AND THE SUN BLAZED RED
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Warnings: mild wincest, evil-ish!Sam, character death (no, I'm not telling whose, that'd be like cheating.)
Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural, wincest would be canon. Actual canon, not the lovely subtext-thing Kripke & Co. have going on now. So clearly, I don't own any of this.
Rating: T
A/N: So I wanted to write an evil!Sam apocafic that wasn't all fire and ash and burning. And then I decided I wanted wincest...which is about the sum total history of this fic. Also, I suppose it is worth noting that this is my personal favorite of all the Supernatural fics I've ever written. Which is a lot, actually. I just haven't quite gotten around to posting them here.
Summary: Fact: What Sam means to Dean will always matter. More than life, more than death, more than the world. Sam/Dean.
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They are walking.
The sun hangs red and hot and bulbous in the sky, sneering down at Dean and Sam with crimson-flecked intensity.
Dean doesn't know what day it is, lost track of the passing of time long ago. This is the first fact that does not matter.
They are in the desert somewhere; Nevada, perhaps.
They have walked across most of the country by now.
Sand lashes up against them, provoked onwards by the howling and screaming of the wind. Dean feels it stinging painful against his face, and covers his skin with a scrap of his shirt. Sam follows Dean, his own face carefully exposed. Nothing Dean says or argues will change that fact.
Sam insists it doesn't matter, voice harsh, almost swallowed in the wind.
This is a fact that matters to Dean.
They walk on no set path, following an invisible road which might once have been glory in black asphalt and yellow paint. Now, their feet catch and stumble over dirt and bones and the withered remains of desert shrubs as a sky that is bruised purple cowers above them.
Their exact location holds no relevance.
Dean walks in front of Sam, always in front of Sam.
This fact matters very much.
And Sam follows Dean, because Dean has made very sure to stress that if Sam does otherwise, Dean will follow him. Dean is almost positive that Sam still cares enough not to take that risk.
The land before Dean is always greener than the earth behind Sam.
This fact is very important to remember, and deadly to forget.
You should just leave me here, Sam's voice says behind Dean. It is the fifth time since the sun rose that Sam has tried to start this argument. Dean stops moving, first time in a long time.
Time has corroded with the land around them. Either that, or Dean and Sam now exist outside of time, separate entities bound to bear witness to the death of the world.
Whatever the truth, this fact is barely important.
Sam's footsteps, always a steady presence behind Dean, stop, disappear. Dean experiences a brief, intense flare of panic that Sam might have vanished with them, leaving Dean alone.
It is a possibility, nowadays. Sam's powers are strong, so much stronger than they were Before.
Dean stiffens his emotions and turns around.
Sam is still there, ten paces behind Dean, figure silhouetted by a ruined landscape.
Dean almost collapses with relief.
I'm not going to leave you, Dean says meeting Sam's eyes, quick and simple truth. Sam gazes back at him, eyes cobwebbed ocher in a pale face. Fact: This is not a new development, merely a continuation of an old theme.
The land behind Sam is a blackened misery, tenanted by disease and famine and death. War used to follow Sam as well, until there stopped being people for it to play with.
You should, Sam insists flatly. There is truth in Sam's statement as well.
Dean steps closer anyway, feet crunching slowly over sand. Sam does not move, steel in his posture and expression. The ground beneath Sam's feet blackens slowly with rot, and the fetid stench of death oozes sweet into the air. Soon, only dust and poison will remain where Sam has trod.
This close, Dean can almost feel the decay leeching off Sam's fingertips, the sensation competing with the blistering heat from the dying sun swollen in the sky above them. Except for his yellow-tarnished eyes, Sam's features, young and mournful and sharp-edged, have not changed.
This is a fact, and Dean both resents and is glad of it.
Decades have past, walking with death stalking in his footsteps, but Sam, even with countless monstrosities arrayed like a kingdom behind him, still looks beautiful to Dean.
Dean says, I don't want to leave.
This has been, and always will be a fact.
Sam moves closer, his body only inches away from Dean's. His breath is warm on Dean's face.
It's been years since Dean has been able to touch Sam.
You don't know what you're asking, Sam whispers, exhaustion and sorrow and power thrumming through his voice. Dean moves closer anyway, feet sinking into bloated and mildewed ground, slime bursting over his shoes, until his hands hover over Sam's arms.
I could kill you, Sam says.
Dean tilts his head closer to Sam's, until their lips are almost touching.
I don't care, Dean says, and kisses Sam. His world shrinks to the feel of Sam's lips against his, soft and worshipful, the heat of Sam's breath in Dean's mouth. His world shrinks and shrinks and shrinks, painful and painless, until nothing more remains, and then even that is gone.
Dean has always loved Sam, more than the sun, more than the world, more than his own life. Even when Dean is dead, this is the only fact that truly matters.
In the end, two corpses lay together in the desert under a dying sun. There are no other facts left to tell.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A/N: So…my first Sam/Dean fic. What did you think? Reviews = love.