Title: somewhere a clock is ticking [11/?]
Author: alakewood
Warning: Wincest.
Rating: Hard R
Word Count: ~1500
Summary: Sam finds himself at a crossroads making a deal of his own.
Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing.

oxoxo

As Sam stepped off the porch steps into the snow, the full force of the winter wind slammed into him as it whistled through the gap between the house and the garage. He fought for his breath and gripped Dean's jacket closer to his body, the small tin box biting into his ribs through the pocket lining. It was slow going, trudging through knee-deep snow – with even deeper drifts – and against the wind, but it only took him a handful of minutes to reach the place where their driveway and the small dirt lane that connected the barn with the barren pasture intersected. It wasn't a true crossroads, lacking the proper foliage in the four corners of the crossing, but he hoped the box and his intent would be enough.

Sam kicked at the snow until he reached gravel and dug at the stones with the heel of his boot until he'd shaken enough of them loose to bury the tin. He was shaking, sweaty, soaked with melted snow, and freezing by the time he drew back up to his full height.

Then he waited.

He turned to his left, saw nothing. Turned to his right – more nothing. Just snow, everywhere. Another sweep to the left and a voice caught on the wind that blustered at his back. He spun and came face to face with a smug-looking older man in a black suit.

"I can help you," the man told him, English accent slightly jarring in the middle of rural Kansas, "but not with what you're asking for."

Sam just gaped at him. He hadn't spoken a word of what he wanted from the demon aloud.

"Name's Crowley." He walked around Sam until he stood over the spot where Sam had buried the tin box. "I can't undo your brother's deal, but I still have something to offer you."

"And what's that?" Sam shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of the jacket and crossed his arms to overlap the open front. He couldn't stop his teeth from chattering.

"A clean bill of health."

"What's the point of selling my soul to cure this goddamn cancer when Dean's still gonna be gone in a few month's time?"

"I'm not your average crossroads demon," Crowley said, stepping closer. "And it's not your soul I'm after."

"What, then?"

"Your word." The demon paused, hands hooked in the pockets of his tailored slacks. "There's going to come a time when someone asks you a question. You have to answer 'yes' to that question. That's all, and you're cancer-free." He watched Sam mull it over, dark eyes focused on Sam's face.

Sam knew demons lied, but he also knew they told the truth when it served their purpose. He couldn't be sure if Crowley was baiting him.

"I can throw in the peace of mind that you'll see your brother again one day." It was like he'd sensed Sam's complete apprehension.

Sam's toes had long since grown numb and his skin burned where the wind bit through the thin material of his sweats and where it curled under the collar of Dean's jacket. He needed to make a decision, fast. "How will I know who this someone is?"

Crowley's smirk was slow and dark. "You'll know. Do we have a deal? You want to banish your cancer or what?"

Sam attempted to take a deep breath to steel his nerves, but the frigid air only made him gasp. He offered his hand and Crowley outright laughed at him.

"Nobody shakes on it anymore, boy – it's too impersonal. My deals are sealed with a kiss." He took Sam's hand and tugged his shivering, frail body forward.

Sam stumbled into the man and Crowley's mouth crashed against his the same moment the wind suddenly gusted harder, picking up the fine powdered snow that cad been falling constantly since the blizzard passed and whipping it up in swirls. It blasted Sam like grains of sand and carried with it Dean's voice.

"Sam! Sammy!"

There was a searing pain in Sam's head, worse than any of the headaches, that lanced throughout his body, burned more than the sting of snow and cold. Just as suddenly, the pain faded away and the wind died down. And Crowley was gone.

Dean raced through the deep snow, boot laces flying, in nothing more than his ratty cotton sleep pants and an old hoodie of Sam's tossed over his t-shirt to stave off the bitter cold. "Sam!"

Entire body wracked with violent shivers, Sam turned towards his brother, squinting against the glare of snow as the sun briefly broke through the clouds, only to disappear once more.

"Jesus Christ, Sam, what the fuck's wrong with you?" Dean grabbed a hold of Sam's arm and tugged him back towards the house.

Sam glanced back to the center of the crossroads and was somewhat surprised to see that the snow wasn't disturbed except for where Sam had kicked it aside and recovered the hole he'd dug in the gravel. He allowed Dean to lead him back down the driveway and up the stairs of the porch.

Dean hesitated for the briefest moment in the open door and let his gaze sweep over the bleak, white landscape of their yard before pulling Sam inside.

Dean tossed a couple more logs into the fire and it took a couple moments in front of the fireplace before the heat of the flames seeped through Sam's layers and bled into his bones. Then Dean's hands were on him, shoving away his wet and semi-frozen clothes, exposing his cold, wind-burned flesh to the warmth of the fire. It felt like he was thawing out, each body part throbbing with agony as blood started flowing again under the hard rub of Dean's efficient, callused hands.

"What were you thinking, going out there?" Dean questioned harshly, kicking out of his pants and underwear before tugging off his hoodie and tee. He grabbed Sam then and manhandled him under the blankets, strong hands running up and down Sam's back and arms. "What were you doing?"

Sam shook his head, smelling the crispness of winter in his hair and on his skin, clutched at Dean even harder. "Nothing, I don't know."

"Fuck, Sam. You could've-" Dean broke off on a gasp, pressed his face into Sam's hair.

Sam turned his head, mouth brushing over Dean's. "I'm sorry. Dean, I'm sorry. I didn't-" He kissed Dean hard, teeth tugging at his bottom lip as he pulled away and pushed Dean onto his back and straddled his hips, blankets sliding off his shoulders and down his back.

Dean's hands grasped at Sam's thighs, slid over downy skin rough with goosebumps and still cold to the touch to palm the sharp edges of Sam's hip bones. He pulled Sam down against him even as he thrust upwards, let his hands slip around to Sam's back, fingers tripping up the knobs of his vertebrae. One hand threaded into the warm hair at Sam's nape while other curved around the back of Sam's neck to pull him back down into another kiss. "Don't leave me," Dean begged against his mouth. "Please don't leave me."

Sam reached a hand behind himself to grab the blankets he'd lost, the heat of the fire not quite keeping the chill of the room at bay, and tilted his pelvis back, the movement slotting his cock right against Dean's. "I'm not going anywhere, Dean, I promise."

Dean moved his left arm down to cross over Sam's lower back, holding their bodies as close as possible as Sam ground down against him. He kissed Sam slowly, kept whispering, "Don't leave, don't leave," when Sam broke away for breath or to attach his mouth to Dean's neck.

It wasn't long before Sam was coming hot and slick between them, Dean adding to the hot, slick mess a minute or two later. "I'll never leave you," he promised again, lips brushing softly against Dean's ear.

Dean held Sam even closer to himself heedless of the tackiness of their come making the skin of their stomachs stick. He buried his face in Sam's neck, determined to never forget a single moment of those past few months having Sam closer to him than he'd ever let anyone else. And it was all going to end.

Sam felt it when Dean's mind went back to that place that was beyond the two of them and the heat they'd built up beneath the covers. "Don't," he said. "Stay right here with me." He pressed his lips to Dean's and rolled them onto their sides, tangled their legs together.

Dean nodded but couldn't help but wonder which of them was going to go first – couldn't lose Sam and couldn't leave him behind. But it wasn't his decision to make – it was all left up to fate, now.