Communication Breakdown

Title: Sub Cubare (9/?)
Fandoms: Supernatural/Buffy: the Vampire Slayer
Rating: NC-17 overall
Word Count: 3600 (this part)
Spoilers: Season 4 through "It's a Terrible Life"
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, or any part of Supernatural or B:tVS.
Distribution: With credit only. Recommend away!

Sam awoke with Dean's back pulled tight against his chest, his arms and legs encircling his brother in a body-warm blanket. It was still dark outside, and the house was quiet. That was a bit of a relief since he and Dean were still both naked as the day they'd came into the world. He wasn't sure what sort of reaction they'd get from Buffy or Giles, but he didn't imagine that it would be anything other than horrified shock. Sam wasn't horrified, was in fact oddly comfortable with the current sleeping arrangements.

Sam blinked his eyes to clear the sleep from them, his surroundings coming into sharper focus. The clock on the DVD player read 4:21, and he figured they had a few hours yet before the others got up for the day. He remained still, not wanting to wake Dean, who was still breathing deeply and evenly in his slumber.

He'd desperately wanted to take care of his brother last night, and Dean had let him. More than let him. Encouraged him. It hadn't been about the sex, although goddamn that had been just about perfect (not that he would tell Dean that, his brother's ego was already the size of Texas). The closeness he'd felt with Dean in those moments…the two of them hadn't shared that for a long time. Sam was shocked to realize the extent to which he'd missed it.

He'd slept more soundly last night with his brother curled in his arms than he had in years. Since before his own death and Dean's deal. Since before Dad and Jess, before Stanford. Even the gnawing darkness in his gut had quieted. The closest comparison he could think of was way back when the three of them hunted together, when Dad would take one bed and his boys would share the other. Once, Sam might have worried about what it meant that he was only at peace around his brother. Strangely, it mattered now only as a vague curiosity. He accepted it as part and parcel of having Dean back on Earth and in his arms.

As the remnants of muddled sleepiness slowly cleared from Sam's brain, he realized that his body ached even while he was lying completely still. Sam tried to shift on the couch, thinking that perhaps sleeping in the same cramped position all night had made him sore. He realized quickly that he lacked the energy to lift his arm more than a few inches before it flopped back down around his brother's sweat-damp shoulders. He swore quietly beneath his breath. He'd felt worse, certainly, but if Lilith showed up right now? He wouldn't be able to so much as daze her. He certainly wouldn't be able to exorcise her and he sure as hell couldn't kill her. He couldn't afford to be weak right now, not when they were sitting ducks out here in the open. Hell, Buffy's house didn't even have any salt lines or anything.

Sam's heart fluttered in anxiety.

Fuck. He needed Ruby, and he hated himself for it. He hated how she made him feel, and even more than that, what her blood did to him. The shard of blackness in his belly stabbed deeper each time he swallowed more of her; it twisted around and ground against his spine. Most of all? He hated how much he loved it. When Ruby filled him, he was invincible. He could all too easily see himself growing dependent on it. Sam barely suppressed a shudder.

Strong enough to kill Lilith, he promised himself, and then never again. At his strongest, he'd been able to kill Alastair, but he'd felt the demon-child's power. Even though it might not be able to affect him, Sam had no doubts that she would be fully capable of laying waste to the few remaining people he cared about. When Dean had been in Hell, he'd had the freedom to be reckless. Nothing had mattered but vengeance and retribution.

His older brother stirred in his arms, starting to wake. Dean could come awake instantly when the situation required it, but more often he liked to lie in bed as long as possible and let Sam bring back coffee for the both of them. Sam considered getting up to make a pot, but rejected the idea for two reasons. One, he was physically drained, and more importantly two, Dean felt too damn good pressed against him. Even if Sam had been capable of movement, he'd stay right there beside his brother. Exactly there. As soon as Dean was fully cognizant, he'd pull away from Sam, and the younger man wanted to put that moment off for as long as possible.

Sam knew that his current condition was a direct result of having mind-blowing sex with his brother, who was now wired to feed off his partners. He knew that, but he knew it wouldn't prevent him from doing it again, despite realizing how weak it left him. God, he was screwed. His whimper of frustration made his brother shift restlessly in his arms.

Dean's first thought as he roused was that his ass was sore; he hoped Sam got some smug satisfaction out of it. Hell, his brother had been right—he probably was going to be walking funny for a while. Dean fought off the lingering nightmares with the expertise born from long months of practice. He still didn't sleep peacefully—he likely never would again. But dreams of the past couldn't compare to the torture of his current situation. Sam didn't know a tenth, a hundredth of what he'd done downstairs, but he sure as Hell knew what Dean had forced him into last night, and the night before that.

Dean considered the soreness of his body and briefly mused that—physically at least—he had gotten off lightly in this case. After what they'd done last night…well, if he hadn't been a mara, Dean would have been in a far more serious world of pain. Fuck. Last night. Yeah, living with nightmares of Hell was nothing compared to living with the knowledge that he'd fucked his little brother so he could live. He felt soiled.

He'd seen the fear in Sam's eyes during those minutes before his mara-wrought pheromones kicked in. Sasquatch could claim whatever he wanted, but Dean knew the truth deep down—he'd raped his baby brother. Again. If there was anything worse than Hell, Dean would damn himself there. It was no less than he deserved.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was sleep muffled, but the question hung lingeringly in the nonexistent space between them. Asking so much with just that one word.

"Yeah?" Sam regretfully let his arm fall from his brother's shoulders, aching with the effort the small movement took. Sam wished, not for the first time, that words stopped failing him around his brother. He wished he could tell Dean how much he meant to him, but his brother didn't do touchy-feely, and Sam didn't want to scare him away. Dean's body was warm against his, Sam's morning erection pressed flush into the hollow between his brother's buttocks. He held himself painfully still, waiting to see the elder man's response.

"I'm uh…gonna get some coffee," stated Dean uncomfortably, trying to free himself from the tangle of Sam's gangly limbs. What the hell do you say after waking up naked in your brother's arms? "You want anything?"

Sam pulled away, and Dean was left oddly bereft. It was good Sam was pulling away, saving himself from Dean's lewd desires. Instead, Dean felt dejected. Of course Sam didn't want to be with him, this succubus thing. This monster.

"Nah, dude, just gonna lie here for a bit," replied Sam, stretching out as best he was able on the couch. He pulled one arm behind his head, leaving Dean a tantalizing view of the rippling muscles of Sam's chest and abdomen. If he didn't know better, Dean would have said the kid was doing it on purpose.

The elder Winchester's cock twitched in appreciation and he forced himself to look away. He'd never really considered the male body before, except in the purely academic sense of recognizing his own hotness. Christ, Dean thought as he tore his gaze from his brother and padded softly to the kitchen, he should be as freaked out by the guy thing as he was by the brother thing. And even that didn't really hold a candle to the knowledge that his body could force anyone into doing things that would ordinarily make them run screaming in the other direction. When that hungry feeling hit him, he would do anyone to get some relief, and they would let him. God, he was an ass, using Sam that way.

He loved his brother. Even with the lying, the sneaking out…he trusted Sam with his life and would do anything he was capable of to protect him. But to the mara caged inside him, his brother was just another warm body to sate its needs. He'd do it again, he couldn't not, and it wasn't fair to Sam. The bonds of family weren't meant to get this twisted around.

Sam watched his brother go, taking some modicum of comfort in the shadow of desire that had darkened his brother's eyes in the second before he'd retreated. The taller man reached gingerly for his crumpled boxers and pulled them on. The process took far longer than it should have, but Dean was still in the kitchen brewing the morning pot of coffee when Sam finally managed to get everything in place and adjusted as comfortably as possible.

He reached to the floor for his pants, sliding his hand into his jeans pocket for his cell and holding the 3 button down to speed dial Ruby's number. Sam couldn't recall when he'd assigned it there, replacing Jess's…sometime during the summer, he figured, in between binges. Maybe it had been after it had finally gotten through to him that she was saving his life every day, saving him from himself.

When he got the Blackberry to his ear, he released his breath in relief and relaxed into the sofa, allowing his drained body a respite. The phone rang for what seemed like eons, and Sam was well aware of the desperation driving his actions. When the voicemail picked up, Sam entertained serious thoughts about throwing the damn thing against a wall.

"Ruby, where the Hell are you?" he snarled quietly after the voicemail instructed him to leave a message. "Look…I need more, okay? Dean and I are in Cleveland, just call me as soon as you get this." Sam hit the end button and stared at the cell phone, unseeing.

He hated feeling this weak. He had people dependent on him, people he needed to keep safe. Buffy might be a Slayer, but she knew dick all about the type of demons that would be coming after her houseguests. Hellbound spirits corrupted from hundreds of years of torture could throw her across a room with the force of their will alone. What good was superhuman strength against that?

Grunting, Sam hit redial over and over in desperation, but it just rang.

Dean was pouring the grounds into the coffee filter when he heard his brother's voice from the other room, but it was too low to make out any words distinctly. Besides, he was fucking done with patrolling Sam's every action. He was probably talking to that whore of a demon-bitch, and no, that was not jealousy, damn it.

He'd show her. After all, who had been with Sam last night? Certainly not Ruby. Thinking back to sweaty skin and frantic caresses, Dean reflected that his little brother had seemed to be kind of into it. Really kind of into it. Beyond even what Dean's new nature demanded of his partners.

The now-familiar nausea welled up inside him, making his hand shake as he was turning on the coffee maker. He felt like shit again. Hell. He'd used Sam. Because yeah, now that he thought about it, Sam hadn't been resisting the pheromones this time. Sam had accepted what was happening between them, wanted it. Which was wrong, because they were brothers, damn it. And yeah, sure he'd fantasized about Sam, but he had a friggin' excuse, hopped up on venom. Dean could tell the difference between their frenzied grinding the first time and what had happened the previous evening. The second time? There had been intent.

Dean loved his brother, beyond life, beyond death, but God damn it; he couldn't keep using Sam this way. He wasn't in love with the kid. Not that love and sex had really ever had much chance to become intertwined in Dean Winchester. But he knew for sure that they couldn't just keep fucking and assume everything would remain status quo.

It was just shy 5:30 in the morning when Buffy came suddenly awake. Her sleep had been anything but restful, filled with dreams of tanned bare skin and green, green eyes. Buffy was wigging kind of a lot actually, as there hadn't been just one male body but two, and she'd been woven between them. She huffed in frustration, knowing there was no way she'd be able to fall back asleep now. She threw off the covers and blushed, realizing she was going to have to wash the sheets. As soon as she'd changed into a pair of soft grey cotton workout pants and a black camisole, she padded quietly down the stairs. Buffy found Sam lying awake on the couch, clad in only boxers and frantically dialing his phone. Her pulse quickened. God damn, the man was ripped.

"Sam, what's up?" asked Buffy cautiously, tramping down her excitement when she saw vexation in the tense set of his shoulders and the taut expression on his face. "What's wrong?"

He jolted in surprise. Throwing the phone into his duffel, Sam painstakingly sat up. She healed fast, but even so she was well acquainted with the way a body moved when it had been put through the wringer. Recalling her dream, Buffy's mouth went suddenly dry. She thought that maybe she knew what had happened to put him in such a state.

"It's nothing, I'm fine," he assured her, but his smile was too wide to be convincing. "Hey, Dean, is that coffee done yet?"

"Never rush a master, dude," came the reply from the kitchen and she smiled inwardly at their banter. Having the brothers around made her miss Dawn. Buffy heard the cabinet doors banging, the older Winchester probably searching for mugs.

"They're in the door above the dishwasher," she called to Dean helpfully, and then returned her gaze to Sam. He wasn't telling her everything. Heck, they'd hardly told her anything, really.

Dean entered the family room bearing gifts of coffee, but Buffy wasn't fooled. She looked from one brother to the other. "Alright, spill," she ordered with mock-sternness. Sam blushed a pretty shade of red and behind her Dean choked on a cough. Okay, well that hadn't been what she'd meant, but it certainly lent evidence to her whacked-out theory. "Something is bothering you, Sam, and if it affects me and the people who stay in my house under my protection, I need to know what it is."

Letting out his breath, Sam assumed his best comforting-the-panicked-witness face. "You've been very generous, Buffy, and I don't think we'd ever be able to repay you for that. But I don't know how much longer we can stay here. The Apocalypse—the real, book of Revelation Apocalypse—is coming up hard and fast, and both sides are gunning for us. The demons especially. They used to be rare; most of them were sealed up in Hell." Sam paused, unsure of how much to tell her. With any luck they'd be gone soon; if Giles couldn't find anything to help cure Dean they'd move on to the next contact in Bobby's list.

"Which hell?" asked Buffy sardonically. "You know, like the nothing but shrimp hell? Or maybe the hell where everyone wears cheese on their heads?"

Both brothers regarded her with a blank stare.

"What? The cheese wearing thing is totally demonic!"

Dean cleared his throat and looked down at his shoes. "Capital H Hell, Buffy," explained Sam gently. "The do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, your soul will burn in the fires of damnation for all time Hell."

The Slayer's eyes widened. Yeah, she'd had first hand experience with Heaven sure, but she'd never heard of an actual literal Hell. "But they got out?"

"Yeah, a couple years ago, some escaped. A few hundred at least. We…our dad was a bit to blame on that count. There was this gun crafted by Samuel Colt that could kill anything—vampire, demon—for good and all," explained Sam.

"But it was also the key to a Devil's Gate. A doorway to Hell," added Dean.

"Dad…gave it to a demon, the same one that killed our mom. In exchange for saving Dean's life. The door was only open for a minute. We closed it, but…"

Buffy nodded. "Okay, but that doesn't really explain why would the demons be after you."

Dean looked pointedly at Sam, but replied to Buffy with his trademark devil-may-care arrogance. "We're kind of a big deal," he smirked.

"So basically, you guys think you're endangering me and mine by staying here when the great cosmic forces of the universe are out for your collective butts?"

"He does," said Dean, pointing at his little brother. "Kid's a worrier, always has been. Me, I figure you can handle yourself. I kinda like that in a chick."

Sam ground his teeth. "I'm not a kid, Dean." The elder man just grinned.

"No, but you are exhausted," interjected Buffy, doing her best to ignore Dean's flirtation. "You should try to get some more rest, Sam. The end of the world isn't here yet, and like I told you before, I've lost track of how many apocalypses I've averted."

"But—"

"Seriously, dude. You're dead and you're not even on your feet. Need some help making it to the guest room?" asked Dean, concerned.

"No, I'm fine. I got it. Wake me in an hour or something, okay?"

"Yeah, sure thing Sleeping Beauty."

"Dick," mumbled Sam as he trod tiredly toward the other room.

When the younger Winchester had finally retreated, Buffy took his seat on the sofa and looked over at Dean, who was still standing in the doorway sipping his coffee. "Wanna tell me what's really going on?" asked Buffy.

"Not really," grumbled Dean. He sighed deeply. "It's not…I don't do this. This feelings crap."

"It's not crap, but you don't have to. I can deal with just the facts, ma'am, but I need to know what might be coming after you two. I need to know everything."

Yeah, Dean could understand that. The first thing Dad had taught them was to learn. A good Hunter had to do his research, know what he was after and how to protect himself and the people he cared about. He mentally braced himself against the deluge of memories he was about to loose. "Alright, so I spent last summer in Hell. Only time runs different there, so what might seem like four months to you? That's forty years down there. I got out…freakin' angels pulled me out…but not before I…not before something I did broke the first lock on the door that keeps Lucifer caged. And now, even though I started this whole shitstorm, the dicks with wings want me for something, say I have to do something for them."

Dean's voice choked up, like he was struggling to get the words out, have them over and done with and hung in the air between them for everyone to see. "They told me I'm supposed to stop it, only I have no friggin' clue what it is they want stopped. It's not me, though…I told them to find someone else. They gotta—gotta find someone…. Fuck," he said, voice whisper soft and shaking from internalized sobs. He turned away from the blonde to compose himself. Buffy couldn't help herself; she felt drawn to him. She wished there was something she could do to take away some of his pain.

"But yeah," he said finally, bitterly, breaking the mood. "That's what's coming. The fucking Devil himself. When the last seal, the last lock on his prison is broken, well, I'm guessing that'll be all she wrote."

She couldn't take it anymore. He looked far too fragile, like he was curling in on himself. It dawned on her that this was Dean Winchester naked, with no walls of smarmy sexuality or brash arrogance. It broke her heart, and she'd be lying if she said she'd never been to that place, the weight of guilt crushing the life from her. She'd turned the first man she'd ever loved evil, and he had come seconds from ending the world as she knew it. So yeah, she knew. Buffy crossed the family room before Dean could pull away, and wrapped him in a tight, warm embrace.