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Dean had seen a lot of disturbing things in his life, things that would give even the most hardened man enough nightmares for a year’s worth of sleepless nights, but he’d never seen anything like this. He instinctively reached for the door of the Impala, making sure it was locked and the window was rolled up tight. “Sam?” he asked.
Sam answered from the passenger seat, “Yeah?”
“What the hell are they doing?” Dean gripped his hands on the steering wheel. The keys were still in the ignition, he could back his baby up, spin her around, and be back on the interstate in less than an hour if he drove fast.
Sam leaned forward and peered through the windshield. “I think…” He said, “I think they’re singing Kumbaya.”
Dean felt a cold shiver creep down his spine. Dean grit his teeth, “And why the hell would they be doing that?”
“I told you,” said Sam. “The demon.”
“No.” Dean said, “Demons make people crazy, demons make people kill, demons eat babies in the night. Demons do not make people…” Dean squinted, “They’re making daisy chains Sam.”
“Were you listening to me?” Sam asked, “Like, at all?”
“When?” asked Dean.
“For the past two hours on the drive out here?”
“Oh. Nope.”
“Dean!”
Dean smirked, he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the horrors outside his window, but he could hear the bitch on Sam’s face. “Come on Sam,” he said. “What’s there to listen to? It’s a demon, right? Find it, salt it, burn it, done.”
“It’s a bliss demon, Dean.”
“So?”
“I can’t believe we have to go over this again. Bliss demons…” Sam explained, “Feed on people’s positive emotions; joy, love, that kind of thing. They cast a field of influence that heightens those feelings in any humans who enter it. That’s how they attract their victims. The people here have been drawn to it.”
"And once they’re drawn here they do what?" Dean asked, "Love on each other?"
"No," said Sam. "It's not a sex demon.”
“I don’t know Sammy, those two under the tree look pretty…” Dean smirked as Sam followed his line of sight. He glanced over at his brother long enough to see the starts of a blush on Sam’s cheeks.
Sam swallowed, “Well, maybe some of the people in its thrall have sex but only if they're already inclined to. It amplifies the good feelings, any good feelings, people already have. It’s an addictive cycle, the more they’re around the demon the better they feel, and the better they feel the more positive emotion the demon has to feed on. That’s why the people who come here stay, build themselves communes."
“Hippie cults, you mean,” said Dean.
Sam nodded, “That’s one word for it.”
Ridiculous. “That seems pretty tame, as far as demonic activity goes,” said Dean.
“It’s not,” said Sam. “The demon will drain these people of their love, all of it, until the only thing left is sorrow and fear.”
“Then what?”
“Then…” Sam said, “Usually, the victims kill themselves. They don’t have any hope, nothing left to live for. Mass suicide isn’t uncommon.”
“That’s awful,” said Dean.
Sam rolled his eyes, “No, you think?”
Dean swallowed. Freaks though they may be it was his job to save these people, “So what are we waiting for?” Dean asked, “Where is it?”
“Cabin, I’m guessing,” said Sam.
Dean peered out over the wide open field that ran along the edge of the lake – Lake Ponoka, according to the map. There was a cabin a few hundred yards away set in the center of a wide field. The winding dirt road they’d taken out here ended abruptly at its edge. It was a deceptively peaceful scene, green woods, blue skies, sparkling clean water. It was almost hard to believe a demon would choose to make its home here. The people though, the cultists, were a dead giveaway. The more Dean watched them singing to each other, or sitting by the shore, or doing what could only be described as frolicking, the more he realized something was wrong. Every one of them had wide, vacant smiles plastered on their faces and none of their eyes seemed to really focus. They looked, well… they looked stoned. Dean guessed they were, in a way.
“Okay.” Dean said, “Let’s make it quick.”
Sam nodded and climbed out of the car, grabbing the pack with their lighter fluid and spare ammo as he did. Dean followed him, shotgun in hand, slamming the car door behind him loud enough to attract the attention of a nearby girl holding a large sunflower. She beamed at him.
The girl exclaimed, “Love!” A few of the other people milling around echoed her sentiment, “Love, love, love.”
“Uh…” said Dean.
“I love your car!”
Dean grinned, “Oh, thanks. Yeah, it’s pretty special.”
“I love special,” she said. “I think this lake is special, don’t you?”
“It’s nice,” said Dean.
“I love nice,” she informed Dean. “I’m nice!”
Dean looked her head to toe. Sure she had the creepy doll smile going on, and the ankle length white sack dress she was wearing left a little too much to the imagination for Dean’s tastes, but she had good skin, long hair, he bet there was a hottie under there somewhere “I’ll bet you are,” he said.
She asked, “Are you nice too? You look nice.”
Dean inched a little closer to her, “Oh, I’m very…” Dean’s sentence was cut off as Sam grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar and wrenched him towards the cabin. “Hey!”
“Leave her alone Dean,” said Sam.
Dean shrugged off Sam’s grip and made a show of rubbing the back of his neck. “I was just being friendly.”
“We didn’t come here to be friendly,” grumbled Sam.
“Jealous,” Dean accused.
Sam’s step faltered, “What?”
“Admit it Sam, we’re here five minutes and I’ve already got a girl? You wish you had my skills.”
“She’s cursed, Dean.”
Dean shrugged, “Doesn’t change the fact she went for me.” He flashed Sam a wide, white grin. Sam rolled his eyes and Dean chalked up one little victory for himself. God but Sammy was easy to rile up.
It was broad daylight and the Impala wasn’t exactly subtle so they didn’t bother trying to sneak into the cabin. They flanked either side of the door; Dean cocked the shotgun as Sam tested the knob and gave Dean a small nod. He mouthed a count up to three and they burst through the door. The room was small, and it wasn’t difficult to spot the demon. He was sitting in a worn looking rocking chair flipping through an old Reader’s Digest. He jumped to his feet, eyes widening in unhappy surprise.
“Oh, hell,” exclaimed the Demon.
“That’s exactly where you’re going.” said Dean.
The Demon pouted at Dean, “Come on. Is that really necessary? I’m not doing anything but showing these people a good time.”
“And sucking the light out of their souls,” said Sam.
The Demon nodded, “Okay, yeah, that too, but it’s no worse than what say… reality television can do to a person. I mean, seriously, have you seen some of the crap they put on cable these days? Talk about taking the joy out of life.”
“He’s got a point Sam,” said Dean.
Sam asked, “Would you just shoot him?”
“Wait!” The Demon pleaded, “At least let me finish this first. I’ve already found five out of the six differences between the two pictures.”
“Sorry,” said Dean, leveling his sights. “Damnation waits for no demon.”
“Well, in that case, I’m just gonna have to rip off your face.” The Demon made a sudden lunge forward, his movements inhumanly fast.
Sam exclaimed, “Dean!”
Dean pulled the trigger and the demon crumpled to the floor, salted right between the eyes.
“Great shot, Dean!”
Dean felt a little swell of pride in his chest. It had been a great shot and Sam had seen it, and now Sam knew what a great shot he was. That was good - that was more that good - that was important. Dean needed Sam to know how good he was with a gun. How able he was to take out the ghosts and ghouls and demons and anything else that might be a threat to them, a threat to Sam. Dean could protect Sam, could keep him safe. Sam. Nice and safe, forever. Sam. Sam, Sam, Sa… Dean shook his head rapidly back and forth. Something was wrong. “Sam?”
“I love you Dean.” said Sam.
“I love you too… Damn it!” Dean exclaimed.
“What?”
“It got us Sam.” Dean scrunched his face and shook his head again, “Ugh, oh God, I can feel its influence. I feel like… like…”
Sam asked, “Like you’re wrapped in a big, snug blanket in front of a warm fire with a steaming hot mug of peppermint hot chocolate, with marshmallows, in your hands and tomorrow’s Christmas morning?”
“With slippers!” Dean added, “Fuzzy pink slippers and… eghk, I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“Do you want me to make you some tea?” Sam asked, “Maybe get you some Ginger Ale?”
Dean’s face lit up. “Ginger Ale!” He exclaimed, “I like the bubbles.”
Sam laughed, “Oh my God, you are so fucked up right now.”
Dean huffed, “You’re the one offering to make me tea and telling me you love me.”
A look of intense sincerity suddenly washed over Sam’s face. “I do love you.” He said, “I love you so much Dean. You’re my big brother.” Sam closed the space between them before Dean had a chance to react and swept Dean into a crushing bear hug, “You’re the best brother I’ve ever had!”
Every part of Dean told him to shove Sam off, call him a girl, and threaten to salt him if he ever tried that again – every part except the one that was returning the hug, tucking his face against Sam’s neck and breathing in the warmth, the security, of being wrapped in the arms of his favorite person in the whole world. Sam was rubbing his back in slow, concentric circles. Dean thought maybe he could stay this way forever.
“We have to get out of here,” said Dean, without giving any indication of moving.
“Mmm-hmm,” Sam replied.
“Like now Sam.” Dean said, “Let’s burn the bastard and go back to the motel until his influence wears off.”
“Kay.”
“You gotta let go of me first Sam.”
“You let go,” Sam challenged.
No way! Letting go was a bad idea, very bad. If Dean let go he wouldn’t be able to feel the firm flat of Sam’s back under his palms, or the steady rise and fall of Sam’s breathing against his chest. If he let go, he might not be able to smell Sam. That would suck. That would suck so hard, but… but he had to, because if he didn’t burn the corpse then it might come back and go after Sammy again and that would be even worse.
“Okay,” said Dean. “Letting go now…”
Dean couldn’t bring himself to budge an inch.
Sam suggested, “On three?”
Dean nodded against Sam’s neck. “Three,” he agreed. “One… two… THREE! Augh!”
Dean wrenched himself backwards, taking three stumbling steps away. Oh, no. This was awful. It was even worse than he’d imagined. The cabin was so cold without Sam. He felt empty inside, like someone had scooped out a piece of his heart with a melon baller. Dean’s lower lip trembled, but he forced himself to pull it together. He was not going to cry in front of Sam. It might upset him.
“Come back!” Sam exclaimed, taking a step towards Dean.
“No!” Dean held his hand up, “No Sam. We have to burn the demon.”
Sam sniffed and looked at Dean like he’d just bought Sam a puppy, let Sam name it Winifred, then promptly killed it while Sam watched - but he nodded in understanding. "Let’s do it quick.”
Sam dug the lighter fluid out of his pack and poured it over the corpse while Dean watched. He made a trail leading out the door of the cabin and down the front steps. Dean followed him outside and tossed a match on the porch. The whole place went up in seconds. A few of the remaining cultists gathered round to watch the ‘pretty fire’, while others meandered through the valley. Dean figured they’d be fine as soon as the bliss wore off, shouldn’t be more than an hour or so now that the thing was ash.
“That’s that,” said Dean.
“Let’s head back for the car,” Sam suggested.
Yes! The car! Dean loved the car, the Impala. He loved its smooth leather seats and the hum of its engine and the way its tires just floated over the asphalt when he got it above 80. It was the closest to flying Dean was likely to get in this life. A wide smile spread across his face. The car! Sam was so smart.
Dean took Sam by the hand as they headed back towards the road. They swung their arms in unison, going higher and higher with each arch, until Dean was practically being lifted off his toes by Sam’s superior reach. Sam noticed, and giggled. Giggled. There was a small part of Dean that was still lucid enough to know how wrong that was.
“Hobbit,” teased Sam.
“Giraffe,” Dean countered.
“I’ll show you giraffe!” Sam released Dean’s hand and made a break for the Impala. He called over his shoulder, “Race you!”
“Oh no you don’t!” Dean took off at a breakneck sprint after him. The wind against his face was exhilarating. Sam had cheated, gotten a head start, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to mind. Trailing behind Sam meant he could keep an eye on him, make sure he wasn’t in any trouble, and it was nice to see Sam’s exuberance while he ran; his pumping arms, his feet almost skipping off the ground, his jeans pulled tight against his ass as each leg came forward and… wait, what? No. No, no, no. Dean tripped over his own feet and landed in the grass with a thud. He saw Sam stop short out of the corner of his eye.
“Dean?” Sam called, “Dean!”
By the time Dean had groaned, flexed to make sure nothing was broken, and rolled over onto his back Sam was dropping to a knee next to him, concern and fear written all over his face.
“Dean.” Sam asked, his voice all urgency, “Dean, are you okay?”
Dean looked up at Sam’s face and smiled. “I love your nose,” he said.
Sam grinned down at him. “You do?”
“I do,” Dean confirmed. He did. He really did. If he had to pick a favorite part of Sam, like absolutely life or death had to, it would be his nose. Or maybe his eyes. Or his shoulders, those were good – great, actually - but so was the nose. “I love how it starts out all narrow between your eyes then gets wider along the ridge until it ends in that cute little rounded tip. It’s like… it’s like a dollop of whipped crème. You have a dollop nose.”
“I love your lips,” Sam confessed. “I love the way your upper lip peaks under your philtrum in a perfect little ‘M’ and I love the crease in your lower lip, how it lines up with the cleft in your chin…” Sam hooked his index finger under Dean’s chin and lifted it, rubbing the flat of his thumb against the cleft in question. “Your eyes… so green, but sometimes they look almost blue, did you know that? So pretty.”
Dean almost laughed. He was pretty? Him? He was a troll compared to Sam. High cheekbones, perfect dimples, the mole on the side of his face, the body of a, he didn't want to say Greek God but if he was being honest… Sam was perfect. Perfect, and his hand against Dean’s face felt so, so good. Gentle and tender and loving, loving Dean so fully. Sam was the only one who could, the only one who knew Dean – knew all of him – and could still love each part. Christ. Dean didn’t deserve Sam in his life. He swooped up and grabbed Sam by the shoulders, pulling him into a hug. Sam laughed and wrestled against Dean, rolling them over in the grass. Dean made a couple of half hearted attempts to gain the upper hand, but didn’t mind so much when Sam pinned his arms above his head, truth be told. Having the length of Sam’s stupid long body pressed against him, it was like a blanket. The best blanket ever. A really high tech blanket. Dean asked, “Is this what a snuggy feels like?”
Sam just chuckled. He was rubbing the palms of Dean’s hands with his thumbs while he kept a loose hold on Dean’s wrists. He stared down at Dean, his mouth half open, his breath warm against Dean’s face. It was… it was… Dean swallowed.
“Sammy.” Dean said, “You… you need to stop touching me.” Because he did. Because Dean wasn’t sure what would happen if he didn’t but he was sure whatever it was they’d both regret it. Pretty sure. Almost sure. Sort of. Sam just shook his head and tightened his grip a little. Dean summoned enough will to make a very half hearted attempt to buck Sam off him, Sam made a – well, Dean would have to describe it as a squawk- of dismay. Dean managed to get him rolled to his side, Sam released Dean’s hands only to grip him by the head as he tried to pull Dean back against him.
“Okay,” said Dean. “Okay, okay, okay.” He gave up trying to push Sam away, but it didn’t do much to calm him, Sam was still making little whimpering, unhappy noised. Dean settled him by hooking one leg over Sam’s waist. Sam slid a leg between Dean’s thighs and Dean nudged his pelvis forward in response, bringing their hips together. He rested his head on one arm and reached out for Sam’s with the other, threading his fingers through his hair. Sam kept his hand on Dean’s cheek and folded his free arm under his face in a mimic of Dean’s position. Sam’s breath slowed and the smile returned to his face. They lay face to face on the grass, inched apart, and beamed at each other.
“This is nice,” said Sam.
“It’s very nice,” agreed Dean. “I… I love this.”
“Why haven’t we done this before?” Sam asked, “Just, taken the time to be together?”
Because it was wrong and sick and bad and Dean was pretty sure his hips were moving of their own accord, rubbing his crotch against the length of Sam’s thigh. “Dunno.” Dean answered, “We should have.”
“Mmm.” Sam agreed, “‘s nice. You feel good.”
“You feel great,” Dean countered, and he did, he really did. Dean slid his hips forward again, intentionally this time. That was… that was more than great. That was the best thing he’d ever felt. Dean groaned.
“Fuck,” hissed Sam.
“You’re a liar Sammy,” muttered Dean, without any real malice. “You, uhum, you said this wasn’t a sex demon.”
“Not.” Sam answered, “Wasn’t. It just amplifies what you already feel and… oh, again. Do that again.”
Dean ground his hips against Sam, feeling his brother’s arousal grazing beneath his through their jeans. “Oh God.” Dean’s words caught in his throat and came out as a choked gasp, “Can’t. Can’t do this. Not to you. Love you. Love you too much to hurt you like this…”
“Not hurting me.” Sam assured him, “Want it Dean, want you.”
“Shut up.” Dean snapped, “You can’t, can’t say thing like that. It’s not…”
Sam cut him off with a lunging kiss. Whatever threads of restraint Dean had been clinging to were neatly severed the moment Sam’s lips touched his. He gripped Sam’s hair and went at him, sloppy and desperate with clacking teeth and bumping noses and dueling tongues. He didn’t care, didn’t care if Sam’s mouth was bruising his, didn’t care if it was too wet, too rough with too many noises that would mortify were he unfortunate enough to remember them when this was over. He needed… he just needed.
Dean ground his erection against Sam’s, only vaguely aware of how uncomfortable it was to be straining in the confines of his jeans. He couldn’t bring himself to let go of Sam long enough to give himself relief, and judging by the way Sam was clutching at the back of his neck he felt the same. Dean rubbed himself hard up against Sam and resolved to wear nothing but sweatpants in the future.
“There!” Sam encouraged, pulling away from Dean’s mouth to take a deep breath, “Right there.”
“Fuck yes, Sam.” Dean hissed between moans, “Come. Gonna make you come. Sam, I’m gonna make you feel so good. Want to make you feel… so tired of you being, enough pain Sam - good, want you to feel good.”
Sam squeezed his eyes shut and let out a choked gasp, sliding himself shamelessly against Dean. He was so fucking beautiful Dean couldn’t stand it. He wanted more than this, wanted… wanted all the things he’d resolved never to tell Sam he wanted, only he was. He couldn’t stop the litany of words, “Make you come then take you home and do it proper… tease you and taste you and suck your cock into my mouth until…”
“Dean!” Sam exclaimed, ground forward against Dean, almost painfully, and shook in his arms as he came into his jeans. It was too much for Dean. He thrust forward a few more times, felt the growing pressure, the sharp press of ecstasy tingling down his spine and building behind his shaft before he released, spilling his own come over his cock and down his thighs. He closed his eyes, panting as he came down from the high, listening to the heavy breaths as Sam did the same. He loosened his grip in Sam’s hair and felt the heat and the sweat beneath his fingers and it was maybe the most perfect thing he’d ever felt except…
“Oh my god,” said Dean. He wasn’t sure exactly when the bliss had worn off but it was pretty damned obvious it had, because the fuzzy, joyous peace just below his breastbone had been soundly ousted by a growing sense of dread and horror at the realization that he’d just dry humped his little brother.
“Dean…?”
“Oh my fucking God!”
Dean scrambled away from Sam, rolling himself up onto his knees. He stared at the grass below him and drew rapid breaths. His head was spinning.
“Dean!” Sam said, “Dean, relax, okay? Just relax. You’re going to hyperventilate.”
“Relax?” Dean asked incredulously, “Relax!?!”
“Dean.”
Dean raised a warning hand towards Sam, “Shut up Sam. Just shut the fuck up and let me think.” Think, think, think about anything except the… the blood was rushing past his ears. He really was going to be sick this time. He deserved to be sick.
Sam sat up and crossed his legs under him. He asked, “What’s there to think about?”
Dean blinked. Sam was right. “Yeah.” Dean said, “There’s nothing. Nothing to think about. Because… we… we wouldn’t have, it was just the demon that made us…”
“Exactly,” said Sam.
“Basically,” said Dean. “That never happened.”
“Right.” Sam agreed, “Let’s just, not worry about it and go back to the motel…”
“That’s the best idea you’ve ever had,” said Dean.
“And then you can do the things you promised to do to me earlier,” finished Sam.
Oh, god yes… wait, not yes. No. Bad. That was very, very bad. Dean suddenly felt as if his mouth was stuffed with cotton, but he managed to ask, “What?”
“Like I told you, the bliss demon amplifies feelings you already had, even if you didn’t know you had them,” said Sam.
“Sam I would never have…”
“I know,” said Sam, cutting Dean off. “But you did. We did, and what we did was only because we both wanted it.”
Dean swallowed. “I’m not sure I like where this is going,” he said.
Sam asked, “Look, do you want to stop hunting with me?”
Dean pursed his lips. He had no idea what he did want from Sam at this point, but he knew he didn’t want that. “No Sam,” he answered.
“And I don’t want to stop hunting with you,” said Sam. “But there’s no way we’re going to be able to keep going, to keep up our partnership, if we try to deny ourselves, not now that we know... That would only drive both of us crazy. It would make me crazy, Dean. I didn't think I'd ever... I can't give it up now that I know you... I won't. I just won't."
Dean’s breath came shallow. His head was still cloudy, he wasn’t sure if it was the confusion over what they’d just done, or the lingering influence of the bliss demon, or the drying come in his pants but somehow what Sam was saying was starting to make sense. “Okay…” Dean said cautiously, “So, what do we do?”
“What we’ve always done,” said Sam. “We take care of each other.”
Dean’s heart leapt. It was too much, he couldn’t ask that of Sam. Not when he’d taken so much already, “Sam.”
Sam scooted forward and kneeled next to Dean, leaning his forehead against his. Dean shuddered, but didn’t pull away. “Come on Dean.” He said, “Let me take care of you. I love…”
“No,” said Dean. “Don’t. Don’t say it. I get what you’re saying, I can handle what happened and I… I think I can…” He swallowed, “We can try it . If that’s what you want Sam, we can try it, but no hard feelings, from either of us, if it doesn’t work, okay?”
Sam nodded, “Okay.”
“And no chick-flick moments,” said Dean. “That rule doesn’t change even if you do start sucking my cock.”
Sam snorted, “Excuse me? I’m pretty sure earlier you said that you would be the one who would…”
“Doesn’t count,” said Dean. “Nothing a man says when he’s getting off should count.”
Sam grinned, “Fine,” he agreed, rising to his feet. “Then let’s get back and do that again so I can tell you what I really think of you.”
“No chick…”
“Doesn’t count,” said Sam. “You said yourself if I’m getting off it’s not going to count.”
“Oh my God,” said Dean, clambering to his feet and following after Sam, who was already on his way to the Impala. “You’re such a girl.”
Sam grinned over his shoulder, “Soon as I get you in our room I’m proving to you I’m not.”
Dean felt a jolt of something suspiciously close to the demon induced joy he’d experienced earlier. He suppressed the urge to run after Sam, but couldn’t keep the smile off his face.
One of the cultists noticed as he passed and smiled back at him. “Love!”
“Maybe,” answered Dean beneath his breath. “Maybe.”