FIC: Proken Promises 2/3 fandom: SPN (Sam/Dean, NC-17)
Masterpost
Previous ch: 1
2/3
Twelve hours later, Sam exited the freeway in Idaho. Initially Sam had no idea where he’d go. He only knew he had to steer clear of any hunters in case Bobby or Ellen had put out any feelers. At this point he couldn’t trust that they wouldn’t try to stop him.
“Can you blame them, Sam?”
Sam’s eyes crossed over to Dean. His brother was just as Sam left him, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. The same ones Sam had placed on Dean earlier in the day when he stopped for gas. However, now in the density of nightfall, it was odd. Sam hunched his shoulders, ignoring Dean’s question.
As it was, it was only the latest of phantom Dean’s questions. One of many Dean had started to ask, or more often than not, voicing complaints that quickly rattled on Sam’s nerves.
Once it started, it continued almost non-stop. At first Sam responded, but as the day wore on it was apparent his subconscious was having phantom Dean, play devil’s advocate, to voice his own doubts. Once Sam understood what was happening he stopped answering Dean, realizing that if he continually answered his brother it’d only affirm Bobby’s accusation that he was crazy.
Dean chuckled, “You don’t need to answer me, Sammy, but you know as well as I do that if any hunter worth their two-cents got wind of what you did- kidnapping your brother, a mindless drooling mess -- you and I both know they better not find you. They’re not going to stop and ask questions. I mean look at me; you got me in fucking diapers, man! It’s… let me just say that it’s disgusting… And for the record, you’re never to bring that up - ever!” Sam listened, but stared straight ahead, fear prickling at the back of his head that if he looked at Dean he’d discover how over the edge he truly was and actually see Dean fidgeting in his seat.
“Also, let’s not forget your grand plan to fuck me.” Sam clenched his jaw and grounded his back teeth, trying unsuccessfully to block out Dean’s words as he focused on the road ahead.
“You can’t deny it’s wrong, Sam. Anyone out there in the real world, they’ll automatically think you’re ready for the rubber room.”
Initially, Sam refused to respond and squared his shoulders. However, the dense silence weighted on his conscious and before Sam could stop himself, he spoke. “Doesn’t matter, I won’t break my promise.”
At first, phantom Dean didn’t reply, then Sam heard the sadness in Dean’s voice, the defeat as he muttered, “I know, Sam, I know.”
It was silent after that, and took another hour on back roads before Sam finally pulled to a stop. In front of them stood a cabin, where they had stayed one summer when they were kids. He wondered if Dean remembered. It was just before summer, and as usual they were travelling, going from one job to another. However, when they arrived here they ended up staying the entire summer. For them it was long time, but that wasn’t the reason why Sam remembered. It was shortly after his birthday when he turned twelve: Dad had gotten the place for them to hole up in while he worked a hunt with Caleb and put him in charge while Dean rested. Sam remembered because it was the first time Dad put him in charge taking care of Dean.
While they were there, though it was only the flu, Sam fretted over Dean the first week when he did nothing but sleep. The following week, Dean was still weak and sick enough that he enjoyed Sam waiting on him. But by the end of the second week, Dean was feeling better, enough that they fought. He started to bitch about everything, mainly because Dad had extracted a promise from Dean that while he was gone he had to rest and follow Sammy’s orders.
That first week, Sam hated seeing Dean so sick, but taking care of Dean also made him feel good, like he was doing something. Afterwards, when they started fighting over stupid stuff, Sam remembered hiding more than one smile - pleased that he had a hand in making Dean better.
Sam couldn’t deny he was prepared to do it again.
However, it didn’t mean Sam wasn’t scared - afraid he’d screw up, that he was too late, that Dean would hate him. Sam waited, half expecting phantom Dean to say something, to start taunting him again, but there was only silence.
Slowly, Sam turned to Dean. Sam swallowed against the pain he felt at seeing his brother. The question about whether Dean remembered was forgotten, as he thought about the ritual to free Dean from hell and stated, “It won’t be long now… I’ll go - get things ready.” Resigned, Sam put his hand on the door and got out of the car.
Opening the trunk, Sam pulled out a shotgun loaded with rock salt, and headed towards the cabin. It didn’t take him long to verify the cabin had been abandoned before he secured the area. The inside was empty, though there were two bedrooms; Sam decided to unload everything they’d need in the main room where he planned to utilize the fireplace and the stack of wood he had spotted out back. Then he went back to the car and collected what else they’d need from the trunk before he gathered Dean, settling him in a sitting position against the wall near the fireplace.
After carrying in enough wood to last for a few days, Sam started to salt all the windows and doors before he turned his attention to building a fire.
Focused, moving with a fluidly from years of practice, it had only taken Sam a little over an hour to get unpacked and settled in. Only when Sam was done did he turn toward Dean, wincing when he saw the sunglasses. He reached over to gently remove them, to see what he hated: Dean’s vacant lifeless stare.
Suddenly Sam was nervous, feeling self-conscious as he took off his jacket and grabbed the book - knowing he had to set up for the ritual, to prep Dean.
Even as he thought of the ritual, Sam recalled the illustrations that had accompanied the spell. His imagination was rapid as it supplied graphic details visualizing his brother. Quickly, Sam closed his eyes as he was bombarded with intimate images - most taken out of context over the years. Initially all of them were innocent memories from them living too close together, being inside each other’s pocket for years, but strung together one image after another, Sam felt flush and it wasn’t the heat from the fireplace.
Sam was mortified as one memory came to the forefront - the first time he had spied Dean making out. The first time had been an accident, and he had told himself it was normal - he was fourteen and Dean had coaxed Trisha out of her bra, but as the memory played Sam realized he wasn’t fourteen anymore and couldn’t hide behind the lie.
Shamed, Sam inhaled sharply, sucking in the inner walls of his cheek, clamping it down between his teeth, trying to use pain to forcibly shove the images away. Suddenly it was Bobby’s voice that echoed accusingly in Sam’s head. “It’s wrong…. Your brother he wouldn’t want this.”
Sam shook his head in denial, he had to do it; it was the only way to bring Dean back. Abruptly Sam heard Dean, “Doesn’t change that you actually want to fuck me, Sam, now does it?”
Sam’s eyes snapped open at phantom Dean’s words. A lump formed in Sam’s throat as he stared at Dean. “No, I … it’s not…” Eyes watering, Sam zeroed in on an old memory of Dean jerking off; flashing to the numerous times he had used the memory to get himself off on the forbidden image. “I don’t…”
“That’s a lie, Sam, and we both know it.”
Defensive over the heated memory, Sam blurted out in a rush, his voice getting louder, “It’s not my fault; I didn’t mean to watch you! But you woke me up when you made out with Trisha then turned around and performed for her - in the fucking living room, Dean. What the fuck was that? I was fourteen with a walking erection, what the hell was I supposed to do?”
In Sam’s mind, phantom Dean inhaled sharply then slowly exhaled, lost in the memory as he whistled before he licked his lips. “Trish the dish, now that girl had a rack. Knockers you could suck on all day…
“Damn it, Dean.”
“What? Alright fine, let’s focus on the big picture. You thinking of cock; and not just any cock, Sam, but my cock. In my book Bobby called it - it’s wrong because I’m your brother, not to mention gay.”
Sam rolled his eyes at Dean’s ridiculous conclusion. He was fourteen for Christ’s sake.
Phantom Dean shrugged in response. “Doesn’t change the fact that you jerked off thinking about me instead of Trish. And what about all of the other times when I was the star of you jack off material? And the biggie Sammy, how many times did you think of me when you where with Jess?”
“I didn’t!” Vigorously, Sam shook his head. It wasn’t true, it wasn’t. “Don’t!”
“Don’t what, Sam? I’m not even having this conversation - it’s just you man. A mano- e- mano having a one-sided, ready for the rubber room, about whether or not you secretly want to fuck me- dude, denial only goes so far. Look at me, Sam - I’m a drooling, fucking douche, change my diaper, piece of shit and you still want to fuck me. How the hell can you justify that? Not think it’s wrong, huh Sam?”
Shaking, Sam clamped his hands over his ears. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”
“No, I can’t do that, Sam. And I’m not going to go away because you know this is wrong.”
“No, you know what’s wrong, Dean? You down in the pit -because of me- that’s wrong! And I can’t, man, I can’t go on without you. I tried! I did that for six months! Every fucking day was hell waking up without you. You weren’t out on some hunt, you were dead. I had to bury you! I can’t do it again. If you want to kill me afterwards, hate me… If that’s what you want, what you need, fine, I’ll walk away for good - I don’t care, at least you’d be out of the pit and whole again.”
Suddenly Sam stood, ignoring the cracked ache in Dean’s voice when he called out, “Sammy.”
“I can’t, I can’t, not again…” His hands shaking Sam angrily took off his shirt, throwing it to the side before he bent over and wrestled out of each of his boots, kicking each one as it came off. The pain of those days flooded in, igniting his every action. Of how lonely he was, of the guilt eating away his soul, of waking up each day with the hard reality that Dean was dead. Day after day, Sam mourned, while he continued to search for the Trickster. Fueled by the memories that still taunted him, he knew this time it was different and that he could stop it. With renewed purpose Sam rummaged through his duffle bag, pulling out a bowl and gathering the ingredients he’d collected from Bobby’s.
Setting ingredients next to the bowl, Sam arranged each one in the order he’d need them, including a mirror and a bottle of lube.
Turning toward Dean, Sam inhaled then bent down to undo Dean’s shoes, rolling the socks off and shoving them inside. Sam’s gaze shifted toward Dean’s pants and he sighed, hoping this would be the last time.
In the last few weeks undressing Dean, cleaning him up, was a necessity that Sam did on autopilot and would zone out in order to handle the task at hand; one Sam had done every day since he started caring for Dean. His movements gentle, mechanical as he cleaned his brother and disposed of the diaper. Returning he grabbed Dean’s pants, and folded them neatly, setting them on a chair and placed Dean’s shoes under it before Sam took off Dean’s shirt.
Glancing at Dean’s chest, Sam noticed the wounds were gone, healed. Kneeling down Sam’s eyes trailed over the faint scars, reminders that the marks were meant to kill leaving behind only thin crimson white lines over Dean’s chest and hips. Gently, Sam laid his palm over the widest stretch of skin. It was the deepest, near Dean’s heart; the last one to close over. Sam’s thumb brushed over its length, feeling the heated warmth of Dean’s skin.
Abruptly, Sam pulled away and busily folded the shirt to add to the pile with Dean’s pants. On repeat, a mantra played in his head: “Going to save you Dean, I have to.” Lips pressed tight, his nostrils flared as he nervously grabbed the book and started to read. He slowly added each new ingredient as it was needed to the mix and repetitively licked his lips, a move that did nothing to fight against the tight sting of dryness he felt whenever he had to recite a new passage.
Once he finished the last passage, Sam glanced at Dean; his chin trembling as he set aside the bowl - it was time. Sam’s fingers quickly unfastened the button and zipper of his jeans; hands pushed inside the waistband as he pushed both pants and boxers down and off, kicking them away.
Kneeling beside Dean, Sam gathered him, lifting his torso, and cradled him in his arms. Fingers carded through Dean’s hair as he stared down at Dean’s face into his verdant eyes.
Dean stared back, nothing had changed; his eyes were open, empty. Phantom Dean didn’t utter a sound. Sam gulped as he crushed Dean’s body to his chest, his words choked. “I promise, Dean, it’s just to bring you back … we won’t do this ever again, I won’t -I promise!”
Overly distraught Sam’s hold tightened, his words repeating in a solemn vow, “I promise, I promise, Dean.” Sam’s body shook, losing his battle as tears fell, trailing down his cheek onto Dean’s shoulder.
Pulling back, Sam gave Dean an innocent kiss on the forehead before he gently laid him back down on the floor.
Grabbing the bowl, Sam dipped his fingers into the concoction in order to draw a symbol over Dean’s heart and paused, surprised to find the mixture dense; he rubbed it between his fingers. Instead of feeling the watery texture he had initially mixed, the fluid lacked elasticity, its consistency was thicker and heavier. Worried Sam glanced at the empty bottles and bags he had used. He only had enough ingredients to concoct what was in the bowl - it had to be enough to draw six symbols he needed - three on Dean’s body, and three on his own body.
Sam couldn’t afford the delay; to wait and restock, not when he was sure Bobby and Ellen had put the word out - had hunters looking for them, willing to take Dean away from him. No he had to do this now - had to make it work.
Not wasting any more time Sam focused as he attempted to copy the first symbol from the book - over Dean’s heart. His fingers pressed, rubbing hard into Dean’s skin then his own trying to stretch the dense mixture. Sam picked up the book to study the next symbol to be placed on their foreheads. He did Dean’s first then picked up the mirror to draw a matching symbol before moving on to the last symbol, a single line, half circle and three dots that was to be placed on their cocks.
Once he was done, Sam felt a low heat generate from under each symbol - signaling it was working. He was ready and though it wasn’t expressly part of the ritual, Sam needed to prep Dean first.
After wiping his fingers clean, Sam grabbed the bottle of lube and moved between Dean’s legs. The increasing heat under the symbols urged Sam to go faster. Lifting Dean’s leg, Sam draped it over his shoulder, and squeezed the bottle coating his finger and thumb. Nervous Sam inhaled and held his breath as he pushed forward finding Dean’s entrance.
Under hooded eyes Sam glanced at Dean, waiting, and cursed. It was stupid of him to expect a reaction this soon.
Inhaling, Sam slid the tip of his thumb further into Dean’s hole pass the natural resistance of muscle ring. He circled and stretched before adding a finger pressing in and pushing against the inner wall filling Dean.
Leaning in, Sam lifted and hitched Dean’s leg over his shoulder as he continued to wiggle and rotate his finger in a circle before adding a second finger, scissoring and doing his best to use the same gentle motions he’d experienced his first time back when he was in high school.
Sam took several nervous glances at his brother, searching for any sign that Dean - his body was reacting.
Nothing changed.
Pained with frustration, along with shame and guilt, Sam couldn’t deny what bothered him most was not knowing whether or not he was hurting Dean. However he had the same two options as when he arrived: stop or continue on if he was going to complete the ritual.
There was no choice, he couldn’t stop and take away the one chance he had to help Dean escape hell.
Doubling his efforts, Sam added more lube and pulled out, replacing his thumb with another finger, stretching then pushing all the way back until his fingers bottomed out. He felt the heat envelope around him, and held his breath as an image surfaced - an old fantasy. One Sam had over the years of a faceless man. Sam closed his eyes and inhaled when his cock twitched in interest. Although he was washed with shame and guilt of what he was doing to Dean, yet Sam knew he had to do this to complete the ritual. Mentally he pushed everything else aside to focus.
Once he accepted the fantasy, Sam delved deeper allowing the visions to further entice his desire.
It was late; he was back in high school at his locker. He didn’t hear him until it was too late. By then he was pressed up behind Sam, pushing him forward up against the lockers, his body flush against Sam’s. His breath ghosted over Sam’s neck. The solid weight of his body pressed hard against Sam, silently telling him to stop struggling. Once Sam complied the stranger pulled Sam’s arms up over his head then slithered down Sam’s waist to his flank where he grabbed Sam’s hips, angling them and rocking his body so Sam could feel the hard column of his erection. The faceless fantasy man spoke, sending shivers of pleasure straight to Sam’s cock. “The way you walk around acting like no one is watching - but I’m watching, I’m always watching.”
Sam felt the guy’s fingers undo his pants, pushing down the fabric along with his boxers. His laugher filled Sam’s ears, “Already hard, such a good slut, but now you’re going to be my slut now, aren’t you? Going to fuck you right here, right now - isn’t that what you want?”
His hand wrapped around Sam’s cock, sliding down to pump his already slick member. His voice lost, all Sam could do was moan in pleasure, nodding his head, yes. In approval the man kissed his neck even as his grip tightened around Sam’s cock, but it was his next words that had Sam spinning, “Sammy you’re such a good greedy slut, but I know the truth. What you really want is me on my knees, pounding fast and hard into my ass, with me begging you for more. Isn’t that right Sammy?”
Sam gasped as his fantasy man turned him around and he came face to face with Dean. Then he spoke and Sam knew it was phantom Dean’s voice. “You can’t hide it any more Sammy” His voice rose angry, accusatory, “The truth is you’ve wanted to fuck me for so long - so do it Sammy, fuck me” Dean’s hand squeezed his cock, his voice raspy with want, as phantom Dean spat out, “fuck your brother!”
Abruptly the fantasy of Dean shut down and Sam was faced with the cruel reality. Sam blinked, looking down past his cock to Dean’s hole, slick with lube.
Dean yelled, “fuck me!”
Torn but throbbing in need, Sam responded and leaned in. He could see the head of his cock poised at Dean’s entrance. Pressing in, he watched as skin gave away and swallowed the fat head of his cock.
Sam stopped, whimpering at the sight where his cock disappeared inside of Dean’s tight hole. Then he muttered a curse, moaning at the vice grip Dean had on the head. Dean gasped between moans, “Sammy, you’re so fucking BIG. Give me more, make me your slutty bitch - fuck me!”
Breathless, with pent up excitement, Sam didn’t need any other encouragement, and snapped his hips, shoving his cock inside of Dean -groaning at the heated bliss that enveloped his cock.
Out of control, Sam bottomed out only to pull back and plunge then back in. The rhythm was hard and fast, as Sam pistoned in and out of Dean. He had barely started when he paused; his cock buried deep within Dean as he came hard.
Sam quivered, pulling out, his cock glistening wet as he gazed at the come that spilled out of Dean’s hole. His cock still hard throbbed, the head leaking. Sam reached down to tug Dean’s thighs up higher until Dean’s knees were hugging his neck, then he leaned over folding Dean in half. His hand blindly reached underneath them and guided his cock back into Dean’s hole. There was no preamble as Sam sank in and bottomed out, fucking hard into Dean.
The wet slap of skin, lube and come, resounded in Sam’s ears building to a higher tempo. One handed he reached out to caress and palm Dean’s cock. Only to feel the ridged organ trapped between their bodies. Sam’s hand tightened around the shaft, pulling on it with every downward thrust. Sam continued until he felt Dean’s cock twitch hard in his grasp then felt the wetness over his fingers before it spread between their bodies.
In his mind, Dean screamed out, YES. The next second Sam roared triumphantly. Riding Dean’s heat, Sam’s hips snapped harder even as he shifted to have both hands on the floor near Dean’s head in order to balance his weight.
Focused on the moment, his body erratic; Sam thrust to a primal rhythm that edged him closer, his need riding higher, with words of: oh god, Dean, yes tumbled out of his mouth. Along with his promise, in gasping breaths until only, Dean, escaped in a shout as Sam came hard once again - his entire body, all the down to his toes shuddered in the climax until he collapsed in exhaustion on top of Dean even as he tipped over into an abyss of pleasure.
*~*~*~*
When Sam came back to himself; he carefully untangled Dean’s legs off of his shoulders and lifted up bracing his upper body off of Dean’s chest and opened his eyes surprised to find Dean gazing up at him.
Everything slowed down as Sam blinked, realizing the look on Dean’s face was one he couldn’t place. Then it hits him, it’s not the same blank stare Sam’s seen every day for the last month: the hollow emptiness; instead, Dean is staring back at him looking confused - worried, scared.
Through the shock Sam’s mind finally supplies the answer - the ritual.
Oblivious of their positions, Sam’s voice cracked as he eagerly called out, praying that it was Dean that he did it, the ritual worked. “Dean? Dean?” Although Dean didn’t respond verbally, Sam could clearly see the muscles in Dean’s face jumped in sheer panic even as Dean’s eyes shifted scanning the room looking behind Sam.
Sam offered, “Shush you’re safe now. OH my god, it worked. You’re safe.” Instead of being reassured, Sam could see Dean’s panic escalate. He reached out, his hand trembling as Sam cupped Dean’s face in an effort to comfort his brother to let him know it was true that he was safe.
His gesture seemed to have the reverse affect as Dean shook his head to dislodge Sam’s hand and squeezed his eyes shut.
Sam’s panic rose, as he pleaded, “No don’t, please. Its true you’re safe now.” Then gently, Sam caressed his thumb over Dean’s cheek in an attempt to coax Dean to open his eyes.
Dean stilled under his hand, but he did as Sam silently requested and opened his eyes. Overwhelmed, that it worked Sam stared into Dean’s eyes, amazed to see Dean was actually there. His pupils were blown, emotions clearly visible as they flitted across Dean’s face. Sam was so excited that he was seeing anything rather than the all too familiar vacant look he had come to hate. Sam stared in wonder as Dean’s eyes welled with tears before he turned away; lips thinning into a line like he was afraid to speak, obviously distraught.
Slowly Sam realized he was making it worse, but he had to make Dean understand. Know it was okay now, he was safe. He grasped Dean’s jaw, and turned him back to face Sam. At first Dean resisted, but Sam had the leverage and forced Dean to face him again; only to be horrified by the site of tears running freely down Dean’s face.
Dean opened his mouth to say something. There was no sound, but he tried again. This time Sam understood when Dean mouthed the word, off. Sam flushed suddenly acutely aware of their positions, that he was semi-hard and still inside Dean.
Mortified Sam instantly lost his erection and carefully pulled out and crawled off to bodily back away, giving Dean more space. Hanging his head, Sam stammered, his voice choked by emotion. “Oh god Dean, I’m sorry, but I had to - to bring you back.”
Sam glanced over under his lashes only to see Dean had turned away, curling into himself. He stared at Dean’s back; lost in thought chastising himself filling in the blanks of what Dean must be thinking finding himself naked with his brother on top and still inside him…
Sam was conflicted: torn between emotions. He was ecstatic, overjoyed to see Dean not only conscious, but animated and seemingly aware of his surroundings. Simultaneously, he felt shame and was hurt by Dean’s blatant rejection - a moment later he admonished his selfishness.
Suddenly needing to do something Sam scrambled to find a blanket to wrap around Dean’s trembling body. Barely pausing he grabbed his jeans and pulled them on before returning to Dean.
Under his breath Sam continued to offer comfort, muttering nonsense, to Dean about how he was safe now, as Sam unfolded the blanket and bent down to cover his brother’s shaking form. He even started to tuck the blanket around him, but Sam quickly stopped when he noticed Dean cringed away from his touch.
Dropping the blanket Sam turned away hiding his tears and busily stoked the fire. Once he felt calmer, Sam stood and grabbed a duffle as he searched for clean clothes: a pair of sweats and a tee-shirt for Dean. Then he took the pile into the bathroom and placed them by sink. Although there was no gas or electricity, they did have running water; if Dean needed to he could use the bathroom for some privacy.
Maintaining a healthy distance, Sam observed Dean’s response; he didn’t move. Sam watched confused by his reaction and the hurt he felt by Dean’s withdrawal. Logically he knew Dean had every right to be scared, to be afraid of him, especially after waking up to find his brother violating him. Through the loathing shame, it did nothing to diminish Sam’s elation that the spell worked; he’d done it, he’d pulled Dean from the pit. Bonded his soul with Dean’s - he saved Dean.
Breaking the silence, Sam nervously choked out. “I put clean clothes in the bathroom for you. There’s no electricity or heat, but you can wash up… I can help you if you…”
Dean stiffened in fright before he answered unequivocally, “No.” Then jerkily he moved to stand.
The weight to reassure Dean urged Sam to speak, “Dean, I…” however at the sound of his voice, Dean cowered under the blanket. Sam froze at the sight. Only when he felt assured that Sam was going to keep his distance did Dean sluggishly make his way to the bathroom and shut the door.
The sound vibrated through the deafening silence as if Dean had slammed it shut. Sam stared at the door. His breath even, the relief and pure joy he felt at seeing Dean animated eased whatever hurt Sam felt- even after Dean’s reaction, no matter how sick it was Sam couldn’t deny the satisfying hum of pleasure his body felt in the wake of taking Dean.
Closing his eyes, Sam, took a moment to memorize each second knowing it was his first and last time with Dean - only the crackling roar of the fire behind him broke the silence.
*~*~*~*
Sam anxiously stared at the door then back at the fire.
It had been over four hours since Dean had taken refuge in the bathroom and nearly three hours since Sam panicked and threatened to break the door down if Dean didn’t answer him.
Dean had responded with a choked, “Don’t Sam.”
While it had eased one fear that Sam hadn’t lost his mind and somehow imagined Dean’s reanimation, it was only replaced by another fear that was growing stronger by the second - that he had saved Dean only to have to walk away, and endure Dean’s hatred for what he did.
Misguided, Sam thought he could handle it. Handle anything, as long as he knew Dean was alive, saved from the pit. Although Sam knew and never doubted he’d keep his word, to leave Dean. The truth was he had no idea how painful the prospect would be now after he knew what it felt like to have Dean beneath him, to be inside…. He had no idea how much just the idea of leaving Dean now, afterward, was going to break his heart.
His consciousness berated himself, “You promised!” Nodding to the truth of those words, Sam swallowed reminding himself that it was beyond measure to have this Dean over the one he had cared for - that Dean dead or comatose left him shattered, leaving Sam nothing but a shell, waiting to die.
Inhaling, Sam squared his shoulders resigned to what he had to do. Sam’s eyes shifted to the door and exhaled. He reached for his cell phone. Flipping it open he clicked on the address book and scrolled down until he found Bobby’s name. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed Bobby’s name, listening to it ring.
He didn’t have long to wait before he heard a voice, “Sam, that you?”
Maybe it shouldn’t have but it surprised him to hear Ellen’s voice then Bobby’s in the background, “Goddamn it; give me my phone.”
“You’re driving. Sam? Honey is that you?”
The fire flickered and crackled; Sam stared into the flames. His vision blurred, voice hoarse, yet loud to his own ears when he spoke. “It worked, Dean’s alive, but he doesn’t want anything to do with me…” In a pained whisper he added, “I’ll text you the coordinates. Hurry!”
Sam heard the empathetic sorrow in Ellen’s words, “Oh Sam…” it was too much and he hit end, fingers moving on auto as Sam clicked the bubble to text them. Once he added the coordinates and hit send, Sam turned the ringer off and set it aside, ignoring how it lit up as Ellen’s calls went to voicemail.
Tears escaped and slid down his face. Although it was Sam’s imagination that supplied a pseudo image of Bobby along with the words that played in a loop. The hunter’s voice was etched in shocked anger and disgust, as the he continued to condemn Sam’s actions. “Raping your own brother Sam - how can you ever make that right?”
Sam had no answer because there was none; he couldn’t make it right. He could only wait until they got here before he left and walked away from Dean forever.
Next~
Previous ch: 1
2/3
Twelve hours later, Sam exited the freeway in Idaho. Initially Sam had no idea where he’d go. He only knew he had to steer clear of any hunters in case Bobby or Ellen had put out any feelers. At this point he couldn’t trust that they wouldn’t try to stop him.
“Can you blame them, Sam?”
Sam’s eyes crossed over to Dean. His brother was just as Sam left him, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. The same ones Sam had placed on Dean earlier in the day when he stopped for gas. However, now in the density of nightfall, it was odd. Sam hunched his shoulders, ignoring Dean’s question.
As it was, it was only the latest of phantom Dean’s questions. One of many Dean had started to ask, or more often than not, voicing complaints that quickly rattled on Sam’s nerves.
Once it started, it continued almost non-stop. At first Sam responded, but as the day wore on it was apparent his subconscious was having phantom Dean, play devil’s advocate, to voice his own doubts. Once Sam understood what was happening he stopped answering Dean, realizing that if he continually answered his brother it’d only affirm Bobby’s accusation that he was crazy.
Dean chuckled, “You don’t need to answer me, Sammy, but you know as well as I do that if any hunter worth their two-cents got wind of what you did- kidnapping your brother, a mindless drooling mess -- you and I both know they better not find you. They’re not going to stop and ask questions. I mean look at me; you got me in fucking diapers, man! It’s… let me just say that it’s disgusting… And for the record, you’re never to bring that up - ever!” Sam listened, but stared straight ahead, fear prickling at the back of his head that if he looked at Dean he’d discover how over the edge he truly was and actually see Dean fidgeting in his seat.
“Also, let’s not forget your grand plan to fuck me.” Sam clenched his jaw and grounded his back teeth, trying unsuccessfully to block out Dean’s words as he focused on the road ahead.
“You can’t deny it’s wrong, Sam. Anyone out there in the real world, they’ll automatically think you’re ready for the rubber room.”
Initially, Sam refused to respond and squared his shoulders. However, the dense silence weighted on his conscious and before Sam could stop himself, he spoke. “Doesn’t matter, I won’t break my promise.”
At first, phantom Dean didn’t reply, then Sam heard the sadness in Dean’s voice, the defeat as he muttered, “I know, Sam, I know.”
It was silent after that, and took another hour on back roads before Sam finally pulled to a stop. In front of them stood a cabin, where they had stayed one summer when they were kids. He wondered if Dean remembered. It was just before summer, and as usual they were travelling, going from one job to another. However, when they arrived here they ended up staying the entire summer. For them it was long time, but that wasn’t the reason why Sam remembered. It was shortly after his birthday when he turned twelve: Dad had gotten the place for them to hole up in while he worked a hunt with Caleb and put him in charge while Dean rested. Sam remembered because it was the first time Dad put him in charge taking care of Dean.
While they were there, though it was only the flu, Sam fretted over Dean the first week when he did nothing but sleep. The following week, Dean was still weak and sick enough that he enjoyed Sam waiting on him. But by the end of the second week, Dean was feeling better, enough that they fought. He started to bitch about everything, mainly because Dad had extracted a promise from Dean that while he was gone he had to rest and follow Sammy’s orders.
That first week, Sam hated seeing Dean so sick, but taking care of Dean also made him feel good, like he was doing something. Afterwards, when they started fighting over stupid stuff, Sam remembered hiding more than one smile - pleased that he had a hand in making Dean better.
Sam couldn’t deny he was prepared to do it again.
However, it didn’t mean Sam wasn’t scared - afraid he’d screw up, that he was too late, that Dean would hate him. Sam waited, half expecting phantom Dean to say something, to start taunting him again, but there was only silence.
Slowly, Sam turned to Dean. Sam swallowed against the pain he felt at seeing his brother. The question about whether Dean remembered was forgotten, as he thought about the ritual to free Dean from hell and stated, “It won’t be long now… I’ll go - get things ready.” Resigned, Sam put his hand on the door and got out of the car.
Opening the trunk, Sam pulled out a shotgun loaded with rock salt, and headed towards the cabin. It didn’t take him long to verify the cabin had been abandoned before he secured the area. The inside was empty, though there were two bedrooms; Sam decided to unload everything they’d need in the main room where he planned to utilize the fireplace and the stack of wood he had spotted out back. Then he went back to the car and collected what else they’d need from the trunk before he gathered Dean, settling him in a sitting position against the wall near the fireplace.
After carrying in enough wood to last for a few days, Sam started to salt all the windows and doors before he turned his attention to building a fire.
Focused, moving with a fluidly from years of practice, it had only taken Sam a little over an hour to get unpacked and settled in. Only when Sam was done did he turn toward Dean, wincing when he saw the sunglasses. He reached over to gently remove them, to see what he hated: Dean’s vacant lifeless stare.
Suddenly Sam was nervous, feeling self-conscious as he took off his jacket and grabbed the book - knowing he had to set up for the ritual, to prep Dean.
Even as he thought of the ritual, Sam recalled the illustrations that had accompanied the spell. His imagination was rapid as it supplied graphic details visualizing his brother. Quickly, Sam closed his eyes as he was bombarded with intimate images - most taken out of context over the years. Initially all of them were innocent memories from them living too close together, being inside each other’s pocket for years, but strung together one image after another, Sam felt flush and it wasn’t the heat from the fireplace.
Sam was mortified as one memory came to the forefront - the first time he had spied Dean making out. The first time had been an accident, and he had told himself it was normal - he was fourteen and Dean had coaxed Trisha out of her bra, but as the memory played Sam realized he wasn’t fourteen anymore and couldn’t hide behind the lie.
Shamed, Sam inhaled sharply, sucking in the inner walls of his cheek, clamping it down between his teeth, trying to use pain to forcibly shove the images away. Suddenly it was Bobby’s voice that echoed accusingly in Sam’s head. “It’s wrong…. Your brother he wouldn’t want this.”
Sam shook his head in denial, he had to do it; it was the only way to bring Dean back. Abruptly Sam heard Dean, “Doesn’t change that you actually want to fuck me, Sam, now does it?”
Sam’s eyes snapped open at phantom Dean’s words. A lump formed in Sam’s throat as he stared at Dean. “No, I … it’s not…” Eyes watering, Sam zeroed in on an old memory of Dean jerking off; flashing to the numerous times he had used the memory to get himself off on the forbidden image. “I don’t…”
“That’s a lie, Sam, and we both know it.”
Defensive over the heated memory, Sam blurted out in a rush, his voice getting louder, “It’s not my fault; I didn’t mean to watch you! But you woke me up when you made out with Trisha then turned around and performed for her - in the fucking living room, Dean. What the fuck was that? I was fourteen with a walking erection, what the hell was I supposed to do?”
In Sam’s mind, phantom Dean inhaled sharply then slowly exhaled, lost in the memory as he whistled before he licked his lips. “Trish the dish, now that girl had a rack. Knockers you could suck on all day…
“Damn it, Dean.”
“What? Alright fine, let’s focus on the big picture. You thinking of cock; and not just any cock, Sam, but my cock. In my book Bobby called it - it’s wrong because I’m your brother, not to mention gay.”
Sam rolled his eyes at Dean’s ridiculous conclusion. He was fourteen for Christ’s sake.
Phantom Dean shrugged in response. “Doesn’t change the fact that you jerked off thinking about me instead of Trish. And what about all of the other times when I was the star of you jack off material? And the biggie Sammy, how many times did you think of me when you where with Jess?”
“I didn’t!” Vigorously, Sam shook his head. It wasn’t true, it wasn’t. “Don’t!”
“Don’t what, Sam? I’m not even having this conversation - it’s just you man. A mano- e- mano having a one-sided, ready for the rubber room, about whether or not you secretly want to fuck me- dude, denial only goes so far. Look at me, Sam - I’m a drooling, fucking douche, change my diaper, piece of shit and you still want to fuck me. How the hell can you justify that? Not think it’s wrong, huh Sam?”
Shaking, Sam clamped his hands over his ears. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”
“No, I can’t do that, Sam. And I’m not going to go away because you know this is wrong.”
“No, you know what’s wrong, Dean? You down in the pit -because of me- that’s wrong! And I can’t, man, I can’t go on without you. I tried! I did that for six months! Every fucking day was hell waking up without you. You weren’t out on some hunt, you were dead. I had to bury you! I can’t do it again. If you want to kill me afterwards, hate me… If that’s what you want, what you need, fine, I’ll walk away for good - I don’t care, at least you’d be out of the pit and whole again.”
Suddenly Sam stood, ignoring the cracked ache in Dean’s voice when he called out, “Sammy.”
“I can’t, I can’t, not again…” His hands shaking Sam angrily took off his shirt, throwing it to the side before he bent over and wrestled out of each of his boots, kicking each one as it came off. The pain of those days flooded in, igniting his every action. Of how lonely he was, of the guilt eating away his soul, of waking up each day with the hard reality that Dean was dead. Day after day, Sam mourned, while he continued to search for the Trickster. Fueled by the memories that still taunted him, he knew this time it was different and that he could stop it. With renewed purpose Sam rummaged through his duffle bag, pulling out a bowl and gathering the ingredients he’d collected from Bobby’s.
Setting ingredients next to the bowl, Sam arranged each one in the order he’d need them, including a mirror and a bottle of lube.
Turning toward Dean, Sam inhaled then bent down to undo Dean’s shoes, rolling the socks off and shoving them inside. Sam’s gaze shifted toward Dean’s pants and he sighed, hoping this would be the last time.
In the last few weeks undressing Dean, cleaning him up, was a necessity that Sam did on autopilot and would zone out in order to handle the task at hand; one Sam had done every day since he started caring for Dean. His movements gentle, mechanical as he cleaned his brother and disposed of the diaper. Returning he grabbed Dean’s pants, and folded them neatly, setting them on a chair and placed Dean’s shoes under it before Sam took off Dean’s shirt.
Glancing at Dean’s chest, Sam noticed the wounds were gone, healed. Kneeling down Sam’s eyes trailed over the faint scars, reminders that the marks were meant to kill leaving behind only thin crimson white lines over Dean’s chest and hips. Gently, Sam laid his palm over the widest stretch of skin. It was the deepest, near Dean’s heart; the last one to close over. Sam’s thumb brushed over its length, feeling the heated warmth of Dean’s skin.
Abruptly, Sam pulled away and busily folded the shirt to add to the pile with Dean’s pants. On repeat, a mantra played in his head: “Going to save you Dean, I have to.” Lips pressed tight, his nostrils flared as he nervously grabbed the book and started to read. He slowly added each new ingredient as it was needed to the mix and repetitively licked his lips, a move that did nothing to fight against the tight sting of dryness he felt whenever he had to recite a new passage.
Once he finished the last passage, Sam glanced at Dean; his chin trembling as he set aside the bowl - it was time. Sam’s fingers quickly unfastened the button and zipper of his jeans; hands pushed inside the waistband as he pushed both pants and boxers down and off, kicking them away.
Kneeling beside Dean, Sam gathered him, lifting his torso, and cradled him in his arms. Fingers carded through Dean’s hair as he stared down at Dean’s face into his verdant eyes.
Dean stared back, nothing had changed; his eyes were open, empty. Phantom Dean didn’t utter a sound. Sam gulped as he crushed Dean’s body to his chest, his words choked. “I promise, Dean, it’s just to bring you back … we won’t do this ever again, I won’t -I promise!”
Overly distraught Sam’s hold tightened, his words repeating in a solemn vow, “I promise, I promise, Dean.” Sam’s body shook, losing his battle as tears fell, trailing down his cheek onto Dean’s shoulder.
Pulling back, Sam gave Dean an innocent kiss on the forehead before he gently laid him back down on the floor.
Grabbing the bowl, Sam dipped his fingers into the concoction in order to draw a symbol over Dean’s heart and paused, surprised to find the mixture dense; he rubbed it between his fingers. Instead of feeling the watery texture he had initially mixed, the fluid lacked elasticity, its consistency was thicker and heavier. Worried Sam glanced at the empty bottles and bags he had used. He only had enough ingredients to concoct what was in the bowl - it had to be enough to draw six symbols he needed - three on Dean’s body, and three on his own body.
Sam couldn’t afford the delay; to wait and restock, not when he was sure Bobby and Ellen had put the word out - had hunters looking for them, willing to take Dean away from him. No he had to do this now - had to make it work.
Not wasting any more time Sam focused as he attempted to copy the first symbol from the book - over Dean’s heart. His fingers pressed, rubbing hard into Dean’s skin then his own trying to stretch the dense mixture. Sam picked up the book to study the next symbol to be placed on their foreheads. He did Dean’s first then picked up the mirror to draw a matching symbol before moving on to the last symbol, a single line, half circle and three dots that was to be placed on their cocks.
Once he was done, Sam felt a low heat generate from under each symbol - signaling it was working. He was ready and though it wasn’t expressly part of the ritual, Sam needed to prep Dean first.
After wiping his fingers clean, Sam grabbed the bottle of lube and moved between Dean’s legs. The increasing heat under the symbols urged Sam to go faster. Lifting Dean’s leg, Sam draped it over his shoulder, and squeezed the bottle coating his finger and thumb. Nervous Sam inhaled and held his breath as he pushed forward finding Dean’s entrance.
Under hooded eyes Sam glanced at Dean, waiting, and cursed. It was stupid of him to expect a reaction this soon.
Inhaling, Sam slid the tip of his thumb further into Dean’s hole pass the natural resistance of muscle ring. He circled and stretched before adding a finger pressing in and pushing against the inner wall filling Dean.
Leaning in, Sam lifted and hitched Dean’s leg over his shoulder as he continued to wiggle and rotate his finger in a circle before adding a second finger, scissoring and doing his best to use the same gentle motions he’d experienced his first time back when he was in high school.
Sam took several nervous glances at his brother, searching for any sign that Dean - his body was reacting.
Nothing changed.
Pained with frustration, along with shame and guilt, Sam couldn’t deny what bothered him most was not knowing whether or not he was hurting Dean. However he had the same two options as when he arrived: stop or continue on if he was going to complete the ritual.
There was no choice, he couldn’t stop and take away the one chance he had to help Dean escape hell.
Doubling his efforts, Sam added more lube and pulled out, replacing his thumb with another finger, stretching then pushing all the way back until his fingers bottomed out. He felt the heat envelope around him, and held his breath as an image surfaced - an old fantasy. One Sam had over the years of a faceless man. Sam closed his eyes and inhaled when his cock twitched in interest. Although he was washed with shame and guilt of what he was doing to Dean, yet Sam knew he had to do this to complete the ritual. Mentally he pushed everything else aside to focus.
Once he accepted the fantasy, Sam delved deeper allowing the visions to further entice his desire.
It was late; he was back in high school at his locker. He didn’t hear him until it was too late. By then he was pressed up behind Sam, pushing him forward up against the lockers, his body flush against Sam’s. His breath ghosted over Sam’s neck. The solid weight of his body pressed hard against Sam, silently telling him to stop struggling. Once Sam complied the stranger pulled Sam’s arms up over his head then slithered down Sam’s waist to his flank where he grabbed Sam’s hips, angling them and rocking his body so Sam could feel the hard column of his erection. The faceless fantasy man spoke, sending shivers of pleasure straight to Sam’s cock. “The way you walk around acting like no one is watching - but I’m watching, I’m always watching.”
Sam felt the guy’s fingers undo his pants, pushing down the fabric along with his boxers. His laugher filled Sam’s ears, “Already hard, such a good slut, but now you’re going to be my slut now, aren’t you? Going to fuck you right here, right now - isn’t that what you want?”
His hand wrapped around Sam’s cock, sliding down to pump his already slick member. His voice lost, all Sam could do was moan in pleasure, nodding his head, yes. In approval the man kissed his neck even as his grip tightened around Sam’s cock, but it was his next words that had Sam spinning, “Sammy you’re such a good greedy slut, but I know the truth. What you really want is me on my knees, pounding fast and hard into my ass, with me begging you for more. Isn’t that right Sammy?”
Sam gasped as his fantasy man turned him around and he came face to face with Dean. Then he spoke and Sam knew it was phantom Dean’s voice. “You can’t hide it any more Sammy” His voice rose angry, accusatory, “The truth is you’ve wanted to fuck me for so long - so do it Sammy, fuck me” Dean’s hand squeezed his cock, his voice raspy with want, as phantom Dean spat out, “fuck your brother!”
Abruptly the fantasy of Dean shut down and Sam was faced with the cruel reality. Sam blinked, looking down past his cock to Dean’s hole, slick with lube.
Dean yelled, “fuck me!”
Torn but throbbing in need, Sam responded and leaned in. He could see the head of his cock poised at Dean’s entrance. Pressing in, he watched as skin gave away and swallowed the fat head of his cock.
Sam stopped, whimpering at the sight where his cock disappeared inside of Dean’s tight hole. Then he muttered a curse, moaning at the vice grip Dean had on the head. Dean gasped between moans, “Sammy, you’re so fucking BIG. Give me more, make me your slutty bitch - fuck me!”
Breathless, with pent up excitement, Sam didn’t need any other encouragement, and snapped his hips, shoving his cock inside of Dean -groaning at the heated bliss that enveloped his cock.
Out of control, Sam bottomed out only to pull back and plunge then back in. The rhythm was hard and fast, as Sam pistoned in and out of Dean. He had barely started when he paused; his cock buried deep within Dean as he came hard.
Sam quivered, pulling out, his cock glistening wet as he gazed at the come that spilled out of Dean’s hole. His cock still hard throbbed, the head leaking. Sam reached down to tug Dean’s thighs up higher until Dean’s knees were hugging his neck, then he leaned over folding Dean in half. His hand blindly reached underneath them and guided his cock back into Dean’s hole. There was no preamble as Sam sank in and bottomed out, fucking hard into Dean.
The wet slap of skin, lube and come, resounded in Sam’s ears building to a higher tempo. One handed he reached out to caress and palm Dean’s cock. Only to feel the ridged organ trapped between their bodies. Sam’s hand tightened around the shaft, pulling on it with every downward thrust. Sam continued until he felt Dean’s cock twitch hard in his grasp then felt the wetness over his fingers before it spread between their bodies.
In his mind, Dean screamed out, YES. The next second Sam roared triumphantly. Riding Dean’s heat, Sam’s hips snapped harder even as he shifted to have both hands on the floor near Dean’s head in order to balance his weight.
Focused on the moment, his body erratic; Sam thrust to a primal rhythm that edged him closer, his need riding higher, with words of: oh god, Dean, yes tumbled out of his mouth. Along with his promise, in gasping breaths until only, Dean, escaped in a shout as Sam came hard once again - his entire body, all the down to his toes shuddered in the climax until he collapsed in exhaustion on top of Dean even as he tipped over into an abyss of pleasure.
*~*~*~*
When Sam came back to himself; he carefully untangled Dean’s legs off of his shoulders and lifted up bracing his upper body off of Dean’s chest and opened his eyes surprised to find Dean gazing up at him.
Everything slowed down as Sam blinked, realizing the look on Dean’s face was one he couldn’t place. Then it hits him, it’s not the same blank stare Sam’s seen every day for the last month: the hollow emptiness; instead, Dean is staring back at him looking confused - worried, scared.
Through the shock Sam’s mind finally supplies the answer - the ritual.
Oblivious of their positions, Sam’s voice cracked as he eagerly called out, praying that it was Dean that he did it, the ritual worked. “Dean? Dean?” Although Dean didn’t respond verbally, Sam could clearly see the muscles in Dean’s face jumped in sheer panic even as Dean’s eyes shifted scanning the room looking behind Sam.
Sam offered, “Shush you’re safe now. OH my god, it worked. You’re safe.” Instead of being reassured, Sam could see Dean’s panic escalate. He reached out, his hand trembling as Sam cupped Dean’s face in an effort to comfort his brother to let him know it was true that he was safe.
His gesture seemed to have the reverse affect as Dean shook his head to dislodge Sam’s hand and squeezed his eyes shut.
Sam’s panic rose, as he pleaded, “No don’t, please. Its true you’re safe now.” Then gently, Sam caressed his thumb over Dean’s cheek in an attempt to coax Dean to open his eyes.
Dean stilled under his hand, but he did as Sam silently requested and opened his eyes. Overwhelmed, that it worked Sam stared into Dean’s eyes, amazed to see Dean was actually there. His pupils were blown, emotions clearly visible as they flitted across Dean’s face. Sam was so excited that he was seeing anything rather than the all too familiar vacant look he had come to hate. Sam stared in wonder as Dean’s eyes welled with tears before he turned away; lips thinning into a line like he was afraid to speak, obviously distraught.
Slowly Sam realized he was making it worse, but he had to make Dean understand. Know it was okay now, he was safe. He grasped Dean’s jaw, and turned him back to face Sam. At first Dean resisted, but Sam had the leverage and forced Dean to face him again; only to be horrified by the site of tears running freely down Dean’s face.
Dean opened his mouth to say something. There was no sound, but he tried again. This time Sam understood when Dean mouthed the word, off. Sam flushed suddenly acutely aware of their positions, that he was semi-hard and still inside Dean.
Mortified Sam instantly lost his erection and carefully pulled out and crawled off to bodily back away, giving Dean more space. Hanging his head, Sam stammered, his voice choked by emotion. “Oh god Dean, I’m sorry, but I had to - to bring you back.”
Sam glanced over under his lashes only to see Dean had turned away, curling into himself. He stared at Dean’s back; lost in thought chastising himself filling in the blanks of what Dean must be thinking finding himself naked with his brother on top and still inside him…
Sam was conflicted: torn between emotions. He was ecstatic, overjoyed to see Dean not only conscious, but animated and seemingly aware of his surroundings. Simultaneously, he felt shame and was hurt by Dean’s blatant rejection - a moment later he admonished his selfishness.
Suddenly needing to do something Sam scrambled to find a blanket to wrap around Dean’s trembling body. Barely pausing he grabbed his jeans and pulled them on before returning to Dean.
Under his breath Sam continued to offer comfort, muttering nonsense, to Dean about how he was safe now, as Sam unfolded the blanket and bent down to cover his brother’s shaking form. He even started to tuck the blanket around him, but Sam quickly stopped when he noticed Dean cringed away from his touch.
Dropping the blanket Sam turned away hiding his tears and busily stoked the fire. Once he felt calmer, Sam stood and grabbed a duffle as he searched for clean clothes: a pair of sweats and a tee-shirt for Dean. Then he took the pile into the bathroom and placed them by sink. Although there was no gas or electricity, they did have running water; if Dean needed to he could use the bathroom for some privacy.
Maintaining a healthy distance, Sam observed Dean’s response; he didn’t move. Sam watched confused by his reaction and the hurt he felt by Dean’s withdrawal. Logically he knew Dean had every right to be scared, to be afraid of him, especially after waking up to find his brother violating him. Through the loathing shame, it did nothing to diminish Sam’s elation that the spell worked; he’d done it, he’d pulled Dean from the pit. Bonded his soul with Dean’s - he saved Dean.
Breaking the silence, Sam nervously choked out. “I put clean clothes in the bathroom for you. There’s no electricity or heat, but you can wash up… I can help you if you…”
Dean stiffened in fright before he answered unequivocally, “No.” Then jerkily he moved to stand.
The weight to reassure Dean urged Sam to speak, “Dean, I…” however at the sound of his voice, Dean cowered under the blanket. Sam froze at the sight. Only when he felt assured that Sam was going to keep his distance did Dean sluggishly make his way to the bathroom and shut the door.
The sound vibrated through the deafening silence as if Dean had slammed it shut. Sam stared at the door. His breath even, the relief and pure joy he felt at seeing Dean animated eased whatever hurt Sam felt- even after Dean’s reaction, no matter how sick it was Sam couldn’t deny the satisfying hum of pleasure his body felt in the wake of taking Dean.
Closing his eyes, Sam, took a moment to memorize each second knowing it was his first and last time with Dean - only the crackling roar of the fire behind him broke the silence.
*~*~*~*
Sam anxiously stared at the door then back at the fire.
It had been over four hours since Dean had taken refuge in the bathroom and nearly three hours since Sam panicked and threatened to break the door down if Dean didn’t answer him.
Dean had responded with a choked, “Don’t Sam.”
While it had eased one fear that Sam hadn’t lost his mind and somehow imagined Dean’s reanimation, it was only replaced by another fear that was growing stronger by the second - that he had saved Dean only to have to walk away, and endure Dean’s hatred for what he did.
Misguided, Sam thought he could handle it. Handle anything, as long as he knew Dean was alive, saved from the pit. Although Sam knew and never doubted he’d keep his word, to leave Dean. The truth was he had no idea how painful the prospect would be now after he knew what it felt like to have Dean beneath him, to be inside…. He had no idea how much just the idea of leaving Dean now, afterward, was going to break his heart.
His consciousness berated himself, “You promised!” Nodding to the truth of those words, Sam swallowed reminding himself that it was beyond measure to have this Dean over the one he had cared for - that Dean dead or comatose left him shattered, leaving Sam nothing but a shell, waiting to die.
Inhaling, Sam squared his shoulders resigned to what he had to do. Sam’s eyes shifted to the door and exhaled. He reached for his cell phone. Flipping it open he clicked on the address book and scrolled down until he found Bobby’s name. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed Bobby’s name, listening to it ring.
He didn’t have long to wait before he heard a voice, “Sam, that you?”
Maybe it shouldn’t have but it surprised him to hear Ellen’s voice then Bobby’s in the background, “Goddamn it; give me my phone.”
“You’re driving. Sam? Honey is that you?”
The fire flickered and crackled; Sam stared into the flames. His vision blurred, voice hoarse, yet loud to his own ears when he spoke. “It worked, Dean’s alive, but he doesn’t want anything to do with me…” In a pained whisper he added, “I’ll text you the coordinates. Hurry!”
Sam heard the empathetic sorrow in Ellen’s words, “Oh Sam…” it was too much and he hit end, fingers moving on auto as Sam clicked the bubble to text them. Once he added the coordinates and hit send, Sam turned the ringer off and set it aside, ignoring how it lit up as Ellen’s calls went to voicemail.
Tears escaped and slid down his face. Although it was Sam’s imagination that supplied a pseudo image of Bobby along with the words that played in a loop. The hunter’s voice was etched in shocked anger and disgust, as the he continued to condemn Sam’s actions. “Raping your own brother Sam - how can you ever make that right?”
Sam had no answer because there was none; he couldn’t make it right. He could only wait until they got here before he left and walked away from Dean forever.
Next~