The first time it happened, he cried.
Sam had been told all the things that he wanted to hear. Dean had said he could be strong, that they’d figure it out, they could find someone to help and it would be all right Sammy, it would be all right.
He was so desperate to believe it he swallowed down the fear and loathing in his throat and did what he did best, cracked open the laptop and gathered a stack of books to do research.
He didn’t see it for miles coming, but he had been looking at his feet.
Dean cornered him, in his own bedroom, opening the door with silent gentle ease and closing it with barely a whisper of the lock. Sam’s hackles were raised immediately, there was something off about his brother, or at least even more severely off than there had been lately. He was radiating malevolence. Sam figured it kind of came with the territory, but this, this was concentrated, it was focused on Sam.
Sitting up right and setting his book aside, one of Sam’s hands sat idly in his lap while the other edged behind his back for the gun under his pillow. It wouldn’t really do anything, and he wasn’t even certain if he could pull the trigger against his brother, but the comfort of a weapon in his hand, the heft of it’s weight, was something he needed against the way Dean was looking at him.
“Dean, did you ah, you make any headway?”
“No, I haven’t. Came to check if you had.”
The bed sank and Sam’s body rolled towards his brother as Dean sat down next to him, cocky smirk twisting his lips but it didn’t lie on his face like it should.
“So? You find anything out little brother, you were always the brains of the operation huh, I’m sure you got something for me by now.”
“I’m working on it Dean. It’s kinda different to try to do something about a demon that’s not possessing a vessel, you know. “
Dean’s posture was relaxed, shoulder’s down and chest slightly hunched, but Sam felt tension, felt like he was wound tight and about to pounce. Sam didn’t know what to do about it, he wasn’t used to feeling anything like this from his brother, it didn’t feel like Dean, he didn’t want for it to be Dean.
“Uh huh. Well, I have a treat for you. Figured you could use a little extra boost.”
Sam’s brow furrowed in confusion, trying to piece together what his brother said, he wasn’t carrying anything with him, nothing Sam could see. There must be something in his pockets.
“I’m good. I can run on coffee. But, uh, thanks.”
Edging away from Dean towards the other side of the bed, it was difficult to attempt to be subtle about it and Sam knew he was transparent as Dean started edging towards him. His heart rate spike as he stilled and made a split second decision to dash for the door, a cold sense of dread heavy in the pit of his stomach. Lurching suddenly towards the edge of the bed, he was pulled back by a hand fisting in his shirt, inhuman strength tugging him down easily.
Sam could beat Dean in a fair fight about half of the time. But this wasn’t Dean. Struggling futilely to throw his brother off, hooking his leg and pivoting, squirming, writhing, fighting for purchase Sam couldn’t throw him off. Finding himself pinned down on his back with Dean straddling his waist rocking easily with the bucking of his hips, there was a smirk on Dean’s face, manic and wide, his eyes gone black and Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t look, he couldn’t see his brother like this, couldn’t admit it to himself. It didn’t feel like his brother but it still looked like his brother except those black black eyes.
Feeling wetness pricking at his eyes Sam willed himself to calm down, muscles burning from straining to escape and being wrenched cruelly, he stilled and took deep breaths trying to wrack his brain for any out.
Until he felt a trickle of wetness at the seam of his mouth. Opening his eyes again, at least Dean was blinking down at him with green, but there was a blade in his hand gleaming with blood, and it was dripping down his other arm as well, bright bright red against pale skin covering the freckles and veins where it trickled down and oh god Dean was feeding him blood. Demon blood.
Sam clenched his teeth and pursed his lips tighter, fighting with renewed strength as he reached to grapple Dean to toss him. He only found himself a moment later pinned with one wrist held down and the blade at his own throat.
“Don’t be ungrateful now little brother. I know you like this. You liked it more than me before, liked it too much to quit it for me. Now you can have both.”
Thrashing his head side to side, long hair catching on the sweat across his face and the blood smearing his lips, he really did cry then, tear slipping down the crease of his temple into his hair.
“Don’t be sad Sammy. Have a taste, you’ll feel much better.”
A strangled sob bubbled in his throat and he couldn’t let it out, couldn’t unclench his mouth. Dean released his wrist to clamp a hand over his nose, pinching his nostrils. As much as Sam grabbed and dug his fingers into Dean’s wrist, his hip, his throat, nothing made the demon budge. The world was starting to fuzz at the edges with light headedness and Sam would suffocate if he were able to over write his body but as he heard the blood rushing in his ears and felt his pulse going sluggish his lips parted to gasp for air and he felt the tang of metallic earth hit his tongue sharp. A low simpering whine trickled out with his gasps, a litany of ‘Dean’ on his lips and everything was swimming with tears now.
“Shh, shh, that’s good, here, here, a little more and you’ll feel so much better.”
Dean lifted his arm and pressed the torn skin to Sam’s mouth and he wanted to wretch, wanted to tear away and seal himself shut, seal his lips so he couldn’t taste the demon blood, and seal his nose so he couldn’t smell it wet and rich, and seal his eyes so he couldn’t see the crimson glimmer of it, and seal his ears so he couldn’t hear Dean rasping comforting murmurs at him. But he wasn’t strong enough. He wasn’t physically strong enough to overpower Dean like this and he wasn’t mentally strong enough to hurt his brother. Dean would just close over his nose again, would move on to worse things, Sam didn’t want to think of all the ways Dean could try to force blood down his throat.
It hit him slow, slow, coating his tongue in copper and sliding down his throat settling in his belly hot. It coiled there serpentine, tense, a knot that pulled and cramped in his stomach until it started to seep out, unfurling into his body and thrumming along his veins. It was warmth and power and promise singing in his fingertips and oh god he could remember it, how good it was to lose himself to something stronger, something so much more than he had ever been.
His tongue went slack as he opened his mouth wider, minutely, wavering on the cusp of something frightening and wanting to pull back but he felt the edge would crumble under his feet if he didn’t jump first. Like it was inevitable. He had the taste again. The muscle memory, sense memory, all the desperation and pain years ago that had been drowned in blood, the sense of overwhelming relief when the taste first hit him before reason flew to the wind.
Tears streamed down from his eyes and the pillow was wet under him with tears, blood and sweat. Dean was smiling, wearing his green eyes, knife set aside somewhere because there was a hand in his hair soothing it back from his face and curling over his ear, smudging the wetness on his cheeks as the pads of fingers were traced over his face.
“It’s ok brother, I got you.”
Something snapped in him, he didn’t know there many things left that hadn’t by this point, but it was sudden and followed with a backlash, a snap. Pushing his lips forward Sam opened his mouth wider around Dean’s arm and tongued the cut in his skin, coaxing more blood to flow as he swallowed, and swallowed, it was demon blood, it was more, it was his brother’s blood, it was power and release.
“That’s good Sammy. There’s nothing that can stop us now. Nothing. Heaven, hell, we’ll take them all down.”
The first time it happened he cried, but he didn’t shed a tear after that.