Honey and Flies - Section Two

[glasslogic]

Section Two

Dean’s impromptu planning hadn’t included anything longer range than getting Sam into the Impala. Once that was done, he was deeply saddened to realize that there was really little choice but to take Sam back to his motel room with him. Again. At least it was a different motel this time. They needed to talk some more, and Dean didn’t trust Sam out of his sight. It wasn’t really the kind of conversation he wanted to have in a diner, and there was always the chance that someone spotting them would recognize Sam as a former-corpse. That kind of attention would really mess with his ability to maintain a low profile.

Entering a motel room with Sam this time was an entirely different experience than the last time. Dean pointed to one of the vinyl chairs by the door. “Sit. Don’t move.” Sam slumped obediently into the chair while Dean went to rinse the rest of the dirt off his hands. When he came back Sam was still in the chair, but the morgue file Dean had filched was now spread over the table. He was staring at one of the file photos with an expression of such loss that Dean felt an answering stab of sympathy. Sam’s face smoothed out as soon as he noticed Dean watching him.

“Don’t look at those,” Dean said brusquely. He gathered up the scattered papers back into their folder. Sam handed him the one he had been examining and Dean added it to the file without glancing at it. Dean didn’t need to see Jessica’s corpse laid out on cold steel again, and he was certain Sam didn’t either. He stuffed the folder into the top of his duffle bag and sank onto the bed. “Start talking. Begin with that party you told me about, the one with the guy.”

Sam sighed. “There’s not a whole lot to tell. There’re a lot of parties after midterms. Some people only party the night after their tests and then go home, some people stay on campus and party all week. Jess’s family lives locally, and Bobby’s the only family I have. He said he wasn’t going to be around so... Jess came home and said someone had given her an invitation to some big event in the area and she really wanted to go. It didn’t seem like a big deal, you know? I didn’t need to think really hard about if I wanted to go out with my girlfriend on a weekend to a party.”

Dean nodded. “Was there anything weird about it when you got there?”

“No,” Sam shook his head. “I mean, what was weird was that it wasn’t really in the student ghetto area, it was a real house. But that’s not that unusual. A bunch of Jess’s friends were there too, and about half the rest of the student body. Lots of alcohol, loud music, people being stupid--"

“Your typical college party.”

“Yeah.”

“Go on,” Dean prompted when Sam stayed silent.

He drew a deep breath, eyes distant with memory. “It just didn’t seem like a big deal. It’s amazing what can change your life. Or kill you,” Sam’s smile was bitter. “She wanted to dance, I had a headache. Her friends offered to drive her home if I just wanted to go on my own and crash early, but... I don’t know. I can’t point to anything, but I didn’t want to leave her there.”

“Can you give me the names of these friends?” Dean held out a pen and the memo pad from the motel dresser. Sam took it and absently started writing.

“She was dancing,” Sam sighed. “I went to find someplace a little quieter to sit and wait for her. There was a band outside by the pool, and there was another band in the house... I don’t think they were really bands, just some guys with instruments and a lack of talent. They had drums. It was horrible.” Dean nodded in understanding.

“But outside at least there was fresh air,” Sam continued. “This guy came up to me, he didn’t look... out of place, you know? Maybe a little older than most of the people, but there’re a lot of grad students, so it’s not like being older is a sign or something. He offered me a joint, said I looked like I needed something to soothe my nerves.”

“He drugged you?”

Sam shook his head. “Not like that. I said no. Weed on top of booze would have had me puking in the gutter.”

“Really?” Dean asked incredulously.

“You want to hear this or not?” Sam glared.

“Yeah, but you’re a lightweight.”

Sam ignored his comment. “I said no but he stayed, kept talking to me. I don’t really remember most of it, just random crap. Then I remember he had his arm around me. I don’t think I tried to get away, it didn’t feel weird at the time. We went back inside...” Sam’s voice trailed off again and he rubbed at his eyes.

“Sam?”

“Give me a minute.”

Dean waited. He wasn’t actually sure he wanted to hear the rest of this, but he had to know. He needed all of the information he could get on how this thing hunted so he could track it down and fucking kill it. Preferably without joining Sam on his undead odyssey of revenge.

“What happened inside, Sam?”

“We, uh... there were some stairs. And a room. There were a lot of people in there -- my memory gets a little fuzzy for the rest of this.”

“Just tell me what you do remember.”

“It wasn’t really dark inside, the light was blue and I could still hear the music everywhere. It felt like it was in my bones. I remember a couch and... kissing. He was touching me under my clothes, I wanted him to.” Sam’s voice had grown harsher and more ragged as he wrestled with memories no one should have to live with. “It’s like Jessica didn’t even exist anymore. I just wanted him. It didn’t matter that I was engaged, or that we were in the middle of a crowd, or that he was a guy--"

“I know what it feels like,” Dan said darkly.

“I wouldn’t have hurt you,” Sam snapped. “I told you, I made a mistake. And it’s not like there wasn’t something in you that was interested.”

“Was there something in you that was interested?” Dean asked pointedly.

“No,” Sam shook his head. “But it’s different, I’m not like he was. I don’t have that kind of power.”

“Why not?”

Sam visibly hesitated. But he knew, Dean could see it in his face.

“Why not, Sam?” Dean demanded.

“I... haven’t killed anyone, yet. They said I have to kill someone, I have to, uh, absorb them, to finish the change. I’m not very strong like this, I can only charm people who are already vulnerable to it.” He licked his lips nervously and watched Dean for a reaction.

Dean didn’t have much of one to give him. He was still reeling from the idea that Sam wasn’t very strong. “Keep going. You were on the couch, he had his hands all over you, crowded room -- what next?”

Sam was still fiddling with the pen. “We went to a different room. I don’t remember moving, but it was darker and there was a bed. I was naked, he was naked. There were other people in the room because I remember hearing them talking, but I don’t remember what any of them looked like. We had sex.” Sam’s voice was almost emotionless and he wouldn’t look up at all.

“What kind of sex?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Sam asked defensively.

“Because if the next thing you’re going to tell me is that the raping bastard from the party infected you with his undead-sex-demon germs using his dick, I need to know what the hell that actually means! It might be important to know when I track his ass down if I should wait for him to get dressed before I tackle him, or if it takes a little more penetration to catch his disease. That clear enough for you?”

“He fucked me,” Sam said bluntly. “He had his dick up my ass and his tongue halfway down my throat and I don’t know what part of everything he did to me that caused this, but I know he had to kill me afterwards to make it stick. Is that clear enough for you?”

Dean grunted. “Tell me the rest.”

Sam swallowed and nodded. “There’s not much else to tell. I remember people... petting me. There were hands everywhere, I didn’t feel good. I mean, I didn’t feel bad, just empty, kind of absent. He was talking, but I don’t remember what he said. The next thing I remember was waking up in the morgue and seeing Jessica...” His voice was thick enough as it trailed off that Dean was surprised not to see tears.

Maybe the dead couldn’t cry. Whatever death meant in this case.

“Do you want some water?” Dean asked. Sam nodded gratefully and Dean filled a plastic glass at the bathroom sink and brought it back.

“Thanks.”

“What happened at the morgue?”

“I was sitting there in a sheet, it was cold. My entire body hurt, I was starving. I thought... I don’t know what I thought, but for sure that there had been a mistake. I wasn’t supposed to be there.”

“Why run off, then? Why not try to get some help?”

Sam set the empty cup on the table. “I couldn’t get the door open. It was some kind of refrigerator. The light was coming through a window in the door and I pulled the tag off my foot and sat back on the table I woke up on, just reading it over and over again. I thought I might die of the cold, the idea didn’t upset me. Then the door opened, and she was there.”

Dean frowned. “Who was there? One of the people who worked at the morgue?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know if she worked there but she wasn’t surprised to see me. She handed me a pile of clothes, they weren’t mine but they fit okay, and then led me out the back door. I was just... nothing felt real. I was so cold, and so just empty. The next thing I know we’re in a really trashy strip club and she’s pulling me to the back. But I could feel it as soon as we hit the door. Filling me up, chasing away the ice, just all this energy.”

“What did you do at the club?” Dean asked suspiciously.

“You want to know if I killed anyone?” Sam asked thinly. “Almost. There was a woman in the back, she ...wanted me. Was waiting for me. I don’t know what she was on, drugs, alcohol. Something. It was... intoxicating. I touched her and it was power. I kissed her and it was like being in the center of a storm of just the most fantastic feeling. I don’t know what would have happened, if I would have killed her or not if we’d been left alone, but the woman who brought me there pulled me back. She was excited, she had to tell me how happy she was to have me. How she had been sent to take care of me, to help me feed and show me the ropes. That after I was done with my first meal that I would be one of them, and no one could take me away from my family. I... looked down at the woman I had been kissing and she... she wasn’t dead, but she wasn’t good, either. I don’t know what happened to her after that. I left. Found my way outside and threw up in the bushes, then just started walking.” He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. “I didn’t know where to go. I saw in the papers that Jess and I had drowned so I... couldn’t go home. I couldn’t call Bobby. I just... wanted to find them. To kill them. And then, do whatever I needed to do to... finish it.”

“How did you know they needed to kill you?” Dean asked quietly. “Earlier you said they had to kill you to make it stick.”

Sam sighed. “Another one of them found me a few days later; she wanted to bring me in. To help me. I demanded to know what they had done, I,” he laughed, “I wanted to know how I could get better. She told that once I was ‘washed in the waters’ I couldn’t, that I was one of them, and I had to finish up or die. I can’t use the energy very well; I’m in some kind of... I don’t know, like a half life? She offered to help me find someone I could ‘enjoy.’ I demanded to see the guy who had done this to me. I had a knife; I thought if she brought me to him I could get close and stab him. Then I didn’t care what happened to me.”

“He’s undead,” Dean said skeptically. “I’m not sure a knife is going to do you a whole hell of a lot of good.”

“I’m not some badass monster hunter, Dean,” Sam snapped. “This ‘dead’ and ‘undead’ stuff doesn’t exactly rise to the top of my head. I plan to kill someone, I think knife or gun. What would you do?”

Dean thought about that. “Well, I still have no idea what the hell you are, but I’d try something more in the salt-silver-holy water family if I was just taking a stab in the dark and wasn’t going to have time to make a second attempt.”

Sam blinked.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Uh, nothing. It’s just... you said Bobby is into this stuff too?”

“Taught me everything I know,” Dean admitted. “Well, he taught my dad, and my dad taught me... you get the idea.”

“Yeah, whatever. I can’t believe that Bobby...” Sam shook his head. “So to finish this up, she said no one was brought to the master until they proved themselves worthy. By killing someone. I refused, she stormed off. I tried to follow her but that didn’t go anywhere. That’s... all I know.”

Dean swung his legs up onto the bed and slumped back against the headboard. “Was that the last time you saw any of them?”

“No, I see them on the street sometimes. But only when they’re pretty much in reach, passing a crowd. It’s hard to explain, everyone has an energy feel around them, but they don’t -- the other ones like me. They’re like blank spots on a canvas. I think they’re watching me, waiting for me to break down. Or fall down.”

“I thought you were feeding, just not killing people.”

“I am! But it’s not like ordering takeout. Like I said, most people are creeped out by me, and I’m afraid to take much from the ones who are actually willing because I don’t know how much will hurt them. I don’t want to hurt anybody, Dean.”

“Hang out in brothels,” Dean suggested. “You said that’s where that first chick took you.”

“She took me there to kill someone, Dean,” Sam growled. “Those places, the energy just floating around... It’s like -- I don’t know, getting to lick the empty pan when you’re so hungry you could scream. It keeps me on my feet, but I’m so tired, and so empty. Even just sitting this close to you, remembering what you felt like...” A tendril of heat curled through Dean at Sam’s look, and he shoved himself violently to his feet, breaking the moment. A visible shudder ran through Sam’s body and he looked away, shoulders hunched in shame.

“I’ll give you a pass on that one,” Dean said levelly. “But I don’t want to ever feel that again. Ever, Sam. Or this little truce we’ve got for the moment is going to come to a violent and sudden end.”

Sam nodded and the silence in the room was deafening for a few minutes.

“They said... from what they told me I thought maybe...” Sam broke the silence tentatively a few minutes later.

“Spit it out,” Dean growled.

“I just... from what they said, about needing to kill someone, and not being able to meet this master guy until I did -- I thought maybe if I could kill him, before I kill someone else, then maybe I would just... be okay again. Be human? Not... whatever I am, you know? Why else make me wait, what’s the point?”

“Making sure you know your place?” Dean suggested dryly.

“You don’t know that,” Sam insisted.

“It doesn’t work like that, Sam,” Dean said almost gently. “You’re dead.”

“You don’t even know what the hell I am,” Sam snapped back. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know you look more like your morgue photos than you did the last time I ran into you. Is this because you haven’t fed lately?”

Sam nodded. “I think so. When I met you last time I had just found someone... accommodating, a couple of days earlier. But that was the last good ‘meal’ I had. I thought it would be easier, but people can feel what I am. They sense it.”

“I didn’t,” Dean growled.

“You were easy,” Sam sounded somewhat puzzled. “I didn’t lean on you that hard and you just kind of--"

“Thanks,” Dean cut him off. “But I lived it, so I don’t need a recap. I have a sensitivity to sex-whatevers. Fantastic. Let’s move on.”

“To what?” Sam asked simply. “I don’t know where to find any of the others, I’m getting worse and worse. I don’t see a hell of a lot of hope here, Dean. Maybe you should just go with your original plan -- kill me, then do whatever you can to kill them.”

“Something that will probably be a lot easier with you around to use for information or bait or something,” Dean pointed out. “And what happened to ‘maybe I can be human again’ -- I thought you were all hopeful about that?”

“And I thought you said that was a pipe dream?” Sam asked with a faint smile. “I’m tired, Dean. It hurts. I haven’t... done anything bad yet. Haven’t ruined any lives. But I will, I can feel it. I’m fighting to keep myself in check every second of every minute that I’m alive. Even when I sleep, I dream about... They’re not human dreams, Dean. I don’t want to be this thing, and I don’t know how much longer I can stay sane like this.”

Dean crossed his arms. “You think you’ve got a few days left?”

“To help you destroy them? Yeah, I think I can manage that. What do you have in mind?”

“Not sure yet. Call Bobby probably, tell him what you’ve told me--“

“Do you have to?” Sam broke in. “You can just... summarize, right?”

“Do I have to--" Dean began incredulously, but caught the look in Sam’s eye and remembered again who he was to Bobby, and exactly what kind of information Dean needed to share. He nodded in understanding. “Yeah, I mean -- he doesn’t need to know every detail. Just enough to help me figure this out.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Dean echoed. Sam looked around.

“Uh, now what?”

Dean reached over and plucked the list of names off the table. “Now we get to work.”

~~~~~
It was close to dawn before Dean finally closed the laptop, exhausted. No new bodies had cropped up in the last twenty four hours and nothing else suspicious was being reported in the area. Sam had provided the list of Jessica’s friends from the party, but Sam knew all of them. They were students he had known for years, and that made the odds that any one of them would be some kind of undead sex-fiend slim. Sam also had the address of the house where everything had happened, but he had already looked into it and said the place had been empty rental property. No trail to follow there. Dean still intended to check it out, and the strip club, but he had the sinking feeling both would be dead ends. There was always the possibility that Sam’s little friend from the morgue was an actual employee, but he couldn’t exactly waltz Sam through the front door and take a head count to see if he recognized her. He had some ideas about other ways to work that angle, but nothing that could be done immediately.

Dean should have been in bed hours ago, but... he wasn’t exactly afraid -- maybe wary. He looked over at the bed where Sam was sleeping. Or something that passed for sleep. It was restless, and uneasy, and broken by whimpers and mumbled words that Dean couldn’t quite catch. Didn’t want to catch, really. He doubted it was anything relevant to the case and it seemed... unfair, to take advantage of his vulnerability. Which irritated Dean all over again since it was his bed and his motel room and Sam was a goddamned monster. And speaking of which, he had a phone call to make that he had been putting off long enough.

Dean pulled his cell phone out and dialed a familiar number.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, Bobby. So, I have some new information...”

The conversation went about like he expected it to.

~~~~~
“What did he say?” Sam asked the following morning over a breakfast of gas station sausage burritos and juice boxes.

Dean, feeling irritated after getting less than an hour of sleep slumped over in one of the vinyl chairs, watched Sam pick up a third one of the foil wrapped packages with narrowed eyed. “For something undead, you’ve got an awfully good appetite.”

Sam shrugged. “It’s something to do with my mouth.” Dean missed whatever else Sam said since his first sentence had sparked a flashback in Dean stronger than he had had to deal with in over a week. He swallowed hard and wrenched his gaze away from Sam’s lips.

“Dean?’

“Nothing,” Dean said harshly, aware that Sam could feel his ‘energy’ and afraid of what it might be telling him. “What did you say?”

Sam eyed him warily, but if he was detecting anything unusual from Dean he refrained from commenting. “I said I seem to handle food okay. It doesn’t make me feel less of what I feel as far as being hungry goes, but it’s something normal, and I like it. You want me to pay for half?”

Dean snorted, back in control. “If I wanted you to pay, it’d be for more than half. That was my burrito, math genius.”

Sam mumbled something around a mouthful and gestured back towards the gas station helpfully. Dean glowered. “And don’t get used to eating in the car, I don’t like cleaning greasy fingerprints off of my baby.” Sam rolled his eyes and made a show of wiping his hands on his jeans while chewing.

“You were going to tell me what Bobby said?” Sam repeated after swallowing.

“What did you think he would say? He said he’d look into it, and get back to me if he has any leads. He can’t just pull answers out of his ass, you know?”

“Is he... going to come out?”

Dean had half expected the question. “No.”

Sam nodded. “Still busy with whatever he was doing, I guess.” He must have read something in Dean’s expression because he frowned. “Is that why he’s not coming? I mean, you said he’s in your line of work too, right? That’s why you called him for advice?”

“He’s on a case but... He’s not coming because it’s too close,” Dean said bluntly. Bobby had buried too many people close to him, and had been forced to do the killing on more than one occasion. Dean didn’t blame him for wanting a pass on this, easier just to accept that Sam was dead and whatever was walking round in his shell was just something else to be hunted. By someone else.

Understanding dawned in Sam’s eyes. “He doesn’t want to come out here and watch me die.”

“Do you blame him?”

Sam picked at the wrapper and shook his head. “No. I haven’t forgotten what the bigger picture is here. I... you’re right. This is better. I want him to remember me like I was.”

“It’s for the best. He’s lost a lot of people in his life,” Dean said a little awkwardly.

“And he shouldn’t be in the position of maybe having to kill one of the few he has left,” Sam said calmly. “I understand, Dean. I should have realized.” He crumpled the wrapped into a ball and tossed it back in the empty bag. “So... do we have a plan?”

Dean accepted the change of topic gratefully. “I’ve got some plans, but first I’ve got some housekeeping. I hope you like Laundromats.”

As it turned out, Sam didn’t have an aversion to doing laundry. Not that it would have mattered if he did since he wasn’t leaving Dean’s sight, but Sam actually seemed to enjoy the normality of hanging out with people whose primary concern was which colors could be washed together without everyone’s underwear turning pink. Dean left Sam at the counter flipping through a stack of old magazines while he chucked his own filthy clothes into two of the machines.

He was digging quarters out of his pocket for the second load when he felt a tug at his sleeve and turned to see an elderly woman standing there with a severe look on her face. “That young man you came with is more than old enough to know the difference between public lives and private ones. It’s shameful to see grown people behaving this way.”

Dean looked up sharply, but Sam was nowhere to be seen in the one room building. He grabbed the woman by the arm before she could walk away. “Where is he?”

She pursed her lips and looked pointedly at his hand. “Outside, with that equally poorly behaved young lady. Her parents aren’t any better than his.”

He released her and ran for the front of the store. Before he reached the doors he could already see through the glass Sam standing on the sidewalk gesticulating wildly while engaged in an apparent argument with a shapely brunette at least a foot and a half shorter than himself. Dean couldn’t see her face, but the conversation was animated enough that passersby on the busy sidewalk were giving them wide berth. Sam set his hands on his hips and shook his head just as Dean pushed through the doors. He was still shaking it a few seconds later when the unknown woman apparently grew tired of the debate -- and shoved him out into traffic.

“SAM!”

Horns blared and cars swerved, but one couldn’t swerve fast enough and slammed into Sam’s falling body with a sickening crunch. The crowd gave a collective gasp, and then people started running to help. Dean was torn, on one hand Sam wasn’t really alive, and if he was injured as badly as the sound of impact suggested he probably shouldn’t be taken to a hospital, on the other hand -- that woman was almost certainly one of Sam’s undead sex-fiend sisters and this might be his only chance to get his hands on the information he needed to root out and destroy the whole group.

The woman was rapidly vanishing into the crowd and Dean had just taken his first steps in pursuit, when a blast of familiar heat rolled over him and he abruptly restacked priorities. Around him people looked stunned, some staggered back, some stepped forward, but the center of the mess was Sam, and what Sam was doing to them. Dean clenched one fist hard to enough to bury his short nails into his palm and elbowed his way roughly to the road. Sam was clutching at one leg and his face was twisted with pain.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked harshly, dropping to his knees on the asphalt. He wanted to reach out and find the damage for himself, but he wanted that a little too much and the screaming voice in his head made him keep his hands to himself.

“My leg, my hip,” Sam gasped. The crowd around them seemed to be shaking off their daze.

“Can you walk?” When Sam didn’t respond Dean risked grabbing his arm where fabric covered his skin and giving him a rough shake. “Sam, can you walk?! You can’t stay here. You can’t -- look at these people!”

Sam did, and his face blanched even more if possible. “You’ll have to help me,” he gritted out, reaching for Dean’s hands.

Dean took a deep bracing breath and hauled Sam up, ignoring his sharp cry as Dean got a shoulder under one of his arms and gave the crowd a reassuring smile. “Everything’s fine, I’m gonna take him to the hospital. No need to be concerned, folks.”

One teary eyed young woman who seemed to have pulled herself together faster than the rest stepped out in front of them. She had car keys in her hand and Dean felt distantly sorry that she had been drawn into whatever the hell was going on. “Please, I didn’t see him! Let me help.” She extended her hands as if to help take some of Sam’s weight and Dean could feel Sam lean towards her. The woman’s pupils were so wide Dean couldn’t tell what colors her irises were normally, and the expression on her face took away any doubt he might have had about her being one of the “special” people Sam could easily affect.

Dean hauled Sam back a few feet and gave her a stern look. “No. Go home,” he ordered. She looked inclined to argue and Dean envisioned a future in which she tackled them to the ground to get her hands on Sam.

“It’s all right,” Sam managed a second later as the storm clouds continued to gather in her face. Dean could almost feel him struggling to reign in his charm, or whatever he called it. “I’ll be fine, it was an accident. Go on.”

She looked incredibly disappointed, but didn’t try and stop them again. Dean all but carried Sam to the Impala and stuffed him into the backseat.

“You know I’m not taking you to a hospital, right?” Dean asked flatly as he climbed behind the wheel.

“I know,” Sam gasped. “Where are we going?”

Dean honestly hadn’t planned that far. “I guess... back to the motel. Either that or take you out into a field and shoot you.”

“I’m in favor of that plan,” Sam mumbled.

Dean snorted. “I bet you are. Unfortunately for us both, I might need you. Was that one of your sisters?”

“She’s not my sister, and yeah.”

“What did she want?” Dean asked as he pulled the Impala out into traffic.

There was only the sound of labored breathing from the backseat for a minute. “Dean, I know this might be hard to believe, but I can’t think very well right now. Do you think this can wait a little while?”

“Talking gives you something else to focus on.”

There was no answer from the backseat but some very ugly language followed by a sullen silence.

Getting Sam into the motel room wasn’t fun, but there was little chance of anyone watching them since Dean had a made a point to pick the most deserted hellhole he could find and get a room at the back. Sam clung to him as Dean dragged him out of the car and hauled him to the building, tears of pain dampened his lashes until he was past the point of even being able to curse. Dean didn’t think it was just the agony from his awkwardly hanging leg that Sam was battling though. Where Dean touched him his skin felt like... silk, smooth, and hot and inviting in a way that would have had Dean dropping him on the ground if he didn’t think Sam was already doing everything he could to keep it reigned in.

When he finally got Sam eased down onto the bed the first thing Sam did was roll away, as if he couldn’t put space between them fast enough.

“You’re welcome,” Dean growled.

Sam’s breathing was rough and his face was pressed into the pillow. After a moment he raised it enough to meet Dean’s eyes. “Sorry, I... you can’t touch me again. You can’t...” He closed his eyes. “You have no idea how hard it is to not pull you in right now. When you touch me, it’s worse.”

“I appreciate the restraint.” Dean dug in his duffle bag for a pair of leather gloves he kept on hand. “But if you can’t set that yourself, we don’t have a lot of choice.” He nodded to where a swollen lump was visible even through Sam’s jeans. “And if it swells anymore, there’s not going to be a whole hell of a lot I can do either.” He held up the gloves. “You want me to try or not?”

Sam eyed the leather. “What if I say not?”

Dean shrugged. “Normally, with your femur smashed up I’d say a decent chance of death. Plus, you know -- misaligned bones aren’t anyone’s cup of tea. As it is, maybe you only have to worry about the agony part.”

Sam rolled slowly back over, crying out at the movement. “It’s not pain,” he gasped after a moment. “Not like it used to be. I mean it hurts, but in the places that I’m empty feeling. The places that want to be fed. The actual break--” he raised himself up enough to look down before falling back onto the pillows. “That... it’s just not pain, and it is -- but the other things hurts so much worse.” The gaze he rested on Dean had an edge of franticness.

“I still need your help, and the bone still needs to go back into place,” Dean said flatly. “If I wear the gloves, do you think you can keep control of yourself?”

“It’s not going to fix what’s wrong,” Sam managed. “It’s not going to fix what’s wrong.” As if the repetition would explain some deeper meaning.

“One thing at a time,” Dean said shortly, pulling the gloves on.

Sam laughed breathlessly. “Why bother? Are you going to go find me a victim afterwards? Drag in some prostitute and hope no one notices she’s gone missing?”

Dean clapped sharply and Sam stared, focused for an instant on something other than his internal misery. “I need you to stay with me, Sam -- one fucking problem at a time! Now, can you keep a grip on yourself or not while I try to straighten out your leg?”

Sam nodded; sweat standing on his skin, but his eyes were clear and tracking Dean’s movements as he knelt on the bed over Sam’s lower leg and ripped the jeans open with a pocket knife, exposing skin from hip to calf. The skin over the swollen lump mid-thigh was a deep red with streaks running out into the surrounding tissue. Dean probed gently into the swelling and could feel the heat even through the thick leather.

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Dean demanded. “What the hell is the point if you still have to deal with crap like this?”

“Broken bone is a broken bone,” Sam gasped. “You think they just glue together?”

“I think if you have to be dead the very least you could have is some kind of magic power where you can pass out and presto! All fixed when you wake up,” Dean said in disgust. “You better find something to stick in your mouth, whatever kind of pain you do or don't feel -- this is going to hurt like a bitch, and I think screaming will attract attention.”

In response Sam grabbed one of the pillows and held it over his face.

Dean drew a deep breath. “Try not to move.” With no more warning he dug his fingers into the swollen flesh, hoping it was a clean break and feeling for the broken ends. Femur fractures weren’t common even in his business, and were one of the few injuries most hunters knew better than to mess with. Setting one wrong too often meant death without a hospital on hand, and even if you managed to avoid an embolism you could easily be lame for life. He felt something hard in the center of the mass and pressed in. Sam screamed, the sound muffled in the pillow, but Dean could still clearly hear the sobs he was burying in the cheap cloth and foam.

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, probing deeper into the muscle. Doing it gently wouldn’t help anyone and only make things take longer. “I think... I think I’ve got it. Ready?”

The pillow nodded shakily. Dean pressed down as hard as he could and felt the sickening grind of bone against bone even through the hot, swollen flesh. He was barely aware of another muffled scream, all of his attention on not having to repeat what he was doing.

When he was satisfied he had the bone as straight as he could, he climbed off the bed and grabbed the floor lamp in the corner. It was cheap and the brass paint was flaking off even as he touched it, but it was metal and straight and that was all Dean cared about. He stripped off the light fixture and set it on the dresser with the lamp shade. Behind him, Sam had discarded the pillow and was breathing in deep, ragged gasps. Dean unscrewed the base and pulled out the cord, then grabbed a length of rope from his bag. He looped the rope around Sam’s thigh well above the break, fastened the lamp post against his leg then tied the other end of the rope off around Sam’s foot. Sam whimpered as Dean checked the tension, then tightened and retied the rope.

“It doesn’t do you any good if it’s not going to hold the bone,” Dean said calmly. Sam nodded in understanding, but was still too busy controlling his breathing to reply.

Dean pulled up a chair. “So, now that we have that little crisis out of the way -- what the hell was the point of all that? Don’t even try to tell me she shoved you into traffic by accident!”

Sam shook his head, sweat plastered strands of dark hair stuck to his face. “No, she meant to do it. It was the same conversation I always have with them. She wanted me to kill someone so I could ‘come home.’” Sam swallowed and coughed. “I told her no, like always. She... didn’t take it well.”

“No shit," Dean snorted.

“I mean she said maybe I just needed fewer choices. Then she shoved me.”

Dean frowned. “Because she was pissed?”

“I think she wanted to hurt me, to make me so desperate I would have to kill someone for the energy to heal.”

They both looked down at Sam’s leg where it was fastened against the faux brass pole.

Sam slumped back again. “I guess I didn’t get hurt as badly as she wanted. It was so hard not to reach out, Dean. It's still so hard. All of those people... you... I don’t think I could have held out if this was much worse.”

“And now?” Dean asked quietly.

Sam wasn’t meeting his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Sam--“

“I don’t know, Dean! I don’t know how long I can hold out like this. I don’t know if my leg will heal without more energy, and I don’t know how long I’m going to be safe to be around. I can’t think, if I could just take the edge off -- even a little.” Sam swallowed hard again. “Maybe you should have picked a place that rents by the hour, at least then there would be a little bit to absorb from the air.”

“I thought that just whetted your appetite.”

“It’s something,” Sam said in a defeated voice.

There was a long silence again. Dean considered Sam’s grayish complexion and sunken features, he looked significantly worse than he had even before their little laundry excursion. Sam’s eyes were closed and his breathing was still rough as he struggled with things Dean could thankfully only imagine. And... he was still useful, the same reasons Dean had stayed his hand earlier were just as valid now. Sam was his link to the others, was the only clue Dean had to rooting out the infection and stopping the murders. Two weeks hadn’t led to a single other lead so far. He had a few to follow, but if they came up bust...

“What about if I, uh, jack off? Would that help you out?” he asked a little awkwardly.

Sam’s eyes flew open and he turned to stare back at Dean. “If you--?” he echoed with the air of someone who wasn’t entirely certain they had been hearing correctly.

“I’m not going to repeat it, you heard what I said.” Dean tossed the gloves onto the foot of the bed and crossed his arms. “Would it help, or not?”

“Anything, please,” Sam said with a desperate gratitude that made Dean, if anything, more uncomfortable. This wasn’t the kind of begging he enjoyed in the bedroom. And it was harder in some ways to remember to keep the distance between them that Dean needed very badly to keep, because Sam seemed human, and he was likeable and not really hard on the eyes even in his current state...

“You said you can pick it up from a distance, right? I can just go take a shower and do my thing there?”

Some of the hope died in Sam’s face but he still nodded. “That... that’s better than nothing. Yeah, thank you.”

“What’s the problem?” Dean demanded. “Just tell me, I’m not enjoying this conversation so much that I want to sit around playing twenty questions with you all afternoon while we dance around the language!”

Sam licked his lips. Dean has the distinct impression he had stopped seeing him as ‘Dean’ and more like ‘prime rib.’ “It’s weaker. It won’t give me much anyway, but the farther you are, the less I can gain from it.”

“So if I’m gonna do it, I’m pretty much just wasting my time to be anywhere but in here?”

“There’s, uh, lots of room on the bed...” Sam suggested hesitantly.

Dean swore and turned his head to look at the closed curtain. An entire world out there, things that he could be doing for his freaking job, and he was stuck in a California motel room seriously contemplating whacking off for the benefit of some kind of sex demon. One he already found far too attractive, and he didn’t even know if that was him, or that was Sam. He couldn’t trust his own emotions in this. If his dad had ever had days like these, he had damn sure never bothered telling Dean about them.

But then his dad would probably have just shot Sam that first night, audience or not.

“You can keep your hands to yourself?” he asked reluctantly. Sam nodded almost frantically and wrapped his arms around the pillow he was clasping to his chest, as if demonstrating his good behavior.

“I did something really wrong in a previous life,” Dean grumbled as he kicked his jeans off and tossed his flannel shirt onto the chair with his jacket, leaving himself clad only in threadbare boxers and a plain white t-shirt that had seen better days. He had firm plans to take a long, hot shower the instant this was done and do his best to forget it had ever happened in the first place.

Sam was tracking his every move with hungry eyes.

“Try not to watch me,” Dean ordered as he fished a half-empty tube of cheap lotion out of his bag.

Sam obediently directed his gaze to the ceiling again as if counting popcorn on the water stained paint.

Dean swore under his breath again and lay down on the mattress as gently as possible so he didn’t jar Sam’s leg. The air was close and muggy in the room, he hadn’t really noticed earlier in the distraction of the situation, but the AC either wasn’t running or had broken down. Fantastic. He squeezed a bit of the lotion out onto his palm and tried to let his mind fall into some of his usual fantasies -- a jell-o wrestling match he’d stumbled over while barhopping in Kansas, a certain threesome he’d let himself be talked into with that pair of busty twins while passing through Michigan, and a brunette in Indiana who was flexible in ways that...

Sam coughed, the sound wet and harsh in the otherwise quiet room. The careful fantasies Dean had been constructing dissolved back into cold reality.

He drew a deep breath and started again. That girl --whatever her name had been, with the legs that went on forever and the things she could do with her mouth... A flicker of interest from his dick and Dean slid his hand inside his boxers to encourage it along. Five minutes later he opened his eyes with a huff of exasperation. It wasn’t his imagination that was failing him, it was the awareness of Sam’s painfully still presence barely a foot away. He didn’t think he had ever been in less of the mood in his life.

“This isn’t going to work.”

He heard a hitch in Sam’s breathing. “Maybe... can I, uh, help?”

“Help?” Dean turned his head to glare, but the expression on Sam’s face... help. Right. “Do you have that kind of control?”

Sam hesitated before answering. “Maybe. I think so.”

“Crap.” Dean sighed. “Well, I don’t think this is going to happen any other way right now. I mean just the lightest of touches, Sam. I had better barely feel anyt--" His voice broke off in a slow hiss as a delicious sensation of warmth curled through his spine and all the hair on his arms stood up. Finger’s tentatively touched his arm and he turned to meet Sam’s eyes again, but this time he didn’t notice the pallor or the lines of pain. All of Dean’s attention was drawn to the curve of his lower lip and the graceful line of his jaw. Dean wanted to trace it with his tongue and then follow it down... he must have moved in that direction because the light brush of fingers was suddenly a palm pressed firmly to his chest. Dean frowned, Sam’s mouth was moving but the words...

“Dean.”

That broke through the haze. Right. Dean rolled on to his back again and tried to gather his scattered thoughts. Pooling heat in his groin reminded him of what he had been doing. Or not doing. Dean slipped his hand back into his boxers and wrapped his fingers loosely around his growing erection. He didn’t need his catalogue of past encounters anymore; everything he needed was lying only a few inches away on a shared bed, and with that delicious feeling coiling through his body he didn’t even feel the need to resist. Dean shuddered and it wasn’t revulsion that was sweeping over him. His hand tightened, fingers pressing under the head just so before sweeping down the shaft. For a few moments the only sounds in the room were that of skin slick on skin and the soft squeak of the mattress as Dean shifted against it, body tightening and sweat breaking on his skin as he dragged himself closer to the edge. In the growing incoherency of his thoughts, Dean imagined he could feel each ridge of print on Sam's fingers where they were wrapped around his left arm, hot as branding irons.

Behind his clenched eyelids Dean could see Sam’s inviting smile in the smoky darkness of a cheap bar... Sam’s muscles gliding under his hands as Dean had rubbed against him, desperate to feel as much as he possibly could... The silky heat of Sam’s skin where he had touched him earlier on the street... The husky timbre of his voice as Dean had helped him to the car... The grinding crunch as the bone had slid into place... At that, even in his current state Dean knew things had gone too far. He tried to struggle back up from where he had fallen, but the entire world was consumed in the building rush and another hand was wrapped around his own where it worked the swollen flesh between his legs. His groan was swallowed by someone else’s mouth and he rolled, pinning Sam firmly beneath him on the bed. Sam made a noise that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but pain, but the brief second of sanity the sound brought Dean was lost when Sam raked his nails over Dean’s back before dragging the shirt up over his head. After that, everything degenerated into pure sensation. Sweat slicked skin, cloth ripping under frantic fingers, the dim impression that getting Sam’s pants off was incredibly hard, but the reward was no more barriers between them and a blistering heat that seeped into every corner of his mind and swept them all clean. Then there was nothing but Sam.

And then there was just nothing.


Section Three