A/N: I don't know if you guys notice, but I'm trying different tones in each chapter, trying to go along with the chapter's POV. Last one was Castiel, obviously, and this one is Sam's POV (third person, still). I hope you can sense a little of their characters through the text :)
Welcome to Heartbreak
Written by oneofyourfrenchgirls
Part 3: We Come One
Sam Winchester wakes up to the sound of his brother throwing up.
He doesn't remember at what time in his life this became a familiar sound - the hacking and gagging, sound of liquid splashing against liquid, the harsh spitting that signals that Dean's stomach is as empty as can be - but he knows that he should do something about it. He did try talking about it once, but it didn't lead anywhere, so Sam gets up to let his actions speak for him.
He's confused for a second - he guesses that this is what it feels like to wake up somewhere that isn't home, taking a little too long to recognise furniture and the basic layout - and a couple of years ago he would think that thinking of seedy motel rooms as 'home' isn't healthy.
He manages to get to the bathroom rather quickly nevertheless, still hearing his brother empty his stomach behind the closed door. Sam is glad that it isn't locked; because he feels panicked enough that he would have tackled it open.
"Dean," he whispers, voice strained and weird, and kneels beside the toilet. He reaches out while Dean is still hurling, wrapping his long arms around his brother, pulling them away from the toilet seat. Unfortunately, his brother isn't done puking, and miscoloured liquid-vomit dribbles down Dean's chin. Under the heavy smell of bile and sweat, Sam can sense vodka. He wonders if the last time his brother ate was yesterday at lunch, eating the small burger and chugging it down with sugary coke.
"Sam," Dean grinds out, lips glistening and t-shirt ruined. His face is covered with sweat and he looks like he hasn't gotten any sleep at all. Sam breathes out a sigh of relief when his brother accepts his embrace, gripping at Sam's shirt but not-quite pulling him closer.
"It's okay," Sam promises.
He knows exactly what to do in situations like these on a theoretical level, since his brother has taken care of him like this all of their lives, but now he isn't sure that he's able to put his knowledge to use. He hates seeing Dean like this, wrecked and confused, and it feels like the world is upside-down for a minute while Sam tries to get them both on their feet.
"It's okay," he repeats, because that's what Dean usually does, and Sam knows how good that is to hear.
The bathroom is too big and too clean, making Dean look even sicklier, but Sam forces himself not to think of it. Tries to think of it as just a hunt-related wound, something that isn't caused by anything but physical aspects. He struggles with getting his mind straight as he attempts to take them across the room for a shower.
Dean pushes him away as soon as they get near the big shower, but he doesn't say anything when Sam makes it clear that he's staying in the bathroom until Dean is okay. Sam uses the toilet and washes up by the sink while Dean stands under the spray. From the corner of his eye, he can see that his older brother is slowly getting back to himself, maybe sobering up properly.
"I'm gonna call up some food," he tells Dean when the shower door slides open and steam rolls out in thick clouds. He only gets a grunt in reply, but it's good enough for him.
After calling room service, he can't help but send a brief prayer upwards as he gets dressed. Sam doesn't know how long it takes for Castiel to appear, but when he turns around to turn the TV on, the angel is right behind him.
"Fuck! Cas!" Sam can't help but putting his hand above his heart, massaging the poor muscle, and he marvels on how Dean never gets surprised whenever Castiel pops in anymore. "A little warning next time?" he adds, which is standard procedure, but Castiel has never gotten it before and Sam suspects that Hell will freeze over before the angel actually decides to warn him.
"I apologise," Castiel says, ice cold eyes darting across the room. "You are not alone."
"Uh, thank you, I guess, but-"
"No. I sense something from in there," Castiel elaborates, raising his entire arm to point at the bathroom door.
Sam has barely gotten his gun out when the bathroom door swings open and Dean all but runs out of it. He doesn't stop until he's on the other side of the bed, clutching onto his towel and gaping in the direction he came from. Sam almost drops his weapon when Crowley steps out, an air of haughtiness surrounding him when he lays his eyes on Sam and Castiel.
"Hello, boys," he says, voice thick with his accent more than usual, and he sends another smirk in Dean's way. Sam lowers his gun by now, knowing that the salt rounds will do nothing to harm Crowley. "Thought I'd stop by again."
"Why?" Sam sits on the edge of the bed, seeing his brother get into his clothes with a hurry never seen before. Castiel stands between the demon and Dean, and Sam figures that it must be bad if even the tactless angel can sense Dean's uneasiness. "What is it that you want?"
"Oh, Dean-o didn't want me to tell you," Crowley explains, "I guess you have to ask your brother."
"Shut up," Dean spits out. He's shrugging into one of Sam's hoodies, already wearing a t-shirt and a flannel shirt under it. He seems to shrink a little in the too-big size, but he looks angry as ever. He reminds Sam of a cat they once found by the side of the road, fur standing on all ends and back leg broken after being hit by a car. Dean had been the one to put it out of its misery, and Sam had been mad at him for it for a week.
"Honey, watch your tongue," Crowley reprimands, "Or I'll tell little Sammy exactly what it is I want from you."
"We have a deal!"
"Nuh-uh. We didn't seal it with a kiss. So, unless you come over here and put your pretty mouth to use, we've got no such deal."
Sam is glad that he's sitting, because the next thing he knows, Dean is striding across the room and pushing past Castiel's stiff body in order to press his lips against Crowley's. The kiss is awkward at first, Dean standing too far away and his face scrunched up in distaste, but it soon eases into something that hints towards that this isn't the first time.
Sam has seen his brother kiss countless of boys and girls over the years, but this probably takes the cake.
His normally reserved, careful brother practically throws all caution with the wind and just goes with it. He puts his hands on Crowley's shoulders, not minding when Crowley places his hands dangerously low on Dean's back, under the hoodie. Sam can feel that his mouth is open in surprise, but he can't get his muscles to obey and he just stares openly at what's taking place before him.
It isn't until after they break their lip-locking, Dean stepping backwards into the wall with an embarrassed look on his face, that Sam can move again. He glances to his side, finding that Castiel looks uncommonly surprised.
"As pleasant as that was," Crowley begins, "you didn't give me a chance to write a contract for our deal."
"Oh, c'mon, are you serious?" Dean rakes his hands through his short hair, obviously on the verge of throwing a full-scale temper tantrum. "Just. Just keep your mouth shut."
"Of course, darling... See you later, Sam," Crowley says and disappears without a sound. Sam didn't miss the look he was given, and understands (after years of living by the rule 'don't ask, don't tell', he is rather good at intercepting looks) what it means.
"I need to brush my teeth," Dean grumbles. Sam can't help but think that Dean has put his mouth in far worse places than the mouth of a demon.
As soon as Dean is back in the bathroom, however, Sam stays completely still and just listens. Once he's sure that Dean isn't going to (try to) throw up again, he gives Cas a little nod and sneaks out the corridor. He finds Crowley there, leaning against the wall with an easiness that no angel has grasped.
"Are you going to tell me?" Sam asks, hopeful and a little scared at once.
"I am. I think that if anyone can see reason here, it's you. You've worked with demons before," Crowley says and looks away, down the hall. "I figure that the angel in there is probably biased on this subject."
"Out with it."
Crowley chuckles, a low rumble that ends almost immediately after its beginning. "I don't like Dick Roman very much. He's a moron and I understand that you want him to die. I can help with that. Now, in return, I would very much like your brother."
"To...? My brother to do what?"
"I'm surprised that you aren't dead already. To fuck him into the mattress, you twit." Crowley looks annoyed and smug at once, continues with a: "It shouldn't be a problem, no? Your brother has slept with people for a lot less, if the rumours are true."
"Hey," Sam warns testily, but is interrupted before he can continue protecting his brother's virtue.
"Think about it, Sam. I'll borrow your brother a few hours every week, maybe a night or so, and you can go on actually killing the leviathans. It's a small price to pay."
"It isn't," Sam disagrees. He doesn't think of his brother as a whore – Dean might be a little on the easy side, always has been, and he suspects that Dean might have accepted money on one or two occasions; but that doesn't mean that it's okay to have Dean bend over for the greater good. "It really isn't."
"No, I guess you're right. No, this time, he actually wants it. He just needs a push in the right direction. Maybe hear from someone that no one would mind." Crowley is wearing that arrogant smile again, obviously convinced that he's right. "I'll see you later, Sam. I'll even let you read the fine-print if you promise to think about it."
"Yeah, like that's gonna—" Sam pauses, mid-sentence, when he realises that Crowley is gone.
"You got a case?" Dean asks, stuffing his mouth full with the pie that room service brought up. His lips are smeared with strawberry juice, and it looks a little too much like blood, or lipstick, but Sam doesn't have the heart to tell him about it. Castiel doesn't say anything about it either, just stares in the way that makes Sam's skin crawl, but his brother doesn't even notice.
"No, uh. No, I think that we've already got our hands full."
"Look, Sam," Dean says around a mouthful of pastry and cream, "we can't kill what we can't find. I haven't heard anything 'bout Dick in weeks. Have you?"
"No, but—"
"Plus, we don't know how to waste 'em."
Sam almost empties his glass of orange juice on his brother, tired of being interrupted all the time. Instead, he says, quickly in fear of getting cut off again: "Dean. Crowley told me about the deal he wants to make. And I... I mean, it isn't ideal or anything, far from it, but. Maybe we can offer him something else, and he'll tell us how to kill them."
He hopes that Castiel will back him up, because he knows that Dean values the angel's opinion a lot these days. It's no longer just the Winchester brothers, but their duo has turned into a trio when no one was looking. Sam finds himself longing for a time when Dean's world circulated around Sam, but that's just his jealousy speaking.
He knows, on a basic level, that he should be glad for Dean. Dean has never had any friends until Cas, and he deserves someone to trust, other than Sam, more than anything.
"I don't think that Crowley will settle for anything less," Castiel says slowly. He's still staring at Dean when he speaks, even if his words are meant for Sam. "He became the King of Hell because he never settles for anything less."
"Aren't you a glass half-full," Dean mutters, more to himself than anyone else. Then, louder, he says, "I agree with Cas, though. D'you really want me to sell my ass to the devil, Sam?"
"No! Of course not!"
Sam gets out of his chair, not sure what to do with himself in a situation such as this. He really doesn't want his brother to 'sell his ass' for information, especially on unlimited time, but he can't help but think of Crowley's words. He can't help but see their kiss on replay before his eyes, the lack of hesitation and wariness.
It might have been because of Dean's need for Crowley to stay quiet about the deal, but Dean has gone through enough deals to know that a quick peck suffices. Sam can't also get the idea out of his head that it has happened before, the way Dean tilted his head just a little to his left side so that he would end up on the same level as Crowley. (He doesn't want to think that it's because his brother is an experienced kisser, too experienced.)
He knows that Dean's taste in men is a little on the obscure side – always strong in some way, mostly tall and bulky, always older – and Crowley fits the bill perfectly. He is power, practically reeks with so that even civilians must notice, and he's old. His vessel is somewhere in the fifties, Sam guesses, right about the age where Dean likes his men.
Sam considers the possibility that he's over-analysing and the fact that it's his brother he's thinking about. He should be more surprised by this than he is, but he has long since learned that life has a tendency to throw them daily curveballs, so he doesn't think too hard about it.
"I can't believe that he told you, though," Dean says thoughtfully, inspecting the piece of fruit on his fork. "Fucking asshole."
"He must have thought that Sam would be able to persuade you into the deal," Castiel muses. "At the very least play on his influence over you."
Dean's lips thin out, speaking volumes of how he doesn't appreciate being talked about as if Sam can manipulate him into anything – including demon deals. "Whatever, man, I don' wanna be his freaking – what's the word? Consort?"
"Dean Winchester; Righteous Man and the Devil's boytoy," Sam blurts out, unable to resist the temptation.
He receives a kick on his shin for his comment, pain shivering through his entire leg, but it's worth it.
When afternoon rolls around, summer sun still high on the clear sky, it isn't funny anymore.
They get into the car and drive away from the small city, but Sam doesn't know exactly where they're heading or why Castiel is still with them. Normally, Cas goes back to Heaven when they're in between hunts, only shows up to aid them now and then. With one exception of course: Dean's birthday. (Sam will always tease his brother about that, because Winchesters doesn't do birthdays, and Castiel bought his brother a t-shirt, carefully wrapped by a storage clerk.)
Dean doesn't seem to be having as amusing thoughts as Sam, his face void of any emotion save for the stubborn set of his eyebrows. Dean's right hand is on the wheel and his left one is drumming neurotically on his thigh, a nervous habit that comes out too often.
"I'm hungry," Sam says, desperately trying to break the silence. It's not so awkward when it's just them – just Sam and Dean, the hum of the engine and a little cock rock in the background – but Castiel's presence makes everything heavier. Sam doesn't know why this is, but he suspects that this is what it's like to feel like a third wheel.
"Tough," Dean answers crossly, fingers freezing on his thigh now that he's aware of himself again. He looks at Sam, and then glances in the rear view mirror before turning his attention back to the road. "There should be a town fifteen minutes ahead."
Sam nods, and that's that.
They find a bar a few blocks from the main road, and it's a busy night. All the booths are occupied, so they settle around a wriggly table in the back. Sam can tell how uncomfortable it makes his brother, how Dean looks around and estimates just how drunk and disoriented the people around him are. It's still rather early, the guests still sober enough to hold coherent conversations and throw darts properly.
Castiel's presence soothes Dean somewhat, sitting a little closer than he should, but his newfound strength crinkling off of his awkward posture. Even Sam must admit that it feels a little better to have an angel around the table, especially in a dive such as this. In just a few hours, the crowd is going to be drunk, possibly aggressive and easily provoked.
"This place is—"
"If you say that it's sinful or whatever, I'm gonna smash your face in," Dean promises and waves the waitress over. Castiel just glares, but he doesn't say anything else, even as Dean order food for him as well.
Sam makes a face when their food arrives, greasy burgers and curly fries, but Dean actually eats it, and Castiel doesn't even bother protesting with his usual 'I do not need food', just grabs his burger in the same way Dean does and takes a large bite. Sam follows their example, taking a bite and trying not to think of the almost sour taste of ketchup and the sogginess of the bread.
Even with the sorl and country music in the background, the small table feels oddly awkward and tense, much like in the car. Dean is pretending not to notice, a skill he's been honing since Sam and their dad started fighting regularly, and Castiel eats his burger with dedication, avoiding anyone's eyes.
"So... Crowley, huh." Sam wants to kick himself once the words escape his mouth, feels his stomach tug at the bewildered look on his brother's face. Castiel grimaces around a mouthful of fries, clearly thinking about kicking Sam as well.
"This is one sucky day," Dean says with a sigh.
"Why you, though?" Sam can't help but ask, having pondered this since hearing about the deal this morning. It feels like ages ago, like eons have passed since he found out that the new Devil wants his brother in his bed, used like a whore in exchange for information about the new enemy.
Dean downs the rest of his beer with practiced ease, but his throat sounds dry, "I'd like to think it's my great personality, but I'm gonna go ahead and guess that it's not."
"The most logical guess would be Dean's soul," Castiel speaks up. He doesn't drink from the beer in front of him, but he picks on the label. It's a trait that he's picked up from Sam himself, and it feels strange watching someone else copy him. "It shines brighter than anyone else's I've ever seen."
Dean puts down his beer bottle and gives a small burp of surprise, avoiding looking at the angel.
"Then the physical aspects," Castiel continues. "Dean is physically attractive, and is still Hell's most wanted. I don't think that the Devil's motives are greater than those, necessarily. My personal guess is that Dean is pretty enough and a big tease to both Heaven and Hell."
"Gee, thanks. You sure know how to flatter a girl."
"There are no girls around here, Dean," Castiel says with a confused frown. He looks around their table, almost fervently as if panicked he has somehow lost his ability to scan the area.
"He means himself," Sam explains, and earns a hard glare for it. "So, Crowley wants to mess with angels and demons, and Dean is, uh, pretty and shiny."
"Yes," Castiel responds, wiping his fingers on a flimsy napkin. "Dean is the obvious choice for causing a riot with both angels and demons."
Dean, apparently not at ease with being talked about as if not present, speaks up, "So, what do we do now?"
"It would be wise to go to a safe place, for the moment being," Castiel says, making it sound more like an order than a recommendation. "Somewhere we can keep Hellhounds and demons out of, should Crowley decide to force you."
Sam feels another tug in his stomach, low and painful, at the thought of his brother being forced back downstairs. Flashes of his brother being ripped to shreds flickers in his mind. Even if Crowley seems civil and human above ground, he is still a demon and not above torture of any kind. Sam can practically hear his brother's helpless screams, can practically see Crowley holding him down and just taking.
"Bobby's," he says, a little too loudly in his panicked state, "We'll go to Bobby's."
To Be Continued
A/N: Please leave a review with your thoughts :) If I haven't responded to your review for last chapter/another story; I'm going to do so before Monday. Thank you for reading!