Chapter Text
“I don’t even know where to start. I don’t ever wanna keep you in the dark.” – Start by The Neighbourhood
Damon Salvatore had been alive a long time, one hundred sixty years and counting, and for most of that time, he thought he understood how the world worked. Humans lied, vampires fed, love ruined people, etc. The universe was rather predictable.
Then Sam Winchester walked into his life and shattered every assumption Damon had ever made about the universe. It turned out not only angels were real, but demons were real too, fuck even God himself was real. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory—every insane story Sam used to tell him over motel-room whiskey turned out to be true. Damon had watched Cas heal humans with the touch of his finger. He had watched Sam and Dean kill demons and gods like it was a normal Tuesday. He’d watched Sam wake up screaming from nightmares about Lucifer.
Damon had stayed by his side through it all, which was exactly why watching Sam slowly kill himself now made Damon feel like he was coming apart at the seams.
The bunker library was dim except for the lamp over the table. Ancient books and photocopied lore were scattered everywhere, half-empty coffee cups abandoned between stacks of research. Sam sat hunched over one of the books, shoulders tense beneath his flannel, one hand pressed against his ribs as he read. He looked awful. Damon had never seen his skin so pale, and he had dark circles under his eyes. His lips were dry and cracked, but he was still stubborn as ever.
“Dean said he would do the trials, Sam,” Damon said, breaking the silence.
Sam didn’t look up from the page; this wasn’t the first time they had had this argument. “I had an opportunity, and I took it. What was I supposed to do?”
Damon crossed his arms, jaw tightening. “I don’t know, maybe let Dean handle it like you said he would.”
Damon stared at him for a long moment before pacing away, agitated energy vibrating through him. He hated this feeling, this complete lack of control. Usually when something threatened the people he cared about, he could rip its throat out. But this? This was ancient magic. Prophecy-level bullshit. Invisible damage was already spreading through Sam’s body while he pretended everything was fine.
“You and Dean really need to stop babying me all the time,” Sam muttered, finally looking up. “I can handle it just fine.”
Damon let out a sharp laugh. “Right, because coughing blood into the sink screams ‘handling it.’”
Sam looked momentarily thrown, like he didn’t think Damon would notice. As if Damon wasn’t constantly aware of him. The blood was obvious enough; Damon could easily smell blood from all the way across the bunker. But even without it, Damon would’ve known something was off with him the second Sam walked into the room.
Damon stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Did you even stop and think for one fucking second about how this would make me feel? Why put yourself in senseless danger, Sam?”
Sam’s jaw tightened immediately. “In case you haven’t noticed, Damon, dangerous is kind of the job.”
“I know the job is dangerous,” Damon snapped. “But this isn’t a hunt gone sideways. This isn’t some vampire nest in Ohio. You’re taking on trials written by God knows what to close the gates of Hell forever.”
“Yes,” Sam said firmly. “Exactly. That’s why this matters.”
Damon dragged a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just don’t understand why it has to be you.”
For a second, Sam looked exhausted rather than defensive. “Because if this works,” Sam said quietly, “people stop suffering. Demons stop possessing innocent people. No more deals, no more crossroads.” His voice softened. “How do I walk away from that?”
Damon hated that answer because it was so painfully, undeniably Sam. Always trying to save everyone else, even if it destroyed him.
“You’re impossible,” Damon muttered and Sam gave him a tired half-smile.
But over the next several days, things got worse fast. Since killing the hellhound for the first trial, Sam deteriorated quickly in ways Damon didn’t like at all. At first, it was subtle, a cough here and there, shaking hands. Then Damon started hearing it at night, Sam’s violent, wet coughing.
Damon found him in the bathroom in the middle of the night, gripping the edge of the sink hard enough his knuckles were white. His breathing was ragged, and there were bloodstained tissues overflowing from the trash can.
Damon’s stomach dropped. “What the fuck is happening to you?”
Sam startled slightly before trying, and failing, to straighten up casually. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t,” Damon warned. He stepped forward and grabbed Sam by the jaw, tilting his face up toward the light. Sam looked feverish, sweat clung to his temples, and his skin had that alarming grayish tint humans got right before collapsing. Damon pressed a hand to his forehead and swore softly. “Christ, you’re burning up.”
“It’s probably just side effects from the trials,” Sam said weakly. “I’ll live.”
“You better.” Damon bit into his wrist without hesitation and held it out between them. Dark blood welled instantly from the wound. “Drink, it should help.”
Sam barely hesitated. His hand wrapped around Damon’s wrist automatically, like instinct by now. Damon watched him drink, watched some of the tension ease from Sam’s face for a brief second. Usually, vampire blood worked fast, cuts healed in moments, fevers broke, and bruises vanished right away.
Usually, Sam relaxed too, like Damon’s blood quieted something deep inside him. But this time nothing changed. Sam finally pulled back with a grimace, wiping his mouth weakly. “I don’t think it’s working.”
Fear hit Damon hard and sudden in the chest. “Fuck,” he whispered. His eyes dropped to the slowly healing cut on his wrist before snapping back to Sam. This was the one thing he could always do, the one thing he never failed at: taking care of Sam. And now even that was slipping through his fingers. “Okay. Okay, maybe Cas can—”
“No.” Sam leaned back against the wall with a groan. “It’s fine.”
“It is very obviously not fine.”
Sam closed his eyes briefly. “Dean doesn’t know yet… how sick I am.”
Damon barked out a humorless laugh. “Of course he doesn’t.”
“Don’t start.”
“Your refusal to communicate with each other is genuinely one of the most insane things I’ve ever witnessed, and I lived through the Civil War.”
Sam actually huffed a weak laugh at that before another cough tore through him. He turned away, covering his mouth, blood spotted his palm.
Damon felt something twist violently in his chest. “Sam…”
“If your blood can’t heal this,” Sam interrupted quietly, staring at the floor, “I doubt Cas can either.” He swallowed hard. “This might just be something I have to survive until it’s over.”
Damon hated how resigned he sounded, like he’d already accepted the possibility he might die from this. “Sam,” Damon said again, softer now. “I really don’t like this.”
For the first time since the argument started, Sam’s composure cracked, just a little. “I know,” he admitted quietly. He looked exhausted, and scared underneath it all, even if he’d never admit it out loud.
Then Sam reached for him suddenly, fingers curling into the front of Damon’s shirt. The gesture was weak compared to Sam’s usual strength, but it hit Damon harder than anything else that night. “Can you just…” Sam swallowed thickly. “Stay with me?”
Damon’s anger evaporated instantly. He looked down at Sam’s hand gripping his shirt, then at the miserable expression on his face. And God, Damon was so helpless when it came to him. “Of course.”
Without another word, Damon guided Sam carefully back toward the bed in his room. Sam sat heavily on the edge of the mattress, exhausted from the short walk alone. Damon pulled the blankets back for him.
“Where do you keep your Tylenol?” Damon asked. “That should help with the fever.”
“Medicine cabinet, in the bathroom,” Sam said, pointing as Damon searched for it.
Damon twisted off the cap and dropped two pills into Sam’s palm. “Take them. Now,” he said, handing him a glass of water.
“You’re really bossy when you’re worried,” Sam murmured faintly, taking both pills and laying down.
Damon arched a brow. “Trust me, this is me being gentle.”
Sam gave a sleepy hum and within minutes, he was half-asleep already, feverish and breathing unevenly. Damon curled up beside him in bed, clicking off the lamp, and listening carefully to every breath, every tiny sound of discomfort.
Damon didn’t often sleep overnight with Sam. As a vampire, he didn’t need to. Sleep was more of a choice than a necessity, something to pass the time when eternity got too long or the world got too loud. Before Sam got sick, spending the night together had been occasional.
They would spend nights tangled together in motel sheets after a hunt. Sam warm and heavy beside him, half-asleep and mumbling incoherently while Damon smirked at the ceiling pretending he wasn’t absurdly fond of him.
But after the trials started? Damon slept beside him every single night. Not because he needed sleep, but because he was terrified Sam would stop breathing if he looked away too long. The bunker room was dark except for the soft yellow glow from the hallway light bleeding beneath the door. Sam was curled on his side beneath the blankets, one arm tucked under the pillow. Damon lay beside him watching the rise and fall of his chest, watching carefully. He was spooning Sam from behind in a way he hoped Sam found comforting, his arm casually draped over his hip.
That night was especially bad; Sam’s fever had climbed again sometime after midnight. Damon could feel the heat radiating off him in waves. Human bodies were fragile things, too easily breakable. Damon hated it. Sam stirred suddenly beside him before another harsh cough ripped out of his chest. Damon was immediately upright. “Easy,” he murmured, already reaching for him. Sam pushed himself halfway up with a groan, coughing hard into his fist. Damon rubbed slow circles against his back while Sam struggled to catch his breath. When the coughing finally stopped, Sam sagged against him weakly.
“I got you,” Damon said softly, trying for lightness even as panic turned his stomach. “You okay?”
“No,” Sam rasped honestly.
Damon’s heart twisted painfully at that. Sam never admitted when he wasn’t okay. Damon reached up automatically, brushing sweat-damp hair away from Sam’s forehead, his skin was burning again. “Christ,” Damon muttered.
Sam leaned heavier into him, exhausted enough not to fight the contact. Damon guided him carefully back down against the pillows and kept his hand resting against the back of Sam’s neck. After a moment, Sam spoke quietly. “I know I asked but,” he murmured, eyes half-closed, “you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”
Damon frowned slightly. “What?”
“You didn’t sign up for this.” Sam swallowed thickly. “The demon trials. Me slowly turning into a tuberculosis patient.”
Despite everything, Damon snorted softly. “Very flattering visual.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.” Damon’s expression softened slightly. “Unfortunately, I’m in love with you to a degree most people would find absolutely sickening. They’d have to drag me out of this bed, Sam.”
Sam smiled faintly at that, but it faded quickly when another wave of dizziness seemed to hit him. Damon saw it immediately in the way his face tightened. God, he looked awful. He was so pale and becoming way too thin. Damon knew he hadn’t been eating much. His typically large frame was withering away right before his eyes.
Damon had spent decades pretending human lives didn’t affect him anymore. He knew humans died, that was the nature of things. But Sam? The thought of losing him made something frantic claw at Damon’s ribs. Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. “What if I turned you?”
Sam blinked slowly. “What?”
Damon held his gaze. “If you became a vampire… maybe it would heal whatever this is.”
Sam stared at him for several long seconds like he was trying to figure out whether Damon was joking. “You cannot seriously be suggesting vampirism as a medical treatment.”
“I’m just saying it’s an option.”
“It’s a terrible option.”
“It’s still an option.”
Sam huffed weakly and closed his eyes again. “And gain a lifelong addiction to blood? Hard pass.”
“You already have an addiction to blood,” Damon teased automatically.
Sam cracked one eye open. “Ha. Ha.”
Damon smiled faintly, but it disappeared almost immediately. He would do it if it meant saving Sam, and that terrified him too. Damon would do whatever it took.
“I can’t do that,” Sam said more quietly after a moment. “We don’t even know if it would work.”
Damon didn’t answer immediately because the truth was uglier than either of them wanted to admit. “What other choices do we have?” Damon finally asked.
Sam looked at him then, fever-bright eyes exhausted but still painfully lucid. “Dean would kill you.”
The seriousness in his voice made Damon’s chest ache. Even now, even dying, Sam was worried about everyone else. “Yeah, probably” Damon admitted softly. “But what about you?”
Sam looked away, that silence told Damon more than words could. Sam didn’t want immortality, not like this. He didn’t want to become a vampire. And Damon… Damon didn’t want Sam making that choice just because he was scared.
“Damon,” Sam sighed weakly, already sounding half-asleep again. “I’m too tired for this conversation.” The fight had drained out of him.
Damon nodded immediately. “Okay, that’s okay, come here.”
He shifted carefully against the pillows and pulled Sam gently against his chest. Sam went willingly this time, curling into Damon’s side with a quiet exhale. Damon wrapped an arm around him securely, his fingers threading slowly through Sam’s hair.
Within minutes, Sam’s breathing started evening out again. But Damon stayed awake, listening to every breath. He thought about all the impossible things he’d witnessed since meeting Sam Winchester. Angels, demons, and monsters and yet, this frightened him more than all of it. This wasn’t a fight Damon knew how to win.
Sam shifted slightly in his sleep, face pressing unconsciously against Damon’s chest. Damon lowered his head and pressed a slow kiss against Sam’s fever-warm forehead. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered against his hair. “It’s okay, I’ll figure this out.”
But Damon wasn’t sure if that was a promise he could actually keep.
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
They couldn’t hide it from Dean much longer. Dean Winchester noticed everything when it came to Sam, even the things Sam desperately tried to hide. Dean watched him constantly now, suspicion building behind his eyes. “You look like crap,” Dean finally said one morning.
Sam didn’t even look up from the book in front of him. “Thanks.”
“I’m serious.”
“I’m tired, Dean.”
“You look like patient zero in a zombie movie.”
Damon nearly choked on his coffee at that. Sam shot Dean an irritated look while Damon turned away to hide a smirk.
Dean narrowed his eyes as he looked between the two of them. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Sam said too quickly. Then he doubled over into a harsh cough, grabbing a napkin from the table and pressing it to his mouth. Dean’s eyes narrowed and Sam tried to crumple the napkin before Dean could see it, but he was too late. There was blood smeared across the white paper.
The sound of Dean’s coffee mug slamming onto the table cracked through the room hard enough to make Sam flinch. “This is because of the demon trials, isn’t it?”
Damon could practically feel the tension crackling between them. Sam looked exhausted already, shoulders slumped forward like holding himself upright took effort now. Fear flickered briefly across Dean’s face before frustration buried it again. “How long has it been this bad?” Dean demanded.
Sam stared at the table.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” Dean looked immediately at Damon. “And you knew?”
Damon crossed his arms defensively. “He made me promise not to tell you.”
“And you listened to him?” Dean snapped.
“He’s a grown man, Dean.”
“He’s coughing up blood, Damon!”
Sam groaned softly, dragging his hand down his face. “Can we not do this right now?”
Dean ignored him completely. “What the hell is happening to you?”
Finally, quietly, Sam admitted it. “I don’t know, Dean. The trials are doing something to me.”
“Damn it, Sam, you should’ve just let me…” Dean trailed off, looking irritated and scared at the same time. Dean pulled out a chair and sat down heavily across from Sam. “What can I do?”
“I don’t know,” Sam admitted softly.
“I’m calling Cas,” Dean said.
That was the moment everything changed. After that, the bunker became tense in a way Damon had never experienced before. Dean stopped sleeping much. Cas came and went constantly, trying every healing method he knew from Enochian sigils to ancient rituals. But nothing worked.
Damon watched Cas place glowing hands against Sam’s chest while Sam trembled violently beneath the light. Cas pulled away looking disturbed and confused. “I don’t understand,” Cas admitted quietly. “Something is blocking the healing.”
Dean looked furious at the universe itself. “Well fix it.”
Cas’s expression fell. “I can’t.”
Sam hated being watched and feeling like he was constantly under a microscope. He hated everyone hovering over him twenty-four hours a day. And most of all he hated how weak he’d become. Damon found him alone in the bunker bathroom one night gripping the sink while blood dripped from his nose into the porcelain. Sam stared at his reflection like he didn’t recognize himself anymore.
“You should be in bed,” Damon said softly.
Sam laughed bitterly. “You sound like Dean.”
“Trust me, nobody is more upset about that than I am.”
That got the faintest smile out of him. The worst part was watching Dean unravel alongside him. Dean tried to pretend he was holding it together, but Damon saw through him immediately. He heard Dean’s late-night pacing; his shouting matches with Cas. The way Dean would stare at Sam when he thought nobody noticed, panic buried beneath anger.
One night Damon walked into the library and found Dean sitting alone at the table surrounded by lore books, empty beer bottles scattered everywhere.
“It’s 3am, you should sleep,” Damon muttered.
Dean scoffed. “You too.”
“I don’t sleep.”
“Yeah, well. Must be nice.” Dean dragged both hands down his face before slumping forward, elbows on his knees. “He’s only finished two of the three trials, and he’s already getting worse.”
“Any leads on the third one?” Damon asked quietly.
Dean shook his head. “No, and honestly?” He let out a rough breath. “I think the last trial’s gonna kill him.”
It was probably the most honest thing Damon had ever heard him say. Dean looked exhausted in a way that went beyond lack of sleep, like he was being hollowed out from the inside. Damon knew the feeling.
“It should’ve been me,” Dean muttered, reaching for the beer bottle.
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
All of it had unraveled so fast. For weeks, Sam had dragged himself through the trials with bloody determination, convincing everyone around him that the pain was temporary. That there would be an end to it. That it would all mean something when the gates of Hell finally slammed shut forever.
Damon wanted to believe him. God, he wanted to. But standing inside that abandoned church with Crowley chained in the center of a devil’s trap, Damon felt dread crawling up his spine like ice water. The church smelled like old dust and blood. Storm clouds gathered outside the stained-glass windows, thunder rumbling low in the distance. Crowley sat slumped in the chair with blood smeared across his shirt, looking irritated.
Sam looked worse. He was barely sleeping or eating at all these days, and the dark circles under his eyes were concerning. His hands trembled every time he lifted the syringe filled with his blood. Damon stayed close enough to catch him if he collapsed.
“Are we sure this is even going to work?” Damon asked for probably the hundredth time that week.
Sam ignored him and focused on the syringe. “This is the final trial.”
“You keep saying that like it magically makes this less horrifying.”
“I think it’s supposed to hurt.”
“Sam, you are literally dying.”
Crowley rolled his eyes dramatically from the chair. “Oh good, the domestic argument again. My favorite part.”
Damon shot him a glare, but Crowley only smirked. “Honestly, Moose, if anyone needs curing around here, it’s your emotionally constipated vampire boyfriend.”
“Please, if I started expressing my feelings openly, Sam would lose all interest,” Damon shot back.
“Sam’s always had shitty taste in lovers, anyway,” Crowley said.
Sam shook his head, too exhausted to even argue anymore. He stepped forward and injected Crowley with his blood for the final time. Crowley let out another strangled cry, eyes flashing black before suddenly turning human again for half a second. Damon knew they were getting close.
Then the church doors slammed open. “STOP!” Dean’s voice echoed through the church.
Sam looked up. “Dean?”
Dean strode toward them, panic written all over his face. “You can’t finish the trials,” Dean said breathlessly. “We were lied to.”
Sam frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“The trials aren’t just closing Hell, Sam,” Dean said, voice cracking slightly. “They’re killing you.”
Damon felt something cold settle in his stomach because part of him had already known. Of course it would cost Sam everything, it always did.
Sam stared at Dean in disbelief. “No.”
“It’s a sacrifice,” Dean said desperately. “The final trial is a sacrifice.”
“No,” Sam whispered again, tears gathering in his eyes now. “No, we’re so close.”
“If you finish this, you die,” Dean said.
Sam looked wrecked by the realization, absolutely shattered. “But if I stop,” he said quietly, “then all of this was for nothing.”
Dean’s expression crumpled. “I don’t care.”
“Dean—”
“I don’t care!” Dean shouted. “I’m not losing you over this.”
The words echoed through the church. Then Sam looked at Damon, and the look in his eyes nearly destroyed Sam. Damon looked afraid, an expression he so rarely showed. Damon stepped closer, grabbing Sam’s face between his hands. “Please,” he said quietly, his voice breaking on the word. “Don’t do this.”
Because Damon didn’t care about the trials either. Didn’t care about Hell or demons or destiny or any of it, he just wanted Sam alive.
Sam’s eyes filled completely then. “How do I stop?” he asked weakly.
Dean stepped closer immediately. “You just let it go; we’ll figure something else out.”
Sam nodded once, then the power left him all at once. He doubled over with a violent gasp, Damon catching nearly his full weight as the energy from the trials ripped through him one final time. Sam cried out in pain, his body shaking uncontrollably in Damon’s arms.
“Easy,” Damon said frantically. “Easy, I’ve got you.”
Then suddenly the entire church shook and there was a deafening sound that split through the sky outside. Bright streaks of burning light tore across the heavens like falling stars. Damon realized it was angels, hundreds of them, falling from the sky. “What the hell is happening?” Damon breathed.
Dean stared upward in horror. “Fuck.”
Sam was barely conscious now, head lolling weakly against Damon’s shoulder. “Dean,” Damon said, panic bleeding into his voice. “He’s dying.”
Dean dropped beside them immediately. “Sammy? Hey, stay with me.”
Sam’s eyes fluttered weakly. He looked delirious, barely aware of the falling angels.
Dean looked seconds away from falling apart. “Hospital,” he said immediately. “Now.”
Damon didn’t hesitate, he scooped Sam into his arms, holding him tightly against his chest as they rushed to the hospital beneath a sky of falling angels.
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
Damon really had started to like Dean.
Dean was reckless and stubborn and sarcastic to a fault, but Damon understood him in a way he rarely understood people. They drank together, bitched about Sam together, and shared stories they pretended weren’t devastating and traumatic. They bonded over strange childhoods and cars and the burden that came with being the oldest sibling.
Damon even trusted Dean now, or at least he thought he did, until Sam collapsed from the trials. Hospitals couldn’t help him, Damon’s blood couldn’t heal him. Cas was missing and no longer had his grace.
They were sitting in a hospital room hearing the heart monitor beeping loudly like it was mocking them, reminding them how little time Sam had left. Dean came to Damon with that look in his eyes, and Damon just knew immediately something was wrong.
“I found another option,” Dean said quietly.
Damon looked up from where he sat beside Sam’s hospital bed. “What kind of option?”
Dean rubbed a hand over his face, hesitating, before spitting it out. “There’s an angel named Ezekiel. He says he can heal Sam.”
“How?” Damon asked. “I thought angels didn’t have their grace or whatever.”
“He said he can heal him… by possessing him,” Dean said.
“By possessing him?” Damon snapped. “Have you lost your mind?”
Dean’s jaw tightened. “It’s temporary.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Sam’s dying! We don’t have many options.”
“I could turn him,” Damon said. “That could save him.”
Dean just stared at him, both of them breathing hard now. “No, absolutely not. You know Sam would never want that,” Dean said.
Damon laughed bitterly. “You think he’d want this instead? Another thing inside his head after Lucifer?”
Dean visibly flinched at the name.
“You know exactly what he’s been through,” Damon said. “How could you even consider this?”
“Because I’m out of options!” Dean exploded.
“I just gave you an option,” Damon said bitterly.
“Sam is not going to become a blood sucker like you,” Dean growled in his face.
“Yeah? Well at least he wouldn’t be dead,” Damon shot back.
“We don’t even know if that would work Damon,” Dean yelled. “That’s too high of a risk.”
Despite his frustration, Damon couldn’t disagree with him. He really didn’t know for sure if it would save Sam.
Dean lowered his voice first. “I can’t lose him.”
Damon looked over at Sam. He was hooked up to a monitor that was keeping him breathing… for now. He looked so fragile, it was breaking Damon’s heart. Then Damon said quietly, “Neither can I.”
“This angel says he can heal him completely,” Dean said.
“No, Dean,” Damon said. “I don’t trust him.”
Dean’s patience finally snapped. “Yeah well, I don’t trust you. You’re not turning my brother into a vampire!”
Damon stepped closer instantly. “Dean, listen to what I’m saying—”
His eyes flashed and Dean froze for half a second as he recognized the attempt at compulsion, then Dean swung, punching Damon in the face. “You tried to compel me? You bastard,” Dean said, breaking Damon’s neck.
When Damon woke up, his neck cracked back into place with a violent jolt. He gasped and sat upright on the bunker floor. When did they get back to the bunker? He was concerned about how long he must’ve been unconscious.
Then he heard Sam laughing somewhere down the hall. Laughing. God, he had missed that sound. Damon stumbled to his feet immediately and followed the sound.
He found Sam in the kitchen eating a burger like a man starving to death. Dean stood nearby watching him with obvious relief. Sam looked up when Damon entered. “Hey,” Sam said brightly. “You okay?”
Damon stopped cold. Sam looked… healthy. Color had returned to his face; the fever was gone. His posture wasn’t weak anymore, even his eyes looked clearer. “I feel amazing,” Sam said with a grin. “Seriously, best I’ve felt in weeks.”
Damon looked at Dean, but Dean avoided his eyes. Rage simmered instantly beneath Damon’s skin. “You did it anyway,” Damon said quietly.
Sam frowned slightly. “Did what?”
Dean cut in quickly. “You… you passed out earlier, man. Damon freaked out.”
Damon stared at him in disbelief; Dean was really going through with this lie.
Sam laughed softly. “You freaked out?”
Damon forced himself to smile tightly. “Something like that.”
But the entire time Sam talked, Damon watched him carefully. Sam did seem better, that was the worst part. There was life in his eyes again instead of that hollow exhaustion Damon had grown used to seeing during the trials. He should’ve felt relieved, but instead there was a sick pit twisting in his stomach.
“I’m gonna shower,” Sam said, standing from the table. “After that burger, I feel disgusting,” he said, wiping his chin.
Damon waited until he heard the bathroom door shut, then he rounded on Dean instantly. “How dare you.”
Dean’s expression hardened immediately. “How dare me? You tried to compel me, man. Not cool.”
Damon stepped closer so unnaturally fast, grabbing Dean by the throat and pinning him to the wall. “How could you do this to him?”
Dean stood his ground, jaw tightening. “I saved his life.” He didn’t even look the least bit intimidated by Damon.
“You let something possess him.”
“An angel.”
“A stranger.”
Dean’s voice sharpened. “Come on! You saw him, he’s doing better.”
“Does Sam know?” Damon asked.
“Well… no,” Dean said.
Damon rarely raised his voice, but now fury crackled beneath Damon’s skin so violently he could barely contain it. “You expect me to just go along with this?” Damon demanded. “Lie to him every day while someone else walks around inside his body?”
Dean looked exhausted suddenly. “We didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
“Oh yeah?” Dean snapped. “Like what? Your genius vampire plan?”
Damon’s eyes flashed instantly. “At least I was offering him a choice.”
Dean scoffed harshly. “You know damn well Sam would never agree to becoming a vampire.”
“Maybe not,” Damon shot back, taking his hands off his throat and stepping away from him. “But it still should’ve been his decision.”
Dean looked away at that. “Sam can’t know about the angel,” Dean said quieter now.
“Why?”
“Ezekiel said if Sam finds out, he’ll reject him.”
Damon stared at him in disbelief.
“He said Sam has to willingly let him stay in order for the healing to work.”
“And you just trusted him?”
“What was I supposed to do?” Dean exploded suddenly. “Watch my brother die?”
The words echoed through the bunker kitchen. Then Dean dragged a hand down his face, voice rougher now. “I know you think I screwed this up.”
“You did.”
Dean nodded once like he’d expected that answer. “But Sam was dying right in front of us,” Dean continued quietly. “And for the first time in weeks, he’s breathing again. I would make the same choice again.”
Damon hated that part of him understood. That was the problem with loving Sam Winchester. Everyone around him eventually became willing to do terrible things just to keep him alive. Damon groaned quietly and paced a few steps away, running both hands through his hair. He could still hear the shower running down the hall. “I hate this,” Damon muttered.
“You think I like it?” Dean asked.
Damon looked back at him. “You’re asking me to look him in the eyes and lie and pretend nothing’s wrong.”
Dean’s expression cracked slightly then. “I know.”
“Next time Sam’s life is on the line,” Damon said slowly, “I’ll be the one calling the shots.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed instantly. “He’s my brother. I’ll do whatever it takes to save him,” Dean said quietly.
Damon stared at him for a long moment before asking the question he knew Dean didn’t want to hear. “Even if it means losing his trust completely?”
Dean didn’t answer. And honestly, that silence was worse than the fight. The shower shut off down the hall, and they immediately straightened. Dean exhaled hard and muttered, “We’ll deal with this later.”
Damon didn’t respond, because against every instinct screaming at him not to, he was already going along with the lie. What other choice did he have?
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
That night, Sam seemed more like himself than he had in weeks. It should’ve comforted Damon more than it did.
Damon was stretched out against the pillows waiting for him, one arm tucked behind his head, trying and failing to relax. He’d gotten used to this new routine of theirs, Sam sleeping beside him every night. The warmth of him beneath the blankets and the steady sound of his breathing. He enjoyed their sleepy conversations in the dark after nightmares, or when Sam reached for him half-conscious in the middle of the night like his body craved Damon even during sleep. Even though Sam was no longer sick, he couldn’t imagine going back to the way they were before.
The bathroom door opened with a burst of steam. Damon’s attention snapped up immediately. Fresh out the shower, Sam smelled more like himself too. Damon had always been in touch with his more animalistic instincts, but fuck, catching even the slightest whiff of Sam hit him square in the chest with need.
“You’re staring,” Sam said. Damon didn’t even bother denying it. Sam crossed the room barefoot wearing a plain black T-shirt and those low-slung gray sweatpants Damon had spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about. His hair was still damp, curling slightly at the ends.
“You look good, babe,” Damon said, feeling arousal stirring low in his gut.
Sam smiled at that, not the tired little half-smiles Damon had been getting lately either. A real smile, bright enough to make Damon’s chest ache. “I feel good,” Sam admitted. Then Sam climbed onto the bed and straddled Damon’s hips like he’d been thinking about it all night.
Damon’s hands settled automatically on Sam’s waist. God, he’d missed this. Sam lowered his forehead down to bump against Damon’s. “I want to make you feel good too,” Sam murmured, against his face. Sam trailed gentle kisses from Damon’s forehead down to his nose, and then bit Damon’s bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth before kissing him wholeheartedly.
Sam kissed Damon like he’d been starving for it. Sam was fucking ravenous as he kissed him, groaning into his mouth like he’d been craving Damon’s touch just as badly. One hand slid into Damon’s hair, pulling him closer. Sam groaned softly into Damon’s mouth, desperate and affectionate all at once, and Damon felt himself melt beneath him almost instantly.
For a few seconds, Damon let himself get lost in it. The familiar taste of Sam, his intoxicating scent, the delicious weight of him pressing him down. The relief of having him alive like this in his arms. “You should probably rest,” Damon managed between kisses, though it came out breathless and unconvincing.
Sam immediately shook his head. “I’ve had enough rest for a lifetime.”
His hand slid lower, palming Damon’s cock through his briefs.
Damon gasped softly into his mouth. “Sam—”
“I missed you,” Sam said against his jaw. Then Sam dipped his head, pressing kisses along Damon’s throat, pushing Damon’s shirt up to sloppily kiss his chest and his stomach with eager affection.
“God,” Damon breathed, fingers tightening in Sam’s damp hair.
Sam looked up at him through heavy lashes, lips pink and swollen from kissing. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Sam,” Damon gasped as Sam started pulling down his briefs, before dipping his head down to take Damon’s cock in his mouth. “Fuck,” Damon groaned, throwing his head back at the unexpected heat of Sam’s mouth. Sam’s tongue swirled over the tip, then he breathed in hard through his nose and deep throated him. Damon’s hips shot up off the bed, pushing further into Sam’s throat, causing an involuntary gag.
“Baby, please, I don’t want to hurt you,” Damon said, gently pulling Sam’s hair off him.
“Please, fuck me,” Sam said, pulling his mouth off of his cock. “It’s been so long, I want you so badly,” Sam said, palming his own erection in his sweatpants. Damon’s eyes flickered down and then back up to Sam’s pleading eyes and fuck, he couldn’t bring himself to push Sam away. Not when Sam looked at him like that.
“Okay,” Damon murmured finally. “Come here.”
Sam practically melted with relief. He tugged Damon closer immediately, kissing him harder as Damon rolled them over so Sam was beneath him, on his back instead. Sam pulled down his sweatpants eagerly and peeled off his shirt with one hand. Damon couldn’t help but smirk at his urgency as he reached the lube from the bedside table. Sam wrapped his legs around Damon as Damon prodded him with a finger.
“No, I’m ready,” Sam insisted, brushing Damon’s hand aside.
Damon gave him an unimpressed look. “Sweetheart, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I still need to prep you.”
Sam’s cheeks pinked slightly. “I already did.”
Damon paused. “Wait, seriously?”
“In the shower,” Sam admitted.
A slow grin spread across Damon’s face. “Wow, so eager.”
“Shut up,” Sam mumbled, looking away.
God, after everything they’d been through, Sam still got shy sometimes. Damon kissed his rosy cheeks, hands roaming carefully over Sam’s body like he was reassuring himself he was really here. “So, you just assumed you were getting laid tonight huh?” Damon asked.
“We both know you can’t say no to me,” Sam said, his warm breath tickling Damon’s ear.
“That’s true,” Damon said. “And it’s kind of hot when you’re cocky.”
“For the love of god can you please just—” Sam gasped as Damon finally breached him with his cock.
“You were saying?” Damon teased. He was surprised at how easily he slid in this time; he was usually met with more resistance at first. Fuck, he must have really prepped himself good. Damon rocked his hips against Sam, his cock sliding in deep in one flush movement. Sam groaned and wrapped his legs tighter around Damon. Sam’s hands tangled in the shirt Damon was still wearing, fisting the fabric on his shoulders. Damon palmed his ass, lifting him slightly off the mattress as he roughly rubbed down his thighs, pulling him even closer, until his cock was buried as deep as it would go.
All Damon could do was hold his gaze and stare at the hunger in Sam’s eyes, until the friction became so consuming his vision blurred. Damon thrusted into him again and again, he was so impossibly hard now, he could feel his cock leaking pre come already, it had been so long since they’d done this. Sam’s cock was heavy too, pressing against his stomach. Damon adjusted his hips slightly, so the angle was different, effectively hitting Sam’s prostate and Sam gasped hard, thighs shaking. “God, yes. Damon. Right there,” Sam squirmed under him.
“I know what you need, you don’t even have to say it,” Damon said, brushing his thumb across Sam’s bottom lip. “Cause you’re mine,” Damon growled, before kissing him. He pushed his tongue into Sam’s mouth, tasting him as he fucked him hard into the mattress. Sam groaned against his mouth, a needy little whimper, and he could feel Sam dissolving under his touch. Damon throbbed inside him, grasping Sam’s hips to steady himself, and Sam’s hands dug into Damon’s shoulders.
Sam looked up at him with blown pupils, but Damon couldn’t stop wondering… Is someone else watching him through Sam’s body? Was Ezekiel aware of what was happening? How much control did he really have over Sam?
As Damon wondered, Sam suddenly went completely still under him. His expression emptied, his eyes unfocused as he stared somewhere past Damon’s shoulder, body rigid beneath him. Damon’s stomach dropped. Sam’s eyes flickered with an unnatural light blue glow.
“Sam?”
For three horrible seconds, Sam just stared at him, not blinking and not speaking. Damon stopped his movements entirely just staring at him, cold terror shot through him.
“Ezekiel?” Damon whispered.
Then suddenly Sam blinked hard and frowned slightly. “Why’d you stop?” he asked softly, completely unaware and reaching for Damon’s cock.
Damon stared down at him, his chest tight with panic. Sam seemed confused by the sudden distance between them. Damon forced a smile, but his heart was racing. Because he realized with growing horror that Dean had let something into Sam—
Something that could surface at any moment. Something watching them through Sam’s eyes.