Justine Delarge (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
justinedelarge) wrote2016-09-13 05:49 pm
justinedelarge) wrote2016-09-13 05:49 pm
Entry tags:
Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 107: Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain
Title: Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 107: Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain
Author:
justinedelarge
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,500
Summary: Reggie brings Marcus to the Sanctuary. Sam tries to help, but puts himself at risk.
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.
Marcus lay on his left side, dead to the world, the worn black comfortable pulled up to his chin, head nestled on the pillow. Safe and warm. With the most badass Hunter the American Midwest had ever known behind the wheel, and Willie Nelson quietly playing on the radio.
The right wheel hit a small pothole on the highway with a plunk and a rattle that shook the bones of Reggie’s car, but didn’t knock anything loose. Marcus moaned in pain at the jolt, wincing in his sleep artificially brought on by the Vicodin Reggie had urged him to take a few hours before.
Reggie glanced over his shoulder, saw the pain contorting Marcus’s face, lines standing out strong around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. He reached one hand back and delicately twined his fingers around Marcus’s wrist.
With one hand on the wheel and the other touching the skin of the man he loved and had left unprotected, he simply let the tears slide down his cheeks and disappear into the soft white whiskers that framed his quivering mouth.
~
In the Sanctuary, everyone lay asleep in the early morning hour, safe and warm in the arms of the person they loved.
The dying embers of the fire in the common room glowed faintly, ash-dusted logs cracked with red like blood seeping up through the deep cracks in a bone-dry desert floor.
Everyone dreamed.
Danny’s dreams were full of horses and hay, the pleasant stink of barnyard, the feel of the sun on the bare skin of his arms.
Juliane dreamed she was standing on a long, creaky wooden bridge stretched out over a glass-smooth, gleaming blue ocean, extending to two islands, one in each direction.
Dean dreamed he was riding a motorcycle, Sam’s arms wrapped around his waist, hanging on tight as Dean downshifted and whacked the throttle wide open, wind whipping their hair back as they rode along the empty two-lane blacktop stretched out ahead of them reaching out towards infinity.
Sam dreamed pain.
Pain rising from deep within his body, a dark, shameful pain rooted in his very center. Pain that his mind squirmed to avoid putting a name on. Pain scented like fear, that squeaked out a thin reedy sound of helplessness, that tasted like garlic and copper.
Sam’s body jerked, and he moaned in pain.
Dean’s eyes flashed open immediately. “Sammy?”
“Mmm.” Sam roused slowly.
“What’s wrong?” Dean pressed his mouth to the soft skin of Sam’s temple.
“Mmm,” Sam murmured again.
“You having a bad dream?”
Dean’s voice brought Sam out of his half-slumber. “Yeah.” Sam curled into Dean’s chest, trying to clear the dream from his mind. But it wouldn’t clear. “No.” Sam rubbed his eyes and sat up. “Not a dream.”
Dean pulled himself up onto one elbow, watching Sam intently.
“Something happened.” Sam looked down at Dean, confused but sure. “Something’s coming.”
~
By the time Reggie hit the Sanctuary’s freeway exit with the sign indicating Gas Food Lodging Next Exit, they were already up and dressed, seated at the table in the common room with a confused but trusting Danny and Juliane, drinking strong coffee in nervous silence. Waiting.
Tires crunching in the snow, Reggie pulled his car into the Jaeger Motel parking lot. The bell on the door to the front lobby rang.
Sam was the first to emerge from the sigil-lined hall into the reception area, with Juliane at his heels, and Dean and Danny right behind.
Sam’s eyes widened at the sight of the man Reggie was holding up so he didn’t collapse in a heap on the floor. Dean slipped in next to Sam, blinking at the sight.
“Reggie?” Juliane went into full high alert mode.
“He needs sanctuary. Needs help.”
“Is someone baking bread?” Marcus raised his head, a perplexed look in his eyes.
Juliane came around the counter, and gently touched Marcus on the shoulder. “Hey,” she said softly. “My name is Juliane.” Marcus seemed dazed. “Do you want sanctuary?”
“Cut the formalities," Reggie snapped. "He needs help. Now.”
Danny went to help Reggie bring Marcus in, but Juliane extended her hand behind her, wordlessly asking him to hold back. “It’s important, Reggie.” She turned her focus back to Marcus. “Do you want sanctuary?” She repeated the phrase.
Marcus shook his head, clearing his mind. His eyes focused on her, becoming fully alert. “Yes,” he whispered.
“Get him inside.” Juliane stepped aside to let Danny move in to help Reggie, but Reggie had already swept Marcus up in his arms.
“Put me down. I can walk,” Marcus protested.
“Hush.”
“I’m a grown man. Put me down!” He resisted, but Reggie strode down the long, sigil-covered hallway with his arms full of groggy, peevish Marcus.
Inside the common room, Reggie lowered Marcus to the couch with exquisite care. For the first time, he noticed that despite the early hour, everyone was awake and fully dressed, seemingly having expected, if not him, then someone.
Dean jerked his head towards Sam. “He got us all up. Said something was coming.”
Reggie blinked in recognition of Sam’s gifts more so than in surprise.
Danny headed into the kitchen to put on the kettle. Juliane draped a blanket over Marcus, who gave up protesting being babied and slumped into the couch, muttering. She touched Reggie’s wrist lightly. “What happened?”
“Nothing! I’m fine," Marcus interjected.
Reggie opened his mouth, but Marcus cut him off. “It’s not their business.” Marcus’s eyes were pleading with Reggie not to tell them.
“For me to help you, I need to know.” Juliane scrutinized his face, read the shame and fear he was trying to hide. She casually slipped off her elegant cardigan and draped it over the edge of the couch, deliberately baring her scarred arms.
Marcus took in the sight, and met her eyes, one survivor recognizing another. He sighed heavily, and opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come.
“Hi. I’m Sam.” Sam plopped to his knees in front of Marcus like a friendly puppy. “And this is Dean.”
“I know you.”
Dean frowned.
“From the restaurant. You’re Reggie’s nephew.” Marcus peered up at Dean.
“Nephew?” Dean raised his right eyebrow at Reggie.
“Oh.” Reggie’s moustache twitched. “About that…” He shook his head. “Later.”
“Can I, um, can I take your hand for a second?” Sam reached out to Marcus.
“You were our waiter.” Dean nodded in recognition. Sam glanced up at him. “Gunpowder whiskey,” Dean explained.
“Oh, right.” Sam gave a soft, surprised laugh.
“What do you want my hand for?” Marcus asked, still high on Vicodin and unmoored from the way his life had been tossed upside down in the past 24 hours.
“It won’t hurt.” Sam reached his hand out, and after a beat, Marcus extended his hand and let Sam make contact, skin to skin.
A sick feeling lit Sam up from the inside like a flare thrown into a dark cave, a dark memory shot through Sam like an electric current. Inside Azazel seeing and feeling and doing what he saw and felt and did, seeing and feeling him do terrible things to Gus while a white-haired demon grinned and egged him on (yeah fuck that little whore he loves it), and stepped in (sloppy seconds) when he (I) had finished.
He flinched, but did not let go of Marcus’s hand. He exhaled, willing that memory to fade, all but the thin tendril of smoke that led to something deeper, something hiding in Marcus, afraid to come into the light.
A white-haired demon. The same white-haired demon in his memories of wearing (being) Azazel. Doing to Marcus what he had done to Gus (you love it you little whore this is all you’re good for taking my dick I bet your precious Reggie didn’t fuck you good like this…).
Sam let go of Marcus’s hand, but the memory continued to unfold, feeling the terrible, intimate, degrading things the demon did as he spilled poison into Marcus’s ear (he lied to you didn’t tell you about my kind didn’t tell you about vampires and werewolves and shit darker and older than that the dark ones that roam this world and feast on your pain and fear didn’t protect you because he doesn’t love you he doesn’t care about you he just wanted a piece of this fine ass of yours that’s all you were all you are just fuckmeat that’s all you monkeys are just fuckmeat just a toy just PREY)
Sam shuddered. He felt the memory spill out even further, heard the message the demon made Marcus memorize. (Tell Reggie this is for Azazel. Say it, now. Ah. Zay. Zuhl…)
He gave a cry of pain at that, realizing that what had been done to this innocent was because they had destroyed Azazel. His eyes squeezed shut, his hand reaching out blindly for Dean.
Dean’s hand clapped over Sam’s, holding it tight. “I’m right here, Sam.”
Sam clung to Dean, breathing him in like an antidote. Marcus stared at them both, confused and a little frightened.
Dean’s presence drained the color out of the memory. It thinned, became transparent, blew away into nothingness.
Sam didn’t know Marcus. He didn’t have any unique memories to offer Marcus to purge the poison the demon had put in him, like the ones Juliane, and Reggie, and Bobby, and Dean had given him when the taint of Azazel’s mind had threatened to undo Sam and Dean’s bond. But he had something he could give Marcus to take the edge off the pain he felt.
Sam reached out and took his hand once more. Then he turned his head to the side and whispered to Dean, “Kiss me.” As Dean’s mouth brushed his softly, Sam reached inside himself and tweaked whatever it was that he had been given, whatever it was that gave him abilities that other humans lacked, his mind translating it to fiddling with the knobs on a big electronic device (set to transmit)…
Dean’s mouth pressed against his more firmly, triggering that leaping feeling inside Sam (perfect temperature perfect softness so right) that he felt every time Dean kissed him. It sparked the love that always glowed and crackled around them, sent it flaring into a shower of light and sparks, sent it spilling out of him… and Sam sent it into Marcus.
The light, invisible but palpable, suffused Marcus, pure and quick and lively like sparkling wine. The love Sam and Dean felt for each other flowed like a river into him, washing the darkness away. Marcus gasped.
After a long moment, Sam broke contact with Marcus, but lingered on the kiss another few beats.
“What did you do to me?” Marcus said softly.
“I don’t really know, exactly. I just… tried to help.”
Marcus swayed, eyes fluttering. “I guess you did.”
“He’s exhausted. I need to get him to bed.” Reggie put his hand on Sam’s head, in a gesture of gratitude. “Thank you. For whatever it is you just did.”
This time, Marcus was too weary to protest when Reggie picked him up and carried him to his apartment down the hall.
In their absence, Sam filled the others in on the general nature of the assault that had happened to Marcus.
Dean’s expression hardened, anger surging within him. But he held his tongue.
Sam also told them how the demon had targeted Marcus because Reggie loved him, and because hurting Marcus would hurt Reggie a hundredfold. Had targeted him because of what they had done to Azazel.
“Collateral damage, Sam.” Danny tried to ease Sam’s guilt.
“I know. And destroying Azazel saved so many more lives.” Still, Sam’s expression was sad.
Sam took Juliane to the side and discreetly informed her that once he was sufficiently rested, Marcus would need a full physical examination including a rectal exam. This was because, unlike when the doctor had examined Sam after his kidnapping and torture what felt like a lifetime ago (No rectal tears or swelling, no trace of semen. He’s intact.) , Sam knew beyond any doubt that the sexual assault Sam was spared had caused Marcus some physical damage.
Juliane rubbed the back of her neck, sorrow darkening her features. “Okay. I’ll bring it up after he’s rested.”
“Yeah, why don’t we all take a few hours? We’ll check back after lunch.” Dean took Sam’s hand, squeezing it insistently. His whole body was tense.
“Good idea.” Sam barely had time to get two words out before Dean was tugging on his hand, pulling him down the hall and into their private room.
“What—“ Sam began.
Dean cut him off. “I’m getting real tired of you going into people’s minds and…and you finding…”
Sam suddenly understood. “What Azazel did to Gus. And the demon did to Marcus.”
Dean’s cheeks were flushed red. “It’s called rape, Sam. And you shouldn’t have to feel what that’s like. You shouldn’t have to… to wear those memories like they were yours. Even for a second.”
Sam took Dean’s hands. They were shaking.
“Dean. I’m ok.”
Dean’s mouth worked, angry words held in check.
“I’m ok. It didn’t do anything to me.”
“How do you know? How do you know for sure?” Dean pulled Sam in close and wrapped his arms around him in a death grip as though he were trying to keep Sam safe from a whirlwind full of hate and pain and poison.
“I’m ok. I promise. I’m ok,” Sam kept repeating.
“You just can’t do that, Sam, go crashing into people’s minds like that. It’s just… you’re so fucking pure, Sammy, and I just…” Dean closed his eyes against the rush of emotion, how the purest being he had ever known had been forced to wear the mind of the most powerful demon that walked the Earth, had been forced to experience what it was to rape, how he had now gone into someone else’s mind just trusting nothing bad would happen to him, and how he had stumbled into a first-hand experience with what sexual assault was like from the other perspective. Things Sam should never have had to deal with.
Sam was murmuring something to Dean. He struggled to force his mind to focus, to listen.
“You keep me pure. It didn’t hurt me. It can’t hurt me. You keep me pure, Dean…”
Dean found himself on his knees, face pressed into Sam’s stomach, tears wetting Sam’s flannel shirt. Sam tugged at him, body responding to Dean as it always did, wanting him as Sam always did. “Dean.” Sam’s voice was soft, breathy.
“I’ll keep you pure, Sammy.” Dean looked up at Sam, his green eyes still wet. He tugged Sam’s sweatpants off his hips, freeing his cock, half-hard and getting harder by the second. “I’ll keep you pure.” Dean brushed his lips over his initials cut into Sam’s skin, rubbed his thumbs over the hollows along his pelvic bone, then he opened his mouth and took Sam into his mouth like he was taking the sacrament. Then Dean began to pray. He knelt before Sam and prayed and prayed, until Sam threw back his head and spoke the name of God.
Author:
justinedelargeFandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,500
Summary: Reggie brings Marcus to the Sanctuary. Sam tries to help, but puts himself at risk.
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.
Marcus lay on his left side, dead to the world, the worn black comfortable pulled up to his chin, head nestled on the pillow. Safe and warm. With the most badass Hunter the American Midwest had ever known behind the wheel, and Willie Nelson quietly playing on the radio.
The right wheel hit a small pothole on the highway with a plunk and a rattle that shook the bones of Reggie’s car, but didn’t knock anything loose. Marcus moaned in pain at the jolt, wincing in his sleep artificially brought on by the Vicodin Reggie had urged him to take a few hours before.
Reggie glanced over his shoulder, saw the pain contorting Marcus’s face, lines standing out strong around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. He reached one hand back and delicately twined his fingers around Marcus’s wrist.
With one hand on the wheel and the other touching the skin of the man he loved and had left unprotected, he simply let the tears slide down his cheeks and disappear into the soft white whiskers that framed his quivering mouth.
~
In the Sanctuary, everyone lay asleep in the early morning hour, safe and warm in the arms of the person they loved.
The dying embers of the fire in the common room glowed faintly, ash-dusted logs cracked with red like blood seeping up through the deep cracks in a bone-dry desert floor.
Everyone dreamed.
Danny’s dreams were full of horses and hay, the pleasant stink of barnyard, the feel of the sun on the bare skin of his arms.
Juliane dreamed she was standing on a long, creaky wooden bridge stretched out over a glass-smooth, gleaming blue ocean, extending to two islands, one in each direction.
Dean dreamed he was riding a motorcycle, Sam’s arms wrapped around his waist, hanging on tight as Dean downshifted and whacked the throttle wide open, wind whipping their hair back as they rode along the empty two-lane blacktop stretched out ahead of them reaching out towards infinity.
Sam dreamed pain.
Pain rising from deep within his body, a dark, shameful pain rooted in his very center. Pain that his mind squirmed to avoid putting a name on. Pain scented like fear, that squeaked out a thin reedy sound of helplessness, that tasted like garlic and copper.
Sam’s body jerked, and he moaned in pain.
Dean’s eyes flashed open immediately. “Sammy?”
“Mmm.” Sam roused slowly.
“What’s wrong?” Dean pressed his mouth to the soft skin of Sam’s temple.
“Mmm,” Sam murmured again.
“You having a bad dream?”
Dean’s voice brought Sam out of his half-slumber. “Yeah.” Sam curled into Dean’s chest, trying to clear the dream from his mind. But it wouldn’t clear. “No.” Sam rubbed his eyes and sat up. “Not a dream.”
Dean pulled himself up onto one elbow, watching Sam intently.
“Something happened.” Sam looked down at Dean, confused but sure. “Something’s coming.”
~
By the time Reggie hit the Sanctuary’s freeway exit with the sign indicating Gas Food Lodging Next Exit, they were already up and dressed, seated at the table in the common room with a confused but trusting Danny and Juliane, drinking strong coffee in nervous silence. Waiting.
Tires crunching in the snow, Reggie pulled his car into the Jaeger Motel parking lot. The bell on the door to the front lobby rang.
Sam was the first to emerge from the sigil-lined hall into the reception area, with Juliane at his heels, and Dean and Danny right behind.
Sam’s eyes widened at the sight of the man Reggie was holding up so he didn’t collapse in a heap on the floor. Dean slipped in next to Sam, blinking at the sight.
“Reggie?” Juliane went into full high alert mode.
“He needs sanctuary. Needs help.”
“Is someone baking bread?” Marcus raised his head, a perplexed look in his eyes.
Juliane came around the counter, and gently touched Marcus on the shoulder. “Hey,” she said softly. “My name is Juliane.” Marcus seemed dazed. “Do you want sanctuary?”
“Cut the formalities," Reggie snapped. "He needs help. Now.”
Danny went to help Reggie bring Marcus in, but Juliane extended her hand behind her, wordlessly asking him to hold back. “It’s important, Reggie.” She turned her focus back to Marcus. “Do you want sanctuary?” She repeated the phrase.
Marcus shook his head, clearing his mind. His eyes focused on her, becoming fully alert. “Yes,” he whispered.
“Get him inside.” Juliane stepped aside to let Danny move in to help Reggie, but Reggie had already swept Marcus up in his arms.
“Put me down. I can walk,” Marcus protested.
“Hush.”
“I’m a grown man. Put me down!” He resisted, but Reggie strode down the long, sigil-covered hallway with his arms full of groggy, peevish Marcus.
Inside the common room, Reggie lowered Marcus to the couch with exquisite care. For the first time, he noticed that despite the early hour, everyone was awake and fully dressed, seemingly having expected, if not him, then someone.
Dean jerked his head towards Sam. “He got us all up. Said something was coming.”
Reggie blinked in recognition of Sam’s gifts more so than in surprise.
Danny headed into the kitchen to put on the kettle. Juliane draped a blanket over Marcus, who gave up protesting being babied and slumped into the couch, muttering. She touched Reggie’s wrist lightly. “What happened?”
“Nothing! I’m fine," Marcus interjected.
Reggie opened his mouth, but Marcus cut him off. “It’s not their business.” Marcus’s eyes were pleading with Reggie not to tell them.
“For me to help you, I need to know.” Juliane scrutinized his face, read the shame and fear he was trying to hide. She casually slipped off her elegant cardigan and draped it over the edge of the couch, deliberately baring her scarred arms.
Marcus took in the sight, and met her eyes, one survivor recognizing another. He sighed heavily, and opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come.
“Hi. I’m Sam.” Sam plopped to his knees in front of Marcus like a friendly puppy. “And this is Dean.”
“I know you.”
Dean frowned.
“From the restaurant. You’re Reggie’s nephew.” Marcus peered up at Dean.
“Nephew?” Dean raised his right eyebrow at Reggie.
“Oh.” Reggie’s moustache twitched. “About that…” He shook his head. “Later.”
“Can I, um, can I take your hand for a second?” Sam reached out to Marcus.
“You were our waiter.” Dean nodded in recognition. Sam glanced up at him. “Gunpowder whiskey,” Dean explained.
“Oh, right.” Sam gave a soft, surprised laugh.
“What do you want my hand for?” Marcus asked, still high on Vicodin and unmoored from the way his life had been tossed upside down in the past 24 hours.
“It won’t hurt.” Sam reached his hand out, and after a beat, Marcus extended his hand and let Sam make contact, skin to skin.
A sick feeling lit Sam up from the inside like a flare thrown into a dark cave, a dark memory shot through Sam like an electric current. Inside Azazel seeing and feeling and doing what he saw and felt and did, seeing and feeling him do terrible things to Gus while a white-haired demon grinned and egged him on (yeah fuck that little whore he loves it), and stepped in (sloppy seconds) when he (I) had finished.
He flinched, but did not let go of Marcus’s hand. He exhaled, willing that memory to fade, all but the thin tendril of smoke that led to something deeper, something hiding in Marcus, afraid to come into the light.
A white-haired demon. The same white-haired demon in his memories of wearing (being) Azazel. Doing to Marcus what he had done to Gus (you love it you little whore this is all you’re good for taking my dick I bet your precious Reggie didn’t fuck you good like this…).
Sam let go of Marcus’s hand, but the memory continued to unfold, feeling the terrible, intimate, degrading things the demon did as he spilled poison into Marcus’s ear (he lied to you didn’t tell you about my kind didn’t tell you about vampires and werewolves and shit darker and older than that the dark ones that roam this world and feast on your pain and fear didn’t protect you because he doesn’t love you he doesn’t care about you he just wanted a piece of this fine ass of yours that’s all you were all you are just fuckmeat that’s all you monkeys are just fuckmeat just a toy just PREY)
Sam shuddered. He felt the memory spill out even further, heard the message the demon made Marcus memorize. (Tell Reggie this is for Azazel. Say it, now. Ah. Zay. Zuhl…)
He gave a cry of pain at that, realizing that what had been done to this innocent was because they had destroyed Azazel. His eyes squeezed shut, his hand reaching out blindly for Dean.
Dean’s hand clapped over Sam’s, holding it tight. “I’m right here, Sam.”
Sam clung to Dean, breathing him in like an antidote. Marcus stared at them both, confused and a little frightened.
Dean’s presence drained the color out of the memory. It thinned, became transparent, blew away into nothingness.
Sam didn’t know Marcus. He didn’t have any unique memories to offer Marcus to purge the poison the demon had put in him, like the ones Juliane, and Reggie, and Bobby, and Dean had given him when the taint of Azazel’s mind had threatened to undo Sam and Dean’s bond. But he had something he could give Marcus to take the edge off the pain he felt.
Sam reached out and took his hand once more. Then he turned his head to the side and whispered to Dean, “Kiss me.” As Dean’s mouth brushed his softly, Sam reached inside himself and tweaked whatever it was that he had been given, whatever it was that gave him abilities that other humans lacked, his mind translating it to fiddling with the knobs on a big electronic device (set to transmit)…
Dean’s mouth pressed against his more firmly, triggering that leaping feeling inside Sam (perfect temperature perfect softness so right) that he felt every time Dean kissed him. It sparked the love that always glowed and crackled around them, sent it flaring into a shower of light and sparks, sent it spilling out of him… and Sam sent it into Marcus.
The light, invisible but palpable, suffused Marcus, pure and quick and lively like sparkling wine. The love Sam and Dean felt for each other flowed like a river into him, washing the darkness away. Marcus gasped.
After a long moment, Sam broke contact with Marcus, but lingered on the kiss another few beats.
“What did you do to me?” Marcus said softly.
“I don’t really know, exactly. I just… tried to help.”
Marcus swayed, eyes fluttering. “I guess you did.”
“He’s exhausted. I need to get him to bed.” Reggie put his hand on Sam’s head, in a gesture of gratitude. “Thank you. For whatever it is you just did.”
This time, Marcus was too weary to protest when Reggie picked him up and carried him to his apartment down the hall.
In their absence, Sam filled the others in on the general nature of the assault that had happened to Marcus.
Dean’s expression hardened, anger surging within him. But he held his tongue.
Sam also told them how the demon had targeted Marcus because Reggie loved him, and because hurting Marcus would hurt Reggie a hundredfold. Had targeted him because of what they had done to Azazel.
“Collateral damage, Sam.” Danny tried to ease Sam’s guilt.
“I know. And destroying Azazel saved so many more lives.” Still, Sam’s expression was sad.
Sam took Juliane to the side and discreetly informed her that once he was sufficiently rested, Marcus would need a full physical examination including a rectal exam. This was because, unlike when the doctor had examined Sam after his kidnapping and torture what felt like a lifetime ago (No rectal tears or swelling, no trace of semen. He’s intact.) , Sam knew beyond any doubt that the sexual assault Sam was spared had caused Marcus some physical damage.
Juliane rubbed the back of her neck, sorrow darkening her features. “Okay. I’ll bring it up after he’s rested.”
“Yeah, why don’t we all take a few hours? We’ll check back after lunch.” Dean took Sam’s hand, squeezing it insistently. His whole body was tense.
“Good idea.” Sam barely had time to get two words out before Dean was tugging on his hand, pulling him down the hall and into their private room.
“What—“ Sam began.
Dean cut him off. “I’m getting real tired of you going into people’s minds and…and you finding…”
Sam suddenly understood. “What Azazel did to Gus. And the demon did to Marcus.”
Dean’s cheeks were flushed red. “It’s called rape, Sam. And you shouldn’t have to feel what that’s like. You shouldn’t have to… to wear those memories like they were yours. Even for a second.”
Sam took Dean’s hands. They were shaking.
“Dean. I’m ok.”
Dean’s mouth worked, angry words held in check.
“I’m ok. It didn’t do anything to me.”
“How do you know? How do you know for sure?” Dean pulled Sam in close and wrapped his arms around him in a death grip as though he were trying to keep Sam safe from a whirlwind full of hate and pain and poison.
“I’m ok. I promise. I’m ok,” Sam kept repeating.
“You just can’t do that, Sam, go crashing into people’s minds like that. It’s just… you’re so fucking pure, Sammy, and I just…” Dean closed his eyes against the rush of emotion, how the purest being he had ever known had been forced to wear the mind of the most powerful demon that walked the Earth, had been forced to experience what it was to rape, how he had now gone into someone else’s mind just trusting nothing bad would happen to him, and how he had stumbled into a first-hand experience with what sexual assault was like from the other perspective. Things Sam should never have had to deal with.
Sam was murmuring something to Dean. He struggled to force his mind to focus, to listen.
“You keep me pure. It didn’t hurt me. It can’t hurt me. You keep me pure, Dean…”
Dean found himself on his knees, face pressed into Sam’s stomach, tears wetting Sam’s flannel shirt. Sam tugged at him, body responding to Dean as it always did, wanting him as Sam always did. “Dean.” Sam’s voice was soft, breathy.
“I’ll keep you pure, Sammy.” Dean looked up at Sam, his green eyes still wet. He tugged Sam’s sweatpants off his hips, freeing his cock, half-hard and getting harder by the second. “I’ll keep you pure.” Dean brushed his lips over his initials cut into Sam’s skin, rubbed his thumbs over the hollows along his pelvic bone, then he opened his mouth and took Sam into his mouth like he was taking the sacrament. Then Dean began to pray. He knelt before Sam and prayed and prayed, until Sam threw back his head and spoke the name of God.