AN: Hey look, I still know how to do Wincest! It's not that I don't like Wincest, because I obviously do since I do write it, I just don't get as many ideas for it. But I really like the idea of what happens here being canon (other than the sleeping together part, obviously)

Sometimes Sam wondered how Dean could be so unnaturally beautiful. When he was younger he'd assumed that he believed that because Dean was his big brother, his protector. And all little brothers worshipped their big brothers, right?

Yeah, sure, maybe they do. But it wasn't so simple between the two of them.

Sam, now eighteen years old, knew it wasn't just him that noticed Dean's unearthly features, but it didn't make him love them any less. He loved them more, in some ways, because they were his.

He could just lay in bed with Dean and gaze at his face for hours. He's watched him sleep, watched him dream, watched him talk, eat, smirk, laugh, watched his face when he came because in that moment there was always a complete release of control that made Sam's heart skip a beat because he did that, he made Dean come undone. And sometimes, he'd watch Dean watch him.

"You're doing it again," Dean said with a soft smile as they lay in bed together, both of them flat on their stomachs, fingers intertwined and knees touching, their faces turned towards each other. They'd lucked up, John had insisted they get separate rooms so he could catch up on some sleep, and they'd naturally procured one across the parking lot from him. They had used their time together wisely and were now basking in the afterglow together.

"Sorry," Sam said, blushing and looking down.

"No, it's ok. I just don't know what it is 'bout me you always find some interesting," Dean said with a small shrug.

Sam tightened his grip on Dean's hand. "You're failure to see how truly beautiful you are never ceases to amaze me."

Dean's lip quirked like he was preparing to argue, but instead he said nothing, knowing Sam would never believe he was unworthy of being looked at the way Sam looked at him.

They laid there in silence for a while, just staring at each other. Sam knew if Dean really thought about it he'd turn over and go to sleep, bitching about Sam dragging him into a chick flick moment, but he either wasn't thinking about it or just didn't care.

Sam could lay there with him forever. And it was that thought that began gnawing on his brain, reminding him that he couldn't, and listing out every single reason why not. He pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and chewed on it for a moment before speaking.

"Dean? I, uh. I'm leaving," he said.

Dean blinked at him for a moment. "Where ya going? Bathroom? 'Cause I'm pretty sure I'll be fine while you do your business," he said with a short laugh, but Sam saw straight through it, saw the fear in Dean's green eyes.

"No, Dean. Stanford. I, uh, I'm going to Stanford."

Silence hung heavy in the room, a sharp contrast to the comfortable quiet they had been maintaining. "Stanford, huh?" Dean asked quietly.

"Yeah… Listen, Dean… Come with me," he said, the last three words a whisper. He hadn't realized until right then how much he wanted to ask him that.

Dean looked pained. "Sammy, I can't."

"Yes you can! Dean, Dad gave you the impala! We could pack our stuff and head to California together!" Sam said, clutching Dean's hand so tightly it must hurt him, but he didn't show it.

"Sammy, you know I can't. I can't leave Dad. He needs us Sammy," Dean said, pleading.

Sam shook his head furiously. "No Dean, he needs mindless little soldiers!"

"Ain't that what I am?" Dean yelled, shaking Sam's grip off and rolling over, putting his back to Sam.

Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He rolled onto his side facing Dean's back, spreading his hand out over the strong muscles just under his brother's skin. "No," he said resolutely. "That's not what you are. Dean, we could be happy. We could go to California, get an apartment. No one would know we're brothers, and we could be together. We could be happy."

"Yeah? And what's Dad supposed to do while we're off playing house?"

Sam pursed his lips in frustration. "Dad'll be fine. He can keep hunting."

"Alone? He'll get killed!"

Sam withdrew his hand and wrapped his arms around his chest protectively. "Yeah? And what if you do?" he asked quietly.

He watched as Dean's spine stiffened, all the muscles going taunt before Dean forcefully relaxed each one in turn. He turned back over and they were face to face. They stared at each other for a moment before Dean tilted his head, capturing Sam's lips in a slow, lazy kiss.

"Is that why you want me to run off the California with you?" he asked when he pulled away. "'Cause you're scared I'm gonna die?"

Sam shook his head. "Dean, I've been scared you were gonna die since you first started going on hunts. I want you to go to California with me because I love you and I don't want to leave you."

"Then don't," Dean said, his bottom lip trembling almost imperceptibly. "Don't leave Sam, stay with me and Dad, become a hunter."

"Dean. I can't. I want a future."

Dean pressed his forehead into Sam's. His eyes were closed and Sam could practically count the eyelashes fanned out against his cheek. "I can't talk you out of this can I?" he asked.

Sam shook his head, they're noses brushing together. "And I can't convince you to come with me, can I?"

Dean let out a shuddering breath. "No."

Sam licked his lips. "Ok," he whispered, rolling them until he was hovering over Dean.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked him.

"We're going to make the best of the time we have left," he answered.

And if it felt like goodbye when they made love that night, not that Dean would call it that, or Sam either really, they chose not to comment on it. Because even though they still had time together, it felt like that night was the end of the world.