t want it.”
“Well, it’s not your choice.” It comes out too thick to be strong, but Sam doesn’t let the angry, frustrated tears in either of their eyes sway his point. “Christ, Dean, don’t you get it…if it means the end of this fucking nightmare, I would…I would do so much more than-”
Dean turns around and walks away, leaving Sam vibrating with sick nerves in the middle of the motel room. Ruby’s on the balcony, not even trying to hide her interest, and with one last look at Dean’s stiff-gaited figure storming toward the Impala, Sam beckons with a single finger. Takes off the opposite direction and tries to convince himself that it wasn’t abandonment, goodbye, that he saw in Dean’s eyes.
The drive to the institution feels like Sam’s entire life; he doesn’t ask where Ruby found the car, or even put up a token protest when they bypass night security and leave three guards stunned, empty-eyed, and laid out across the decorated linoleum pattern.
Of course, Jake’s expecting him, and with newfound knowledge Sam stares straight into the face of his downfall and salvation. Imagines riding country-miles with his brother in the driver’s seat, Dean’s damn cock-rock blaring.
And maybe Sam never really realized how in love with that scenario he really is.
“Forget him, Sam. He’s safe now.” Jake’s comforting words weigh like lead. “You know it’s true?”
“He knows,” Ruby answers, shooting Sam an unreadable look before melting into the shadows.
“What do you want from me?” Sam intones, lifeless and ridden. Jake’s circling, predator to prey, and Sam doesn’t want to admit to a certain thrill welling up inside.
And then Jake’s standing behind him, hands on Sam’s hips and mouth a mere breath away. “Just this.” Sam shudders at that first kiss; disgust, desire, anything and everything in between.
“Would it help if I hurt you?” Jake whispers, and the hunger there is almost Sam’s undoing. “Made you feel like you had a fighting chance?”
So much like Dean, but nothing like him, too. Sam’s only getting harder.
“Is that what you want?” He’s not going to fight it.
“To hurt you?” Jake smiles. “Maybe.”
“Then do it,” Sam grits out. Just as long as it’s me.
xxx
He’s been handcuffed to the wall for going on ten hours. Sam doesn’t know how he knows, why no one’s come in to check, or where Jake even got the cuffs in the first place. To be honest, he doesn’t care. The pain’s almost worth it, something tangible and real, an extension of the initial beating he took over being chained up.
Through sweat-stung eyes, he stares up at Jake. Licks bruised lips. “I wanna see him…I need.” His voice cracks, drawing a flash of sympathy from the hard glare of Jake’s gaze. “Please. I need to know.”
Calloused fingertips brush across his bare chest, Jake’s nail catching a nipple and causing an involuntary shudder from deep inside. “How will that help you forget him?” Jake murmurs, free hand wrapping around Sam’s neck, sliding up and into his hair.
“Forget him,” Sam laughs, bitter and useless. “Is that what you think will happen? When every time I look at you, I see-”
“Don’t.” But Jake doesn’t seem angry, which maybe confuses Sam more than anything. His throat works in counterpoint to Jake’s mouth, soft and wet against his jaw. Then, pointed, “We had a deal, Sam.”
He knows. God, he knows, feels it in every tender bruise and bite. Jake pulls back, watching him with infinite calm and patience, and Sam’s ashamed that a part of him maybe could give in and forget Dean. Not for this, Jake, not exactly, but because…it’s safer this way. Dean’s safe, from him, from Hell, and Sam’s free to carry out his macabre masochism without judgment.
When Jake’s fingers close hot and tight around his cock, Sam bites down on his lip to keep from crying out. That’s a weakness he’s not comfortable with, and one he knows Jake craves with every fleck of gold in glitter-green eyes.
The last time he was in this position, it was soft hands and curves. Madison’s sighs breezing past ghosts and shadows. Even when he started looking at Dean differently, he never really knew what to imagine. Never could quite get it right, how it’d feel, hard lines and sharp angles.
All things considered, he can’t deny the rush of excitement, the urge to thrust and groan and vocalize how fucking good it really is, and it’s not even real. Not the way Sam wants it to be.
“It could be,” Jake whispers, thumb pressing in against Sam’s cockhead, and Sam can’t help the shudder of his hips. He doesn’t meet Jake’s piercing stare, but his belly curls, warm and needy. “This could be everything. Let me show you.”
Something in the words snaps Sam’s attention, and then he’s drowning in heavy-lidded pupil and, God, Dean. “Please.” He jerks helplessly against the cuffs. It’s being pulled out of him, every filthy urge and dirty inclination repressed for months, years. Dean’s looking back at him and wanting it, and Sam’s eyes close on a choked sob.
“Yeah, Sam.” Soft, persuasive. That gritty edge of possession Sam’s grown used to over the past three years. Dean’s jacking him slow and steady, gun callus catching and dragging hushed sounds from Sam’s throat. “I want this, too, you know.”
“Why-” His breath clogs his throat, turns thick. “No, you. You never.” You never looked twice at me. “It’s me, all me.”
“C’mon, Sammy. You really think I’m as good, as pure as all that?” Dean’s voice is almost a sneer, still gentle, but rumbling through Sam’s conscious until, God, it’s an ache to believe it. Dean’s mouth presses against his hip, words branding Sam from the inside out. “The shit I’ve done? Wanting to fuck my baby brother’s a free pass, a gimme crime.”
Sam grits his teeth, lets Dean’s lips sink down over him. Right then, Sam knows with every fibre of his being that this is unequivocally wrong. It’s absolutely wicked, the pleasure he gets just from seeing Dean sucking his cock. It’s beyond sinful to feel it, enjoy it, and if he could he’d have Dean by the hair and pulling him closer. Gagging his brother’s throat, fingers wrapped around Dean’s neck.
He settles instead for fucking Dean’s mouth and offering up apologies to no one.
xxx
When Jake’s riding his dick, Sam braces himself not to come. It’s another form of punishment. There’s no pretending anymore, this isn’t Dean, and it’s starting to be that he just doesn’t give a damn. Same face, same eyes, same damn ache. It gets more difficult to control himself, not to pound and pump and take what he wants, what little he can have.
Thick bruises ring his wrists where the cuffs bite and choke, nourishing fresh scar tissue, but Sam only pulls harder against them. Savors his suffering. Swallows Jake’s groans and buries his own down deep inside.
“Fuck me,” Jake’s saying, swearing, grinding his hips down harder and tonguing the base of Sam’s throat until it stings.
Sam fucks him. He fucks him, and fucks him, and saves Dean over and over again. That’s what ultimately gets him off every time; he’s doing something primal and real, and Dean’s benefiting from it.
It’s a dreamy sort of satisfaction, and it only makes him harder. He imagines Dean spread out wide, jerking himself off with those pretty eyes blown black, begging filth and every nasty thing under the sun Sam can think of, and it’s enough.
xxx
He loses time.
Counts the passing minutes, seconds, by the warm press of Jake’s mouth on him. The weight of his hands. He’s stopped asking for details about Dean; it seems to satisfy Jake and Sam’s mind can’t handle the consequences.
He doesn’t need the handcuffs anymore, but sometimes he asks for them anyway. Anything to keep from reaching up around his own neck and hearing that sweet, sickening break. It’s wrong, and he sees that worried knowledge gleaming back through Jake’s eyes when they fuck, but it’s calling to him.
He dreams of Dean. Of the murky lake in Manitoc, Jim’s church in Blue Earth. Past and present, but always Dean…disappointment brimming behind his brother’s features until Sam wakes from his own internal nightmare. Soaked through and bleeding tears.
Help me, he thinks, and Jake whispers back, “It’s time to be saved.”
When it finally happens, Sam’s half-out of his mind and can barely process the click of a pistol. The hard edge of a familiar voice, Jake’s earnest replies.
“Do it. You have to do it, please.”
Sam opens swollen eyes, and finds Dean pressing a .45 inside Jake’s mouth. His brother looks healthy and whole, but pale from exhaustion, anger. Jake’s flushed and almost blissful, eyes closing, mouth wet around the barrel of Dean’s gun, and Sam swallows.
“Dean, please…don’t.”
His husky croak startles both men, and there’s a flash of something in Jake’s eyes that Sam can’t pinpoint. Dean, on the other hand, is more open than a textbook. Relief, fear, pure, unadulterated rage.
“Are you okay?” he asks, eyes returning to Jake.
“I hurt him,” Jake says, almost pleadingly, rubbing his cheek against the spit-slicked gun and gasping for breath. “You have to kill me. Do it!”
Dean’s hand is trembling; Sam whispers his name and watches his brother jerk.
“If I survive, you never will.” Jake’s voice turns mocking, provoking, and comes out in a low rush that Sam can barely hear. But Dean’s taking it in, eyes going wide with shock and realization as he sneaks another look at Sam. Tightens his grip on the pistol and Jake’s head. “Shoot me. Don’t…don’t leave me like this, don’t let me turn into what they want.”
He turns toward Sam, a slight, jittery movement that reminds Sam of a frightened animal. “Don’t let her have me.”
Dean’s equally freaked out, trembling so hard his teeth are chattering. “S-Sam, I can’t-”
His finger starts to press the trigger, Sam struggles to come to his feet. “Dean, Dean, wait, just-”
The blast ricochets off the wall, and warmth stings Sam’s face, his eyes. Copper and death, and when he opens his eyes again he sees Dean slumped on the floor. The pistol clatters to the ground and Sam closes the distance and takes his brother’s shoulders. Tries to ignore what’s left of Jake Gray on a dirty hospital floor and forces Dean’s haunted gaze to meet his own.
“God, what’ve I done.” Dean’s color is coming back, and Sam knows.
“You couldn’t stop it, no one could.” Dean simply stares at him, and Sam can still feel Jake’s lips.
“It’s what he really wanted all along.”
xxx
Sam’s shoved nose against the wall the moment he follows Dean inside. Fresh bruises have him hissing, and then Dean’s there. Pressed up, hot and angry, so fucking angry, and Sam feels it with every ragged breath.
The scent of smoke, salt, and bones still clings to his brother’s fingers as he reaches around Sam, finds Sam’s buckle and snaps it apart. Sam’s legs are shaking; neither one of them say a damn thing as Dean whips the belt free from its loops. It’s between Sam’s teeth a second later, Dean’s hand in his hair and Dean’s dick hard, demanding, against Sam’s bare ass.
Dean jerks the belt; Sam spreads his legs and gets fucked for the first time, against the door, with his big brother swearing sweet filth in his ear. Apologies, recriminations, accusations…and Sam takes it all in and, God, loves it.
“This is me, Sam.” Dean’s voice is a thready rasp, made sharper by teeth and nails. Deep thrust of cock. Sam grunts a reply through leather, something like please, and Dean’s fingers squeeze on the belt. “Not some damn phantom you’ve created so you don’t have to face big brother and have him know what a-ah-bad boy you are.”
“Fuck,” Sam says, and god, they are.
This is nothing like how it was with Jake, even at its darkest. Dean’s completely in control, but Sam is, too, and somehow that struggle is balanced, and hot, and Sam’s gnawing leather between his teeth and giving back as good as he’s getting.
“You don’t get to do that to me.” Dean’s voice breaks moments later, and his hips slow. Then Sam’s being embraced from behind, sticky-sweat and come, blood, drying between them. “God, Sam. You fucking…
“I love you.” It’s not how he ever imagined saying it, and he’s not even sure what context he means it now. But it’s the truest thing he knows, and for once, the most important, too.
Dean’s gone still, and then he’s spinning Sam around. Staring with dark eyes and pressed-thin lips, and Sam says it again. Rougher, deadlier, and Dean’s mouth comes down on his shoulder. “No more,” he says, begs, and Sam’s coming slick and heavy in his hand.
Dean’s not far behind; it all gets jumbled up in Sam’s mind, the words, the meaning, but he can’t misinterpret the look in Dean’s eyes and finds himself grinning in outright relief. Fucked out and fucked up, but they’re finally--truly-in this together.
Dean admits it hours later, fingering Sam’s bruises with territorial greed. “We’re even now. No more of this fucking off, being stand-up assholes and sacrificing ourselves for others.”
Sam’s laugh is soft. “Yeah, sure, Dean. I forgive you, too.”
xxx
Ruby shows up the next night, looking worse for the wear, but wearing a smile so honest and sincere that Sam’s unbearably touched by the emotion.
“It’s done,” she says, and Sam nods. Looks toward Dean, who’s hovering nearby with grim caution, but that doesn’t stop Ruby from moving forward. Embracing him, and turning back to Sam with those same cold, dead black eyes.
“Lucifer’s son is dead.” Ruby’s gaze flickers again toward Dean, and the corners of her lips lift. “Well. I hope you boys are ready. You just signed up for war, and you’re fighting on our side.”
The End.
Part 1 | Notes/Acknowledgments & Soundtrack
Fandom: Supernatural/DeVour [crossover]
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean; Sam/Jake; Ruby
Rating/Warnings: NC-17; graphic m/m content, graphic incest, dark themes [including dub-con]
Word Count: 10,000+
Summary: […] he looks with tired eyes at all the people hypnotized // and wonders what can save him from a self-created hell.
Notes: Dedicated to mona1347 on the occasion of her birthday. Because I adore her verily. See the end of fic for further necessary details.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Notes/Acknowledgments & Soundtrack
Dealing With Devils
by keepaofthecheez.
Part 2.
Two hours after Dean falls asleep, Sam plays the Pathway. Two hours after Sam wakes up, he gets the first phone call.
They’re holed up in a diner just off the main highway, early morning rain coming down soft and sweet outside. It’s a sharp contrast to frying meat and grease, but not altogether unpleasant, and Sam relaxes for the first time in days. Drinks hot coffee and studies his laptop.
Dean’s in the corner chatting up their friendly-eyed waitress about the latest victim-fair-haired Amy Baker from Keizer-but he keeps glancing Sam’s way every few moments, checking up, unable to keep up the usual flirty pretense. Any other time and Sam might’ve felt a perverse sort of satisfaction in that. Instead, he wishes Dean far away and frowns as his research reaches yet another dead end.
The grisly details surrounding Jake’s arrest and trial aren’t too difficult to find, but there the trail just…ends. No follow-up articles mentioning the victims’ families, friends, or their reactions, and nothing at all about Jake’s family. Sam does read about an adoption in early May, 1983, and an odd weight settles in his gut. The coffee at his elbow is cold by the time he brings it back to his lips.
When the screen fades to black, too long, Sam frowns and wonders if he’s just gone and unleashed some kind of deadly virus into his own unsuspecting system. His cell phone rings, unknown tone, local area code and a flash of 666-5983.
Sam’s pretty sure the city of Salem put an exchange policy on numbers with the mark of the beast starting back in 2000. It doesn’t stop him from answering anyway.
The voice on the other end is female, rich and sultry, and completely unfamiliar. “Why do you continue to deny what you really want, Sam?”
Sam’s eyes immediately pass over Dean, his brother’s easy grin and the welcoming invitation answered on the pretty waitress’s face. “Who is this?” he asks, ignoring the flash of irritation, goddamn jealousy over something he has no control over. Never has, and never will.
“A friend. Someone who wants to help.” Soothing, peaceful. Persuasive. “There’s always a way, Sam. You know that better than anyone.”
Sam opens his mouth to reply, unsure of what he even plans to say, and then the dial tone is buzzing in his ear and Dean’s at his side.
“So, get this.” Dean leans a hip against the table, close enough for Sam to feel heat through layers of cotton and denim.
Sam shuts the laptop with a loud clap, gazing up at Dean in forced innocence. “Huh?”
Dean smirks, but Sam glimpses irritation behind the expression. “Up to no good, Sammy?” he wonders, chewing on a sugary doughnut, and the idle comment feels more like a punch to the mouth. Dean’s always had a nasty right hook.
Sam still hesitates. Isn’t sure why he just…doesn’t want to tell Dean about it. Any of it, the Pathway, what he’s learned about Jake, the ideas slowly taking shape in his mind. He’s not blind, and it’s hard to ignore the telltale frown lurking in Dean’s eyes. The increasing wariness every time he doesn’t think Sam is paying attention.
“Um. Just checking email, what’s up?” he says, lies, and offers up a smile that’s two shades too bright.
“Right.” Dean clears his throat, shaking his head and sliding into the opposite chair from Sam. Any previous warmth is gone, and Sam mourns it for all of a moment before reminding himself: this is just the way it has to be. If he’s learned anything on this never-ending, horrific journey, it’s that what he wants to be true--and what actually is--often falls short of what’s really important.
Dean’s fingers fumble with a shaker of salt, quicksilver pain flashing across his features before they’re wiped clean again, and Sam’s determination solidifies.
“Do you need-”
“Don’t,” comes Dean’s gruff reply, spots of color blooming across his cheeks. “Just…don’t ask me, all right?”
“Dean.” Helpless hands, and God, but Sam would make it all go away if he could.
“So,” Dean speaks over him, and it’s that brash, obnoxious tone Sam knows all too well. And what it means. “Linda-hot blonde, bringer of bagels?-she knows a guy named Andrew, who was apparently friends with some chick named Beth, who dated our dead girl’s brother like two weeks before she went all Lizzie Borden whacky-whacky.”
Despite himself and the situation, Sam can’t help but blow out a frustrated laugh. “Dude, run that by me again? I don’t have any junior high school girls around for translation.”
“It means that I got us some info, Sammy, while you were here moping in your Kool-Aid.” But this time, there’s little to no heat, and the two share a small smile that quickly turns hot and uncomfortable. At least, for Sam. He’s pretty certain Dean’s not imagining the many things Sam’s mouth could accomplish, but hell, crazier things have been known to happen in Sam’s life.
Speaking of which. “I think I should go and see Jake again.” He stares carefully at the remains of buttered toast on his plate before risking a glance back at Dean. Sure enough, his brother’s jaw is working, but then Dean surprises him by offering a slight nod.
“Yeah. Maybe we should.”
Not ‘we’, Sam starts to speak, then his pocket vibrates again. Sam goes stock-still, unable to keep from letting the surprise cross his face, and Dean snags a slice of bacon and watches, waits, pointedly.
“Gonna answer that?”
When Sam doesn’t answer, Dean’s lips go flat and before Sam can even widen his eyes, his brother’s up and shoving five fingers down Sam’s jeans. “Jesus!” he gasps, hips bucking, wild, ridiculous hope warring with some reason he should be protesting…not letting Dean get his hands on-
“Who the hell is this?” Dean spits out. Sam moves to grab the receiver away, and Dean stabs him with the tines of his fork. Sam bites back a curse, runs a hand through his hair and glares at anything and everything but his overbearing asshole of a brother.
Dean’s looking more like the growing thunderstorm outside by the time he ends the call, tossing Sam’s phone on the table. Neither of them have much of anything to say, and Dean’s questioning anger is eclipsed by honest-to-God worry that has Sam’s chest clenching, even as he picks up the phone and stands.
“It’s nothing, just a stupid game.” Sam’s already walking away. “Don’t ask me, all right?”
xxx
It’s easy to get in and see Jake again, maybe too easy, and Sam’s a bit shaken when he’s led without question down to a different room than before. No windows, just a wall of cement and white paint. He’s never felt claustrophobic in his life; now he wants to claw his way back out to sunshine and sky.
Jake doesn’t turn around to greet him or show any sign that he even realizes Sam is there. Just continues tracing his forearm while Sam vibrates with nervous tension, the faint outline of a tattoo Sam can’t make out until he comes closer.
An orchid. Symbol of lust, greed, wealth. The facts fly through Sam’s mind almost on auto-pilot, and he wets his lips uncertainly.
“When’s your birthday, Sam?”
The question doesn’t take him off-guard like maybe it should have. “Um. May second,” he says, staring at the back of Jake’s neck. The short hairs catching the light, freckles almost identical to Dean’s creating a hypnotizing star point.
“Interesting coincidence, don’t you think?” He can’t see Jake’s sly smile, but he hears it. “I wonder what else we have in common.”
Sam frowns and shakes off the cryptic warning, thinks of Dean sitting in the motel room. Feverish and completely disconnected, unable to argue Sam’s departure. “I found the Pathway,” he says, and Jake’s idle stroking stills.
“That’s not how it works.” Jake bows his head, and again Sam’s fighting an almost desperate urge to submit. To what, isn’t the problem. “It’s…more complicated than that. If anything, it found you.”
“And why would it do that?” When Jake remains silent, turned away, Sam finally breaks. “Look at me, damn it!”
He isn’t sure why he needs that, just that those eyes are a source of both unexplainable panic and serenity. The relief that settles into his bones when Jake finally turns is second only to the urge to run from the room before he can hear anything more.
But Sam’s a Winchester, and he’s used to fighting his own desires on principle.
“You were supposed to be mine,” is all Jake says, as if he’s simply repeating a line that’s been cemented into his brain. He licks his lips, eyes sparking. “Now you will be.”
There’s a beat of silence; Sam’s fists curl at his sides. “Help me understand,” he grits out. What you are.
“Do you know what you are, Sam?” There’s an almost pitying chord in Jake’s voice, his head tilted and gaze direct, thoughtful.
“I know I’m not whatever you think I am.”
“Then why don’t you just ask me what you want to know and be done with it,” Jake says, and now his expression is drawn, tired, and Sam feels a pang of regret he can’t understand.
He wants to shout, he has been asking. But he knows it isn’t true. He’s said nothing of his true intentions. He’s terrified of Jake’s answer.
“Can you…” His tongue thickens on the question, and it’s the reminder of Dean spread out on the bed, flushed, in denial, the sounds of hellhounds shrieking in his ears that finally gets it out. “Can you help him?”
Jake stares at him for a long moment. Several emotions pass through those green-gold eyes, and Sam’s desperation mounts with every single second. Promises he knows he’ll never keep, begging.
“Help him, or save him?” Jake asks softly. “Does this mean you believe, Sam?”
Sam forces it out. “Please.”
Jake’s relentless gaze is starting to give him a headache, although Sam isn’t sure if it’s because he’s trying to resist it, or simply can’t. “There’s always a trade. What are you willing to sacrifice?”
There’s always a way, Sam.
And there’s really only one answer. “I want Dean’s contract.” Sam can’t believe he’s asking, can’t believe he accepts this, any of it, but there’s no mistaking the triumph coloring Jake’s features, or the sinking feeling in Sam’s gut.
“Then you come back to me.” Jake steeples his fingers against his mouth. “And we’ll make a new deal.”
xxx
All things considered, Sam’s not the least bit surprised when he gets back to the Travelodge and Ruby’s there waiting for him.
“Since you’re not bleeding, I’ll assume Dean hasn’t seen you yet.” Sam climbs the stairs and ignores the knowing glint in demon-black orbs.
“Brother Dear passed out an hour ago. I gave him a little something to ease the way, he’ll sleep it off until morning.” She falls into step beside him, red jacket fluttering in the wind as Sam takes off toward the back of the building. A beat later, “You can thank me any time, you know.”
Sam’s thoughts are on Dean, the Crossroads deal, and the little time they have left. “Thank you?” His fingers feel clumsy and too-big as he searches for his keys. “If it wasn’t for you-”
“You wouldn’t have this opportunity,” Ruby reminds him, leaning in and licking shiny-red lips. Sam’s jaw clenches, he shoves the key in the lock. “Sam, we need to talk.”
Sam finally turns, one hand gripping the doorknob. “The only thing I need right now is to make sure my brother’s still alive and breathing.” The dismissal is evident, but Ruby just smirks. Runs a finger along the sleeve of Sam’s shirt, digging in just enough to get Sam’s attention.
“Oh, honey. Don’cha trust me?”
Sam shakes her off. Goes inside and sees a familiar lump buried under threadbare sheets, Dean’s breathing uneven but strong. Alive. He’s not too late, the deal isn’t early.
He forgets Ruby’s in the room as his legs give out and he sinks to the floor. Head in his hands, shoulders quaking with silent relief. “God.” Sam’s breath hitches, and then he looks up and sees Ruby watching. “Why are you here?”
There’s something almost pitying the way she looks at him, and it makes Sam stand tall. He’s not quite able to pull it together completely, and settles for restacking a bunch of skin mags Dean’s left scattered across the table.
“It’s about the Pathway,” Ruby says, and Sam stills. “About your involvement…Sam, listen to me, okay?”
Sam waves a magnanimous hand.
“Jake’s my…well, he saved me. When I needed it, when no one of my kind would.” Ruby’s lips twist, but with a certain fondness even she can’t hide, and Sam’s momentarily fascinated. “I’ve been loyal to him ever since. I do whatever he asks of me, whatever he wants.”
“How adorable.” There’s a pulsing ache in his head that threatens to grow stronger. “Listen, Ruby, I-”
“What he wants most of all, is you. Sam.” Ruby lifts a hand, twists at a thick, decorative silver band around her finger. “It’s time you knew the truth.”
“Yeah,” Sam echoes, barely loud enough to make a point. “I think it’s time I did.”
“The night Azazel came for you, the night your mother died…” Ruby looks almost as discomfited as Sam feels. It makes her sarcasm thicker. “What you don’t know, what none of you ticking time bombs know is that Lucifer’s son was stolen from her the night he was born. The same night a rogue army tried to overthrow and take over Hell as we know it. The same night Samuel Winchester took his first breath, all of these things came to pass and jumpstarted a chain of events inevitably leading to this moment, this conclusion.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re saying.” But he was terrified he did.
“You were Chosen, Sam. You know this.” Even now, Ruby’s voice still took on a reverent edge whenever she spoke of Azazel’s ultimate plan, and a deep-seated fury began to take root in Sam’s breast. “But then, so was Dean.”
Sam’s blood goes cold.
“He’s a vessel. Azazel needed an easy fix, so he used Dean that night as a human mold for Lucifer’s son to survive in this world until she could find a way to find him, bring him back. Weed out the people who betrayed and used her, hid him from her. Those who loved Jake she saw as an opportunistic threat, and she-”
“Killed them,” Sam finished hollowly, realization dawning. “Drove them to do it to themselves. The Pathway?”
Ruby’s tight smile was enough of an answer. “Only…Jake ended up betraying her far worse. Refused to come back, shunned her methods, tried to kill her. And so she punished him. All of us, really.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“You were meant to rule at Jake’s side. Without the two of you, things divided down the middle. What’s leaking out of that gate is nothing, Sam. I’m talking true war.” Ruby cocks her head. “And to answer the bigger question you refuse to ask, Dean’s supposed to die.”
The truth of that statement steals Sam’s breath. “It’s why they want him so bad.”
“Bingo, cutie. You belong to Jake in their minds; they can’t touch your soul. But Dean…Dean was never meant to survive.” She pauses for a moment, watches Sam carefully. Then, softer, “I promised you-that night in Cicero-I would find a way to save your brother.”
Sam wants to laugh, feels hysterical and broken. “And this is your idea? Trading Dean for some fucked-up son of Satan so there isn’t a goddamn civil war in Hell?”
“No, Sam.” Ruby’s eyes flicker between black and green. “I’m talking about giving Jake what he wants. Having him break the deal.”
And what he wants most of all, is you.
xxx
“No.”
It kills a little more of Sam to see the wild-eyed terror in Dean’s eyes when they break the news, but there’s no other option. Dean’s dying; not the quick, instant blow they were expecting, but slow, costly, and much more vicious. One final joke the Crossroads demon failed to mention before Sam blew her brains out across the cold, hard ground.
“Dean.” Sam wants to explain, force him to understand, but Dean’s already shaking his head and backing far away from Sam’s questing reassurance. “Please,” he chokes out. “I can’t just let this happen to you, not when I can do something to stop it. Okay?”
“Fuck you, Sam.” The curse is bitter and weighted and hurts them both. “You think this is what I want? I’ve had my goddamn fill of self-sacrifice in this goddamn fucking family, and I just…” Dean’s eyes are shining, and Sam can’t look away no matter how much he wants to. “I don’t want it.”
“Well, it’s not your choice.” It comes out too thick to be strong, but Sam doesn’t let the angry, frustrated tears in either of their eyes sway his point. “Christ, Dean, don’t you get it…if it means the end of this fucking nightmare, I would…I would do so much more than-”
Dean turns around and walks away, leaving Sam vibrating with sick nerves in the middle of the motel room. Ruby’s on the balcony, not even trying to hide her interest, and with one last look at Dean’s stiff-gaited figure storming toward the Impala, Sam beckons with a single finger. Takes off the opposite direction and tries to convince himself that it wasn’t abandonment, goodbye, that he saw in Dean’s eyes.
The drive to the institution feels like Sam’s entire life; he doesn’t ask where Ruby found the car, or even put up a token protest when they bypass night security and leave three guards stunned, empty-eyed, and laid out across the decorated linoleum pattern.
Of course, Jake’s expecting him, and with newfound knowledge Sam stares straight into the face of his downfall and salvation. Imagines riding country-miles with his brother in the driver’s seat, Dean’s damn cock-rock blaring.
And maybe Sam never really realized how in love with that scenario he really is.
“Forget him, Sam. He’s safe now.” Jake’s comforting words weigh like lead. “You know it’s true?”
“He knows,” Ruby answers, shooting Sam an unreadable look before melting into the shadows.
“What do you want from me?” Sam intones, lifeless and ridden. Jake’s circling, predator to prey, and Sam doesn’t want to admit to a certain thrill welling up inside.
And then Jake’s standing behind him, hands on Sam’s hips and mouth a mere breath away. “Just this.” Sam shudders at that first kiss; disgust, desire, anything and everything in between.
“Would it help if I hurt you?” Jake whispers, and the hunger there is almost Sam’s undoing. “Made you feel like you had a fighting chance?”
So much like Dean, but nothing like him, too. Sam’s only getting harder.
“Is that what you want?” He’s not going to fight it.
“To hurt you?” Jake smiles. “Maybe.”
“Then do it,” Sam grits out. Just as long as it’s me.
xxx
He’s been handcuffed to the wall for going on ten hours. Sam doesn’t know how he knows, why no one’s come in to check, or where Jake even got the cuffs in the first place. To be honest, he doesn’t care. The pain’s almost worth it, something tangible and real, an extension of the initial beating he took over being chained up.
Through sweat-stung eyes, he stares up at Jake. Licks bruised lips. “I wanna see him…I need.” His voice cracks, drawing a flash of sympathy from the hard glare of Jake’s gaze. “Please. I need to know.”
Calloused fingertips brush across his bare chest, Jake’s nail catching a nipple and causing an involuntary shudder from deep inside. “How will that help you forget him?” Jake murmurs, free hand wrapping around Sam’s neck, sliding up and into his hair.
“Forget him,” Sam laughs, bitter and useless. “Is that what you think will happen? When every time I look at you, I see-”
“Don’t.” But Jake doesn’t seem angry, which maybe confuses Sam more than anything. His throat works in counterpoint to Jake’s mouth, soft and wet against his jaw. Then, pointed, “We had a deal, Sam.”
He knows. God, he knows, feels it in every tender bruise and bite. Jake pulls back, watching him with infinite calm and patience, and Sam’s ashamed that a part of him maybe could give in and forget Dean. Not for this, Jake, not exactly, but because…it’s safer this way. Dean’s safe, from him, from Hell, and Sam’s free to carry out his macabre masochism without judgment.
When Jake’s fingers close hot and tight around his cock, Sam bites down on his lip to keep from crying out. That’s a weakness he’s not comfortable with, and one he knows Jake craves with every fleck of gold in glitter-green eyes.
The last time he was in this position, it was soft hands and curves. Madison’s sighs breezing past ghosts and shadows. Even when he started looking at Dean differently, he never really knew what to imagine. Never could quite get it right, how it’d feel, hard lines and sharp angles.
All things considered, he can’t deny the rush of excitement, the urge to thrust and groan and vocalize how fucking good it really is, and it’s not even real. Not the way Sam wants it to be.
“It could be,” Jake whispers, thumb pressing in against Sam’s cockhead, and Sam can’t help the shudder of his hips. He doesn’t meet Jake’s piercing stare, but his belly curls, warm and needy. “This could be everything. Let me show you.”
Something in the words snaps Sam’s attention, and then he’s drowning in heavy-lidded pupil and, God, Dean. “Please.” He jerks helplessly against the cuffs. It’s being pulled out of him, every filthy urge and dirty inclination repressed for months, years. Dean’s looking back at him and wanting it, and Sam’s eyes close on a choked sob.
“Yeah, Sam.” Soft, persuasive. That gritty edge of possession Sam’s grown used to over the past three years. Dean’s jacking him slow and steady, gun callus catching and dragging hushed sounds from Sam’s throat. “I want this, too, you know.”
“Why-” His breath clogs his throat, turns thick. “No, you. You never.” You never looked twice at me. “It’s me, all me.”
“C’mon, Sammy. You really think I’m as good, as pure as all that?” Dean’s voice is almost a sneer, still gentle, but rumbling through Sam’s conscious until, God, it’s an ache to believe it. Dean’s mouth presses against his hip, words branding Sam from the inside out. “The shit I’ve done? Wanting to fuck my baby brother’s a free pass, a gimme crime.”
Sam grits his teeth, lets Dean’s lips sink down over him. Right then, Sam knows with every fibre of his being that this is unequivocally wrong. It’s absolutely wicked, the pleasure he gets just from seeing Dean sucking his cock. It’s beyond sinful to feel it, enjoy it, and if he could he’d have Dean by the hair and pulling him closer. Gagging his brother’s throat, fingers wrapped around Dean’s neck.
He settles instead for fucking Dean’s mouth and offering up apologies to no one.
xxx
When Jake’s riding his dick, Sam braces himself not to come. It’s another form of punishment. There’s no pretending anymore, this isn’t Dean, and it’s starting to be that he just doesn’t give a damn. Same face, same eyes, same damn ache. It gets more difficult to control himself, not to pound and pump and take what he wants, what little he can have.
Thick bruises ring his wrists where the cuffs bite and choke, nourishing fresh scar tissue, but Sam only pulls harder against them. Savors his suffering. Swallows Jake’s groans and buries his own down deep inside.
“Fuck me,” Jake’s saying, swearing, grinding his hips down harder and tonguing the base of Sam’s throat until it stings.
Sam fucks him. He fucks him, and fucks him, and saves Dean over and over again. That’s what ultimately gets him off every time; he’s doing something primal and real, and Dean’s benefiting from it.
It’s a dreamy sort of satisfaction, and it only makes him harder. He imagines Dean spread out wide, jerking himself off with those pretty eyes blown black, begging filth and every nasty thing under the sun Sam can think of, and it’s enough.
xxx
He loses time.
Counts the passing minutes, seconds, by the warm press of Jake’s mouth on him. The weight of his hands. He’s stopped asking for details about Dean; it seems to satisfy Jake and Sam’s mind can’t handle the consequences.
He doesn’t need the handcuffs anymore, but sometimes he asks for them anyway. Anything to keep from reaching up around his own neck and hearing that sweet, sickening break. It’s wrong, and he sees that worried knowledge gleaming back through Jake’s eyes when they fuck, but it’s calling to him.
He dreams of Dean. Of the murky lake in Manitoc, Jim’s church in Blue Earth. Past and present, but always Dean…disappointment brimming behind his brother’s features until Sam wakes from his own internal nightmare. Soaked through and bleeding tears.
Help me, he thinks, and Jake whispers back, “It’s time to be saved.”
When it finally happens, Sam’s half-out of his mind and can barely process the click of a pistol. The hard edge of a familiar voice, Jake’s earnest replies.
“Do it. You have to do it, please.”
Sam opens swollen eyes, and finds Dean pressing a .45 inside Jake’s mouth. His brother looks healthy and whole, but pale from exhaustion, anger. Jake’s flushed and almost blissful, eyes closing, mouth wet around the barrel of Dean’s gun, and Sam swallows.
“Dean, please…don’t.”
His husky croak startles both men, and there’s a flash of something in Jake’s eyes that Sam can’t pinpoint. Dean, on the other hand, is more open than a textbook. Relief, fear, pure, unadulterated rage.
“Are you okay?” he asks, eyes returning to Jake.
“I hurt him,” Jake says, almost pleadingly, rubbing his cheek against the spit-slicked gun and gasping for breath. “You have to kill me. Do it!”
Dean’s hand is trembling; Sam whispers his name and watches his brother jerk.
“If I survive, you never will.” Jake’s voice turns mocking, provoking, and comes out in a low rush that Sam can barely hear. But Dean’s taking it in, eyes going wide with shock and realization as he sneaks another look at Sam. Tightens his grip on the pistol and Jake’s head. “Shoot me. Don’t…don’t leave me like this, don’t let me turn into what they want.”
He turns toward Sam, a slight, jittery movement that reminds Sam of a frightened animal. “Don’t let her have me.”
Dean’s equally freaked out, trembling so hard his teeth are chattering. “S-Sam, I can’t-”
His finger starts to press the trigger, Sam struggles to come to his feet. “Dean, Dean, wait, just-”
The blast ricochets off the wall, and warmth stings Sam’s face, his eyes. Copper and death, and when he opens his eyes again he sees Dean slumped on the floor. The pistol clatters to the ground and Sam closes the distance and takes his brother’s shoulders. Tries to ignore what’s left of Jake Gray on a dirty hospital floor and forces Dean’s haunted gaze to meet his own.
“God, what’ve I done.” Dean’s color is coming back, and Sam knows.
“You couldn’t stop it, no one could.” Dean simply stares at him, and Sam can still feel Jake’s lips.
“It’s what he really wanted all along.”
xxx
Sam’s shoved nose against the wall the moment he follows Dean inside. Fresh bruises have him hissing, and then Dean’s there. Pressed up, hot and angry, so fucking angry, and Sam feels it with every ragged breath.
The scent of smoke, salt, and bones still clings to his brother’s fingers as he reaches around Sam, finds Sam’s buckle and snaps it apart. Sam’s legs are shaking; neither one of them say a damn thing as Dean whips the belt free from its loops. It’s between Sam’s teeth a second later, Dean’s hand in his hair and Dean’s dick hard, demanding, against Sam’s bare ass.
Dean jerks the belt; Sam spreads his legs and gets fucked for the first time, against the door, with his big brother swearing sweet filth in his ear. Apologies, recriminations, accusations…and Sam takes it all in and, God, loves it.
“This is me, Sam.” Dean’s voice is a thready rasp, made sharper by teeth and nails. Deep thrust of cock. Sam grunts a reply through leather, something like please, and Dean’s fingers squeeze on the belt. “Not some damn phantom you’ve created so you don’t have to face big brother and have him know what a-ah-bad boy you are.”
“Fuck,” Sam says, and god, they are.
This is nothing like how it was with Jake, even at its darkest. Dean’s completely in control, but Sam is, too, and somehow that struggle is balanced, and hot, and Sam’s gnawing leather between his teeth and giving back as good as he’s getting.
“You don’t get to do that to me.” Dean’s voice breaks moments later, and his hips slow. Then Sam’s being embraced from behind, sticky-sweat and come, blood, drying between them. “God, Sam. You fucking…
“I love you.” It’s not how he ever imagined saying it, and he’s not even sure what context he means it now. But it’s the truest thing he knows, and for once, the most important, too.
Dean’s gone still, and then he’s spinning Sam around. Staring with dark eyes and pressed-thin lips, and Sam says it again. Rougher, deadlier, and Dean’s mouth comes down on his shoulder. “No more,” he says, begs, and Sam’s coming slick and heavy in his hand.
Dean’s not far behind; it all gets jumbled up in Sam’s mind, the words, the meaning, but he can’t misinterpret the look in Dean’s eyes and finds himself grinning in outright relief. Fucked out and fucked up, but they’re finally--truly-in this together.
Dean admits it hours later, fingering Sam’s bruises with territorial greed. “We’re even now. No more of this fucking off, being stand-up assholes and sacrificing ourselves for others.”
Sam’s laugh is soft. “Yeah, sure, Dean. I forgive you, too.”
xxx
Ruby shows up the next night, looking worse for the wear, but wearing a smile so honest and sincere that Sam’s unbearably touched by the emotion.
“It’s done,” she says, and Sam nods. Looks toward Dean, who’s hovering nearby with grim caution, but that doesn’t stop Ruby from moving forward. Embracing him, and turning back to Sam with those same cold, dead black eyes.
“Lucifer’s son is dead.” Ruby’s gaze flickers again toward Dean, and the corners of her lips lift. “Well. I hope you boys are ready. You just signed up for war, and you’re fighting on our side.”
The End.
Part 1 | Notes/Acknowledgments & Soundtrack