He always fights better when what he's hitting has hurt Sam. Always just that little bit easier to let his own demon -- figurative demon, naturally and don't go thinking any strange thoughts, now -- out to play.
The blood he licks from his skin-shredded knuckles tastes sweeter, the bruises ache with that good, low-down kind of pain, the sort that puts his hand on his dick when the lights go out, and he doesn't dream as much.
But if you asked him if he liked it when Sam got hurt?
Well, he'd have to teach you the error of your ways.
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