For the Ones We've Lost My Soul Will Grieve (Supernatural, Dean/Sam, R) 1/1
Title: For the Ones We've Lost My Soul Will Grieve
Author: Spinny Roses
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Warnings: Incest (Dean/Sam), character death
Spoilers: AU after "Devil's Trap"
Disclaimer: Don't own. Title from "By the Sword," by Emilie Autumn
Summary: "You know, some day you're going to wake up."
For the Ones We've Lost My Soul Will Grieve
By Spinny Roses
Dean's eyes cracked open, taking in a burst of light and a blurred figure. And by the sound of things, the blurred figure brought a fried heart attack in a bag (his favorite) but no coffee. "Dude," he said sleepily, reaching down to scratch at an itchy leg. "Come on, at least some of Farmer Joe's best swill."
A heavy sigh, and suddenly- Bliss. Right under his nose. Dean sat up, following the ambrosia. He opened his eyes to focus on Sam's disproving face. "You're too addicted to this stuff," he told Dean sternly.
"Shut up and gimme." Dean snapped the cup out of Sam's fingers, one hand still on his leg. "Fucking hell. Sam, where's that pencil?"
Sam looked down, and rolled his eyes. "Dean, stop trying to scratch under your cast. You keep breaking pens and pencils doing that."
"Yeah, yeah. It itches, though," and yeah, Dean knew he was whining. But damn it, the cast was driving him nuts! His fingers were shoved as far down under the plaster as they could go, and there was still that one spot just out of range...
Something yellow flashed through the air and landed lightly on Dean's lap. With a triumphant cry, Dean snatched it up and shoved the pencil down under the ugly purple wrapping. "Ooh. Oh yeah. Mm. Right there."
"Dude!" Sam was looking at him, horrified. "Should I let you and the pencil have a moment alone?"
"Nn... please. Ooh baby."
---
Dean could, basically, not hear a damn thing. That was okay; that just meant that the earplugs they shoved in their ears to keep from hearing the siren were working. It still kinda sucked to not be able to shout at Sam to move damn it, though. He aimed at the siren's feathery back, hoping to God that he would be able to hit the thing without the bullet going through and hitting Sam, when Sam suddenly rolled to one side. His finger continued through the squeezing motion, and the siren's back exploded just after a dulled boom.
She was still moving, lips still uttering her song, when Sam turned and fired three shots. Two into her head, one into her throat. Mouth and larynx effectively destroyed, she went still. Quiet.
Didn't keep Dean from getting the salt and lighter, though. It wasn't until the siren's body was a mess of feathers and ash when the brothers finally removed the earplugs. "Doing a little mind reading, Sammy?" Dean asked, checking a line of scratches down his arm.
"Huh?" Dean had noticed a while back that Sam looked like a confused puppy with that look on his face. "No, no way dude."
"Then how did you know when to dodge?" That was just... he didn't know why he had to know.
"You told me."
Dean looked up at him. "Sam, I thought you said you weren't mind reading." They didn't need stitching. Bandaging, yeah, but they weren't deep enough for stitches.
"This is something different," Sam said quietly. "Let's go."
---
Sam always made the most girly noises when Dean had his lips wrapped around his cock. It wasn't the strangled cry at orgasm, though, that gave Dean that little ego boost, though.
It was the squeaking noises as Dean tongued his slit.
---
"Sammy, some day we're going to have a long talk about you and being strangled," Dean said shakily, holding his coughing brother to his shoulder. "Hey, talk to me. Sammy."
"Sam," he got out, voice rough. "It's Sam." He pulled back to look up at Dean, eyes unreadable. "You were fighting downstairs."
Which was true, he was, but how the hell did Sam know? Dean shrugged, and started to help Sam up. "Bitch went down. Come on, let's get out of here before Mr. Happy Tentacle Monster shows back up and decides to put that tentacle somewhere else."
Actually, the more important question, Dean realized later, was how he got upstairs in the first place when the stairs were destroyed when they first got there.
---
Sam kept getting thinner, paler, as the days went by. It wasn't like he wasn't eating or anything (Dean had seen horses that eat less than Sam), but the weight continued to drop. Dean kept researching curses and going over who could have put it on Sam, coming up with nothing. No witches, warlocks, or sorcerers fought since... well, that crash. The demons hadn't tried cursing them...
There was nothing.
Dean nervously drummed the wheel, off beat with the music, when he heard Sam say something in the passenger's seat. He turned, Sam looking steadily out of the car, lips completely still.
But he still heard "I can't do this anymore" clearly in his ears, echoing louder than the drum solo pounding out of his speakers.
---
Dean woke up one day and Sam was missing.
In fact, a lot was missing.
There was only one (queen sized) bed, and one clothes bag. The laptop was still there, but all of Sam's little touches were missing. The burger wrapper Sam had been chowing down on was missing, both on the table and on the trash can, but the last remains of the burger and fries Dean had ordered was still next to the laptop.
Without worrying, Dean just packed up his stuff and checked out of the motel. He sat down in the driver's seat, and looked at the empty passenger's seat. Where Sam should have been.
There was nothing there.
The Impala quickly came up to speed on the highway, and there was the rustling of a map. "Okay," came Sam's voice, calm. "I think I got it. Dayton, Ohio. We should be able to get there by nightfall."
Dean looked over briefly, watching Sam finish folding the map and stuffing it away. "Okay."
---
Sam looked utterly fuckable like that, head tilted back as Dean bit down on his shoulder. A ragged breath slid past his lips, and a shaking hand cupped his ass. "Dean," he whispered, arching up against him. "You know, some day you're going to wake up."
Dean pulled back, looking down at the empty bed with confusion.
---
Dean hated hospitals. This time it had been a Barghest. Damn thing had torn up his back, and he needed a transfusion faster than someone could say "stat." But he was going to be released soon, just as soon as Sam showed up. The nurse came in, dressed in the cutest Snoopy scrubs, and added something to his IV. Dean reached out, snagging her wrist. "Hey, Amanda, have you seen my brother?"
"Brother?" She looked at him, confused, tucking away an errant strand of blonde hair.
"Yeah. You know, tall. Geekboy hair. Always wears hoodies?"
"He was admitted on the same day as you, Dean," she said carefully and oh yeah, now he remembered. Stitches that Dean couldn't do because hey, out of blood here. He released her arm, nodding. She brushed something off her blue scrubs and what happened to Snoopy? A machine beeped in his ear, louder than it should be with the hint of a car horn blaring behind it-
"Where's my dad?" he gasped out. "My brother?" He couldn't move, not now, his damn leg was broken and his car...
"Mr. Winchester," she started, when Dean looked at her round face and short brunette hair.
"They're dead, aren't they," Dean said bleakly, the words the same as the ones he said when he asked about them after that accident. There were soft lips on his hair, and a gentle urging, a soft incessant voice.
Wake up Dean. C'mon, man. Wake up...
---
Dean sat down. He always sat down, always into the passenger's seat. Sam was always there, but Sam was dead. They were dead.
"You're not going to wake up?"
"Nah." He smiled at him, easily. "I'd rather be here than in a world where I don't have a brother anymore."
"You're going to kill me, Dean," Sam said quietly.
"And if I wake up, I'm going to die," Dean snapped out, serious. "Sam, let me sleep."
"I don't want to lose you either." And Sam was pulling him closer, kissing him weakly. "But I want to wake up too."
Dean pulled back, looking up at him. He was pale, and his skin was paper thin. Dean was healthier than he'd ever been but Sam was- oh shit. He took a long breath, looking down at his strong fingers entwined with trembling, thin fingers. "How long?" he whispered, watching blue veins start to appear under the white skin.
"Two more days. Maybe less."
Instead of answering, Dean pulled back. He looked over his little brother, and kissed him one last time. "I'm not going to wake up," he said sternly. "Sam, you have to let me go."
Sam jumped, startled. "How did you know?"
He just smiled, sadly. "Dude, how long have we done this? Studied how the supernatural works? Wake up, Sammy. Dad's waiting."
---
There was something talking in the background. It was a steady drone, a pleading whisper. The whisper went on and on, even after he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Finally, his voice hoarse from disuse, he whispered, "Dean's dead."
The voice stopped. "Sammy, how did you- oh God, you're awake. You're finally awake..."
Sam didn't look over as John hugged him, just listened to the sounds of the hospital flow around them.
Author: Spinny Roses
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Warnings: Incest (Dean/Sam), character death
Spoilers: AU after "Devil's Trap"
Disclaimer: Don't own. Title from "By the Sword," by Emilie Autumn
Summary: "You know, some day you're going to wake up."
For the Ones We've Lost My Soul Will Grieve
By Spinny Roses
Dean's eyes cracked open, taking in a burst of light and a blurred figure. And by the sound of things, the blurred figure brought a fried heart attack in a bag (his favorite) but no coffee. "Dude," he said sleepily, reaching down to scratch at an itchy leg. "Come on, at least some of Farmer Joe's best swill."
A heavy sigh, and suddenly- Bliss. Right under his nose. Dean sat up, following the ambrosia. He opened his eyes to focus on Sam's disproving face. "You're too addicted to this stuff," he told Dean sternly.
"Shut up and gimme." Dean snapped the cup out of Sam's fingers, one hand still on his leg. "Fucking hell. Sam, where's that pencil?"
Sam looked down, and rolled his eyes. "Dean, stop trying to scratch under your cast. You keep breaking pens and pencils doing that."
"Yeah, yeah. It itches, though," and yeah, Dean knew he was whining. But damn it, the cast was driving him nuts! His fingers were shoved as far down under the plaster as they could go, and there was still that one spot just out of range...
Something yellow flashed through the air and landed lightly on Dean's lap. With a triumphant cry, Dean snatched it up and shoved the pencil down under the ugly purple wrapping. "Ooh. Oh yeah. Mm. Right there."
"Dude!" Sam was looking at him, horrified. "Should I let you and the pencil have a moment alone?"
"Nn... please. Ooh baby."
---
Dean could, basically, not hear a damn thing. That was okay; that just meant that the earplugs they shoved in their ears to keep from hearing the siren were working. It still kinda sucked to not be able to shout at Sam to move damn it, though. He aimed at the siren's feathery back, hoping to God that he would be able to hit the thing without the bullet going through and hitting Sam, when Sam suddenly rolled to one side. His finger continued through the squeezing motion, and the siren's back exploded just after a dulled boom.
She was still moving, lips still uttering her song, when Sam turned and fired three shots. Two into her head, one into her throat. Mouth and larynx effectively destroyed, she went still. Quiet.
Didn't keep Dean from getting the salt and lighter, though. It wasn't until the siren's body was a mess of feathers and ash when the brothers finally removed the earplugs. "Doing a little mind reading, Sammy?" Dean asked, checking a line of scratches down his arm.
"Huh?" Dean had noticed a while back that Sam looked like a confused puppy with that look on his face. "No, no way dude."
"Then how did you know when to dodge?" That was just... he didn't know why he had to know.
"You told me."
Dean looked up at him. "Sam, I thought you said you weren't mind reading." They didn't need stitching. Bandaging, yeah, but they weren't deep enough for stitches.
"This is something different," Sam said quietly. "Let's go."
---
Sam always made the most girly noises when Dean had his lips wrapped around his cock. It wasn't the strangled cry at orgasm, though, that gave Dean that little ego boost, though.
It was the squeaking noises as Dean tongued his slit.
---
"Sammy, some day we're going to have a long talk about you and being strangled," Dean said shakily, holding his coughing brother to his shoulder. "Hey, talk to me. Sammy."
"Sam," he got out, voice rough. "It's Sam." He pulled back to look up at Dean, eyes unreadable. "You were fighting downstairs."
Which was true, he was, but how the hell did Sam know? Dean shrugged, and started to help Sam up. "Bitch went down. Come on, let's get out of here before Mr. Happy Tentacle Monster shows back up and decides to put that tentacle somewhere else."
Actually, the more important question, Dean realized later, was how he got upstairs in the first place when the stairs were destroyed when they first got there.
---
Sam kept getting thinner, paler, as the days went by. It wasn't like he wasn't eating or anything (Dean had seen horses that eat less than Sam), but the weight continued to drop. Dean kept researching curses and going over who could have put it on Sam, coming up with nothing. No witches, warlocks, or sorcerers fought since... well, that crash. The demons hadn't tried cursing them...
There was nothing.
Dean nervously drummed the wheel, off beat with the music, when he heard Sam say something in the passenger's seat. He turned, Sam looking steadily out of the car, lips completely still.
But he still heard "I can't do this anymore" clearly in his ears, echoing louder than the drum solo pounding out of his speakers.
---
Dean woke up one day and Sam was missing.
In fact, a lot was missing.
There was only one (queen sized) bed, and one clothes bag. The laptop was still there, but all of Sam's little touches were missing. The burger wrapper Sam had been chowing down on was missing, both on the table and on the trash can, but the last remains of the burger and fries Dean had ordered was still next to the laptop.
Without worrying, Dean just packed up his stuff and checked out of the motel. He sat down in the driver's seat, and looked at the empty passenger's seat. Where Sam should have been.
There was nothing there.
The Impala quickly came up to speed on the highway, and there was the rustling of a map. "Okay," came Sam's voice, calm. "I think I got it. Dayton, Ohio. We should be able to get there by nightfall."
Dean looked over briefly, watching Sam finish folding the map and stuffing it away. "Okay."
---
Sam looked utterly fuckable like that, head tilted back as Dean bit down on his shoulder. A ragged breath slid past his lips, and a shaking hand cupped his ass. "Dean," he whispered, arching up against him. "You know, some day you're going to wake up."
Dean pulled back, looking down at the empty bed with confusion.
---
Dean hated hospitals. This time it had been a Barghest. Damn thing had torn up his back, and he needed a transfusion faster than someone could say "stat." But he was going to be released soon, just as soon as Sam showed up. The nurse came in, dressed in the cutest Snoopy scrubs, and added something to his IV. Dean reached out, snagging her wrist. "Hey, Amanda, have you seen my brother?"
"Brother?" She looked at him, confused, tucking away an errant strand of blonde hair.
"Yeah. You know, tall. Geekboy hair. Always wears hoodies?"
"He was admitted on the same day as you, Dean," she said carefully and oh yeah, now he remembered. Stitches that Dean couldn't do because hey, out of blood here. He released her arm, nodding. She brushed something off her blue scrubs and what happened to Snoopy? A machine beeped in his ear, louder than it should be with the hint of a car horn blaring behind it-
"Where's my dad?" he gasped out. "My brother?" He couldn't move, not now, his damn leg was broken and his car...
"Mr. Winchester," she started, when Dean looked at her round face and short brunette hair.
"They're dead, aren't they," Dean said bleakly, the words the same as the ones he said when he asked about them after that accident. There were soft lips on his hair, and a gentle urging, a soft incessant voice.
Wake up Dean. C'mon, man. Wake up...
---
Dean sat down. He always sat down, always into the passenger's seat. Sam was always there, but Sam was dead. They were dead.
"You're not going to wake up?"
"Nah." He smiled at him, easily. "I'd rather be here than in a world where I don't have a brother anymore."
"You're going to kill me, Dean," Sam said quietly.
"And if I wake up, I'm going to die," Dean snapped out, serious. "Sam, let me sleep."
"I don't want to lose you either." And Sam was pulling him closer, kissing him weakly. "But I want to wake up too."
Dean pulled back, looking up at him. He was pale, and his skin was paper thin. Dean was healthier than he'd ever been but Sam was- oh shit. He took a long breath, looking down at his strong fingers entwined with trembling, thin fingers. "How long?" he whispered, watching blue veins start to appear under the white skin.
"Two more days. Maybe less."
Instead of answering, Dean pulled back. He looked over his little brother, and kissed him one last time. "I'm not going to wake up," he said sternly. "Sam, you have to let me go."
Sam jumped, startled. "How did you know?"
He just smiled, sadly. "Dude, how long have we done this? Studied how the supernatural works? Wake up, Sammy. Dad's waiting."
---
There was something talking in the background. It was a steady drone, a pleading whisper. The whisper went on and on, even after he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Finally, his voice hoarse from disuse, he whispered, "Dean's dead."
The voice stopped. "Sammy, how did you- oh God, you're awake. You're finally awake..."
Sam didn't look over as John hugged him, just listened to the sounds of the hospital flow around them.