#audaciousdean

Sam still saw himself as a monster despite everything he has done. His baby brother had done the impossible he beat back the devil. He was trapped in the cage where he was tortured for over a millennium, he had sacrificed so much for this damn world and yet there were still those who looked past or down on Sam for all he had done and it made him feel like he still had to atone for his role in what had passed.

And as much as Dean loved Charlie he wished he had said something when she had thanked him for saving the world but completely skipped over Sam's role in it as well and it wasn't the first time that had happened. It tore into Dean every time Sam's heroics were overlooked it seemed like everyone could forget those but not the mistakes he had made.

After telling Jack that he would be the one to kill him if he went evil Dean ordered the kid to stay put as he went to grab him a new shirt the last thing Dean wanted was for Sam to see what Jack had tried to do. While Sam had never come right out and said it Dean could read Sam like a book and he was pretty sure that when Sam learned that he was the vessel of Lucifer he might have tried to kill himself.

"It won't matter what I do, he'll just bring me back."

Those words tore at Dean and the haunted and broken look in Sam's eyes had scared him he hadn't and still didn't want to think what Sam had done during their time apart. The guilt had and still ate at him at how he allowed himself to be used by heaven, to do the one thing he swore he never do and turn his back on his brother.

"Do I want to know why you are raiding our closet for a new shirt?"

It was pure instinct that Dean automatically reached for the weapon when he heard the voice from behind him; he had been so lost in thought and his regrets that he hadn't even heard Sam approaching.

"Damn it, Sammy!" Whirling around Dean pointed his finger at Sam, "What have I told you about creeping up on me? If I had been armed I could have seriously hurt you!" And that was the last thing Dean wanted to do was hurt Sam. 'A little too late for that.' The traitorous voice whispered.

Brows furrowed together Sam studied his brother, it wasn't like him to catch Dean off guard. "Dean, are you alright?"

'No Sam I'm not alright. I haven't been alright since those damn angels came into our lives and did their best to turn me against you. I haven't been alright since my trip to hell and try as I might I can still remember what I did in hell as Alistair's star pupil.'

Sam's eyes what wide with horror as he took a step towards his brother his hands halting in mid-air as he wanted nothing more than to comfort Dean but he wasn't sure if it would be welcomed at this moment."Dean?"

It took Dean a second to realize that he had said that all out loud. "Just forget I said anything."

"No. Dean, how can I forget what you have been carrying around all this time? This is has been clearly weighing on you for some time. Dean, we need to talk to each other if we don't well we have seen what happens." It cut Sam deeply to know that the person he loved above everything and everyone else felt he couldn't open up to him. He wanted to be there for Dean like Dean had been there for him.

The moment he saw Dean's jaw clench and his eyes harden Sam felt his hopes sink there was one undeniable truth that the Winchester were not good with sharing or talking about their feelings.

"I figured Jack could use a few things to sleep in, someone will have to take him shopping tomorrow." Gathering up the clothes he had found for Jack Dean did his best to ignore the hurt look Sam was sending his way.

"I can take those to Jack." Sam offered he knew that Dean wasn't comfortable around Jack.

"NO!" That was the very last thing that Dean wanted was Sam to see what Jack had done to himself, he knows his little brother well and Sam would blame himself for what Jack had done.

Startled Sam found himself taking a step back from Dean. "Did something happen to Jack?"

"No! You just don't need to mother him every second. Stopping him from going evil won't change the past!" Dean wanted to slug himself the moment the words left his mouth. The moment the sheer hurt appeared in Sam's eyes tore his heart to shreds. "Sammy... I..." Dean couldn't find the words to apologize to Sam the damage had already been done he could see the walls coming up around Sam and he couldn't blame him for closing off. 'Way to go Winchester. Way to go.' With the clothing firmly in hand, Dean decided that it was best if he left before he could cause any more damage.

Sam said nothing as Dean passed him by it wasn't until the silence of the room began to overwhelm him did Sam collapse onto the bed. "All this time I thought you had forgiven me, Dean." He whispered into the empty room, his voice trembling from holding back the tears that wanted to fall.

Leaning against the wall Dean cursed himself as he heard Sam breakdown. "I did baby boy, it's me I haven't forgiven for the pain I caused you and I don't deserve to be."

+*****+

Dean was pleased to see that Jack had stayed put. "Here, put this one." He ordered as he tossed the shirt at the kid and as soon as the kid was changed he would burn that shirt the last thing he wanted was for Sam to find it.

"You are worried about Sam," Jack spoke after several moments of silence as he studied Dean to the point where the other man was feeling a little uncomfortable.

"I usually am, that is what it means to be a big brother." Dean didn't want to tell Jack that their relationship went beyond being brothers.

Tilting his head Jack studied Dean for a second, "It's more than that. I can see it."

"See what?" Dean was not in the mood for his. He needed to figure out a way to make things right with Sam or if they should just pretend that it never happened like they usually did.

"Yours and Sam's souls, they are entwined and connected. They move together as one linking you to one another, bonding you to each other. You are not whole without the other one around. I believe that is what they mean when talking about soulmates." Jack didn't understand everything but he could see that Dean and Sam were more than they pretended to be.

"I understand that you don't trust me and Sam does. You are worried that Sam could get hurt. That I could hurt Sam. But I wouldn't he has been nice to me; he cares about me like a son. I believe he is what you call mothering me." Jack's heart skipped a little beat he thought of Sam as his mother. "Does that mean that he and Castiel will get together if Castiel comes back?"

"No! Sam is mine!" Dean couldn't keep the possessiveness out of his voice he wasn't a fool he had seen Castiel interest in Sam and he never forgot the way Cas would linger when he hugged Sam as if he didn't want to let him go.

"You are jealous of the idea of Castiel and Sam because you and Sam are involved." Jack still didn't understand everything.

"Yeah and we you are in a committed relationship like Sammy and me you don't cheat on your partner." Dean didn't know why he was talking about this with Jack it was none of the kid's business to know what went on between him and Sam. And he didn't trust the kid he was the son of Lucifer and he had seen firsthand that bastards obsession with making Sam his.

"I understand why you do not trust me but shouldn't you at least trust Sam and talk to him, isn't that what couples do?" Jack was still trying to grasp everything but from what he had seen on TV and observed it was normal for couples to talk to one another.

"Yeah well, Sammy and I aren't normal." But as much as Dean hated it he had to admit that the kid had a point, he needed to talk to Sam the problem was he was just so angry and tired of losing people he loved. He had already lost his dad, Bobby the man who was a second father, Ellen, Ash, Jo, Rufus and so many others hell he had lost Sam too many times but unlike the others, he couldn't let Sam go and he sold his soul to bring him back. There were days when he wanted to leave this all behind and pack Sam into the Impala and head out to a cabin in the woods where they could live out the rest of their lives there free from hunting where he knows that Sam would be safe and he knows that Sam would do it if that was what he thought Dean really wanted.

"I will be happy anywhere as long as you are with me." Sam looked so beautifully laid out in their bed and it took all Dean not to kiss him. "You are all I need Dean, you are what makes me happy."

Dean needed to see Sam, he needed to feel Sam beneath him to know that he was still here with him, that he hadn't lost him, the one thing that keeps him anchored. "Get changed kid and then watch some more Scooby-Doo." Dean wasn't at all surprised when Jack's eyes lit up at the mention of the cartoon, in the short time he has been alive he has fallen in love with the talking dog.

+*****+

Dean was not surprised to find Sam curled up on their bed reading one of his favorite books Gods of Dusk and the only sign that he had a broken down earlier was the sight of his red eyes and the sight of them made Dean feel like an even bigger jackass. Sam put up a shield acting like the words didn't hurt him but Dean knew different.

Unable to stand the distance between them Dean climbed up into bed next to Sam and he wasn't surprised when Sam stiffen as he wrapped his arms around him resting his head on Sam's shoulder  it took a moment or two before Sam relaxed and for him to rest one hand on the arm Dean had placed on his hip.

"I will never see you as a monster. The ones who did this to you? Now they are and will always be the monsters and yeah that includes mom." Dean loves his mom, oh he does but he had never forgiven her for what she had done to Sam.

Shifting till he could look Dean in the eyes Sam's face softened as he saw the regret in them. "I know and I am thankful for that. I was saved because of you, of your love and belief in me. I overcame my destiny and if I could then I think Jack can too. I need to believe in that Jack can change because there are times when I can feel it waking up inside of me.” Sam whispered as he lowered his eyes unable to see the disgust and fear in Dean's eyes.

A callus rough hand cupped Sam's chin forcing him to look him in the eyes. Dean could see the fear in Sam's eyes and while he had his own fear he would do his best to reassure Sam. "If and that is a very big if your powers reawaken we will work together. This time we will not let those sons of bitches in heaven or hell drive us apart. We have proven time and time again when we work together we are stronger than them." Dean promised. 'And I will rip apart anyone who dares to try and take you away from me.'

The way Sam's eyes lit up filled Dean's heart with joy and when Sam pressed his lips against his Dean cupped Sam's cheek and deepened the kiss. The kiss ended far too soon than Dean would have liked as Sam pulled away from him.

"Then can you understand why I want to give Jack a chance? I'm not asking you to like him or trust him but please give me a chance to show him that he chose his own fate." Sam pleaded with Dean.

"For you and only for you baby boy will I try and that is all I can promise." That was all he could promise. 'And I hope that he can be saved Sammy because if he can't then I will be the one to put him down to keep you safe even if that means you hate me.'  

Little brothers aren’t supposed to be in love with older brothers that have taken care of them since…..well, forever.

Little brothers aren’t supposed to be in love with their big brothers at all.

Sam had realized his predicament when he had been just thirteen. Had choked on love and lust every time his brother’s emerald eyes had turned their gaze on him.

And he wanted, oh how he wanted.

He wanted to know how Dean’s plush, pink lips would feel moving on his. He wanted to know how Dean’s skin would taste, what sounds he would make as Sam swallowed him down as he had done in his fantasies so many times. He wanted to know what it would be like to feel his big brother inside him(be inside his big brother), to feel him come, to watch him come.

He was desperate and needy and sick with what Dean would think.

Reality had been so much better than his fevered imaginings.

Sam remembers being fifteen and being kissed by Dean for the first time. It had been in that worn and tired motel in Omaha. The one with the broken heater and it had been freezing, the middle of January, but Dean had made him warm, so warm, with his mouth on Sam’s, his hands on Sam’s body, and Sam had wanted it to never stop.

And Dean’s eyes had shown with fierce adoration and need and a dazed astonishment, dark and deep, like a verdant  forest at the edge of twilight.

Through the years that followed, they had fought and disappointed and even left each other once or twice.

But they had always come back to each other, drawn by forces they neither cared to understand nor examine.

Some might call it obsession, dependence, abnormal.

To the brothers, it was as necessary as breathing. They were not whole without the other.

Many times it was all that kept them sane and they had only one word for it.

Even no-chick-flick moments Dean had no compunction in calling their relationship what it was.

It was comforting to know that one was loved and cherished, desired and needed by the only person who knew absolutely everything about you.

And loved you in spite of it. Or maybe because of it.

They had defeated heaven and hell, monsters of the literal and figurative kind. They, themselves, had become monsters a time or two.There were times they had wanted to quit it all, just live and love before their time ran out.

And finally, they had tried. 

They had saved the world yet again, they had both cheated death for what they thought might be final time and they needed each other and whatever anonymity they could find.

On the outskirts of a small Minnesota town, about an hour and a half west of Sioux Falls, they had found a modest two-bedroom cottage, surrounded by aspen, and elm and white spruce.

Dean had commented that all it was missing was the white picket fence and then had proceeded to install one because he could.

They were never all of the way out of the life. Hunters would call for advice or stop by to get Sam’s and Dean’s opinion of what they thought the monster of the week might be.

Sometimes, Jody would come bearing wine and fresh-baked pie and they would sit out back on summer nights, and watch Dean cook on their small charcoal grill and then eat perfect steaks, talking of anything but hunting and death.

Other times, Sam and Dean would spread a blanket on the soft grass and lay hand-in hand and watch the stars come out.

In the winter, they would listen to the blizzard winds sing around the eaves of their sanctuary, only getting out of bed when absolutely necessary. Then they would fall back into the welcoming warmth of the king-size bed Dean had built for Sam as a Christmas present that first winter, two years ago. 

They would sleep, then wake, limbs entwined, mouths hungry for each other, skin sliding against skin, hands roaming, eliciting gasps and moans from one another, until they begin to move together as one and the world around them ceased to exist.

Sam remembers all of it, every moment, every smile, every touch like it was yesterday.

He rememberes all of their yesterdays and those memories had made today a little easier.

Sam looked at his brother, silver hair shining in the afternoon light, lips slightly parted. You would think he was sleeping if it wasn’t for the blue tinge at the edges of his lips. He looked peaceful now, lying in their bed, hands at his side, the amulet lying in the center of his chest.

He thought of the last look in Dean’s green eyes, no longer glassy with pain from the cancer eating away at his body.

Dean’s eyes had shown a brilliant green like the first leaves Spring brought to the large elm that shaded their bedroom, keeping it cool even in the midst of Summer.

And in them, Sam had seen equal parts love and gratitude.

Sam had held his brother’s hand, murmuring his love so that his voice would be the last thing Dean would hear. His touch the last that Dean would know.

Stroking his fingers through his own silver streaked hair, Sam laid the envelope with Jody’s name inscribed on the front on the bedside table. In it, Sam had written the brother’s final wishes. To be placed next to each other on the pyre, as close as possible, before they were reduced to ashes.

He then sent a simple text to Jody’s phone. “I need your help with Dean.”

In the letter, Sam had asked Jody’s forgiveness for this last bit of subterfuge.

He thought she would.

Sam stabbed the four ampules of morphine into his thigh in quick succession. 

He kissed his big brother one last time before he laid down beside him and took his already cooling hand in his and entwined their fingers.

The morphine was already effecting him and he struggled to turn on his side so he could look at his brother’s face.

Soon sleep would come and if he could dream, all of them would be of Dean.

Dean had promised to wait for him. To tell the reaper, Sam would soon be following. They would be together.

Listen to your instincts. Watch your surroundings. Don’t make any unnecessary moves. John died six months ago and Sam can still hear his voice, feel the authority of his directions, his ghost looking over his shoulder. He had hated those constant reminders of how to be how to be a better hunter when his dad was alive. How funny is it that he can’t shake that voice now that he’s gone.

The Old Rock Church has a reputation with the local people of St Dunstan, Michigan. Many claim to have heard spirits inside its walls, someone singing from the empty choir box, or a voice whispering in the dark confessional. Once things started moving on their own across the altar, the congregation and tithing thinned out and the church shut its doors five years ago.

Locals gossip about ghosts at the Old Rock, showing pride in the one noteworthy thing about this one-light town. Maybe they’re right about spirits haunting the old church, but Sam knows that there are worse things hidden away on these back roads.

Now, St Dunstan had something else to be known for: a series of grisly murders. The latest victim, Jerry Small, had been found about a mile away from here, sprawled under the bobbing heads of yarrow at the side of the asphalt road. Jerry’s skin was white as a doll, and the semi-circular punctures on his neck were raw and mangled. There was no blood - none at the scene, none in the body - but there were traces of semen and evidence of sexual activity. As he squatted next to Jerry’s body that morning, he pulled back the upper lip to see nothing but smooth gums.

Sam checks his pockets once more - a flask of holy water in one pocket, lighter and fuel in the other, a demon-killing knife on his belt and a machete held loosely by his side. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s walking into. Vamps don’t like consecrated ground and spirits don’t usually suck and fuck, so the ghost story could be a coincidence. Better to be prepared for anything.

As the rain begins to pour, he runs across the lonely stretch of two-lane road. Pausing when he reaches the decrepit entryway, Sam shakes the drops from his hair and pushes the long strands behind his ears. Dead leaves skitter across his shoes and the gust of wind announces the start of a summer storm. The frosted glass panels in the entry doors don’t show him much, but he can see a flicker of gold light inside. A sign of life in what is supposed to be a dead church. Taking a deep breath, he adjusts his grip on the machete, and glances up and down the road once more before pushing the door open.

The foyer is empty, smelling of dust and mice nests. As he moves forward, Sam notices a dark stairwell on his left that must lead up to the bell tower, but is distracted by the golden glow that is spilling out from the nave. He peeks around the corner, and sees that the sacristy is lit up with dozens of white candles. Sam steps slow and soundless up the middle aisle, checking out each pew, but only finding faded red hymnals and prayer books tucked in their wooden shelves and dusty kneelers. The inside of the church is painted warm and welcoming by the candlelight, bringing the stained glass windows alive, much like Pastor Jim’s parish in Blue Earth. Yet another person and another place gone from Sam’s life.

He reaches the end of the aisle and stops, listening to the mounting storm as it pummels the stained glass from the outside. His steps echo as he climbs the three final raisers up to the communion rail with its velvet kneelers. Judging by the dust and the moth-eaten material, no one has been partaking of the body and blood of Christ for decades. The candles behind the altar flicker and he runs his palms over the white and gold embroidered altar cloths, each stitch the proud product of some local ladies auxiliary. He wonders why no one took these with them when they locked their doors for the last time.

“I hope you’re not here to rob us?”

The deep voice makes Sam jump, spinning around to see a broad-shouldered priest, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed across his chest.

“Father?” Sam says. “I didn’t see you there.”

The priest smiles as he pushes off the door frame. “I wasn’t expecting anyone tonight. Just getting ready for services.”

A beautiful face for a priest. Full lips and fair skin, like a Renaissance painting. A man to serve as a model for masters, not a man who’s taken the black of priesthood.

“Services?” Sam says, his brow creased. “I didn’t think anyone used this church anymore.”

The priest nods as he walks up the aisle, following in Sam’s footsteps. “It’s a new era. We’re trying to bring people in.”

Sam looks around at the empty pews and the dark confessional. “And how’s that going?”

The shrug the man gives speaks of resignation but his eyes are sharp and full of purpose. “Well, most days, it’s just one person at a time. And today, you’re my one person. How can I help you, Mr?–”

“Sam. It’s Sam.”

The priest licks his lips, and raises his head as he climbs the steps. His eyes reflects the candle flames, orange flickers inside a pool of green, and Sam’s palm grows sweaty against the machete handle as he tries to move it behind him.

“I’m Father Dean.” The man comes to a stop at the top step and gestures to the long blade in Sam’s hand. “Planning to chop the pews into kindling?”

It’s tough to look away from those eyes, but when Sam does, he notices that any retreat he might have through the communion rail is blocked by the priest. Father Dean is tall and thick biceps strain under the black shirt and suit jacket, but Sam has training and height on his side. His instincts are telling him to bolt and jump the wooden rail, but then the priest speaks again.

“I know what it’s like.”

“What?” Sam half focuses on the man’s words and steps back to give himself more room to move.

“To be alone. Like you, I was made into what I am now and left behind. And just like you, I had no say in it. We shouldn’t be blamed for our abandonment.”

Sam freezes at those words, like a rabbit in front of a rattler. He can’t read Dean’s face, not in the inconstancy of the candlelight, but it seems to flicker between sadness and hunger. The priest’s eyes glint red and Sam feels their pull again, recognizing that this is the predator he’s been hunting for.

“Who are you?” Sam says. “What are you?”

“Someone who’s been waiting. A lot of travellers come through here, men and women who are lost or curious. None as perfect as you.”

Dean steps closer, and Sam flinches and raises the machete. Whatever is hiding beneath the priest’s clothes, it doesn’t attack but presses on and leans towards him with a pleased humming sound that climbs right up Sam’s spine and burrows in his heart. He is pulled toward the noise, compelled to place his fingertips on Dean’s lips and feel the vibration there. The machete drops back down as his other hand reaches out to the priest.

The humming stops and Dean smiles at him. The smile is beautiful and terrifying, bright when surrounded by the browns and greys of that broken-down church, and Sam wants to look away as his want swamps him.  And then the teeth descend and he knows.

Sam continues to back up against the altar behind him. All the vampires he had hunted before were the stuff of nightmares, not wet dreams. Even the ones who used sex to kill weren’t like this. His dad would talk about vetalas that lured men as prostitutes or sirens that infected their victims with venom. The two of them had faced vamps before, but they were rough, violent monsters compared to this one.

“I’m not like those other creatures,” Dean says.

Sam shifts his stance, uncomfortable at the thought of being read somehow, that that he has been noticed before. Before he can make a move, the vampire closes in quickly, a blur to Sam’s eyes. Instead of attacking, it grabs his biceps and holds him in place. Sam tries to twist away but Dean only smiles.

“Don’t be afraid.” Dean’s eyes are now ringed in red.

Cold lips meet Sam’s and the taste is like fermented apple cider too long in the barrel. Sam opens his mouth in surprise, unsure how things escalated like this and questioning where his fear and his instinct for self-preservation have gone. He tilts his head to the side and kisses back. The taste of apples is joined by the smell of leaves and freshly turned garden soil, and Sam flashes on thoughts of Pastor Jim’s backyard, one of the few places he could call home.

Childhood memories disappear as Dean’s tongue pushes in past Sam’s lips, and Sam lets him. Six months of hunting creatures like this alone. Six months of trying to meet the expectations of his dead father. And this one kiss fills the empty hole inside him as if he had been waiting for it all of his life.

The machete hits the ground with a clang.

Dean presses his body forward, grabbing onto the edge of the altar and pinning Sam into place between his arms. Sam moans and moves his hands to cup the sides of Dean’s face. The cool skin reminds him once again that this is not a man.

His heartbeat is pounding inside his ears as they pull apart. Dean dives back in and noses at Sam’s jawline, and there is a rasp of scruff against his cheek. Sam’s cock throbs in response and presses hard against his jeans.

He wants this so badly and so deeply, and wonders if this is how the rabbit feels.

“What are you?” he whispers.

Dean hesitates at the question, putting the thinnest film of breathing room between them. “It doesn’t matter, not really.”

“It does to me.” Sam chases after the kiss, already missing Dean’s lips on him. He wonders if it is part of the monster’s glamor, but in the end it doesn’t matter. He still wants.

Dean spins him around and pushes him hard against the altar, the edge digging into his hips. He cries out at the force as Dean pulls back on his hair, tilting his head to the side, exposing the column of his throat towards the sacristy and the candles’ soft light. As the priest leans in to lick the skin along his pulse points, Sam squirms at the contact but is trapped in place.

“Look at you. Knew you would be perfect when I saw you in that big black car.”

Dean’s lips latch onto the soft skin over his carotid and he sucks on the spot, and Sam lets out a groan as the sensation becomes sharp, teeth piercing his skin. The pain sends a dark shock running down his spine into his balls, which tighten and thrum with electricity. He jerks his hips up but Dean’s arm wraps around him from behind, pulling Sam up and back to his chest. The teeth which felt like pin pricks before now penetrate fully through the skin on his throat, and his vision whites out at the edges.

Fingers pull at the buttons on his shirt and tear at the zipper on his jeans, and Sam isn’t sure if they’re his hands or Dean’s - he only knows that his body feels on fire and he needs to get all of his clothes off now. He whines when Dean stops to yank the jeans down. Before he can protest again, he is shoved face down onto the altar. Blood trickles from the holes in his neck, and he feels it running down his skin to drip on the linen below.

Get up boy. Don’t just lie there and take it. Save yourself. He should listen to John’s voice and get up. If he could escape now, there would still be a chance to survive. But he is tired. He turns his cheek and lays it flat against the altar cloth, the rub of linen scratchy against his skin. His body is not a sacrifice; it is an offering.

Dean presses himself across Sam’s back. His weight is heavy and the skin cool against the heat that Sam feels. His head is once more jerked back by the hair and he can see Dean’s face over his shoulder. It shines as bright as the vampire’s teeth which have fully descended.

“Tell me you’re mine,” Dean says and it sounds like a question from his tone. Sam wants to laugh because he’s not sure whether the answer to that is really his choice at this point.

“Yes.”

There is no hesitation, and John’s voice protests, but it is too late.

The vampire’s teeth sink into his throat, driving deeper and deeper. Sam shouts and his hands scrabble at the table top, frantic, finding nothing to hold. The jolt he felt before returns and surges through his body as Dean’s lips draw the blood. He has to close his eyes against the pain. When Dean pulls his mouth off, fingers quickly replace his lips and he pushes down on  the curved wound, through the pulsing blood.

“I need to be inside you when you die.”

Sam’s eyes flutter open in confusion and he tries to look back as Dean hauls him further up on the table, with Sam’s toes barely grazing the floor. Slick fingers begin to move against his crack, pulling his cheeks apart. My own blood, he thinks as the first one penetrates. It’s still a bit dry and Dean pulls it back out. Teeth sink into his neck once more and Sam’s head drops back down on the table in relief.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he chokes out.

Dean stops the suckling to smear his fingers along the gash once more. Sam is light-headed from blood loss, but it doesn’t stop his need, and Dean’s finger slips more easily inside this time. Sam lets out a low whine of satisfaction as another is added and they move in and out, filling him. Dean crooks them and as they brush against his prostrate Sam strains on the tips of his toes, making a strangled cry.

“There you go,” Dean says from behind, twisting his fingers again before adding a third.

Sam moans, a low long noise that rises up to the rafters, scaring a bird off its perch there. He pumps his hips back to get those cold fingers deeper inside, but Dean pulls them out, lining up to push his cock inside. It’s slow and Sam moves to stand on his toes again, thighs shaking and spread as he is penetrated. He wants to move, he needs to move, but Dean’s cock has him pinned up against the altar. As he raises his head to look back, the vampire wraps his hand around Sam’s neck, giving it a squeeze while his lips and teeth graze over the punctures from before, before whispering in his ear.

“Say the words. Tell me you’re mine.”

Sam pants, the lack of oxygen driving him towards orgasm. He squirms back against Dean’s cock, and feels its length move inside him, thrusting roughly.

“Say it.”

The hand on his throat eases and Sam can only whisper, “I’m yours,” before the sharp teeth sink in, and he can hear Dean drinking once more. The double penetration between teeth and cock makes Sam shout out, slapping his palms on the table. He comes harder than ever before, and semen stripes the sides of the red and white linen panels. As his orgasm dies out, the feeling of electricity ebbs to one of drowning. His vision has gone from whiting out to a black tunnel and he knows that he doesn’t have long. Dean releases Sam’s throat and continues to pump his hips as Sam drops his forehead with a thunk against the tabletop.

“Hey. Hey.” Dean pulls his head back up by the hair, his cock still buried deep inside, and presents his own bloody forearm in front of Sam’s mouth. When Sam seems confused, Dean holds it flat against his lips. “Here, drink it.”

The coppery smell makes him nauseous and he tries to pull away at first, but Dean won’t let him. He doesn’t care in the end. It will soon be over. But he sucks on Dean’s arm, lets the blood trickle down his throat, to make him happy. It may be too late to turn him, but he doesn’t say that to Dean, not wanting to disappoint. Instead, he is calm as death approaches and darkness takes him under.

***

When Sam opens his eyes, he stares at the wooden ceiling beams twenty-five feet above his head. A bird’s nest is wedged between two of them, with twigs and green and red threads dangling over the edge. A small brown mouse runs the length of a third one, its whiskers twitching as it stops and starts its run to safety. These details in their sharp definition, the awareness of everything, are almost too much for him. He sits up to find himself fully dressed and sprawled across the communion rail cushions; Dean sits nearby with his head tipped back against the rail, hands crossed in front of him.

“Well, you took long enough to wake up.”

Sam scrambles to stand, to get away, but his movements are fast, much faster than he is used to and he stumbles down the steps, landing on his knees. Dean is there in the blink of an eye, catching his arm and pulling him to his feet, but Sam pushes him away.

“I died,” he says.

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“I DIED,” he yells loudly as if that will help him make some sense of it.

Dean laughs. “Well, to be fair, that was always going to happen. I just sped up the process.”

Sam chuffs out a sound of disgust and runs his fingers through his hair. He can feel every strand pull across the tips of his fingers, like fine piano wire, and he begins to panic, dropping his head between his knees to get his bearings. His life so far, hunting the supernatural, had been painted in muted shades. The grey of twilight. The black of the highway. The brown of a grave. The colorful auras and the the sharp edging that surround him are intrusive.

And he waits for the voice of his dad to begin, telling him the horrible mistake he’s made, but it’s quiet.

After a few minutes, a hand drops on his shoulder and Sam looks up again. Dean’s beauty now shines clear as if a pane of glass between them has been scrubbed clean. Dean smiles and the small lines around his eyes wrinkle up and the gold flecks in the green of his eyes shine. The monster Sam saw before, the one who waited in the shadows, patiently preying on the helpless, looks happy.

“It’s okay, Sam. You’ll get used to it over time.” Dean stands up and extends his hand to Sam. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

Dean takes him by the hand and as they walk through the church, Sam spots a woman holding a hymnal in the choir loft, her mouth open in song. Her image is faint and misty white, and he stops and stares. Her voice is reedy, slightly off key, but joy shines from her face. Another image catches his attention - two young boys are chasing each other around the confessional, laughing and playing tag, before their images disappear from sight.

“Are those–” he starts.

Dean nods, but his nose wrinkles up at the end. “Ghosts. You’ll be able to see a lot of things now that you’re turned.”

He pulls on Sam’s hand again, and they walk up the winding wooden steps to the top of the bell tower. The rain has stopped and the air smells of green grass. As Sam looks down on the field below, he can see a barred owl soaring noiselessly over the corn field as it chases after a field mouse that zigs and zags through the stalks attempting to escape. Beyond the corn, at the end of the two-lane road, the meager lights of St Dunstan light up the horizon a few miles away.

Sam settles on his elbows against the balcony of the bell tower, and breathes in the rain-clean air. The dark sky is immense and the stars are like chips of diamond, hard and sharp scraping against his nerves. He rests his forehead against his arms to block it all out.

Dean settles next to him on the railing, and the silence that hangs between them is long and comfortable. Patience, Sam thinks, must be important when you live for centuries. A hand touches his shoulder and he looks up.

“I’ve been waiting a long time.”

“Those others–” Sam’s mind touches on that doll-white body at the side of the road and skitters away. “How many did you–”

“Kill?” Dean turns to face him. “As many as it took to get to you.”

“But why me?”

Dean touches his cheek. “Because you are broken. Like me.”

A thought occurs to Sam. It’s irrelevant at this point but the researcher in him has to ask. “And the church? How did a vamp end up in a church of all places?”

“What, you don’t like the outfit?” Dean steps back and waves a hand at his black suit. “One thing the local police probably didn’t tell you - the church was deconsecrated back in the seventies when they considered selling the property to the county. Sale never went through, but this place had all its blessings removed. Perfect cover for someone like me.”

Sam could still see the darkness in Dean, underneath the humor. No matter how pretty the package on the outside, Sam was in the presence of a killer. And he would know, being one himself.

“The dust and the mice - this place is worse than the motels I stay at.”

“Just a convenient place to hole up.” Dean gazes out at the night and his eyes sparkle, reflecting back those diamond stars to Sam. “We can go wherever you want. The world is ours. We’ll climb into that big car of yours and drive. And you’d still be hunting, only now, we’d be together.”

It won’t be that simple. Sam knows he’ll have to feed and is not sure he can do that. But as he looks down at the Impala, still waiting for him in that grey gravel parking lot as if the world hadn’t shifted on its axis, his gut twists up at the thought of riding in it alone.

His dad would have a few things to say about two vampires traveling across the country in his ride, but once again, the voice in his head stays quiet.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Let’s do it.”

Dean extends his hand, palm up, and Sam looks confused.

“The keys. If we are riding together, I’m driving.”

Okay new amigos here’s what I need from you: