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The demon-cuffs sapped Dean’s strength, but they didn’t stop him wriggling and swearing as Sam shoved him into the backseat of the Impala, attaching him to the inside of the car door as he did.
“I told you to leave me alone,” Dean snarled, eyes black and lips pulled away from his teeth.
Sam ignored him. It was a long drive back to the bunker and he was determined to make it the whole way without losing his cool. The most important thing was that he had Dean. And no way was he going to jeopardise that. Not even if Dean tried to communicate. Not even if he started screaming. Dean slammed himself against the door, but the cuffs stopped him from getting anywhere, digging into his wrists as he struggled futilely. Blood started to trail down his arms.
“I’m going to rip the skin off your face,” he promised the back of Sam’s head. “When I get out of here I’m not letting you walk free again. I hate you. I’m going to kill you. You’re dead to me, Sammy, hear me? Fuck you. Fuck!” He slammed himself against the door again, and Sam hunched his shoulders. It’s not Dean. It’s not Dean.
By the time they reached the bunker Dean was a mess. His clothing was torn and there was blood everywhere. On his face, his clothes. Even the seat of the car.
“You’ve made Baby dirty,” Sam pointed out.
“’S just a car,” Dean snapped, turning Sam’s blood cold. Was there anything of the real Dean left if he didn’t even care about the Impala?
He dragged Dean into the basement, into the middle of a devil’s trap that he had drawn earlier in preparation for this moment. He attached the cuffs to a chain hanging from the ceiling, and wrestled Dean into the heavy chair he had left underneath, strapping his chest and legs to the wood. Dean snarled at him the whole time. It was difficult work, especially one-handed, with his other arm in a sling. But he persisted, ignoring Dean’s increasingly loud vitriol and the snapping of his teeth whenever Sam got too close.
He finally stepped back and wiped a hand over his face. He was tired, and dirty, but the hard part was over. Dean was tied down, practically immobile, and Sam would have his brother back before the end of the week. He grabbed a blood sample from the icebox and didn’t waste any time setting the needle against the vein in Dean’s arm, pressing the blood into him slowly. Dean went rigid, and his eyes flicked black, but Sam didn’t let up until the entire vial was empty. In an hour he would inject Dean with more. And he would do the same an hour after that. And an hour after that. Until Dean was human and whole and his again.
The demon-that-wasn’t-Dean snarled at him when Sam walked away, shutting the heavy basement door behind him.
He took a long shower while he waited for the first hour to pass. The bathroom was just as lonely as it had been since Dean left, but it would soon be different. Dean would be back and they could share the hot water again, maybe pressing each other back against the shower walls, like they used to. Dean would be wet and laughing and so fucking perfect with the water running down his chest.
Sam reached for himself. It had been so long… months without his brother. He couldn’t wait to have him back. Their bed was way too big with only one person in it.
He wrapped a hand around his erection, and brought up his favourite memory. The one that had kept him going all these months while he searched. The memory wasn’t even that old. Dean cooking breakfast in nothing but his boxers. Whistling. Not even aware of Sam behind him. Shaking his ass to some song that Sam didn’t know. So obliviously erotic. Sam had jerked himself off then, just watching, and he jerked himself off now, too. The memory of Dean’s ass and how he had walked Dean backwards from the stove to take him right there in the kitchen while the bacon popped in the pan. He wanted that back so bad. His come hit the tiles in messy stripes and he worked himself through it, groaning. He would have Dean soon. The real Dean.
The alarm on his phone went off. One hour over.
He put on a clean pair of sweats and forced himself back to the dungeon. When he opened the door the first thing he noticed was the smell. God, had Dean smelled that bad before? Blood oozed down his arms and dirty torn clothing stuck to him in sweaty sheets. Ugh.
Sam covered his nose with his arm as he pressed the second needle into Dean’s vein. Dean, characteristically, snarled at him. When he saw Sam’s disgusted expression the snarl turned to a smirk.
“You think I’m dirty huh, Sammy? Not nearly as dirty as you.” He jerked his wrists, and fresh blood started trickled down his arms. “I bet you jerked off to me in the shower, didn’t you? You like me tied up. Little brother getting hot for big brother’s dick, ain’t that right, Sammy? Well you know what, fuck you. I hate you. I never liked it. I never wanted you. It was all a lie, you stupid fuck.”
Sam stalked out of the room before he did something he would regret, like slapping his brother. It’s not Dean. It’s not Dean.
He found a plastic bucket in the garage, and filled it with warm water, throwing a sponge in after. Dean’s ipod was on the nearest table, where the demon hadn’t even bothered to pick it up on his way out the door. Sam turned it on, and plugged the earphones in. He took the bucket back downstairs, and focused on the music to drown out the sound of his brother shouting insults.
Dean’s clothing was already unsalvageable. Dirt and blood so encrusted that it would have been an impossibility to clean, anyway, even if Sam had been willing to overlook the rips and tears. He pulled the tatters off as best as he could, leaving Dean naked and snarling on the chair. Distantly, he could hear Dean’s voice—you sick fuck what the fuck do you think you’re gonna do with that—but he turned the music up and got to work.
Dean would be awake soon, and Sam wasn’t about to let him wake up in some filthy unwashed body. He squirted soap onto the wet sponge, and delicately started rubbing at the cuts and bruises and grime that littered Dean’s skin. He could see Dean’s lips moving, but he drowned out the sound. This was just taking care of his brother. It could be any post-hunt cooldown, if he ignored the restraints. Maybe Dean had been injured by a monster, and needed Sam to take care of him. Yeah, that was it. Dean had been attacked while Sam had been distracted. A werewolf, maybe. That would explain all the scratches and the blood on his arms. Dean had been defending himself. It wouldn’t have happened if Sam had been paying attention.
“Sorry,” he said. He swiped at the dried blood until Dean’s arms were clean. Then he went lower. He delicately traced the lines of Dean’s face, ignoring the way Dean snapped at his fingers. That was typical Dean. Never wanting help, even when he was too weak to do it himself. Sam found himself hushing his brother. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
The sponge made its way downward, and Sam eased it over his brother’s crotch. He couldn’t help touching his brother here, either. A soap-slicked hand around him, tugging gently. Dean jerked in his chair but he was too drained from his fight with the werewolf, too weak to stop him. Sam jerked him like he’d jerked himself twenty minutes ago, picking up speed until it was hard and fast and wet. It was so familiar. The way Dean’s body reacted to pleasure. The way the muscles in his thighs tensed and twitched. Sam wanted to roll Dean’s balls as well, but he only had one working arm and he didn’t want to risk getting the cast wet, so he made use of the one hand he did have. He didn’t let up until Dean was coming, messy and twitching as usual.
“That’s it,” he said. “I’ve got you.” He washed the come off, too. Dean would wake to a blank slate.
He had to replace the dirty red water three times before Dean was finally clean. Then he got one final bucket, and poured it carefully over Dean’s back and stomach, sluicing away anything the sponge had missed. It felt so right. Taking care of his brother. Getting him clean.
The alarm went off, loud enough that Sam could hear it even over the music. Time for another dose.