Title: The Last Time
Warnings: Wincest; spoilers through end of season 2.
Rating: hard R, adult
Summary: At some point, the whole situation shifted, something huge and fundamental changed – like the world stopped spinning for a fraction of a second, gravity ceased, and there was nothing to hold on to.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
"Hmm?" Sam inclined his head in his brother's direction, glancing at him briefly before returning his attention to the TV.
"Why do you suppose they bolt the furniture down in hotel rooms?" He gestured to the foot of his bed where the legs were, in fact, bolted to the floor. "Who's gonna steal a motel bed?"
Sam's head fell to the other side, eyes rolling even though he knew Dean couldn't see them. "I don't know Dean."
A few minutes passed, them, "Sam?"
He just turned his head, eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Why do they have braille on the buttons of drive-through ATM's?"
Sam, eyebrows now drawn together, actually paused to consider that one before he replied, "I really don't know."
Fifteen minutes later, maybe, Dean spoke again. His voice was different this time. Quiet, almost afraid, even. "Sammy?"
Sam couldn't help the exasperated sigh. "What is it now, Dean?" Didn't even look at his brother.
"What do you think is gonna happen to my body when she collects my soul?"
Dean wasn't looking at him; instead, his eyes were focused on the bed covers where his fingers idly traced the worn floral pattern. He stopped, gaze rising to meet Sam's.
What Sam saw there made him move to his brother's side. He shook his head, thoughts racing at what felt like a million miles an hour. "Dean…" He sat on the edge of the mattress, his knee brushing against Dean's thigh.
"You'll have to salt and burn me right away – you know that, right?" Dean said quietly.
Sam shook his head again, vehemently. "No. It's not-" He squeezed his eyes closed, not wanting to shed the tears he could feel welling up. "We're gonna figure this out. You're not gonna have to worry about it, okay? I'll figure this out."
"Sammy." Just a breath; a tired sigh. "With all these demons on the loose…Any one of 'em could just jump into my body – possess me. Then where would you be, Sam? You gotta do it."
Sam's mouth opened, closed, his bottom lip and chin wavering. Taking a deep breath, he wiped at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "No, Dean."
"There's no other way. We can't research ourselves out of this one – the past eleven months have taught me that much."
Sam finally pulled himself together enough to look at Dean.
His eyes were red-rimmed, glassy; and he glanced away, shrugging, when their gazes met.
Sam reached out for his brother, fingers wrapping around his wrist hoping the touch would convey something his words couldn't. "I'm not letting you go."
Dean's nose wrinkled, mouth almost a snarl. "You don't have a choice."
He pulled close, clasping a hand behind Dean's head, forcing Dean to look at him. "There's always a choice."
"Not this time." The façade fell away, and he looked so defeated. "You can only save me so many times."
"This won't be the last, I swear, Dean. I swear."
One of Dean's hands fisted in the front of Sam's t-shirt. "I've been living on borrowed time for so long. Just let me go. You can go back to school, have a normal life." Pulled Sam to his chest. "Let me go, little brother."
Sam's arms snaked behind Dean's back, clutching him tightly, face buried in his neck. "Never," he promised, tears finally streaking his cheeks.
At some point, the whole situation shifted, something huge and fundamental changed – like the world stopped spinning for a fraction of a second, gravity ceased, and there was nothing to hold on to.
They were mirrors of each other when Sam pulled away slightly, raising his face to Dean's. Drawing in the same shuddering breaths, blinking back the same unshed tears, hearts thundering the same staccato palpitations. Eyes locked, searching. Dean's hand trembled as he cupped Sam's cheek so, so carefully. The tip of his tongue slipped over his bottom lip, followed by teeth that drew it in, held it there, as he stared at Sam's mouth. The war being waged in his head – crossing this line or backing away from it – was clearly visible on his face.
Sam decided the outcome for him, crushing their mouths together. Noses pressed in awkward angles, all teeth and desperation. "Dean. Dean."
"Sammy." A constricting feeling rose in his chest, around his heart, his lungs – the same feeling he'd had as he helplessly watched Sam die.
There was no going back from this.
Sam pushed Dean down to the mattress, not once breaking their kiss. His hands slid under Dean's shirt, fingers mapping his chest, trailing down to his stomach, then gripping the hem and helping Dean rid himself of it. His own shirt followed it to the floor.
Dean ran a hand through Sam's hair, grasping at the back of his head as Sam kissed his neck. He arched his back, simultaneously exposing more of his throat to Sam's busy mouth and pressing his aching erection against Sam's thigh between his legs. Groaning, he did it again. He tried to grab for Sam's ass to pull their bodies flush, but could only reach as far as the belt loops of his jeans. Fingers hooked and tugged. It accomplished the same thing. Yet, Dean still wasn't satisfied. He wanted to feel more of his brother; couldn't get enough. He flipped them over and pushed Sam onto his back.
Sam spread his legs apart, welcoming Dean to settle between them. Knees bent and feet flat on the mattress, he used the leverage to meet Dean's thrusts. Soon, he was panting and urgently tugging at the fly of Dean's pants. Dean stilled, the only movement in the room his necklace swaying like a pendulum between them. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. I am. But…"
"You haven't done this before."
"I've been with a couple of guys, and it's been awhile. But this…this is completely different: it's you."
Dean bowed his head. "This is so twisted and fucked up."
"I know." He sounded almost awed. "And I still want it. Want you."
"So do I."
Sam leaned up and kissed Dean slowly, trying to show him just how much he wanted this. His hand found its way between their bodies once more, Dean's mouth faltering on his for only a moment when Sam's long fingers curled around his cock.
Dean started thrusting into Sam's fist. It wasn't long before he was close. He stopped moving, but Sam's hand didn't. "I'm gonna – if you don't-"
Sam pulled his hand away and finished the previously abandoned task of removing the rest of their clothes while Dean, impatient and shaking with need, hovered above him.
It took him a moment to realize Sam was speaking to him, still trying to comprehend what they were about to do.
"Lube," Sam repeated.
"Yeah." Dean fumbled through his duffle bag, pulling the small bottle from an inside pocket. When he turned back to Sam, his heart stuttered a beat.
Sam was leaning up on one elbow, watching Dean, lazily stroking himself with his other hand. He canted his head to the side, hair falling across his eyes, silently telling Dean, Come here.
He'd never been this nervous. And when Sam took the lube bottle from him when he returned, slicked a couple fingers and started working them into his own body, Dean thought he was going to hyperventilate. To see Sam like that. He couldn't tear his eyes away.
"Dean." A harsh gasp. Sam, eyes dark and hooded, stared at him hungrily. "Need you. Now. Need you inside me." He used what extra lube remained on his hand to cover Dean's cock as he positioned it just outside his entrance. "Dean."
Dean slowly pushed in, so close to coming, but wanting to take his time and just feel it. "God, Sam." Buried as far as he could go, he stopped, staring down at Sam, then leaned down and claimed his mouth. Broke away, lungs burning for air. Pulled out, drove home. Over and over. He'd never felt so complete and so broken, at the same time, as he did in those moments.
Sam keened beneath him. "Please," he begged. Fingertips digging into Dean's back.
Looking at Sam's face, his eyes unfocused and jaw slack, was too much. He pulled out and turned Sam over, roughly slamming back into him. It made Sam moan his name and say things Dean didn't want to hear: love you.
He found himself on the edge, then everything fell away. Sam followed almost immediately.
Dean collapsed to the side, feeling empty when his dick slipped free of Sam's ass.
Sam rolled over, lazy smile on his face. He looked the happiest and most content that he had in a long time.
All Dean could think was, What have I done?
This was the last month. The closer the end came, the more confrontational Sam became about the subject. And, after what had happened the previous night, Dean was almost certain that Sam would be more adamant against Dean's acceptance of his deal and all its consequences. And he was just so tired of having the same old argument every time.
So this was all there was for him to do. He was out of options, there was no other way.
It wasn't as if the deal was for nothing – or for something trivial. It was noble, right? It was out of love. It was for Sam to have a second chance at happiness and the life he deserved – not the one he was saddled with due to circumstances beyond his control. He just wished Sam could see and understand it for what it was and meant under the surface. If he could just get past the fact that, in order for Sam to live his life, Dean had to lose his…But it was a sacrifice Dean would make again if he had to.
He slung his duffle bag over his shoulder, shoved a pistol in the back of his waistband, and looked at Sam's sleeping form, twisted in the sheets of their bed. He opened the hotel room door, and closed it behind himself softly. Walking into the parking lot, he didn't even glance at the Impala as he passed it.
That was how Dean Winchester abandoned his brother.