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Title: A New Apocalypse
Author: [livejournal.com profile] serotonin_storm
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Character/Pairing: Sam/Dean, Dean/OMC
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Word Count: 2359 words
Warnings: incest, violence
Summary: God's savior on a white fucking horse has a lot of ties with hell, it seems to him.

Dean sees people differently, now. There's a beautiful woman walking past their table, all heels and tits and sleek blond hair -- and Dean, he can't help but wonder what it would take to break her. What it would take to make this woman scream, cry, writhe in agony. Beautiful, unmarked canvas to him, now.

Sam's looking at him, curious, as he works on his eggs and pancakes, and Dean swallows down the coffee that suddenly tastes like sludge against his tongue and offers him a grin.

He thinks, as he smiles, I deserve to be punished.


--

They've come to an agreement since the siren: Ruby comes to them. Dean hates to watch, a burning type of loathing housed deep in his gut, but it's better to know than it is to wonder. Or worse yet, to know and pretend that he doesn't, clueless Dean.

"Is that all you've got, Sam?" Ruby's saying. "You think that's all you'll need to take Lilith down? That she'll just roll over and die like this worthless excuse for a demon?" She delivers a swift, well-aimed kick to the stolen body of the demon Sam is exorcising. It convulses, gagging. "Get it together, Sam, you've gotta do better than this!"

"I'm trying, Ruby," Sam growls, hand at his forehead as he strains.

"This isn't kindergarten, Sam. Lilith won't die just because you did your very best. You need to do better than your best; you need to do better than her best!"

Dean doesn't need to see any more. He always bows out at some point during these sessions. Turning away from the scene before him, he stalks out of the abandoned house they'd commandeered as a practice ground -- no one around to hear the screams, not something he'd had to worry about in hell. He takes a deep breath, then wanders around the corner and leans against the broken, dirty wall, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. He takes his flask out from inside his jacket, takes a sip.

"Your brother is not cooperating," says the voice of an angel. Color Dean shocked.

"Keep your enemies closer?" he offers, but even the idea is laughable. Castiel doesn't dignify it with answer.

"When He calls upon you to right this wrong, you must act," he says instead. Dean studies the dead, brown grass and hopes to God himself not to make that anytime soon. Even his bones are exhausted, lately.


--

It was easier when there was no God. Not just the absence of the quests and the angels and all that bullshit, but everything. The rules Dean told himself there was no need to live by suddenly apply.

He sees a guy in a bar, good-looking and leering, and he thinks, okay. No Sammy nearby, too busy fraternizing with demons these days. All systems go. The guy looks at him, he looks at the guy. Five minutes later, they've both miraculously found themselves in the bathroom at the same time, and then Dean's jeans find their way to pool at his feet, and then this thought finds its way into his mind: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor homosexuals.

Needless to say, it ruins the mood. But the guy doesn't notice, or keeps going if he does, because people ain't been very considerate since they figured out the world was coming to an end. But that's okay. Dean doesn't stop him as he pushes him to his knees because, because, he needs this. He doesn't know why but he needs it.

Besides, thou shalt not steal, and thou shalt not kill, he left those in the dust a long time ago. Thou shalt not get fucked up the ass seems like small fish in comparison.

God's savior on a white fucking horse has a lot of ties with hell, it seems to him.


--

Dean's not stupid, he knows what everyone's angling for. The Antichrist and his brother, the chosen of God. How else could that end, but with Sam dead by his hand and him dead by Sam's?

There are so many seals broken now. They're coming down the wire.


--

"Dean." A boot nudges at his side. "Dean, get up."

He blinks up from his spot slumped on the grass. Sam's six and a half feet tall and he looks big as the whole world right now, the whole world just before it ends. "What's up?" he asks groggily, tamping down on the thought.

"Ruby and I are done," Sam answers, pushing sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes.

"'Bout damn time," he grumbles, standing slowly, bones and muscles protesting simultaneously. It's pitch-black out now, and Dean feels wary, thinking about himself sleeping out alone in the dark. "Getting sick of waiting on your ass."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Excuse me if I think being strong enough that Lilith doesn't beat the crap outta me is important, Dean."

"Well, if you're done killing shit with your mind, I'm do for some shuteye," Dean says, stretching, then he heads for the Impala, Sam at his heels.

"You go somewhere earlier?" Sam asks as he climbs into the passenger seat. "I heard the car."

"Yeah," Dean says shortly.

"Okay..." Sam's looking at him like he's lost his mind. "Uh, where?"

He turns the key in the ignition, listens to the car's purr. "Out."


--

Sam doesn't know about the guys. He barely knows about the girls, most times, and it's just easier that way.


--

Alistair catches them unawares on a routine hunt, one of their victims suddenly turning on Sam and whacking him upside the head with a golf club hard enough that Sam blacks out and collapses at Dean's feet.

"Dean, Dean, Dean-o," the demon sing-songs, milky white eyes trained on him. "We need to chat."

"Not really feeling up to a care-and-share," Dean says, glaring, circling around so that Sam's prone body is behind them both.

"No? Funny, I seem to recall that getting poor souls to spill all their dirty little secrets to you used to be your specialty back downstairs. I must be mistaken, hm?"

Dean feels sick to his stomach. "Not that this isn't fun, but could you get to the point? I hate how you bastards ramble."

"Lilith sends her regards. I must say, hell is really less rich with the loss of you. I think we all agree." He smirks, twisted on the face he's stolen. "But I'm here on business. I need the whereabouts of the demon bitch. You know the one. Your brother's consort."

"Consort?" Dean snorts. "Dude, seriously?"

"He vies for a throne at Lucifer's side, Dean. Or had you forgotten?"

"Tell Lucifer he can stick it where the sun don't shine for me."

"Don't worry, Dean, you'll soon have a chance yourself," says Alistair. "Now, the bitch."

"I don't play demon babysitter."

Alistair cocks his head. "Jealous of her place in baby brother's life, now are we, Dean?"

"Fuck you," Dean spits.

And Alistair laughs. "You already have men for that."


--

Sam comes to just in time to hear the last bit, and after they get the hell out of Dodge, he asks Dean what the hell that's supposed to mean. Dean says, shut up, Sam. Dean says, demons lie. Sam watches him too closely.


--

Sometimes Dean feels like he's been put together wrong, like when Castiel raised him from perdition, he did a half-assed job of it, jamming him back into place like puzzle pieces that don't fit.

Then Sam smiles and cracks a stupid joke Dean doesn't even get, and Dean's heart skips a beat and he remembers -- he was never put together quite right to begin with.


--

Uriel gets desperate and breaks rank. He comes after Sam, almighty.

"What will the world lack without you, half-demon swine?" he says, Sam on his knees before him.

"I'm just trying to do the right thing," Sam manages to choke out, and Dean panics and shoots the angel straight in the head.

The look in Castiel's eyes when he turns up a few moments later to cart Uriel back to heaven lets Dean know he's probably not on their side anymore.


--

"We're out of time, Sam, and you're not ready!" Ruby's shouting, arms crossed over her chest and dark hair a mess from running her fingers through it in frustration.

Sam is righteously pissed, screaming back, "What the hell else do you want me to do? There's nothing else!"

Dean sighs. He's had about enough of this shit. "Get out," he says to Ruby.

"What? Screw you, I -- "

"Get. Out," he repeats. Sam doesn't protest, and Dean counts that as one of the few meager victories he's gotten, lately.

Ruby storms out. Dean closes his eyes and takes a seat on the bed closest to him.

"We're out of time, Sam," he says, wincing as he parrots Ruby's words. But it's true, fuck, it's true. Only one more seal left to break. The world is in shambles around them, plague and darkness and death everywhere they look. They couldn't save it; they're lucky to even still be around at this point in the game. Sam knows it, he knows it, heaven and hell both know it.

It's over.

When he opens his eyes, Sam is much closer than he had been. He looks broken open, wary and frustrated and hopeful all at once. He reaches out, places his hand on the side of Dean's neck, cupping the back. Dean tilts his head back to look up at Sam's face, or maybe just to push back into his grip.

Sam kisses him, then. It's the single most terrifying thing that's ever happened to him.


--

When Dean was in hell, he'd once gutted a woman, right up the middle so her insides spilled out all over her. He knew just how much that hurt from every time Alistair had done it to him. "Please, please," she'd screamed, long past coherence.

"You ever been in love?" he'd asked, watching the blood trickle from the tip of his knife to pool at the hilt.

She'd just moaned, and he'd smiled and said, "Hurts, doesn't it?"


--

Dean is desperate, stripping Sam of his shirt as Sam pushes him back onto the bed, hands everywhere. Sam nips at his neck with his teeth, warning, and Dean settles because he's willing to be patient if that's what it takes. Sam rucks his shirt up and presses kisses upon his stomach, then goes for the top button of his jeans.

"Can I blow you?" he asks, looking up at Dean from under his unruly bangs. If the world weren't ending, Dean would make him get that mop cut.

"Sammy, if you've got a dick, the answer to that should always be yes, so why bother askin'," he says, grinning. Sam grins back.

"Sure you don't want one last waitress, Dean?" he teases as he strokes Dean over his zipper, and Dean jokes, "I don't think you'd look that great in an apron, so I'll have to pass," and then Sam finally takes him out, and all he can do is moan 'til the end.

Sam lies beside him, after, and takes Dean's hand, leads it to his own dick. Dean is more than happy to oblige, still strung out, Sam kissing his neck. When he comes, Sam bites down, hard enough that Dean thinks it'll leave a mark, and he's glad, hopes that it will.

It's the cleanest he's felt in a long time, his brother too close and breathing in time with him. Dean thinks that proves how damned he truly is, but he can't find it in himself to offer any regret.


--

He remembers once, when he was younger -- a long time after the fire, but before Sam started hunting with them, he thinks -- asking his father about angels and demons. John had glanced away, and when he'd looked back, he'd said, "Dean, if there's any angels, I ain't ever seen 'em. But if there are, I reckon they're just as meddlesome as demons, only a thousand times more righteous about it."

Dean will never be glad that his father is dead, never. But sometimes, he's relieved John got to take a pass on this one.


--

He'll never know what Ruby does after he kicks her out of the motel room, and it's probably for the best. He can imagine a demon would want to go out in style, because he knows for a fact that hell won't be taking her back.


--

He dreams of Castiel raising him once more, saying to him mournfully, "You are God's son."

Dean doesn't know what he is, except Sam's brother. That's enough for him, right now.


--

That morning, Dean awakens with an absolute certainty in his gut: this is the day Lilith will break the last seal. What will happen then, he doesn't pretend to know. Sometimes he can hope the angels and the demons and heaven and hell, they've got it all wrong. There is no Lucifer and there is no God, only a twisted, corrupt belief in them both.

Sometimes he can hope. It's easier not to think about it, though.

He watches Sam, can see the moment he wakes up. Sam turns over to look at him, and he smiles, so damn bright. Something in Dean twists and breaks.

"Nice day," Sam remarks, and he's right. It's the first time in a long time that Dean can see sunlight. Maybe that means something, and maybe it doesn't.

"Wanna get some breakfast?" Dean asks, and Sam yawns and answers, "Yeah," and kisses him without asking, his morning breath a thing of glory. And they get caught up in it, necking and snickering at each other and goofing around, and it's good, even if it can't last forever and eventually they look at one another and know that it's time. Can't keep the apocalypse waiting forever.

So he and Sam, they get ready, and then they go out to watch the world end, if that's what it wants to do.
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