Cyndra Rae (cyndrarae) wrote,
Cyndra Rae

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SPN fic: The penultimate day

Title: The penultimate day
Dean’s last year is almost up.
Rating: R
Warnings: m/m slash. Angst, of course.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not for profit.
Spoilers: S2 finale.
Word Count: 3333 (heh)
Author’s Notes: May 17th, 2007 was the day AHBL-2 aired. Written for bottom_sammy challenge prompt #1.

*** May 16th, 2008 ***

Dean wakes up to the familiar scent of citrus and ivory trapped in the circle of his arms, and he is smiling long before he opens his eyes. Looks up at the digital clock beside the bed and sighs, the lines of contentment meekly fading away to blankness.

It’s the penultimate day.

One last day of peace and quiet the boys can hope for in Dean’s lifetime. The day just before the ultimate day when the damn hellhounds come knocking, and keep knocking until midnight when they finally close in to make their prized collection. Dean’s soul… stuck for eternity in hell.

Oh well, high time he got cracking on the rest of his checklist. No time left to fucking dawdle now, is there?

Dean pushes away the terror creeping up his spine by sheer force of habit. It’s a natural God-given gift that he’s put to good use for over twenty-five years. Sammy may not have made it to his eighteenth birthday if it hadn’t been for Dean’s ability to lock his childhood away in a little box and devote his all to protect Sam, care for him and love him… keep him adequately nourished and hell if Sammy Gigantor wasn’t a living, breathing testament to the awesome job he did.

Dean looks down into his sleeping brother’s face and frowns a little. He doesn’t remember seeing those dark circles under Sam’s eyes the night before. A white blur of a memory snags at the corner of his mind but he can’t seem to pin it down long enough, so he lets it go. Opts instead to stroke Sam’s unruly hair out of his face, caressing the smooth edges of his jaw possessively.

His Sammy.

Dean let’s his hands wander across the flat lines and sharp angles of Sam’s torso, stopping to rub and tease a taut little nub until Sam moans in his sleep. Dean smirks and switches to the second nipple, tweaking it a little more forcefully, lowering his head soon after to lick the delicious sting away. And then Sammy is wide awake but pretending not to be, biting back a tiny smile with his eyes clenched tight, because this is a game they play often and the rules are very simple.

Let Dean wake the hell out of his little brother.

Dean eventually agrees to transfer his lips to somewhere else, somewhere lower and Sam is wheezing before it even begins. Barely breathes through the next few minutes as Dean licks his balls and tongues his perineum, swallows him whole and works him until Sam is screaming his release down Dean’s throat. Dean shushes him, hoping his brother’s howls don’t alert the demon sentinels right outside their door.

Sentinels? Yeah. It was Dean’s idea.

So one fine day not so long ago, Sammy wakes up and realizes he can do what Ava could do… control demons. Every single one of them bastards within a mile-wide radius. Hell he can even order them to cart their own asses back to hell without so much as a snivel of protest. Kickass, nice to have and all sure… but it also means that Sam can never be free from other demons, even hunters and who knew what else is out there.

Sam is going to be hunted for the rest of his damn life.

So once Dean had assured himself that his little ‘second coming or antichrist not sure which yet’ brother was strong enough to command Azazael's army of demons, he employed some of them to do what Dean soon wouldn’t be able to do himself.

Protect Sam.

Not long after that, Sam realizes that like Andy, he can control minds of regular people as well and man isn’t that the sweetest thing ever. Dean started a brand new checklist that day and so here they are, in the Beverly Hills Four Seasons, and in the Presidential Suite no less. But none of it compares to the absolute bliss Dean feels when he’s buried inside Sam, seated to the very base with Sam hot and pulsing and comfortably snug around him. He thinks he could live like this forever.

Or die happy, whatever.

Dean fucks Sam slowly, leisurely, rolling his hips and hitting the spot at the best of moments making Sam gasp and whimper despite himself. They climax nearly together after which Dean contemplates going back to sleep, except he really shouldn’t. He can’t.

It’s the penultimate day.

All Dean’s ever wanted is for Sam to be happy. But there’s something else he’s really and truly wanted, and never admitted even to himself… a normal life, with Sam. A life in which they didn’t carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. Where they get to hold hands and walk down Sunset Strip, shopping at the biggest stores and eating at the poshest restaurants… pink champagne and Russian caviar and all that expensive shit.

So yeah, that’s what they do.

Dean makes and watches Sam try out stuff at Bijan – designer shirts and jeans and shoes, cufflinks, even underwear. Loves the blush that starts as Sam’s feet and rises all the way up to his bright red cheeks. Loves the sighs of utter exasperation that fall from his swollen red lips but his eyes are constantly seeking Dean’s… every single second. Sonofabitch.

He is going to miss Sam so much.

Dean is amazed at Sam for being such a sport, fact he is acting slightly… resigned? Like he’s been expecting this. Dean had assumed his baby brother would put up a fight, maybe mope about and throw a tantrum or two, hell Dean had even hoped he would. Always is fun to get Sammy riled up just that little bit.

The prickling returns, growing out from the back of his head like a flashback of something that never happened… but Dean pushes it aside at the sight of a purple boa wrapped around a mannequin’s neck. Maybe he’ll ask Sam to model it for him over his new Armani jock straps.

That oughta get a rise out of him for sure.

They drive for hours until the sun sets, Dean pushing his baby to her limits because he knows she can take it… he made sure of it. Remembers the day Dad handed him the keys, and now he is about to do the same to Sam. But considering how badly Sam reacted to the leather jacket only yesterday, Dean isn’t exactly looking forward to doing this. You better take care of that car or else, he wants to say. But words get lodged in his throat and instead all he can do is spread his arm out. Sam shifts in closer, cuddles into his side and Dean holds him close, kisses the top of his head and keeps driving.

He said his goodbyes to Bobby, to Cassie and Ellen and Jo the best way he knew how. But what could he possibly say to Sam? In the end he says… nothing. And Sam for a change doesn’t seem to mind. His brother looks beat, both emotionally and physically, and God so fragile. Dean does his old box thing again, shoving everything deep inside and throwing away the key then quickly turning all his attention to Sam.

The penultimate day is about to end.

By nighttime Dean’s had enough of the world and he turns to look at Sam who hasn’t said much all day, but his bright big eyes never did learn to shut up. Dean complies and guns it back to the hotel, to their suite… the last place they’ll ever call home, temporary as always in true Winchester style. They’re melded together by the mouths when the elevator doors open and Dean pedals backward pulling Sam into the room with him. Pulls layer after layer of clothing off both their frames until they’re naked and tumbling into bed.

“Harder, Dean… fuck… harder…”

“As you wish, my King…”

Sam chuckles and grunts and arches his back to meet every one of Dean’s thrusts with equal passion and rigor. His boy king, his child king, his baby king… Dean never tires of teasing and he knows Sammy can take it. He makes love to Sam knowing it’s probably the last time he ever will. But strangely enough the thought doesn’t evoke the terror or sadness Dean expects it to. Fact he is surprised by how calmly he’s taking it all in. Almost as if he’s done it a few times over. His second last day on earth… Why is he not more worried?

More importantly, why is Sammy not freaking out?

Maybe they’ve had enough time to prepare themselves. Maybe… maybe Dean’s always known he’d end up in hell anyway… given his impressive record, fucking his own brother and all. All his thoughts are soon lost to the rhythm that rocks him deeper and tighter into Sam and Dean closes his eyes, throws his head back and just… lets… go.

“Dean…” Sam murmurs softly after a long comfortable silence. Dean holds him closer, spooning up behind him and resting his chin in the crook of Sam’s neck. Breathes in the soft curls of hair behind his right ear.

“Yes, my Liege…”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Okay, your Highness.”

Sam sighs, and turns within Dean’s embrace to look into his big brother’s face, eyes sparkling wet in the bright moonlight. “I’m so sorry…”

“Hey, shh…” Dean doesn’t want to hear it. He’d known it was a long shot from the very beginning. Touches Sam’s lips with a thumb before leaning in for a quick kiss. “Don’t you worry Sammy,” Dean winks. “You know what they say… better to rule in hell and shit, right?”

Sam smirks. “Yeah. You down there, and me up here…”

“Absolutely. Hail the Golden Age of the Winchester dynasty. Sweet!”

Dean is laughing, tickling Sam just enough to make him join in. And he knows it’s weak but forcing it anyway because he really can’t fall apart now. Not now.

Sam takes Dean’s face in his large, trembling hands. “I will get you out, no matter what.”

“Sammy…” Don’t do this to yourself… don’t do this to me.

“We’re going to be together forever, Dean. Say you believe me. You trust me, don’t you?”

There it is again… the complete lack of panic. The implicit trust in Sam’s words without doubt or question. Where is it coming from? Dean swallows and tries to smile back. So long as his little brother isn’t planning on jumping right after him into the hellfire, sure.

Dean still has a day left. Yeah… he is willing to believe.

*** May 17th, 2008 ***

He walks into the lobby a little past three AM and every head turns, drawn to the vision of the striking model-esque man, exuding such power with each stride of his endless legs. Power that both compels and repels every mortal crossing its path and while the man keeps walking on, they all pause mid-step and wonder… wonder where was it, and when was it that they saw him before. Struggle to ascertain the mysterious identity of this dauntingly beautiful man, this hardened… angel-faced boy with wide haunting eyes… eyes that now stalk the expanse of the hotel like he fucking owns it.

The young man ignores them easily, nods discretely to his lookout posted at the Concierge and rides the exclusive elevator back up to the sixteenth floor. Once he’s alone his head hangs low, and when the doors slide open he need not look up to know that his other two guards are still standing where he left them. They’d sooner die and go back to hell than let anyone or anything enter the inner sanctum, so to speak. They bow, very subtly, move out of his way and let him pass. And only when the thick oak doors are pulled close behind him that he lets his long thin body sag, exhausted… resigned.

Being the fucking boy king is proving to be really hard on his knees.

Sam drags his feet to the closest full-length mirror, slowly shrugging out of the ancient leather jacket and holds it to his chest with both arms. Breathes it in and his eyes water, thinking back to how he’d freaked and stormed out when Dean tried to hand it over to him. For good.

“Come on Sammy, quit being a girl alright. Now listen, this used to be Dad’s. He wore it the first night he saw Mom at Bennigan’s in…”

“I don’t wanna know! Alright? And I don’t want your stupid jacket!”

Sam remembers what that did to his big brother’s face, how the mask had slipped then shattered, leaving behind a more vulnerable Dean than he’d ever seen his whole life.

“What do you want me to do, huh?”

I don’t want you to die. Can you do that for me, Dean? Please?

His brother thinks that happened yesterday, and maybe, technically, it did.

Sam sighs heavily, hugging the jacket tighter if that were possible. If it weren’t for the old leather, he’d look like he’d stepped right out of the flashy Salvatore Ferragamo billboard over at Rodeo Drive and he knows exactly who he has to blame for it.

His big ‘won’t you fulfill my last dying wish’ brother.

Dean’s list of last wishes just keeps growing instead of reducing, and apparently includes a fetish for dressing Sammy up in expensive clothes and designer shoes and man-jewelry and stuff. Stuff they could have never ever afforded or even bothered for only a few days ago.


Sam keeps trying to lose count but it doesn’t work. He knows exactly how many days they’ve been here, holed up in the lap of luxurious decadence. Pandering to all of Dean’s impulsive fancies, anything to keep them both distracted from what is about to soon follow… that which is inevitable.

God knows he’s been trying.

The power of mind-control, the power to control demons, and a couple of other kick-ass stuff still isn’t enough to buy his brother’s soul back from that supreme sonofabitch. Sam Winchester commands a legion of one hundred and six demons that now walk among the living. Pretending to be mere mortals just so they never have to return to the fiery torments of hell again. They offer him their allegiance, their promise to toe the line and not hurt another human ever again.

In exchange, Sam promises not to send them back, keeps them safe from other hunters and supernatural entities envious of their newfound freedom. What they don’t know is that Sam is harboring them for one purpose and one alone. To cash them in, every single one of them batteries included, in fair trade for his brother’s life. After all, who out there wouldn’t want a genuine hell bred army of demons to command and call their own, right?


For God’s sake there has to be someone. Good or evil or who the fuck even cares. No, Sam feels no regret whatsoever, at least not yet. They’d worry about it later, when Dean is safe and ready to get back into the game again.

Sam holds his left wrist with his right hand, wraith-like fingertips resting on the dial of his beautiful new Patek Philippe, and closes his eyes. It’s a new power he’s developed very recently, thanks to a witch’s curse that somehow reacted with the demon Azazael’s blood running through his veins. One he hasn’t told Dean about, nor does he ever plan to.

It’s the penultimate day. The day before when the hellhounds come for Dean.

Except, it’s really not.

The penultimate day came and went two weeks ago. Only to come back again… and again… and again.

This is the thirteenth penultimate day.

Sam concentrates, welcomes the agonizing burst of pain exploding behind his eyes and in his chest; bites his lip to suppress any sounds that could alert his brother sleeping peacefully at the other end of the suite. And he pushes and pleads and begs, demands like the fucking demon king on earth that he is to let him have just one more day. Just one more chance to strike a new deal. Another chance to offer up something more, something extra, anything at all, to anyone at all… in exchange for his brother’s long and prosperous life.

It hurts. It hurts like hell, and when he can’t stand it any more Sam falls to the floor and it’s finally done. Smashing his knees with brute force onto the granite floor and he knows it’s going to ache like a bitch all day, but only until he falls again. Then it’ll hurt even more.

He imagines in great detail what Dean would say if he ever found out. God forbid if he ever woke up in the middle of the night and followed Sam out; saw him summoning a bunch of monsters every night… demons, pagan gods, sorcerers, djinns. Then returning home and twisting another bunch of celestial arms so they could turn back time, all for one guy…

Sam winces painfully, rubbing his wary eyes. Yeah. His ass would be toast.

We’re going to be together forever, Dean.

After awhile he manages to pick himself up and starts to strip, strewing his clothes back on the floor precisely how they’d landed earlier when Dean took them off of him. Looks at his reflection in a glass cabinet warily, feeling nothing but cold and numbness. His body is rapidly losing weight and muscle definition, dark rimmed eyes sinking back into their sockets and his hair’s gone flat and dull but he doesn’t care anymore. Stuck in an endless loop of stasis, the world outside these walls slowly but surely rots away and yet, he couldn’t give a fucking shit. Not anymore.

Not until he gets what he wants. What he needs.

Naked at last, he carefully threads his way to the bedroom, flicking lights off with a wave of his hand until nothing but cool moonlight streaks in through their windows. The sixteenth floor sure has its advantages.

Sam crawls back into bed, knowing Dean would automatically unfurl for him without waking up like he’s done every night since they first started sleeping together. He settles in, the severe tautness of his body slackening, just as Dean’s arms tighten around him and he sighs with infinite relief. Willing at last to surrender, if only for a couple of hours. Until morning comes and Dean drags him out of bed to celebrate their second last day together. Again.

With every new rewind, Sam’s reactions are wearing down, as are, he suspects, Dean’s. The déjà vu is starting to set in and it wouldn’t be long before Dean gets suspicious. Already he’s starting to wonder about the dark circles under Sam’s eyes and the sudden fragility of his ribs. But damn, the stupid boa this afternoon totally took him by surprise! Trust Dean to keep inventing newer, more creative ways to torture him even on the last fucking day of his life.

No. Not the last. Never the last. Not if he can help it.

Sam revels in the scent of musk and gunpowder that seems to forever cling to his brother, and shudders. Silently he prays to the God he once so vehemently believed in, to help him. Hopes that like everything else that’s twisted and insane and upside down in the Winchester way of life… maybe thirteen would prove a lucky number for them after all.

*** May 16th, 2008 ***

Dean wakes up to the familiar scent of citrus and ivory trapped in the circle of his arms, and he is smiling long before he opens his eyes. Looks up at the digital clock beside the bed and sighs, the lines of contentment meekly fading away to blankness.

It’s the penultimate day.

*** END *** 

A/N: Pls let me know what you think? 
Tags: fandom: supernatural, fic: spn: the penultimate day

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