SPN fic: Someday Never Comes // R // Team Angst
Title: Someday Never Comes
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R (for content, rather than Sam/Dean. That would be more PG-13)
Words: 5135, unbeta'd- sorry! beta'd by torturemysoul
Warnings: Kinda dark!fic, some violence, some hints at non-con but nothing overt
Disclaimer: *insert witty line about not owning any of it, plz to not be suing here*
Summary: Sam was trying so hard to be the strong one for Dean. He wanted to help Dean for all the times Dean had stuck his neck on the line for Sam. The guy exchanged his life to bring Sam back from the dead. Was it too for Sam to hope that he could find a loop hole or a hidden clause? Something- anything- to save his brother just this one time.
Author's Notes: I meant to have this done WAY earlier but I was busy with this little thing called BigBang so this kinda got shoved the wayside. My prompt was rifle, which I had an immediate image of when I claimed it at spn_heraea. I'm not sure if I got that image across through this, because it's weird and I'm not sure what to make of it, but it's what came out and I don't feel it was forced or is un-natural for some reason. Just really weird. Also, if you haven't noticed- TEAM ANGST BABY! *Anna Nicole shimmy*
It started at the end of the summer. The tail end, that time when the sun makes that last flailing, valiant effort to shine, bright and warm, but fails because the leaves are turning and the crisp night cancels out any memory of the warmth of the day.
At least, that's when Dean realized it started. For all he knew it had been going on since early summer, since the end of spring, since before. But the end of the summer was when Sam finally let him know what was going on; when Sam couldn't keep it hidden anymore and Dean found out on his own, so Sam had no choice but to tell Dean everything.
"The dreams are getting worse. And I'm losing time. Not a lot," Sam had hastened to tell him at Dean's raised eyebrow. "But a few minutes here and there."
"What are the dreams about?"
"People I don't know."
"And?"
"They die. I can see my hands in the dream, or what feels like my hands. I think... I think I kill them?" Sam sounded confused, and he screwed up his face, trying to remember or maybe not to cry. Dean swallowed hard.
"How much time are you losing again?"
"Just a few minutes," Sam assured him, as if it would make him feel better. "Not enough for that-- for me to-- I don't think it's-"
"We'll get through this Sammy," Dean cut him off before he could finish his sentence. "Don't we always get out of this stuff?"
Sam could only press his lips together and try to believe in the determination on Dean's face.
~~~
Thing was, this time they were supposed to be in the other's shoes. This time it was Sam's turn to save Dean. This time it was Dean who was supposed to be depending on Sam, looking to Sam, needing Sam. This time Sam was supposed to come through for Dean and make everything right again.
Somehow, even on the mornings that Dean rose before the sun started to approach the horizon, Sam was awake before him, in Bobby's small kitchen with the lights blazing, a cup of lukewarm coffee by his hand and a book in front of him. At first Dean was sure Sam just wasn't sleeping, was staying up all night and trying to press through the research by himself; but every night Dean fought to stay awake, to hear Sam's slow, steady snores -- the ones that he couldn't ever fake, realistically -- and they always came. Sam always fell asleep before Dean, and yet always managed to get up before Dean, too.
He didn't want to but Dean had to wonder about the possibility that Sam wasn't waking up of his own volition. That maybe whatever was... was in him, making him rise early. But no, it was always Sam. Plain, honest, earnest Sam. No demon to be found.
Sam was trying so hard to be the strong one. He wanted to help Dean for all the times Dean had put his own neck on the line for Sam. The guy exchanged his life to bring Sam back from the dead. Was it too for Sam to hope that he could find a loop hole or a hidden clause? Something- anything- to save Dean just this one time.
Bobby knew something was up. He didn't ask, out of respect for Sam and Dean and the loyalty he still had for John; but Dean knew it was only a matter of time before he demanded to know what was going on. Ellen watched over them as much as they let her, when she wasn't working odd jobs here and there and trying to keep tabs on Jo. Dean got the distinct impression that she didn't trust them anymore- well, anymore than she'd allowed herself in the first place- and so he ignored her more often than not. It was cramped, sometimes uneasy, and usually very tense in Bobby's tiny house.
In the meantime, Sam and Dean threw themselves into research and gave up hunting under the pretense that they'd go back as soon as Dean was safe, as soon as Sam's dreams stopped, as soon as... Every bit of information Sam could get his hands on about reapers, loopholes and death in general he devoured. Dean let him, let Sam disappear into the books and be distant and sometimes downright moody. He put food on the table in front of him when it was time to eat and turned out the lights in the kitchen when it was time to sleep, and ran his hands over Sam's back when he was hunched over for too long, drawing unbidden shivers from his brother that neither of them acknowledged. Sam was making this his fight, and as the days got shorter and ticked by slowly, Dean let him. He wasn't sure he had any fight left for himself.
There was an uneasy calm for months, until one morning, after Christmas, when Dean stumbled into the kitchen. He was still rubbing his eyes and yawning and saw Sam creeping in through the back door. Sam froze and stared at Dean with wide, wild eyes and Dean's whole body shook violently.
"I don't know where I was," Sam said, calm and clear, and dropped into a chair at the table, looking straight ahead.
"We'll figure it out, Sammy," Dean forced himself to say and made a pot of coffee instead of sitting down.
~~~~
No one died, that much they knew. Bobby lived on the outskirts of a fairly small town and news of the newly-deceased spread quickly. No one had died for a couple days, which Dean took as a good sign. Maybe Sam was sleep-walking under the pressure of feeling responsible for saving Dean.
As much as he tried to tell himself that, it didn't stop them from covering all their bases and asking around if anything weird had happened. It just couldn't be that easy, could it?
Of course not, because they were Winchesters. A fact Dean was reminded of again when they stepped into a small bar at the end of main street, dark and a little broken down and dusty--their kind of establishment.
Even more so when the bartender brandished a rifle and aimed it at Sam's head. Sam looked confused and put up his hands, taking a step back toward the door they'd just entered through, while Dean stepped between Sam and the bartender, his hands up as well.
"We're not looking for trouble," Dean started.
"Too late," the bartender growled.
"What happened?" Sam asked, unable to stop himself. The bartender bared his teeth at Sam and cocked the rifle. Dean turned around and shoved Sam back through the door, telling him to take the car for a drive around the block so he wouldn't be a sitting duck, and pressed the keys into his hand. Sam tried to protest but went willingly.
"What happened?" Dean repeated Sam's words, stepping to the middle of the bar.
"What's it to you?" The bartender sneered.
"He's my brother," Dean replied truthfully. "He's got... there's a chance he could be bipolar or something. He blacks out sometimes. So I need to know what to tell the doctor."
"Dude needs a fucking exorcist," the bartender replied and Dean felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
"What makes you say that?"
"He went through about half a bottle of Jack before the trouble started. I thought I was gonna have to throw him out on his ass to sleep it off, but he just got more active the more he drank. He put two of my bouncers in the hospital last night."
"But what happened?" The bartender gave him a look. "I mean, something had to provoke him to do that, right?"
"Yeah, sure. You mean when the bouncers tried to stop him from raping one of the waitresses? That kind of provocation?"
"He--what?"
"He tried to drag one of them to the back room. Your brother needs more than just some head meds. Now," the bartender continued, leveling a hand at Dean. "I never want to see him or you in this bar again, you hear me?"
Dean nodded and left, feeling weary and old.
~~~~
"You'll have to lock me up at night," Sam said when they got back to Bobby's.
"What? No."
"It's the only way to make sure I won't get out again."
"I'm not locking you up!"
"Okay, then shoot me."
Dean was quiet. "Bobby's probably got some handcuffs or reinforced chains around here somewhere."
Sam watched as Dean left the house for the junkyard where Bobby was probably working, throwing a 'fuck you' over his shoulder.
~~~~
There wasn't enough space for another bed in Dean's small room, so he crunched himself up against the wall every night so Sam could sleep somewhat comfortably with cuffs around his wrists.
Bobby still didn't say anything when he helped Dean install the chains in Dean's room. Sam tried to protest but Dean didn't want Sam to get tangled up in them in the middle of the night and choke to death or piss himself or some shit -- or so he said. Sam didn't really want to be locked up on his own, anyway, and he knew Dean was happy to have him, even if he didn't say it or do anything but complain about it. Some mornings Sam would wake up and feel Dean's face smushed into his back, breathing hot and wet against his thin t-shirt and Sam would lie there, still and quiet, until Dean snuffed awake, pulling away carefully even though he knew Sam was awake.
Time was running out, even if neither of them breathed a word.
Two months later, with winter trying to cast one more icy pall over them, the thing inside Sam--the demon--Sam--made its move. All Dean really remembers about that morning was that it was fucking colder than a witch's tit (and he could honestly say, thanks to a weird series of events back a few years, that a witch's tit really isn't that cold at all) and he ran out to Bobby's junkyard shop to ask him about something for the Impala, or about groceries, or about some stupid thing. He was in one of Sam's giant hooded sweatshirts, rubbing his arms and stamping his feet and Bobby was looking up at him from sorting parts or paperwork and then there was screaming. Loud, terrified screaming.
Bobby somehow raced past Dean, who was already dashing for the house and cursing himself for not bringing a gun. When Dean finally came skidding to a stop in the kitchen, his boots tracking snow everywhere, Bobby was cradling Ellen's head and Sam was crouched in a corner, shaking and panting and bleeding.
"What-?"
"Dean," Bobby turned his head and looked at Dean so calmly that Dean knew this was it -- the beginning of the end. "I'll give you until morning."
"Bobby-"
"Until morning and then I'm coming for him. You have to stop kidding yourself-- it's too late."
Dean straightened and curled his hands into fists, stubborn and strong. "You won't find us."
"I hope not. I don't want to be in the line of trouble when the shit hits the fan this time." Dean glanced over at Sam who seemed to be in a daze, staring at the floor and still trying to catch his breath. "Dean," Bobby continued, softer. "You have to let him go."
Dean paused, trying to think of something to say, to argue back but Sam needed him and they needed to get the hell out of there. "See ya, Bobby."
Dean grabbed Sam around the shoulders and hauled him up the stairs quickly, packing as much of their things into their bags as he could in five minutes. He left all that he dared to spare before hustling them both down to the car, bypassing the kitchen and never glancing back. Sam allowed himself to be manhandled into the car, buckled up and didn't say a word when Dean pressed too hard on the gas and they almost landed in the ditch before Dean righted the car.
"You okay?" Dean barked once they were on the road and putting Bobby's in their rear view. Sam didn't respond. Dean looked over at him, his lips pressing into an angry line. "Sam!"
"This time I was there, Dean."
"What?"
"This time I was there. Watching. It's not like before when I kind of knew what was happening but it plays more like a movie that happened to someone else in my head. This time I was there when it happened. I ... I didn't stop myself, Dean. I attacked Ellen and I let myself want to do it."
Dean didn't say anything, didn't even look over at Sam. He kept his eyes on the road and bit down on the inside of his mouth until he tasted tangy blood. Sam looked over at him steadily until Dean couldn't take it anymore and snapped his head around to stare Sam down. Sam wouldn't let him off that easy.
"Dean, I don't think-"
"Don't say it, Sammy. Don't."
"We have to do something."
"So we will. We'll hole up in a motel or something. Keep driving for a couple days, maybe head north. Then just lay low. Or hey, if we stay close to Bobby's maybe he won't even think to look for us there, right? Maybe-"
"Maybe you should just keep driving for now," Sam suggested softly. Dean nodded and pressed the gas harder.
~~~~
They didn't stop driving, except to stop for gas and pee breaks for over twenty-four hours. Dean finally had to let Sam drive after nearly ten hours because his hands were shaking and his eyes burned until they watered. Sam demanded he pull over and forced Dean to slide across the bench once he finally did, stopping on the shoulder. Dean slept uneasily for a couple hours, shifting and waking every ten or fifteen minutes to stare at Sam and make sure his eyes were okay and -- yeah. Sam ignored Dean's jerking and mumbling and kept driving, pushing them closer toward the Canadian border.
They stopped for one night at a motel that, under different circumstances, even Dean probably would have passed in favour of less grungy fare. Dean grabbed their bags and Sam grabbed a set of handcuffs from the glove compartment (at one time he would have questioned Dean's purpose and reasoning for handcuffs in the glove compartment and then rolled his eyes at the response) and made a beeline for the bathroom as soon as they were in the room.
"What if I want to shower?" Dean asked, watching as Sam tested the pipes under the sink and locked one cuff around them, the other around his own wrist.
"Shower in the morning," Sam replied shortly and settled back against the tub awkwardly, propping his arm up on one knee as best as possible. Dean brought him a pillow and blanket and left the door ajar while he slept restlessly on the edge of his bed.
They drove for another twenty-four hours after that, stayed another night in a slightly nicer motel. Again Sam locked himself to the sink in the bathroom and spent another long, uncomfortable night while Dean laid awake, staring at the ceiling.
~~~~
"We'll have to keep researching, you know," Sam said suddenly on one particularly nice morning as they drove through Montana. Dean had actually gotten about three hours of sleep the night before and was feeling pretty good. Sam still had huge bags under his eyes, but he seemed slightly happier that day.
"Maybe we should worry about staying ahead of Bobby for right now," Dean said uneasily, hesitant to agree to stopping somewhere yet.
"Right now? We only have right now, Dean," Sam argued. "If we can't keep researching a way to stop you from- stop your... you know, then we might as well go back to Bobby's and hand ourselves over."
Dean clenched his jaw and didn't reply. Sam sighed -- out of tiredness or frustration -- and turned so that he could look at Dean more easily. Dean expected to hear a long, drawn out speech about how Dean had to keep fighting and they were so fucking close to figuring this out and saving him but instead he got: "I always knew you had a death wish."
Dean whipped his head around and Sam was grinning at him, one eyebrow cocked as if daring him. "No."
"No? No, you don't have a death wish? Or were you going to say, 'No! Get the hell away from my brother!'? Hmm," Sam pretended to ponder and Dean stared at him, horrified, knowing he should pull over but keeping his eyes darting between Sam and the road.
Dean was so tired and surprised and just off his game that he wasn't sure what to do. This was Sam, this was a demon, this was his life and Dean's life and it was all too much. Sam grinned at him as Dean felt his heart speed up and bile rise in his throat.
"What's the matter Dean-o?" Sam whispered, sliding across the seat. He pressed himself against Dean's side, one arm around his shoulder, and let his other hand settle on Dean's thigh. "Not many people would go to the lengths you have to protect their dear, darling little brothers. You brought him back and condemned him to a life of... well, not really a life, per se. More of an existence of greatness, although I'm sure you'd never see it that way. But you won't be around to worry about that much longer, will you? And that's exactly why this whole plan is so poetic! You've spent your whole life protecting your family and keeping them alive, at the expense of your own, and now Sam's going to live so much longer than you've ever dreamed of--without you, without your help." Sam laughed in Dean's ear, deep and throaty while Dean tried to shift away, but Sam's arm was holding him too tightly.
"Why did you make the trade, anyway?" Sam asked suddenly. Dean opened his mouth to say something biting and scathing but nothing came out. "I know you have this whole hero complex going on that makes you feel the need to be responsible for everyone around you and all that bullshit, but was there something more? Was there some deep, dark, hidden, selfish reason for wanting Sam alive? Do you have one more skeleton for your closet, Dean?"
As Sam talked, alternating between whispering and laughing the words in Dean's ear, his hand trailed up and down Dean's thigh until his palm closed around Dean's soft cock, squeezing just the way Dean liked, knowing what he liked. Dean tried to jerk away again, frantic and hot, but Sam kept holding him. Dean tried to jerk the car to the side of the road so they could stop but Sam kept him from doing that, as well, reaching over to press a foot down on Dean's on the accelerator.
"Stop fighting, Dean. You gave him back his life. Now we're going to give him a home," Sam whispered, then turned Dean's head toward him and pressed his lips to Dean's in a surprisingly soft kiss.
Dean could feel the exact moment when Sam came back to himself and realized what he was doing. Dean eased his foot to the brake, one eye on the road and waited for Sam to freak out as he pulled back, opening his eyes to stare at Dean. Dean put the Impala in park and turned it off, letting out a shaky breath.
"Sam?"
"Yeah?" Sam's voice wavered as he slid back from Dean who felt cold the instant he pulled away.
"I don't know if we're going to figure this one out."
For the first time in a long time -- possibly ever -- Sam didn't argue.
~~~~
By the end of the week, Sam had bruises around the wrist he kept locking up and Dean was operating on instinct and adrenaline alone. The next time they stopped and Sam went for the bathroom, Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him to the bed. Sam tried to resist and yank his arm away but Dean stopped him with one word.
"Please."
Sam dropped the cuffs on the bedside table and sank down on the bed while Dean shrugged his shirt off and kicked his shoes and pants off. Sam did the same and followed Dean under the covers, shivering as Dean's cold hands came up from behind him and curled around his midsection. Sam felt warm where Dean pressed against him, back to chest, leg to leg, socked feet tangling, but he also noticed the fine tremor running through Dean's body.
"We'll stay here," Dean mumbled into Sam's neck, breath hot against his skin as his lips moved against the tips of Sam's shaggy hair.
"Maybe we should go onto someplace bigger? I don't know what kind of resources I'll have here or be able to find," Sam tried to say but Dean tightened his arms around Sam's waist.
"We'll stay here," Dean repeated, curling his legs over Sam's.
"Okay," Sam whispered, moving back into the curve of Dean's body.
~~~~
Sam was losing himself to the demon in him more and more often now. Nothing either of them could think of was working, either, and that just... it sucked. That's what it came down to. Dean didn't know what else to say or do or think. They had no resources, nowhere to go, no one to rely on. Screwed didn't begin to cover it.
Some days, Dean realized, he kind of wished Sam would lose such control over himself that he would finish Dean off himself, and Dean didn't even feel badly thinking it. At least he'd go out fighting and doing what he seemed born to do. But the demon in Sam seemed to be playing with him, taunting him and messing with his head. And there wasn't a goddamn thing he could do about it.
Sam was back to the bathroom again, locking himself up every night. Dean managed to make a small bed for him and more nights than not he would slip in behind Sam and hold him all night, dozing lightly with his head on Sam's shoulder or against the vanity.
"I'm not going to be able to pull myself back soon," Sam whispered one morning when he knew Dean was fully awake behind him.
Dean's muscles were screaming at him for staying in one position for so long but still he didn't move. "I can."
"What about when you can't anymore?" Dean didn't have an answer for that. "You promised Dad."
"Yeah, well Dad's not here anymore," Dean replied lightly, sounding almost bored.
"Dean..."
"I can't do this without you, Sammy," Dean said, matter-of-factly. "I need you."
"That's kind of selfish."
"Damn right."
"I can't do this without you, either," Sam admitted and leaned back against Dean who wrapped his arms around Sam tightly.
~~~~
Dean watched the sun set slowly from his spot in a chair across from Sam who was tied up quietly and calmly in his own chair, one evening in late May. It was still fucking cold where they were; a late winter had forced the usual progression of the seasons to come later. Sam was losing control more often than not now, spending sometimes hours at a time, lost, while the demon was left behind inside of him to taunt Dean and try to drive him crazy. It caught on early enough that forcing Dean into a corner and trying to lure him into compromising positions was the way to fuck with Dean's head, so Sam spent a good deal of his days handcuffed to the bathroom sink now, too.
"Dean," Sam said softly, shattering the silence around them. Dean actually jumped and tightened his finger on the rifle trigger for a second.
"Yeah?" His voice was hoarse despite not talking for the past few hours.
"It's time."
"Time? For what?"
"You have to do it."
Dean looked over at Sam, slowly realizing what Sam was saying. He stood up jerkily and shoved his chair back, letting the end of the gun hit the floor loudly while still holding it.
"No."
"You have to."
"No, Sam."
"Dean."
"Fuck you, Sam! I didn't spend this past year with a death sentence over my head just so I could put a bullet between your eyes!"
Sam flinched for a second and Dean looked like he was happy for a second, like he'd won for a brief moment. "Doesn't matter. It doesn't matter about this past year or what was supposed to be or that I let you down because this is it, Dean."
"Sam, you didn't let me down," Dean tried to argue but Sam shook his head and talked over Dean's protests.
"I told you I would save you. I told you I'd find a way and that I'd get you out of this. Instead I just made it worse. Don't try to tell me otherwise, Dean. We both know -"
"We don't know anything," Dean said firmly. "Shut up and don't say anything else about it."
"Fine. Shoot me, then. Because that's the only way you'll get me to be quiet."
"I can't. Sam." Dean would never beg, refused to break down in front of his brother now but he pleaded with his eyes, trying to show Sam that there was no way he could ever-
"If you don't Bobby will. He'll hunt me down and kill me himself. Or I'll kill him. And then I'll kill more people and more after that. I could go after Cassie and Becca and Missouri-"
"Stop it, Sam," Dean warned.
Sam narrowed his eyes tilted his head. "You probably want me to do it, don't you?"
Dean cocked his head, aware of the shift instantly. "So which one is it this time? Is that you, Meg? You back again?"
Sam smiled as he looked at Dean, fingers tightening on the chair arms. "What makes you think Meg gets to have all the fun?"
"What are you?"
"Not what. Who?"
Dean looked at Sam warily. "Who are you?"
"Sam."
"Wold you fuck off with that? We both know that's not the truth."
"No, you don't. I'm Sam. I'm what Sam has become. I'm what Sam is, what our father warned you about."
"We sent you to Hell once, and we can do it again," Dean insisted, muttering to himself. Sam smiled at him and shrugged as much as he could with the restraints.
"You keep telling yourself that. Won't matter in a few minutes anyway." Dean followed Sam's gaze to the wall clock and felt a cold hand grip around his heart. "Five minutes, would you say?"
"I can kill you," Dean said suddenly, lifting the gun to his shoulder.
Sam laughed. Threw his head back and laughed, much the same way he had when he was possessed by Meg the year before, but this was different- darker, richer. It had a hint of the old Sam, the one that Dean knew before the shit really started hitting the fan, and it made Dean's heart clench.
"I'm telling you, Dean the only think that'll kill me now is the Colt. Too bad, huh? Of course, you can't kill me any more than I could kill Dad."
"Sam."
"Sam, me- whatever gets you through the night. Not that you'll make it through, though. Three minutes."
Dean's eyes darted to the clock again. "Why Sam?"
"Why me what?"
"Why did it pick Sam? Why us? Why my family? Why my mom?"
"So many questions, so little time," Sam smiled. "You want to go to your death with all the answers? Sorry, Dean. I don't have them. I don't know why the Winchesters were chosen for this lovely little adventure. But I'm glad we were."
"Stop saying that!" Dean exploded, raising the rifle again as Sam laughed.
"How does it feel Dean? How does it feel to be a failure? To be alone and a failure?" Sam asked, starting to move his hands against the bonds that held him to the chair. Dean made no move to make them tighter or ask him to stop.
"Oh, stop teasing him."
Dean turned around quickly, rifle at the ready. She was there for him, standing across the room looking as beautiful as she had the night he made the deal three hundred and sixty-six days earlier. Dean blinked, confused.
"You think I'd send Hell Hounds to collect on someone like Dean Winchester?" She laughed at his shock. "Don't be silly, Dean. You're a damn-near celebrity now."
"Lucky me," he choked out. Sam had the ropes loosened enough now to twist his hands around and was working them out of the bonds quickly. Dean felt his throat constrict and he took a step back, sudden panic overwhelming him.
"Little help here?" Sam asked the Reaper casually. She just frowned at him as she took a step toward Dean. "Bitch," Sam muttered and after some wriggling managed to pull one hand out and worked on the other.
"You brought him back," Dean said suddenly, his eyes flashing at the Reaper. "You brought him back to life, you can take it back."
She laughed and Sam frowned. "Oh, honey. No. It doesn't work like that at all. Come on, Dean. You guys put on a good show, okay? It's time to accept that like a man. Like your daddy did."
Dean's mouth dropped open and he felt hot all over. He set his mouth in a hard line as Sam worked the ropes from around his legs and stood up, stretching lazily.
"You're making him huffy now," Sam started to say to the Reaper, pointing at Dean. And then there was a loud bang, and then a hole in Sam's stomach where Dean shot him. Sam stared down at the blood leaking from the wound and made a face.
"You happy now? I told you, Dean- you can't hurt me now."
"Had to try," Dean said with a small hollow smile and turned to the Reaper. "You want me? Gotta fight for me."
Dean turned the rifle around and opened his mouth.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R (for content, rather than Sam/Dean. That would be more PG-13)
Words: 5135, unbeta'd- sorry! beta'd by torturemysoul
Warnings: Kinda dark!fic, some violence, some hints at non-con but nothing overt
Disclaimer: *insert witty line about not owning any of it, plz to not be suing here*
Summary: Sam was trying so hard to be the strong one for Dean. He wanted to help Dean for all the times Dean had stuck his neck on the line for Sam. The guy exchanged his life to bring Sam back from the dead. Was it too for Sam to hope that he could find a loop hole or a hidden clause? Something- anything- to save his brother just this one time.
Author's Notes: I meant to have this done WAY earlier but I was busy with this little thing called BigBang so this kinda got shoved the wayside. My prompt was rifle, which I had an immediate image of when I claimed it at spn_heraea. I'm not sure if I got that image across through this, because it's weird and I'm not sure what to make of it, but it's what came out and I don't feel it was forced or is un-natural for some reason. Just really weird. Also, if you haven't noticed- TEAM ANGST BABY! *Anna Nicole shimmy*
It started at the end of the summer. The tail end, that time when the sun makes that last flailing, valiant effort to shine, bright and warm, but fails because the leaves are turning and the crisp night cancels out any memory of the warmth of the day.
At least, that's when Dean realized it started. For all he knew it had been going on since early summer, since the end of spring, since before. But the end of the summer was when Sam finally let him know what was going on; when Sam couldn't keep it hidden anymore and Dean found out on his own, so Sam had no choice but to tell Dean everything.
"The dreams are getting worse. And I'm losing time. Not a lot," Sam had hastened to tell him at Dean's raised eyebrow. "But a few minutes here and there."
"What are the dreams about?"
"People I don't know."
"And?"
"They die. I can see my hands in the dream, or what feels like my hands. I think... I think I kill them?" Sam sounded confused, and he screwed up his face, trying to remember or maybe not to cry. Dean swallowed hard.
"How much time are you losing again?"
"Just a few minutes," Sam assured him, as if it would make him feel better. "Not enough for that-- for me to-- I don't think it's-"
"We'll get through this Sammy," Dean cut him off before he could finish his sentence. "Don't we always get out of this stuff?"
Sam could only press his lips together and try to believe in the determination on Dean's face.
~~~
Thing was, this time they were supposed to be in the other's shoes. This time it was Sam's turn to save Dean. This time it was Dean who was supposed to be depending on Sam, looking to Sam, needing Sam. This time Sam was supposed to come through for Dean and make everything right again.
Somehow, even on the mornings that Dean rose before the sun started to approach the horizon, Sam was awake before him, in Bobby's small kitchen with the lights blazing, a cup of lukewarm coffee by his hand and a book in front of him. At first Dean was sure Sam just wasn't sleeping, was staying up all night and trying to press through the research by himself; but every night Dean fought to stay awake, to hear Sam's slow, steady snores -- the ones that he couldn't ever fake, realistically -- and they always came. Sam always fell asleep before Dean, and yet always managed to get up before Dean, too.
He didn't want to but Dean had to wonder about the possibility that Sam wasn't waking up of his own volition. That maybe whatever was... was in him, making him rise early. But no, it was always Sam. Plain, honest, earnest Sam. No demon to be found.
Sam was trying so hard to be the strong one. He wanted to help Dean for all the times Dean had put his own neck on the line for Sam. The guy exchanged his life to bring Sam back from the dead. Was it too for Sam to hope that he could find a loop hole or a hidden clause? Something- anything- to save Dean just this one time.
Bobby knew something was up. He didn't ask, out of respect for Sam and Dean and the loyalty he still had for John; but Dean knew it was only a matter of time before he demanded to know what was going on. Ellen watched over them as much as they let her, when she wasn't working odd jobs here and there and trying to keep tabs on Jo. Dean got the distinct impression that she didn't trust them anymore- well, anymore than she'd allowed herself in the first place- and so he ignored her more often than not. It was cramped, sometimes uneasy, and usually very tense in Bobby's tiny house.
In the meantime, Sam and Dean threw themselves into research and gave up hunting under the pretense that they'd go back as soon as Dean was safe, as soon as Sam's dreams stopped, as soon as... Every bit of information Sam could get his hands on about reapers, loopholes and death in general he devoured. Dean let him, let Sam disappear into the books and be distant and sometimes downright moody. He put food on the table in front of him when it was time to eat and turned out the lights in the kitchen when it was time to sleep, and ran his hands over Sam's back when he was hunched over for too long, drawing unbidden shivers from his brother that neither of them acknowledged. Sam was making this his fight, and as the days got shorter and ticked by slowly, Dean let him. He wasn't sure he had any fight left for himself.
There was an uneasy calm for months, until one morning, after Christmas, when Dean stumbled into the kitchen. He was still rubbing his eyes and yawning and saw Sam creeping in through the back door. Sam froze and stared at Dean with wide, wild eyes and Dean's whole body shook violently.
"I don't know where I was," Sam said, calm and clear, and dropped into a chair at the table, looking straight ahead.
"We'll figure it out, Sammy," Dean forced himself to say and made a pot of coffee instead of sitting down.
~~~~
No one died, that much they knew. Bobby lived on the outskirts of a fairly small town and news of the newly-deceased spread quickly. No one had died for a couple days, which Dean took as a good sign. Maybe Sam was sleep-walking under the pressure of feeling responsible for saving Dean.
As much as he tried to tell himself that, it didn't stop them from covering all their bases and asking around if anything weird had happened. It just couldn't be that easy, could it?
Of course not, because they were Winchesters. A fact Dean was reminded of again when they stepped into a small bar at the end of main street, dark and a little broken down and dusty--their kind of establishment.
Even more so when the bartender brandished a rifle and aimed it at Sam's head. Sam looked confused and put up his hands, taking a step back toward the door they'd just entered through, while Dean stepped between Sam and the bartender, his hands up as well.
"We're not looking for trouble," Dean started.
"Too late," the bartender growled.
"What happened?" Sam asked, unable to stop himself. The bartender bared his teeth at Sam and cocked the rifle. Dean turned around and shoved Sam back through the door, telling him to take the car for a drive around the block so he wouldn't be a sitting duck, and pressed the keys into his hand. Sam tried to protest but went willingly.
"What happened?" Dean repeated Sam's words, stepping to the middle of the bar.
"What's it to you?" The bartender sneered.
"He's my brother," Dean replied truthfully. "He's got... there's a chance he could be bipolar or something. He blacks out sometimes. So I need to know what to tell the doctor."
"Dude needs a fucking exorcist," the bartender replied and Dean felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
"What makes you say that?"
"He went through about half a bottle of Jack before the trouble started. I thought I was gonna have to throw him out on his ass to sleep it off, but he just got more active the more he drank. He put two of my bouncers in the hospital last night."
"But what happened?" The bartender gave him a look. "I mean, something had to provoke him to do that, right?"
"Yeah, sure. You mean when the bouncers tried to stop him from raping one of the waitresses? That kind of provocation?"
"He--what?"
"He tried to drag one of them to the back room. Your brother needs more than just some head meds. Now," the bartender continued, leveling a hand at Dean. "I never want to see him or you in this bar again, you hear me?"
Dean nodded and left, feeling weary and old.
~~~~
"You'll have to lock me up at night," Sam said when they got back to Bobby's.
"What? No."
"It's the only way to make sure I won't get out again."
"I'm not locking you up!"
"Okay, then shoot me."
Dean was quiet. "Bobby's probably got some handcuffs or reinforced chains around here somewhere."
Sam watched as Dean left the house for the junkyard where Bobby was probably working, throwing a 'fuck you' over his shoulder.
~~~~
There wasn't enough space for another bed in Dean's small room, so he crunched himself up against the wall every night so Sam could sleep somewhat comfortably with cuffs around his wrists.
Bobby still didn't say anything when he helped Dean install the chains in Dean's room. Sam tried to protest but Dean didn't want Sam to get tangled up in them in the middle of the night and choke to death or piss himself or some shit -- or so he said. Sam didn't really want to be locked up on his own, anyway, and he knew Dean was happy to have him, even if he didn't say it or do anything but complain about it. Some mornings Sam would wake up and feel Dean's face smushed into his back, breathing hot and wet against his thin t-shirt and Sam would lie there, still and quiet, until Dean snuffed awake, pulling away carefully even though he knew Sam was awake.
Time was running out, even if neither of them breathed a word.
Two months later, with winter trying to cast one more icy pall over them, the thing inside Sam--the demon--Sam--made its move. All Dean really remembers about that morning was that it was fucking colder than a witch's tit (and he could honestly say, thanks to a weird series of events back a few years, that a witch's tit really isn't that cold at all) and he ran out to Bobby's junkyard shop to ask him about something for the Impala, or about groceries, or about some stupid thing. He was in one of Sam's giant hooded sweatshirts, rubbing his arms and stamping his feet and Bobby was looking up at him from sorting parts or paperwork and then there was screaming. Loud, terrified screaming.
Bobby somehow raced past Dean, who was already dashing for the house and cursing himself for not bringing a gun. When Dean finally came skidding to a stop in the kitchen, his boots tracking snow everywhere, Bobby was cradling Ellen's head and Sam was crouched in a corner, shaking and panting and bleeding.
"What-?"
"Dean," Bobby turned his head and looked at Dean so calmly that Dean knew this was it -- the beginning of the end. "I'll give you until morning."
"Bobby-"
"Until morning and then I'm coming for him. You have to stop kidding yourself-- it's too late."
Dean straightened and curled his hands into fists, stubborn and strong. "You won't find us."
"I hope not. I don't want to be in the line of trouble when the shit hits the fan this time." Dean glanced over at Sam who seemed to be in a daze, staring at the floor and still trying to catch his breath. "Dean," Bobby continued, softer. "You have to let him go."
Dean paused, trying to think of something to say, to argue back but Sam needed him and they needed to get the hell out of there. "See ya, Bobby."
Dean grabbed Sam around the shoulders and hauled him up the stairs quickly, packing as much of their things into their bags as he could in five minutes. He left all that he dared to spare before hustling them both down to the car, bypassing the kitchen and never glancing back. Sam allowed himself to be manhandled into the car, buckled up and didn't say a word when Dean pressed too hard on the gas and they almost landed in the ditch before Dean righted the car.
"You okay?" Dean barked once they were on the road and putting Bobby's in their rear view. Sam didn't respond. Dean looked over at him, his lips pressing into an angry line. "Sam!"
"This time I was there, Dean."
"What?"
"This time I was there. Watching. It's not like before when I kind of knew what was happening but it plays more like a movie that happened to someone else in my head. This time I was there when it happened. I ... I didn't stop myself, Dean. I attacked Ellen and I let myself want to do it."
Dean didn't say anything, didn't even look over at Sam. He kept his eyes on the road and bit down on the inside of his mouth until he tasted tangy blood. Sam looked over at him steadily until Dean couldn't take it anymore and snapped his head around to stare Sam down. Sam wouldn't let him off that easy.
"Dean, I don't think-"
"Don't say it, Sammy. Don't."
"We have to do something."
"So we will. We'll hole up in a motel or something. Keep driving for a couple days, maybe head north. Then just lay low. Or hey, if we stay close to Bobby's maybe he won't even think to look for us there, right? Maybe-"
"Maybe you should just keep driving for now," Sam suggested softly. Dean nodded and pressed the gas harder.
~~~~
They didn't stop driving, except to stop for gas and pee breaks for over twenty-four hours. Dean finally had to let Sam drive after nearly ten hours because his hands were shaking and his eyes burned until they watered. Sam demanded he pull over and forced Dean to slide across the bench once he finally did, stopping on the shoulder. Dean slept uneasily for a couple hours, shifting and waking every ten or fifteen minutes to stare at Sam and make sure his eyes were okay and -- yeah. Sam ignored Dean's jerking and mumbling and kept driving, pushing them closer toward the Canadian border.
They stopped for one night at a motel that, under different circumstances, even Dean probably would have passed in favour of less grungy fare. Dean grabbed their bags and Sam grabbed a set of handcuffs from the glove compartment (at one time he would have questioned Dean's purpose and reasoning for handcuffs in the glove compartment and then rolled his eyes at the response) and made a beeline for the bathroom as soon as they were in the room.
"What if I want to shower?" Dean asked, watching as Sam tested the pipes under the sink and locked one cuff around them, the other around his own wrist.
"Shower in the morning," Sam replied shortly and settled back against the tub awkwardly, propping his arm up on one knee as best as possible. Dean brought him a pillow and blanket and left the door ajar while he slept restlessly on the edge of his bed.
They drove for another twenty-four hours after that, stayed another night in a slightly nicer motel. Again Sam locked himself to the sink in the bathroom and spent another long, uncomfortable night while Dean laid awake, staring at the ceiling.
~~~~
"We'll have to keep researching, you know," Sam said suddenly on one particularly nice morning as they drove through Montana. Dean had actually gotten about three hours of sleep the night before and was feeling pretty good. Sam still had huge bags under his eyes, but he seemed slightly happier that day.
"Maybe we should worry about staying ahead of Bobby for right now," Dean said uneasily, hesitant to agree to stopping somewhere yet.
"Right now? We only have right now, Dean," Sam argued. "If we can't keep researching a way to stop you from- stop your... you know, then we might as well go back to Bobby's and hand ourselves over."
Dean clenched his jaw and didn't reply. Sam sighed -- out of tiredness or frustration -- and turned so that he could look at Dean more easily. Dean expected to hear a long, drawn out speech about how Dean had to keep fighting and they were so fucking close to figuring this out and saving him but instead he got: "I always knew you had a death wish."
Dean whipped his head around and Sam was grinning at him, one eyebrow cocked as if daring him. "No."
"No? No, you don't have a death wish? Or were you going to say, 'No! Get the hell away from my brother!'? Hmm," Sam pretended to ponder and Dean stared at him, horrified, knowing he should pull over but keeping his eyes darting between Sam and the road.
Dean was so tired and surprised and just off his game that he wasn't sure what to do. This was Sam, this was a demon, this was his life and Dean's life and it was all too much. Sam grinned at him as Dean felt his heart speed up and bile rise in his throat.
"What's the matter Dean-o?" Sam whispered, sliding across the seat. He pressed himself against Dean's side, one arm around his shoulder, and let his other hand settle on Dean's thigh. "Not many people would go to the lengths you have to protect their dear, darling little brothers. You brought him back and condemned him to a life of... well, not really a life, per se. More of an existence of greatness, although I'm sure you'd never see it that way. But you won't be around to worry about that much longer, will you? And that's exactly why this whole plan is so poetic! You've spent your whole life protecting your family and keeping them alive, at the expense of your own, and now Sam's going to live so much longer than you've ever dreamed of--without you, without your help." Sam laughed in Dean's ear, deep and throaty while Dean tried to shift away, but Sam's arm was holding him too tightly.
"Why did you make the trade, anyway?" Sam asked suddenly. Dean opened his mouth to say something biting and scathing but nothing came out. "I know you have this whole hero complex going on that makes you feel the need to be responsible for everyone around you and all that bullshit, but was there something more? Was there some deep, dark, hidden, selfish reason for wanting Sam alive? Do you have one more skeleton for your closet, Dean?"
As Sam talked, alternating between whispering and laughing the words in Dean's ear, his hand trailed up and down Dean's thigh until his palm closed around Dean's soft cock, squeezing just the way Dean liked, knowing what he liked. Dean tried to jerk away again, frantic and hot, but Sam kept holding him. Dean tried to jerk the car to the side of the road so they could stop but Sam kept him from doing that, as well, reaching over to press a foot down on Dean's on the accelerator.
"Stop fighting, Dean. You gave him back his life. Now we're going to give him a home," Sam whispered, then turned Dean's head toward him and pressed his lips to Dean's in a surprisingly soft kiss.
Dean could feel the exact moment when Sam came back to himself and realized what he was doing. Dean eased his foot to the brake, one eye on the road and waited for Sam to freak out as he pulled back, opening his eyes to stare at Dean. Dean put the Impala in park and turned it off, letting out a shaky breath.
"Sam?"
"Yeah?" Sam's voice wavered as he slid back from Dean who felt cold the instant he pulled away.
"I don't know if we're going to figure this one out."
For the first time in a long time -- possibly ever -- Sam didn't argue.
~~~~
By the end of the week, Sam had bruises around the wrist he kept locking up and Dean was operating on instinct and adrenaline alone. The next time they stopped and Sam went for the bathroom, Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him to the bed. Sam tried to resist and yank his arm away but Dean stopped him with one word.
"Please."
Sam dropped the cuffs on the bedside table and sank down on the bed while Dean shrugged his shirt off and kicked his shoes and pants off. Sam did the same and followed Dean under the covers, shivering as Dean's cold hands came up from behind him and curled around his midsection. Sam felt warm where Dean pressed against him, back to chest, leg to leg, socked feet tangling, but he also noticed the fine tremor running through Dean's body.
"We'll stay here," Dean mumbled into Sam's neck, breath hot against his skin as his lips moved against the tips of Sam's shaggy hair.
"Maybe we should go onto someplace bigger? I don't know what kind of resources I'll have here or be able to find," Sam tried to say but Dean tightened his arms around Sam's waist.
"We'll stay here," Dean repeated, curling his legs over Sam's.
"Okay," Sam whispered, moving back into the curve of Dean's body.
~~~~
Sam was losing himself to the demon in him more and more often now. Nothing either of them could think of was working, either, and that just... it sucked. That's what it came down to. Dean didn't know what else to say or do or think. They had no resources, nowhere to go, no one to rely on. Screwed didn't begin to cover it.
Some days, Dean realized, he kind of wished Sam would lose such control over himself that he would finish Dean off himself, and Dean didn't even feel badly thinking it. At least he'd go out fighting and doing what he seemed born to do. But the demon in Sam seemed to be playing with him, taunting him and messing with his head. And there wasn't a goddamn thing he could do about it.
Sam was back to the bathroom again, locking himself up every night. Dean managed to make a small bed for him and more nights than not he would slip in behind Sam and hold him all night, dozing lightly with his head on Sam's shoulder or against the vanity.
"I'm not going to be able to pull myself back soon," Sam whispered one morning when he knew Dean was fully awake behind him.
Dean's muscles were screaming at him for staying in one position for so long but still he didn't move. "I can."
"What about when you can't anymore?" Dean didn't have an answer for that. "You promised Dad."
"Yeah, well Dad's not here anymore," Dean replied lightly, sounding almost bored.
"Dean..."
"I can't do this without you, Sammy," Dean said, matter-of-factly. "I need you."
"That's kind of selfish."
"Damn right."
"I can't do this without you, either," Sam admitted and leaned back against Dean who wrapped his arms around Sam tightly.
~~~~
Dean watched the sun set slowly from his spot in a chair across from Sam who was tied up quietly and calmly in his own chair, one evening in late May. It was still fucking cold where they were; a late winter had forced the usual progression of the seasons to come later. Sam was losing control more often than not now, spending sometimes hours at a time, lost, while the demon was left behind inside of him to taunt Dean and try to drive him crazy. It caught on early enough that forcing Dean into a corner and trying to lure him into compromising positions was the way to fuck with Dean's head, so Sam spent a good deal of his days handcuffed to the bathroom sink now, too.
"Dean," Sam said softly, shattering the silence around them. Dean actually jumped and tightened his finger on the rifle trigger for a second.
"Yeah?" His voice was hoarse despite not talking for the past few hours.
"It's time."
"Time? For what?"
"You have to do it."
Dean looked over at Sam, slowly realizing what Sam was saying. He stood up jerkily and shoved his chair back, letting the end of the gun hit the floor loudly while still holding it.
"No."
"You have to."
"No, Sam."
"Dean."
"Fuck you, Sam! I didn't spend this past year with a death sentence over my head just so I could put a bullet between your eyes!"
Sam flinched for a second and Dean looked like he was happy for a second, like he'd won for a brief moment. "Doesn't matter. It doesn't matter about this past year or what was supposed to be or that I let you down because this is it, Dean."
"Sam, you didn't let me down," Dean tried to argue but Sam shook his head and talked over Dean's protests.
"I told you I would save you. I told you I'd find a way and that I'd get you out of this. Instead I just made it worse. Don't try to tell me otherwise, Dean. We both know -"
"We don't know anything," Dean said firmly. "Shut up and don't say anything else about it."
"Fine. Shoot me, then. Because that's the only way you'll get me to be quiet."
"I can't. Sam." Dean would never beg, refused to break down in front of his brother now but he pleaded with his eyes, trying to show Sam that there was no way he could ever-
"If you don't Bobby will. He'll hunt me down and kill me himself. Or I'll kill him. And then I'll kill more people and more after that. I could go after Cassie and Becca and Missouri-"
"Stop it, Sam," Dean warned.
Sam narrowed his eyes tilted his head. "You probably want me to do it, don't you?"
Dean cocked his head, aware of the shift instantly. "So which one is it this time? Is that you, Meg? You back again?"
Sam smiled as he looked at Dean, fingers tightening on the chair arms. "What makes you think Meg gets to have all the fun?"
"What are you?"
"Not what. Who?"
Dean looked at Sam warily. "Who are you?"
"Sam."
"Wold you fuck off with that? We both know that's not the truth."
"No, you don't. I'm Sam. I'm what Sam has become. I'm what Sam is, what our father warned you about."
"We sent you to Hell once, and we can do it again," Dean insisted, muttering to himself. Sam smiled at him and shrugged as much as he could with the restraints.
"You keep telling yourself that. Won't matter in a few minutes anyway." Dean followed Sam's gaze to the wall clock and felt a cold hand grip around his heart. "Five minutes, would you say?"
"I can kill you," Dean said suddenly, lifting the gun to his shoulder.
Sam laughed. Threw his head back and laughed, much the same way he had when he was possessed by Meg the year before, but this was different- darker, richer. It had a hint of the old Sam, the one that Dean knew before the shit really started hitting the fan, and it made Dean's heart clench.
"I'm telling you, Dean the only think that'll kill me now is the Colt. Too bad, huh? Of course, you can't kill me any more than I could kill Dad."
"Sam."
"Sam, me- whatever gets you through the night. Not that you'll make it through, though. Three minutes."
Dean's eyes darted to the clock again. "Why Sam?"
"Why me what?"
"Why did it pick Sam? Why us? Why my family? Why my mom?"
"So many questions, so little time," Sam smiled. "You want to go to your death with all the answers? Sorry, Dean. I don't have them. I don't know why the Winchesters were chosen for this lovely little adventure. But I'm glad we were."
"Stop saying that!" Dean exploded, raising the rifle again as Sam laughed.
"How does it feel Dean? How does it feel to be a failure? To be alone and a failure?" Sam asked, starting to move his hands against the bonds that held him to the chair. Dean made no move to make them tighter or ask him to stop.
"Oh, stop teasing him."
Dean turned around quickly, rifle at the ready. She was there for him, standing across the room looking as beautiful as she had the night he made the deal three hundred and sixty-six days earlier. Dean blinked, confused.
"You think I'd send Hell Hounds to collect on someone like Dean Winchester?" She laughed at his shock. "Don't be silly, Dean. You're a damn-near celebrity now."
"Lucky me," he choked out. Sam had the ropes loosened enough now to twist his hands around and was working them out of the bonds quickly. Dean felt his throat constrict and he took a step back, sudden panic overwhelming him.
"Little help here?" Sam asked the Reaper casually. She just frowned at him as she took a step toward Dean. "Bitch," Sam muttered and after some wriggling managed to pull one hand out and worked on the other.
"You brought him back," Dean said suddenly, his eyes flashing at the Reaper. "You brought him back to life, you can take it back."
She laughed and Sam frowned. "Oh, honey. No. It doesn't work like that at all. Come on, Dean. You guys put on a good show, okay? It's time to accept that like a man. Like your daddy did."
Dean's mouth dropped open and he felt hot all over. He set his mouth in a hard line as Sam worked the ropes from around his legs and stood up, stretching lazily.
"You're making him huffy now," Sam started to say to the Reaper, pointing at Dean. And then there was a loud bang, and then a hole in Sam's stomach where Dean shot him. Sam stared down at the blood leaking from the wound and made a face.
"You happy now? I told you, Dean- you can't hurt me now."
"Had to try," Dean said with a small hollow smile and turned to the Reaper. "You want me? Gotta fight for me."
Dean turned the rifle around and opened his mouth.