Eden (overstreets) wrote,
Eden
overstreets

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Supernatural fic; Sam/Dean, R

Title: Damaged People
Rating: R
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Word Count: 5,567
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.
Notes: Kind of evil!Winchesters? But then... not? Hopefully you can decide by the end. This takes place after episode 3.16. Title from the song Damaged People by Depeche Mode.
Summary: To bring Dean back, Sam gives in to everything Dean has tried to protect him from. Now, Dean doesn't know which of them is more messed up.



---


Sam gets Dean out of hell five years later. He snaps his fingers and opens the devil’s gate, then closes his eyes and searches with his mind, taking care to not let anything else escape.

“What the fuck took you so long?” Dean gasps when he’s sprawled out on his knees before his brother. He’s cut and bruised and bloody and tired, but nonetheless he on earth and he hasn’t had a breath of fresh air in forever. “Time passes differently in hell. Feels like fucking centuries.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s all you got to say for yourself? Fuck you,” Dean says, his eyes turning black as he coughs blood into the grass. Sam kneels down and puts a hand on Dean’s forehead, closing his eyes. Dean feels a chill run through him and suddenly his insides don’t feel like fire anymore. Pain slowly recedes from his body until all that’s left is a dull, persistent ache deep in his bones.

“You did it?” Dean rages when he’s standing again. “What the fuck were you thinking? I told you to remember what I fucking taught you, you moron. Did I just waste all my fucking time in hell thinking I was saving your stupid ass?”

“Sorry,” Sam repeats. Dean looks toward the gate in disgust, seeing hundreds of demons trying to break free. They’re being held by an invisible wall and Dean shakes his head to clear it from the constant screaming he’s had to listen to until now. Sam raises his hand and the doors slam shut, metal creaking through the now-quiet air as the lock falls into place.

“So, now what? Your new powers give you demonic tendencies or anything? Or are you just a scrawny version of the Incredible Hulk?” Dean asks after a moment of comfortable silence. Sam gives him a long look, his eyes happy despite the way his face doesn’t change.

“Welcome back, Dean.”

---


They hunt together. Dean finds he gets thrown into walls less and Sam never gets choked anymore. Sam never gets touched anymore, Dean notices one night as they lie in bed tangled up in the sheets. He runs a finger down Sam’s arm and Sam immediately turns sleepy, contented eyes toward him. Dean crushes his mouth in a kiss and Sam hoists Dean on top of him, pulling his head down for sloppy kisses while knocking over their cell phones in search for lube.

Dean finds that he now appreciates someone who can rough him up a little in bed.

He notices a change in himself during an exorcism. The man’s wife is screaming and sobbing and Dean doesn’t really mean to, but the possessed man charges at him and he throws him into the glass coffee table. It shatters under his weight and Sam lifts the man with invisible strings, holding him suspended in the air while he rattles off Latin. Dean feels an uncomfortable twinge, but nothing else happens until the demon is expelled through the man’s mouth with a ghastly scream.

Then the man falls to floor, dead. The wife’s screams remind Dean too much of hell, where no one was ever silent. He feels like maybe there’s something wrong with him, but the thought leaves his mind as quickly as it came.

As they leave, Dean remembers a time when he would have thought of this hunt as a failure. Right now it feels like a victory.

---


Word spreads about them. John’s boys, disregarding everything they’ve learned. The younger one brought his brother back from hell with demonic superpowers, and no one is exactly sure whether the older one isn’t a demon himself. Sam keeps up with the news from Ellen, but after a while even she stops speaking to them. Dean jokes that they might try to organize a way to kill them, and Sam surprises him with his anger.

“You’re never leaving me again,” Sam says, and the windows rattle a little. Sam rarely loses control of his powers. Dean figures if they’re ever attacked by a group of hunters, Sam will probably go on a rampage. He doesn’t really care. They must be idiots if they haven’t noticed that he and Sam are continuing to hunt evil, so what the fuck are they complaining for?

A few days later Bobby comes to see them. He approaches them boldly, but Dean can see the wariness in his eyes.

“You boys doing okay?” Bobby asks, and Dean laughs and shakes his head.

“That’s not why you came here. You came to see the two monsters from hell everyone’s talking about.”

“Dean,” Bobby says softly, and there’s pain on his face. “You boys are family to me. I would never—couldn’t even think of it.”

“We’re hunting,” Sam says amiably. “It’s easier now, you know.”

“You could have told me what you were doing, Sam,” Bobby says after a pause. “You know I would have done anything to help you get your brother back.”

“There was no other way. We tried everything, Bobby. This was my last resort, and look how long even that took me.” Sam gazes at Dean, who’s sitting on the bed. “By the time I got there... well, I was almost too late.” Sam smiles. “But he’s still perfect.”

Bobby shakes his head, like no one can spend time in hell and come out perfect. He exhales softly, looking around the room, and Dean is positive he’s noting the lack of salt lines. Dean starts to get angry.

“What the hell did you come here for, Bobby? You gonna go and tell all the other hunters what we’re up to, help them plan their little Winchester assassination?” He stands up but Sam’s fingers move and Dean finds himself sitting back down hard on the bed. Bobby’s eyes harden.

“You have no idea how I’ve been defending you two. There are hunters out there who want your blood.”

“We know. But they won’t get us.” Sam sounds eerily calm. “Try and tell them it’s best if they don’t come after us. Do you want a drink or anything?”

Bobby leaves after a few more minutes of conversation, and Dean can’t help but be bothered by the fact that he never came within six feet of them. Sam sits down beside him and Dean scowls.

“They’re gonna come after us,” Dean says angrily. “They’re gonna try and kill you.”

“You, too,” Sam reminds him. Dean gets up and paces the room. He feels livid and confused. He doesn’t understand why after all he’s been through he can’t get some goddamn peace. Sometimes when he wakes up in the middle of the night he can’t remember things that he thinks should be important. Sometimes his eyes turn black and Sam holds him or kisses him or talks nonsense to him until he forgets it. Sometimes he looks at Sam and wonders when he became such a calm, collected, killing machine.

He vaguely remembers a time when he felt differently. He remembers little things that used to make him happy, except he can’t pinpoint any specific thing.

“Dean, sit down,” Sam says, and Dean snaps his head toward him. Something is scratching him under the surface, something ugly and angry. He grits his teeth and a tiny part of him knows that it’s wrong to want to kill innocent people, but the larger part is willing to do anything to release the pressure building up inside of him. He remembers how he used to spend all his time helping people who didn’t give a shit about how much he and his brother had given up, and it makes him angry.

“Sam,” he says, but it comes out sounding like a basic, animalistic growl. Sam stands and comes toward him, and Dean doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Sam puts his gentle hands on him. Dean shuts his eyes tightly and suddenly he’s bombarded with images he’s tried to forget, images of people strung up in the darkness, screaming, bleeding, tearing each other apart in a place made of blood and fear, and when his eyes open again they’re inky black and he can barely feel Sam’s touch anymore. Only a tiny thread of him remembers what it’s like to be human.

The thread thins and is on the verge of breaking when Sam slaps him so hard that his lip starts bleeding.

Dean’s anger makes room for indignant shock, but then Sam takes his face in his hands, cupping his fingers around Dean’s skin. Dean digs his own fingers into Sam’s arms and listens as Sam murmurs with his lips against Dean’s cheek; his breathing slowly calms and his eyes slide shut and then when he opens them again, they’re green and uncertain, but most of all, they’re human.

“Sam,” Dean mumbles, his face a little numb from the slap. Sam looks at him for a long moment, then pokes out his tongue and touches the blood trickling from his lip. Dean’s knees go weak and he pulls Sam closer for a real kiss, and when they break apart their mouths are lightly smeared with red. Sam kisses him again, sucking and probing at the cut in his lip until Dean growls and pushes Sam on the bed. He doesn’t remember liking this kind of thing, but the sharp little pain is exquisite, and then Sam flips him over and starts undressing him, and he can’t remember a thing other than the fact that he never wants to leave his brother’s side.

---


Dean isn’t quite sure what happiness is supposed to feel like, but he feels good and Sam is safe and when he wakes up feeling scared and wrong, Sam is there to make him feel whole again. Sam never gets scared of him, not even when Dean feels like maybe Sam should be scared of him. The deep-seated fear that Sam will leave him one day because he’s not stable slowly ebbs away.

Sam sometimes uses his powers too much and Dean will curl himself around him while Sam rests, but mostly Sam gets stronger and stronger and Dean learns to control himself a little more, perfecting the art of pinning someone against the wall, as so many demons had done to his family over the years. Hunters become bolder in their accusations, now quite sure that Dean is a demon. Dean resents them and complains to Sam that he can’t even turn his eyes black on command. Sam says it’s because he got him out before Dean lost his soul completely.

“We’ve all got a little demon inside of us,” Sam says, nuzzling Dean’s face with his nose. “You’re still good, Dean.” Sam continues to tell him how good he is even when more and more accidents take place during their hunts. He doesn’t mean to kill them, it’s just that things are more violent now and he’d never really noticed how fragile people can really be. They still hunt evil, and the dead supernatural beings they leave behind outnumber the trail of human tragedies.

It’s not like Sam is a saint, either. Dean’s watched him break someone’s spine just for pointing a gun at him. He vaguely thinks of a time when he might have been concerned for the both of them, but they’re still saving people (some of them) and hunting things, and Dad wouldn’t have ingrained something that was evil into their minds.

Ruby drops by one day, a knowing look in her eyes. Dean remembers greatly disliking her, but as he looks at her now he feels a thin attachment and doesn’t really know why.

“Finally did it, huh,” she says in her usual, smug tone.

“With no help from you,” Sam says. She purses her lips and studies Dean.

“I see he wasn’t in there quite as long as I was.”

“He’s fine,” Sam says firmly, and Ruby laughs.

“Oh, yeah, he’s fine. A trip down under doesn’t screw with the brain at all. You guys are stirring up quite the commotion. You’re no longer the upstanding sons of John Winchester that all hunters aspire to be, you know.” Ruby clucks her tongue and sidles up to Dean. “How’re you taking your new life?”

Sam throws her into the wall before Dean can even open his mouth. She struggles for a moment, then relaxes, showing off her dimples as she smiles. “Possessive, aren’t you, Sam?”

“Sam,” Dean says, tugging at Sam’s sleeve. “Let’s go.” Ruby is giving him an unsettled feeling, like somehow he’s like her, but he’s not because he’s Dean and he’s pretty sure he’s a good person. He recalls fighting her, trapping her, stealing from her, and he must have done those things because she was bad. Her eyes turn black as she stares Dean down suddenly, unspoken taunts in the soulless, black pits, and Dean clamps his mouth shut, his hands curling into fists.

“Okay,” Sam says, putting a hand at the small of Dean’s back. He makes a complicated gesture with his free hand and Ruby’s head slams back into the wall. “It might take you a few hours but I’m sure you’ll be able to break free.”

Dean can feel her glare itching between his shoulder blades as they leave, and he’s glad to be rid of her. He only wishes that Sam had killed her for good, but he doesn’t say it out loud.

---


Dean can’t believe how fast it happens.

They’ve just finished a routine salt-and-burn and he’s walking next to Sam, ready to load their shovels into the Impala and find a motel to crash in. Dean is opening his mouth to say something when all of a sudden Sam falls to the ground, landing on his knees and then collapsing on his back. Dean stops and stares for a moment, barely registering the men stepping out of the shadows, one of them with a gun still warm from a freshly released bullet.

“Sam?” Dean says, his shovel slipping out of his fingers. It lands on the ground with a harsh clank. “Sam? Sammy?”

Sam’s body is still. Dean blinks and lowers himself to his knees, lifting Sam’s head from the puddle of blood slowly spreading from him. There’s a neat hole in the back of his head. Dean looks at Sam’s slack face and his closed eyes. “Sammy? Come on... wake up.”

“He’s not waking up,” a man says. His face is hard, his gun poised. Dean glances at him, then back down at his brother.

“Sammy? Sam. Sam.” Sam’s not listening right now. Dean’s lap is wet with blood. He feels lost and scared and Sam is the one who always makes him feel better. “Sammy.

“Dean,” a distinctive female voice says. Dean looks up and sees Ellen with a gun in her hand, but it’s not aimed at anyone in particular. Her face looks drawn with grief. “Dean, I’m sorry. This was... this was the only way.”

“What did you do to Sam?” Dean asks, uncertain. Ellen presses her lips together and doesn’t speak, her eyes glistening in the dim light of the moon.

“He should have never brought you out of hell. He shouldn’t have conspired with demons to bring him power. You’ve both been corrupted. You’re the things that you—that we all hunt,” the man speaks again. Dean flicks his eyes around him. There are maybe twenty hunters gathered in a semicircle.

Dean puts them out of his mind and leans over his brother again, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I need you, Sammy. Sam, please. Sammy.”

“Dean, stop,” Ellen says, her voice shaking and harsh. “Don’t you understand?”

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand why he’s like this, why these people want him dead so badly, why Sam’s body is bleeding all over him. He remembers that he was in hell and suffering so badly that he wished he could kill himself, and then Sam saved him and Dad would have been so proud that they’ve been watching out for each other for so long. He doesn’t understand why these people think Sam did a bad thing. Sam let him live again. Sam saved him and loved him and put his broken pieces back together. Sam is good, better than anyone.

“No,” Dean says softly, brushing Sam’s hair back. “Sam? Sammy?”

He hears a click and then a loud gunshot. Pain explodes through his arm as the bullet rips through him, and Ellen makes muffled crying sounds.

Dean gently puts Sam’s body down and stands. When he takes a step forward another bullet pierces his thigh. The hunters all brace themselves and Dean finds himself staring down the barrels of twenty guns.

But since Sam saved him, he’s been stronger and faster. A better fighter. Sometimes he’ll ask Sam why he feels stronger—less human—and Sam will just smile and say that he must have learned things in hell. Every once in a while he’ll tell Sam that he thinks hell might have changed him, but Sam never wants to hear about that, always saying that he’s still Dean and that the only thing that changes between them is that Sam loves him more and more everyday.

Dean rushes forward and slams the heel of his palm into someone’s face, hearing a crunch as he breaks through the nose, then whirls around and kicks someone hard in the ribs, a satisfied smile twitching at his lips as the man falls. He rips the gun out of Broken Nose’s hand and aims at the closest person he can find. The bullet lodges right between his eyes and he’s dead before he hits the ground. He smashes the gun into the next man’s jaw and shoots someone else in the stomach. All the while there are bullets spraying towards him, and inevitably he’s hit over and over.

He finds a strength he’s never felt before, something sinister urging him on, and he remembers Sam, and how Sam makes this feeling bearable but Sam isn’t listening anymore. He staggers and almost falls, grabbing someone by the lapels of their jacket to steady himself, then throwing that person into another with surprising ferocity. He’s bleeding everywhere. He doesn’t even know how many times he’s been shot, but he wipes the blood from his mouth with a shaking hand and takes a step backward, surveying the remaining hunters. They come to a standstill.

Dean hears someone move behind him and he thinks this is the end. He turns around to throw one last punch, then gasps and stops.

Sam is standing behind him.

“Sammy,” Dean cries, his knees almost buckling beneath him. Sam frowns and winces a little as something falls from his hair, making a soft clinking sound on the concrete. Dean looks down and sees a tiny bullet, then surges forward and thrusts his hands into Sam’s unruly hair, searching for the hole that had bled all over him and finding nothing but a healthy, whole skull.

“I’m okay,” Sam says. “Sorry if I scared you.”

“Don’t you ever do that again,” Dean says vehemently, finally collapsing to the ground. He sits with his legs sprawled like a spider’s, clutching his wounds and trying not to shake. He has bullet holes everywhere, and even though he’s been able to sustain much more injury since he escaped hell, this is a bit much.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam says softly, touching his face, and Dean realizes he’s losing control. His eyes are black, his breath ragged. Sam shushes him and Dean’s fear slowly ebbs away as he makes himself understand that Sam is here now and he’s listening again. After a few deep breaths he blinks green eyes, hesitantly looking at Sam. His wounds feel like knives.

“They’re trying to kill you,” Dean whispers, and Sam smiles.

“You, too. I’ll take care of them. You did good, now rest here for a second, okay?”

Dean nods, watching as Sam faces the rest of the hunters still standing. Guns are cocked. Dean doesn’t worry that Sam is weaponless.

Sam raises his hand and suddenly none of them can move. Dean hisses softly and stops trying to pull his clothes away from the holes in his body. Sam flicks his fingers and Dean only halfway pays attention as necks begin snapping and guns and men fall to the ground. Dean is more concerned that his clothes are sodden with blood.

“Sam,” Ellen’s voice gasps, and Dean looks up to see that she’s the only one left standing. “Sam, please.”

“Why did you bring all these people after us?”

“Don’t you understand?” Ellen says desperately. “You shouldn’t have brought Dean back. What you’re doing is wrong. Don’t you remember what John taught you boys?”

“He taught us to take care of each other,” Sam says. “Dean is my brother. I could never have left him there. What if it were Jo?”

“It’s not the same.”

“We still hunt demons,” Sam reminds her. Ellen tries to shake her head, but Sam still has her in his invisible grip.

“You are demons.”

Sam comes close to Dean and kneels by him, running a hand affectionately through his sweat-soaked hair. “I’m not, Ellen. And I got Dean out before he lost his soul completely.”

“Sam,” Ellen sighs helplessly. “He isn’t supposed to be here. And you shouldn’t have given in to those powers. I care about you boys. I never wanted this to happen.”

“Well, it did,” Sam says softly, his hand gently caressing Dean’s skull. Dean’s eyelids flutter, taking short, slow breaths through the pain. Sam looks at Ellen and after a moment her body relaxes as he gives her control again. She stands alone amidst the strewn bodies of the hunters, some of them unconscious, most of them dead.

“Don’t say that we don’t have any compassion left,” Sam says a voice that makes Ellen want to believe him. Dean wonders whether she’ll do something crazy, like try to kill them alone, but she doesn’t say another word. She kneels down beside a body and starts calling for an ambulance.

“Hurts,” Dean says faintly as blood oozes out of his wounds. Sam nods knowingly, rubbing his thumb over Dean’s cheek.

“I’m gonna fix you up,” Sam breathes as he gathers Dean in his arms. He slips an arm beneath Dean’s knees and secures the other firmly around his shoulders, lifting him off the ground. Dean feels tired.

“Like how you got that bullet out of your head?” Dean asks, resting his face on Sam’s shoulder.

“Yeah, like that.” Sam brushes a kiss against Dean’s hair. “Yours will come out just like that. You’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Good. They hurt like a bitch,” Dean complains quietly, his fingers rubbing against Sam’s arm. Sam smiles as he carries his brother to the car.

---


They decide to take a few days off and Sam rents them a vacation house. Dean is better by the next day thanks to Sam, but he’s sulky and withdrawn, clearly upset by what happened. He cheers up a little when he sees the massive swimming pool behind the house.

Dean sits at the edge of the pool with his feet in the water, staring at nothing. Sam had taken all the bullets out and closed up his wounds, kissing him each time he’d flinched. Then he’d pulled Dean into his arms and whispered apologies into his ears.

With a furrowed brow, he kicks the water and watches it splash and glitter in the sunlight. He can’t stop thinking about those men or Ellen. Something’s wrong, but he doesn’t know what. Ruby comes to mind, her bleak, dark eyes, mocking him, saying I know what you are because that’s what I am, too.

Dean turns his face toward the sun and closes his eyes, thinking about hell. The screams, the torture, the pain, the fear. Sam had saved him from that. It had seemed like he’d been suffering for centuries. He remembers watching people newly thrown into the pit; they’d scream and get torn apart by demons. Time would pass and when they were no longer new, they’d be the ones doing the tearing.

Dean quivers and thinks he might have done that at some point. He remembers trying so hard to retain his humanity. He’d call for Sam over and over just because it had reminded him of who he was. After a while he couldn’t remember what he’d been trying so desperately to hold on to.

Sam comes outside and sits beside him, handing him a beer. Dean accepts the bottle and takes a swig, then feels like throwing up. In the middle of the pool the water stirs into a slow circle. Dean watches Sam’s fingers twitch minutely.

“Am I a demon?” Dean asks suddenly, his voice a whisper. He watches Sam’s expression war between surprise and sadness.

“Dean, no,” Sam says in a voice that he normally only uses on distressed victims. “No. I got you out before—”

“My eyes turn black. I can’t control myself sometimes. I was in hell—seemed like so long,” Dean says. He sets the bottle down beside him with a soft clink. “Hunters are hunting us.

“Dean—”

“I’m like... Ruby.”

“Dean, stop. You’re not a demon.”

A breeze passes through, catching Sam’s hair. Dean watches it flutter in the wind. He doesn’t think he knows anything anymore. After a moment Sam sets his hand on Dean’s thigh and Dean eyes shift to Sam’s.

Sam leans in and kisses him. His fingers tilt Dean’s chin up as he presses his mouth against Dean’s, exploring softly. His tongue pokes forward, seeking entrance, and Dean parts his lips willingly, exhaling as Sam invades him, running his tongue pleasantly over the roof of his mouth. When Sam pulls back Dean is surprised to see Sam’s eyes are a little moist.

“What is it?” Dean asks.

“I’m sorry. It’s just—don’t freak out, okay?” Sam blinks at him. Dean has no clue what Sam is talking about until he looks into Sam’s eyes again.

They’re yellow.

Dean’s face crumbles and Sam reaches out and takes his hands. Dean wants to cry. It was for nothing, he thinks. Everything we’ve done was for nothing.

“It just happened,” Sam confesses softly. “After I started using my powers. After you... were gone. I didn’t know why. It’s not like I had anyone I could ask. I tried to summon Ruby but no one came and I was afraid of what Bobby might think.”

“You should have stopped then,” Dean says miserably. Sam shakes his head and Dean feels anger rousing deep inside him, but he pushes it down with some effort.

“I would have done anything to save you,” Sam says in a pained voice. “I’ve always had you and I just couldn’t. I couldn’t do it alone. I couldn’t do anything.”

“Well, you definitely did something.”

“I’m sorry. I know you’re disappointed.”

“Understatement, Sam. I just wanted a better life for you, but now I’m a demon—”

“You’re not.”

“—and you’ve got demonic superpowers,” Dean finishes, ignoring Sam’s interruption. He takes a deep breath and pretends that his voice doesn’t break. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”

Sam pauses, then speaks again. “I heard you.”

“What?”

“In hell. I could hear you sometimes.” Sam turns sad eyes towards him. “You always called for me. I couldn’t just sit and do nothing.”

Dean exhales softly, lifting his eyes to look over the sparkling water. “I didn’t want to forget you. I tried to remember everything, but after a while that was impossible. So I just focused on you.” Dean meets Sam’s gaze, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But that was hard, too. I think I lost you. I couldn’t remember anything about being human.”

“But you still remember now. You do,” Sam presses. “You’re not a demon, Dean. They tried to strip away your humanity, but this—” Sam laces his fingers through Dean’s. “This is proof that you’re still human. A demon wouldn’t care about his brother.”

“I don’t remember everything,” Dean says raggedly as Sam folds him into his arms. “Everything feels wrong sometimes.”

“I’ll fill in the gaps for you,” Sam assures him.

“A demon can’t stay good forever,” Dean insists, and Sam shakes his head, putting his hands firmly on Dean’s shoulders.

“Dean, the yellow-eyed-demon tried to turn me against everything that I knew was right. You fought and fought to keep me your little brother. And no matter what you think—no matter what color my eyes are—you succeeded. I’m here, not leading an army from hell. And I used my powers, yeah, and maybe they are demonic, but I used them for something good. For you.”

Dean closes his eyes and presses his face into Sam’s shoulder as Sam goes on.

“And now, I swear to God, Dean, I’m gonna do the same for you. You didn’t let me turn evil; I’m not gonna let you turn evil, no matter what. I don’t care what it takes. You gave up everything for me. You went to hell because of me. You saved me, Dean, and I promise you, I promise that I’ll never let anyone or anything convince you that you’re something evil. Because you’re not. You’re not a demon. You’re human, and so am I. You’re my brother. That’s it.”

“Sammy,” Dean says, feeling tears threatening his eyes. His throat closes up, which is just as well because he hasn’t really worked out what to say beyond that. Sam suddenly gives him a blinding grin and cradles his face in his giant hands.

“I know you said no chick-flick moments, so, sorry. But I love you.”

“Goddammit,” Dean says as tears fall involuntarily. “I do, too, Sammy. You know I do.”

Sam leans close, brushing his nose against Dean’s. They rest their foreheads together, inhaling each other’s warm breaths. Sam is still smiling as their mouths collide. Dean kisses back wildly, his fingers wrapping around Sam’s biceps, holding on like this is the last bit of humanity he has left.

Sam breath cascades over his face. “Dean. Do you think a demon would be able to feel like you do right now?”

Dean’s not sure. He has vague recollections of demons in his past that spoke of loyalty and love. When he doesn’t speak Sam kisses him again, his hands gliding down Dean’s chest and back up to his shoulders as he pushes his shirt off. Dean bites down on Sam’s lips and in a moment they’re both undressing, tossing their clothes aside as Sam slips into the pool and brings Dean down beside him.

“So what if we are,” Sam whispers after a while, rocking against Dean’s body as they kiss and touch. Dean is surprised by the simultaneous venom and sadness in his voice.

“What?”

“We’re all we have.” Sam brings a wet hand up to Dean’s face, dribbling water down his skin. “I don’t care what they think of us. I don’t care anymore. It was hard enough without you. I’m never giving you up again.” He touches Dean’s cheek, running a thumb over his freckles, suddenly uncertain. “You’d still love me, wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck, Sam.” Dean takes Sam’s hand and guides it lower, beneath the water. “Yes. Yes.”

Sam relaxes and brushes his lips again, gently pushing Dean to the edge of the pool. Dean’s already hungry and open as he puts his arms around Sam’s neck, his muscles tensing as Sam lifts Dean’s legs, wrapping them around his waist. Dean is kissing him when Sam presses in slowly, and Dean gasps and closes his eyes, still in doubt about himself but knowing one thing above all—he wants Sam with him.

They build up a rhythm and Dean leans back, bracing one wet hand on the slippery rim of the pool. Sam mouths at his throat, scraping his teeth along his jaw, and then comes inside Dean with a snarl, wrapping his fist around Dean and stripping him with hard, even strokes. Dean’s breathing takes on a higher, more frantic quality; his hand slips and Sam’s arms prove surprisingly strong as he holds him when Dean lets out a soft cry and trembles as he comes.

Dean’s legs feel weak as they slowly slip from Sam’s waist to touch the floor of the pool. Sam kisses Dean violently, running his hands through Dean’s hair and over his body until water drips into his eyes. It’s sloppy; there’s tongue and teeth and spit everywhere, racing hearts and short, hot breaths. Finally Dean stops and rests his forehead against Sam’s neck, panting, his fingers curling against the hard muscles of Sam’s stomach.

Dean can barely think, he’s so tired, but he brushes his mouth against Sam’s soft skin and can’t fathom how either of them could possibly be evil because they’re so good for each other. Everything feels right. Maybe he’s just accepted the wrongness that tugs at him from time to time.

“I got you,” Sam murmurs as Dean starts to climb out of the pool, and Sam hoists him up and whether it was Sam or Sam’s powers, he doesn’t care, because he has a towel wrapped around him and then Sam is smothering him with light kisses again, holding him close as they walk back to the house, leaving wet footprints behind them.

---


Tags: my fic, public post, supernatural fic
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