AN: BookwormBaby2580 fixed it. Eric Kripke owns them. I just like to twist them.
Some dialogue from 10.02 - Reichenbach.
One more chapter after this folks!
Chapter 5 - What a Wicked Game to Play
"The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I'm alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling."
Richard Siken
Cas found him like that. Probably an hour or so after Dean had left him. After Dean had cleaned him up, and rubbed aloe lotion into the welts on his wrists and ankles, and arnica into his tortured muscles. After Dean had tucked him in under the clean sheets, and left him. Cas found him.
Sam's choice was taken away from him. He had to tell Cas. And wasn't that just fucking perfect.
At first, Cas had thought that Sam was sick from the way he was huddled under the covers in the bed. Then he asked if Sam was hurt, if something had gone wrong on a hunt. Then…
"Wait. Did someone do this to you, Sam?"
Sam had not said a word, just nodded or shook his head in answer to Cas's questions. He hadn't been sure what to do, what to say.
Cas had been standing at the foot of the bed but he suddenly walked forward and roughly pulled the blankets off of Sam. He took in Sam's naked form, much thinner than it used to be, with various bruises and marks covering most of his flesh, the raw welts on his wrists and ankles, the motionless way that Sam was lying, as if he were terrified. He was terrified. He was going to lose Cas, he just knew he was. Even an ex-angel of the Lord would not be able to overlook what Sam had done, what Sam had allowed. What Sam had wanted. He would leave Sam here, and Sam would lose the only real family he had left.
The sobs built up in Sam until they broke out of him, wracking his aching body until he could barely breathe.
"Sam, you have to tell me what happened. Who did this to you? How—how did they get the drop on you? Do—were you—do we need to take you to the hospital, Sam. Are you damaged? ...Inside, I mean?"
Cas had always been more observant than Sam had given him credit for. He had obviously guessed what had happened to Sam. More or less. God, how could Sam tell him that it was Dean who had done it? That Sam had asked him to. That Sam was slowly dying without his brother and was taking whatever he could get just to make it through another week without Dean.
Cas sat down on the bed gently and put his hand on Sam's shoulder.
"Sam, you said you would try to let me help. Weeks ago, you said you would try. I've let it go, given you space, but you can't go on like this anymore. You have to tell me what's going on. Is it because Dean is—"
"A demon." It broke out of Sam like a punch.
"...What?"
"Dean is a demon, Cas." Sam's sobs had gentled a little.
"I don't... What?" Poor Cas looked completely incredulous. Sam didn't blame him.
Sam took as deep a breath as he could through the sobs and aching muscles. "Dean is a demon and I've been letting him do things to me for the past couple of months. Or more. I don't even know how long it's been, I stopped keeping track of dates after the second time it happened, I think. And I've done things to him, too."
"Things…" Cas said slowly,
"Se—sexual things. We've been f—having sex. Dean and I have been having sex. Cas. While you've been sick and still out there looking for my brother, his demon and I have been fu—fucking. I'm so sorry, Cas, I had no idea how to tell to you, or how to make sense of it or how to make it right. I want to die. Cas, I—" Sam couldn't go on. He couldn't look at Cas. He couldn't bear to see the disgust in Cas's bright blue eyes, eyes that had meant help and hope. He couldn't bare to see Cas start to hate him. So Sam turned around in the bed, with his back to Cas, and shook with his anguish until he thought he might shake apart.
Cas didn't say a word. But eventually Sam calmed down enough to realise that Cas was still there. Still right there, rubbing circles into his back and shushing him, saying things like, "It's okay Sam. It will be okay. You'll be fine Sam." Over and over again. When Sam had quieted again and was breathing more or less evenly, Cas got up, rummaged in Sam's duffle, went to the bathroom and turned on a tap briefly, then sat back down on the bed. When Sam worked up the courage to turn back around and look at Cas, he saw four aspirins in his one hand and the plastic cup from the bathroom in the other.
Cas held out the aspirin. "I don't know how many you should take."
Sam looked up quickly into Cas's eyes, saw nothing there but the usual care and consideration, and looked back down as Cas waved his hand a little. Sam took the tablets and the cup of water and swallowed down the lot.
He took a deep breath and lay back down. "Thanks," he said softly.
"Now," said Cas, just as softly. "Why don't you start from the beginning and just keep going until you end up right where we are now."
Cas didn't smile. But he didn't look angry, or hateful, or disgusted or any of the things Sam had been expecting. He just looked like Cas. The same as ever, if a bit more tired, a bit more weak. Sam wished he didn't have to unload all of this onto him. But there was no way he could avoid it now.
Cas reached out again and put his hand back on Sam's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'm not going anywhere, Sam. You said it. We're family. I probably know more about you and Dean than you realise—or would want, actually. There is nothing that you could say that would make me turn against you or care for you any less." Cas looked straight at Sam and gave a little nod. "I promise."
Sam almost started crying again, but he needed to do this. Needed to get this out. He was sure there would be more than enough tears coming his way in the near future.
So he told Cas. Everything.
Cas didn't leave.
Sam was still trying to wrap his head around that single most important fact. Cas didn't leave. While Sam had told Cas the whole story—trying not to break down, but failing miserably—Cas hadn't said a word. He had listened quietly and without judgment. When Sam was finished, feeling completely empty, he'd looked at Cas's expression with some surprise.
"Don't you have anything to say? Aren't you pissed? About me lying to you, about Dean being a demon? About..." He'd trailed off there.
The expression on Cas's face had remained infuriatingly calm. "I'm not angry, Sam. Okay, I am a little upset that you didn't tell me about Dean, but I understand why you didn't. And I am worried about Dean being a demon. I'll have to think about how we can deal with that," Cas looked thoughtful for a moment and then focused back on Sam. "Nothing I could say to you would punish you more than what you are saying to yourself. And it's you who thinks you deserve some sort of punishment Sam, not me. Humans are inherently flawed, possibly you and Dean more than most." Sam was stung by this statement, but he couldn't deny it. "But you and Dean have also been through more than most. More has been expected of you than most people. And you both have more virtues than most people. You two were created, in a certain way, for a reason. And the plan went cosmically wrong when Mary was killed. You both had to deal with far more, far younger than you should've had to. And you found a way to do that."
Sam took in a deep shuddering breath. "That doesn't make any of this right."
"No, it doesn't. There is so much about this situation that is wrong, Sam, but your feelings for your brother, and how he may really feel about you, are perhaps the most insignificant concerns right now."
Sam was sitting cross-legged on the bed now and, for all his size, he looked very small. He looked down at his lap, where his fingers had been fidgeting throughout his telling Cas his story. What Cas was saying did not necessarily make him feel any better, but he was starting to feel calmer.
"Sam. We are not living normal lives. And there was never a chance that any of us were going to come out of this life unscathed. Dean has already spent 40 years in hell. You've spent several lifetimes there and have lived here without a soul. I let primordial monsters out of Purgatory and loose on the world and tried to become God. Now I'm an angel with fading grace and Dean is a demon. I have to say, Sam, incest might just be the most normal thing about this family."
Sam cringed at the dreaded word, but he snuck a peek at Cas and Cas was as supremely unperturbed as ever.
"The most important thing we need to do right now is to get Dean back. The two of you can deal with everything else later, but we need to find a way to bring him back. You know that you and Dean are soulmates." Sam had actually forgotten about that, it not being something they'd ever talked about after the fiasco that visiting their shared heaven had been. "The way that the two of you have been emotionally using and manipulating each other—"
"I have not been... doing that." Sam protested, rather weakly.
Cas looked at him steadily. "You know you have. You know that you've been trying to pull out any bit of Dean you could during your... encounters. In any way you could. And such emotional abuse between soulmates ultimately damages the souls in question, Sam. We don't even know what shape Dean's soul is in right now, so he is particularly vulnerable."
Sam mumbled, sulkily, "He doesn't seem vulnerable. He seems like an ass."
Cas sighed. "Yes, well. Neither of you can continue in this fashion or one or both of you will break. We need to get Dean back one way or another. And in order to do that, you need to set aside your guilt—" Sam looked up, about to say something, "— for now," Cas clarified holding up his hand, "allow yourself a little time to heal, and then help me figure out a way to do this. You and Dean will figure everything else out afterward. You always do."
Sam wasn't so sure that they'd be able to this time. Assuming they could save Dean. But he didn't have enough strength to argue with Cas, who was making sense. They needed to try to get Dean back. Sam thought of all his concerns, about permanently losing Dean in an attempt to save him. But he didn't have to do this alone now. He'd bring it up with Cas, later. At the Bunker. Sam's body felt like lead and he could barely keep his eyes open, let alone his body upright. He was physically and emotionally wrung out. He lay back down in the bed, mumbling as he closed his eyes, "'kay, Cas. We'll figure it out. Just gonna close my eyes for a second, and then we'll get Dean back..."
Cas climbed onto the bed, shoes, trenchcoat and all, and sat up against the headboard. He leaned over to pull the covers over Sam's wide shoulders. Sam woke up just enough to murmur, "Stay?"
"Yes," Cas said simply. As if he were going anywhere. As if he would leave Sam here like this.
Cas ended up falling asleep like that, mostly sitting up with one hand on Sam's back.
They eventually made it back to the Bunker. Neither Sam nor Cas was in the best shape, but they rested as much as they could, between doing research and making plans. They couldn't find anything on curing a demon who wasn't possessing someone but was a man who had been turned into a demon, but Cas didn't think that would be a problem.
"The purpose of Father Thompson's exorcism was to turn a demon human again, not to bring back the person who the demon was possessing. So the cure should be especially efficacious on Dean. My main concern is the Mark of Cain, which is a potent symbol of evil. I do not think that blood purification through confession will be enough. However, I think I've figured out a way to make the blood exceptionally powerful. Kind of... extra-strength purification."
In the end, it involved Sam talking a priest into blessing a dozen or so crates of type O. The rather terrified priest didn't ask how Sam had got the blood or what he was going to use it for, which was just as well, and once he was done, he didn't waste any time getting the hell away from Sam. Poor guy probably fled the state of Kansas.
So they had super-purified holy blood, and Cas found a ritual to consecrate the devil's trap in the Bunker dungeon with holy water. Cas took care of that part. Once the blood was in the dungeon, the devil's trap was ready, and they had all the restraints, needles, syringes, holy water and any other defensive weapons they could think of, there was only one other thing that they needed.
"You need to phone him, Sam." Cas said this very gently, but firmly.
This was the part of the plan that Sam hated. Dean had left very few texts since the night at Lovewell. He had clearly been willing to go on as before, although it had taken him a little longer than usual to contact Sam again. But eventually, he'd texted Sam a place and a time, as usual. But Sam had ignored it. After a few hours Dean had sent "where are you?" and Sam hadn't bothered to answer that either. Dean had tried a few more times, with Sam ignoring each text, until a couple of days ago all he had received was a question mark. And now Sam had to contact Dean and arrange to meet up. Both he and Cas knew what that would mean. They had tried to think of another way, but Dean would be suspicious now that Sam had been avoiding him. And Sam knew that Dean had been following him, keeping tabs on him. They weren't sure what Dean had seen or what he knew, even though they'd taken all the precautions they could think of.
Neither Cas nor Sam said the words, but they both knew what was going to have to happen.
The only way to get Dean into a position where Sam could capture him, was for Sam to have sex with him.
It still took Sam a couple of days to work up to it. In keeping with the pattern—and because Sam couldn't face actually phoning him—Sam sent a text.
All it said was:
Cawker City
Waconda Lake Lodge
Hopewell Room
2 hrs
Sam was assuming that Dean was within at least two hour's drive of Lebanon. That had been his M.O. for the last few months after all. He put the phone down, determined not to watch the screen, waiting for a reply, but it turned out that he didn't have to wait at all. The phone pinged the moment he'd set it down. In reply Dean had sent a thumbs-up emoji.
Sam had arrived at the lodge about thirty minutes before, and he didn't have that many physical preparations to make. The plan was to slip the angel cuffs on Dean. Using any means necessary. So Sam had those in his back pocket. He also had a fairly large bottle of Johnnie Walker, which he was taking regular swigs from. He wouldn't let himself get drunk. But he could do with the liquid courage. And any numbing factor the alcohol might provide. Sam sat down on the bed, took another swig, and waited.
The rumble of the Impala's engine made its way into Sam's consciousness two and a half hours later. Sam had expected that Dean would make him wait after all the unanswered texts. The bottle of whisky was about a third down, so Sam was feeling pretty good but still capable of whatever he might need to be able to do.
The car pulled up to the row of rooms, and parked right in front of the Hopewell room. The name had something to do with an old church in the area, but Sam had just thought that they could use any extra hope they could get and had gone with it. Dean sat in the car for a little while. Sam decided he wasn't going to go look to see what he was doing, or meet him at the door even. He'd just stay right where he was and wait for Dean.
Eventually he heard the car door open and close, heard Dean step up onto the wooden porch running the length of the row of rooms, and then he heard the door knob twist. When Sam heard the door close behind Dean, he finally looked up. Dean was standing at the door, hand still on the knob. As they'd expected he looked suspicious. Sam could tell that Dean was trying to suss out any salt, holy water, devil's traps or angels that might be in or near the room. It was for this very reason that they'd left everything but the cuffs at the Bunker. Well, and the demon blade. As Sam had said before, he wasn't an idiot. Although he was rather skeptical about that statement himself, now. Sam had even managed to convince Cas that he had to stay well away from the Lodge. Cas had insisted that he remain near enough to be able to get to Sam quickly if necessary. He was a couple of miles down the road, parked at a gas station in an old Ford truck. Neither of them had mentioned the obvious: that 'quickly' would probably not be nearly quick enough if Dean caught on to their plan before he was restrained.
"Heya, Sammy." Dean spoke hesitantly.
"Hi Dean." Sam had decided to go with showing how he really felt. He didn't have the energy or the will to pretend to be anything other than exhausted, unsure and sad. And for all that, he still wanted Dean. So. Not much pretense necessary in any case.
"Thought you'd chickened out on me," Dean said, taking a careful step into the room.
Sam remained where he was, sitting on the bed hunched over the bottle of whisky. He shrugged. "I needed some time. I'm... I can't pretend to be okay with any of this, you know? I never wanted to fall in love with my brother. And you're not even him, you're little more than a monster, so." Sam gave a little shrug. "I dream of you, him. Whatever. Almost every night now. It's all such an epic fuck-up. And I still can't seem to stay away. As fucked up as it is, being with you is the only thing that's kept me going."
Dean took another step toward, Sam. "Sam," he said softly, sounding real. Sounding like Dean. "I feel—"
"No." Sam interrupted him quickly. "I don't want to know how you feel. I don't believe you do feel. Anything you're going to say to me right now is nothing that I can believe."
Dean nodded slowly. "Fair enough."
"So right now, I just need to feel. Him. You. Whatever I can get. I don't want to talk. Can you at least do that for me?"
"Sure, Sam." Dean seemed more confident, convinced that he knew now what this meeting was about. Sam was just a needy little bitch. Well, Sam thought. He's not wrong. Dean was standing directly in front of Sam now. He reached out and pushed Sam's hair off his face.
"What do you need, little brother?" He said it so gently. Every time Sam thought that his heart couldn't possibly break any more, this demon said or did something to show him just how wrong he was.
Sam closed his eyes. He was so tired of all of this. He leaned into Dean, letting his forehead fall against Dean's stomach. If he stayed just like this, eyes closed, touching Dean, close enough to smell him, he could pretend...
Dean had both hands in Sam's hair now. Good. He was slowly combing his fingers through the strands and Sam honestly thought he would be happy to spend the rest of his life just like this. Not having to face any of what he had to do next. Just him and Dean, quietly touching, fuck the rest of the world. But he knew he had to put an end to this. Sam had abandoned his brother once before. He'd be damned if he'd do it again. He knew that if Dean had a choice, he'd rather be dead than a demon. And if that was how things ended up, with Dean dead? Sam had long ago decided what he'd do.
Time to get this show on the road, he thought, and he nuzzled into Dean's stomach, taking in as much of his scent as he could. Whisky and Old Spice (all Dean) and something sharp and unfamiliar. Dean sighed.
Sam slowly lifted Dean's shirt so that he could press his face into his naked skin. He pressed small kisses into Dean's flesh, running his hands along his brother's waist, dipping his fingers into the waistband of his jeans. He could feel Dean getting hard, and he swallowed. Sam really did not want to do this. And Sam wanted to do this so badly.
Gently sucking a bruise into Dean's skin, Sam started to undo the button and zipper of his jeans. God he could smell him already. Sam looked down briefly and saw the wet spot on his brother's underwear. Dean was already so into this, Sam smiled a little. This was going to work. He looked up at Dean, who was watching him with an expression on his face that Sam didn't want to see. One he'd seen there before, one that confused and hurt him.
"This what you want, Sam?" Dean said it gently, with a miniscule thrust of his hips. None of the swagger that the demon usually displayed. Sam nodded, and slid off the bed onto his knees, pulling Dean's jeans and underwear down just enough that his cock was free for Sam to wrap his mouth around.
"Fuck, Sam." Dean groaned. Sam took his time, using his hands and his mouth. Running his tongue up and down the length of his brother's cock, then wrapping his lips around it, taking it as deep as he could. He hollowed out his cheeks and sucked his way back up the shaft, then pushed into the slit a little with his tongue, before he licked his way along the underside, down to Dean's balls, spending a little time there, before starting the cycle up again. Dean seemed happy to go slow at first, humming his approval with every lick of Sam's tongue, groaning obscenely when Sam sucked on his balls, grunting softly when Sam swallowed around his cock. Dean had started off with his fingers loosely resting in Sam's hair but it didn't take too long before he was clutching tightly at fistfulls of the strands—god, Sam loved that—trying not to thrust too roughly into Sam's mouth. Sam was getting lost in the feel of his brother, slick and hard in his mouth, the taste of him thick on his tongue. He wanted more, more of this, more of Dean. I want my brother back.
Sam felt Dean's hands knotted in his hair, starting to pull Sam's mouth a little harder onto his cock, hips thrusting a little more roughly. Sam slipped his hand into his pocket just as Dean moaned, "that's it, just... suck me Sam, take it, fuck," and before Dean could complete one more thrust, Sam had the angel cuffs locked around Dean's right wrist.
"What the fuck—?" But Dean didn't have a chance to finish. Sam had twisted around—in a move Dean had taught him when he was twelve, and that Sam had perfected by the time he was thirteen—and pulled Dean over his shoulder, before Dean could clear his sex-addled mind. In another second, he had Dean on the floor on his stomach, both hands behind his back, cuff closed around his left wrist, as he dug his knee into Dean's lower back to keep him down.
Dean struggled briefly, and then lay limp. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Sam?" He pulled against the cuffs.
"Angel cuffs, you fucker. You ain't getting out of them." Sam pressed the demon blade into Dean's back, a feeling of deja vu washing over him. "And this is my extra insurance. We're going home, Dean."
"I told you to let me go."
As if either of them had ever been able to do that.
"You know I can't do that. Dean, we know how to cure demons. You remember that?"
"Did you ever stop to think that if I wanted to be cured, I wouldn't have bailed?" Dean might have been on the ground with his hands cuffed behind his back, but the smug demon was back in full force.
"It doesn't matter." There was no way Sam would back down. "Whatever's happened, we'll fix it."
Sam saw Dean grin. "Will we, Sam? You think that's how this is going to end? Because I have an idea that this little rescue mission? Is going to end with me ripping your throat out... with my teeth. I'm giving you a chance, Sam. You should take it."
An unexpected shiver went down Sam's spine. A little twisted lust, a lot of very real fear. He knew that Dean meant every word.
"I'm gonna have to pass," Sam said as he pulled Dean to his feet. Dean gave a dark chuckle. That sound had haunted Sam's dreams.
After manhandling Dean into the backseat of the Impala and securing the cuffs to the door handle, Sam had climbed into the driver's seat and pulled away from the lodge. The short drive back to the Bunker was probably the most awkward journey he'd ever shared with his brother.
At first neither of them said anything, but the silence got to Sam.
"This thing is filthy."
"It's just a car, Sam," Dean said, looking out the window, barely paying attention.
"It's just a… car," Sam repeated softly to himself. "Wow. You really have gone dark."
Dean slowly turned his head to focus on Sam's eyes, watching him in the rearview mirror. "You have no idea. And what I'm gonna do to you, Sammy... Well." Dean licked his lips, before looking back out the window.
Sam shivered again.
Sam had called Cas on the way, and he was waiting to help get Dean into the Bunker and safely locked inside the dungeon. Dean had barely glanced at Cas, just given the angel a quick look up and down with a sneer on his face.
All Cas had said was, "Hello, Dean."
And they'd begun the cure. Sam had insisted that he be the one to administer all the injections. He and Cas would say the exorcism ritual together at regular intervals. Otherwise, Cas stood back, a silent but ever present support that Sam was acutely aware of and sincerely grateful for. Because Sam had started to think that the blood cure might be more painful for him than it was for Dean. At one point though, Cas had to leave to help Hannah with a rogue angel. Sam didn't want to be left alone with this monster that was and wasn't his brother, but he knew that Cas felt a huge responsibility for what had happened to the angels and an obligation to help where he could. He wouldn't stop Cas.
And as if inflicting vicious pain on his brother wasn't bad enough, the things that Dean said to Sam while he was strapped in that chair would forever be etched in Sam's brain. Did Dean really blame him for everything? For their mom's death? For Dean's difficult life, never being able to do anything because of the little brother constantly hanging around his neck? Sam kept telling himself it wasn't really Dean, but it was hard because deep down? Sam had always believed most of what Dean was saying anyway.
Eventually Dean blacked out, and Sam was scared that they'd gone too far too fast, that they'd lost him. He'd slapped Dean hard, yelling, "Hey! Dean, you okay? Dean! Come back to me! You have to fight!"
Dean had come to and said groggily, "What the hell for..?"
Sam couldn't believe it. "No!" He'd shouted the word right into Dean's face. "No, you don't. You don't get to quit. We don't get to quit in this family! This family is all we have ever had!"
Dean shrugged, utterly uncaring. "Well, then, we got nothin'."
And that had made Sam so angry and so scared that he'd jabbed the next syringe viciously into Dean's arm. "This? Is me fighting for our 'nothing'. You're welcome."
And he threw the syringe down and walked out of the dungeon.
Which was when Dean had escaped. This was good news because it proved that the cure was working. The bad news was that Sam ended up in what felt like an alternate reality, playing an adult game of tag with his hammer wielding big brother. The Bunker was on lockdown, but Sam wasn't sure that he had the strength to fight Dean, even with the demon knife, which he was once again clinging to.
Stalking Dean through the corridors of the Bunker, Sam had thought he'd caught a glimpse of him. Staying close to the walls, Sam had looked one way down a hall, and finding it clear, turned around. Just in time to duck the hammer Dean had swung at his head. Of all the weapons in this place he chose a hammer?!
Feeling that his reactions were sluggish, Sam had managed to get the demon knife to Dean's neck, and pushed the blade against his throat. Another flash of deja vu.
And Dean smiled. And Sam just—Sam was ready to give up. He couldn't do this. He was holding a knife against his brother's throat, the same brother who had just swung at his head with a very solid hammer, and he was getting hard. What the fuck was wrong with him? As Dean looked into his eyes and said, "Look at you. Do it. It's all you," Sam wasn't sure he would be able to resist the very real urge to slam his mouth against his brother's. Sam was pretty much convinced that he didn't deserve to live anyway. And he knew that he couldn't kill Dean. So giving up was looking like the only option. He'd watched as Dean licked his lips, and then Sam had closed his eyes and lowered the knife. He didn't see Dean's eyes go black, or his arm lift, ready to strike with the hammer.
Chapter song: Wicked Game (feat. Annaca) by Ursine Vulpine
