This is shorter than usual, but someone requested it on my Tumblr, and I was pretty pleased with the end result. Slight Wincest, death!fic.
I've got no claim on the boys.
"No, no, no, no," Sam chants, arms tight around Dean's torso, holding him half of the ground, body folded around his brother. "You can't die, man. Not now. Not after everything we've been through."
Dean laughs a little, and Sam winces as it splutters off into a cough, blood flecking Dean's lips, the dark red stark against his pale face.
"How many times has it been now?" he asks weakly, and Sam shakes his head, swallows back a whimper.
"You don't get to joke about this, Dean. Not dying. This is serious, you're actually-" his jaws jars against a sob, eyes closing tightly, and Dean reaches out a shaky hand, rests it on Sam's cheek.
"Hey," he whispers, still smiling, and Sam shakes his head again, opening his eyes to meet Dean's gaze. "Hey, don't cry. It makes your cheeks look puffy."
Sam chokes out a disbelieving laugh, one hand sliding to Dean's face and pushing the sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead.
"It's gonna be okay," he promises, and they both know he's lying.
"Yeah, Sammy," Dean agrees. "It's gonna be okay."
And he fixes Sam with a stare that's so familiar it hurts, the same look Dean gives him when he's telling him to stay put on a hunt. Almost like he's daring Sam to disagree. Sam can't hold back the thought that this could be the last time he'll ever see that look, and it makes him ache all over.
"Dean," he manages, but his voice is too thick for anything else. Dean coughs again, presses a hand to Sam's chest.
"No goodbyes, Sam, come on. You know that. I was always going to die young, we both knew that."
"But what about me?" Sam asks, and he's beyond caring how selfish that sounds. "What about me, Dean? What do I do without you? How do I-" his voice cracks, words disappearing into a quiet sob.
"You keep fighting those bastards, Sammy," Dean replies, eyes warm but voice fragile. "You don't give up, you hear me? You'll be okay without me, you always were the strong one."
"No," Sam contradicts, a soft smile tugging at his lips, half-obscured by the tears. "No, Dean. That was you, it was always you. Everyone knew that."
"Everyone knew fuck all," Dean tried for a snort but it sounded more like a gasp of pain, more blood staining his lips. "They never saw you the way I did. You were- fuck, Sammy. You were everything. I hope you knew that."
It's the closest Sam's ever going to get to an I love you, and he knows it, pulls Dean all the closer for it.
"I know, Dean, I know," he breathes. "Everything. It was always you. All of it." And Dean nods like he gets it, palm back on Sam's face but cold now, cold and pale.
Sam turns his head into the touch, presses his lips to it tenderly, and Dean smiles beneath him. It's not the same beam that Sam fell in love with, but it's close, lighting up his brother's eyes one last time.
"Everything," Dean repeats, eyes closing and shoulders slumping a little. Sam breathes out shakily, starts up his chant of no, but Dean's gone. His arm falls limply between them, and Sam's sobbing again, curled up around Dean and rocking on his knees, holding what's left of his world in his arms.