Archive of Our Own ^beta

“What’s wrong with him? Why hasn’t this worn off yet?” Sam knew there was no point to his questions; he was simply asking them to prevent laying hands on anyone within range.

After about an hour of him giving anyone who knocked on Dean’s door for any reason a growl and a deadly stare, Sam went into the War Room and awkwardly thanked and dismissed everyone who’d volunteered to help. They all left quietly, understanding that this Sam is the one they get when Dean is down. There was really nothing anyone else could do anyway.

Dean lay in his bed in a fevered, catatonic state. Sam had been by his side every moment he could spare since he carried Dean home. His limbs twitching every so often were the only hints that he was still alive. His bright, green eyes wide, yet unseeing, were simultaneously beautiful and disturbing when a single tear spilled down his temple. Sam removed the heavy layers Dean had again sweated through and swathed a nearly nude Dean within fresh blankets. He tucked his unconscious brother in, reminiscing about the countless times that Dean had done the same for him.

Sam talked to him the whole time, his voice quiet and soothing. He tried to be as positive as he could and always let Dean know when he was going to be gone more than a few minutes. He had no idea whether Dean could hear him, but he couldn’t bear the thought of his brother alert and silently, helplessly suffering.

The lore he’d scoured through said nothing about this curse being a lasting one. It was lethal, meant to kill within eighteen hours if not stopped, so when Sam had performed the counterspell in the nick of time and Dean had stopped seizing, everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief and decided to wait until morning. Sam sat on blankets on the floor beside Dean’s bed, laying his head on the memory foam, trying to listen to his big brother breathing. He’d feel every ache and pain from that position in the morning for about two seconds before he realized Dean hadn’t improved.

He decided it was time to look outside of the curse-related lore and try to connect Dean’s symptoms to something else. The vengeful, corrupted spirit of the shaman that had cursed Dean before they’d been able to set fire to his stolen skull and headdress was rumored to have belonged to an indigenous tribe that had been wiped out over two centuries ago. There was no way that he could attempt to track down someone related who could help.

That also meant, however, that whatever it was still plaguing his brother was likely conjured with ancient, pagan magick. He started there, looking up everything he could that even remotely connected to what was happening to Dean.

When Sam came upon lunar rituals, he found one that had the power to “cleanse your energetic and emotional aura of everything that might be holding you back from progress.” It was based on a seasonal full moon called the Worm Moon that usually appears in March and signifies the arrival of Spring. Sam figured out that there’d been a full moon on the first of the month, about ten days ago. In extremely rare fashion, Sam remembered there was also a Blue Moon expected on March 31st.

Two full moons in the same month? Sam desperately thought there had to be some extra strength in that. He looked up the ritual. The first step was a Wiccan cleansing bath spell. This was usually something one did alone, but with the current state Dean was in, Sam would need to tend to him. Of course, Sam would do anything to make sure Dean was safe.

He gathered the herbs and oil he would need and filled a copper basin with boiling hot water. The ritual normally was done in a bathtub. A person would immerse themselves completely in a steaming infusion of Sea Salt, Sage, and Rosemary. Sam was going to have to think outside of the box like he and Dean had done so many times. It wasn’t carrying him to the tub that was the problem, but he really didn’t want to have his positive thoughts and concentration marred by worrying about his immobilized brother slipping under the water while he was reciting the spell.

Sam wryly smiled when he thought of the inappropriate joke Dean would have thought up. Something about marinating him like a giant chicken breast for the grill. Sam would have given him Bitchface # 323 and rolled his eyes, but internally he’d have been beaming, two seconds from doubling over in laughter.

He combined the ingredients in the basin one by one, methodically, and he could feel the power beginning to pulse through his hands. He also added a couple of drops of the Sandalwood Essential Oil that was included in the instructions for after the cleansing. Every bit helps, right?

As the infusion soaked and cooled to a tolerable temperature, Sam went to untuck Dean from the cocoon of blankets he’d wrapped around him. He layered some of their largest towels underneath Dean, shifting, and gently manhandling his body the same way he had after he’d sent everyone away. This time, though, he’d have to strip Dean completely to apply the mixture and cover every inch of skin. He mumbled apologies aplenty for that.

Sam gathered the black and white candles and placed them strategically around the room to represent a protective circle with all the main compass points. He lit them and turned off all the electric lights in Dean’s bedroom. As he worked, he began to meditate and concentrate to ground himself, clear his mind, and focus on Dean. Once he completed preparing the room and the atmosphere, he brought the basin next to the bed and tested the water’s temperature. He then soaked a muslin cloth in the infusion and began the ritual with a chant:

Sam first squeezed the cloth over Dean’s forehead, dripping the solution onto his short, dark blond locks. The moisture made his hair look darker. He then carefully worked the warm, damp cloth over Dean’s face, watching his freckles become more prominent as his skin dampened. Dean’s lips brightened as Sam traced them and continued down his chin, to his neck, shoulders, chest. He re-warmed the cloth in the water before reverently washing his arms and abdomen.

When Sam reached Dean’s hips, he had a momentary pause. He’d prepared himself for seeing Dean’s dick, lying flaccid and anticlimactic in the crook of his hip. It wasn’t exactly like they’d never been naked in front of each other before. He hadn’t been quite prepared to run into the thick, fully erect, bulbous-headed beauty (beauty???) proudly arching, and twitching, in front of him. He shook himself and quickly tried to refocus. He skipped that area and moved on to Dean’s legs and feet. He wasn’t sure whether the bowl was keeping the water warm on its own, or if the magick was helping. He’d been able to cover Dean’s entire body, finally including his cock, without the mixture going cold.

Dean’s skin was damp, with a light shimmer from the oil, and Sam tried to keep his mind off of that detail and on what he was doing. He needed to keep speaking the chants and willing the power into his brother to eradicate what had overtaken him. He thought of all the pain, fear, sadness, and any negativity that he’d ever known Dean carried on his shoulders. He invoked letting it all go.

He spoke the line to request to rid his brother of all the things he didn’t know:

As the water slowly evaporated from Dean’s skin the oil left a supple, smooth look to it from which Sam couldn’t tear his eyes away. His line of sight kept especially drifting toward Dean’s crotch. He couldn’t get past the feel of Dean’s erection. Huffing at himself, he turned to the mirror in the room to continue the ritual of asking for the Moon Goddess’ blessing.

He took the oil and began the anointing part of the ritual. With his fingertips, he lightly applied some on each of the areas specified in the directions. He began at Dean’s forehead, saying directly to him, “Blessed be the Eye of your Spirit, so you can see the invisible and receive the messages of the otherworld.” At that moment, Dean slowly opened his eyes and looked at Sam with clarity and recognition he hadn’t seen in days. It took Sam’s breath away.

He placed his thumb feather-light over Dean’s lips, slid it from cupid’s bow to the pillowy bottom, and said, “Blessed be your lips, so you can chant the Words of Power when the time comes.” Dean gasped, taking his first full-strength breath since Sam brought him home. “S-SS-Sammy,” he whispered. This spurred Sam on; he worked with even more purpose.

He crossed the area on Dean’s muscled chest above his heart. “Blessed be your heart, which was formed in beauty, so you can give and receive love.”

He anointed his brother’s knees and the tops of Dean’s feet, saying the prayers for each of those areas, the entire time he kept glancing back at the area he skipped. He knew he would have to anoint that area to complete the ritual. But now that Dean was conscious and beginning to improve with each blessing, he found himself nervous. He looked back toward Dean’s face to find him watching; he just barely nodded, knowing Sam was asking for his trust and permission. Finally, Sam traced trembling, oiled fingers along Dean’s still-hardened length, clearing his throat and saying the final prayer. “Blessed be your penis, so you can give and receive pleasure.”

His fingers lingered as Dean seemed to swell even more and pulse in rhythm with Sam’s heart, which felt as if it would burst from his chest. He mindlessly wrapped his hand around the turgid flesh. He felt compelled by a force he had no control over. He looked back again at Dean, afraid of seeing judgment in his eyes, but he only saw awe and need. He slid his hand easily over silky, hot skin, slowly pumping once, twice. Then he crouched down and brought his lips closer and kissed the head before opening his mouth and sinking down. He couldn’t take his eyes off Dean’s emotionally naked expression.

Dean’s eyes rolled back as he gasped and arched up from the table. His eyelashes, darkened from unshed tears, highlighted his cheeks as his eyelids fluttered. He writhed, grunted, and sighed in tandem with the bobbing of Sam’s head, the slide of his tongue. Sam felt the instant that the power he’d conjured from the ritual transferred to his brother. His lips tingled and Dean jolted, releasing for what seemed like an endless moment. Sam took it all, finally closing his eyes in ecstasy.

The exchange of energy was so powerful, Sam’s knees buckled as he shuddered in his own spontaneous, untouched orgasm. He flopped onto the floor, laying his head next to Dean’s prone, panting, and very alive body. He felt like he’d just gone toe-to-toe with a Wendigo, but he also felt invigorated.

Then he heard his brother’s voice, practically shredded from both coital bliss and lack of use, with a hint of humor in it, “Y’know Sammy, the next time you wanna taste me, I hope you don’t wait for a situation where you have to marinate me first.”

Forget the pretense of a bitch-face, Sam completely lost his composure.

~fin~