Supernatural: A Done Deal
Title: A Done Deal
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean
Genre: Angstbomb!/Smut/Hurt/Comfort in some sick way.
Rating: NC-17: Sexual Content, Incest, Foul Language, and did I mention Incest?
Word Count: 2,237
Author’s Note: Written for tamingthemuse prompt # 156 - Sorrow. Spoilers for All Hell Breaks Loose: Parts One & Two. I cannot believe I am writing Wincest. I cannot believe I am writing porn. I cannot believe I am writing Wincest porn. I cannot believe I LIKE IT. I am UNCLEAN. Beta’d by the lovely wutendeskind. Don’t feel too bad for her, this is her punishment for getting me hooked on a show where brothers do each other. ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: Dean mourns his brother’s death and decides to make his deal.
Until today, Dean Winchester had not really known what sorrow was. He’d seen things, suffered through things that most people could never imagine. Until today, sorrow was something he thought he understood pretty well. But for all of that suffering, he envied the Dean of yesterday who didn’t know what this felt like.
The sensation of loss that had taken him so many times-when he’d been too late for a hunt, when Sammy had left for college, when his father had sold his soul for him-seemed like a scrape on the knee next to the pain in his chest, the feeling of something dirty cutting into him and tearing him in half. Sure, he knew what it was like to feel that he would never be happy again. But this wasn’t a feeling, wasn’t something that needed some mourning and could be moved on from. This was a promise, a fact. Dean Winchester, you will never be happy again.
He forced his eyes open, forced himself to stare again at the most disturbing thing he had ever seen. It shouldn’t have been so awful-Dean had seen dead bodies much less at peace than Sam’s. Dean had seen bodies in so many pieces he didn’t know where what was left of them was supposed to go, faces twisted by so much fear it alone could have killed them. Sam looked pretty good comparatively. But Dean’s eyes couldn’t leave the tiny twist at his lips, a slight sign that his brother had been suffering and he’d done nothing to stop it. Sam was going to look like that forever, was going to be in pain forever. Dean had seen Sam make this face a thousand times. But those times he had patched his brother up-he’d watched Sam’s face return to normal as the pain ebbed away. Not this time, this time Sam was never going to smile, or laugh, or thank him for keeping him safe again.
There had to be something he could do, because he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t sit next to Sam’s body pretending he would wake up soon, pretending he hadn’t failed, forever. But he couldn’t move on, either. There was no way he was going to bury Sam, say his goodbyes, and be able to walk away and live his life. This was life-shattering; this was his mother’s death all over again. The one thing his universe was centered on, taken in the most brutal way possible. He had been a kid then, young enough to build a new life-even if the life was not ideal, even if not having his mother around had left a huge part of him empty. He’d been able to fill that hole, found something new to center his life on, something that he would be able to protect. And here was what his pathetic attempt at protection had come to-everything he Loved laid out on a bed. His entire universe came down to six feet and four inches, stone dead.
Not possible. This couldn’t happen. Sam being dead was not an option. Anything else, no matter how bad, could happen. But Sammy dead couldn’t. And Dean wasn’t going to let it. He’d always said he would do anything to keep Sam safe, promised Sam and promised John and even if they hadn’t realized how much he’d meant it, he’d promised himself. He knew what he had to do. Had to because it was easier than the alternative. And how bad could it really be to lose his soul? He’d already lost Sam.
---
“I’ll say it again, Dean. One year is the best you’re going to get. Take it or leave it, but don’t waste any more of my time.”
The Crossroads Demon smiled predatorily at the desperate look on Dean’s face. She was used to dealing with some pretty rotten sons of bitches, but even they knew that their souls were worth something. And yet here was the famous Dean Winchester groveling-buying what she fed him about his soul not being worth much when it was the most valuable soul she would ever collect. Good men, truly good men, were hard to come across. Unfortunately, finally meeting one was turning out to be incredibly underwhelming. He was so transparent she almost felt bad for him.
“A year, Dean. Hurry up and make your decision…I can smell little Sammy rotting from here.”
Dean grabbed her furiously by the waist. He wanted to snap her in half, felt so angry he almost believed he could kill a demon with his bare hands. But when her eyes met his there was no hesitation evident in his features. He knew he was being robbed, but it somehow still seemed like a great deal. How long in hell was a year with Sam worth? Ten years? Fifty? Forever. One more day with Sam was worth forever. He pulled the bitch closer, kissed her savagely. He kissed her hard and fast for all the times he hadn’t kissed his brother. And even though waves of disgust and self-loathing passed over him every second they were touching, he threw himself into the kiss like he meant it, because he did.
“Good boy, Dean,” she said pulling away with a perverse smile. “Give Sammy a nice big kiss from me.”
Dean’s stomach turned at her allusion. She didn’t have the right to know that, to take it and make it something ugly. Dean had spent enough of the last two years revolted about his feelings for Sam, he knew better now. The moment Sam went limp in his arms and he’d realized that he would never see his brother again, he was sure that there was nothing ugly about it. They’d always lived outside of society, so why should society dictate what they were allowed to feel? It wasn’t wrong or dirty that he wanted Sam-it was beautiful. If Sam could see that too, if he wanted him back, Dean was going to Love his brother in all the ways he’d been too afraid to before. He was going to live one year in heaven. How bad could hell be after that?
“Go to hell.”
“I will, sweetheart. See you there.”
Like that she was gone and Dean was left alone. No, not alone. Somewhere Sammy was waking up. Dean smiled and got into the Impala. He could already feel the aching hole in his chest beginning to fill.
---
Sam Winchester felt like hell, but considering the fact that the last conscious thought he could remember was that he was definitely going to die, he could have been worse off.
“Dean?”
No response. It didn’t seem like Dean to leave him alone in the condition he must have been in. Either the wound wasn’t half as bad as it felt, or he’d been out for an awfully long time. He stood and went to the mirror to try to see how bad it looked-he could still feel the pain but the wound looked like it’d been healing for weeks.
“Sammy!”
Before he’d even realized his brother had entered the room, he felt Dean’s body hit him full-force and drag him into one of those suffocating hugs only Dean could pull off without seeming like a nagging mother. Sam wished, not for the first time, that Dean would remember that he was a pretty big guy.
“Dean-“
“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean replied, still clinging to him with unnecessary force.
“I just got stabbed, you’re really hurting me.”
Dean loosened his embrace immediately.
“I’m sorry Sammy, I’m so sorry. I just thought. You were. God, I was so worried. How are you? Are you ok? Does it hurt a lot? Do you need me to do anything?”
“I’m fine, Dean, calm down. I’m actually feeling a lot better than I should be. This thing looks like it’s been healing for a while.”
Sam lifted the back of his shirt so that Dean could see the wound. He had attempted to patch it up hours earlier, when he’d thought it wouldn’t do any good, but that didn’t account for how fast it was healing. Improved though it was, Dean flinched at the sight of it. Even if the threat was gone, he couldn’t help remembering what it meant.
“It looks good, Sam,” there was a long pause as Dean lifted his eyes to his brother’s face and saw the tiniest trace of a smile. It was so different from the look he’d had before he’d gone. Dean was sure it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “You look good.”
“Dean, are you alri-“
“Sam, I’m sorry,” Dean said and answered Sam’s unspoken question (“Sorry for what?”) before he got a chance to ask it. It wasn’t actually possible, Sam thought, that Dean was kissing him, except that there were definitely lips pressed against his and there was no one else it could be.
“Dean, we can’t. We’re broth-“
“I know,” Dean sounded terrified and his voice was shaking but as he kept repeating the words “I know” over and over, he brought one hand to rest on the back of Sam’s neck and there were those lips again, pressing against Sam’s with a hunger that awoke Sam’s most hidden desires.
Sam didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to respond. He’d wanted this for so long; it wasn’t fair for Dean to leave it to him to stop it.
“Why not?” he asked himself hotly. The same old answer didn’t suffice now that he knew Dean wanted him, too. He and Dean were never just brothers, had always been so much more than that. It didn’t seem fair that the only time they had to pretend it was that simple was when Dean, who had given up his life for others and especially for Sam, was asking for one little thing, something only Sam could give, and damn did he want to.
“Sammy,” one word, a name, had never been weighed down with so much meaning. Dean was begging Sam to stop him, asking Sam to kiss him back. He was apologizing, terrified, tender and desperate, lost-hoping to be found, all at once. There was lust, the black crushing kind of wanting that made it hard to breathe; it was so genuine and so affectionate that it was somehow entirely chaste.
Sam broke under the force of that whimper, gave in to the pressure of his brother’s body against his. He opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, let his tongue run along his brother’s lips hoping to open them. He kissed Dean and Dean kissed him and neither seemed capable of breaking the contact. They kissed rough and hungry until Dean could feel Sam hard against his thigh and his own body followed suit. Now, they both knew, would be a good time to pull back. The last chance to break apart, go work themselves to release, and never mention what had just happened again.
For a fleeting moment they paused, their lips separated, and each took a heavy breath. Neither was sure if the other was going to continue, but they both knew they wanted to. Sam took the initiative; he buried his face in Dean’s neck, sucking, kissing, and biting at the hot flesh that had kept him awake so many nights. Dean groaned, he pushed his body closer to Sam’s and thrust his own jean-clad erection against his brothers.
“Fuck, Dean, more.”
Sam's hips shot forward, attempting to feel more through the thick layers of clothes. His hands quickly moved between them and loosened the waists of their jeans. He pushed Dean’s down first and then his own, letting out a cry at the relief of their cocks pushing against each other in motion.
Dean claimed his lips again as the rhythm between them became more desperate. His hands wandered under Sam’s shirt, roving quickly over his chest, his shoulders and then moving around to his back as if he had to make sure to touch every bit of him-to make sure the thick muscles were still intact.
It was all too much for Sam. Dean’s kiss and his cock and the firm caressing motions of his hands were overloading his senses. He let his head fall back and moaned something that could have been a warning of what was threatening to happen with violent intensity any moment.
“Please Sammy, do it for me,” Dean whispered into his brother’s ear before letting his tongue trace its way across Sam’s jaw and down to his neck. Sam grabbed his brother’s hips with both his hands and pulled him in with a grip he knew was going to be blue and purple fingerprints against Dean’s skin in the morning. He came hard, Dean’s name falling slowly from his lips.
“Oh, God,” Dean replied as he watched his brother’s orgasm. Nothing had ever been as comforting as seeing the pleasure play itself out on the face he knew so well. How could he have failed if his brother was right here, in his arms, sated? He was already lost in euphoria by the time his hand crept down and wrapped around his own shaft. It only took one pull to send him collapsing into Sam’s arms, spent but happier than he could ever remember being.
Like Supernatural?
Made By: clex_monkie89
GO JOIN spnland!
[9]
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean
Genre: Angstbomb!/Smut/Hurt/Comfort in some sick way.
Rating: NC-17: Sexual Content, Incest, Foul Language, and did I mention Incest?
Word Count: 2,237
Author’s Note: Written for tamingthemuse prompt # 156 - Sorrow. Spoilers for All Hell Breaks Loose: Parts One & Two. I cannot believe I am writing Wincest. I cannot believe I am writing porn. I cannot believe I am writing Wincest porn. I cannot believe I LIKE IT. I am UNCLEAN. Beta’d by the lovely wutendeskind. Don’t feel too bad for her, this is her punishment for getting me hooked on a show where brothers do each other. ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: Dean mourns his brother’s death and decides to make his deal.
Until today, Dean Winchester had not really known what sorrow was. He’d seen things, suffered through things that most people could never imagine. Until today, sorrow was something he thought he understood pretty well. But for all of that suffering, he envied the Dean of yesterday who didn’t know what this felt like.
The sensation of loss that had taken him so many times-when he’d been too late for a hunt, when Sammy had left for college, when his father had sold his soul for him-seemed like a scrape on the knee next to the pain in his chest, the feeling of something dirty cutting into him and tearing him in half. Sure, he knew what it was like to feel that he would never be happy again. But this wasn’t a feeling, wasn’t something that needed some mourning and could be moved on from. This was a promise, a fact. Dean Winchester, you will never be happy again.
He forced his eyes open, forced himself to stare again at the most disturbing thing he had ever seen. It shouldn’t have been so awful-Dean had seen dead bodies much less at peace than Sam’s. Dean had seen bodies in so many pieces he didn’t know where what was left of them was supposed to go, faces twisted by so much fear it alone could have killed them. Sam looked pretty good comparatively. But Dean’s eyes couldn’t leave the tiny twist at his lips, a slight sign that his brother had been suffering and he’d done nothing to stop it. Sam was going to look like that forever, was going to be in pain forever. Dean had seen Sam make this face a thousand times. But those times he had patched his brother up-he’d watched Sam’s face return to normal as the pain ebbed away. Not this time, this time Sam was never going to smile, or laugh, or thank him for keeping him safe again.
There had to be something he could do, because he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t sit next to Sam’s body pretending he would wake up soon, pretending he hadn’t failed, forever. But he couldn’t move on, either. There was no way he was going to bury Sam, say his goodbyes, and be able to walk away and live his life. This was life-shattering; this was his mother’s death all over again. The one thing his universe was centered on, taken in the most brutal way possible. He had been a kid then, young enough to build a new life-even if the life was not ideal, even if not having his mother around had left a huge part of him empty. He’d been able to fill that hole, found something new to center his life on, something that he would be able to protect. And here was what his pathetic attempt at protection had come to-everything he Loved laid out on a bed. His entire universe came down to six feet and four inches, stone dead.
Not possible. This couldn’t happen. Sam being dead was not an option. Anything else, no matter how bad, could happen. But Sammy dead couldn’t. And Dean wasn’t going to let it. He’d always said he would do anything to keep Sam safe, promised Sam and promised John and even if they hadn’t realized how much he’d meant it, he’d promised himself. He knew what he had to do. Had to because it was easier than the alternative. And how bad could it really be to lose his soul? He’d already lost Sam.
---
“I’ll say it again, Dean. One year is the best you’re going to get. Take it or leave it, but don’t waste any more of my time.”
The Crossroads Demon smiled predatorily at the desperate look on Dean’s face. She was used to dealing with some pretty rotten sons of bitches, but even they knew that their souls were worth something. And yet here was the famous Dean Winchester groveling-buying what she fed him about his soul not being worth much when it was the most valuable soul she would ever collect. Good men, truly good men, were hard to come across. Unfortunately, finally meeting one was turning out to be incredibly underwhelming. He was so transparent she almost felt bad for him.
“A year, Dean. Hurry up and make your decision…I can smell little Sammy rotting from here.”
Dean grabbed her furiously by the waist. He wanted to snap her in half, felt so angry he almost believed he could kill a demon with his bare hands. But when her eyes met his there was no hesitation evident in his features. He knew he was being robbed, but it somehow still seemed like a great deal. How long in hell was a year with Sam worth? Ten years? Fifty? Forever. One more day with Sam was worth forever. He pulled the bitch closer, kissed her savagely. He kissed her hard and fast for all the times he hadn’t kissed his brother. And even though waves of disgust and self-loathing passed over him every second they were touching, he threw himself into the kiss like he meant it, because he did.
“Good boy, Dean,” she said pulling away with a perverse smile. “Give Sammy a nice big kiss from me.”
Dean’s stomach turned at her allusion. She didn’t have the right to know that, to take it and make it something ugly. Dean had spent enough of the last two years revolted about his feelings for Sam, he knew better now. The moment Sam went limp in his arms and he’d realized that he would never see his brother again, he was sure that there was nothing ugly about it. They’d always lived outside of society, so why should society dictate what they were allowed to feel? It wasn’t wrong or dirty that he wanted Sam-it was beautiful. If Sam could see that too, if he wanted him back, Dean was going to Love his brother in all the ways he’d been too afraid to before. He was going to live one year in heaven. How bad could hell be after that?
“Go to hell.”
“I will, sweetheart. See you there.”
Like that she was gone and Dean was left alone. No, not alone. Somewhere Sammy was waking up. Dean smiled and got into the Impala. He could already feel the aching hole in his chest beginning to fill.
---
Sam Winchester felt like hell, but considering the fact that the last conscious thought he could remember was that he was definitely going to die, he could have been worse off.
“Dean?”
No response. It didn’t seem like Dean to leave him alone in the condition he must have been in. Either the wound wasn’t half as bad as it felt, or he’d been out for an awfully long time. He stood and went to the mirror to try to see how bad it looked-he could still feel the pain but the wound looked like it’d been healing for weeks.
“Sammy!”
Before he’d even realized his brother had entered the room, he felt Dean’s body hit him full-force and drag him into one of those suffocating hugs only Dean could pull off without seeming like a nagging mother. Sam wished, not for the first time, that Dean would remember that he was a pretty big guy.
“Dean-“
“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean replied, still clinging to him with unnecessary force.
“I just got stabbed, you’re really hurting me.”
Dean loosened his embrace immediately.
“I’m sorry Sammy, I’m so sorry. I just thought. You were. God, I was so worried. How are you? Are you ok? Does it hurt a lot? Do you need me to do anything?”
“I’m fine, Dean, calm down. I’m actually feeling a lot better than I should be. This thing looks like it’s been healing for a while.”
Sam lifted the back of his shirt so that Dean could see the wound. He had attempted to patch it up hours earlier, when he’d thought it wouldn’t do any good, but that didn’t account for how fast it was healing. Improved though it was, Dean flinched at the sight of it. Even if the threat was gone, he couldn’t help remembering what it meant.
“It looks good, Sam,” there was a long pause as Dean lifted his eyes to his brother’s face and saw the tiniest trace of a smile. It was so different from the look he’d had before he’d gone. Dean was sure it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “You look good.”
“Dean, are you alri-“
“Sam, I’m sorry,” Dean said and answered Sam’s unspoken question (“Sorry for what?”) before he got a chance to ask it. It wasn’t actually possible, Sam thought, that Dean was kissing him, except that there were definitely lips pressed against his and there was no one else it could be.
“Dean, we can’t. We’re broth-“
“I know,” Dean sounded terrified and his voice was shaking but as he kept repeating the words “I know” over and over, he brought one hand to rest on the back of Sam’s neck and there were those lips again, pressing against Sam’s with a hunger that awoke Sam’s most hidden desires.
Sam didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to respond. He’d wanted this for so long; it wasn’t fair for Dean to leave it to him to stop it.
“Why not?” he asked himself hotly. The same old answer didn’t suffice now that he knew Dean wanted him, too. He and Dean were never just brothers, had always been so much more than that. It didn’t seem fair that the only time they had to pretend it was that simple was when Dean, who had given up his life for others and especially for Sam, was asking for one little thing, something only Sam could give, and damn did he want to.
“Sammy,” one word, a name, had never been weighed down with so much meaning. Dean was begging Sam to stop him, asking Sam to kiss him back. He was apologizing, terrified, tender and desperate, lost-hoping to be found, all at once. There was lust, the black crushing kind of wanting that made it hard to breathe; it was so genuine and so affectionate that it was somehow entirely chaste.
Sam broke under the force of that whimper, gave in to the pressure of his brother’s body against his. He opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, let his tongue run along his brother’s lips hoping to open them. He kissed Dean and Dean kissed him and neither seemed capable of breaking the contact. They kissed rough and hungry until Dean could feel Sam hard against his thigh and his own body followed suit. Now, they both knew, would be a good time to pull back. The last chance to break apart, go work themselves to release, and never mention what had just happened again.
For a fleeting moment they paused, their lips separated, and each took a heavy breath. Neither was sure if the other was going to continue, but they both knew they wanted to. Sam took the initiative; he buried his face in Dean’s neck, sucking, kissing, and biting at the hot flesh that had kept him awake so many nights. Dean groaned, he pushed his body closer to Sam’s and thrust his own jean-clad erection against his brothers.
“Fuck, Dean, more.”
Sam's hips shot forward, attempting to feel more through the thick layers of clothes. His hands quickly moved between them and loosened the waists of their jeans. He pushed Dean’s down first and then his own, letting out a cry at the relief of their cocks pushing against each other in motion.
Dean claimed his lips again as the rhythm between them became more desperate. His hands wandered under Sam’s shirt, roving quickly over his chest, his shoulders and then moving around to his back as if he had to make sure to touch every bit of him-to make sure the thick muscles were still intact.
It was all too much for Sam. Dean’s kiss and his cock and the firm caressing motions of his hands were overloading his senses. He let his head fall back and moaned something that could have been a warning of what was threatening to happen with violent intensity any moment.
“Please Sammy, do it for me,” Dean whispered into his brother’s ear before letting his tongue trace its way across Sam’s jaw and down to his neck. Sam grabbed his brother’s hips with both his hands and pulled him in with a grip he knew was going to be blue and purple fingerprints against Dean’s skin in the morning. He came hard, Dean’s name falling slowly from his lips.
“Oh, God,” Dean replied as he watched his brother’s orgasm. Nothing had ever been as comforting as seeing the pleasure play itself out on the face he knew so well. How could he have failed if his brother was right here, in his arms, sated? He was already lost in euphoria by the time his hand crept down and wrapped around his own shaft. It only took one pull to send him collapsing into Sam’s arms, spent but happier than he could ever remember being.
Like Supernatural?
Made By: clex_monkie89
GO JOIN spnland!
[9]