( It was gentle, the demon in Sam’s skin. ) It made sure Dean’s body enjoyed the act, while Dean’s mind screamed for it to stop.
Sam won’t remember, Dean, it laughed with Sam’s voice. He’s locked so far down, he’ll never have an inkling. It used Sam’s tongue and mouth to kiss Dean’s neck. Unless, of course, it continued, you tell him.
But it knew him, because Sam knew him. You won’t do that, will you, Dean? Burden baby brother like that?
Dean kept quiet, trying to will himself away. And the demon kept up its soft, slow fucking.
It bathed him, after, gentle hands on his sore skin and muscles.
He would have preferred violence. He would have preferred pain and blood to the almost-kindness, to the care it took of his bruised flesh.
You’ll never forget what Sammy’s body has done to you, it chortled, forcing sedatives down his throat. What he feels like inside you. What he sounds like as he comes deep in your ass. And Sammy—he’ll never remember.
It held him with Sam’s arms, cradled him to Sam’s chest, until he fell asleep.
He woke alone and didn’t find Sam until it almost killed Jo.
He was glad Sam didn’t remember. And he would never, ever share that information.
It didn’t matter, anyway. Wasn’t like the demon really hurt him. Well, it shot him and beat the shit out of him, but what happened in bed—not important. At all.
So, it wasn’t like Sam needed to know.
In his nightmares, though, he still heard it laugh with Sammy’s voice, and tell him how fucking tight he was.
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