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Six Months	By : Anonymous_Name Category: Supernatural > Slash - Male/Male > Dean/Sam Views: 3164 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: In no way do I claim ownership of, or make any money from, Supernatural or the characters within. I merely enjoy making them dance for me. Dance puppets!

Chapter List
- 1-Six Months
- 2-Chapter 2
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- 2
Some days were harder than others. Given the number of slashes and bruises adorning the bodies of the ragtag duo entering the shabby motel lobby, today had been harder than not.
            The two barely made eye contact as they performed the familiar routine of paying their-or, Seth McConnel’s-money, receiving their key and settling in to number 13 of the Happy Pines Lodge. “N w With HB !” The sign proclaimed, but only one of the brothers looked up from the task at hand to even notice its optimistic lies. He restrained himself from making a smart comment. His younger, bitchfaced but beautiful, brother had been acting weird ever since they ganked that ricka-ricki-rikushi-whatever. Granted, the woman-looking thing had been talking some weird shit there toward the end, but it was just the usual big-bad bullshit, right?
            So stupid, Sam thought to himself, unaware of how his stormy interior monologue was doing the complete opposite of keeping Dean’s attention away.
            Why did I think I could keep this from him? Why did that fucking rakshasi have to know about it? Why can’t I do anything without it being fucking news?! He paused in his mental barrage. Monsters do love fucking with people’s minds after all; it never worked for them as a distraction mechanism, but hoo-boy could it throw the hunters for a loop once said beasty was nothing more than an impressive smoke effect.
            She got lucky, that was all…Riiiiiight. He didn’t even believe himself. Her words still rang in his head.

            “Perhapsss you could make me leave with all that favor you’ve been earning Ssssam.” Her strangely shaped tongue drew out the younger Winchester’s name, but he was merely drawing the rakshasi’s attention while his Dean snuck up from behind.
            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sam responded coldly, hoping his acting was better than he thought, or that his brother was focused elsewhere.
            The thing made a strange noise like a snake choking on rocks, and Sam realized she was laughing.
            “No need to be so coy, little one, I understand of course. Your brother is quite the catch-“ Before she could even get a good evil cackle in Dean had shoved a silver spear, specially sourced by Bobby, right through her chest.
            “Oh I know I am, baby.” She ghosted out and Sam received the full effect of Dean’s post-kill wolf’s grin. He was already too worried about what the rakshasi had said to return it full force, but it still made his heart skip a beat.

            Hopefully Dean would file her remarks under fresh baked batch of lies from another recently deceased monster and let the matter drop. He seemed to be in luck when Dean was the first to break the looming silence Sam had unconsciously begun.
            “Think its time I went and checked out the bar situation, Sammy. I know you’re not ‘gonna do any celebratin’ with me, and there’s got to be at least one lovely lady in this dump. I’d hate to deprive her of my company.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, but it seemed forced to Sam’s experienced eye. That was fine; if Dean needed to escape for a while Sam had business in attend to anyway.
            After he heard the signature rumble of the Impala carrying his brother safely away to the local dive bar, Sam leaped into action. There was no telling how much time he had, but he was banking on at least a few hours. He grabbed a small satchel out of his larger duffel bag and breezed out of tacky motel room.

            Once outside Sam made a beeline for the scraggly copse of trees staring forlornly from behind the motel. He could still make out the outline of the Happy Pines at the center of the narrow strip separating the lodging from the interstate, but it was as private as he was getting, given his time constraints. He knelt and emptied the small bag onto the ground, spilling a ceremonial athame, a few colored glass vials and a small brass bowl. In practiced motions he poured small measures from each of the vials into the bowl, then in a continuous motion snatched the knife from the ground and made a slice in the underside of his forearm, adding three fat drops of his blood to the mixture. No need to worry about the placement of the small slice this time, the both of them were so covered in slashes and abrasions from the hunt it would be perfectly camouflaged.
            As the ingredients of his little potion met in the bowl a tendril of putrid yellow smoke began to waft up to the hunter’s very unappreciative nose. His eyes began to water, but he made no move to wipe them. A grating string of syllables reverberated through the meager wood, repeated over and over, resolving into an eerie chant. Even Dean would not have recognized the Hellion tongue as his brother’s. The smoke thickened, threatening to overwhelm Sam’s abused vocal cords, and slowly began to reconcile into a figure. Silence fell like the blade of the guillotine when the incantation ended. When finally made solid the creature’s eyes were a bright swirling yellow.

            The bar may as well have been a thousand others, and he’d apparently been wrong when he gave this one-horse backwater the benefit of the doubt when it came to their female population. Nothing but rednecks in shirts that they’d cut the sleeves off of, and bellies protruding over their straining belt buckles. He’d only really gone out because he’d thought that Sam needed some space. He had been unusually quiet and Dean wanted to avoid having to “talk” about anything for as long as possible. Especially if that “talk” had anything to do with his deal and his six remaining months.
            Damn, this place a’int even worth hustlin.’ None of these hicks had any cash. They were probably all drinking on credit anyway because weren’t they all family in places like these? Thoroughly disappointed and unwilling to spend the rest of their money on drinks if they weren’t being used to separate a busty blonde from her very small clothes, he decided to call it a night. He’d just take a six-pack home and annoy the hell out of Sammy, just like old times. His mind supplied wistfully. Things had been stressful to say the least since he’d made his deal, but thoughts of Sam were beginning to lift his spirits. Thinking about his baby brother always had that effect, but recently he noticed that they’d also begun to have other effects. Dirty, wrong, wonderful effects. He’d tried to chalk these moments up to being in close quarters for such extended periods of time. He was no longer sure it was working, but Hell, he only had six months left to live anyway.
            Having finally made it back to their fleabag abode Dean was struck at once by the conspicuous absence of a Sasquatch in their room. The oh-god-dad’s-gonna’-kill-me panic set in instantly, but Dean forced himself to calm down and think like the full-grown hunter he was. Maybe Sam just went to grab some food, but there was Sam’s wallet sitting on the table. Where could he go without his wallet? It wasn’t like the younger Winchester to split without leaving some indication as to where he’d gone.
            Except for when he runs off on you to have his apple pie college life. A snide voice supplied, unhelpfully. Now the panic was back, but there was a different edge to it. If Sam was gone, well, needless to say he wouldn’t have to worry about what to do when his contract was up. Sam was Dean’s only life vest in this river of shit; together they could both barely tread water. Without his little brother he would spiral downward, quickly, and in every sense of the word. He grabbed the keys off the table and was bounding out into the parking lot before he had another second to contemplate that dark train of thought.
            Before Dean could jump inside the Impala to begin scouring this shitty excuse for a town for his brother he was forced to pause. He could have sworn he heard some movement from beyond the thinning tree line behind the building. He held completely still, not even breathing, listening with every fiber of his being. There! He took off at a dead sprint; pulling the pistol shoved into the back of his jeans, and hoped to God he wasn’t about to interrupt some sixteen-year-old losing his virginity.
            It was much, much worse.

            Dean’s immediate relief upon seeing his brother’s body alive was trampled by the horror of what was being done to it. There was his scruffy, beautiful giant of a baby brother, bent at the waist, with his arms chained around a tree, while a man rammed into him at a punishing pace.
            The man behind Sam raised his face to acknowledge Dean’s presence, and things went from bad to apocalyptic-level wrong. For the first time in recent memory the eldest hunter found himself at a loss for words, or any kind of intelligent response. Having noticed Dean’s plight Azazel just smiled at him, for all the world as if he didn’t have his dick up Sam’s ass. The yellow-eyed fuck never faltered and never stopped smiling as he slowly bent down to whisper intimately into Sam’s ear, a mockery of lovers whispering sweet nothings.
            “I think I’ve been taking it too easy on you, my pet. It is a human life you’re bargaining for, after all. I would hate for you to go and get spoiled.” Sam couldn’t suppress the shudder when Azazel’s tongue licked the edge of his ear.
            Yeah, definitely taking it way too easy on me. What did you use for lube again? Oh right, my own blood. He kept his sarcastic thoughts to himself because, for all they were true, the demon was right. Considering the activities in their past appointments over the last month, he was getting off easy. No pun intended.
            Well this can’t be good. Sam thought to himself as he felt rather than heard the Hellspawn’s breathless chuckle from behind.
            “My crowning achievement. I will succeed where even the angels have failed.” The victimized hunter fought another bout of nausea as Azazel ran a hand possessively up his spine. “Look up, little Winchester. I’ve brought you a surprise.”
            Confused by the demon’s words, Sam craned his neck to the side to peer around the tree. Just as he felt his demon rapist tense and then the sudden sticky warmth of his meat-suit’s release he found himself locked in eye contact with his baffled and outraged big brother.
            Having wrought all the havoc he could for the moment Azazel simply vanished, as quickly as he could extract his vital anatomy from Sam’s ass. He also took the chains with him, either for re-use or just for posterity, Sam would bank on the former. As soon as his hands were released Sam bent and pulled his jeans back up, but he made no other movements and couldn’t bring himself to raise his eyes from the muddy ground. Silence loomed between the two brothers once more, more insurmountable than Everest, but Sam decided to take a stab at it. He couldn’t stand the silence.
            What would Dean say?
            “Uhh, so…you wanna’ grab some food?” Judging by Dean’s face, he wasn’t hungry.
            “Maybe we should get back to the room, eh, Sammy?” He tried for normal and missed it by a long shot, but the use of his nickname, even if it was forced, made Sam feel a little better.

            Back in Room 13 the staring and silence still reigned supreme. Both brothers found themselves in a complete state of shock. Neither one knew how to tackle this giant rabid elephant in the room. Figuring it was time to step up and be the big brother he had so obviously failed at being, somewhere along the way, Dean spoke. His voice was as loud as gunfire in the deathly quiet.
            “Ok, I’ll just ask then. What the fuck is going on, Sam?!”
            “I’m keeping you out of Hell, Dean.” As if the sentence sapped all the strength from him, Sam sat heavily on his bed. He bent and tried to untie his boots without letting Dean see how badly his hands were shaking.
            Now Dean felt as if he’d been deflated. He followed Sam’s lead and sat on his own bed, facing his roughed-up baby brother, but not because he was afraid his knees would give out. Not at all.
            How did you get yourself into this, Sammy? Or the even more pressing question, how can I get you out of it? Dean rubbed at the beginnings of a migraine.
            “What are you talking about? You can’t break a demon contract, remember? We tried.”
            “We tried, once. I just kinda’, kept at it.”
            All at once the rage overtook Dean. He was furious at himself for not taking better care of Sammy, at Sam for refusing to let him go peacefully, and at the whole damn world for being so helpless that its only hope was two stupid brothers who were just as lost as everyone else. When he finally spoke his words were gravelly with suppressed rage.
            “So this is the best deal you could get? I get to go on my merry way as long as you…play sex slave for fucking Azazel?! He killed our mother, Sam!”
            “Do you think I forgot? Do you think I’d be doing this if I thought there was any other choice?!”
            “Oh, there’s another choice.”
            “Don’t-“
            “You know what I’m going to say.”
            “I’M NOT JUST GOING TO LET YOU DIE! I won’t, Dean! I never even knew mom, then I watched Dad get dragged down under, and what? I’m just supposed to let them take you too?” He shook his head, as if making up his mind all over again, “No. You’re all I’ve got, and they’re not getting you.”
            A long silence while Dean marshaled his will. “Sam this has to stop. We can’t just keep dying for one another. All we do is keep running in the same circle trying to keep one another alive. At some point one of us has to kick the bucket for real, and it’s going to be me.
            “That’s just it, Dean. I do this and neither of us has to die. Its fine, its already been a month and-“
            “A month?! You’ve been doing this for a fucking month?!” And I didn’t even notice?
            Sam squirmed a bit. “That’s when I first got in touch with Azazel.”
            “You know I can’t let you keep doing this.”
            “Like I said. There’s no other choice.” Before Dean could argue Sam held up a hand. “No other choice that I’m willing to live with.” Dean was struck dumb at the words.
            “I’m going to take a shower.” Sam announced, and without further preamble fled to the bathroom and closed the door.

            Head still spinning from their conversation and at a loss as to what to do now Dean went with his fallback plan. Time to open their new bottle of Jack. Not bothering with a glass he twisted the top of and took a healthy swig directly from the bottle. The burn sliding down his throat was a welcome distraction, and the buzzing of potential violence began to calm in his veins.
            Whenever he didn’t know the next move to take on a case it would usually mean it was time to call Bobby, but the eldest Winchester couldn’t really imagine that conversation going well.
            “Hey, Bobby. So I found Sam in the woods today getting fucked by the demon that killed our mom. He says its gonna’ get me out of my deal. Thoughts?” Yeah, that’d be productive. Without another source of input Dean was left with only his own black thoughts, spiraling out of control. Their brief yelling match hadn’t really given Dean much information to go on, and his supremely ill-natured imagination was filling in all the blanks. He was treated to more images of his brother being brutally fucked along with the high-definition memories from this afternoon, but there was also torture. Looking back now he could remember seeing injuries and scars on Sam whose origin he couldn’t place. He could imagine his only flesh and blood shackled to the rack like in all those images from Dante’s Inferno, being endlessly tormented, playing the martyr for Dean’s life. His own personal Jesus Christ, dying by inches to preserve his freedom. The images in his mind, in all their gruesome Technicolor glory, were destroying him. Maybe that was how this worked. The demons would let Dean live, but he had to live with the terrible explicit knowledge of what it cost. It would cost him his soul one way or another.

            When Sam finally exited the bathroom amidst a cloud of steam and missing his first two layers of skin he found his brother sitting at the motel table. Dean was awake and staring straight ahead. His face was frozen and blank. Sam had never seen him look like that, and not even bothering to get dressed first he hurriedly crossed the room and shook Dean. His nearly catatonic brother reacted intensely. In one smooth deadly motion he grabbed Sam’s arm and twisted so that they were back-to-front with Sam’s arm at an extremely awkward and painful angle behind him. He forced himself to keep his voice calm though his shoulder was screaming at him that it couldn’t hold on much longer.
            “Dean, its Sam, are you ok?” His reaction to Sam’s words was just as immediate. Coming-to in a moment, he dropped Sam’s arm and backpedaled until the chair banging into the back of his knees forced him back into sitting position. He shook himself and looked bewilderedly up at Sam.
            “Uh, sorry Sammy. Got a little-caught up there.”
            “Don’t worry about it. You good?”
            “Yeah.” He took another long swig from Mr. Daniels. “You wanna’ put some pants on or something?” He asked, more forcefully than he intended. Sam shot him a strange face, but Dean needed his attention elsewhere for a minute so he could catch his breath. Ordinarily, he would never insist that Sam wear anything at all.
            One problem at a time, man. His upstairs brain reminded him. There wouldn’t be much fantasizing about Sam if this crazy deal went south, all the way south, and his little brother got dragged down with it.
            Now clothed, Sam rejoined Dean at the table and grabbed the bottle himself. He poured his liberal helping into a glass. Always the neat freak, his Sammy. Before setting it down on the table, however, he drained the glass and refilled it.
            “So what’s the catch?” Bitchface number 9 crossed Sam’s face, and the normalcy of it was striking.
            “I’m not an idiot, Dean. I know how to make a deal with a demon.”
            “Yeah, definitely not an idiot.” Dean quipped. To which Sam just glared. “So what is the deal exactly?”
            “As long as I serve Azazel until your contract is up he wont have you dragged to the Pit.”
            “Serve? Like today?”
            “Among other things. Serve means pretty much whatever he wants it to mean.”
            “What about killing people?” Dean’s voice was dark. Already having contemplated what it might come down to if Sam were to become a Hellion hitman.
            “No. That wasn’t part of the deal. Besides, he has his thugs to do that for him. He just wants me-I don’t know-hurt? Humiliated? He just wants a soul to torture. At least this way there’s a time limit.” For a second Dean could see the remembered pain and indignities in Sam’s eyes. Chained to an especially sadistic demon, for a month now, God, how had he not noticed?
            “How often do you have to meet that murdering fuck, exactly?”
            “Once a month he sends a message…in my dreams.” Sam looked at the floor, sheepishly. He knew how dangerous Dean thought his psychic proclivities were, and now that they were being used for this? Well, the psychic community would not be receiving any fruit baskets from his brother. Rather than the rash response Sam expected, Dean just sighed.
“You have to stop this, Sammy.” The pain in his voice was almost enough to make Sam consider it.
“I’ve told you already, I can’t”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Take your pick.” They held one-another’s gaze, neither conceding an inch.
“This is worse, Sam. Watching you do this, in some misguided attempt to keep me outta’ Hell, will be worse than actually going.”
“There’s no way you could know that. Its Hell, and Hell for eternity, not just six months.”
“So, I’m just supposed to watch you walk out the door six more times, knowing full well your going to be tortured? And what, just sit around and wait to patch you up afterwards?”
“Azazel usually heals up any serious damage.” Dean looked up sharply.
“How many serious-you know what, never mind. I don’t even want to know.”
Both men took a long swig from their respective drinks, followed by an uncomfortable silence.
“Well, we’ve been in worse situations. We’ll find a way to weasel out of this one too.” Dean’s try at levity was quickly squashed by Sam’s subdued response.
“I don’t think there’s any weaseling out of this one.” Sam drained his glass, and Dean finally recognized how tired and beaten-down his brother looked.
“Well, we’ll see about that, but there’s no use doing anything until we’ve gotten some sleep. You look like hell.” Even Sam’s glare was halfhearted.

Despite the sleep being Dean’s idea, he was the one it eluded. In part he was afraid of what images his traumatized subconscious would put into his dreams. More to the point, when it came to Sam half naked and bent over a tree, he was afraid he would like them.
You really are sick, you know. Your brother is literally torturing himself to save your sorry soul and you’re going to fanaticize about being the one doing the raping?! True he’d wanted his brother before this afternoon, but now he had the memories of exactly what it would look like floating around in his perverse mind. It was almost a blessing when Sam’s nightmares started. His baby brother screamed and thrashed and, after failing to wake him on the first try, Dean sat down with his bottle of Jack and forced himself to listen to every moment. It would be his penance.
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Six Months