Darkness Falls

The urge to turn him was growing stronger. Maybe Dean giving him permission again had opened up the floodgates. Maybe the howling and the wind was growing stronger, and maybe it was just time.

Sweeping his free hand over the bulge in Dean’s jeans, Spike squeezed and rubbed, and stroked until Dean’s hips started to rise up and down, making the chair rock back and forth. He kept working him up, made his hunter want only one thing, made him need it so bad he wouldn’t feel anything else. Couldn’t think about anything but the next touch, and the next.

Dean trembled, rocked back and forth, desperately chasing the friction he needed more with each stoke. Hot, he was so hot... so close. He gasped suddenly and bit into his bottom lip, his body stiffening.

That was when everything else went to a blur for Dean. Spike’s hand moved up from his throat to his jaw and tipped his head back. Smooth, firm lips kissed him along his jawline to his ear. He felt teeth scrape along his skin but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the blinding heat rushing through his system. Just as he jerked and started to release, fangs penetrated skin... the slight burn taking nothing away from the intensity of the pleasure flooding his system.
Sam felt the urge to rush over. To stop the turning. Even though the sight was captivating, he had to fight the urge to stop Spike, to stop the crimson life seeping from his brother. He moved forward, just a step, trying to fight the panic building inside him as Dean gave a deep groan.

Spike instantly slipped into Dean’s mind. He soothed, and crooned, and shared what it felt like to hold Dean, to hold his life, to hold his love.... he showed him the power of what was between them, his hopes that it would never end. This time he tried not to probe Dean’s mind, not to see all those things that made him doubt before. Forever Dean, forever. And he showed him that too... erotic images of the things they hadn’t done yet and had forever to explore. The thousand ways they could make love.

Tears wet Dean’s lashes. His skin slowly paled. His breaths became ragged but there was no pain, just a weakness invading his body. His hand dropped from behind Spike's head, hanging limply.

Sam bit his bottom lip as he realized, his brother was dying. Was this how Dean had felt when he’d seen him die? When he’d dropped to his knees, holding him as his life ebbed away? And now, here he was doing the opposite... not holding Dean... not trying to save him, but giving him over to the things they hunted.

Despite the blood lust, Spike remained in careful control, half elated and half lamenting the slowing heart beats of his lover. It was the last time he’d hear the quickening of Dean’s heart, the last time he’d feel the thrill of making it skip a beat. When Dean’s heart stuttered, he pulled his mouth off his throat, taking one last lick of his heady blood.

He looked over at Sam. “Knife.”

Sam grabbed Dean's knife. He glanced at the thinning powder lines but the door had stopped rattling for the moment. The hell hounds were looking for another way in. He crossed the room and looked down as Spike extended his arm.

Sam curled his fingers around Spike's wrist. He looked at him before taking the sharp edge and slicing it along his arm.

Spike gave him a nod. Scarlet blood, his and Dean’s, started to drip onto Dean’s chest. He whispered in Dean’s ear. “Drink. Dean, I want you to take what I’m giving you... drink,” he brought his inner arm close to Dean’s mouth. “Take it.”

A swirl of colors exploded in his head. Mumbled voice. It was distant. Dean lifted his head. The smell of iron filled his nostrils. He turned his head, the red liquid smearing his lips.


Sam watched, helpless. He couldn't use his abilities. They wouldn't help in this situation. Dean had to take it on his own. "Please, Dean."

Dean's eyes fluttered and he licked his lips. "Take it," was repeated again, but in a mix of voices. He heard a plea. A command. Finally, he closed his full lips over the cut. His mouth filled and burned with the tangy iron tinged taste. He lifted his hand to hold Spike’s wrist to his mouth, and started to drink.

“That’s it. That’s it luv. Take what you need... take what you want,” Spike whispered, his voice heavy with sadness as Dean’s heartbeats slowly faded to nothingness and he was left with a limp, dead body in his lap. That wasn’t the worst of it. Sam’s pained expression tore him up inside.

He looked down, afraid to see what else might be under all that pain. Hate? Accusation? He had just killed his brother. Closing his arms around Dean, he got up and carried him the few feet it was to the cot Sam had opened up next to an inner wall, well away from the door and any windows.

After he put the lifeless body down, he wiped Dean’s mouth. He’d seen it bloodied and swollen a hundred times before, but never because he drank blood. The demon in Spike wanted to shout with triumph, but bloody sodding hell... his soul hurt. “Hurry back,” he whispered and got up.

Sam seemed to be rooted in place. Frozen. In shock. Spike wanted to hold him, to tell him it was a bad dream and they’d all wake soon. But he wasn’t sure his embrace would be welcome now.

“Do you want me to... to wait outside? Could be a few hours,” Spike asked.

Sam looked at the pale lifeless body of his brother then shifted his attention to Spike. "No," he answered before he noticed, the wind had died down and the growling and the scratching stopped. "He woke the last time with you not here and it broke him. Don't want that to happen again," Sam lifted his head to Spike.

Whether Sam meant it that way or not, Spike felt like he’d been sucker punched. Licking his lips, he didn’t answer. There was nothing to be said... Sam was right.

"I wonder if this was what he did as I was ... When I died." Spike hadn't been there but Bobby was and he’d said Dean was so angry, so sad, so lost.”

“I think its safe to assume there would be no furniture left if your positions were reversed.” Spike put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, though he wouldn’t be surprised if Sam shook him away. “But he didn’t know you’d be back, and you know that he will. Sam... want a drink?”

Sam walked away and sat down on the edge of the cot by his brother. "I just hope he forgives us." He reached out to touch Dean but didn't make contact. He closed his eyes briefly then nodded, "Yeah, a drink would be good."

He wondered how long Dean would be out. Spike said he could be out for hours but what if he never woke. Sam took the bottle from Spike, taking a deep drink.

Spike was searching for words, something to say to Sam, when a loud banging erupted. The entire cabin seemed to shake under a supernatural pounding. It was over just as Sam armed himself, and it left behind a distinctly cold whisper that swept over them...

You think you've won? He won't be your brother. Your father messed him up. Now you have as well. You've lost the Dean you knew...

“Don’t listen to them,” Spike snapped, taking the drink out of Sam’s hand and swallowing more mouthfuls than he needed.

Sam gripped the Colt tightly in his fingers. He could feel a tremble of fear, anger and guilt go through him. What had he done to his brother? He tipped his head to Spike, "Then tell me Dean will be Dean. That he will still be my brother."

Spike stared at him for a long moment. It wasn’t a promise he could make with absolute conviction, and Sam would see that. He took another drink. “It’s like this. He won’t be the same, not at first. He’ll ... most vampires wake with a savage thirst, a need for blood. They’re abandoned by their sires, and confused. They think they have to kill to survive, and then they enjoy it. I’ll be here to explain things to him.”

He walked across the room and leaned against a wall, his eyes shifting back and forth between Sam and Dean’s still body. “I didn’t lie to you, before. About getting him back.” This time, he locked gazes with Sam. “I know a way to get him a soul, and once that’s in him, he will be Dean. Our Dean. Until then... I don’t know. I think he loves you enough that he couldn’t see you as food, but we’ll have to be careful. You can’t trust him. I won’t leave you alone with him. As his Sire...I’ll be able to exert some control over him. I want to make certain he never tastes human blood... that’s an addiction that's hard to kick.”

As Spike spoke, Sam looked over to Dean. That was his brother there. Dead. Waiting to wake and be something they hunted. Sam turned his head and fully faced Spike. "I don't want him to have a soul. I want him to have his. I want him to be Dean. Not my brother with someone else's soul. I'll do whatever I have to get that for him. I owe him more than that. He's taken care of me all his life. It's my turn now."

Spike merely gave a nod. He wasn't certain the soul inside him was his own, nor could he make that promise for Dean. But if that was what Sam wanted, then they'd figure out the way to get what he wanted. He understood how the turning was affecting him, scaring him ... how he needed his brother to be the same as possible.

Sam's long legs carried him the short steps to Spike. "Shouldn't we go out and get him some animal blood before he wakes?"


"No. We don't want him waking up alone. There's a bit of blood in the ice chest. Should be enough for a first feeding." He put his hand on Sam's arm, "it's the middle of the night, Sam. There's nowhere to get it now. But if you need to go for a drive or..." he spread his hands. "We'll be here, waiting. Just don't wander off."


Sam turned to face his brother, dead on the bed in every sense of the word. He wondered if Dean's soul was taken by the hell hounds. What was happening to him right now. Was he being tortured. Was being in hell the same time as here or worse? Faster? Longer? What had they done? He felt tears prick at his eyes. "No. I won't leave him. I can't." He looked back at Spike. "He's still my brother."

Staring into Sam's tearful eyes, Spike's gut wrenched. Truth of it was that he was scared too, scared for Dean, scared for Sam. Scared he'd never be able to put them all together again the way they were a few hours ago, a family. "He's your brother, and you love him." He put his arms around Sam, holding the taller man's tense frame close. "I do too, and we're not letting him slip away. Neither of us, yeah?"

Sam leaned into Spike, for the support, needing the comfort. Spike cared for Dean, but Sam needed his brother more. He squeezed Spike firmly before pushing back a bit. He pulled away and moved to the fire place, realizing he was probably the only one who from now on would need the warmth of a fire. He crouched down, staring into it before throwing more broken furniture on it.

None of this would have happened if their mother hadn't died. None of this would have happened if their father just left them with family while he went on his own revenge. But then Dean and Sam might not be this close. Even Dean had said so once himself. Sam was so torn inside now... confused... half wishing Dean would wake now, and half wishing he never would. So much had happen to his brother. So much. Dean deserved better.

He heard Spike cross over to the rocking chair and take a seat. His eyes shifted over to him. "Promise me you’ll take better care of him than our father did."

“I’ll do my best,” Spike answered solemnly, gripping the arms of the chair. “Can’t fail with you kicking my arse into gear if you think I’m going about it the wrong way.” He hesitated a minute. “You know he needs you. You’re what keeps him going.”

"Yeah, that’s why he gave his soul for me," Sam pushed up and moved closer to Spike. "So tell me this. Why did he seek you out then?"

Spike looked up. “You kill enough things, touch enough darkness, hurt enough... and one day you ... you need something. Something so different, so unthinkable, something that forces you in contact with your enemies but in a new way. It’s different for everyone. Some hunters would come to the club looking to dominate, be dominated... or to talk, or find out what it’s like to be pressed up against the enemy until you can’t breath, what its like to need to fuck what you want to kill.”

He patted his lap. “Sit. Giving me a bloody crick in the neck.”

Sam hesitated a moment before he walked over but he didn't sit on Spike's lap, but lowered himself down to the floor beside the chair. "Of us both, Dean has touched a lot of darkness. And our father ..." Sam shook his head. "What did Dean want?"

"I don’t think he knew. He... I think he had a lot of anger, a lot of emotions and didn’t know what to do with them. When he walked into the club, something about him... I couldn’t look away.” Spike bit his lip and laughed at himself. “I don’t think he knew what the bloody hell he was doing there, but he didn’t let on. Not for one minute. I said ‘lets fuck’ and he asked what I was waiting for. You really want to hear this?”

Sam looked up at Spike and nodded, "Yes, I do." He placed his hand on Spike's arm, "Dean doesn't let on to a lot of things. You have to either read him, or force it out of him. Get him so worked up he either shouts it at you or his guard collapses and he let’s you in."

“Got him worked up alright,” Spike drawled at the memory. “Learned a few things... things he wouldn’t say. Knew that death was clinging to him. That he was trying to decide whether to fight it or not. And maybe he was tired of making the decisions, moving things forward.” Spike looked down, it was hard to explain. “He’s like a bleeding contradiction. He wanted to be controlled, and do the controlling. Remember I showed you how he likes to be kissed? Back at the plantation?” He’d demonstrated by showing Sam that Dean needed to be held hard, needed to be forced to keep from moving, at least at first.

Sam lowered his eyes, looking away. "Yeah, I can see how or why he would want that. All his life, he's had to be the strong one. To take care of me and our father pushed him." He sighed heavily. "Dean is tired. And I can't stop the bleeding of the wounds he has. When you left. He was... worse." He looked up at Spike again. "When did you fall in love with him?"

Spike ran his hand over his face. “Is there an exact moment?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just... at first it was a game. Then I needed it. Needed to see him. I think it might have been when I realized what he was coming back for was me, not... not the place, not just for a fuck or a moment of peace with anyone, like the other hunters ... but for me.” He cocked his head to the side. “I don’t really go out of my way for most, but when I started to for him... I knew.”

Pushing forward on the rocking chair, he reached for the bottle on the ground, then took a long swig. “What about you. When did you know,” he asked, his laser blue eyes piercing Sam’s soft greens.

Sam looked over at Dean, "it was a short while after you were with us." He shifted. "I would see you watching him. And then there were the times you would get jealous as Dean and I would argue," Sam gave a little smile. "There are two ways to take Dean. Either you hate him or you love him. It was clear, you loved him."

“True enough. But wasn’t what I was asking.” He put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “When did you know you love him. More than a brother.”

Sam looked away, "I always loved my brother. I've looked up to him. Wanted to be just like him." But Sam knew that wasn't the answer Spike was waiting on. He let long moments pass, Spike's hand heavy on him. He trembled slightly and finally answered. "When I was seventeen. One of the reasons I left to go to college."

He hadn’t expected that, he’d thought the realization had come more recently. Why did everything he learned about the brothers’ past make each event seem that much the sadder? Layers and layers of it? “You know, what was impossible back then might not be now,” he said softly. “He’s changed. A lot, especially since he’s been with me. And as a Vampire... the lines are blurred between family and...” He squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “I could handle it now.”

Sam looked up at him. "We both have changed. Ever since he came to get me to look for our father, and after his death." He then paused, "But could you? Really?"

“Share him?” There was a long silence as Spike turned the question over in his head. “I didn’t think I could, not until I thought I wouldn’t be around for him. Then I wanted you to ... to fill in any space I left in his life. I made peace with the idea you love him like I do, back then.” He nodded, knowing it was true.

He used his knuckles to stroke the side of Sam’s face. “I love you too. At first, it was because he did. Now...” he gave a one shouldered shrug. “I’d kill anyone who tried to harm you. You’re family. I’m a vampire. The line is always blurred.” He didn’t need Sam like he needed Dean, but there was room in his heart for the younger Winchester.

Sam leaned in, his large hand grabbing Spike's collar and pulling him to kiss him. Like his brother, Sam was forceful. He found himself biting the bottom of Spike's lip as he was pulling him from the chair, closer to him. "You should have known, I couldn't have done that. Taken your place."


Spike allowed himself to be dragged out of the chair and was on his knees by the time their mouths collided. He got past the shock of Sam’s aggressive tugging and closed his arms around him. With each slide of tongue against tongue, he tasted desperation and fear... and the need to channel it somewhere.

“Right. Things will be right,” he tried to say, holding Sam, taking the storm of his emotions, and returning it.

Sam pressed forward, his larger form dominating the vampire’s as his mouth worked over Spike's in open-mouthed kisses, wet and needy. His hands moved over Spike's body, a bit fumbly at first until he worked his way under his shirt. Sam’s large hand splayed over Spike's taunt chest muscles, his fingers moving as if to count the ribs as he took his time getting to know that part of the vampire’s anatomy.

The slow exploration, the willingness to forge through new territory... it was so familiar, it was so much like the first time with Dean. Spike recognized the same desperation in Sam, the same need to use lust to burn out the darkness of reality.

Though he tried to hold still for as long as he could, Spike’s body started to react... to combust. Sliding his hand up Sam’s back, he cupped his neck and head, pulled back to look at him... to look at his swollen lips, before he brought their mouths together again. This time it was the Vampire who was doing the kissing and putting a hundred years of experience into it. He started with a slow tongue fuck, moving faster, deeper, and rocking Sam back and forth with his body.

When he ran out of breath, Sam broke the kiss and gazed down, scrutinizing Spike’s face, trying to see exactly what Dean saw in the vampire. Was it the heat or darkness in those laser blue eyes? Was it the way he touched him? The masterful way he moved his body, knowing exactly how to draw a reaction? Whatever it was, Sam would find out.

Once he pulled his shirt off over his head, his tattoo stood out against his chiseled muscles. Dark hair hung in his eyes as he leaned forward and pushed Spike onto his back. He dropped down on one elbow, hand on Spike's forehead, tipping his head back as his mouth found a sensitive spot on Spike's throat and he ran his teeth over it, loving Spike’s reactions.

Sam rocked his hips, needing to build the friction between them. The material of Sam's looser pants moved and gave way, heightening his arousal. He could probably get off this way but not today. He rolled to the side, hand slipping between them to undo the tight material that covered the man under him.

A jolt of heat spread from Spike’s groin and had him lifting his hips up. A quick look at the cot and his still motionless lover, and then back at Sam had him aching... in his heart, in his soul... needing to heal these new wounds. Lunging up into a sitting position, he pulled Sam close and took his mouth in a burning kiss, melding their bodies so tightly together that Sam could no longer move his hand caught between them. It took a few precious moments for Spike to realize that the change in Sam’s heart beats, and the way he was breathing... the way he was reacting, wasn’t right. This wasn’t how Sam liked it... he didn’t like to feel trapped, not at all. Not like Dean.

Releasing him, he slowly lay back down and lightly urged Sam over him. Strange... with his hair in his eyes, and that intense single-minded expression, Spike couldn’t see the innocent little boy that often stared back at him when he looked at Sam.

Now that the slight panic that had washed over him faded, Sam felt his confidence return. He smoothed his hand under Spike's shirt once again, this time slowly rolling it up his body.

Once he pulled the shirt off over Spike's head, he settled down on an elbow and ran his hand over taut skin stretched over muscles. Spike might be pale from the lack of sunlight, but the flickering light from the fire made him glow with warm colors. Getting up on his knees, he kept his gaze locked with Spike's and pulled his own zipper down.

The sight of Sam so disheveled, so rushed and needy, kicked Spike’s lust up a notch. Stretching up, he alternatively stroked and gripped Sam’s waist, his hips, his powerful thighs, stroking him over the rough material of his jeans. Eventually, he worked his hands back up to his waistband and started to pull down.

The sight of Sam’s cock, now free of clothing, had him biting back a curse. Moving his up hand over the front of his thighs, he closed his hand around it, stroking his thumb up and down its length, from base to tip, and over its head.

Sam gave an involuntary hiss. There was no room to doubt Spike’s experience, the way he was working him just right, sliding and squeezing. Sam gave a gasp of breath, a slow exhale of pleasure and pumped his hips enjoying what was happening.

With long and short strokes, Spike slowly brought Sam to the very edge, to the point where Sam was fucking his fist... gripping his wrist as if afraid he would pull it away, as if the sensations would stop. The position was a bit awkward, so Spike moved, knelt in front of the also kneeling hunter... never letting up on his cock. Using his free hand, he cupped Sam’s balls, and brought their mouths together, melding them in a long, mind drugging kiss

As Sam returned the kisses, he imagined Dean. Remembered secretly watching his brother masturbate... his expression when he’d find his release. He remembered how it felt to kiss him too, that one time. With each memory, with each thrust of his hips, he drew one step closer, finally breaking the kiss but still pressing his forehead into Spike’s. "Dean," he breathed before his body tightened and his seed shot out into Spike's hand.

Dean. Spike’s kiss momentarily turned brutal, even as he fought the instinct to give Sam a hard reminder of who he was with. After a fierce struggle to control his jealous nature, he gave up a bit of more of himself for yet another Wincheser. “Yes. I’m right here, Dean’s right here,” he whispered, gathering Sam close in a kiss meant to comfort and sooth.

Hours later, Spike had cleaned up and was watching over the brothers. One, finally in a deep peaceful sleep, the other in a permanent sleep... but on the verge of waking.

(A/N: I posted this chapter due to a request, but I am giving you a link to the rest of the story which was completed a long time ago. I don't like leaving anyone who is interested in a story in a lurch/mid-story.

http://virtualpersonal.livejournal.com/158629.html?nc=4

Also, here is a link to a list of all my stories: http://virtualpersonal.livejournal.com/198780.html#cutid1 )