Fic, Supernatural: I'll Work For Your Love (or Five Chick Flick Moments Sam and Dean had), Nc17

[janie_tangerine]

Well. Uhm. I... I did it.

Title: I'll Work For Your Love (or Five Chick Flick Moments Sam and Dean had)
Rating: NC17, or something similar
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word Count: 3464
Disclaimer: Sam & Dean are Kripke's. Mine? What?
Spoilers & Warnings: for 'Bloody Mary', 'Simon Said', 'Hunted', 'Playthings', the S2 finale and 'A Very Supernatural Christmas'. Probably general for series 1 & 2 and for 3x08, since I haven't seen the other S3 yet. About warnings... duh, you read the pairing. It's consensual incest between two adults. You okay with it, then it's the only one you need.
Summary: coda to 'A Very Supernatural Christmas' with much mental rambling and some sex. Hell yeah.
A/N: So, this is my Christmas surprise for my partner in crime lasamy. Which isn't what I was planning for since her birthday but that thing didn't want to be written then or now, so IDK, it'll be for the next time. And this is unbetaed, since she usually is my beta. Anyway, heavily inspired by Bruce Springsteen's I'll Work For Your Love, which, erm, brings me to clarify another thing. Since that song is full of Catholic/religious references some of which plain and some of which not so much, I think I used religious stuff for my personal purposes (and I'm not religious in the slightest) and I probably wrote some blasphemy without even getting how much. So don't kill me just now, I warned. Little AU in regard of the 'Playthings' part. Blame lasamy for all of this anyway, she dragged me in. But, seriously speaking, I really hope you like this, and you know I love you anyway. Merry Christmas to you! ;)

Sam can’t stop staring at the way Dean pours the eggnog in that paper cup he just passed him. It was a good deal too strong for eggnog, now he kind of realized it. But they weren’t ever destined to do anything just normal, so Sam could definitely live with it.

It’s kind of mesmerizing and at the same time it really isn’t that much, at all.

Sam just watches Dean’s back covered by that flannel shirt, he watches his arm rise and pour into the first cup, then Dean’s hand putting it back on the table and picking the other and then pouring again. He just can’t stop, his movements are smooth and secure and Dean looks like he has poured drinks in glasses all his life and Sam knows that such a thought is completely ridiculous but he just can’t help it.

He wants to remember every fucking second of it.

Then Dean turns and he’s half smiling, Sam is half smiling back and when he gets his cup back their hands barely touch and Dean’s skin is warm for two or three seconds against his and Dean is looking at him kind of... fondly maybe?

“What are you thinking about?”

Dean shakes his head.

“Nothin’, Sammy. Nothing.”


Chick flick moment #1: The mirror shop of that Bloody Mary mess

Dean didn’t think he ever worked on a case with so many dumb people involved.

His little brother included, thank you very much.

Because hell, when a spirit doesn’t actually manifest itself unless you call him and you are so dumb to actually call him, well, you are just dumb. Or at least it was what Dean thought while carrying Sam outside that shop.

He remembered how fucking scared he felt when he saw all that damn blood pouring from Sam’s eyes and breathed in relief, holding Sam’s arm to his neck just a little bit tighter, he didn’t think Sam was ever gonna notice anyway.

Yeah, Dean thought, I’m freaking out and this is a fucking chick flick moment.

Except that Sam didn’t need to know it, and so Dean just walked to the car and helped him in as gently as possible.


“As you say. Well, then, cheers again.”

“Cheers.”

Sam drinks just a bit and then can’t help staring at Dean again.

These days he can’t help staring at Dean at all, like it’s never going to be enough. Maybe because he knows that it actually never is going to be enough. One year? It’s nothing.

Purely nothing.

It’s just a case, but Dean is right in front of the window and a streetlamp’s behind him and it looks just like a fucking halo. Nice for one who just sold his soul to a demon. Dean’s lips are wet with eggnog and moisture and they look so red they almost seem covered in blood. Sam has this wish to just brush the moisture off but it isn’t the right moment. But they’re red. They’re alive, if it makes sense. That dark color is enough to make him calm.

They still aren’t pale or white or blue or innatural. He isn’t dead. He’s still here.

And Sam looks at Dean again and just remembers and just wants to cry.


Chick flick moment #2: the street where Sam had the vision while talking to Andy

Sam didn’t have some clear memories of those fifteen minutes. Or at least, he had them until he got his vision and after it was over.

The only thing he could remember then were Dean’s hands on his shoulders first catching him and making him seat, then helping him stand up and keeping him steady when he just couldn’t.

Oh, he loved the feeling of Dean’s hands. They were somewhat rough and somewhat gentle and somewhat a lot of things that Sam guessed weren’t for everyone else and everytime Dean’s fingertips ever brushed his skin, it burned.

But a good kind of burn, the one that reminded him that Dean was actually going to catch him somewhat and that he really was Watching Out.

He hated that vision.

But since it brought that touch (and hell, he craved it, since they didn’t really touch each other so much since Sam had gone into the teenager phase or whatever it was), he somewhat loved it, for those thirty seconds or something.

Then he hated it again because Dean had to go and as much as he could like Andy, or try to like him, well, Dean was the one he would have wanted sitting on that sidewalk.


They both know they’re both thinking about the deal.

It goes unsaid.

It’s actually the worst deal ever, they both think.

Sam because he knows he can’t possibly go and reverse it risking his life because it’d be plain stupid to die when Dean made the deal to save him in the first place and Dean because not only he had one year, duh, a tenth of the usual deal, but because he’s never going to get himself out and he can’t do a thing about it.

They’re both fucking sworn and no one of them likes it one bit.

Dean believes he’s somewhat accepting it.

Sam doesn’t think Dean ever could, and that he himself ever will. But even if they’re sworn, he’ll find a way out of this shit.

And Dean knows what Sam’s thinking. He hopes he makes it without causing any more damage.

He sure as hell prefers to be dead with Sam living a possibly normal life than... than something he doesn’t even want to talk about.

Not even think about, for that matter.

Dean perfectly knows how Sam will feel.

If anyone knows what it feels like to feel everything you love slipping down from your fingers like rain, it’s him.

He was old enough that it hurt when his mother slipped. And when his father made the stupid deal first, oh, fuck, it wasn’t slipping anymore, it was free falling.

Though nothing had hurt like Sam dying in his arms, since it wasn’t nor slipping nor free falling but simply something tearing him apart like nothing else, like someone had took a piece of him and just threw it out to rot.

He remembers the emptiness of that moment, then watches Sam passing a hand through his hair, looks in his eyes for a mere second and he feels just a little bit lighter. They’re both alive for now, and until they are, he has a job and a promise to keep.

Watch Out. Both his job and his promise. The only ones he actually cares to do and to keep. He just hopes that Sam gets the picture one day. Because hell, it may be as pathetic as it could, but Dean has never really had a proper girl like Jess was for Sam, he lost his mother and his father, well, his brother is everything he has.

And if keeping him alive means selling his soul, so be it. So just be it.


Chick flick moment #3: when Gordon really scared the crap out of Dean

Apart from the fact of making Dean want to kill him because he was the only one that could call Sam Sammy, not Gordon, the son of a bitch really, really scared the crap out of him.

He thought Sam was gone for good, that time.

For two times in a row. That really was too fucking much, except when he heard It’s Sam he was just going to burst from that ropes for happiness. Even if he didn’t show it, but he was well trained in not showing stuff.

Even too much.

He remembered how relieved he felt when he could feel Sam under his touch, oh, how fucking much, and how he just wanted to crush him against himself except that he didn’t because he had the son of a bitch to take care of and he was going to repent it.

But however, they were just three or five seconds, his hand on Sam’s neck and Sam’s on his shoulder and for those seconds he though in a very chick flick fashion that it was just alright.

Too much alright to be right.

He couldn’t even feel the burning of the ropes around his wrists and neither that ugly taste of blood in his mouth.


“Dean?”, Sam asks, and his voice cracks and he didn’t take it into account.

Fuck.

“Yeah?”

“I... no. It’s stupid. Just stupid.”

“Well, I’m not killing you. You say stupid things almost every time you speak.”

“Fuck off. No, really. I’m just serious. This can’t be the last.”

Silence falls and Dean swallows. He has forgotten the game a long time ago.

“You know that...”

“Dean, I don’t fucking care what you did.”

Then Sam just leaves his cup on the table, raises his eyes, Dean sees a tear, maybe a couple, and his heart just crumbles into pieces because this wasn’t what he made that deal for.

That deal just made everything crumble and fall.

Except for one thing, Dean thinks, and he’s doomed anyway, so why not? Sam never said he remembered it. And Dean never brought it up because it had been his moment of perdition, one in a lifetime and he didn’t want to do it again ever but there really wasn’t anything else Dean could think of doing right now.


Chick flick moment #4: the hotel room, or when Sam got drunk

When Sam’s hands cupped his face and he mumbled that desperate thank you, Dean just wanted to shove him away.

Except that he found out he couldn’t. He had been just frozen in his place, staring at his brother and drinking in that desperate stare. He was tense but he felt on fire, something inside him twitched and stirred and everything just ached.

Something told him to back the fuck off and let Sam sleep it off, except that it was too much and so he kissed Sam instead.

He knew it wasn’t going to be rejected, Sam was too far gone to actually get anything that was going on, but then Sam’s hands found Dean’s elbows keeping him still and it felt wrong for the wrong reasons.

Not because Sam was a man (like Dean could care) and not because he was his brother (damnit, it should have been but Dean was so past that), but because Sam was never supposed to taste like cheap fruit vodka.

He wasn’t actually supposed to taste like alcohol at all, though really, only Sam could actually get wasted on fucking fruit flavored vodka.

But Sam’s lips were just warm and soft and they parted and Sam was leaning into his touch and Dean knew he was taking advantage.

He was coming out in the only moment in which Sam was too far gone to reject him if he wished to, too drunk to remember any of it the next day and too desperate to refuse it. But was there another way? Dean couldn’t have done it in the open.

He tried to get away but Sam held on to his elbows, Dean thought Screw it and then he took Sam’s face into his hands, kneeling in front of him and kissing him just everywhere he could, hoping that he wasn’t going to talk that night.

The more he kept on the more Sam just leaned into him and then Dean slowed down, well, it wasn’t like Sam actually had done anything in that whole thing, and he kept on with the kissing, first casually on the forehead, then on the closed eyes, then the cheeks, then again the mouth and Sam’s lips just parted again. Dean kept it as slow as possible and he was just content to have their lips touching and nothing more.

The kiss ended and then Dean decided it was enough and deviated the kiss that Sam was starting to give him again embracing him instead, shifting Sam’s head on his shoulder and casually running a hand through his hair.

Then Sam was just clinging and they ended up sleeping in the same bed.

Dean left in the morning after a quick brush of his lips against Sam’s, swearing to himself it was never going to happen, and Sam didn’t remember the kissing part of his drunken night.

Dean just played along.


Dean leans closer and can just whisper something like stop me now if you don’t want this but Sam doesn’t stop him and Dean sighs and closes the gap, thinking how strange it is.

He kissed Sam twice and he tasted like alcohol both of those.

Sam parts his lips and holds him close against him and Dean feels like nothing else matters.

Everything has crumbled down and they won’t find a solution in dad’s journal but it’s alright.

Dean has this idea that whatever he was searching for in the first place, he has found now, and he has it and he will have it just as long as he can.

Sam almost crushes Dean against him because yeah, this is what he wants to remember and if they really don’t find a fucked up way out, he will have this.

It all sounds not so new, like they have already done this, but they actually never did and Sam just stops caring.

Dean’s mouth is hot and his tongue is tracing Sam’s and it just feels so good, so safe, fuck, so home that Sam aches just thinking that in eight months it’s going to be over.

Then he stops thinking about it.

Chick flick moment #5: when Sam came to life again after Dean made the deal

Sam should have understood it as soon as Dean embraced him.

Because it was a total chick flick thing and Dean Winchester didn’t embrace anyone who wasn’t John Winchester. But fact was, Sam had been waiting for it for too much time to think about why Dean was doing it. Even if that pain in his back was too fucking much for him to really go and lose himself in that moment.

But thinking back about it, everything about Dean was different. He looked too relieved for his own good and too shaken and a lot of other things and everything clicked when he learned the truth.

And the bastard was planning on hiding that from him too.

Sam remembered feeling strangely okay, safe, whatever, when Dean embraced him.

Dean remembered only feeling so relieved and glad that he actually thought that it was a good deal after all, because hell, a year was better than nothing.

He just underestimated a little thing. That he wasn’t ready to live without Sam, but it wasn’t like Sam was aching to find himself alone without Dean, without his father and without anyone else, for that matter. Looking at it, it totally was a lose/lose situation.

But that didn’t matter because Dean had done what he was supposed to do and that was it.

And for once he could do a chick flick thing and actually be glad to do it.


Thinking about it, Dean can remember bleeding seven times in the latest year. Or something like that.

One, when he fought that fucked up shapeshifter who actually dared to use his appearance for his fucked up job.

Two, when he Yellow Eyed Motherfucker possessed his father, and of course the accident.

Three, when the glass from the Impala’s windows cut his hands while he was smashing it.

Four, when his possessed brother shot him.

Five, when his possessed brother punched him.

Six, when he was face to face with the Yellow Eyed Son Of a Bitch and hell, he really was thankful that his dad was a stubborn bastard.

Seven, right now when Sam’s teeth grasp his bottom lip and then they kiss so hard that it breaks and blood pours out of the cut. And it’s the most painful and the one where he just feels most at the same time. There isn’t a single drop falling from the cut because Sam stops them before they’re able to and Dean can taste eggnog and the taste of his own blood.

It isn’t the most exciting combination ever but it’s okay. He really couldn’t imagine anything involving himself or Sam that doesn’t involve blood or alcohol too.

But then Sam is almost crushing him to his chest while they kiss and Dean leans into it and figures he should tell Sam they already did this, but he doesn’t and shivers when Sam’s hands roam under his shirt. Dean doesn’t know how precisely he ends with his back on the couch and Sam on top of him.

They kiss again, Sam tastes just sweet now and nothing else, Dean suddenly feels cold and digs his nails in Sam’s shoulders and he really doesn’t care about anything else.

Sam is warm, Dean can feel his brother’s heart beating frantically against the right side of his chest while they kiss; then Sam slows down and his lips just caress Dean’s now, no more than barely touching, and it’s so intimate and perfect and right that Dean’s body shivers, he tightens his grip on Sam’s shoulders and then he feels salt on his lips.

He catches the tear slipping from Sam’s left eye and another one slipping from the right and then kisses him fully again, he so doesn’t want to see it, and then just when they break apart..

“Dean, I just can’t let you go without doing nothing.”

Oh, Dean dreaded this moment, but the problem is that now that he knows he can have this, one year, six months, whatever, is nothing. Nowhere near enough.

“I know. Just... just one thing.”

”What..?”

“I know you’d do anything”, he says while his hand brushes Sam’s cheek, “But if the only way to get me out is for you to... to change, let me die.”

Sam gets what Dean’s saying and bites his lip and Dean knew the motherfucker would gladly lead all the demons in hell if it saved his life.

Except that Dean won’t have any of this.

“Sammy. Please. Just this. I don’t want you to be... anything or anyone else. Then you can try whatever you want. I won’t stop you. But no, if it comes to that. Just... no.”

Sam nods.

“I want to hear it.”

“Alright. Alright, I swear I won’t. But you know...”

“Yeah, you’d do it. And then what would I do again? Oh, damn, just... just fudgin’ shut up.”

Dean loses himself in the next kiss and feels Sam’s hands opening his jeans and he does the same, all quick and hurried because he can’t wait, not anymore, then they’re both naked somehow, then Dean has spread his legs because he can’t wait and as Sam is inside him and starts thrusting and at the same time takes him in his hand, Dean closes his eyes and rests his head against the couch, waiting for that sharp pain to be replaced by the sheer, blissful pleasure he knows it’s to come.

And then Sam goes faster and he really doesn’t feel pain anymore, except a sensation of being complete and hell, Dean has worked for his brother’s love for all his life, he has been working hard years just for this moment he thinks, and when everything explodes in a wave of shivers, whimpers, moanings and fucking stars he really feels immersed in some kind of bliss.

The next kiss is slow, almost lazy, even if Dean’s mouth feels on fire. Sam grabs a blanket from the ground and Dean nods, he really doesn’t feel like going to bed right now or whatever, so he just wraps the blanket over them best as he can and he holds tighter while Sam rests his head in the crook of his neck.

Sam falls asleep in mere seconds and Dean lets his hand roam through his hair, thinking this is what should have been all along and he doesn’t think it’s wrong for a second. It’s quiet, really, almost like the quiet before the storm, but the storm hasn’t come yet and he’s thankful for it. The fall is far, not that much but it’s far.

He looks at Sam. His hair is completely ruffled, his lips are barely parted and they seem to shine in the dark, the signs of being thoroughly kissed evident. His cheeks are flushed, he’s unconsciously setting his head best as he can against Dean’s neck and hell, he’s just the most perfect thing Dean has seen all his life.

And then, forgive him, he thinks that selling his soul, for this, wasn’t a price so high to pay.