Disclaimer: No, I don't own Supernatural or any parts of it. I'm just a lame fanfiction writer who has problems sleeping and coping with reality.
Warning: Wincest.
Sam's eyes were glossy, glazing over and rolling back. The junction between Dean's thumb and forefinger is slick with drool, spilled from Sam's lips unconsciously in his struggle for breath. Dean can feel it. Feel the weakening of Sam's muscles the slowing of the twitch of Sam's legs, once a full blown struggle, now a barely detectable quirk.
His hands are numb, and he knows he will have bruises and marks from where Sam has fought against him. Red lines along his wrists where his baby brother struggled to wrench his hands off of his neck, could feel the droplets of blood forming on his face from where Sam had clawed at him. Dean wonders if that is what they teach women in those self defense classes. Go for the eyes. Eyes and the groin. Dean had been spared that pain, supposing that Sammy – as a guy – would never sink that far.
Sam's lips were moving, imperceptible sounds escaping them. And Dean found himself leaning forward in an attempt to discern the sound and finding himself a wash in Sam's cologne. Some sweet smelling substance Dean would be caught dead wearing and yet can't help thinking about how much it suits Sam. How it seems to fit with his long, soft hair and smooth skin.
Dean rolls his hips forward and becomes keenly aware of the erection pressing against the harshness of his zipper. Subconsciously, Dean cants forward again, and Sam manages to groan in response.
"Dean-" He says, and that Dean picks up beyond a doubt. He's always loved the way Sam says his name. The way it spills over his lips like a prayer, sacred, full of reverence. "De-."
And just like that, Dean is loosing him. Sam's hands fall away and he goes limp. Dean removes his hands and wraps Sammy close, hugging him, hissing the nape of his neck.
"Sammy." He breaths "Sammy I'm-."
He knows he's gone too far, can see it in the pale coolness of Sam's skin, hear it in the shallowness of his breath. He knows he sound summon Cas, he should take him to a hospital, do something, but he can't. He can't move or do anything but focus on holding Sam close and the steely heat between his legs.
"It's-" Sam si struggling to say, his crushed voice barely a whisper "It's ok—."
Dean is crying. He would never admit it, but Sam's shoulder is wet with his tears and Sam's heartbeat is growing softer.
"Please-." One of them is saying and Dean isn't sure who "Please please plea-"
And their lips are together and Dean is kissing Sam like it's impossible to stop. And the feeling of disgust and shame washes over him, just like he knew it was and he shudders involuntary under its weight. This is your brother. You're kissing your brother. Killing him.
Dean is growing dizzy from the lack of air and is suddenly aware of how still Sam is under him. His eyes open and he sits up, reaching tentatively for the face his was grasping at just moment's before.
"S-Sammy?" Dean asks, and there's no answer. Of course there is no answer. Just as Dean knew there wouldn't be.
Time passes and Dean is screaming. Screaming for so long that he feels as if his voices goes on forever. Screaming nonsense and gibberish and curses at everything. And then Cas is there. Cas with his cool bravado and stern gaze. He doesn't ask questions. He seems to just know and he raises his fingers to Sam's forehead. Sam gasps a bit, a sound that's music to Dean's ears, and sighs, still sleeping. Dean is crying. He'd never admit to it this time either, but his eyes burn and the backs of his hands are soaked and he's keenly aware that he's been hiding in the corner of their stuffy motel room, back pressed hardly against the wood grain.
Cas is speaking to him like a frightened kitten, hushed tones and slowly extended hand. He doesn't speak the truth. The truth that Dean knows he knows, but the words are there, buried in the under current of his phrases.
"Sam will be okay, Dean." You almost killed your brother "Everything will be fine." Wrapped your hands around his neck and choked him. "Are you hurt?" What is wrong with you?
In the distance, Sam shifts on the bed and Dean swallows, looking up at Cas who's presence looms over him like a heavy shadow.
"It's alright." He tries again, reaching for him with more tenderness and grace than Dean would have previously given him credit for.
Dean shakes his head.
"No." He says. The first words he's spoken in what feels like an eternity "No. It's not."
"Sam will be fine."
"I know." Dean says thickly, his eyes not leaving the long figure on the bed "That's the problem."
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AN: I don't really know what possessed me to do this. This is really the first attempt I've ever made at a Supernatural fanfic, not to mention I'm not particularly a Wincest shipper, so be gentle.