Long time no see everybody! Thank Chuck for spring break! Look for more stuff this week, but until exams are over, I can't really expect to be on much. :P

This one goes out to a great friend of mine from Live journal – Mandatorily – based on the song 'Let Me Go' by Three Doors Down

The demon's words echo across every fragment ofhis mind, sickly yellow eyes looming from every dark crevice and leaping from every shadow. It shows him terrible things: visions of blood and fire, and hell. What he's been destined for. How he's been tainted from the start. "You're mine, Sammy, forever – mine."

He startles awake sickeningly drenched in his own sweat, and it carries the stench of fear – unmistakable to even Sam's weak, human senses. But then again, he isn't quite human either, that pitch black voice at the back of Sam's head reminds him. It gloats, laughs soft and sticky against his brain as Sam cringes. Dean's still lying there undisturbed, and Sam wants nothing more than to curl back up against his brother, but he can't. Instead he swallows back just what his body can't decide – tears or vomit – and dares a glance to his book bag across the room.

It's tossed in the corner like just another piece of crap in their lives, a drooping obligation that Dean keeps pestering him to "just drop it already Sammy", but shoved underneath those secondhand binders is the letter that just might be his salvation. College. Stanford. The name tastes like hope on his tongue, but it's the kind Sam doesn't even dare to voice except when he's completely alone, and then only in the most threadbare of 's the kind tinged with guilt and tearsthough, because this – it means leaving Dean behind, and Sam's still not sure he'll ever be strong enough to let go when the time that's coming like a freight train down the tracks, no breaks, just metal squealing and sparking as it grinds its way right off the cliff.

Orientation's in a week and Sam doesn't know how he's getting to California yet. It's just – every time he tries to plan the demon shows him Dean's face twisted up with the betrayal, and knowing that it's their way to keep him in the game isn't any defense against that. Like there's anything that could ever defend him against hurting Dean. Sam knows that there's never an easy way out, but it's the hardest thing to convince himself that a bit of pain now is worth refusing to kill his brother in the end,especially when they're both tangled up together sweaty and satisfied in the false promise of forever.

Suddenly the pads of Dean's fingers are brushing the moisture off his neck, another hand easing itself around the curve of Sam's waist. "Sam, what's wrong?" His brother's voice is still groggy with sleep, as scratchy as his stubble when Dean presses a kiss to Sam's neck right above his fingers.

He can't explain himself or offer any kind of defense. Sam might as well be naked under his brother's touch, trembling with the fight to resist pulling Dean down with him and the remaining vestiges of his nightmare still lingering in his brain. "Nothing. Gotta get ready for school."

"Oh." Dean's fingers slip from the back of his neck as Sam scoots forward off the bed, leaving his brother alone in the ocean of cotton to resist calling Sam on his he can though, Sam peels his shirt off – exploiting what is perhaps the only thing that can get Dean to shut up – with what he hopes is a suggestive enough, Dean relaxes back against the wall with an easy grin and Sam can't help smiling in return. It's just what his brother does to him that has Sam easing his sweats down inch by inch, fingers dancing over surprisingly tanned skin with all other cares forgotten. (Thank you to that damn hunt back in Arizona!)

Dean shoves the covers back, palming his dick appreciatively through his boxers as Sam strips his own off. He's shameless when dad's out. And then Sam can't help but think of that girl he fucked in the backseat while he and dad were in the middle of a case, and realizes that Dean's kind of shameless, period. "So I think you should come back to bed for a bit," His brother drawls, adding another data point for Sam, who only dimly realizes he's being a nerd at this point. It generally tends to get a bit fuzzy when Dean's looking at him like that.

"I'm gonna be late," Sam protests, but though he's grabbed his jeans from the top of the dresser, he doesn't put them on just yet. His fingers dig into the fabric; warring with the idea of a quickie versus the idea of being late (Dean says constantly being punctual makes him an anal-retentive little bitch), and the idea of savoring what he's got while he can with trying to ease away slowly – the question should be 'what would make this easier?' but it's increasingly becoming what Sam wants as he faces of against his beautiful brother.

"C'mon, you can be late just once," Dean tells him, crawling forward to grab Sam's wrist and give him a gentle tug. There's an unspoken plea in those green eyes, and for a split second Sam is terrified. He knows. The denim falls from his fingers and Sam jerks his hand back like he's been burned, scrambling to pick his jeans up.

It isn't until he's kneeling on the cheap plastic tile that Sam realizes how badly he just fucked up. Dean doesn't know – he can't – but he's flushed hot and shaking with adrenaline, eyes fixed determinedly on the floor because Sam's about to cry. He can't do this. He can't leave Dean, but he has to. It's all too much – he's fucking eighteen but he doesn't feel even half that. "Sam?" His brother's fingers brush against his back, concern made clear, and there are the tears stinging Sam's eyes.

Dean hesitates before hauling Sam to his feet, "God, Sam, what's wrong?" There's no way to pretend he's just worried about missing a test, or something equally nerdy. Dean knows him better than that. It'd be an insult to him for Sam to even try it. Instead, he bends tobury his face in Dean's strong shoulder, letting his brother pull him close with both of them standing mostly-naked in the shitty motel room. The place smells faintly of mothballs, but all of that's gone when Sam's pressed against Dean – there's nothing but sweat-damp cotton and the faint smell of leather and gun oil that always seems to cling to him, twisting around into that smell of Dean like they belongs there with Sam.

"I just want to be normal," Sam whimpers, the one umbrella that covers everything – college, demons, Dean. But what do you say to that?

"Yeah, I know." Dean says slowly, and he's got one hand rubbing circles on Sam's back, the other just holding him close. All Sam can think of is how much he's going to miss this. The feel of his brother – his heartbeat, steady hands, comforting bulk – he's always been there; a port in the storm, the one light in the darkness. Brother, friend, and lover. He's home.

One last sniffle into Dean's shoulder and Sam still has no idea what he's doing, but he needs Dean now more than he ever has. He opens his mouth to feel the skin of Dean's neck under his tongue and the salty taste of Dean's skin bursts with flavor. Sam wants to taste all of it – needs to feel him skin on skin. And Dean may be Sam's superman, but he's human and Sam can feel the still hard line of Dean's cock twitch against his leg with the sensation.

Sam wiggles Dean's boxers down without breaking their embrace, fingers pushing and tugging at the elastic until Sam can grab a fistful of his older brother's firm ass. "Fuck, Sammy," Dean gasps, rocking up against his leg again, and just like that they're both with the program again.

"Take 'em off," Sam commands, and Dean does as he's told with green eyes nearly black with lust. He looks up at Sam the whole time – it's the hottest thing Sam's ever seen. "Wanna fuck you Dean."

"Yeah, okay," Sam doesn't miss the full body shiver that accompanies Dean's agreement, the way his brother gets off on Sam bossing him around when it comes to sex. He tosses his damp boxer shorts to the side, and Sam doesn't keep him waiting. He's on his brother in a heartbeat, backing him up toward the bed and biting and licking at his neck just to get a taste. Tears forgotten, Sam shoves him onto the tangled sheets, mouthing promises into his brother's chest and neck that Dean was never meant to hear.

"Gonna fuck you real good big brother," He assures Dean, reaching down and stripping his cock once before slipping past it to push at his hole. It's hurried and has nothing Sam could remotely claim as finesse, but Dean seems to realize that Sam needs this right the fuck now. He needs to feel Dean around him with a kind of urgency usually reserved for near-death experiences, high on adrenaline and fear. They've done this more in the last week than they ever used to, and Sam pointedly ignores why that is. Not now.

Dean pushes back up into his hand with a soft moan – the kind he'll always deny later – and Sam can't help but grin. His brother's still loose from last night, all these bad decisions Sam's making like he can't help but break Dean before he goes. He doesn't deserve this from him, doesn't deserve the way Dean reaches up to stroke Sam to full hardness as he's writhing on his little brother's fingers like it's all he's ever wanted. Sam doesn't deserve it, but he wants it so bad, and he takes it every time.

He's selfish enough to want to break Dean – make it so that he's the only one who'll ever have this. Thatss it Sssammy, The demon hisses when he thrusts inside, and Sam clenches his eyes shut tight. He drives forward into that clenching heat, hands curling into fists around Dean's biceps as it plays back a montage for him – Dean colored in its sickly grays, pining for Sam. It's not something he should want, but he Sam can't have him, no one else should.

"Sam," Dean's reaching up then, brushing sweat damp hair back from his face, and all Sam can see in his eyes is love. Love like a fairytale where Sam is only good for sickness and obsession and greed.

"Don't say it." Sam dips his head back to his brother's chest and bites at him instead, marking a claim that'll hopefully take weeks to fade. And maybe that's all it'll take for the memory of him to fade as well. The way Dean's gasping and moaning though, Sam hopes it'll at least be a month. You sick freak. He pushes in harder so that the cheap mattress is squeaking, smacking against the wall with every thrust.

"Fuck, Sam, oh god," Dean's shimmering with sweat beneath him, completely open and vulnerable. Breakable. And Sam's stomach turns with the knowledge that he's going to break his brother so completely in two – the same way he's been breaking all along since he realized what he had to do. He can't but he needs to. So he might as well make it good.

"Gonna come for me, just like that?" Sam tugs Dean's legs apart even further to give himself a better angle but doesn't touch his brother's dick (flushed and red and slapping up against his belly with every thrust – oh god, how is he so gorgeous?) "Come on just your little brother's dick? Yeah, Dean, come on – for me." And he does. Sam feels him tighten up so much it's almost painful as Dean spills with a rough shout of his name. He thinks of Dean, unbidden, and he's with someone else but it's still Sam's name – always Sam's name – on his lips, and all of a sudden Sam's following his brother over the edge.

"Dean," he gasps, because it's the one this he's always wanted and still the one thing that he can never have, no matter how many times it's his cum slicking up his brother's ass. It's a wish and a prayer and a plea. Let me go.