"Whole cities are burning while we wait for those seals to break. There's gotta be a way to hurry it up."

"Like what? Break the seals ourselves?"

"If that's what it takes. Whatever it takes. Just so long as it gets this apocalypse brung already, and we can start putting the evil back in the box, rather than just sitting on our asses and watching the world fall apart around us 'til it gets here."

---

Cas holds two ends of a cut drinking straw in his closed fist. "'When brother shall lie with brother' is the final seal," he says. "Once it breaks, all of hell will break loose. Are you both sure?"

"About getting the apocalypse over with? Definitely," Dean says. "About what it's gonna take to get there?" He lets out a heavy breath.

Together, Sam and Dean draw.

Dean stares at the shorter straw held between his own fingers. "Fuck."

---

Dean comes out of the bathroom in his dead-guy robe, the fingers of his right hand wrinkled like prunes and feeling decidedly moist and open. As he enters the spare room they chose, it feels like a strange place, like a doctor's examination room, clinical and cold and devoid of anything human.

It would be better this way, they'd decided. Dean didn't want to think about what was going to happen between them every time he slept in his own bed, and he didn't want to think about it when he went into Sam's room, either.

The space had to be neutral. Something they could lock up and forget existed after it was over.

He pulls the sheets back on the bed. They smell like age and dust. He drops his robe and climbs in, pulls the blankets up around his chin, closes his eyes, and waits.

It's not long before the door clicks open, softly closes again. Dean knows the sound of his brother's footsteps, bare on the floor, couldn't have said that he could before, but he knows it's Sam, knows it's not Cas or anyone else.

"Dean."

Dean can feel Sam looming over the bed. He didn't need to announce himself, but he does. Dean keeps his eyes scrunched shut, gives Sam a nod so slight that it might be imperceptible, but Sam seems to understand, because the next thing Dean hears is the soft thud of clothing hitting the floor.

The bed dips on that side as Sam slides beneath the covers. His skin is warm, a little damp. Dean can't keep himself from arching away, even though he's already perched on the very edge of the narrow bed.

Sam breathes hard, warm air swirling through the hair on the back of Dean's head. Sam's arm moves beneath the covers, knuckles grazing the back of Dean's thigh. The bed swings as he tries to make himself hard and Dean hopes he can't and wishes he would just do it simultaneously because people are dying but he really really doesn't want to do this.

People are dying right now and they won't stop dying until it's over. "Just do it, Sam. Just shove it in, we gotta get this—"

Dean gasps, at first, as Sam thrusts his hips forward, his fist shoved between the cheeks of Dean's ass, already slick from his own preparations. His stomach rebels, as, from between Sam's fingers, he feels the spongey, not-quite-hard, head of Sam's cock. Bile burns his throat as that soft-but-firm flesh pushes against his hole, and his instinct is to move away, to leap from the precarious edge of the bed and run—

People are dying, right this moment.

Dean grits his teeth and bears down as his brother whimpers and breaches his already stretched hole with his only semi-erect cock.

It doesn't hurt. Sam's not hard enough for it to hurt. Sam's hand is still down there, holding himself inside Dean's body as his cock keeps trying to slip out, as Dean's body keeps trying to push him out.

Dean takes deep breaths, opens his eyes. There is dust on the baseboard near the floor on the other side of the room, and he stares at it.

"Dean, I—"

"Don't you dare say you can't," Dean says, still staring at the dusty baseboard. "We started this, we gotta end it, so you're gonna fuck me, and you're gonna like it, because none of this will stop unless you get a happy ending, okay?"

That's when Dean realizes that it was Sam who drew the short straw. He's the one with the difficult job. Dean's just got to lie here and take it, but Sam, he's gotta do the work, get to the end, somehow.

Dean's pretty sure he couldn't do it.

"Come on, Sammy." Dean sucks in a breath, forces his body to relax, pulls his upper leg forward to open himself up. "I spent an hour in the bathroom with my fingers up my ass for this. All that time to make sure I was ready for that big dick of yours, don't let it go to waste."

Dean doesn't know if that's going to help or hinder whatever is going on in Sam's mind right now, but it's all he can think of. And either that, or the shift in position, doesn't seem to hurt, because Sam slides in further. Still aided by his fingers, but a shiver runs through Dean's body as he starts to feel fuller.

"That's it, Sammy," Dean whispers, gasps, as Sam's hand slides away, and settles on his hip, hot and slippery. "Fill me up...I can feel it..." Sam thrusts forward, pulling Dean back onto his cock as it starts to harden inside him.

And he always thought his brother was a shower, but maybe he's a grower after all, because inside his body he can feel it, lengthening, thickening, as Sam shoves inside with short, quick thrusts. Deeper and deeper inside Dean's body until all he can do is moan as his entire body seems to catch on fire.

"Dean, Dean," Sam moans, as his thrusts quicken, lengthen. Until the bed creaks beneath them and the dust on the baseboard on the other side of the room starts to swirl in the active air.

"Jesus," Dean groans, one arm hanging off the bed, gripping the side of the mattress so he doesn't get thrown off completely by the force of Sam's thrusts. "Fuck, Sam, Sammy."

He shouldn't be hard, but he is, rubbing off against the edge of the mattress, hard piping running the perimeter like it's there for just that purpose. He wants to touch himself, get himself off, but he needs that hand to stop himself from falling. Brief fantasies flash in his mind, of stopping Sam to change positions, of rolling Sam onto his back and riding his long, hard cock, running his hands over the hard muscles he can feel pressed against his back.

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean grunts, desperate for it to be over, so he can stop fighting to stay on the bed, stop thinking about how good it feels to be full of his brother. "You gotta come. You gotta come in me, Sam. Come inside me."

Dean groans with pleasure at the words that've just come out of his own mouth, and Sam echoes the sound. His hips jerk out of step, the rhythm breaking as his thrusts slow and his forehead falls onto Dean's shoulder. "Yeah," he says, harsh and low and drawn-out, as he stills.

Dean can feel it. Inside him, Sam's cock swells and throbs, pumping him full like a heart beating in his hand.

The room falls silent. The dust stops swirling, settles, on the floor. Sam's cock slithers, wet, followed by a rush of fluid, from Dean's body. The mattress creaks, bounces, as Sam removes himself.

Dean scrunches his eyes shut tight again.

"I'll just..." Sam says, then he leaves the room.

Dean waits for the sound of the door closing, then rolls onto his back, eyes still closed tight as though if he can't see the room, it can't see him, either.

He wraps his hand around his still-hard cock, and fists it furiously, chasing the orgasm he couldn't risk when his brother was still inside him.

He finds a violent, terrible release, and come pools on his belly, soaks through the sheets, sticks to him. He'd like to hide, sleep, forget or dream or sear it all—every moment—into his memory.

But he can't. He's got to get up, get a shower, and go shove all the evil they've just released, once and for all, back into hell.

fin