Dark Age
bloodwritesThe Impala shuddered to a stop as the darkness washed over them, swirling beyond the windows in a thick, violent shroud. Dean turned the key in the ignition, and nothing happened. Sam let out a burst of high pitched, manic laughter. "We're gonna die," he said, and he sounded almost happy about it. He reached across the bench seat, took two handfuls of Dean's shirt in his fists. "We're gonna die," he repeated, pulling Dean to his chest in a tight, desperate hug. "But we're going to die together."
Dean held Sam as tight as he could, until he could feel Sam's heart beating against his own. "It's the only way they're ever going to be able to kill us, Sammy." He pulled back, just enough to hold Sam's face in his hands, and he kissed him like it was the most normal thing in the world.
He didn't stop until their clothes were bunched in the footwell and they were covered in sweat and come, until both of their hearts had calmed to a slow, steady beat and they realised that the storm outside had gone quiet.
They ventured out of the car, into the heavy darkness. The air was greasy, thick and cool against their skin. Dean could barely see his hand in front of his face, and when he lifted his eyes to the sky, there was no sun, no moon, no stars.
There was no night, and no day, so they stopped along the road when they were tired. They built small fires, and found a little comfort and release in each others arms.
They took turns staying awake to watch, because those they met along the way were desperate and scared.
It took them a week to get back to Kansas, the journey made shorter after they found a couple of horses in a field along the road. There were no vehicles on the road. No electricity in the truckstops they passed. Just the endless, quiet darkness and only flame to light their way.
The bunker, like everything else, is silent and still. The thin hope they had that there would be power here, that the table would be lit up to give them some idea what they were dealing with, drifts away like the curling smoke around the car windows while they still lay naked in each others arms.
Sam stands in the library, a torch in his hand that's nothing more than an oily rag wrapped around a branch and set alight, and he turns in a slow circle to take it all in. "It's going to set the world back hundreds of years," he whispers. "It's a new dark age." He turns, and Dean can feel the warmth of the flame as it hovers near his face. "We did this."
"You did this," Dean says, and he lifts his right arm. "You're the one who got rid of the Mark. This is on you, Sammy."
Sam lifts his eyebrows, and his expression is questioning, as though he's wondering how he feels about it. "Yeah. I suppose it is." He turns away, eyes searching the darkness beyond the small circle of light. "There's gotta be candles here somewhere, right?"
Dean watches the candlelight glint off the keys in his hand. He's going to miss her, was sorry to leave her out there, but there was nothing either of them could do. She'll sit there now, perhaps forever. She'll be a memorial of days gone by, she'll rust and mark the place where the darkness poured out over the earth. He tosses the keys into a drawer, and pulls his cellphone out of his pocket.
That, he tosses at the garbage. The bin lies just beyond the narrow circle of light cast by the single candle on the nightstand, and he misses, the phone clattering against the wall.
Dean leaves it, then looks up at the sound of boots scuffing the floor in the hallway.
Sam stands in the doorway, a lit, white taper flickering in the jar he holds in his hand. "We should conserve our resources," he says, and then blows out the candle. "Mind if I sleep here?"
Dean's mouth quirks up at the corner. Then he says, "Sure," because the candle is behind him and it's doubtful that Sam can see his face.
Sam moves into the light, fingers already at the buttons of his shirt. "You ever stop to wonder what brought this on?" he says, as he shrugs it off his shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. Then he reaches out, drags his palm across Dean's beard, his thumb across Dean's lower lip. "What we're doing?"
Dean turns his head, mouths at Sam's thumb. "Hell of a thing, huh, Sammy?" He lifts his eyes, knowing they look big and dark and liquid in the lack of light. "Us, like this?" He takes the tip of Sam's thumb into his mouth, sucks off of it with a soft pop. "Hot, though. With all the wrong, you know?"
Sam puts his free hand on Dean's other cheek, holds his face in his hands. "Does it bother you?" he asks, and then kisses him, soft and slow. He bites gently at Dean's lower lip, then licks the entire lack of hurt away. "Does it bother you that what we're doing is 'wrong'?"
It doesn't. It really doesn't, and Dean has spent the odd few seconds wondering why, but that all disappears when he slides his hands up Sam's bare stomach. "Nope," he manages to get out, before he drops to sit on the edge of his bed, and pulls Sam to him by the hips. He tugs at the button and zip of Sam's jeans until they fall loose around his brothers hips, then opens up to let Sam push into his mouth.
"I think it's the darkness," Sam says, as he grabs Dean by the hair and guides his mouth up and down the length of his cock. "It can't be a coincidence. Like, it removes inhibitions, or it releases repressed desires or something."
Dean pulls off Sam's cock and licks his lips. "You wanted to fuck your big brother for a long time, then, Sammy?"
Sam lifts Dean's chin, and pushes back into his mouth. He moans as he hits the back of Dean's throat, causing Dean to choke, but then pulls back just enough to be comfortable. "Might have thought about it once or twice," he hisses between his teeth, then grabs Dean's head in his hands and starts a series of shallow thrusts. "Never let it take hold, though. It was wrong. Besides. I haven't fucked you yet."
Dean grabs Sam by the wrists, forces him to release his hold, and he turns his head away. Sam's cock slides, wet, over his cheek, and Sam shivers. "You gonna?" Dean asks.
"Yeah." Sam takes a step back, and he kicks off his jeans and underwear. "Get your clothes off, Dean."
Dean grins, and yanks his shirt off over his head, then scrambles back onto the bed as he wriggles out of his jeans. "Lube's in the top drawer," he says. "And that don't make any sense. Repressed desires? Inhibitions? I don't think it's that clever, you know? It's some old shit, like, older than God, man, older than the angels. Death said it was a 'destructive, amoral force'. Kill, crush, destroy kinda shit, you know?"
Sam freezes with his hand in Dean's top drawer. "Death said that?"
"Word for word."
Sam lifts his head, slowly closes the drawer, his quarry found, even in the almost dark. "He said that? Amoral? Not immoral?"
Dean's eyes are on Sam's hands as he squirts lube onto his fingers. He bites his lower lip, drags his teeth over it as he nods. "Amoral. Evil. Bad. Wrong like fucking your own brother, right?"
"Turn over. Not by definition, no. Amoral is simply the absence of morality. It's not good, and it's not evil." Sam's slick fingers slide down between Dean's ass cheeks, circle over his hole, apply a little pressure. "We're not going to go out and do evil things for the hell of it—at least I don't feel the need to do that. But we're not going to let some sense of right or wrong stop us from doing what does feel good, you know?" He slides one long finger deep into Dean's ass.
"Ahh, fuck." Dean moans and tosses his head. It's the most he's ever had up his ass before, and he feels stretched and full already. "Yeah, Sammy."
"That feel good?" Sam doesn't wait for his answer, simply slides another finger in alongside. "How's that?"
"You just wait," Dean groans, thinking about getting Sam underneath him and doing the same thing. "Gonna fuck you good, little brother. Gonna split you right open on my—argh"
His words cut off into mindless moans as Sam twists another finger inside him. He can't help but grind back onto Sam's hand, even though his rim burns and sparks of fire shoot from his spine all the way to his fingertips.
Sam leans over Dean's back, and whispers into his ear. "You'll wait your turn." Then he slides his fingers out well before Dean's had a chance to get used to the feeling, and he places the head of his cock at Dean's hole. "You ready for this? Say yes, Dean."
"Yes, Dean," Dean says, and then he growls as Sam pushes inside.
He's almost expecting Sam to thrust home in one go, but he doesn't. Once he pops the head inside, he slowly rocks, going deeper and deeper every time, until finally, his thighs hit Dean's ass, and then he bends over Dean's back, his stomach pressing against Dean's spine, and he pants for breath. "You ever think about this?" he asks. "You ever think I'd be inside you, one day?"
"If I did," Dean whines, "I buried it deep, Sammy. Now fucking fuck me, will you?"
fin