Thanks to my editors sweetyaoi, TookMeASecond, and malphigus!
Quitting was always a bitch.
Sam knew; he had a lot of experience with it. There'd been the cigarettes he'd thought it'd be a good idea to try in middle school. He'd only made it through less than half a pack before the coughing, nausea, and guilt had made him toss the rest before Dean or Dad found out, but that must have been enough for the nicotine to kick in, because he'd had cravings for weeks afterwards.
There'd been hunting. When he'd first left the life and gone to Stanford, it'd been hard to leave all his old habits behind. Palo Alto was pretty monster-light. Everything he'd mistaken for inhuman behavior could be chalked up to drugs, stress, or personal quirks.
There'd been college itself, ironically enough. Being adjusted to school made hunting just as difficult as being adjusted for hunting had made school, in the beginning. It took him months to stop feeling confused and anxious.
And there'd been Dean. Brother, lover, best friend. If the way Sam had felt after he'd died hadn't been withdrawal, he didn't know what was.
Demon blood, though, was by far the worst out of all of them.
He guessed he should count his blessings, since it hadn't even been as bad as it could've. He'd been unintentionally weaning himself off the stuff in the weeks leading up to Dean coming back.
That didn't mean, though, that he didn't have to deal with cravings that wracked his body with cramps, headaches, and low-grade fevers. It wasn't so bad he couldn't grin and bear it and keep on functioning, but it sucked anyway.
Most dangerously, his telekinesis went haywire. It latched onto tiny objects around him, making them subtly buzz and rattle. Silverware, cell phones, car keys. It came and went, and never lasted long. It was like a facial tic: Sam could feel himself doing it, but couldn't shut it down.
At least Dean didn't notice any of it. He seemed plenty preoccupied with his own issues. The only pain worse than that of Sam's withdrawal from the blood was from not being able to help his brother. He and Dean had coached each other through rough patches before, but months spent in Hell was a level of "rough" so far above Sam's previous experiences that it nearly paralyzed him.
He hated that Dean wouldn't talk to him. He hated that all the other stupid bullshit in his life was pulling his attention away from Dean when he knew it should've been focused fully on him. And most of all, he hated himself for what he'd done. How he'd let him down.
He knew it'd been the right thing. It felt like a betrayal anyway, though.
That was part of the reason it'd been so easy to decide to quit when Dean had showed up in the doorway of Sam and Ruby's hotel room. Ruby was pissed, of course, but it wasn't really about her. Sam regretted it, but only until his withdrawal symptoms eased. Then he was able to believe he'd made a good decision.
Things were different now than they'd been when Dean first came back, though, which was what he told Ruby when he finally sucked it up and called her.
"Dean can't know about this, though," he stressed multiple times during their conversation.
"Right," Ruby said. "Couldn't possibly tarnish big bro's vision of you as a demon-fucking, failed Antichrist figure by letting him know you came crawling back to me to beg for more of what Azazel dripped into your mouth as a baby. Which I knew you were going to, by the way. You've only hurt yourself by holding out so long." A bitter, humorless chuckle came through the line as Sam ground his teeth. "Well, yourself and the entire world."
She actually didn't gloat as much as he'd been expecting, so that was a pleasant surprise.
He couldn't help her track down the demon he was going to use because Dean would get suspicious, so she was on her own for that. Sam hoped that she'd be there with the demon, waiting. They had a system, a simple one: she met his needs. When he drank demon blood, he had other needs, and she seemed fascinated rather than disgusted by the state he reached with a gallon and a half of liquid inside him.
Plus, even though he was ashamed to admit it, she was more responsive to him than Dean was lately. These days, Sam could miss his brother with a raw and festering ache even when they were sleeping in the same room.
Not the same bed. Not anymore. That was one of the ways Dean had withdrawn, and Sam was forcing himself to respect his boundaries, even if that felt like it was killing him.
He didn't feel good about what he was doing in the few days after calling Ruby. But at least he was doing something.
Only a day after they'd spoken, Ruby texted Sam an address and a room number. It was a motel across town, a place even cheaper and sleazier than the one he was in right now. This was a small town, so he could probably walk there in about half an hour. Ruby had told him to ask for a key for room 33A, under the name Gary Ridgway.
There were many parts of himself Sam regretted sharing with Ruby. In the long run, his serial killer hobby probably wasn't a big deal, but she'd really latched onto it.
The sun was starting to set as he left, the light slanting and golden. He had to pass the bar, taking the quickest route. He automatically glanced at it, but of course he couldn't see anyone, let alone Dean, through the small windows. The light was all wrong.
The place was very clearly by-the-hour, just as Sam had thought when he and Dean had driven past it on their way into town. When he opened the room, he was surprised for two reasons: first of all, there were two demons, bound and gagged in the middle of a devil's trap the tarp underneath them partially obscured, and second of all, Ruby wasn't there. He pushed past his disappointment. It wasn't like he needed her here.
He usually only had one demon at a time. Any more than that took him out of commission completely, and for a long time. Hours.
It wasn't like he really had a choice, though, he reasoned as he closed and locked the door behind him. A living demon would be much harder to deal with than a dead body.
The logistics of the cleanup slipped easily out of Sam's mind as he crossed the room towards the demons. A slight frisson rolled over the surface of his skin when he stepped into the devil's trap, something he'd gotten used to right after drinking from a demon. Salt and iron felt weird, too. It wasn't like he got stuck, but his body definitely reacted.
It was easier not to think about what that meant.
Both demons leaned away from him as he approached, straining against their bonds. Sam chose a demon at random and took his usual position, straddling its lap. Her lap; the vessel was female. He took a handful of the coppery hair and jerked her head roughly to the side to expose her throat. The vessel's pulse jumped in it, and she blinked rapidly, clearly terrified. Saliva flooded Sam's mouth in anticipation.
Even though his human teeth were much blunter than those of, say, a vampire or a werewolf, or anything else that'd evolved to rip open flesh with their mouths, they'd still do the trick. So he went ahead and bit straight into the demon's neck, having learned very quickly how to hit the jugular on his first try.
The bitter, floral taste of perfume hit his tongue very first, as well as the powdery texture of makeup. As soon as the skin broke, though, they were both washed away by the overpowering flavor of blood. Salt, iron, sulfur. The smell flooded his sinuses, and he felt his eyelids fluttering. The demon was struggling, but he hardly noticed.
The gush of blood from her was so strong that it filled his mouth almost instantly. A few drops leaked out the corners, which of course Sam regretted. He had to gulp rapidly to keep up with the rate of blood flow.
His clothes were starting to get very uncomfortable, so he dropped his hands - one still in the demon's hair, the other on her shoulder - to his waist, still drinking aggressively as he did so. It was such a relief to loosen everything up. His rapidly-filling belly swelled free, the contents sloshing, and the semi he was sporting pressed into the underside through the fabric of his boxers.
It didn't take Sam more than twenty minutes to suck the first demon completely dry, and he didn't take his mouth off her neck once. He slowly pulled away from her to reveal the two ragged, bloodless crescents of his bite. The other demon was throwing himself furiously against his bonds, and had been probably the entire time Sam was drinking, but of course they hadn't loosened in the slightest.
The edge had maybe been taken off Sam's craving, but he wanted more, just like he always did. His thirst grew the more he drank.
He took a second to breathe, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It came away smeared with red, and he lapped at that, not wanting to waste a single drop, as he put his other hand on his stomach. He cupped the swell off it and felt the way it was gurgling, like it was happy to be filled to the brim with demon blood again. Finishing cleaning off his hand, he burped softly. He made no effort to stifle it. He was basically alone here; what was the point?
Sam slowly pushed himself off the demon and to his feet. He kept a hand on his belly the entire time to steady himself. He'd gotten used to moving when he was this full, but by now, it'd been a while since he'd done it.
The other demon growled loudly in the back of his throat as Sam came around the chairs to look at him. Experimentally, he flung out a hand, fingers spread and palm facing the demon. With an entire human body's worth of blood inside him, it was almost no effort at all to pin the thing in place.
When Sam's telekinesis was working properly, it felt like he had a hundred or so extra hands, reaching inside a demon's vessel and grabbing the black smoke like it was a solid object. To exorcise it, all he needed to do was pull. He wasn't about to do that now, of course.
He held the demon still as he settled himself awkwardly on his legs. He couldn't get as close as he wanted because his stomach got in the way.
"This is gonna be way easier for both of us if you just relax," Sam murmured to the demon, leaning in so that his mouth was close to his ear. And his throat. With a slight movement of his hand, he made his head snap to the side.
He bit. Hot blood fountained down his throat, right into his stomach, inflating it even more than the first demon already had. Ruby had been right: he always stretched, and he never threw up or burst.
Sam eventually had to stand up to make room for his overfilled gut, which was wedged uncomfortably between his body and the demon's. It popped free of his T-shirt, pulled down by its own weight, and hung below him, swaying with his every movement. Sloshing, gurgling, steadily growing. He was awkwardly bent over to keep drinking from the demon. His back hurt and his legs trembled under his own increasing weight.
None of that mattered to him, though. In fact, he barely noticed. His focus was entirely on the blood he was drinking and his own body. He put a hand on his stomach and pressed lightly, twitching at the pleasure it sent cascading down to his cock. He ran his hand along the curve until he reached his groin, pulling his dick free of his boxers and taking hold of it. He was rock-hard, throbbing and dripping, and he was almost positive that Ruby wasn't going to show up at this point. Might as well take care of the problem himself.
He was so engrossed in drinking and jerking off, even as the flow of blood began to ebb, that he didn't hear it when tools began to clink around in the lock of the door behind him. Or when the door opened.
"Oh, what the fuck."
He definitely heard that, though. He started with shock, and jerked his hand off of himself, like being caught masturbating was somehow worse than being caught drinking blood. He pulled his mouth off the demon's neck, blood spilling from between his lips before he swallowed and from the wound, splattering all over both their clothes. Breathing hard, hair in his face, he glanced towards the doorway.
Sam knew it was Dean even before he looked. The sun must have just set, because the sky was a blazing orange that was painful to look at, framing him as a black silhouette in the entrance. Sam could just barely make out his face, but it was enough to see the abject shock that was quickly morphing into horror, anger, and disgust.
Sam very slowly straightened up, so aware of his bloated stomach and his erection that it nearly hurt. The skin on his belly ached hotly all of a sudden, and he wasn't sure if it was because he hadn't been forced to stretch like this in months or because he was blushing.
He felt a burp coming and clapped a hand to his wet, red mouth to keep it quiet, but it turned out to be a hiccup that sounded absurdly loud and high-pitched in the silence.
"They're demons," Sam said, dropping his hand.
"Oh, you think that makes it better?" Dean demanded, taking a step into the room and slamming the door behind him so forcefully the windows, all blocked by heavy curtains, rattled in their frames.
"I-I mean - "
"You're in a sketchy motel room," Dean started, sounding like he was just barely keeping himself from yelling at the top of his lungs, "with two dead bodies - demons, apparently - whose blood you clearly just shotgunned." He waved a hand at Sam's belly. Sam felt an utterly useless urge to try and hide it with his hands. "Plus you're getting off on it. What the..." Dean trailed off, shaking his head and throwing his hands up in the air, seemingly so upset he was at a loss for words. "What the hell're you doing, man? D'you have any idea how bad this looks?"
"Why're you here?" Sam asked instead of answering.
"Because I followed you," Dean replied. "Obviously. Saw you walking past the bar, went back to the room, found your note, and decided to see if you needed backup."
"Are you sure it wasn't just that you didn't trust me?" Sam asked, an edge creeping into his voice.
"Oh, right, yeah," Dean said, voice heavy with sarcasm. "I owe you an apology, don't I? For being suspicious when you were doing something so innocent and harmless." He gestured to the bodies. Body, at least. The male demon might still be alive, albeit severely weakened. Sam could see a sluggish pulse in the gaping hole he'd ripped in his throat as blood oozed out of it, so the vessel's heart was probably still beating. The fear of that blood going to waste nearly overpowered his humiliation and shame. He almost didn't hear it when Dean spoke again. "Wait a minute. Is this where those new powers of yours came from? Throwing demons up against walls, exorcising 'em with your mind?"
Sam didn't answer. Dean began to pace, agitated, dragging his hands through his hair so hard his fingers came out with dirty-blonde strands wound around them.
"That's where they came from originally," Dean said. Sam wasn't sure if he was talking to him or thinking out loud, so he just stayed quiet. "Azazel. When you were a baby. And, I mean - why wouldn't you wanna do that again? It only fucked up our entire lives. Forever."
"This is different," Sam said stonily. His legs and back hurt from supporting the considerable weight of his engorged belly, and he wanted to sit down. He didn't dare move, though.
"Yeah? How?" Dean demanded, then stopped. "Oh, son of a bitch. This is all Ruby, isn't it?" He looked at Sam, anger visibly growing. "She's the one who talked you into this. Black-eyed skank, knew I should've ganked her ass when I had the chance. Where is she? Huh?" He crossed to the bathroom and all but kicked the door open. Sam winced as he heard plaster crunch. "The two of you gonna screw once you're done with your vampire impression? If she can even find your dick under all that." He looked pointedly at Sam's stomach when he came out of the bathroom.
"She's not here," Sam said, "and this is all me. I - I stopped. When you came back. I thought I could do it without the blood. Or we could find a different way. But I couldn't, and we didn't, and this is how we're gonna stop Lilith. It's the only option." He emphasized, "We're running out of time. And this isn't just you and me we're talking about here, the whole world's at stake. I held out as long as I could, but I called Ruby and I came here. I need to do this."
"This," Dean said, stalking towards him and waving his hands at the entire scene, "is wrong. I can tell. It's perverse - it's done things to you."
"It's made me stronger," Sam agreed. "Powerful enough to take down Lilith." When Dean shook his head and whirled away from him in disgust, exasperation, or both, Sam said, "You don't have to like it. You don't have to be here. You don't even - " It hurt to even think this, so it was agony saying it. " - have to wait for me. I mean, you don't want to, do you? You've wanted away from me ever since you got back. You won't touch me. You won't let me touch you. You've as much as said you feel like I'm not me anymore. Not your brother." He bared teeth he knew would be webbed with blood in a grimace of painful defiance. "It's not about you, though, Dean. This is way bigger than us. And guess what? This is all me. Just like I said."
Dean's profile was to him, and his eyes were fixed on nothing. Sam watched his jaw tighten, and his fists. Tendons stood out and joints turned white.
"If you wanna hurt me," Sam said, "I won't blame you. It's kinda what you're good at, after all." Had he really just said that? Yes, and it'd felt good. He was fully exposed in front of Dean, in all of his revolting, twisted, freakish glory, and he wanted to hurt him as badly as he could for making him feel that way. "But I really think you should go. Unless you want to watch me finish up."
He got back into position, gingerly bent down in an effort to control the shifting of his stomach, and put his mouth on the demon's throat again. A lot of blood had run down his neck and soaked into his clothes and even pattered onto the tarp while Sam was talking to Dean, which just sucked, but there was at least some left. He tongued at the wound, and blood slowly filled his mouth.
Of course his eyes closed again, so he didn't see Dean move. Or even hear him. But, all of a sudden, the back of his shirt was grabbed and he was yanked off the demon. His eyes flew open and he started to make a gurgling cry through his mouthful of blood, but Dean clapped a hand over his lips before he could get too much out. A lot of blood spurted through Dean's fingers and ran down Sam's chin, and he swallowed the rest, but only with difficulty. Some went up his nose, which hurt like a bitch. He was sure that his eyes were bugging out with shock and fear as Dean dragged him across the room.
"Think you've had more than enough," Dean growled, before practically throwing him onto the bed. Sam yelped as his sensitive belly took the brunt of the impact, then whimpered in pain and folded protectively around it.
"What the f - " he started, wheezing, but cut himself off with a cry and an involuntary burp when Dean jabbed him in the belly with a couple fingers. It might've felt good if it hadn't been so unexpected.
"You stay there." Dean turned away from him and headed towards the bathroom. Sam couldn't see into it from this angle, but he could hear him banging around in there, which couldn't possibly be good.
Why the hell did he even care so much? Why couldn't he just leave? Sam knew that was what he'd wanted since he'd seen what he could do. Maybe even since he'd found out what Azazel had done to him as a baby, and started thinking of him as something less than human.
Grunting with the effort, Sam rolled over onto all fours and moved towards the edge of the bed as quickly and quietly as he could. He usually didn't move around all that much when he was like this, so sweat was beading on his brow. He had no idea where he was going to go in his current condition, but he knew he needed to get out of here.
Before he could even get off the bed, though, there was a particularly loud noise in the bathroom - like something being ripped off the wall - and Dean came out carrying the whole goddamn mirror. He set it down on the floor, leaning it up against the legs of the male demon.
"Look at yourself," Dean ordered. Sam blinked up at him. Between the blood-high and the adrenaline rush, he legitimately wasn't processing the command, but Dean mistook his confusion for defiance. His face twisted with rage. Sam flinched when Dean moved forward and grabbed for him, but he got a solid handful of his hair anyway. His scalp ached and his neck protested as Dean hauled his head into an awkward position, forcing him to stare at the mirror. "I said, look at yourself!"
Swallowing, Sam did. He was reflected fully. On all fours, eyes glassy and dark, the lower half of his face and his shirt covered in blood, belly so distended there was only about six inches between it and the mattress below him, the blushing head of his erect cock just barely visible behind it. A full-body shudder rocked him, the appalled arousal he'd slowly grown used to.
He didn't need Dean to force him to look at himself. He knew exactly how awful he looked.
"D'you see what you look like?" Dean demanded. "An animal, a - a monster." Sam swallowed. That was a word that'd bounced around his own head a lot recently, but Dean using it cut him deep. "D'you see what you've done to yourself?" He leaned forward and, with his free hand, grabbed at Sam's stomach, digging his fingers into the taut skin and making the blood inside slosh. "Look at this! How the hell does this even happen?"
Having his sensitive belly squeezed triggered a confusing but familiar flash of pain and pleasure, and Sam cried out. In the mirror, a faint pink blush showed up along his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. Even without that, he was sure Dean could hear the perverse enjoyment in the sound he'd just made.
"D'you like that, you freak?" Dean asked him incredulously, digging his fingers in harder and jiggling his stomach. At the last word, Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He would've bowed his head, but Dean was still holding onto his hair. "You're into this, aren't you?" He let go of his belly, but only so he could smack it. Sam whimpered.
"S-stop," he pleaded, fully aware how pathetic begging made him sound but unable to think of anything else he could do.
"You want me to stop?" Dean repeated. "Like how I asked you to stop experimenting with your damn powers, and fucking around with Ruby?" He twisted his hand in Sam's hair, and it fucking hurt. "Speaking of Ruby, is this the kinda sick shit that gets a demon going? She get all hot and bothered when you're like this - so goddamn full of bitch blood you can't hardly walk?"
"Lemme go!" Sam tugged, futilely, against Dean's hand, angry all of a sudden. He'd been wondering when that side effect of the demon blood was going to kick in. "At least it's easier to get her interested in me than it is you! You won't even look at me! Is it because I'm a freak? Do I really disgust you that much? Or did something just break in you in Hell that you don't care enough to fix?"
Dean yanked his head up further, and Sam opened his eyes to see him staring down at him. "So you need someone fucking you constantly? Is that what this whole thing is about? You're a whore and you'll do whatever Ruby asks just to get her to do you?" With his other hand, he unexpectedly grabbed Sam's erect cock, and Sam gasped. "Sure looks like you wanna be fucked right now."
Sam laughed, then swallowed a burp. "You sure you could stomach fucking me?" He glared up at Dean, squeezing fistfuls of the cheap comforter underneath him. "I don't care what you think. I know I'm doing the right thing, and I don't care what it does to me. I already told you that you can leave. I don't need you." He smiled, humorlessly. "Of course, if you wanna fuck me before you go, I wouldn't complain. Since I'm a whore and all...if you can even get it up."
"You want me to fuck you so bad, tubby? Fine." Dean let go of Sam's hair, then wiped his hand roughly across his mouth, which was still wet with blood. Sam heard him spit into it as he used his other hand to undo the button and zipper of his jeans, and then he was climbing onto the bed. Sam took the opportunity to try and move again, but he hadn't even lifted one hand before Dean grabbed the back of his pants and yanked them down, boxers and all.
When he did that, Sam's phone tumbled out of his pocket and onto the bed. He'd completely forgotten about it. While Dean was in the bathroom pulling the mirror off the wall, he could've been calling or texting Ruby for help.
He was so freaking stupid.
Speaking of the mirror, he could see Dean behind him, pulling himself out. Sam stared. What could've possibly turned him on?
Dean grabbed Sam's belly with one hand. With the other, the one full of spit and demon blood, he began working himself out to his full length, growling under his breath. His short fingernails dug painfully into Sam's skin. He was going to fuck him. For the first time since he'd come back from Hell. Sam had never fully understood the term "hate-sex" until this exact moment, but that was what was going to happen, and he'd basically dared Dean to give it to him. And then to get out of his life.
How had they even gotten to this point?
Sam was pulled out of his thoughts by Dean's hand tightening aggressively on him, like he was about to slam in. That was when it occurred to Sam that it'd been months since he'd had sex with Dean, the most Ruby had ever done with his entrance was stick a finger or two up there during a blowjob, he'd had no prep whatsoever, and Dean was using saliva and blood rather than lube. Which meant that this was going to hurt. A lot.
And it did, as Dean slammed home. Sam screamed, so loud that the people on the other side of the thin walls all around them had to have heard him, but his place would be used to noises like that. At least his revelation coming as late as it had meant that he hadn't had time to tense up, so it wasn't as bad as it could've been.
"Shut up," Dean growled, and his other hand came down in Sam's hair again, forcing his head to the mattress. He could smell the blood on it, mixed with sweat and precome, and even right now, his mouth watered with need. "Can't tell me you don't like it rough after being Ruby's bitch for the last - what? Six months?" He pulled back, grunting as Sam's body automatically clenched around him, and Sam groaned at the burn. "Plus, now you've got demon blood in both ends. That oughta help you keep it up."
The hand he had on Sam's hair moved back to his cock, squeezing it almost painfully hard as he kept rocking his hips. Bit by bit, Sam loosened, and his movements got easier, faster, harder. Sam wasn't sure if he was doing it on purpose (probably not), but his angle was perfect, head striking Sam's prostate solidly on every single stroke before he slid deeper. The stimulation had tiny lightning bolts darting into the dick Dean was strangling, his belly, all the way up to his head. His eyes closed halfway and his mouth fell open.
Sam was not in a comfortable position. Everything inside of him had shifted downward, pressing painfully against his esophagus, and a steady stream of burps and hiccups poured out of him as Dean pounded him, along with all the moans and whimpers. He kept expecting blood to come up - or down, rather - burning with stomach acid, but it didn't. Ruby's wisdom struck again.
In the mirror, Sam could see Dean fucking him from behind. Every thrust made his gut jiggle and wobble. Dean was still holding onto it with one hand, squeezing and almost kneading, and that felt good. Everything was starting to feel good. Despite the rough start, Sam could say for certain that this was better than anything he'd ever had with Ruby.
"God, look at you." Dean's voice was rough and a little breathless. "Look at your face. You look like a goddamn blow-up doll." He let go of Sam's belly so he could smack it again, harder this time. Sam grunted. He immediately grabbed back on when he was finished, fingers sinking in. "Does this stuff just turn you into a total slut, or what?"
"It's a - a side effect," Sam huffed out, before burping again. He squeezed his eyes shut afterwards, the humiliation of being like this in front of Dean still going strong.
"You're like a sex toy." Dean dug his thumb into Sam's flank. "You're definitely blown up, huh? Inflated. And I'd imagine you're not good for much else when you're like this."
"So use me," Sam growled, grinding back against Dean and making his belly slosh heavily. "Harder. You - you like seeing me like this, don't you? I'm a freak. Just like you always knew I was."
"Don't try to pretend you're normal when you're swollen up to the size of a freaking blimp with demon blood." Dean obeyed Sam and started screwing him harder. And actually jerking him off instead of just squeezing his cock. "You don't - care about anybody, do you? Not me. Def-definitely not yourself. It's all about the greater good. Doesn't matter how we end up."
"L-like - " Sam sucked in a sharp breath as Dean's hand suddenly moved off his cock and to his balls, which he squeezed and tugged on. Like everything else he'd done tonight, it hurt and felt good in near-equal measures. "Like you're one to talk. Dean, you basically killed yourself to - to save me, and you left me. All alone. And now you're back, but I swear you wish you weren't, and you - definitely wish you weren't with me."
"You don't need me!" Dean was yelling now, and what little rhythm there'd been to his thrusts was completely gone. His movements were wild, forcing Sam harder and harder against the bed. "You don't want me! You just said so, and you had Ruby. Did you even want me back?"
"Of course I did!"
"You've been feeling guilty this whole - goddamn - time," Dean snarled. Sam recognized the timbre of his voice; he was about to come. "Or - a sense of duty, or something. But now the truth's coming out, and you know what? I don't - c-care. I feel like I don't even know you, between Ruby, and all the lying, and - and this." He shook Sam's belly where he was holding onto it, hard. "Want me gone? I'll go."
"I'm sorry!" It burst out of Sam, unintended, as Dean's hand latched back onto his dick and his own orgasm began to build. "P-please don't leave, I ca - can't lose you again."
"You're sorry?" Dean didn't sound incredulous, more like he was confirming something. He grunted behind Sam. "I'm - sorry, too."
Then he was coming, shouting and swearing, and Sam heard his name over and over again. He humped Dean's hand frantically in an effort to get himself over the edge as his brother's hot load filled him, his head jabbing against the underside of his own stomach. It wasn't long before he was painting it with wide splatters of his seed, an abstract pattern of white against a tan canvas.
Dean pulled out of him while Sam was finishing up the dregs of his climax, and he twitched. His hole felt loose and used and, honestly, so did the rest of him. He immediately collapsed as soon as Dean let go of him, legs splaying as his belly, which felt like a jelly-filled cushion under him, bulged out on either side of his body. That position was agonizing, though, so it wasn't long before he forced himself back up and crawled slowly over to Dean, who was sitting on the opposite side of the bed. He hadn't bothered cleaning himself up, so his crotch was covered in blood and come. He had a little bit of a thousand-yard stare look to him, so Sam opened his mouth to tentatively ask him if he was okay. Dean looked at him and spoke before he could, though.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked.
"No," Sam lied. Sitting would be near-impossible for the next day or two, and he wouldn't be surprised if Dean had bruised his stomach. It'd hopefully been worth it, though. Leaving his pants down around his knees for the moment, Sam laid down half on his side and half on his chest next to Dean, bell spreading across the mattress. He folded his arms then, after a second of hesitation, rested his head against Dean's thigh. When Dean put his fingers in his hair, it felt almost as good as the orgasm had.
"That was my first time since I got back," Dean commented almost casually. "I'm glad it was with you."
"I missed you," Sam said.
"I missed you, too." Dean sighed. "I…Hell was…" He paused. "It was like there was a wall between me and you. Or maybe a window. Like, I could see you, but I couldn't talk to you or touch you even if I wanted to. And I was okay with that for a long time. But I shouldn't've been. I think…I really fucking hope I'm past all that now." He took a deep breath. "Okay. Listen. We're gonna work this out, all right? Both of us. Together. We'll kill Lilith, we'll deal with the angels."
"We'll fix you," Sam mumbled, closing his eyes.
"And you," Dean said. He pulled his hand out of Sam's bloody, sweaty hair and tapped his stomach with two fingers. "You don't have to do this to yourself anymore. You're gonna quit, okay? We'll find another way to kill Lilith."
"Okay," Sam said, uncertain but willing, right now, to try.
"And if we do this," Dean continued, "we gotta be straight with each other for, like, the first time in our lives. That goes for both of us. No more lying, no more secrets. No more Ruby."
"Okay," Sam repeated. That wasn't a hard promise to make. Being with Dean again, even while they were both furious and hurting, had made everything that he and Ruby were lacking glaringly obvious.
"So how long does it usually take this to go away?" Dean tapped his belly again.
"Few hours, usually," Sam mumbled drowsily.
"All right, then..." Dean drew in a breath. "Guess you can go ahead and sleep it off while I clean up your mess. But it better be the last time I gotta do this." He stood, and Sam immediately missed his warmth.
"Uh huh."
There was a long pause, then, as Sam made himself as comfortable as he could and listened to Dean move around the bed towards the corpses, Dean quietly said, "I love you."
"I love you, too."
"...bitch."
"Jerk."