FIC: Human Emotion 4/5
Title: Human Emotion
Author: Miss 'Drea
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Castiel, Sam/Castiel/Dean
Rating: NC17
Word count: 14,400~
Artist who did your art: freetodream5
Warnings/Kinks: Threesome, body fetish (ears), body fetish (back), wing kink (sort of), massages, coming without being touched, incest (of the Win variety), biting
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Thanks to my amazing beta mistyzeo who ventured out of her comfort zone for me. I love you and you're amazing. Also thanks to rayn_firehawk for the outrage on Castiel's behalf, Boyfriend, for reading my gay porn because that's just made of win, blackcathollow for being the first person to want to read this monstrosity and thebunnybag for pointing out my smut inconsistencies.
| Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Epilogue |
*
Part Four
With a sound like flapping wings, Castiel opened his eyes to see Zachariah standing over the bed, the full force of his disapproval shining down on them. “Glad to see you awake, Castiel,” he snarked. “I’ve been here for five minutes. Time was you would have woken up the minute I was in the room. You’d never have been sleeping in the first place, of course, but that’s not the point.”
Too tired to care, Castiel closed his eyes. “What do you want, Zachariah?” he asked wearily.
“Oh it’s not what I want,” Zachariah said, chortling. “It’s what you want.” He held out a hand and a vial shaped like an hourglass hung off his steady fingers.
Grace.
Castiel’s entire being ached to be one with the Power of God again, and he choked on a desperate sob. “Where did you get that?” he asked, his eyes filling with yet more tears.
“I gathered it, piece by piece. It's been falling off of you in drips and drops. It was only a matter of finding it.” The hard lines of Zachariah’s face softened ever so slightly. “Did you accomplish what you set out to, my brother?”
Castiel tore his eyes away from his Grace to look at Sam and Dean. They slept peacefully, their fingers linked over Castiel’s lap. “Yes,” he finally whispered.
“Then come back, Castiel. Take your Grace and return to the Fold.” He held out the vial. “Being human will kill you, Castiel. One day soon Jimmy Novak will force his way out of you. One body cannot contain two souls. Come home.”
Feeling torn in two, Castiel could still feel the impression of a rueful smile hiding in the place where Jimmy Novak resided. Eyes closing, Castiel nodded. “Allow me to say good-bye,” he whispered.
“Catch.” As Zachariah vanished and as Grace enveloped him, he could hear his brothers voice on the air. “You can only wake one, Castiel. Choose wisely.”
When the light faded, Castiel turned back and looked down at the sleeping brothers. The empty spot between them smoothed out, erasing the impression of Cas’ body as though it had never been there. “Samuel,” he said clearly, dropping a hand down onto Sam’s shoulder.
Sam opened his eyes slowly. He stretched languorously for a minute before realizing that Castiel was wearing Jimmy Novak’s old clothes. Clothes that had been destroyed. “Cas,” he whispered, dread curling low in his belly.
“I am truly sorry, Samuel,” Castiel said, no longer able to whisper, power layered behind his voice. “There was little choice.”
And the shadow of great wings stretched out on the wall behind him. “Oh Cas,” breathed Sam. “Oh no...”
“I must go,” Castiel said, pulling his hand away from the warm skin of Sam’s bare shoulder. “Tell Dean goodbye for me. Keep him on the path, for I will not be returning.”
Sam snatched at his hand and pulled by Castiel didn’t budge. “You can’t say goodbye yourself?”
Castiel’s eyes closed briefly. “No. Dean would never let me leave.”
“What makes you think I will?” Sam challenged, tightening his grip.
Castiel could remember how to smile, even remembered doing it, but couldn’t bring himself to do so anymore. “Because you’re the rational brother,” he said slowly. “Let me go, Samuel.”
Stung, Sam did so. “You’re already gone,” he whispered blankly.
Inclining his head in brief acknowledgment of the truth, Castiel began backing away from the bed where he’d left Sam and Dean. “Goodbye, Samuel Winchester.” He turned but was surprised to see Sam scramble off the bed, still naked, and cut him off.
They stared at each other for a long, silent moment. “Kiss me,” Sam begged. “Just one last time.” He reached out, aborted the motion, making a fist. “Please.”
Castiel could see himself reflected in Sam’s eyes. “We both know I can’t Sam,” he said. Even though he felt like he was breaking, there was nothing he could do to show Sam how he felt, except by using his name.
“Cas, please I... I love-,” The shadow of Castiel’s wings darkened dangerously, pulling all the shadows from the corners, cutting him off mid-sentence.
“Do not tell me!” thundered Castiel. “Forget me, Sam.”
The sound of flapping wings filled the room and when Sam blinked away the after images, Cas was gone.
Sam broke.
*
Dean found Sam sitting at the foot of the bed, naked, freezing and staring off into space. Briefly he worried that the silence, the stiff posture and tear tracks was Sam’s version of the ‘my-brother-touched-me-during-sex’ freak out.
Until he noticed that Castiel was no longer in the room with them. “Sam?” he whispered, sitting up in the bed. “Are you... all right?”
“Peachy.”
Dean cringed at the dead tone and he climbed slowly out of the warmth of the covers to crouch in front of his brother. “Where’s Cas?” he asked next, figuring it was the safest topic they had left.
Sam sniffed once. “Gone,” he whispered.
“He walked out?” Dean found that hard to believe. Castiel had devoted everything to them, the likelihood that he’d just up and left them was slim to none.
“No.” Sam’s voice was small. “He went back to Heaven.”
Oh. Oh no. Oh sweet zombie Jesus no. He reacted without thought, reaching out and clasping Sam behind the head, pulling him into his arms. Sam’s shoulders hitched once, twice, and then he was sobbing, the kind of crying that exhausts you and cleanses you. True grief in a Winchester was rare, but Sam could feel it pressing at the already fragile seams of his soul. Dean’s hold tightened almost painfully and Sam buried his face in the side of Dean’s neck.
He was ten years old again and waking from a nightmare.
His fingers dug into Dean’s hip and shoulder and he let himself cry. He didn’t mention it when he felt Dean’s answering tears.
They cried together for what seemed like ages, crying like they hadn’t cried for many years.
Finally, tears not yet dry on his over hot and tight face, Dean tugged Sam up and climbed into bed with him, pulling the covers up and tucking in his brother.
The pillows still smelled like Castiel.
The brothers curled up together, legs tangling, arms draped over chests and hips. Dean pressed his forehead to Sam’s and sighed long and loud. “Why?” he finally asked against the skin of Sam’s cheek.
“They offered him back Heaven,” Sam answered hollowly. “Hell, after some of the sins he committed, I’m not surprised he jumped ship.” He laughed bitterly. “He says goodbye, by the way.”
Dean’s breathing hitched. “Sam...”
“I’m fine,” Sam said automatically. “Working on repressing as we speak. Don’t worry.”
Dean pressed his fingertips to Sam’s chapped lips. “Stop,” he demanded quietly. “Talk to me.”
Sam’s eyes slammed closed lest Dean see the fresh tears his words had sprung up. They hadn’t talked since well before Dean went to Hell. “I think...” Sam said, his voice low and hoarse, “I think I might have loved him, Dean.”
Heart breaking for his brother, Dean didn’t know what to do, or what to say, or if there even was anything to do or say. So Dean did the only thing he knew how to do. He kissed Sam.
Sam’s lips were slack under his, they were chapped but warm and familiar. Dean tilted his head and deepened the kiss, brushing his tongue over Sam’s bottom lip. Sam’s lips parted but he still lay passively under Dean’s onslaught. Dean pressed harder, molding their lips together, coaxing Sam’s open with his tongue. When Sam still didn’t respond, Dean broke away, breathing raggedly. “Respond, damn you,” he growled.
Sam gazed at him for a moment, his normally expressive eyes flat and assessing. “Dean?” he whispered. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I want to,” Dean responded. “Because I can.” He rubbed his nose on Sam’s, slanting his mouth and hovering just over Sam’s lips. They breathed each other's air and he let Sam make the decision.
Sam inhaled shallowly through his nose and stared into the familiar green eyes of his brother. There was none of the recrimination he’d been seeing there for so long, none of the mistrust or disgust. Just warm, bright concern, and a deep affection that Sam had seen only in his earliest memories. He took the plunge.
He sealed his lips over Dean’s, rolling them over and straddling his brothers hips. “Are you sure?” he asked, carding his fingers through Dean’s hair.
“Yeah,” Dean said, catching Sam’s hands and pulling him closer. “I’m sure.”
Sam kissed him again, sweeping his hands down Dean’s chest. He leaned down, pressing them skin to skin. Dean hooked a leg over Sam’s hip, rolling them over on their bed. He ground down, sliding their dry cocks together. The friction burned, sending pleasure sparking up Dean’s spine. “Dean,” Sam gasped, arching his back.
Through the push and grind, Dean grinned. “Shut up and kiss me, Sammy.”
So he did, molding his mouth to Dean’s, and letting himself go. It didn’t take long for either of them to orgasm, and Dean lay against Sam’s side, ignoring the sticky residue of their mixed come between them. “Dean?” Sam asked.
“Yeah Sammy?”
“I miss him.”
Pain is a human condition.
*
“Hey Bobby,” Sam could hear Dean say. “Yeah, we’re fine.” Sam blinked for a moment before everything crashed in on him. He bit back the whimpering scream that wanted to break from him. “Things are-Sammy? You okay?” Dean must have looked over at him. He nodded tightly into the pillow. “I’ve got to go Bobby, we’ll call.” He hung up and climbed back into the bed and tugged Sam up into his arms. “Sammy?”
“Yeah Dean,” he said, leaning heavily on his brothers shoulder. “I’m okay.”
Dean snorted. “Liar.”
Sam managed a small smile against the warm skin of Dean’s neck. “I’ll be okay then,” he amended. “Just give me some time.”
“Bobby invited us up to his place,” Dean murmured. “Because the...... y’know...... everything being hard on us and everything.” He winced at the lameness that was spewing forth. “After... the... I almost...” He stopped.
“You almost what?” Sam whispered.
“Said yes,” Dean whispered back in the same tone. “After killing uh, the Whore of Babylon.
Being a servant of God ... I almost said yes.” Sam tightened his grip on Dean’s waist. “I was going to leave... and I don’t know, find someone to say yes to, except that Cas was sick. Then I was going to leave later.” He trailed off. “But you were... with him. So I didn’t. And now...”
“And now?” Sam repeated, pulling away to look Dean in the eye. “And now? Dean I can’t...” He closed his teeth over the words and gave his brother a pleading look.
“Now...” Dean breathed out a long sigh at the end of the word. “Now. I don’t know Sam.”
Disappointment and fear welled up in his chest. “No,” he gasped out, fearing the words would choke him. “Don’t leave me too.” He reached out and pulled Dean into his arms again, pressing desperate kisses against Dean’s neck. “Please Dean.”
He tilted his head to one side, burying his fingers in Sam’s hair. “I can’t promise you anything,” he said quietly. “Not when all the Angels say it's destiny and we’ll all end up saying yes anyway.”
“Fuck destiny, Dean ” Sam pushed him onto the bed and leaned over him, looming impressively. “I will never say yes Not as long as... not as I long as I have you.”
“But...”
“Castiel believed in you,” Sam whispered harshly. “And so do I.”
Dean folded against Sam and sighed heavily. “I will always say no,” he finally promised. “If you say no.”
Sam stared him down for a long moment, close enough to see himself reflected in Dean’s eyes. “Deal,” he said harshly and sealed it with a kiss.
*
They were over tired and bleary eyed when they finally made it to Bobby’s. It had taken some convincing on Dean’s part to get Sam to agree to go, and almost a full day of driving, but they’d made it in record time. Bobby waited on the porch, drumming his fingers on the armrests of the wheelchair.
He took one look at Sam’s face and raised an eyebrow at Dean. “What’s going on, knuckleheads?”
Dean looked to Sam who shrugged and looked down. Dean obviously took that as permission, and drew in a deep breath. “Cas is gone,” he said shortly. “They made him an offer he couldn’t refuse, and he went...... back. To Heaven.”
Bobby had a feeling he was missing some pretty big pieces of whatever puzzle this was, but the heartbroken look on Sam’s face was enough to stop him from asking any big questions. “Get in here,” Bobby demanded.
“Sorry Bobby,” Sam said hoarsely as they passed him on the porch. “Been a long few days.”
“Idjit,” Bobby said fondly. “Go get a beer.”
Once the Winchesters had disappeared into the house, Bobby spun the wheels of his chair around and glared down at the Angel that stood off to one side, just out of sight of the driveway and the front door. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you don’t get to play it here. Now scram, before I get the boys painting Enochian protection symbols on this house.”
Castiel looked up at Bobby’s stern face. “I am sorry, Robert Singer,” he said quietly, but the sound carried on the wind. “It was my last wish to cause them harm.”
Bobby snorted. “Doesn’t look that way to me,” he said. “Scram.” He wheeled back around and disappeared into the house. Castiel stood there for a long moment afterwards, until he could feel Zachariah’s disapproving eyes everywhere and nowhere and he vanished.
Sam was sitting on the couch, staring down at his untouched beer when he could have sworn he heard the sound of flapping wings. Barely taking the time to put the beer down, he raced outside past Bobby and out onto the porch.
No one was there. Suddenly more angry than he’d ever been in his life, Sam whirled and slammed his fist into the side of the house. He stood there, leaning on his injured fist and breathed deeply for a minute. Over the pounding in his head he heard his phone go off.
He pulled it out of his pocket with his left hand and flipped it open. It was from Chuck, and he thought about ignoring it for the next ten years, but something made him open the message. His heart nearly stopped.
Ur rite, the text said, he was there.
*
“How quiet can you be?” Dean asked, low and rough in Sam’s ear, one hand pinning his chest and the other snaking down to palm at Sam’s covered cock. “Can’t wake Bobby, after all.”
“Bobby could sleep through an earthquake,” Sam growled, thrusting back against Dean’s hips.
Dean chuckled, using the hand on Sam’s chest to tweak his nipple. “You are not an earthquake,” he pointed out. “You could wake the dead.”
Sam growled low in his throat and twisted on the bed they laid on together to press himself flush with Dean’s chest. Their hips lined up and Dean hummed, arching and rubbing against Sam lightly. “You’re no better, Dean,” he said, hooking his hands around the back of Dean’s neck to pull him in for a kiss. Dean submitted briefly to Sam’s bid for dominance but as Sam began to pull away uncertainly, Dean took over the kiss. He plundered Sam’s mouth with authority, molding his lips to his brothers. Sam’s mouth parted on a gasp, and Dean plunged his tongue between Sam’s teeth.
As he did, Sam ceased being the passive observer. They were in this, and they were in this together. He sucked on Dean’s tongue, pulling his brother even closer. Dean rolled them over, grinding his hips down into Sam’s. “Fuck, Dean,” Sam murmured, dragging his mouth away from his brothers and pressing hot, wet kisses to his jaw, and down his throat. He tugged on Dean’s shirt and Dean obligingly lifted his arms so that Sam could work it over his head.
Once it was gone, tossed across the room in the vague direction of his duffel, Sam began licking a line down the center of his brothers chest. Dean shifted his hips uncomfortably under Sam’s, and fisted his hands into the sheets. “Sam, Jesus, come on.”
“Patience,” Sam cautioned, roughly. He leaned up and pressed a kiss to Dean’s ear. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
Dean shuddered almost comically, his hips canting up into Sam’s on a loud groan. He clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide. Sam blinked, then a slow smile spread across his face. He nuzzled Dean’s ear, pressing soft and dry kisses to the lobe and cartilage there. Dean moaned again, the sound muffled by his hand. He nipped at the edge and Dean jerked against him again. “Sam,” he said breathlessly. “Sammy, you got-,” he cut himself off, fisting both hands back in the sheet.
“I got to what?” Sam asked, amused. He licked along the edge of his brothers right ear, sliding one hand up to brush against the other side. “You have to tell me Dean.”
He nipped again and Dean gasped. “You can’t do that unless you mean it,” he grunted out.
“Oh I mean it, Dean,” Sam murmured, low and dark, “trust me.” He slid his free hand down Dean’s chest, balancing on his knees. He nibbled around the rim of Dean’s ear and grabbed at his cock at the same time. Dean seized up, turning his head into the pillow in a failed attempt to muffle his loud groan of appreciation.
He kept up the slow rub of his lips against Dean’s ear, and the quick thrusts of his hand for some time, bringing Dean closer and closer to the edge. “Fuck, Sam,” Dean groaned, canting his hips up into the tight circle of Sam’s fingers.
“What do you want?” he asked against Dean’s ear. “Do you want to come like this?” He punctuated his question with a sharp bite to Dean’s earlobe.
“Fuck,” Dean gasped. “N-No.” He arched up into Sam’s grip again. “Fuck me.”
Sam’s mouth went dry, and he pulled away to look Dean full in the face. Dean’s pupils were blown, barely any of the green left, his eyes wide. “You want me to... are you... ” He cleared his throat. “Dean?”
“Yeah,” he said.
Over the years there had been many things the Winchester boys had never talked about. Their mother's death, Sam’s leaving for Stanford, John’s death, Bobby’s loss of his legs, and possibly the way they felt for each other. They had routinely sacrificed themselves to save the other, given up more than was natural to make the other happy. Dean lost his entire childhood to taking care of Sam.
It was Sam’s turn now.
“Dean?” he asked again, voice trembling.
Dean smiled, the expression slightly lopsided. “Do it, Sam.” His eyes softened and he reached up to tangle his fingers in Sam’s sweat knotted hair. “I trust you.”
Lust swamped him, and Sam pulled Dean up to kiss him again, pressing their mouths together in a wet, hot crush. “Dean,” he murmured against his brothers lips. The lube was in their duffel and Sam pulled away to get it, a pang striking his chest when he remembered what they’d last used it for.
“Sam,” Dean said. “It’s...” he trailed off, and gave him a reassuring smile instead.
Choking back tears, which he considered relatively unsexy during sex, Sam busied himself with the tube. He nudged Dean’s knee and his brothers legs fell open easily. Sam’s mouth went dry again, and sadness momentarily forgotten, Sam slicked up the crack of Dean’s ass with one finger.
Dean moaned and thrashed on the bed. Sam grinned, doing it again, and Dean arched up. “Fuck Sam, just fucking do it already.”
Coating two fingers, Sam ran the pads around the rim listening to Dean’s low moans. Sam dipped one finger inside of him, twisting his wrist this way and that, coating the very entrance of Dean’s body as well as he was able. “Sam, damn it,” grunted Dean, bumping his hips towards Sam’s hand.
He couldn’t help the small chuckle, grinning unrepentantly when Dean turned his head to glare at him. “Sorry,” he said insincerely, and sunk one finger all the way to the second knuckle into his brother. Dean hissed loudly through his teeth, his hips making an aborted thrust in his direction. Sam leaned down and kissed him thoroughly, turning his finger up and pressing against Dean’s prostate. It was probably a good thing he was kissing Dean, because the noise he might have made otherwise definitely would have woken Bobby.
Using the pleasure from his previous touch, Sam slid in a second finger, scissoring them in increasing increments, as Dean moved restlessly under him. “Fuck, Sam, come on ”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Sam said, working his two fingers in slowly.
“You won’t,” Dean insisted, looking desperate. His cock was red, full to bursting and pressed flat against his belly. Every time Sam moved his fingers, Dean’s dick would twitch violently to one side and Sam wrapped his free hand around it. “Fuck, no, Sam, too close ” Dean’s back was arching with each small stroke, digging his heels into the mattress for more leverage.
Sam’s mouth dropped open and he was reaching for the lube before he could change his mind - before Dean could change his mind. They lived in and out of each others pockets for most of their lives. They shared clothes, they shared towels and space and it stopped being surprising when one would walk in on the other. Trust like that... it came from years of devotion.
So he slicked up his dick and rubbed the head against Dean’s ass, leaning forward to kiss him again. He was surprised when Dean reached down and took his cock in his too hot hand, lining up Sam’s dick with his ass. He let Dean lead them, going loose and pliant in his brothers grip.
When his cock finally slid in, even a little, he thought of Castiel. Dean must have seen it on his face, arching up and letting him bottom out, sliding home. Sam’s breath burst out of him in a sharp noise, and Dean leaned up on his elbows to press their foreheads together. “Do you think he can hear us?” Dean asked softly, not moving.
“I hope so.” Then words were lost as Sam began to thrust, fucking into Dean’s willing body. He pressed their lips together, swallowing the others moans and Sam lifted one of Dean’s legs to change the angle.
“Fuck S-Sam,” hissed Dean against his shoulder, biting down hard on his collarbone.
For a second, Sam’s hips lost rhythm and he nipped Dean’s ear in retribution. The bed was squeaking and Dean forgot for a minute why they had to be quiet. He lifted his head and pressed his mouth to Sam’s, as his orgasm built around him.
It started at the base of his spine, slicking up his back and coiling down into his hips. “Sam,” groaned Dean around his brothers tongue and came.
Dean’s cock spurting hot between them surprised Sam into his own orgasm, pressing their bodies together tightly and kissing Dean hotly. When he rolled off Dean, his brother pulled him close, wrapping one arm around his hip and clasping Sam’s hand. Sam spared one last thought for Castiel, before surrendering to sleep. “Love you, bitch,” Dean murmured into his ear.
“Love you too, jerk.”
It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.
*
| Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Epilogue |
Author: Miss 'Drea
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Castiel, Sam/Castiel/Dean
Rating: NC17
Word count: 14,400~
Artist who did your art: freetodream5
Warnings/Kinks: Threesome, body fetish (ears), body fetish (back), wing kink (sort of), massages, coming without being touched, incest (of the Win variety), biting
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Thanks to my amazing beta mistyzeo who ventured out of her comfort zone for me. I love you and you're amazing. Also thanks to rayn_firehawk for the outrage on Castiel's behalf, Boyfriend, for reading my gay porn because that's just made of win, blackcathollow for being the first person to want to read this monstrosity and thebunnybag for pointing out my smut inconsistencies.
| Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Epilogue |
*
Part Four
With a sound like flapping wings, Castiel opened his eyes to see Zachariah standing over the bed, the full force of his disapproval shining down on them. “Glad to see you awake, Castiel,” he snarked. “I’ve been here for five minutes. Time was you would have woken up the minute I was in the room. You’d never have been sleeping in the first place, of course, but that’s not the point.”
Too tired to care, Castiel closed his eyes. “What do you want, Zachariah?” he asked wearily.
“Oh it’s not what I want,” Zachariah said, chortling. “It’s what you want.” He held out a hand and a vial shaped like an hourglass hung off his steady fingers.
Grace.
Castiel’s entire being ached to be one with the Power of God again, and he choked on a desperate sob. “Where did you get that?” he asked, his eyes filling with yet more tears.
“I gathered it, piece by piece. It's been falling off of you in drips and drops. It was only a matter of finding it.” The hard lines of Zachariah’s face softened ever so slightly. “Did you accomplish what you set out to, my brother?”
Castiel tore his eyes away from his Grace to look at Sam and Dean. They slept peacefully, their fingers linked over Castiel’s lap. “Yes,” he finally whispered.
“Then come back, Castiel. Take your Grace and return to the Fold.” He held out the vial. “Being human will kill you, Castiel. One day soon Jimmy Novak will force his way out of you. One body cannot contain two souls. Come home.”
Feeling torn in two, Castiel could still feel the impression of a rueful smile hiding in the place where Jimmy Novak resided. Eyes closing, Castiel nodded. “Allow me to say good-bye,” he whispered.
“Catch.” As Zachariah vanished and as Grace enveloped him, he could hear his brothers voice on the air. “You can only wake one, Castiel. Choose wisely.”
When the light faded, Castiel turned back and looked down at the sleeping brothers. The empty spot between them smoothed out, erasing the impression of Cas’ body as though it had never been there. “Samuel,” he said clearly, dropping a hand down onto Sam’s shoulder.
Sam opened his eyes slowly. He stretched languorously for a minute before realizing that Castiel was wearing Jimmy Novak’s old clothes. Clothes that had been destroyed. “Cas,” he whispered, dread curling low in his belly.
“I am truly sorry, Samuel,” Castiel said, no longer able to whisper, power layered behind his voice. “There was little choice.”
And the shadow of great wings stretched out on the wall behind him. “Oh Cas,” breathed Sam. “Oh no...”
“I must go,” Castiel said, pulling his hand away from the warm skin of Sam’s bare shoulder. “Tell Dean goodbye for me. Keep him on the path, for I will not be returning.”
Sam snatched at his hand and pulled by Castiel didn’t budge. “You can’t say goodbye yourself?”
Castiel’s eyes closed briefly. “No. Dean would never let me leave.”
“What makes you think I will?” Sam challenged, tightening his grip.
Castiel could remember how to smile, even remembered doing it, but couldn’t bring himself to do so anymore. “Because you’re the rational brother,” he said slowly. “Let me go, Samuel.”
Stung, Sam did so. “You’re already gone,” he whispered blankly.
Inclining his head in brief acknowledgment of the truth, Castiel began backing away from the bed where he’d left Sam and Dean. “Goodbye, Samuel Winchester.” He turned but was surprised to see Sam scramble off the bed, still naked, and cut him off.
They stared at each other for a long, silent moment. “Kiss me,” Sam begged. “Just one last time.” He reached out, aborted the motion, making a fist. “Please.”
Castiel could see himself reflected in Sam’s eyes. “We both know I can’t Sam,” he said. Even though he felt like he was breaking, there was nothing he could do to show Sam how he felt, except by using his name.
“Cas, please I... I love-,” The shadow of Castiel’s wings darkened dangerously, pulling all the shadows from the corners, cutting him off mid-sentence.
“Do not tell me!” thundered Castiel. “Forget me, Sam.”
The sound of flapping wings filled the room and when Sam blinked away the after images, Cas was gone.
Sam broke.
*
Dean found Sam sitting at the foot of the bed, naked, freezing and staring off into space. Briefly he worried that the silence, the stiff posture and tear tracks was Sam’s version of the ‘my-brother-touched-me-during-sex’ freak out.
Until he noticed that Castiel was no longer in the room with them. “Sam?” he whispered, sitting up in the bed. “Are you... all right?”
“Peachy.”
Dean cringed at the dead tone and he climbed slowly out of the warmth of the covers to crouch in front of his brother. “Where’s Cas?” he asked next, figuring it was the safest topic they had left.
Sam sniffed once. “Gone,” he whispered.
“He walked out?” Dean found that hard to believe. Castiel had devoted everything to them, the likelihood that he’d just up and left them was slim to none.
“No.” Sam’s voice was small. “He went back to Heaven.”
Oh. Oh no. Oh sweet zombie Jesus no. He reacted without thought, reaching out and clasping Sam behind the head, pulling him into his arms. Sam’s shoulders hitched once, twice, and then he was sobbing, the kind of crying that exhausts you and cleanses you. True grief in a Winchester was rare, but Sam could feel it pressing at the already fragile seams of his soul. Dean’s hold tightened almost painfully and Sam buried his face in the side of Dean’s neck.
He was ten years old again and waking from a nightmare.
His fingers dug into Dean’s hip and shoulder and he let himself cry. He didn’t mention it when he felt Dean’s answering tears.
They cried together for what seemed like ages, crying like they hadn’t cried for many years.
Finally, tears not yet dry on his over hot and tight face, Dean tugged Sam up and climbed into bed with him, pulling the covers up and tucking in his brother.
The pillows still smelled like Castiel.
The brothers curled up together, legs tangling, arms draped over chests and hips. Dean pressed his forehead to Sam’s and sighed long and loud. “Why?” he finally asked against the skin of Sam’s cheek.
“They offered him back Heaven,” Sam answered hollowly. “Hell, after some of the sins he committed, I’m not surprised he jumped ship.” He laughed bitterly. “He says goodbye, by the way.”
Dean’s breathing hitched. “Sam...”
“I’m fine,” Sam said automatically. “Working on repressing as we speak. Don’t worry.”
Dean pressed his fingertips to Sam’s chapped lips. “Stop,” he demanded quietly. “Talk to me.”
Sam’s eyes slammed closed lest Dean see the fresh tears his words had sprung up. They hadn’t talked since well before Dean went to Hell. “I think...” Sam said, his voice low and hoarse, “I think I might have loved him, Dean.”
Heart breaking for his brother, Dean didn’t know what to do, or what to say, or if there even was anything to do or say. So Dean did the only thing he knew how to do. He kissed Sam.
Sam’s lips were slack under his, they were chapped but warm and familiar. Dean tilted his head and deepened the kiss, brushing his tongue over Sam’s bottom lip. Sam’s lips parted but he still lay passively under Dean’s onslaught. Dean pressed harder, molding their lips together, coaxing Sam’s open with his tongue. When Sam still didn’t respond, Dean broke away, breathing raggedly. “Respond, damn you,” he growled.
Sam gazed at him for a moment, his normally expressive eyes flat and assessing. “Dean?” he whispered. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I want to,” Dean responded. “Because I can.” He rubbed his nose on Sam’s, slanting his mouth and hovering just over Sam’s lips. They breathed each other's air and he let Sam make the decision.
Sam inhaled shallowly through his nose and stared into the familiar green eyes of his brother. There was none of the recrimination he’d been seeing there for so long, none of the mistrust or disgust. Just warm, bright concern, and a deep affection that Sam had seen only in his earliest memories. He took the plunge.
He sealed his lips over Dean’s, rolling them over and straddling his brothers hips. “Are you sure?” he asked, carding his fingers through Dean’s hair.
“Yeah,” Dean said, catching Sam’s hands and pulling him closer. “I’m sure.”
Sam kissed him again, sweeping his hands down Dean’s chest. He leaned down, pressing them skin to skin. Dean hooked a leg over Sam’s hip, rolling them over on their bed. He ground down, sliding their dry cocks together. The friction burned, sending pleasure sparking up Dean’s spine. “Dean,” Sam gasped, arching his back.
Through the push and grind, Dean grinned. “Shut up and kiss me, Sammy.”
So he did, molding his mouth to Dean’s, and letting himself go. It didn’t take long for either of them to orgasm, and Dean lay against Sam’s side, ignoring the sticky residue of their mixed come between them. “Dean?” Sam asked.
“Yeah Sammy?”
“I miss him.”
Pain is a human condition.
*
“Hey Bobby,” Sam could hear Dean say. “Yeah, we’re fine.” Sam blinked for a moment before everything crashed in on him. He bit back the whimpering scream that wanted to break from him. “Things are-Sammy? You okay?” Dean must have looked over at him. He nodded tightly into the pillow. “I’ve got to go Bobby, we’ll call.” He hung up and climbed back into the bed and tugged Sam up into his arms. “Sammy?”
“Yeah Dean,” he said, leaning heavily on his brothers shoulder. “I’m okay.”
Dean snorted. “Liar.”
Sam managed a small smile against the warm skin of Dean’s neck. “I’ll be okay then,” he amended. “Just give me some time.”
“Bobby invited us up to his place,” Dean murmured. “Because the...... y’know...... everything being hard on us and everything.” He winced at the lameness that was spewing forth. “After... the... I almost...” He stopped.
“You almost what?” Sam whispered.
“Said yes,” Dean whispered back in the same tone. “After killing uh, the Whore of Babylon.
Being a servant of God ... I almost said yes.” Sam tightened his grip on Dean’s waist. “I was going to leave... and I don’t know, find someone to say yes to, except that Cas was sick. Then I was going to leave later.” He trailed off. “But you were... with him. So I didn’t. And now...”
“And now?” Sam repeated, pulling away to look Dean in the eye. “And now? Dean I can’t...” He closed his teeth over the words and gave his brother a pleading look.
“Now...” Dean breathed out a long sigh at the end of the word. “Now. I don’t know Sam.”
Disappointment and fear welled up in his chest. “No,” he gasped out, fearing the words would choke him. “Don’t leave me too.” He reached out and pulled Dean into his arms again, pressing desperate kisses against Dean’s neck. “Please Dean.”
He tilted his head to one side, burying his fingers in Sam’s hair. “I can’t promise you anything,” he said quietly. “Not when all the Angels say it's destiny and we’ll all end up saying yes anyway.”
“Fuck destiny, Dean ” Sam pushed him onto the bed and leaned over him, looming impressively. “I will never say yes Not as long as... not as I long as I have you.”
“But...”
“Castiel believed in you,” Sam whispered harshly. “And so do I.”
Dean folded against Sam and sighed heavily. “I will always say no,” he finally promised. “If you say no.”
Sam stared him down for a long moment, close enough to see himself reflected in Dean’s eyes. “Deal,” he said harshly and sealed it with a kiss.
*
They were over tired and bleary eyed when they finally made it to Bobby’s. It had taken some convincing on Dean’s part to get Sam to agree to go, and almost a full day of driving, but they’d made it in record time. Bobby waited on the porch, drumming his fingers on the armrests of the wheelchair.
He took one look at Sam’s face and raised an eyebrow at Dean. “What’s going on, knuckleheads?”
Dean looked to Sam who shrugged and looked down. Dean obviously took that as permission, and drew in a deep breath. “Cas is gone,” he said shortly. “They made him an offer he couldn’t refuse, and he went...... back. To Heaven.”
Bobby had a feeling he was missing some pretty big pieces of whatever puzzle this was, but the heartbroken look on Sam’s face was enough to stop him from asking any big questions. “Get in here,” Bobby demanded.
“Sorry Bobby,” Sam said hoarsely as they passed him on the porch. “Been a long few days.”
“Idjit,” Bobby said fondly. “Go get a beer.”
Once the Winchesters had disappeared into the house, Bobby spun the wheels of his chair around and glared down at the Angel that stood off to one side, just out of sight of the driveway and the front door. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you don’t get to play it here. Now scram, before I get the boys painting Enochian protection symbols on this house.”
Castiel looked up at Bobby’s stern face. “I am sorry, Robert Singer,” he said quietly, but the sound carried on the wind. “It was my last wish to cause them harm.”
Bobby snorted. “Doesn’t look that way to me,” he said. “Scram.” He wheeled back around and disappeared into the house. Castiel stood there for a long moment afterwards, until he could feel Zachariah’s disapproving eyes everywhere and nowhere and he vanished.
Sam was sitting on the couch, staring down at his untouched beer when he could have sworn he heard the sound of flapping wings. Barely taking the time to put the beer down, he raced outside past Bobby and out onto the porch.
No one was there. Suddenly more angry than he’d ever been in his life, Sam whirled and slammed his fist into the side of the house. He stood there, leaning on his injured fist and breathed deeply for a minute. Over the pounding in his head he heard his phone go off.
He pulled it out of his pocket with his left hand and flipped it open. It was from Chuck, and he thought about ignoring it for the next ten years, but something made him open the message. His heart nearly stopped.
Ur rite, the text said, he was there.
*
“How quiet can you be?” Dean asked, low and rough in Sam’s ear, one hand pinning his chest and the other snaking down to palm at Sam’s covered cock. “Can’t wake Bobby, after all.”
“Bobby could sleep through an earthquake,” Sam growled, thrusting back against Dean’s hips.
Dean chuckled, using the hand on Sam’s chest to tweak his nipple. “You are not an earthquake,” he pointed out. “You could wake the dead.”
Sam growled low in his throat and twisted on the bed they laid on together to press himself flush with Dean’s chest. Their hips lined up and Dean hummed, arching and rubbing against Sam lightly. “You’re no better, Dean,” he said, hooking his hands around the back of Dean’s neck to pull him in for a kiss. Dean submitted briefly to Sam’s bid for dominance but as Sam began to pull away uncertainly, Dean took over the kiss. He plundered Sam’s mouth with authority, molding his lips to his brothers. Sam’s mouth parted on a gasp, and Dean plunged his tongue between Sam’s teeth.
As he did, Sam ceased being the passive observer. They were in this, and they were in this together. He sucked on Dean’s tongue, pulling his brother even closer. Dean rolled them over, grinding his hips down into Sam’s. “Fuck, Dean,” Sam murmured, dragging his mouth away from his brothers and pressing hot, wet kisses to his jaw, and down his throat. He tugged on Dean’s shirt and Dean obligingly lifted his arms so that Sam could work it over his head.
Once it was gone, tossed across the room in the vague direction of his duffel, Sam began licking a line down the center of his brothers chest. Dean shifted his hips uncomfortably under Sam’s, and fisted his hands into the sheets. “Sam, Jesus, come on.”
“Patience,” Sam cautioned, roughly. He leaned up and pressed a kiss to Dean’s ear. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
Dean shuddered almost comically, his hips canting up into Sam’s on a loud groan. He clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide. Sam blinked, then a slow smile spread across his face. He nuzzled Dean’s ear, pressing soft and dry kisses to the lobe and cartilage there. Dean moaned again, the sound muffled by his hand. He nipped at the edge and Dean jerked against him again. “Sam,” he said breathlessly. “Sammy, you got-,” he cut himself off, fisting both hands back in the sheet.
“I got to what?” Sam asked, amused. He licked along the edge of his brothers right ear, sliding one hand up to brush against the other side. “You have to tell me Dean.”
He nipped again and Dean gasped. “You can’t do that unless you mean it,” he grunted out.
“Oh I mean it, Dean,” Sam murmured, low and dark, “trust me.” He slid his free hand down Dean’s chest, balancing on his knees. He nibbled around the rim of Dean’s ear and grabbed at his cock at the same time. Dean seized up, turning his head into the pillow in a failed attempt to muffle his loud groan of appreciation.
He kept up the slow rub of his lips against Dean’s ear, and the quick thrusts of his hand for some time, bringing Dean closer and closer to the edge. “Fuck, Sam,” Dean groaned, canting his hips up into the tight circle of Sam’s fingers.
“What do you want?” he asked against Dean’s ear. “Do you want to come like this?” He punctuated his question with a sharp bite to Dean’s earlobe.
“Fuck,” Dean gasped. “N-No.” He arched up into Sam’s grip again. “Fuck me.”
Sam’s mouth went dry, and he pulled away to look Dean full in the face. Dean’s pupils were blown, barely any of the green left, his eyes wide. “You want me to... are you... ” He cleared his throat. “Dean?”
“Yeah,” he said.
Over the years there had been many things the Winchester boys had never talked about. Their mother's death, Sam’s leaving for Stanford, John’s death, Bobby’s loss of his legs, and possibly the way they felt for each other. They had routinely sacrificed themselves to save the other, given up more than was natural to make the other happy. Dean lost his entire childhood to taking care of Sam.
It was Sam’s turn now.
“Dean?” he asked again, voice trembling.
Dean smiled, the expression slightly lopsided. “Do it, Sam.” His eyes softened and he reached up to tangle his fingers in Sam’s sweat knotted hair. “I trust you.”
Lust swamped him, and Sam pulled Dean up to kiss him again, pressing their mouths together in a wet, hot crush. “Dean,” he murmured against his brothers lips. The lube was in their duffel and Sam pulled away to get it, a pang striking his chest when he remembered what they’d last used it for.
“Sam,” Dean said. “It’s...” he trailed off, and gave him a reassuring smile instead.
Choking back tears, which he considered relatively unsexy during sex, Sam busied himself with the tube. He nudged Dean’s knee and his brothers legs fell open easily. Sam’s mouth went dry again, and sadness momentarily forgotten, Sam slicked up the crack of Dean’s ass with one finger.
Dean moaned and thrashed on the bed. Sam grinned, doing it again, and Dean arched up. “Fuck Sam, just fucking do it already.”
Coating two fingers, Sam ran the pads around the rim listening to Dean’s low moans. Sam dipped one finger inside of him, twisting his wrist this way and that, coating the very entrance of Dean’s body as well as he was able. “Sam, damn it,” grunted Dean, bumping his hips towards Sam’s hand.
He couldn’t help the small chuckle, grinning unrepentantly when Dean turned his head to glare at him. “Sorry,” he said insincerely, and sunk one finger all the way to the second knuckle into his brother. Dean hissed loudly through his teeth, his hips making an aborted thrust in his direction. Sam leaned down and kissed him thoroughly, turning his finger up and pressing against Dean’s prostate. It was probably a good thing he was kissing Dean, because the noise he might have made otherwise definitely would have woken Bobby.
Using the pleasure from his previous touch, Sam slid in a second finger, scissoring them in increasing increments, as Dean moved restlessly under him. “Fuck, Sam, come on ”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Sam said, working his two fingers in slowly.
“You won’t,” Dean insisted, looking desperate. His cock was red, full to bursting and pressed flat against his belly. Every time Sam moved his fingers, Dean’s dick would twitch violently to one side and Sam wrapped his free hand around it. “Fuck, no, Sam, too close ” Dean’s back was arching with each small stroke, digging his heels into the mattress for more leverage.
Sam’s mouth dropped open and he was reaching for the lube before he could change his mind - before Dean could change his mind. They lived in and out of each others pockets for most of their lives. They shared clothes, they shared towels and space and it stopped being surprising when one would walk in on the other. Trust like that... it came from years of devotion.
So he slicked up his dick and rubbed the head against Dean’s ass, leaning forward to kiss him again. He was surprised when Dean reached down and took his cock in his too hot hand, lining up Sam’s dick with his ass. He let Dean lead them, going loose and pliant in his brothers grip.
When his cock finally slid in, even a little, he thought of Castiel. Dean must have seen it on his face, arching up and letting him bottom out, sliding home. Sam’s breath burst out of him in a sharp noise, and Dean leaned up on his elbows to press their foreheads together. “Do you think he can hear us?” Dean asked softly, not moving.
“I hope so.” Then words were lost as Sam began to thrust, fucking into Dean’s willing body. He pressed their lips together, swallowing the others moans and Sam lifted one of Dean’s legs to change the angle.
“Fuck S-Sam,” hissed Dean against his shoulder, biting down hard on his collarbone.
For a second, Sam’s hips lost rhythm and he nipped Dean’s ear in retribution. The bed was squeaking and Dean forgot for a minute why they had to be quiet. He lifted his head and pressed his mouth to Sam’s, as his orgasm built around him.
It started at the base of his spine, slicking up his back and coiling down into his hips. “Sam,” groaned Dean around his brothers tongue and came.
Dean’s cock spurting hot between them surprised Sam into his own orgasm, pressing their bodies together tightly and kissing Dean hotly. When he rolled off Dean, his brother pulled him close, wrapping one arm around his hip and clasping Sam’s hand. Sam spared one last thought for Castiel, before surrendering to sleep. “Love you, bitch,” Dean murmured into his ear.
“Love you too, jerk.”
It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.
*
| Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Epilogue |