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Those Precious Words

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Dean was cruel. He was evil beyond words. Sam once thought that Dean could never become evil; he was a righteous man, a good man.

Now, he wasn’t sure why he ever thought that.

Before the Mark of Cain, before the First Blade, before Dean became something he wasn’t, Sam loved his brother. Dean was his everything. Fights, true, they had their share, but in those circumstances, with the life they had, that was fair. They always said things that hurt the other, but would have died for each other in a blink of an eye.

Now, however, Sam wished that the thing which wasn’t his brother anymore, that demon, would just leave him alone and let Sam die.

“Sam, Sam, Sam…” Not-Dean circled him, looking down at Sam with anger in his eyes. Sam looked up at those same green eyes he adored as a child and had to choke back tears. He hated when Dean let him see his human eyes, and Dean knew that. It felt too real, too much like the brother he knew. At least when his eyes were pitch black, Sam could forget, could pretend that this wasn’t Dean, not really.

Sitting on his knees on the cold floor, naked, his hands on his lap, Sam lowered his head in defeat. Dean, Not-Dean, grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head back, forcing Sam to make eye contact with him. “Sam. Don’t make me ask you twice. Say it, or else,” he let out a low growl, bringing the knife closer to Sam’s face, and then slowly ran the blunt side of it down his cheek, followed by his throat then stopping at his chest. He wasn’t going to kill him of course, Sam knew that. Dean, even like this, would never murder Sam. Not when he knew that dying was Sam’s wish, after all.

But he would hurt him in the worst ways possible. All the torture in Hell, Lucifer’s Cage was nothing compared to what Dean did to him. The physical pain alone was excruciating, but the emotional torture…

That had Sam crying and shaking, going into shock.

“Sam,” Not-Dean was glaring at him, pulling his hair none too gently as he rolled the handle of the knife in his hand, bringing the sharp side of the blade to Sam’s neck and poking the tip against his skin, hard enough for it to break it and let a drop of blood run down Sam’s neck.

Sam clenched his jaw and shook his head. “No,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving his brother’s green ones. “I won’t say it.”

With a sigh, Not-Dean let go of his hair, then slapped him so hard Sam could feel his skin and the whole left side of his face burning hot. He fought back tears, slowly looking back at the man standing in front of him, clearly pissed off. Next, he kicked Sam hard in his side, earning a painful groan from the ex-hunter. Sam was feeling the panic build in his gut as he was shoved back on the ground, with his hands pinned above his head and Not-Dean straddling his waist.

“No? How dare you say no to me?” he snapped, beginning to slice at Sam’s chest with the knife. Sam managed not to scream until the seventh cut of the knife, which sliced his shoulder open. He was already bleeding badly, but the frenzied man continued cutting away layer after layer of skin while Sam trashed under him, screaming and, unable to hold his tears back any longer, crying.

“Dean! No, please, just stop!” Sam was begging, always ended up begging in the end. Dean pulled out the knife which was buried hilt deep in Sam’s chest, right next to his heart, then brought it up to his lips and licked his brother’s blood off hungrily.

“Then say it,” he leaned closer, placing sickeningly gentle kisses on Sam’s neck before claiming his brother’s trembling mouth, suckling at his bottom lip and licking into his mouth eagerly. And so gently, that Sam felt like throwing up.

When Dean pulled back and licked his lips, he stared right into Sam’s cried out eyes with the same look he made when Sam came back from Hell. He was waiting for Sam to say it, say the only words he never wanted to leave his lips. Dean made him say a lot of humiliating things before, some downright sick things, but Sam always said them, always obeyed.

He was able to say anything, just not this, please not this.

“Sam?” Dean’s tone of voice was becoming irritated, apparently deciding that he had to wait too long. Sam couldn’t stop his tears as he looked into the stranger’s eyes, the man who looked like his brother, and finally said it.

“I love you, Dean.”