Work Text:
Dean can always tell when Sam’s on the blood. It’s easy to see if you’re looking for it: bigger pupils, twitchy habits, and a certain feral attitude about him. That, and he’s harder to touch. The feel of Sam’s skin burns, even through flannel. It’s not like Dean and Sam touch much anyway, but it’s almost like they’re magnetic fields repelling each other when Sam’s been doped up.
It would probably be less noticeable if Dean didn’t have a supernatural vice of his own.
Cas’ grace is… it’s nice. Cas heals Dean when he’s hurt, and sometimes he runs his grace over Dean even when there’s no injuries to be seen. It feels like what Dean imagines shooting a dose of moonlight into his blood might resemble. Silver and pure. And maybe he liked it too much, but it can’t be too bad for him, right? Cas just wants what’s best for Dean. He’s just making Dean stronger is all, and maybe Dean sounds like some naive kid when he says that, sounds like he doesn’t want to acknowledge something bad that’s right in front of him, but that can’t be true. Dean knows what Sam is doing is wrong. He knows sucking demon juice like it’s Capri Sun isn’t right, but a hit of angel juice every week or two few days day never hurt anyone, right?
Cas would say something if it was bad for Dean. He’d say something if Dean was getting addicted.
“You’re on it again.”
Sam’s voice comes out of nowhere, and Dean jumps as he turns around, finger on the trigger of his gun.
“On what?”
Sam smells like sulfur, and there’s a messy reddish-brown stain on one of his hands. His hair is messy and he seems to be repelling Dean with his simple presence.
His stained soul, Dean recalls Cas saying.
“Cas,” Sam answers flatly. “It’s… weird in here.”
Dean glances at his claimed bed. Cas had lain there earlier, let Dean drink from his neck like some sick kind of vamp.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean scoffs. “But you smell possessed.” He shuffles back a bit. The air around Sam feels too thick to breathe properly. Polluted.
“And you’re high on grace!” Sam snaps. “Everything smells possessed to you.”
“I’m not high,” Dean argues. Irritation rises in his chest.
“Your eyes are fucking glowing, Dean.” Sam crosses his arms. “You can’t hide it from me.”
“And you can’t hide the fact that you’re banging a demon.”
Secrets are out now. Not like they were ever real secrets in the first place. Just non-addressed topics.
“I’m going for a drive,” Dean says, pushing past Sam and hating the fact that being so close to his brother makes him flinch.
Dean comes back two hours later, and they both act like nothing ever happened. Such is the way of Winchesters.