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Title: Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 99: See Me Feel Me
Author: justinedelarge
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word Count:6,065
Warning: Angst, Hurt!Sam, feels,
Summary: Sam tries something dangerous to learn Azazel's trick so he can cure demons, which backfires in an unexpected and painful way.
Disclaimer: I don't own what I don't own. But I do own what I do own, such as my original characters and my plot.

Gus leaned forward in the hard hospital chair and rubbed his eyes.

“I thought you were asleep.” Rosier’s voice was soft.

“I was.” Gus stood up awkwardly and stretched, bending over to work the kinks out of his lower back.

“You mind turning around and…doing that again?” Rosier craned his neck to try and get a better view of Gus’s ass.

“You’re feeling better.” Gus stood up and smoothed his hands down his thighs, one eyebrow crooked.

Rosier began to smile, but an expression of deep sadness settled over his features which were not obscured by bandages. “You don’t have to stay here. You could go home. Get some sleep.”

“Home? Where’s that exactly?” Gus brought the bottle of water to him and positioned the straw between his lips.

“You know what I mean.” Rosier took a long drink, the straw making a slurping sound as he sucked up the last of the water.

“I want to be here. “ Gus refilled the bottle at the sink, his back to Rosier. “But if you don’t want me to be here—“

“It’s not that.”

Gus looked over his shoulder at Rosier, trying to read his expression.

“It’s…” Rosier struggled to find the right words. He raised his right arm, heavily bandaged. “You didn’t sign up for this.”

“I don’t mind taking care of you. I did it before—when… before…” Gus brought the filled water bottle back and set it on the table on Rosier’s left side. “My mom.”

“She was sick?”

Gus arranged the blanket on Rosier. “Cancer.”

Rosier took Gus’s hand, squeezed his fingers. “Anyway, it’s not about that.”

Gus swallowed hard, sensing where Rosier was headed. “I don’t care.”

“Gus, I’m burned halfway to hell, my skin melted…”

“I said I don’t care,” Gus said stubbornly.

“This suit was perfect, beautiful, and now I’m…”

“Ugly?”

The word uttered out loud sucked the air out of the room.

“You’re not ugly. Your suit’s scarred. That’s not the same thing. Scars aren’t ugly. They’re just something bad that happened. Something that didn’t kill you.”

Rosier closed his eyes, a wave of shame washing over him. Shame for having wanted Sam Winchester, been obsessed with him, lured by the light that radiated off him, the purity amidst evil that drew him like a moth to a flame. Shame for not having seen what was right before him sooner. This soul, Gus’s soul, so sweet and pure that even as a demon, he fought to claw himself back to the light. Even as a demon, he could love.

Loved him.

“Look, I get it. I’m not your first choice.” Gus straightened his back, like a soldier in front of his commanding officer. “I’m not him.”

Before Rosier could speak, Gus continued. “And you’re human now, and I’m still demon. Ugly?” Gus’s mouth tightened. “That’s me on the inside. No matter what meatsuit I have on.”

“No. You’re not.”

“I am, and you damn well know it.”

Rosier could not repress a smile. “So that’s how it’s going to be?”

“What.” Gus frowned, perplexed by Rosier’s grin.

Rosier mimicked them speaking to each other. “’I’m ugly!’ ‘No, you’re not. I’m ugly!’ “No, you’re not!’”

The ridiculousness of it made Gus laugh.

“I like to be beautiful. I need it. So this…” Rosier gestured to the burned side of his body. “This is going to drive me crazy.”

“Don’t you dare. That’s exactly what he wanted,” Gus said.

Rosier peered up at Gus.

“That’s why only burned half of you.”Azazel’s words rose in both their minds. I wanted you to enjoy the before and after every time you look in the mirror. So you see over and over again how much you lost.

“The things he did to you.” Gus’s mouth twitched. “To me.”

Rosier clenched his jaw at the memory of the cruelty Azazel had shown Gus. Had forced Rosier to witness, already knowing the feelings Rosier had for Gus that hadn’t completely realized himself.

“Don’t give him what he wanted.”

Rosier knew he had centuries of evil to atone for, that somehow he had been granted a reprieve, a second chance, one that he had done nothing to earn. But the greatest, most unexpected kindness shown him was that God gave him Gus.

“Come here, little one.”

Gus exhaled softly at the sound of the pet name. He came to Rosier. Rosier raised his perfect left hand and tugged him down into a kiss, soft and sweet at first. Then he closed his teeth over Gus’s lower lip and bit down gently until Gus moaned. “I want you,” Rosier breathed.

“Not Sam?” Gus tried to put on a front, but Rosier could feel the vulnerability beneath the surface.

Rosier smiled. “Sam who?”

Gus wasn’t the kind of man who gave in to tears easily. He’d been raised in the manner of many good ol’ Texas folk: boys don’t cry. So if he wiped his eyes, it certainly wasn’t from an overwhelming rush of emotion.

“Rosy,” he whispered, hands stroking the uninjured side of Rosier’s chest, down his flank, along the front of his thigh.

Rosier shifted position, bringing his good leg up, granting Gus access. Gus slipped his hand underneath the sheet and blanket, touching his bare skin. “You sure you’re up to this?”

Rosier bent his knee, drawing his leg to the side, letting Gus’s hand slip between his thighs showing him just how up for it he was. Gus drew the bedding to the side, exposing Rosier’s cock, thick and heavy against his belly. “Let me take care of you,” Gus murmured, and brought his mouth down to him. Soft and wet, he showed Rosier what a good caretaker he was.





  • Sam slept fitfully that night. Dean awoke several times to find him tangled in the sheets, tense and sweating. He soothed him back down to sleep each time, stroking his hair, whispering sweetness into his ear, but not long after, Sam would tense up again.

    “Sam. What’s wrong?” Dean whispered, holding Sam in his arms. But Sam was just asleep enough that he could not tell him.

    In the morning, Sam woke up to find himself alone in bed, the scent of coffee and bacon thick in the air. He pulled on his sweatpants and Dean’s t-shirt and stumbled to the bathroom, then joined Dean in the kitchen.

    “You got sex hair going on.” Dean stroked the knot of tangled hair at the back of Sam’s head.

    “Mmm,” Sam murmured, and made grabby hands toward the coffee pot. Dean moved aside to let Sam pour himself a large mug of coffee with milk and sugar.

    Dean slid a steaming mass of orange-tinged scrambled eggs onto two plates and nestled four slices of bacon next to each.

    Sam took a bite. “Cheesy eggs?” Dean nodded. Sam made a happy sound and dug in. Dean doused his eggs in enough hot sauce to obliterate most other flavors in his food. They ate in comfortable silence. He watched Sam’s face when he wasn’t looking, taking note of the dark circles under his eyes. Sam polished off his food faster than Dean, which was unusual.

    Dean waited until Sam was done and refilled his coffee mug. He sat across from Sam at the table and waited.

    Sam looked up, hair hanging in his face.

    “We gonna talk about whatever was bothering you last night?”

    Sam’s fingers tightened on the coffee mug. “Sorry about that.”

    “Sam. Talk to me.” Sam took a deep breath. “That’s our rule, right? No dick flick moments? We talk about stuff. Feelings. Right?”

    Sam nodded, and took a sip of coffee to brace himself. “I… there’s something I have to do that I don’t want to do.” He ran his fingers through his hair, dragging it out of his eyes. “Like, really don’t want to do.”

    Dean’s mouth tightened.

    Sam curled both hands around his coffee mug and slumped over it, casting his eyes down. “I have to try and get inside Nathaniel’s memories of Azazel. See if I can figure out that trick of locking the demon in its vessel.” He looked up, his pretty hazel eyes bloodshot. “And I don’t want to.”

    Dean shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

    Sam pressed his thumb against a fragment of bacon on his plate and popped it in his mouth, sucking the grease off his skin. “Me neither. But I have to try. Nathaniel can’t tell us how he did it. If I can feel it, get inside his memory of Azazel doing it, and feel it happening…”

    “Like one of your visions?”

    “Right, but in the past, not in the future. If I can feel it, it might show me how to do it myself.”

    “So you’re saying you’re going to bust into this guy’s mind and watch him watching it happen.”

    Sam sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Not quite. I have to let myself be Azazel.”

    Dean exhaled through his teeth, sibilant, an angry creature hissing.

    “Just for a few moments.”

    Dean shook his head. “There’s got to be another way.”

    “One that takes years, maybe? Dean. We have to try, now. Right now, the demons are scattered. No leader. No organization. They’re vulnerable.” Sam sat up straight. “We have a shot. To cure Gus. To cure others. We can hunt demons and save them.”

    “Someone else.”

    “Who? Who do we know that can do this? Even try to do this? How long is it gonna take to find someone? I’m right here. He’s right here.”

    “I don’t want that…that thing inside your head, Sammy.”

    “Neither do I. But I have to try. Dean.” Sam’s eyes went wide, lip quivering. “It’s too important. I have to try.”

    Dean winced, the overwhelming sense of bad idea warring with the potency of Sam’s puppy dog eyes, his earnestness, and his valid point. If they could cure demons…

    “Ok. But just for a minute. And if anything feels wrong, even a little, you get the hell out of his head. Deal?”

    “Deal.” For a split-second, Sam looked disappointed. As though he’d hoped Dean would have refused to let Sam go through with it.




  • In the common room, an argument had broken out. Danny didn’t like the idea any more than Dean. “I can’t see a whole lot of good coming out of this.”

    “Can’t see a whole lot of good? What about, say, curing demons?” Sam was adamant. “Look, you asked him nicely, and then you pushed him, and he couldn’t give you any good information about how Azazel did it, or where he learned that trick.”

    Juliane slipped behind Sam and put her hand on his lower back, stroking it, soothing him. He calmed almost immediately.

    “I don’t even know if I can do this, ok? Get inside his memories.” Sam continued to protest. “You might all be freaking out for nothing.”

    “You just want to help,” Juliane said.

    “Thank you,” Sam said, a bit exasperated at the resistance he was facing.

    “And we’re just trying to protect you,” Bobby retorted.

    “Maybe I don’t need you to protect me.” Sam’s words were those of a typical teenage boy, but Sam was anything but. And everyone in the room knew it.

    “Look. I have these abilities. Still. Even with no demon blood in me.” Sam turned his attention to Reggie, searching for an ally. “Why? What’s the point, if I can’t use them to try to help people? Isn’t that what we do?”

    “Sure, but that doesn’t mean running into a bad situation blind.”

    “I won’t be blind. I’ll go in slow. I’ll be careful. And I’ll have all of you with me,” Sam continued. “So, we can kill demons one at a time, or we can maybe try to figure out how to save the twisted souls they are. And the sooner we can do that, the more people won’t get hurt or killed or made into demons themselves.”

    Reggie chewed his toothpick, ruminating over Sam’s argument.

    “He has a point,” Juliane added. “Digging out lore no one’s ever found before? You all know how long that might take.”

    Bobby winced. Years, he knew, at the very least. If not decades. But still. This was Sam they were talking about. “Letting Sam inside the noggin of someone Azazel rode like a rented mule? What could go wrong?” Bobby tried one last time.

    Juliane kept her hand on Sam’s lower back, soothing him with her presence like his soothed her. “Sam’s strong. He’s pure. He has Dean—“ she gave Dean a grateful look. “I can’t do much. I’ve only got a touch of the gift. But I can…” she searched for the right word. “I can monitor him. Sense if things go sideways. Help him come back out of it if things get hairy.”

    “Why does it have to be you, Sam?”

    Sam’s mouth fell open. “When have we ever said, ‘Let someone else deal with it?’” Even Dean was surprised at Bobby’s question.

    “I’ll just try for a moment.” Sam’s voice wasn’t pleading. It was steady, assured. “Look, I want you to all be ok with this, but I’m not asking permission.”

    “I’m backing Sam’s play on this.” Dean had waited until everyone had their say before adding anything to the conversation, so as not to shut them down before they had a chance to speak their piece. “This thing between us, it purified Sam. Got rid of the demon blood. So there’s nothing about rooting around in his memories that can really hurt Sam.” Dean kept his voice even, and hoped his fear didn’t bleed through.

    “Well, alright.” Bobby finally acquiesced. Sam looked at each person in turn, wordlessly asking for their assent as well. Reggie nodded reluctantly. Juliane had already cast her vote. Danny held out for the longest, showing his stubborn streak.

    “You got his back here, man, or what?” Dean stepped closer to Sam.

    “Yeah.” Danny sighed. “I got your back.”

    “You want to do this now?” Bobby asked.

    “Might as well,” Sam shrugged. Before I change my mind.

    Dean blinked and cocked his head, eyeing Sam curiously. The others moved ahead of them down the hall toward the room in which Nathaniel was kept. Dean hung back. “You 100% about this, Sammy?”

    “Yeah.” Sam’s voice was nonchalant.

    “Before I change my mind,” Dean said.

    Sam’s head jerked back.

    “That’s what you said.”

    “I didn’t say it.”

    “Yeah, you did. I heard you.”

    “Dean. I didn’t say it.”

    Dean frowned.

    “I thought it.”

    Dean let that sink in. “Huh. So…did you send it? Or did I pick up on it?”

    Sam shrugged, redoing the button on the wrist of his flannel shirt that had come undone.

    Dean’s eyes lit up. “Dude… am I psychic too?”

    Sam rolled his eyes.

    “Maybe there could have been two Boy Kings. The Winchester Kings.” Dean’s tone of voice was playful, teasing Sam.

    “Dream on.”

    “Whattaya say, Sam? Would you have shared the throne with me?”

    “Shut up,” Sam punched Dean on the shoulder, light and playful.

    “Or would it be—“

    “Don’t say it—“

    “King and Queen.”

    Sam shook his head. “You had to go there.”

    “Be my queen, Sammy?”

    “Cut it out with that heteronormative gender crap.”

    Dean smirked, and smacked Sam on the ass as they walked out of the common room. He had succeeded in his goal: distracting Sam from the fear skittering through him, the fear that he could sense as easily as he’d heard Sam’s voice in his head. Before I change my mind.




  • Sam and Dean let everyone else file into the room before they went in. Upon seeing the boys, an expression of shame settled onto Nathaniel’s pale face, lined with exhaustion. “Please forgive my appearance.” Nathaniel raised his hand. “I don’t sleep well.”

    Dean gritted his teeth, still seeing Azazel, not the human being finally returned to control of his body. Sam just watched Nathaniel, eyes taking in every detail of his face, hyper-alert, as though he were standing in front of a cobra.

    Nathaniel extended his hand to Sam. “Hello. I’m Nathaniel. We haven’t actually met yet.” Sam stayed stock-still for a moment, then shook his hand. Nathaniel extended his hand to Dean. “Hello, Dean. I’m Nathaniel.”

    Dean shook his hand as well.

    “This must be as strange for you as it is for me.”

    “It’s…a little weird.” Dean forced out his best smile. “So, Juliane filled you in on what we—what Sam’s going to try to do?”

    Nathaniel seemed small and frail without the unholy fire of Lucifer’s right-hand demon within him, a hollow-chested old bird propped up in a nest of pillows. “Get me to remember something specific the demon did, and you’re going to try to get inside the memory.” The man before them was different. His own soul returned to the driver’s seat. Still, it was Azazel’s face upturned to them. Azazel’s form.

    Sam nodded. “Are you ready?” He rubbed his palms on the front of his jeans, wiping off the sweat.

    “Yes. But first…I must apologize. To you. Both of you.” Nathaniel focused his watery blue eyes on Dean, then back to Sam. “When you saw him saying and doing those things…you saw me.” Nathaniel squeezed his eyes shut, heavy lines prominent in his forehead. “To you, I was the face of evil. There aren’t words to express how sorry I am. If I could have stopped it, any of it…”

    Sam shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to differentiate between the innocent human once again in possession of his body, and the demon who had been wearing him for the Winchesters’ entire lifetime and much longer. “We know.”

    Nathaniel gave a weak smile. “Shall we?”

    Sam pulled up a chair next to Nathaniel’s bed. Dean and Juliane knelt next to him on either side, Juliane’s hand on Sam’s lower back, Dean’s arm over Sam’s shoulders. Dean was on full alert, eyes locked on Nathaniel, like he expected Azazel to roar back to life within him at any moment.

    “So I just…call up the memory of when it happened?”

    Sam nodded.

    Nathaniel smoothed his palms over the blanket on his lap, and looked at Sam with shame…and pity. “You’re not going to like this.”

    “I got you, Sammy,” Dean whispered.

    “Ok. Here we go.”

    Nathaniel lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes. Sam looked at Dean, marveling silently yet again at the beauty of his green eyes, then closed his eyes and touched Nathaniel’s wrist.

    Sam concentrated, going within himself and trying to trigger his ability. It happened easily, and felt to Sam like flipping a switch. It was off, and then it was on.

    Sam reached out and tentatively probed at Nathaniel’s mind.

    Yellow eyes. Rictus grin.

    Sam flinched.

    “Sam?” Dean gripped Sam’s shoulder.

    “I’m ok. It’s just…strange.” Sam steeled himself, and tried again.

    It was almost too easy.

    Sam was inside Nathaniel (no, Azazel). Inside the much older body. The infinitely darker mind. Azazel permeated him like the lingering, foul smoke from a house fire seeping inside the unburned objects. His nose wrinkled, lips curling away from his teeth.

    He knew he couldn’t stand this long. But he pushed past his frantic need to get out of Azazel’s mind. Suck it up. Eyes on the prize. He concentrated, willing himself to see and feel what was happening.

    Azazel was playing with a device in his hands. A device connected to—inside—the penis of a naked man, on his back tied to the legs of a table.

    Gus.

    Sam shuddered as Azazel (he) turned the knob, driving another howl out of Gus. Shuddered as he saw Rosier on his knees, felt the pain radiating from him as he was forced to watch as Azazel (he) tortured Gus.

    He wouldn’t last long. The darkness of Azazel was potent, clinging to him like the smoke from burned popcorn. He shoved at the memory, urging it to skip ahead.

    Azazel (he) was inside Gus, licking the tears of anguish from his face. Sam moaned in agony, fighting not to feel the acute pleasure Azazel (he) took in it.

    Back in the real world, he raised his free hand to his forehead, pressed it against his eyes hard, cried out. Dean swore. “Pull him out. Pull him back.” Juliane soothed Sam, running her hand over his lower back, called to him inside his mind.

    “No,” he said and thought at the same time. “I can do this.”

    “He wants to keep going.”

    Dean shook his head. “Dammit, Sam.”

    Sam felt everything Azazel was doing, feeling, thinking, felt it in his own body, his own mind. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as Azazel (he) fucked Gus mercilessly, the helpless fury and pain of Rosier forced to kneel and watch amping the pleasure even higher.

    Sam shoved at the memory again, desperate to jump past this point, to where Azazel locked Rosier in his vessel. Azazel’s evil sagged down over him, smothering him, threatening to dim the light he carried within him. But Sam fought back, hard, protecting the light and purity within himself. We beat you once. We can beat your memories.

    Rosier knelt at Azazel’s feet. Azazel (he) sneered down at him. Why did you fuck it all up? Because you want Sam Winchester.

    Sam gasped out loud.

    Azazel (Sam) continued. You have the balls to want to be his Consort. And you found yourself a pretty little meat suit that little Sammy likes? Didn’t want to do your fucking job and hurt his bulldog of a brother? Sam felt something dank and foul, a dark pleasure rising up in Azazel’s emotions, at the thought of Sam and Dean. Picturing them together.

    Sam felt how Azazel saw them. How Nathaniel saw them (incest perversion disgusting sick it’s a sickness so very wrong), Azazel thrilling to the thought, Nathaniel’s repulsion a deep counterpoint.

    The sense of perversion expanded within him, spreading like an oil spill, rising up from below, threatening to engulf the light inside him.

    “No,” he shouted. His whole body spasmed, nausea welling up, his soul recoiling but not quite fast enough. He didn’t hear Dean calling his name, didn’t feel him yank Sam away from Nathaniel, didn’t feel Juliane’s hands on his forehead, hear her calling for him to come back. He just felt darkness.

    Perversion.

    Shame.

    Finally, he opened his eyes and found himself on the floor, saw the reality in front of him. Dean, right there with him. Reggie and Bobby, Danny and Juliane, ashen-faced.

    Sam shook his head, hair obscuring his face. “I didn’t get it…I can’t. Can’t go back in.”

    “You don’t have to. It’s ok, Sammy. I’m here.” Dean smoothed Sam’s hair back, and placed his palm on Sam’s cheek.

    Sam flinched. He looked up at Dean like he was a dirty little freak. Exactly how Azazel had looked at him.

    Dean’s blood froze in his veins. He couldn’t hear. He couldn’t speak.

    Sam recoiled from Dean, rolled onto his knees, and threw up. He coughed and retched again violently, losing his breakfast all over the carpet.

    “I told you you weren’t going to like it,” Nathaniel whispered, his face awash with emotion, none of them pleasant.

    Dean shook his head, not believing what his senses were telling him. It was impossible. He reached out for Sam, touched his shoulder, needing to touch him. Needing their connection.

    Sam leaned into his touch, just as desperate for it, but his face contorted at the feel of Dean’s hands on him, and he pulled away. “Don’t touch me. Just… don’t.” Sam fell over onto his hip and held his hands up, palms out, warding Dean away from him, face twisted with sorrow…and shame. Perversion.

    Dean’s face fell as his world crumbled away beneath him.

    Sam began to tremble. Juliane seized his hands and closed her eyes. After a few moments, a tear slipped from beneath her dark eyelashes.

    Dean stayed on his knees, as close to Sam as he would permit, a stunned expression on his face.“What happened to him?”

    Juliane shot Danny a worried look.“He looked out through Azazel’s eyes. It seems to have affected him. Got inside him.”

    “What do you mean? Got inside him?” Dean demanded answers. Answers no one had.

    “It feels like…” Juliane struggled for words. “Like he had a nightmare and he can’t shake the feeling. So dark, so evil, a little bit clung to him on the way out.”

    “Then he needs me. We can burn it out of him.”

    “It’s not going to be that simple, Dean.”

    “Why?”

    Sam panted, sprawled on his side, refusing to look at Dean.

    “Whatever happened isn’t just hurting him. It’s hurting his bond with you.”

    Juliane turned her attention to Danny and Reggie. “Get him out of here. Get him to his room. Hurry.”

    Dean moved to follow them, but Juliane put her hand on his shoulder and stopped him. “Wait. You saw him. He can’t bear for you to touch him right now.”

    Dean closed his eyes, sick with fear and dread, swaying on his feet. Bobby steadied him, his arm over Dean’s back. Dean searched Bobby’s face for signs of hope. “What did we do to him, Bobby?”

    “It’ll be ok,” Bobby promised, not sure if it was the truth or a lie.

    “Tell us,” She moved to the side of Nathaniel’s bed. “What he saw. Felt. The last thing before he pulled back.”

    “We three… were Azazel. We tortured and raped his soldier as punishment.” Dean pulled out of Bobby’s grasp and kicked over the chair Sam had been sitting in, then braced himself against the wall, forcing himself to not rip Nathaniel to pieces. “Then we were about to punish the other demon.” Nathaniel cocked his head, pulling the name out of his mind. “Rosier. Lock him in his vessel. Then we were thinking about you.”

    Dean craned his head, looking over his shoulder at Nathaniel in horror, half-expecting his eyes to flash yellow. They remained human.

    “Thinking about the incestuous brothers.” Nathaniel stared up at the ceiling. “Azazel enjoyed thinking about your perversion.”

    Without a conscious decision, Dean moved instinctively into an attack, fist already moving. “Easy, boy.” Bobby held him back, staggering to stay on his feet, wincing at the stab of pain in his leg. “That’s the demon talking.”

    “Demon’s gone,” Dean glared at Nathaniel. “That’s him talking.”

    Nathaniel rubbed his mouth. “You’re not wrong. That’s what I thought of you as well. Sick. Perverted. Disgusting.” Dean’s mouth twitched, eyes narrowed. “That’s what I thought, until you stabbed us with your knives. I felt it inside me.” Nathaniel looked up at Dean in awe. “Flowing like liquid fire. Such pure love.” His pale eyes were wet with tears. “So beautiful.”

    “That sure isn’t the way Sam seems to have seen it.” Dean was in a fury. “What the fuck did you do to him?” Spittle flew from his mouth.

    “Azazel left a stain inside Nathaniel’s mind. And Sam got a little bit on him, is all. It’ll come clean.” Juliane tugged at Dean’s sleeve. “But we have to act fast. Come on. Sam needs us.”

    Dean stalked out of the room and ran down the hall. Sam was in the bathroom, supported by Reggie, brushing his teeth to rid his mouth of the taste of vomit. He spat and rinsed, and lifted his head, meeting Dean’s gaze in the mirror for a split second. His eyes were haunted. He turned away.

    “Sam.” Dean’s face was white.

    Sam didn’t say anything. He slumped over the sink, head down, like he was hanging on by a thread.”I was almost there. But I couldn’t do it. I failed. And I can’t go back in that mind. Another second, and…” He spun on his heels and gripped Reggie’s arms hard. “No one else can try it. You won’t let anyone else try it. You promise me.”

    “You got it, kid.” Reggie exchanged a glance with Dean, standing in the doorway, unable to move, barely able to breathe. Because Sam wouldn’t look at him. Sam wouldn’t touch him.

    Juliane pushed past Dean, and led Sam into the living room. Bobby was already pulling out the bourbon and pouring everyone a shot. Dean didn’t even register Bobby offering him a shot, simply stared at Sam like he was hoping this was all just a terrible nightmare, right hand clutching the amulet around his neck hard enough to dig the points of the horns into his skin, praying he would wake up from it fast.

    Juliane settled Sam down on the couch, made him drink his shot of bourbon, and sat next to him, pushing the arms of her sweater back to her elbows. “You trust me?”

    Sam nodded, eyes wild, in the throes of tremendous distress, glancing over at Dean and then jerking his gaze away, clearly needing him desperately, but the darkness inside him making it impossible. Perversion. Incest.

    She took his hands, her fingers cool and smooth in his. “Sam. Feel me. Go inside my mind. See what I see. Feel what I feel.”

    Sam swallowed hard, and did what she asked. Her consciousness was lighter, strong as spun steel, no darkness in her.

    She brought up a memory. Sam and Dean on the couch on Christmas Eve, holding mugs of apple cider studded with cinnamon sticks, arms around each other, Sam nuzzling Dean’s neck softly with his mouth, the light of their love for each other burning brighter than the fire. A feeling of astonishment, of awe, at how beautiful they were together. How right.

    The memory soaked into Sam, feeling the warmth of the fire, smelling the cider and cinnamon and clean pine scent of the Christmas tree, seeing Sam and Dean like she perceived them. He shuddered with relief, like a spear had been pulled from his side.

    “Trust me,” she repeated, beckoning to Reggie. She whispered a few words in his ear, brought him next to Sam on the couch, put his hands in Sam’s.

    Reggie’s memory was handing them the knives he had crafted, knowing in that moment they were far more than brothers, the pride reverberating through him at performing this important task he was called to do, as he delivered into the hands of these true soulmates the knives they were destined to have. The joy that surged in him as they held the blades for the first time, blood-red gemstone grips gleaming in the firelight, twin blades for twin souls.

    Inhabiting Reggie’s memory like it was his own, Sam tipped his head back, face upturned, as though the memory was a rainstorm washing away blood and grime from his body.

    “Bobby.” Reggie gave up his seat for Bobby, and he took Sam’s hands. Bobby’s memory was of a moment years before, a simple moment of them outside on a crisp autumn afternoon, red and orange leaves carpeting the earth at their feet, laughing at a private joke, the way Sam’s face lit up as Dean tipped his head back with laughter, the way Dean drank in how Sam’s eyes closed and his mouth fell open as he laughed, like a blissfully happy puppy, understanding that the bond between Sam and Dean was something achingly pure and beautiful, and right. Knowing it before they even knew it themselves.

    Sam breathed within the memory, truth driving away the lies of the devil’s right hand. He calmed, the shame and revulsion fading.

    “Now he’s ready. Now you.” Juliane indicated to Dean. Instead of sitting next to Sam, Dean came to him and knelt at his feet.

    He put his trembling hands in Sam’s.

    Juliane put her hand on the back of Dean’s head, a comforting gesture. “Think of a moment when you loved Sam. Really loved him.”

    Dean closed his eyes. What rose within him was not one moment, but a long series of moments, thousands of them, unfolding one after the other. Sam. Sitting at the raised table in front of the massive steak, looking into Sam’s eyes, sunflower gold and green, light leaping within him at the way Sam looked back at him, like he was God, the President, and Johnny Cash rolled into one. Holding Sam as he slept, brushing his thick brown hair off his forehead, blissed out simply from watching him breathe. Unwrapping the twin geodes Sam had given him, blues and purples gleaming in the light, the corners of Sam’s eyes crinkling with the huge smile on his face as he watched Dean see his gift. The first time Dean let Sam inside him, cassette tape playing the songs he had put together so long before, body not resisting at all, drinking him in like the first rain of fall. The first time he had entered Sam, come completely undone, lost in Sam, the gift of him. Carrying his battered body out of the truck, moving light on his feet to not jostle him. Slicing open the belly of Sam’s depraved captor, and cutting him down from the rope binding his bleeding wrists. Hands brushing over Sam’s bare skin in front of the fire at Bobby’s house, barely able to comprehend how lucky he was. Sam arranging the back seat of the Impala into a perfect little bed, curled up against Sam, breathing in the scent of his green apple shampoo, the rumble of the Impala soothing them like a rocking cradle. Running through the woods with Sam, lean and coltish, effortlessly navigating tree roots and fallen logs, legs and arms pumping in perfect synchronicity. Bringing Sam a bowl of Spaghetti-Os and Sam beaming at him, his dimples popping. Giving Sam a package of green army men for Christmas, and the ringing laughter of joy that Dean had remembered Sam wanted them. Dad putting baby Sammy into his arms and telling himTake your brother outside as fast as you can and how Sammy looked up at him, so warm and small, his chubby little face alit with love and trust. The very first moment Dean laid eyes on this new little person called Sam Winchester, and the extraordinarily strange, wonderful thrum of recognition that shook him, knowing down to his bones that he belonged to this soul and this soul belonged to him, not hi there little baby brother but hello again, I’ve missed you so much. Hello, Sam.

    Tears streaked Sam’s cheeks. He opened his eyes and gazed at Dean’s face, into Dean’s clear, green eyes. “Dean,” he said softly.

    “Sam,” Dean answered, face etched with worry.

    Sam stroked the back of Dean’s hands with his thumbs, eyes never leaving Dean’s.

    “You alright, Sammy?”

    Sam’s smile was the sun breaking through the clouds after a brutal storm, blades of new grass rising out of the dirt chasing the warmth and light, the joyous cry of a bird that the dark night had yielded to the dawn. His lips parted. He breathed in and paused, as if he was searching for the perfect thing to say. Then he simply breathed out and kissed him. Laced his fingers through Dean’s hair, held his face still and kissed him in front of Bobby and Reggie and Danny and Juliane, without a hint of shame.

    Dean burst into tears.

    Juliane tugged at Danny’s arm gently. Reggie smoothed his moustache, and exchanged a glance with Bobby. Bobby downed his shot of bourbon and set the glass tumbler down on the counter quietly. The four of them left silently, granting Sam and Dean their privacy.

    The door shut with a click.

    Sam kissed the tears from Dean’s face, fingertips brushing Dean’s face. Dean tasted his own tears on Sam’s lips. Sam kissed Dean’s forehead, his closed eyes. “I love you so much.” Fresh tears fell from Dean’s eyes, warm against Sam’s soft mouth.

    “Sam.”

    So much.”

    Dean opened his eyes, long lashes wet with tears, gazed into Sam’s face. “Without you, I—“

    “I know.”

    Dean took a shuddering breath. “I just can’t.”

    “Me too.” Sam stroked Dean’s hair.

    Dean took Sam in his arms, helpless against the sobs that demanded release, pulling Sam down onto his knees on the carpet, gripping him as tight as he could, daring Heaven and Hell to try to take Sam from him.


Date: 2014-11-12 12:44 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] adelheide.livejournal.com
Sure. Fine. Now I'm weeping like a baby. And I'm and ugly crier.

Date: 2014-11-12 01:57 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] justinedelarge.livejournal.com
But tears are so cathartic. So it's ok...right? :)

Date: 2014-11-12 01:52 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] proffesorx.livejournal.com
and now i'm in tears. I knew you couldn't leave them apart. and the part about Dean recognizing their shared souls and meeting again? priceless

Date: 2014-11-12 01:56 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] justinedelarge.livejournal.com
I couldn't even keep them apart a full fifteen minutes.

Date: 2014-11-12 03:59 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] deansdirtybb.livejournal.com
Ok, so maybe I cursed you a little when you made Sam unable to stand Dean's touch and at how *much* that hurt Dean...but you brought them back together so beautifully. I'm crying now, sobbing almost as hard as Dean and loving every word of this chapter. Thank you.

Date: 2014-11-12 08:07 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] trekkiepirate.livejournal.com
After this and the 200th episode, I may never stop crying over the true, pure, right love of Sam and Dean.

Date: 2014-11-14 08:35 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] imaginecoolname.livejournal.com
This was such an intense and powerful chapter, I loved every word of it! I loved how Dean could hear Sam's thoughts. Then it broke my heart to witness Sam being tainted by Azazel's thoughts, how their bond suffered from what he saw and felt. It was such a punch in the gut when he rejected Dean, couldn't stand to be touched by him or even look at him. God, how awful. I started crying right then.

I'm so, so grateful you fixed them up right away - I'm not sure my heart could have taken that damage and separation any longer. The shared memories of everyone were so wonderful, I loved the way they drove the evil inside away. I especially adored Dean's memories, with that powerful moment of his soul recognizing its mate in baby Sammy. *happy sigh* Beautiful and perfect. Thank you so much for this amazing chapter!

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Justine Delarge

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