The End
Title: The End
Author:
hunters_retreat
Pairing: Sam /Dean
Word Count: 1,093
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Underage Sam (16), non-con (or dub-con depending on how you look at it)
Summary: “What are you standing around for Sammy?” Dean demanded, watching the way Sam flinched at the nickname. He didn’t used to, not before. But that was before Dean had started taking this from Sam, when he used to call him Sammy in affection, not lust.
Author's note: Written for thespn_teamfic challenge based on the Placebo song Running Up That Hill. Also, this is stand alone, but it's sort of a Timestamp on a story i've never finished or posted (that my flist will no doubtely groan to hear about again) called Violently.
The End
You don't want to hurt me,
But see how deep the bullet lies.
Unaware that I'm tearing you asunder.
There is thunder in our hearts, baby.
So much hate for the ones we love?
Tell me, we both matter, don't we?
-Placebo
His heart was beating, faster in his head as he counted out the beat under his hand. There was blood everywhere and he didn’t know how much was from this or the hunt anymore. Too much, he thinks. How much did he do? How badly did he hurt him? He doesn’t know and he doesn’t think there’s any way to ask. Not anymore.
Sam pushed his hand away, pushed Dean back and he slid out of Sam’s body. He heard his brother’s sharp intake of breath at the pain of it and Dean walked to the sink as he pulled his pants up from where they had been pulled tight down his thighs. He ran the water, watching blood circle the drain before he cupped his hands to rinse his face. It had to be good enough to get them into a motel and then they could really get cleaned up. He wet a wad of paper towels and cleaned off his cock before throwing it away and closed the front of his pants.
When he looked back, Sam was still glaring at him. His eyes fueled the slow building heat in Dean and for a moment he thought about running his tongue over his brother’s lip, biting it hard enough to make it bleed again. Sam pushed away from the wall, letting Dean see the blood smeared where Dean had pushed his face against the tile when he’d come in.
“Done yet?” The words were quiet, but intense, his whole frame vibrating with the violence of what Dean had just done, of what he wanted to do in return. Dean took a deep breath, eyes tracing Sam’s body, seeing the blood on his forearm from where he’d been thrown across the room and landed on a picture frame. He saw the blood rising on his face that would be black and blue come morning, saw the split lip and cut over his temple. He was pretty sure the bruises were his, but the rest was thanks to a poltergeist.
“What are you standing around for Sammy?” Dean demanded, watching the way Sam flinched at the nickname. He didn’t used to, not before. But that was before Dean had started taking this from Sam, when he used to call him Sammy in affection, not lust.
Sam glared, but he walked to the sink, keeping his eyes on his brother. He let the cool water run over bruised fingertips and Dean smiled as he saw the moment of indecision, the moment where Sam asked himself if he should lower his face enough to wash it and risk bending in front of Dean, or wear the blood until they got to the motel. Just a flicker of his eyes and he was bending, not much, but enough for Dean to see the way his brother was bleeding slightly from where Dean had torn into him.
Dean found himself moving forward, one hand stopping at Sam’s waist and his brother stiffened. He looked up, not in fear, but anger. Dean wadded up a few more paper towels and wet them, then started to clean his brother up. He leaned in and bit at Sam’s neck, watched his brother’s hands go white knuckled on the blood-stained porcelain. “Gonna take care of you Sammy.” He promised. “You know I always do, always protect you so good, don’t I little brother?”
Sam didn’t protest, just the look in his eyes as Dean continued to stroke his opening, wiping blood and come as if he hadn’t just forced his way into his body ten minutes before. When he threw the paper towel out, he stepped back and watched as Sam pulled his pants up.
They were as presentable as they were going to get. “Need anything?” Dean asked as he unlocked the door to the gas station bathroom.
“Coke.” Sam answered back, his voice low and tight, anger barely restrained and damn if it didn’t make Dean want to lock the door again. “And cheetos.”
Dean nodded before heading out to grab them. It was a nicer gas station than most and they even had a few books on one side of the register next to the magazines. He saw something that looked up Sam’s alley and saw something right above it so he snagged it too. He made his way back out to the car and Sam was waiting in the passenger seat, looking angry and uncomfortable.
He set the bag between them and pulled out of the station, leaving behind the blood and memories and foul mood that had been stalking him for a week. Sam pulled out a soda and handed it to Dean, along with a candy bar. “What’s this?” He asked, pulling out the book.
“Thought you might need something to read. The next hunt Dad had lined up is a two day drive.”
Sam nodded, then pulled out the rest. “And this?”
“Book light.” Dean said, without looking over at his brother. He’s spent years learning to juggle reading and homework in the back seat with a flash light in his mouth. “Thought you might like it.”
Sam looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face. “I can take it back if you don’t want it.”
“No, no. I want it.” Sam said, ripping the box open and putting the batteries in so he could use it. He flipped it on and Dean could see the slight smile pulling at his lips. “Thanks Dean. This is great.”
Sam played with it for a little bit, making Dean squirm as they drove though. It gave him just enough light to see his brother’s profile and from time to time he’d catch Sam staring at him. He knew what it meant, knew that his brother was plotting. It wouldn’t happen yet, but in a few days, a few weeks, he’d find himself trapped, his brother pressing his way in as Dean fought to get free. Heat filled Sam’s eyes and dread filled Dean’s.
When Sam opened the book though, book light clamped in place, Dean smiled. Just like that, back to brother’s again. He felt good about it, felt happy that he’d been able to find something Sam liked, even if it was a stupid light for his books. They were messed up seven ways from Sunday, they both knew it, but sex and blood and tears be damned. They’d figure it out in the end. They knew what mattered and above all us, they were brothers. And they would be til the end.