In Medias Res (4/6)
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dime_lioraEaton, Colorado August 1st, 2003
It's alright. He's dead, but it's alright. Nate's dead and now things have to start moving. She couldn't sense the hellhounds the way he could but she could hear them. Could see the damage to his throat appear suddenly like a magician's trick. She wonders briefly about lightwaves and frequencies, the logistics of a thing that can be heard but not seen, and then she realizes she's spent twenty minutes dragging her best friend's body across the grass into the field behind her house and on the way to the well. He's big, and her back hurts a bit, but they're almost there. Best is sort of a misnomer for him, because actually he's her only friend. The only person in the world she really cares about at all and now he's dead and she's dragging his cooling corpse. This is probably not mentally healthy. Not that's she's worried about-
She picks the knife up and handles it carefully as she looks at him. This is all going according to plan, which means any second now some variable could screw it all up. The sky is stormy looking, and if it starts to rain all her carefully chalked lines will be ruined. She makes sure again that he's in the center of the circle, that everything is in order, and then she begins to cut. It takes a long time to carve the symbols, and her left hand slips in blood when she begins to work on the right. There's pain, but she's ready for that really. Glad for it because the endorphins produced sharpen her senses and keep her mind working at a steady clip. There's no question that this could all work against her, and she makes sure it's all in place before she puts the knife down and kneels beside the circle. This is it. The last step. If she had any question now is the moment where she can't take it back. She looks again to his face, chin carved ruggedly and high cheekbones, closed eyes she knows are a shade of blue found in Hydrangeas planted in soil with the proper aluminum sulfate content. Gaping hole where his esophagus and trachea used to be.
Sadie can count on one hand the number of times she's regretted meeting him, and have fingers left over. She's still young, and logically if she'd try harder she might meet someone who would love her the way she wants to be loved. Who she would love back. Logically there is a lifetime to form connections with people who do not devote their lives to being killed by monsters. This one time though it isn't about logic. It isn't about reasoning out the pieces of what should be and what is, or debating the finer points of a perception based reality. This one time it is all about the heart, and Sadie is almost glad for it. Glad to know that she can be that way too, glad to know that this isn't the last step for her, and mostly glad that the rain hasn't started yet. She places her bleeding hands on the circle and begins the long intonation that will open the Gate to Hell.
Sure, there's a lifetime to find someone else, but she doesn't want anyone else. It's that simple really, and that's all that matters.
---------
Monks Mound, Cahokia Mounds State Park, Indiana June 2nd, 2008
All that matters is getting this done before some park ranger arrives and screws it up. Sam's hands are officially cut, and he studies the blood flow before kneeling beside the chalk sigils and taking a deep breath. Sadie told him this is the Rubicon, and that if he started the next step he couldn't back off. Couldn't call do-over, so Sam knows that this is his last chance to not do something that Dean will no doubt call catastrophically stupid. So he starts the chant before he can wonder how angry his brother will be, or how much of a mistake this probably is. Because it's Dean. Dean lying there with his chest ripped open and his eyes dull and flat. Sam closed them, but he can still see that stare. That loss.
Dean's eyes have been an ever-present thing in his life since he can remember. A living entity that he has both avoided and longed for, and in death they are just eyes. Nothing sparkling, no mischief or glee, and certainly none of Dean's characteristic devil may care attitude. Without Dean behind them they are all organic material lumped together, and Sam thinks even if he didn't love Dean the way he does he would have done this just to fix what Lilith broke. To fix Dean's eyes.
He can feel the spell building around him, strange and off-kilter, and there's a moment when Sam wonders if he said the last sentence right. He can smell ozone in the air, and the censer burning off the aconite and gum arabic, and then the world begins to shake around him. Sadie warned him about this part, and Sam simply raises the volume of his voice and narrows his gaze. His bleeding hands judder over the ground as he continues working the spell energies. The smells from the censer are overwhelmed with the scent of burning flesh and sulfur. He can feel the hairs on his face smoldering as the ground under Dean's body opens, and Dean floats in mid-air above the split. It's not steps, but a rough and rocky path that Sam was prepared for. He stands slowly, legs tingling from blood loss, and then makes his wobbly way down into the hole he's opened. He reaches up once and trails his fingers over his brother's thigh. Remembers how hot it was in Pennsylvania, and how the muscles rolled under his fingertips. Then he continues downwards, and begins the katabasis. She warned him about the rest of it, so when the tunnel narrows and the light goes red Sam doesn't hesitate for even a second.
There's screaming, a world of screaming, and voices moan to him out of the rocks that he should help, that he did this, that he's at fault. They call him Demon Prince and half-breed, they call him incestuous and monstrous, they call him a lot of things. Sometimes the voices are just an amalgamation of the sounds of suffering and pain, but sometimes they are familiar. He hears his father at one point, then Jess, and then strangely enough the voice of his first roommate. He didn't know the guy was dead. Sometimes though, the worst times, he hears Dean. Calling to him to save him, screaming his name, and Sam speeds up when that voice starts. Goes faster because that's all he can do. He's heard Dean in pain before, but this is something new entirely. This is a sound that he doesn't even really equate with his brother, and Sam will do anything to make it stop. Whether it's a trick or not doesn't matter because that's Dean.
When the tunnel opens up though he's in a courtroom, and the judge sitting at the front stares at him impassively while the audience turns as one to gape. There's someone sitting in the plaintiff's side, so Sam takes the defense and sits. He remembers Sadie's warning.
"It was the room I defended my dissertation in. I had to bare my soul. Had to before I could make the demand."
"Samuel Winchester. You stand on trial for the crimes of incest, not honoring your father and mother, selfishness, and murder. How do you plead?"
He remembers Sadie's words. Remembers them well. "I plead not guilty."
The prosecutor laughs mirthlessly while the judge leans over his bench. "On what grounds do you find for this? You are aware our witness list is long and comprehensive are you not?"
"This court doesn't have the jurisdiction to try me. I can only be judged by one man." He holds his hands up, and the sigils glow the color of Dean's eyes. Sam wasn't quite expecting that, but there's an outburst of wails and moans before the judge quiets them down. "I wish to plead guilty to his crimes."
There's a long silence, and then the judge's black eyes narrow down. "You have been making the wrong kinds of friends Samuel. The court will give you one chance to reconsider your plea. Simply say not guilty and you may leave and return to the world above."
Does he have to think about it? Not really. He doesn't even pretend that there's a moment of consideration. This is for Dean. "I hold to my plea. Guilty of the crimes of Dean Winchester. I wish to serve his sentence concurrently."
The audience swells into sound again, screams of rage and agony, and then the judge is banging his fist against the bench before order is restored. "You think you can decide that?"
"I know I can." Sam keeps his gaze, doesn't bother glancing around because the rest of it is just props and scenery. Just a function of his mind explaining a concept he can't fathom. Sadie taught him that.
"Alright. This court finds the defendant, Samuel Winchester, guilty of the crimes of Dean Winchester. Sentence is an eternity to be served concurrently. It is so ruled."
There's that banging again, and then Sam is falling, and when he lands he knows the pain will begin.
---------
Eaton, Colorado August 2nd, 2003
The pain begins when he wakes up, and only intensifies when he turns his head to see her. Nate stares at Sadie for a long time. It took him five hours to get from the field into the house, and that was without her. He drags himself into the garage and then finds the wheelbarrow. No matter how small she is there's no chance he could carry her right now. He uses the wheelbarrow as a crutch to get back out to her, and finds that she hasn't changed positions since he left. Her hands are still bleeding, and the depth of the cuts on her left one let him know she was nervous, but determined. Well of course she was. He tilts the wheelbarrow and rolls her into it before pushing it back upright and slowly rolling them back in. By the time he gets her to the door he's covered in sweat, and the agony is incredible.
She doesn't help or react when he rolls her out of the wheelbarrow on the porch, shoves and drags her inside, and then collapses on the floor. He doesn't remember anything after the hellhounds. Did he never even make it to Hell proper? Or did she find a way to erase his memory? His watch still works, and it informs him he's been gone fourteen hours. What the fuck did she do?
It takes days for him to be able to get up, move around easily, and hold down food. Until then he drinks copious amounts of water, works on dragging her from room to room, and tries to get his muscles to work again. The first time she shits herself he cries for an hour. It's the most ridiculous response he could possibly have, but this is the girl that shamed a full-grown man with a doctorate at the age of eleven when he claimed that evolution was a lie. The girl who'd hacked into the school's computer system at twelve to change his attendance records so he wouldn't drop out. This was the genius, the marvel, the prodigy, and she'd just shit herself like a baby. While he cried and washed her she simply stared blankly at nothing, and he tried not to think of Jack Nicholson and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.
He used her books to read the lacerations on her hands, got a clear view of her thought processes from the copious notes she'd left behind, and fisted his hair when he realized there was no way back. No way out. She'd done this, and now he'd have to clean up the damage as best he could. So he had a way to get her to function as best as she could, and she moved like an obedient doll every time he used it. Four months after their trip to Hell Sadie spoke for the first time.
"The Hegelian Dialectic requires that we understand all of human history as perpetuated by thesis, anti-thesis, and synthesis. It was the building block for major modern philosophies, and Karl Marx's go to theory when formulating Communism. If we understand this, we can understand why there is war and suffering. We will always find an other, we will fight it, and then we will consume it or be consumed."
"Eat your lunch babe." She took a mechanical bite of the sandwich and spoke again with her eyes on the table.
"But what if there is no synthesis? What if we simply continue to struggle against one opposition with no clear ending? With this binary of movement and stasis will we simply sit still? Will history be arrested and frozen, or will we consider it movement even when we are not moving?"
He covers his burning eyes and pushes his own meal away. "Babe you gotta-"
"Thesis: I am in Hell." Her head slammed against the table, and she slept for seventeen hours. When she woke up she recognized him for a little bit, and then slipped back into that weird catatonic state she'd been in since he came back. But Nate had a way in now. An inkling of what was going on in her head, and that was everything he needed to get started. He swallowed down the last of his sandwich and started planning.
-------
Eaton, Colorado October 2nd, 2008
Dean swallows hard and then puts his beer down. "So Sammy's still in Hell?"
Nate's head shook and his eyes stayed on the floor in front of him. "Nah man. Not really. He thinks he is. He's experiencing it like that because he's all fucked on time, but that's not real. The only way to make her better was to anchor her in one time and place. To make sure she knew where she really was and why. The only one who could do it was the one she'd tied herself to. In the case of your brother that's you. Get me?"
He did. He did, but he didn't want to. "I need to order Sam around. Tell him what to do. Work on him 'til he figures out he's with me and he's safe."
Nate reached out, clapped his shoulder once awkwardly and then stepped back and cleared his throat. "It don't get much easier man. Trust me. She's been back a while and while she's better now I can't trust her with the general populace. Even before she went and broke the rules by telling your brother she wasn't safe out there. Hunting? You're gonna have to find a safe place to hole him up, 'cause he won't be doing that again any time soon. No getting around it and no makin' it easier. Sorry Dean."
And then Dean's throwing his beer bottle, screaming wordlessly as he punches once, twice, three times into the wall beside him until the plaster has cracked and something in his knuckles gives with a satisfying crunch. Nate never says anything, never moves, and when it's over Dean's standing still and panting while his fist drips blood. Sadie's head pokes into the kitchen for half a second, and her eyes narrow once before she nods softly and sits at the table. Accepts a beer from Nate and drinks woodenly.
He wants to scream at her. It would have been better if she'd left them alone. If she'd turned Sam away, and that's not fair because he knows Sam. Knows his brother would have stopped at nothing once he figured out that she could get Dean out of Hell. Fucking asshole. He sits shakily across from her and takes a deep breath. "So Sam, what, suffered for all my sins?"
The bottle pauses halfway to her mouth. "Semantics."
"Excuse me?"
"Semantics. Suffered for your sins suggests there's a hard written set of rules that you broke, and that each one had some inherent punishment that Sam would then have to live through. That's not how it works. It's what you feel guilty for, and the punishments are based upon the worst thing that you can imagine happening as a result. That's how I pulled it off. I tried contacting a crossroads demon to buy Nate back, but they aren't too fond of losing hunters. Then I tried to figure out a way to get around the demon, but the highest member of the Christian Hell's food chain is Lucifer, and from what I could tell he's not able to be contacted. That severely limited my options, but it came to me that once you get into things as ephemeral and theoretical as the afterlife it doesn't negate the possibility of perceptive reality. So I tweaked it. I set the spell to contact the Egyptian Underworld, and trusted that a trial in front of Osiris would end the way I wanted it to."
Dean's head is already hurting, and he drains his beer before another one magically appears at his elbow. He looks over to see Nate's sympathetic expression before the other hunter sits beside him. "She's talked like that since I first met her."
Sadie's head tilted quizzically. After a while she took a deep breath and rubbed at the back of her neck. "Which part?"
Well that was a loaded question. "Start with 'perceptive reality'."
"It's another theory. Everything we experience as reality is only there because we perceive it. Under that line of thought the reason we have so many different versions of Hell is because everyone perceives it differently. Thusly, all Underworlds are the same but we make differences in them when we enter. The theory turned out to be true."
"So Sammy walked into the Egyptian Underworld and demanded Osiris let me go, and the demons just let him?"
Nate shifted uncomfortably, and Dean looked up to see Sam standing in the doorway looking unsure. It was the most emotion his brother had given him since he got back. Other than the freak-outs that is, and Dean was so glad to see it he had to grip his fingers bloodless to not jump up and grab Sam. Instead he kept his voice even and calm. "Sammy?"
"Concurrent." Sam shifted once and his hands stayed limply at his sides. "Concurrent."
Dean glances Sadie's way and watches her eyes go soft and sad.
Nate rasped out, "Tell him to sit down and be calm. Tell him when it is and where. Anchor him."
So Dean got up, herded Sam to the spot beside her, and then leaned in and soothed in his best big brother voice. "It's October 2nd, 2008 Sammy and you're in Eaton, Colorado at Sadie's house. We're figuring out how to fix you baby boy. Do you remember that?" For the first time in forever Dean felt like good luck was on his side when Sam nodded and stared at his hands. He immediately distrusted that feeling.
"Concurrent."
"Yeah Sammy concurrent. What the hell does that mean?" Dean looked Sadie's way, and her lips pursed once before smoothing out.
---------
Eaton, Colorado May 8th, 2008
Sam smoothed the bed sheet as he watched her chew on her finger absently. "So what about the time period? That's the part I still don't get. They call it eternity for a reason you know."
He's trying to be funny, but she doesn't laugh. Instead her big dark eyes study him seriously.
"Do you know anything about String Theory?"
"Uh. Well, as much as any self-respectable nerd I guess. I know it's a reconciliation between quantum mechanics and relativity. I know it's connected to a belief in multiple universes. I know science-fiction writers adore it."
She's nodding even as her mouth moves. "Ok. That's a good start. How far is seven million miles?"
"What?" It's the fact that her face never changes expression that unsettles Sam. Usually when someone throws conversational curve balls they at least smirk a bit. Instead she's just studying him, and Sam pulls the bedspread over the guest bed and then leans against the wall. "It's seven million miles."
"Pick an object and then use it to explain the length of seven million miles."
"I can't-uh-seven million one mile tracks?" He pushed his hair back and then there was a hint of a smile on her face.
"Don't trouble yourself. The human brain isn't capable of really comprehending things of that size. We pay it lip service, but we can't really get at it. The same applies to time. Eternity is a thing that we have a word for, but we have no way of properly comprehending it."
Sam considers that for a long time before he speaks again. "But you comprehend it now." Sadie doesn't look up. She's pale and her head stays down. "Because you've experienced it. I'm going to experience it. Is that what's wrong with you Sadie?"
"Yes. Imagine that your mind, everything that makes you uniquely Sam, is a container. Someone drops a miniaturized Empire State Building into your mind and waits for it to expand. Everything gets blown everywhere, and you're left trying to pick up the pieces. It's exhausting."
"Where does String Theory come in Sadie? How did you get out of there and serve an eternity?"
"When I demanded they let me take on Nate's punishment I was sentenced. I demanded they let me serve the time-"
"Concurrently instead of consecutively." The last piece of the puzzle slots into place for Sam, and now he's back in Palo Alto. Back in a group of pre-law students discussing their future practices and their potential law schools. "You served eternity all at once."
"Eternity is a consequence of multiple dimensions. We live in a moment Sam, but an infinity of moments is still infinity."
The strength goes out of his legs and Sam finds himself sitting on the floor staring at her. "So they stack all the possible dimensions together and you suffer through every one of them. Will I be able to handle it?"
Her fingers shake as she covers her mouth. "As well as I did. Maybe better. You're more grounded than I am. You have Dean."
Except Sam isn't so sure about that. Isn't sure about anything anymore, because the whole idea is insane. He's going to do something that previously only existed in mythology, and the consequences are mind-bending. Literally. He has to keep reminding himself that at the end of the day it's for Dean. That Dean will walk out of Hell with a few scars, and who knows? Maybe his brother's legendary capacity for self-sacrifice will hit its limit at trying to take care of a fully-grown catatonic man. Maybe he'll drop Sam off at an asylum or a hospital and walk away. Live a life that's wholly his. Maybe pigs will fly and Paris Hilton will learn self-respect. The sky's the limit in this new world that Sam is about to explore.
More importantly Sam knows the last of it now. There are no more excuses for him staying, and the only thing left to figure out is how to bond with Dean, and where to open the gate. The last part will depend on where they happen to be when Dean's taken, and the first depends on when Sam can get up the courage. When he can make sure Dean is just inebriated enough to go for it, but not so inebriated he can't perform. He collects the ingredients she has and the list of the other things he'll need, makes sure that he has everything repacked in his duffel, and then stops in the hallway to see her standing very still near the door with a big day-planner in her hands. She holds it out to Sam and keeps his gaze for a long time.
"Put in Dean's date. I'd like to remember it."
He took the planner and flipped through it slowly. Each day was written out in a sloppy and masculine hand, and the entries had everything from classes she was teaching to meals she needed to eat. He went to the right day, scribbled in Dean's name, and then glanced at her. Her eyes were wet when she took the day-planner back, but they never lifted to look at him again.
"Don't forget anything." It was almost as good as a real goodbye.
--------
Eerie, Pennsylvania May 28th, 2008
Sam won't tell Dean goodbye. It's the first thing Dean notices has changed since his brother got back from his fact-finding mission. It's probably a side-effect of realizing that there's nothing that can be done. Dean is going to Hell and that's all there is. There will be no last minute Hail-Marys and no miracle fix. If there is a God to combat the evil they see daily He's washed His hands of Dean, and all the better for Him. Dean's not going to lose sleep at night about whether or not there's a big sky father approving of his choices, or if there's anything waiting for him other than an eternity of punishment. Hell he probably would have ended up there anyway.
With every day that passes Dean gets more reflective on his past. He's been almost everywhere, seen all the crappy tourist traps, saved a ton of people, and eaten at some of the best restaurants in the country. What else is there? He's lived several lifetimes in one short one, and there's nothing left for him to do. No matter what that little voice that started talking in Union Springs says. Dean doesn't need to drag Sam down with him, and that's all there is to that train of thought. So when Sam stops saying goodbye, loses that look of hopelessness and gains an edge to his face Dean's never seen before, well that's all the better. Only one of them needs to be crippled by guilt and self-doubt, and it sure as hell doesn't need to be Sam. Dean did this, and now he'll pay for it. That's all there is to it.
He doesn't want to go. God he doesn't want to go, because there's still things he needs to do. He's never seen the Grand Canyon, he's never had a moment's rest, and he hasn't had a home since he was four. Then there's Sam. Sam who still needs someone to look after him even if he refuses to admit it. Sam who's still so eager to throw himself into crazy plans and theories even if those always end badly. Who's gonna take care of Sam? Who will keep him from turning into Dean? Jaded and hateful, sure that the whole damn world is against him, and Sam's never crossed that last line. Shit the kid still prays, and Dean's never been able to figure that one out. Prayer. Dean doesn't try, hasn't ever cared for it, and now it may be all that's left. He wants to try it, because hedging his bets can't hurt, but there are no words. Who would he pray to?
Instead he goes for hedonism, and takes it hard. Doubles his one-night conquests, drinks more than even Dad ever did, and gambles like there's no tomorrow. Which is true in just a few days. They've got the hard line on Lilith, and they're headed that way, but why? What good can it really do? Dean doesn't want to buy in to Sammy's powers. Doesn't want Ruby to stay behind as his brother's back-up because he doesn't trust that Ruby will take care of his brother. No one can take care of his brother like he can. That's what he's learned, and it's a hard-won lesson. Not even Jess could really keep Sam straight and sane. Keep him from diving headfirst into the same stupidity Dean has been taking part in his whole life. The thought of Sam alone…
But he won't be. Bobby will be there to keep him from doing anything too stupid, and Sam will go to Bobby. Dean will make sure of it. Somehow he's left the bar while he's thinking, driven all the way back to the motel, and he sits in the Impala and rubs at his face while he considers it. He should have started hustling months ago and laying money aside for Sam. In between his aversion to the credit card fraud and his inability to take advantage of idiots Sam won't be able to rake in the kind of cash he needs to survive. There's not enough time now, and Dean isn't sure what he can do about that. Sam will have to stow his moral objections and just use the credit cards until he gets to Bobby. That could work, and honestly Dean just doesn't know what else to do. He can't tell Sam to stop hunting now. Sam's determined to live the life, and Dean was stupid enough to say he was proud of that.
Why didn't he just truss his baby brother up and leave him out in the wild on a platter?
He pushes his way out of the car and finds that his gait isn't quite steady as he heads for the door. It opens creakily, and Dean's secretly glad for that every time. A few extra seconds of-
All brain function stops at the sight in front of him. There's incense burning, and his brother is sitting on the bed with his head down and his hands gripped between his knees. He's fairly certain Sam's not praying, because most people don't pray naked. Then again Sam's never been one to follow normal even when he cries for it so much. Somehow his mouth finds a way to function.
"Sammy?" It's a croak, and his brother's head doesn't come up when it happens.
"Dean I-I want to-" Sam's hands are shaking, and Dean's torn between taking them and holding them steady or running from the room as fast as he can. He remembers the taste of Sam from Union Springs to this day. It took a whole lot of Gumby Girl to get the image of his brother naked out of his mind, and there's not enough time left in Dean's life to get this picture erased.
This is a mistake. Some kind of incredible mistake. Any second now some naked girl is gonna come wandering out of the bathroom and say Sam's name, and his brother will blush, and then they'll all laugh about it like this happens all the time. It's happened more than once with Dean on the other end, so it's plausible. Except the bathroom door is open and the room is lacking in any feminine perfume. Dean's pretty sure he'd be able to smell it even over the scent of the incense. Which leaves not much in the way of possibilities to explain this little scenario. Unless Sam is being stupid again, and there's always a good chance of that.
"Sam. Put your goddamn clothes on." He doesn't slur it. He's surprisingly sober now.
"Dean I-" When Sam finally looks up there's a moment that Dean is pretty sure will go down in history as the worst confusion ever felt by one man. Sam's crying, and there's a line to his shoulders that suggests he's been trying not to for some time. He pushes himself off the bed and Dean gets one long look at the lines of his lanky little brother before Sam's face is in his. Whatever it is Sam is or wants or whatever is lost in the press of lips, and the sudden low growl that Dean can't place or identify. He lets himself have it, the same way he did in Union Springs, before the smarter part of him kicks in. Sure Sam tastes great, and Dean loves the feel of him, but this is Sam. He parts them fast, pushing gently he thought except Sam hits the bed with his knees and ends up sprawled and naked in front of him. The damn incense smells almost as delicious as his brother looks, naked and spread out. Which is a bad fucking thought. A very, very, bad fucking thought.
"Dean." There's longing there, and lust, and Dean can't take it. He's only fucking human, and Sam looks good. Skin that soft golden he's so familiar with, and the cut lines of abdominal muscles and long hairy legs all spread. He's seen Sam naked a thousand times, but never in this context. Not in real life. He knows what Union Springs was about. Sam's always been perceptive, and somewhere in that overactive brain of his Sam came up with the idea that the only way to get Dean to leave with him was to give Dean what he'd always wanted. He's never questioned Sam's ability to read him. To know what Dean wants to keep hidden. So this, this is Sam's way of giving it to him before he's gone forever. Sammy's last goodbye. Dean suddenly doesn't want it. If this could happen, if he could have this, then it has to be permanent. It has to be both of them, and there can't be desperation and anger mixed in. It has to go slow and sweet, and for once in his life he needs to be a goddamn romantic.
At least that's what he's thinking as he kicks off his boots and grabs Sam's ankle. Lifts it to his mouth and tastes along the line of it and up Sam's muscled calf. His brother lets out this broken noise, and Dean keeps moving his lips and tongue up that flesh, tasting and licking, while Sam keeps saying his name. Ruby said he could stay human. Could hold onto something that would keep him from going full demon, and that whatever it was it had to be something strong. Sam's strong, the traitorous voice in his lizard brain points out. Stronger than Dean sometimes, and more than capable of being the memory that keeps Dean from turning completely. He's worked his way up to Sam's thigh, and he skips the heat of his brother's groin to lick the joint of leg and hip before working his way to the navel. The broken sounds are getting more urgent with every second, and Dean can hardly stand to hear them. They're all tied up in everything he's ever regretted.
"Union Springs." He says it with a mouthful of Sam's hipbone, and whether it's the words or the vibration of his voice that make Sam jump Dean will never know. He can't even make himself ask.
"Then. Wanted it then. Before then." All this time. All this goddamn time. Which is all good and well to think about now, but Dean knows the truth. If it weren't for the axe hanging over his head he'd never be doing this. Wouldn't be laughing lowly at the way all of Sam's muscles twitch when he drags his teeth along that soft skin. He's always heard people do crazy things when they know they're dying. He bites Sam's nipple and listens to the thick sound of pain and pleasure Sam makes.
"Why?" It's not even the question he wants the answer to. He wants to taste more, wants to dip his tongue into every single inch of Sam's body and memorize every nook and cranny. He wants to keep Sam making these noises until the hellhounds come and the world is taken from him. Sam is taken from him. That growl comes again and Dean realizes it's him, and that his teeth are maybe moving too hard against the skin of Sam's throat. He pulls back and gives himself a second to get it back under control, but Sam seems to think that he's waiting for an answer. He watches those hazel eyes go from fuzzy to clear and tight.
"Because you're Dean." It's said like Sam's telling him that water is wet or vampires have to be beheaded. Like it's the simplest thing ever, and Dean's a fucking idiot for not understanding. There are still tears in the back of Sam's eyes, but his mouth is getting that little prudish quirk it always does when Sam's getting smug. Dean loves that look as much as he hates the inspiration for it. So he bites at Sam's lower lip, sucks it into his mouth, and then releases before licking his way towards his brother's throat. There's so much he wants them to try, and there's no damn time, but Dean's going to do as much of it as he can. He licks and bites his way back down before tasting the heft of Sam's shaft. It's salty, surprisingly so, and Dean's pretty sure that's pre-come or sweat. The smell is familiar and new all at once, musky and thick and heady, and Dean takes as much as he can before backing off slowly. The sounds Sam makes just push Dean further. He presses his tongue against the skin under Sam's cock, tastes one ball and then the other. Buries his face into his brother's heat and licks like Sam's the world's tastiest pie.
Long and strong fingers tighten in his short hair, rove over his neck, and then grip his shoulder tight. One of Sam's hands pries Dean's fingers up and leads them, and then Sam is pressing lube into his palm and making those noises again as Dean fumbles with it. He's had anal sex before, but it was a woman and the importance of this moment isn't the same at all. He wants this to be special, perfect, and that makes it goddamn unlucky that this is their first and only time. He spreads the lube over his fingers and then slides one down over Sam's balls and around the entrance he's going to be in. That thought is almost the end of him, and Dean bites his lip hard and tries to hold on to what little control he has left.
Next
Previous
It's alright. He's dead, but it's alright. Nate's dead and now things have to start moving. She couldn't sense the hellhounds the way he could but she could hear them. Could see the damage to his throat appear suddenly like a magician's trick. She wonders briefly about lightwaves and frequencies, the logistics of a thing that can be heard but not seen, and then she realizes she's spent twenty minutes dragging her best friend's body across the grass into the field behind her house and on the way to the well. He's big, and her back hurts a bit, but they're almost there. Best is sort of a misnomer for him, because actually he's her only friend. The only person in the world she really cares about at all and now he's dead and she's dragging his cooling corpse. This is probably not mentally healthy. Not that's she's worried about-
She picks the knife up and handles it carefully as she looks at him. This is all going according to plan, which means any second now some variable could screw it all up. The sky is stormy looking, and if it starts to rain all her carefully chalked lines will be ruined. She makes sure again that he's in the center of the circle, that everything is in order, and then she begins to cut. It takes a long time to carve the symbols, and her left hand slips in blood when she begins to work on the right. There's pain, but she's ready for that really. Glad for it because the endorphins produced sharpen her senses and keep her mind working at a steady clip. There's no question that this could all work against her, and she makes sure it's all in place before she puts the knife down and kneels beside the circle. This is it. The last step. If she had any question now is the moment where she can't take it back. She looks again to his face, chin carved ruggedly and high cheekbones, closed eyes she knows are a shade of blue found in Hydrangeas planted in soil with the proper aluminum sulfate content. Gaping hole where his esophagus and trachea used to be.
Sadie can count on one hand the number of times she's regretted meeting him, and have fingers left over. She's still young, and logically if she'd try harder she might meet someone who would love her the way she wants to be loved. Who she would love back. Logically there is a lifetime to form connections with people who do not devote their lives to being killed by monsters. This one time though it isn't about logic. It isn't about reasoning out the pieces of what should be and what is, or debating the finer points of a perception based reality. This one time it is all about the heart, and Sadie is almost glad for it. Glad to know that she can be that way too, glad to know that this isn't the last step for her, and mostly glad that the rain hasn't started yet. She places her bleeding hands on the circle and begins the long intonation that will open the Gate to Hell.
Sure, there's a lifetime to find someone else, but she doesn't want anyone else. It's that simple really, and that's all that matters.
---------
Monks Mound, Cahokia Mounds State Park, Indiana June 2nd, 2008
All that matters is getting this done before some park ranger arrives and screws it up. Sam's hands are officially cut, and he studies the blood flow before kneeling beside the chalk sigils and taking a deep breath. Sadie told him this is the Rubicon, and that if he started the next step he couldn't back off. Couldn't call do-over, so Sam knows that this is his last chance to not do something that Dean will no doubt call catastrophically stupid. So he starts the chant before he can wonder how angry his brother will be, or how much of a mistake this probably is. Because it's Dean. Dean lying there with his chest ripped open and his eyes dull and flat. Sam closed them, but he can still see that stare. That loss.
Dean's eyes have been an ever-present thing in his life since he can remember. A living entity that he has both avoided and longed for, and in death they are just eyes. Nothing sparkling, no mischief or glee, and certainly none of Dean's characteristic devil may care attitude. Without Dean behind them they are all organic material lumped together, and Sam thinks even if he didn't love Dean the way he does he would have done this just to fix what Lilith broke. To fix Dean's eyes.
He can feel the spell building around him, strange and off-kilter, and there's a moment when Sam wonders if he said the last sentence right. He can smell ozone in the air, and the censer burning off the aconite and gum arabic, and then the world begins to shake around him. Sadie warned him about this part, and Sam simply raises the volume of his voice and narrows his gaze. His bleeding hands judder over the ground as he continues working the spell energies. The smells from the censer are overwhelmed with the scent of burning flesh and sulfur. He can feel the hairs on his face smoldering as the ground under Dean's body opens, and Dean floats in mid-air above the split. It's not steps, but a rough and rocky path that Sam was prepared for. He stands slowly, legs tingling from blood loss, and then makes his wobbly way down into the hole he's opened. He reaches up once and trails his fingers over his brother's thigh. Remembers how hot it was in Pennsylvania, and how the muscles rolled under his fingertips. Then he continues downwards, and begins the katabasis. She warned him about the rest of it, so when the tunnel narrows and the light goes red Sam doesn't hesitate for even a second.
There's screaming, a world of screaming, and voices moan to him out of the rocks that he should help, that he did this, that he's at fault. They call him Demon Prince and half-breed, they call him incestuous and monstrous, they call him a lot of things. Sometimes the voices are just an amalgamation of the sounds of suffering and pain, but sometimes they are familiar. He hears his father at one point, then Jess, and then strangely enough the voice of his first roommate. He didn't know the guy was dead. Sometimes though, the worst times, he hears Dean. Calling to him to save him, screaming his name, and Sam speeds up when that voice starts. Goes faster because that's all he can do. He's heard Dean in pain before, but this is something new entirely. This is a sound that he doesn't even really equate with his brother, and Sam will do anything to make it stop. Whether it's a trick or not doesn't matter because that's Dean.
When the tunnel opens up though he's in a courtroom, and the judge sitting at the front stares at him impassively while the audience turns as one to gape. There's someone sitting in the plaintiff's side, so Sam takes the defense and sits. He remembers Sadie's warning.
"It was the room I defended my dissertation in. I had to bare my soul. Had to before I could make the demand."
"Samuel Winchester. You stand on trial for the crimes of incest, not honoring your father and mother, selfishness, and murder. How do you plead?"
He remembers Sadie's words. Remembers them well. "I plead not guilty."
The prosecutor laughs mirthlessly while the judge leans over his bench. "On what grounds do you find for this? You are aware our witness list is long and comprehensive are you not?"
"This court doesn't have the jurisdiction to try me. I can only be judged by one man." He holds his hands up, and the sigils glow the color of Dean's eyes. Sam wasn't quite expecting that, but there's an outburst of wails and moans before the judge quiets them down. "I wish to plead guilty to his crimes."
There's a long silence, and then the judge's black eyes narrow down. "You have been making the wrong kinds of friends Samuel. The court will give you one chance to reconsider your plea. Simply say not guilty and you may leave and return to the world above."
Does he have to think about it? Not really. He doesn't even pretend that there's a moment of consideration. This is for Dean. "I hold to my plea. Guilty of the crimes of Dean Winchester. I wish to serve his sentence concurrently."
The audience swells into sound again, screams of rage and agony, and then the judge is banging his fist against the bench before order is restored. "You think you can decide that?"
"I know I can." Sam keeps his gaze, doesn't bother glancing around because the rest of it is just props and scenery. Just a function of his mind explaining a concept he can't fathom. Sadie taught him that.
"Alright. This court finds the defendant, Samuel Winchester, guilty of the crimes of Dean Winchester. Sentence is an eternity to be served concurrently. It is so ruled."
There's that banging again, and then Sam is falling, and when he lands he knows the pain will begin.
---------
Eaton, Colorado August 2nd, 2003
The pain begins when he wakes up, and only intensifies when he turns his head to see her. Nate stares at Sadie for a long time. It took him five hours to get from the field into the house, and that was without her. He drags himself into the garage and then finds the wheelbarrow. No matter how small she is there's no chance he could carry her right now. He uses the wheelbarrow as a crutch to get back out to her, and finds that she hasn't changed positions since he left. Her hands are still bleeding, and the depth of the cuts on her left one let him know she was nervous, but determined. Well of course she was. He tilts the wheelbarrow and rolls her into it before pushing it back upright and slowly rolling them back in. By the time he gets her to the door he's covered in sweat, and the agony is incredible.
She doesn't help or react when he rolls her out of the wheelbarrow on the porch, shoves and drags her inside, and then collapses on the floor. He doesn't remember anything after the hellhounds. Did he never even make it to Hell proper? Or did she find a way to erase his memory? His watch still works, and it informs him he's been gone fourteen hours. What the fuck did she do?
It takes days for him to be able to get up, move around easily, and hold down food. Until then he drinks copious amounts of water, works on dragging her from room to room, and tries to get his muscles to work again. The first time she shits herself he cries for an hour. It's the most ridiculous response he could possibly have, but this is the girl that shamed a full-grown man with a doctorate at the age of eleven when he claimed that evolution was a lie. The girl who'd hacked into the school's computer system at twelve to change his attendance records so he wouldn't drop out. This was the genius, the marvel, the prodigy, and she'd just shit herself like a baby. While he cried and washed her she simply stared blankly at nothing, and he tried not to think of Jack Nicholson and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.
He used her books to read the lacerations on her hands, got a clear view of her thought processes from the copious notes she'd left behind, and fisted his hair when he realized there was no way back. No way out. She'd done this, and now he'd have to clean up the damage as best he could. So he had a way to get her to function as best as she could, and she moved like an obedient doll every time he used it. Four months after their trip to Hell Sadie spoke for the first time.
"The Hegelian Dialectic requires that we understand all of human history as perpetuated by thesis, anti-thesis, and synthesis. It was the building block for major modern philosophies, and Karl Marx's go to theory when formulating Communism. If we understand this, we can understand why there is war and suffering. We will always find an other, we will fight it, and then we will consume it or be consumed."
"Eat your lunch babe." She took a mechanical bite of the sandwich and spoke again with her eyes on the table.
"But what if there is no synthesis? What if we simply continue to struggle against one opposition with no clear ending? With this binary of movement and stasis will we simply sit still? Will history be arrested and frozen, or will we consider it movement even when we are not moving?"
He covers his burning eyes and pushes his own meal away. "Babe you gotta-"
"Thesis: I am in Hell." Her head slammed against the table, and she slept for seventeen hours. When she woke up she recognized him for a little bit, and then slipped back into that weird catatonic state she'd been in since he came back. But Nate had a way in now. An inkling of what was going on in her head, and that was everything he needed to get started. He swallowed down the last of his sandwich and started planning.
-------
Eaton, Colorado October 2nd, 2008
Dean swallows hard and then puts his beer down. "So Sammy's still in Hell?"
Nate's head shook and his eyes stayed on the floor in front of him. "Nah man. Not really. He thinks he is. He's experiencing it like that because he's all fucked on time, but that's not real. The only way to make her better was to anchor her in one time and place. To make sure she knew where she really was and why. The only one who could do it was the one she'd tied herself to. In the case of your brother that's you. Get me?"
He did. He did, but he didn't want to. "I need to order Sam around. Tell him what to do. Work on him 'til he figures out he's with me and he's safe."
Nate reached out, clapped his shoulder once awkwardly and then stepped back and cleared his throat. "It don't get much easier man. Trust me. She's been back a while and while she's better now I can't trust her with the general populace. Even before she went and broke the rules by telling your brother she wasn't safe out there. Hunting? You're gonna have to find a safe place to hole him up, 'cause he won't be doing that again any time soon. No getting around it and no makin' it easier. Sorry Dean."
And then Dean's throwing his beer bottle, screaming wordlessly as he punches once, twice, three times into the wall beside him until the plaster has cracked and something in his knuckles gives with a satisfying crunch. Nate never says anything, never moves, and when it's over Dean's standing still and panting while his fist drips blood. Sadie's head pokes into the kitchen for half a second, and her eyes narrow once before she nods softly and sits at the table. Accepts a beer from Nate and drinks woodenly.
He wants to scream at her. It would have been better if she'd left them alone. If she'd turned Sam away, and that's not fair because he knows Sam. Knows his brother would have stopped at nothing once he figured out that she could get Dean out of Hell. Fucking asshole. He sits shakily across from her and takes a deep breath. "So Sam, what, suffered for all my sins?"
The bottle pauses halfway to her mouth. "Semantics."
"Excuse me?"
"Semantics. Suffered for your sins suggests there's a hard written set of rules that you broke, and that each one had some inherent punishment that Sam would then have to live through. That's not how it works. It's what you feel guilty for, and the punishments are based upon the worst thing that you can imagine happening as a result. That's how I pulled it off. I tried contacting a crossroads demon to buy Nate back, but they aren't too fond of losing hunters. Then I tried to figure out a way to get around the demon, but the highest member of the Christian Hell's food chain is Lucifer, and from what I could tell he's not able to be contacted. That severely limited my options, but it came to me that once you get into things as ephemeral and theoretical as the afterlife it doesn't negate the possibility of perceptive reality. So I tweaked it. I set the spell to contact the Egyptian Underworld, and trusted that a trial in front of Osiris would end the way I wanted it to."
Dean's head is already hurting, and he drains his beer before another one magically appears at his elbow. He looks over to see Nate's sympathetic expression before the other hunter sits beside him. "She's talked like that since I first met her."
Sadie's head tilted quizzically. After a while she took a deep breath and rubbed at the back of her neck. "Which part?"
Well that was a loaded question. "Start with 'perceptive reality'."
"It's another theory. Everything we experience as reality is only there because we perceive it. Under that line of thought the reason we have so many different versions of Hell is because everyone perceives it differently. Thusly, all Underworlds are the same but we make differences in them when we enter. The theory turned out to be true."
"So Sammy walked into the Egyptian Underworld and demanded Osiris let me go, and the demons just let him?"
Nate shifted uncomfortably, and Dean looked up to see Sam standing in the doorway looking unsure. It was the most emotion his brother had given him since he got back. Other than the freak-outs that is, and Dean was so glad to see it he had to grip his fingers bloodless to not jump up and grab Sam. Instead he kept his voice even and calm. "Sammy?"
"Concurrent." Sam shifted once and his hands stayed limply at his sides. "Concurrent."
Dean glances Sadie's way and watches her eyes go soft and sad.
Nate rasped out, "Tell him to sit down and be calm. Tell him when it is and where. Anchor him."
So Dean got up, herded Sam to the spot beside her, and then leaned in and soothed in his best big brother voice. "It's October 2nd, 2008 Sammy and you're in Eaton, Colorado at Sadie's house. We're figuring out how to fix you baby boy. Do you remember that?" For the first time in forever Dean felt like good luck was on his side when Sam nodded and stared at his hands. He immediately distrusted that feeling.
"Concurrent."
"Yeah Sammy concurrent. What the hell does that mean?" Dean looked Sadie's way, and her lips pursed once before smoothing out.
---------
Eaton, Colorado May 8th, 2008
Sam smoothed the bed sheet as he watched her chew on her finger absently. "So what about the time period? That's the part I still don't get. They call it eternity for a reason you know."
He's trying to be funny, but she doesn't laugh. Instead her big dark eyes study him seriously.
"Do you know anything about String Theory?"
"Uh. Well, as much as any self-respectable nerd I guess. I know it's a reconciliation between quantum mechanics and relativity. I know it's connected to a belief in multiple universes. I know science-fiction writers adore it."
She's nodding even as her mouth moves. "Ok. That's a good start. How far is seven million miles?"
"What?" It's the fact that her face never changes expression that unsettles Sam. Usually when someone throws conversational curve balls they at least smirk a bit. Instead she's just studying him, and Sam pulls the bedspread over the guest bed and then leans against the wall. "It's seven million miles."
"Pick an object and then use it to explain the length of seven million miles."
"I can't-uh-seven million one mile tracks?" He pushed his hair back and then there was a hint of a smile on her face.
"Don't trouble yourself. The human brain isn't capable of really comprehending things of that size. We pay it lip service, but we can't really get at it. The same applies to time. Eternity is a thing that we have a word for, but we have no way of properly comprehending it."
Sam considers that for a long time before he speaks again. "But you comprehend it now." Sadie doesn't look up. She's pale and her head stays down. "Because you've experienced it. I'm going to experience it. Is that what's wrong with you Sadie?"
"Yes. Imagine that your mind, everything that makes you uniquely Sam, is a container. Someone drops a miniaturized Empire State Building into your mind and waits for it to expand. Everything gets blown everywhere, and you're left trying to pick up the pieces. It's exhausting."
"Where does String Theory come in Sadie? How did you get out of there and serve an eternity?"
"When I demanded they let me take on Nate's punishment I was sentenced. I demanded they let me serve the time-"
"Concurrently instead of consecutively." The last piece of the puzzle slots into place for Sam, and now he's back in Palo Alto. Back in a group of pre-law students discussing their future practices and their potential law schools. "You served eternity all at once."
"Eternity is a consequence of multiple dimensions. We live in a moment Sam, but an infinity of moments is still infinity."
The strength goes out of his legs and Sam finds himself sitting on the floor staring at her. "So they stack all the possible dimensions together and you suffer through every one of them. Will I be able to handle it?"
Her fingers shake as she covers her mouth. "As well as I did. Maybe better. You're more grounded than I am. You have Dean."
Except Sam isn't so sure about that. Isn't sure about anything anymore, because the whole idea is insane. He's going to do something that previously only existed in mythology, and the consequences are mind-bending. Literally. He has to keep reminding himself that at the end of the day it's for Dean. That Dean will walk out of Hell with a few scars, and who knows? Maybe his brother's legendary capacity for self-sacrifice will hit its limit at trying to take care of a fully-grown catatonic man. Maybe he'll drop Sam off at an asylum or a hospital and walk away. Live a life that's wholly his. Maybe pigs will fly and Paris Hilton will learn self-respect. The sky's the limit in this new world that Sam is about to explore.
More importantly Sam knows the last of it now. There are no more excuses for him staying, and the only thing left to figure out is how to bond with Dean, and where to open the gate. The last part will depend on where they happen to be when Dean's taken, and the first depends on when Sam can get up the courage. When he can make sure Dean is just inebriated enough to go for it, but not so inebriated he can't perform. He collects the ingredients she has and the list of the other things he'll need, makes sure that he has everything repacked in his duffel, and then stops in the hallway to see her standing very still near the door with a big day-planner in her hands. She holds it out to Sam and keeps his gaze for a long time.
"Put in Dean's date. I'd like to remember it."
He took the planner and flipped through it slowly. Each day was written out in a sloppy and masculine hand, and the entries had everything from classes she was teaching to meals she needed to eat. He went to the right day, scribbled in Dean's name, and then glanced at her. Her eyes were wet when she took the day-planner back, but they never lifted to look at him again.
"Don't forget anything." It was almost as good as a real goodbye.
--------
Eerie, Pennsylvania May 28th, 2008
Sam won't tell Dean goodbye. It's the first thing Dean notices has changed since his brother got back from his fact-finding mission. It's probably a side-effect of realizing that there's nothing that can be done. Dean is going to Hell and that's all there is. There will be no last minute Hail-Marys and no miracle fix. If there is a God to combat the evil they see daily He's washed His hands of Dean, and all the better for Him. Dean's not going to lose sleep at night about whether or not there's a big sky father approving of his choices, or if there's anything waiting for him other than an eternity of punishment. Hell he probably would have ended up there anyway.
With every day that passes Dean gets more reflective on his past. He's been almost everywhere, seen all the crappy tourist traps, saved a ton of people, and eaten at some of the best restaurants in the country. What else is there? He's lived several lifetimes in one short one, and there's nothing left for him to do. No matter what that little voice that started talking in Union Springs says. Dean doesn't need to drag Sam down with him, and that's all there is to that train of thought. So when Sam stops saying goodbye, loses that look of hopelessness and gains an edge to his face Dean's never seen before, well that's all the better. Only one of them needs to be crippled by guilt and self-doubt, and it sure as hell doesn't need to be Sam. Dean did this, and now he'll pay for it. That's all there is to it.
He doesn't want to go. God he doesn't want to go, because there's still things he needs to do. He's never seen the Grand Canyon, he's never had a moment's rest, and he hasn't had a home since he was four. Then there's Sam. Sam who still needs someone to look after him even if he refuses to admit it. Sam who's still so eager to throw himself into crazy plans and theories even if those always end badly. Who's gonna take care of Sam? Who will keep him from turning into Dean? Jaded and hateful, sure that the whole damn world is against him, and Sam's never crossed that last line. Shit the kid still prays, and Dean's never been able to figure that one out. Prayer. Dean doesn't try, hasn't ever cared for it, and now it may be all that's left. He wants to try it, because hedging his bets can't hurt, but there are no words. Who would he pray to?
Instead he goes for hedonism, and takes it hard. Doubles his one-night conquests, drinks more than even Dad ever did, and gambles like there's no tomorrow. Which is true in just a few days. They've got the hard line on Lilith, and they're headed that way, but why? What good can it really do? Dean doesn't want to buy in to Sammy's powers. Doesn't want Ruby to stay behind as his brother's back-up because he doesn't trust that Ruby will take care of his brother. No one can take care of his brother like he can. That's what he's learned, and it's a hard-won lesson. Not even Jess could really keep Sam straight and sane. Keep him from diving headfirst into the same stupidity Dean has been taking part in his whole life. The thought of Sam alone…
But he won't be. Bobby will be there to keep him from doing anything too stupid, and Sam will go to Bobby. Dean will make sure of it. Somehow he's left the bar while he's thinking, driven all the way back to the motel, and he sits in the Impala and rubs at his face while he considers it. He should have started hustling months ago and laying money aside for Sam. In between his aversion to the credit card fraud and his inability to take advantage of idiots Sam won't be able to rake in the kind of cash he needs to survive. There's not enough time now, and Dean isn't sure what he can do about that. Sam will have to stow his moral objections and just use the credit cards until he gets to Bobby. That could work, and honestly Dean just doesn't know what else to do. He can't tell Sam to stop hunting now. Sam's determined to live the life, and Dean was stupid enough to say he was proud of that.
Why didn't he just truss his baby brother up and leave him out in the wild on a platter?
He pushes his way out of the car and finds that his gait isn't quite steady as he heads for the door. It opens creakily, and Dean's secretly glad for that every time. A few extra seconds of-
All brain function stops at the sight in front of him. There's incense burning, and his brother is sitting on the bed with his head down and his hands gripped between his knees. He's fairly certain Sam's not praying, because most people don't pray naked. Then again Sam's never been one to follow normal even when he cries for it so much. Somehow his mouth finds a way to function.
"Sammy?" It's a croak, and his brother's head doesn't come up when it happens.
"Dean I-I want to-" Sam's hands are shaking, and Dean's torn between taking them and holding them steady or running from the room as fast as he can. He remembers the taste of Sam from Union Springs to this day. It took a whole lot of Gumby Girl to get the image of his brother naked out of his mind, and there's not enough time left in Dean's life to get this picture erased.
This is a mistake. Some kind of incredible mistake. Any second now some naked girl is gonna come wandering out of the bathroom and say Sam's name, and his brother will blush, and then they'll all laugh about it like this happens all the time. It's happened more than once with Dean on the other end, so it's plausible. Except the bathroom door is open and the room is lacking in any feminine perfume. Dean's pretty sure he'd be able to smell it even over the scent of the incense. Which leaves not much in the way of possibilities to explain this little scenario. Unless Sam is being stupid again, and there's always a good chance of that.
"Sam. Put your goddamn clothes on." He doesn't slur it. He's surprisingly sober now.
"Dean I-" When Sam finally looks up there's a moment that Dean is pretty sure will go down in history as the worst confusion ever felt by one man. Sam's crying, and there's a line to his shoulders that suggests he's been trying not to for some time. He pushes himself off the bed and Dean gets one long look at the lines of his lanky little brother before Sam's face is in his. Whatever it is Sam is or wants or whatever is lost in the press of lips, and the sudden low growl that Dean can't place or identify. He lets himself have it, the same way he did in Union Springs, before the smarter part of him kicks in. Sure Sam tastes great, and Dean loves the feel of him, but this is Sam. He parts them fast, pushing gently he thought except Sam hits the bed with his knees and ends up sprawled and naked in front of him. The damn incense smells almost as delicious as his brother looks, naked and spread out. Which is a bad fucking thought. A very, very, bad fucking thought.
"Dean." There's longing there, and lust, and Dean can't take it. He's only fucking human, and Sam looks good. Skin that soft golden he's so familiar with, and the cut lines of abdominal muscles and long hairy legs all spread. He's seen Sam naked a thousand times, but never in this context. Not in real life. He knows what Union Springs was about. Sam's always been perceptive, and somewhere in that overactive brain of his Sam came up with the idea that the only way to get Dean to leave with him was to give Dean what he'd always wanted. He's never questioned Sam's ability to read him. To know what Dean wants to keep hidden. So this, this is Sam's way of giving it to him before he's gone forever. Sammy's last goodbye. Dean suddenly doesn't want it. If this could happen, if he could have this, then it has to be permanent. It has to be both of them, and there can't be desperation and anger mixed in. It has to go slow and sweet, and for once in his life he needs to be a goddamn romantic.
At least that's what he's thinking as he kicks off his boots and grabs Sam's ankle. Lifts it to his mouth and tastes along the line of it and up Sam's muscled calf. His brother lets out this broken noise, and Dean keeps moving his lips and tongue up that flesh, tasting and licking, while Sam keeps saying his name. Ruby said he could stay human. Could hold onto something that would keep him from going full demon, and that whatever it was it had to be something strong. Sam's strong, the traitorous voice in his lizard brain points out. Stronger than Dean sometimes, and more than capable of being the memory that keeps Dean from turning completely. He's worked his way up to Sam's thigh, and he skips the heat of his brother's groin to lick the joint of leg and hip before working his way to the navel. The broken sounds are getting more urgent with every second, and Dean can hardly stand to hear them. They're all tied up in everything he's ever regretted.
"Union Springs." He says it with a mouthful of Sam's hipbone, and whether it's the words or the vibration of his voice that make Sam jump Dean will never know. He can't even make himself ask.
"Then. Wanted it then. Before then." All this time. All this goddamn time. Which is all good and well to think about now, but Dean knows the truth. If it weren't for the axe hanging over his head he'd never be doing this. Wouldn't be laughing lowly at the way all of Sam's muscles twitch when he drags his teeth along that soft skin. He's always heard people do crazy things when they know they're dying. He bites Sam's nipple and listens to the thick sound of pain and pleasure Sam makes.
"Why?" It's not even the question he wants the answer to. He wants to taste more, wants to dip his tongue into every single inch of Sam's body and memorize every nook and cranny. He wants to keep Sam making these noises until the hellhounds come and the world is taken from him. Sam is taken from him. That growl comes again and Dean realizes it's him, and that his teeth are maybe moving too hard against the skin of Sam's throat. He pulls back and gives himself a second to get it back under control, but Sam seems to think that he's waiting for an answer. He watches those hazel eyes go from fuzzy to clear and tight.
"Because you're Dean." It's said like Sam's telling him that water is wet or vampires have to be beheaded. Like it's the simplest thing ever, and Dean's a fucking idiot for not understanding. There are still tears in the back of Sam's eyes, but his mouth is getting that little prudish quirk it always does when Sam's getting smug. Dean loves that look as much as he hates the inspiration for it. So he bites at Sam's lower lip, sucks it into his mouth, and then releases before licking his way towards his brother's throat. There's so much he wants them to try, and there's no damn time, but Dean's going to do as much of it as he can. He licks and bites his way back down before tasting the heft of Sam's shaft. It's salty, surprisingly so, and Dean's pretty sure that's pre-come or sweat. The smell is familiar and new all at once, musky and thick and heady, and Dean takes as much as he can before backing off slowly. The sounds Sam makes just push Dean further. He presses his tongue against the skin under Sam's cock, tastes one ball and then the other. Buries his face into his brother's heat and licks like Sam's the world's tastiest pie.
Long and strong fingers tighten in his short hair, rove over his neck, and then grip his shoulder tight. One of Sam's hands pries Dean's fingers up and leads them, and then Sam is pressing lube into his palm and making those noises again as Dean fumbles with it. He's had anal sex before, but it was a woman and the importance of this moment isn't the same at all. He wants this to be special, perfect, and that makes it goddamn unlucky that this is their first and only time. He spreads the lube over his fingers and then slides one down over Sam's balls and around the entrance he's going to be in. That thought is almost the end of him, and Dean bites his lip hard and tries to hold on to what little control he has left.
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Date: 2021-07-31 07:53 am (UTC)Sad but also l o v i n g this 🥰