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The Taste Of Your Blood In My Mouth

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When Sam arrived at the bar, she still wasn’t sure what to expect, so she crossed the threshold with more than a little trepidation. She only had one good arm, the other pressed against her side in a sling and, weapon-wise, all she carried were the demon-containing handcuffs, a bottle of holy water, and Ruby's knife. 

 

There was no question about it- she already knew she wouldn't be able to use that knife on her brother. So her only hope was the set of handcuffs, which, to be honest, she was also hoping that she wouldn't have to use. 

 

She couldn't help but hope that a part of her brother was still in there, that he’d listen to her and willingly come back with her to the bunker, where she could cure him. She hoped that maybe , just this once- just this once - it would be easy and everything would go smoothly.

 

She tightened her grip on the handcuffs. Things never went easy for the Winchesters and there was no reason to believe that their luck would turn now. She needed to be at the top of her game and she needed to be ready for anything. When she stopped for just a moment, her vision swam as her exhaustion caught up with her. 

 

Cole had taken a lot out of Sam, both in strength and bravery, especially once she had heard her brother, or at least his voice, damning her to the army reject's so called mercy

 

She just needed to bring Dean home. She’d deal with the rest later. 

 

Taking a deep breath, Sam steadied herself and stepped into the bar, empty save for a lone barman.

 

And, of course, her brother, sitting at the piano, playing with the keys. 

 

“Hiya, Sammy,” Dean greeted without looking, his voice low and silky. 

 

Sam refused to acknowledge the shiver that ran down her back, just staring at her brother instead. Dean finally looked up at her, their eyes meeting as she stared him down. 

 

Dean stared back, but she couldn't read his gaze or his face and that was the most troubling thing. Even at their lowest, when their relationship, or whatever, was fractured, they were always able to read one another, always knowing what the other was thinking within seconds. 

 

Now? She was basically staring into the face of a stranger.

 

"Hey, Harv," Dean called out. 

 

From the corner of her eye, she could see the barman look up at that. She could feel his eyes on her. 

 

"Why don't you go grab a smoke?"

 

She turned her head slightly, just enough to watch the man leave after a moment's hesitation, before she turned back to face Dean. He leaned away from the piano, staring at her with an expression she couldn't even hope to name, eyes lingering on certain parts of her before meeting her gaze. He sipped at the drink he held before he used it to gesture at her arm. "Who winged you?"

 

Sam shifted, feeling the pain in her shoulder when she rolled it back slightly. Taking a deep breath, she spoke in a surprisingly steady voice. "Does it matter?"

 

Dean stared at her for a beat before he shook his head. "Not really," he said disinterestedly. He got up and walked around the piano, keeping his distance from her as he walked to the back of the bar, grabbing a bottle. 

 

She turned with him, not wanting him out of her sight. 

 

"I told you to let me go."

 

"You know I can't do that," Sam replied, feeling the tension rising with each passing second. She blinked hard, trying to keep her breathing under control. "By the way, your, uh, pal , Crowley… Sold you out."

 

Dean scoffed at that as he refilled his glass. "Sounds like him," he agreed, shaking his head. "Should get around to killing him, not like he's any good."

 

"Dean, we know how to cure demons," Sam cut to the chase, taking a step closer to him. "You remember that, right?"

 

"Little Latin, lots of blood. It rings a bell," Dean said with a nod, taking a second glass from under the bar and setting it on top. "Did you ever stop to think that if I wanted to be cured, I wouldn't have bailed?"

 

"Didn't you know that I wouldn't just, 'Let you go' ?" Sam demanded, taking another step closer. "Did you stop to think that, no matter what, I'd come after you to try and bring you back?"

 

Dean stared at her for a long moment before smirking, filling the second glass with amber liquid and sliding it towards her. "Have a drink."

 

She had never felt more like punching him in her life. 

 

"I'd rather not," she said coolly, taking the handcuffs out of her pocket and unfolding them. 

 

Dean glanced down at them, chuckling as he brought his own glass up to take a sip. "You really think those are gonna work?"

 

"Only one way to find out," Sam assured, tensing as she prepared to… To what? Rush him? He was stronger than her on her best day, let alone when she had one arm and he was a demon. Trick him? He didn’t just know her moves, he taught them to her. He knew all her tricks, every single thing she could do. 

 

She tightened her grip on the handcuffs, watching him watch her. Dean smirked at her, sipping his drink, seemingly aware of what she was thinking. 

 

“C’mon Sammy," Dean murmured, setting his drink to the side. “Show me what you can do.”

 

He was behind the bar; whether that was intentional to keep distance between them or just to make it easier to grab a drink, she wasn’t sure. He didn’t look away, his gaze daring her to do something. 

 

It was a trap, they both knew it. She had no power over him, no leverage, nothing. 

 

So what was he waiting for?

 

“What’s your game here?” Sam finally asked, taking the chance and slowly stepping closer to him, tightening her grip on the handcuffs so the metal dug painfully into her skin. “We both know you’re stronger than me, so why don’t you just end it right now?” She walked until she was right in front of him and the only thing separating them was the bar. “You know me, I’m not about to just let you go, I’m going to keep following you until I find a way to bring you home.”

 

Dean just kept smirking at her, bringing the second glass up between them, holding it centimeters away from her lips. 

 

“Have a drink Sammy, I think you need it,” he crooned.

 

“I’m good,” Sam insisted, eyes narrowing when he held the glass up to her lips anyway, tilting the contents into her mouth. She pulled away and let it splash to the wood, a wounded noise escaping Dean as it happened. 

 

“You shouldn’t waste good alc-” Dean started to say when Sam moved, reaching to grab his arm and put the handcuff on his wrists. 

 

Dean moved faster, grabbing her instead and twisting her good wrist hard enough for her to grit her teeth and automatically let go of the handcuffs. When they hit the counter, Dean quickly yanked them, tucking them into his own pocket. 

 

“Don’t make me hurt you Sammy,” Dean told her in what could almost be a warning tone. He squeezed her wrist one more time just to make his point and then let go. He refilled both the glasses, sliding the second one stubbornly to her. 

 

Sam stared at him. “What’s the point of this?” She asked, a hint of tiredness slipping into her voice. “What are you doing?”

 

Dean glanced at her from under his lashes before he straightened up. “Your hands are shaking,” he noted, nodding at them. “A drink would help soothe you.”

 

When he mentioned it, she realized he was right. Her hands were shaking and she curled them into fists to try to steady them, ignoring the offered glass.

 

“What’s your play here?” She asked again. “Why aren’t you trying to kill me at least?”

 

Dean stared at her. Maybe it was her imagination but she could almost see black specks in his eyes. He looked away from her, bending down under the bar to grab more bottles, setting them on top. “Why would I be trying to kill you?” He questioned. 

 

“Because you’re a demon, because you know I’m not going to stop until I drag you back and cure you, because you’re bored,” Sam rattled off, watching Dean snicker at the last one. “I don’t know, pick one.”

 

“Fourth option.”

 

“I didn’t mention a fourth.”

 

Dean just shook his head in amusement, busying himself with making more drinks. Before he could say anything, they heard something thrown into the bar, landing and clattering around on the ground. Whirling around, Sam's eyes widened when she saw the smoke coming out of it and quickly brought her shirt up to try to cover her face. 

 

Dean moved fast as well, jumping over the bar and grabbing her, pulling her as far away as he could from the smoke bomb. He quickly shrugged off his red shirt and pressed it to her face, covering her nose and mouth as much as he could. She looked at him in shock, meeting his gaze, which was surprisingly filled with anger as he looked her over to make sure she hadn’t breathed the gas in. 

 

He half-dragged, half-carried her out of the bar, careful with her arm and shoulder, wrapping an arm around her waist instead. She gasped when they were out, coughing and feeling her legs buckle, unable to accurately remember if she had breathed at all in the last few seconds. Before she could even turn to look at Dean, he tightened his grip on her and yanked her harshly to the side, twisting the both of them so that he was in front of her, a low growl sounding from his chest. 

 

She heard a gun being cocked and a familiar voice said, "Wow. It's really you." 

 

  Gritting her teeth, she looked around Dean, her own eyes narrowing when she saw Cole there. Her arm throbbed in pain, remembering how he had tried to torture her brother's location out of her. 

 

Dean scoffed at him- she didn't need to look to know that he was cocking an eyebrow at the newcomer. "We met?" He enquired, his tone stating that he really didn't care.

 

"Talked on the phone," the other man reminded, jerking his chin towards Sam. "Spent some time with your sister."

 

"Right. Right. You're the guy who's supposed to put a bullet in Sammy's brain." Dean glanced at her and she met his eyes, breathing out slowly as he looked her over, lingering on some of the bruises that were coloring her skin. His eyes narrowed and he turned back to Cole, who had been talking about things that neither one of them cared about.

 

"And now here we are, finally," he finished, staring at Dean almost hungrily. "Dean Winchester."

 

She heard and felt Dean's aggravated sigh. "Great. A groupie," he lamented, reaching back for her. Sam half-glanced at him. All his attention was on Cole, keeping himself between her and him. 

 

Her fingers slowly inched towards the pocket of her jacket. Dean had the handcuffs, but she still had a bottle of holy water. 

 

"You remember me?" If anything, Cole seemed almost pissed off at the connotation that Dean didn't immediately know who he was and it just made her all the more tired. She was drained. All she wanted to do was sleep and that wasn't going to happen for a lot longer.

 

"Yeah, yeah. You're that guy from that thing," Dean said dismissively, even waving his hand. He looked at Sam to give her an incredulous look, which she just met with a blank face of her own, which Dean sometimes called her 'bitch face'.

 

It almost felt normal, if not for the smell of sulfur that was coming off him in waves. 

 

"Nyack, New York, June 21, 2003," Cole told him, getting more and more agitated with each passing second. "It was the night you-"

 

"I don't care," Dean interrupted. "I really don't give a damn who you are or why you're crying to me."

 

If anything, it just pissed Cole off even more. "You don't care?" He repeated, anger coloring his voice. "It was when you-"

 

"I. Don't. Care," Dean repeated, rolling his eyes. “Get that through your head, I don’t give a damn about you. I don’t give a damn about why you decided to track me down. I was gonna let you go, cause you’re obviously an idiot, but then you showed just how much of an idiot you are.”

 

Dean narrowed his eyes, letting them flash black as he moved towards Cole who stared at him in horror. “You did something so stupid I don't think there's a real name for it. You tortured my little sister, calling me to make sure that I knew about it. I still gave you an out, I let you go. But here you are, and now?"

 

Dean disappeared from view for a moment before reappearing in front of Cole. 

 

With his arm buried in the other man's chest. 

 

Cole sputtered and gagged, blood slowly being choked out of his mouth as his body shook. Dean stared down at him as Cole's hand came up to grip at him, hold loosening with each second. 

 

"Now you're just dead meat," Dean taunted, bringing his arm back, clutching a torn piece of Cole's heart. He let it drop to the ground along with the man. He smirked at the image and then turned back to her. 

 

Just in time for her to throw the holy water at him, trying to ignore how he screamed when it touched him. She bounded forward, reaching into his pocket to grab the handcuffs and pull them out. Dean grasped at her, trying to stop her. She poured the rest of the holy water on him, making him buckle in pain as she managed to finally snap the handcuffs around his wrists. 

 

"It's over!" Sam told him with a snap, gripping the handcuffs tightly as Dean looked up at her. She swallowed hard at the almost murderous look he directed towards her. "It's over."


The only thing that Sam wanted to do was go to sleep. She was running on pure adrenaline and, for the next eight hours, she needed to be on her A-game if she wanted to cure her brother. 

 

But she also couldn’t just go to sleep, she needed to cure him first and foremost and then , she’d sleep for a week and let her arm heal. 

 

So for now, she went to get the cooler with the blessed blood, dragging it to the dungeon where she was keeping Dean. 

 

Who had been oddly silent the whole time, not even putting up a fight as she wrapped the chains around him and tied him down to the chair in the middle of the devil's trap. 

 

She pushed away any misgivings as she focused on the task at hand: get the blood down there and use said blood on Dean, cure him of being a demon in eight hours, then never talk about what he did as a demon because that was the Winchester method of dealing and moving on from any sort of possible traumatic experience.

 

Tested and proven to blow up in their face at some point. 

 

Shaking her head, she knelt down, using her legs to tip the cooler over so that she could hoist it onto the table with one arm. She stumbled and humbled a few times, cursing as it slipped out of her grip and back onto the floor. 

 

Mercifully, Dean didn't say anything, just watched as she struggled with the cooler until she finally managed to get it onto the table, letting out a deep sigh. 

 

She grabbed the other package and unrolled it, revealing a line of sterile syringes to be used. "For whatever it’s worth, I got your blood type," she assured, using her hand in the sling to uncap the syringe, inserting it into the mouth of the blood bag and slowly started to fill it.

 

"Sam, I know you think you’re gonna try and fix me," Dean finally said. "But did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want to be fixed? That maybe I'm alright with this?"

 

Sam ignored him as she set the syringe on the table, ready to be used, and grabbed the bottle of holy water, opening it and slowly splashing it onto the floor over the Devil's Trap as she murmured the Latin incantation.

 

"I know you can hear me, Sammy," Dean called out to her. She barely held her flinch back at the nickname. "Sammy, I don't want this. I don't want to be cured."

 

"Yeah, I pretty much figured that out," she grumbled, putting the empty bottle on the table. 

 

"You don't even know if it's going to work, all the notes said that it has to be 'living blood straight from a person', not from a blood bag," Dean reminded her. "For all you know, you'll do all of this and it won't work."

 

"It will." Sam tried not to listen, tried not to show that his words were affecting her. She knew those notes better than he did and he was right, the blood was supposed to be from a living human being. But it had never been attempted with a blood bag, so maybe it would still work. 

 

Picking up the syringe, Sam pressed down on the plunger to let some of the air and blood drip down onto the table. Nodding to herself she turned to her brother, walking towards him. 

 

Dean's eyes were firmly on the syringe, leaning back as far as he could in his seat. "Sammy… You know I hate shots," he said softly, reminiscent of how he had been as a human. 

 

"I know," she said just as softly, walking around him so that she could do it from behind. She still remembered when Crowley had bitten her and didn't want a repeat. Dean turned his head to try to keep her in his vision just as she inserted the needle into his arm and injected the purified blood into his arm. 

 

Dean's body immediately locked up, a sound she couldn't quite name barely escaping his lips as she emptied the tube of blood into him. 

 

Breathing out slowly, she pulled the needle out, fighting the urge to squeeze his arm in reassurance as she walked around him back to the table, debating to sit down in the chair next to the table. She was a bit afraid that if she sat down, she'd fall asleep. Instead she leaned back against the table, glancing down at her watch to keep track of time. 

 

Dean was panting, his eyes completely black as he fought for air he technically didn't need. She could feel his eyes on her as she took her phone out, hoping to see a text from Cas and that he would be there soon. 

 

There was nothing and she pushed away the hopeless feeling rising in her chest as she put her phone back into her pocket, taking a deep breath, and waited for the rest of the hour to pass. 


Sam jerked awake when her watch beeped, loud and echoing in the dungeon. She breathed heavily as she looked around, swallowing hard as everything came back to her. 

 

It was between shots three and four, with Dean snarling and jerking away as best as he could. Each shot seemed to affect him more than the last and it made her chest tighten to see him in pain. 

 

She had reset her watch and then, instead of leaning against the table, she had sat down in the chair,, eventually just… Drifting off by accident. She groaned and then grimaced, her free hand coming to massage her sprained shoulder. She had managed to nap in a way that she shouldn’t have and now her arm hurt even more. 

 

Feeling eyes on her, Sam ignored her brother as she reached clumsily for a new syringe and the blood bag, dragging it over to herself so that she could fill it up again. 

 

“You look tired Sammy.” Her brother's voice was surprisingly soft and she swallowed thickly at the sound of it. 

 

She didn’t bother to answer, just rubbed at her eyes. She closed them tightly and shook her head, trying to wake herself up fully. Once she finished filling the syringe with blood, she placed her palm on the table to brace herself standing up, stopping when her vision spun at the motion.

 

She’d finish this injection and leave to get some coffee and painkillers. Dean was tied up and going nowhere, so she could leave him for a few minutes. 

 

Her feet felt like lead as she walked over to Dean, trying to keep herself as steady as possible. She walked around him once more, reaching out to steady herself on the back of his chair, hand shaking when she brought it up to the crook of his elbow. 

 

Dean tried to jerk his arm away and that was enough for her to drop the syringe and she wasn’t sure why- maybe the angle she dropped it at or the cement floor- but it broke apart, the blood seeping out onto the floor. 

 

Sam stared at the red puddle. It was taking her mind a couple more seconds to catch up to what had happened and she closed her eyes, bowing her head. And, she would admit, she was biting back tears. Usually she was more composed than this, had better control over herself and her emotions. 

 

But she was tired, dead on her feet, and she didn’t have the energy to deal with this. She was on the last dredges of whatever strength she had left. 

 

So, she swallowed hard, using her foot to push the glass and metal pieces to the side so that she didn’t step on them, and walked back to the table, getting a new syringe and filling it with blood with shaking hands. 

 

“Sam,” she heard Dean say, his voice still soft and what could almost be considered as concerned. “You need to go to sleep.”

 

Sam didn’t bother to answer that either, just trying to steady her hands enough to get it into the syringe. 

 

“Sam, I knew about this cure, I knew that we can turn a demon back into a human," Dean said. “Don't you think that if I wanted it, I would’ve come back, or wouldn’t have left in the first place?”

 

“You’re a demon. If my brother was still human, he would understand, but you don’t," Sam told him as briskly as she could. She couldn’t get the needle in the right way into the blood bag without it slipping. She paused and took another deep breath. 

 

“Sam,” Dean called softly. “Can we talk about this?”

 

“There’s nothing to talk about: you’re a demon, we know how to cure demons, we’re curing you of being a demon,” Sam listed. “Nothing else to discuss.”

 

“There’s a hell of a lot more to discuss,” Dean countered. “Emphasis on the hell part.”

 

Sam made a small face at that, glancing down at her useless arm to try to figure out how to use it properly with her hands shaking as hard as they were.

 

“Sam. Sammy,” Dean called out to her. “Can you just… Give me five minutes? Five minutes to talk?”

 

Sam closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady her hands. They weren’t cooperating with her, she needed a minute to get herself under control. “You have one minute,” she told him. The minute was mostly for her, she needed it to compose herself and gather the strength she needed to continue this. Dean could babble about whatever he wanted, she wasn’t going to listen. 

 

“Sam, I can see your soul.”

 

Sam froze at the words- whatever she'd thought he was going to say, she hadn't had even a remote clue it would be that . Her free hand came up to her chest, as if she could hide him from seeing it. “And?”

 

“And I can actually see a lot more than that,” his voice softened. “I can see exactly what those sons of bitches did to you in the Cage, I can see the damage, I can see your pain. But most of all? I can see its brightness and Sam, I don’t think there’s anything that can compare.”

 

“Now I know you’re a demon, if you’re going into poetry,” Sam said with a snort, pulling the blood bag closer as she tried to slide out a new syringe. 

 

“I can see a lot more than that too. I can see what you’ve tried to keep hidden," Dean continued. “I can see exactly what Azazel was trying to cultivate.”

 

“Azazel was trying to find the right vessel for Lucifer, the demon blood just strengthened me,” Sam told him. “That’s all he was trying to do.”

 

“Maybe that’s what we always thought but I can see the real reason now. The real places where that demon blood is curled up,” Dean told her. “Sam… I can see your truth.”

 

At that Sam finally turned around to look at him. “ My truth?” She repeated. “What the hell is my truth ?”

 

“Your real destiny, not that screwed up puppet-playing one that the angels wanted for us, but the real one,” Dean said. “The one where you rule Hell.”

 

Sam froze at that, feeling her heart skip a beat as she stared at Dean incredulously. “What?”

 

“The queen of Hell, Samantha Winchester,” Dean breathed out. “The second you came into that bar, I knew it, I could feel it. You’re still a human and five years off demon blood but I can still feel it so strongly, that pull, all that strength.”

 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sam snapped, feeling the ice in her chest spreading. “I don’t know where this is coming from and I don’t care.”

 

“I’m talking about the one truth that I know down to the marrow in my bones.” Dean told her, his eyes flashing black. “I’m talking about where you really belong: on the throne. Of Hell.”

 

Sam closed her eyes and breathed out slowly, pushing away the phantom sensation of the prickling of the crown on her head. She had come close a few times, so close that she could almost feel the crown along her hair, could feel the bones of the throne as she settled into it. 

 

Back when she had been drinking demon blood, when she had been damning herself over and over again, so close to giving in to the whispers in the back of her mind if it meant saving Dean, that she could almost see the throne within her arms reach. 

 

But that was a long time ago. She was a different woman now and furthermore, she had no right to claim the throne nor did she want to. 

 

“The thought’s been there ever since I woke up with a new set of contacts. I can hear it, I know exactly what it is,” Dean continued, emboldened by her silence. “All demons feel it Sammy, they just don’t do anything about it cause they know you don’t want it yet. Crowley’s been keeping that seat warm for you for far too long now, and now it's time for-”

 

“For what?” Sam injected, looking up at him. “For me to take the throne? To become Azazel's Girl Queen of Hell?” She stepped towards him. “You’re either lying or you’re just trying to find a way to get free,because  the real Dean, my Dean, would never in a million years even think about saying crap like this.”

 

“Because he was scared to, scared for what it would mean for you and him. Scared to lose you,” Dean told her, eyes flickering back and forth between the newly filled syringe in her hands and back to her face. “Sammy, please just listen to me and-”

 

Sam gave a snort and threw the blood bag back onto the table, stalking towards Dean. “Your minute is up,” she told him.

 

Dean jerked in his seat, trying to get away from the needle. “You’re meant to be the Queen!” He insisted, shifting away as much as he could. “Sammy, you’re supposed to rule and I’m-” Whatever Dean believed that he was supposed to be was cut off as she inserted the needle into his arm and plunged the blood into him, causing him to roar in pain. 

 

Sam was breathing heavily as she pulled the needle out, a bead of Dean’s blood escaping from the puncture. She stared at it for a moment, stomach clenching, before she pulled away, tossing the syringe back onto the table. 

 

“I’m going to get something to drink,” she told Dean. She couldn’t bring herself to look back at him as he panted and snarled. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”


Sam walked into the kitchen with bleary eyes, looking around blankly for a moment before remembering what she came in for. She went to the counter and managed to get a cup out, pouring herself coffee from the pot. Not caring to add her usual milk or sugar, she drank it down, making a face at the bitter taste. 

 

Wiping her mouth, she rummaged through the drawer, getting a bottle of painkillers. She shook out two pills, staring at them for a moment before adding a third. She swallowed them with another gulp of coffee.

 

Dean's words kept running through her head: all the accusations, how sure Dean had sounded, like it was all facts, his firm belief that Sam was supposed to… What? Take the crown of Hell and proclaim herself as Queen?

 

Years back, when Dean had first been sent to Hell, she could admit that she'd thought about it. Thought about storming Hell to save her brother, either by killing Lilith or destroying the scroll that contained his deal. That had been the plan she and Ruby had been working towards before the angels decided to intervene and pulled Dean out instead.

 

But now? In the middle of all this, when her brother wasn't in his right mind and was claiming to want things she knew that he never would if he were himself? 

 

And even if she secretly wanted it, she couldn't do that. It wouldn't be right and when she got Dean- her Dean- back, he'd blame himself for all of it. 

 

Letting out a small sigh, Sam knocked back the rest of the coffee, coughing when some of it got stuck in her throat. Her stomach clenched, reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything since… She couldn't even remember anymore. She distantly remembered having cereal at some point but for all she knew, that had been a few days ago.

 

But she couldn't even think about eating right now, when just the thought of food made her want to throw up. She couldn’t think about anything, really, other than what Dean had told her. 

 

She felt the back of her throat salivate and she closed her eyes, leaning back against the counter as her hand came up to cover her mouth. Breathing in and out through her nose, she tried to clear her mind and not think about the growing itch under her skin. 

 

She was five years clean. 

 

Five grueling years that included a trip to Hell, to the Cage itself. 

 

She had no desire to go back down that road. 

 

She went back to the coffee pot and turned it on, adding more grounds so she could at least have another cup of coffee in a bit. She hesitated before grabbing a bottle of water for Dean. He'd been screaming a lot from the shots and she was sure that his throat would be hurting. She looked around the kitchen to see if there was anything else she could bring him. Later, when he was cured, she'd go out and get him pie and fast food and whatever else he wanted but right now, she was low on provisions, since shopping hadn't exactly been on the forefront of her mind during the past few months.

 

She stopped at the counter where there were a few bottles of whiskey, Dean's choice of drink; she preferred simple bourbon herself, though she made an exception for whiskey at times. Her heart twisted in her chest as she remembered his screams and went to grab a glass of that as well, carefully maneuvering everything so that she could pour the golden liquid in. 

 

The water and the drink were going to have to do for now. Later on, they could celebrate properly and the thought made her smile, thinking of the end of all this. 

 

If she focused on that, she could ignore everything he'd said. 

 

Her watch beeped at the reminder that the hour had passed and it was time to give Dean another shot. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself as best as she could and returned to the dungeon. 

 

"Dean, I got you something to drink," she said as she walked in. "So you can-" Her words failed her as she saw the empty chair, the water bottle slipping from her hand and falling to the ground with a bounce as the glass of whiskey fell too, glass and alcohol spraying everywhere. She crossed over the Devil's Trap to the chair, reaching out to touch the ropes and handcuffs before she turned to the table. 

 

Sam's heart sank when she realized that the cooler was tipped over. Swallowing hard, she crossed to it and nudged it upright with her foot, only to see that the blood bags were all opened and the blood was spilled on the ground. 

 

She stared at it in horror before her instincts kicked in and she ran out. She skidded into the control room and grabbed the keys, unlocking the main door. She moved as fast as she could, having to use her whole body to bring one of the heavy switches up. She held her breath as the lights were turned off in the whole bunker and the red emergency lights kicked in. She could hear the groans and rumbles of the bunker start to lock down as she trapped herself and Dean inside. 

 

Taking a step back, she quickly moved back out as fast as she could- this was the only control system for shutting the bunker down and she had just given her location away. She tucked the keys into her pocket and drew out Ruby's knife instead, gripping the handle reassuringly. 

 

"Smart, Sammy!" Dean's voice called out to her, making her heart skip a beat. "Locking the place down. Doors won't open. I get it." She could almost see the smirk on his face as he spoke, his voice getting closer to her. She tried to speed up as best as she could. "But here's the thing, I don't want to leave you, not anymore. Never again."

 

When Sam managed to get out of the control room, the lights came back to normal, making her blood turn to ice. She turned and closed the door, hand fumbling for the keys in her pocket. She had just managed to get the key into the lock and turn it when the door shook heavily as Dean tried to get through. Backing up, breathing heavily, she held the knife up, hand shaking.

 

She was back where she'd started: she'd never be able to use the knife on him. 

 

Despite everything that he had said and done, everything he'd offered to her, he was still her brother and she'd never be able to hurt him.

 

"Dean. We were getting close, okay?" She tried, in what she hoped was a calm, steady voice. She wasn't even fooling herself. "I know you’re still in there somewhere. Just let me finish the treatments, please." The only sound was her breathing, there was no answer from the other side of the door. 

 

"Please," she whispered. 

 

She jumped back when suddenly a piece of the door was broken off, coming to rest at her feet. Dean glared at her from the hole he'd made before moving back and slamming whatever it was he'd grabbed into the door again. 

 

"Here's the thing about agreeing with you Sammy," she could hear him call out amidst his attempts to break down the door. "I don't want to be cured."

 

Gritting her teeth, she turned and ran once more, remembering to keep to the walls and turn as best as she could, like their dad had taught them. 

 

She had no idea where to go or what to do. She couldn't leave the bunker, so as long as she stayed here so did Dean. Going out meant losing him again and that wasn't something she was ready to do. 

 

And where was Cas? She had texted him ages ago and he still hadn't replied, hadn't so much as sent her a confirmation. 

 

Breathing hard Sam pressed up against the wall, turning her head to barely look around the corner. She relaxed slightly when she saw that it was empty, swallowing hard as she turned back around. 

 

And immediately ducked as Dean appeared behind her, swinging something that embedded into the wall. Reflexes took over and she brought Ruby's knife up, pressing it hard against his throat. 

 

Dean didn't resist, and instead he tilted his head up to expose more of his neck with a smile. 

 

"Well… Look at you," he drawled lowly, tongue flicking out against his lips. He moved his head, pressing against the blade until a very thin line of blood appeared. "Do it. It’s all you."

 

Sam tightened her grip on the handle as much as she could, feeling her whole body shake. Her breaths came out in small pants and gasps, but she still couldn’t get enough air in as she stared into Dean's green eyes. 

 

His triumphant green eyes. 

 

Realization made her grip weaken. "It's not going to do anything to you," she whispered. "The knife doesn't work on you."

 

Dean's smirk widened and, before she could even blink, he reached up to grab her wrist and twisted, until she was pressed against the wall with her good arm pushing into the small of her back and the knife had fallen from her hand. 

 

She could feel Dean press into her, pushing her arm harder, making her arch slightly, slotting his thigh between hers. She gritted her teeth, eyes widening when she realized that he was moving his leg up to just barely grind against her. 

 

She tried to break free at that, or at the very least try to kick his leg away from her. “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded. 

 

Dean leaned forward, fucking nuzzling at her neck. “Missed you, Sammy,” he whispered into her ear. 

 

  She tried to resist the shiver that shot through her at his voice and action. 

 

  “Missed you like crazy.” His body was pressed into the line of her back, keeping her trapped against the wall, so he could let one hand go to gently brush her hair off her neck. “No one else can compare to you.”

 

Sam swallowed hard, trying not to lean back into his touch. She wasn’t going to admit it, but she had missed him too. After Gadreel, after everything that had happened because of that so-called angel, she couldn’t bring herself to be with her brother again. Not after he had let the angel trick her into giving consent. 

 

But unlike Dean, her sexual appetite had simply evaporated after that. Her brother still slept with other women, and she knew they were only one night stands that would never lead to anything other than sexual release, but it still stung in a way that she no longer had the right to claim. 

 

But this wasn’t Dean, it was just a demon trying to get under her skin and it knew exactly what to do and what to say.

 

And it was working. 

 

“Tried to get you out of my mind, but no other slut could compare. They were all so whiny and annoying- almost wasn’t worth getting off,” Dean whispered to her. 

 

She could feel his lips against her good shoulder and he laughed when she tried to hit him with it. 

 

He shifted the both of them so that she was locked in, so that she couldn't even think of moving away. When she tried to buck him off or bring her leg back to kick at him, his hand snapped out and grabbed her bad shoulder, squeezing hard enough to make her legs buckle. 

 

Where the hell was Cas?

 

"Don't wanna hurt you Sammy," he warned her. "So don't make me."

 

"You're not my brother so stop acting like him," she ground out. "Let me go."

 

"Why? I like you like this," Dean said, reaching to tug her shirt down enough to reveal her bare shoulder, leaning forward to press a kiss to it. "And it's like I said, I've missed you."

 

She tried to focus on her breathing, biting down on her tongue to prevent herself from saying anything that she would regret. She closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling through her nose, trying to think. 

 

The blood had taken some effect, turned him more human than he wanted to admit, human enough to be able to escape the demon holdings. Maybe some more prodding from her side would help. Dean had said a long time ago, after all, that they kept each other human. 

 

"I've missed you too," she whispered. It wasn't a lie. She really had. She had missed him in every single way possible- as a brother, a lover, and a partner. They had just started to creep back together as simple hunting partners before the Mark had taken its toll and Metatron killed him.

 

Bringing them to where they were now. 

 

She could feel him smile as he slowly moved up her shoulder to her neck, teeth scraping over her pulse. Her heart was hammering in her chest and she took a deep breath, hitching when Dean pressed another kiss to the shell of her ear. 

 

"I know you didn't mean what you said, that if it had been you in my place then you wouldn't have saved me. You were pissed off, I know," Dean told her, moving away enough to tug her flannel off, quickly pressing her back against the wall when she tried to wiggle free. "You're not that kind of a person, especially not to me."

 

"I was hurt, Gadreel was… It reminded me of Lucifer. When I was his vessel," Sam confessed. "I just wanted you to understand, I just wanted you to acknowledge what you did to me."

 

"I know, I'm sorry Sammy, baby, sweetheart," Dean murmured, kissing her cheek. "Sammy."

 

Sam kept her head against the wall, forehead pressing into the plaster next to the hole he had made. She stared down at it and tried to control her breathing, swallowing hard once more. She could feel her body shaking and her shoulder was starting to hurt her again. 

 

Dean gripped at her shoulder again but this time, he slowly massaged it, working out the tension. She barely noticed when he tugged her shirt down enough to reveal the rest of her brace and sling as he slid his fingers under them to work at it. A sound barely escaped her at the motion, legs shaking. 

 

"Hell, you're tense, tighter than anything," she heard him say. It took her a moment to realize that he had managed to pull her shirt off, leaving her in just her bra and the brace. "Haven't been taking care of yourself, Sammy."

 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait." Sam tried to reach down to grab her shirt as it was falling. "What the hell are you doing?"

 

In response, Dean just grabbed the shirt and yanked it off the rest of the way, tearing it in the process. "I'm trying to help you."

 

"By ripping my clothes!?"

 

"They're in the way!" Dean protested indignantly, fingers working over her shoulder as she winched from some of his touches. "How did you get hurt?"

 

"Why? Suddenly you care?" Sam muttered under her breath before speaking normally. "Got winged by a demon when I was trying to get information. It got a lucky shot."

 

"And Castiel didn't heal you because..."

 

Sam bit hard on her lower lip, unsure if she should tell him. 

 

"He's running on fumes," she finally admitted. "He didn't have enough strength to heal me and himself at the same time."

 

She heard Dean mutter something about that but couldn't make out whatever he said, too distracted by his hand slowly moving over her shoulder as he slowly worked the knots and tension out of it. 

 

She had to admit, it was feeling better than it had in a while and she found herself pressing back into his touch. 

 

God, she'd missed his touch so much, missed his hands on her, missed just feeling him. She was a tactile person and the only other person in her life was Dean. She had built herself around him and being without him was torture. Especially all these months. 

 

She was so distracted that she hadn't even realized his hand had slid under her bra and was cupping her breast until she felt his fingers gently pinch her nipple. 

 

"Dean! What the hell-?" She started to shout only to break off into a barely held back moan as his other hand slid down her jeans and just barely touched her through her underwear. She shivered when Dean continued to massage at her breast as he started to slowly rub her.

 

"Been a while, huh?" He murmured, pressing his fingers against her harder. She bit back a whimper as she felt herself get wetter in response to his touches. It wasn't a lie; it had been a while since anyone had touched her, including herself. 

 

“Stop,” Sam tried to tell him, voice wavering when she felt him grind his growing erection against her. “Dean.”

 

"Shh," Dean soothed. Whatever she was about to say fell away as Dean pushed her underwear to the side and slid his finger smoothly inside of her, making her gasp, barely able to resist pushing her hips down more. "Just relax."

 

A whimper escaped her throat as Dean slowly pumped his finger into her, twisting his wrist so that his thumb could just barely brush against her clit. He slowly slid in a second finger, scissoring them as he dragged them out and in. 

 

"Stop, stop," Sam whispered, clawing at the wall with her good hand. She couldn't think about anything else other than the burning pleasure that was growing in her lower stomach. It was almost painful, clenching around his fingers as he worked her body expertly. She was almost embarrassed at how quickly she felt her body starting to reach her orgasm, hips moving with his fingers.

 

She didn't notice when his hand left her breast or the strange sound behind her. For a moment, everything felt right in the world. That she had Dean, all of Dean, with her and this was just any other time in the bunker, just another moment between them. 

 

Dean rubbed at her clit, pressing his fingers as deep inside of her as he could when she finally felt her orgasm rush through her, making her practically scream in pleasure, sobbing at the intensity. 

 

Just as Dean shoved his bleeding wrist into her open mouth, using his shoulder to shove her head onto it as his blood erupted over her tongue and lips. 

 

  Before she could do anything, before her mind could wrap around what had happened and what he had done, she reflexively swallowed, feeling his blood dribble down the corner of her lips and down her throat. The heat from the blood mixed with the heat of the pleasure that was still coursing through her and, for a moment, Sam couldn’t breathe, frozen in place as the mouthful worked its way through her. 

 

She felt Dean slowly slide his fingers out of her, tugging her underwear back into place. She felt his arm wrapping around her waist from the front. Could feel him slowly grinding his erection against her, could feel it through his jeans, could feel his heat radiating off of him. 

 

Her tongue sneaked out to lick at her lips, a ragged sound escaping her when she could taste the remnants of his blood. 

 

Her fingers twitched at her side. 

 

“Sammy?” She could hear him call to her, could feel him pressing into her, could almost feel his heart beating in his chest through clothes and skin. “Sammy?”

 

He loosened his grip enough so that she could turn to face him, eyes clouded over and lips blood stained, jeans open and bra pushed up to reveal her breasts. Her mouth was parted as she breathed, if only because her body knew that she had to do it. 

 

“Sammy?” She could hear the concern in his voice, could see his green eyes with the flecks of black in them, could… Could…

 

Her throat tightened to the point that she couldn’t breathe. Her stomach twisted to the point of pain. Her limbs were shaking enough that Dean reached out to try to steady her. 

 

“Sammy? Sweetheart?”

 

She could feel something clawing its way out of her, breaking apart skin and bone to the point that she was surprised she couldn’t hear cracking. Something deep inside of her, something she thought she had managed to shove down, awoke and reared its head once more, grabbing her by her throat and tightening its grip.

 

Her hand snapped out and grabbed Dean's still bleeding wrist, bringing it up and wrapping her lips around it, teeth digging into skin as she eagerly and desperately drank his blood. 

 

Dean didn’t move away or try to push her off. Instead, his other hand came up to grip at the back of her head, pushing her more into his wrist, which she eagerly complied with. She pulled back with a gasp after what seemed like forever and yet, not nearly enough, gasping for air as fire rushed through her, causing every nerve to alight with life.

 

She watched Dean sink his teeth into his own lips, tearing apart skin, biting into his tongue, and that precious blood making its slow way down his chin. A high needy sound escaped her, making Dean give her a small smirk. 

 

And when Dean leaned forward to press their lips together, bloody and ripped, it felt like she had finally come home.

 

It was a mess of limbs and clothes after that, teeth biting into flesh and nails scraping down arms and back. Dean pushed his knee between her legs and lifted her, balancing her against the wall on one knee as he ripped the rest of her shirt and bra off, wrapping an arm around her waist and holding her up to tear her jeans off, throwing everything to the ground haphazardly. 

 

He’d always been able to hold her up easily, she may have been almost as tall as him, but Dean was broader and stronger, and now it felt like she really did weigh nothing. That was how effortless he made it seem as he held her up and stripped her completely. He placed her back onto his thigh to let one hand free to fumble at his own jeans, popping it open enough to pull his cock out. 

 

He lifted her by her hips one more time and slid her down onto his cock, making both of them groan at the sensation. Panting, she tried to meet his thrusts despite the lack of leverage, hand scrambling for some sort of purchase along his chest and arms. 

 

She was barely aware of one of his hands gripping at her shoulder, feeling the high of his cock inside of her and his blood rushing through her, practically deafening her to any other sound. It wasn't until his grip tightened and her shoulder reminded her that it had barely healed that she cried out in pain. 

 

Dean immediately pulled back. She wasn't sure when but he had a knife in his hands, Ruby's knife, and he brought it up, cutting into his own neck.

 

She didn't wait for him to push her, immediately leaning forward to wrap her lips around it, drinking deeply and greedily. Each mouthful felt like another spark alighting something inside of her, adding to the growing heat in her lower stomach that pulsated in time with his thrusts. 

 

His hand went to her shoulder again, this time to the clasps and slowly undid them. She couldn't even pull back from his blood to tell him not to do that, that she needed to keep it like that so that it could heal.

 

He hadn't been wrong, his blood was like no other demon before, couldn't even compare. It was hearty and thick, completely overpowering her entirely until she couldn't tell where she began and Dean ended. 

 

And most importantly, it was theirs. Their blood, one and the same. 

 

When Dean finally undid the sling he gently pulled it off of her, letting it fall to the ground as he massaged her shoulder, sliding his hand over her arm as he helped her to straighten it. 

 

There was no more pain. She blinked and finally pulled away, stomach contracting almost painfully from the amount of blood she had drunk. She looked at her arm that Dean was slowly helping her to extend, turning it this way and that with no more pain. 

 

She wasn't sure how, but he had healed her. She brought her arm back, staring at her hand as she curled her fingers into a fist, slowly letting go and looking up at her brother, who just smiled back at her.

 

She breathed out slowly, feeling his blood drying on her lips, as she leaned forward again, just barely brushing their lips together. Dean's hand came up to cup her cheek, hips slowly moving as his cock continued to pump into her. He moved the both of them so that he could press her into the wall a bit more.

 

And when he pulled out to thrust into her once more, it only took a single thought to throw him off her and slam him into the opposite wall. 

 

His head bounced along the concrete wall as she landed on her feet, immediately feeling the chill of the floor, as he was pinned to the wall. He wasn't hurt, couldn't be hurt, but he looked annoyed as hell, his eyes opened to reveal black, glaring. 

 

Ruby's knife was back in her hand as she came forward, silencing whatever he was about to say when she cut through his shirt cleanly, letting it fall to the ground. Her other hand went to his belt, tugging it free and undoing his jeans, letting them join the rest of their clothes on the ground. 

 

“All yours, Sammy,” he breathed out, eyes wide and eager, the initial annoyance gone. When he tried to arch off of the wall, it was a simple thing to mentally push him back into place. The action made him smirk. “All yours. My queen.”

 

Sam couldn’t help the shudder that went through her at those words: Queen . Queen of Hell . She felt something coursing inside her, something she couldn’t name. She wasn’t sure if it was Dean's blood or her own, not that it mattered anymore, but those words set it off and made her hands shake. 

 

Queen of Hell. 

 

Sam's hand came out and her fingers lightly touched his cheek, trailing down his chest to the anti-possession tattoo that was keeping him locked into his own body, nails digging into his skin. “And you?”

 

He didn’t ask, didn’t have to; he knew exactly what she wanted to know, what she wanted to hear. He knew her better than she knew herself, knew her intimately, down to the littlest detail. 

 

That’s what made him perfect. 

 

“Yours,” he whispered reverently. “All yours, whatever you need. Everything that you need.”

 

A source of blood, a lover, a consort, a brother, a partner. 

 

A knight.

 

All hers. 

 

She reached up to wrap her hands around his face and bring him down to her, kissing him bruisingly as her teeth bit into his lower lip until blood dripped into her mouth. She let him come down from the wall but pushed back when he tried to reach for her. She was the one in control now. Maneuvering the both of them, she pushed lightly at him, until he finally got the message and slowly knelt on the ground, on his knees, looking up at her with such adoration that it made her breath catch in her throat. 

 

She leaned down to kiss him once more, his hands sliding over wherever he could reach; her legs, her hips, her lower back. When she pushed him again, he went willingly, laying down on the floor, uncaring of the cold or discomfort, and brought his legs up enough so that when she finally moved to straddle him, she could lean back on his thighs. 

 

Reaching between them, she lightly stroked at his cock before lifting up enough to press him into her. She gave a small moan as he slid back into her, not stopping until he was buried to the hilt and she was on his lap once more. 

 

“Sammy,” Dean moaned, wrapping his arms around her waist, bringing his legs up a bit more so that she could lean back comfortably as she rocked her hips in time with his. She sighed in pleasure as they moved together, one of his hands going to her clit and slowly rubbing at it in time with his thrusts. 

 

Dean sat up, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her closer, nuzzling at her and tilting his head back so that she could make another cut and lick at the blood slowly dripping from him. 

 

She couldn’t even remember what the blood of the demons she had drank from before tasted like; they were all immediately rendered unmemorable by the taste of Dean's blood. Nothing could ever hope to compare. 

 

She felt her orgasm start to build inside of her and she clenched around his cock, making him groan. They pressed their foreheads together, breathing and gasping the same air, as they moved, staring at one another. Dean's green eyes flicked back to black and she almost swore that she could feel her eyes start to react as well.

 

Then the scent of ozone suddenly filled the air, the only warning she got before she felt a burning sensation strike her, grabbing and yanking her away from Dean.

 

Arms wrapped around her tightly, pulling her away from Dean. Dean had tried to get to his feet, reaching for her, only for him to be slammed back with an increase of ozone in the air.

 

Sam moved as best as she could, trying to kick and slam her arms into whoever was dragging her away from Dean, away from her brother, snarling as a woman walked towards Dean, her hand held out in front of her and the telltale static of angel Grace almost singing in the air. 

 

She wasn’t aware of the person dragging her away calling her name, trying to get her attention. All she could hear was Dean shouting for her, seeing one more glimpse of him straining against his own hold until she was pulled around the corner away from him. 

 

“Sam! Sam!” The person called out to her, gripping her chin to try to turn her head to look at them. “Sam!”

 

Sam blinked, slowly, piece by piece, everything else around her that wasn’t Dean was settling and she was able to understand what was happening. Slowly, she turned her head to look at the person who was holding her back from going back to Dean. 

 

Cas stared at her. He was breathing heavily, an oddly human gesture. He shifted his arms around her so that he was still holding her just in a more comfortable position for the both of them, especially because she was still naked. 

 

She could see his eyes go over her, the lack of a sling and how her arm was moving around, the blood that obviously wasn’t hers staining her skin, the sex scent that was lingering in the air. 

 

The sulfur radiating from Dean and her in waves.

 

She swallowed hard, a breath choking out of her as she tried to focus herself, trying to push through the cloud that had descended on her that was trying to force her to go back. Back to her brother, back to their blood. She would swear that she felt something rise inside of her, feeling her eyes flicker slightly. 

 

Cas obtained a pinched look on his face and let go of her so that both his hands could cup her face, his own eyes lightning up with his Grace. She shuddered as she felt a chill go through her, could almost feel the heat of Dean's blood inside of her being extinguished as she gave a small gasp, coming down from a blood high as her mind cleared. 

 

Oddly enough… She felt the chill of the floor under her first. It spread through her and she shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as her head bowed, slowly realizing what had happened over the course of the last few… Hours? Days? How long had she and Dean been here like this? Entwined around one another in a mess of blood and sex? She started back heavily when she felt something move around her, head jerked up to see that Cas was wrapping his trench coat around her. 

 

"What happened?" He asked her, voice soft yet almost demanding. She flinched back from his tone, head bowing once more as she gripped the edges of the coat to wrap around her a bit tighter. She couldn't help but look back to where Dean had been, where she had been dragged away, heart clenching in her chest when she realized she could dimly hear his shouts. At least he only sounded angry, not as if he was getting hurt or in pain. 

 

But when she heard him call her name, she jerked towards him, and Cas's hand snapped out and grabbed her arm to prevent her from going to him. He didn't let go of her as he moved them, away from the hallway and towards… Where she wasn't sure. Cas half-carried her and, when she blinked, she realized that he had placed her on her bed in her room with no memory of getting there. Cas let her fall to her bed and went to her closet, opening it to pull out some of her clothes and tossing them next to her on the bed. 

 

He wasn't looking at her. She wasn't sure if that was on purpose or if she was just looking into it too hard. 

 

"What happened?" He asked her again, peering into the hallway. 

 

She… She didn't really have an answer. You didn't show up in time, I waited and waited but you didn't show and Dean got the best of me , a part of her couldn't help but think. 

 

She picked up the shirt and pulled it on, letting Cas's coat fall to the ground as she grabbed the pants and pulled them on. 

 

My brother and I were together in a way that we haven't in a long time and I missed it so much that I was willing to do anything to get it back , she didn't say. 

 

She stood up and wrapped her arms around herself, hand coming up to her lips where she could feel the dried blood still on her skin.

 

She couldn't help as her tongue sneaked out, licking at it as best as she could. 

 

What happened?

 

Dean had given himself to her, every last thing that he had and all that he could give, and she had taken it all from him almost without hesitation. Was it her selfishness? Was it her being selfish in regards to her brother? She had been starving for him, blood or no blood, and the moment that she realized she could have him, she did. 

 

She hadn't really put up that much of a fight back there, had she?

 

Wordlessly, she crossed to her bathroom, turning the sink on with surprisingly steady hands, and washed them, watched the water turn red and drain. She didn't dare to look at herself in the mirror, not sure of what she was going to see and not prepared for it, so she simply cupped her hands under the water and washed her face, washed her neck and arms, wetted her hair and then dried with her towel, uncaring how it stained the fabric red. 

 

"Hannah has brought Dean back to the dungeon, and will ensure that he will not escape a second time," Cas told her. "Will you continue to try to cure him?"

 

Was that even a real question? What other answer could she give other than a small, jerky nod? 

 

"Hannah has told me that there is human blood on the floor of the dungeon," Cas continued, still not looking at her. She did see his hands jerk slightly, Grace flashing over them for a moment at the same time she felt another chill go through her. "I'm guessing that's the blood you were going to use to cure him?"

 

She just nodded again, not caring if Cas didn't see it. 

 

"I don't believe we will be able to get more," he mused, coming back into her room just to grab his coat back off of the ground. He slid it back onto himself and she ignored that he made a face when he realized that there was a scent of sulfur coming from it. "What are you going to use?"

 

Sam had been staring down at the ground, bringing up her arms slowly. 

 

"I've got something that I can use," she said quietly.


Walking back to the dungeon, every step she took felt like a challenge. 

 

Wordlessly, she took out a syringe from the bag and drew blood from her arm- the arm that Dean had healed. She ignored Hannah, who was standing there watching the both of them; she was nothing more than additional Grace to ensure that Dean wasn’t going to be able to escape a second time.

 

Cas was there as well, of course. Sometimes, he seemed to say something but she couldn’t make out his words, like he was speaking from a great distance.

 

She ignored how the ozone in the air was putting her on edge, how hard it was to breathe with two angels so close. 

 

Taking a deep breath, she filled the syringe and crossed the room to Dean, not daring to look at him. 

 

She’d crack if she did. She knew she would.

 

Pressing the needle into him, she injected him with the first vial of human blood, closing her eyes as she confessed in time with the injection. 

 

“I couldn’t complete the trials.”

 

When she finished the injection, leaving Dean gasping in pain, Cas came to her side and carefully guided her away from him, taking the used syringe from her. He sat her down in the chair, back to Dean, and kept his hand on her shoulder as they waited. 

 

An hour later, the second injection, the second confession.

 

“The angel using my body killed Kevin.”

 

Rinse and repeat, over and over again. Cas moved her around, staying by her side as Hannah stared at Dean, blade in her hand, ready for the moment he attempted to get out of the chair again. 

 

The third injection, the third confession.

 

“Dean got the Mark of Cain out of desperation and became a demon. I drove him away from myself, towards Cain.”

 

At some point, Cas got her some water to drink. Her mouth was dry and her throat was parched. But water wasn’t going to do a thing for that. They both knew it. She drank it anyway, only because he insisted. 

 

Her stomach clenched as she filled the syringe again.

 

“I made him believe that I didn’t care about him, that I wouldn't stop at nothing to help him, no matter what.”

 

When she was sitting in the chair, trying not to listen to Dean gasp and pant in pain, she stared at her hands folded in her lap. They were completely still and calm for the time being.

 

She knew that it wasn’t going to last. Withdrawal had always hit her within forty-eight hours the previous times and she knew that this time was going to be even worse. 

 

She filled another syringe. 

 

“I said I wouldn’t help him because I wanted to hurt him.”

 

The sixth and seventh injection passed rather quickly, much to her surprise. Whenever Dean had tried to say something, the scent of ozone increased and his words were choked down, forcing him to remain silent. 

 

She didn’t know whether to thank them for that or bury an angel blade in their chests. 

 

“I was weak enough to drink his blood and demand more, I hurt him to get more of his blood and I didn’t care.”

 

The last syringe was injected and she took Ruby's knife in hand. The blade had been cleaned of demon blood and she stared at it, turning it this way and that. It was time for the last confessions. 

 

“I failed my brother.”

 

Taking a deep breath, she made a cut along her palm, cupping the blood carefully. She walked over to Dean and placed it against his mouth, forcing it open and letting her blood enter him this time. 

 

Their eyes met, his pleading at her, as she whispered the incantation to finish the ritual and get her brother back. She couldn’t look away from him, her heart feeling like it was being squeezed. 

 

“I want what he offered me as a demon.”


Once she was sure that Dean was resting comfortably in his room, Sam closed the door behind her and looked up wearily at Cas, who was standing there, waiting for her. 

 

The angel didn't say anything, nor did his face betray any sort of emotion to hint at what he was thinking about. He almost seemed like the Cas they had known in the beginning, the emotionless soldier of Heaven. 

 

She must've really screwed up if she had forced him to revert back to that version. 

 

Swallowing hard, Sam slowly limped back to the dungeon, intent on placing herself in there, for however long the demon blood took to leave her system. 

 

She slowly laid down on the cot that someone had put there- maybe it was Cas who'd thoughtfully done so but, at the moment, she couldn’t care. There were a few bottles of water on the ground within reach and she turned her head towards them, staring at them until her vision went blurry. She closed her eyes and turned onto her side, using her previously busted arm as a pillow. 

 

She remembered the last time she’d been forced to go through detox. It wasn't something she could forget and she knew that it grew slowly in intensity, until it was uncontrollable and she was being slammed into the walls while experiencing seizure after seizure. 

 

She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat and tried to focus on her breathing- in for three seconds, hold for three seconds, out for three seconds. She did that a few times until her head started to hurt and after that, she just lay there waiting. 

 

She remembered the hallucinations too and, quite frankly, those were the worst part. She could deal with being thrown around the room, could deal with the seizures, could deal with the feeling that Death was inches away from her. 

 

She couldn’t deal with an image of her brother calling her a monster. 

 

Because, in all honesty, it was the truth. After everything that had happened in the last few hours, she knew it was really just the honest truth, one she had tried to deny and cover up for years. She was a monster, no better than a demon, a blood junkie that used her brother without care and wouldn’t have stopped if Cas hadn’t come in to forcefully separate her from him. 

 

It would be better for everyone if she just got slammed a bit too hard into the walls during this detox and simply… Didn'’t get up again. If she just… Ended. She’d never bring anyone else down, never hurt someone else that she cared about. Dean could finally live a better life, with someone he actually deserved, someone who wasn’t his fucked up mess of a little sister. 

 

She breathed out slowly as she felt herself start to heat up, shifting on the cot just enough to spread out. She tugged her shirt off, letting it fall to the ground. Already, she felt like she was running a fever and yet, her skin felt clammy to the touch. 

 

It never used to happen this fast. She used to have at least a few days before feeling the effects and after that, the withdrawal would kick in. This started almost simultaneously with curing Dean and if she had been in a better mind set, she would’ve tried to look into the possibility of whether or not the two were connected. 

 

Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing, tried to focus on anything that wasn’t Dean. 

 

Not that it worked. She could still feel his fingers on her skin, could taste him on her lips, could remember how it felt when he had held her so delicately, like she was made of something precious. 

 

But that wasn’t him, it was the demon pretending to be him. Pretending to be him so he could… What? 

 

He had said that he wanted her to take the throne of Hell, become the Queen. That he was offering himself in every way in order to ensure that that happened. His blood, his body, his knife, anything and everything. 

 

But for what? What did he gain from it? What did he want from it?

 

What was the point of it all?

 

Sam’s body locked up as the first jolt of pain shot through her, sharp and unyielding. It gripped her tightly and made her throat close up, gagging her and choking her as she desperately tried to breathe. She couldn’t move, couldn’t hold onto a single thing around her, could barely even register that she was still in the bunker's dungeon as her body arched up in pain. 

 

A hand suddenly gently took hers, squeezing it tightly. Whatever pressure had seized her disappeared, making her fall back on the cot, coughing and breathing heavily as she tried to come back to herself.

 

A second hand came, holding hers in between theirs, tight and comforting. Weakly, she squeezed back as best as she could and, despite having her eyes closed, she could feel the smile on the other person's face. 

 

Because she knew those hands, knew them in every way possible. She knew what they felt like when they were wrapping bandages around her, when they were hugging her, holding her, embracing her like she was something special. 

 

Because it meant that her brother hadn’t abandoned her to this, not again, not like last time. 

 

Because it meant that she was allowed to hope that he still loved her like he used to. 

 

When she regained enough of her strength, she opened her eyes, a smile already curling on her lips. 

 

Only for her stomach to drop when she saw, indeed her brother, but with black eyes staring back at her.

 

She tried to scramble back off of the cot, away from him, as a whimper escaped her. “No, I cured you, I cured you,” she whispered. “This can’t be… This can’t be…”

 

“You did,” Dean agreed with her, his black eyes fading back to the green she adored. “And yeah, he’s cured.”

 

Realization hit her hard and it made her want to curl up and close her eyes, ignore everything else around her, and pray for Death to take her. It would be better than this. 

 

Because this wasn’t Dean. It was just a hallucination brought on by the withdrawal. 

 

Before it had been a mixture of people she knew and herself as a kid. This time, it was her greatest regret, this demonic version of Dean that she had unwittingly paved the way for. 

 

Letting out a deep breath, Sam relaxed on the cot again, closing her eyes. “Go ahead,” she said wearily. “Get it out. I’m the worst sister in existence, I made your life a nightmare from the moment I was born, I am the reason you became a demon. I'm the one that you sold your soul for, I brought the Apocalypse upon us…” She felt her stomach churn and she rolled onto her side, curling up as best as she could. 

 

The demon version of her brother didn’t say anything, just sat down on the edge of the cot, close to her, and reached for her hand again. 

 

“Just because I’m a figment of your imagination doesn’t mean that I’m here to hurt you," he told her. “It's actually the opposite.”

 

That had her opening her eyes to look at him. His eyes were still black but she could make something of them out. “What?” She managed to get out, a sheen of sweat on her skin as she shook.

 

The demon was silent for a moment, just staring at her. “You were asking yourself about me, about why I wanted you to become Queen,” he said. “You kept thinking, what’s in it for him? This is your answer, and a part of you already knows it.”

 

He brought her hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it tenderly. “This is what’s in it for him,” he whispered. “To take care of you. To make sure that no one else can hurt you. When you’re Queen, no one will even think of trying to harm you and if they do? He’s there to protect you and make sure that that being is destroyed for the rest of time.”

 

He reached out and gently brushed her hair back from her face, plastered to her skin. His hand slowly moved to cup her cheek, thumb tenderly stroking under her eye. Her body shook with tremors but she couldn’t stop herself from leaning into his touch.

 

“You even admitted it to yourself that you wanted it,” he whispered, moving so that he could hover over her, knees on either side of her hips. “You wanted what I was giving, everything that I was offering.”

 

A whimper escaped her. “I just wanted my brother,” she protested weakly. “I just wanted things to be like they were before, when we were together-” Her words caught in her throat as pain racked her, locking her body in place. She couldn’t even scream, couldn’t move, could barely breathe. 

 

A tear escaped from the corner of her eye and she closed them tightly, trying to breathe. “I just wanted my brother,” she choked out. “I just wanted Dean.”

 

His hand moved enough to wipe the lone tear away, other hand coming up to hold her face. “I’m here,” he said softly, softer than any demon should be capable of. “I’m here, Sammy.”

 

With that, she could feel him lean in the rest of the way, pressing his lips to hers. 

 

A part of her wanted to pull away, wanted to break away from the kiss, knowing that this wasn’t real, this wasn’t really her brother. It was a figment of her imagination and that was the worst part of this whole affair. 

 

But at the same time, she knew that if she got through this withdrawal, her relationship, whatever it was, with Dean was never going to be the same. They’d be lucky if they were able to talk to each other, let alone be the same as they had been before. 

 

That was the excuse she accepted for herself as she reached for him, wrapping her arms around the illusion of her brother, and held him close, moving up so that she could kiss him properly. Dean wrapped his arms around her, pressing her down enough so that she could lay back onto the cot comfortably. He held her tenderly, gently, in a way that the real Dean hadn’t done in a very long time. 

 

“Dean," she whispered, clinging to him as she leaned up to kiss him again, no longer caring if he was real or not- he was here, at this moment, and that was all that she needed.

 

Her back arched as another surge of pain shot through her, gripping back at him just as tightly as he held onto her. A scream tore from her throat from the pain as she sobbed, clutching at her brother.

 

Outside of the dungeon, listening to her scream, was Dean sitting against the door, staring down at the ground. 


 Dean kept his touch gentle, in the hope that he wouldn't wake her. He held his breath as he carried her back to her room, trying not to jostle her too much. He stopped every time she shifted, a low pain-filled sound escaping her. 

 

This was all his fault.

 

This whole damn thing. He was an idiot, he was so stupid

 

Who else but a complete moron would go knocking on Cain's door- Cain , the Father of Murder - demanding his Mark? The Knight had even warned him but Dean hadn't cared, chasing after the power to kill Abaddon. 

 

And had fallen to the Mark's allure, hook, line and sinker.

 

He'd ignored everything else, everyone else, including Sam. He’d pushed her away and when she tried to talk to him, made sure she knew how unwelcome she was when it came to dealing with the Mark.

 

And yet, she still kept trying. Trying to help, trying to reach him, doing everything she could to save him.

 

Once Dean had realized that he was too far gone to be saved, he went to Metatron on a suicide mission.

 

Only to be brought back to life as a demon.

 

He had stayed with Crowley then, allowing their activities to engulf him completely. Back then it was a simple understanding: Crowley was king and his word was law.

 

Except, that's not how it was.

 

The longer Dean had stayed with the former deal-maker, the less his word actually meant.

 

And Crowley had tried- oh, how he had tried. The last few weeks with him had been a mess of demonic power and an underlying presence of Hell. A lopsided crown adorning the wrong head.

 

The crown did most of the work, of persuasion and manipulation. As such, when it came to it, it had been easy to throw his sister to the wolves- in this case, Cole- and ignore her, despite the itch at the back of his mind.

 

But that had all gone out the window the moment she stepped into the bar where he had been, avoiding Crowley and just having a drink.

 

He had known that she was there from the moment she stepped out of the car, the second her feet touched the ground. When she had entered the bar, it had taken everything inside of him to not just… Fall to his knees and listen to her, do whatever she wanted of him.

 

It was only by her not ordering him to come back with her that he managed to ignore it enough to be able to move around and talk.

 

Ignoring every single instinct of his that had been all but screaming at him to go to her side, to take care of her. She had been wounded, drained, exhausted. She'd needed his help, whether she realized it or not and he should've gone to her.

 

But Dean had restrained himself, tried to keep away from her, tried to keep a distance of some sort between them.

 

At least until Cole came back and threw a smoke bomb into the bar.

 

After that it had been instinct, pure and simple. Sam was in danger so he leaped to action to protect her no matter what that entailed.

 

Which then allowed Sam to capture him, using Cole as a distraction to grab him.

 

And that brought them back to her trying to cure him.

 

He- demon him- no, dammit, it was all him. Dean had tried to figure out a way to get to Sam, convince her to let him go.

 

But the more time he spent in her vicinity, the more the certainty started to set in his mind. The more he wanted to pledge himself to his sister. No… Not just his sister… 

 

To his Queen .

 

It was a terrifying thought now, but back then, it made so much sense that he couldn't believe he hadn't known it right away.

 

Even in her weakened state, Sam emitted a sense of power that he was astounded more people didn't pick up on. Or, at the very least, more demons.

 

And maybe that was why Crowley was always so hesitant to have anything to do with them, or, more accurately, with Sam. As a demon, he had to feel that same power radiating from her.

 

Or maybe, because he was the false king with the crooked crown, standing in front of the real Queen.

 

So, Dean had deferred to his instincts, had given in to what they were telling him to do. Sam hadn't listened to words so he turned to action. Distraction was the best way to catch her off guard and then do something, anything , that would ensure that she would want to take the throne.

 

The only card he had up his sleeve- the demon blood running through his veins. He hated doing that to his sister- Queen- but he’d known that nothing else would break through her defenses as effectively that she deserved to be sitting on the throne.

 

And he had been right. Immediately, she had been on board, so long as she had him and his blood.

 

And she did, she had Dean. All of him. 

 

But then, of course, Castiel had to appear and ruin- save , Dean corrected himself- everything. The angel had pulled them apart and put them back in their places so that Sam could continue to cure him.

 

And then lock herself up in the dungeon to get through the withdrawal.

 

Cas had stayed for a bit, just long enough to make sure that he really had been cured and, after checking on Sam, he had left with the other angel, Hannah. 

 

Leaving just the two of them, alone, with Sam screaming in the dungeon. She had stopped that at some point, and somehow, the silence was worse. 

 

So when she had gone quiet for some time, Dean had gathered the courage to go in there, just to check on her. She was unconscious, breathing heavily and whimpering.

 

And he couldn't just leave her there, in the dungeon, all alone and facing whatever hallucinations there were in the cold, damp dungeon where they had kept him and Crowley.

 

So he had picked her up as gently as he could to make sure that she didn't wake up, and brought her back to her room. Now, he covered her with a blanket and sat down on the edge of the bed, just watching her.

 

She was going to hate him. She was going to hide it and pretend that it was all alright but he knew that she was going to hate him.

 

And Dean deserved it. Deserved her hate and her anger. He was even debating to leave the bunker completely, just to give her space and let her have some time to herself without the cause of all her pain being inches away.

 

But he couldn't bring himself to move away just yet, so he stayed by her side and even allowed himself to hold her hand, just sitting with her as her body went through the detox.

 

When her breathing evened out and her fever finally broke, he placed her hand back onto the bed gently and got up, hesitating for a moment before he leaned over and kissed her forehead, feeling the clammy skin.

 

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he whispered to her. He lingered for one more moment before pulling away, wanting to leave the room.

 

His legs buckled as a harsh pain shot through him, the emptiness of something coursing through his body. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to keep walking forward until he was out of Sam's room, closing the door behind him.

 

With each step he took away from her, the emptier he felt, as his heart broke into pieces in time with his steps.


When Sam woke up, she felt like she had been in a fight for her life. It took her a second to remember, but the memories came back to her the longer she was awake and she kept her eyes closed, not wanting to face anything. It was only when her hands fisted into the sheets under her that she opened her eyes.

 

The cot in the dungeon had different sheets- threadbare and easy to throw out. The ones she was laying now were thick and familiar, comforting and soft.

 

She was in her bed, in her room.

 

And she had no idea how she had gotten there.

 

She couldn't have come here on her own, when she could barely curl into a ball during the withdrawal, so that meant someone had carried her here.

 

And there was really only one person who would.

 

Sam moved out of the bed slowly, feeling the soreness in her muscles as she stretched out. She looked at her arm, the one that had been sprained a couple weeks back, and extended it, marveling at how freely it moved, as if it had never gotten hurt.

 

Drinking demon blood had healed her arm, she realized. Sam remembered how empowered she had felt when she drank, how strong she’d become almost immediately, and how her body seemed to have been heightened to the peak of fitness that she’d achieved during her soulless stint, when she’d been working out non-stop to fill the hours of sleeplessness.

 

Shaking her head slightly, she pushed the thoughts out of her mind, focusing on the simple tasks at hand for now. She sat at the edge of the bed at first and then stood up slowly, grappling for the wall when her vision spun and she lost her footing for a moment. Taking deep breaths, she kept moving until she reached her bathroom, taking a moment to sit on the toilet as she tried to come back to herself.

 

When she felt like she had recovered enough of her strength, she pulled her clothes off, throwing them to the corner, and stepped into the bathtub, turning the shower on. She gave a low, breathy moan as the cold water hit her. The withdrawal had left her weakened and her skin still felt overheated, so the cold water was like heaven to her.

 

She slowly washed herself, washed the dust of the dungeon and the sweat off of her skin. She washed her hair, the smell of the shampoo overwhelming for a moment. Once she was done and stepped out, she almost felt human again.

 

Almost.

 

She toweled herself off and went back to her room, rummaging through her drawers, pulling out a pair of shorts and one of Dean’s old shirts that she had claimed for herself. Her stomach clenched and growled. She really had no idea when she’d last eaten, but she hesitated for a second.

 

Dean would probably be out there, most likely in the kitchen, and it would be their first meeting since she had cured him.

 

Right after everything that had happened between her getting high, on both his blood and on him as a demon.

 

Taking a deep breath, she didn't allow herself to think about it anymore, leaving her room and going towards the kitchen.

 

The bunker was quiet as she walked, and she wondered if Cas had stayed longer or if he had left. But as she reached the kitchen, her breath caught in her throat.

 

Dean was standing at the stove stirring something, dressed simply in sweatpants and a white shirt that showed off his arms and for a moment she could see his muscles-

 

His strong arms held her up with ease as he fucked into her, holding her like she weighed nothing, his hold strong, comforting, protective...

 

-but she closed her eyes and slowly breathed out, centering herself.

 

"Hey," she said quietly. 

 

  Dean paused, though there was no way he hadn't known she was there the second she’d arrived, and he answered her just as quietly. "Hey."

 

Dean took the pot off the stove and poured the contents into a bowl, reaching for a powder-shaker on the counter, the whey protein she sometimes put in her smoothies, and added it before he placed it on the table with a spoon.

 

It was oatmeal, made with milk like he always did, with a sprinkling of blueberries throughout; just as she liked it.

 

"You need to take it easy, eat something simple," Dean told her, reaching back to the counter and putting a cup of tea down next to her bowl.

 

Sam felt her chest tighten at the gesture. Dean had always shown his love with two things: taking care of her and making her food, oftentimes the two things crossing over together.

 

Her stomach growled once more and she swallowed the mouthful of saliva that suddenly flooded her mouth. She went to the table and sat down, picking her spoon up and slowly starting to eat, realizing just how hungry she was after the first bite. It was thick and filling but not too overpowering or too heavy for her stomach. Before she even realized it, the bowl was empty and her stomach was pleasantly full.

 

She reached for the tea, sipping it slowly. It was her favorite: simple lemon with a bit of honey.

 

Dean still hadn't moved away from the counter, leaning against it with his arms crossed and staring down at the ground. He didn't eat or drink anything, just waited for her to finish.

 

Once she had drunk half of her tea, she set it to the side, clearing her throat and then pausing. She had no idea where to start, let alone what to say. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dean flinch but otherwise he didn't move.

 

Damn it, what was Sam supposed to say? She stared at the bowl and teacup, feeling her stomach churn in a knot that had nothing to do with hunger. She scratched at her arm mindlessly, not able to really itch where it mattered.

 

Her mouth dried out all of a sudden, a deep thirst hitting her.

 

She sipped at her tea once more. It didn't really help now.

 

"I don't think there's anything to really say," she finally said, deciding to be frank and straightforward. "Neither one of us was in our right mind, especially me when I… Drank your blood. So… For what it's worth… I'm sorry, Dean."

 

"The hell are you sorry for?" Dean half-demanded, his voice rough. "You might've been hopped up on demon blood but I was the one who forced you to drink it in the first place. I was the demon that-" He cut himself off and closed his eyes. "I was the demon," he finished.

 

"You were basically possessed, the Mark turned your soul," Sam told him. "You weren't yourself."

 

The look of guilt that flashed over Dean's face was gone almost too quickly for her to notice it.

 

Sam thought back to her hallucination, what it had told her, about Dean wanting to protect her in the best way possible.

 

Her sitting on the throne of Hell.

 

"Dean," she started to speak, only to falter. The guilt was too thick between them, everything too fresh and too recent, not to mention the Mark was still on Dean's arm, branding him and threatening him with another drag down to hell that'll turn him back into a demon.

 

So, she was going to do what she did best. She was going to push her feelings down and ignore what had happened between them- what had happened to her- and focus on saving her brother.

 

"We should go back to trying to cure the Mark," she told him. "We can deal with everything else after that."

 

She took another sip of her tea. It was cold now. "We'll figure this out Dean," she promised, wishing he would look her in the eyes. "It's going to be okay."

 

He didn’t reply, just kept staring at the floor. 

 

She threw herself back into researching the Mark, all the books that she had ignored once Dean went missing. She reread everything the bunker had about the Mark or even alluded to it.

 

And she and Dean didn't spend much time together, or at all. They were avoiding each other, not that either of them would admit to it.

 

But, she was still shocked when she stopped by his room one day, tired of the distance, only to realize that it was empty, with yet another note saying goodbye .

 

This time, Sam didn’t feel grief, or horror, or hurt. Instead, it was anger rising in her.

 

When she found him, she was going to kill him herself.


It was freeing to be out of the bunker and, more importantly, away from Sam, despite the ache growing inside of him with every day that he was gone.

 

He had even left the Impala behind, knowing that Sam would be able to track it down. He had left his phones and grabbed new credit cards that Sam didn't know about. He went off grid as much as possible. Of course, he knew that it was just a matter of time before she managed to find him again, but he wanted to stretch out that as much as possible. He wanted the time to… To fix himself somehow, as best as he could, before he felt he deserved to face her.

 

So Dean threw himself into hunting, trying to quiet the bloodthirsty Mark in the only way that he could, but no matter how many monsters he killed, no matter how bloody he made it, the Mark wouldn't stop pulsating on his arm, glowing an angry red against his pale skin.

 

It wouldn't let him stop thinking about Sam.

 

He didn't even bother to look at any other girls now. The few times he went to the bars just to have a few drinks, some girl would slither up to him and then leave with a pout when he ignored them.

 

None of them on their best day could come close to Sam at even her worst, couldn't even compare, could never even dream of reaching.

 

So that's how he spent his time: hunting and killing all the monsters that he came across, not thinking about Sam, which lead to thinking about Sam, and then trying to sleep with the image of her lips stained with his blood, gasping on his cock, his own arms wrapped around her so that nothing could hope to get to her.

 

As a result, Dean wasn't sleeping much as a result, slowly feeling himself get more and more to the edge, similar to the hours before he’d faced Metatron.

 

And emerged as a demon.

 

At this point, he was terrified at what demon-him would do.

 

What he'd do to Sam.

 

That fear was the only thing stopping him from putting himself out of his misery. Otherwise, he’d have ended this farce of a life a while ago.

 

So he did what he did best. He pushed everything down with alcohol and channeled his frustration and lack of control into hunting.

 

And also dodging Sam, which required every trick in the book.

 

Right now, his goal was a vampire's nest, a group of at least nine bloodsuckers, which he would focus on for the time being until he could move on to the next distraction.

 

Rinse and repeat, over and over again, until he reached his untimely demonic end.

 

He kept quiet as he moved, keeping the car he had stolen a distance away, machete at the ready. He lost himself in the hunt, in the angry throbbing of the Mark. He let himself get lost in the swinging of the machete, relishing the blood he was spilling and the screams of the vampires as they died. With each splash of blood on his skin, he felt the Mark calm down, little by little.

 

Finally, he dropped the last beheaded body and took a deep breath, riding the high of the hunt and bloodshed for as long as he could.

 

Until his heart stopped at the familiar sound of the Impala's engine roaring, before coming to a stop. The Mark came to life again, hammering at his senses with the desire to turn and run towards the source, to kneel.

 

Dean wasn’t a demon right now, but he still knew the moment she came out of the Impala, without having to turn around. He could sense it, somehow, when she began walking towards him. He tightened his grip on the machete to try and steady himself, praying in vain for the Mark to shut up. He could hear the grunch of gravel behind him and, taking a deep breath, finally turned.

 

Sam had always been good at masking her emotions, burying them deep down to a point that sometimes even he had no idea what she felt.

 

But now, there was nothing hidden. Her anger was clear, easy to see, like a festering wound, almost making her tremble.

 

She was so beautiful like this, beautiful in a way that even his trained memory couldn’t perfectly replicate.

 

Her fury radiated off her in waves, almost feeding into the Mark. The Mark almost glowed in response. It was like being stuck in an endless vicious cycle. The Mark wanted to submit to her, wanted her; Dean ran from her, making her angry; her anger triggered the Mark into wanting to appease her. A closed loop, with no escape.

 

Sam stopped a few feet away, just glaring at him.

 

"What exactly went through your mind that made you think that after months of looking for you and dragging you back, it would be a good idea for you to leave? Again ?" Her voice was low, words measured. "What the hell made you think that I would let you go , when I didn’t the last time?"

 

"I had to," Dean told her softly after a moment. "I didn't… I can't trust myself around you, Sammy."

 

"So instead of talking about it or even just mentioning it to me, you decide to just leave," Sam said matter-of-factly. She grit her teeth and came forward, grabbing his arm. "You left me!"

 

Dean gently took Sam's hand off him, hesitating before entwining their fingers together. "I need to keep you safe," he told her. "I need to protect you. And I can’t do that if I’m with you.”

 

"I don't want you to be some sort of guardian. I want you to be my brother again," Sam shot back. She used their entwined fingers to pull him closer to herself. "I need my brother back."

 

"I don't want to be just your brother!" Dean half exclaimed, yanking away from her and taking a few steps back. He dragged his hand over his mouth, the Mark beating in time with his heart. "I want to be your everything."

 

Sam was quiet for a moment. "Dean. You are."

 

Dean gave a humorless laugh at that. "No, I'm not," he said. "I used to be. But not in a long time."

 

He could feel her walking towards him again. He tightened his grip around the machete he was still holding.

 

"Dean, you've always been my everything," she told him, her voice soft but leaving no room for argument. "I mean, I know we've had our issues lately, but it doesn't mean that you're any less important to me."

 

Dean just shook his head. "You don't get it. This emptiness inside of my chest, I can't fill it. Never could." He turned to face her. "And it took becoming a demon to realize it. I can't protect you, Sammy, not like this. Not how you deserve to be."

 

"I don't need you to protect me like that, you're not some kind of grunt, I've told you this," Sam said, going to his side. She reached out and gently placed her hand on his arm. "Dean, I just want you as my partner."

 

"And what does that mean?"

 

He watched her swallow. "What do you want it to mean?" She asked instead.

 

The machete fell from his hand as he reached for her, wrapping his arms around her. She didn't hesitate, bringing her arms so that she could hug him back, holding him to her as tightly as she could.

 

He wasn't sure who moved first but their lips met in a desperate kiss, clinging to one another. They moved together until Sam was pressed back into the Impala, sitting on top of the hood, wrapping her legs around his waist, unable to break away from the kiss except to quickly gasp in air before leaning in again.

 

They didn't undress the whole way, only enough. Sam pulled her jeans down and Dean slid his cock out. His fingers went to her, pressing in one and then two, moving them until he felt her get wet and relaxed. Then he gripped her hips, pulling her closer to the edge of the hood, and thrust into her in one smooth movement.

 

Dean wrapped his arms around her, encompassing her completely, both their hips rocking against each other. Sam pressed into him, small moans and whimpers escaping her.

 

She curled into his chest, under his chin, and let out a small breath as she came, her body shaking from her orgasm. She tightened around Dean and he managed a few more thrusts before he spilled inside of her too, hips still moving before he slowed down, just holding her. Sam moved slightly, enough to bring her hands up.

 

"Come home with me." Sam whispered, cupping his face between her palms. "Just… Come back. Please, Dean."

 

Dean leaned into her touch, closing his eyes. "Okay," he whispered.

 


Dean felt like he couldn't breathe as he braked heavily, causing the Impala to skid in a way that he would usually never allow. 

 

But this wasn't a normal situation. Far from it.

 

He’d known that anything to do with that damned- pun fucking intended- Book was bad news. 

 

But Sam… She'd heard the smallest hint of something that would get the Mark off his arm and she had thrown herself into it completely, without any thought. 

 

And he couldn't blame her for that. Not really. He was just as eager as she was to be rid of it.

 

But she was the one willing to do damn near everything in order to get it done.

 

Case in point: the Book of the Damned and the literal Frankenstein monsters aiming to get it back.

 

Frankenstein

 

Seriously. This is what their lives had come to.

 

But it didn't matter. What mattered was that those monsters were after them to get back the Book that Sam refused to let go of.

 

She'd even brought Rowena and Charlie into this- that's how desperate she was.

 

Which led to the text that brought Dean here.

 

According to it, Sam had gone to a motel room with the notes Charlie had managed to crack, to try and get some peace and quiet from the bickering redheads. She had gone with her laptop and the scanned images to see if she could find anything useful in it. 

 

Apparently, she had been close to deciphering the whole thing, but somehow the patchwork monsters had managed to track her down to the motel she was at.

 

And they didn't care who got in the way, they just wanted the Book back.

 

And they didn't take kindly to the fact that Sam didn't have the physical book in her grip.

 

The text had been simple: the motel's name, the Franken-monster's name, and that she needed his help. It had been easy to put together what had happened. 

 

Whatever anger Dean had brewing alongside the Mark had immediately disappeared as he'd gotten into the Impala, trying to get to Sam as fast as he could.

 

Sam was strong and more than capable of defending herself, but at the same time, despite the Stynes being mostly human, they had stuffed themselves with extra limbs and organs and god knew what else, making them a lot harder to kill.

 

Dean just hoped that she'd be able to get away if she needed to.

 

Reaching the parking lot, the Impala skidded again as he pushed down on the brakes. He half-jumped out of the driver's seat and ran. He didn't need to figure out which room it was- the door of one was broken down, pieces of it barely hanging.

 

He ignored the rain that was falling and the thunder cracking above. He stepped over the doorway, stopping for a second. He was unable to keep from smirking in pride.

 

Because on the ground was the crumbled body of the Styne that had escaped from the dungeon. He could see the hilt of Sam's knife protruding from his head and he felt a deep satisfaction as he took in the dead body.

 

But then he heard the slight rustle of clothes and turned his head. Instantly, he felt the blood drain from his face. 

 

Sam was leaning in the doorway leading to the bathroom. Her clothes were torn and bloody, breaths coming out in small gasps.

 

There was a blade on the ground near her feet, still wet with her blood, as her hands covered her upper stomach. Even in the dim light, he could see the blood that was escaping from between her fingers and when the lightning flashed outside, he could see just how pale she was.

 

Bounding over to her side, Dean realized with a jolt that her eyes had clouded over slightly- from pain or blood loss, he wasn't sure- but they cleared a bit when he whispered her name, hands coming up to press against hers, against her wound.

 

"Dean," she breathed out, a smile tugging at her lips.

 

Dean could barely breathe, like he had been the one to get stabbed, and swallowed hard. "Hey, Sammy," he whispered. He reached out and felt around her, making her gasp softly in pain. He softened his touch. He could guess what had gone down- Sam had killed the Styne but he had managed to get her first. Apart from the knife wound, he could feel more broken bones. Another flash of lightning filled the room momentarily with light, letting him see the bruises along her cheek and jaw.

 

The Mark pulsated, angry, like an animal baring its teeth and he had to breathe hard for a moment.

 

"C'mon, sweetheart," he murmured, carefully picking her up, trying not to jostle her too much. He could see her bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. He grabbed the knife too, sliding it between his belt and jeans.

 

He carried her out of the room, stepping over the crumbled remains that used to be her laptop, just wanting to get her out of the motel room that was thick with blood and death.

 

Outside, the rain had gotten heavier but it felt like relief. Even Sam blinked at the sudden water, a bit more life appearing in her eyes. He could feel her relax a bit more as he reached the Impala and managed to open the backseat to lay her down on.

 

Dean had no idea what to do now.

 

He went to the trunk and hurriedly pulled out the first aid kit they kept in there, staring into it helplessly.

 

There was nothing in here that would help him. It wasn't packed for something as serious as a knife to the stomach. He rummaged through it desperately as he tried to figure out what to do.

 

There was no hospital anywhere near them, not even a clinic of any kind. He pulled out bandages and painkillers, which were all he had, and started to go back to her when he caught sight of the tubing.

 

It was an old lesson that they had learned along with their dad. A bad hunt turned worse and the result was that Dean had ended up hurt enough that he needed an immediate blood transfusion.

 

Thankfully, their dad knew their blood types but even better was the other hunter, an older one named Keith, who had been an army medic back in his day.

 

Calm, cool, and collected, the man had patched Dean up, doing a blood transfusion with his dad using a simple knife, needle, and tubing.

 

And once Dean had healed, John had the man teach them how to do it for the future. It was crude, painful, and could potentially leave a scar but it worked and got the job done.

 

Dean stared at the tubing, remembering the lesson, and worst of all, he remembered Sam's busted arm that had been healed.

 

Healed by drinking blood. His demon blood.

 

This entire time, the Mark had been throbbing on his arm, humming in his body, just enough to make him shake slightly. Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opening them to look down at the objects in his hands, none of which would actually help him in this situation.

 

There was no one else that could help them, Cas was grounded and unable to get to them, there was no hospital, no spell, nothing.

 

It was just him and Sam.

 

And the Mark, branded on his arm like an angry scar.

 

He placed the other objects back in the trunk and slid the knife out of his belt loop. The metal gleamed in the low light, still stained with Sam's blood.

 

He swallowed hard and looked up, trying to see her through the back window. She shifted enough that he could see how she was trying, and failing, to get up to look at him. 

 

They were running out of time.

 

Dean's hand didn't shake as he brought the knife up and cleanly sliced along the front of his throat, aiming for the jugular as best as he could.

 

The rush of blood that spilled over his front was hot and he fell to his knees, knife dropping to the ground beside him.

 

He didn't fight it, didn't even think about it. Everything started going dark and thankfully, there was no pain this time.

 

Before his vision completely darkened over, he thought about Sam and just hoped that, as a demon, he would do the right thing.


It was getting harder to breathe.

 

Sam dug her fingers into the leather of the seats and tried to sit up enough to see what Dean was doing. Her grip weakened and she slid back down, coughing, each breath hurting more than the other.

 

A part of her didn't want Dean to come back in time. It would hurt him if she died while he wasn't there, but it would be worse if he had to watch it happen. 

 

But another, more selfish part of her hoped, prayed, that he was going to make it back. It was terrifying like this, alone in the dark and rain, with a gaping hole in her stomach as she slowly bled out. If she was going to die- which she was- then she wanted to do it with her brother by her side. 

 

She closed her eyes, unable to keep them open anymore, and heard the back door open and felt Dean climb into the backseat as best as he could. Despite herself, she felt the relief course through her. She had no energy to open her eyes but a smile tugged at her lips.

 

Dean's hands moved over her, familiar fingers pressing into her wrist to check on her pulse. She tried to move her hand to grasp at his but couldn't; she just didn't have the strength to do it.

 

She almost felt like sobbing when Dean took her hand instead. It was slightly wet and sticky but she ignored it, weakly gripping him back, trying to hold onto him as he slid his hand away, moving up to the inside of her elbow instead.

 

She barely noticed the pain- compared to her chest, it wasn't even a blip on her radar. But she did notice the pinprick of the needle and tube, realizing immediately what he was trying to do.

 

A blood transfusion, of all things.

 

Sam tried to say something, anything, to just get Dean's attention on her, but couldn't get any sound out.

 

She could feel when Dean's blood entered her, it was so hot, almost burning and thick. A small gasp escaped her as it spread through her slowly.

 

Maybe it was her imagination, but after a few moments, she was starting to feel better, like she had more strength. Or at least enough to open her eyes.

 

And immediately they widened and her stomach dropped.

 

Because Dean was staring down at her, concern and care in his eyes as he kept the tube pushed against his arm and vein into hers.

 

But those eyes were black. 

 

A jolt of energy went through her, enough to try to pull away from him, not that she could go anywhere. A small annoyed look appeared on Dean's face and he shifted with her to keep the tube inside of both of their arms.

 

To keep his blood going into her.

 

Sam managed to get her hand up, trying to grab the tubes to get them out of her. Dean shifted again,grabbing her other hand, letting go of his side of the tube to do so.

 

Sam moved as much as she could, trying to get free, or at least get the tube line out of her, despite the hole in her chest.

 

Which she couldn't really feel anymore.

 

She froze and Dean took that moment to push the tube deeper into her as his other hand went to her shirt and half ripped it off, forcing her to look down as well.

 

Her chest was healed. There was still blood staining her skin but the knife wound, the bruises that had colored her, were gone.

 

Just like with her arm, his blood had healed her.

 

She could feel Dean practically slump over in relief, his touch gentle as he carefully slid the tube out of her arm, reaching for her to help her sit up, leaning over to turn the light on in the backseat so that she could see.

 

Dean's entire front was covered in blood, from his lower neck to his shirt. She panicked on instinct, looking out the window, because only another Styne could have done this right now. She couldn't have been that out of it that anyone else could have hurt her brother so badly without her realizing it.

 

"Sammy, it's okay, I'm okay," Dean told her, reaching to take her hands in his, tugging her closer until she was on his lap. "I did it."

 

Sam brought her head up enough to look at him, to look at his black eyes. Oddly enough, she couldn't feel any fear. "Why?" She asked in a whisper. 

 

It was a stupid question; there was only one reason, one and only one possibility as to why he would do it.

 

Dean's fingers came up to softly brush her cheek, cupping it and pressing their foreheads together.

 

"You can't die Sammy," he whispered hotly. "I can't let you die. I need you. You're-" His words choked off and he took a deep breath. "I need you."

 

Sam shook her head. "You're a demon," she said weakly.

 

"Just because I'm a demon doesn't mean that I don't care about you," Dean reminded, watching for a moment before taking her hand and pressing it against his chest.

 

She unfurled her fingers, feeling the steady beating of his heart. 

 

"Doesn't mean that I don't want to help you."

 

Sam just stared down at his chest, focusing on his heart. "Dean," she whispered.

 

"I know you don't want to believe me," Dean continued. "But think of it like this. Your human brother killed himself to become me, to save you, Sammy. That has to mean something."

 

It did mean something- it meant that Dean was desperate enough to save her to not only kill himself, but also to let himself become the last thing either of them wanted.

 

Closing her eyes, Sam shivered slightly, feeling the heat spreading from her arm, a balm to an itch that she was never able to scratch, even when she had drunk gallons of demon blood.

 

This went deeper, coursing through her veins and spreading further every time her heart pounded, with each breath she took. It almost felt like it was settling inside of her, curling around every inch and fibre of her being until she could barely breathe.

 

It felt like Dean was inside of her, how she could feel him closer than ever before, almost like possession. Before, just drinking his blood, that didn't complete her like this. Didn't make her feel like she was connected to Dean, that she'd start a thought and he would finish it.

 

She felt him move before his hands came up to cup her cheeks, gently using his thumbs to brush away the tears she hadn't realized had started to fall. His lips brushed against hers. Gentle. He still felt the same and when she deepened the kiss, he tasted the same.

 

With just a hint of sulfur that was all too easy for her to ignore.

 

Dean moved the both of them without breaking the kiss so that he could lean back, taking her weight easily. He broke away from the kiss momentarily to nuzzle her, kissing her skin and licking the places where her blood had dried.

 

His movements were slow, but confident, as he slid the rest of her shirt and bra off, wrapping an arm around her waist to lift her and pull her jeans off before doing the same to his own clothes.

 

It was sweet in a way that it hadn't been in a very long time. Each movement was slow, languid. His hands caressed over her skin reverently, guiding her.

 

They stayed like that, her on top of him, riding him slow once he entered her, pressing in deep. His arms wrapped around her, holding her close to him.

 

When they came, barely a sound escaped them, no more than a release of breath, but Sam could swear he whispered, "My Queen."


Sam texted Charlie that she was okay and that the Stynes were still after them and the Book so they should be on their toes.

 

She didn't mention anything else. Especially about Dean.

 

Neither one of them spoke. Everything that could be said had already been said and nothing else mattered.

 

They weren't going home, not yet. The Stynes were something that needed to be taken care of. They had some time before the family found out that the man they'd sent was dead.

 

The whole thing was a blur, driving into town and being taken in on some sort of bogus charge, ending with Dean threatening the officers until they told them exactly where the Stynes lived. Sneaking onto the Styne property together and Dean managing to kill a few guards while she watched, until they were caught by the monsters themselves.

 

In the end, they were captured, restrained, and Dean was being strapped down at the table in their lab.

 

"Now you, we'll have a lot of use for," what seemed to be the head Styne spoke to Dean. He didn't even look at her as he said, "We don't use female parts like those, we can get rid of it."

 

Another one of his sons stepped forward at that, lifting something. She didn't pay attention to him, just closed her eyes and slowly breathed out.

 

It felt like a puzzle piece being slid into place, like using a limb that had fallen asleep.

 

The man screamed as his arm twisted and broke, the snapping sound of the bone breaking filled the room. He had dropped the knife he had been holding but, before it hit the ground, it lifted and buried itself in the third son's head, the one that had been holding her in place.

 

Opening her eyes, she stood up, glancing at the rest of the Stynes that were staring at her in shock. One of them, the youngest, was gaping at her with red rimmed eyes, guilt and shame flashing through them before he looked away.

 

With a single thought, the straps that were barely holding Dean back snapped free. He immediately sat up and went to her side, wrapping his arms around her.

 

Sam returned the embrace, ignoring the Stynes that were starting to congregate in the lab where they were.

 

It felt like they were one like this- one person, one being, with one single desire.

 

She brought her hand out and the blade that was buried in the dead man's head flew to her. She curled her hand around the handle and stared down at it, hardly recognizing herself in the steel reflection.

 

"I thought," she spoke quietly, knowing that Dean would hear every word. "That the whole purpose of a Knight, was so that the Queen didn't get her hands dirty."

 

She could feel his jubilation, the soul-deep pleasure that her words gave him. His smile was bright as his eyes flickered to black. He took the blade from her, kneeling down as he held her hand, pressing it to his forehead. And when he spoke, his voice was revenant and loving.

 

"Of course, my Queen." he breathed out. She felt a jolt of something she couldn't name, curling deep and heavy in her lower stomach.

 

Dean moved just as the first Styne had gathered his foolish courage and tried to attack them. He was dead before he even hit the floor.

 

She settled back to watch, glancing over the youngest Styne once more. Unlike the others, he had inched away, shrinking onto himself as he watched Dean slaughter his family. When he realized that she was looking at him, he flinched, eyes widening when he saw Dean coming for him.

 

She didn't have to say it, didn't even need to think it, really; Dean already knew. He just grabbed the kid by the arm and pulled him along, throwing him at Sam's feet. The boy scrambled back, staring up at her fearfully.

 

Sam held her hand out and slowly the boy was lifted up, not placing him on his feet as she brought him closer to her enough so that he could hear her over the slaughter of his family. 

 

"P-please. D-don't." he managed to choke out, chest heaving as he tried to breathe, tears gathering in his eyes. "Please."

 

"Is this everyone?" Sam asked him. "Is everyone here?"

 

The boy quickly nodded. "Everyone! They're all here! They all came back because you two were coming."

 

"Good," Sam said, turning her head to watch Dean slam one of the Stynes' head into the ground hard enough for the skull to break. She watched the brain matter and blood splatter on the tile and couldn't help a small smile despite the pounding that was growing in her head. 

 

She turned back to the boy who seemed like he was about to hyperventilate in her grasp. "Now, what to do with you?"

 

"I'm not like them," he insisted to her, voice shaking as his hands scrambled at his shirt despite her grip on him. She let go enough that he could do so, curious to what he was going to show her. His hands ripped at his shirt, buttons falling to the floor as he opened it to reveal his bare chest. "No stitches! Nothing! I'm not like them, I promise!"

 

He swallowed hard. "I hate them." he whispered. "I don't want to be like them. I wanted to leave. I wanted to get out. Please. I just-" His voice cracked once more. "I'll do whatever you want just… Please."

 

Sam considered him for a long moment. She could feel Dean coming to her side, moving to place his forehead on her shoulder, kissing her arm. She leaned back into him as he wrapped his arms around her. 

 

"Want me to make him scream?" He breathed into her ear. "Spend some time on him?"

 

She watched the kid whimper at that, flinching back as best as he could in her grasp. 

 

"No," she finally said, making the kid’s head snap up at her, hope in his eyes. "This is what we're going to do."

 

She brought the kid closer to her, staring him in the eyes. 

 

"We're going to let you go," she told him. "Do whatever you want, we don't care. But-" She held up a single finger. "If we hear a single whisper, one little hint, a semblance of the notion that you're going back to your roots, that you'll be carving people up for their organs, we will find you. And we'll finish what we started."

 

She let him go and let him fall to his feet, his knees buckling as he placed his hands on them, breathing in deeply. "Thank you. Thank you," he gasped out as he ran out of the laboratory, past the dead bodies of his family without another glance back. 

 

"Let's go home," Sam said, reaching to take Dean's hand in hers.


Sam u ok? -CB

 

Yeah I'm fine. -SW

 

U sure? -CB

 

Yeah everythings okay Charlie. Promise -SW

 

K -CB

 

Rowenas complaining again. Says she needs more stuff to decode the book. -CB

 

Sam stared down at the text. Dean was at the counter, making them something to eat, both of them still a bit wet from their shower.

 

It felt normal, like they had come back from another hunt, had showered together, and were about to have dinner. 

 

Normal. If not for the scent of sulfur clinging stubbornly to Dean. 

 

Normal. If not for the fact that they had been washing human blood off of themselves.

 

Normal. If not for the fact that they had killed an entire family together and ended up having sex again. This time in the middle of the carnage.

 

They didn't really speak on the way home, each one lost in thought. They especially didn't mention the obvious elephant in the room.

 

That Sam had basically and unofficially declared herself Queen of Hell.

 

The more she turned the words over in her head, the more she liked them, liked the rush of the idea, the connotation, despite the pounding in her head that seemed to increase the more she thought about it.

 

She couldn't remember why she had been so hesitant, so against the idea, anymore. She could almost feel the pinpricks of the crown on her head already, which she had tried to ignore at first. 

 

But this time… She was welcoming it.

 

She knew that it was her imagination. Crowley currently held onto the actual crown with all his might, and in order to get it from him, they were most likely going to have to kill him.

 

That wasn't going to be much of a problem. Sam had been itching to kill him for a long time now. 

 

She closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. Her head was starting to kill her. It was like a throbbing headache that spread through her until she could barely think. She slowly took a deep breath in and out, trying to focus on the task at hand once more.

 

There were a few other things to take care of, namely Rowena and the Book of the Damned.

 

Maybe they should just kill the witch too and get it over with. While she wasn't too big a problem right now, she had the potential to be.

 

She closed her eyes and slowly breathed out, feeling as if a stick of ice was being pressed into her brain, like a lobotomy.

 

Her phone buzzed again and she looked down at it.

 

Think I figured the codex. Want me to give it to her? -CB

 

But armed with the codex, the Book of the Damned, she could very well become a real threat really soon.

 

No. -SW

 

I want to talk to her first. I'll get there tomorrow. -SW

 

You can leave Charlie, you don't need to stay there anymore. -SW

 

U sure? What about the Stynes? -CB

 

It's fine. Promise. -SW

 

"Who you texting?" Dean asked, placing her plate in front of her. It was some sort of pasta dish, a compromise between her favorites and his.

 

"Charlie," Sam answered, tucking her phone back into her pocket.

 

"About that stupid book?"

 

"Yeah." There wasn't any point in lying to him. "Trying to figure out what to do about the whole thing."

 

Dean placed his plate on the table and sat across from her. "You plannin' on curing me again?" He asked, shoving a forkful of the pasta into his mouth.

 

Sam stared at him for a moment. "Do you even need to eat?" She couldn't help but ask.

 

Dean shrugged. "Don't have to but I can and want to, it's like drinking," he told her. "And answer the question."

 

The last part sounded like an order and Sam felt herself bristle with something she couldn't name. "I don't know," she finally said.

 

Dean raised an eyebrow at her and kept eating, prompting her to pick up her own fork and start eating. "Do you want to cure me again?" He asked instead.

 

She really didn't have an answer for that. "Are you going to kill yourself again?"

 

"If it means saving your life, yes."

 

Because isn't that what it always came down to for him? Saving her?

 

"Back at the Stynes, you're the one that said it, you proclaimed it to me," Dean reminded her, gesturing with his fork. "You called yourself the Queen , Sam."

 

She had done so, she remembered doing it, remembered feeling just how right it felt to do so.

 

It’s just that… She couldn't remember why it had felt so right. Now, sitting at the table in their kitchen, calming down and able to think for a moment… She felt her stomach clench and her head throb in pain. Even Dean’s borrowed blood still running in her veins suddenly felt wrong and she scratched at her arm where the IV had been, digging her nails into the skin as if she could just make another cut and drain the blood out of her.

 

Dean stared at her hand scratching at her arm and pressed his lips together in a thin line but waited for her to speak.

 

"It was a heat of the moment-" She tried to say.

 

"Bullshit," Dean interjected, a bit angrily now. "You felt it. I felt it. I'm sure Hell and Crowley felt it. You proclaimed it, you want it, Sam."

 

"But I don't know if that was actually me or not," Sam told him, her hand coming up to rub at her temples. "I just..."

 

"You just what Sam?"

 

Sam took a deep breath. "I don't… Feel like myself," she said, at last putting words to how she felt, how the blood under her skin made her feel. "Ever since you did the transfusion on me… I don't feel like myself anymore, it's like..." She closed her eyes. "It's like you're in my head."

 

She opened them again when she heard her brother give a snort. "And that's a bad thing?" He asked her. "It's not like I want to do something horrible to you, Sam. I just want you to be safe."

 

"You want me to be the Queen of Hell, that's a bit different and something you've never wanted before," she pointed out. "Dean, it goes against… Everything we were ever taught, everything we've always wanted."

 

"I've always wanted to keep you safe, that never changed," Dean told her. "Do you believe that?"

 

"Yes," Sam said quickly; even at their lowest, she had never doubted that he cared about her and wanted the best for her. "Of course I do, Dean."

 

"Then why won't you let me?"

 

She took another deep breath. She thought she could feel her blood, his blood, their blood, bubbling under her skin. "Just answer me one thing," she said. "Before the Mark, before becoming a demon, did you ever want me to become the Queen of Hell?"

 

He hesitated, and that was enough of an answer.

 

"The notions have been there since I went to Hell," he admitted. "Back then… Back when I got off the rack and started torturing souls, it was… It was different, Sam. Like, all of a sudden, I was seeing something completely different. I fought it at first but the more time I spent down there, the more I learned, and I realize now that it's all been working towards this. To right here, right now, this moment. We just took the long way around."

 

"Why do you think that?" She asked. "What about being down there made you even think about that? That was back when Lilith was around. And Alistair. I wasn't anywhere near the line for the throne."

 

"You didn't have to be near the line, there was no real contest." Dean told her. "They all knew it, they knew that if you declared yourself Queen and decided to take the throne then there would be fuck all that they could do. It's why they were so scared of you- yes they were scared," he added firmly when she snorted. "It's why Lilith was so ready to make a deal with you and why Alistair had tried to avoid you."

 

Sam just shook her head, burying it in her hands as the headache increased, making it almost impossible to think.

 

"You okay?" Dean asked her, voice full of concern. It took a moment but she felt his hands on her. "What's wrong?"

 

"My head is killing me," she mumbled, leaning back into his touch. "Just… Hurts like Hell."

 

"You want some pain meds?" 

 

"Yeah," she barely whispered. She missed him immediately once he stopped touching her and focused on her breathing, trying not to jostle herself too much. She felt Dean come back to her side and parted her lips when he pressed the pills to her mouth. She dry swallowed two of them, groaning slightly. 

 

Dean leaned down to pick her up carefully, gathering her in his arms as he carried her back to her room. "It's been a long day," he murmured. "We'll talk later." If she had an answer, he didn't hear it. 

 

He placed her on the bed, sitting on the edge with her. Dean hesitated but then placed his hand on her forehead, breathing out slowly as he focused on his blood inside of her. His eyes flashed black for a moment as he felt the ice push back against him and then they narrowed.


Cas somethings wrong with Dean I need your help. -SW

 

Dean stared down at the text that he sent, waiting until Castiel sent a confirmation that he was on his way. He sent off another text that he was in a warehouse just outside of Lebanon and tossed Sam's phone back onto the table, snatching the lighter up instead, pocketing it as he went to the garage and got into the car.

 

It was something that had been bothering him ever since Sam had started to backpedal and take back her words. He knew that back at the Stynes it had been real, her proclamation as quiet as it was loud, enough to shake Hell and put Crowley on the defense. He had no doubt that the fake king was going to do something about it, slinging to the crown with everything that he had, but that was something to worry about another day.

 

Dean reached the warehouse and set to prepare it, going to the trunk to grab their jar of holy oil and pouring it into the ground to make a circle. He took the angel blade out of his pocket and made a cut on his hand, using his blood to paint sigils on the walls.

 

Cas had done something, he was sure of it. He wasn't exactly sure of it but he was going to get to the bottom of this today.

 

And the angel wasn't going to leave this warehouse alive. Not after everything he'd done to them.

 

To Sam.

 

Dean bit on the inside of his cheek and focused on keeping his eyes green, not wanting to let them turn black just yet. Even so, he knew that Cas would be able to tell that he was a demon again but Sam didn't want him to turn them black so many times.

 

She preferred his green ones, the ones that she was most familiar with.

 

Once he was done preparing everything, he just remained close to the door and waited. At the very least, becoming a demon had helped with his patience.

 

Surprisingly, he didn't have to wait long. He could hear the sputtering sound that was Cas' car’s engine as it came to the warehouse and stopped. He could hear the gravel crunch as the angel walked up and opened the door.

 

Dean acted quickly, grabbing the angel's arm and throwing him into the circle, hand snapping out as his wrist flicked the lighter on and let it drop on the ground, immediately erupting in flames and trapping Castiel in a ring of holy fire.

 

He couldn't help but smirk at the look on Castiel's face, straightening up. Despite his earlier reservations, he let his eyes turn black, just wanting to dig that knife in a bit deeper.

 

Cas looked around the warehouse, bringing his shoulders back. Before they had just thought that it was a nervous tick. Now he could see the threadbare and broken wings that Castiel was trying to spread out, an attempt at intimidation.

 

He couldn't help but snort at the image: Cas was as much of a threat as a regular human at this point.

 

"Where is Sam?" The angel asked and that made Dean narrow his eyes, hating the sound of his sister’s name from his voice.

 

"Home," he said simply, walking around the angel, making him turn to keep Dean in his sight. "Just you and me here."

 

Castiel's eyes narrowed at him, his shoulders coming up once more. This time, Dean managed to hold his laugh back.It was almost pitiful to be honest. "What do you want?"

 

"What did you do to Sam?" He asked, noting the flash of satisfaction that flickered over Castiel's face. "I know you did something to her, what is it?"

 

For a moment, Castiel didn't answer. When he spoke, his voice was slightly triumphant. "You poisoned her first. I simply made sure that you wouldn't be able to do it again."

 

"How?"

 

"A simple block, an impediment and severe reservation against anything that has to do with Hell," Castiel told him. He almost sounded smug and that made Dean grind his teeth in frustration. "I ensured that regardless of what you do, you'll never be able to misguide her again."

 

"Misguide her," Dean repeated, fingers twitching slightly as they itched for a weapon. "What exactly do you think I'm going to misguide her on?"

 

“It doesn’t matter, you’re a demon and you’re blinded by the Mark,” Castiel said with a bit of a sniff. “Where is Sam, really? Is she at the bunker or did you not hesitate to force your sinful blood into her once more?” His eyes narrowed. “That’s why you’re here, because you tried to get her to drink your blood and she refused.”

 

“Not really,” Dean said, shrugging. “See, we got into a bit of a pickle a couple hours back, Sam was dying and of course, you were nowhere to be found. So I did what I had to and got my blood into her, saving her.”

 

“Trying to damn her like you’ve damned yourself,” Castiel shot back at him. “I should never have gotten you from Hell, I should have left you there where you belonged.”

 

Dean laughed at that. “Don’t pretend that it was your choice,” he half-sneered at him. “You had your orders to rescue me and like a good bitch, you obeyed and did what you were told.”

 

Castiel glowered at him and then straightened once more. “What are you hoping to gain here?”  He asked instead. “I will not remove the block I had placed on Sam's mind nor will I allow you to simply keep me here.”

 

Dean just stared at him, trying to understand, trying to figure out a simple thing. 

 

Why had he let him live this long?

 

The angel had betrayed them, multiple times, had hurt them, and used them. During his time working with Crowley, he did the unthinkable and released the wall in Sam's mind to allow the memories of Hell to come back to her along with the hallucinations of Lucifer that almost drove her to insanity. All to throw them away from him so that they wouldn’t stop his plans that ultimately ended by blowing up in his own face. 

 

And their faces. Over and over and over again, all because of this one angel. 

 

And now… This. Doing something to Sam's mind without her permission, without her consent. 

 

Again. 

 

Mind made up, and if he was being honest with himself it had been made up a long time ago, he reached into his pocket and drew out his angel blade.

 

Not as satisfying as when he used the First Blade but it still made the Mark hum in appreciation and eagerness of blood to be spilt.

 

He didn’t give the angel a moment to speak. He had said enough over the last few years. Dean stepped over the holy fire and, without wasting a single second, buried the blade into his chest, smiling at the look of pain and fear that appeared as Castiel’s Grace flashed out of his vessel. 

 

He stepped back and pulled the blade back, letting the body fall to the floor, still smiling. There was a hint of an imprint of angel wings embedded on the floor that looked just as pathetic as they had before. 

 

He didn’t spare another moment there, not bothering to burn the body or even give it a second glance. He left the warehouse and got into his car, driving back home to where his sister was. 


They were quiet as they drove into town, not even the radio playing. It was Dean's idea to go and replenish their stocks, since she hadn't done so during her time to try finding her brother and neither of them had been able to afterwards. As a result, they were low on a lot of things they needed. 

 

They reached the supermarket and Sam easily snagged them a cart to use, since there weren't that many cars in the parking lot surprisingly. She looked around and tugged her jacket closer to her, feeling an odd chill go down her spine. The wind blew and she swallowed hard as she followed Dean into the store. 

 

There were people lingering around, workers doing whatever they needed to do. Sam and Dean walked together, slightly aimlessly, as she slowly gathered fruits and vegetables for them. They made sure that they got multiple provisions of everything that would last a while so that they wouldn't have to go out again any time soon. 

 

They separated in the middle, each of them getting their own things like they always did. Dean always gravitated to the junk food while she examined the healthy food shelves for her own snacks. She stared at the items, not really seeing them, and, after what felt like a few minutes, rubbed at her temples. The worst of her headache was gone, had disappeared just as quickly as it appeared, but she still felt its lingering effects. It was hard to think, hard to put two thoughts together, and she could barely focus on anything. Finally she just reached out and grabbed a few things at random, wanting to rejoin her brother. 

 

And maybe get some sort of ice cream that he usually picked- she was in the mood for something unhealthy too.

 

Her footsteps echoed as she walked through the aisle, slowly coming to a stop as she looked around. She blinked past the persisting pain and looked around, feeling on edge. Her fingers twitched at her sides and she took a deep breath, a small gasp escaping her when the scent hit her, making her stomach clench.

 

Blood. More specifically, demon blood. Her mouth filled with saliva as her knees buckled, gasping. A bone deep hunger arose inside of her to the point that she couldn't breathe, feeling something crawling inside of her that was struggling to escape. 

 

It took her a moment to truly understand why she could smell demon blood and immediately the hunger was pushed down, the items she had been holding fell to the ground, and she took off running to the last place she had seen her brother. 

 

The sight that met her made her freeze, heart climbing into her throat. 

 

There were already a few dead demons on the ground. Dean worked fast, but there was still a group of them, seven more that she could see from where she was, that were surrounding him, each armed with an angel blade. Dean had one in his hands as well- his eyes were black and there was blood splattered on his clothes. She couldn’t see if he had gotten hurt and healed or if none of them had been able to land a hit. 

 

The demons worked together as a group, quite different from the usual, run-of-the-mill demons who had no cohesion whatsoever. Dean was managing on his own as far as she could see but even he couldn’t move fast enough to block all seven of them. She could see one of them get close to her brother, blade aimed for his spine. 

 

“Enough!” She didn’t recognize her own voice as it called out, echoing through the store and through her bones. 

 

Almost immediately, the demons fell to their knees, shouts of pain coming from them. Dean was the only one that remained standing, swirling to look at her. 

 

Breathing heavily, she came forward, closing her eyes to focus, breathing out slowly as she destroyed two demons from the inside out, their vessels falling to the floor with a flash of gold light. 

 

She brought her hand up to the nearest still living demon, forcing it to stand. Gritting her teeth, she glared at it, meeting its black eyes. “What the hell are you doing?” She demanded of it. 

 

The demon spat at her, the spittle landing at the ground near her feet. Dean moved at that, burying his angel blade in the demon's chest and with a flash of red light, killing it. Sam threw the vessel to the side uncaringly and turned to the next one, doing the same. 

 

“Crowley sends his regards,” the next demon sneered. “The King has no use for a demon that won’t obey or a child who’s overstepping her boundaries.”

 

Sam clenched her jaw tight enough that she could almost feel a crack. Her hands curled into a fist and the demons all screamed as she gripped their souls and twisted them as best as she could, snapping and destroying them piece by piece, the scent of sulfur filling the air. 

 

Finally, one by one, as their mutated souls reached their limits, each vessel fell over to the side, dead. 

 

She turned to Dean, who was standing there, hands clasped behind his back as he stared at her. It was no mistake that the way he stood resembled a soldier’s stance, as he watched her, awaiting her order, her command. 

 

Her decree. 

 

Breathing heavily, Sam straightened to her full height, feeling their shared blood rushing through her, burning like a fire as her eyes flashed. 


Sam stepped into the warehouse. She had told Charlie to leave a couple hours ago and was pleased to see that she had listened. Rowena sat almost regally on a stool, delicately sipping tea from a paper cup.

 

For a moment, neither of them spoke until Rowena gave a soft sigh, setting the cup on her lap.

 

“I think,” Rowena said, as graceful as her movements. “That we are going to have to renegotiate certain terms of our deal, Samantha.”

 

Sam just made a small sound, slowly walking around the witch, hands at her sides. 

 

“Now, I stand by my original deal. Fergus must die,” Rowena said. “And despite that agreement, he still lives. That. Is. Unacceptable.”

 

Rowena kept talking. It was something she had in common with her son, Sam mused. They both liked to hear themselves speak. She wasn’t even trying to listen, because nothing the witch could say actually meant anything. 

 

Finally, she lost interest and raised her hand, smiling slightly at the choked sound that escaped Rowena as the metal choker tightened around her throat, cutting off her air supply. The rest of the chains tightened as well, wrapping around her arms and pulling, causing her to arch as she gasped for air. 

 

“We had a deal, the whole of which hinged on you translating the Book of the Damned so that we could cure my brother of the Mark,” Sam said softly, walking around her, stepping over the spilled tea cup. “And in return for the spell, I would kill your son.”

 

Sam stopped in front of her, watching the slight panic and anger filling her eyes.

 

“There's been a change of plans,” Sam told her, reaching out to push a lock of the witch's hair behind her ear. “And as a result, your services are no longer required.”

 

Sam's eyes went to the door as Dean came in, every step echoing through the warehouse. He was holding a black bag in his hand that dripped blood to the concrete. He walked until he was right next to Sam, just a half step behind her. 

 

But what made the fear deepen in Rowena's face were Dean's eyes. Sam didn’t even need to look to know that they were black.

 

At Sam's nod, he opened the bag and reached into it, lifting Crowley's head by the hair and setting it on the table. 

 

“He’s dead because we wanted him dead, we had wanted him dead for a long time,” Sam said. “And seeing as we’re okay with the Mark and Crowley is dead, you’re no longer needed.”

 

“I can… Help,” Rowena managed to choke out, her face almost as red as her hair. “I’m… Powerful. I can be… Of use.”

 

“You are very powerful, and with the Book of the Damned, I think you’d be unparalleled,'' Sam agreed, reaching out to gently cup Rowena's cheek. She blinked, her eyes flashing yellow for a moment, and she could see three small hex bags embedded inside Rowena’s physical body. 

 

She moved her fingers to the center of Rowena's chest and breathed out slowly, focusing on those patches of healing magic. 

 

Rowena's skin lit up from the inside, causing her to cry out, as the magic fizzled and died, fading out completely. She stepped back and before the witch could even realize what had happened, Dean stepped forward and buried his blade in her chest. 

 

A small sound escaped her before she slumped forward, only being held up by chains. When Sam released the bindings, the body fell to the ground, unmoving. 

 

She waited a moment, eyes flashing repeatedly from yellow to hazel, as she waited to see if Rowena's magic would bring her back. Dean came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, his chin on her shoulder. 

 

When nothing happened, not a single spark of magic to  even hint at life, she nodded and took a step back, reaching into Dean's pocket and pulling out his lighter. She opened and lit it with a flick of her wrist and she tipped the flame over into her other hand, letting it curl around her fingers. 

 

She waited for Dean to go around the tables, gathering the book and every piece of paper and notes that were there. Once he was done, Sam simply lifted her hand and the fire immediately sprang forward, spreading rapidly along the warehouse and everything inside of it, eagerly destroying all that it touched. 

 

Sam didn’t bother to watch, more than comfortable with the knowledge that it would destroy everything and yet, be contained enough so that nothing else around would be hurt. 

 

They walked out of the warehouse hand in hand, letting the fire burn behind them as they got into the Impala and drove away. 


They were quiet as they left, Sam looked down at her hands, they were still covered in Crowleys blood. The scent was wafting slowly into the air and despite the fact that it was demon blood, and her hunger was starting to rise in her, it made her stomach turn in disgust. 

 

She reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the wet wipes that they kept there, pulling one out and starting to clean the blood off of her skin. It took more than a few wipes, she had to clean under her fingernails too, but eventually there was a small pile of wipes on the floor of the car and her hands were at least clean.

 

Her stomach growled, reminding her of the growing hunger gnawing inside of her, as her arm throbbed in pain. She wrapped an arm around her elbow, right over where Dean had done his transfusion, and looked out the window, staring at Dean's reflection in the glass. 

 

Her brother wasn’t looking at her, focused completely on the road ahead of them. Her phone was vibrating in her pocket but she ignored it, there wasn’t anything that she needed to hear at this time. Nothing else mattered, nothing else that they could focus on or do for anyone or anything. 

 

Except for themselves. 

 

Her mind went back to the last few hours. Killing Crowley snatched the so-called King off of the throne of Hell leaving an empty throne. Killing Rowena ensured that they were never going to be able to decipher the Book of the Damned and therefore find a new way for Dean to be turned back to human nor find a way to get rid of the Mark. 

 

Dean drove them until they reached a field, she looked around when they stopped and couldn’t find a reason for stopping. Neither of them spoke as Dean got out of the car and after a moment, she followed, closing the door as she stepped out. 

 

Dean was leaning against his side of the impala, staring out into the horizon with his hands in his pockets. She went to stand next to him, copying his posture and looking out as he was, trying to discreetly scratch at the inside of her arm. 

 

“It’s all up to you now.” Dean told her, not looking at her yet. “The next step, whatever the hell we do now, it's all on you.”

 

Sam glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

 

“Thrones empty, witch is dead, there’s no one else strong enough to face us.” Dean said, still not looking at her. “So that just leaves you and me, and you’re the one to take the next step, whatever it is.”

 

“And where do you fit into all of this?” Sam couldn’t help but ask. 

 

“Right next to you.” Dean said, finally turning to look at her. His eyes were green, the sunlight making them shine and glitter. “Whatever you choose.”

 

Sam swallowed hard, feeling her throat tighten. “So if I choose that I want things to go back to normal, which includes you being cured from being a demon…”

 

“Then you can tie me up and inject me with as many shots as you want.” Dean told her. “And I won’t fight it.”

 

“But we would.” Sam said quietly. “You’ll still have the Mark and you’ll still have that feeling of wanting to kill, not to mention that it's a ticking time bomb that sometimes,” she reached out and slid her fingers over the front of his throat. “You detonate yourself.”

 

“If it means saving your life, I’ll do it again and again and again.” Dean told her. “I don’t care about myself Sammy, not if it means that I can save you.”

 

Sam stared at him for another moment before looking down at her hands, they were shaking slightly and she curled her fingers into fists. “Then we go down all the same paths again and again.” she said quietly. “Over and over again, hoping for a different result each time.”

 

And wouldn’t it be easier to just...not step onto it again? To stop the wheel that they were on, to step off and go on a new road for the both of them?

 

And in this case, the other brand new road for the both of them, would be the throne of Hell. 

 

What was the other alternative? Live like this? With her on the constant edge of starving for demon blood and Dean a demon? Bring them both back to humanity with the constant fear of being pushed back over the edge. 

 

Again and again, still on that wheel leading nowhere. 

 

Sam breathed out slowly, closing her eyes and just focusing on her breathing for a moment before she reopened them. She looked up at her brother once more, he turned to look at her again. She reached into his jacket and pulled out his knife, opening it with a flick of her wrist. 

 

Dean held his arm out to her, his brow furrowing when she brought her own arm up and made a cut on her wrist, hissing slightly at the pain. She turned the knife handle towards him and held it out, letting Dean take it from her, making a cut of his own on his wrist as well. 

 

Her mouth filled with saliva at the sight of his blood and she swallowed hard, holding her wrist out to him. He gently took a hold of it and brought it up to his mouth, wrapping his lips around the cut, bringing his arm up for her to do the same. 

 

She didn’t care to hide her moan as the taste of his blood, the second it hit her tongue she eagerly pressed closer, drinking as deeply as she could. She could feel him doing the same, drinking her blood in time with her.

 

They breathed heavily when they pulled away, staring at one another with blood stained mouths. His eyes were black and she could feel the flicker in her own as the yellow spread over them. She wasn’t sure who moved first but they kissed, clinging to one another.

 

Regardless of the path they were on, they were going to be on it together.