Title: End of the Line
Author: wirtleberg
Pairing: Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester & Sam/Dean & Dean/Benny
Warnings: incest, D/s, WiP
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dean and Benny did a lot, lot more than just kill things together in Purgatory. How will Benny manage now alone in the world without Dean? Particularly as he's just had a terrible realisation, about the vampire heart...

***

He slams the van door then gropes for the phone that always seems too small for his hands, too fragile. The rush starts in the pit of his stomach. "Dean?" Just saying the word warms him. "Dean ... I'm thanking you mightily, bud, I'm in a hard way here. How close are you brother?" He feels himself starting to relax, the tension of weeks spent alone and hungry beginning to drain. He wants to smile, just hearing Dean's voice can do that for him these days.
"I'm sorry man, I'm not going to make it."
Benny turns abruptly and moves to sit on the nearby wall, oblivious to the sea, to boats and distant forest. Nothing exists except the anchor of the voice in his hand, the voice that means he's not alone here. He closes his eyes.
"You mean now, or ...?"
"Listen, Benny, I'll never forget everything you've done for me man, but this is it."
Something lances through him: panic, pain? Someone not him says, "End of the line?"
There's a pause, a hesitation. Everything now is focused, concentrated on the next moment, the next second. He doesn't really need to breathe but feels his lungs go still anyway. Then,
"End of the line."
He speaks without thinking, his mouth seeming to open and close, involuntary and ridiculous. "Yeah, well, I never liked these cell phones anyway."
"You stay good, alright?"
He can hear the almost smile in Dean's voice and behind that, the warning. He should hate that, the conditionality of what they have. Had.
"You too Dean."
Is this it? Panic flares threatening to choke him. So much he wants to say, to show, but what comes out now is the least part of what he really feels. "Thanks brother. Thanks for the ride."
There's that pause again, he feels it like a void around which everything that is him circles. He opens his eyes to the darkness behind his shades. Dean says, "Yeah man. Adios."

He gets up from the wall, suddenly aware that it's no longer day. Lights have come on along the harbour and there are fewer cars, fewer people about. He walks stiffly towards the van, his body feeling almost human, old and tired. He's hungry, really fucking hungry. Hungry and needing, not just the blood but the feel of something warm and alive in his hands, a body yielding to him, giving him what he needs, what he's needed for decades and denied himself. Taking the last bag of blood from the cooler box he's about to twist it open when he remembers how he got it. Dean. Closing his eyes he remembers sitting slumped and bleeding and Dean, Dean coming towards him lifeblood literally in his hands. He touches the soft plastic with callused fingertips, almost reverently. Dean gave him this, helped him mightily, yeah that was the word, when he couldn't help himself. The thought 'that will never happen again' strikes him with an agony so powerful, so shrill, that he clutches at the sides of the van to stop himself falling. There's an unfamiliar burning sensation behind his eyes then there's water, (is it water?) running down his face. The bag is still in his hand and he considers laying it under his shirt next his skin; that won't warm it, but having it close might feel good? Dropping the bag into the cooler he slams the back of the van shut.

It's getting light when he reaches the edge of the Adirondacks. He drives into the forest, not wondering where he's going or why, seeing the occasional cabin, the occasional road leading to camps, to homesteads, invisible behind the trees. When even the dirt road is no more than a track he slows and winds down the window. It's cool here and shadowy. The giant pines tower above the van, above him. There's a narrow road overhung by trees and blocked after 100 m or so by a log barrier. He turns into it, shuts off the engine and sits for a moment hands still on the wheel. He stares out the windscreen, wondering how the fuck he got here, how he drove from the Catskills without seeing a thing.

Coffee. Yeah, he'd said he wanted a coffee. It didn't sound so much, not put like that. But of course that wasn't really it, not at all and Dean had known that, for sure. He opens and closes the van door quietly, starts to walk fast, moving between dark tree trunks, feet silent on the thick carpet of needles. Daylight doesn't reach down here, there's a twilight feeling, a stillness that is almost damn perfect. He stops and looks around smiling. Purgatory. This place is the nearest he's gonna to get to Purgatory. And to Dean. He throws down cap and jacket, and dropping to his knees digs his hands hard through soil and rotting pine needles then rubs them over hair and beard, over hands and wrists. Moving on all fours he crawls to the base of a tree and sits, legs stretched out in front of him. Somewhere out there, somewhere on the other side of the country, Dean is maybe sitting with his real brother, maybe sharing a beer. Benny smiles tentatively, like he's trying it on for size, picturing Dean with the tall, hard-eyed man he'd met for just those few, angry moments but would have fought for, maybe even cared for one day, had he been allowed. "Look out for him brother, look out for my Dean," he says.
He knows Dean's never, not ever, gonna tell Sam what passed between them in Purgatory. And it's good that Sam shouldn't have that to stick on his Benny hate list. He smiles for real. Fuck! There wouldn't be enough big country to put between them if Sam ever learned about Dean and him.
He lays his head back against the trunk of the tree and closes his eyes, lifting his hands to his face, breathing in the rich scents of damp and decay. He knows, how could he not know given how often he's done it before, that he can call Dean up any time. Not on the stupid plastic thing still sitting in his pocket, but inside, in his mind's eye. Ain't that what they call it? Minds eye? Except the Dean he's feeling ain't in his head at all but somewhere around his chest and gut - and lower. He lets himself drift there, to where Dean is at and ...
"Jesus God!" There it is again, the same piercing agony that had almost dropped him on the road beside the harbour. Instinctively he tries to pull away from it, to step back into the half numb, half accepting state of just a moment before and realises it's too late. "Fuck, fuck, oh fuck!" He doubles over arms wrapped around his belly. "Dean ... brother ...". Grief rips through him, blinding and he does the only thing he knows to do. Lies down on the ground and holds out his arms to the pain, to Dean, and pulls it in close, real close. He can feel Dean's heat, the solidness of him, muscle n' bone n' blood, everything thrumming, thrumming like the engine of that ol' black car of his. Dean, present and erect. Despite everything he chokes out a half-laugh. That was Dean, always ready for something, fighting, fucking, and killing. He'd been good at that, the killing, like he got a powerful pleasure from it that he needed again and again. Benny's eyes squeeze tight but his face is slippery wet. He can't remember the last time he wept before today, maybe when he was human, maybe not even then. He feels Dean under him, around him, drawing him in. In to the blind merging he's always craved and found only once before with Andrea, and he'd died for that.

It'd always been that way, him fucking Dean. Sometimes it would start out kinda like fighting, pushing and shoving at each other, not sure what was really happening, like animals trying for position, never turning their backs to one another. Dean was strong, quick, a lifelong hunter, which said something, sure. But when it came down to it, which it usually did, he lacked the one thing made all the difference. He was no predator. So, they'd sucked quick and dirty on each others mouths and cocks and teats and that place where the neck joins the shoulder and if the monsters stayed away long enough they'd fuck their way around Purgatory with him buried as deep inside of Dean as a body could get and still be separate.
He shudders, that feeling of being peeled, turned inside out, rushing through him again. 'Cos Dean could do that to him easy as blinking. Dean could spread his legs for Benny, or bend over the stump of a tree, pants around his ankles, could take it all, fingers, cock and even, once, his fist. That fist had hurt, really hurt, and seeing the pain on Dean's face he'd wanted to stop, even though the feeling of slick, wet warmth gripping his hand had been a rush almost better than blood. But before he could start to pull out Dean'd hissed through tight clamped teeth, "Do it man, jus' fucking do it! I ain't no pussy you need worry 'bout bruising ..." So he'd punched right on in and up and been amazed at how Dean's body finally drew him in, smooth flesh rippling along his forearm like some underwater creature while Dean keened like a dying man.
Benny runs one dry hand along that arm, memory fresh and alive. Oh yeah, Dean's ass hole was just like the man himself, wide open and hungry. But even moaning an' grinding like a $20 whore, Dean could still leave him feeling like he was the one who'd just given it all up and burned.

Then there was the one time, just the one, when he'd looked at Dean and said "Fuck me," and good ol' Dean'd recognised it at once for what it was, an invitation and not a cussin'. They'd been sitting facing each other across a small fire and Benny remembers the light that danced in Dean's eyes when he'd said "Sure, man. Let's give it a go".
Even now, he's not certain why he did it, why he let it happen, why he wanted it to happen. He'd never had a guy in that way, so maybe it was just curiosity. He'd thought it likely Dean would take the opportunity to fuck him raw, to hammer him down into the dirt and get some payback for all the bleeding and whining, all the face-down he'd given up for Benny. At the time, that'd seemed only fair. But it wasn't like that, not at all like that and he'd been transfixed and finally terrified as Dean made love to him, all softly sweet and relentless, stroking and licking at his most secret places, teasing him open until he'd felt himself dissolve in Dean's hands.

Benny rolls onto his back, feeling Dean's weight on him again, a wonderful, crushing weight, warm and alive. He wraps his arms round his body and closes his eyes. And Dean is in him and moving slow, slower until he sees Benny's used to it, to this new stabbing pain that relaxes down into a feeling, a sensation of pleasure he's never imagined. He writhes, wanton and sweating, and wants to laugh as he makes those whining whore sounds he's used to hearing from Dean's mouth. Even fucking him Dean is gentle, tender. Stroking and kissing him, lips and fingers caressing and soothing. It's all so unexpected he feels dislocated, awkward, but loving it too with a fierce joy so that he wants to shout and hit the ground with his fists. Then it's real intense and he's suddenly aware of himself, of him, Benny Lafitte, split open on another man's cock, exposed and overwhelmed. Shyness, equally unexpected, sweeps over him so strong and raw he starts to shut his eyes, but instead glances up at Dean who hangs in the air above him, braced on taut shoulders, breathing hard. Firelight flickers on the side of that face, on those wide, clear eyes, fixed on his own. Looking into those eyes Benny feels like something's being shaken loose, like he's starting to come apart... not just his body, but him, the thing that IS him, separate and whole. Then he's seeing himself through Dean's eyes and with a terrifying jolt of fear and yearning realises he can't tell where he starts and Dean ends.
And that's when it had happened.

Blinking he sits up, slowly. The sun has passed overhead and somewhere behind the trees is starting to drop toward the horizon and night. He shakes himself, shakes out his wrists and shoulders, wipes a hand across his face. Christ he's hungry! But that's OK, because he knows now, knows for sure, what happened in that moment and why he's turned into a needy fucking bitch. Not his fault, really not his fault. "Dean, brother ... what have you done to me?" Grasping the tree trunk he stands up, fingers digging into the soft bark as he sways, steadying himself and only then realises, with a shiver, that he's fully dressed and it had never even occured to him to touch himself. Christ! He's so utterly (not) fucked. He starts to laugh, small hiccuping sounds that die away leaving just the silence of the forest.

He'd known it could happen, been vaguely aware that it was possible between vamps, a kind of urban myth, something whispered but never witnessed. Never between a vamp and a human tho' and never, ever, one-sided. Some vamps ... Jesus! even thinking it makes him want to weep again ... some vamps, the ones who didn't just fuck but loved hard, mated for life, bonded to each other until death or eternity swept them apart. Benny shivers, fear and a growing awareness of future grief starting its way through his belly and up into his chest; his head bows. This is it then, his life from here on in, if he chooses to live it. No Dean, not even his voice at the end of a line; always longing, always hungry. He could try an' get himself killed - some good ol' boy hunter would surely oblige - slip quietly out of this world and ... and back to Purgatory. To Purgatory with no Dean in it.
He starts to shake. Hunger, it's just hunger. He has that last bag of blood back in the van. Can't think past that 'last' just now. Brushing pine needles and dirt out of his hair and beard he starts walking through the trees and towards the road.

***

He's running. Running, running through ripping branches, half sliding, half stumbling over bone scraps and rotting leaf mould, churning up the filth of Purgatory's floor. Noise close behind him now, curdled squeals that could come from any of the vile motherfuckers he shares this place with. Something, a claw maybe, catches him from behind and he lunges forward, trying to yank free, air clogging in his lungs. If I die here will I come back like all the other monsters? Will I come back? Or ... He doesn't want the answer to that, but whatever is behind him has its claws sunk in his jacket now and it feels like he's running on the spot, legs spinning like the friggin' Roadrunner right before the stupid bird goes down, down, down.
And then, there it is, the sound he's been waiting for, the hiss of a blade cutting through air followed by the wet thunk that says for now, for this moment at least, he's safe. He turns and there's the vampire, gore-spattered and grinning, its secondary teeth shark-like in the wide-open mouth. "Benny, man", he says and smiles. "Benny".

"Benny ... Benny!" He jerks upright in the bed, heart beating at the inside of his rib cage like a claw hammer. The dream sense is still as fresh as the sweat soaking the sheets. Shit, oh shit! He glances quickly toward the motionless figure lying in the other bed and holding his breath listens for the sound of Sam's breathing. Silence. And it occurs to him that his brother is holding his breath too. He lies down throwing back the damp sheet and looks across the gulf between the two beds. In the scant light filtering through from the street beyond the window he thinks he sees the shine of an open eye.

"What's the plan?" Sam's voice is uninflected. "Do we have a plan here?"
These are the first words outta Sam's tight-lipped pie-hole today and Dean chokes on the sweet sticky stuff filling his own mouth. Across the diner table his brother's face is stiff. Christ on a friggin' hog! he looks just like Dad, like Dad in one of his more unforgiving and judgmental moments. Dean chews and swallows, slurps at the thin watery stuff that passes as coffee and says, "We start with Kevin, gonna get him back, have to. Something big is going down with Crowley and we need to know what. Was thinking about Cas, maybe asking him to help, but after that shit with Samandriel ...". He shakes his head and pushes more pancake into his mouth and mumbles, "He seems real fucked up y'know."
Sam says nothing.
"Well? Are you thinking 'bout a plan too or is my brain the only one in use here this morning?"
"I heard you."
"What?" Bemused, Dean says "Course you heard me, you're not deaf, not senile an' I'm only three feet away."
"Last night. I heard you last night."
He continues chewing resolutely, using the movement of muscles to disguise whatever might otherwise be passing across his face. "And just what did you hear Sammy?" He looks up in time to see the tiny ripple of rage move across his brother's face.
"Was it a dream Dean? Or a nightmare? Seemed a bit of both to me, right up 'til the end when it got real uh ... interesting." Sam's expression is as close to a sneer as Dean can recall, well, since he got his soul back anyway, and for a moment he feels only astonishment, until Sam continues, "Depending of course on your definition of interesting."
He takes a final swig at the coffee, sets down the cup without letting his hand shake and hopes his game face is firmly on. "You dream about being in the cage, I dream about being in Purgatory ... mostly Purgatory, but sometimes Hell too. Remember Hell Sammy? I was down there a good long while if I recall. Hell, Purgatory, enough there to feed a few nightmares, dontcha think?"
"Just how stupid do you think I am?"
What the fuck, there's that sneer again!
"I stopped hunting, Dean, I didn't stop being able to think. In fact, I'm pretty sure there's an inverse correlation between hunting and thinking ... more of one and less of the other. Know what I mean?"
Beneath the table, Dean's hands clench into fists, nails cutting sharp into his palms. "Am I supposed to give a flying fuck about what you mean?" Anger wells in him, bright and vivid. The bastard, the arrogant, self righteous asshole.
"Did you fuck?" Sam's eyes are direct now, the sneer gone, replaced by something much worse.
"Whaaat! What is this? Are you friggin' interrogating me here? Because if you are, this ain't the time, or the place and more important, you got no right. Any right you ever had to question me you gave up when you made your personal", he can hear the word coming out of his own mouth on a hiss, "choices this last year. Am I making myself clear? SAM-my."
"Did you and the vampire fuck?" Sam's face is closed, bland and relentless as his tone. "I'm asking you see because I'm pretty damn sure that you did, and now, now I'm left wondering why you're acting all uppity and denying about it."
Uppity? What the ... ! Dean feels the blood course through his veins like acid, flaring under his skin and telling its own story across neck and face. He stands abruptly and palming a $20 bill on the tabletop, starts pushing his way out of the booth.
"Wouldn't be guilt, would it ... about giving it up to a vampire? Or maybe shame ... 'cos that vamp just happens to be a friggin' guy? Or both." Sam's voice cuts through the air behind him and even as near blind with rage as he is, Dean can hear the pain in it. "I'd put my money on both. What about you Dean? Where'd you put your money ... brother?"
The urge to turn and punch Sam hard in the mouth is almost overwhelming. But right now he's the best he's ever been and Sam's so far out of practice it isn't even funny. If he starts in on him here he might not be able to stop and somewhere, afterwards, there would be regret, real gut twisting regret. So he walks away, hitting the door on his way out so that it swings wildly to and fro behind him.

He drives until the rage clears and he reckons he's about 10 miles from town. He cuts the Impala's engine feeling it continue to throb and grumble under him (timing's off, need to fix that) as he leans his head back and stares at the roof of the car. He misses Purgatory. Never, not in a million years, thought he'd say that. And he misses Benny. He's scrubs at his face with both hands. Jesus, he misses Benny. He feels for the phone in his pocket, maybe Benny still has his? But he'd told the vampire, "end of the line" and meant it. He'd said it for Benny, so as he could be honest with him, not keep promising what he couldn't deliver, not letting him down like so many others before him. Benny deserved better than that, much better than anything Dean could offer him now. And he'd said it for Sam too, because Sam wanted it, needed it if they were to go on working together, being brothers together. Letting go of Benny had hurt, really hurt, Christ! more even than he'd realised at the time. And now, there's this something keeps pulling him back to the vampire, to their time together, to the things they did with and for each other to keep alive.
His dreams of Benny, Sam had the right of that at least, don't give him any peace of heart or mind, they're more like sandpaper rubbing away at those raw and tender places where the vampire lives in him ... used to, used to live.
"Benny, man. I'm sorry, sorry, sorry." He holds the wheel with both hands and lays his forehead on them, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the prickling there. Christ! He almost laughs out loud. For a guy who spent more than half his life a ruthless pussy-hound how come he finds himself so fucking cock-whipped these days? Huh? There's not a man in his life, dead or alive, that doesn't breed some guilt, some regret some crushing sense of obligation in him. Castiel ... don't even go there Winchester, there's way too much water, blood and other shit passed under that particular bridge. Castiel's fucked up right now, worse than he was in Purgatory by a long shot. He knows he should think about that, try and work out what's wrong, help the angel anyway he can. But he doesn't have the energy or, if he's honest, the will any more. And Sam, Sam ... his blood, his brother, kinda like his child, though he doesn't let himself go down that route too often. He can't believe how much Sam reminds him of John right now in his single-mindfuckedness. Only difference is, Dad's dead and any regret about him, and there's no shortage, can be held out of sight out of mind somewhere in the back of his head where all his dead are buried. Sam, on the other hand is very much alive and pushing, pushing, pushing at him. What does he want? What the fuck does he want?
He presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets hard. Maybe he should tell it true, get it all out, "Yeah Sammy, the vampire and I fucked. We loved it. I, Dean Winchester, your brother, loved it. Tell you the truth I couldn't get enough Sammy. Every single fucking thing about him made me hot; even the whole vampire thing, or maybe, if I'm honest, and I am being completely honest here Sammy, the vampire thing made it even hotter, because it should have been wrong, shouldn't it Sam. It should have been wrong, but wrong sure ain't how it felt. Every day down there was like a meat grinder man, turning out filth that died and just came back again to have another go at me, and then another and I was alone in that, completely and totally alone. Castiel fucked off the minute we arrived, did I tell you that? Oh yeah, my so-called angel, my friend who I trusted even more than you Sammy, vanished without a trace. And you know who came, finally, who helped me find Cas, who saved Cas' life and mine over and over and over? Benny. It was Benny, Sam. It was Benny.
What he would never say, couldn't say, to Sam, even at his most transparently honest, was how having Benny in him, on him, under him had made him feel more alive, more content than he could ever remember being, topside. Back then he'd thought it was all part of the whole 'Purgatory is pure' thing; the simplicity of an existence which included fucking with his friend, Benny Lafitte, vampire.
He closes his eyes. Jesus! Was that true? Had he really felt those things, 'alive', 'content'? Eyes shut even tighter he lets himself sink.

They're facing each other across a small fire. Fires are rare, too dangerous really, but Benny lit this one because Dean'd been cold and shocky, shoulder dislocated putting down a pack of three vamps. Benny had yanked the shoulder back in then cooked some dead thing over the fire and fed him, laughing when Dean'd said "Don't need feeding you undead prick, still got two hands".
"S'okay brother, no trouble to me, I like putting things in that sweet mouth o'yours." And he'd smiled and drawn a thumb over Dean's lower lip, tugged gently down, exposing. "You know it, don't you," eyes flicking up to meet his own. "Uh huh, yeah, I see you know it ..." Then he'd leaned in and licked all along the soft red membrane, from one side of his mouth to the other.

Dean's hands move involuntarily to his groin where his junk is on fire, cock steel-stiff and paining. He grabs down for the seat lever and pushes back making space between himself and the wheel. He'd known, always known that it wasn't just his flesh tempted Benny, but what lay beneath, what Benny could hear every minute of every day and night spent around Dean, the movement of his blood, his human heart, alive and pumping. Food, Dean was food wrapped up as a friend. And that was all part of the hotness too, knowing something as up close n' personal as Benny might see him as prey, as something less than himself, less than a person. Fuuuck, that was seriously messed up, even by his low standards. He squeezes his balls, gasping at the pain/pleasure that ricochets round his insides, head thrown back against the seat. Was that it then, was he drawn to Benny because he was a being, a thing, that desired him, Dean Winchester, so entirely... would consume him, body and soul if he let it? And there were times when he'd wanted that, would have said "Take it all, take the whole fucking lot, every red drop and every twisted thought and friggin' hag-ridden feeling along with it. And he could have said it, knowing that whatever he said, whatever he offered, Benny would take nothing, ever, that would diminish Dean, or himself.

"Aah, shit! Benny! Jesus Benny ...". His right hand presses along the seam of his fly, crushing down on his cock, denying it release. The pain feels good, kinda balances the pain in his chest, the one behind his eyes, and the empty, hollow feeling that starts at his asshole and winds up through him, ending behind his teeth.

He'd been warm beside the fire, almost relaxed, not speaking, when Benny'd said, "Fuck me".
He'd been startled, tried hard not to let it show. Took a breath and said, much smoother than he felt, "Sure, man. Let's give it a go." And Benny had crossed the fire, stepping over it like it wasn't there and sat in front of him eyes smiling into his.
"Anything," he'd said "I don't break easy cher, so you do what you need to with me, anything you want." He'd grinned then, teeth white and shapely, the blue of his eyes shadowed in the firelight. "Seems only fair after all."
That 'all', Dean knew, being the uncounted, epic poundings Benny had given him any time the monsters stayed away long enough for Dean to spread himself wide open and brace. Time and again Benny had turned him and churned him 'til he was soft as butter inside, until closing his legs took real effort and he began to fear that nothing of him would or could return to its proper shape and size, and - scariest of all - that something in him liked himself this way just fine. But in Purgatory nothing stays the same and so next time and the next time Benny'd had to break him all over again and he'd stopped fearing.

Everything in Dean is clenched now, rigid, the sensation of Benny's cock-head against his hole amazingly vivid. Pressure is building so that he scrabbles at his jeans pushing them down past his knees, spreading wide and wider the leather of the seat warm and smooth against his flesh. He can almost feel Benny's breath on him, causing his balls to draw up tight to his body. Those sounds must be himself tho', 'cos there's no one else here. His cock is so hard it barely seems part of him, only the radiating heat reminds him it's not carved from stone. And it's not enough, not nearly fucking enough. Moaning, he slow-drags his fingernails up from balls to slit leaving soft red lines in his skin, one fingertip gathering the wetness he finds there. Shifting sideways he twists back and shoves the finger hard up inside him. He gasps as the sharp intrusion jolts him so he thinks he might come right then and there. He slows, let's go his cock and breathes.

"Anything?" he'd said and Benny had smiled wider and nodded once. He'd reached out a hand then and touched the vampires face, feeling the cool skin above the short beard, eyelashes brushing his fingers. He'd closed his eyes and continued to feel, the hand moving like a blind man's, learning, memorising.

He takes a deep breath, draws his finger out, letting the pressure ease a fraction. His insides are still yearning, his cock still trying to reach its way to Mars, but he let's a little of it go because he wants to and because he can.

He'd taken Benny at his word then and done what he wanted, what he needed, just that one time. When it came to it he hadn't hesitated, hadn't thought what it might do to them, what difference it might make between them. When he needed it Benny'd seen him right, delivered that sense of being overwhelmed, of his body being not quite his own while everything they did toed that line of brutal, unspoken agreement. So, as he'd felt the vampire's face he'd known, not sure how, but certain, that what Benny needed and what he needed with Benny, just this once, was something entirely other.

He sits quietly now, eyes open, one hand motionless on his cock, the other feeling the wetness on his face. He hears his own mantra echo in his head, 'No body fluids in the car' and he chokes, half laughing, half sobbing. Christ! Why the fuck is he whining? He's made love to hundreds of women and even a few men - though with the men, if he's being totally honest, which he is, it was them making love to him. So why's he all riled up about a fucking deader? But even as he thinks this fresh tears run down his face, along his jaw and pool in the hollow at the base of his throat.

He hadn't expected it, that much was pretty clear. Surprise, concern, even awkwardness were written all over the vampire's face.
"You promised," he'd soothed. " 'Anything' Benny, you said 'anything you want'. So let me, this is what I want, this is what I want man."
And Benny had let him, laid still and passive when Dean ran his hands, his tongue, his lips over everything he could reach. They never got naked, nothing with more than a single brain cell would get naked here and Dean'd caught himself wondering what it might be like, them, in a great big bed with sheets and pillows.
He'd never tasted anything like Benny. Dust and dead things, the cool of the cemetery, these his tongue takes in right away. Under that is the smell of blood. Not the fresh blood of the monsters they slay together, but something older - maybe the blood that makes him what he is? And under all that is something he's truly never tasted or smelled before. He runs his tongue over nipples big as some on chicks he's had. This thought hardens his cock almost past bearing, as if it needed to get any harder. He noses through the hair around Benny's cock, lapping at his balls before mouthing the shaft, circling the head with his tongue soft and softer, then hard and sharp, before latching on and suckling like a starved infant. Benny moans, starts to move, but keeps his hands flat on the ground because he knows this is Dean's show, this is what Dean wants. And it strikes Dean like a kick to the ribs that what he tastes and smells on Benny, under the filth and stink of Purgatory, even under the scent of his vampire nature, is loyalty.
Lying between Benny's thighs he raises his ass like a chalice and parting the flesh brings the hidden place to his own mouth. With my body he thinks, outta nowhere, with my body, and pushes his tongue inside to where it's tight and cool, so cool on his burning tongue. He's trying hard not to rut the ground but it's not easy. His grip on Benny's hips, the feel of his own face buried so deep, so thoroughly, has him spasming in near mindless lust. He stops, rests his face on the inside of Benny's stretched thighs. "I'm going to fuck you now" he says, and oh so gently, works a grimy finger with his own spit and slowly, slowly pushes it against the ring of flesh quivering inches from his eyes.
"Aah, ah, what the fuck Dean ...!"
Looking up he sees Benny smacking the back of his head into the ground over and over and wants to giggle. "Wow, that's a good look on you man! How about this ...?" He lets spit down from his lips in a string and pushing the finger carefully in and out feels Benny open to him, just a little, before he adds a second. Benny's panting now, controlling his breath, trying to relax. Dean can feel it in the muscles of his legs, in the flesh vibrating under his hands.
"Try and push me out." and as Benny obliges Dean presses in 'til his fingers meet his palm. "You okay?" he says and Benny breathes out hard, once, twice, which is weird, Dean didn't think vampires needed air.
Benny says, "Well, I ain't never done this before brother but they say more is better ... aaah, man!' He half-chokes as Dean's fingers spread inside of him, then smiles a little unsteadily. 'Don't you go worryin' about me Dean. Like I said, I don't break that easy."
Dean had smiled back and spitting again added another two to the pair already wrapped in Benny, which had thrown the vampire's hips up, back arching as Dean took him as far down his throat as he could without heaving. What came out of Benny then included French nothings and a whole dictionary of cussin' that must have gone out of print sometime before 1950. Dean starts to smile and feels the other jump and gasp as his teeth catch briefly on overstretched skin. "Sorry, sorry," he says, freeing his mouth, "know what that feels like man." And he laughs and Benny laughs and then he's laying on top of Benny, stretched out on him, tongue in his mouth, lips scraping against beard - which should be the weirdest thing,'cept this is so far past weird 'beard' barely registers. He drops his elbows on the ground beside Benny's head and rests his hands on his hair, the soft, stubbled feel of it astonishing. "I could get lost in you," he says before realising he's spoken aloud and wants to bite his tongue as Benny shivers and goes very still under him.
"You ain't never done this before neither." It's not a question but there's a smile in Benny's voice, letting Dean know it's okay, he hasn't fucked up, hasn't ruined the moment.
"Not like this. I've never actually, you know, done a guy."
"Nor a vampire neither I 'spect.' And Benny presses against him, politely letting him feel the hardness of his cock, his need. "Thought you said somethin' 'bout fucking me sugar. Or did I mis-hear?"

The forest might have been full of watching eyes, but it was silent under the trees as he teased Benny open all over again. Fingers and tongue in tandem this time, stretching gently, little by little, any hurt the fingers made, quickly soothed away with the flat of his tongue. He probed, feeling for that secret spot, the thing that could spark white lightning in his own body. Truth be told he was just guessing and hoping right up 'til Benny hissed and writhed, low guttural growls pushed, almost unwillingly it seemed, from out between his lips. He pressed up, tips of his fingers curled in on that spot, "C'mon Benny, c'mon man, show me, give it up," and even as he speaks Benny starts to ride his fingers, grunting, hands clenched tight in the dirt. Dean pauses fleetingly, unsure for a brief moment of whether he is doing this to Benny, or Benny to him, so strong is his body's memory of this particular pleasure. Then he's on his knees, guiding Benny's legs around him and he's pushing, pushing gently, slowly, holding back with everything he has, holding back from diving straight home into that cool depth.
"Mère de Dieu," Benny's saying, over and over. "Mère de Dieu." Then he goes rigid as Dean pushes all the way in and starts gasping, (there's that vampire breathing thing again ... ). Dean pauses, concern and desperation warring in him. "You okay Benny? Tell me if it's not okay ..."
"Just fuck me!" Benny near crushing him between his thighs, voice half choking. "For fuck's sake! Anyway you want cher, but just do it ...!"
And Dean had laughed again, a weirdly joyful sound there in the armpit of the universe, and let himself go. In, and in and in until he wondered how it would feel with his balls inside of Benny too and what else might fit without breaking. Benny's keening and beating the ground with his fists and they're sweating so their thighs slide together on wetness. Dean never knew vampires could sweat.

Just before he came he'd felt Benny go very still again. Can't stop! Can't stop, not now; but for a split second he'd looked down, right down into Benny's face and seen the expression in his eyes. Fuck! Then, with no thought of why, he was pulling out and coming in long white-hot jets that fell on Benny from groin to mouth, fell like a blessing, a baptism and Dean was on him, rubbing and licking, pushing his seed into Benny's skin, under his rucked up shirt, over his face, carrying it on his tongue to his mouth. 'Mine, mine ...' he'd thought, but surely not said, and felt Benny follow him then, cock jerking and twitching without benefit of hand or mouth, neck arching backwards, eyes wide open.
"Leviathan!" Benny'd yelled loud enough to wake the dead, "At your three o'clock ... ". And just like that, it was over.

Dean grabs some tissues from the pack in the armrest wipes his face and cleans himself up. No body fluids in the car. Feeling tired to death, he fixes his shirt, buttons his jeans. He thinks of Benny, that look in his eye as he'd hung over him just before they both shattered, then the lostness in his voice at the end of the line when he'd said, "You mean now, or ...? He pushes the thought away 'cos if he doesn't he'll start to cry again and that would be just too friggin' much. He reaches down and grabs the lever, pulling the seat closer to the wheel. Before he turns the key he thinks of Sam and all that painful outrage waiting for him back in the motel. He knows Sam will be there, 'cos despite the pain, the real-to-goodness, god-damn fucking pain, Sam wouldn't miss out on this chance to bitch at him for the world.
"Benny's gone." He says it out loud, wanting to hear the words. Then he breathes out through his lips, long and slow. Benny's gone, but he still has to deal with his brother.

***

He can tell the motel room is empty before he walks in. His stomach lurches for a brief moment but then he sees Sam's stuff and relaxes. The laptop is on the bed furthest from the door and Sam's clean laundry is neatly piled on a chair. Dean walks into the bathroom and unzips to take a piss. His shorts are stuck to the skin of his lower belly and his pubes are stiff with dried come. He closes his eyes feeling drained. What the fuck is wrong with him? He flushes and moves to the sink, turning on the taps and starting to splash water over his hands then over his crotch, sluicing away the evidence of his fucked up moments in the Impala. His cock is limp and there are sore areas round the base and the head. He closes his eyes again, left hand resting on the side of the sink, right continuing to splash water over himself, as if this simple action relieves something.
Hearing a sudden hiss his eyes spring open directly into the mirror where he sees himself holding his junk over the porcelain and Sam standing in the doorway behind him. Without thinking he turns, shocked into reaction. He starts to say, "I didn't hear you ... ", but he's drowned out by the sound of Sam roaring. The noise level is a surprise but the sneering disgust on his brother's face is almost completely disorientating.
"Look at you! A grown man fucking playing with himself in the bathroom in the middle of the afternoon. Christ Dean! Just get dressed."
"What the fuck? Can't a guy ..."
Before he can finish Sam has slapped him, open-handed, so that he stumbles sideways falling against the side of the bath and barely catching himself.
"I said cover yourself up! You're making my stomach turn right now, I can't bear to look at you." There's a momentary pause, like Sam's waiting for something. When it doesn't come he leaves the room slamming the door behind him.
Head ringing and with a metallic taste in his mouth Dean slumps onto the toilet seat. What the fuck? After the earlier scene in the diner he was expecting Sam to be difficult, to push and demand answers. He'd thought he was ready for that; but this? He can't remember when Sam hit him last. What he does know is that Sam didn't use all his strength just now, because he can remember how that felt. As he zips up he notices his hands shaking and feels a mixture of anger and confusion. Where the fuck does Sam get off on hitting him for having a wash! Part of him wants to storm into the main room and kick Sam's ass so hard he won't shit for a week. What friggin' right has Sam Winchester, demon fucker, blood drinker, spawn of hell to comment on anything anyone, least of all his brother, chooses to do or not do? But another part wants suddenly to shrink into a corner and weep. Dean doesn't recognise this sad, helpless self and for a moment he feels frightened and alone because he knows the sense of loss has almost nothing to do with Sam and everything to do with the cause of Sam's rage.
He washes his face, makes sure his shirt is tucked in right, then walks into the other room.

Coming back from the store Sam sees the Impala and swallows hard. He can't believe how angry just thinking about Dean makes him these days. Back from Purgatory, from a year in which time Sam was sure Dean was gone for ever. And he'd nearly made peace with that, nearly. Then Dean was in his life again, all self assured and "I know what I'm here for now, I know for sure what we're meant to be doing, killing fucking evil sons of bitches", and all the usual Dean-speak that Sam kind of enjoyed when he was a teenager, then found slightly annoying after Stanford, but nowadays makes him see red and want to slap his brother's stupid, trashy mouth shut so he doesn't have to watch him embarrass himself. The water's running loud in the bathroom but the door is wide open. Sam moves until he can see Dean standing, eyes shut, tackle in hand. In the few seconds before he explodes, Sam registers Dean's exhaustion, his odd fragility and seeing these fuels the sounds that come out of his mouth. Dean turns and just stands there, exposed and vulnerable and he finds he can't stop looking at his brother's cock, white and flaccid against the dark, springing curls. He forces his eyes back up to Dean's face. He wants to say, "I don't recognise you, I'm afraid you're disappearing in front of me and I don't know how to stop it." Instead he says the same kind of cruel, bullying things he'd hated from his father's mouth. The look of pain and surprise on Dean's face just seems to stoke whatever's driving him right now and witnessing his brother's soiled, empty beauty up close like this is just ... Before he can register what he's doing he's stalked forward and slapped Dean's face making him lurch sideways. He says, "Cover yourself up, I can't bear to look at you right now." Even as he speaks he wonders where these words come from and if he really means them. Dean looks like he might fall and with a shock of disappointment Sam makes himself turn on his heel and walk out into the main room.
He wants to grab the keys, get into the Impala and drive ... let Dean wait around without wheels for a change. Instead he makes himself sit at the table his hands flat on the surface and breathe. Relaxing, he's suddenly and horribly aware of tension in his groin and glancing down sees the outline of his cock swelling against his jeans.
At that moment Dean walks out of the bathroom and sits in the chair across the table. His face is completely neutral and completely red where Sam's handprint marks it. His lower lip is swelling. Dean says,
"We need to talk, like grown-ups. Talk to me Sam."
He can't remember Dean saying that he wants to talk about anything, not til all the new trial stuff anyway. It's always been the other way around and he feels momentarily thrown, wrong footed, like Dean ought to be angry with him and why the hell isn't he? He moves one hand from the table down between his legs and squeezes, willing his hard on away. Anger comes to his rescue again; Dean wants him to talk? Okay he'll talk.
"I think it really fucked me up when I was a kid, watching you with women." Dean's eyes narrow, his lips pressed into a thin line Sam doesn't recognise. "Sometimes I think I was even jealous of how easy you made it seem to get what you wanted with your lies and tricks. I used to think how stupid they were, all those faceless girls, 'til I realised it was all a game." He laughs and it sounds strange even to his own ears. He wonders why the fuck he's talking about this now, but can't seem to stop himself. "They didn't believe you, did they, any more than you believed in yourself when you told those lies about who you are and what you do, just to get between their legs. I spent my teens walking into rooms just like this one Dean, that smelled of cunt and your come. I used to go to sleep at night smelling you and wake up to it, like my whole world was measured by what you did with your cock.' He pauses, confused, where the fuck is all this stuff coming from? But something relentless pushes the words out and out his mouth, "I'd lie in bed listening to you going at it with someone whose name you didn't know just feet away from me, like I wasn't there, like I didn't exist." Dean's eyes flicker and his lips part as if he's going to speak but he carries right on. "I never got on your case about it. Thought it was your due, 'cos you were left to look after me and you did, you did that at least."
Dean has a pinched look about him that twists Sam's gut and simultaneously makes his cock surge with blood. Shit, shit!
Dean says, "What do you want from me? You want me to apologise for what happened when I was a kid myself?" Dean's voice is remote and strangely calm which makes Sam want to shout and be unreasonable. Instead he answers just as calmly.
"You're a piece of work Dean, but I never thought you were a hypocrite, not until now. What's your excuse for the vampire?"
"I ain't got an excuse and I don't need one." Dean links his hands together on the table in front of him and fixes his eyes on them. "I've already told you what he did for me and for Cas in Purgatory, I'm not gonna repeat myself here. He's a friend Sam, maybe the only real friend I ever had, certainly the most dependable and I don't say that to piss you off, but because it's true." He looks up and Sam is scared all over again by the sadness that seems to permeate Dean and the look, like he's a thousand miles away though he's within touching distance. "I've told him that's it, end of the line, he's on his own, no more calls, no more helping him out from blood banks. He knows if he fucks up, if he hurts a human and I find out, that I'm gonna be on him like he was just any other vampire, no excuses."
"He's already killed at least one human that I know of Dean ... "
"We're not going there again. Martin was your fault, you need to take responsibility for what happened to him." Dean's voice is firm and clear, "Benny did only what you would have done for me, killed a man who was threatening his family."
Sam hesitates, "You say you told him end of the line, but I didn't need a psych course to tell me you aren't OK with that. Last night wasn't the first time I listened to you having a wet dream over a frigging gay vampire." He's watching Dean's face, looking for tell-tale signs of guilt or embarrassment, but there's nothing. He pushes harder. "Something went on between you, something you don't want to let go of. You look like shit and if things were normal you'd never let me get away with hitting you, not without you trying to kick me into next week, so what's going on here?"
"What you want me to say? Maybe you should be careful what you ask for, particularly if you ain't sure you really wanna hear the answer." Dean looks him straight in the eye, "Like I said this morning, you need to think about what right you got to question me. You spent four years away at college and you don't know who I was or what I did in that time. You've never asked me, just like I never asked you. I don't know who all you fucked this last year, and it ain't none of my business." He takes a deep breath. "You're my brother and hard as you make it sometimes I care about you, always have, always will."
He feels his mouth open in surprise, of course he knows Dean cares about him, he went to Hell and back for him for fuck's sake. It's just he's never heard him lay it out like that before. Dean's pale face is tense and earnest, not a look he associates with his brother, whose eyes are now very wide and very green and to his own astonishment Sam finds he wants to reach out and lay his fingers against the swollen lip, the reddened handprint. He's about to open his mouth to speak when Dean says, "Are you mad with me because I cared for someone beside you Sammy? If that's it then you need to be honest with yourself 'bout that and stop hauling on my ass 'cos you're jealous you didn't have all my attention for once in your life."
All his attention? What the fuck has he just been saying about Dean and women? Had he been speaking in tongues or something? He's never had all Dean's attention, ever. He feels something cold, something beyond angry, growing in him.

The talk Dean said he wanted has left him feeling sad and remote, but at least he's kept his temper. He doesn't need to be a fucking therapist to see Sam is angry and kind of jealous. But, Jesus, did he really lead the kid such a miserable teenage life? Should he apologise? What use is an apology that he doesn't mean? He hates that Sam was hurt by any of it but he wouldn't have done anything differently. He knows perfectly well he's always used sex as an escape, as a way of feeling and expressing the things he has no words for. It'd started like that even with Benny. Christ! He daren't think about Benny now, Sam's like a circling shark smelling blood and if he's pushed hard enough he might just blurt it all out, get it over and done with. But there'd be no going back from that and he's not ready to deal with what he feels for the vampire and he sure as hell isn't ready to deal with any more of Sam's shit. He's still wrapped in his own thoughts when Sam launches himself across the table and grabs him round the throat. He falls backwards off the chair, Sam's full weight landing on top of him. Before he can react he's lifted by the neck of his shirt, head banged down on the floor. He kicks out hard and gets a knee between Sam's legs meaning to throw him off. Despite seeing stars he's immediately aware of the raging hard on pressing against his shin. Friggin' hell!
"Sam! Sammy ... What the fuck you doing?"
A vast hand presses over his mouth, stopping him speaking, cutting off most of his oxygen. He brings both his own hands up under Sam's jaw forcing his head back. Now he can feel Sam's erection pressing hard against his thigh and with a kind of creeping horror the full extent of what's happening here slowly dawns on him. Sam isn't just angry about Benny, or even about the girls that flitted through his earlier life; despite the situation he's suddenly and very clearly aware that Sam is truly jealous in a way he can barely begin to comprehend. Sam suddenly takes his hand off Dean's mouth and pushing Dean's hands aside, kisses him hard and vicious. Dean tastes blood, his own or Sam's, as their teeth crack together. He starts to really fight now, but Sam is longer and heavier and angrier and seems to hold Dean in place almost effortlessly. He can feel teeth and lips at his neck, licking and biting and some sense of self-preservation, maybe some memory of Benny doing the same thing, makes him go suddenly still and limp. He feels Sam pause, but only for a moment before he's tearing at the T-shirt under Dean's plaid, ripping it away to expose his chest and belly, still grinding himself down on Dean's crotch. No, he thinks, please no ... but his traitor cock doesn't care who's doing the grinding and he feels himself harden under Sam's relentless motion. Sam slides a hand between their bodies palming Dean through his jeans and hisses in what sounds like triumph. How can Sam be enjoying this? Some part of Dean is completely stunned but another part is wide awake and remembering moments, glances, touches, arguments and scenes, going back years and he wonders how he didn't see it before. "Sam." He whispers. "Please Sammy, stop, you really don't want to do this, not like this ...".
Lips close to his ear Sam whispers back, "You don't know the first fucking thing about me Deano, you have no idea what I want to do." And he bends his head and sinks his teeth into one of Dean's nipples making him cry out and try to twist away. Sam laughs and says, "That's more like it... you give it up for everybody else, now it's my turn."
And it occurs to Dean that Sam might really hate him, that all the things he was bitching about earlier are just the surface of a vast pool of envy and resentment. Panic flares through him, Sam really means this, he's not gonna stop. He can fight back for real, let it get messy and bloody, maybe damage Sam in some permanent way. Or he can just take it. His body is saying fight, fight! His head says, take the path of least future pain. His heart says, he's your brother, he won't really hurt you, he just needs something from you, can't you give it him? He has a sudden memory of his brother as a baby, maybe eight or nine months old. He remembers the overwhelming love he felt as Sam's tiny heart beat under his hands. He closes his eyes and as if picking up on the change, Sam stills. Dean looks up and puts both his hands either side of Sam's face. "It's okay," he says, trying a small smile, "it's okay. Let me make it good for you Sammy. I want to, will you let me?" He lifts his head and kisses Sam softly on the mouth. Sam hesitates and Dean whispers, "We can get on the bed, get these clothes off ...".
"Christ!" Sam says, "You really are a whore."
Dean flinches, turning his face away and dropping his hands.
"Oh, that stung did it? Thought maybe you're so fucking jaded nothing I say could possibly touch you.
"What the fuck's going on here man?" Sam's words had hurt like a kick in the chest but he makes himself look up at his brother, "Is this you? Are you possessed or somethin' ?
Sam smiles and gets up pulling Dean up after him. "Wow, that kind of says everything about us doesn't it, that you'd sooner believe I'm possessed than that I might actually want something from you. You want it too, I know you do, your dick was dripping like Pavlov's dog just a moment ago and you were offering to get naked." He looks disgusted again and oddly disappointed. "If you don't want it then why aren't you fighting me for real?"
"'Cos I'm too old and tired to fight you over shit like this and what you're wantin' ain't what you would ever want if you were right in the head Sammy. Jesus, can't you see that?"
"Of course I can and you know what, I don't give a fuck Dean." Sam's bone white under his tan,, his eyes huge with something Dean wants to look away from. He says, "Get your clothes off."
"What?"
"You heard me, get your clothes off and get on the bed."
"Or what? You gonna rape me Sammy?"
He can see the word jolt Sam, but only for the briefest moment. "Rape you?" Sam laughs, a bright cheerful laugh. "Hell no Dean, you're going to fuck me."
"You're entirely friggin' mad if you think I'm gonna do any such thing ..."
"Yeah you will and you know why?" Sam steps into Dean's space crowding him until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. Dean can smell his brother's skin, the sweat fresh from their struggle on the floor. "Because I want you to."
Overwhelmed by sudden exhaustion he says, "Why Sam? I don't get it, why would you want that ?" He's never fooled himself into thinking he knows his brother entirely, Sam is way too volatile and fucking freakish for that, but he sure as hell thought he knew him a bit better than this.
"Look, I know you're not the sharpest knife in the box when it comes to empathy but keep up here! You're going to fuck me because I want to know what they felt, all those nameless women. I want to experience the Dean Winchester Effect close up."
"Why Sammy? You think those girls got something of me you didn't?"
"I know they did". Sam's jaw sets and he snarls, "Everyone's had a piece of you Dean, even fucking vampires, everyone except me."
Dean slumps down onto the bed. "You notice none of them come back for seconds?" No-one 'cept Benny that is. "You haven't missed a thing, I guarantee it." He can't believe he's having this conversation with his brother. Jesus friggin' Christ!

Sam drops to his knees. "You aren't going to talk your way out of this." He pushes Dean onto his back and without hesitation applies lips to crotch, mouthing through the denim. Dean's soft now, he can feel that and a moment of panic flares though him. He runs his hands up over the flat smooth planes of his brother's belly and chest then yanks open his pants and underwear, freeing his cock in a single motion. Dean gasps as he vanishes into Sam's mouth.
"Fuck! Sam ... don't, you gotta stop, please I really, really don't want this man ..."
"Liar!" Sam thinks, "liar!" His mouth is full of Dean. He can taste him, the sweet, intimate flavour of him, the sharp acrid flush of pre-come across his tongue. He feels dizzy, elated. Dean's cock is swelling in his mouth which is so absolutely fucking wrong and so perfect that he wants to shout and laugh. So full! His mouth and throat are so full and it's not nearly enough. Water runs down his face from the pressure to breathe and his own cock is near ripping through his clothing. Without lifting his head from Dean he undoes his jeans, shucking them off his ankles.
Saliva is pooling around Dean's balls and Sam runs his fingers through it, gathering it up and with Dean still firmly in his mouth he reaches back and jams two fingers into himself. The burn is a shock and he hears himself whine. Dean's cock jumps and he slides his lips up until only the delicious, swollen head is held in his mouth and he swirls his tongue round and round before releasing it with a slurping sound that hits his cock and makes it throb.
Dean moans then starts to move, like he's trying to get up, like he has somewhere else to be. Sam pulls the invading fingers out of himself then leaps onto the bed to straddle Dean's hips. He spits over the fingers of his right hand while his left wraps itself round Dean's throat. "Stay still, I don't want this to ..." Sam pushes the spit around his crack then takes hold of Dean's slick cock and holding it in what feels like a death grip, puts it to his hole and slams down with all the weight of his upper body. The pain is instant and extraordinary, a burning and tearing that shakes him to the core as rings of resistant virgin muscle shriek in protest.
"Ah, Christ!", he gasps, "It hurts! Hurts ... fuck!"

Dean knows this is his chance to end it. Most of him wants to fling Sam off and get as far away from him as he can, several states away would be good. But looking up he sees tears running down Sam's face and the pain twisting his mouth and Sam's right, he really is like Pavlov's dog trained to respond, not to sex, but to his brother's needs, even his outrageous wants.
"It's okay Sammy, it's okay I'll take care of you, make the hurting stop." He can feel the sore patches from earlier burning fiercely along his cock but he ignores them. Still buried in his brother up to his balls he flips him, unresisting, onto his back and starts very, very gently, to move.
Sam screams, "Too much, it's too much! Please Dean, please stop ..."
He hesitates. He's hard and ready but stopping would be easy. Something tells him to go on, that this is what Sam wants from him, needs from him. He moves again, more firmly this time knowing that with each thrust the muscles will relax a bit more and a bit more. Sam's eyes open wide as if astonished that his pleas are being ignored.
Despite a premonition of bone-deep regret he says, "I ain't stopping Sammy. You wanted this, you wanted full of me and you're gonna get it." To emphasise his point he braces his shoulders and grasps Sam's biceps, pinning him down like a big, beautiful moth. Seeing the wild, scared look in his brother's eyes he pulls out and shoves back in hard making Sam shudder and gasp, open-mouthed.
Dean closes his eyes, he's nowhere near coming. He could keep on going for hours, for days, because although his cock is willing, there's no real desire anywhere else in him. He can't believe he's doing this but at the same time he recognises a sense of inevitability; his big, handsome brother has been waiting for this all his life and Dean's been some kind of blind idiot not to see it.
"I'm sorry Dean, I'm so sorry, so sorry ..."
Sam is weeping now, salt water running over his sex-flushed skin. He takes Dean's right hand off his arm and brings it to his cheek for a moment before lifting it and bringing it down sharply to his face in an attempted blow. "Please," he says, "please Dean, hit me, hit me back."
"Jesus, Sammy," he whispers, "I don't wanna hurt you ... don't make me ..."
"You're already hurting me Dean and I love it, love it so much. Please, I... I'll beg if you want me to ... "
Dean closes his eyes. All his life seems to recede into this moment of complete fuckedupness. His mother, his father, Bobby, Jo and Ellen, everyone who ever cared about him fades into a kind of grey mist, like his past is being swallowed by this present. A vision of Benny under him comes out of left field with a sharp pain that makes him want to cringe. He sees the expression in the vampire's blue eyes right before they both came and knows with sudden, dreadful clarity what Benny was showing him. He wants very much to be alone with this new thought, but instead he opens his eyes and looks down at this brother, keening and writhing on his cock and thinks, there are vampires and there are vampires and with no hesitation he backhands Sam hard across the face, then slaps him again and again, open-palmed. Sam yowls and throws his hips upwards to meet Dean's thrusts as the fucking starts for real, brutal and brusing. The room echoes with the sound of flesh on flesh and Dean thinks distantly of the furtive fuckings Sam complained of, innocent moments snatched in rooms just like this one. A trickle of blood leaks from the side of Sam's mouth and he dips down to take it on his tongue, spreading it across Sam's lips and into his mouth in a bitter-tasting kiss. He's pounding in an' in so hard now it's gotta be hurting bad, but he keeps right on, accompanied by Sam's harsh, panting growls. Sounds like he's giving birth Dean thinks as his brother's long, long legs clamp his waist, gripping him like a vice. He wraps one hand round Sam's throat then takes a stiff nipple in his mouth, biting down hard so that his teeth almost meet through skin. Sam screams and with no touch his cock jerks and he shoots high into the space between them, splashing both of their bellies and reaching the side of Dean's face. He can feel Sam's throat working under his grip as Sam clutches at him, screams turned to moans, shudder after shudder running through him until he's shivering uncontrollably.
Dean slows and stops. The twisting grasp of Sam's muscles around him is amazing and appalling. He could come easily, or not at all. Seems a simple choice but it isn't. Might be the most important choice he ever makes. If he pulls out now he won't have given everything away, some part of him'll still be his own. If he comes in or on his brother it will be like a brand, marking both of them.
As if sensing his thoughts Sam, still shaking, looks up and touches Dean's face, fingers sliding through his own spunk. His eyes are blown, dark and wide-open, his mouth trembles. "You haven't come?" Dean shakes his head, the question tumbling, still unanswered, in his brain.
"Don't you want to?" Seeing Dean's face, Sam's crumples and he closes his eyes. "I thought a lot," he whispers, "about watching you fall apart, coming 'cos of me, just for me and how that would feel with you inside me, filling me up." He pauses, opening his eyes, a small, hesitant smile on his lips, "But it's okay Dean, I get it, I do."
Dean takes a deep breath and pulls out of his brother's body.

Sam groans like some major organ has just been ripped from him. The sense of loss, of emptiness is sudden and shocking and he feels cold and small. Dean is walking away toward the bathroom and seeing his naked back and ass disappear from view Sam has to stop himself from jumping up and running after him. He hurts. He's bruised and sore and it's like his guts have been dragged out through his ass but that's not why he feels so totally fucked up. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes to stop the hot burning there. Dean gave him what he asked for and more, but as he listens to water running he understands something about his brother, something he's never seen in all the years he's known him. That however much Dean gives and gives, whatever it was Sam thought he gave to all those women for all those years, there was always something Dean held onto that belonged to nobody but himself. He remembers Dean saying that no-one came around for seconds. Maybe this was why? Maybe having something as intensely beautiful as Dean so close and so elusive was just too much to bear? He knows very well he has no right to any of what Dean just gave him. He knows he's unutterably selfish, childish, yes and cruel and right now he wants nothing more than to grovel and beg the forgiveness he also has no right to. He won't, because Dean deserves better, and he won't cry again though he badly wants to ... for himself, because the Dean Winchester Effect is more painful than he could have imagined, and for his brother who has to live with that.

Dean comes back into the room with a wet cloth and towel. He sits on the bed and smiles at Sam before gently wiping away the come still streaking him.
"It's okay Sammy, it's okay. I'm not mad at you or myself and that has to be a first, heh?"
He lays down beside his bigger, younger brother and puts his arms around him. "Everything's good. We're good." He feels Sam sigh against his neck, feels the minute flutter of damp eyelashes against the skin of his shoulder. He thinks Sam's sinking into sleep when he says, so quiet Dean barely hears, "You love him, don't you Dean."
It's not a question and doesn't need an answer. "Ssh, Sammy. Rest now, I'm here".
He pulls the blanket up around Sam then lies for a long time, staring at the ceiling, thinking that Purgatory is not just a place.

***

From the side of the parking lot Benny watches Dean get out of the black car that always reminds him of the days when things were easy and his unlife had seemed good. Dean don't look easy nor good as he walks away from the Impala. Benny notices the slump of his shoulders, the tight set of his jaw and how he's lost weight in the six days since he last saw him this close up. There's no knowing why Dean looks the way he does but whatever the reason it makes something twist hard under his ribs and the nerves in his hands and fingers sing with the urge to move, to hold. He continues standing in the shadow of the dumpsters and watches 'til Dean closes the door of the motel room behind him.

Every day for weeks now he's told himself it's finished, he's done stalking the Winchesters, ain't going to follow Dean like a lovesick in-breed, ain't going to worry about him getting killed or hurt bad. Once or twice he's managed two or even three days without moving from wherever it is he finds himself, but most days the pull towards Dean near overwhelms him. He sold the van 'cos it was way too recognisable and got himself a cheap, small, windowless thing, brown and dusty and pretty much invisible. He can just about stretch out in the back of it but he has no real need to sleep, so what the hell. There's no need to literally stalk the brothers either; he knows, unerringly, where Dean is at any given moment. He's not sure how he knows, just feels a sense of direction, like the man's a great fucking magnet and himself a scattering of iron filings.
Being this close is a whole lots easier than far away tho'. He tried that straight off, tried getting as far from Dean Winchester as he could. He'd almost reached Alaska when he grasped that 'distant' meant 'worse'. Distant means he gets to feeling more and more strung out, unable to think straight and real low in his mind. The only good thing about any of what's happening is he almost never thinks about feeding now, seems like one hunger has replaced another. Part of him wonders if he's starving and too far gone to realise how deep in shit he is. Most of him's relieved there's no need to think about blood.

He can't exactly pick up Dean thoughts but this close he gets his emotions real clear and what going on now hurts like a bitch. Benny rests his head against the fence beside the dumpster and closes his eyes, letting Dean's sadness flow through him. After weeks following him he's sure Dean has no sense of his proximity, but he's wondered once or twice if letting himself take on what Dean feels maybe helps for a moment or two. He likes to think it might, but guesses it probably don't. After all, Dean ain't feeling what he's feeling, so most likely everything's just going round and round in his own fuckin' head, like a specially crazy person. He's just beginning to understand why some real old vamps go in for voluntary decapitation. Hearing a sound he opens his eyes and sees the tall guy, grocery bag in hand, glance at the Impala, stalk towards the room and vanish inside.

It's all quiet for a moment then he hears an angry kind of roar followed a few moments later by the sound of a loud slap. He feels himself falling sideways and grasps at the dumpster. His face burns and his gut is suddenly in knots. "I can't do this" he thinks for what has to be the hundredth time, "I can't fuckin' do this". The urge to kick the door down, knock the brother into next week and take Dean in his arms is so overwhelming he feels his muscles spasm with the need to move. Instead, he stands, both hands grasping the soiled metal of the dumpster, upright and stationary only by a mighty act of will. To be so close and so powerless is almost beyond bearing, but the alternative is a fuck of a lot worse.

He moves, walking quickly round the building 'til he's leaning against the back wall of the Winchesters' room. It's the middle of the afternoon and real quiet so he rests his head against the brick. Creeping behind lowdown motels is some crappy shit, but he's stopped judging himself on stuff like that. Ever since he realised what was happening to him, that day Dean called and they'd said "end of the line" he's known there's no point fighting any of it. He lives with it, or he dies, for real, again. The thought of purgatory, alone, fills him with a kind of empty dread. At least here there's a chance he might be needed one day, might make a difference to whether Dean lives or dies if things go bad for the brothers on a hunt. And there's another thought that's been growing in the back of his mind, something he's not brought out or examined yet; a possibility of freedom.

A wave of anger, confusion and sadness washes over him so that he nearly falls to his knees. "Jesus!" he whispers, "Dean, brother ... " The back of his eyes burns, a sensation he's gotten familiar with recently. He takes a deep breath and concentrates on staying upright. He's just about managing when his throat contracts like he's being choked and he falls hard onto his back in the dirt. He lies for what might be seconds or minutes then there's a rustling sound right beside him. His blurring eyes open on a hand reaching down to him. Sunlight blinds him as he looks up so he doesn't see whose hand it is. Then something grasps him and he recognises the more than human grip as he's lifted to his feet.
"Castiel?"
"Yes Benjamin, it is I. Are you acquainted with other angelic beings?"
Benny starts to laugh 'cos unless he mis-heard the angel is being fuckin' ironic. Realising he sounds near hysterical he stops and holds out his hand again. "Man, it's good to see you! How are you here? How did you get out?"
Castiel smiles and takes the proffered hand, "To my surprise I find I am happy to see you also vampire."
Benny feels a kind of flowing warmth from the angel, accompanied by a sudden lifting of his spirits.
"I cannot answer your questions however.' Castiel says, 'I do not know how I got out, how I am here, or why I am on this plane once again."
Benny shakes his head, "You don't know? That's real strange, but good ... right? It's good that you're here?" He releases the angel's hand and feels a dizzying onrush of pain that makes him almost cry out, "Dean, fuck ... ah no, no!"
Castiel looks at him curiously, "You can feel that?"
"Yes!" Benny gasps, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph ..."
"Indeed" Castiel says, "but they are unlikely to offer present succour, given that you are a vampire and I have lost my Grace."
"He's hurtin' so much, I can't ... "
Castiel says, "I know. If you wish I can take you ..."
Despite the angel's hand on his arm and the warming calm flowing over him once again he almost shouts, "No! Don't ... don't." Then there's that rustling followed by a sense of being wrapped in something vast, airy yet almost fluid. Daylight seems hazy and abruptly he realises the pain of just seconds before is already dulled and vanishing fast. "What the ...?" Reaching out his hands he touches softness, fingers sinking up to his wrists in a deep mobile substance that can only be ... "Your wings?" he whispers in a kind of astonished awe. "Am I feelin' your wings?"
Castiel says, "Yes, Benjamin, I have wrapped you in myself. Do you feel less pain yet?"
Startled by the sudden absence of what he has been feeling for weeks Benny struggles to speak. 'Y ... you can do that? Take pain away, jus' ... take it away?"
There's a smile in Castiel's voice. "Sometimes, but you are not human so that is not what I am doing here. My wings are merely shielding you from the worst of what you are experiencing from ... from what Dean is experiencing."
He hears the catch in the angel's voice. "You feel it too then, his hurtin'?"
"Yes."
"Wherever you are?"
"No. When I am on another plane of existence I do not feel what he feels. It is a very great relief."
"Is that why you disappeared in Purgatory?"
Castiel is quiet, then says. "No, that was not the reason."
Benny nods, accepting. "It gets worse the further I move away from him. How d'ya live with it?""
"Strictly speaking I am not alive, but immortal as you are. I am an angel, my task is to witness human emotion without experiencing it." Benny says, "But you do experience it though, don't you. I can tell you feel his ... feelings." Castiel shrugs and the wings undulate and quiver like a breath of air or a wall of water. They are both silent for a moment. Muffled words reach them from the room beyond the wall, angry sounding words then a sense of violence, of threat. Despite the protecting wings Benny says, "Ah, no ... not that ... Stop it, you can stop it can't you? Don't let this happen ... Castiel, please ." Then he feels the angel behind him, arms wrapping tight around him until he's pinned to the slight body, feels its thrumming power as Castiel says quietly in his ear, "Rest vampire, what happens between those two is not for us to change. Only they can do that."
Benny lets his head drops back onto Castiel's shoulder and he's held up, suspended in a place where hurt is far, far away. Something breaks in his chest and he starts quietly to weep.
Castiel says, "I have seen your pain and know it is your love that causes you to suffer. At first I thought I was mistaken because we angels are taught that monsters cannot love, so I did not believe what I saw in you."
"Didn't believe it myself." Benny lifts his head but can't wipe his wet face 'cos Castiel's still pinning his arms to his body. "It's a vampire thing." He feels theangel's power holding him up, holding him steady, like someone has stapled him to a warm rock.
Inside the room blood is being spilt, he can smell it, the wrongness of it. "They're really hurtin' each other man, you sure you can't stop it ...?"
"I could but I will not. Both of them have a very great lesson to learn here." Castiel laughs quietly, "And if you know Dean as well as I believe you do then you know he is much, much stronger than he seems, much stronger than he thinks himself to be. Neither of them will break today."
Benny nods, silent. They're fucking now and even with angelic wings and arms keeping him from the full impact of what's happening he's struggling not to crack wide open.
"Ah!" Castiel says suddenly, "He's thinking of you Benjamin, thinking of you with ... with ...".
Dean's fucking his brother while thinking 'bout him? "With what?"
The angel hesitates, "I am not certain I should have spoken."
"He's thinking of me with what? With what Castiel?"
Silence. Then, for the first time since the angel appeared Benny struggles to free himself. Yeah, it feels great not to hurt, but if it stops him feeling, stops him knowing what's going on with Dean ...?
"Be still!"
There's command in Castiel's voice and Benny gives up trying to free his arms. "Please," he whispers, "tell me."
"With love," the angel replies. "He's thinking of you with love and with ... sorrow."
With love? Sorrow? Benny says, "No. That ain't possible, you mis-heard."
The angel smiles against the side of his neck. "I know I mis-understand things people say and I know this makes me a source of humour, though I do not fully grasp why that should be so. But I assure you vampire, it is not possible for me to mis-hear."
Castiel relaxes the hold on his arms and as he does so a wave of physical sensation crashes over Benny as he feels, even through the wings that still wrap him, some of what is happening just feet away. "Ahh," he whispers, sensing Dean fucking into Sam hard enough to snap his spine, "too much, it's too much." He has a sudden memory of himself wide open under a gentle, loving Dean, so different to this ... this ... to ... . Before the memory can rip at him he turns quickly to face Castiel and lets the strong arms encircle him once more. He rests his forehead against the angel's shoulder. "I never wanted this," he whispers. "Never thought it was even possible between a vampire and a human, an' surely not one-sided like this. Don't know how long I can keep goin' brother."
"That is why you have considered speaking with Sam?"
"What?"
"You have been considering death."
Given where his head is literally at and being as he's wrapped tight in angelic arms and wings, lyin' seems pretty pointless."
"Yeah. I wanted t' know a few things."
"Like, can you die and not return to Purgatory?"
"Yeah, like that."
"But you have not approached him."
Benny smiles against the shoulder of the trench coat. "Thought he might just kill me 'fore I'd a chance to say my piece and I'd be back in Purgatory anyways. The guy has a powerful dislike of vampires and this vamp in particular." He breathes in the odourless scent of angel and says, "That Sam, I'm guessin' he wouldn't hesitate to finish me but I was fearin' Dean might learn of it an' be angry on my account, that it might make things harder between them, harder than they already are ... you know?"
"Yes, I do," Castiel murmurs, "things are indeed very hard between them."
Benny lifts his face. Did the angel just make a really crass joke? He'd bet his cap on brotherly incest being a smite-worthy offence, so what's with the levity? Twisting his head 'til he's speaking directly into the ear beside his mouth he hisses, "Did you just say what I think you said? Cos if you did it ain't funny ..."
The angel mutters, "Hm," and after a pause during which he seems to be listening to something intently, says, "It is over." He unwraps his arms and steps back a little. Still within the arc of wings Benny takes a deep, unnecessary breath, then the wings are gone too and it's no longer afternoon and dusk is falling.
His sense of Dean rushes over him again like a train, but that's OK, he's ready for it, welcomes it.
Castiel says, "Listen", and to his astonishment Benny can hear the brothers' conversation. Even with his preternatural abilities he's never done that and even if he could it might've felt kinda wrong. Now, amplified by Castiel, he hears even their breathing. Hears Dean, clear as anything, soothe his brother who doesn't sound so fuckin' tall right now. Dean says, "I ain't mad at you Sammy, or at myself ..."
And oh, just the sound of Dean's voice again makes him happy so that he smiles, a wide, possibly foolish smile. He stands up straighter and says, "Thanks Castiel, appreciate you helpin' man, I've been feelin' pretty alone with this ... with everythin' I guess." He smiles again, "I know you didn't have to help, me bein' a monster an' all."
"Ssh". Castiel raises a finger, "Listen Benjamin. Listen and you'll hear ..."
Eyes fixed on the angel's face he listens as Dean says, "Everything's good. We're good." Then a silence and Sam says, real quiet, "You love him, don't you Dean." Dean sighs, then says, "Ssh, Sammy. Sleep now, I'm here".

Castiel bends his head and closes his eyes briefly. "I will leave you now. If it gets very bad call out to me and I will come to you if I can."
Still stunned Benny says, "Did he mean m ... me? Is all that hatin' just now 'cos of ...? Please, tell me it ain't!"
The angel looks at him with what can only be compassion in eyes that are blue like his own.
"It was never hate Benny, just love turned inside out by need. Those two could never hate each other." He looks sad and says, "For your own sake you should remember that."
Castiel steps away and Benny sees how tired he looks, how fragile in his too loose shirt and ridiculous coat. Without thinking he steps forward and pulls the angel back into an embrace. "I'm thanking you mightily for this," he says into the soft dark hair. "I know you love him too."
Castiel snorts. "I am an angel, albeit one who has lost his Grace. It is my particular task to love him."
"Yeah," Benny says and smiles, "But he makes it real easy don't he ..."
Nodding, Castiel turns away, hesitates and says over his shoulder. "You are not a monster, Benjamin Lafitte ... and yes, he did mean you."

He's alone again, still leaning against the outside wall of the Winchester's now silent room, when his long undead heart starts beating.

***

"Dean."
He spins, hand going automatically to the gun under his suit jacket.
"Brother ..."
Recognising the voice he drops the hand. Daylight is nearly gone and the parking lot at the side of the mortuary is already lit by street lamps. "Benny? That you man?"
"Yeah." A shadow moves silently against a wall and then Benny's walking towards him. "It's me. Wasn't so sure it was you though, almost don't recognise you in that suit n' tie."
Just hearing that voice after so long and he's getting hard. Shit! As Benny gets closer Dean's aware of a pulsing in his head and for a moment he's almost dizzy with it. The vampire stops a few yards away, motionless, hands hanging by his sides and Dean starts to move reflexively, close the distance between them, but stops himself with an effort.
"Why you here Benny? Thought we agreed we ain't doin' this no more."
Benny takes a single, silent step towards him and in the mix of dusklight and harsh orange from the street Dean sees how changed his friend is, how drawn and pale, even for a vamp.
"Wow, you look like shit man. What's been happenin'?"
Benny smiles, a wide, happy smile but Dean's not fooled because he recognises the expression in his eyes; he's seen it once before.
"I missed you brother." Benny's voice is quiet and hoarse. "Found I couldn't do without you after all."
"You low on blood again?"
Benny makes a dismissive, impatient gesture. He takes another step and Dean feels that surging pulse again, this time through all his body. What the fuck?
"Stop right there!" He lifts a hand, palm out. "I can feel some weird energy shit goin' on. What you doin'?"
Benny starts to laugh, actually laugh, a genuine, cheerful sound. "Well, I've heard it called a lotta things, but never 'weird energy shit'!
"What you talkin' about? What 'it?"
Benny pauses, humour gone. "So you do feel it?"
"Feel what?"
"The ... thing, the uh ... energy?"
"Yeah I feel it but got no clue what it is? D'you?"
Benny nods before stepping forward and laying his right palm gently against Dean's cheek.
The earlier pulse transforms instantly into a bolt of sensation that shakes him from the feet up. Holy friggin' shit! When he can speak again he mutters, "What the fuck Benny! How d'you do that?"
"I did nuthin' Dean, It's both of us."
"What you talkin' about?" Looking at Benny up close he notices the tremors running through him and the way his fingers twist and tense as he speaks. Everything about this is setting his teeth on edge 'cos Benny's got a kinda junkie look to him that says he's blood-starved.
Benny says, "Is there anywhere we can go? Somewhere quiet jus' to talk?"
His first reaction is to say, 'Yes', but he crushes that down. Some part of him wants to wrap his arms around Benny just to see if that lightening thrill happens again. The part of him that's John Winchester's son and heir is saying, 'starving vamp! kill it's ass or get out fast.' He says, "No. There's only the diner down the street and Sam'll be walking back that way so, no. Better we stay here."
Benny nods but seems to shrink into himself a little as Dean continues, "Tell me what it is you need and I'll do my best, OK? I can't promise anything anymore, that's why I said what I said on the phone, I didn't wanna let you down and I knew I would, sooner or later 'cos Sam ain't real forgivin' when it comes to monsters."
The twisting fingers go still, clench into fists. What the fuck is up with Benny? He barely recognises him and every instinct is screaming a reminder that this creature can hear the rush of blood in his veins and taste him in the air.
Benny's still tremoring, like with cold, but it's got to be nearly 70 degrees. He steps closer and says, "Was it easy Dean, letting me go like that?"
He could say, 'It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, it hurt like a motherfucker and it ain't getting' easier.' He says, "No, it wasn't easy."
A hand reaches out again, but stops short of touching. Benny's eyes and voice are soft as silk, "You've been hurtin' too, I see it in your face brother ..."
He waves a hand irritably, like he's brushing something away. "Don't call me that OK," and when Benny pulls back, flinching like he's been hit in the face, he says quickly, "Sorry man, that came out wrong." He tries for cool, kind, "Look, why don't you just tell me why you're here ..."
Benny's voice is so low Dean can barely hear it. "It's a vampire thing, what you're feeling."
"How come you know what I'm feelin' when I don't know myself?"
"'Cos I feel it too. Something happened, in Purgatory, between us, it ...it did something. Changed things."
Dean feels a dreadful premonition, like what next comes outa Benny's mouth might indeed have the power to change his life. "No!" he says, before he can even think about why. "No, don't go there. The past is done. We did what we had to do, all of it and I don't regret a moment. But that's gone, it ain't who we are now, up here."
Benny seems motionless again if you ignore the tremors and water (shit, are those tears?) running unchecked down his face, pink tinged and terrible in the waning light. Dean wants to ignore it, all of it and flee, but something twists hard in his gut as he looks at his friend, twists and threatens to rise and choke him. "Benny, man, I'm lost here, help me out. What's going on?"
"You ain't lost Dean. You feel it, but you're pretendin' real hard that you don't."
"Feel what, man. What is it I'm meant to be feelin'?"
"This." Benny steps forward and taking Deans face in both his hands, kisses him softly on the mouth.
Christ! Dean hurls himself backwards as a wave of pleasure, pain, joy, warmth, desire, rushes over him like a friggin' tsunami. "What the fuck ...!"
Benny's smiling, all lit up now, tremors turned to actual shaking but he doesn't seem to notice.
"Benny ...?"
"Love." Benny says. "Love."
"What? No!"
"It happened in Purgatory, that one time you ... when we made l ... love. Benny's voice gets stronger as he speaks, like he's finding courage. "I didn't get it at first, didn't understand, thought I was just missin' my kill-buddy." He's still smiling a little, eyes brilliant with something that makes Dean want to look away. "But after our last call, when it really started hurtin', then ... then I got it. I remembered all the old stories from when I was first turned, 'bout vampires who kinda ... bonded. Thought it was just a myth y'know." He laughs without humour. "It ain't."
"You sayin' there's some sorta vamp hoodoo on you? 'Cos if that's the problem man, we can fix it, get it lifted somehow."
Now Benny's look is pure exasperation. "I'm sayin' that without knowin' it we locked onto each other." Dean shakes his head.
"Ain't no use you lookin' disbelieven' an' all Dean, 'cos I know it ain't just me. Thought it was for a while, thought I was alone with it. Then I saw you, saw the hurtin' an' I knew right off, it's both of us brother. Like it or not, we're in this together."
He finds he has no words and just stares at Benny, then away into the darkness as if seeking understanding.
"Castiel helped me get right."
The angel's name shakes him back into the moment. "Cas was here? When?"
"A day ago, maybe two. I kinda lose track of time."
"He came to you and not me?" Is the vamp lying, messin' with his head? "Why would he do that Benny?"
"I reckon he thought helpin' me was pretty much the same as helpin' you in this Dean. He saw I was sufferin', saw you were sufferin' ... he put it together and showed me how things really stand with you an' me."
He whispers, "Jesus Benny, you sayin' you're in love with me or somethin'?" He can hardly bring himself to look at his former companion, wants a hole to open in the ground and swallow him up
Benny steps closer until there's nowhere to look but right at him. "Yeah, I am."
"What am I sposed to say to that?" He tries to twist away without seeming to do so. "You're a guy, I'm a guy, that ain't me man. Sorry, but it just ain't."
Benny's close enough now that he can feel the rough fabric of his coat and under it the cool weight and power of his body. Suddenly there's not enough air to breathe and Benny's saying ...
"I was inside of you, my soul, all of me, inside your flesh. You carried me and you knew me, an' I ... I knew you too, brother, all of you." He's smiling again and seems unaware of his own tears.
"So beautiful Dean, so beautiful inside." The smile is blinding. "How could I not love you?"
Fuck, fuck, fuck! He has to move, get away from this whole situation. Right now the familiar insanity that is Sam seems preferable to this, which is way out-of-his-league fucked-up. But something is still churning round and round in him, keeping him rooted to the spot, waiting.
"Dean," Benny whispers, face still alight, "Can I show you somethin'? Somethin' unbelievable, kinda like ... like magic ..."
He wants to say, 'No! No more weird shit surprises', but doesn't resist when Benny takes his right hand and lays it flat on his chest.
"Feel." Benny says, like he has difficulty speaking. "D'you f .. feel it brother?"
"What?" he tries to pull his hand away but the grip on him is powerful and determined. "I'm gettin' noth ..." He hesitates, presses harder on the solid flesh under his palm and then he feels it. Something so normal he'd missed it completely. "Christ! Benny," he whispers, "is that what I think it is?"
Benny nods, carrying Dean's hand from his beating heart to his face which is tear-wet and cool. He turns his cheek into the calloused palm, closes his eyes and lays a kiss against the skin. Dean can feel those tremors now, feel them moving into him like a contagion.
"How?"
Eyes still closed Benny says, "When I realised that maybe you ... maybe you felt somethin' too, it jus' started." He keeps a hold on Dean's hand like he can't let go. His voice is quiet again so that, close as they are, Dean strains to hear, "'Til that moment, it ain't never beat a day in near a hundred an' fifty years."
Dean lays his head down and listens. The pounding, steady beat echoes in his ear through the hard, chill muscle of Benny's chest and the sound raises a shocking tenderness in him. Lifting his head he's considering whether he should say this aloud when Benny is on him, mouth pressed hard to his own, beard soft against his face and, "Ah, ah ... fuck", is all he can manage as a fierce spike of lust and longing pierces him so his knees start to buckle. Benny has him by the arm, pulling him into the deep shadows behind the silent mortuary building, all the time chanting ... "Missed you, missed you ... so much. So many things I want to tell you, so much ..." Then, "God, yes!", as Dean opens his pants, takes possession of his cock then drops straight to his knees.
As he sucks on Benny it's like his throat remembers the shape and feel of him. All those times in Purgatory, all those snatched moments of pleasure that made his existence bearable. He flashes back to the one time he'd made love with Benny, been inside Benny and yes, he remembers how it felt to hold Benny's soul in himself and birth him from the grave. Remembering, he wonders how he'd ever thought he could throw all that away like it was nothing. Tears run down his face, not from pressure but from dawning realisation. He sucks harder, holding Benny's balls like something precious until his oxygen runs out and he pulls off, weeping openly. Benny's drawing him up, kissing his mouth, his eyes, his jaw.
He says, "I'm sorry, so sorry ..."
"Love," Benny says, "there's nuthin' to be sorry for, nuthin', ever."
Then Dean's tearing at his own clothes, ripping the tie off his neck, wanting only to feel this lover in him, on him, in all the ways he's longed for and dreamed of for months. Benny's on his knees and Dean bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself howling as the cool, powerful throat wraps his cock and two long, thick fingers push up inside him with nothing more than spit. His legs are so weak he steadies himself on Benny's head which makes the vampire vibrate low in his chest. The fingers dig deep and he begins riding down on them, wanting them gone and wanting more, more, more. "More!" he says, "need more Benny" and a third and then a fourth mind-scattering finger reaches up into him, pushing past the soft blood-filled membrane, stretching him 'til Dean isn't sure if it's this alone that makes him want to give it all up on the spot, or if it's knowing what comes next. Benny turns him to face the wall, hard hands spreading and exposing him ... Jesus, Jesus! Two thumbs are in him pulling him open and the cold hard tongue is opening him even wider, licking and sucking on his hole, biting at the stretched rim. If he'd been asked in that moment, he would have said 'yeah, bite me, drink me ...' without hesitating. Benny doesn't ask, because he's Benny, but fuck! Just the thought of being bled from there is too much. He goes limp, scrabbling at the wall for support before dropping to his knees on the ground right in front of Benny who's saying something like, "I wanna be gentle Dean, wanna go slow with you but I can't, been too long cher. Forgive me ..."
Suddenly his pants are gone and he does scream then as his elbows hit the dirt and Benny drives into him so hard he can feel the pressure behind his teeth.
"Ssh sugar, jus' you n' me at this party, let's make sure it stays that way." Then there's a weight on his back and a hand reaching round to clamp over his mouth.
He says, "Ahhgh!" from behind hard fingers that smell of himself, his own musk and sweat and Benny is hitting that spot inside him over and over again until his vision blurs and goes dark for a moment. Then his mouth is released and the hand is on his balls, tugging and twisting so pain/pleasure shoot through him and with it a memory of sitting alone in the Impala and doing the same thing to himself.
Now he's not sure whose hands are on him, his own or Benny's, as fingers grasp his cock, tugging and twisting over and over as he's handfucked and assfucked faster and harder than he would ever have thought possible, faster than any human surely could. Being used like this makes him so hard he's suspended in an agony of lust and something that he has no words for, desperate to explode and desperate for it never to end. He starts to float as Benny holds him, one arm around his waist, with bruising intensity. He's never been held like this, never so close, so ... so ...it's like all of Benny is inside him, or is it the other way around. He wants to ... Ah Jesus ...! Benny's groaning and shuddering, teeth-gritted, coming deep inside him, filling him up, the pulsing chill washing through his gut like liquid ice. One moment he's rock hard and on the edge, then the electric shock starts at the base of his spine and rises up through him, swamping even the sensations of fucking. It's like his whole body is coming, wave after wave of the most intense sensation he's ever known and he's dissolving, spreading wide into Benny and beyond Benny. Then, darkness.
When he opens his eyes Benny is saying, "Dean, Dean! Breathe cher, you gotta breathe."
He takes a deep breath. " 'M ok." Opening his eyes he sees that he's dressed and sitting on the ground between Benny's legs, back to his chest, folded in his arms. He feels the steady beat of the vampire's heart against his spine, the flex of muscle and closes his eyes.
Benny starts to rock his upper body very slowly back and forth. "When I was a little kid my gran'mere used to sit in a chair on her porch and hold me like this. We'd rock together ... always made me feel good."
He manages to say, "When was that?" and doesn't recognise his own voice.
"1833, if I remember rightly. She was born in the ol' country, came to Louisiana with her parents in 1789, when things were real bad in France, with the revolution an' all."
"You remember that? Your human life?"
"I do, it's real precious to me."
They sit like this for what might be minutes or hours. He allows himself to sink into the body behind him right up until he hears himself say, "What was that Benny, what jus' happened?"
"The fuckin'?"
"That what it was, huh?"
Benny laughs, low and warm. "Never jus' that brother. That was fuckin' with some high-powered mojo goin' on between us. Felt I was bein' pulled outa myself there at the end. Never known anythin' like it." He kisses the top of Dean's head. "You?"
"Same kinda thing, powerful enough to knock me out I guess." He leans away until he can see Benny's face and smiles, tugging his suit pants higher on his hips. "Thanks for makin' me decent."
"No trouble sugar, happy touchin' you even when there's no-one at home ..."
"I still don't get it." Dean shakes his head, "How could it happen? I ain't a vampire and I sure as hell ain't goin' to live forever."
Benny's arms stiffen around him. "Ssh . Let's just be here now."
"We're sitting in the dirt behind a mortuary Benny."
"An' whose fault's that chief? I recall suggestin' we find a decent place to parlay n' you sayin' no."
Dean goes rigid then scrambles to his feet. Sam! Fuck, Sam will be going ape shit by now, wondering where he is. No longer touching Benny he immediately feels different, less warm, just somehow ... less.
Benny says, "Sam?"
"Yeah, we're on a job. He was expectin' me hours ago an' I don't even know what time it is. Shit!"
Benny's looking at him, face calm and neutral. He says, "I love you Dean, more than I've ever loved anythin' in all of my lives."
He's searching for his tie now, pulling his suit jacket on. Everything is crumpled and filthy. Clutching the tie in one fist he says, "An' I love you, I know that an' I ain't fightin' it. It feels so good when I'm with you man, makes me real happy a ... an' ..." He takes a long breath. "An' I also know this can't happen again. I need you alive and I don't trust Sam with you, or you with him. This ends here, tonight, Benny. It sure as hell ain't what I want but I couldn't live with losin' either of you."
"I don't reckon we got much choice Dean. Bein' apart ain't really an option here, you musta realised that these last months." Benny steps forward until he's pressed against Dean, foreheads touching. "There's only one way outa this and that's when one of us is gone, as in, dead n' gone. If that's what you want from me jus' say the word brother."
"Fuck no! Don't even think that, you hear me!" Dean's shocked by the terror he feels at Benny's words. "Don't ... just don't."
"I ain't goin' back to the life I lived these past months Dean. I don't want that again, hurtin' all the time, tryin' to keep away from you an' failin' over an' over." He swallows visibly. "I know how things are with you n' your brother, it don't make no difference to me. You love him too, I know it."
Dean goes absolutely still. "What d'you say?"
"You know what I'm sayin'."
"So you've been spyin' on me? On us?"
" I told you, it ain't possible to keep a distance. Believe me, I tried. Further I got, sicker I got. Guess you felt it too, you jus' didn't know why. So no, not spyin', that jus' ain't me Dean."
"Jesus, this is all kinds of fucked up! I gotta life man and this - you an' me and this great love? - it just don't fit into that." Suddenly desperate he looks at Benny, like maybe he'll have some answer to the whole fucking situation, but Benny is silent and motionless again, like he's waiting for Dean. He takes another long breath. "Sam's a killer an' so are you Benny. You can't be around him and that means you can't be around me. 'S jus' how it has to be, man."
Benny bends his head and is silent for a long moment. Looking up he smiles, so close and so fuckin' sweet that Dean thinks his heart will split right down the middle. He wants to take him in his arms, hold him tight, feel him buried right up inside him ... fuck! No, no, no!
"It's OK Dean, it's OK. I got it. It'll be OK." Benny places a chaste kiss on Dean's mouth. It feels like a ghost brushing across his skin.
"Benny ... "
"I'm good, n' so are you. It'll come right in the end, trust me." Touching Dean's face briefly he whispers, "So beautiful." Then he steps away, smiling, that strange, bright smile and says, "Stay strong brother," and he's gone, swallowed up by the dark.

***

Sam's eyes open on the darkness of the motel room. From the other bed he hears Dean's soft, regular breathing. Something woke him, some noise, maybe a car outside or an animal in the trash cans behind the parking lot. He turns onto his side eyes still open and there it is again, the sense of wrongness. Silently his hand slides under the pillow and grasps the handle of the demon blade. The lights of a car moving along the road flash through the thin curtains, momentarily lighting the space; enough time to see a dark outline on a chair between Dean's bed and the door. Then the figure is just a denser patch of darkness again and Sam's hand is achingly hard on the grip of the knife. Another car goes by and in the few seconds of its passing Sam recognises the figure that raises a finger to its lips and beckons him. When the next car passes the chair is empty.

Dean moans in his sleep, mumbling a name Sam doesn't want to hear. Then Sam is out of the bed, silently pulling on jacket and jeans, gun stuffed into the waistband. By the door he pauses and listens again to his brother's breathing. Then he's outside in the night, blade clutched tight in his fist. He feels the cooler air of the night on the skin of his chest, naked under the jacket, as he takes in the almost empty parking lot at a glance and for a brief second thinks this may not be the best idea he's ever had.

'Over here'. The voice seems to come from right behind him and he spins, blade up. 'Relax, chief.' The drawling voice has a touch of mockery that sets Sam's teeth grinding together.

'If I'd meant you harm why get you all dressed an' riled up ... it'd have bin real easy when you were sleepin' sweetly.'

'What the fuck you doing here Benny?'

'Ah, that's the question ain't it. What're any of us really doin' here?'

There's that mockery again. Sam feels the fury rising in him and he steps forward. 'I'm not afraid of you, so say whatever it is you need to say and go.'

The vampire smiles, all white teeth, 'You're right not to fear me, knowin' I'd never touch a hair on your head for your brother's sake. But yeah... let's get to business. I have a proposition.'

*

Dean dreams that he's lying on the deck of a boat. He feels the water rocking, rocking him, thinks he hears he slap of sea on wood, then realises it's not water. The boat isn't moving. The rocking continues.

"It's me brother," a voice whispers right in his ear, "I've got you, you're safe. We're both safe here, together."

And Dean feels Benny's arms around him, powerful chest against his back. Benny is rocking him like a child, very gently, very slowly. He feels himself sinking, relaxing into the body beneath him. 'Benny" he says, "How are we here?'

'Destiny maybe, or maybe we're both jus' dreamin'.

'I dream of you all the time and when I wake you're gone and Sam ... Sam he knows, he hears me. Knows I want you so bad it hurts ... it hurts.'

'I know Dean, I know jus' what you mean. But we're here now ain't we and I'm gonna love you and keep right on til' it hurts real good ... real good ...'.

*

Reluctantly, Sam lowers the blade and warily follows the vampire as it walks to the edge of the parking lot and sits on a bench far away from the street lamps. Gesturing to the space beside it, it says, 'Sit, I don't bite ... well, not on Thursdays.'

'You think you're funny?' Sam hisses, 'you killed my friend Martin so I know you bite. You may have Dean fooled but not me ... you're a cockroach like all the rest of your kind.'

'I'm real sorry you think so little of your brother's judgement Sam, he says only sweet things 'bout you.'

Sam feels his blood pressure rising, and struggles to keep his breathing even and steady. A sudden vision of Dean and this thing together, together ... rises in him like bile. This mouth on Dean's mouth, tongue, fingers inside Dean. Christ! He shudders and forces it all away. Blinking he hears Benny saying,

'Your 'friend'? He wasn't the full dollar, not okay in the head ... but you knew that right and you sent him anyways. Looks to me like your friends don't last too long.'

Queasy and serious Sam says, 'You trying to take the high moral ground here Benny? Well fuck you!'

The vampire looks away into the dark and ignoring Sam's outburst says, 'He had my Elizabeth, my only livin' family, tied to a chair an' he'd cut her so blood was runnin' down her neck. All the while him thinkin' I couldn't control myself, that one whiff of her good ol' Southern blood would turn me into somethin' he could justify killin'.' The creature shrugs, 'He didn't know me ... thought he did, jus' like you think you do, but he was wrong and so are you, brother.'

Sam manages to grate out, 'I'm not your brother, and neither is Dean.'

The vampire's smile is sad and now looking at his face close to, Sam can see how changed he is from that first time they met on the dock all those months ago.

Benny nods and says, 'You're right. So, you asked what I wanted. The only thing I truly want in this life is your brother and he ain't free, so the consolation prize is to free myself. And that's where you come in.'

Sam's stomach flips over at Benny's mention of Dean. What the fuck does 'I want your brother' mean exactly? He says, 'What are you talking about?'

The vampire folds strong, square hands together across his knees, head bowed. 'When I was in Purgatory all I could think on was gettin' out. But this here, this world and this time, it ain't the right place for me, I don't belong.' He smiles lopsidedly at Sam, 'You mayn't believe it but I drink blood, not people, so vampires kinda shun me and the only human who liked my company, who trusted me and gave me work an' a home got herself near killed by your friend Martin. I can't ever get close again to someone who might get hurt 'cos of me. I think you know that situation real well yourself. Am I right?'

Sam stares at the ground as years of loss and grief flash through his mind. He jerks his head in reluctant agreement. There's a moment's silence then, 'How much has Dean told you 'bout me an' him?'

What the fuck! Sam snarls again, 'Far as I'm concerned you're a monster and there is no you and him.'

Benny nods. 'Yeah, I understand, if I were you I'd be feelin' the same. I'd want him all to myself too.'

'I don't have to listen to this shit!' Sam leaps to his feet but a cold and powerful hand has him by the arm and before he can move or even speak he's on his back pinned to the bench by the vampire's solid weight, knife arm trapped. 'Listen to me and listen real good you self-absorbed son of a bitch.'

Looking directly up into the vampire's face Sam feels a flash of real fear.Benny is saying, 'I know what all you did to him a few days ago, I know what you put him through. Only thing stopped me rippin' your head off 'fore you could hurt him, was knowin' that he loves you.'

Sam's guts churn as anger and guilt make him look away from Benny whose gaze, under the lurid lights of the parking lot, seems to strip him of all his self-assurance. Jesus? How does he know what happened, did Dean tell him that? Fuck, fuck, fuck! Suddenly, the ground under Sam feels like sand and the few things he thought were certain in life, Dean's loyalty and his love shift and shift again. Has Dean really chosen this creature over him? Benny is close enough that his beard brushes the other man's cheek, so close that in the sodium yellow of the streetlight Sam can just see a faint pulse beating in the vampire's neck. He blinks. That's not right, a pulse isn't right. Then the weight is gone, he can breathe out and move and Benny's sitting right beside him again like nothing at all just happened. Sam says, 'What d'you want from me?'

*

Dean feels Benny's mouth around him, cool and hard and with the power to suck the life out of him through his cock. He wants to say 'I love you' but even here in the dream something holds him back, though he knows it's true. Because he does love the vampire and it feels all good and also everything that's wrong. Saying it feels like it would be a curse, confirming an agonising thing he has no power to control. Benny moves his mouth to Dean's ass, cold tongue pushing hard into him, beard rasping over soft skin. Dean knows he's dreaming but his body responds anyway, brain wired for this, for Benny in him anyway he can be. Then the vampire moves suddenly along his body, pushing his legs open and up. Dean realises they're both naked and wraps his legs round Benny's neck. 'You want me?' Benny hovers, paused gazing down at Dean, cock in hand. Dean can feel his hole twitching over and over, nerves and swelling flesh protesting with need and expectation. 'Always. Always want you. Let me feel you, let me ...'. He raises his hands to Benny's face and touches his mouth. 'Show me,' he says, 'show me ...' and as Benny shoves himself hard into Dean he runs his fangs out and bends his head to kiss. Dean feels the fangs sink into his tongue, tastes his own coppery blood as Benny fucks him and sucks him 'til the white light starts in his head.

*

'Like I said, I want you to listen real good. I don't want no misunderstandin's b'tween us. You're gonna listen and then, when I say so, you're gonna use that big ol' knife that's tucked away inside your jacket.'

Sam stares, still angry and confused.

Benny lifts a finger to his lips then says, 'Somethin' happened b'tween your brother an' me in Purgatory, somethin' neither of us wanted. Mebbe it was the ritual, him carrying' my soul outta there inside of him, but somethin' bonded us together without us realisin' it'd happened or what the consequence might be.'

Benny looks away into the darkness as he says this and Sam guesses it's a kind of tell; the vampire's lying, or at least not giving the whole truth. He says nothing and the other continues,

'Six months ago he called me up an' said 'end of the line', he wouldn't be gettin' in touch again. I knew it was 'cos of you, that you wouldn't stand for him havin' a friend, 'specially not one like me. But it was his decision, an' I respected it. You're his kin, his blood an' he wanted to do right by you.'

Sam watches as Benny clasps and unclasps his fingers as he speaks. There's something surreal, something particularly unsettling about sitting here, voluntarily, beside this nightmare thing which wants to have a normal conversation about his brother, his Dean. Did he imagine that he saw a pulse beating in its neck just moments before? Part of him is so angry he can barely sit still; part of him is terrified the vampire might actually tell him what did pass between him and Dean in Purgatory because although he's been demanding just those answers from his brother, truth is he doesn't really want to know.

Benny's speaking again, 'I got as far away as I could, almost to Alaska 'fore I realised somethin' was wrong.' He turns to face Sam, 'You must've noticed how he's bin these past few months? Kinda low, maybe kinda distant?'

Sam nods. 'I noticed. So, what are you saying? That it's on account of you, of this thing that happened in Purgatory?'

'Yeah, it is. I know 'cos I've seen it before an' I felt it too; further away I got, worse I got. I knew it was a vampire thing, this bond, and 'cos Dean ain't a vampire I thought it was just me, my problem. So I came back, an' stayed out of the way of you both, seemed the only way to get by. Then one day I was close enough to tell he wasn't okay, not one bit, an' I realised it ain't just me that's bein' tormented.'

'So what are you saying? That there's some special bond between you and Dean, some vampire curse thing that can't be broken? That sounds like a load of bullshit to me, like any excuse to be around him.'

Benny's knuckles are white where he grips his hands together on his knees but his voice is soft, 'So how d'you explain what all's bin goin' on with him ... the pain? 'Cos that's what we're talkin' about here brother, real soul pain and a kinda sadness that eats away at you an' won't let you go.'

'Even if what you say is true, there's got to be a way out of it. Every curse has a reversal. We can fix it.'

Benny smiles, 'That's just what he said. Trouble is, it ain't no curse and there's nothin' goin' to change it 'cept one thing.'

'And that is ...?'

'One of us needs to be gone. As in dead an' gone.'

Sam feels his pulse start to race, 'And that sure as hell isn't going to be Dean ...'

'Jus' so brother. Which leaves me. An' you. An' that big ol' shiny blade of yours.'

*

'Benny! Benny?' Dean wakes with a start. Shit! His heart is pounding, pounding in his chest and he's sick and tired of dreaming of Benny, waking each time, breathing like he's just run a race, blood roaring through his veins. His face is wet: sweat, tears, he can't even tell. Then he realises his crotch is wet too, warm and wet, cock still at half mast. Christ! Even asleep there's no peace from what he feels and he hates it. Hates himself, he realises, for feeling like he does and hates Benny, fucking hates the vampire bastard because he's losing himself in all this, losing his heart, his life; losing Sam. Maybe he's really going crazy? He breathes deep and slows his heart. At least he knows now why it's happening, or at least he knows why Benny thinks it's happening. What if they never get free of each other? If every day the rest of his life is this longing, this fucking need that can't ever be truly satisfied?

He listens intently for Sam's breathing but the room is silent. Without turning on the lights he gets quickly out of bed pulling on jeans and boots and a plaid shirt. Before opening the door of the motel room he looks out between the curtains into the parking lot. The Impala sits, shiny black under the streetlights. Everything seems quiet. Maybe Sam just went to get water or a snack? But no, something ain't right, he feels it, something itching at him, the closeness of something important. Something ... something like Benny. Fuck! Benny's here, he can feel it now and wonders how he didn't feel it sooner. But of course he felt it ... that's why the dream was so strong. Benny's here and Sam's missing. He feels a panic starting to rise in his chest again, and without asking himself whose safety he most fears for, picks up the shotgun and holsters his handgun in the waistband of his jeans. Opening the door he steps outside, closing it quietly behind him.

*

'Let me get this straight.' Sam is staring directly at where he thinks Benny's eyes are, though all he can see in the shadow here are dark smudges in a paler expanse. 'You want me to kill you, but you don't want me to take your head because you don't want to go back to purgatory. Is that about right?'

'That's it chief, in a nutshell.'

'So you want me to use the demon blade because ...?'

The vampire shrugs. 'Cos when we were in Purgatory, Dean told me stories about you an' him killing evil sons of bitches with that there blade, the clincher bein' that it finished them off real permanent.'

Sam nods. 'That's right.' He hesitates briefly, 'Look, don't get me wrong, I'm more than happy to oblige, but I have a few questions ... First, I just don't get why you'd want that and second, how do I know what kind of effect your vanishing off the face of the earth would have on Dean? How do I know it wouldn't mess him up worse than he is now?'

'Dean? He'll be fine. I've seen old vamps tied together like me and him are, one of them goes, the other one's set free. But he can't ever know it was you that did it, you gotta promise me that.'

'Why?' Sam shakes his head, 'if it sets him free of you, why would he care how it happened?'

Benny growls, 'Listen to me man. He will be free, eventually ... but I never said it would be easy. He'll need you, it takes people differently, but I'm guessin' he'll need you to look out for him immediately after it's done. He'll be disorientated, maybe even kinda shocked for a little while and if for one minute he thinks it was you that ended me he'll never, ever trust you again. Believe me, I've seen it.' He pauses. 'My own uh ... maker used bond-breaking as a way to keep some of his older vamps in line. It never ended pretty. The ones left behind still hated him centuries later.' Benny looks at his hands once more. 'He needs you, he loves you. Don't take that away from him.' He leans in towards Sam until his face is only inches from the other's, 'And don't ever do again what you did the other day. I won't be here to stop you, but the angel knows.'

Sam's head jerks and he feels a spreading heat up his neck and face. Jesus! He swallows hard and looks away.

Benny nods slowly, 'Yeah, Castiel, he knows.'

Sam says in a voice dry with something he doesn't want to think about. 'And the other uh, question, why you want a permanent end?'

The vampire shrugs. 'I've bin human, vampire, kinda ghost or whatever in Purgatory, then vampire again, an' like I said, I'm tired of it, tired of bein' like a fuckin' animal on a wheel an' not bein' okay. ' I was 50 years in purgatory before your brother came along. I don't want that constant killin' shit again, 'specially not when every place'd remind me of bein' there with him.' Benny looks speculatively at Sam and unlike the human he can see in the dark, see clearly the tension and confusion in the man's eyes. 'You don't ask what all it was Dean and I did together in Purgatory. You asked him didn't you, you asked him loud enough for the whole world to hear you through a brick wall. How come you don't ask me?'

Sam feels a stab of fear and anger twist right up through him. No, no, no! Please, no ... He whispers, 'Because I don't want to know anything from a vampire and like I said, far as I'm concerned there is no 'you' and 'him'.'

Benny lifts one shoulder, lets it fall. 'Denial sure seems to be a river in Egypt for you Winchesters.' He laughs, low and warm. 'Jus' watch out for them crocodiles.' He stands up abruptly, holds out his right hand to Sam who also stands. 'We in agreement then? You'll do it?'

Sam hesitates but only for a moment then takes the hand. He flashes back to the night they first met on the dockside when he'd realised Dean's new friend wasn't human. Despite his expression of feeling for Dean, even some evidence of altruism, Benny's hand is still icy and hard, the hand of a monster. 'Yeah, I'll do it. When? Where?'

'Now. And the where is anywhere you can hide my body without Dean stumblin' over it.'

Used as he is to killing and to death, Sam finds the vampire's casual discussion of his own imminent end unsettling. He wants Benny gone for a whole raft of reasons, most of which he doesn't want to consider, but he's thinking fast about what the vampire said, about how Dean might be after the execution and it scares him, the idea of being left alone, with Dean facing some unfathomable loss he'll be responsible for. They've always kept secrets from each other, big and small and it's always ended badly. Surprised, he senses a hesitation in himself now the moment has come. As if reading his mind Benny turns on him, one hand gripping the long hair at the nape of his neck, the other lightly wrapping his throat. Again, Sam feels the cool power of the body under the unassuming clothes. The vampire's mouth is close enough for him to feel the brush of beard against his ear as it hisses,

'Don't be a fuckin' pussy Winchester, if I have to hurt you to make you do it I will. If you need reasons to feel good 'bout doing it I can give you a thousand, startin' with Martin and workin' backwards.' Benny relaxes his grip and steps away from Sam. 'I saw a place over there earlier today, a wood with a small lake. Save you having to dig, just let me go in the water. Us vamps don't float as I recall.'

***

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