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Dad says no. Dean agrees, and Sam thinks that's the end of it. He takes his moment alone with Dad for them to say their last words and tries to push out the bad memories and feelings. It's comforting to hear that Dad loves him and didn't want their lives to end up like this. Sam can let him go after this. He doesn't want to, but he can.
While Dean spends some time alone with Dad, Sam sets up a useless salt perimeter. He breaks a few branches into tiny little pieces and generally tries not to think about anything. He respects their privacy and lets them have their last moment alone even though he's sure Dean was listening in the entire time he was talking to Dad, ready to interrupt if they started killing each other.
When Dean joins him a moment later, Sam doesn't know what to say. Whatever Dean heard from Dad, it's nothing like what Sam heard.
All of Sam's anger at Dad flares up again. Of course Dad wants Dean to keep being the good soldier. He's probably told Dean that he'd better not follow him to Hell 'til he gets the thing that killed Mom and lumped a hell of a lot more responsibility onto Dean's shoulders. More than he deserves. Doesn't he trust Dean to survive? Doesn't Dad trust either of them?
Before Sam and Dean had each taken their moment with Dad, there'd been a plan in place. One Sam hadn't exactly agreed with (mostly because Dad had suggested it), one Dean sure as hell didn't agree with, but a plan they were going to follow through on nonetheless. They'd say their goodbyes to Dad, make the trek down the mountain, back to the Impala, then come back up in the morning with everything they'd need to give what was left of Dad a proper hunter's send-off.
Sam's throat locks up and he angrily blinks tears out of his eyes. He isn't going to fucking cry about this. This is all Dad's fault. If he hadn't insisted they take this hunt. If he'd let Sam actually attend his graduation ceremony, they wouldn't be here. It's Dad's fault they have to leave him to die. That he's choosing death over them, following through on the plan he's had since the night Mom died. He made that decision all the fuck by himself, so he can damn well die here all by himself.
Sam had been absolutely one hundred percent willing to let his last words to his father be, "We'll be okay," and to set him on a funeral pyre in the morning. It's a shitty situation, but that's what his whole life has been, so why shouldn't that be the case now? But it takes only one glance at Dean to tear down Sam's carefully built up excuses. No matter how pissed off he is that Dad has made Dean look like the carcass of himself, he can't let Dad die. Sam's so determined right now that he thinks sheer willpower should be enough to stop this all from happening, and let there be life in Dean.
But as much as he wills it, Sam can't go back in time. He doesn't have a spell and he's not even fucking Superman. There's one thing he can do and it's basically the last thing in the world he wants to do, the last thing he's ever thought about doing. Not something he thinks Dad will ever forgive him for. Not something Dean is ever going to love him for.
Differences and all, Sam loves his father as much as his father loves him, even if it takes the certainty of death to get them to admit it to one another. Sam loves him enough to do the unthinkable. Loves him so much he can't actually let him die tonight, even if that's what Dad wants. Sam's too selfish to let it happen. Because Dean isn't going to survive without Dad, and Sam can't survive without Dean.
Sam needs to do this otherwise the secret he's been carrying for years, the envelope he's been carry for weeks, are all going to amount to nothing. If nothing else, tonight has driven into Sam's skull that he's leaving this life for good. He's never coming back to this. Never going to let himself be put in this situation again. He's getting out after tonight and no one and nothing, not his father's stubbornness, nor his brother's obedience, is going to get in the way tonight.
Dean can't know what Sam is going to do. Sam's not concerned about how Dad feels about all of this, but he knows that he won't want Dean to know either. So Sam pretends to go along with the plan. All the way down the mountain he plans. He knows he's going to be cutting it close. All the previous victims died before dawn and Sam's plan relies upon walking back up and down this fucking mountain before Dean wakes up in the morning.
They get back to the Impala at about nine, and it doesn't take Sam any coaxing before Dean starts straight into a bottle of whisky. He passes it silently to Sam every so often, but doesn't notice that Sam never takes more than a sip. Sam opens the second bottle and before long, Dean is slumping over on him, dead to the world.
Sam leaves his brother stretched out on the Impala's back seat, turned so he won't choke on his own vomit. Sam makes sure he's breathing steadily, grabs supplies from the Impala's glove box, then starts back up the mountain.
As Sam climbs the mountain he allows the strain and the adrenaline to get his ire up. He's pissed that he has to do this. That Dad has forced him into this by bringing all of them to this point. To the point where Dean's drowning his guilt because he was the one who picked this hunt because he thought it was funny. None of them were laughing now. But it isn't Dean's fault. Dad's the one who taught him to hunt. Sam's going to be the reason why Dean doesn't have to drink himself to sleep again tomorrow night. He lets a little pride buoy him. He gets to be the one to do this for Dean, even if Dean will never know. He's saving his brother.
Sam stops just inside the useless salt circle he set up, just out of sight of the tree he knows Dad is cuffed to. Sam turns his back on the spot and unbuckles his belt. As he warms the lubricant in his hands it hits him that he's really going to go through with this. He's actually going to have sex with his father. He's actually going to let the old man stick his dick up his ass. It's wrong on so many levels.
Sam has never stuck so much as a finger up there in exploration when alone out of curiosity. He's never been with the kind of girl who would do that sort of thing with him and goddamnit, he's straight! He's never come close to it at all.
Thank god he's not entirely a virgin, though. He doesn't want to think about what could have happened if he was. If he'd have the courage to go through with this. Sam remembers his first time. It wasn't great and he knows that this is going to be so much worse. He knows that half the reason why his cherry popping sucked was because he'd over thought the whole thing, working himself up into a state, so that he first couldn't get it up, then shot off early and in his mortification, completely forgot about her. At least there's no chance of that happening this time.
Sam pulls down his pants and boxers and he braces himself for what he's about to do, not used to seeking out his asshole with anything more than a wad of toilet paper. His lubed finger catches the edge of his hole. Sam pauses for a second. He has to do this. For Dean.
Sam presses his finger in and it's the strangest sensation he's ever felt. His walls automatically clench to try to push out the intrusion and he can feel it everywhere. But Sam is stubborn and determined.
Nothing is going to get him relaxed tonight, so Sam just keeps pushing in, wiggling his finger around a bit before inserting a second finger before he can ask himself why he's doing this.
It's when Sam inserts a third finger that he starts to feel the burn. He doesn't know much about gay sex, but he knows that proper preparation is important. After all, an ass isn't meant to take a cock. It's for pushing things out, not pulling them in.
Sam starts to wonder if three fingers is going to be enough. He knows his own dick is kind of on the large size and if that's something he inherited from his father, he's definitely going to need that fourth finger. Sam shakes his head. He can't believe he's thinking about genetics at a time like this.
Sam draws the line at inserting a thumb. He's not going to fucking fist himself in preparation for his father's cock.
But once four fingers are up his ass, Sam can't put it off any longer. He holds his pants up so that he can walk, and shows himself to his father.
Sam tries not to look at Dad's face. Doesn't want to see what he's thinking. But a mistaken glance lets Sam see the fear in Dad's eyes, even as his hips struggle toward Sam. Dad had handcuffed himself hugging the tree once he realised Dean was thinking seriously about helping him out the way the curse intended.
"No, Sam," Dad says, eyes wide, shaking his head. "No."
Sam rolls his eyes. "Do you think I want to do this, Dad? Well newsflash, I don't get my rocks off thinking about fucking my father."
"I won't," says Dad. "Not you Sammy, please."
"I'm sorry, Dad, but you haven't given me a choice."
"What the hell does that mean? I goddamn ordered you to walk away. You weren't supposed to come back."
"Surprise, surprise, I'm the rebellious one." Sam starts working on unlocking the cuffs while Dad starts in on the threats.
"If you don't stop right now, I'll--" Dad falters, unable to think of a worse punishment than the one Sam's about to actively participate in. "I'm not going to forgive you, Sam. I can't do this to you."
"I'm not giving you a choice. It's not like you ever gave me one."
The cuffs unlock and for the first time in Sam's life, his father means it when he punches Sam right on the temple. It stuns Sam a little, but Dad doesn't get more than a step away before Sam grabs him. Sam's used to his father's fighting style, after years of sparring sessions with him, and his latest growth spurt gives him a reach advantage. While Dad kicks and punches, his groin strains toward Sam, thwarting his every move to leave Sam behind. The fight is over faster than it should, as Sam pins his dad to the ground, keeping his thighs immobile by kneeling on him. Dad's not completely still, though, his hips are still attempting to thrust up to meet Sam's.
"What do you mean I didn't give you a choice?" Dad asks once he's caught his breath. He knows he's down for the moment, but not out if he can distract Sam.
"You made me like this," Sam accuses. "Me and Dean. Can't stop ourselves from helping someone else no matter how much it hurts them. And if it hurts us? Well, that's all just part of the job, isn't it?" He sneers as he cuffs Dad's hands back together.
"I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm so, so sorry." Dad's actually crying now and Sam almost stops right there. This isn't what Dad wants.
But everything has always been about what Dad wants. This is going to end now, whether Dad wants it or not.
"If you're really sorry," says Sam. "You're going to shut up and take it."
"Okay," Dad says quietly, and nods, not looking at Sam. "We'll do this your way."
For a split second, the power goes to Sam's head. His father is finally doing what Sam wants him to do. He's submitting to him. All Sam wants to do is rub it in.
But Dad hasn't managed to stop the tears leaking from his eyes and and Sam can't stand to see him like that. So he looks away and doesn't say anything as he pulls his pants and underwear down just far enough for this to work. The air is cold over his bare cheeks, and Sam can only hope they grow numb.
"This is going to hurt me more than it's going to hurt you," Sam says, getting up off his father.
"I doubt that, Sammy. I really do." Dad turns over and sits up.
"Lube yourself," Sam commands, tossing his father a condom and the lube. There's no way he's actually going to put his hands on Dad's dick. No way. And this is going to be hard enough without wondering if his dad is carrying around an STD he can pass on to Sam that he caught from who knows whom.
Sam can see that Dad wants to refuse, but he awkwardly manages to tear open the condom. Sam doesn't watch him roll it on and assumes that the job is done when he hears the cap of the lube. Dad hisses and Sam knows he's feeling over-sensitised from the curse. It's literally killing him to be that hard, but he won't get release until he's buried inside a warm, human body.
"I can blindfold you," Sam offers, "so you can pretend it's not me."
"No," says Dad, shaking his head. "If you have to go through this, so do I."
"Then let's get this over with," says Sam, praying that it will be quick and painless for both of them so that Sam can go away and pretend this never happened.
Sam draws in one long breath before he moves over his father's lap and starts to sink down onto his cock, making sure to avoid eye contact. It goes faster than Sam expected because Dad can no longer hold back and he thrusts into Sam.
It hurts, but the way he's been raised, it's not the worst pain Sam's ever felt. Not even close.
Dad moans and it's more sheer relief than anything else. "Sammy," he gasps out brokenly. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry isn't good enough, Dad. You have to fuck me." And all the while, Dad is. He pushes in quickly and stiffly, motions practised, though unaccustomed to Sam. In, out, in, out... Sam tries not to count each individual motion but it's all he feels.
After a few moments-- but maybe it's only been seconds-- Sam starts thinking that this isn't going to work. Dad is showing no signs of being near relief and he wonders if all their research is wrong. Sam starts considering other options, trying to take his mind off what's currently happening. He's not giving up yet.
Maybe Dad's blocked up. Like he's been holding onto it so long it's going to take a while before he orgasms. He just needs to unclench. Sam's always thought Dad had a stick up his ass, and now all he can focus on is the dick up his ass and he can't think about any way to get his father to relax.
Dad's definitely bigger than Sam had thought he would be. He doesn't know if that's natural and just what someone always feels when filled with Winchester dick, or if it's because of the curse. Sam feels his insides tearing and all he can do is hope it's not permanent.
"Sammy," Dad says, managing to slow his hips. "This isn't working."
"No!" Sam sinks down violently, and squeezes his muscles as tightly as he can. "You can't say that!" He gasps as he forces himself up and down, fucking himself on his dad's hard cock. "God, it's not going to work if you don't think it will."
"This isn't a goddamn fairytale! There is no moral to this story."
Sam begins laughing hysterically. "This is so far from a fairytale it's not even a nightmare."
"Sam." Dad reaches up in an attempt to comfort him. Sam pulls his arm away quickly and almost topples backward in his haste.
"Just give me a minute," says Sam. "Let me think." Dad might be wrong about there not being a moral. He feels like he's learning something. But he grasp it quite yet.
Dad tries his best to hold still, keeping his legs flat on the ground. Sam hears him trying to control his breathing. In and out.
No solutions are forthcoming, but Sam relaxes. Never mind that thing in his ass. A second later, and he continues despite Dad's protests. Sam's not quite fucking himself because no matter how much Dad says he doesn't want this to happen, he's not in control of his own body. Sam doesn't think about that. Instead he thinks about what will happen when this is all over. He'll leave, just the way he planned, and Dad isn't going to stop him.
It continues. That's all Sam can really say about the sex. If the situation weren't so twisted, it would actually be boring. Sam would probably have to start worrying about how he was going to fake an orgasm, which isn't the easiest thing for a guy to do. That's right up until Dad shifts slightly, probably getting away from a rock digging into his spine, and the change in angle makes Sam feel something other than discomfort since they've started.
Sam readjusts and sits down on Dad, hard. "No," Sam says. No, he's not going to get off while his dad fucks him to save his life. It's not right. It's not fair and it's not going to happen.
"Nothing's changing," says Dad, and Sam can hear the desperation in his voice. The tinge that the curse put there that colours everything with sex. There's fear in his voice, too, hiding just beneath the layer of concern he has for Sam. It's like being on a see-saw. One second Dad's trying to get away, the next he's trying to figure out how to get the job done. Sam doesn't know which attitude he prefers. Sam doesn't know whether to love him or hate him.
"No," says Sam, shaking his head and resuming their original pattern.
"You don't have to do this," says Dad, as his hips contradict him again. "I've made my peace. I can go knowing you boys are going to be okay. You'll have each other."
"No," says Sam. "You can't die. Because if you go, I'll never get to leave."
"Oh, Sam."
Sam can't take his dad's pity, not when it's Dad who caused all this in the first place. As much as he doesn't want to, on the next slide Sam repositions himself and his father's dick hits his prostrate dead on. It takes a couple more strikes before his natural aversion succumbs to the physical sensation of pleasure and he begins to harden. God he hopes his father isn't seeing this, that he doesn't notice.
Sam had thought they were in sync before, but now that his body is enjoying it, the slide is easier and the sex progresses at a much faster rate. His thighs are going to hate him in the morning.
Then finally, finally, Sam feels Dad orgasm beneath him, within him. He feels warm spurts of come get caught inside the condom. Feels it going on far longer than anyone human can sustain. Far longer than anyone should expect. There's a final gush and Sam's certain the condom just broke. He really hopes his father doesn't have any undisclosed STDs. Sam doesn't want to think about where Dad would have gotten them.
Dad stops coming, but as Sam moves to get off him, it's clear that he's still hard. They haven't beaten the curse yet. But it's taken the edge off and Sam sinks to his knees to regroup. He doesn't look, but he knows the condom is broken because he can feel his dad's come trickle out of his ass. Sam had thought he'd known what to expect from anal sex, but this sensation is the strangest.
"It's okay," Dad says again. "Go back to your brother. You did everything you could."
"I'm not fucking finished until you are." Sam rips the condom from his Dad's dick and tosses it away. He applies a clinical layer of lubricant to Dad's dick without really looking, before getting up and impaling himself again, gritting his teeth at the renewed pain. "Now fuck me."
Dad fucks him harder now, like he knows Sam can take it. It hurts more than the first time but Dad's still hitting his prostate dead on every time, so there's pleasure with the pain. But no matter what his body's doing, Dad's still against this whole plan. The first orgasm drained him of his control and all he can do is whisper. "Please," Dad begs. "Don't keep doing this to yourself."
But when has Dad ever told Sam to give up in the middle of a hunt? As screwed up as it is, this is still a hunt. Sure, they've taken care of it and no one will ever be cursed again, but right now Dad's a victim and Sam isn't, so he's going to be the one giving the orders. Again, Sam feels a rush of power. Dad's pleading below him and Sam's entirely in control of his pleasure and his release. The rush hardens Sam's dick further and without really thinking about it, Sam reaches down and starts stroking himself in time with the pistoning in his ass.
Dad's chanting, "No, no, no..." but Sam's not paying any attention to him.
Sam comes then, and as he rides the lingering sensation, he continues riding his father as once again Dad comes like a geyser, pouring out an unnatural amount of sperm as though trying to force Sam to get pregnant. The thought suddenly seems logical to Sam and he pulls off his father, scrambling away. He can't be pregnant with his father's baby.
Dad is still hard as he sits up and puts his hand on Sam's knee in an attempt at comfort that starts to turn into more of a caress. Sam skitters backward, and his back hits the tree trunk. Away from his father for a second, Sam's head begins to clear and he thinks this might have something to do with the curse. Blood pulses through the veins in his temples and the fact that he got off on his father makes him retch. Nothing comes up, and Sam doesn't feel any better for it.
"Sammy," Dad says.
But it's not Dad anymore, not really. Sam suddenly thinks this is a bad idea because worse than Dad dying is the the idea of Dad being someone else permanently. What if they can never stop this curse? What if Dad never fucks himself to death?
Sam starts to shiver uncontrollably. Dad pushes at him, gently lying him back on the ground.
"No," says Sam, struggling to get up. Though Sam matches his father in height, he's still too skinny from his last growth spurt. All the training in the world hasn't managed to give him bulk at the same time as height. Dad weighs Sam down, suffocating him.
"It's okay Sammy," says Dad. "I've got you."
A sharp rock digs into his neck and Sam thinks it's got to be right next to his jugular. If he turns his head just so and Dad pushes down, he could end this. But Sam doesn't. Because if Sam dies, Dad dies and Dean... he's going to go, too. Dean won't be able to go on without them. He'll do something stupid and reckless and then he'll be gone.
Dad thrusts into Sam's abused channel while he's distracted, and starts going for broke. Sam had thought the first two times hurt but this... Sam no longer remembers the worst pain he's ever felt. This is much worse. He can't control any of it. He kicks and struggles and maybe he's just tired but he doesn't think Dad's supposed to be this strong. He's not supposed to kill Sam to get it out of his system.
Sam's thrashing with all his might and his neck's probably bleeding and Dad never flinches when Sam hits the fleshy parts of his side. Sam's too dizzy and uncoordinated for a head-butt, and too soon he grows too tired to resist. Sam lies back on the uneven ground, shivering and praying for it to be over.
Sam contemplates killing himself again when miraculously Dad shudders and orgasms one last time and a fountain doesn't gush out. Sam can feel Dad soften inside him this time. He thinks it's finally over as Dad immediately pulls away from Sam and throws up on the dirt.
Sam is too relieved to move. The tears he can no longer hold in leak down his cheeks and he gasps in thankful breaths. It's done.
Dad is back and he's removed the cuffs. He carefully pulls Sam's underwear and pants back up the way he must have done a thousand times when Sam was a baby. Dad kicks dirt over his puddle of vomit, cleaning up as best as he can, then sits about a foot away from Sam, leaning his back against the tree. He doesn't say anything and Sam wishes he would. He wants the anger back. He wants to hate his father.
But right now Sam can only think about himself. He's sore and hurting and emotionally wrung out and he doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't have the strength to feel anything. He needs to feel something. He knows he has to, because if he doesn't, he's never going to be able to move past this. To forget it ever happened.
"I'm sorry, Sam," Dad says again, breaking the silence.
"You don't get to be sorry," Sam snaps and with that, he pulls himself upright, cringing and gasping as he realises the extent of the damage. Sam deliberately hasn't looked but he's sure he bled at some point. He can only hope it's stopped now.
Dad tries to help him, and Sam pushes him away as best he can, leaning heavily against the tree trunk. "Dean can never find out we did this," says Sam.
Dad's eyes open and he locks them on Sam's. Sam doesn't think it's only inherent contrariness when Dad protests, "Your brother needs to know. You need him."
Sam shuts his eyes and squeezes them tight. "I need him to be safe and happy. That's what I need from him."
"You're leaving." The words echo amongst the tree trunks. Dad isn't surprised, like he's always known it would come to this.
"Do you really expect me to stay now?"
"You did this on purpose."
"Gee Dad, what part of me climbing a mountain in the dark was by accident?"
"I thought maybe the curse..."
Sam should have blamed everything on the curse. The pain, the fear, the moments when he enjoyed himself. Dad would rather believe that than that Sam was in full control of himself. But the truth is, in the end, it's all sex.
"Dean could go with you."
"Dean would never come with me."
"I don't deserve your brother."
"No," says Sam. "You don't."
"I don't deserve you, either. Never deserved either of you."
Sam exhales, trying to get rid of the immediate rush of emotions. "This is what you get." He sits back down, his thighs no longer able to hold him up.
They don't speak any longer, falling asleep against the bark of the tree.
Sam wakes just before dawn, and shakes his father awake, too, handcuffing him back in his original position. Sam brushes over the area with a branch and deigns the scene of the crime sufficiently cleaned.
Sam makes his way down the mountain in a daze, hardly paying attention and coming out at the bottom a mile from the Impala. Dean's still asleep in the back seat, looking untroubled. Sam has just enough time to change his clothes before Dean wakes up.
Dean's face is grim as he recalls what happened the night before and he squints at Sam through his hangover.
"Are you okay?" Dean asks, always looking out for Sam before himself.
"Fine," says Sam, though he's anything but. He hands Dean a bottle of water.
Dean sits up and drinks from it slowly. He gets out of the car with a groan, but Dean's cramped muscles can't be anywhere near as bad as Sam's aches and pains. "Let's get this show on the road," he says.
As Sam climbs the mountain for the third time in twenty-four hours, he watches his brother. Dean is more nervous than depressed, stumbling more than he had on the way up yesterday. But Sam is worse. It takes way too much effort to lift his feet, and each pull of his muscles sets a fire in his legs that climbs all the way up into his ass to sizzle there.
Dean manages to notice Sam's lack of coordination and he asks Sam how much he had to drink last night. Sam goes with part of the truth and tells him that it's not the alcohol, it's that he didn't sleep much.
Dean pauses just as they reach Dad, at the edge of Sam's impotent salt circle. But Sam's ready for this to be over and he trudges on.
"You boys going to uncuff me or what?" Dad's voice rings through the trees and Sam watches hope brighten Dean's features. Sam musters a smile when Dean looks up at him. Then Dean is ahead of him and staring down at their still breathing father.
"How?" Dean asks, stopping just short of reaching distance.
"Guess it must've needed time to wear off."
Dean uncuffs Dad and they hug. For appearance's sake, Sam should too, but he can't. "I'm glad you're alive, Dad," he says instead.
"Me too, son." That feels like a slap to the face, but what else can Dad say? He's respecting Sam's wish by keeping Dean in the dark.
Dean steps on last night's condom and scrapes it off on a rock. Sam cringes and he reaches for his neck, hoping last night's wound doesn't show over his collar. "Guess this is the local lover's lane," Dean says, smile bright and unforced. "Let's get out of here. I could murder some breakfast."
Dean floats all the way down the mountain, not noticing Sam and Dad keeping their distance from each other. Dean demands they all take a vacation and lists all the best spots to visit: a combination of dives and diners because apparently Dean's idea of a vacation away from their never ending road trip of a life is to take a road trip.
When they get back to civilisation, Dad sends Dean out to hustle some money for their vacation and drags Sam to the nearest hospital to get checked out. It's the last thing Sam wants to do and everyone treats him like a rape victim when all he says is that his boyfriend got a little rough. Dad sits beside him the entire time. Sam thinks it's not about making him feel more comfortable, but about Dad piling as much guilt on himself as he can.
Sam gets a couple of soluble stitches for the tearing and is told that everything will heal. Pamphlets on domestic abuse are slipped to him amongst the factsheets for the pain killers and antivirals they've given him and Sam tosses it all before they get back to the motel.
That night, Sam packs his bag and is sure to say every last hurtful thing he can before he goes to California. There's betrayal in Dean's eyes. He doesn't understand why Sam is doing this now. Why he doesn't want to take their road trip as a last hurrah. Why he's leaving them at all. Sam hopes the betrayal will turn to anger. If Dean can hate him, he'll be happier with Dad and not guilty about not going with Sam.
Sam knows that Dad doesn't mean the words he's saying about never coming back. But he also knows that the anger is real. Dad hates him as much as himself in that moment.
Sam doesn't hope he'll never see his father and his brother again, but at the same time, he does.