never trust a big butt and a smile (obeetaybee) wrote,
never trust a big butt and a smile

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heartache at the setting of the sun

title: heartache at the setting of the sun
author: obeetaybee
rating: Adult
words 950
pairing/characters: Sam/Dean
warnings: incest
notes: Coda to 4/22, Lucifer Rising. Two in one day. Go me!

heartache at the setting of the sun

Dean finds Sam in Bobby’s cellar counting cans and he silently shuts the door behind him before walking down the wooden stairs.

He watches Sam in the near darkness, hair sliding on cobwebs, silky threads blending in the gloom. Dean sits heavily on the wooden stairs, elbows resting on his knees.

Sam stops for a moment and then straightens. They haven’t talked much since leaving Maryland the week before, Dean's first priority helping Sam through the worst of the demon blood withdrawal. Then they used the space between them to clean out their heads until it grew and stretched them both thin, barely able to stay in the same room with each other.

Bobby’s not taking any chances, using this calm before the storm to send them out individually, dividing and conquering local stores, cleaning their shelves of canned goods, cases of water, gasoline and over the counter medication. The power’s sketchy at this point and the reports coming in from the shortwave radio are becoming increasingly violent. It’s spreading east to west, Lucifer gathering strength and chaos erupting in towns and cities with every move he makes. It won’t be long before Hell literally spills over.

But a question lies between Sam and Dean, unanswered and unsettling.

“Hey,” Dean says.

Sam turns around, a can in each hand. “Hey,” he says. “I’m guessing you’re the reason we’ve got forty-seven cans of pie filling.”

Dean smiles and from the side of the mouth says, “I do love me some pie.”

“Maybe we should have told Bobby to grab some flour and sugar on his run.”

Dean’s heart skips a beat at ‘we’. “What’d I need a crust for? Just heat the can up and I’m a happy man. Won't even need utensils.”

"Gross." Sam turns away and places the cans on the shelf, shifting them until all the labels are facing the same direction. “I don’t think I want to know where Bobby’s getting the money to finance this little stockpile of food and weapons.”

“Dude, the old coot’s probably got a counterfeit money press down here somewhere. He’s got everything else.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees and Dean can feel his smile more than see it. “So,” Sam begins when he turns back around, shoving his hands in his front pockets, face in shadow.

“Yeah,” Dean says, standing up and swiping at the seat of his pants.

“You make up your mind? You still planning on hunting me? Cause I’m right here, you know, not going anywhere.”

Dean’s brows knit together. “What the hell you talking about?”

“About your message, that,” Sam’s breath hitches, “day. How I’m a vampire now, how you’re gunning for me. I won’t stop you, if that’s what you decide to do.”

“The fuck you talking about, Sam? I never said anything in my message about hunting you. I called you to apologize.”

Sam steps into a dust filled beam of light from the cellar window. “You didn’t—you didn’t call me a bloodsucking freak?”

Dean rolls his eyes as he tilts his head from side to side. “Okay, maybe I thought it, I mean, dude. You were drinking demon blood. Hello, gross. But I never, ever said it out loud,” he holds up his hand. “Swear to fucking missing in action God.”

The skin around Sam’s eyes tightens. “What?”

“Yeah. So, the angels, they locked me up so you could, so I wouldn’t stop you,” Dean’s voice trails off as he walks down the rest of the steps. “Turns out it wasn’t just Uriel who wanted Lucifer released. We were fucked up the ass like Suite Sister Mary. Trussed up and sacrificed on the altar of the Holy Apocalypse.”

“Visceral,” Sam says softly.

Dean chuckles. “Felt literal at the time.”

“Jesus,” Sam says.

“Not real sure where he plays in all of this. I’m leaning towards myth at this point.”

“And Castiel?”

Dean takes a deep breath, remembering the brilliant white light signaling the coming of the Archangel flooding Chuck’s house. “He was one of the good guys in the end. Got me to where I needed to be just a few minutes too late.”

Regret flashes across Sam’s face. “I didn’t know. I thought I was stopping—”

“Dude, forget it. We were both manipulated. It’s done. One day, we’ll both be a pile of ashes. But right now, right here? There’s a question I gotta ask.”

Sam’s tongue flicks out over his bottom lip. “What’s that?” he says.

“Are we still together? You and me. Are we gonna fight together or alone?”

Sam’s steps forward into his space and Dean refuses to step back. His long fingers glide along Dean’s cheek and Dean closes his eyes at his touch. Sam kisses him deeply, his mouth hot as it opens above him and all the blood rushes through his body, his cock swelling down the leg of his jeans.

Dean reaches up and twines his hands in Sam’s hair, pushing him backwards until he bangs against the shelves, cans tumbling. Sam spreads his legs for Dean eagerly, moaning against his mouth, pressing his hard length against Dean’s thigh.

Sam’s mouth slides away from his and he scrapes his teeth along his jaw and his hand moves down and stokes Dean over his jeans. Dean shudders and shivers at Sam’s hot mouth sucking at the sweet spot behind his ear.

“Together,” Sam whispers against his skin. “Rather die without you.”

Dean closes his eyes as Sam’s mouth attacks his again, his tongue sweeping in and fucking his slowly. Dean hums against his mouth and when Sam breaks away again, he whispers, “Yeah, me too.”

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Tags: sam/dean, supernatural

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