Homecoming – An Incubus One-shot
-----
Set during Part 1 of Arc 10, after Hell and Dean's first meeting with Dave. For Kaeari.
-----
Dean didn't want to get out of the car. He didn't want to move from where he had been dozing against Sasha in the backseat, safe, for now, from all that haunted him, from all he had learned the past few days and all he remembered of Hell. He had been horrible to everyone that mattered to him, frightening, even, letting the taint of Malak manifest as black demon eyes that made Wally hiss and spit at him, and going so far as to tell Sasha that he no longer loved him. Even worse was that afterwards Dean had left. Dean had left them all behind without regretting a moment of his decision.
He regretted it now. Now he had to go back inside the Roadhouse and face everyone he had wronged, not only to admit he had been wrong and to swear he would try harder, but to explain that Sam was a red herring; Dean had been the antichrist all along.
How did someone bring that up in regular conversation? Not that Dean was expecting regular conversation any time soon.
The engine was off, the Impala parked just in front of the Roadhouse doors, but Sam and Sasha weren't moving, weren't trying to coax Dean out. Sam hadn't even announced their arrival, though it was obvious where they were.
"It'll be alright, you know? Nobody blames you for anything, Dean," Sasha whispered soft and close beside Dean's ear, the incubus' arms holding Dean tightly, "You can go back to sleep, and we'll just stay in here until you're ready."
"I've had nine hours on the road to get ready," Dean croaked, his voice dry from disuse, even after his long conversation with Dave, and what talking he managed with Sam and Sasha in the car, "It's the middle of the afternoon, baby, I gotta get back to living. Gotta get back to it…or I won't know how to start."
Sam's eyes flashed in the rearview mirror. He tried to hold himself back but was soon turning in his seat to look at Dean directly, puppy eyes all droopy and shimmering wet like he wanted to crawl into the back and hug his big brother 'til Doomsday.
"You're such a sap, Sammy," Dean joked weakly in response to Sam's expression, small smile tugging at his lips, "Without even opening your mouth you act more like a girl than an actual chick half the time."
It helped that Sam's return smile was just as weak and weary as Dean's, putting up with Dean's tease because he wasn't about to change how he felt or how he couldn't help reacting to seeing Dean in pain. "Shut up, jerk," Sam feigned a scowl, "I'm the one who had to drive nine hours while you got to sleep all curled up against a nice warm body," he glanced at Sasha, "And speaking of warm I bet there's some warm food waiting for us in there if we want to head in. I texted Sarah when we were getting close, so it's not going to take them long to know we're out here."
Dean had figured that, and to be honest, he just wanted the initial reunion and explanation part over with. He still didn't know how he was going to sleep through a whole night when Hell wasn't gone from his mind but merely dulled by Dave's miraculous touch. Dean could feel that the darkness within him that had made his eyes demon black was now gone, leaving only a hollow ache and the knowledge that he was one step away from damnation if he allowed it. Dean couldn't allow it. He couldn't allow Malak to win.
Carefully, Dean shifted his way out of Sasha's firm hold, stretching and readying himself to get out of the car. He saw the pride and anxiety mixing on Sam and Sasha's faces, both of them wanting to treat him like glass but knowing better.
"S'okay," Dean swallowed back the awful feelings swirling in his gut, "I'm not broken, ya know. Just a little beat up. We've dealt with worse. And now we know more info, right?" he looked pointedly at Sam, "Which should mean we have a better chance of figuring this out and beating it."
Sasha's hand slipped up inside the back of Dean's jacket and tangled in his T-shirt. "Beat the Apocalypse? Yeah, that…doesn't sound like a tall order at all. Piece a cake."
"Old hat for us, really," Sam nodded, both of them being so damn wonderful, lightening the mood along with Dean instead of bringing up things that would undoubtedly twist up Dean's insides more. Being the antichrist didn't mean Dean was evil, it just meant he had a choice to make, and it was a choice he didn't plan to screw up.
Walking up to the doors of the Roadhouse felt like the damn Green Mile from that Steven King story. No one was waiting inside to judge Dean, but he was good enough at judging himself to take every staring pair of eyes as disapproval rather than support. Of course, the second Dean stepped inside the building he realized what a fool he had been.
Jo had Dean wrapped so tight in an embrace the moment he crossed the threshold that Dean's hunter instincts actually flared, wondering at first if he was under attack. Then Dean recognized the familiar warmth, the solidness of Jo's small but strong form, and he was able to relax. It amazed Dean that the feel of Jo didn't bring up memories of the charred version of her in Hell. Not this time.
The others quickly followed in kind—Bobby, Ellen, Sarah—all wanting to embrace Dean and welcome him home. Shiarra had left before Dean ran away, and although she had said on the phone that she would come right back if they needed her, Dean had shaken the whole thing off. He didn't want to be any more of a burden than he already was. Sasha hadn't told Shiarra everything over the phone, but the next call would come. Dean wasn't looking forward to that any more than he was looking forward to the face to face explanation about to happen now.
It was almost as if Dean had just woken up from Hell and he was getting a second chance to do this part over again. That was probably intentional on the part of his friends, and Dean didn't grudge them a moment of it. He never thought of himself as the type who deserved second chances, but for some reason everyone else kept proving otherwise.
"So what snapped you back to your senses, boy?" Ellen asked as she took her turn embracing Dean tightly, "Couldn't have just been those two," she nodded at Sam and Sasha, "Though I know how persuasive they can be where you're concerned. Tell us, Dean. What happened out there?" It was a loaded question, one everyone wanted an answer to.
Dean felt ashamed that he had run, more so now than he had when he first realized his folly in Dave's diner. He didn't know how he was supposed to explain that things were actually worse now than they had been when he left.
Thank goodness for Sammy and Sasha. They came up on either side of Dean and led him to a stool by the bar like he was an exhausted traveler and sitting would do him good, even though he had just sat for the better part of a day. They didn't let the others press him, but instead got a glass of water and let him take his time. Of course a part of Dean wanted a real drink, hardest they had, but he knew better than to ask for that. He couldn't keep turning to whiskey to drown in.
It was probably nerves, maybe the weight of everyone watching him, or the weight of everything he had done and wished he could take back, but Dean found himself opening his mouth and blurting, "I'm the antichrist not Sammy," before anyone had even tried asking him further questions. That got the room silent real fast. Dean swallowed down his water in a single go before adding, "I mean…well…I meant what I said, but…I don't…really know what to do about it."
The others remained silent. Sarah was standing close to Sam, her eyes as wide as the rest of the crew, but as always she had a stillness about her, proving she wouldn't let the shock of Dean's news keep her from asking more. "You mean…when we were thinking Malak's plan was to turn Sam against us somehow…it was really you he's been after all along?" She hit the nail on the head with a single question and Dean could have kissed her for taking the burden of that perfect summary away from him.
He nodded. "Had a…run-in with Malak," Dean admitted, "Not long before Sam and Sasha found me. Bastard told me everything. Had us fooled and so god damn turned around we didn't know left from right. We played right into his hands. He needed me in Hell. And I gave him exactly what he wanted."
Dean went on to explain his incident with Malak in the Impala. He didn't go into detail, couldn't, but by the way he averted his eyes and his words came out broken, Dean knew that most of his companions were able to put the pieces together on their own. Sasha's eyes were flickering red with anger by the end of it; Dean had glossed over things quite a bit more when he explained it all to Sam and Sasha in the car.
Explaining Dave was harder, mainly because Dean still wasn't sure who or what Dave was. He could tell that some of the others had ideas, and probably wanted to speak those ideas aloud, but no one interrupted him.
"So that's…it. One more choice, one more decision on my end, and either we'll see Armageddon…or we won't. Don't know what that choice is gonna be. Just know that…no matter what it is…damn it, I'm gonna do the right thing. I'm not letting any of you down again. Not again," Dean's voice cracked as he finished.
Staring intently down the length of the empty glass in his hands, Dean tried not to meet the others' gazes. He was the antichrist and the whole of the world's destiny was up to him. He had been propositioned by the Devil himself. He had said no, but the road was stretched out long before them. All Dean could hope for was that the others wouldn't look at him differently now that they knew the truth.
But Dean didn't get the chance to look up and learn how his friends were reacting, because suddenly there was a chirp, and shuffling, and when Dean looked down he realized a fluffy little chimera was climbing up his leg.
At first Dean could only stare, watching as Wally's tiny human hands clutched his pant leg and climbed, not hissing or growling or looking at all frightened of him. She was sniffing madly though, curious, determined, crowding in around Dean's body so that he had to set his glass down or risk it slipping from his fingers and falling to the floor with a crash. Wally was pleased when Dean's hands were finally free, because she immediately began snuggling in closer, demanding to be stroked as she purred loudly.
Welcome surprise filled Dean's chest. "Hey there, girl," Dean huffed out a whisper, petting Wally as she wanted and scratching her fluffy grey head, "Not so…freaked of me anymore, huh? Guess that's gotta count for something." Dean smiled, pulling Wally closer and letting her burrow into him, seeking a warm nest against his stomach.
Dean felt his eyes welling up with the greatest relief, and then, finally, he looked up and took in the faces of his friends. Sam, Sasha, Sarah, Bobby, Ellen, and Jo—his extended family. None of them looked frightened. None of them looked ready to lead the lynch mob against him—him, Dean, antichrist extraordinaire. They were all smiling, pleased at Wally's reactions as if the chimera had summed up exactly how all of them were feeling.
Hugging Wally closer yet, Dean felt the last sharp edges of doubt begin to leave him, that awful doubt that he wasn't worth forgiveness or this second chance he was being given after abandoning those he cared for most. He may be the antichrist, but Wally knew the difference between good and evil, at least the difference between a normal Dean and a Malak-infected one. That was enough. It could be enough. Wally would be able to warn them should the day of reckoning actually come.
For all the anxiety clouding Dean's mind, he knew he could at least have faith in that.
-----
"You sure you don't want more to eat? Or maybe not food, but…something else? You know if there's anything you need, Dean—"
"Baby, enough," Dean held up his hands, smile crowding his face at just how attentive Sasha was being, almost annoyingly so, but just enough on the borderline to be sweet instead. Dean didn't need to be pampered or taken care of, but the attention was nice on occasion, especially from a certain incubus.
It wasn't very late, but Dean was so tired he had barely been able to sit up straight in the chair he had been lounging in all afternoon and evening. He and the crew had spent a good portion of the time talking, then trying to figure out what Dean's choice might be, then trying to figure out how they might prevent the end of the world. The day had inched onward, to say the least, but Dean didn't mind nearly as much as he would have thought.
They had called Shiarra. Unpacked their things. Eaten plenty, regardless of Sasha's query whether or not Dean wanted more. All Dean wanted now was to sleep. Well, he wanted something else too, but he wasn't sure he could ask for that, or if he had the right to. He had ruined things so thoroughly before he left.
"Sorry, I'm not trying to smother you," Sasha said apologetically, shucking his jeans and getting ready for bed instinctually, right that second, all because Dean wanted to sleep, "I just want everything to be okay. And I know that's asking a lot. Everything can't just be okay overnight. But if you do need anything, Dean. I mean…whatever you need—"
Dean had already snuck up behind where Sasha was changing, his legs moving of their own accord, body totally ignoring any signals from his brain as he cut Sasha off midsentence and spun the incubus around. They had kissed in the car already. A hello kiss. A welcome back kiss. A 'dear God I love you, what was I thinking, don't ever let me leave you again' kiss. This kiss was different. This kiss was about want. About need. And, after all, that was what Sasha had been offering to fulfill for Dean, no matter what he wanted, needed.
Sasha's tongue felt so good against his.
Dean felt guilty seconds after the kiss began and pulled from Sasha's lips with a gasp. The hand that had grabbed for Sasha's face slid along fingertips until they fell from Sasha's cheek.
"That was dumb," Dean cringed, hating the startled look on Sasha's face, "Sorry. I just missed you so much, and you haven't shut up since we got back, and I love you for that, I do, but I…I…sorry," Dean stepped back, shaking his head fiercely, "Sorry."
As Dean spun back around and went for the bathroom, flashes of the last time he and Sasha had been alone in their bedroom ran through his mind in full, awful Technicolor. Dean had been such a bastard. The things he had said, done. He had practically forced himself on Sasha—and sure it was pretty hard to force sex on a sex demon, but still—and all because Dean wanted oblivion. When he hadn't gotten what he wanted he had lashed out at Sasha even worse, saying he didn't love him, that he didn't want to be with Sasha anymore.
The harder you try, the harder I try to fake this into working, the more I want nothing to do with you.
"Dean?" Sasha's voice was close behind Dean.
Dean's chest ached and he tried to keep walking away, tried to avoid how much it hurt to remember what had happened.
"Dean, please." But that voice, Sasha's voice, it sounded so broken, lost, as lost and as hurt as Dean was, only Sasha's pain was Dean's fault. Dean could make it better if he chose to. He could make everything better. Maybe not overnight, like Sasha had said, maybe not in a few days either, or even in a few weeks, but he could make it better. He wanted things to be the way they were before Hell.
Stopping just before the door to the bathroom, Dean reached out and clutched the doorframe to steady him, his knees weak, almost shaking. He looked back over his shoulder and saw all the anguish on Sasha's face like a blow to his own chest. He had tried not to care when Hell was still clinging to him, but that had been a lie. He did care. He always cared. And maybe that didn't feel as awful as he thought.
Thanks, Dave, Dean allowed the small smile that jumped onto his face. He held the doorframe tighter, not sure he could hold himself up as he met Sasha's intense gaze.
"I kinda wanna…hold you all night," Dean admitted hoarsely, "Maybe…I kinda wanna do more. But I don't want you thinking it's for the same reasons as the other night. I want you for you. I need you. I've missed you so damn much. Because Hell was Hell without you, baby. Hell was Hell with you," Dean tried to smile off that twisted truth, "But believe me…here without you is worse."
The anguish on Sasha's face seemed to deepen, every ounce of sadness Dean had ever seen just there, bare in Sasha's expression. And then it cracked, something deep within it breaking, and suddenly Sasha was smiling again, moving toward Dean swiftly to close the gap between them. "Dean," Sasha gasped, almost like a laugh, like relief, as he gently hooked a hand around the back of Dean's neck, "I think we can work something out."
Being kissed by Sasha was so grounding. It wasn't anything like how the parody of Sasha had kissed Dean in Hell. There was possession in the kiss, but with reciprocation, not the lording over of power. Dean's real Sasha was gentle, the kiss a little like their first, soft pressure that Dean pressed back on, and with only the barest tilt of Sasha's head connecting them deeper, Sasha's hand moving from Dean's neck to cup his face.
Dean shivered, remembered how that first kiss had felt, so surprising, and shattering, because it changed something within him forever. It changed Dean and opened him enough to realize that all he had to do was love and the rest would work itself out.
When they pulled apart, Dean realized his eyes were wet. All he wanted was to kiss again, to touch Sasha, reminding himself bit by bit that he was no longer in Hell but safe with a Sasha that loved him. No, the pain wasn't as bad anymore, not nearly as awful and hard to bear. Dean wasn't all better, by any means, but recovery was right there in front of him finally, waiting for him to accept it.
Dean leaned forward and kissed Sasha again, firmer, but still gentle, still new, like they were starting over from the very beginning. After seven years in Hell for Dean, this was starting over.
There was a tremble in Dean's hands when he first reached for the hem of Sasha's shirt. He wasn't desperate for oblivion like he had been the night he left the Roadhouse, but he did want and need with enough urgency that he was shaking.
"Dean," Sasha whispered against Dean's lips, warm hands reaching down to take Dean's own and still his trembling. Sasha helped then, he didn't push Dean's hands away, just guided them, lifting the navy T-shirt up Sasha's body until it was off. "It's okay," the shirt fell to the floor and Sasha reached for Dean's face with both hands, "I love you. Nothing's ever going to change that."
Another kiss, just as new, like breathing, like coming up out of deep water and breathing again for the first time. Dean didn't even realize at first that he had started to back him and Sasha toward the bed. It was instinct, moving for a comfortable surface so this could be easier, so he didn't have to struggle to stay standing when his knees were so damn weak.
Sasha smiled when they neared the bed, pulling back and lowering himself onto it with nothing but trust on his face, and love, and encouragement.
Dean didn't hesitate. He sunk right down into Sasha, kissing again, touching the pads of his fingers to the smooth skin of Sasha's chest. It felt so natural, even as it was fresh, and new, and different. It didn't feel rushed or wrong like Dean had feared. Dave had taken the shadow from Dean's heart, and though it wasn't yet bathed in light, it knew how to turn toward it and seek the light out.
Dean's over-shirt was pushed down his arms, his T-shirt pulled up over his head and tossed away, leaving both of them only in jeans. They scooted up the bed as they kissed, smiling throughout it all like they almost couldn't believe this was happening.
Of course, Sasha needed this more than Dean. It had been three weeks at least, close to four now, since the last time they were together long enough for Sasha to feed. It was that night, the night before Dean's final day on earth. Sasha had to need this more than he was letting show, and Dean had to wonder what the incubus would have done if Dean had been in Hell for longer than a week's time on Earth.
The words sputtered out of him. "What if Malak had asked for a month? A year? No compromise. What would you have done…if I was gone longer than you could wait for me?"
It was unfair to break their mirth with such a sobering question. Again, the sadness was just there suddenly, deeply set on Sasha's face. "I…" Sasha bit his lip like he didn't want to say anything. He was laid out on the bed with Dean over him, flushed already and so beautiful, save the guilt marring him. "I…don't know," he said finally, "I wondered about it…and…I know I couldn't have let myself frenzy, not if I was getting you back one day. But being with someone else would have killed me. I think…I would have asked the twins. Or Cam maybe. Because at least then it wouldn't have been as bad as being with some stranger…I guess. God, I hate even thinking about it." Sasha gripped Dean's arms like he was afraid of falling through the bed.
Dean forgot sometimes that it had been Hell for them too, stuck up here with an almost-corpse, waiting. "I would have hated it, but I would have preferred that to Sammy having to put you down," Dean said, "Course if it was Cam then I would so have had to kick his ass," he added with a smirk.
A laugh choked out of Sasha as if it were fighting through a sob. "He would have expected it," Sasha said.
They shared a smile, but when the quiet began to be too much, Dean wasn't sure what to do next. Well, he knew what to do. It was just difficult to undress Sasha the rest of the way when Dean's hands were shaking again.
Sasha must have known, must have been able to see Dean's internal struggle, because he reached down and undid his own jeans, shimmying out of them and looking up at Dean with all that trust radiating again. It was a blessing that Dean's time in Hell had been so short on Earth that Sasha was still no one but Dean's.
Tugging Sasha's pants from where they were bunched at the incubus' ankles, Dean tossed the jeans aside and then went for the clasp of his own. When it was just cotton separating them, and Dean could feel Sasha intimately through the thin barrier, his breath hitched and he shivered, like he was a damn virgin or something and had never done this before.
"Here," Sasha rolled them, letting Dean be the one lying on the mattress so he could catch his breath. This would be easier with Sasha leading anyway, but the thought made Dean's breath hitch again, for a different reason, thinking of how the fake Sasha had forced things on him so many times. "It's just me, Dean," Sasha said quietly, gently, like he knew, like he understood exactly what Dean's mind was replaying, "It's just me."
The first touch of Sasha palming Dean through his boxers, testing the waters with a light caress, was such a fucking rush. Dean had forgotten what it felt like to go slow, to ease in and love each other instead of just taking, taking what only one of them wanted.
Then the second touch came, the third, sensation pouring so quickly through Dean that he was jerking up into Sasha's hand before he knew it, finished already like a god damn twelve year old. Damn it.
"Fuck," Dean grit his teeth, closing his eyes so he didn't have to look at Sasha. It didn't matter that this was unprecedented circumstances or what they had been through, it was still embarrassing to lose himself that quickly. So much for a night of hot reunited sex.
"Dean," Sasha laughed, of course not a 'laughing at' laugh, but more of a 'why are you closing your eyes, you big geek', "It's been almost a month since your body had real sex, and we're both pent up as anything. You really think we need to call it quits over this?" Sasha was already sliding off Dean's boxers, using them to clean the mess and tossing them to the floor with the rest of their clothing.
Feeling even more embarrassed now, Dean peeked open his eyes at the redhead above him. The incubus looked so damn amused, but still loving, still wanting. "Well, I…guess it's not like I can't go another round, right?" Dean smiled. He was still hard—typical for him when a quick one got off—but that meant it would take a lot before he would be able to come again. That whole reload action part was a real bitch.
Not like that had ever mattered to Sasha or Sam when they were doing things to Dean in Hell.
Dean practically convulsed as that thought crossed his mind, hating that he had allowed those memories to sneak up on him like that. It wasn't hard anymore to separate his Sammy and Sasha from the fake ones Malak had conjured up. He knew his boys were his, the way they should be. But the memories were still so close at the back of his mind. Seven years was a long time to believe a lie.
"Dean, are you okay?" Sasha asked, rolling to the side, up close against Dean.
"Yeah, I…just gotta remind myself once in a while…where I am." Dean looked at Sasha, who, unlike Dean, still had his shorts on. Sasha was so good at making Dean feel soothed and comfortable. Dean didn't want to be someone who needed taking care of all the time. He wanted to do some of the caring too.
Just looking at Sasha, holding that bright blue gaze, Dean reached over and began palming Sasha the way he had been palmed, right through thin cotton. Sasha was hard as steel beneath his boxers. Sure, he had to have fed a little off of Dean's quick-draw a moment ago, but it wasn't the same as the whole process of sex, the build between them that climaxed instead of just erupting suddenly without warning. That's where the energy really came from.
Sasha took in a sharp breath as Dean's fingers traced the outline of his cock through his shorts. It was amazing how much heat could radiate through fabric. Sometimes Dean could still hardly believe that he enjoyed the feel of another man in his hand, but that's because this was Sasha, and all that macho shit could never get in the way of that.
It felt good to touch, feeling more at ease the harder and shorter of breath Sasha became. Dean's hand soon slipped inside the opening of the boxers, taking Sasha in hand, skin on skin, through that small opening. It was difficult to get a really good grip this way, but that was alright because it meant the tease would last longer.
A whimper escaped Sasha's throat, his eyes closing, mouth falling open to reveal fangs. Dean grinned to himself as he followed a line down Sasha's body with his eyes, from that beautiful face, down the expanse of pale skin, to Sasha's waist where Dean was touching Sasha and making him squirm.
Dean slid his hands out of Sasha's shorts then, pulling at the waistband to free Sasha fully. There wasn't quite enough pre-cum so Dean licked a stripe down his hand before returning it to Sasha's heated skin. The incubus immediately hissed at the added wetness, his hips shifting and pushing up into Dean's caress.
This was the Sasha that Dean remembered from so many years ago—from weeks ago—and Dean didn't feel any need to overpower or overcome, because their love wasn't about that. All he wanted was to keep getting Sasha to make those noises.
Dean touched Sasha for a long time, his hand on him, watching the rise and fall of Sasha's chest, the fluttering of his eyes that had gone red, hearing Sasha's harsher breathing and barely contained moans. But Dean didn't want Sasha to come, not yet. He pulled his hand away, just staring at Sasha and waiting for the incubus to look back at him.
Red eyes soon blinked hazily in Dean's direction.
"Your incubus is showing," Dean whispered, smile pulling at his face because he would never be able to say that without thinking of the first time they made love.
Dean let Sasha laugh, let Sasha get a hold of himself again, and then he pressed closer, his own erection firmer now after watching Sasha so enraptured.
"Baby," Dean said softly, "I want…I want you to…" damn this was harder than he thought it would be—asking, "I want you to fuck me," he finally managed, "It's gotta be that way this first time…so…so that in my head…when I think about us like that…together…it's you there instead of him. You know?"
So quickly Sasha's eyes flickered blue, his fangs gone, that deep sadness returned. Sasha nodded, understanding exactly what Dean meant, what he needed. The Sasha from Hell needed to be replaced with the real thing. Then Dean could do this. Then Dean could move on. It would take something different to accomplish the same with Sammy, but Dean knew he would figure that out soon enough.
Sasha rolled until he was on top of Dean, anything but menacing as he leaned down for a quick kiss. Lips and tongue and warmth—this is what Dean needed. He needed to find that rhythm that told him he was home.
"He's never taking you away again, Dean," Sasha whispered, kissing along Dean's jaw-line and neck, "I won't let him. It's over now."
"It's not over," Dean practically choked, hating that he trembled even thinking about it all, that he was going to make the decision that damned or saved the world.
"We're going to win," Sasha promised him, moving to kiss Dean's collarbone, the feel of Sasha heavy against Dean's hip.
"You don't know that."
"Yes I do. We're going to win, Dean. You're going to save us." Sasha pulled up, smiling down at Dean, his blue eyes shimmering and finally flickering back to red purposely. "So let me save you."
Those eyes, the incubus attributes hovering over Dean, it had him shivering in fear for a moment, especially when Sasha leaned down to claim a kiss with fangs. Sasha was always changed in Hell, never human, never with any sense at all of humanity. But this was different, Dean reminded himself. This was salvation.
Dean relished in the familiar feel of fangs as the kiss continued.
When Sasha wet his fingers and reached down between their bodies to prepare Dean, Dean spread his legs and lifted his hips without hesitation. Anxiety coiled with anticipation in his gut, but the first stretch was gentle, coaxing, not invading.
Dean didn't want to fake his way through life, he wanted to feel. Sex may seem like something so simple and trivial to some, but right now it was everything to Dean, being able to touch Sasha, be touched, and not feel hatred. Dean was home finally. He was home. All he had to do now was hang onto that thought and move.
Sasha had barely pressed himself to Dean, but Dean was ready, arching up to take Sasha in. There were flickers of memory that pushed to the forefront of Dean's mind—Sasha taking him, harsh, unforgiving, not at all kind or beautiful. But every quiver and movement of this Sasha erased a small bit of that.
Dean felt a little stiff, out of shape enough as he was folded in half that his body started aching in protest. Sasha must have known, must have felt it the way he could feel everything else about Dean, because he pulled away, urging Dean to turn over with a tender touch on his arm.
Of course, Dean complied, but the reconnection surprised him with how deeply Sasha pushed back in, that smooth chest flush against Dean's back, blanketing him.
If Dean let his mind wander too much within the sharp pleasure and warmth, he could almost feel Sam's hands touching and invading him where they shouldn't. It was harder to shake off such thoughts of Sam, harder than shaking the thought of a cruel Sasha, because the real Sasha was right here. Dean tried to think only of where he was, of how this felt.
Then Sasha opened the circuit, having waited so long, it seemed, maybe only to let Dean adjust. Well, Dean was sure as Hell adjusted, because that flood of connection, of truly being able to feel Sasha and what they were in the midst of had Dean gasping haggardly into the pillows. He thought he might even be tearing up, his whole body trembling, tingling. God. He hadn't felt like this in so many years.
Sasha came hot against Dean's skin after several minutes of the same deep, gentle rhythm. Dean hadn't yet come a second time, but Sasha was nothing if not attentive, remember. He wiped Dean clean, rolled Dean onto his back again, and tucked himself neatly between Dean's thighs to return the favor.
How Sasha's tongue managed to be hotter than Dean's already searing skin, he had no idea. The circuit was still so potent between them too; Dean was almost certain he would pass out before the end of it.
Dean.
Dean didn't so much hear his name called as he just knew that Sasha wanted his attention. It was difficult to open his eyes, his senses were so overrun, but he managed, looking down his own body at Sasha, his Sasha. Vibrant red eyes blinked back at Dean and he felt safe in their presence, not fearful. Sasha didn't say anything, just kept his eyes on Dean as those lips and that skillful tongue worked Dean closer and closer to the edge.
Attentive. Right. Dean smirked to himself to think how much he had missed how easy this could be. He felt his orgasm coming from a long way off, a slow build that had him squirming long before the end. It was almost as embarrassing as shooting early, wanting this second go so damn much he was begging for it.
"Please, please…god damn…" Dean was gasping, not thinking at all, just muttering, knowing it turned Sasha on more and wasn't really anything to feel embarrassed about. Sasha had been pretty vocal right before his orgasm too.
Dean came just as Sasha's lips left him, the incubus climbing up Dean's body, slithering right through Dean's release and making a mess between them that Dean really, really couldn't care about. He wanted the kiss Sasha was about to offer him, the seal of what this always meant when it wasn't some fabrication of them but them. Really them.
It was a ghost of a kiss at first, then a firm press, just lips on lips. The echo of the circuit was fading and finally Dean could feel all of his limbs again that he would swear had mostly gone numb. It took him a moment to actually focus and realize that Sasha had wiped them off and was draped over him possessively—lovingly possessive.
"Do we have to fall asleep…?" Sasha whispered after the quiet had blanketed them and both of their pulses were returning to normal.
"Well, we don't have to," Dean turned his head toward the crook of Sasha's neck, breathing in that Sasha smell—god, that Sasha smell, "But I'm probably going to. You drained me, baby. In a good way," Dean mumbled sleepily, no doubt with a goofy smile plastered on his face as his endorphin levels finally hit a plateau.
"Okay," Sasha whispered back, strangely stunted, hesitant, even, "Just…promise me…you'll be here tomorrow. When I wake up. Promise you'll still be here, Dean." Sasha's hold on Dean tightened, the weight of him seemingly heavier.
Dean felt a little of that darkness worming its way back into his chest, just enough that he felt regret, guilt, because he wasn't the only one recovering from Hell. He couldn't forget that, what Sasha had gone through, what Dean had put Sasha through. That's why Dean needed Sasha. And Sam. And the others. Because they all needed to recover from this and it was going to be so much easier together.
Curling his legs tighter with Sasha's and burrowing his head a little closer, Dean breathed in deeply, clinging with all of his promises like a stain on his skin.
"I'm never leaving again. Not if I can help. I swear to you. I never should have gone the way I did. I never should have left like that. I just…I didn't know what to do, and nothing was making it better, and I just wanted you to hate me so it'd be easier to leave. But I don't want that anymore. Never really did. I just want you, baby. I just want you," Dean repeated softer, right against Sasha's skin.
"I love you, Dean," Sasha said.
"I never stopped loving you, baby."
-----
Dean awoke too early, definitely too early because they had never drawn the shades but the sky was still dark outside. Dean had slept deeply, and though he couldn't remember dreams, he had the dull memory of something almost like an echo, like he had glimpsed a bit of their future again and not all of it was told in battles. Dean hoped he lived to see a life like that.
Even though it was too early, Dean got up, uncoiling from Sasha carefully, knowing the incubus would stay asleep after such a thorough feeding last night, and finally being in a bed again after so many days on the road. Dean draped the cover more fully over Sasha, turned out the light they had never bothered to shut off, and grabbed a pair of sleep pants from his duffle.
The Roadhouse was always a little eerie this early, everyone else still asleep, the lights all off save a scant few. Dean was thirsty, and strangely famished, so he headed for the kitchen, figuring maybe he would just make up some coffee for the crew. Making coffee—that was something Dean knew he could do, even if some things about normal life still felt strange.
He supposed he shouldn't be surprised when he smelled already brewing coffee as he reached the kitchen, but what did surprise him was who had actually beaten him up.
"Sarah," Dean more than likely mumbled since he was still a bit groggy, "What the hell are you doing up so early?"
Sarah Blake, wearing a tank top and a pair of sleep pants that she had obviously stolen from Sam, was in the process of wrapping up her hair in a messy bun when she turned to see Dean entering. "Hey. I could say the same about you for the early hour, ya know. Coffee?" she smiled, gesturing to the pot.
It smelled awesome. "Please. Black's fine. I'm not Sammy, you know, so I don't need the couple pounds of sugar," Dean joked, claiming one of the stools by the kitchen island, "You usually do this, or just taking turns with Ellen and Jo on the opening shift?"
The coffee was done, so Sarah grabbed some mugs, some cream for herself, and started pouring. "Sometimes I'm just an early riser, I guess. Can't back to sleep if it's after five. So I figured coffee. Don't know how much everyone was able to sleep last night. Sam tossed and turned for awhile. You?" she passed Dean his cup.
"Not so bad actually. I think my body was ready to crash. So, I…had Sammy tossing and turning, huh?" Dean let his eyes fall to the island's countertop so he wouldn't have to look into Sarah eyes, "Bet he's more freaked than he's letting show."
"We all are, Dean," Sarah answered boldly.
Sometimes Dean forgot how blunt Sarah could be, how straightforward and honest. He had always loved that about her, from the first time they met.
Her eyes were dark when he finally looked up, hazel like Sam's and so beautiful. Dean knew she was saying that she was scared, that she understood that Dean was scared too, but somehow she looked so calm.
"I might mess this up," Dean blurted, trapped in Sarah's stare, "Nobody wants to admit it, but I might. I've let Malak win twice already. There's no guarantee. Only thing I know for sure is that I don't want it to happen. But I don't want to run anymore either. That won't solve anything, I know that. I don't want to deal with this alone."
"Good," Sarah smiled, sipping her coffee and letting the intensity in her eyes soften, "Not that I ever doubted you, Dean, and really, you could stand to have a little more faith in yourself most of the time. It's true, you might make the wrong decision, but I don't think that's going to happen. Not if it's all of us, working together. I hope I'm not just Sam's girlfriend in all this," she smirked playfully around her coffee mug.
"Oh no," Dean smirked right back, "You're already counted as sister-in-law in my head. Just don't go telling Sammy that quite yet or he might burst a blood vessel. Guys are wired like that."
Sarah laughed. And Dean laughed with her. And they drank their coffee. Whatever Dave had done to Dean, whatever the car ride with Sam and Sasha had accomplished, and whatever it meant resolving things with the others, Dean could feel the strength to beat back the darkness growing inside of him. He wasn't going down without a fight.
"Hey," Dean looked at Sarah a little hesitantly again, because he knew that what he was about to ask wasn't going to be easy on her, "Will you tell me something? Honestly? I know the others won't. And I don't want to burden them by asking. Not that I want to burden you, but…I think you might actually tell me the truth."
Sarah's expression went a little blank and she brushed back a stray strand of dark hair from her face. "Of course, Dean. Anything."
"What was that week like?" Dean asked. He didn't need to add any further details; there was only one week he could mean, even though Dean had ditched for almost two weeks afterwards. Sam and Sasha had told Dean more or less how they had passed the time while he was in Hell, but he knew better than to just take them at their word on that.
"It was quiet," Sarah said after a moment, "Tense. Sam and Sasha didn't like leaving you for more than a few minutes, and even when they did, they were almost always together, like maybe they still had a part of you around if they had each other. It almost would have been sweet…if it didn't break my heart so much." Her smile broke, dropping completely finally until she took another gulp of coffee to clear her head. "They only drank themselves to sleep once, one of the first days. Then they just waited. It was hard. But it was worse when you left because you wanted to," she finished with a flick of her eyes, heatedly centering on Dean.
"I know," he said. That's all he said. He couldn't apologize anymore, couldn't think of anything to add that could actually make up for any of it, so he simply met Sarah's gaze again, bare, not trying to hide anything, because he had hid long enough.
Somehow she seemed to understand. "Hungry?" Sarah moved for the refrigerator, the smile back on her face as if that moment between them was all she wanted from Dean, and she wouldn't ask for anything more.
That's when it dawned on Dean. None of them would ever ask anything of him, they didn't expect him to save the world, but they believed he was capable. Dean didn't deserve them.
He didn't deserve to make up for his many mistakes. He didn't deserve Sasha, still upstairs sleeping after their lovemaking—their lovemaking. He didn't deserve Sam for always coming back to him no matter how many times they ended up apart, whether from one of their faults or the other. He certainly didn't deserve Bobby, who was a better uncle than Dean could possibly have had as the real thing. He didn't deserve Ellen and Jo either, like family too, always ready to kick his ass while gently taking his hand at the same time.
And Dean didn't deserve Sarah, this woman who had gotten caught up in their lives and who chose to stay because she wanted to, because she loved Sam, loved the life they had and loved living it with them. Dean didn't deserve her or any of it.
Only somehow he was here, saved himself and capable of saving the world. People loved him, trusted him, counted on him. The people who mattered most to him forgave him everything. If he could have that without ever having to ask for it then maybe he deserved more than he let himself believe.
"Actually, I'm starved," Dean admitted, feeling lighter, relieved, free, "Think we can manage pancakes? Bet that'd get the others out of bed."
Sarah chuckled, shaking her head but looking totally game as she glanced at him with a raised eyebrow tossed over her shoulder. "You check for syrup, I'll get the milk and eggs. Can't have pancakes without syrup," she said.
And since Dean whole-heartedly agreed, he got up off his stool and headed for the pantry.
-----
At breakfast, Sam stole the last pancake off of Dean's plate, at dire risk of being stabbed to death with a fork, and Dean's life shifted just a little bit closer to the way it was supposed to be.
-----
THE END...of THIS one shot!
A/N: Hopefully there will be more, but damn, this was like pulling teeth. I've just had alot on my plate after being on vacation, hence my long departure from posting ANYTHING, and there are so many things swimming through my head other than Incubus. It was nice to come back though and I hope all of you, Kaeari especially, enjoyed the first one-shot. There will be others. Some set during the normal saga, others set after. Please let me know what you think, and if anyone ever has any requests for one-shots they would like me to do, don't hesitate to mention it. I know Kaeari has said she would also like an Incubus "Yellow Fever". Maybe...
I will be getting back to the Silent Hill story, I swear, I'm just keeping busy. I'm starting a blog I will tell all of you about next time, when it's ready. Till then, my dears!
Crimson