Spell

Sam’s memories of Cuthbert Sinclair weren’t fond ones; they really weren’t, but he was grateful for the man’s spell work this evening, all the same: half an hour with the obliterati records and another hour’s worth of casting, and there was a web of magical tripwires stretching a mile in every direction, from a bunker door that no longer recognized any Men of Letters’ keys besides their own. 

(Mary’s eyes had been worried, as she’d watched him—cross-legged on the floor, borrowed power crackling beneath his skin, between his hands, in the burning tripod in front of him—and Sam wondered, distantly, how many warlocks she had killed.) 

He lay quietly now in his room, damp-skinned and weary, the fan a relentless, soothing hum overhead. He’d scrubbed himself in the shower earlier until he’d been pink and stinging, but he could still feel Toni’s hands on his body, could feel the soft flutter of her tongue on his skin and the slick tight heat between her thighs, and he didn’t—he didn’t want—

Isn’t this much more pleasant, Sam? 

He rolled onto his side, wearily, scrubbed a tired hand across his face. There was a hard tight knot in his stomach still, nausea and rage and humiliation at once. He’d been wet when he’d woken from her spell in that basement, and the fact that she’d seen him like that, had been sitting there in her clean pretty clothes with her clean pretty face watching him come while he’d been chained to a chair unconscious and bloody, it—

Prettiest thing I ever fucked, Lucifer murmured, somewhere in his memory, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut and locked that voice back down tight behind his breastbone, with memories of vivisecting knives and cold, cold hands and Michael’s wild laughter as he screamed. 

What Toni had done to him hadn’t been a patch on hell. It hadn’t even been real, and he knew that; he did, knew too that he hadn’t chosen it, that without the spell he never would have wanted it, would have wanted her. 

But all the same, it had been a long while since he’d felt so unclean.

Supernatural Rewatch: Season 9

9.16 | Blade Runners

sebastiansttan:

Remake of.

8.23 & 9.16

I gave him what he needed. And it wasn’t some bitch in a G-string. It was you. A little brother that looked up to him, that he could trust. And now he loves me. He’d do anything for me. And I gotta tell you, Sam, that kind of devotion? I mean, watching someone kill for you? It’s the best feeling in the world.