lament for lazarus

[obeetaybee]

lament for lazarus
Adult
4110 words
girl!Sam/Dean, girl!Sam/Christian, Dean/Lisa
AU of Season 6 up to 6.12 Beta by the lovely and talented xphoenixrising, everything is right because of her, mistakes are all mine.

Section headers from Search and Destroy by Iggy Pop and the Stooges

Sam wonders if she’s crossing some line, kissing Dean like this without a soul, but he tastes so good and she can’t give a fuck if he won’t forgive her in the morning.



lament for lazarus

look out honey, ‘cause i’m using technology

Night creeps along the neighborhood, peering around drawn shades, the shadows growing and receding, playing hide and seek. They’re used to her now, her car window open to the eerie sound of their whispers, comforting against the darkness. The scythe moon hangs low in the sky with wispy clouds drifting along the velvet dappled with glittering stars.

She’s parked a block back, car stealthy black and pointing towards the house at the end of the street. She watches him prepare for bed. It's the same routine every time: the television clicks off, and Dean circles the house, double checking the locks and windows. At last, Dean’s silhouette stands before the plate glass window, arms wide and reaching for the curtains. Sam’s eyes narrow at the slight shadow of a body behind him. Dean smiles and says something over his shoulder, pulling the curtains closed.

Her Dean would have made the car as not belonging on this perfect little street hours if not days or even months ago. High school boys might've blown their load to drive a muscle car like this, but it’s completely out of place among the minivans and sedans parked in every driveway. He would've marched his little bow-legged ass down the sidewalk to investigate, ring rapping against the glass. Now he’s playing house with a ready-made family, putting out lights and turning locks before sliding his body against someone who’s not her.

She knows she told him to do this. She practically forced him, but fuck him. He’s not supposed to look this happy without her. When he was in Hell, she was a mess, constantly worrying about him, constantly trying to get him out, living life on the fringes. And even though she made him promise not to, did he even attempt to get her free? Why did he chose this time to suddenly start listening to her?

Sam leans back against the head rest, drumming her fingers lightly on the steering wheel. She’s positive Christian hasn’t seen him, he’s heard her talk about Dean enough to not let it go by without comment, even if he doesn’t give a fuck why she’s here every chance she gets. His lips are against her neck, one hand firmly planted between her legs, rubbing her jeans against her pussy. She sighs and closes her eyes, wanting the rush, the tingle of depravity, but feels nothing.

A few months ago, Christian returned home from a hunt with a rider. The demon stirred beneath his skin the moment he stepped into the compound, eyes bleeding black and suddenly, Christian was interesting. She watched him and Samuel interact, unable to believe the old man had no idea a demon had infiltrated their compound. Her contempt for Samuel growing, she followed Christian for days, tracking him like prey, finally cornering him alone. Christos hissed from her mouth before he overpowered her, waiting for the voice in her head to pipe up, to scream what the fuck are you doing? but it didn’t come. Instead, she wound her long legs behind his back, grinding herself against him, laughing at the expression on the demon’s face before crushing her mouth to his.

Fucking Christian was fun at first and very inappropriate on so many levels. She grew addicted to the danger, not caring if Samuel knew or Christian’s wife, just wanted her teeth against his jugular, feeling the swoosh of demon blood through his veins, every instinct wanting her to bite hard and drink deep.

Now, Christian’s mouth moves against her chin, one hand entangling in the hair at the back of her neck. The fingers of his other hand are flicking open the button on her jeans, following the same pattern as always. He moves downward beneath her panties and Sam stills him with her hand. She knows what’s next, rub, rub, rub, a pinch on her tits, and he’ll poke her with his cock until he comes. For a demon, he’s an unimaginative fuck partner.

Christian kisses her hard and possessive, his mouth so different from Dean’s.

Just like that, she’s done, she’s had enough. She doesn’t want this anymore, doesn’t want him beside her. She wants her brother back. Sam growls deep in her throat, pushing him off, back to his side of the car.

Turning the key in the ignition, the Charger’s engine roars, drowning out Christian’s bitching. She twists in her seat and throws an awkward punch, landing the fisted backhand against his temple. His head hits the passenger-side glass with a thunk and he slumps, out cold. She reaches past him and snaps open the glove compartment, dropping the loaded .45 into her lap as insurance for when he comes to.

Finally, she smiles, resisting the urge to push open his door and shove him into the street, knowing it just wouldn’t do to return to the compound without him. Christian’s family after all.

Sam spares one last look at the darkened house before shifting into gear, unable to resist lighting up the back tires just a bit before leaving.

She wonders if Dean will dream of her tonight.

ain't got time to make no apology

“If you had a choice, I’d have pegged you for driving one of those electric cars,” Dean says.

Sam glances at him over her shoulder and makes a face. “A Prius? Why?”

“A what the fuck ever,” Dean says, taking the backpack she hands him from her trunk. “Because you’ve always been a goody-goody. You know, doing your part for the environment and all that bullshit.”

“Not anymore,” Sam says, throwing the strap of a duffel full of weapons on her shoulder. “I’m not that person anymore.” It’s the closest she gets to the truth since she found him in the garage suffering from the affects of the Djinn. “Besides, I like this car.”

“You should have the Impala. She should be hunting.”

You should be hunting, Sam thinks, turning and standing too close to Dean, inhaling deeply. God, she missed his scent. “We’ve been through this. I got this car just the way I like it.”

“It’s plastic,” Dean says, moving away.

“Fuck you,” Sam says with a smile, enjoying making him uncomfortable. “It’s got a Hemi and I like it. So deal with it.”

“Lisa and Ben-”

Sam slams the trunk, not interested in hearing what Dean has to say about them. “Are safe at the new house. Come on, it’s getting dark and I’m hungry.”

The door shuts behind them and the motel room feels like home. Sam pulls the circa 1975 bedspread off and chucks it in the corner. She drops the bags and falls backwards with her arms spread onto the bed.

Dean sits down on the other and runs his hands through his hair. He clears his throat, tries to speak, stops and tries again. “If the Djinn hadn’t come after me, would you’ve ever let me know you were still alive?”

“Of course,” Sam says, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, keeping her voice perfectly even.

Dean sighs as if tasting for a lie with his tongue. “I wish you’d told me you were back sooner than this.”

Sam rolls onto her side and props her head up with her hand. “You’re right. I should’ve. But I know how much they meant to you, how much having a family--”

“You’re my family,” Dean says, and she waits for her heart to twist. Sam knows he’s expecting her to explain just how she could’ve stayed away from him for so long. But she can’t, so with a shrug, she tells him what he wants to hear.

“I just wanted you to be happy, then.”

The sun slowly goes down, a blood-red fiesta against the distant mountains, filling the room with a warm orange glow and creeping shadows. She listens to him breathing, wondering if he’s burying their past deep and remote or if he’s remembering how good they were together, what they’ve done for each other. Really, there’s only one place Dean belongs, no matter that he pretends to be a father and a husband while with them. He’s a hunter to the core and there’s no one else she’ll trust to watch her back.

“How did you hook up with Samuel anyway?”

Sam shrugs. “Short story? Woke up in a cemetery alongside him,” she smiles and tips her hands in a so-so gesture. “I handled it much better than he did.”

Dean smiles back, wiping a hand across his mouth. “You would.”

“I didn’t do so good without you, you know,” she says, looking down at the floor, able to say so much more in the dimly lit room. “I didn’t realize how badly I was starving for you until you were pressed against me once again.”

“Sam,” Dean starts, holding up his hand.

“I know,” she whispers, staring at his bottom lip, wanting to run her tongue along it, avoiding his eyes glistening in the gloaming. She pushes her hair away from her neck, fingers trailing down her curves to rest on her hip. She wants him to remember this, remember other motel rooms, this same look passing between them, hot and heavy. Wants him to remember leaning over her, flannel shirt open and tickling her skin, her naked legs falling open for him.

Dean remembers. He stands too fast, his hand reaching for the cell phone in his pocket. “I better,” he clears his throat. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to check in on Ben and-”

“Right,” Sam says, rolling onto her back, staring at the ceiling again. “You do that.”

“Sammy,” Dean begins.

“Forget it, Dean. I get it, I do. You’re the man of the house now and I’ve been regulated to your kid-sister back from the dead.” Sam sits up and swings her feet to the floor. “Let’s not sing a lament for Lazarus. I’m going to take a shower, I feel dirty.”

She flicks the television on as she passes by, the steady drone of a laugh track filling the sudden silence. The motel room door closes with a solid click before she reaches the bathroom. Sam stops, hand on the jamb and turns, watching Dean through the glass, wondering how much longer he’ll stay out of reach.

soul radiation in the dead of night

The curtains are closed and he’s on the bed fully clothed, hands behind his head and eyes on the television when she opens the bathroom door. She wraps the towel tighter around her body and steps in his line of sight. Water droplets catch the monochrome light from the television, dripping down her shoulders and over the swell of her breasts. She gives Dean a lop-sided grin. “I forgot to bring in the bag with my clothes.”

Dean rolls off the bed and leans down, grabbing it. He keeps his eyes on hers, handing her the bag and she takes it from him, struggling to keep a straight face.

“What?” Dean asks, his face flushing in the harsh florescent light from the bathroom.

Sam throws her head back, wet hair sliding down her spine and laughs. “You. My body is nothing you haven’t seen thousands of times before,” she opens the towel, dropping it and standing before him naked.

Dean reaches for the towel. “Jesus Christ, Sam, cover yourself-”

“We used to fuck, remember how good it was?” She leans down and stares him back to standing. “You liked to lick and suck and bite and fuck me, all the time. I liked it. My body’s still the same, I’m still the same, there’s no need to act like a twelve year old virgin. Nothing’s changed, except this time I went to Hell and kept the t-shirt.”

Dean backs away, averting his eyes. “I’m changed, Sam, it’s different. I can’t do that to Lisa,” Dean closes his eyes, his head falling forward.

“You know what? I look at it this way. I’m the one you’re cheating on, Dean. Not her. You were mine first.”

“I can’t,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “There’s a kid involved now.”

“Fuck you, Dean. Remember Stanford?” Sam points to where a scar used to railroad down her thigh. “You didn’t seem to have a problem fucking me when I was with Jess, or have you conveniently forgotten that? Grow a pair, will you?” She grabs the towel from the floor. Bunching it up, she whips it at his face before stepping backward and slamming the bathroom door.

love in the middle of a fire fight

Eight weeks later, on a job Sam flat out refuses to believe involves aliens or if the crazy lady is to be believed, fairies, Dean pulls into a parking spot in front of their motel room. He glances at her, the neon sign flashing blue on his unshaven cheek. “I still don’t know if I’m more pissed you were having sex while I was being abducted --”

“By fairies,” Sam injects with a chuckle and an eye roll.

“Irrelevant,” Dean says, cutting the engine. “Or jealous you were having sex with a chick and you didn’t let me watch.”

Sam slides across the seat and puts her head on Dean’s shoulder. “Aw, baby. I’m sure she’ll come back for a repeat performance if I ask real nice. Let’s get in the room and fish her number from the trash.”

Dean pushes her off and opens the car door, getting out. “No, stop,” he says over the roof of the car. Sam slams her door and faces him. “This is why you need to get your soul back. This is why I need you to get your soul back. You’re making me think and want things you never would if you were my Sam with a soul.”

Sam gives him an incredulous look, throwing her hands up in the air. “You can’t know that.”

“I do. I know you and this right now? Isn’t you.” She snorts and Dean cuts his eyes to her. “What?”

Sam walks to the front of the car and leans back against the hood, watching him over her shoulder. “Do you remember that weekend outside of Bismarck, when the snow turned to ice? And we had a plethora of booze and nowhere to go, nowhere to be?”

Dean closes his door with a solid thunk and pulls the room key from his pocket. She smiles, the flush rising on the back of Dean’s neck under the porch light. He gestures her in, holding the door open and throwing the room key on the table across from their beds. “I don't remember a lot about that weekend.”

“You remember what we did when we got really, really shit-faced drunk?”

Dean slams the motel room door. “Christ, shut up, Sam. We promised we weren’t going to talk about it.”

Sam kicks her boots off and sits on the edge of the bed, leaning back on her elbows. She points her socked foot at Dean’s crotch. “I never promised nothing of the sort. I remember you liked it. Kept telling me, harder, Sammy, harder. Fuck my ass harder. ”

Dean clears his throat and pulls open the refrigerator door. “Shut up, Sam.” He grabs a can of beer, cracks the tab and takes a deep drink.

She twists her lips. “All I’m saying is if I’m to be your Pinocchio, you can sit on my face and moan, ‘Lie to me, lie to me!’ anytime you want while we’re stuck in this Bohunk town.”

Dean turns to face her and she can see him arguing with himself, knows he can’t decide if he wants to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze or throw her down on the bed and fuck her until she’s blind. Right now, after weeks of having him so fucking close, doesn’t care what he chooses, as long as it involves his hands on her body.

Sam smiles slow and sexy, spreading her legs, fingers trailing up her thighs. “Do you remember licking the whisky from me?”

Dean drops the can on the counter and presses his palms to his eyes. He pleads, “Why does everything have to be about sex with you?”

Because it’s the only way I can feel anything.

Sam stands and pulls his fists from his eyes.

“Sammy, please,” he whispers when she takes his hands, threading her fingers through his. Sam kisses him and he doesn’t move, so she kisses him harder, her tongue sweeping into his mouth. Dean breaks off and whispers against her mouth, “We’re so screwed. You know what, desperate times, desperate measures. Fuck us both, I’m gonna get your soul back, Sammy or die trying, I promise.”

“Okay,” she murmurs. Sam wonders if she’s crossing some line, kissing Dean like this without a soul, but he tastes so good and she can’t give a fuck if he won’t forgive her in the morning. She releases his hands and grasps the back of his neck, bending his body over hers, down onto the bed.

She wants him inside but can’t decide if he’ll fill her up or she’ll make him as empty as she is.

honey gotta strike me blind

For the first time in over a year, she dreams.

The boiling waves rock her back and steal her breath and she’s pulled under, burning, roiling, suddenly awake on a desert cliff, the souls of those still in hell below her. They sing to her in algebra, their cries equations she can’t decipher. She takes a step, the rocks slicing her feet to ribbons, the blood flowing from her in a crimson current, the souls raising up to lick their communion with greedy tongues.

She’s falling, falling backwards, the sky above black, the world below blue, endless blue and she’s so tired, so tired, sleepbound and she settles in a meadow, the grass beneath her yellow and dead.

She awakens in a forest, the tang of stale canteen water still in her mouth. Dad sits across from her, poking a small fire with a stick. She turns this way and that, feeling eyes from everywhere and nowhere at all, looking for Dean.

“He’s not here.”

Sam opens her mouth to speak, but her voice is gone. Blood and gore flows down his face, black in the firelight. John Winchester’s eyes are gouged out.

“Should’ve been you dead on the ceiling. Not Mary. Would’ve been happy with the both of them instead of you. Never wanted you. What have you ever been but a massive pain in the ass? Worthless cunt.”

Sam shakes her head. The darkness comes, her vision tunneling, choking her close and she still can’t speak, the hands over her ears not blocking the words spewing from father’s mouth like cancer. “All you’re good for is fucking him, spreading your legs like a whore. Fucking him up, ruining his life. Getting him killed, sending him to Hell.”

Blindly, he pours his bottle of whisky into the fire, the amber liquid feeding the inferno, the flames becoming impossibly large, roaring for her blood. “You should be burning in Hell.”

She’s at the edge of a lake, the water lapping against her bare feet, the dark orange sun burning the horizon as it settles beneath the ground. There’s a dog barking in the distance and she turns towards the sound, her hand coming to rest on the swollen mound of her belly.

The baby kicks and she puts her other hand against her back, groaning. The air’s turning chilly, she’ll need to start a fire soon. Whistling for the dog once, crisp and sharp, she turns for the house and the cramp hits, sudden like a lightning strike, ripping through her womb. Suddenly breathless, she stands stock-still, afraid to move, arms outstretched.

Another contraction hits and she screams out, the sound echoing across the lake, startling a flock of birds from the trees. She falls to her knees, breath catching in her chest. Hand flailing, she grasps for someone not there, her forehead against the rocks, not able to think beyond the pain when someone takes her close, whispering in her ear.

“I owe a favor and you’ll do nicely,” the voice says, smooth as silk and deadly as a viper.

Sam looks up and Hell surrounds her, harsh laughter and endless torment, Lucifer leering, ten feet tall. “Perfect, so fucking perfect,” he screams, and she bursts into flames, her skin blackening with cracks and peeling, blinding white light slicing, and she’ll never die, it’ll never end, just soul-crushing excruciating pain forever.

“Let me in, little pig, let me in,” Lucifer croons, his hands tearing apart the soft skin of her belly. She’ll promise anything to just make it stop, make the pain stop, it hurts so fucking bad and she screams, screams, screams, her blood and fear making Lucifer stronger, the pain overwhelming, overwhelming until he bursts with a roar from his cage.

And then silence, blessed silence.

somebody gotta save my soul

Dean’s voice calls, pulling her back and she listens.

“How long do you think she’ll sleep?” Dean’s eyes flick to bag of fluids keeping her hydrated and alive. He sits beside along the metal bed, her hand in his.

Bobby shrugs his shoulders. “Got me. Never seen a person who lived without their soul for long as she did re-souled before.”

Dean knocks once on frame of the bed, the hollow echo bouncing around the iron walls of the panic room, but sleep-paralyzed, Sam doesn’t move.

“It’s already been days.”

Bobby tips his hat up on his head. “And you were warned. She may never wake up. Gotta be honest with you, after what that kid tried to do to me, I’m in no hurry for her to.”

Dean wipes his hand down his face, “It wasn’t her, you know that, Bobby.”

Bobby stares at the girl sleeping in his panic room. “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t make it hurt any less though.” He turns to go through the door.

“I won’t do this again,” Dean says more to himself, but Bobby pauses halfway out. “I won’t lose her again,” his voice breaks, “I’ll die if she does.”

baby penetrate my mind

“I don’t even know what to say,” she whispers against Dean’s chest, his fingers stilling against her naked back. “Other than I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, baby. It’s okay. I don’t know how many more times I can tell you that. It wasn’t you.”

She's told him she can't remember, can't bear to see the look on his face if she tells him about the heat and fire and her father, Lucifer and her swollen belly, God help her, she remembers the baby. “Dean, I think there may be something wrong with me,” she whispers, wondering if maybe it wasn’t all dream. “I don’t feel quite right. I feel like there’s something inside festering, rotting, waiting for the right moment to burst out of me.”

Dean kisses her temple before rolling onto his side and taking her with him. “You just need some time to adjust, to settle back into your skin.”

“You’re sure you didn’t make any type of deal with Death to get my soul back, right?”

Dean smiles and her heart gives an extra thump in her chest. “No. No deals. Honestly, it felt more like a job interview, if you want the truth.” He runs his fingers down her neck, winding his hand into her hair. “You’re beautiful.”

“You’ll never leave me, right?” Sam tries to smile, moving closer to him, going cold at the small flutter of movement below her belly button. “No matter what happens, right? Promise you’ll never leave me.”

Dean tightens his arms around her. “I promise.”


end

Search and Destroy - Iggy Pop and the Stooges