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The gun felt surprisingly hot in his hands.

But cold against the side of his temple.

Sam’s eyes were closed and he breathed in, trying to calm the nerves that were thrumming beneath his skin, causing his breath to catch in his throat. A clammy sweat settled in over his hands and Sam had to clutch tighter onto the pistol in his hand to keep it from slipping.

Just pull it.

Sam’s pointer finger rested against the trigger, the muscles in his hand tensing with anticipation.

Pull the trigger.

The hours ticked on like years this way.

Sam sat on the edge of the hotel bed, his shoulders hunched over and his free hand gripped at the awful floral sheets beneath him while the other hand currently held the gun against the side of his temple, finger still resting on the trigger.

A cold sweat glistened on Sam’s forehead, slowly trickling down the sides of his temples to collect at the hollow of this throat. The sweat made its way to the back of his neck, pooling at his hair line.

His cheeks were wet but not from the sweat.

A steady stream of tears leaked out of the corner of his eyes, trailing down his face to fall. His chest heaved and his shoulders shook as sobs overtook him.

Sam just wanted it to be over.

The sleepless nights, the lack of appetite, Lucifer screaming and torturing him for days upon days. Hours upon hours. Minutes upon minutes. Seconds upon every vicious second.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

Sam opened his eyes. He slowly tilted his head up to the ceiling. His eyes burned from a mixture of frustration and fatigue. The muscles in his neck and his shoulders cried out in protest from being hunched over for so long.

“Please,” Sam begged, his eyes searching the ceiling and he tried to look beyond the plaster toward Heaven. If Heaven was still listening. “Please. Just make it go away.”

He waited then in silence.

Sam waited for any kind of sign that Heaven had heard him. That maybe there was someone up there who looked down on him with some small—insignificant--amount of sympathy. Maybe there was someone who could take away all of the pain.

Because Sam knew now that he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

When the silence became deafening, a fresh set of tears rolled down his cheeks. Sam bit his lower lip to keep the sob that was building in his chest from coming out. The sound that slipped from his lips was a mix of a raw, strangled cry and a breathy sob.

“You just couldn’t do it. Could you, Sam?”

The sudden voice in the room caused him to jerk, sending his heart skidding in his chest. Sam’s eyes darted over to the corner of the hotel room. Lucifer sat at the table located in front of the only window in the room. Lounging back in his chair, he propped his feet up on the table and he shot Sam an all-knowing smirk.

“You have the gun. You have it pressed against your skull,” Lucifer counted on his fingers, his eyes sweeping over Sam. There was a smug glimmer in his icy blue gaze. “But you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it, could you?”

Sam turned away from Lucifer, clenching his jaw to keep himself from letting him in. He lowered the gun—for only a moment—to press his thumb into the sensitive, fleshy pink scar on his palm. He gritted his teeth as a spark of pain shot through his hand, numbing his fingers.

“You can do that all day,” Lucifer said. Sam snuck a peak at him as he inspected his nails, a placid expression on the devil’s face. “But I’m not going anywhere, Sammy.”

Sam flinched away, as if hearing Lucifer say his brother’s nickname was like a slap to the face. It was more than just a slap. It felt like someone had punched a hole in his chest, ripping his still beating heart out.


Just thinking about his brother, thinking about how furious Dean would be if he knew what Sam was attempting to do. Dean would kill him for even thinking about it, let alone trying to put his plan into motion.

Sam’s hallucinations reached farther than just him. It was affecting Dean too. They were hurting Dean.

Sam saw it in the way that Dean hovered over him, watching him with his usual but not so usual narrowed gaze. The way that Dean constantly checked on him, always asking Sam if he was okay, which always resulted in Sam having to lie to Dean.

Granted, Dean had been taking care of Sam since he could remember, but this time was different. His hallucinations were doing more than just harming Dean; they were killing him.

Dean hardly slept. He hardly ate. Hell. Dean didn’t do much nowadays than watch over his little brother—taking care of him, making sure Sam was okay, and fighting off the devil on his brother’s shoulder.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair to put Dean through this—through any of it. It wasn’t fair that Dean had to slowly watch his brother deteriorate right in front of him. It wasn’t fair that Dean was being dragged into Sam’s hallucinations—and it sure as hell wasn’t fair that there was nothing Dean could do to save his little brother.

It was selfish of Sam.

Sam would never, ever hear Dean say it, but there was a part of him that knew that Dean would be better off if he wasn’t in the picture anymore.

Maybe he could be with Ben and Lisa again.

This thought brought on a tsunami of images that Sam tried to force down somewhere deep inside him, but they resurfaced, pushing back with the strength of an ocean’s tide.

He could see Ben riding shotgun in the Impala, digging through Dean’s old cassette collection, the wind rushing in through the open window to rustle his brown hair while they drove aimlessly down an open highway. He could see Lisa, sharing a bed with Dean, their bodies tangled together in a mass of flesh and sheets, the musky scent of sex palpable in the air—

Enough! Sam scolded himself, drowning his thoughts, suffocating them until the last light in them was gone, snuffed out like a candle.

Suddenly, it felt like someone was reaching through his chest, squeezing his lungs and his heart into a vice grip. He felt short of breath, clutching at his chest with his free hand. Sam took deep, gulping breaths, trying to steady his heart beat, but nothing seemed to help.

“It’s killing you, isn’t it?” Lucifer asked, his voice eerily soft.

Sam slowly shifted his eyes in the devil’s direction, trying to focus on his breathing. “What is?” Sam inquired, breathless.

“The thought of Dean being with someone other than you—sharing the bed with someone else, riding in the Impala with someone else—the thought of someone replacing you is what’s killing you, Sam.” Lucifer straightened in the chair, his eyes meeting Sam’s. “You try and try to blame me, but the reality of the situation is, is that you can’t stand the thought of being replaced--”

“Stop,” Sam ground out between his teeth, his heart hammering in his chest.

“You can’t stand the fact that Dean could replace you with someone else—and not just anyone, but Ben and Lisa--”

“Shut up!” Sam snarled at Lucifer, gripping so tightly onto his chest that he could feel his nails rake at his flesh through the thin fabric of his shirt. “I said. Shut. Up!”

Lucifer leaned back in his chair. There was an amused aura around him as he did so. His eyes scanned Sam thoughtfully for a second and while Lucifer was staring at Sam, he was fighting to catch his breath.

“There’s only one way to shut me up, Sam.” The devil raised one hand, mimicking a gun and he pointed his fingers toward his own temple. “All you gotta do is pull the trigger.”

Short of breath, Sam turned his attention back to the deadly weapon in his hand.

Light from the lamp on the bed side table cast a gentle glow onto the metal and Sam could see a pair of wide, terrified but most of all, exhausted eyes staring back at him. He titled the gun so that the light bounced off the metal case, temporarily blinding him.

Taking in as deep of a breath as he could muster, Sam raised the gun again. He pressed the pistol to his temple, his pointer finger resting on the trigger once more.

When he closed his eyes, all he could see was an image of the boy with the bright green eyes and freckled face, who loved leather jackets and classical rock music. The image belonged to the boy who stole his heart.


A faint scent hit Sam then and he took in a deep breath—

Lavender? What is lavender he was smelling?

The image of Dean suddenly melted away and he was transported back to a memory he hadn’t thought about in a long time.

It was summer of 1999, a few months shy after Sam had turned sixteen. He remembers laying in a field of lavender, staring up at the cloudless blue sky above him. The sun’s rays had caressed his skin, filling him with delicious warmth. Sam had tipped his head back, lips slightly parted as he closed his eyes, relishing in the summer heat.

Then a shadow had covered him, blocking his face from the sunlight. His eyes fluttered open to meet a pair of emerald green orbs, complimented with a light dusting of freckles. Dean smiled down at him. He was so close, that Sam could smell the musk of Dean’s cologne mixed with his leather jacket and he could feel his brother’s breath ghosting across his lips.

“I love you,” Dean said, gently pushing some of Sam’s wild hair from his eyes.

Sam turned his head into Dean’s hand, lightly placing a few kisses into his palm. When he looked back at Dean, his eyes were a darker shade of green.

“I love you too.”

Sam reached up, grabbing hold of the amulet he had given Dean for Christmas so many years ago, and guided him down, their lips brushing together. When their lips had met, Sam’s eyes closed again, drinking in the taste of Dean—

“Sam! No!”

Sam only had enough time for his eyes to open before Dean was on him, grabbing for the gun. His brother knocked him back onto the bed and Sam could feel the weight of Dean on his hips as he tried to wrestle the gun out of Sam’s hand.

He frantically held onto the pistol, trying to keep it out of Dean’s reach. Sam’s palm was coated in sweat and he could feel the gun slipping from his hand, his finger pulling tighter onto the trigger—

“Dean! Stop--”

The crackle of the pistol filled Sam’s ears, deafening him.

Sam couldn’t remember when he had closed his eyes—probably right after he pulled the trigger—and he slowly started to open them. He was staring up into Dean’s green eyes, which were so wide and clear, that he could see his own frightened reflection staring back at him.

Their heavy breathing filled the silence afterwards. Sam wasn’t sure how long they were like that—Dean straddling his hips, Sam with his arms pinned above his head, the gun still clutched tightly in his grip, their faces only a few mere inches away—but it felt like an eternity.

Clenching his jaw, Sam’s eyes cautiously slid away from Dean’s, looking him over. His eyes scanned his big brother—checking for a bullet wound. Sam half expected to see blood blooming from somewhere in Dean’s body, but he couldn’t see anything.

When Sam’s eyes returned to Dean’s, he was met with an enraged gleam in his eyes. Dean’s eyebrows were pulled together and a snarl curled at the corner of his mouth.


Sam didn’t get the chance to explain when his older brother ripped the gun out of his grasp, discarding the pistol and its case halfway across the hotel room. And then he felt Dean’s fist collide into his nose.

Sam’s head snapped back, pain blooming across his face. He could taste the copper in his blood as it ran down the back of his throat, causing him to gag. Dean grabbed two fistfuls of Sam’s shirt and started shaking him.

“What is wrong with you, Sam?” Dean shouted, shaking Sam violently. “What in the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Sam reached up, tightly gripping onto Dean’s wrists. “Dean!”

“Trying to kill yourself? I taught you better than that, Sam!”

Dean!” Sam choked out, begging. “Stop!”

Dean slammed Sam back down into the bed, his hip grinding painfully into Sam’s. When it seemed that Dean was finished, Sam dared himself to look at his big brother.

Dean was still furious—rightfully so—but his eyes softened slightly around the edges when he saw the steady stream of blood running down Sam’s chin.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” Dean commanded, his voice shaking slightly. The death grip that he had on Sam’s shirt loosened ever so slightly, but Sam still clutched Dean’s wrists tightly. “Don’t you dare.”


“Do you understand what it was like for me? Walking in to Bobby’s house to find you gone—find that you had vanished?” Dean grabbed Sam’s jaw painfully, making his little brother look at him when he spoke. “I was scared, Sam. I thought something awful had happened to you—then I saw your note.” Dean started to shake his head slightly, his eyes glistening with fresh tears. “I thought Lucifer had taken hold of the reigns again. I thought--”
Dean’s voice caught. He swallowed hard, his lower lip quivering. “Why, Sam?” His voice was so soft, that tears started to prickle in Sam’s eyes and his heart gave a few hard—painful—beats. “Why?”

Sam’s chest heaved and his nails dug into Dean’s wrists, anchoring himself to his brother as if at any moment he would be swept off into the torrent waves of an angry ocean. “I just wanted it to be over,” Sam choked. “I can’t do it anymore, Dean. I just can’t.”

Sam released Dean’s wrists then to cover his face with his hands as uncontrollable sobs took hold of him. He dug the palms of his hands into his eyes, trying to hold back the tears but they trickled down the corners of his eyes, dampening the hair close to his temples.

“Sam,” Dean said, his voice so soft when he spoke.

Sam felt Dean’s calloused hands on his wrists, trying to gently pull his hands away. He locked his arms, keeping them put. Sam didn’t want Dean to see him.

“Sam. Sammy,” Dean coaxed him, pulling at his wrists. “Hey. Look at me.”

He shook his head and Sam dug the heels of his hands harder into his eyes, creating white sparks to dance across his vision.

“C’mon, man.” Sam felt Dean shift on top of him, the weight of his brother easing off of his hips and the space to the left beside his head dipped as Dean propped himself up on the one arm. “Sammy. It’s okay. Just look at me.”

“I can’t,” Sam managed to choke out, his voice falling from his lips in a breathy sob. “It’s not okay—I’m not okay--”

Suddenly, Dean’s lips were on his, silencing him. It was a gentle gesture, full of love and sincerity. The kiss distracted Sam long enough for Dean to pull his wrists away, pinning them above his head with one hand while Dean’s other hand wiped at the drying blood and tears on his brother’s face.

Sam leaned into his hand, resting his tear stained cheek into the safety of Dean's warm palm. He closed his eyes and breathed in. His brother's hand smelled like the sharp tang of gun oil mixed with gun powder residue and the faint scent of the leather interior inside of the Impala--Dean smelled like home.

Opening his eyes, Sam shifted his gaze up. Dean was still staring down at him, his unbelievably green eyes searching his younger brother's face--looking for something. Sam was sure Dean was checking to make sure he was all right, even though he blatantly said that he was not.

"The codependency that you two share is uncanny,” Lucifer mused suddenly. “If not incredibly disturbing. And everyone thinks that I am an abomination.”

Sam flinched away from where Lucifer was seated, but he didn't dare move to look at him because Dean's eyes had hardened into a pair of fiery emerald orbs.

"He's here, isn't he?" Dean asked, his voice on the edge of anger and something else--something Sam couldn't quite pinpoint.

Sam took in a deep breath before he said, "Yes."

Dean was quiet for a few moments. The way his eyes searched Sam, it led him to believe that the cogs in his older brother's head was turning, mulling something over in his mind. Dean's tongue flicked out to sweep across his bottom lip, something he always did when he was seriously considering an idea.

Sam squirmed beneath his brother. Partly because the silent staring was making him uncomfortable and partly because Dean sitting right on his hipbones was starting to become increasingly painful.

"What, Dean?" Sam inquired, slightly exasperated.

"Do you want me to make him go away?"

Sam’s eyebrows furrowed. “How are you--”

Dean’s lips were on his again, this time rougher than before. His brother’s hand tightened on his wrists. Sam closed his eyes once more, giving himself to the kiss. He barely noticed when Dean removed his other hand from his face until Sam felt fingers slip beneath his shirt.

A small gasp came from Sam as Dean ran his hand across his stomach, his fingers so light against his skin that it felt like air—warm, calloused, deadly air. Taking advantage of Sam’s gasp, Dean slipped his tongue between his younger brother’s lips.

A sigh came from Sam. The air around him felt thick and hot and it was numbing his brain, scattering all thoughts into the wind. As Dean pulled away from the kiss, he gently sucked on Sam’s lower lip, pulling a soft moan from his little brother’s throat.

Dean kissed his way across Sam’s strong jawline, his lips trailing a blazing hot line from his jawline, to his neck; where Dean bit lightly onto the flesh at the curve of his neck, eliciting another soft moan from Sam.
Dean chuckled and the sound sent vibrations through Sam’s chest and into his heart. He felt Dean’s hand slip back down his stomach, slowly crawling toward the waistband of his jeans. No matter how many times Sam has had sex with Dean, somehow it made him feel like it was the very first time every time.

The way his heart would shudder and skip in his chest whenever Dean touched him. The way his nerves trembled beneath his skin when he felt Dean’s breath on his flesh. The way that Sam would stop breathing when Dean looked at him with wide, blown open green eyes, his pupils so dilated that Sam could only see a faint shadowing of green around the pupils—

Just like the way Dean was looking at him now.

Sam could see himself reflected back in Dean’s eyes. His own eyes were blown open and his skin was flushed. Sam’s bottom lip trembled slightly and his hair was a wild halo against the ugly floral bedding.

Dean smiled adoringly at his younger brother, stroking Sam’s hair back from his forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Sam replied, his voice so soft that it was barely audible.

Dean leaned in again. He pressed his mouth to Sam’s, capturing his lips in a long, deep kiss. Dean sucked on Sam’s bottom lip again before he returned to biting and sucking on his brother’s neck.

Small, breathy moans came from Sam as Dean bit and sucked at his flesh, causing a tight coil of arousal to stir deep within his stomach. Purple bruises started to flourish against Sam’s flushed skin with every brush of Dean’s mouth. Sam wanted to grab onto Dean, to run his fingers through his brother’s short, soft hair, but Dean wasn’t letting go of his wrists anytime soon.

When Dean’s fingers stopped at the skin above the waistband of his jeans, Sam’s breath hitched in anticipation. He could feel his brother’s nails against his stomach, dragging painfully slow across the top of his jeans. Sam squirmed slightly beneath Dean, which only caused his older brother to chuckle again.

Dean leaned back then, releasing Sam’s wrists. Sam sat up and he wordlessly raised his arms above his head. He didn’t need Dean to tell him anything. Sam already knew what his brother was thinking.

Dean grabbed the hem of Sam’s shirt, pulling it up and over his head. He discarded the shirt before gently pushing Sam back onto the bed with one hand. Something caught Dean’s attention and Sam had almost forgotten.
Dean grabbed the amulet at Sam’s throat, rubbing it between his fingers.

“You have it?” Dean asked, his voice distant and quiet.

Sam nodded. “I couldn’t let you throw it away, Dean.” Sam swallowed, licking his suddenly dry lips. “So I kept it. I figured that you didn’t want it back.”

Dean’s bottom lip quivered slightly. “Not a day has gone by that I don’t regret throwing it away…” Dean’s voice trailed away. He took in a deep breath before continuing. “I went back for it, you know. It made me sick to think about not having it. When I found out that it wasn’t there--” At this, Dean clenched his jaw and he closed his eyes, as if thinking about it was too painful.

Sam reached up to remove the amulet and Dean’s eyes snapped open. “No, Sam.”

“But--” He tried to protest and the look in his older brother’s eyes--the look Dean had been giving him since he could remember--meant that he was in no mood to argue with him.

“No, Sam,” Dean repeated, this time his voice stern. He closed his hand over Sam’s. “I want you to keep it.”


Dean removed his shirt before crawling over Sam. He entangled his fingers in his older brother’s hair, pulling him down to capture his lips with his again. A groan came from Dean when Sam pulled back this time, nipping at his brother’s lower lip.

Without warning, Dean slipped his hand inside of Sam’s jeans. He gently caressed Sam’s erection through his boxers. Sam gasped and his hips involuntarily bucked upwards, straining to get closer to Dean, but his brother pinned his hips down onto the mattress with his other hand.

A small whine came from Sam and it only resulted in his brother nipping at his bottom lip. Sam gripped at the sheets with one hand while the other grappled at the back of Dean’s neck as his brother slowly—too slowly—stroked at Sam through his boxers.


“Dean,” Sam whimpered, almost begging.

His brother leaned in, pressing his lips against his ear. “Someone’s a little impatient.”

“Y-yeah?” Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean when he leaned away to smirk at him. “You’re the one who--”

Sam tossed his head back against the mattress and moaned, writhing beneath Dean when he unexpectedly slid his hand inside of Sam’s boxers, grabbing his cock. Feeling Dean’s hand against his already sensitive, heated skin caused his lower back to raise up off the mattress.

“You were saying?” Dean asked, continuing to stroke Sam in the same painfully slow movements as before.

“Y-you’re a jerk,” Sam breathed, his back arching a bit more.

“And you’re a bitch,” Dean replied with an amused smile.

They fell silent after that.

Panting, moans and soft pleas filled the silence. Sam gripped tightly onto the sheets, twisting fistfuls of the fabric between his hands.

“Dean,” Sam whimpered again. “Please.

Dean removed his hand from Sam’s jeans. Sam raised up onto his elbows to watch as Dean slid off of him, coming to stand at the foot of the bed. Dean removed Sam’s socks and shoes before he reached up, unbuttoning his brother’s pants.

Sam’s breath caught in his throat when Dean’s eyes met his before sliding his boxers and jeans off. His heart skidded in his chest as Dean lowered himself between Sam’s long, lean legs. Dean grabbed Sam’s legs underneath his knees, pulling Sam down toward him.

Resting each of Sam’s legs on his shoulders, Dean leaned forward enough that he could have easy access. He stroked Sam’s cock a few more times before he ran his tongue along the vein underneath his younger brother’s shaft.

Sam whimpered, tossing his head back against the mattress. Dean’s tongue was hot against his already heated skin and it caused his toes to curl. Sam gripped at the sheets while the other hand rested on the top of Dean’s head.
Dean ran his tongue along the length of Sam before he pulled his brother’s cock into his mouth. Sam gave a strangled moan, his fingers gripping at Dean’s hair. His mouth was hot and wet and it took all of Sam’s strength—and will power—to keep himself from thrusting up into Dean’s mouth.

With each brush of his brother's tongue, light grazing of his teeth, and the occasional fondling of his balls, Sam slowly felt himself coming apart. He wasn't quite there yet and Sam knew that Dean was aware of this, because Dean always knew how to get Sam close to the edge without pushing him all the way over--at least not yet.

"Dean," Sam begged, his fingers slightly tugging on his brother's short hair.

Dean lifted his eyes to meet Sam's for a moment before pulling away. Sam watched as Dean removed his jeans, his legs still draped over his brother's shoulders. The light clank of the belt buckle against the floor confirmed that he had removed the rest of his clothes before Dean crawled his way back toward Sam, leaving a trail of lips, tongue, and teeth against his younger brother's flesh before he found Sam's mouth again.

Dean kissed Sam for only a few short moments before pulling away again. He raised two fingers to Sam's lips. Sam didn't need Dean to tell him anything. He opened his mouth, lightly sucking on Dean's fingers. His brother's skin was salty in his mouth, but not so much that it bothered Sam.

Dean watched Sam suck on his fingers with hungry, blown open eyes. Soft groan came from his older brother, which only caused the hot coil of arousal in Sam's lower stomach to intensify.

When Dean pulled his fingers from Sam's mouth and his hand disappeared between their bodies, Sam's breath hitched in anticipation. Dean rubbed one of his fingers against Sam's entrance, trying to relax the muscles there.
Normally, feeling the pads of Dean's fingers rubbing his muscles into relaxation helped, but Sam's nerves were incredibly high-strung. The root of the problem, Sam realized, could have been that he and Dean hadn't had sex since Sam got his soul back, which was months ago.

Dean, sensing that something was a bit off with Sam, leaned down to press his lips against his younger brother's ear. "It's okay, Sammy. Just relax."

Sam let out a small breath and closed his eyes. A soft moan escaped from Sam's lips as Dean continued to rub, his muscles gradually relaxing. Dean slowly pushed one of his fingers into Sam and his muscles clenched. Sam gasped and one of his hands flew up to grip at the back of Dean's neck, entangling his fingers in the hair at the back of his older brother's neck.

Dean moved his finger in and out of Sam, encouraging the inner walls to relax. Sam groaned when Dean subtly brushed against his prostate--sending a trickle of pleasure down his spine.

When Dean entered a second finger, Sam arched up off the mattress.

"Oh, God," Sam moaned, his muscles clenching again.

Dean leaned down, pressing his mouth to the spot on Sam's neck that he knew drove him crazy. Sam moaned again, his breath falling from his lips in small pants of pleasure. Dean moved his fingers in and out of Sam a little faster, purposefully avoiding his prostate. Suddenly, Dean's fingers curled, brushing against Sam's sensitive ball of nerves. Sam gave a strangled moan and bucked his hips up, forgetting that his legs were still on Dean's shoulders.

"Dean," Sam begged, his voice pitching an octave higher than normal.

"I love it when you do that," Dean rasped and his voice was laden with lust.

He leaned down one last time to press a hard kiss against Sam's lips before he unhooked his younger brother's legs from his shoulders. Dean leaned back, spitting into his hand before he ran his hand up and down his cock, making sure it was completely coated in saliva.

Sam's breath caught when he felt the head of Dean's cock against his entrance. He wrapped his legs around his older brother's waist, preparing himself.

Dean lifted his eyes to meet Sam's. He lovingly brushed Sam's hair out of his face and back from his forehead.

Sam only nodded, biting his lower lip.

Dean pushed in, excruciatingly slow. Sam moaned and Dean groaned as he pushed himself all the way into Sam until he bottomed out. Dean waited a moment for Sam's inner walls to relax before he started to thrust--slow and careful.

After Dean found a rhythm that he liked, he snapped his hips forward, gaining speed. Each time Dean hit Sam's prostate, he cried out, his nails digging into his brother's shoulder blades, which elected a growl from the older Winchester’s throat.

Dean grabbed Sam's arms, pinning each one down on the mattress beside his head. He laced his fingers in Sam's, keeping them pinned as he thrusted harder and faster into Sam. The room was a symphony of the creaking of the bed's springs, Sam's high pitched moans and whines, and Dean's softer groans.

With each thrust, Sam felt himself coming apart. He gripped tightly onto Dean's hands as the familiar warmth spread through him.

"Dean," Sam warned, arching up into his brother.

"I got you, Sammy," Dean said, pressing a quick kiss to his brother's lips. "I got you."

Sam's breathing hitched and he cried out as he came. His back arched in a sharp V off of the mattress and his eyes were screwed shut as Dean helped him ride out his orgasm. Dean soon followed afterwards. He bowed his back and moaned, shooting hot, sticky liquid into Sam.

Dean pulled out of Sam and collapsed onto the mattress beside his brother, panting hard. Sam curled himself into the crook of Dean's arm, laying his head on his brother's shoulder. Dean hooked his fingers beneath Sam's chin, lifting his gaze to meet his.

"Don't you ever disappear on me like that again," Dean said. The space between his eyebrows were pulled into a V, but Sam could see the softness in the green of his eyes. Dean was worried. "Don't you ever."

"I promise," Sam replied, his voice quiet.

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Dean brushed his lips against Sam’s, pulling him into a long, sweet kiss. Dean pulled away to place a kiss on Sam's forehead.

Laying there tucked into Dean's arm, his cheek resting against his brother's chest, Sam felt at ease--for the moment. Dean softly brushed his fingers through Sam's hair. The notion caused Sam's lids to become heavy and he closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath of Dean and the musky scent of sex and sweat that hung thickly in the air around them.

He could faintly hear Dean humming a song, but Sam couldn't identify what it was before the sweet promise of sleep overwhelmed him.

- - - -

Dean awoke with a sudden jolt.

At first, he was disoriented, confused as to where he was. Dean pulled himself up onto his elbows, glancing around the hotel room. All of it came rushing back to him at once and Dean rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He looked down where Sam had been asleep the night before and found his spot empty.

Groaning, Dean sat up, swinging his feet over the side of the bed. He could hear the tap running in the bathroom. Dean slowly stood and braced himself against the bedside table, waiting for his equilibrium to kick in.

The lights on the alarm clock screamed at him and Dean picked up the clock, squinting at the flashing numbers. Dean swore beneath his breath and placed the clock back onto the table. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept in till noon.

“Hey, Sam,” Dean called out, his voice thick with sleep. “We need to get going.”

When Sam didn’t answer back immediately, Dean thought nothing of it. He made his way over to his clothes discarded on the floor. He quickly began to dress.

“Sam! C’mon. Get the lead out. Let’s go!” Dean shouted, adjusting his leather jacket.

He paused then, listening. The silence was almost deafening, save for the sound of running water. A feeling of unease washed over him and he felt his stomach twist painfully.

“Sammy?” Dean walked cautiously toward the bathroom.

The door was slightly ajar and he took in a deep breath before he carefully pushed the door open.
Red and white.

Those were the first two colors to register in Dean’s mind.

At first, Dean could only see the colors but not what they meant. It was like a part of his brain was disconnected from the rest of him. The colors started to gradually take shape.

Red was blood.

White was linoleum.

But between those two, nothing else made sense.

The last piece of the picture hit him like a sucker punch to the gut and Dean took in a huge, gasping breath.
Lying unbelievably still in the center of the bathroom, was Sam.

He laid crumpled on the floor like a rag-doll, a small pooling of blood around Sam’s head. Blood leaked out of the corner of his mouth. All down the front of Sam’s plaid shirt was stained with red splatters.

Time seemed to come to a violent halt as Dean rushed forward. He knelt beside his little brother, gathering him up in his arms. Dean cradled Sam against his chest, smoothing his hair back from his face.

“Sam? Sammy!” Dean’s voice broke as he called his brother’s name. He slapped Sam’s cheek, trying to rouse him. “Wake up, man. C’mon.”

The blood around Sam’s mouth was so red, it was almost unreal against the pallor of his brother’s skin. Dean checked the back of Sam’s head, searching for the wound, when he felt something cold wrap weakly around his wrist.

Dean glanced down to his wrist where Sam’s fingers were wrapped around. He searched his brother’s face, waiting—and praying—for him to open his eyes. Sam’s lashes twitched and a moment later his lids revealed a pair of blue-green eyes.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but the only thing that fell passed his lips was a bubble of blood. Dean wiped the blood from his brother's lips and he adjusted his hold on Sam, propping his head up straighter to keep him from gagging on the blood.

"Sammy. It's gonna be okay," Dean lightly stroked the side of Sam's cheek, not sure who he was trying to reassure more; himself or his little brother. "I'm gonna get you to a hospital and everything is going to be okay. Just hang in there."

Dean gathered Sam up into his arms. Grunting, Dean lifted his brother from the floor. Dean had nearly forgotten how big Sam was compared to him and he toppled back into the wall. He adjusted Sam's weight in his arms, walking briskly toward the hotel door.

Sam's head was cradled against the nape of Dean's throat and he could feel a faint brushing of air each time Sam breathed. It was the only thing that reminded Dean that Sam was still breathing--that he was still alive.

"It's going to be okay, Sam," Dean said as he placed Sam into the passenger seat of Baby. He brushed some of Sam's hair out of his face before he buckled him in.

The sound of screeching tires and burning rubber filled their senses as Dean peeled out of the hotel parking lot. His eyes continuously flicked over to Sam, whose head was now leaning up against the window.

Dean reached over, grabbing hold of Sam's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Sam's fingers twitched in return. It was a small gesture, but it was enough to keep Dean going. It was enough to convince Dean that Sam was still with him--still fighting to hold on.

- - - -


That's how Sam felt. Although Sam knew he was in the Impala, knew that there was leather beneath him and that he was being taken somewhere, he couldn't feel any of it. He couldn't feel his lungs in his chest, but he knew he was still breathing. He couldn't feel his heart beat, but he knew blood was still flowing through his veins.

Not being able to feel the smallest, but most significant things, lead Sam to believe he was dreaming. A part of him knew he wasn't dreaming because Sam knew better.

He was dying.

Sam had always envisioned what it would feel like to die. He had wondered if he would be able to feel the last breath fall from his lips or feel the very last beat that his heart would give. Sam had wondered if it would feel like he was suffocating--or drowning.

But Sam felt none of it. Dying was almost peaceful.

The only thing Sam could feel and that he knew for certain was real, was Dean's hand in his. Feeling Dean's warm hand squeezing his, reminded Sam that he had to fight. He just had to.

If it wasn't for Dean--if it wasn't for the fact that he couldn't bring himself to ever leave his brother--Sam would've let go a long time ago. Dean kept his soul anchored to Earth--anchored to his body.

Sam couldn't bring himself to leave his brother--at least not this way.

Not yet.

"You better not think about checking out on me," Dean called to him somewhere in his conscious. "You better not die before I can get you to the hospital or so help me, I will kick your ghostly ass. Do you understand me, Sam?"

Sam's mouth turned up into a faint smile. He was too exhausted to utter a single syllable to Dean, but he somehow mustered up enough strength to squeeze Dean's hand as means of response.

Suddenly he felt himself being shifted. Dean's hand was ripped from his and Sam desperately tried to grab onto him again. Panic settled in and Sam struggled to get back to Dean, but something was keeping him held down.

"He's my brother!" Sam could hear Dean shouting and his voice sounded like it was growing fainter and fainter, as if fading away in the distance. "He's my brother!"

"Dean!" Sam tried to call back, but the words came out like air, barely audible to even himself.

Something covered his mouth and nose and Sam tried to struggle, but his arms were suddenly pinned at his sides. He couldn't keep himself from breathing in the sweet-smelling air and his eyelids grew heavy, sleep threatening to take him under.

"Dean!" Sam shouted again, this time more frantic. Each time Sam called out for his brother, his head felt lighter but his eyes felt heavier.

"De--" Was all Sam was able to get out before the darkness pulled him in.

- - - -

"I can't do it without him, Bobby," Dean said through the crook of his elbow. "I just can't."

He was currently seated across from Sam's bedside, watching his brother as he slept. Even with all the wires and tubes and machines connected to him, Sam still managed to look so peaceful.

After they had wheeled Sam away, Dean immediately called Bobby. Bobby now stood beside Dean, one of his hands resting gently on Dean's shoulder while the other one was placed on top of Sam's hand--the one that Dean was clutching so tightly.

"I know," Bobby said, his voice low. "I know." He gave Dean's shoulder a squeeze, reminding Dean that he was there.

Dean was expecting Bobby to say something about how strong Sam was, how he knew the younger Winchester would be able to pull through this, that Bobby knew Sam would never leave Dean alone, but when not one of those reassuring words came from his surrogate father, Dean was terrified. If Bobby didn't believe that Sam could pull through this, then who was he to believe so strongly that Sam could?

Because it's Sam.

Sam who defied their father to go off to Stanford by himself. Sam who had demon blood in him since he was six months old. Sam who became a junkie for demon blood. Sam who was revealed to be Lucifer's true vessel, who threw himself into the cage with Lucifer and Michael, and Sam who came back soulless--and each time Sam came back, he fought to be good.

He fought his way back to Dean. So of course Dean believed in Sam when no one else could.

Dean straightened when the doctor walked into the room, but he kept his hand in Sam's.

"What's the word?" Dean asked, although he didn't really want to know.

The doctor sighed, his eyes trailing over Sam's still figure for a moment before he motioned to the door. "Come take a walk with me?"

Dean swallowed nervously. He gripped tighter onto Sam's hand.

"You can say what you need to tell me here. I'm not leaving him."

The doctor took in a deep breath and gave an understand nod. "As I mentioned before, we had to perform an emergency surgery to relieve the cranial pressure in your brother's skull. However, it is only temporary."

"Temporary?" Bobby inquired.

The doctor nodded. "Yes. Temporary," He turned his attention back to Dean. "The condition your brother is in, it's not like anything we've ever seen before."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean's tongue felt heavy and it was difficult for him to speak.

"It means, that there is nothing we can do for him. The severity of his condition is far too advanced. Each of your brother's organs are failing very quickly. His vitals are dropping at an incredible rate. The only thing we are able to do for him, is to make him comfortable until he is ready to go," The doctor explained.

"Hence the reason for the medical coma you've got him under," Bobby realized.

"Exactly. Without the comatose state he's in, he would be in excruciating pain--"

"How much pain?" Dean asked.

"Imagine your skin being stripped from your bones, layer by layer, and then someone setting you on fire," At this, Dean flinched. The doctor softened and spoke in a lighter tone. "That's the kind of pain your brother would be in if he was awake right now. The amount of morphine I would need to give him to dull the pain alone would kill him quicker than his failing organs. When you're ready, I will have a nurse wake him up long enough for you three to say your goodbyes."

Dean nodded. He swallowed hard, trying to rid the lump in his throat from forming completely. Dean took in a deep, shaking breath and his heart shuddered painfully in his chest.

"Wake him up," Dean said, his voice so soft that it was barely audible. "It's time to say goodbye."


"Bobby," Dean warned, turning his green eyed gaze up at him for a moment, his vision slightly blurred from the tears pricking in his eyes. "Don't."

Bobby was silent, searching Dean’s face. There was a small glimmer of understanding—laced with inexplicable sadness—in his surrogate father’s wise eyes that made Dean’s heart ache and he had to quickly advert his gaze before the tears threatened to fall.

"Okay,” Bobby said gently after a few moments and he gave Dean's shoulder another squeeze. "Okay."

It didn’t take long for the doctor to return with a nurse. Hearing the door click softly behind him, made Dean realize that all of this was coming too soon.

Sam wasn’t supposed to die—at least, not without him.

"Now before we continue," The doctor said, handing the syringe to the nurse beside him. "Remember: we can only keep him awake long enough--"

"To say goodbye. Yeah, yeah. We get it," Dean grumbled, clenching his jaw. "Just wake him up."

- - - -

Light blinded Sam when he first opened his eyes.

Am I—am I dead? Sam wondered. Is this Heaven?

When the bright light subsided, Sam cautiously shifted his eyes about him. He could see wires attached to his body leading up to multiple machines. Sam reached down, lightly poking the IV in the top of his right hand and winced slightly. It suddenly dawned on Sam that he was not in Heaven, but inside of a hospital.

Something dark moved in his peripheral vision and Sam carefully turned his head to his left, meeting a pair of moss green eyes. Relief flooded in Sam's chest.

"Dean," He breathed, a corner of his mouth turning up into a faint smile.

"Sam," Dean replied with a thin smile. There was a quick flash of an emotion that flitted across his brother's eyes--pain? Regret? Guilt? Sam couldn't pinpoint just one emotion. Before he got the chance to ask, Dean trudged on. "How're you feelin'?"

"Like I've been hit by a truck." Sam rubbed at his face when he felt a deep throb in his head. "Correction. More like a truck has backed over me multiple times."

"How--" Dean hesitated, licking his bottom lip. "How is your pain?"

The throbbing in Sam's head started to spread throughout his skull, the pain turning from a dull throb, to a prickling pain.

"Now that you mention it," Sam began and he slowly pushed himself up into a seated position, using the headboard to the hospital bed to prop up his back. "I'm sitting at about a five--"

The feeling of a knife stabbing him in the side caused Sam to double over in pain. Clutching his side, Sam gasped for breath but every time he tried to breathe in, it felt the metaphorical knife in his side was twisting, tearing him up.

"Oh, God," Sam wheezed, clutching tighter onto his side. "Make that a nine."

Dean quickly crawled up into the bed with Sam, grabbing him and pulling him up against his chest. He cradled his brother tightly against him. Dean ran his fingers through Sam's hair, repeatedly murmuring, "I got you, Sammy. I got you little brother" into Sam's ear, trying to comfort him.

"Wh-what's happening?" Sam asked through gritted teeth.

"Your--" Dean's voice broke and he took in a deep breath. "Your organs are failing, Sam. You're--"
"Dying," Sam finished softly.


Sam buried his face against Dean's chest, breathing in the smell of his leather jacket and the Impala. If today was his last day on Earth, at least he was able to spend it right next to Dean, the way it was supposed to be.

"Dean?" Sam asked after a few minutes of silence.


"What was the song you were singing in the hotel?"

Dean was silent for a moment and Sam shifted his head up to get a better look at him. There was a small smile tugging at the corner of Dean's mouth. "You heard that?"

Sam gave a nod.

"Hey Jude. It was Mom's favorite Beatles song. She used to sing it to me every night before I went to sleep."

"Will--" Sam gasped and clenched his teeth hard as another stab caught him in his side. "Will you sing it for me?"

Dean's eyes softened. His eyes glossed over, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, making the green of his irises even brighter.

"Yeah." Dean pulled Sam closer to his chest, cradling his face in one of his palms. "Yeah. Sure I will, Sammy."

Sam laid with his head against his brother's chest as he listened to Dean sing softly, so softly that only they could hear it. As each lyric passed through his brother's lips, the pain started to intensify until Sam wasn't sure how long he could handle it. This wasn't any kind of pain he had ever experienced before; the only pain worse than slowly feeling himself die, was the pain of losing Dean.

As if being able to read his thoughts, Dean spoke. "How is your pain?"

"Excruciating," Sam admitted through his teeth. "But I've felt worse."

Dean pulled away far enough to give him an incredulous look. "What's worse than dying?"

"Losing you."

Dean's entire demeanor shattered, revealing the frightened boy underneath. Sam only knew it was about time for Dean to let go of his strong, big brother appearance. Dean was terrified and hurting and Sam could see all of the raw, naked pain.


"This pain I am feeling right now is only a nine because I've already experienced my ten, Dean." Sam swallowed, letting his words sink in for a moment. "When you went to Hell--when you died--that was the worst pain I have ever felt in my life. Even when Jess died, it didn't compare to the pain of losing you. You're my brother, Dean. You mean everything to me."

That was it. Dean lost it.

Silent tears rolled down his brother's cheeks and when Sam reached up to wipe them away, Dean grabbed onto his hand, pressing his wet cheek against Sam's palm.

"I can't, Sam," Dean sobbed. "I can't lose you. Not again."

"I know," Sam replied softly. "I know, but there's something you could do for me."

Dean shifted his green eyes in his direction. "And what's that?"


Sam pulled Dean down, pressing his lips against his brother's ear and whispered what he wanted. Dean pulled abruptly away, his eyes wide with pure horror.

"You can't ask me to do that, Sam." Dean shook his head. "I can't do that--"

"I'm going to die slowly, Dean. Who knows how long that will take--"

"Dammit, Sam. No."

"Dean," Sam begged. "Please."

Dean shook his head again, biting his lower lip. Sam knew what he asked of Dean was blasphemous by trade, but what else was Sam supposed to do? Let the doctors put him back into a medical coma and wait? Sam wasn't about to do that.

"If you don't help me, Dean, I'll do it myself." Sam clenched his jaw, partly against the pain and partly because he wanted Dean to know how serious he was. "You know I will. I already tried to do it once. Don't think I won't try it again--"

"Dammit, Sam! Fine!" Dean barked at him, silencing his little brother. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took in a few calming breaths. When Dean looked at him again, his eyes were rimmed with red. "Don't you want to at least say goodbye to Bobby?"

Sam shook his head, slow. "No." Sam's voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "No. It's better this way."

Dean took in a shaking breath, nodding. "Okay."

He grabbed Sam then, pulling him in and kissing him hard. At first, his lips were hot and bruising against Sam's, his fingers tangled at the hair of the back of Sam's neck, crushing him against his body as if trying to absorb Sam into him. Then his lips became soft and and gentle, kissing Sam passionately. Dean pulled away from Sam to place a light kiss on his little brother's forehead.

This was Dean's way of saying goodbye.

"I love you," Sam whispered.

"I love you too, Sammy." Dean pressed another kiss to his brother's forehead before climbing out of the bed.

Dean grabbed one of the pillows on Sam's bed and waited until Sam was settled back down before he spoke, "Are you ready?"

Sam nodded and took in a large breath. "Yeah."

Dean returned the nod, tears rolling down his cheeks. He also took in a bracing breath before he placed the pillow over Sam's face. Dean felt Sam wrap a hand around his wrist, his grip tight. Dean could feel Sam's body involuntarily arch, fighting for breath and more tears rolled down Dean's face. He bit the inside of his cheek to stifle the sob that erupted from his throat and Dean closed his eyes, unable to watch as his brother struggled for breath.

Three minutes. It takes three whole minutes for someone to suffocate.

Those three minutes were the most excruciating minutes of his life. As the minutes ticked down, Dean could feel Sam's grip loosening around his wrist. His heart rate monitor began to slow until there was a flat line.

The hum from the flat line cause a strangled cry to fall from Dean's lips. He released the pillow to collapse onto the linoleum floor, sobs racking his chest.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Sammy." Dean kept sobbing over and over, his head clutched between his legs as he rocked himself back and forth on the floor. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Sammy."

- - - -

A week had passed since Sam's death.

It was only a week, but time seemed to almost come to a halt to Dean. He had spent the last week hunting as much as he could, trying to forget about Sam's death, but how could he possibly forget about his brother's death, when he was the one who killed him?

Dean hadn't said a word to Bobby or the doctor when they came in to find Dean huddled on the floor crying hysterically and Sam dead. Dean didn't know how he did it, but he had mustered up enough strength to return the pillow back behind Sam's head. Before the doctor had taken Sam to the morgue, Dean removed the amulet from around Sam's throat.

The amulet felt hot and heavy around Dean's neck as he drove down the dirt road.

Dean had tried.

He tried to fill the void inside of him, but he couldn't. Everywhere he looked, there was something to remind him of Sam. Even driving Baby became almost unbearable. He couldn't bear the emptiness of the passenger seat anymore.
At least he had tried.

When Dean came to his destination, he pulled over, shutting the Impala off. Dean sat there for a moment, staring at the open field covered in purple flowers. The sweet scent of lavender wafted in through the windows.

Dean took in a deep breath, grabbing the brown paper bag from the passenger seat and climbed out. He made his way toward the marked grave on the other side of the lavender field. A small wooden cross marked Sam's grave.
Dean came to kneel in front of it. He removed the bottle of liquor from the brown bag, opening it, and took a long swig of the whiskey.

"I remember this field," Dean began softly, as if he was speaking to Sam. "I took you here a few days after your sixteenth birthday." Dean smiled faintly at the memory. His eyes prickled, but Dean knew no tears would come. He had cried too much this past week for there to be any tears left.

"I tried, Sam. I really did," Dean continued, his voice still soft. "I thought I could do this by myself. There was a time where I wanted to give up after Cas died, but you were the only reason I kept going and now that you're gone--" Dean broke off, swallowing the lump in his throat, his voice cracking. "I really tried, Sam. But I can't do it without you. I have no reason to keep going. I have no reason to keep fighting."

Dean took another long swig of the whiskey, grimacing as the burn trickled down his throat. "I'm tired, Sam. I'm done." Dean forced the lump down in his throat and he reached inside of the pocket of his leather jacket. "You are my ten."

Dean removed the pistol, the metal glistening in the sunlight. He cocked the pistol and placed the barrel against the side of his temple. Dean tilted his head back, looking up at the clear blue sky, drinking in the warmth of the sun.
When he closed his eyes, all he could see was an image of the boy with the shaggy hair and dimpled smile, who loved the musky scent of old books and the research that came along with it. The image belonged to the boy who stole his heart.


"I'm coming, Sammy."

Then Dean pulled the trigger.