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A little different tonight: a seven-part story.
Fides
SPN, NC-17
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
giandujakiss, who wanted Dean/Sam or Dean/Castiel! Preferably with any angst resolved happily! Double preferably Dean/Castiel resulting in Dean/Sam! I made her beta too, along with coffeeandink. I’m going to declare that this also satisfies mangokulfi's request for Dean/Castiel with side of jealous Sam, though it’s more like jealous Sam with side of Dean/Castiel. Because I never met a conduit I didn’t like, this also features Ruby.
1.
It’d been years since Sam had minded watching Dean try to pick up girls. A universe that allowed Dean’s terrible lines and worse leers to work for Dean more often than not was fundamentally unfair, but Sam’s consciousness of that fact had faded thin and been left behind like an outgrown jacket. He eyerolled because Dean expected it, but really Dean’s antics were as familiar as the Impala’s seats. The pickups were background noise. They became comforting after Dean returned from Hell.
But Sam never stopped hating having to watch Dean’s morning-after kisses, because they were all soft and tender and getting-to-know-you. Those kisses were lies because there was no more where that came from.
Watching made Sam remember how much they’d never have, and that generally made him mad at himself and at Dean.
Except right now, Dean was sharing those kisses with Castiel, and Sam wanted to blast Castiel out of the state. He remembered the symbols Anna had used, and he’d bet demon blood worked as well as angel blood for the purpose.
They hadn’t noticed him, or at least they gave no sign, caught up in their explorations. Castiel had his back to the car, leaning against it and pressing up into Dean with an awkward eagerness that Sam recognized from dozens of Dean’s one-night stands: dazed and hopeful, even though there was no reason to hope. Dean had his hands under Castiel’s trenchcoat, and Castiel was gripping Dean’s face, framing it with his fingers, tilting it this way and that as if he were experimenting with the angles, learning which way was best to kiss Dean.
Sam backed up until he bumped into the door of their motel room, at which point he turned, practically propping himself up against the hollow fake wood, and fumbled with the key until he got back inside.
He staggered over to his bed, as neatly remade as Dean’s never-slept-in copy to his left, and sat down.
Of course he’d known that Dean fucked good-looking guys, when the whim struck him and they happened to be in a place where guys were willing to come on to him openly. And Sam didn’t exactly have a solid ‘humans only’ policy himself.
But Dean had never slept with anyone who could keep up with the Winchesters. Even with Cassie, he’d never shown any inclination to adapt for the sake of a lover, no matter what his idle fantasies about being a family man might have been.
Castiel, though. Castiel was a comrade in arms, or at least he kept telling them that they needed to fight on his side. And Dean hadn’t said last night that he was heading out for an angel rendezvous. Until Sam had seen them, twined together like two joined hands, he hadn’t thought for a moment that Dean saw the angel that way. Dean never hid his fucks from Sam, which meant that Castiel was not exactly a standard-issue hookup.
Castiel had threatened to send Dean back to Hell, and Dean had still fucked him. If Dean was that screwed up—well, of course he was that screwed up, Sam wasn’t new and he wasn’t that far in denial. What Sam was, what he might be, was alone and he couldn’t resist Heaven and Hell both, not without knowing that Dean had his back. Dean was already on edge about Sam’s demon powers. Castiel, whispering sweet nothings in his ear and promising to fight evil in any guise, might be the feather that tipped the scales of Dean’s loyalties.
Angels were untrustworthy, as fanatics always were. Dean should know better. Even now, when the two of them could only occasionally crack open enough to stutter out their secrets, only Winchesters could be relied on to take care of Winchesters. But: Dean bore Castiel’s mark. Maybe Dean thought that meant something.
Maybe it did.
He needed to know more, and he needed to know soon. But every time Sam expressed worry about Castiel, Dean automatically started defending him, as if Dean thought that faith needed to balance out. If Sam approached him directly, Dean might take an ill-considered step towards the ineffable.
He dug out his phone and dialed. “Ruby?” he said as soon as the call connected. “Get here right away.”
2.
“What?” Ruby asked. Hard to believe, but he’d actually shocked her. Her lips were even trembling a little, as if she were as thrown as he’d been. He didn’t see the problem. It was inarguably a more pleasant assignment than he had ever given her before, and she demonstrably had no trouble using sex to achieve a tactical objective. Maybe she cared more about keeping Sam in the fight than about Dean, but she should know by now that they were a package deal.
“You heard me.” Sam didn’t have time for an extended discussion. Dean would return from his research trip to the county records office soon enough, and Ruby needed to be in the room when he got back.
Ruby couldn’t be thinking that Dean wouldn’t fuck his brother’s girl, because she knew she wasn’t his girl. And he’d seen how Dean had softened towards her since Sam had let on just how bad those months above ground had been, even if they were nothing to compare to decades in the Pit. Ruby was Sam’s good soldier, and she was hot. Dean wouldn’t turn her away unless he had reasons of his own.
Ruby didn’t know Dean as well as he did, though. “What do you expect to prove, Sam?” She was all wide-eyed and sincere, same as she always was in this body. Moving towards him, close enough that he could smell her shampoo, citrus and honey.
“There’s one thing Dean wouldn’t do, and that’s cheat. If it was just an experiment, he’ll say yes to you. If it’s more, then—” Then, Sam didn’t have a plan. But he had to find out whether the united Winchester front was splitting, and better to learn now than during the next crisis when Dean had to decide in whom to place his faith. With the next crisis likely to happen at any moment, he needed to know fast.
Ruby sighed, a little irritated and almost a little sad. “Why don’t you just ask him if he’s found his Earth Angel?”
Sam stared at her: she’d met Dean. Dean lied with practically every word that came out of his mouth about himself, even when he didn’t mean to do it. Dean’s body was as honest as Abe Lincoln. If he felt—if the thing with Castiel was serious, then Dean wouldn’t be able to have sex with Ruby. Dean was a slut, but not a philanderer. Even without any opportunity to observe the difference, Sam knew it in his bones.
Ruby crossed her arms over her chest and examined him, her brows lowered. “Okay, tell me this: why do you care? You didn’t mind when he banged Anna while I was getting carved up—”
“Anna wasn’t trying--!” He took a deep breath, tried again. She didn’t understand, she didn’t feel, she didn’t care about staying together beyond what it could do for her. She’d never even tried to save Dean. “Look what happened with her, Ruby. If the three of us hadn’t stuck together, we might all be dead. Dean’s—he can be sentimental. If it’s more than a one-night stand, we’ve got a problem.” He hadn’t expected this much resistance. If Ruby wouldn’t do it, he’d have to come up with an alternative, maybe drag Dean back to Pennsylvania to find Jaime again, even though that would kind of suck for Jaime, not to mention taking them days off track, days the angels might not be willing to grant them with the war for the seals running so hot.
“Fine,” she snapped. “Get out of here. I’ll find you.”
3.
Among the tricks Ruby had taught him was scrying known locations. It was easy enough to rent a second room a few doors down from theirs and set up the spell using a bowl of water and a few drops of his blood. He watched Ruby pace for ten minutes before the lock on the door turned and Dean swaggered in, his mouth already open to tell Sam what he’d learned.
He froze when he saw Ruby. The door swung shut behind him with a click. “Hey,” he said warily.
Ruby took a few steps towards him, then stopped. “Hey.”
“You waiting on Sam? ‘Cause he’s actually supposed to be here—” Dean was instantly worried, a few bad minutes from panicking, rummaging for his phone with one hand while the other reflexively checked his gun.
“No, I’ve already seen Sam,” Ruby said, and Dean stilled. He kept his eyes down. Ruby approached until she was close enough to touch. “I’m here for you, Dean.” She put her hands on his chest, one on either side of the amulet, sliding under his jacket but making no move to kiss him.
“What the fuck!” Dean reared back, his hands coming up as if he were going to shove Ruby away, but he checked himself before he touched her.
Ruby watched him calmly. “Sam wants to know if you’ll be faithful to Castiel.” Dean shuffled back half a step, like he’d just taken a punch. “He knows you’ve been sneaking out to enjoy Castiel’s host body, and he’s concerned about your loyalties.” Sam was going to strangle her—Ruby knew full well that he hadn’t meant her to explain her assignment.
After taking a moment to recover, Dean scoffed in reflexive disbelief. “Sam wouldn’t send you to—he’d ask me himself.”
Ruby shrugged, and Sam noted that Dean’s eyes automatically went to her breasts. “If I were going to lie to you, don’t you think I’d have a better story?”
Dean’s face went soft and uncertain for a moment, and then all the emergency security measures slammed into place, his eyes glittering and his mouth pressed tight. “We can clear this up real easy. I’ll just go find Sam and—” He turned towards the door.
Ruby’s voice was low, precise, every word knife-edged. “Walk out of here now and no matter what you say to him, he’s gonna think you’re choosing the angel over him.”
Dean stalled out. Sam wanted to see his face, and the reflection in the water shifted its angle in response, like moving a camera. Dean was biting his lip, his eyes darting back and forth as he conducted some internal debate.
“And you, you don’t mind being handed off?” Sam could tell that Dean had rejected nastier words. Sam wouldn’t have expected such tact, but then again he wouldn’t have expected Dean to be fucking Castiel, so obviously there were plenty of changes in his brother that he’d missed.
Ruby’s expression didn’t change, even though Dean couldn’t see her face. “What woman could pass up a chance at Dean Winchester?”
Dean did turn then. “Not an answer,” he pointed out, but there was a shadow of a grin in the curl of his lips.
“Not supposed to be,” she said back in the same rhythm. “I know how to say no.”
“Yeah, me too,” Dean told her, one corner of his mouth twitching up. Sam wanted to be in the room; maybe then he’d understand what was passing between them a little better.
“C’mon, Dean,” and she was undeniably teasing now, even if Sam didn’t follow, “do you really like every girl you sleep with?”
“I don’t know ‘em enough to not like ‘em,” Dean rejoined. He took a deep breath and his shoulders slumped. “How do you--?”
Ruby smiled, a little twisted. “Just sit down on the bed.”
Dean did, shucking his jacket but not making any move to undo his jeans. A few steps away from him, Ruby got down on her knees and crossed the rest of the distance that way, slinky and intent. Dean’s eyes dilated, black expanding to take away the green.
“How long—how long did it take you, in Hell? Before you gave in.” Dean’s voice was asphalt-rough.
Ruby stopped, her hands hovering above Dean’s knees. “Everyone’s got a different Hell, Dean. Whatever happened to you, I don’t know about it.”
Dean leaned forward, until their foreheads nearly touched. “Is that the truth?”
“Shh,” she said, and put her hands to his waist, making quick work of his belt as she ducked her head.
Sam couldn’t see much detail; she just unzipped Dean’s jeans and tugged his already half-hard cock out of his boxers, and then everything was obscured by the fall of her hair. Sam could hear wet sliding sounds. Dean closed his eyes and took deep breaths. His hands clenched on his thighs, then one moved up, hesitated, and petted Ruby’s hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands. Ruby’s head bobbed up and down, setting a rhythm that Sam felt in his own pulse. Her hands were braced against Dean’s shins, her nails scraping against denim.
Dean tilted his head up, heavenwards, his mouth parted as if this was his version of prayer. The skin around his lips was reddened—Sam flashed on Castiel’s face, the way the angel’s lips were always chapped rough. That and morning stubble would have left Dean’s skin stinging. Both of Dean’s hands were moving over Ruby’s head now, like he was blessing her.
He’d never let Ruby go down on him: not enough going on to blank his mind, and too much to stay in control. He had to guess how she was from the tremble of Dean’s lashes on his cheeks, the way his mouth opened wider, then half-closed, his tongue sweeping over his lower lip, the soft grunts he made in time with her motions.
“Gonna—” Dean warned, and Ruby froze, her shoulderblades raised and her ass up as she pressed herself into him. Dean opened his mouth and groaned, his throat working like Ruby’s must be, his chest heaving as his hips pulsed. Ruby stayed with him until Dean’s face screwed up in a grimace, and then she pulled back. Her lips were reddened and unsmiling, her expression as blank as an unmarked road.
“Good,” she said, and started to rise from her knees.
Dean shook himself, shoulders and head, and grabbed her upper arms before she could stand all the way. “No,” he told her, rising himself, ignoring the way her mouth pursed in confusion and anger. Fight-quick, he twisted her and pushed her down so that her back hit the bed. He didn’t bother to fix his own clothes, just started in on her jeans, peeling them down with her panties; and then Ruby was helping, kicking her legs and letting Dean tug her boots off.
She scooted backwards until her head was almost up to the pillows as Dean put himself between her legs, his knees on the edge of the bed. He settled his hands on the backs of her thighs, folding her up and spreading her wide. He took a good look, then fell on her like he’d spent the day fasting and she was Thanksgiving dinner, the sounds he made loud and sloppy.
Ruby arched her back, her head pushing into the bedspread as her hands came down to grab at Dean’s head. Her fingers ran uselessly through his too-short hair until she managed to get a grip and tug him up, just a fraction. Dean went easily, accepting her guidance, turning his head as he brought a hand up to slide between her legs so that the heel of his hand was pressed against his chin. Ruby groaned and her fingernails scraped along his cheek, but Dean didn’t wince. His eyes were screwed tight, concentrating on what he was doing with his mouth, sealed to her hot wet flesh. Sam saw his jaw work, then Ruby’s hand obscured most of the view.
This, they’d done, because it was enough to keep him from thinking. He would have expected sulfur, but he’d only tasted girl, sweaty and musky on his tongue, an inland ocean, warm as the living but hardly alive. Sam had let his senses take over, lost in the wet slide, her open pussy as close to the origin of the world as he was going to get, and for those minutes he hadn’t had to be himself. Dean had that freedom now, forgetting everything that wasn’t sliding sweet under his tongue, chasing that moment where his only consciousness was of giving pleasure, being all that he needed to be.
Dean’s shirt had pulled free from the back of his jeans, revealing a stretch of freckled skin, shifting as he moved up and down. The muscles in his forearm flexed, dipping into the shadow between Ruby’s thighs. Sam twitched in his seat, restless.
When Ruby cried out for the second time, Dean pulled back and stood. His hand gleamed in the low light, slick as his cheeks and chin. He turned quickly towards the bathroom as he fumbled with his jeans, one-handed.
Dean washed his face and hands, then tugged his amulet out of his collar; it had somehow gotten tangled inside his shirt. He braced his hands against the countertop and looked at himself in the mirror, pale except for the swollen pink of his lips and the dark shadow of beard already fighting its way onto his face. He didn’t look long.
“You gonna tell him I’m unfaithful enough?” he called out as Ruby stood and stretched. She’d already gotten her clothes back on.
“Don’t worry, Dean,” she said, and if he hadn’t known she was a demon Sam would have thought that her voice was regretful. “He knows you wouldn’t betray him.”
4.
Sam was waiting for her when she came to his room.
“That what you wanted to know?” she asked, but he was already pulling her inside, kicking the door closed, shoving her up against the wall in the short space between the door and the window.
Her mouth was salt-sour, unfamiliar, but as long as he was kissing her she couldn’t say a word. His fingers were stiff as twigs against her skin, tearing at her clothes. He needed to get her naked and he couldn’t do that while grinding against her.
In the end she pushed him back and shimmied out of her jeans—it had been maybe three minutes since she’d put them on—while he ripped his own open and shoved them down on his hips. He put his hands on her ass and lifted her until his cock brushed against her curls. She forced a hand between them long enough to guide him into place—so wet, spit and slick, ready for him. He shoved his hips up as he led his hold on her slide, so that he buried himself in her in an instant. She whined but then his mouth was on hers again, swallowing her noises, sweeping his tongue over her teeth until she bit down.
She was tight, fever-hot, heaven and hell together. He mouthed the place where her neck met her shoulder, almond and a hint of soap, while he brought one hand up to her mouth; she worried the flesh of his palm with her teeth, but not enough to hurt.
“Was he good? Did you like it?” Asking in time with the stutter of his hips, his other hand curling under her, slippery and blood-warm. “Would you go do it again?”
Ruby tossed her head. He heard the thunk of it against the plaster of the wall. “Speak for yourself, Sam,” she managed through panting breaths. She sounded angry, like she’d been in her previous host. He hadn’t missed that.
Sam clenched his hand around her ass until she shook around him, and then he thrust up, one two three, and emptied himself in a white-hot shudder that blew every fuse in his brain.
Panting, he fell back, and as Ruby’s feet hit the floor, she hissed, even though he didn’t think he’d hurt her. “That what you wanted to know?” she asked again.
Sam fought to keep his glare from turning too nasty. Ruby was a good ally, and she’d earned the right to ask tough questions, if not that question.
Nobody got to have that conversation but him and Dean. He wasn’t looking forward to it—seemed like he’d spent half his life running from it—but, honestly, plenty of other horrific things seemed likely to happen to him in the near future. He’d survive or he wouldn’t.
He tugged his jeans up and shuffled back towards the table where he’d left the scrying bowl. The rush was fading fast, like caffeine when what he really needed was a week’s worth of sleep.
“I really do hope you got what you wanted,” Ruby said, quieter now, as if she’d stuffed the earlier version of herself back into its cage. “There’s worse than Alastair coming, and you need to focus on that.” She looked at her boots and sighed, as if wondering whether she should even bother putting them back on.
“I need some time with Dean,” he admitted. With what she’d said to Dean, even Dean would require a heart-to-heart, or possibly a fist-to-chin, before they could get back to the impending apocalypse.
She wrapped her arms around herself, like a straightjacket. “Do what you need to do and do it fast. I’ll stay here in case—if you need me.”
He supposed that made sense. He didn’t bother picking up the spell materials when he left.
5.
He expected Dean to start ranting about Ruby immediately upon his return, but instead Dean just told him about the five different properties the evil warlock had owned, and which ones looked far enough from any built-up areas that they might be where he’d stashed his torture chamber and associated mystical artifacts.
They killed the warlock. Sam had actually lost count of how many humans that made in their tally. Dean could have told him, both deliberate and collateral damage, but Sam didn’t want to know that badly. Anyway, the warlock deserved to die and did, another victory for the Winchesters. They rescued a teenage girl from his dungeon, in one of the rare pleasant surprises of the job. She was messed up, and if Sam thought too hard about it he’d be less pleased. Most people didn’t get over the kinds of things she’d felt and seen. But they weren’t going to stick around for her recovery or lack thereof, so he just put her in the win column as well.
The next hunt was in Mississippi. Neither of them were in the mood for night driving, so they just grabbed dinner at an Elevation Burger—organic beef, so Dean would not shut up about the coddled cows, but Sam didn’t notice him turning down his share, and the shakes were good. Damn good, Sam would have said some years back.
Dean was propped up against the headboard of his bed, legs crossed at the ankle while he channel-surfed, when Castiel appeared.
Sam sat up straight at the little table by the window where he’d been idly surfing. Castiel was at the foot of Dean’s bed, examining him with the usual intensity. Sam deliberately let go of his mouse and unclenched his teeth. There was a space behind his temples, a sort of pyramid it felt like, where the power gathered. It pulsed in him now, heavy and thick, like a fully-charged battery, leaving a faint taste of licorice in his mouth. Demon power was nothing like a gun; a gun had no desire to be used.
Dean looked over at Sam.
Sam stared back, waiting.
“Dean,” Castiel said, sharp and pressing.
Dean shifted on the bed so that Castiel didn’t block his view of the TV. Castiel’s fingers twitched, and the TV died with a pop and a sickening burnt-plastic stench. “There goes our deposit,” Dean said and tossed the remote away.
“Dean,” the angel repeated.
“Yeah,” Dean said, his eyes fixed on Castiel’s chest.
“We were to meet.” Castiel didn’t sound wounded, not yet. He was only puzzled. Sam struggled not to react.
“Changed my mind.” Dean rubbed his hand over his mouth. “So, uh, I’m kinda crap at this part, but, you wanted to know what was so hot about bein’ human. Now you know, and, well, I don’t do repeats. You’re gonna have to find yourself a nice girl, or boy, or whatever flaps your wings. Face like yours—your host’s, whatever—should be easy.”
Castiel’s brow wrinkled. “It was not the physical pleasure I sought, Dean. Nor was that the limit of our connection.”
Sam noticed that the angel’s hands were closing, turning to fists. He let the power contract, winding itself up, in case he needed to use it fast.
“I brought you peace. You enjoyed it.” Castiel’s voice was almost imperceptibly louder. Sam wanted to turn his face away, but he couldn’t, because he’d done this. Castiel’s confusion was worse than every high-school drama Dean had ever caused. Those girls had usually known better than to throw down in public, and honestly teenagers lacked dignity to begin with. Castiel, though—he looked so fucking flummoxed, as if he’d just been handed the New Testament after a thousand years of the Old, the rules upended and even the language changed on him.
Now Dean did bring his eyes to meet Castiel’s, anger joining the discomfort in his expression. “Yeah, it was good, that what you need to hear?” Sam could hear the reluctant truth in his voice: Dean had felt something for Castiel, and he’d thrown it away because Sam wanted him to.
Castiel’s eyes widened. “You went to the demon girl. The abomination.” Uriel had used that word before, but this was the first time for Castiel. The vocabulary shift probably wasn’t good news for them, nor was Castiel’s willingness to invade Dean’s thoughts.
Dean laughed, short and loud, ignoring the way the room seemed to shrink and darken under the weight of Castiel’s growing temper. “You knew what I was when you pulled me out of Hell. I’m a whore, Cas, and maybe you needed a reminder.” He had on his bravest face, the one that pretended that nothing could hurt him worse than he’d already been hurt, even as his lips trembled and his eyes shone.
This was not what Sam had planned.
Sam didn’t remember standing, but he found himself next to Castiel, tugging on the angel’s shoulder to get his attention. “This is—I’m sorry, give us some time. I can—I’m the one who screwed this up, okay? Not Dean.”
Castiel turned, his focus as heavy and hot as a searchlight. “You—” He paused, and Sam felt his skin take fire with the knowledge that Castiel was rummaging through his head now, turning over all the rocks and seeing the crawling hungry things squirming beneath. “Dean follows you too readily,” he said, heavy as a concrete slab. Like there was anyone within three counties who didn’t know that tidbit.
“I didn’t give him a choice,” Sam said, his voice steady despite the churning in his stomach. “Please, just let me—”
“I will return,” Castiel said, dipping his chin. Then he was air. Sam’s fingers clenched on nothing and he stumbled a little, barely stopping himself from tumbling onto the bed with Dean.
6.
Dean sighed and shuffled himself to the side of the bed, sitting on the edge with his legs splayed and his shoulders slumped, like he was waiting for a lecture. Sam would have preferred standing and shouting. Sam hadn’t thought that his jealousy—yes, he knew what it was, give Ruby a fucking prize already—would twist around into a way for Dean to carve himself up.
Dean would rip out his own skeleton to get back to Sam if he thought Sam needed him, but Dean wasn’t supposed to feel bad about it. He was supposed to feel important. If Dean needed—no, Dean had given him three years of space, and look how well that had turned out.
Fix this.
Sam sat down across from him. The beds were low and the room was cheap; their knees would have touched if Sam had let them.
“Dean, I—” The words failed him even as they swirled around inside his throat, too many to get out, balled and crumpled like a thousand false starts on a goodbye note. He ought to give Dean permission to go and make his apologies. Castiel would have to forgive an error made on Sam’s behalf.
“Don’t sweat it, Sammy,” and the worst thing was that Dean sounded like he meant it. “I was always heading there. You just put me on the highway instead of the back roads. That’s—it’s better. We’ve got enough—thinkin’ things are different than they are, that gets you killed.”
Sam reached out halfway, but Dean was radiating noli me tangere with a fierceness that Sam couldn’t make himself fight. “If you tell Castiel that I made you—”
“Free will,” Dean told the space between his knees. “World doesn’t turn because you said so, Sam. I left you alone to get killed by the shtriga, I made the deal to go to Hell, I stuck my dick where it shouldn’tve gone.”
Every word of that was a warning alarm, but Sam had to deal with the immediate problem first. “Ruby told you it was my orders. You couldn’t say no.”
Dean looked up at him like he’d started speaking Chinese. “I say no to you all the fucking time.”
“Not like this,” Sam said, and it was ridiculously frustrating, because Dean would never admit that saying no to ‘shut up’ and ‘back off’ and ‘tell me what you’re thinking’ was different.
Dean couldn’t be reasoned with. He could only be demonstrated to.
Sam pushed himself off the bed, between Dean’s legs, and put his hands high on Dean’s thighs before Dean could start pushing him away. “Tell me no,” he said, feeling his breath bounce off Dean’s skin, and then he closed the distance between their mouths, his hand cupping the back of Dean’s neck and pulling him into the kiss.
Dean was stone against him, shocked into immobility, but Sam kept going, his other hand now pressed against the line of Dean’s jaw, positioning his head just right. Sam didn’t need to get to know Dean; he knew exactly how Dean should be kissed. He bowed his head forward so that their foreheads touched as their lips parted, his nose rubbing its own Eskimo kiss against Dean’s cheek.
He hadn’t planned this either, but Dean was bleeding out and Sam didn’t have the angels’ gift of healing. All he had was his rotten demon soul, and the need to twine himself around Dean and hold on until it killed them both. “Tell me no or tell me yes.” Either way Dean would know how much he meant.
“Sam ….” Like he’d been punched and done six shots and then punched again, but it wasn’t no, so Sam started in again, sucking on Dean’s lower lip, running his tongue over it, slick and yielding to him. Dean was prickly, holding the world off with noise and curses, because he knew if you got in close to him he was softer than a teddy bear, and Sam didn’t want to let anyone else find that out again.
I’m dysfunctionally attached to my brother might as well have been his ringtone, so there was hardly reason to hold back at this point.
Dean opened his mouth and tilted his head a fraction, taking Sam deeper. His hand rested on Sam’s chest, right above the tattoo, not pushing him away, and the warmth of his touch was stronger than any heavenly brand. Sam was up on one knee now, leaning over Dean, and he could hold this position for a while if he needed to but he didn’t need to, not with Dean sucking on his tongue and making soft hitching noises with every breath. He moved his hands to Dean’s shoulders and pushed them down together. Most people, especially the first time, would have landed badly like that, lips mashed against teeth and the sweet thin taste of blood.
Winchesters knew how to fall.
Dean tugged at Sam’s shirt until Sam pulled back a little, breathing raggedly, and let him wrestle it up and off. His hands were warm and rough against Sam’s chest, moving over the muscles and the scars, everything Sam had made of himself and had done to him. Sam slid his hands under Dean’s T-shirt. Dean’s abs fluttered against his fingers, strong and unmarred. When he pushed away so that he could strip Dean, he made sure to tangle his fingers in the thong holding Dean’s amulet so that it didn’t get carried away with the shirt. Dean brought his hand up as if to pull it off, but Sam caught his hand, wrapping his fingers around Dean’s. “Leave it on,” he said.
Castiel might have etched his hand into Dean’s skin, but what Sam had put on Dean, Dean had chosen.
They kissed again, long and slow, sucking and biting. Sam nibbled at the right corner of Dean’s lower lip, which made Dean kick his heels involuntarily against the bedcovers, the payoff of years of disgruntled morning-after surveillance. Too bad he hadn’t known about the scrying trick before Ruby. On the other hand, there was something to be said for figuring out the rest of Dean’s wants by trial and error.
When Dean reached for the waist of Sam’s jeans, Sam pushed himself up on his hands, breaking the achingly sweet contact of their lips.
“I need to know. Why Castiel? What did he give you?”
Dean raised his eyes in a moment of unguarded confusion. Then, as if he’d shouted it, Sam knew his reply, and grimaced. “Don’t say it,” he warned, but the tension had broken, like they were lying exhausted together after a knock-down fight. “I want to know,” he continued. “Not because—so I can give you what you need. You deserve to be happy, Dean.”
Dean’s eyes dipped. His smile lines were almost invisible. “World’s ending, Sammy.”
“Then you deserve it even more. And you don’t have to tell me everything that’s wrong with it, but I want to be that for you. I can’t—now that you’re back, I can’t—” He’d had it under control, before Dean’s deal. It wasn’t fair of Dean to sell his soul for Sam and then return and not be Sam’s. He dipped his head, letting his bangs hide him from Dean’s too-worried eyes.
That was enough to impel Dean to speak. “Uh. He said—laugh and I swear I’ll smack you—everything God created was beautiful, but—” He shuddered to a halt and breathed in, loudly.
Sam wasn’t going to push him. He had a pretty clear idea where Castiel had been going with that, and maybe from an angel it was less cheesy. Come to think of it, Dean probably did well with cheesy. “You are,” he said. “Every part of you.”
Dean turned his head into the covers, staring at memories. “I’m still the guy from the Pit. I hurt people so’s I wouldn’t get hurt. I was good at it, Sam, I made quota. I’m headed right back there at the end. How is that beautiful?”
“Because you fought. Because you didn’t go crazy. Because you’re my brother and there’s nothing, nothing you could do that would make me stop respecting and needing and loving you.” Sam felt Dean shake, full-body. He needed to tell Dean, again and again, until Dean started to hear him, but Dean didn’t even like it when he tried to top off the Impala’s gas tank. Extra sweet nothings were unlikely to be satisfactory.
So instead he kissed Dean again, bracing himself on one elbow so that he could work Dean’s jeans open one-handed. Dean was hot silk against his coarsened fingertips, the muscles jumping at Sam’s touch.
They both gasped when Sam’s hand found the head of Dean’s dick, the skin there hotter and softer than the rest of him. Sam slid his fingers down, his thumb brushing the frenulum, and the whole heavy length twitched in his hand. This was better than exorcisms, all his abilities no match for the power to make Dean fall apart and put him back together. He rutted against Dean’s thigh, layers of denim nearly painful pressure against his cock.
“Next time,” he whispered, because this wasn’t going to last much longer, “I want to do something you’ve never done before.” Dean’s hips jerked up and his eyes closed, but Sam didn’t want to watch him running through his back catalog just now, so he rubbed his cheek along Dean’s, then turned to nip along his jaw, stubble spiking against his tongue.
He kept working his hand in rhythm with the flex of his hips pushing him into the thick width of Dean’s thigh. He’d stood on that muscle to get boosted over fences. He’d watched it jiggle on the car seat in time to the music. He’d stitched it up and covered it with bruises and iced it down. It was his history and his future and even if the latter was looking to be a lot shorter than the former, right now, he didn’t mind.
Dean jumped in his hand and spilled, thick irregular pulses as Sam tightened his grip to feel every moment. Dean groaned and Sam slid his hand up, over the wet head, smearing the hot mess over Dean’s stomach, rubbing it into his palm and through his fingers, their own version of anointing oils.
“Turn over,” he told Dean, and Dean didn’t question, just rolled in place while Sam fumbled just enough to push his jeans and boxers down to free his dick, then did the same for Dean so he could ride Dean’s ass, cockhead rubbing slick against the small of Dean’s back. Pressed together like pages in a book, Sam hated every moment he hadn’t had Dean, the flare of muscle over bone, the back so strong that even Hell couldn’t keep him in check. Sam opened his mouth over the line of Dean’s shoulder but didn’t bite down, because he didn’t trust himself to stop, and ground into Dean to hear him whuff out, the breath pushed from his lungs.
When he came, he had his hands on Dean’s biceps, clamped down as if Dean might still try to get away.
He would have been happy to sleep like that, messy and nearly suffocating Dean, but Dean raised a shoulder and flipped him towards the middle of the bed, and Sam didn’t have the energy to fight. When he murmured a protest, Dean kept moving, turning until he was half on top of Sam and bringing their mouths back together.
They kissed for a while, wet and dry and everything in between. Sam could feel that his cock was willing to take a renewed interest in the proceedings, but he could wait on that.
Dean’s lips were swollen and Sam’s own were beginning to numb when Dean put his hand on the center of Sam’s chest and pushed back, curling his fingers on Sam’s skin to make clear that he was only changing their position, not beginning a rejection. “Sam,” he said. His eyes dropped to Sam’s throat and he swallowed, then resolutely looked up again, wide-eyed. “Sam. I’ve never done this before.”
And maybe he needed to reassess the extent to which Dean was actually an orator of great skill, because his heart squeezed and his grin threatened to change the shape of his face permanently. Dean smirked, but he was blushing, too, so Sam figured they were even.
7.
“Sam?” Dean asked, soft and careful but insistent.
“Mmm?” Sam answered, rolling over and draping his arm across Dean’s back. He was naked, he realized, jeans and boxers kicked somewhere at the bottom of the bed.
“I gotta talk to Cas.”
“I should be there,” Sam said immediately, opening his eyes. Dean wouldn’t go back, not on this, but he might need protecting from himself nonetheless.
Dean shook his head, a hint of a grin hovering around his lips. “He might be about ready to smite you.”
“He’s more likely to smite you,” Sam pointed out. Their faces were inches away from each other. Dean’s eyes were as green as his breath was bad. It kind of canceled out.
“Well, no point in us both bein’ smited—smitten—” Dean sputtered to a halt.
“Smote, I think,” Sam said with the solemnity he associated with their father’s lessons, and then they both cracked up, staring at the cheap plaster ceiling as they chortled. Too near hysteria for real comfort, but the laughter still felt necessary.
Castiel might have been pushed too far this time. Dean had passed on what Anna had said about angelic emotions. The angels-as-androids concept had sounded like high-grade bullshit to him, given what they’d seen from Uriel, and Castiel had done a really good imitation of a spurned lover last night. Sam considered himself to have good reason to fear what Castiel might do, which meant that any further contact needed to be in Sam’s presence.
Sometime soon, he’d tell Dean about what his exorcisms really did: like the Colt, they destroyed the demon soul, rather than sending it back to Hell. If Castiel decided to make good on his constant, wearing threat to drag Dean down, or if the angels lost and Lucifer walked, he’d do the same for Dean’s soul. There was no reason it wouldn’t work on a human soul, now that he knew what to do. Better dead, really dead, than black-eyed. Dean was willing to return to Hell for Anna because he thought he belonged there, but Sam knew that Dean’s self-assessment was the worst lie of all. He wasn’t going to fail Dean again. When it was time, Dean would have peace. As for himself, well, ‘Heaven doesn’t want me and Hell’s afraid I’ll take over’ was practically a perfect motto. If he couldn’t keep Dean safe, it wouldn’t matter to him anyway.
The bottom line was that Dean was not taking any more unchaperoned meetings with angels who could move him from the Penthouse to the Pit at will. No one, angel or demon, was getting a chance to rip Dean away without a fight.
Dean sat up, his amulet bouncing gently against his chest. Sometime in the night he’d kicked off his jeans and pulled up his shorts. He was acres of pale golden skin, interrupted by the stark lines of the tattoo and the raw red of Castiel’s scar. He draped his arms over his knees, looking thoughtful. The muscles stood out in his forearms; Sam wanted to reach over and run his fingers up the smooth, freckled skin from Dean’s wrists to the crooks of his elbows. His mouth was still plumped with kisses, his stubble thick enough that he would probably be able to draw blood from Sam just from skin-on-skin friction if they started up again now.
“What?” he snapped when he noticed Sam’s scrutiny.
“Get used to it,” Sam told him smugly, pushing himself back against the headboard and pulling the sheets up to his waist. “Go take a shower, we’ve got an angel to find.”
“That will not be necessary,” Castiel said from by the door.
Sam swallowed and wished that he was wearing more clothes. Being metaphorically naked before angels was hard enough.
Castiel’s focus was all on Dean, sniper-like. “So,” he said, “you have decided.”
A muscle twitched in Dean’s jaw. “Guess so,” he said back, almost evenly.
“Angels have choices as well, Dean. We all have free will, as our Father made us.”
Sam bit down hard, because chances were he could only make things worse if he intervened.
“You sending me back downstairs?” Dean asked. Sam reached out and put his hand on Dean’s unmarked shoulder.
Castiel shook his head. “I will not.” Dean trembled under Sam’s touch. That wasn’t much of a promise, but they could hardly expect better.
Dean drew breath. “We’re still—whatever you want us to do to fight Lilith, we’re in.”
Castiel looked almost unsettled. “Nothing between us could have released your obligation. I did not choose you, though I was chosen for you.” He paused, tilting his head in his strange avian way. “I would have Fallen for you, Dean,” he said gently. “But I think it is better that I did not.”
No fucking kidding, Sam thought.
Dean clearly wasn’t considering their overall strategic situation. He was staring at the angel soft-eyed and open-mouthed, as if Castiel’s words had sewn up one of the rips in his soul. Sam’s jealousy was mostly cinders now, banked down. Dean had given up his shot at Heaven for Sam’s sake twice now, first with his deal and then with this. If Castiel’s approval could help Dean avoid despair Sam wasn’t going to bitch about it. Not out loud, anyway. As Sam watched, Dean shook himself, almost imperceptibly, and closed his eyes in one slow blink. When they opened, Dean had himself under control again.
“So what does God have to say about me now?” Dean asked, defiant again at last. Sam thrilled to hear the fight in his voice.
Castiel’s borrowed brow furrowed. “Does it matter to you?”
“You haven’t heard from him, have you,” Dean said, unsurprised but still a little wistful.
“No,” Castiel acknowledged. “But I have faith.”
Dean leaned into Sam’s hand, still gripped around his shoulder. “I do too,” he said, and he didn’t need to look over to make his meaning clear.
END
Fides
SPN, NC-17
For
giandujakiss, who wanted Dean/Sam or Dean/Castiel! Preferably with any angst resolved happily! Double preferably Dean/Castiel resulting in Dean/Sam! I made her beta too, along with coffeeandink. I’m going to declare that this also satisfies mangokulfi's request for Dean/Castiel with side of jealous Sam, though it’s more like jealous Sam with side of Dean/Castiel. Because I never met a conduit I didn’t like, this also features Ruby.1.
It’d been years since Sam had minded watching Dean try to pick up girls. A universe that allowed Dean’s terrible lines and worse leers to work for Dean more often than not was fundamentally unfair, but Sam’s consciousness of that fact had faded thin and been left behind like an outgrown jacket. He eyerolled because Dean expected it, but really Dean’s antics were as familiar as the Impala’s seats. The pickups were background noise. They became comforting after Dean returned from Hell.
But Sam never stopped hating having to watch Dean’s morning-after kisses, because they were all soft and tender and getting-to-know-you. Those kisses were lies because there was no more where that came from.
Watching made Sam remember how much they’d never have, and that generally made him mad at himself and at Dean.
Except right now, Dean was sharing those kisses with Castiel, and Sam wanted to blast Castiel out of the state. He remembered the symbols Anna had used, and he’d bet demon blood worked as well as angel blood for the purpose.
They hadn’t noticed him, or at least they gave no sign, caught up in their explorations. Castiel had his back to the car, leaning against it and pressing up into Dean with an awkward eagerness that Sam recognized from dozens of Dean’s one-night stands: dazed and hopeful, even though there was no reason to hope. Dean had his hands under Castiel’s trenchcoat, and Castiel was gripping Dean’s face, framing it with his fingers, tilting it this way and that as if he were experimenting with the angles, learning which way was best to kiss Dean.
Sam backed up until he bumped into the door of their motel room, at which point he turned, practically propping himself up against the hollow fake wood, and fumbled with the key until he got back inside.
He staggered over to his bed, as neatly remade as Dean’s never-slept-in copy to his left, and sat down.
Of course he’d known that Dean fucked good-looking guys, when the whim struck him and they happened to be in a place where guys were willing to come on to him openly. And Sam didn’t exactly have a solid ‘humans only’ policy himself.
But Dean had never slept with anyone who could keep up with the Winchesters. Even with Cassie, he’d never shown any inclination to adapt for the sake of a lover, no matter what his idle fantasies about being a family man might have been.
Castiel, though. Castiel was a comrade in arms, or at least he kept telling them that they needed to fight on his side. And Dean hadn’t said last night that he was heading out for an angel rendezvous. Until Sam had seen them, twined together like two joined hands, he hadn’t thought for a moment that Dean saw the angel that way. Dean never hid his fucks from Sam, which meant that Castiel was not exactly a standard-issue hookup.
Castiel had threatened to send Dean back to Hell, and Dean had still fucked him. If Dean was that screwed up—well, of course he was that screwed up, Sam wasn’t new and he wasn’t that far in denial. What Sam was, what he might be, was alone and he couldn’t resist Heaven and Hell both, not without knowing that Dean had his back. Dean was already on edge about Sam’s demon powers. Castiel, whispering sweet nothings in his ear and promising to fight evil in any guise, might be the feather that tipped the scales of Dean’s loyalties.
Angels were untrustworthy, as fanatics always were. Dean should know better. Even now, when the two of them could only occasionally crack open enough to stutter out their secrets, only Winchesters could be relied on to take care of Winchesters. But: Dean bore Castiel’s mark. Maybe Dean thought that meant something.
Maybe it did.
He needed to know more, and he needed to know soon. But every time Sam expressed worry about Castiel, Dean automatically started defending him, as if Dean thought that faith needed to balance out. If Sam approached him directly, Dean might take an ill-considered step towards the ineffable.
He dug out his phone and dialed. “Ruby?” he said as soon as the call connected. “Get here right away.”
2.
“What?” Ruby asked. Hard to believe, but he’d actually shocked her. Her lips were even trembling a little, as if she were as thrown as he’d been. He didn’t see the problem. It was inarguably a more pleasant assignment than he had ever given her before, and she demonstrably had no trouble using sex to achieve a tactical objective. Maybe she cared more about keeping Sam in the fight than about Dean, but she should know by now that they were a package deal.
“You heard me.” Sam didn’t have time for an extended discussion. Dean would return from his research trip to the county records office soon enough, and Ruby needed to be in the room when he got back.
Ruby couldn’t be thinking that Dean wouldn’t fuck his brother’s girl, because she knew she wasn’t his girl. And he’d seen how Dean had softened towards her since Sam had let on just how bad those months above ground had been, even if they were nothing to compare to decades in the Pit. Ruby was Sam’s good soldier, and she was hot. Dean wouldn’t turn her away unless he had reasons of his own.
Ruby didn’t know Dean as well as he did, though. “What do you expect to prove, Sam?” She was all wide-eyed and sincere, same as she always was in this body. Moving towards him, close enough that he could smell her shampoo, citrus and honey.
“There’s one thing Dean wouldn’t do, and that’s cheat. If it was just an experiment, he’ll say yes to you. If it’s more, then—” Then, Sam didn’t have a plan. But he had to find out whether the united Winchester front was splitting, and better to learn now than during the next crisis when Dean had to decide in whom to place his faith. With the next crisis likely to happen at any moment, he needed to know fast.
Ruby sighed, a little irritated and almost a little sad. “Why don’t you just ask him if he’s found his Earth Angel?”
Sam stared at her: she’d met Dean. Dean lied with practically every word that came out of his mouth about himself, even when he didn’t mean to do it. Dean’s body was as honest as Abe Lincoln. If he felt—if the thing with Castiel was serious, then Dean wouldn’t be able to have sex with Ruby. Dean was a slut, but not a philanderer. Even without any opportunity to observe the difference, Sam knew it in his bones.
Ruby crossed her arms over her chest and examined him, her brows lowered. “Okay, tell me this: why do you care? You didn’t mind when he banged Anna while I was getting carved up—”
“Anna wasn’t trying--!” He took a deep breath, tried again. She didn’t understand, she didn’t feel, she didn’t care about staying together beyond what it could do for her. She’d never even tried to save Dean. “Look what happened with her, Ruby. If the three of us hadn’t stuck together, we might all be dead. Dean’s—he can be sentimental. If it’s more than a one-night stand, we’ve got a problem.” He hadn’t expected this much resistance. If Ruby wouldn’t do it, he’d have to come up with an alternative, maybe drag Dean back to Pennsylvania to find Jaime again, even though that would kind of suck for Jaime, not to mention taking them days off track, days the angels might not be willing to grant them with the war for the seals running so hot.
“Fine,” she snapped. “Get out of here. I’ll find you.”
3.
Among the tricks Ruby had taught him was scrying known locations. It was easy enough to rent a second room a few doors down from theirs and set up the spell using a bowl of water and a few drops of his blood. He watched Ruby pace for ten minutes before the lock on the door turned and Dean swaggered in, his mouth already open to tell Sam what he’d learned.
He froze when he saw Ruby. The door swung shut behind him with a click. “Hey,” he said warily.
Ruby took a few steps towards him, then stopped. “Hey.”
“You waiting on Sam? ‘Cause he’s actually supposed to be here—” Dean was instantly worried, a few bad minutes from panicking, rummaging for his phone with one hand while the other reflexively checked his gun.
“No, I’ve already seen Sam,” Ruby said, and Dean stilled. He kept his eyes down. Ruby approached until she was close enough to touch. “I’m here for you, Dean.” She put her hands on his chest, one on either side of the amulet, sliding under his jacket but making no move to kiss him.
“What the fuck!” Dean reared back, his hands coming up as if he were going to shove Ruby away, but he checked himself before he touched her.
Ruby watched him calmly. “Sam wants to know if you’ll be faithful to Castiel.” Dean shuffled back half a step, like he’d just taken a punch. “He knows you’ve been sneaking out to enjoy Castiel’s host body, and he’s concerned about your loyalties.” Sam was going to strangle her—Ruby knew full well that he hadn’t meant her to explain her assignment.
After taking a moment to recover, Dean scoffed in reflexive disbelief. “Sam wouldn’t send you to—he’d ask me himself.”
Ruby shrugged, and Sam noted that Dean’s eyes automatically went to her breasts. “If I were going to lie to you, don’t you think I’d have a better story?”
Dean’s face went soft and uncertain for a moment, and then all the emergency security measures slammed into place, his eyes glittering and his mouth pressed tight. “We can clear this up real easy. I’ll just go find Sam and—” He turned towards the door.
Ruby’s voice was low, precise, every word knife-edged. “Walk out of here now and no matter what you say to him, he’s gonna think you’re choosing the angel over him.”
Dean stalled out. Sam wanted to see his face, and the reflection in the water shifted its angle in response, like moving a camera. Dean was biting his lip, his eyes darting back and forth as he conducted some internal debate.
“And you, you don’t mind being handed off?” Sam could tell that Dean had rejected nastier words. Sam wouldn’t have expected such tact, but then again he wouldn’t have expected Dean to be fucking Castiel, so obviously there were plenty of changes in his brother that he’d missed.
Ruby’s expression didn’t change, even though Dean couldn’t see her face. “What woman could pass up a chance at Dean Winchester?”
Dean did turn then. “Not an answer,” he pointed out, but there was a shadow of a grin in the curl of his lips.
“Not supposed to be,” she said back in the same rhythm. “I know how to say no.”
“Yeah, me too,” Dean told her, one corner of his mouth twitching up. Sam wanted to be in the room; maybe then he’d understand what was passing between them a little better.
“C’mon, Dean,” and she was undeniably teasing now, even if Sam didn’t follow, “do you really like every girl you sleep with?”
“I don’t know ‘em enough to not like ‘em,” Dean rejoined. He took a deep breath and his shoulders slumped. “How do you--?”
Ruby smiled, a little twisted. “Just sit down on the bed.”
Dean did, shucking his jacket but not making any move to undo his jeans. A few steps away from him, Ruby got down on her knees and crossed the rest of the distance that way, slinky and intent. Dean’s eyes dilated, black expanding to take away the green.
“How long—how long did it take you, in Hell? Before you gave in.” Dean’s voice was asphalt-rough.
Ruby stopped, her hands hovering above Dean’s knees. “Everyone’s got a different Hell, Dean. Whatever happened to you, I don’t know about it.”
Dean leaned forward, until their foreheads nearly touched. “Is that the truth?”
“Shh,” she said, and put her hands to his waist, making quick work of his belt as she ducked her head.
Sam couldn’t see much detail; she just unzipped Dean’s jeans and tugged his already half-hard cock out of his boxers, and then everything was obscured by the fall of her hair. Sam could hear wet sliding sounds. Dean closed his eyes and took deep breaths. His hands clenched on his thighs, then one moved up, hesitated, and petted Ruby’s hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands. Ruby’s head bobbed up and down, setting a rhythm that Sam felt in his own pulse. Her hands were braced against Dean’s shins, her nails scraping against denim.
Dean tilted his head up, heavenwards, his mouth parted as if this was his version of prayer. The skin around his lips was reddened—Sam flashed on Castiel’s face, the way the angel’s lips were always chapped rough. That and morning stubble would have left Dean’s skin stinging. Both of Dean’s hands were moving over Ruby’s head now, like he was blessing her.
He’d never let Ruby go down on him: not enough going on to blank his mind, and too much to stay in control. He had to guess how she was from the tremble of Dean’s lashes on his cheeks, the way his mouth opened wider, then half-closed, his tongue sweeping over his lower lip, the soft grunts he made in time with her motions.
“Gonna—” Dean warned, and Ruby froze, her shoulderblades raised and her ass up as she pressed herself into him. Dean opened his mouth and groaned, his throat working like Ruby’s must be, his chest heaving as his hips pulsed. Ruby stayed with him until Dean’s face screwed up in a grimace, and then she pulled back. Her lips were reddened and unsmiling, her expression as blank as an unmarked road.
“Good,” she said, and started to rise from her knees.
Dean shook himself, shoulders and head, and grabbed her upper arms before she could stand all the way. “No,” he told her, rising himself, ignoring the way her mouth pursed in confusion and anger. Fight-quick, he twisted her and pushed her down so that her back hit the bed. He didn’t bother to fix his own clothes, just started in on her jeans, peeling them down with her panties; and then Ruby was helping, kicking her legs and letting Dean tug her boots off.
She scooted backwards until her head was almost up to the pillows as Dean put himself between her legs, his knees on the edge of the bed. He settled his hands on the backs of her thighs, folding her up and spreading her wide. He took a good look, then fell on her like he’d spent the day fasting and she was Thanksgiving dinner, the sounds he made loud and sloppy.
Ruby arched her back, her head pushing into the bedspread as her hands came down to grab at Dean’s head. Her fingers ran uselessly through his too-short hair until she managed to get a grip and tug him up, just a fraction. Dean went easily, accepting her guidance, turning his head as he brought a hand up to slide between her legs so that the heel of his hand was pressed against his chin. Ruby groaned and her fingernails scraped along his cheek, but Dean didn’t wince. His eyes were screwed tight, concentrating on what he was doing with his mouth, sealed to her hot wet flesh. Sam saw his jaw work, then Ruby’s hand obscured most of the view.
This, they’d done, because it was enough to keep him from thinking. He would have expected sulfur, but he’d only tasted girl, sweaty and musky on his tongue, an inland ocean, warm as the living but hardly alive. Sam had let his senses take over, lost in the wet slide, her open pussy as close to the origin of the world as he was going to get, and for those minutes he hadn’t had to be himself. Dean had that freedom now, forgetting everything that wasn’t sliding sweet under his tongue, chasing that moment where his only consciousness was of giving pleasure, being all that he needed to be.
Dean’s shirt had pulled free from the back of his jeans, revealing a stretch of freckled skin, shifting as he moved up and down. The muscles in his forearm flexed, dipping into the shadow between Ruby’s thighs. Sam twitched in his seat, restless.
When Ruby cried out for the second time, Dean pulled back and stood. His hand gleamed in the low light, slick as his cheeks and chin. He turned quickly towards the bathroom as he fumbled with his jeans, one-handed.
Dean washed his face and hands, then tugged his amulet out of his collar; it had somehow gotten tangled inside his shirt. He braced his hands against the countertop and looked at himself in the mirror, pale except for the swollen pink of his lips and the dark shadow of beard already fighting its way onto his face. He didn’t look long.
“You gonna tell him I’m unfaithful enough?” he called out as Ruby stood and stretched. She’d already gotten her clothes back on.
“Don’t worry, Dean,” she said, and if he hadn’t known she was a demon Sam would have thought that her voice was regretful. “He knows you wouldn’t betray him.”
4.
Sam was waiting for her when she came to his room.
“That what you wanted to know?” she asked, but he was already pulling her inside, kicking the door closed, shoving her up against the wall in the short space between the door and the window.
Her mouth was salt-sour, unfamiliar, but as long as he was kissing her she couldn’t say a word. His fingers were stiff as twigs against her skin, tearing at her clothes. He needed to get her naked and he couldn’t do that while grinding against her.
In the end she pushed him back and shimmied out of her jeans—it had been maybe three minutes since she’d put them on—while he ripped his own open and shoved them down on his hips. He put his hands on her ass and lifted her until his cock brushed against her curls. She forced a hand between them long enough to guide him into place—so wet, spit and slick, ready for him. He shoved his hips up as he led his hold on her slide, so that he buried himself in her in an instant. She whined but then his mouth was on hers again, swallowing her noises, sweeping his tongue over her teeth until she bit down.
She was tight, fever-hot, heaven and hell together. He mouthed the place where her neck met her shoulder, almond and a hint of soap, while he brought one hand up to her mouth; she worried the flesh of his palm with her teeth, but not enough to hurt.
“Was he good? Did you like it?” Asking in time with the stutter of his hips, his other hand curling under her, slippery and blood-warm. “Would you go do it again?”
Ruby tossed her head. He heard the thunk of it against the plaster of the wall. “Speak for yourself, Sam,” she managed through panting breaths. She sounded angry, like she’d been in her previous host. He hadn’t missed that.
Sam clenched his hand around her ass until she shook around him, and then he thrust up, one two three, and emptied himself in a white-hot shudder that blew every fuse in his brain.
Panting, he fell back, and as Ruby’s feet hit the floor, she hissed, even though he didn’t think he’d hurt her. “That what you wanted to know?” she asked again.
Sam fought to keep his glare from turning too nasty. Ruby was a good ally, and she’d earned the right to ask tough questions, if not that question.
Nobody got to have that conversation but him and Dean. He wasn’t looking forward to it—seemed like he’d spent half his life running from it—but, honestly, plenty of other horrific things seemed likely to happen to him in the near future. He’d survive or he wouldn’t.
He tugged his jeans up and shuffled back towards the table where he’d left the scrying bowl. The rush was fading fast, like caffeine when what he really needed was a week’s worth of sleep.
“I really do hope you got what you wanted,” Ruby said, quieter now, as if she’d stuffed the earlier version of herself back into its cage. “There’s worse than Alastair coming, and you need to focus on that.” She looked at her boots and sighed, as if wondering whether she should even bother putting them back on.
“I need some time with Dean,” he admitted. With what she’d said to Dean, even Dean would require a heart-to-heart, or possibly a fist-to-chin, before they could get back to the impending apocalypse.
She wrapped her arms around herself, like a straightjacket. “Do what you need to do and do it fast. I’ll stay here in case—if you need me.”
He supposed that made sense. He didn’t bother picking up the spell materials when he left.
5.
He expected Dean to start ranting about Ruby immediately upon his return, but instead Dean just told him about the five different properties the evil warlock had owned, and which ones looked far enough from any built-up areas that they might be where he’d stashed his torture chamber and associated mystical artifacts.
They killed the warlock. Sam had actually lost count of how many humans that made in their tally. Dean could have told him, both deliberate and collateral damage, but Sam didn’t want to know that badly. Anyway, the warlock deserved to die and did, another victory for the Winchesters. They rescued a teenage girl from his dungeon, in one of the rare pleasant surprises of the job. She was messed up, and if Sam thought too hard about it he’d be less pleased. Most people didn’t get over the kinds of things she’d felt and seen. But they weren’t going to stick around for her recovery or lack thereof, so he just put her in the win column as well.
The next hunt was in Mississippi. Neither of them were in the mood for night driving, so they just grabbed dinner at an Elevation Burger—organic beef, so Dean would not shut up about the coddled cows, but Sam didn’t notice him turning down his share, and the shakes were good. Damn good, Sam would have said some years back.
Dean was propped up against the headboard of his bed, legs crossed at the ankle while he channel-surfed, when Castiel appeared.
Sam sat up straight at the little table by the window where he’d been idly surfing. Castiel was at the foot of Dean’s bed, examining him with the usual intensity. Sam deliberately let go of his mouse and unclenched his teeth. There was a space behind his temples, a sort of pyramid it felt like, where the power gathered. It pulsed in him now, heavy and thick, like a fully-charged battery, leaving a faint taste of licorice in his mouth. Demon power was nothing like a gun; a gun had no desire to be used.
Dean looked over at Sam.
Sam stared back, waiting.
“Dean,” Castiel said, sharp and pressing.
Dean shifted on the bed so that Castiel didn’t block his view of the TV. Castiel’s fingers twitched, and the TV died with a pop and a sickening burnt-plastic stench. “There goes our deposit,” Dean said and tossed the remote away.
“Dean,” the angel repeated.
“Yeah,” Dean said, his eyes fixed on Castiel’s chest.
“We were to meet.” Castiel didn’t sound wounded, not yet. He was only puzzled. Sam struggled not to react.
“Changed my mind.” Dean rubbed his hand over his mouth. “So, uh, I’m kinda crap at this part, but, you wanted to know what was so hot about bein’ human. Now you know, and, well, I don’t do repeats. You’re gonna have to find yourself a nice girl, or boy, or whatever flaps your wings. Face like yours—your host’s, whatever—should be easy.”
Castiel’s brow wrinkled. “It was not the physical pleasure I sought, Dean. Nor was that the limit of our connection.”
Sam noticed that the angel’s hands were closing, turning to fists. He let the power contract, winding itself up, in case he needed to use it fast.
“I brought you peace. You enjoyed it.” Castiel’s voice was almost imperceptibly louder. Sam wanted to turn his face away, but he couldn’t, because he’d done this. Castiel’s confusion was worse than every high-school drama Dean had ever caused. Those girls had usually known better than to throw down in public, and honestly teenagers lacked dignity to begin with. Castiel, though—he looked so fucking flummoxed, as if he’d just been handed the New Testament after a thousand years of the Old, the rules upended and even the language changed on him.
Now Dean did bring his eyes to meet Castiel’s, anger joining the discomfort in his expression. “Yeah, it was good, that what you need to hear?” Sam could hear the reluctant truth in his voice: Dean had felt something for Castiel, and he’d thrown it away because Sam wanted him to.
Castiel’s eyes widened. “You went to the demon girl. The abomination.” Uriel had used that word before, but this was the first time for Castiel. The vocabulary shift probably wasn’t good news for them, nor was Castiel’s willingness to invade Dean’s thoughts.
Dean laughed, short and loud, ignoring the way the room seemed to shrink and darken under the weight of Castiel’s growing temper. “You knew what I was when you pulled me out of Hell. I’m a whore, Cas, and maybe you needed a reminder.” He had on his bravest face, the one that pretended that nothing could hurt him worse than he’d already been hurt, even as his lips trembled and his eyes shone.
This was not what Sam had planned.
Sam didn’t remember standing, but he found himself next to Castiel, tugging on the angel’s shoulder to get his attention. “This is—I’m sorry, give us some time. I can—I’m the one who screwed this up, okay? Not Dean.”
Castiel turned, his focus as heavy and hot as a searchlight. “You—” He paused, and Sam felt his skin take fire with the knowledge that Castiel was rummaging through his head now, turning over all the rocks and seeing the crawling hungry things squirming beneath. “Dean follows you too readily,” he said, heavy as a concrete slab. Like there was anyone within three counties who didn’t know that tidbit.
“I didn’t give him a choice,” Sam said, his voice steady despite the churning in his stomach. “Please, just let me—”
“I will return,” Castiel said, dipping his chin. Then he was air. Sam’s fingers clenched on nothing and he stumbled a little, barely stopping himself from tumbling onto the bed with Dean.
6.
Dean sighed and shuffled himself to the side of the bed, sitting on the edge with his legs splayed and his shoulders slumped, like he was waiting for a lecture. Sam would have preferred standing and shouting. Sam hadn’t thought that his jealousy—yes, he knew what it was, give Ruby a fucking prize already—would twist around into a way for Dean to carve himself up.
Dean would rip out his own skeleton to get back to Sam if he thought Sam needed him, but Dean wasn’t supposed to feel bad about it. He was supposed to feel important. If Dean needed—no, Dean had given him three years of space, and look how well that had turned out.
Fix this.
Sam sat down across from him. The beds were low and the room was cheap; their knees would have touched if Sam had let them.
“Dean, I—” The words failed him even as they swirled around inside his throat, too many to get out, balled and crumpled like a thousand false starts on a goodbye note. He ought to give Dean permission to go and make his apologies. Castiel would have to forgive an error made on Sam’s behalf.
“Don’t sweat it, Sammy,” and the worst thing was that Dean sounded like he meant it. “I was always heading there. You just put me on the highway instead of the back roads. That’s—it’s better. We’ve got enough—thinkin’ things are different than they are, that gets you killed.”
Sam reached out halfway, but Dean was radiating noli me tangere with a fierceness that Sam couldn’t make himself fight. “If you tell Castiel that I made you—”
“Free will,” Dean told the space between his knees. “World doesn’t turn because you said so, Sam. I left you alone to get killed by the shtriga, I made the deal to go to Hell, I stuck my dick where it shouldn’tve gone.”
Every word of that was a warning alarm, but Sam had to deal with the immediate problem first. “Ruby told you it was my orders. You couldn’t say no.”
Dean looked up at him like he’d started speaking Chinese. “I say no to you all the fucking time.”
“Not like this,” Sam said, and it was ridiculously frustrating, because Dean would never admit that saying no to ‘shut up’ and ‘back off’ and ‘tell me what you’re thinking’ was different.
Dean couldn’t be reasoned with. He could only be demonstrated to.
Sam pushed himself off the bed, between Dean’s legs, and put his hands high on Dean’s thighs before Dean could start pushing him away. “Tell me no,” he said, feeling his breath bounce off Dean’s skin, and then he closed the distance between their mouths, his hand cupping the back of Dean’s neck and pulling him into the kiss.
Dean was stone against him, shocked into immobility, but Sam kept going, his other hand now pressed against the line of Dean’s jaw, positioning his head just right. Sam didn’t need to get to know Dean; he knew exactly how Dean should be kissed. He bowed his head forward so that their foreheads touched as their lips parted, his nose rubbing its own Eskimo kiss against Dean’s cheek.
He hadn’t planned this either, but Dean was bleeding out and Sam didn’t have the angels’ gift of healing. All he had was his rotten demon soul, and the need to twine himself around Dean and hold on until it killed them both. “Tell me no or tell me yes.” Either way Dean would know how much he meant.
“Sam ….” Like he’d been punched and done six shots and then punched again, but it wasn’t no, so Sam started in again, sucking on Dean’s lower lip, running his tongue over it, slick and yielding to him. Dean was prickly, holding the world off with noise and curses, because he knew if you got in close to him he was softer than a teddy bear, and Sam didn’t want to let anyone else find that out again.
I’m dysfunctionally attached to my brother might as well have been his ringtone, so there was hardly reason to hold back at this point.
Dean opened his mouth and tilted his head a fraction, taking Sam deeper. His hand rested on Sam’s chest, right above the tattoo, not pushing him away, and the warmth of his touch was stronger than any heavenly brand. Sam was up on one knee now, leaning over Dean, and he could hold this position for a while if he needed to but he didn’t need to, not with Dean sucking on his tongue and making soft hitching noises with every breath. He moved his hands to Dean’s shoulders and pushed them down together. Most people, especially the first time, would have landed badly like that, lips mashed against teeth and the sweet thin taste of blood.
Winchesters knew how to fall.
Dean tugged at Sam’s shirt until Sam pulled back a little, breathing raggedly, and let him wrestle it up and off. His hands were warm and rough against Sam’s chest, moving over the muscles and the scars, everything Sam had made of himself and had done to him. Sam slid his hands under Dean’s T-shirt. Dean’s abs fluttered against his fingers, strong and unmarred. When he pushed away so that he could strip Dean, he made sure to tangle his fingers in the thong holding Dean’s amulet so that it didn’t get carried away with the shirt. Dean brought his hand up as if to pull it off, but Sam caught his hand, wrapping his fingers around Dean’s. “Leave it on,” he said.
Castiel might have etched his hand into Dean’s skin, but what Sam had put on Dean, Dean had chosen.
They kissed again, long and slow, sucking and biting. Sam nibbled at the right corner of Dean’s lower lip, which made Dean kick his heels involuntarily against the bedcovers, the payoff of years of disgruntled morning-after surveillance. Too bad he hadn’t known about the scrying trick before Ruby. On the other hand, there was something to be said for figuring out the rest of Dean’s wants by trial and error.
When Dean reached for the waist of Sam’s jeans, Sam pushed himself up on his hands, breaking the achingly sweet contact of their lips.
“I need to know. Why Castiel? What did he give you?”
Dean raised his eyes in a moment of unguarded confusion. Then, as if he’d shouted it, Sam knew his reply, and grimaced. “Don’t say it,” he warned, but the tension had broken, like they were lying exhausted together after a knock-down fight. “I want to know,” he continued. “Not because—so I can give you what you need. You deserve to be happy, Dean.”
Dean’s eyes dipped. His smile lines were almost invisible. “World’s ending, Sammy.”
“Then you deserve it even more. And you don’t have to tell me everything that’s wrong with it, but I want to be that for you. I can’t—now that you’re back, I can’t—” He’d had it under control, before Dean’s deal. It wasn’t fair of Dean to sell his soul for Sam and then return and not be Sam’s. He dipped his head, letting his bangs hide him from Dean’s too-worried eyes.
That was enough to impel Dean to speak. “Uh. He said—laugh and I swear I’ll smack you—everything God created was beautiful, but—” He shuddered to a halt and breathed in, loudly.
Sam wasn’t going to push him. He had a pretty clear idea where Castiel had been going with that, and maybe from an angel it was less cheesy. Come to think of it, Dean probably did well with cheesy. “You are,” he said. “Every part of you.”
Dean turned his head into the covers, staring at memories. “I’m still the guy from the Pit. I hurt people so’s I wouldn’t get hurt. I was good at it, Sam, I made quota. I’m headed right back there at the end. How is that beautiful?”
“Because you fought. Because you didn’t go crazy. Because you’re my brother and there’s nothing, nothing you could do that would make me stop respecting and needing and loving you.” Sam felt Dean shake, full-body. He needed to tell Dean, again and again, until Dean started to hear him, but Dean didn’t even like it when he tried to top off the Impala’s gas tank. Extra sweet nothings were unlikely to be satisfactory.
So instead he kissed Dean again, bracing himself on one elbow so that he could work Dean’s jeans open one-handed. Dean was hot silk against his coarsened fingertips, the muscles jumping at Sam’s touch.
They both gasped when Sam’s hand found the head of Dean’s dick, the skin there hotter and softer than the rest of him. Sam slid his fingers down, his thumb brushing the frenulum, and the whole heavy length twitched in his hand. This was better than exorcisms, all his abilities no match for the power to make Dean fall apart and put him back together. He rutted against Dean’s thigh, layers of denim nearly painful pressure against his cock.
“Next time,” he whispered, because this wasn’t going to last much longer, “I want to do something you’ve never done before.” Dean’s hips jerked up and his eyes closed, but Sam didn’t want to watch him running through his back catalog just now, so he rubbed his cheek along Dean’s, then turned to nip along his jaw, stubble spiking against his tongue.
He kept working his hand in rhythm with the flex of his hips pushing him into the thick width of Dean’s thigh. He’d stood on that muscle to get boosted over fences. He’d watched it jiggle on the car seat in time to the music. He’d stitched it up and covered it with bruises and iced it down. It was his history and his future and even if the latter was looking to be a lot shorter than the former, right now, he didn’t mind.
Dean jumped in his hand and spilled, thick irregular pulses as Sam tightened his grip to feel every moment. Dean groaned and Sam slid his hand up, over the wet head, smearing the hot mess over Dean’s stomach, rubbing it into his palm and through his fingers, their own version of anointing oils.
“Turn over,” he told Dean, and Dean didn’t question, just rolled in place while Sam fumbled just enough to push his jeans and boxers down to free his dick, then did the same for Dean so he could ride Dean’s ass, cockhead rubbing slick against the small of Dean’s back. Pressed together like pages in a book, Sam hated every moment he hadn’t had Dean, the flare of muscle over bone, the back so strong that even Hell couldn’t keep him in check. Sam opened his mouth over the line of Dean’s shoulder but didn’t bite down, because he didn’t trust himself to stop, and ground into Dean to hear him whuff out, the breath pushed from his lungs.
When he came, he had his hands on Dean’s biceps, clamped down as if Dean might still try to get away.
He would have been happy to sleep like that, messy and nearly suffocating Dean, but Dean raised a shoulder and flipped him towards the middle of the bed, and Sam didn’t have the energy to fight. When he murmured a protest, Dean kept moving, turning until he was half on top of Sam and bringing their mouths back together.
They kissed for a while, wet and dry and everything in between. Sam could feel that his cock was willing to take a renewed interest in the proceedings, but he could wait on that.
Dean’s lips were swollen and Sam’s own were beginning to numb when Dean put his hand on the center of Sam’s chest and pushed back, curling his fingers on Sam’s skin to make clear that he was only changing their position, not beginning a rejection. “Sam,” he said. His eyes dropped to Sam’s throat and he swallowed, then resolutely looked up again, wide-eyed. “Sam. I’ve never done this before.”
And maybe he needed to reassess the extent to which Dean was actually an orator of great skill, because his heart squeezed and his grin threatened to change the shape of his face permanently. Dean smirked, but he was blushing, too, so Sam figured they were even.
7.
“Sam?” Dean asked, soft and careful but insistent.
“Mmm?” Sam answered, rolling over and draping his arm across Dean’s back. He was naked, he realized, jeans and boxers kicked somewhere at the bottom of the bed.
“I gotta talk to Cas.”
“I should be there,” Sam said immediately, opening his eyes. Dean wouldn’t go back, not on this, but he might need protecting from himself nonetheless.
Dean shook his head, a hint of a grin hovering around his lips. “He might be about ready to smite you.”
“He’s more likely to smite you,” Sam pointed out. Their faces were inches away from each other. Dean’s eyes were as green as his breath was bad. It kind of canceled out.
“Well, no point in us both bein’ smited—smitten—” Dean sputtered to a halt.
“Smote, I think,” Sam said with the solemnity he associated with their father’s lessons, and then they both cracked up, staring at the cheap plaster ceiling as they chortled. Too near hysteria for real comfort, but the laughter still felt necessary.
Castiel might have been pushed too far this time. Dean had passed on what Anna had said about angelic emotions. The angels-as-androids concept had sounded like high-grade bullshit to him, given what they’d seen from Uriel, and Castiel had done a really good imitation of a spurned lover last night. Sam considered himself to have good reason to fear what Castiel might do, which meant that any further contact needed to be in Sam’s presence.
Sometime soon, he’d tell Dean about what his exorcisms really did: like the Colt, they destroyed the demon soul, rather than sending it back to Hell. If Castiel decided to make good on his constant, wearing threat to drag Dean down, or if the angels lost and Lucifer walked, he’d do the same for Dean’s soul. There was no reason it wouldn’t work on a human soul, now that he knew what to do. Better dead, really dead, than black-eyed. Dean was willing to return to Hell for Anna because he thought he belonged there, but Sam knew that Dean’s self-assessment was the worst lie of all. He wasn’t going to fail Dean again. When it was time, Dean would have peace. As for himself, well, ‘Heaven doesn’t want me and Hell’s afraid I’ll take over’ was practically a perfect motto. If he couldn’t keep Dean safe, it wouldn’t matter to him anyway.
The bottom line was that Dean was not taking any more unchaperoned meetings with angels who could move him from the Penthouse to the Pit at will. No one, angel or demon, was getting a chance to rip Dean away without a fight.
Dean sat up, his amulet bouncing gently against his chest. Sometime in the night he’d kicked off his jeans and pulled up his shorts. He was acres of pale golden skin, interrupted by the stark lines of the tattoo and the raw red of Castiel’s scar. He draped his arms over his knees, looking thoughtful. The muscles stood out in his forearms; Sam wanted to reach over and run his fingers up the smooth, freckled skin from Dean’s wrists to the crooks of his elbows. His mouth was still plumped with kisses, his stubble thick enough that he would probably be able to draw blood from Sam just from skin-on-skin friction if they started up again now.
“What?” he snapped when he noticed Sam’s scrutiny.
“Get used to it,” Sam told him smugly, pushing himself back against the headboard and pulling the sheets up to his waist. “Go take a shower, we’ve got an angel to find.”
“That will not be necessary,” Castiel said from by the door.
Sam swallowed and wished that he was wearing more clothes. Being metaphorically naked before angels was hard enough.
Castiel’s focus was all on Dean, sniper-like. “So,” he said, “you have decided.”
A muscle twitched in Dean’s jaw. “Guess so,” he said back, almost evenly.
“Angels have choices as well, Dean. We all have free will, as our Father made us.”
Sam bit down hard, because chances were he could only make things worse if he intervened.
“You sending me back downstairs?” Dean asked. Sam reached out and put his hand on Dean’s unmarked shoulder.
Castiel shook his head. “I will not.” Dean trembled under Sam’s touch. That wasn’t much of a promise, but they could hardly expect better.
Dean drew breath. “We’re still—whatever you want us to do to fight Lilith, we’re in.”
Castiel looked almost unsettled. “Nothing between us could have released your obligation. I did not choose you, though I was chosen for you.” He paused, tilting his head in his strange avian way. “I would have Fallen for you, Dean,” he said gently. “But I think it is better that I did not.”
No fucking kidding, Sam thought.
Dean clearly wasn’t considering their overall strategic situation. He was staring at the angel soft-eyed and open-mouthed, as if Castiel’s words had sewn up one of the rips in his soul. Sam’s jealousy was mostly cinders now, banked down. Dean had given up his shot at Heaven for Sam’s sake twice now, first with his deal and then with this. If Castiel’s approval could help Dean avoid despair Sam wasn’t going to bitch about it. Not out loud, anyway. As Sam watched, Dean shook himself, almost imperceptibly, and closed his eyes in one slow blink. When they opened, Dean had himself under control again.
“So what does God have to say about me now?” Dean asked, defiant again at last. Sam thrilled to hear the fight in his voice.
Castiel’s borrowed brow furrowed. “Does it matter to you?”
“You haven’t heard from him, have you,” Dean said, unsurprised but still a little wistful.
“No,” Castiel acknowledged. “But I have faith.”
Dean leaned into Sam’s hand, still gripped around his shoulder. “I do too,” he said, and he didn’t need to look over to make his meaning clear.
END
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the warmth of his touch was stronger than any heavenly brand - GAH, THIS. I think I'm going to have to friend you now, because GOLLY. So yummy.
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“Dean follows you too readily,” he said, heavy as a concrete slab.
And then poor Castiel (and poor Dean calling himself a whore).
Dean would rip out his own skeleton to get back to Sam if he thought Sam needed him, but Dean wasn’t supposed to feel bad about it. He was supposed to feel important.
I did like how both brothers owned their actions: Sam regretting it and speaking up and Dean not putting his actions on anyone but himself and "free will."
I am also a sucker for pining!Sam details--like him paying attention to Dean's eyelashes and forearm muscles while he has sex with Ruby, and his knowledge of just how to kiss Dean. Also liked all the little details and memories contrasting how much more Sam knows Dean than Castiel or the people Dean usually sleeps with.
Is it wrong that this is my favorite detail of the story? Ruby shrugged, and Sam noted that Dean’s eyes automatically went to her breasts.
That and Dean's bad breath kept this story a little more down to earth.
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Pining!Sam is the best because he is paying so much attention to Dean.
And regardless of what's going on with Sam, Dean will always check out women's breasts. JA is actually pretty consistent about doing this onscreen, which is both kind of disgusting and kind of hilarious.
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Of course I love me some jealous Sam but truth be told, I'm all about the Dean/Castiel these days. I do agree, however, that bittersweet really is the best that Castiel can hope for in the end. Dean too for that matter. I think that's why I love the pairing so much. Hee!
Funny thing is that I never thought I would ever read Ruby/anybody let alone Dean/Ruby because I find her character too conveniently whatever the plot needs her to be, to be compelling. But I actually found this kind of hot. Not that I plan to rush out and read Ruby/OTP anytime soon, but I think you made it work nicely in this story and none of it seemed out of character.
Anyway thanks for all the holiday fic presents. They're certainly making the hiatus more bearable.
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Ruby is extremely troublesome in terms of characterization. I really, really hope that she is playing a very long game this season. Because I will be really depressed if the show's idea is that she's just fallen for Sam. He's hot, but drunken and suicidal doesn't usually get angry women to switch to tender and loving unless they want something. So I'm ok with her being a conduit, but not really anything else. If she unwillingly developed feelings for him which she's prepared to ignore for her own agenda, though, I could be okay with that.
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Whereas with Dean/Castiel, between the intense eye-fucking and the "he likes you" and the fairly single-minded focus that Castiel has on Dean, well that ship is practically cannon at this point. They might as well give us slashy thought-bubbles where these two are concerned. So in that sense, I don't worry too much about Sam's place in the relationship because he's always going to be Dean's brother and thus his priority and his connection to humanity.
That of course doesn't preclude Sam feeling threatened by any growing closeness between Dean and his angel or that Dean wouldn't feel torn between the two, especially if the demon-tainted powers continue to be a point of conflict between Sam and the angels.
However I do get where you're coming from in terms of fannon wincest. But here too, I've always felt that the relationship between them tends to be skewed in Sam's favour from a power perspective because Dean has always appeared to need Sam more than Sam needs Dean. Sure I've read many wonderful stories where their co-dependence is entirely mutual and I love those types of stories. But they've always felt more like wish-fulfillment to me rather than what I actually see as the nature of their relationship.
So in that sense I still want to root for Dean/Castiel because Castiel would always put Dean first in the same way that Dean always puts Sam first. Now this sucks for Castiel, but that's what makes their love story so tragically epic.
Yeah I totally agree with you here. They've really messed with her characterization to the point right now where I have no idea if she even has a point beyond being an outside POV on Sam, perhaps an occasional fuck-buddy and sounding board. But I do think Kripke is going to pull the old bait and switch with her at the end of the season when he finally reveals her agenda. If it was just that she was redeemed by her twu wuv for Sam, I don't think they would have shot that load so early in the season.
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Even without any Wincest, it's painful for me to have Dean's focus diverted from Sam. Unless and until Sam can make emotional connections elsewhere as well, Castiel feels like another thing taking Dean away from Sam, leaving him with nothing but Ruby, which is a mistake.
I would agree with you about the power dynamic, except that Sam canonically went batshit crazy in two entirely separate ways when he lost Dean, first with the Trickster and then with Dean's actual descent to Hell. It might not always have been true, but I think Sam was broken by Dean's absence in ways not fixed by his reappearance. Dean is now central to his life even if they are having trouble communicating.
Redeemed by true love is not a storyline I expect this show to be able to handle for a female character, so I'm hoping for something better.
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*dances around you* and this story was incredibly good. *sighs happily*
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Talk about a conduit. Poor Anna. Hehe!
Ahhh! I get ya! Yes Sam's growing isolation is worrisome since it's only going to push him further down the dark path. But I have faith that his connection to Dean will never let him stray too far. Perhaps I have too much faith in Kripke. :P
Yes I see your point but I'm not completely convinced that Sam was irreparably broken by Dean's decent into Hell. I guess it all depends (unfortunately) on where they take the Sam/Ruby. If it's all hearts and flowers, then it would seem that Sam moved on from Dean's death relatively quickly. To be honest, I really don't have a read on how Sam feels about Dean's return yet beyond the initial relief and the epic hug. I so hope show explores Sam's feelings on all this more than just from a mytharc/he's going dark perspective.
Oh absolutely agree on this. Why these writers have such a tough time with recurring female characters is incredibly puzzling to me. I mean they do have female writers on staff and many of their one-off female characters have been fantastic. But it's like they just can't get beyond the cookie-cutter kickass chick/love interest cliches with younger female characters. It's actually my biggest disappointment with this show.
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“I would have Fallen for you, Dean,” he said gently. “But I think it is better that I did not.”
I can't help feeling sorry for Castiel, but -- given that Dean's choice was either him or Sam -- the angel never stood a chance.
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I can see how Sam needs Dean all to himself after everything they've gone through. It makes sense for Sam to think this way - Dean can't sell his soul so Sam can live, go to hell and endure all that he has for Sam, and then give himself away to someone else. All that he's gone through for Sam makes him Sam's to fix - or at least that's how I like to see it. They've both been through so much - Dean in hell, and Sam eat up with guilt and grief and worry. And it made my heart hurt in a good way when Sam realized that maybe he'd taken something away from Dean and tried to backtrack and fix it, no matter that he wanted Dean for himself so desperately.
I love the intensity with which your Sam needs and loves Dean, but more than that, I love the reasons that he does. And Dean reciprocates all that love and devotion, and it's really kind of epic.
Since I'm enjoying your fic so much, would it be alright if I friended you?
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Everyone's always welcome here!
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is my current fave - I'm imagining that ringtone and it's hilarious!
And I also loved how you used Ruby here. She is extremely problematic for me and I'm going to assume she has a very dark agenda - she must, to make any sense at all - and her actions in this story can absolutely fit into that agenda.
Loved it!
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The part with Ruby made me laugh. I mean, I know it was all ANGST and SERIOUS and all, but I was just overcome with how awesome Ruby is and how determined to get whatever it is she needs from Sam to win and do it her own way. I think you could pretty much count on her to react just exactly that way to that kind of request.
But seriously, poor Castiel. *pets his wings* I mean, yes, it is good that he didn't fall for Dean because A) they need him where he is, and B) Dean simply doens't have it in him to give himself whole-ly to someone else so long as Sam is with him. He could maybe do it if Sam left him to go have a normal life, because he'd be just that little bit extra broken enough to CLING to whatever was on offer, but I just can't see him doing it otherwise.
All that aside, OMFG I love possessive!Sam. HOLY FUCK.
And also, a little tease just for you:
The first thing Sam sees when he walks in the door is Dean. It's always Dean. The second thing he sees is Castiel. Castiel stands at the end of the bed, watching Dean sleep, like he always does these days. It hadn't sounded quite so creepy when Sam was 9 and Pastor Jim told him angels watch over you while you sleep.
"I assume you did the head tap of instant coma again, since he's not thrashing around and whimpering," Sam says by way of greeting. On the one hand Sam is greatful that Castiel has been taking such pains to let Dean get some fucking rest already. Dean hasn't been drinking before breakfast nearly so often, and Sam is happy about that. Really happy. On the other hand, if he walks in on Castiel standing over his brother with a boner the size of Texas one more fucking time, he's gonna hafta cut a bitch.
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I do have to say that this is the first fic I've read where I actually truly felt bad for Ruby. Sam is just so blind to her reactions.
Thank you for sharing.
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That is totally my preferred reading of Ruby, BTW--sure she will give Sam the big eyes, but in the end it's all about the agenda. Orgasms are just a bonus.
And yeah, Castiel is never going to be anything but second banana for Dean. (Mmm, two bananas for Dean--I could get into that....)
Awesome, awesome teaser. I can't wait! Love the head tap of instant coma.
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I'm sure it wasn't your intent, but...
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Re: I'm sure it wasn't your intent, but...
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