Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Sam’s song is actually a song with a tune that I wrote. I’ll see if I can attach an audio file at some point, because the lyrics do not read smoothly as a poem, but they sing dammmmn smooth.

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"I'll be back in a week," John said gruffly, throwing some clothes and supplies unceremoniously into a black duffel. "Heading out to Flagstaff to hunt down a few leads. You make sure Sam gets to school, alright? Some food in the fridge. Or you can order."

Dean stood in the frame of the open door leading into the living room with a newly-opened bottle of beer in his hand.

He hesitated for a moment.

"What are you after? You sure you don't need an extra set of hands?"

John grunted, digging around in a drawer for a minute before pulling out some crumpled-up newspaper clippings from the very bottom and shoving them into his pocket.

"Bobby's in the area. He'll be meeting up with me. We’re finishing off a vamp nest a few miles out from Boulder before I head to Flagstaff. A couple of young half-cocked hunters got themselves in over their heads. Lucky for them, Bobby was hunkered down right across the border in Santa Fe collecting supplies."

Dean shrugged.

"Sure, of course," he said, shifting his weight a little nervously, "-but, you know, if you can stick around for a few more hours, Sammy’s getting that award today at 2:30. The one for his English class. It's a poetry thing, or something about writing. You remember I was thinking it would be nice if we showed up and surprised him? He's kinda been…all over the map lately, and I thought maybe you and me could…be there.”

John's posture stiffened marginally but noticeably as he continued to pack, and he finally offered up a small, noncommittal noise as a response that Dean knew from experience translated to ‘not gonna happen.’

"But, it's no big deal," Dean added hastily, wanting to avoid the awkward moment. "Now that I think about it, we'd probably just embarrass him. You know how the kid is."

John nodded, finally turning to face his oldest son.

"Right," he said with a strained smile. "I just want to get in as much driving as I can before dark. You tell him I say congratulations."

John paused for a moment, bending to grab a stray sock on the floor.

"And I'd like to see that focus of his put to good use. Maybe a little less time with a pen and a little more time in target practice. You tell him that, alright?"

"Yes, Sir," Dean lied, taking a swig from the bottle in his hand.

The last thing Sammy needed right now was another lecture, even though Dean happened to agree with their father on this particular point.

Sam had always been a pretty sensitive kid, but for nearly a month now he’d been taking the teen angst thing to a whole new level. 

Dean suspected that his little brother might have a girl in his life, or a girl that he wanted in his life, and it’d be a cold day in hell before he’d admit that to Dean or to Dad, but there was no mistaking that nervous, jumpy, moon-eyed look that Dean had been catching more and more often on Sam’s face.

He realized half-heartedly that he probably should have had the ‘how-to-handle-girls’ talk with Sammy years ago, but the prospect of it had always just seemed so…unpleasant. 

It wasn't that he didn't want his little brother to have something like that. The kid was seventeen years old for god's sake, but the thought of it actually happening still made Dean feel sick to his stomach, like coming down with a sudden, intense bout of food poisoning.

"You look like your brother when he's got his head stuck in the clouds," John interrupted suddenly, derailing Dean's spiraling train of thought, “-you with me?"

Dean snapped his gaze down from where he’d apparently been staring absently up at the ceiling, clearing his throat again with an awkward huff of an exhale.

"Uh, uh-huh,” he responded awkwardly, disarmed by the fact that for some stupid reason, his cheeks were tingling along the edges with a rush of heated blood, “I was just looking at-…I thought I might…put a fresh coat of paint up there while you're gone. You know, cover up some of that water damage…"

He trailed off, and John cast him an odd look.

"Dean, we're renting here," he pointed out with a sigh like Dean was always suggesting dumb things like that, “We likely won't even be here past next month. Why don't you take on a useful project like reorganizing all of the maps that Sam threw into the hall closet when he needed new school folders?"

He was pinning Dean with a scrutinizing squint, but after glancing down at his watch, he waved his hand dismissively.

"Either way, I'm hitting the road. You know how to reach me. Don't burn the place down. Alright?"

"Uh-huh,” Dean repeated, attempting a casual lean against the wall, “Copy that. I'll take care of things. Good luck on the hunt. Oh, and tell Bobby he still owes me $50 from that poker game in Burlington."

"Mm," John grunted, already turning to leave, “Will do. See you in a week, give or take."

…

Dean's shoulders relaxed from their tense hunch at the click of the closing back door, and he walked across the small room to sit uneasily on the edge of a wooden chair, wondering if he should go alone to Sam's event in a few hours.

It would mean a long walk without the car, and his piece of shit bike still had a blown tire, but…he could use the fresh air.

Someone should be there.

Sam hadn't even told them that he was getting the award. Dean didn't blame him. He had found the slip of paper wedged into one of Sam's notebooks a few days earlier and had felt an odd rush of pride that his little brother was being recognized for something so…normal.

Okay…he didn't necessarily see the point in any of it, but he knew how much this kind of thing mattered to Sam, so he was proud by extension, if that made any sense.

And, yeah. You know what? Yeah. He would go alone. Of course he would. This was Sammy.

And Dean was going to be there for him.

-----------------------------------------

Dean felt tangibly uncomfortable in the crowd of students, parents, and teachers who were gathered in the auditorium of Sam's high school, and he shoved his hands roughly into his pockets, second-guessing his decision to come at all.

He felt like everyone was side-glancing him and wondering what he was doing there, like they all somehow knew he was an uneducated delinquent who wouldn't know a good piece of writing if it bit him in the ass.

That wasn't entirely true, though, and he forced himself to relax a little and to stop being so fucking paranoid as the first student was called to the stage.

Her name was Emily something, and she recited what seemed like an awfully long poem about a fall leaf that Dean personally thought was contrived and cliché.

See? Not entirely clueless.

Next up was a panicked-looking boy who choked out a poem about the death of his grandmother.

Dean listened and nodded and made little sounds of approval like everyone else.

It was…fine.

Nothing to write home about.

When the lady called Sam's name, he straightened up in his chair, peering over the heads of the couple in front of him to watch his brother take his place at the microphone.

Sam looked so cool and confident up there staring down at the crowd with an utterly heart-stopping smile, and…god, when had he gotten that tall?

Sam must have just introduced himself and was now most of the way through telling a joke that Dean had missed the majority of because he had been busy marveling to himself that there was really nothing little about Sam anymore…

Chuckling appreciably with the rest of the crowd at whatever he hadn't heard Sam say, Dean's chest felt a little tight.

Sam looked…well, he looked more in his element than Dean could ever remember seeing him, and it was a heady, disorienting experience to witness it, almost like he was spying on some secret part of his brother that he wasn't supposed to see.

Sam started to speak again, and Dean pushed the thought from his mind, now more curious than ever to hear this award-worthy thing that Sam had created.

"This poem is called, 'Swimming With The Stars,'" Sam spoke, his voice projecting steadily out into the audience, “It's actually, well, it's a song, so…I don't have my guitar, but I'm going to sing it for you all if you can bear with me."

Another one of those dazzling smiles…

Wait, what guitar?

But Dean barely had time to register the thought before Sam began to sing.

"You grab a towel, and I'll turn out the light.

We're headed down the ramp now,

Disappearing in the night…

Into a darkness

Softened by the fog.

We make a pile of our clothes down on

The corner of the dock,

Holding hands as we stand ready

To embrace the coming shock,

And then in a moment,

We just fall into the sea.

The first breath is desperate.

The second one's a gasp.

The third one's coming easy, now,

And it's followed by a laugh.

And after echoes the moon.

And I am, for the moment, unconcerned with where we're going,

Where we've been.

I almost wish that we were orphans,

So the sea would take us in.

We could travel into darkness,

Me as yours and you as mine,

Going easily unnoticed…

To slip out, ever softly,

With the tide.

Together with the waves,

Can’t we finally speak the truth?

And may the world fade out around us, now.

Because all I want is you…

All of your edges,

Reaching out and reaching in.

But the moment flies unchecked again,

Ever-distant, ever-sought,

Leaving nothing but the dream to touch

And the skin that I cannot.

I want your center,

But I will settle for your shade.

Can’t you see in me a burning flame,

A fire that sparks with sin?

But you say, "Man, it's getting late. I think we'd better head on in."

And, yeah, I'm feeling kind of tired, and it's getting kind of cold,

But all I want to do is offer you 

My body and my soul.

You grab the towel, and I'll turn on the light.

There are things to say and to leave unsaid

In these shadows here, tonight.

But, like the tide, you're drifting quickly

From my shore.

I want you to fill my spaces

Like a God without regret…

To understand me from the inside,

Rip me open,

Make me sweat.

I want you to know me like you never have before.

The future's full of shadows, and the past is full of pain,

And I believe that you could love me

If you could just forget my name.

If we could only just be you and me,

And not ‘who’ or ‘what’ we are…

Exposing naked glimpses of ourselves

When we're swimming with the stars.

When we're swimming…

With the stars…

It took Dean several very long and very hazy seconds to float back to reality enough to realize that the song was over.

He wasn't the only one who had fallen into a kind of awed and otherworldly trance.

The entire auditorium, in fact, had slipped into a hush that was only broken when Sam took a step forward and curled his torso into a subtle bow that somehow came off as unfathomably-endearing instead of arrogant.

It could have been the lopsided grin he broke out in while straightening up that helped, but in any case, the room as a whole suddenly erupted into an onslaught of cheers and applause…and it was all for Sammy.

Little…not little…Sammy.

Sammy, whose voice was nothing less than angelic (had it always been?) and whose…who-

…

Dean very abruptly felt like someone had kicked him in the throat, hard, and he struggled to suck in a mouthful of air.

Sammy, who had just been singing about…well, who had been singing about-

Sneaking out to the abandoned dock down the road from their cabin after Dad was asleep…

Laughing and breathing in the salty air and forgetting about monsters for a little while.

Holding hands while they jumped as a sort of insurance policy to make sure one of them didn't chicken out at the last second…

Swimming under the stars.

That was…their thing.

That was Sammy's and his thing.

It had become their thing ever since they had arrived here a few months back.

It was…their place.

Not even Dad knew about it.

But Sam couldn't have meant…he couldn't have been talking about-

A hot rush of anger flooded Dean's gut.

Had Sam been taking someone else to their place? Some girl from school, maybe? To do…their thing?

He gritted his teeth, feeling instantly overwhelmed again by that same nauseous ache that had swept over him like a poisonous wave earlier in the day, his hands curling painfully into tight fists by his sides.

But…no. Wait.

That didn't make sense.

Sam didn't even…he just didn’t even really go out. At all. Period. Certainly not at night. Not without Dean, anyway. Never. Dean was sure of it.

And the lyrics, the specific words…they had been-

Dean's nausea was rapidly intensifying, now coupled with a kind of roaring sensation in his head.

Tripping over the legs of several disgruntled parents, he untangled himself from the crowd at near warp-speed, backing out of the auditorium with his eyes glued rigidly onto Sammy where he now stood chatting casually with several classmates at the front of the room after having evidently dismounted the stage (when had that happened??).

Don’t look over-don’t look over. Please for the fucking love of god don’t look over.

Dean exhaled in relief as he ducked beyond the propped-open door and rounded the corner, practically sprinting for the road once he was outside the school and frantically replaying whatever he could remember of Sam’s song in his head while he bolted.

There was a logical, uncomplicated explanation, here. He just knew it. He had to be reading into the whole thing somehow, which only made him feel sick again as he questioned whether or not he was imagining something twisted where there really wasn't…and what that said about him.

Creative license. Storytelling. Metaphors.

‘Now you're just throwing out random literally terms,’ he inwardly panicked, feeling close to hysterics, ‘put a fucking lid on it. Shit. Come on, now.’

But the 45 minute walk back to their cabin had never felt shorter, and Dean irrationally debated on just continuing down the dirt road indefinitely to avoid having to sit in a claustrophobic little room with nothing but his own unhinged thoughts to keep him occupied.

Aborting the idea almost immediately, he forced himself through the front door, making a beeline straight for the bathroom where he violently threw up the contents of his stomach for several long minutes, painfully disoriented by what had clearly metamorphosed into a wildly bizarre, full-body overreaction to something that he didn’t even…really…understand.

Afterward, he felt a little better.

He was exhausted, but he had at least finally managed to grab ahold of enough stubborn determination to convince himself that he was absolutely going to just leave this whole…thing…alone, that he wasn’t even going to keep asking the question, that there was…without a doubt, another explanation and that he didn’t need to know what it was in order to simply put the entire afternoon, all of it, behind him forever.

Flinging himself down onto the couch with a weighted groan, he pinched his eyes tightly shut, soon enough falling into a restless sleep.

-----------------------------------

He was awoken by the sound of the door slamming, and he jolted upright as if he'd been doused with a bucket of cold water.

"Hey, I'm home," Sam called from the kitchen, and Dean could hear the thud of his backpack being thrown onto the floor.

For several long moments that seemed to drag on for an eternity, Dean couldn't make himself respond, unable to do anything but gaze dumbly at the space in front of him while his heart pounded cartoonishly in his chest.

Sam poked his head into the living room.

"Dean," he pressed, the corners of his mouth tugged slightly into a frown, "What's up? You finally get that lobotomy I've been recommending?"

Dean stared in awkward silence for another couple of seconds before giving himself a hard mental slap.

Say something.

Dammit, say anything.

Fuck. What had Sam even asked him??

“What? Did I what? No. No, I…"

"-so…yes. You did, then," Sam interrupted, striding fully into the living room and draping himself across one of the beaten-up armchairs, “Jesus. What's the matter with you? Did you and Dad have a fight? Where is he, anyway?"

Dean cleared his throat with a dry rasp, struggling to regain at least a tiny shred of his composure.

"No, no, everything's good,” he finally managed breathlessly, “We didn't. We…everything's fine. He got a call and had to leave for a hunt. Vamps. Ah, and-you, you know, he didn’t give me the details, really. Seemed important. So…”

He trailed off.

"Okaaaaaaay…." Sam quipped back sarcastically, pinning Dean with a quizzical stare, “Fine. Don't tell me what's wrong, then. Just thought I would ask."

He took a big bite of the apple he’d apparently grabbed while in the kitchen.

"Did he leave any beer?"

Dean choked on a breath of air and narrowed his eyes doubtfully at Sam, momentarily distracted by the unexpected question.

"What? Since when do you drink?"

Sam huffed over-dramatically in obvious annoyance.

"I'm not a kid anymore," he challenged almost haughtily, crossing his arms loosely over his chest and cocking his head in a way that made Dean's stomach suddenly feel uncomfortably warm, “I drink. I'm seventeen, you know. I've done a lot of things."

Dean’s teeth clenched into an involuntary grind and his pulse quickened.

"Yeah? Where was I?" he shot back, quite suddenly feeling much more resentful than uncomfortable, “You didn't ask for a beer last month when Dad was in San Francisco for three days. And what kind of 'things' are we talking about, here, anyway?"

Sam rolled his eyes skyward.

"When Dad was in San Francisco, you spent the entire time out with Lacy from the convenience store. I finished off Dad's six pack on the first night, and you were so drunk when you came in that you thought you had drank them."

Dean's jaw dropped.

"What…you…christ, Sam. What the hell??"

Sam shrugged casually.

"It's not a big deal," he said, stretching to one side in his chair, “You’re pretty oblivious, Dean, that's all. You still think I'm, like, eleven years old, and I'm not."

Dean gaped, completely thrown by the words that were coming out of Sam's mouth.

"Where the fuck is this even coming from?" he snapped, forcing himself to soften the anger from his voice before adding, “-I’m sorry. I just - all I mean is…you-you barely look me in the eyes for two straight weeks, barely touch me for almost three weeks, barely even get within five feet of me, actually, and…and now suddenly…this? What…what the hell, Sammy?”

Sam took another bite of his apple and chewed it before responding, his forehead pinching right above his eyes like he was trying to puzzle something through. 

"Yeah, well, I've been…dealing with some stuff. But I've also been kinda buried in school shit, too. Big project. Deadline was today. It, uh, I guess it’s been stressing me out a bit. I’m sorry, Dean. I don’t-…I didn't mean to make you feel like I was mad at you. Really. I didn’t. I’m-uh…I’m sorry. I’m not…pissed at you. I promise.”

Dean's heart had plummeted into the earth and plucked itself into his throat simultaneously, because he had a pretty damn good idea what ‘big school project’ his brother was likely referring to…

"No, it's fine," he said gruffly, standing up from the couch hastily enough to keen briefly to one side with his whole upper body, “-that’s not, that’s not how I meant it. I get that you've had…a lot on your plate. It's fine. Just. Sure. You can have a beer. Go-go grab one. You can have a few. Whatever you, uh…want. It's fine. Really.”

He shoved the flats of his fingers nervously into his front pockets, sensing the heat of Sam's stare on the back of his neck like electric little pin-pricks lasering his nerves.

"Yeah. Okay," Sam offered slowly, not moving from his chair, “sounds good."

There was a daunting moment of nothing but stillness from where Sam was sitting.

"Hey, Dean," he finally continued, his voice too calm to be believable, and Dean already felt like throwing up again, “You want to…uh…go swimming in a bit? It's supposed to be a pretty warm night, and we won't have many more of them before the cold rolls in. I don't have any homework, so…do you want to? It'd be nice not to have to sneak out."

Dean’s palms had broken out into an immediate clammy sweat.

No.

Of course they weren't going to just ‘go swimming.’

No fucking way.

Absolutely no fucking way in hell were they going to just-

"Sure, why not?" he heard himself reply, his fists tightening in horror at the betrayal of his own damn words.

But Sam was already leaping up from his chair like an over-rambunctious puppy and practically skipping down the narrow hall towards his room, his sullen, snippy attitude melting away as briskly as it had come on while Dean’s pulse pounded noisily in both of his temples.

"Great!" Sam called excitedly over his shoulder twisting Dean's stomach into a knot, “I’m gonna go find my suit. I think Dad packed it away last week with the rest of the summer stuff. You have yours?"

God-fucking-dammit.

Dean pressed his hand to his forehead in defeat.

"Yeah. It's in the closet. I’ll, uh, I’ll grab it in a minute."

Panic was rising rapidly in the back of his throat even as he desperately tried to convince himself that everything was fine, that everything was normal, that it was…the same as it had always been.

But…was it? And, more importantly, had it…really…ever been?

Chapter Text

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The dark water was cool and sweet against Dean's skin as he waded in up to his waist, and he found himself using the cover of darkness to study the crisp angles of Sam's body while he stripped off layers of clothing on the dock about forty feet away.

Dean’s fascination was entirely curiosity-based.

Sam was a new animal to him, an uncharted version of the awkward teenager he had known with such certainty just seven short hours before. Even without the implications of the song, which Dean was trying not to consider, his younger brother was still suddenly an enigma vibrating with secret talents, confidence, and…more manhood than boyhood, which was possibly what was throwing Dean most of all.

Not to mention…watching Sam as he pitched forward and back trying to pull a stubborn pant leg over his foot, there was still something so inexplicably…pretty about his movements that Dean couldn't even begin to wrap his head around.

Sighing, he wondered nervously if he would ever be able to look at his little brother again without feeling dizzy…without feeling like gravity and all the laws of physics had been tossed to the wind.

"Not going to jump in tonight, huh?" Sam cooed mockingly, glancing over his shoulder to toss Dean a smug grin, “I guess becoming a wimp in your old age is something to be expected!"

Dean was startled out of his reverie, scoffing with a loud "psshhhh" before doing a little half-dive forward so that his head was the only part of him above the surface.

"You wish!" he called, willing his teeth not to start chattering as he splashed around a bit to confirm his machismo, which was still perfectly intact, thank you very much, “I'm pretty sure that I'm the one who's actually swimming over here while you're still prancing around in your underwear!"

(Sam hadn't been able to find his bathing suit)

Sam chuckled, waving his hand dismissively, and was suddenly in the water faster than Dean could come up with another retort.

Dean rubbed his chilled palms together by his stomach, smiling softly as he waited for Sam to pop up somewhere nearby.

The comfortable teasing exchanges had noticeably calmed his nerves…for now, at least, and it was a much-needed distraction, something easy and familiar to shift his focus to instead of the paralyzing onslaught of uncertainties he’d been running on a constant loop inside his brain all afternoon and evening.

"I'm not falling for it!" he snapped after a long minute, assuming that his brother was hiding behind the side of the dock waiting for him to venture close enough for one of Sam's giant splash-attacks, “Get over here, you idiot! The surprise factor kind of fizzles out after the fifth time, you know!"

No response.

"Don't think I won't throw your clothes in the water!"

Still nothing.

This was a little odd…

‘Dammit, Sam,’ Dean thought in frustration that was nevertheless laced with a twinge of worry. 

"Come on, man. This isn't funny!" he yelled, kicking off from the ground in the direction of the dock, “Cut the crap!"

He was met with the same deafening silence, and his breath hitched in alarm, fear rising in his throat like bile.

If Sam was messing with him, he would have said something by now. It wasn't like him to hold off for this long.

Shit. How long had it been?

Dean's gut filled with icy dread as he practically jet-propelled himself towards the spot where his brother had dived in.

Had it been that damn board that jutted out from the dock's wooden underside? A rock? Fuck. He was almost there. He was almost-he was-

He was shoved sideways with a choked yell as a dripping wall of Sam emerged directly underneath him, sputtering and gasping and laughing wildly.

"My God! I couldn't have picked a better place to come up!" Sam exclaimed in between fits of what were almost giggles as he assaulted Dean with another round of splashes, “You should see your face!"

Dean was still more than a little stunned as he blinked silently at his brother, but it didn't take long for his surprise and relief to be replaced by a churning rush of anger that reddened his cheeks despite the cold.

"Don't you ever fucking do that again!" he practically growled, remembering how to use his voice and yanking Sam close by a fistful of his hair until their faces were only inches apart, “You scared the shit out of me! How was I supposed to know that you're some kind of merman freak while you were under there apparently trying to break the damn record? Jesus! I thought you were drowning!"

His chest was rising and falling rapidly, and Sam was staring at him with wide eyes and parted lips like he was the crazy one.

"Uh…Dean?" Sam said in something like a soft purr, annoyingly looking like he was trying to hold back a smile, “The world record for breath-holding is seventeen minutes and four seconds. I'm pretty sure that 40 seconds isn't exactly a merman-ian feat."

Dean was still gripping Sam's hair in a vice.

"40 seconds my ass!" he hissed, struggling to maintain his balance with only one hand pushing at the water, “I think I know 40 fucking seconds."

Sam looked up through his wet lashes, not even trying anymore to conceal the smile that was creeping across his face.

"Okay, fine. You caught me," he murmured in a voice that sounded entirely too…something, “It was maybe…45 seconds. But, okay. If it makes you feel better, I promise to keep my underwater adventures to half a minute or less. Deal?"

His legs and lower torso had drifted suddenly up against Dean's, and they both seemed to notice the closeness of their bodies at the same time, tensing their muscles simultaneously.

"Yeah. Fine," Dean coughed, jerking his hand away from Sam's hair like it had burned him and kicking backward a few feet, “That’s fine. I'm sorry. For freaking out, I mean. But your sense of time is completely warped, dude. You were definitely under there for more than 40 damn seconds."

His chest was vibrating strangely, and now that he thought about it, it probably had been pretty close to 40 seconds, but still. Sam should have known better than to have…acted like an idiot, or something.

Sam, who was using the back of his hand to wipe drizzles of water from his forehead while meeting Dean's eyes again with a subtle seriousness in his gaze that hadn't been there a moment before.

"It's okay. I get it," he said softly, almost delicately, shortening the area between them again to an uncomfortable three inches, “I can tell you've had a stressful day."

Oh, you don't know the half of it.

"But," Sam continued hastily, "whatever it is, you could always actually talk to me about it. Instead of just taking it out on me? I’m a good listener. You know that.”

Sam trailed off, and Dean cocked an eyebrow at him skeptically.

"The way I see it, Sammy, there's nothing a heart-to-heart can do for a guy that a good lay can't do better (uh-oh. Clarify. Clarify). You should try it. I'm sure there are plenty of girls at your school who wouldn't say no to a little tumble in the leaves with you. You're a good-lookin' guy. Obviously, being my brother and all."

He knew how expertly he was pushing Sam's buttons, but that wasn’t the real motivating factor egging him on in that particular moment.

"Okay, Dean. Very nice. I get it. Ever the emotionally-distant-"

"-or do you already have one stashed away somewhere, huh, Sammy? A little future-librarian girlfriend? Boyfriend, maybe? Tell me the truth. You know I can always tell when you're lying."

The question felt awkwardly and abruptly out of place, and Dean knew that Sam was probably wondering where on earth it had come from, but he couldn't help it.

Maybe it was the stripping cold of the water, his close proximity to Sam, or something else entirely, but he was quickly realizing that he needed to know if there was any chance that Sam's song might possibly have been about something…or someone else.

Not thinking about it was not working, and this was just…it was driving him fucking batshit crazy.

He…he needed to know.

Sam crinkled his nose and made a little displeased sound in the back of his throat.

"Deflection, much?" he groaned, rolling his eyes skyward, “No, Dean. If you must know, I don't have a secret girlfriend…or boyfriend…stashed away in my closet, or anywhere, and don't start with me! It's not because I couldn't be getting laid if I wanted to, so don't tell me I have to stop acting like a nerd. Believe it or not, people actually like that about me. I'm just not interested in…I just don't…you know what? We are not having this conversation! You always do this!"

Dean should have made an effort to react normally as Sam continued to sputter indignant retorts, but other more pressing matters were unfolding inside his head.

If he was being brutally honest with himself, he felt something akin to relief at least about the fact that Sam hadn't fallen for some skanky local teenager who would have undoubtedly trampled all over his heart, but this…well, this, he had never-

"Anybody home in there?" Sam asked, reaching out to tap his knuckles against Dean's head, and Dean cleared his throat in alarm, trying to mash his thoughts back together.

"Ahhh…" he tried, staring stupidly off to one side while he struggled desperately to remember the last thing he had heard Sam actually say.

Dammit. Fucking get your shit together, jesus christ. 

"What? No teasing me for being all hysterical, huh?" Sam scoffed, surprisingly shooting Dean in the chest with another one of his huge, lopsided smiles, “Wow. I guess you really have had a stressful day. I think the words you might be searching for are, 'your tits should be coming in any day now,' or, 'that time of the month again, Samantha?' Am I close?"

Not even a little.

Sam's annoyance had apparently been superficial enough to be replaced by humor, which Dean supposed was probably a good thing, and…christ, that smile…

"Nah," Dean faltered, blinking rapidly as if that would somehow help him erase the thoughts and images that were taking over his rational mind like cancer, “I was going to go with something about twisting-HAVING your…getting your panties in a…twist. Fucking hell."

He palmed his forehead while Sam just chuckled.

“-it’s too cold for this shit, Sammy, fuck. Are we going for a real swim anytime soon or are we planning on floating here and chatting ourselves into hypothermia? Because I've got another good twenty minutes in me, and then I'm getting my ass back to the cabin and under a damn blanket."

Sam laughed again and gave him a playful shove.

"Fine. I'll race you down over to the white dock. But, Dean-"

"Oh, shut it!" Dean grumbled, already pushing away to the left, “I’ll talk to you more about…stuff, okay? Happy?”

Sam grinned, catching up to Dean quickly and then easily kicking past him.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll believe it when I see it. Come on, old man! Is that the best you got?"

"Hey!" Dean huffed indignantly, reclaiming the lead again, “I’m just warming up. I've got moves you've never even dreamed of, little brother. Old man. Psshhh.”

"I'd like to see those," Sam murmured, half to the water, barely audible, and Dean's stomach did a small impromptu acrobatic routine.

Was that…had that been…?

Shit.

Chapter Text

"You want a beer?" Sam called from the kitchen as Dean lazily flipped through the channels on the cabin's beaten-up TV, “Or something stronger, maybe?"

Dean's eyebrow quirked, and he glanced through the doorway to see Sam taking a swig from one of John's ‘hidden’ flasks with one hand while he poured corn kernels into a pot on the stove with the other.

"Christ, Sammy," he groaned, letting himself fall against the back of the couch with a loud huff, “Dad will kill you if he finds out you've been drinking his whiskey, and, more importantly, he'll kill me for letting you."

Sam just chuckled, taking another long sip.

"You're whipped, you know that?" he said, and Dean sighed, palming his forehead.

"No, I'm reasonable," he muttered. "You're just insane. Apparently.”

Truthfully, now that the idea was in his head, though, he really did want some of that whiskey.

"Give me that," he snapped, holding his hand out and trying to put on his best stern adult face, “I’m sure as hell not letting you finish off the whole thing. I don't want to spend the rest of my night cleaning up your puke."

"Yeahhh, okay," Sam said with a grin, stepping into the living room to hand over the flask, “Half of that is mine, though, so don't even think about chugging it!"

Dean just rolled his eyes, taking a long, gratifying sip and leaning back against the couch again.

"So, which one is it gonna be tonight, Sammy? The Evil Dead? Poltergeist? Nightmare on Elm Street?"

It was a thing they did, him and Sam. When Dad was gone, they'd pop some popcorn and watch a horror movie each night before falling asleep.

John didn't really like it when he was home.

"We see enough of this kind of stuff daily without having to watch it in a movie," he'd say with a little click of disapproval, but Sam and Dean were young boys, and watching Freddy Krueger slash someone while stuffing salty snacks into their mouths was just…fun, hunters or not.

"You pick," Sam said nonchalantly, already in the kitchen again, and Dean felt a little twinge of nostalgia, remembering how excited Sam used to get about nights like these when he was younger.

As he watched his brother poke at the popcorn with a long wooden spoon, his thoughts drifted back to Sam's song…to everything that had happened.

Maybe it was the little bit of whiskey he had in his system or the fact that he had used up all of the stress his brain could manufacture in a day, but he didn't feel all that upset about the fact that these thoughts were in his head yet again.

Or at least, he didn't feel nauseated by them.

In fact, he found himself just casually wondering if his assumptions really had somehow been wrong.

Sam certainly wasn't acting any…differently.

If anything, he seemed a little bored.

Mentally running through what he could remember of the lyrics, Dean's brow furrowed. It just seemed so…like them, but surely he would have picked up on something more…substantial coming from Sam now that he knew to look for it.

There had been…a few things, but he and Sammy were always like that with each other, always had been.

Hell, the damn song could have even been about some imaginary girlfriend or boyfriend, using his and Sam’s spot as a setting, as…inspiration.

Dean was slowly starting to entertain the very real possibility that everything he had been panicking about since he’d left Sam’s school that afternoon could actually, genuinely be just a big, big misunderstanding on his part.

It should have felt like a massive relief, finally allowing himself some room to doubt the conclusion he had come to, but it didn't feel…quite like that.

Why didn't it feel like that?

Why did it feel like…something else?

That's when the nausea came.

‘Jesus fuck, dude,’ he mentally berated himself, his heartbeat speeding up to a dull race, ‘Stop that. Stop that right now.’

It was no secret to him or to anyone else that he was a bit…possessive when it came to Sammy. Overprotective.

He was a big brother, though. It came with the title.

And, yeah, he and Sam were extremely (even unusually) close…

Because a hunter’s lifestyle will do that to two people.

But to wish, even for just a second, that his baby brother was in love with him just because that would mean he wasn't in love with someone else was twisted on so many different levels.

"Dean," Sam said, his voice close, and Dean snapped out of his downwardly-spiraling train of thought to see Sam leaning up against the wall just five feet away, a bowl of popcorn in his hands and an expression of clear concern etched across his face, “Dude, you keep telling me that everything's fine, but I'm losing track of how many times I've caught you doing this today. I mean, man, you look like you just saw a pile of dead puppies or something. I get that you don't want to tell me, but you're freaking me out a little. Nothing's…really wrong is it? Like…Dad, or something? Because if it is, you have to tell me."

"No. No, no," Dean sputtered quickly, smoothing his hair with an anxious, shallow inhale and plastering on a forced smile, “I'm sorry, man. I know I've been acting weird. It's not…it's-“

Sam wasn't going to let this go.

“It's…I-I…there’s a…a girl. Girl trouble."

Fuck. What? Why?

Sam shifted his weight uncomfortably, his expression of worry melting visibly into one of annoyance.

"Oh," he said, pursing his lips. "Okay. So…okay. I didn't know you were seeing anyone."

Dean cleared his throat nervously, feeling like a complete idiot.

"Yeah, I…not really. Well, a bit. Just…you know."

That had really cleared everything up.

"Whatever, man. It's fine," Sam said a little harshly, and Dean felt suddenly guilty, like he had said something…mean.

"No, it's really nothing," he rushed, grabbing the flask from the table and avoiding his brother's eyes while he fumbled with the loose top, "Look, you, uh…Dad's got another one of these in his closet. You go...grab that. Really, it's not a big deal. Let's just watch our movie, okay? It's nothing."

Sam's withering gaze was obvious, even before Dean glanced over at him.

"Well, it's obviously something," Sam said in a strained voice, tossing the bowl of popcorn unceremoniously onto the couch, “But, whatever. I'll go get that. You can put the movie in."

He half-turned to walk away before adding, "Just…next time, how about you let me know from the start when there's something actually wrong and when you're hung up on some stupid girl, okay? I've been worried about you all day for nothing."

Blinking silently at his little brother, who rolled his eyes a little before stomping out with an audible huff, Dean breathed in deeply, giving his brain cells a chance to reassemble.

…

Was Sammy…jealous?

---------------------------------------------

"Okay, I don't get it," Sam slurred, half-rising from the couch before falling back down again, defeated by gravity.

"You've seen this movie like eight times, Sam," Dean said, not knowing whether to laugh or cry about how drunk his brother had gotten. "Which part do you not get?"

"Not that, jerk," Sam retorted, slinging an arm against the back of the couch to steady himself. "I don't get how you have a girlfriend that's serious enough for you to mope about for a day, and I don't know about her."

Dean's pulse quickened, but not as much as it would have if he didn't have an entire large flask of whiskey and five beers pumping through his blood.

"Oh, that," he coughed, brushing some invisible dirt off his knee. "I don't. I mean, I don't have a girlfriend. I said girl trouble, okay? That doesn't mean girlfriend."

"What, did you knock someone up?" Sam asked, his voice much higher than usual. "Oh my god, did you?"

"Christ, Sammy," Dean groaned, pressing a palm to his forehead. "No, I did not knock someone up. Jesus. Can you just…can we drop this? Let's just finish our movie and go to bed, okay? You need to sleep it off big time, man."

Sam's pressed his lips into a loose pout, and he didn't respond for a minute, leaning back and taking his time with a deep, noisy sigh of a breath.

"Hey, Dean," he finally said, his eyes half-closed in the dim light of the room, "I think I'm drunk."

Dean raised both eyebrows, looking over at Sam, who was now keening dangerously in his direction.

"Yeah, no shit," he murmured, shaking his head a little, “I think you passed drunk about three beers ago, buddy. Why don't we just-"

"You know, I think I'll just take a little…nap," Sam interrupted, and before Dean could stop him, he was stretching out like a big cat, his legs hanging off the end of the couch and his head and shoulders falling heavily, solidly, onto Dean's lap. "-you just…you wake me up when the movie's…"

His voice trailed off, and Dean sat frozen in place, staring down at his brother in unregistered disbelief.

This was just…fucking fantastic.

There wasn't enough alcohol in the world to make it okay tonight of all fucking nights that his brother's cheek was pressed right up against his-

He couldn't stay there.

Not…right there, anyway.

But…shit.

Sam’s mouth was already half-open around huffing little almost-snores, and…he looked…peaceful. Comfortable.

Plus, if Dean could forget the fact that Sammy was passed out drunk after a possible bout of poorly-concealed jealousy over Dean's fictional girlfriend…well, this could almost be like when they were younger and Sam would inevitably fall asleep leaned right up against him before the movie was even over.

Back then, though, he was little enough to be picked up with ease and carried.

There was nothing little about Sam anymore.

Dean found himself smiling despite everything else as he looked down at Sam's face.

From a purely aesthetic viewpoint, his little brother really was beautiful. He was.

The way the bluish light from the TV caught his features in the otherwise darkened room was perfect.

Without thinking, Dean's fingers found a lock of hair that had fallen across Sam's eyes and brushed it to the side.

He would never admit this to Sam in a million years, but he loved his brother's hair.

There was something almost regal about it, like Sam could be the young, charming prince on the cover of some romance novel, and despite his nearly constant teasing that he would have to buy Sam a bra and a dress soon if he didn't get a haircut, he had always secretly hoped that Sam wouldn't take his words to heart.

Following Sam's hair with his fingers down to just above the concave area between his neck and shoulder, Dean's hand suddenly itched with the desire to touch the skin there.

A couple of inches lay exposed above the hem of Sam's t-shirt, and it just looked so smooth, so flawless, so unlike anyone else’s skin…

Sam was unconscious. What would be the harm in just-

His fingers moved of their own accord, slipping under the fabric and traveling in a feather-soft stripe down Sam's chest.

His breath caught in his throat as his thumb and forefinger came to rest about an inch above Sam's nipple.

He felt a sudden flurry of sensations deep in his stomach, and he could feel the color rising in his cheeks.

"Jesus, what are you doing?" he murmured out loud to himself, but before he could pull his hand away, Sam's eyes fluttered open prettily, and Dean froze, thoroughly and completely and seemingly irreversibly…like a goddamned deer trapped in high beam headlights.

Oh. God.

Please go back to sleep. Please go back to sleep. Please.

Sam shifted just a little, and Dean couldn't breathe. He couldn't speak. He couldn't look away.

After what seemed like a lifetime, though, Sam's lids drooped, and in the next moment, his eyes were fully shut again and his chest was rising and falling with the slow, deep breaths of sleep.

Dean slowly removed his hand, stretching his arm out to the side as far away from his brother as he could manage without pulling a muscle, and what was left of the feelings in his stomach from just a minute earlier now felt like he had been punched…hard.

‘I'm never drinking again,’ he thought angrily, forcing his eyes back to the movie. When it was over, he would wake Sam up. He would wake Sam up, and they would go to bed, and Sam wouldn't…he wouldn't remember.

And this would never…never…happen again.

Chapter Text

Dean woke up the next morning to the smell of pancakes wafting into his room through the crack under his door and the sound of upbeat Jazz music blaring from the stereo.

Pulling himself out of bed with a little groan, he threw on an old t-shirt from the floor and trudged towards the kitchen with his hands clutched melodramatically over his ears.

"Sammy!" he half-yelled, flinching in pain at the volume of his own voice, "Christ, have you ever heard of a hangover? Turn it down! Jesus."

Stepping into the kitchen, he spotted Sam by the stove whistling cheerfully with a spatula in his hand and…and no shirt…on…

Sam tossed him a smug look over his shoulder, and Dean's mouth suddenly felt as dry as sandpaper.

"Uhh," he said stupidly, palming the hem of his own t-shirt as if that would magically make one appear over his brother's tanned torso, "You, uh…you shouldn't cook like that, you know. You could burn yourself.”

Well, that had been an idiotic thing to say.

Sam laughed cheerfully, flipping one of the pancakes before turning to face Dean.

"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes and cocking his head to the side while he gave Dean a long once-over, “You look like crap, dude."

Dean sat down gingerly in one of the small, wooden chairs with another groan and tried to glare at his little brother, but it ended up as more of a squint, and even that small movement of his brow caused another sharp burst of pain to flare up in his head.

"Very funny," he muttered darkly, reaching over to grab the bottle of aspirin from the center of the table, “We’re not all teenagers who can drink themselves into oblivion and then not have to live with the consequences."

He paused for a minute, his stomach constricting painfully as the little ‘incident’ from last night blurred back into his mind like a dream.

Dammit.

Speaking of consequences…

"You…how-how are you feeling, anyway?" he stammered too breathlessly, looking down at the bottle in his hand and pretending to struggle with the cap. "You got trashed, man. You probably don't even…remember much, do you?"

Please. Please.

Sam smiled, tossing the spatula onto the counter and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Not much," he offered with a shrug, using his toe to nudge the edge of the round, black rug that concealed a large devil's trap John had painted onto the linoleum, “Yeah, I don't even remember moving from the couch to my bed. Good times, though, huh?"

Dean felt a rush of cooling relief flood his gut.

"Mmm," he replied noncommittally, popping open the aspirin and grimacing as he dry-swallowed three of them.

God, since when were early mornings so unreasonably…bright?

He glanced down at his watch blearily and then straightened up entirely too fast, his neck cracking with a loud click.

They weren't.

It was 11:15.

"Hey, wait a minute!" he snapped, turning in his chair, “Do you even know what time it is? Aren't you supposed to be at school?"

Sam spun on his heels to face the stove, suddenly very focused on breakfast again.

"Well, kind of," he mumbled after a moment of silence, and Dean heaved a huge sigh.

"Oh, stop that," Sam quipped before Dean could scold him, crossing the room in a few strides to toss a paper plate of pancakes down onto the table, “My teachers all love me. Who cares if I play hooky this once? You're not going to tell Dad, right? So, no harm done. You want syrup?"

Dean stared up at Sam incredulously.

"No, I'm not going to tell Dad," he huffed with a frown, pulling the plate closer to him, "because he'd kick my ass. I'm already going to have to tell him I drank half of his whiskey supply. I'm not going to add encouraging you to skip school to the list. You’re going tomorrow.”

He pinned Sam with what he hoped looked like a resolute expression.

"-and…yes, I want syrup."

Sam grinned, shaking his head as he pulled open the fridge door.

"Yes, Sir!" he said, raising his hand to his forehead in a mock salute. "Aye-aye, Captain! Roger that-"

"Don't push your luck, buddy," Dean interrupted, pursing his lips in Sam's direction, “I could still make you go in late.”

"Oh, really?" Sam asked, grabbing the bottle of syrup and throwing himself down into the chair next to Dean, “You think you could, huh? And what would you do if I said no, hmm? Sling me over your shoulder and drag me there? You gonna ground me? Or spank me until I cave and promise to be the perfect little student?"

Dean choked on nothing, his face heating up alarmingly.

"You're lucky I don't," he muttered, and that was not what he had meant to say at all.

Sam gave him a playful little kick under the table.

"You'd have to catch me first," he teased, a smug little smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth, “Maybe I'll catch you before you could catch me, huh? See how you like it. I bet I could. Like you said, you're not a teenager anymore, Dean. I see golf and afternoon naps in your future. You gonna prove me wrong? What’cha gonna do about it, hmm? You gonna-”

"-eat your damn pancakes," Dean ordered gruffly, trying to abort this rapidly-spiraling conversation in its tracks. He didn't think he had the mental capacity at that moment to handle hearing whatever Sam had been about to say.

"Mmhm. You're the boss," Sam responded through a wry smile without missing a single beat, and Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

"Christ. When did you turn into such a smart-mouth? Bitch."

Sam tugged the plate away from him with a little wink, grabbing his fork.

"Oh, I don't know. Probably around the time you turned into a grumpy old man. Jerk."

It was Dean's turn to chuckle, and he threw up his arms in defeat.

"Touché," he said, leaning back in his chair and watching his brother leaning over the table like a damn mini-chiseled-Olympian while attempting to shovel an entire pancake into his mouth.

God. There was really nothing little about Sam anymore...

Some stray syrup dripped off of Sam's fork, landing on his upper stomach, and as it made a beeline towards his bellybutton, Dean felt like his eyeballs were superglued to it.

He followed its drizzle down Sam's skin until it hit the waist-line of his striped pajama pants, and even then…especially then…he just couldn't seem to tear his gaze away.

Not because of…well, not…it was just…

Suddenly realizing that Sam wasn't moving anymore, Dean forced himself to look up, mortified to see that Sam was poised with his fork hovering about an inch from his mouth just watching him with a half-surprised, half-curious expression etched across his face.

When their eyes met, both brothers seemed to feel equally embarrassed by the awkward moment, but even though Sam did clear his throat and pretend to be fascinated by something outside the window behind Dean, he didn't crunch forward or try to hide himself from view like Dean thought he might.

In fact, he leaned back a little.

Was he overcompensating?

It's what Dean might have done if the situation had been reversed.

Knowing that trying to pretend he hadn't been looking might only make it seem like he had been looking in some kind of a…weird…way, which he hadn’t been, Dean attempted a casual stretch, licking his lips nervously.

"You've got a little…something," he mumbled, gesturing vaguely in Sam’s direction and hating himself for apparently having no control whatsoever over his own actions.

Sam looked down at his stomach and grabbed a napkin, scooting his chair away from the table a bit.

"Oh," he said softly, the playful tone from just a minute ago completely wiped clean from his voice, “I guess I do. I…didn't notice."

‘Yeah, right,’ Dean thought, but as he glanced over, his breath caught heavily in the back of his throat and his mind went temporarily offline.

Sam was very slowly, very…provocatively…trailing the napkin down his skin from the top of his chest, down to his…he was…he was easing the napkin under the waist-line of his pants, his fingers dipping thoroughly into a place that the syrup had definitely not been able to reach, and he stayed there. He stayed there for what felt like a long, long time before sliding his hand up and out again, tossing the napkin next to his plate, and rising to his feet.

"I think I got it," he said quietly, and Dean just stared, completely unable to make his mouth work.

"You mind if I take the first shower?" Sam continued quickly, almost as if he didn't want to draw too much attention to the fact that Dean was currently a useless, speechless idiot, and Dean forced a breath into his lungs.

He knew full-well how he was acting, but it was like his higher brain functioning had quite literally been paralyzed, and he couldn't do a goddamned thing about it.

"Uhh," he finally managed to scrape out, sounding like he was recovering from a bout of laryngitis, "No. I mean sure. I mean, no. You can…go for it."

"Thanks," Sam said, turning to walk away. "I'll be out soon."

Dean just watched his brother's retreating back, feeling like his head was full of thick fog, but as the seconds passed and his awareness began to trickle back, a crushing wave of icy panic washed over him, bringing with it an entirely new kind of dread.

He was hard.

He was fucking hard.

He wasn't just…hard. He was…he couldn't remember ever being this hard. Not ever.

Oh, God.

"No," he said out loud to the empty kitchen, standing up so quickly that he almost blacked out. "No."

He couldn't even think it.

He walked to the stove and then back to the table again several times, his heart hammering wildly in his chest and his palms clammy with a sheen of sweat.

No.

He suddenly felt irrationally full of rage and kicked out at the wall blindly, wincing as sharp pain shot up through his ankle.

Clenching his hands into fists by his sides, he knew that he had to get out, that he had to leave, that he absolutely could not be there. Just-…not-

Without pausing to come up with something actually plausible, he almost fell over his own legs trying to get into the hallway to stumble clumsily into his sneakers.

He just had to go.

Just for an hour. To fucking clear his head.

He knew that much, at least, very clearly.

He needed to not be here when Sam got out of the shower.

He couldn't.

Not even bothering to grab his coat or a real pair of pants, he slammed out the front door, his chest heaving.

Oblivious to the cold wind and running as fast as his legs could carry him, he headed for town.

He would tell Sam he had gone to the store, or for a walk. He would come up with something.

In that moment, he didn't even care.

Chapter Text

Dean got about ten minutes down the road before he realized the absurdity of what he was doing.

Planting his hands on his hips and bending himself forward at the waist, he struggled to catch his breath, his sweat-slick arms cooling to a chill in the early autumn air.

Christ.

What had he been thinking?

There were ways to fix this. Right? There were at least ways to lock it away for good deep down in the depths of their minds…where it belonged.

Running away (in his pajamas, no less) and cementing the idea that there was something to run away from was not one of those ways.

He closed his eyes and waited for his heart to stop racing.

What he needed to do was to calm down and to just…logic himself through this.

Physically removed from Sam, he felt at least slightly rational again.

"Focus. Think," he mumbled to himself as a sudden weariness settled in onto his chest like a ton of bricks.

He-he…he just needed…he wanted something, but it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be. 

And…he fucked men as well as women. 

Often, when it had been a while, he really did start to feel like he needed it with another guy.

That was what was happening here. 

It was.

He could…once he’d had that, he’d feel better. He would.

Sighing heavily, he toed a crumbling spot of asphalt with his sneaker.

It wasn't going to be that easy.

Even if finding a young, muscled guy to take into an alley and fuck in a way that he just couldn't fuck girls helped with his end of this predicament, half of the problem would still remain.

Sam.

Sammy, who had…rather blatantly just attempted to seduce him via breakfast condiments…

God fucking dammit.

Leave it to the Winchesters to take family problems into whole new levels of fucked up.

You know what? He would deal with that later.

The most pressing matter at hand was getting back, ideally before his brother noticed he had gone, and making absolutely sure that any…conclusion Sam might have come to relating to Dean’s…stance…on all of this was swiftly undone and irrefutably clarified.

And as for…everything else, well…he would worry about that, worry about how to fix it, later.

He could do this. He could.

He could make himself believe that everything was going to be okay.

He had to.

-----------------------------------------

When he stepped back into the cabin about ten minutes later, out of breath again from running, his stomach fell a little to see Sam already dressed (with one of his skin-covering flannel button-ups on this time, thank god) and draped lazily across the couch.

He lay on his side just watching Dean curiously while he traced an idle pattern on the soft fabric of his shirt near the hem.

Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably.

He couldn't have had the foresight to plan something to say in case Sam had been out of the shower when he got back?

Go fucking figure.

"I was, uh, just making a phone call," he mumbled, avoiding his brother's gaze and awkwardly trying to shove his hands into his hip pockets before he remembered that his pajama pants didn’t even have pockets.

There was a moment of silence from Sam's end of the room.

"Were you being chased by a bear while you were on the phone?" he finally asked, his tone of voice somewhere between playful and defensive.

Sam had noticed Dean's slight breathlessness from all the way across the room despite Dean's Herculean efforts to conceal it.

Of course he had.

Nothing got past Sammy.

It was annoying at the best of times.

"I just thought a little jog back would be good for me," Dean lied, unable to come up with anything better on the spot. "It gets the blood flowing, you know."

"Yeah, I do know," Sam said quietly, "Because I actually jog to be healthy, not just when I'm…"

He trailed off, and Dean felt the tips of his ears getting hot.

"Just stop, Sammy, jesus,” he snapped before Sam could finish his thought, "Can you just…enough with the third degree, alright? I'm too tired for this shit."

He pressed his palm to his forehead as if he could iron away the headache that was now back full-force.

Sam didn't respond, and after several torturously long moments, Dean caved, turning with an involuntary sigh to face his brother.

Sam locked eyes with him intensely before shifting his line of sight to the small, wooden table beside the couch where Dean's cellphone lay untouched and unmoved from the night before.

Fuck.

Fuck…

Dean could almost feel the molecules in the room begin to buzz and crackle, and he bridled, suddenly much more angry than anything else.

"You know what?" he hissed through clenched teeth, hating his brother a little for not just letting them bury this, “-what do you want me to say?"

Sam slowly pulled himself to a sitting position, folding his hands in his lap and staring Dean down like he could see into the depths of Dean's head if he just looked hard enough.

"I want you to say…whatever you want to say," he murmured, something similar to disappointment dripping off of each word like running watercolors.

Dean felt a dull ache pull at his throat.

"Fine, Sammy," he sighed, crossing his arms reflexively over his chest and coming to a snap decision. "Whatever I want to say? That's easy. What I want to say is that I was making a phone call. That's all I was…that's all we need to say I was doing. Look, I'm not an idiot. I know what you're wondering about, and I would never…we’re not-…just…do you, uh, understand what I'm getting at?"

He paused for the briefest of moments.

"So fucking leave it, Sammy, okay? Leave it alone. I'm gonna…I'll be in my room."

-----------------------------------------

Back in bed, Dean's mind was spinning.

He felt shell-shocked and out of focus almost like he was underwater, holding his breath while everything around him swayed blurrily.

His skin felt itchy and too-warm, and he sighed in frustration, willing himself to stop picturing Sam's big, reproachful eyes staring him down like lighthouse beacons…finding him wherever he tried to run to in the dark corners of his mind.

And then there was the other image, the one that had been plaguing him since he had bolted after breakfast...

The one of Sam leaning back in his chair at the kitchen table, shirtless and smoky, with his fingers trailing down, down…

Dean coughed and pulled himself up onto his elbows, actually shaking his head as if that might send his own thoughts rattling back down into the safety of his subconscious.

It didn't.

Why?

Why couldn't he let this go?

He had told Sam just enough, without saying too much, to feel moderately confident about the fact that his brother surely knew this wasn’t happening.

Sam must understand that the uncharted waters they had mistakenly found themselves dipping their toes into earlier would stay uncharted, just…something to be stomped out like a stray ember and hopefully forgotten about by both of them over time.

Sam was young, after all.

Dean remembered what it had been like as a teenager dealing with rampant, unpredictable hormones that seemed to flare up out of nowhere and at very inconvenient times, turning ordinary situations into uncomfortable ones.

Sam would meet a pretty little girl someday, or…hey, maybe even a boy, and Dean would put his possessive, controlling attitude to bed and be happy for his brother, dammit…even if he had to fake it for a while.

It was fine.

This was…fine.

He was only dwelling on everything because of what a shock it had been to his psyche.

And he had been…well, this fucking dry spell lately was just causing him to react in alarming ways to…inappropriate things. That was all.

His mind wasn't playing the little incident on repeat because he liked it.

‘People have war flashbacks all the time, right?’ he thought, realizing that he was definitely grasping at straws but still forcing himself to take a deep breath before falling back against his pillow again with a loud huff.

But, there was the image again…

Sam's bare skin touched all golden by the morning light, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he dragged the napkin gradually down his stomach, the way that Dean's dick had turned into a phallic steel rod under his pajama pants, the way-

The way it was…hard again, now…

Oh…no.

No.

Christ.

Dean felt simultaneously frustrated and ridiculous.

It was like his resolve had weakened to the consistency of a wet napkin.

Apparently, he couldn't go one goddamned minute without barreling through his own red tape like a horny bull on steroids.

Squinting his eyes shut, he snaked his hand under the sheet to try to relieve some of the pressure.

He lips parted slightly as he gripped himself through the thin fabric.

God…

Before he could form much of a rational thought, his fingers were moving, slipping beneath his waist-line and down to the base of his cock…flesh seeking flesh.

He actually arched up off the bed a little in a way that he suspected might have been distinctly girly at the contact he’d been denying himself, but it was just another reason to be thankful for the fact that walls couldn’t speak, and he was already too far gone to really think much of it.

Conjuring up an image in his head of a guy as physically different from his brother as it was possible to be, Dean imagined fucking him from behind up against a wall outside of some fantasy dive bar…just crowding him into the cold brick and whispering in his ear that he was going to take it like a good boy, that he was going to love it, that he was going to beg to cum before the end, and maybe…just maybe…Dean would allow it.

A muted hum of a groan escaped Dean's throat as he started to pump his fist in earnest, a thin sheen of sweat now coating the sides of his face.

This wasn't going to take long at all, and he would feel much, much better afterward.

The fantasy was taking on a life of its own, and Dean watched it unfold almost like a movie behind his eyelids…a movie over which he ruled supreme, of course.

He was fucking fantasy boy ruthlessly now, trapping his hands against the wall and biting down into the soft skin of his shoulder blade while he snapped his hips forward again and again, that tight, tanned ass speared so damn hotly on his cock.

This was how he liked it with other men…rough, dirty, brutal, even…muscles against muscles, the kind of depraved sexual satisfaction that he couldn’t get from girls.

God, he was so close.

Using his thumb to swipe the sensitive ridge that stuttered his breath and curled his toes, he felt a rush of heat begin to coil in his lower abdomen, his heels digging down into the mattress.

In the fantasy, he had reached around to grab the boy’s cock, velvety and wet with precome, and his fantasy-self was hissing, “I want you saying my name when you cum, do you hear me? I want everyone around here to fucking know who you belong to."

Suddenly, fantasy boy looked over his shoulder at Dean, his pupils blown and his expression dripping with dirty desire, and Dean's heart nearly exploded in his chest as he came harder than he had ever come before, nearly levitating off the bed from the force of it and whiting out for a single second before crashing back down again into himself…the last place he wanted to be at that specific moment.

It had been Sam.

When fantasy boy had turned to face him…it had been Sam.

Undeniably.

Dean scrambled to his feet and barely made it to the trashcan before throwing up violently, his stomach muscles clenching and unclenching painfully as they ejected everything they could out of Dean's throat and into the small, plastic bin.

And then, as if the powers-that-be had all come together to make sure that he was as miserable as possible, a loud knock on his door came mid-wretch, and Dean wondered if this was what it felt like to have a vital organ ripped from your body.

"Hey, Dean, you in there?" Sam called, and Dean almost laughed, feeling more than a little hysterical.

Of course he was in here. What did Sam think? That he had escaped out the window?

It wasn't a half-bad idea, now that he thought about it, but-

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here," he found himself responding, still bent nearly in two over the trashcan and struggling to suck in mouthfuls of air.

"Okay, good," Sam said, sounding relieved, and Dean's spine tingled violently.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm going out tonight, alright?" he continued, sounding a bit muffled through the thick layer of wood. "-seeing as how….well, whatever. It doesn't matter. So…you know, if I don't see you before then, don't wait up or anything."

Oh. There was the hardball.

Dean wanted to smash his head into the wall, but he threw up again instead, hoping against hope that the sound hadn't been loud enough to reach the hallway.

Blinking was complicated. Swallowing was impossible, and the space between Dean and his bedroom door suddenly seemed very big, like it was expanding, but it also seemed somehow small…like it was shrinking…closing him in and pushing him…closer and closer to Sam.

Chapter Text

To his credit, Dean really tried to leave Sam alone.

Short of handcuffing himself to his bed, he did everything humanly possible to stay in his room and just let Sam leave on this mystery excursion, something they surely both desperately needed to have happen at this particular moment in time.

Hours passed, bearing the weight of the whole world, and Dean sat motionless, watching the play of sun and shadow on the ground deepen to distinction as early afternoon turned into late afternoon.

Sometime after that, dark clouds rolled in from the south, and thick raindrops started to fall like finger-taps on the roof, melodic and hypnotizing and filling Dean with a kind of foreboding that began to slip through him like heavy fog.

He wondered what Sam was getting himself into, anyway.

If he had planned this as some kind of retaliation, he might not have been thinking like his usual, cautious, dependable self.

He could be getting ready right now to climb into the car of some psycho just to drive off to god only knew where, and in the middle of what was shaping up to be a pretty hefty fall storm, no less.

Dean drew in a breath.

His hands were shaking as he pulled himself out from under his sheets, his bare feet landing heavily onto the floor.

The living room was empty and dark, and Dean could hear soft music coming from behind Sam's closed bedroom door.

He paused, almost deciding to backtrack the way he had come and just hope that his brother had the common sense not to do something stupid that might get him into trouble, but his chest tightened painfully at the thought of something…anything…happening to Sammy that could have been avoided, and he forced his legs to keep moving forward.

Directly outside of Sam's room, he raised his arm to knock softly on the stained wood.

"Sam?" he called, feeling suddenly blanketed by a thick flurry of anticipation, "Can I, uh, come in for a sec?"

There was an awfully long moment of silence before Sam responded.

"Yeah, Dean…yeah, you can come in," he finally said in a quiet voice that was barely audible, and Dean's fingers trembled on the doorknob, slowly turning it and giving a little push.

The space between them seemed immense and daunting as Dean stepped in towards Sam's neatly-made bed where Sam lay stretched out on top of his blankets holding an open book in his lap and pinning Dean with a purposeful stare.

Outside the window, what little light remained in the overcast sky was melting quickly into shadow, and there was a palpable stillness between the two of them that was only broken by Sam patting the mattress gently, a smile on his lips instead of the anger or the accusation Dean had been expecting.

Without really knowing what else to do, Dean accepted the invitation, sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed and clearing his throat uncomfortably.

"I don't want to take up too much of your time," he mumbled, acutely aware of his own loud heartbeat that seemed to be almost echoing against the walls. "I just…I worry about you, you know? You're…you're my kid brother, and I don't know if I'm ready to send you off into the night with someone I've never even met before."

He glanced up to see Sam studying him like a chessboard before a first move, and he shivered, changing his mind about the chess metaphor as soon as he thought it.

None of this was as simple as a game of chess could be, all logic and planning and predictability. Not that Dean was a chess geek, or anything, but he had learned a thing or two from Bobby during the many long hours spent cooped up in small spaces waiting for leads.

"Dean," Sam said (and had Dean imagined him moving a fraction of an inch closer?) “Look, uh…there's something that I need to tell you, and I'm just going to say it, because there really isn't going to be a right time. And it doesn't have to be some huge thing like you're trying to make it, so...I…I know you were at my school, yesterday, okay? And I know you heard the song that I wrote about…us."

What?

Oh, fuck. What?

Dean's blood turned to ice and adrenaline in his veins, and his hands clenched up tightly into fists by his sides.

"You…what?" he managed to choke out, the air around them now suddenly charged with a hot rush of fierce, electric intensity.

"Dad called this morning when you were…out…and congratulated me, well, sort of congratulated me," Sam continued, sounding entirely too calm. "He said you came to see me preform."

Dean bristled along the curve of every muscle and started to stand from the bed, unable to even respond, but Sam's massive hand found his shoulder and pressed, pushing him back down.

Irrationally-furious about the gesture for some reason, he hit Sam's hand away, hard, a five on a scale where three is normal, jumping to his feet and stalking towards the window.

"Touch me again, and I'll kill you. I will," he spat, knowing that he was wildly overreacting but unable to stop himself, unable to calm himself or even to fucking think over the barrage of emotions constricting his chest into a tight ache, “-you never even had plans, did you? You just…you just, you fucking knew I'd come down here, and you-this…don’t think I don't know exactly what you were doing this morning, what you…"

The words died in his throat, leaving a poisonous taste on the back of his tongue.

Fuck it all.

He should have never left his own room.

But before he could make his escape for the hallway, Sam jumped up and crowded in behind him, not quite touching him, just…blocking his exit, a giant wall of flannel and musky cologne looming between him and his path to the door.

"I'm warning you, Sammy," Dean hissed, his breath coming quick and shallow, "Don't do this right now. You need to let me leave, or I swear to fucking god-"

Sam had wordlessly grabbed his upper arm in a vice, and it was the last straw.

Making a sound reminiscent of a wounded animal, he had Sam crunched painfully against the wall in one fluid movement, his forearm anchored unyieldingly over the middle of Sam’s chest and his knee poised for a blow to the groin in case Sam tried to retaliate or muscle his way back into a position of control.

Their faces were only an inch apart, and Dean felt completely panicked and unbalanced, feral in an entirely uncontrollable way, like he wanted to actually hurt his brother, to punch his face in until it wasn't so pretty anymore.

"You had to fucking push it," he gritted out through clenched teeth, not even swayed by the look of genuine fear in Sam's wide eyes. "You had to fucking sing a damn song about it for the whole goddamned world to hear instead of keeping it to ourselves like I thought we were perfectly fucking fine doing before. You just-"

Dean's mouth suddenly felt very dry, and Sam's lashes fluttered a little, his lips parting in surprise.

Like we were...like…we…were-

Colored spots danced across Dean's vision as he realized what he had just done.

It was a paralyzing, fatal, soul-shattering error…because keeping that secret from everyone, from himself most of all, had been a part of Dean for so long that it practically defined him, his entire sense of self revolving around the protection of that one, unbreachable wall…trapping what was inside away from even his own private thoughts.

He hadn't consciously known it until that moment, but it had become the very core of his existence, maintaining that secret, explaining it away into almost-oblivion, never quite thinking it, keeping it at bay, always managing to really somehow believe that when he went out looking for men, he wasn't really out looking for boys like Sam, and now…and now…

His words still lingered in the air down low, close to the ground, mocking him, unable to be taken back…unable to be retracted, and he wanted to step on them, to squash them out, to just…make them disappear, but he couldn't.

It was too late.

And he was so angry, and Sam was so close, and Sam knew, and Dean knew, and so many things suddenly made sense, and…fuck…he wanted to rip his skin off or make Sam pay or…or just give in and not have to think about this right now, not have to feel like this, not have to-

"I know. I know," Sam was suddenly saying, reaching out to cup Dean's face tenderly in his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Dean. I never wanted it to happen like that. You weren’t supposed to even-…I just, all this time, and I just couldn't-"

Sam was cut off mid-sentence as Dean crashed into him like a tidal wave, not even really aware of the fact that he was kissing his little brother until it was already happening…until he couldn't turn back.

He had always considered himself to be a strong man. But here, suddenly, with Sam laid out for him like this on a silver platter…so willing, so pliant, so…intoxicatingly-Sam…he realized that somewhere down the line, he had become weak.

Maybe he always had been.

He had no strength left to resist this. Not right now. Not after…everything.

After a moment of shock, Sam's enormous hands seemed to span his entire back, pulling him close with a kind of frantic desperation like he was terrified that Dean would snap out of whatever psychological episode he was having and bolt for the door.

But Dean couldn't have stopped if his life had depended on it, because kissing Sam was like coming home, and the heat that was burning through his veins, lighting him up inside, was like nothing he’d ever felt before, like nothing he’d ever even known he could feel.

Groaning, he tangled his fingers almost wildly through fistfuls of his brother’s hair, locking Sam’s head in place, his tongue pushing against wet lips, demanding entrance.

Sam opened up so prettily, like the petals of a flower, his chest heaving almost violently as Dean claimed his mouth, tasting everywhere, memorizing every inch.

He kissed Sam fiercely, like the world's supply of oxygen lay between his brother's lips, and it could have been minutes or hours or an entire lifetime before he finally pulled back, his pupils blown to massive proportions and his skin deeply flushed.

Sam panted back at him, eyes half-closed, mouth open, and as Dean watched, he arched his neck slightly back and to the right.

Dean didn't care whether or not it had been an invitation. He was already moving in to suck on a soft piece of newly warmed skin at the junction of Sam's neck and shoulder.

Sam clawed at his shoulders and moaned loudly, a hungry, uninhibited sound, and Dean couldn't believe that his little brother sounded so provocative and so…dirty as he splayed himself against the wall like a damn wet dream come to life.

Jesus…Jesus…

Dean couldn't imagine a hotter sight than this version of Sam.

This wasn't cool, composed Sam.

No, this Sam was coming apart at the seams for him so quickly and completely that it was making Dean's head spin.

This Sam was unabashedly offering himself up in a kind of desperate, needy, begging way that was making Dean's knees feel like jello and his cock ache painfully beneath the now too-tight fabric of his pants.

On some level, he knew how wrong it all was.

He did. He really did.

On some level, he understood with a great deal of clarity that he would not only loath himself for this, but that he damning himself, too…that he could never, never be forgiven for failing Sam in this way, for not being the responsible one, the voice of reason…but it was like his conscience had snapped completely in two, because he just couldn't seem to bring himself to care…not when Sam was licking his lips like that and mapping Dean's body everywhere with hungry, pressing fingers that just felt…so…damn…good.

He would deal with the inevitable repercussions when they became relevant.

He would go to hell a thousand times over to be able to keep touching Sammy like this for just a little while longer.

His Sammy...

His Sammy, who had slipped one of his hands between them and was now using the heel of his palm to, oh, god…oh, fuck…to rub feverishly against the push of Dean's cock, and shit, was this going too far? Was this-ahhhhh, dammit- should he stop this? Could he even bring himself to?

He was going to cum in his pants if Sam kept doing that.

Grabbing Sam's wrists and pinning them to the wall above his head, Dean thought that he was going to try to shift their focus back to making out, which was bad enough on its own, but his body betrayed him, his hips snapping forward instinctively and his hardness meeting Sam's own with a grinding surge of pleasure that nearly ripped him apart inside.

Sam's eyes rolled back to the whites, his legs nearly caving beneath him and a litany of little mewling sounds spilling from his throat that had Dean's entire body shivering convulsively.

Fuck. Fuck.

He couldn't…he couldn't stop…

The next thrust was significantly harder and longer while Sam sucked in a trembling breath, rutting forward onto Dean shamelessly in return, and…christ…Dean was intoxicated by this, immediately addicted, unable to even think as Sam threw his head back against the wall like a wild animal offering up his throat.

Dean’s heart skipped several beats in a row, and he could acutely feel the goosebumps that were pricking their way in defined stripes up the length of his forearms in response.

He dropped one of Sam's hands…because fuck, his brother's throat was the stuff that fantasies are born from, and he had to touch…

He honestly couldn’t even imagine trying to prevent himself from doing it.

Rubbing the blunt pad of his thumb down to Sam's Adam's apple, he curled his fingers predatorily around the whole of Sam's neck before applying just a bit of experimental pressure timed perfectly with a particularly greedy drag of his hips.

"Oh f-fuck, Dean, don't stop, please," Sam suddenly stammered, and Dean felt a hot thrum of electricity pierce his lower torso.

"Fuck," he echoed through clenched teeth, leaning in until his lips were brushing up against Sam's ear, "You like that, Sammy? How about this?"

He tightened his grip and felt the twitch of wet heat as it leaked through the front of his brother's pants, triggering the same response from Dean's own cock and wrenching another primal groan from somewhere deep down inside of him.

"God-god…yes," Sam managed, his voice as raw as sandpaper, and fuck if it wasn't the hottest thing Dean had ever heard in his life.

Shit, he was so close…too close…

As if on cue though, Sam's breath stuttered, and his movements against Dean became suddenly jagged.

"Dean," he begged, the fingers of his free hand finding Dean's hip and digging in hard enough to instantly leave a bruise, "Dean, I'm gonna…please…please can I…"

The rest of his plea was drowned out in a moan, and Dean realized with a shock of white-hot arousal that Sam was asking for his permission to cum.

"Jesus, Sammy, Jesus," he hissed, rocking forward and feeling utterly overwhelmed by the intensity of his own lust, "fuck, yes. Show me. Do it, Sammy. Cum for me. Come on."

The last few words had barely left his lips before Sam was crying out his name and spasming wildly, the sight and sound of it sending Dean immediately over the edge himself while Sam rutted violently against him, shaking everywhere and gripping onto Dean like his life depended on it as he buried his face deeply into the crook of Dean's shoulder.

They panted together as they rode it out, pleasure that was vicious and dazzling and all-consuming, but as the aftershocks slowly faded and they both began to calm down again, the heaviness of what they had just done finally began to settle in like a weighted blanket, and Dean found himself stepping back a little, away from Sam.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence where Dean just…stood there, still close enough to feel Sam breathing on him, but not close enough to be pressed against him, and it was a long moment…a really long moment.

Dean didn't want to have to relive it again for a while.

"Dean," Sam started, his voice throaty, but he trailed off, as if he couldn't seem to figure out which one of the hundreds of thousands of words he thought he knew was supposed to come after 'Dean.'

Dean had the overwhelming urge to touch Sam again, to drag them back to that place where implications and expectations were too distant to be relevant.

His hand moved forward a little, but he stopped it in midair.

Glancing up, he saw Sam staring, and he pulled his hand away again, back close against his side.

"Hey," Sam murmured softly, shifting his weight as if he couldn't quite decide whether or not to close the space between them. "Dean, it's…it's okay. It's really okay."

Dean shivered, jerking his gaze back to Sam's face, which was melting like snow before his eyes…softening into concern and something…else, too.

"Yeah, I know you believe that, Sammy," he finally said, seized by that sadness-laced guilt that he’d known had been coming, "I…I just…fuck, I never should have done that. It was wrong of me to do that. I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. I'm supposed to take care of you. You might think you know what you want, but you're too young to-"

"Don't do this, Dean."

Sam's expression had turned raw and bleak, and that was definitely Dean's heart in his throat.

Possibly his lungs, too.

"Just don't," Sam said again, crossing his arms defensively against his chest. "I might be younger than you, but I'm not little, and you know it. I haven't been a kid for a long time. I DO know what I want, Dean, and it's you, okay? It's always been you. I need you to understand that. There's nothing you could take from me that I wouldn't give you."

Dean hated himself for the warm glow of satisfaction curling through his stomach at Sam's words.

God, he wanted to have this.

He wanted it so badly that it was a physical, tangible ache causing him real pain somewhere deep down in his center.

He sighed, staring down at the floor next to his feet and then back up at Sam.

"I'm exhausted, Sammy," he said quietly, straightening the wrinkles from his shirt. “We…fuck. We just need…we need to go to sleep. Please. Please just do this for me. Sleep on it. Okay? I need to-just…sleep on it. Because this is…a fucking lot…to process.”

Sam stood motionless for a long moment as Dean trailed off before finally giving Dean a small, curt nod that was barely perceptible.

It looked like maybe he wanted to argue, but after opening his mouth and then closing it again, he squeezed past Dean and sat down on the edge of his mattress, his shoulders hunched.

"Yeah. Fine. I guess we'll…I'll just…see you in the morning. You should…get to bed."

Chapter Text

That night, Dean dreampt that he could fly.

It wasn't one of those slow, sluggish flying dreams where you push down hard with your arms and sort of...lift yourself a few feet into the air.

In this dream, he could soar.

The first few steps were terrifying, like gravity had just given up on him, but then he ran right up through the sky, higher and higher until the clouds were just mist on his cheeks like sweet tears, like the most refreshing sweat in the world.

He flew over mountains and valleys and then back to the cabin, where he somehow just slipped through the solid roof and down into Sam's room.

Sam was awake, just...watching him, naked on top of his blankets and...touching himself.

His eyes were like a challenge, drilling into Dean almost ferociously, and Dean woke feeling alternately uneasy and aroused, sweating and tangled in the sheets with a desire to lock himself in his own room until...well, until something.

Glancing over at the clock on his bedside table, he saw that it was not quite 6:30 AM, and he groaned, knowing that he wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep.

Fuck.

Last night...

Jesus, fuck.

His stomach clenched painfully as the memories of what he had done to...with...Sammy flooded back in vivid detail.

Little (okay maybe not so little, but still terribly young and his BROTHER) Sammy...

"Shit," he muttered darkly to himself, throwing back his sheets and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "You fucking idiot.”

As much as it pained him, he was sure now of exactly what he wanted…

In fact, how he had been able to realistically deny it up until that moment in Sam's room was completely beyond him, and he groaned again, holding his head up with uncertain hands.

His temples pulsed with dull pain around the thrum of his heartbeat as he mentally waded through the overwhelming tangle of questions and unknown factors in this...twisted...equation.

Why did he feel this way?

Why did Sam?

Did Sam even really want him in the same way, or was he just a confused teenager who had picked up on Dean's feelings at some point and run with them?

But, regardless…what was…what was wrong with him?

A part of him wanted there to be some supernatural explanation.

On the one hand, if there was, it would have to be some pretty powerful, bizarre mojo…and to what unpleasant end? But on the other hand, it would mean that none of this was his fault…

Too tired to dwell anymore on the heaviness of the issue, he rose to his feet, his vision blacking out for a moment at the sudden transition.

Shit.

He had to get Sam to school, soon.

He was still the adult, here, whether or not he deserved to be, and he had to start acting like it. No more late-night drinking. No more playing hooky. No more...

He swallowed down the lump in his throat, shuffling into his slippers and heading for the kitchen.

The least he could do was cook Sammy a decent breakfast. The kid needed-

He paused in the open doorway as his eyes landed on Sam, already up and flipping through a daunting textbook at the table while he forked a plate of scrambled eggs.

"Uh," Dean muttered stupidly, crossing his arms over his chest, "I see that you're...awake. And...eating."

Sam glanced up, looking almost like his old, smartass self, which simultaneously calmed and alarmed Dean.

"I'm glad to hear that your eyes are working," Sam said with a little shake of his head, refocusing on whatever he was reading and leaning back a little too casually in his chair. "I'm going to head to school early, today. I have a biology test, so I figured I'd get a little extra studying done in the library. I'll probably be home a little late, too. 4:00. Maybe 5:00. 5:30. Something like that."

Dean shifted his weight uncomfortably, not daring to make eye contact.

"Why?" he asked softly, terrified of the answer...terrified of not getting one...terrified of getting a lie.

Sam took a bite of eggs and chewed it slowly before answering.

"You know my friend Joey who gives me a ride home sometimes? He called me this morning. We're going to shoot some hoops at his place for a little while this afternoon. That okay?"

Dean knew it was a rhetorical question.

"Your friend called you at six in the morning?" Dean found himself saying, his voice dripping with doubt.

He hated himself a little for not being able to just let Sam do what he needed to do in the wake of...everything, but he couldn't seem to help it.

"And since when do you 'shoot hoops,' anyway?"

Sam cocked his head, pursing his lips slightly in Dean's direction.

"Okay," he shot back, his voice shaking a little in a way that made Dean's chest ache, "You want to do it like this? Fine. Since when do I sing, right? Since when do I not get nervous in front of a crowd of people like I used to when I was thirteen? Since when do I...since when do I kiss my big brother? Or get off on him? Since when do I-"

"-fuck, Sammy. Stop it. Just stop it. You made your point. Jesus. You don't have to-"

Dean trailed off, his breath coming too-quickly and his muscles tensed.

"It's...fine. It's fine. Go...shoot hoops, or whatever, okay? It's...fine."

Sam’s expression was rigid and unforgiving when he stood up from the kitchen table just a moment later to grab his backpack from the counter, and Dean wondered if a heart could actually shatter.

"I'll see you tonight," he called to Sam's back, but Sam didn't respond.

When the front door slammed shut, Dean dragged his feet forward on autopilot until he was in front of the couch, and with a desperate sigh, he fell onto it, horrified by the fact that he was crying...actually crying...big ugly tears falling down his cheeks in stark contrast to the sweet rain that had been there in his dream.

‘You see that?’ he thought to himself, hiding his face in the crook of his arm as though the furniture might notice and call Dad to tell him that his eldest son had become weak and pitiful. ‘You fucking ruined it. You ruined everything.’

He wasn't the wishing type, but as he sat there in the dim morning light, he found himself wishing, to anyone or anything that might be listening, that things could just go back to the way they were before...to before he had decided to go to Sam's stupid school...to before he had heard Sam's stupid song...to before he had...temporarily lost his mind and fucking kissed Sam...let Sam touch him...said those things, all those awful things...

He just wanted to erase the vision of Sam looking at him with anger and hurt and even contempt in his eyes.

And he just...fuck...he just wanted his little brother back.

Chapter Text

————————

It was nearly 9:30 PM when Dean finally heard the soft purr of an engine in the driveway.

Fuming, he stalked over to the living room window and yanked the curtain aside, peering out into the darkness.

The yellow glow of headlights illuminated Sam as he tumbled out of the passenger side, laughing wildly at something and clutching onto the top of the car door to steady himself.

An older boy, maybe a senior, Dean guessed, was now climbing out of the driver's seat and saying something to Sam with a sickening grin plastered across his face before puffing on the cigarette he had between two of his fingers.

Coming around the front of the car, he play-punched Sam on the shoulder before offering him the cigarette, which Sam snatched from him before taking a long, slow drag.

Wait a minute.

Dean squinted, leaning forward until his nose was practically pressed against the glass.

That was no cigarette...

It was a joint.

He would know.

He'd smoked his fair share of them when he was younger…younger than Sam, even…and still every once in a while these days if he was being honest.

But...SAM? Sam getting high? With this fucking dirtbag?

He felt a hot rush of anger begin to churn his stomach, and his hands tightened instinctively into fists by his sides.

Not if he fucking had anything to say about it.

Storming to the front door, he wrenched it open, planting his hands on his hips and clearing his throat loudly.

Both boys turned to face him, Sam pursing his lips stubbornly and dirtbag-boy having the audacity to keep smiling stupidly like the damn cat that swallowed the canary.

Dean wanted to hit him.

Instead, he just sharpened his expression into a dangerous glare that he hoped properly conveyed his distaste.

The boy's smile faltered, much to Dean's satisfaction, and he glanced over at Sam for direction.

"Uh, this is my…brother, Dean," Sam finally offered begrudgingly, the words ‘brother’ and ‘Dean’ coming out thickly and forced like they had been stuck to the roof of his mouth. "Dean, meet Joey. He's a Capricorn who likes candlelit dinners, cuddling, and things that blow up."

Joey snorted, giving Sam a little shove.

"Yeah. Pleasure to meet you," he choked out through a hitch of stifled laughter, shoving his hands into his pockets, and Dean's jaw tightened painfully.

"I wish I could say that the feeling is mutual," he grated out through clenched teeth, feeling much angrier than he knew he should. "Unfortunately, you're out here giving my little brother weed almost five hours after he was supposed to be home, so...no, it's not."

Joey cocked his head a little.

"Hey, wait a minute," he said, a different kind of smile creeping across his face, "Aren't you the guy who bought a bag from my cousin Mikey a few weeks ago? You know, I was-"

"Shut it," Dean growled, his voice a cold warning as he finally remembered why Joey seemed so strangely familiar to him. "I'm an adult. Sam's not. Got it? So how about you get back in your piece-of-shit car and high-tail it out’a here before I decide to kick your ass, alright?”

"Oh, so you think I'm just a kid, now, is that it?" Sam snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and fixing Dean with a very purposeful look that made Dean's knees feel weak and his throat feel dry. "Wow. You could have fooled me."

Dean suddenly wondered with a jolt of heightened anxiety if Sam was about to blurt out what had happened between them, or an implication of what had happened, right here in front of Joey.

He was high, after all.

"Just...get inside, Sam," he pleaded, but Sam stubbornly held the tense stare for another long, awkward moment before finally sighing in annoyance and breaking eye contact to look over at Joey and mumble something that sounded suspiciously like, "I'll call you tomorrow."

‘Over my dead body,’ Dean thought furiously to himself as Joey nodded at Sam and climbed into his car, throwing Dean a disproving little frown over his shoulder that Dean suspected might mean he would find himself on the black list of every dealer within a forty mile radius if Joey and Mikey had anything to say about it.

He couldn't bring himself to care.

Pushing past Dean angrily, Sam stormed into the cabin to make a beeline for his room, but Dean caught up with him in a few strides, a guttural sound coming up from deep in his throat as he reached out to grab Sam's shoulder.

"Hey! Stop right there," he hissed, tightening his fingers to a bruising grip, and, to his surprise, Sam did, coming to a sudden halt even though they both knew that he could have easily muscled out of Dean's grasp.

"What, Dean?" he said, his voice a low hum that vibrated through Dean’s chest like an electrical current. "The pot? As if you weren't smoking the second you hit fourteen? Did you really have to fucking threaten Joey like that? Jesus. I have to go school here, you know. And most people already think I'm a freak."

He brushed some hair away from his forehead.

“Besides...I don't. Smoke. I mean, I did, but...I don't, not before this. And now probably never again at least in this town, thanks to you."

Dean's coiled muscles still felt like metal wires under his skin, because the pot wasn't the issue. Not really. Of course it wasn’t. It was...it was-

"I don't care about that," he found himself saying, using his brief moment of leverage to step around to one side, planting his body as a barrier between Sam and his room, “-I..I...are you pissed at me? I mean, don't answer that. I know you're pissed at me. I'm not an idiot."

He paused for a second, forcing himself to take a deep breath before hunching his shoulders in defeat and dropping his hand to step out of Sam's way.

"I get it. I...pushed you too far. I mean, is that what’s-…fuck. I don’t know what to do here, Sammy. I don’t know what-how…to…to fix it.”

He was mortified by the fact that his eyes were burning again like they had that morning, and he quickly looked down at the ugly carpet, waiting for Sam to just walk right by him into his room, waiting to be left alone in the dark with his guilt where he belonged, but the seconds were ticking torturously by, and Sam wasn't moving, so he raised his head, daring to look up.

Sam's eyes were practically boring holes into him, his face arranged into an expression that was...well...it wasn't anger.

At least, Dean didn't think it was.

Although, he did wonder for one wild moment if Sam was going to reach out and slap him.

He would let it happen, of course.

"You know you're a dick, don't you?" Sam said instead, but the insult didn't resonate in his soft voice or reach his eyes, which Dean was surprised to see were suddenly smoldering darkly under heavy lids.

"Uh...I, uh..." Dean started, feeling confused and a little scared and even more uncomfortable than he already had been, "Yes. Yes? No, yes...I-I know."

And to think, he used to consider himself smooth.

He found himself desperately wishing that he could stop time for just long enough to prepare and memorize some intelligent, safe answers, because that line…the one they had soared over so spectacularly last night and the one Sam was inexplicably pushing them closer and closer to now with each new breath, suddenly felt like something that would open its jaws and snap them both up if they crossed it again.

This time, it was Sam's turn to grab Dean's shoulder, and Dean jumped at the touch like a skittish colt as that familiar tingling warmth began to pool in his abdomen again like poison, like the best kind of cancer...

"If you seriously think that you pushed me into anything last night, you really are an idiot," Sam said quietly, raising his eyes with a little huff of mild exasperation, “-there’s no way you think that's why I've been pissed at you. I mean…for finally giving me what I’ve wanted for years? I get that you think I’m a flighty teenager, but come on…”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

Dean felt as if either the temperature in the room had just skyrocketed by thirty degrees or he was on the verge of having an actual, full-blown panic attack. 

‘Definitely both,’ he thought wildly as his heartbeat plucked itself erratically into overdrive.

"Dean," Sam continued, fingering the fabric of Dean's shirt now at the hem, "I was pissed at you because I...I thought you were going to take it away again. Don't you get it? The way you acted. I thought-"

The words died on his lips as he leaned in to press his mouth against Dean's, thankfully just for a fleeting moment, because Dean was now fairly certain that he was incapable of saying no to his little brother in situations like these.

When Sam pulled back, Dean closed his eyes and pressed his hand to his mouth as if he could force the sense-memory of the kiss back down his throat to a place where he wouldn't be able to feel it...to want more of it...

"Sammy," he finally said in a voice so calloused he could barely recognize it as his own, "God...I...we can't. Do this. I mean, not-not…we...you're my little brother. You - we’re not…don’t you get how...messed up that is?"

He thought that Sam might sulk or say something passive aggressive or even walk away, but his words just seemed to fuel the fire in Sam's eyes, and Dean was definitely going to have a panic attack now, because all he wanted to do was to dive under his own moral compass, to reach out and touch Sam everywhere, to map his skin, to pull those moans out of him again, those sweet, slutty, damning sounds...

He realized a moment too late that he was staring hungrily, greedily, at Sam's mouth, and apparently it was the only confirmation Sam needed.

This time, when Sam moved back into his personal space, he couldn't stop his body from betraying him, from lunging forward to meet his brother like a rabid animal, like the worst demonic-possession imaginable, but the rush of sickening dread only lasted for a moment, because...fuck...no matter how wrong it was, kissing Sam was still just as exhilarating and humanizing and, yes...infuriating...but powerful and a million other things that Dean would have to think about at some point.

There would be time for that later.

There would be time for discussion and dissection and reasoning and redirecting…after.

He couldn’t-…he just couldn’t…

It was one more terrible decision. Just one. What difference would it really even make after everything he’d already done if he just-

Groaning, he pressed his tongue against Sam's teeth, giving in completely, and Sam opened up with a throaty purr that had Dean grinding into a thrust against his brother's hip far sooner than he should have.

Sam sighed shakily, pushing against Dean's chest until he stumbled backwards and into Sam's room.

There, about two feet from the foot of his double bed, Sam pulled away, putting a few inches between them, and Dean's heart began to sink until he saw Sam's hands tugging his own t-shirt up over his stomach, over his chest, over his head, where it stuck on a drag over his nose for a second before pulling free and being tossed unceremoniously to the side.

Jesus.

Dean's eyes raked over Sam's skin, this experience somehow so deliciously and terribly different from the other thousand times he had seen Sam shirtless, but before he could even take it all in, process it, determine his next move, Sam's fingers were at his belt, and then, after he had loosened the strap just enough, at his fly.

Dean wondered for a horrifying moment if he might black out, but his eyelids felt glued open as Sam lowered both his jeans and briefs together in one quick downward pull, kicking them off to join his shirt before straightening up, completely naked...and hard...in front of Dean.

Fuck.

Fuck…

This was something...new…

Okay, so everything was something new, but this was…god, this was...dangerous.

"Sammy," he choked out, reaching to palm the front of his jeans with an almost frantic groan even as he tried to force his mouth to say something that would slow this down, “What are you...we can't..."

Someday, he would remaster the subtle art of using complete sentences.

Sam moaned just a little, completely ignoring Dean's words, fisting his own cock at the base and stroking upward, and...oh, shit...Dean could...smell...him. He could smell Sam's arousal in the air around them like an intoxicating vapor settling in to the deepest corners of his brain.

He wanted to fucking drown in it, just…sweet and heady and musky and earthy and...so solidly Sam as it dragged him away from the air and down into the depths of pure, primal need.

His tongue felt as rough as sandpaper as he made a futile attempt to wet his lips, and he was almost ready to accept the fact that in maybe five seconds, he was no longer going to be able to give a shit anymore about lines and boundaries and-

Fuck.

Both brothers looked out toward the living room, where Metallica was jangling sharply from Dean's cell phone on the table like the sweetest and most infuriating wake-up call Dean could imagine.

It was Dad.

"Don't answer it," Sam whispered, desperately stepping forward and into Dean's space again. "Come on. Just let it ring. We'll call him back."

But being the good son, the good soldier, was so hardwired into Dean that he started moving to the door on autopilot, wincing a little at Sam's frustrated hiss.

He half-considered smashing the phone down onto the wooden table when he had it in his hands, but instead, he flipped it open and raised it to his ear.

"Yeah?" he grunted, glancing over his shoulder to see that Sam had flopped stomach-down onto his bed and was glaring at him with a little pout that was just so damn...

Focus. Focus.

"Dean," John murmured quietly, like he was trying to keep from being heard by something on his end of the call, "I'm coming to pick you boys up. I’m close. Get your stuff packed, essentials only. We're leaving. I got made. Just…lock all the doors and windows, don’t go outside, and get ready. You hear me?"

Dean gaped silently for a moment.

"What...what are you talking about?" he finally asked, his heart hammering in his chest. "I thought you and Bobby were after vamps?"

"I lied," John said gruffly, and the small click was all Dean needed to hear to know that the conversation was over.

"What's going on?" Sam called, now sitting up on his bed and looking at Dean with clear concern etched across his face. "What...is Dad okay?"

Dean met his eyes, trying to force himself to appear much calmer than he felt.

"Pack your bags, Sammy," he said, reaching out a hand to steady himself on the table. "We're leaving."

Chapter Text

Hours went by in silence with nothing but the hum of an occasional car passing them in the night and the barely-audible drone of a man monotonously rattling off the news on the turned-down radio up front.

Sam and Dean sat in the back, Sam dozing with his face scrunched against the strap of his seatbelt and Dean staring out the window solemnly, his mouth set in a hard line and his head spinning with an onslaught of uncertainties.

They had both known better than to play the twenty questions game with Dad when he had arrived to pick them up.

It wouldn't have gotten them anywhere, anyway.

John had simply told them that they would know what they needed to know when they needed to know it, and they had understood that the discussion, if anyone could call it that, was closed.

Dean understood enough to know that they weren't dealing with any kind of run-of-the-mill monster tussle, and not because Dad had never been made in some common place hunt that went south.

No, there was a sadness in his eyes this time, a heaviness, a kind of exhaustion that ran deep…deeper than they had seen in years.

They weren't strangers to having to suddenly pack up and leave a place just because of a silly loose string that left them too exposed, but this wasn't one of those situations.

Dean surreptitiously studied John’s face in his periphery, watching as their father fixed his gaze worryingly onto Sam in the overhead mirror. 

Despite outward appearances, Dean knew that Dad was fiercely protective when it came to his sons. Sam especially, even though Sam had always assumed that Dean was the favorite child.

Dean knew he wasn't.

Dad was often harsh and unyielding with Sam to his face, and he certainly didn't know how to handle the teen angst that Dean had never really been in a position to outwardly display, but when Sam was looking the other way, even sometimes when he wasn't, Dean would catch Dad watching his youngest son with a proud tenderness reserved only for Sam.

He was the baby of the family, but it wasn't that.

He was also…different. Different from them…always had been.

He was better, and Dad knew it and Dean knew it and, deep down, they had both been terrified for a while now that Sam would leave them someday, that he would leave them with just their own shared brokenness and nothing to say to each other.

And now, god, now…everything with Sam was just so…so impossible and inexplicable and paralyzing and terrifying…

Dean sighed, quiet exhaustion written into every line of his face.

He knew that he should be trying to get some rest while he had the chance, but all he wanted was for Dad to tell him that it was his turn to drive, because up front, with the wheel under his fingers and the accelerator under his foot, he liked to pretend that he was piloting an airplane and that the road was just a long runway that would eventually fade to a tiny stripe below him as he took off into the air.

Actual airplanes? No, thank you…but pretend ones? Pretend, impala-shaped ones? He would never admit it in a million years because of how juvenile it seemed even inside his own head, but it was secretly one of his favorite go-to happy places.

"Dean," John suddenly said, his quiet voice seeming unnaturally-loud after so many hours of silence, "radio says a storm's rolling in. They're calling it a hurricane, so I think we'd better not risk being out on the road, at least not until the morning. I'm pulling off at the next exit with a lodging sign to find us somewhere to crash for the night. You hungry? I have some dinner up here if you want it. I forgot to ask you. Or did you guys eat earlier?"

They hadn't, and Dean's stomach gave a little growl as he remembered that food intake was an essential part of staying alive, but Dad's idea of "dinner" apparently meant an open take-out container of what looked like very old…greyish sludge with a few noodle-shaped lumps, so Dean decided against it.

"Nah," he said, shifting a little in his seat and glancing over at Sam, who still hadn't stirred from what was obviously a much-needed sleep (how his brother could pass out anywhere and in almost any situation had always been beyond him) “Thanks, though. I grabbed some…a piece of pizza before we left."

He paused, grasping for something to say, because even awkward small talk was better than thinking right now.

“How's, uh, how's Bobby? Is he meeting us somewhere?"

"Mmm," John replied vaguely, cranking up the radio a bit, and Dean sighed, although not loudly enough to be heard.

No one held up their end of the conversation quite like Dad.

"How was everything while I was gone?" John asked after a minute, plowing right over the Bobby question and flipping on his blinker as an exit sign came into view. "Sam cause you any headaches?"

Dean cleared his throat nervously.

He had hoped that Dad would bring up nearly anything on earth besides how he and Sam had been during his absence.

"Oh…no, no. No, not at all," he lied, his chest feeling uncomfortably tight. "No, he was great. Got to school, did his homework, didn't complain. No, no, it was…he was fine."

Jesus, that had been four too many ‘no's’ to not sound suspicious, but John just nodded, craning his neck to read a street name ahead of them at a deserted intersection.

"Well, that's surprising," he finally added, turning down a narrow, dusty road that Dean couldn't help but feel was unlikely to contain a lodging place of any kind unless John planned to commandeer the cave of some large, wild animal.

"So, no complaining or moping or locking himself in his room, huh?" Dad continued softly, “Man, that kid. So, what'd you do, roofie him?"

Dean fake-laughed way too loudly at that, earning himself a questioning squint from John in the mirror and a sleepy little grunt from Sam as he startled awake at the noise.

"W'as going on?" he murmured blearily, rubbing his eyes. "Are we there, yet?"

Before Dean could respond, John nudged the breaks as if on cue, and both boys stared out the window at the bright red letters coming into view on their left flickering the words, "One-Trick Pony Inn."

"Yep," Dean said, raising an eyebrow, "Looks like."

One-Trick Pony Inn?

The phrase conjured up images of elderly prostitutes or mentally-delayed horses, and as they pulled into the nearly-empty parking lot, the peeling orange paint and general ambiance of a back-woods pay-by-the-hour establishment cemented Dean's suspicions that this wasn't going to be a stocked mini-fridge and cable TV kind of night.

Not that he was surprised.

Luxury rarely had a place in the comings and goings of hunters, unless it was somehow connected to a case.

He just hoped that there would be a viable heat source, clean-ish blankets, a bathroom that wasn't communal, and cockroaches that at least weren't fat and lazy enough to wander around in plain sight.

But…as he was nostalgically reminiscing about that time in Newport, Rhode Island with the socialite witch sisters and about how much it had sucked to have to sleep in the cramped room of a crappy motel again after four days of pretending to be rich, something struck him like a blow to the chest, and he choked on nothing, gripping his door handle and swallowing thickly.

How had this just occurred to him?

Crappy motel. One room. Sam with him in a double bed while Dad slept an arm's length away. Sam with his newfound…boldness…with those teenage hormones that Dean knew from experience always won out over common sense. Dean with his seemingly chronic case of can't-resist-Sammy-itis.

My God.

This entire thing (what…the rest of their lives, now?) had suddenly become a landmine of horrifying and unexplainable situations waiting to happen.

But…Sam was just yawning loudly and leaning back in his seat with his arms pushed behind his head in a long stretch, and he wasn't even looking at Dean…not even a sideways glance or a secret smile or one of those other Sam-ian stares that had always lit up Dean's insides like a string of colored Christmas lights.

Dean began to wonder unpleasantly if he was really terrified about Sam making a move or…terrified that he wouldn't.

Christ, he was fucked in the head.

"Come on, boys," Dad said, swinging open his door. "Let's get inside."

---------------------------------------

Dad didn't even bother to change before falling into one of the small room's double beds and murmuring something that sounded like "Nurrgmmn," his eyes already closed before his head hit the pillow and the empty flask on his nightstand indicating a whisky-induced knockout, something Sam and Dean had both become all too familiar with over the years.

Dean spent a lot of time bustling around silently doing what he hoped seemed like relevant things: unpacking several items and slipping into his pajama pants, brushing some invisible dirt off the bedspread, opening and closing and reopening his cellphone, adjusting the curtains…things like that.

Sam had been in the bathroom brushing his teeth and washing his face, and when Dean walked by to make sure that the latch on the front door was secure, he glanced over to see Sam watching him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"You done making sure that we're on total lockdown?" Sam asked with an unmistakable smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I'm pretty sure we're off the grid, out here."

Dean's palms had already started to sweat just hearing Sam talk, and he wiped them on his t-shirt, his breath suddenly and embarrassingly erratic.

"Yeah, well, better safe than sorry," he mumbled, his foot twitching like he was trying to walk away but couldn't figure out how. "You know, we don't really know what we're dealing with here, so…"

The rest of his sentence faded away into the tense air between them.

Sam continued to stare at him for a moment before clearing his throat and then pushing his way past to get to the free bed.

"You want the wall side?" he asked casually, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Dad, and Dean stood rooted to the spot for a few long seconds, finally realizing that he couldn't just stand there avoiding whatever was about to happen (or not happen) all night.

"Uh, yeah, y-yeah, sure," he stuttered, feeling immensely thankful for the fact that the room was dark enough to conceal the blush that had started to creep across his face. "Yeah. Good. That's…good."

Sam smiled, tossing himself onto the bed and using his feet to kick his way under the covers.

"We'd better get some sleep," he said, covering a huge yawn with the back of his hand. "Come on. Get in."

Dean, being much more observant than many people assumed, especially about his brother, knew that Sam's nose crinkled up adorably every time he genuinely yawned, which it hadn't even a little just now.

And, okay, yes…Sam fake-yawning could mean nothing at all. Or it could mean that he…wasn't really ready for sleep just yet.

Dean walked forward on autopilot to his side of the bed where he briefly paused before hesitantly climbing in and settling himself into position facing the wall as close to the edge as it was physically possible to be without toppling off.

But, to his surprise, there was only silence and stillness from Sam…for what could have been five minutes or forty five minutes. Dean wasn't sure, because he was so hyper-focused on every tiny thing contained in each second that time as a whole was lost on him.

He knew that Sam wasn't asleep, because those deep, sleep breaths just weren't coming, and he definitely wasn't going to be able to fall asleep until Sam did, so, finally, he very slowly and very quietly turned to face his brother, not sure of what he was going to say or do…just certain that he would drive himself crazy if he didn't say or do something.

He shouldn't have been startled to see Sam fixing him with one of those intense stares he’d become all too familiar with these past few days, but his breath still caught in his throat at the sight of it with a little hitch he hoped hadn't been noticeable.

"Trouble sleeping?" Sam murmured, his voice so low that it was barely audible, and Dean found himself nodding as a tight knot began to form somewhere in his lower abdomen.

Sam shifted closer in one quick movement, and quite suddenly, all of Dean's personal space was filled with his little brother…his little brother who was now flipping over onto his other side so that his back was pressed against Dean's chest and his ass was-

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Dean was instantly rock-hard.

Maybe he already had been??

He didn't really know or care…wasn't capable of either, because jesus christ Sam's body was so warm and so firm, and he just couldn't be held responsible for the little push forward of his hips that had Sam turning to bury his face in his pillow, pushing back against Dean with a muffled little groan.

For the tiniest of moments, Dean stilled, trying to logic himself out of the whole thing, to remind himself how…dangerous it was, but then Sam was grabbing him by the wrist with a breathless whisper of, “I need this. I know you do too. Dad won't wake up. Come on. Please."

It was so rough, so beautifully desperate, and Dean sighed, closing his eyes and letting Sam direct his hand…over and down across otherworldly smoothness that Dean's fingers wanted to memorize…down…and then down even further.

Dean mindlessly tightened his grip over the outline of Sam's erection through the thin fabric of his pajama pants, and he suddenly couldn't think at all, not even if he’d wanted to…not a single, viable thought except ‘touch, feel, more…’

And Sam's hands were there, too, pushing, pulling, rearranging…but before Dean could even work through what was happening, his fingertips were ghosting across hot skin, arousal puncturing his chest like a serrated knife at the realization that he was touching Sam…actually touching him.

God, there wasn't enough air in the room, and Dean distantly knew that he should feel cool. The heat in the damn place was barely functional, but it didn't matter.

It was like the sun was shining on his entire body, lighting him up, even burning him, but…the best kind of burn.

Sam was panting quietly and thrusting into Dean's palm, and Dean had never been so turned on his life as he threw a leg over Sam's hip, pulling them even closer together.

The fantasy didn't match the reality of having his brother's bare cock in his hand. Fuck…no, not even close.

This was so…so much better, unfair to even compare the two, and Dean knew in a kind of soul-shattering way that he was hopelessly beyond any ability to turn this off or to even begin to know how to fight it.

Using his free hand, he brushed the strong line of Sam's jaw with his thumb before cupping his brother’s cheek and forcing Sam's head up and off the pillow, maybe a little awkwardly for Sam, but Dean didn't care.

He had to see Sam's face…had to watch him come apart for this.

"That's it," he hummed softly, stroking Sam hard and fast in a way that was making Sam moan and arch nearly off the bed…too loud, too much noise, they had to keep it down, because Dad had just stirred a little, grunting in his sleep.

Dean’s palm instinctively found Sam's mouth to cover it tight, and…fuck…Sam was turned on by it, his cock twitching hotly in Dean’s fist and a full-body shiver rippling his muscles from shoulder to calf.

He was stuttering little fragments of incoherent words behind Dean's fingers, and Dean finally caught “-off” and "need to feel you.”

He couldn't move quickly enough, his hand leaving Sam's mouth to fumble with his own pajama pants, finally managing to lower them enough to rut forward against Sam's ass through a surge of heady arousal that felt like hot needles piercing his nerves.

He rocked forward again, harder this time, and it was clear by the way Sam's thighs were clenching and unclenching repeatedly that he was close to losing it.

Winding his fingers through his brother’s hair, Dean guided Sam’s head back until his throat was stretched tight and his forehead was nearly resting against Dean's own neck.

Dean could tell that Sam would have let him yank instead of guide, that he wanted it like that, and god the things he would do if it was just the two of them, alone…

For now, though, he just sped up his strokes, thrusting against Sam to the same rhythm, and after no more than a minute, Sam's entire body was tensing so perfectly, so sweetly, so goddamned beautifully…

"Do it,” Dean hissed into Sam's ear, and that was it.

For both of them.

Sam jerked violently in Dean's hand, shooting out strands of cum that reached nearly up to Dean's elbow, and Dean groaned through his teeth as he covered the outside of Sam's ass and the small of his back, his insides sparking like live wires and his head fuzzing over with a honeyed thickness that made him feel almost stupidly giddy as he shivered his way through it.

"F-fuck. Fuck. Jesus…fuck," he babbled too loudly, and John snorted, rolling to face them, his eyes still mercifully all the way shut and his exhales steady.

Christ.

Thank God for massive amounts of whiskey...

Sam trembled, relaxing against Dean, and Dean waited for the taste of bile to rise in the back of throat, for that sick feeling to wash over him like poisonous gas, but it didn't…

It…wasn't.

Instead, all he could think about in that moment was the little bit of shyness lingering in the tilt of Sam's head and the fact that they were breathing together in-time and that it all…that it all just felt…so damn good.

God help him, but it was true.

Logically, he knew that it wasn't, it wasn’t good…but it just…felt like it could be…if the rest of the world could fade out around them…like…fuck, like in Sam's song.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, his voice so vulnerable that it made Dean's chest ache, and Dean found himself moving his hand up from Sam's softening cock to his stomach, where he just…lightly brushed his fingers across the skin there.

"Yeah?" he asked softly, Sam's musky, earthy smell making him feel lightheaded again. "What is it, Sammy?"

Sam took a shaky little breath, and Dean could feel his brother’s muscles fluttering wherever Dean's fingers landed.

"I…I just…I…love you," Sam finally said, half burying his face in the pillow, and Dean squeezed Sam tightly against him.

It was such a small thing to say, really…something they had said to each other so many times...

Such a small thing.

Three little, tiny, words.

I love you.

It wasn't anything more than that.

And it wasn't anything less than wonderful to Dean.

Chapter Text

Dean was startled awake the following morning by a pillow hitting the side of his head, and he bolted upright with a grunt, swatting it away and feeling disoriented for a few long moments as his conscious mind sputtered indignantly into gear.

John stood by the side of the bed, appraising Dean with one of his unreadable expressions, already fully dressed with his beaten up green duffel slung over his shoulder...and was that...worry in his eyes? Anger? Something else entirely?

“Uh, ‘morning,” Dean grumbled in John’s direction, his gaze flitting down to his brother’s still-snoring body and then back to his own lap, thankful at least that an appropriate amount of space existed between them.

But John merely sighed in response, not even offering his usual, albeit callous, “g’morning” to Dean in return.

Fighting away the haziness of sleep, Dean suddenly questioned whether or not his father had remained fully unconscious throughout...well, everything (christ, he still couldn’t even say it in his own private thoughts) and his hands clenched into nervous fists under the thin sheet while John bent to pluck the ratty beige blanket from the floor, tossing it onto the foot of the bed in a tangled heap.

Sam had always been one to kick the covers off at some point in the night, leaving Dean shivering and grumbling, too tired or too lazy to get up and retrieve it, and man how that used to piss him off...

Last night, however, the heat of Sam’s silky skin against his own, nerves rising kinetically to the touch of hands...fuck...the heat of the pure visceral indulgence of touching Sammy like he had...it was enough to keep him burning from the inside out no matter how cold it got.

And now, Dean studied John silently as he moved around the room, tossing the last of what they had unpacked into another smaller bag, still saying nothing but certainly exuding...something.

“You want some help?” Dean finally offered, his fists relaxing a little after having decided that if Dad had in fact seen or heard any of what had gone down between him and Sammy last night, he would have woken Dean up with a punch to the face instead of a pillow.

John cast him a withering glance, rolling his eyes noticeably.

“Nah,” he gruffed, turning to pull on the curtains, letting the faint orange light of early dawn into the otherwise darkened room. “I woke you up so you could laze around for a while watching me do all the work. And get your brother up would you? We’re hitting the road in ten.”

It was Dean’s turn to sigh, but he quickly morphed it into a mock yawn as John shot daggers at him from across the room.

‘Yikes. One of those days,’ Dean thought, his stomach sinking. ‘Always a blast.’

Whatever had happened in Flagstaff, or in...well, who knew where, sure had John tied up in knots, that much was becoming clearer and clearer.

Perhaps more so than Dean could ever remember seeing him, actually, now that he really thought about it.

Fuck. What on earth were they up against?

————————————

Waking Sammy up when he wanted to be sleeping was a herculean feat, to put it mildly.

“That kid,” John chided, half to himself, and then added, “-christ. You know, you’re being too soft on him, Dean. I know he’s your kid brother, but I swear, I will drag him to the car myself if he’s not out there in five minutes.”

Dean was flustered again.

Dad’s phrasing of “too soft on him” and “your kid brother” was making him dizzy and nauseated in that alarming kind of way he had hoped he could move beyond.

Kid brother.

He’s your kid brother.

‘Uh-uh.’

He mentally interrupted his self-sabotaging train of thought.

‘You can’t have it both ways, man…’

Christ.

Could he ever even go back to seeing Sam as just his little brother after everything he’d already allowed himself to give into? If he could figure out a way to turn the rest of it off inside of him, inside both of them, to stop it in its tracks right here, right now…

Would any of this even be possible to undo?

Okay, so maybe they hadn’t...they hadn’t...

Dean’s eyelids fluttered uncontrollably as the image leaked into his mind from corner to corner without his permission, and he briefly wondered if he might pass out.

Holy shit.

He hadn’t even known he was physically or mentally capable of craving something so intensely…

The car door slamming directly outside their window made him jump, and he snapped his gaze to the spot where Dad had been standing a minute (two…three minutes??) earlier, realizing that he needed to regain at least a modicum of control over these damn time lapses or even Dad, despite his emotional and mental distance, would realize that something wasn’t right.

“What is wrong with me?” he murmured out loud to himself, his own mostly-whispered voice still startling him in the stillness.

It was absurd. It was ridiculous. He’d made the conscious decision last night to stop fighting this, for now, at least…despite its inherent wrongness and all those...implications.

It had seemed so...doable, so within reach, anyway…in the aftermath of giving in to temptation.

But how could he??

Palming his forehead and standing up wearily, he heard the impatient summoning honk of the impala and grabbed Sam’s backpack from the armchair in front of him.

“Oy, Sammy,” he called, swinging the bag by one of its shoulder straps down onto Sam’s curled up legs and plastering his best ‘everything’s fine’ expression onto his face.

“Come on, brother-“

Damn it. Why’d you have to go and be my little brother?

“Time to leave. Up you get. I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume we’ve got...quite the day ahead of us.”

Chapter Text

————————

“Could you turn the music down? Like maybe just to a dull roar? That’d be great.”

Sam huffed in annoyance from the backseat, shifting his legs to drape one of them several inches forward onto the center console of the impala, his sock-clad foot brushing Dean’s waist while he drove.

The minuscule, perfectly innocent contact still gripped Dean’s heart in a vice, and he could feel his breath quicken, wondering if perhaps he was losing his mind.

“Hungover, huh?” John grunted suddenly from the passenger seat, giving Dean a once-over before reaching out to flick the volume knob down about a millimeter. “You find some bar or something after I passed out, Dean? I told you not to leave the room.”

Dean coughed in surprise, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish for a moment before responding.

“What? No. No I didn’t find a-...I didn’t go to a bar, Dad. I’m not, I don’t-“

Sam chimed in from the backseat, cutting Dean off as he floundered for words.

“A BAR, Dad? In that town? I don’t think even Dean would venture into that place if it existed.”

John merely squinted down at the map draped across his jeans, making a noise that clearly conveyed disbelief.

“Riiight,” he finally offered after a long moment, raising an eyebrow in Dean’s direction. “Because that’s not at all what guilt sounds like. And I guess you’re sweaty and nervous and an overall mess for some other reason, is that it? I guess I don’t know you or your patterns at all, Dean, that you just-“

“I found a bar after you passed out,” Dean blurted quickly, the words all merging together to sound like one long word and leaving behind them a brief but very awkward silence before he continued, against his own will.

“I’m hungover and I’m sorry and I shouldn’t have done it (oh god, stop talking) and I won’t do it again and Sammy was asleep too so he didn’t know and...uh...I’m, I won’t lie to you again. I’m sorry for putting us at risk. (shut up shut up you’re making it worse). It won’t happen again. I am. Hungover. But I won’t...do it again. I’m sorry.”

Dean held his breath and could practically feel Dad’s eyes boring into him from one angle and Sam’s from another as he toed the gas pedal, like speeding the car up could somehow help him flee this awful interaction.

“Well, you-“ John started, his tone somewhere between shell-shocked and wildly uncomfortable. “You, ah...”

He cut himself off almost immediately, exhaling sharply in exasperation.

“Nope. Never mind. I don’t even think I wanna ask, Dean,” John sighed, crumpling the map closed and slipping it into the glovebox. “Just don’t lose your damn marbles on me, alright? Jesus. It’s NOT the time. And no bars. You hear me?”

“Uh-huh,” Dean mumbled, wishing he didn’t exist and silently vowing to himself that he would speak as little as was humanly possible until he trusted himself again.

‘Because that’ll happen real soon,’ he thought helplessly. ‘Real soon...’

——————-
*In a diner off the highway where the boys have stopped for lunch*

“What’ll it be, doll?” the waitress asked with a smile, her pen poised above her notepad, and Dean glanced absently at the menu in front of him for about the 12th time.

“Uh, just a house salad, thanks,” he said, his tone devoid of the typical flirtatious hum he would usually employ with attractive blondes taking his order.

“Oh, and a...what did Dad want again, Sam?”

Sam was staring at him from across the table with a mixture of confusion and incredulity that Dean pretended not to notice, and there was a heavy moment of silence before Sam finally caved, clearing his throat and rustling through his own menu.

“Right, oh, a...cheeseburger I think, bacon cheeseburger, and a coffee. A turkey and cheddar melt for me, no fries.”

As Sam rattled off the order, his eyes never strayed from Dean, a fact that Dean didn’t even need to look up from his lap to ascertain since he had always been able to sense his little brother’s gaze with near-unfailing accuracy.

He could feel it like a heat lamp.

Maybe today, more like an interrogation light. Two of them.

The waitress, Darla, scribbled for a moment before flouncing away with a “You got it!” tossed over her shoulder, and without skipping a beat, Sam kicked out at Dean’s leg under the table, his mouth tugged into a frown that was somehow still impossibly sexy.

“What the hell, Dean?” he hissed in a low voice. “You have got to pull yourself together, and what is your deal, anyway? Why are you acting like this? Last night was...you were...it was different. Wasn’t it? That’s not what...w-what this is, right?”

Dean jerked forward onto his elbows, his blood turning icy and hot all at once.

“Are you crazy?” he hissed, his eyes darting around the room anxiously. “We are not discussing this right now. Dad’s here for fuck’s sake, Sammy, use your head.”

Sam stared at him for a moment before his expression hardened perceptively, his arms (those...not little at all arms) folding defensively across his chest.

Dean parted his lips to say something, anything, that might diffuse this, but Sam barreled on, cutting him off before he could begin.

“Dad’s on the phone, Dean. Outside. And you know it. He has super-hearing, is that it? Ohh, maybe he’ll psychically sense the fact that his sons have been messing around and come storming in here to set us straight. Or maybe...MAYBE...this is a you thing, not a Dad thing.”

Sam’s voice was two notches higher than normal, and he was blinking rapidly, his pupils contracting in the fluorescent light of the diner.

“I just don’t get it, Dean. It’s like you’re two different people. I thought you...I don’t know, it just seemed like you...”

He trailed off, looking away, his breath hitching in his throat, and Dean couldn’t ever remember feeling more confused, more conflicted. He was paralyzed by its intensity, trapped in it like a cage, and he suddenly, irrationally, wished that he could talk to Mom.

Not that she wouldn’t be equally disgusted with him, but he just needed...he needed someone to tell him what he was supposed to do.

What the fuck was the right thing to do?

“Sam...” he whispered, his own throat now too-tight and his eyes burning uncomfortably. “It’s not…it’s not what you think. God, I just…”

He didn’t even know what he was trying to say, but he instinctively found himself reaching across the table to make physical contact with his brother, to touch his shoulder maybe, to grab his hand.

He just needed it to stop...Sam’s disappointment in him. It was too much. It was overwhelming.

But it was also...

“What happened here?”

Too late.

“Someone going to tell me what in holy hell happened in the few minutes I was gone?”

John leaned across the table towards Dean, his elbows supporting most of his weight and his expression displeased on every level.

Caught up in the weight of their conversation, neither brother had seen their father re-enter the diner, and in actuality, Dean had temporarily forgotten that his father even existed for the smallest of moments, which made his appearance all the more unsettling.

“What’d you do?” John demanded, the accusation directed towards Dean, and maybe it was the tension in the air as thick as heavy smoke or the implications of Dad’s question or the fear of what would happen next, but Sam kicked his way out of his chair and stalked towards the door of the diner, leaving Dean and John to watch his retreating back.

“Just...let me go after him,” Dean mumbled breathlessly, rising from his own chair. “It’s uh, he’s just...upset.”

John pressed his lips into a tight line, bringing one hand up to iron his palm across his forehead.

“Oh really, Dean? I hadn’t noticed. And just...fine. Go get him. Whatever’s going on between you two, zip it up tight and bury it. You got it? I need you both clear-headed for what’s coming next, not bickering like children about god knows what.”

Dean just nodded curtly, unable to come up with a better response, and without knowing what he was going to say or do to fix this, he made a beeline for the door, only knowing that he needed his brother.

And that Sam needed him.

—————————————-

Chapter Text

Sam hadn’t gone far, thankfully.

At least he’d had enough sense not to pull a stunt like that time he tried to run away from a truck stop in North Dakota a couple of years ago.

Dean had found him hours later outside a gas station, freezing cold in nothing but his t-shirt after having given his jacket and all of his pocket money to homeless man.

Dean almost smiled as he relived that memory.

He and Sam had taken a detour on their way back to Dad to go candlepin bowling, and Dean had gotten them both kicked out trying to skate down one of the alleys in his socks.

Things were so much simpler back then.

But were they, though?

Frowning a little, Dean recalled pushing Sam into the bathroom of the dingy motel they had been staying at for a hot shower later that night after they had both been chewed out by Dad.

“You’re still freezing,” he had insisted, holding the back of his hand up to Sam’s cheek. “Come on. Plus, you’re a mess.”

“Make me,” Sam had scoffed teasingly, play-punching Dean on the shoulder, and Dean had wrestled him up against the wall and stripped him of his t-shirt, perhaps in a...decidedly more-than-brotherly way now that he was reflecting back on it.

The past four years had been riddled with examples like that one, and Dean wondered, as they flashed through his mind seemingly of their own accord, how on earth he had been able to keep the guilt buried so successfully when he had clearly been guilty for such a long...long time.

More than that...Sammy, god...Sammy.

”I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Dean, but I just...all this time, and I just couldn’t...”

It was what Sam had said to him back at the cabin.

And he hadn’t been wrong...

Dean had been the one dipping their feet into this, ever since Sam had hit puberty.

But he wasn’t...he couldn’t just...

“You do realize I can see you, right?”

Dean started and turned his head, his heart fluttering shamelessly as he met Sam’s big, reproachful eyes from across the parking lot where Sam was sitting hunched over on a little bench just behind the diner.

Dean cleared his throat, shoving his fingertips into the small pockets of his jeans and breaching the space between them, still utterly unsure of what he planned to say.

“Yeah, I know,” he offered quietly as he reached the bench, bending to sit on the cold metal next to Sam.

“I’m sorry. I was just...thinking.”

Sam sighed heavily, pulling his legs up under him and gripping his knees between his hands.

“You’ve been doing too much of that, Dean,” he said with another frown, cocking his head to the side, his eyes so full of...too much, too much for a 17 year old to have to carry.

And Dean wanted more than anything to agree, to just...believe that he could have this with Sam and that it would be okay.

But before he could respond one way or the other, Sam had switched tracks alarmingly and was now keening his upper body forward into Dean’s space, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“You know, Dean,” he purred in a voice that instantly electrified Dean’s nerves, “I’ve been thinking too...and, actually, I don’t even have to put up with this, not really...I mean, let’s be honest. If I offer it up, you’ll take it. Won’t you?”

He snaked out a hand, his fingers painting a stripe down Dean’s collar bone over the fabric of his shirt as Dean sucked in a desperate mouthful of cool air against the full-body shiver rippling outward from Sam’s touch.

“Sam...” he groaned, but it sounded less like ‘stop,’ and more like ‘don’t stop,’ and it only egged Sam on.

Dean’s trembling fingers managed to close over Sam’s just as they were about to reach the front of his jeans, where his cock wasn’t doing anything to convince Sam that this wasn’t going to happen.

“Just...wait,” Dean croaked, entirely unconvincingly, and for a fraction of a second he found himself considering how bad it would really be to move Sam’s hand just a few inches downward, but they were out in the open...Dad was just a few hundred feet away...

And no, come on, that wasn’t the issue, but-

“Not...here,” he continued weakly, “I mean, n-not...”

He sighed in something akin to defeat, half-hoping to be struck down by a bolt of lightning right there on the spot.

“Sam,” he finally said in a voice barely above a whisper, his hand still clenched over his brother’s in an excruciatingly distracting spot, “I...fuck, I...you know I want this. God, I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything, but I did this to you. It’s...it’s my fault. And it’s wrong, Sammy, you get how wrong it is, don’t you? And you wouldn’t even be this way if I hadn’t-“

He paused, choking on the words a little.

“If I hadn’t made you like this.”

To his surprise, Sam actually laughed, which was much more unsettling than the disdain Dean had been expecting.

“God complex, much, Dean?” Sam said through what actually seemed to be a genuine smile, despite everything...one of those, fuck, spine-tingling smiles.

“I mean, really,” Sam continued, digging his fingertips into Dean’s lower abdomen a little as he spoke and drawing an almost-groan from Dean’s throat that he tried to swallow, “-you’re good, but you’re not that good. Come on...think about it. I’ve wanted this, wanted you, for as long as I can remember, and certainly not because of anything you did. Besides just being you, I guess. Fuck, the first time you ever treated me like...like...the first time you ever even hinted at feeling the same way was one of the happiest moments of my life, Dean.”

Sam broke off for a moment, a hot blush rising in his cheeks and his eyes hazing over.

“Not the happiest, of course,” he murmured through slightly clenched teeth, inching closer to Dean on the bench.

Dean struggled to breathe, his heart hammering fiercely in his chest, and although he knew he should say any of the hundreds of things he could say to dissuade Sammy from this sudden boldness, he instead found himself reaching for his brother’s throat with his free hand...feathering the pad of his thumb over the soft, taut skin there and reveling in the little whimper trickling from Sam’s lips...a whimper that went straight to Dean’s cock like a drug he couldn’t get enough of.

“Fuck, Dean, p-puh..” Sam breathed nonsensically, melting back against the bench like butter and shaking slightly against Dean’s touch.

But the sudden shudder of a car engine caused both brothers to pull away from each other, and Dean cleared his throat, reaching now for Sam’s shoulders and holding him tightly.

“We have to get back inside,” he said hoarsely, shaking his head as Sam heaved his torso forward in disappointment.

“No, no,” Dean hurried, cutting Sam off as he opened his mouth in a retort, “-stop that. I’m not saying...ahh, fuck...I’m just saying right now, right now, we have to get back inside, okay? And we, we need to find out what we’re running from, or towards, and we need to get to...wherever we’re getting to. And then, and then...”

He trailed off, both loathing himself a little more and feeling a stab of desire in his gut that felt like heaven and hell and salt and sunshine.

“Just, take a minute,” he murmured, his eyes slipping down to Sam’s obvious erection, causing his own cock to twitch painfully under his jeans, “and, uh, meet me in there, and we’ll...we’ll just get through this, okay?”

Sam nodded in silence, leaning back and swallowing heavily, clearly trying to regain some composure, and as Dean stood and headed back around the side of the building, he couldn’t help but think to himself that Sammy would give him...everything...anything, if he wanted it, and…fuck, he wanted...everything.

And Sam was right. He was. Because Dean knew he would take it…if given even half a chance.

Fuck…of course he would.

Short of just packing up and leaving forever, how could he realistically stop himself? How could he say no when Sam was so ready and willing to be putty in his hands?

He ironed a palm down his face as he neared the door of the diner.

And it was time for Dad to tell him what was going on. That, at least, was something he could handle. A hunt...a monster that needed killing, something black and white, something he would know how to deal with.

It was time to figure out what they were heading into, time to re-claim some level of familiarity on the roller coaster of ups and downs and curve balls that had been their past few days.

A roller coaster that he knew would only veer back down into some…dangerous places the second he found himself alone with Sammy.

Chapter Text

————————

Sam’s P.O.V, flashback to Sam’s 16th birthday:

Sam was sitting cross legged on one of the double beds in the actually-not-so-terrible hotel room they were currently calling “home” when Dean slammed through the door, swearing under his breath as he fumbled with the latch.

“Morning,” Sam said with a smile, and Dean spun around, dropping his key onto the tile with a little clink.

“Crap!” Dean grumbled, but he followed it with a return-smile and a wink as he bent to retrieve the key. “I was so sure I’d make it back before you woke up! I wanted to run down to that little store we passed yesterday for a little-“

He shook the small paper bag he had clutched in his other hand to finish his sentence, grinning again and tossing the bag, and his key, onto the small table in the middle of the room.

“And then I stubbed my damn toe on that, you know, that piece of the pipe out there that’s loose, and this stupid key...did I, uh, wake you up?”

Sam stretched toward the bed stand, grabbing the plastic cup of orange juice he had helped himself to while Dean had been out.

“Nah,” he said after a sip, eyeing the bag. “I’ve been up. But, you...you got me something, huh? You didn’t have to.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Oh, stop that,” he chuckled, taking a swig from one of last night’s beers and wrinkling his nose. “Warm, too warm, and you know I’m not going to just let your sweet sixteen pass by unnoticed, Sammy. Of course I got you something!”

It was Sam’s turn to wrinkle his nose.

“Dean, that’s a girl thing, sweet sixteen. And you know that’s what the mini fridge is for, right there, behi-“

But Dean cut him off with a wave of his hand and a “yeah, yeah” that was punctuated with a little smirk as he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and giving Sam a long once-over.

“So how do you feel, birthday boy? All grown up, I suppose, huh? Too old to thank your big brother for braving this hellish New Mexico heat to run all over town at the asscrack of dawn just to make sure you have a present. Jeesh.”

Sam threw a plastic fork across the room playfully.

“Hardly, Dean,” he scoffed. “It’s almost 10:30, and I can see that store from our window. It’s literally at the end of this street.”

He smiled.

“But, no I’m not too old to say thank you. So, thank you. When do I get to open it?”

Dean tossed the fork back at Sam, dislodging himself from the wall.

“Hmph, well, gratitude issues aside...fine, you can open it. How could I resist that sarcastic teenage charm of yours? But first, what’s that air conditioner say? Christ, is it on? It’s a billion degrees in here.”

Sam swiveled slightly to read the display, but instead, found his focus shifting back to Dean, who was flapping his t-shirt up and down by the hem while peering at a magazine that lay open on the counter.

With each slow lift, Dean exposed a strip of his stomach, and Sam’s mouth suddenly felt very dry.

“Yeah, it’s...I mean no, it’s not on, or I mean it’s not up to what it should be, down to what it...I-I’ll just set it to 60.”

Sam’s cheeks burned with an embarrassed flush, but Dean had become momentarily engrossed in his magazine and simply grunted an “Mmhm, good. Good,” before wiping his damp face with his hand, another gesture that had Sam’s full attention.

Dean moved his hand from his forehead to his throat several times before dragging his fingers down the front of his shirt to dry them, and Sam understood that it should have seemed...well, at least it shouldn’t have seemed so...provocative, but...it was.

It was intoxicating.

He even knew that if it been anyone else but Dean, he would have found the exact same set of movements distasteful to say the least.

It was sweat, and hands, and touching sweat, and wiping it on clothing, and Sam didn’t even like his own sweat, but Dean’s...

Dean’s sweat had this smell, like...well, there wasn’t even a comparison, but it was heady and sweet and it made Sam wish he could breath it in forever and never have to stop.

And the way Dean did things just wasn’t like the way other people did things.

It wasn’t really different, it wasn’t, but it just was.

“You alright, Sammy?” Dean asked, catching Sam’s gaze with a half-smile and lowered eyelids that made Sam’s stomach do a flip-flop and his palms feel clammy.

“I call first shower,” Dean continued without even waiting for Sam’s response. “Wait to open that present, actually, okay? I just gotta get under some cold water here before I lose it.”

And as Dean dragged his shirt over his head slowly and flicked open the fly of his jeans right there in front of Sam, only breaking eye contact and stepping into the bathroom as he hooked his fingertips beneath the denim, Sam thought to himself, like he had so many times before, that he and his brother did not act...like brothers.

At least not only like brothers.

———————————

“It is NOT girly, Sammy, come on!” Dean argued, brushing Sam’s hair away from the back of his neck and pressing in behind him to close the clasp. “I always wear the one you gave me!”

Sam wondered if Dean could feel his heartbeat and clutched his hands together tightly in his lap, willing himself to respond.

“Yeah, but yours isn’t...sparkly,” he mumbled, trying to control his breathing, and Dean laughed, his hand slipping down to Sam’s shoulder blade.

“Not sparkly,” he purred, his mouth so close to Sam’s ear that Sam could feel the little push of air with each word, “shiny, shiny and pretty, and on you, not girly. See? It’s got your little-…there’s a little dragon, there, see? Like from your dragon book Dad got you a few months ago, or last year I think.”

Dean had looped his hand over Sam’s shoulder to his chest, dipping below the collar of Sam’s shirt to finger the small silver dragon that hung from the base of the necklace, and Sam was glad his brother couldn’t see how red his face was.

“Dean, Dad got me that...”

Sam paused, his stomach tingling as Dean pressed his fingertips ever-so-slightly into the skin just an inch above Sam’s right nipple.

“Uh, because I love dragons,” he finished weakly, his voice stuttering. “Which, w-which you remembered, and you got me, you uh...it’s great, Dean. I love it.”

Sam had been going to say, “Dad got me that book three years ago,” which he had, and it had been about two years after Sam’s childhood interest in dragons had come to an end, but if liking dragons meant Dean touching him like this, he was ready to worship them.

“Well, good,” Dean murmured, and Sam could practically feel his smile, “I knew it. Psshh. Girly, my ass.”

Sam exhaled in something he hoped sounded like a chuckle and shook his head, immediately hating himself for it when the small movement caused Dean to pull his hand away and slide backwards on the bed.

“Alright, Sammy, come on. Time to pack up. Dad’ll be back soon and he said we’re leaving Carlsbad and heading north for a new job.”

But Sam remained still, accutely aware of the fact that Dean hadn’t moved to stand up either.

“Dean,” he stammered breathlessly, “I, you know, sometimes I, you...you and me, sometimes - I don’t know-...”

He coughed as the words died on his lips, his throat tightening alarmingly.

He just wished that he could say it, that he could say it. Or do it. Do something. Say something. Anything...

But Dean just leaned in again and tousled Sam’s hair softly, his hand lingering for a few seconds before slipping away...leaving an emptiness and a dull, all-too-familiar ache in its place.

“I know, Sammy. I know. I love you too, kid.”

Chapter Text

Returning to the present and Dean’s P.O.V

“You remember Uncle Brady, right?” John had asked a few hours earlier as they had pulled into the only gas station in Mosier, Oregon.

“From back in California when we were hunkered down for a couple of months near the elementary school?”

Dean had narrowed his eyes at the shiny green gas pumps suspiciously.

The air was so fresh in Mosier that it hadn’t even smelled like gas as Dad had refueled, and springing up on two sides of the station had been pine forests that had stretched on further than the eye could see.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean had replied with a distracted shrug. “I guess. But he wasn’t our uncle, obviously, so the whole ‘uncle’ instead of ‘Mr.’ thing was always weird. Oh, and you two disappeared for the last three weeks we were there so Sam and I ended up squatting in the abandoned elementary school. There were flying cockroaches...”

John had actually laughed at that like Dean had been telling a joke.

“That’s the one,” he had said with a dismissive wave of his hand as he had swiped the fictional Mr. Peabody’s card and signaled for Dean to get back into the car.

“As it turns out, he’s got a little shack about 20 miles north of here, completely off the grid. He’s loaning it out for the night, probably a few days actually, two to three, maybe four days while we figure out what the next leg of the plan is, alright?”

Dean had hesitated with his fingers poised above the passenger-side door handle, throwing a furtive, over his shoulder glance to check on Sammy, who was still passed out in the back seat.

“What plan, though, Dad?” he had asked in a low voice, finally deciding to bite the bullet and attempt to drag at least some kind of an answer out into the open.

“I’m not trying to be difficult, you know that, but you’ve never kept me in the dark like this for so long, and how exactly am I supposed to protect myself, protect Sammy, if I have no clue what we’re even up against?”

John had sighed heavily, leaning against the side of the car, his eyes darting nervously down the road they had just taken through Mosier.

“I can’t tell you that yet, son,” he had responded in a hushed almost-whisper, like the closest pine trees could hear them and would waste no time delivering them up to whatever evil-incarnate had their scent. “You’ll know what you need to know when you need to know it, and you’re just going to have to trust me on the rest.”

“Trust you?” Dean had shot back with an uncharacteristic boldness that John had always been accustomed to hearing from Sam, but never from Dean.

“You’re acting like the damn apocalypse is chasing us down, you’re treating me like a child, you’re losing your temper every three minutes, and you want me to trust you? Not until you st-...”

Dean had broken off mid-word, feeling frustrated, agitated, and more than a little betrayed, but he had let the rest of his retort hang, unsaid, in the air and had climbed into the car obediently, albeit resentfully, after John had cut him off with a glare that felt more like a threat than a warning.

Call it empirical evidence, but Dean knew by now that when Dad got that look...that look...there was no misinterpreting it, and continuing to push buttons would almost certainly lead to a whole host of unpleasantness.

So he had let the rest of the drive pass by in silence, wondering yet again what fresh hell they were smack in the middle of and what he had done, in John’s eyes, to warrant being demoted from his Dad’s confidant and...well, partner, to being unworthy of even a straight answer. After everything he had done to prove himself over the years...

———————-

Now, the word “shack” already connotates adjectives not at all burdened by high standards, but in this particular case, Dean felt that it was entirely too generous of a way to describe the shamble of decaying wood currently marring the otherwise pristine landscape in front of them.

“So that’s the outhouse. Where’s the cabin?” Sam chimed in from the backseat, his voice full of clear disdain.

John grunted noncommittaly, looking down at his map, and then up, and then down, and then up once more.

“Yep, that’s definitely her,” he finally admitted, pushing ahead before either brother could interject. “And let’s not be ungrateful, hmm? Come on, now. There’s a roof, a...definitely a bed, Unc-...Brady said that, and there’s a, well it’s off the grid, so how about we count our blessings instead of complaining that it ain’t the Ritz.”

Dean felt like he had to point out the obvious, since Dad didn’t seem to be grasping it.

“Dad,” he ventured cautiously, not wanting to stir up any more trouble than he already had, “I’m not trying to sound…ungrateful, but just logically speaking, and hear me out, how...exactly...is that, uh, little shack going to house all three of us? You don’t even have a sleeping bag, and one bed? Why not stay in town? It’s not like we wouldn’t be plenty in-the-middle-of-nowhere there, right?”

John was still scrutinizing the shack intently as if he could materialize something redeeming about it into existence, but instead of answering Dean one way or the other, he smoothed his hair, reaching for his sunglasses on the dashboard.

Dean felt his pulse quicken.

That was never a good sign.

Dad put on his sunglasses for two reasons, the first being the obvious one; sun.

The second...the second was when he was feeling guilty, which wasn’t all that often seeing as it was...well, Dad.

And since there was almost no light left in the huge expanse of sky above them, Dean pressed his lips together tightly, the muscles in his shoulders clenching nervously.

“You’re leaving us here, aren’t you?” he murmured quietly as it hit him in the chest like a brick. “That’s what’s happening, isn’t it?”

Taking a shallow breath, Dean suddenly did feel like he could relate a bit to the scared child Dad had clearly been seeing in him lately, and as John nodded slowly in confirmation, Dean just laughed dryly, an autopilot reflex, his mind wiped clean of any other response.

“That’s great, Dad. That’s just...great. How long?”

John cracked his knuckles and bowed forward in his seat, his torso sinking a little like he was losing a battle against gravity.

“Three days. Tops. Okay? I need you to understand, I had to get you both off the radar. Just for now. Just while I deal with this. And then I promise you, I promise you I will be back. And things will be better. And I’ve got a trunkful of food for you, there’s a little grill out back, you have your warm sleeping bags. Plus it’s protected and warded to kingdom come, and some of that stuff is not easy to find, alright? It’ll be...okay. It’ll be okay. And no one will find you here. I wish there was another way, Dean, Sammy. I do. I don’t want to leave you again when I just came back, and here of all places. But this is our hand right now, this is what we’ve been dealt, and we’ve all gotta just do our best to live with it.”

‘Well, at least he has the decency to feel like crap about it,’ Dean thought, pivoting in his seat to face Sam, who had remained unusually quiet since his one sarcastic comment upon their arrival and who was now opening his door without so much as even an attempt at a push-back.

“What?” Sam asked with a shrug of his shoulders as Dean raised an eyebrow at him. “It’ll be better than being cooped up in the car for another thousand miles of highway, right? It’s fine. We’ll figure it out, Dad, like always. I’m sure we can manage to survive out here for a few days. We’ve stayed worse places for longer.”

Dean, however, loved the hours on end, even days on end, spent cruising highways in the impala with Dad and Sam. At least...he used to. When things weren’t quite so complicated...when a monster was just a monster, when Dad trusted him, when Sam was...just his little brother plus, okay, maybe a little bit extra…

And he knew that they would be fine here, of course he did.

The whole thing was essentially camping.

Camping with some added amenities, even.

That’s not why he was scared...and angry, angry at Dad, angry at himself.

That’s not why he felt halfway unhinged and all the way unnerved as he forced himself through the motions, dragging bags of food from the trunk to the little stone platform outside the shack, sleeping bags to the foot of the moth-eaten mattress just inside the door, supplies out back, salt to the windows..

Outwardly, he was placid and focused, sullen perhaps, mildly distracted and probably tired, but inwardly...he was a seething, writhing mess of intensity that only grew with each second that brought him closer and closer to being alone again with Sam.

Alone and…isolated.

Because the truth had begun to feel cast in an even heavier shade of perverseness the more he allowed himself to think it, the deeper he allowed himself to imagine…to admit. And only Dad, only Dad’s presence nearby like a strip of censor tape or a dousing of ice water had been keeping him at least somewhat removed from those particular thoughts and realizations and wants…keeping it all, for the most part, tethered and tucked away inside of him.

But, now…Dad was leaving. 

And Dean didn’t-

He just…he didn’t know…what he might do…

Chapter Text

“Come on, Dean,” Sam called from where he was manning the grill, “buck up. Isn’t that what you always tell me?” 

Twenty minutes in and the damn kid had already started a small fire and absentmindedly tried to cook dried figs…

The atrocious smell still hung in the air like a bad aftertaste.

“What? No, I’m fine,” Dean called back, not sounding nearly as convincing as he had hoped. “Just stay over there, and don’t burn down our only shelter, please, alright? I’ll be around in a minute. I’m just, uh, doing a salt touch-up, you know, adding a safety line. Feels like some wind coming in, huh?”

He wasn’t.

And it didn’t.

But none of that mattered anyway, to either brother...for different elements of the same reason, and Dean pinched his eyes shut tightly and clenched his teeth, crouching down behind the cabin for a moment (they had both agreed to call it a cabin for the sake of morale) before taking a deep, steadying breath and standing up again.

He supposed he was as ready as he was ever going to be to face this head-on.

Not that there was any other choice...

Sam was rummaging through a small bag of tin camping gear when Dean stepped into view, and with a tilt of his head in Dean’s direction and a sultry little grin, Sam patted the grass beside him with his free hand.

“Pull up a bit of...earth and stay a while,” he offered, tugging two small plates from the bag and nudging what actually looked like an expertly-grilled steak onto one of them with a fold-out spatula.

“Yeah, had to cook these tonight or they’d go bad,” he offered as if Dean had asked him about it, “But hey, check me out, right? I guess I can work a grill after all. Despite the figs.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head at that, and Dean grabbed his plate, nodding in agreement and feeling marginally calmer for some unknown reason.

“It does actually look edible, Sammy, congratulations,” he said, cocking an eyebrow after a quick appraisal of the steak. “There’s hope for you yet.”

It had been somewhere between a tease and a genuine compliment, and Sam bent forward in a little mock bow, flourishing his hand and laughing.

Dean prodded the middle of the steak with his finger.

“Cooked all through, but not too much. I’m impressed.”

He glanced up to see Sam practically beaming at the compliment, and it was...nice. It was endearing.

Dean had always found it acutely satisfying to feel like the standard by which his brother measured all other things, and the way Sammy had always looked for his approval in even the smallest of ways, in almost everything he did, actually, was just...sweet.

“Guess you’re a budding backyard barbecue man, huh?” Dean continued as Sam stretched his legs out in front of him to balance his own plate on his thighs. “Neighborhood cookouts and picket fences in your future, I suppose?”

Sam winked mid-mouthful, leaning back on one elbow.

“You’re just jealous I can whip up such a mean hunk ‘a meat,” he teased, and while Dean couldn’t quite work out what that would translate to had it been a double entendre, the words seemed to drip with a subtle, flirty dirtiness that had Dean right back to square one again: revved up in a heartbeat to that all-too-familiar 15 on a 1-10 scale.

He yanked off a strip of steak with his teeth instead of responding, wiping his hand down the front of his shirt afterwards, and Sam puckered up his face.

“Utensils are a thing we have, Dean. And napkins. But speaking of being dirty-“

Who was speaking about that? Who’s being dirty?

“Since there’s obviously no shower here, I’m gonna do a whole ‘bathing with the well bucket’ thing after we eat.”

Dean chewed very slowly.

“Yup, yeah. Good. Good plan,” he managed after swallowing. “It’ll be cold.”

No shit, Sherlock. Christ.

Sam scoffed.

“I can take it,” he shot back with another wink that made Dean irrationally want to slap him.

“Yeah. I bet you can,” Dean said half-under his breath without entirely meaning to, and it was almost an accusation, mostly a challenge, maybe even something else altogether, but Sam simply turned back to his plate casually and sawed away another bite of steak with something pretending to be a knife as the last of the day’s light sunk away below the horizon, ushering in the relief, and the threat, of night.

————————

The tiny lantern Dean had turned on inside was serving little purpose other than to cast shadows, and while he lay there in the silence on top of his sleeping bag waiting for Sammy to be done with his pretend shower, he felt the full weight of the inevitable as it crowded in around him from every angle like thick smoke.

So far, they had both kept the truth unspoken, unacknowledged, and Sam hadn’t followed through on his threat from the diner to put Dean in a situation he couldn’t refuse, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t working up to something.

Dean caught himself hoping yet again that it would happen, which in turn caused him to mentally chide himself as he forced his thoughts back to simply replaying the past hour, examining each and every word he had said, everything he had done, to make sure he had kept himself mostly in-check.

But before he could reach a conclusion either way, a dripping, darkened Sam pushed his way through the door, nearly tripping over the bottom of the mattress before catching himself.

“Fuck, there really isn’t any space in here at all, is there?” Sam said with a frown as he squinted into the shadows. “You asleep, Dean?”

Dean said something that wasn’t a word but would have to suffice, because Sam was wet. Wet and wearing nothing but a minuscule towl knotted over his hips that left a gap of skin uncovered all the way up the stretch of his thigh.

And although Dean had already imagined this exact scenario and had decided he could possibly ignore it in the dimly-lit room, the reality was...

The reality was almost enough to break him right then and there.

Because it was Sam.

And he was so close and so unabashedly fucking pretty and young and just...wrapped up like a hot, teenaged present that Dean had wanted to rip open for far too long.

His fucking little brother...

“Good,” Sam breathed, his voice now low and soft, like velvet. “I’m glad I didn’t wake you. I’m just gonna...lay down, get situated. I won’t keep you up. Just gonna-...lay down.”

As Sam dropped to all fours, crawling his way up the mattress to spread himself down over his sleeping bag, Dean felt like he had exploded into a thousand fragments, his head filling with a kind of rasping, grating, all-consuming buzz as if someone nearby was grinding glass under the earth.

Time went by like this, some utterly ungraspable expanse of time, and Dean waited, every muscle in his body on high alert, but there wasn’t a hint of movement from Sam’s side of the bed.

What the fuck was he playing at?

Sam could have put his clothes back on before coming inside…some article of clothing. Something.

He could have picked any other towel. There were three at least that would have properly covered him.

But he still wasn’t moving, wasn’t fucking saying a single word, wasn’t sleeping, and Dean was on the verge of hyperventilating, his organs all bunched up together at the bottom of his abdomen and heat rolling off of him in waves.

Without wanting to or planning to, he found himself speaking.

It was awful, like losing control of his own faculties, but who was he kidding? That had already been happening, just slowly and agonizingly and stretched out over days ever since he had heard Sam’s song...like the best and worst kind of torture.

“What are you playing at?” he grated out in a hoarse whisper, a repeat of his own inner monologue, and Sam twisted his body just slightly to face him.

“I’m…not playing,” he murmured in response, an underlying ache of hurt behind his voice like Dean had insulted him. And those few small words said so many things all at once, opened so much inside of Dean, left so much in their wake.

He couldn’t remember how he was supposed to get air. He couldn’t remember how to think. His heartbeat, like a drum, was taking over everything, and it was all he could do to stay motionless, to flounder silently there in the dark.

More time passed.

Sam’s sleep breaths, long almost-snores that were rhythmic and calming, didn’t come.

Dean couldn’t take the heaviness of it. He couldn’t be in his own skin like this. He didn’t know what he was going to say next, but he felt like it must be the better option than continuing to say nothing, continuing to feel like this. It had to be.

“Sammy...” he choked, barely recognizing his own voice, “Sammy, you have to stop. You have to...stop this. You have to tell me, tell me you’re going to sleep, Sammy, please. Tell me we both should go to sleep, okay? Please, you don’t understand...my head isn’t-…this is not the night, Sammy. It’s not even about - it’s just right now is not…the time…”

He could hear the change in Sam’s breathing, inhales turning quick and shallow.

And he knew how desperate he had sounded, how confused Sam must be by his words, by his behavior, but he didn’t care, couldn’t care.

“If you...if y-you really do want to go to sleep,” Sam whispered like he was scared to make too much noise, “you should. And, and I will...too. But not because I want that, Dean. You…you know what I want.”

Dean shuddered deeply in defeat, more like a convulsion, goosebumps prickling his arms like little electrical currents.

It had been his last lifeline, his last push of resistance, and he pressed his palm into the hardening outline of his cock through the cotton of his pajama pants with a low hiss, dragging a muffled groan from Sam in response.

“Dean,” Sam pleaded like he couldn’t help it, following it with a breathless whimper that was every drug, all at once, delivered straight to the bloodstream. “Dean, please, you can…you can have it, you can fuck-”

And suddenly Dean was there, right there, crowding up against his little brother with a growl and moving his hand to cover Sam’s mouth.

“Shh, Sammy, shh,” he gritted out through clenched teeth, pushing his hips forward against Sam’s thigh and shivering again, his vision spotting red. “Don’t say that, don’t ask for that, not yet, just let me, Sammy, come on, just-fuck...fuck, just let me, baby.”

He hadn’t meant to call Sam ‘baby,’ but it felt perfect on his lips, like honey, and Sam keened towards him with another groan, a groan that Dean could feel on his palm so fucking prettily.

“So good for me,” Dean murmured, but it somehow sounded angry, accusatory. “Fuck, Sammy you don’t even know...you don’t even realize it, anything.”

Draping his torso over Sam possessively, his free hand found Sam’s left wrist, yanking it above his head and pinning it to the mattress bruisingly.

Sam’s entire body was shaking, his cock straining, pushed out from the small towel around his waste that now served absolutely no purpose at all.

And Dean was panting like he had just run a marathon with the fucking dirtiness of it all as he raked his eyes up and down Sam’s body like a predator, like a wild animal.

On a whim, he pushed two fingers past Sam’s swollen lips up to the knuckle, his gaze never leaving Sam’s cock.

“Since you’re not going to sleep, do something useful, Sammy, and suck,” he heard himself say, very distantly struggling to calm himself, to reign himself in, but he felt feverish and almost violent as Sam’s cock jerked like a fucking wet dream, his tongue lapping hungrily at Dean’s fingers like he was born to do this.

Dean snapped his hips forward again, harder this time, thrusting his fingers deeper and wider into Sam’s beautiful, wet, eager mouth.

“You fucking love that, don’t you? Giving it up to me so easy. Wanted you like this for so long, Sammy, every time I fucking look at you.”

Well, he couldn’t unsay that...

Sam seemed like he was about to split apart at the seams, like this was all too much, like he couldn’t fully process it, like it was happening too quickly, and Dean swung a leg over his brother’s hip, straddling him, leaning down so that his mouth brushed Sam’s ear.

“Tell me we should go to sleep, little brother,” he hissed, grinding down in direct contrast to his words as Sam arched up to meet him with a cry, pulling Dean’s fingers into his throat up to the last knuckle and gagging at the intrusion.

But Dean didn’t pull them back as Sam tried reflexively to close his mouth, sucking in air through his nose and gagging again around what might have been an attempt at Dean’s name.

Dean’s own mouth twitched as he just...watched, wishing Sam would try to physically push him away.

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean coaxed, rocking down again, “It’s okay. Tell me we should go to sleep. Tell me right now if that’s what you want. If that’s what you need.”

He was sickeningly unsure, though, whether or not he was going to honor the request, but it didn’t matter, because Sam was shaking his head, his eyes watering and his cock leaking against Dean as he tilted his head back even further on the mattress like a fucking invitation.

Heat shredded Dean’s chest in bright stripes as he lowered his head to drag his teeth over the sweet, pretty skin above Sam’s nipples.

“I am going to fuck you,” he pushed, his eyes flashing darkly and his pelvis grinding into Sam’s again, “But not now, not tonight. Do you hear me, Sammy? You were right. I’ll take it. I’ll take everything. And when I tell you to, I want you to cum for me, okay? You gonna do that for me, Sammy, hmm?”

Sam’s eyes rolled back in his head as he nodded frantically, and Dean clenched his teeth against the hot stab of arousal that churned his insides like whipped butter.

“Good, Sammy. Fuck, good.”

He was grinding against Sam in earnest now, willing himself not to cum yet...not yet, not fucking yet. Fuck, fuck, just a little longer.

He leaned in close again, keeping his thrusts hard and steady and greedy.

“Beg me for it,” he murmured, feeling the effect this had on his brother’s cock. “I can feel how much this gets you off, Sammy, how much you like it like this. Such a slut for it, you always have been.”

And Sam’s pupils dilated right on cue, his eyes hazing and his stomach muscles tightening under Dean’s weight.

Pulling his fingers from Sam’s mouth, Dean wiped their wetness down his brother’s cheek slowly, digging his nails in just enough to drag a hot little gasp from Sam’s throat.

“That’s it, ask for it, Sammy. Come on.”

Sam made a noise like a wounded animal as he bucked upward against Dean, his pinned arm straining against Dean’s unyielding grip.

“Please, D-Dean, god please…fuck, p-please, please.”

Dean wanted to force his cock between those pretty lips and make Sammy keep begging, tell him to beg while his throat was being fucked, and god, Sam would try, he would do it...he would try to speak around Dean’s cock, even over his gags, he would try to be so fucking perfect and good, Dean was sure of it.

Quickly yanking at the waistline of his own pajama pants to then tighten his fist around himself, Dean threw his head back, pumping once, twice, three times before painting Sam’s stomach in hot, white pulses of cum that felt like they were being ripped out of him.

And without wasting even a single moment, he pushed a hand between his body and Sam’s, wrapping his fingers firmly around his brother again and exhaling through the throes of a broken-up shiver.

“Open your eyes, Sammy. You keep your eyes open. Look at me. Come on. I want you to see me doing this to you. Me. And I want you to get off on that. Show me, fuck. Cum for me. Yeahh, Sammy, right now. Now.”

And that was all it took.

Sam came with a hoarse cry, every muscle in his body convulsing, his back arching off the floor as he filled Dean’s fist and his heels actually propelling both of them backwards against the wall where he finally collapsed, whispering a ravished little litany of nonsensical phrases containing words like “Dean” and “fuck” and “nnngg” while Dean rubbed his chest and kissed his forehead, kissed his eyelids, fluttered his fingertips all over Sam’s slick, perfect, heaving body.

And finally, after what felt like too long but nowhere near long enough, Dean disentangled himself from Sam’s limbs, wiping the sweat from his forehead and feeling immensely grateful for the mask of darkness.

Shit.

Shit.

That had been…

He knew that they needed to talk about it, what had just happened, that he needed to explain himself somehow…to offer up some kind of rationale for his behavior, for whatever god-awful switch had been turned on inside of him and why.

But-

“Sleep, Sammy,” he whispered, his voice breaking, and Sam just nodded wordlessly in the shadows, pressing his fingertips to his lips like he was trying to iron something away or keep something locked in. 

And all Dean wanted in that moment was to make impossible promises and to offer up the world, to tell Sammy that he didn’t have to be scared, like Dean suspected he might be, but all that came out when he opened his mouth was, “Night...Sammy. I, uh...just…I’m right here, okay? I’m right here.”

Chapter Text

Dean didn’t sleep that night, but Sam did...thankfully, and as dawn crept in through the small window and under the cracks of the door, Dean found himself just staring, barely blinking, at his brother’s face in the soft light.

It was what he had done the morning after touching Sam so intimately at the One-Trick-Pony, but everything felt…different now...

It was different in a way he couldn’t scrub out or turn back from, in a way he couldn’t pretend they were going to be able to bury or deny or re-write in their minds, and maybe it would be for the best on some twisted level, maybe Sammy would pull back, pull away, now that it was light out and he wasn’t pressed right in next to Dean and drunk off teenage hormones, now that he would be capable of really processing the version of Dean who he had glimpsed…just slightly, but enough, the night before.

But if Sammy did pull away, all the way away... God, Dean didn’t know how to survive without his little brother.

He wasn’t entirely sure it was even possible.

And, christ, Dad...this gig, every gig, this whole damn way of life...

He didn’t have anything else.

He didn’t want anything else.

Sam didn’t even begin to stir until the sun was hanging midway to high in the sky, but when his eyes finally did fight their way open, Dean quickly closed his own and stilled, not ready to face whatever Sam might be thinking, not ready to see what might be written on his brother’s face.

So he just listened silently, narrowing the rest of his focus to his own breath as Sam moved around in his sleeping bag for a few moments, the old wooden floor creaking beneath the stress.

And after a while of this, Dean wondered half-hopefully if Sam might abandon getting up for another stretch of sleep, but then-

“Dean,” Sam finally breathed in a quiet, morning-scratchy voice that nevertheless made Dean’s fingers twitch deceptively by his sides, “I know you’re awake. I’ve slept next to you for my entire life...I can tell when you’re faking it.”

And Dean wished he hadn’t said that, because it was true.

Sam had slept next to Dean most nights ever since he was out of his cradle...his cradle, and god, he was just so young. Even now. Especially now. So...young, so...decidedly Sam, little Sammy, his baby brother.

The familiar churning heat in his stomach was back at that thought like the most exquisite, most devastating kind of self-destruction.

Because that was part of it...

It was all of it.

And somewhere in the middle of the night, Dean had forced himself to admit it.

Sam being his little brother made Dean’s feelings what they were.

None of this existed despite that fact.

Everything existed because of it.

How unbelievably fucked up...

“Just, resting my eyes, Sammy,” he lied, knowing the jig was up and that he was out of time. “Ahh...but I’m, uh, I’m gettin’ up, now. I’m, I’m awake.”

And without surveying Sam’s face for the questions he didn’t think he could stand to see, he did a sort-of flip and pulled himself to his feet facing the opposite direction.

“Clothes, Sammy. I mean, me. Clothes. I’m gonna get dressed.”

But he hoped it had been clear that he was asking his brother to put something on...since the little towel Sam had so-provocatively been wearing last night lay forgotten on the floor next to the mattress.

Sam didn’t respond for a long, torturous moment as Dean busied himself on the opposite side of the room with rustling through his duffel for something clean to put on.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll...throw something on,” Sam finally mumbled, his tone of voice unreadable but not accusatory, at least, and Dean exhaled slowly through his teeth, grabbing a t-shirt and a pair of jeans and heading out the door for the well to clean up a little before Sam could catch him off guard with something, like...standing up.

At least until he had been able to cold-water himself out of last night’s haze and figure out what the hell he was going to do next.

What the hell was he was going to say to explain when he wasn’t even sure himself how to classify or to justify any of this…

—————————

Both brothers were clean(ish) and dressed and sitting together outside the cabin on the little stone stoop within about an hour, since unfortunately there just really wasn’t anywhere else to go, and Dean knew, with an icy sinking sensation in his chest, that he couldn’t put this off any longer, that he didn’t want to, that he couldn’t bear it for even another second.

He cleared his throat, the dry, scratchy pull hurting more than it should, and as he let his forehead fall onto the back of his hand, his head now held up by his elbow where it dug into his knee, he choked in a breath and forced himself to speak.

“Sam, I’m...god, I am so, so sorry,” he blurted out weakly, unable to even make eye contact through the guilt lacing his blood with each thrum of his pulse, “I’m...I don’t even know what to say, Sammy. But I...goddammit, I should’ve never...not like that, n-not-”

Sam’s hand on Dean’s shoulder startled him, and he found himself looking up instinctively, feeling too exposed right away and shifting his gaze back to the ground.

Sam just sighed, a weighted sigh with some noise to it, keeping his hand firmly where it was.

“Why do you keep doing this, Dean?” he asked gently, emphasizing each word, each syllable of each word, frustration edged with worry blanketing his voice, “Jesus, what more do you need from me before you can actually understand that you’re not - I don’t know, taking advantage of me? Are we having different memories of, of-“

He broke off with a little shiver before finishing his question in a voice that was suddenly lower by a full octave, “-of last night?” and Dean caught it all in his periphery, the patch of skin under Sam’s hand feeling too hot…burning hot.

“I remember the way I treated you…the way you looked at me, Sammy,” Dean forced himself to say, unsuccessfully trying to twist away from Sam’s touch enough to fucking think clearly for a minute.

But he hadn’t meant for it to sound quite so…cold, dammit, and he inhaled deeply, quieting his voice into softer, more measured tones.

“It was too much, too quick, and I was...it was, I was...fucked up. I didn’t give you a choice, couldn’t fucking even do that, not a real choice, and you know it and I know it and I knew it then and I, fuck, I did it anyway. Just, don’t give me that crap, please Sam, don’t try to sugarcoat it, just...”

But Sam had cut him off by sliding to his knees in front of Dean and almost angrily shoving himself right into Dean’s space, right between his legs, forcing Dean to see him.

“No,” he snapped, reaching shakily for Dean, “I’m so sick of this. You don’t even - just, look at me. DEAN!”

His last word came out with a punch of an exhale, like a bullet cutting through the air, and Dean froze, allowing Sam to cup his face, to hold him, like he was the goddamned child.

“Listen to me,” Sam continued, his voice leveling out as he moved his fingertips down Dean’s cheeks, up and down, comforting him, hypnotizing him into stillness.

“I need you to actually listen to me, Dean. I need you to hear me. Last night, I didn’t - you’re right, okay? You are. I was...overwhelmed, but not because of...not because I wanted any of it to stop, any of it.”

There was a nerve wracking pause as Sam seemed to be trying to figure out how to explain himself.

“I, uh...I guess, I - I never...I never knew it could be like that. I mean even all the times I’ve imagined you finally seeing me in that way, looking at me like you look at someone you want, someone you - just - someone you really, actually want…I didn’t know, I-I couldn’t even imagine that it could be quite like...that.”

Dean let Sam’s words sink in, his eyes burning painfully.

“That’s exactly my point, Sammy,” he stressed, just...needing space, needing Sam to leave, to leave him be.

“You’re...you’re a kid. I mean, in a lot of ways, you’re just so young, and I’m - I don’t know, fucked up, I guess. On more levels than you even get. I’m messed up, Sammy. I...and you can’t trust me, not with any of that, okay? Fuck, I don’t even trust me...”

But Sam didn’t move, didn’t give, even as Dean reached up to actually swat his hands away.

Sam simply slid them back stubbornly, inching even closer, and jesus christ he wasn’t nearly as easy to physically maneuver as he used to be, fucking hell…

“But you didn’t really hear me, Dean, again. Come on. Listen to me. I didn’t know it...could be like that. Don’t you get it? Don’t you remember how much I - how I…reacted? All of it? Think. Just think about it. Fuck. Dean. You’re driving me crazy, here. I want it to be like that. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t get over it. It was...”

Sam’s chest was rising and falling heavily as he trailed off, his hands dropping from Dean’s face to the tops of his thighs, and Dean’s throat tightened, his own hands finding Sam’s and covering them protectively.

“I remember,” he whispered, trying to swallow, “God, I know. I...know, but if you could’a been inside my head, Sammy. It wasn’t even - you…you don’t understand all of it. I’m not even sure I do. I just know it would get a lot worse because I can’t, I just can’t really...think when you’re - fuck, when I’m around you like that. And you’re not even, have you even ever...been with someone before?”

He wasn’t sure if a yes or a no would feel worse, but Sam was already shaking his head, his cheeks flushing such a pretty shade of red, and, god, Dean wanted it to be him...wanted to be that someone.

“N-not really,” Sam stuttered, “-but I don’t want to, Dean. That’s why. I never wanted anyone except you. Never. And if it can’t be you, than it doesn’t matter who it is or if it’s never anyone because I could never feel about anyone else the way I feel about you.”

Dean started to speak, knowing he had to tell Sam it only seemed that way right now, that he had manipulated him, god...without meaning to, that he had pushed this thing when Sam was too young, too impressionable, because there was something wrong with him, but Sam didn’t allow him the opening and barreled ahead, the words tumbling out of his mouth nearly on top of each other, his fingers pushing, kneading, into Dean’s thighs.

“-and I want it to be more, Dean. I want you to show me things. I want you to, t-to do what you said last night and take it, take everything, because I would let you, and I do trust you, no matter what, and I love you. I love you, okay? And if you...if you push me away again, that’s what will hurt me. It would hurt too much for me to even live with, Dean. You can’t. Please.”

Sam’s ‘please’ was so small and so vulnerable and so raw that it dissolved Dean’s chest into an expanding ache he knew could swallow them both up, just...rip them both apart down to their molecules.

And without knowing what else to do, he coaxed Sam into his arms and held him, pressed his face into sweet-smelling hair and let himself cry for just an instant, just a single, fleeting moment, silently and hidden from Sam as he rocked them both back and forth for a precious few minutes that felt, somehow, in some merciful way...safe.

“I love you too, Sammy,” he finally offered up, reverent-soft, his hands spanning Sam’s back, pushing, touching, mapping, “God, I love you more than anything. Anyone. It’s so much more than just this thing, okay? I need you to know that. I love you in all the ways a person can love someone, I do. And goddammit, I’d hang the moon for you. You know that. But, Sammy...it’s not an excuse. It doesn’t make...wrong things right.”

Sam straightened a little, looking up at Dean through wet lashes that made his eyes even brighter than normal.

“Dean,” he murmured, making Dean’s name sound like a prayer, like something sacred, “You want to know what I think?”

He didn’t wait for Dean to answer.

“-I think…there’s people who only want what they can’t have. And then, well…I figure some people probably just like being black sheep and getting attention, even if it’s the worst kind. And other people, I don’t know…maybe they’re only in it to hurt someone without the love. But then there’s you. And there’s me. And we know better than anyone that what something looks like isn’t always what it is, and it’s never all it is. And I just-…the world cares so much about who you love or who you’re, who you’re...in a bed with...and about what you do there, too. But not about why. And the why matters, Dean. It’s not just wrong or right, because the why…matters. And I may not know what the why is for you and me, at least not all the way. But I know what it isn’t. And…and that matters.”

.

.

As Dean finally allowed his brother to melt into him from every angle like spun sugar, the two of them breathing like one organism in the heat of the sun with the weight of everything, he found himself thinking, realizing, that it was the most profound thing he had ever heard anyone say. 

And Sam thought it up, just...thought it up like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Like it was simple.

Like maybe, here…together…in this place between worlds, where it suddenly seemed to Dean like absolutes could be as faded as old shirts and the fabric of anything, no matter how torn, could be chewed up for weaving again…maybe, just maybe…for a little while, at least, there was nothing else that he needed to say. 

Chapter Text

Approximately six hours later:

Despite not even boasting a working toilet, Brady’s rundown little hut was bizarrely furnished with a small rectangular mirror that hung crooked on one wall.

It was so smeared with dust and grime that it wasn’t very effective (so much so, in fact, that Dean was only just now realizing it was even there), but he stepped in front of it anyway, peering at his mostly-obscured reflection and smoothing a bit of his hair with the pad of his thumb.

Bringing a finger to his temple, he signaled to himself that he was crazy with one of those cuckoo circles you spin in the air, and for a moment, the whole thing...everything, struck him as wildly comical.

He laughed out loud, a harsh bark of laughter that actually startled him, triggering a defensive pop-forward of his shoulders like he was about to fight the mirror version of himself, and that only made him laugh again.

“Shit, boy. Keep it together, ya’ psycho,” he muttered to himself under his breath, “No going off the deep end, here.”

As if on cue, Sam chose that moment to appear in the open doorway, one hand planted on either side of the chipped frame.

“What?” he questioned with a little half-frown, peering at Dean and then around the small room like there was a chance Dean might actually be hiding someone under his sleeping bag.

Dean laughed again at that thought, a weird laugh, turning it into a cough.

“No, I, sorry. Just freaking myself out,” he said, tacking on a self-depreciating shrug before gesturing vaguely in Sam’s direction.

“But, you ah, you find anything interesting out there? Besides a whole lot’a nothing?”

Sam had decided to explore their surroundings, to get the ‘lay of the land,’ most likely to clear his head, to give himself the space to think, and Dean had reluctantly allowed it...under the hard and fast condition that he stay within earshot at all times.

Sam shook his head, flicking a strand of hair from his eyes.

“A squirrel cussed me out,” he offered wryly, and Dean gave him a huff of a chuckle, raising his eyebrows dubiously.

“Oh, good. We’ve both lost our minds,” he said, throwing up his arms in mock defeat. “Might as well call it.”

Sam actually laughed at that, a genuine chime of one of his trademark giggles, and it was a welcome, warming, comforting sound, so different from Dean’s own laugh a few seconds earlier.

Dean smiled softly.

He wasn’t sure how they had managed to sneak back into a moment like this, trading playful words, actually acting like brothers...

He knew they were trespassing in it, in the easiness of it, but he wished they weren’t, and it made his stomach hurt with an acute, grinding ache that must have shown up as a falter in his expression, because Sam’s face suddenly fell perceptively, the laughter shrinking away from his eyes like a scared animal retreating back to the shadows.

Dean pressed his teeth together and moved in to wrap his brother in his arms, inhaling the scent blanketing Sam’s hair and making a noise like a hum as he moved them both side to side just slightly in the same way a parent instinctively comforts a child.

“I didn’t mean that,” he murmured into the top of Sam’s head, knowing he didn’t need to explain, knowing that Sam understood.

“I’m just trying to...swallow all this, Sammy. I don’t wanna lose you, can’t lose you. I don’t want to do the wrong thing or say the wrong thing. I’m...overthinking everything that’s coming out of my mouth, that’s all. But I’m…really, really trying.”

Sam melted into the embrace, now, like he always did, just wriggled as close as he possibly could to Dean’s chest, never stilling, perpetually sliding and pushing with little movements like it just wasn’t close enough no matter what.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, Dean,” he finally sighed, his words almost lost to the stretch of Dean’s chest, to the fabric of his shirt, which did little to moderate the heat of Sam’s breath as it grazed through to Dean’s skin in little streaks.

“If you could, you’d be able to see that you’re not broken like you think you are.”

Dean felt so big like this and Sam seemed so small.

It was almost like Dean could imagine just…absorbing his little brother right into him, pulling Sam into his own center of gravity and keeping him there forever in orbit.

“How ‘bout the way I see you?” Dean countered softly, his hands doing that thing they had always done with Sam, mapping his surface, memorizing it, every little curve and dip and detail.

“Can’t we talk about that instead?”

It didn’t feel obscene, the way they were touching. Even despite...everything. Because they had always done this, always been like this, anytime they were alone. And although it also didn’t quite feel safe anymore, like there was an electric lining to the whole thing, it didn’t feel dirty.

And at least that was something.

Sam tried to both look up at Dean and stay mashed against him, finally pulling back just a few inches so that Dean could see his ungodly big eyes, those beautiful, deep, lovely eyes.

It made him feel woozy, like a damn girl in a romance novel.

“Well,” he began, the timbre of his voice somehow softer and harder all at once, “I see...everything perfect and beautiful and sweet, and I see these eyes that just...they see right into me, see me like no one else ever did. Or could. Just, eyes that I couldn’t even dream up. And I guess, I see this boy, this boy I don’t ever wanna wreck or break, because I want to protect him...just, keep him safe.”

Sam was looking at him like he was the sun, like he was the whole universe, and Dean suddenly couldn’t remember the last time he had talked to Sammy like this.

“I used to tell you all the time, Sammy,” he said with a breath that caught in his throat, “-and I never stopped thinking it. Never. Fuck, just the opposite. I guess I started thinking it too much, too much of the first part and not enough of the second. I mean, we both know I did.”

Sam was barely breathing, his lips open like he was just trying to let the oxygen find its own path down to his lungs so he wouldn’t have to move in even the smallest way.

“I know, Dean,” he finally responded, featherlight, just...otherworldly, like an angel.

“I never thought that. I didn’t think you stopped...seeing me like that. I never did. But-”

Sam punctuated the ‘but’ by pressing his lips to Dean’s chest above the collar of his shirt. Again, not wildly unusual for them, but now, after everything, definitely different.

More important.

Narcotic...

“You can see me in other ways, now, too,” Sam continued, averting his eyes and moving in heartbeat-against-heartbeat close again.

“I’ve been trying to show you for so long, show you I’m not...I’m not so breakable and untouchable like - I don’t know, like some ornament on a shelf. And I know it’s not what happens to other people, other brothers. I know how different it is for us. I know it’s killing you, and that kills me, Dean, but it doesn’t have to be like that. Because...because wasn’t it always going to end up here? Can you ever remember a time when it didn’t feel like we were just going to be everything for each other? Whatever that turned out to be? Like it’s just...happening? The way it’s supposed to?”

And goddammit but it was true.

It was probably the truest damn thing in the world, and Dean had understood it to be true on some level forever, but hearing it out loud made it feel...real. Like he didn’t just dream it up.

Like maybe it didn’t have to be all his fault.

Like maybe it just...always was. Always was there.

Dean reeled with it, let it drip through him, let it register on every frequency, making the snap decision to pull Sam with him as he walked backwards until his heels hit the mattress.

“C’mere,” he urged, lowering himself, easing Sam down and arranging him so that he was on his side, half-under Dean, their faces practically touching.

He couldn’t even imagine not being right here, right here with Sam, even if he shouldn’t be.

Anything else just...didn’t compute, didn’t make sense, didn’t seem possible…

He might’ve breathed Sam’s name, then, but he couldn’t be sure, couldn’t be sure of anything except how tender and unraveled his brother was under his fingertips, how mesmerizingly beautiful, just...lighting up the whole room like a fire.

And there were still a million and one reasons why they couldn’t have this, fuck...not really, not ever, but maybe they could pretend.

Just for a while.

God help him....

Just for a little while.

“I don’t...want to hurt you,” he managed breathlessly, his hands alive on Sam’s body, trying to reach him everywhere all at once…painfully, consumingly intimate and just...hunger and thirst and being suffocated all at once.

Sam arched toward him with a panted exhale, his legs tangling through Dean’s own and a thin sheen of sweat already glistening his forehead despite the cold autumn air.

“Then…please, Dean. Just…don’t stop.”

Chapter Text

Dean honed in on the dizzying sensation of Sam’s breath against his lips for a few impossibly-dense moments, writing it into his mind, drinking it up feverishly, and then, with a rushing certainty that felt like letting go of something and falling off the earth, his tongue was in Sam’s mouth hard and heavy and without a trace of gentle, flicking at his brother’s teeth, behind them, the insides of Sam’s cheeks, the smooth stretch of his soft pallet, reaching for every centimeter, fiercely staking claim with an immediate roughness that had Sam’s chest heaving against him in seconds.

Years of frustrated longing poured through him into Sam, and he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t collide with his brother hard enough or force his way deep enough, couldn’t calm the frenzy of need that was already burning at his nerves and smashing through his skull like a pneumatic hammer.

He had tried, tried, to mentally prepare himself for it, he really had...tried to figure out how to do it right this time, how to do it at least halfway sweet, how to convince his brain that he didn’t need to force everything all at once, that he didn’t need to go on the offensive or get violent or get greedy...that it was being offered up freely.

But now that it was actually happening, again, and...god, like this...he felt violent about it, almost right away. Right away and deep down too far and too sunken in to scrape out.

He’d never understood the concept of wanting to devour someone as clearly, as literally, as he did right then, and if the whole thing hadn’t been so immediately, unbelievably, unbearably fucking hedonistic and hot in ways that had blotted out all reason, it probably would have been terrifying.

But with Sam under his fingertips practically trying to be swallowed up, just...boneless and tender and open, letting Dean drag him around, search out every spine-shattering angle, possessively span the stretch of both hands around his head from back to front, pushing, pulling, controlling...there just wasn’t space for anything except the unthinkable, heart-stopping depravity of Sammy giving him this, of being allowed to have it.

Dean only opened up the smallest of cracks between their mouths when the inside of his head began to burn without oxygen, and as he sucked in a lungful of cold air, Sam melted forward to fill the new space between them like he was made out of liquid, dragging a wildly-sexy hiss of an inhale through just the sides of his lips, the rest of him too impatient to be glued back onto Dean.

It was obscenely needy and perfect and maddening, and Dean couldn’t stop himself from biting a string of vicious little kisses across Sam’s mouth with a low growl in response, using his legs to trap his brother under his body and pinning him there, stretching out across him like a weighted blanket.

His hands found Sam’s in this new position and muscled them flat to the mattress like he and Sam were wrestling...like he and Sam were wrestling and he was winning, and he needed more limbs, more legs and arms and hands, he needed to be the cage he could lock his brother up in, he needed to make it...more, needed to make it tighter and harder and just...carve himself into Sammy so he could never forget this.

He twisted down with his lower body to grind in slow, purposeful little circles that had Sam crying out and trying frantically to free his arms, his hips straining so fiercely to thrust upward into the friction that Dean could feel the writhing and coiling of Sam’s muscles like live snakes.

He tightened his grip, only bearing down more firmly.

“Don’t move, Sammy,” he murmured breathlessly, lifting his head and gazing down at Sam’s face in the golden, afternoon light that cascaded in through the still-open door...at his swollen lips, the curve of his throat, the strands of hair that were sweat-stuck to his forehead.

Sam was beautiful in a way that felt frightening sometimes, like at any moment he might be taken away, told he couldn’t stay here, told he didn’t belong here, didn’t belong in all the ugliness of this world.

It was irrational but panic-inducing nonetheless, since even on the most ordinary of days, Dean had always been fixated on his little brother with an obsession bordering on criminal, and now...now…

He pressed his weight down against Sam’s arms, real weight, bruising and muscle-aching.

“Saaaammy,” he breathed reverently, dirtily, lengthening the ‘a,’ owning it on his tongue, “-love you like this…fuck,” and Sam’s eyes just locked right onto him so hotly, sex-hazy and fluttering, trying to focus, slightly pulled at the edges with a wince of pain he tried to hide.

It was beautiful and worrying and so fucking real and better-in-waves than any porn or fantasy or fuck Dean had ever watched or thought up or had, but he knew he needed to be careful, to remember lines he shouldn’t cross, thoughts he needed to keep under control.

He should loosen his grip a bit more, ease back, relax his fingers from where they were practically imprinting themselves into Sam’s forearms, and he wanted to want that more than anything, he did, but instead, his upper lip tugged into a silent snarl as he pushed his pelvis down again where it counted most, dragging the perfect sob of a moan from the bottom of Sam’s throat.

“God,” Dean panted, his whole body vibrating with it, “you-…goddammit, Sammy.”

Words were lost to him, lost to Sam’s little lip-bitten sounds that Dean was suddenly certain could make him cum all by themselves if he let it happen.

Giving a pointed push of his thumbs into soft skin to draw back Sam’s attention, Dean rewarded his brother’s responding shiver with another grind of his hips over too many layers of clothing, dragging it out to a slow scrape at the end that Dean could feel all the way up to his teeth.

“Remember when we were young and we used to play fight, Sammy?” he asked, slow and rough, letting the sounds drip out of his mouth the way they wanted to, and Sam just nodded wordlessly as he halfway tried to swallow another perfect, little whimper that pierced through Dean’s chest like an electric arrow.

“Yeeaah,” Dean dragged out in the breath trailing after a growl, his eyes greedy, raking up and down Sam’s body unabashedly, “I bet you do.”

He paused to lap up Sam’s shameless, fuck-hungry expression at those words before continuing, his voice gravel and heat, making sure to keep up a steady assault on Sam with his hips.

“When I’d just pin you right under me…jusst, like, this-“

He pressed in from everywhere, not knowing himself anymore, too frantic, nipping at Sam’s throat and breathing an almost inaudible “Sammmy” into the heat of his brother’s skin.

“And every time, I didn’t wanna let you up, wanted to keep you there forever, hold you down forever.”

Sam was quaking underneath him now through a constant litany of sexy little noises and “Deean”s and actual whines, and for a moment, it was almost too much.

For a moment, Dean had to squeeze his eyes tightly shut against the intensity of it all before opening them again to a droop, his heart wild and adrenaline-drenched and all the way at the top of his throat.

“And you’d push up on my arms and pout at me, pout right up at me, god, such a sweet pout, and you’d try to get out from under me, you remember, Sammy?”

There was no disguise left in his voice now, nothing but razor-edged want and all the parts of himself he had forced down for so long, and Sam arched back on the mattress in response, too far gone to even speak, his shirt catching and tugging up on one side to expose his lower stomach.

Dean wondered a little hysterically if he was going to briefly free his hands to rip Sam’s shirt off or if he was going to try to bite through the fabric, because he wasn’t sure, didn’t know what to expect of himself, didn’t know what he might do.

Sam was just...fuck, tossing his head back and forth on the mattress like a tied-up stallion, panting in ragged, uneven breaths, his pupils blown, eyes glassy, like Dean had just finished mouth-to-mouth feeding him a cocktail of opiates, and it was too good to be real, hotter than anything had a right to be.

“Up,” Dean found himself hissing out through clenched teeth, letting go of Sam’s arms, clawing at fabric to get a fist-hold and using it to wrench Sam half-way to a sitting position where Dean worked at the shirt, pushed, pulled, practically tore it over Sam’s head to throw it aside.

“So…god…so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, elbowing off his own shirt like an afterthought before easing them both down again, “-so beautiful…wanna eat you up, fuck, keep you like this forever.”

And he really…literally…did want that.

He wanted to unravel Sam like a ball of yarn, slowly, agonizingly, memorizing each millimeter.

He wanted to break his little brother down to his base ingredients, to pour the essence of Sammy into the palm of his hand and lick it up, swallow it, just…lock it tightly inside of him and throw away the key.

It was a disturbing, definitely psychotically-codependent thought at the very least, but he couldn’t help it.

He couldn’t.

He felt overwhelmed with himself, with Sam, with how urgently he wished there was a way to make sure, to really make sure, that in Sam’s eyes, he was bigger and longer than the sky, that he was the center of gravity, that he was everything...and that it could never be smudged away or retranslated or underestimated.

He knew he could never say it out loud, that it was an unhealthy fixation, but it was more than that, too. So…much…more. It was an all-powerful, all-consuming desire, a sharp and savage hunger, a lust for total control.

And far, far in the distance, like a bell ringing across a lake through fog, he heard that familiar inner monologue trying to warn him that he was doing ‘that thing’ again, that thing that compelled him to take Sam off the deep end with him, to cross every line.

But the fog was very, very thick, the bell very quiet, and everything else was so much louder and right there, right there between him and Sammy and draped around them and slipping inside them.

It was a power-trip dipped in gold and lined with sex, a dangerous, heady, irresistible high.

And his fingers were at Sam’s jeans, nearly ripping the denim as he desperately yanked, growling another “just let me, let me do it, stay still, come on, Sammy, lie still for me.”

Sam was so hard that Dean almost couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe how perfect it was to see his brother getting off on all this, and when every article of clothing was finally shed from them both, Sam couldn’t seem to manage to do anything but gasp for air and gaze up at him like he was the damn messiah (fuck…just like that), just the way he wanted.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Sammy,” he urged, spitting into his palm and gripping the base of Sam’s cock, sliding his fist up and down just to feel the way Sam’s heels dug into the mattress, his muscles straining, his lithe body rippling like honey.

“Unng, D-Dean, nn, please, I can’t, gonna, g-gonna.”

Dean eased off just slightly, tickling with his fingertips, teasing.

“Yeah, Sammy, fuck, baby, I could make you cum in a damn second, couldn’t I? Look at you. God, look at you.”

Sam actually sobbed at that, his cock twitching in Dean’s hand and his fingers curling into trembling fists by his sides.

“Dean, fuck me, p-please, please I need you to, need it, please-I’ll do anything, Dean, fuck me, you can, you can, it’s okay, it’s already yours, I...I am, please-“

Dean dropped his torso flush to Sam’s in a single heartbeat at the jolt of electricity spotting his vision, his hands covering Sam’s own and, once again, weighting them into the mattress, fingers curling into flesh, taking possession.

“Yeah, you are mine, Sammy,” he panted into the slick side of Sam’s neck, lining up his hips, showing his brother what that had done to him, what all of this was doing to him, and it suddenly struck him hard, knotting his insides into a tangle, that there truly was no hope for salvation, not anymore, not…ever.

Because nothing could compare to this, to Sam, to these...overwhelming, transcendent, insatiable feelings.

Nothing…

And he just-

How could he ever…

Sam was straining underneath him, his eyes searching Dean’s face, questioning, and Dean stilled for the smallest of moments, just locking into that gaze, holding it, trying to communicate everything, all the important things, everything he was still afraid to really, fully say, everything he was scared most of the time to even think, and Sam’s face softened...calmed from its frenzy, his lips parting ever so slightly.

“Dean, I’m right here,” he whispered, like he was inside Dean’s head...just...seeing, understanding everything.

“I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, yours, like this, in every way, just like you’re mine, and that’s all that matters. It’s all that matters.”

Dean’s stomach ached at the look in Sam’s eyes, those unblinking, dazed-but-intent, wetter than usual eyes, and up until that moment, he hadn’t known that it was even possible to feel like he could so easily cry without feeling any less of everything else.

Sam made a little sound like he was starting to say something, but Dean raised a hand to his brother’s mouth, feathering his fingertips over soft lips, brushing back and forth, pressing in at the edges, skating with his nails just enough to draw out a shiver.

“Shhh,” he urged with an accompanying little rub of his fingers, “Shhh, Sammy, I know, I know.”

Sam had opened right up for him with a sharp breath of a groan like he was remembering Dean’s fingers greedily reaching back into his throat the night before, and Dean teased with slow, dirty pushes of his thumb past Sam’s lips, just barely breaching them, savoring every detail, every flutter of a reaction.

“Such a damn pretty mouth,” he praised, his other hand moving from Sam’s wrist to his side, splaying across his lower abdomen, kneading in hungrily, “just perfect, you, you’re perfect, Sammy, you know that? You are. It…fuck, it makes me a little crazy.”

It was the closest he was going to come to talking about those…wilder feelings, but Sam glowed for it, ached for it, his eyes so wide now that he looked shell-shocked, ripped right out of himself, blown apart in the best possible way.

Dean pulled himself to a sitting position as he straddled Sam, both hands now on his brother’s chest, massaging into muscle, pressing down everywhere, trailing to brush across Sam’s nipples with an almost not-even-there softness that still triggered a full-body tremor and a broken “Dea- ean” from Sam that was profane and unabashed and mind-melting.

It was more than enough to draw Dean’s fingers right back, now pinching and pulling, rolling, exploring, just...moderately, at first, but soon with more pressure, and a little more, and then with licks and bites at each nipple between touches as he lowered his head to make as much of this one small bit of foreplay as possible, drugged with the way it was turning Sam into a sexy, uninhibited mess beneath him.

Sam’s quiet, needy sounds had long been abandoned for shameless cries and begs by the time Dean finally pulled himself away, his hands ironing down Sam’s stomach while he slid to one side and onto the mattress, licking his lips and having a quick but heated argument with himself in his own head.

“Sammy,” he finally groaned, fisting his own cock to relieve some of the ache and watching his brother twitch and sweat and pant below him.

“Sammy, if I were...if I were, fuck, if I were about a damn half a fraction of a worse person, I’d fuck you dry right here and now...shit, make you cum and use that...even though I’d hurt ‘cause of it too, but fucking fuck it would be worth it a thousand times over-“

Wait, where had he landed on this issue again?

“But, ahh, goddammit…fuck…turn over.”

He didn’t wait for Sam to process his words and just moved in with big hands to dig under Sam’s hips and maneuver him to his stomach, sliding in to straddle the backs of his brother’s upper thighs and pinning him in place.

Sam had forsaken all self-control and was twisting down into the mattress with little jerks like the sensation of something, anything, on his cock was just too much to resist, and Dean wanted to tattoo the image of it onto the backs of his eyelids, brand it into his brain.

“Such a fucking slut, Sammy, god,” he heard himself say, distantly setting off an alarm in his mind, but Sam just pushed up with his ass and made the dirtiest sound imaginable into the mattress, bucking his pelvis and rippling his muscles, his thighs straining to open under Dean.

Dean suddenly found himself again wanting to leap out of skin for just a second to escape the intensity of it, to ease slightly back from the raw, carnal heat seething uncontrollably inside of him, in his stomach, his head, his blood, but instead, he spanned Sam’s ass with his hands, digging in, hauling all his weight into it, imagining how unbelievably fucking hot it would be to leave two handprint-shaped bruises there.

“You like it when I talk dirty to you, Sammy?” he purred darkly, unsatisfied with just the press of his hands and drawing back impulsively to land a hard, stinging slap on soft skin that he absolutely hadn’t planned on.

But Sam...fuck...there didn’t seem to be anything Dean could do that Sam wouldn’t get off on, because instead of a flinch, Sam was gushing instant pleasure-cries and pushing his face further into the mattress, and when Dean actually heard a slurred “do’it again, pleease, ghh,” he lost the last few small threads connecting his sex-brain to the rest of his brain and answered Sam with an almost-immediate second spank, and then a third without waiting for permission.

After the eighth, he could barely see with all the sweat running down his face, and too-rough on tender skin, he dug in with all ten fingers, spreading Sam wide open, finally getting to that sweet spot, that prize he wanted to snatch up and run with.

Keening back on his heels, he worked his mouth, gathering enough saliva, and then, without closing any of the space, spit it nice and hard and compact, nailing his target dead-on and earning himself a full-body convulsion and a sob of a desperate beg from his brother.

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you?” Dean coaxed, pressing the length of two fingers against Sam’s hole, swirling the spit, striping touches up and down.

“You’d let me fuck you right now however I wanted, just give it right up to me and fucking love it, yeah, Sammy?”

He couldn’t stop the flow, couldn’t halt himself, couldn’t even remember he was supposed to try, and Sam was crying out a thousand little “yes”s and pleas, his thighs seizing to hold himself slightly up from the mattress like he was going to cum right then at the slightest provocation.

Dean pressed into Sam with his forefinger, easing and twisting entry into electric tight heat and actually twitching with the desire to just take it all too quickly and without a fuck, just savagely slam in and never leave again.

Sam shook violently with a wracked cry as Dean hooked and teased and urged his way deeper…faster.

Loosening the yield of his legs, he reached between his brother’s thighs, then under, to grab Sam’s cock with no warning, impatient and greedy and brushing his thumb over the dripping slit while he simultaneously worked a second finger into Sam alongside the first.

“No, gnhh, Dean, fuck fuck, De-an, ple, please fuck fuck I can’t, can’t.”

If Sam had been just a little bigger, his violent seizing might have toppled them both, but Dean just crowded in around Sam without missing a beat, now dragging in and out with his fingers to the last knuckle, rough and sloppy, matching it as best as he could to the rhythm of his other hand as he pumped Sam’s cock, fighting his brother downward into submission, muscling for total control of Sam’s body and grinding obscenely into the backs of his convulsing thighs.

“Let it go, Sammy,” he panted, his order punctuated with a breathy catch in his throat as he felt his own stomach tighten up with coiling heat.

“That’s right, good, fuck, baby, come on, show me how dirty you are for me, how fucking-fuck, god, how fucking good you wanna be for me, Sammy, so good for me, Sammy baby, fuck, f-, Sammy, Sammy.”

Dean came with a growl of his brother’s name on his lips.

Almost simultaneously, Sam stiffened up and shuddered wildly, shooting into Dean’s fist with a slam of his forehead down into the mattress that crushed him backwards against Dean’s cock and hands.

It was a depth of intensity that was actually painful, exploding a mural of blinding stars across the space behind Dean’s eyelids as he jerked against the crease of Sam’s thigh and ass, cumming like people bad-fake it in pornos except for real, for real and then a whole lot more, a lot of something like being ripped apart into a thousand pieces and feeling every second of it and then still feeling it after that.

It was...

Fuck.

Fuck...

Just, fuck.

———————

As Dean came back around again, dizzy and drowning and filled with the sound of his heart ticking like a time bomb, he slowly processed the fact that, at some point during the end of his death-by-orgasm, he had dislodged himself from Sam.

It should have been to be expected, but...without really knowing why, he could taste something like panic spreading down his throat from the back of his tongue.

He found himself almost keeling over in his hurry to climb back on top of his brother, who had fallen limply, face first, down onto the mattress and was absently rubbing his palms across it, breathing in shallow, erratic little puffs.

“Deeeeaan,” Sam sighed, taking a long time to say it and turning his head to the side shakily, trying to manage enough lift to be able to look over his shoulder but giving up almost immediately.

“Deean, don’t, don’t go away. Stay there. Please. Don’t know what to...just...”

Sam trailed off, shimmying his shoulders a little further down into the mattress as Dean spread himself out over Sam’s back, snaking his arms out to each side to fully umbrella himself over his little brother and kissing a circle down the stretch of skin leading up to Sam’s shoulder.

“I’m gonna be right here,” he murmured softly, the panic in his chest slipping away. “Right here, Sammy, never wanted to be anywhere else.”

His words were slow and careful and deliberate.

“Sammy...” he continued, pausing to swallow, his head feeling suddenly hugely heavy with exhaustion, “I, ah...you make me feel a little crazy sometimes, Sammy. I don’t...I just, I get a little crazy.”

Sam twitched his fingers against Dean’s, exhaling in a muffled, breathy “mmhm” and flexing his legs up just slightly like he needed to reassure himself of Dean’s presence above him.

“S’okay, Dean,” he whispered, sleepy-thick, in a way that tugged Dean’s heart right up into his throat. “You’re exactly the way you are, and s’long as you’re right here, it’s perfect.”

Dean let his head fall onto the mattress next to Sam’s, thinking about the smallness of the room and the hugeness of the world, thinking about having to move, eventually, and how dying seemed strangely easier.

For now, though, sleep. Just…sleep.

After a slow descent, he fitfully drifted off into a dream about snow, and the snow was white, and then the snow was stained, red with blood, and he was a young boy in the dream, and he asked his mother if this was how everything ended up.

Is this how everything ends up?

But he waited for a long, long time.

And she never answered.

Chapter Text

An important few events from the past that no one realizes are important yet. John’s point of view. Back to the boys and where I left them with the next chapter, and this will tie in eventually.

—————————————

One time, they spent a whole week in a real nice house close to the ocean in Maine with a woman who John thought he had always been half in love with.

Her name was Selase, spelled just like that, too, even though you’d think there’d be at least one “c,” and she had been John’s Junior High girlfriend, god, too many years earlier, before she had transferred schools, tugging away a little chunk of John with her when she left.

Maybe they had been sort of a young couple, maybe not, depending on who you ask, but they’d kept in touch ever since, on and off anyway, and when John landed two towns away from her on a case with Sam and Dean (Sammy was 10, Dean was 14 going on 30), he set up a lunch date on a whim the morning after dusting a real nasty couple of witches, and it ended up lasting for seven days.

Selase made maps of everything, hand-drawn maps that were tacked up all over her walls, maps of everything, places she’d been and wanted to go and didn’t ever want to go, fictional towns and lands and entire worlds from fantasy novels and even maps of people and faces and whole lives.

John got quieter and clumsy around her more often than he didn’t and tried to pretend he’d read the books on her shelves, and Dean wasn’t bashful about loudly whispering to Sammy that she was a class A cougar whenever she was in another room.

But John didn’t get angry about it, no more than a couple of times, because he could tell that his eldest son secretly respected Selase a lot and right away, because despite the other things, she didn’t talk down to him or look through him or treat him like he was just another kid.

The nights after both boys fell asleep, Selase turned on music she said made hard people soft, and she and John talked about the future and the past and things that scared them and all the ways they were faking it through life, and it was the closest John and his sons had come to being normal since that damn...since everything.

She taught Sammy how to make animal shapes on the wall with his fingers and tried to teach Dean how to meditate.

She sang songs and told them about all the different kinds of trees and watched and watched them when they didn’t know she was looking.

She talked to John about more serious things, but those conversations were never solid enough for him, and towards the end of the week, she said some things that took it too far. Too much, too soon, too…close to home. 

Even though she apologized and really meant it, John was ready to leave, because he was restless but also because she didn’t know his children, or him, not really, and he was tired of her pretending that she did, that she ever really could.

They were playing house, and it was nice, at first, but it wasn’t real, and they had stayed too long.

The morning they left, Selase told him that she was only trying to help, because she saw more about things than anyone ever thought she did.

It made him feel even more irritated with her, but she still handed him an envelope and asked that he take it, that it was important, and that if he would just take it, she would leave him be.

“You’re not their mother,” John had snapped, “we shouldn’t have come here.”

He took the envelope.

So she would leave them alone.

But he wished he had never talked to her, never let her get inside his head, and he threw it out, the envelope, at the next gas station they pulled into, never even bothering to open it.

Chapter Text

Flashback, Dean’s 16th birthday, mixed P.O.V:

“Surprise!” Sam shouted, leaping out from behind the center-island in the dark kitchen to fling himself at Dean wildly, all arms and legs, in a hug that knocked them both backwards against the wall.

“Wha-christ! Sammy! Jesus, you scared the crap out of me!”

Sam laughed and tumbled in even closer, prodding at Dean’s shoulder playfully.

“Oh my god, Dean, you should have seen your face, that was awesome,” he managed through fits of giggles, finally pulling himself away to rummage around behind him for the little poorly-wrapped present he’d shoved behind the coffee maker.

“And I gotch’ya something, but for later, because look-“ he gestured with his free hand toward the table off to the side of the room, where he had busied himself earlier arranging a mouthwatering display of toasted waffles with syrup and whipped cream, a plate of cut-up strawberries, and a huge card (half a poster board huge) that was balanced up against a jug of orange juice, reading “Happy Birthday, Dean!!” in various colors of markers and squirts of glitter glue.

“Um, except they might be a little cold,” Sam mumbled to his feet, shuffling his toe into the corner of the rug. “I thought you’d be home at 6:00 like you said, so I wanted it all ready before then, for the surprise. I could heat some stuff up in the microwave, if you wanted, oh and, ah, well we didn’t have some of the other things I wanted to make, and I know it should’a been dinner food, but I-”

Dean had been staring at the table in silence, like he just couldn’t believe it was all really for him, and before Sam could spiral himself further into doubt, Dean cut him off with a chuckle and a “c’mere, you big-ol goof,” crowding in to boost his little brother onto the island by his waist, settling himself in between Sam’s knees.

“It’s perfect,” Dean said softly, giving Sam’s nose a little tweak before leaning in purposely, bending down to meet those big, hopeful, worried eyes, to show Sammy how serious he was, that he really did mean it.

“It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me, even you, and you do a lotta nice things for me.”

Sam blushed furiously at that and felt the squirmy kind of happiness in his stomach that always buzzed into existence when Dean was impressed with him, with something he’d done.

“You really think so?” he pushed shyly, kicking out his foot gently to connect with Dean’s jacket, and Dean stepped close to kiss the top of Sam’s head before ruffling his hair.

“Yeah. Yeah, I definitely think so, Sammy. Now come on, get off ‘a there. I’m starving.”

———————

Dean had flopped himself heavily down onto the couch after polishing off his birthday surprise, satisfied and content and full of endorphins from his time with just-Sammy that always eased his mind and heart and made him less weary and more tired all at once.

Grabbing the remote, he flicked on the small, boxy TV to a cable channel they could barely pick up, although some days more so than others.

It was a movie, sort-of, a blue movie, but only the voices were clear. The images were broken up like Kandinsky paintings, except it sounded like two people might be taking off clothes, so he decided to leave it in case things got good.

Sam half-skipped in from the kitchen to ask if he was watching porn, and he shook his head with a laugh.

“Uh-uh, I wish,” he huffed, kicking a little pillow out of the way so he could stretch his legs. “Not in this dump.”

Sam hovered in the open doorway separating the two rooms, and Dean cocked his head.

“Dad come by like he said, Sammy? He mention if he’d be back tonight? I know he wasn’t sure when I left this morning.”

Sam nodded and smiled, his eyes lighting up again, no longer uncertain like they had been for a fleeting flash of a second.

“Yep, he did, and it’ll be tomorrow before noon, he thinks, that’s what he said, not tonight, definitely not tonight.”

Dean’s shoulders relaxed, and he used one elbow to haul himself towards the back cushions, freeing up some space.

“So, what’cha waitin’ for, tiger? Come on. This channel ain’t gonna fix itself right now, and besides, I’m pretty sure it’s a skin-flick, but throw a tape in on your way over, we can watch whatever you want.”

Sam was light on his feet and giddy as he trotted over to the VHS player, shuffling through the small pile of tapes in a wicker basket on the floor.

Once he had decided on one and was firmly nestled in against his brother, snuggled up in his favorite little spoon spot, safe and warm with both of his legs from mid-thigh to ankle wrapped up in Dean’s, he started to feel tired pretty quickly.

But not only tired.

“Dean,” he asked, his voice muffled a bit over the sound of the opening credits startling to life with a flurry of big-band-music, “How come you only let me cuddle with you like this when Dad’s not here? When he’s gonna be gone?”

Sam held his breath, because he didn’t know if he was supposed to ask that and he didn’t want to ruin anything, but Dean’s hand found his hair again, fingering a few wayward strands, calming Sam down a little, easing his worries.

“Uh, I don’t know, Sammy,” Dean responded very slowly and carefully, like he was trying to figure out what to say while he was saying it. “I guess, I don’t know, I guess it’s just that he’d think we’re too old for it, maybe. You, and me too. I guess...he just wouldn’t understand.”

Sam frowned into Dean’s other sleeve, tossing that over in his mind.

“But we’re brothers,” he mumbled after a minute or two, pressing back to feel the solidness of Dean behind him. “There’s no such thing as anything closer than brothers. You told me.”

Dean let his hand absently fall to Sam’s shoulder, brushing back and forth over old flannel.

“Well, yeah,” he said gently, very very quietly, like he didn’t want even the walls to hear him, “yeah, but not for other brothers, Sammy...I mean, you’ve been out in the world long enough to get that, right? To get that brother doesn’t necessarily mean the same thing to other people? Not like does to us. You...understand what I mean?”

Sam nodded, a small nod, and turned his eyes to the TV, not sure he actually did understand, but also not entirely sure he wanted to.

Not if it meant that what he had with Dean was wrong or bad or something they’d have to keep secret forever and not just from Dad.

Feeling stupid and young and frustrated with himself for swallowing too much like he was going to cry, he grabbed onto Dean’s wrist and squeezed it tightly between his fingers.

“Is it...okay?” he whispered, not wanting Dean to hear the hitch in his voice, and in one overarching movement, Dean was sighing something like “oh, Sammy” and wrapping his brother up in a tight, immobile hug that cocooned him against Dean’s chest and filled him up with the smell he’d always associated with ‘home.’

“Of course it is, of course it’s okay, of course it is, Sammy, we just love each other, that’s all it is, of course it’s okay.”

Dean trailed off for a moment, pressing his face to the back of Sam’s head, taking a deep, long, steadying breath.

“But...it’s just for us, Sammy, yeah? Just for us. And that’s okay too.”

Chapter Text

————————

Dean surreptitiously followed Sam’s every move with his eyes, trying not to be obvious about it while his brother eased on layers of clothing across the room, his breath smoking the air in front of his lips.

“Christ, it got cold,” Sam mumbled into his shirt as he yanked it over his head, shivering and holding his arms around his chest once he was fully enveloped in flannel.

“Dean, you’re gonna get pneumonia, c’mon. At least put your jacket on. It’s not exactly a t-shirt weather kind ‘a day.”

Dean felt very loosely moored to everything solid as he willed himself to nod, his gaze drifting down to his own bare arms, which were speckled in hair-raising goosebumps.

“Nah, it’s not bad,” he shrugged, making sure to tack on a smile at the end, “I mean, I’ll put it on, yeah, but it’ll warm up in a few hours, I’m sure.”

Except motion was a concept like algebra to Dean as he watched Sam shimmy into a pair of clean socks, and his thoughts drifted, slipped downward, back to waking up on top of Sam an hour earlier, fuzzy and aching and sleep-heavy, to heave himself sideways onto the mattress, stretching out the burning kink in his neck with a groan.

When his eyes had focused from a blur, the first thing he had seen had been the bruises, and he had doubled over to clutch at his stomach, curling his mouth into a silent hiss and feeling sick...disconnected from the memories of what had happened as if this was just another doozie of a hangover after a night of heavy drinking.

Maybe it had been the sixteen straight hours he had lost to a short death of a sleep (a glance at his watch had confirmed that), or the staggering, surreal intensity of what he had done to...with, Sammy, but he hadn’t quite been able to think any of it through clearly, his mind scattering like a flock of birds whenever he had tried to hone in on the specific details.

And there had been memories of flashing, troubling, fleeting dreams, jittery, elusive images...

He hadn’t liked them, hadn’t wanted to remember them and had batted them away as quickly as possible into the deep parts of his subconscious.

He had moved, then, paper-light, to get dressed without waking Sam and had tossed around some vague, half-bullshit concepts to himself about psychology and sexual tension, but...more importantly had been his ironclad resolution to face his own decisions head-on, even if he couldn’t quite grasp them, because he was dead-set against allowing another internal conflict of his to shut him down, leaving Sam…confused and too-young, paying the price.

And if he was losing his mind (which he suspected was a possibility), than god help him he would lose it in a quiet little corner of himself, just all of him shoved right in there so Sam couldn’t see it, and then he’d claw his damn way back to the surface, back to his brother.

“Isn’t that funny?” Sam was saying now, about...fuck, about something?

Yanking his focus back into the real world again, Dean laughed and gave Sam one of his smooth, autopilot, ‘could-tie-into-just-about-anything’ responses to hide his temporary lapse.

“So, jacket on, yeah?” Sam chuckled with a little wink, his eyes bright beneath soft lashes, “Let’s go see what we can figure out for a...what time is it? Lunch? Breakfast?”

And Dean’s chest thrummed with something undefinable, something inverted and fragile but fierce and staggering.

Can’t we just stay here forever?

“Let’s meet it in the middle at call it brunch,” he offered, dragging himself to his feet and spontaneously giving Sam’s ass a playful pat on his way to the wall-hook housing his coat.

“I’m, uh, it’s a nice day today, Sammy, isn’t it? Cold...cold, but nice.”

——————————-

“Remember when you made me twelve waffles for my fifteenth birthday, Sammy?”

“Thksteenh.”

“Bless you.”

“Sixteenth, Dean, I was chewing. Remember because you were super excited to be a legal driver? And I got you that, uh, what was on it...yeah, it was a dream catcher, a dream catcher key chain.”

“Ohhh yeah, fuck, that’s right. I wonder what ever happened to that...”

“I’m deeply wounded that you lost it. Last time I ever get’chu anything!”

“You’ve gotten me a million things since then, smart ass. Plus, you lost that bird clock, and the, uh, starry-starry-night hoodie. Oh yeah! And the dragon necklace I got you for your birthday. In Walla Walla.”

“New Mexico. Carlsbad. That was only like a year ago. How are you trying to say Walla-Walla? Jeez, Dean. You going to start forgetting your pants next and saying things like ‘speak into my good ear?’”

pause

“Maybe. How ‘bout just the first one?”

“I should ‘a seen that one coming.”

“You’d love it.”

“So would you!”

“Touche. Now shut up and eat, Sammy.”

———————————

Sam’s P.O.V:

Sam could tell, easily, with almost no effort at all put into analyzing Dean, that his brother was fighting a back-and-forth battle with himself, but that it wasn’t necessary the same broken record set of issues they’d already been dealing with.

He figured it was probably at least a little about Dean thinking he had been too rough, but Dean seemed to have at least graduated beyond the point of being terrified to touch him in the light of day or verbally acknowledge that anything had happened without having a breakdown, so that was progress.

Sam wondered if maybe it might also be about Dad, who hadn’t called yet but who wasn’t gonna stay gone for too much longer (and they both knew it).

Dean was beating himself up a lot more than Sam ever realized he would, although given what he knew about his big brother (a lot), it wasn’t all that surprising, really.

He had always known that Dean felt hardwired to protect him at all costs and that now, the part of his brother’s mind in control of that was labeling Dean himself as the biggest threat, but Sam thought if he could just show Dean the truth, show him how wrong he was, that it would...go away.

He watched Dean gather up his empty plate and stand to stretch luxuriously.

Jesus…

Sometimes it actually hurt Sam’s stomach how unbelievably, incomparably gorgeous his big brother was.

Just…sin in a leather jacket.

He was like a God...an actual, Olympian God...who, for some miraculous reason, existed in this world as Sam’s brother and his...everything else.

“You got a little...drool, right here,” Dean smirked, demonstrating by dragging two fingers down the side of his own mouth, and Sam stuck his tongue out, blushing.

“Do not,” he huffed, but added on a slow, utterly-blatant lick of his lips as he leaned back on his elbows, his stomach lifting with butterflies at the way it all made Dean trip over his own smoothness.

“Easy, casanova,” Dean purred, but Sam could practically feel under his own fingertips the way his brother’s chest had tightened, and fuck, Dean was just so...effortlessly hot.

Just rugged and beautiful all at once and bright and strong and larger than life, and he was flirting, right here, showing off, being handsy and sexy-pushy like maybe...just maybe...he was feeling more like himself again after all.

“Only easy for you,” Sam breathed, mentally congratulating himself on having come up with it, and that’s how Dean ended up dropping his plate with a sharp clatter to tumble into Sam, to tumble them both into the cold, frostbitten earth and to kiss him like they were dying.

“Sammy...” Dean whispered, but god, there was so much in it, so much being said.

It wasn’t just his name...

Any more than his song for Dean had been just a random, meaningless sequence of words.

Chapter Text

“Sam, go inside, go inside and wait there until I tell you it’s okay.”

Dean’s hands were locked onto Sam’s shoulders, herding him, moving in behind him to practically lift him forward in the direction of the cabin.

“De-…what the hell? What’s going on?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder, scanning the woods, squinting into the blinding, early afternoon light, his heart beating in his throat.

“Sammy, please, be quiet, let me get some things from my bag. Just-...stay in here. There’s someone over there, in the trees. I saw...I saw...something, when I was at the well.”

Sam blockaded himself solidly in front of Dean once they were both inside, fear stretched out across his face, hands grabbing for the front of Dean’s jacket.

“Dean, you have to tell me, dammit, what is it? What was it? What are you gonna do? Just-don’t. We can go around back, we can get down the hill, get to the road.”

Dean pressed his palm over Sam’s mouth, pleading with frantic eyes, shaking his head slowly.

“Shh, we don’t know...where...” he whispered erratically, jerking suddenly to look behind him as if something might have appeared in the dim room out of thin air.

“Sammy, stay down, don’t make any noise, get over there, in the corner, take this-“

He pressed his cellphone into Sam’s hand, giving his brother what he hoped was a reassuring nod.

“You keep trying Dad, I just dialed him but it rang through to voicemail, you keep trying, but don’t speak any more than you have to, just tell him...tell him it’s a code blue, get your - keep the green backpack with you, use whatever you can grab if it comes to it. You keep your eye on that window and look for my flare. That’s when you go for the road.”

Sam was shaking, desperately trying to hold onto Dean, his fingers digging into leather, clawing at Dean’s upper arms.

“No, no...no,” he begged, his chest heaving, tears overflowing down his cheeks, “Don’t go out there, please, please don’t go out there. You don’t have to. Please, Dean, it’s just you, what if-you, just don’t-”

Dean cupped Sam’s face between his hands, his expression twisted into something almost grotesque, his eyes big and worrying and wild.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised, walking them both backwards into the corner and easing Sam down to his knees.

“I promise. I promise. Just stay here, Sammy. Be smart. Remember what you know. I love you, Sammy. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

Chapter Text

————————

A lot of the deciduous trees had been shedding their leaves, but the evergreens were there, green and plentiful enough to relieve the stark display of bare branches.

After he had pulled up fresh water from the well (the actual pioneer life, christ), Dean had been admiring, for the first time, how untouched and beautiful the whole stretch of wilderness around them truly was.

Leaning his head back a little wistfully, the way you look out a train window, he had felt the alluring tug of palpable stillness, of abandoning the madness of the busy world for the serenity, the peace, of endless trees and a long stretch of quiet sky.

A world that wouldn’t make it ugly, what he had with Sammy...

He had missed a call from Dad (speaking of making it ugly) while he had been...otherwise engaged with Sam after breakfast, so he had resigned himself to listening to the voicemail he knew would likely be the beginning of the end of...all this.

Flipping open his phone, he had held it to his ear.

“Dean. *indistinct sounds* up to the- *more sounds* I think it’s coming for you, don’t know how long it’s - you have to get out, get out, Dean, De-.”

John’s words had grown thinner and thinner, only to be swallowed up at the very end, lost, like shouting against the waves of an ocean, and Dean had stood rooted in place, frozen for a moment, before he had sucked in a mouthful of cold air and turned on his heels to get to Sammy.

But there had been a...there had been a...

It had been indescribable, really, impossible to...categorize.

It hadn’t been a sound so much as it had been a kind of tingling pull on the receptors that would normally register sound, and he had felt irresistibly compelled, as if existing in a dream-state, to turn in the direction of where he sensed, somehow knew, this...phenomenon was originating from.

What he had seen standing in front of the mostly-leafless trees had been...a man, for lack of a better word, an inhumanly tall man with eyes like high-beam headlights and grotesque features who had been slowly waving one hand in his direction and…smiling at him.

Dean, hypnotized and transfixed but still acutely aware of his own fear, had been seized by a kind of crushing terror he had long-since believed himself to be immune to, as if someone was funneling it into his mind, but he hadn’t been able to look away, hadn’t been able to move, and, perhaps most unnerving at all, hadn’t been able to...see anything about this creature, compared to a thousand other awful monsters he’d laid eyes on, that was frightening to the degree he had known it truly was.

The man had appeared...almost like a mirage or an abstract visual from a nightmare, lacking a solidity of form around the edges as if what Dean was observing was just a mere shimmer of what was actually in front of him, and his consciousness had started to sink heavily with a kind of thick, black ooze that had further incapacitated him in certain ways but that hadn’t affected the clarity of his thoughts or the acute sharpness of his dread.

He had recognized the experience right away as some powerful form of psychic control, but he…he couldn’t get out of it. He couldn’t break free from it.

Almost impossibly-distant, then, had been a trickling sense of awareness that Sam was vulnerable and that he was by himself and that he was completely oblivious to this new danger.

…

.

Oh, god, Sammy.

The simple thought of his brother...Sammy, Sammy needing him, Sammy alone, had triggered the kind of mental and physical strength in Dean that you read about a parent accessing, unexplainably, to save their child...a mother lifting a car off of her toddler, a father fighting the restrictions of a crippling injury to pull his son from harm’s way.

Sharpening himself like a knife and hauling himself from the quicksand he had been so thoroughly engulfed in, Dean had sprinted, keying in Dad’s number on his phone from muscle memory but getting nothing except four rings and Dad’s pre-recorded voice. He hadn’t looked back, hadn’t checked to see if the...if he was being followed, hadn’t even taken a breath until he had reached Sam, until his hands were touching his brother, herding him forward, a rush of relief flooding through him that at least it hadn’t gotten to Sam, too.

“Sam, go inside, go inside and wait there until I tell you it’s okay.”

Chapter Text

‘Well, this is fucking fantastic,’ Dean thought to himself as he spun around in a 360-pivot, seeing nothing, still, but growing shadows and twisted trees. 

‘I’ve got no clue what I’m looking for or where it is or how to kill it or how it’s gonna try to kill me.’

He also suspected, feeling sick to his stomach, that he might not see it until it was right in front of him, and possibly even when it was right in front of him (although he was certain he would feel it), but suddenly, Sam’s idea of running for the road seemed like their better chance of living long enough to kill Dad for not having prepared them, or at least Dean, for this very situation.

‘Christ, I told him, I told him he had to give me fucking something, how the fuck did he think this would play out?’

And maybe Dad was...already...was-

Dean couldn’t think about that, couldn’t even think the words...

Getting distracted wasn’t an option. He couldn’t let himself get lost in the what-ifs with so much already at stake in this moment...right now.

Not to mention the fact that the further Dean walked into the woods, the further he was distancing himself from Sam, which was, in fact, his very intention, but...fuck...what if that was exactly what this thing wanted, too? To separate them? To go after the perceived easier mark?

”Goddamit, Dad!” Dean yelled aloud now, kicking out at a stump and wincing in pain as his toes bent against the wood.

He needed to up his game. He needed to do...something, dammit, anything.

”Hey! HEY!!! Tall, fucking, freaky, uhh, monster, thing...lurking around in here, listen up! Fuck you, you...I’m talkin’ to you! You scared to come out and play, you fucking pussy of a, a whatever the hell you are? HEY! I am RIGHT here, asshole! RIGHT HERE!”

Dean knew how reckless he was being, but if that thing went for Sammy...if...if he was all the way out here and it wanted Sammy the whole time, if he had fed right into-

Feeling his chest constrict violently, he couldn’t even finish the thought, trying instead to gage the space between where he stood and where he knew the cabin to be, realizing that if it was at all possible, given the lack of information he had on how to fight whatever was out there, he needed to stick with his original plan: luring the fucker away, by whatever means necessary, to try to buy them, well, no...to buy Sammy...some time.

Once he had eyes on the thing, or once he could tell it was close enough, once he’d attracted it to him instead...way out here, he’d shoot up a flare.

Sammy would see it and he’d know to make a run for it while Dean had the frickin’ bastard distracted.

It wasn’t an ideal plan, and Dean wasn’t exactly gung-ho about offering himself up as probably-definitely-dinner, but he also knew that their chances of managing to smoke some extra-helpings-of-weird monster they’d never even heard of before with no access to research, no time, and no backup were pretty much nonexistent.

All that really mattered at that point was making sure it was him, not Sammy, grabbing the short straw.

Suffice to say, he’d be dead anyway if-if that happened, if it was Sammy, even if his own death miraculously wasn’t also today at the hands of this new creepy fucker.

He’d either go out trying to kill it and anyone else who got in the way, or it’d be by his own hand once the thing was buried, but he wouldn’t last a week, wouldn’t want to last a damn minute, not without Sam, and he knew it as certainly as he’d ever known anything.

Offering himself up right here, right now, was the easiest choice Dean had ever made.

”HEY!” he screamed again, louder this time, a frantic edge creeping into his voice, “I know you can hear me! You want me? You got it. Just gotta come and get me.”

An idea suddenly struck him.

“There something in my bag you don’t like? That it, maybe? Well, guess what? I don’t have a fucking clue how to hurt you, not a fucking clue what you even are. That’s right. Even if somethin’ in here could make a dent, I could never narrow it down quick enough to make a damn difference. But, you know what? Here-”

Slouching out of his backpack in desperation, he flung it as far as he could into the trees, one hand poised over the flare safely tucked into his back pocket.

”I tossed the whole bag. Done. I’m all yours, ugly! Come on! COME ON! You can have me! Easy peasy! Offerin’ it right up!”

But the seconds scraped by...and the deafening silence of the air around him started to feel like the smother of a pillow pressed over his face...jesus fuck, the woods, the goddamed woods, the creek of trees...and the-

Had that been a cry? A moan? Was it Sam? Fuck, fuck, was it Sammy?

”HEY!!! Over here! You want me, you found me earlier! Just take me!”

Dean’s veins began to burn cold, colder than cold...colder than death as he jogged through row after row of trees that suddenly all looked the same, crying out, screaming, for the monster, maybe, for Sam...he wasn’t sure, anymore.

He couldn’t figure out which direction he had come from or why it was already getting so dark (what time had it been when he had left Sam?) or where he was trying to run to or even how to...how to get back to the cabin...

No, no, no.

His skin was raised into sharp goosebumps even under the leather of his jacket, and although he now wasn’t entirely sure he had heard anything at all, his chest had started to flood with panic...a rapid, swarming onset of it that spilled over, hot and nauseating, into his throat, pulling at his pulse and blurring his vision.

It had been too long...too long.

Had it been twenty minutes? Fifteen? Less than that? Thirty? Longer? 

Why couldn’t he think clearly? Where was-...if North was...fuck, was South toward the...

Was Sam-...w-was Sammy-

As if trapped in a nightmare, a frantic, almost otherworldly scream pierced the air, ripped through his insides, slammed into his skull like a thousand hammers, and there was no one else it could have been, oh god, oh god, why couldn’t he...why couldn’t he stand up-

“SAM!!” he yelled in a sob that was wrenched from his very center, feeling like he had been dosed with a handful of tranquilizers and keeling over sideways into the trunk of a tree with a sickening slam.

“Sammy! SAMMY! Goddammit if you hurt him, I will fucking make you BEG for death, you son-of’a-bitch! DO YOU HEAR ME?? I’ll rip you apart no matter how fucking invincible you think you are! I WILL TAKE YOU FUCKING DOWN WITH ME, YOU BASTARD, SO HELP ME, IF YOU EVEN TOUCH HIM! YOU SHOW YOUR DAMN FACE! SHOW YOUR FUCKING FACE!! YOU WANTED ME, DAMMIT, YOU WANTED ME! I’M RIGHT FUCKING HERE! TAKE ME, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! TAKE ME!”

.

.

.

.

sam. sammy. sam.

Suddenly, dizzyingly, and after...god, time was an odd thing right now, it struck Dean in a very vague and hard-to-really-grasp kind of way that this was...wait, this was, uh, unusual...wasn’t it? What was...where was-?

He could hear himself, now, actually hear himself continuing to scream a litany of threats and profanities, but in the way you hear other people...as if he had just woken up in his own head, still very tired (dream? a dream?) and was watching, listening to, someone else puppeting his mouth. 

Except, it...was him. It was. It wasn’t like...say, possession.

”Okay, okay, possesion, yeah, c’mon, keep thinking, stay awake.”

No, it was more like...a fracturing of himself into two separate centers of control, two people looking out, and the other one...that one, the one who had now gone overboard into the full throws of a blind rage, was punching down into the semi-frozen earth, well...he was...he was throwing the punch...not ‘that one,’ not someone else...and it was a hard punch, too, brutal-hard, hard enough to immediately bloody his knuckles.

“Stop. Stop this. Think. You’re halfway out. Pull yourself out. Think. You have to think. It’s controlling you somehow. Don’t let it. Remember Sammy. Get out, now. You have to get out, GET OUT!”

There was a sound, a sound like metal grinding against metal.

And a pull.

And an acutely-agonizing ache of pressure...

.

.

Dean emptied the contents of his stomach in one powerful, painful retch, falling forward at the base of the tree he had collided with earlier (god, how much earlier?) while his knees buckled beneath him like they were made of wet paper.

Panting in rapid, shallow breaths, he forced his head up from the cold, leaf-lined dirt, his insides fluttering with a dreamlike-wooziness and a knotted mess of confusion and samsammysam as he saw and then mentally processed who...or rather what...was standing in front of him, no more than twenty feet away, in the same form Dean had witnessed earlier by the well.

”If you hurt him, I swear to fucking god I will kill you,” Dean spat, feeling like his organs were being ripped from his body and realizing, as an afterthought, that he wasn’t hypnotized, transfixed, like he had been the first time, that he wasn’t paralyzed or weighted down by that god-awful black smudging-out ooze that had disoriented him so completely.

“Where the fuck is my brother? Did you fucking touch him? Did you hurt him? Fucking answer me, you piece of shit.”

Dean clawed at the ground, forcing his muscles to support his weight as he hauled himself to his feet, lunging forward, his whole body shaking.

”SAY SOMETHING, YOU BASTARD! What did you do to him? What did you fucking do to Sam? I heard him, his-he screamed-“

Dean choked, spitting more vomit to the ground at his feet, crying out with an animalistic groan of pain and hissing more words, now, in nonsensical combinations, just knowing he needed to hurt this thing, or die, or both, just-

He didn’t even stop moving as his torso curled into another dry heave, saliva dripping down his chin, his hands clenched so tightly into fists that his nails were digging into the skin of his palms.

”I didn’t hurt your brother.”

That first word emphasis, almost like the implication was-was…but then there was also-

The thing had spoken to him without moving its mouth, delivering the sounds directly into Dean’s mind like an invasion of little metal bugs scraping across his temporal lobe.

Dean wanted to itch underneath his skull, to hollow out the skittering words with his fingers, but...what was...Sam was-

“Bullshit. I heard it. I heard him. You. I-“

The air suddenly vibrated with a deep, booming voice that came from everywhere all at once, Dad’s voice, fuck, it was Dad’s voice.

”You couldn’t protect him. It’s your fault. It’s all your fault.”

Dean stumbled backwards, tripping over a branch and reaching out to steady himself, pinching his eyes tightly shut before forcing them open again.

“H-how-did, how...”

His heart raced in his chest while he swayed back and forth, his vision clouding at the edges and his tongue heavy, clumsy, in his mouth.

”W-why...I don’t-I didn’t know I...I just. I - what, what the fuck do you want from me? Why are you, why are you doing this?”

The creature seemed to hover several centimeters above the ground and was drifting closer to Dean, now, with a graceful, almost slippery way of moving that abstractly reminded Dean of smoke, maybe...or water.

He knew this was it, that it was all over, that there was no fucking way he was walking out of this forest and that he was out of time, that he had to warn his brother, if Sammy was even still-

He grabbed for the flare with a wounded, wordless yell, painfully lifting his arm to aim the gun up toward the tops of the trees and fingering the trigger, but-

Like glass shattering, there was a sudden, violent flurry of movement, a shock of dropping limbs and broken branches, blurred lunges, so much...too much...sounds like screams that shattered what was left of Dean’s ability to cope.

It was so sudden, impossibly sudden, and he couldn’t see...couldn’t understand, couldn’t even begin to piece together what was real.

Wondering very absently to himself if he was dying, he felt the lift of arms at his chest, a far away voice echoing around his ears like he was underwater, something like being moved, maybe, an overwhelming sensation of being horribly, uncomfortably cold...

And then, with a long, quiet hum that dug in deep and thrummed down his mind to the very bottom, he shivered, gagged again, and let himself collapse...while everything just...faded to black.

Chapter Text

Dean’s sensory awareness of his surroundings began to trickle back very slowly, but he couldn’t yet open his eyes or fully connect with his still-sleeping motor skills.

There were sounds, people talking...like voices in a dream, very close and far away at the same time, agitated, familiar voices, but he could only hold onto fractured clips of words.

“...told you to stay in the cab-...what were you thinking?”

“This is your fault! You-...I had to make sure...”

“ANY distraction and it would have been...”

Dean fought his way to the surface, clinging to those voices, needing to wake up, desperately needing to-

“Sammy-“ he heard himself rasp, almost inaudibly, his eyelids still weighed down like bricks, glued shut.

There was a rustling of something next to him, a warmth on his shoulder, a hand...it was a hand, he thought very thickly, struggling to clear the stickiness from his mind.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, Dean. I’m right here. God, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I’m okay. I’m right here.”

Dean tried to make sense out of it, tried to puzzle through what had happened, why he was-...where he was...were they moving?

But each thought was half-formed, slurred, too painful and slippery to keep within his grasp...except for Sam’s voice, his brother’s voice...a soft, reassuring sound, easing Dean back down into unconsciousness.

————————-

When he woke up again after what felt like an unfathomably-long stretch of nothingness, Dean’s head rushed to life with a tangle of immediate panic and disorientation, his eyes flying open in stark contrast to their earlier heaviness, his hands jerking down to his sides, pressing into whatever was underneath him, struggling to hold his own weight as he lifted his torso.

“Sammy,” he cried out again, or rather...scratched out, his throat so dry that the words burned, “Sammy, where-“

It was as if a mostly-opaque sheet of glass hung over his eyes obscuring his vision, but Sam was right there, so quickly, right there, leaning over him, blurring into view, fingers pushing gently at his arms, lowering him flat again, holding him.

“I’m okay, Dean,” Sam urged, sounding so...pained...so shaky and weary and worried, “Don’t try to move yet, we’re in the car, it’s okay. Just lay still.”

Dean squinted his eyes, blinking rapidly as the vague colors and shapes around him slid into hazy focus, trying to remember, trying to wade through the muck of his own thoughts, trying to understand what had...what had-

“Jesus christ,” he hissed suddenly, frantically, clenching every muscle, straining again to sit up, “no, no, Sam, Sammy, you don’t understand, fuck, where’s-you, you’re okay, you’re okay, Sammy I thought...oh my god, the...it was...Dad? What are you doing-”

Every nerve in Dean’s body was resisting movement as he lunged forward a little, hearing Sam speaking more words to him but feeling sick to his stomach again, dizzy and faint.

Everything was spinning in circles, and he clutched at his forehead, digging his fingertips into his temples, groaning and falling back onto Sam’s lap in the backseat, choking out a breath.

“Dean, you’ve been through one hell of a wringer,” John was saying, reaching back to rub his shoulder, “You need to take it real slow, son, please...that kind of mojo isn’t something to mess around with.”

Yeah, yes, the...the thing, with two of him, was that it? And someone had been there, right at the end…It was Dad? Was it? How the hell-

The specific details of Dean’s time spent with that-that...thing, of what led up to it, were sparking back into focus at least with a bit more clarity, and he suddenly felt furious and overheated alongside everything else...cauterized from the inside out, remembering that Dad did this to them, that Dad’s selfishness had nearly cost them both their lives...his refusal to give Dean any information, his goddamned stubbornness...and then just leaving them in the fucking woods like sitting ducks.

And now he was here? He was just...here?

Weakly slapping at John’s wrist, Dean made a grinding, guttural sound like a low growl, trying to haul himself out of arm’s reach.

”Don’t fucking touch me,” he spat, the exertion twisting his stomach into tight knots again, “How did we even get-I don’t understand what the hell-...you know what? No. No. Never mind. You don’t get to talk, Dad. Fuck you. FUCK YOU!”

Dean had never unloaded on Dad like that, not ever, not by a long shot, and he vaguely wondered if some of that “mojo,” whatever the hell Dad had been rambling about (the way that ‘thing’ had driven him to hysterics, he guessed) was still working its way through his system.

But it didn’t matter. He had a fucking right to be pissed off, dammit, for Sammy’s sake, for his own sake, and he was just so confused...so wildly, irreconcilably confused-

Before he could stop himself or try to move, he was curling over in Sam’s lap and, once again, throwing up...or trying to, anyway...his body practically inverting itself in an attempt to rid his system of something that wasn’t there to rid, not in his stomach, at least...gagging on his own inhales, a sharp, pounding pain burning at the base of his skull.

”Just try to breathe through it, Dean,” John coaxed softly, steadily, then murmured something very quietly to Sam that Dean couldn’t make out, “It’ll be over soon, son. You’ll feel better real soon.”

”Fu-“ Dean tried to swear, wishing he could punch Dad in the face, feeling overwhelmed with anger and exhaustion and sickness...god, this merciless goddamned sickness…

This wasn’t going to be the time to delve into all of the things they were going to need to delve into, not when Dean apparently lacked the basic strength to even support the weight of his own head.

No, just rest now...then, answers. 

Nothing now, nothing but rest, now, too much-too tired, too sick...too much.

Just...just rest.

—————————-

Chapter Text

“No, just-you don’t...pull over, take the exit, that one. I need to get out of this damn car for a minute.”

Dean sighed, privately saying a secret little mental apology to the impala ‘I didn’t mean it, baby’ and crossing his arms over his chest, fuming.

“You wanna villainize me, Dean? You wanna pretend I’m the bad guy, here? Well, guess what? The bad guy’s out there, somewhere out there-“

John gestured out his window, his knuckles tapping into the glass.

“-right now, and if we can’t figure a way to pull together as a family, to put past mistakes behind us, we’re all as good as dead.”

Dean slammed his good fist down into the seat, his chest tightening with another jolt of hot anger, aware of the fact that Sam, sitting next to him, had flinched, but unable to stop himself, unable to calm the volatile rage inside of him aimed at Dad.  

”A mistake, Dad? A fucking mistake? Eating bad sushi is a mistake. Forgetting fucking milk at the store is a mistake. Leaving Sammy to die, me to die, with some monster you knew all along how to at least hurt, just because you refused to give me a damn clue, a damn anything, is NOT a mistake. You don’t get to call it that. Just because you managed to haul ass and get there in time, some frickin’ fluke, doesn’t make it okay, doesn’t make it just some damn ‘mistake.’”

Dean growled, actually growled, his fist connecting with leather again before he wrenched open his door and muscled himself out into the parking lot of the gas station they had pulled into, still frustratingly-weak and breathing furiously as he steadied himself with a trembling hand on the roof. 

Sam wordlessly climbed out after him on the other side, followed by John, who made a direct beeline for the store, his shoulders hunched tensely.

”Dean-“ Sam started in a half-whisper, sucking his lower lip between his teeth anxiously, but Dean cut him off, holding up one hand and shaking his head, the small movement blurring his peripheral vision.

”I’m sorry, Sammy, I’m sorry, but...I can’t just let it go, if that’s what you’re gonna tell me. I can’t.”

Sam threw a furtive glance towards the station, stepping around the front of the car to lean in close to Dean with his hands pushed awkwardly into small pockets. 

“I was just gonna say...” he pushed, his voice shaking perceptively on the last word, “that I-I...I thought you w-were dead, Dean. I - when I saw you there, with that thing…it was right next to you, it was about to…”

He jerked one arm to his face, swiping his sleeve across his eyes and turning his head, blinking too much and too quickly.

”I don’t ever wanna feel like that again, and if that means doing w-what Dad says and getting this-“

He broke off, his breath stuttering, catching, and Dean pulled him into an immediate, instinctive full-body hug.

“Shit, Sammy, I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry. It’s okay, I’m okay, we’re gonna get it, you hear me? I’m right here, it’s okay.”

Sam collapsed against Dean’s chest, openly crying now, his shoulders rising and falling in silent sobs like he couldn’t help it, couldn’t control it, like he’d been forcing it down...just below the surface, and had finally lost the battle.

Dean felt a wounded stab of empathetic pain pierce through the rage in his chest, his anger softening a little...a little, as he mindlessly rubbed the small of Sam’s back, soothing him, rocking him back and forth, humming things like “shhh,” and “love you, Sammy” into his brother’s mussed hair.

John exited the store far too quickly, shit that had been quick, a brown paper bag clutched in his hands, and Dean froze, his muscles twitching with the urge to pull back, to protect them from this...from Dad’s scrutinizing gaze, but it was too late anyway, and...fuck it. They weren’t doing anything wrong. 

Like Dad had said, he’d been through the wringer. Sammy had too, emotionally speaking. It was...there was nothing inherently bad about what was happening, here. Dad knew how close they were…

The key was not to change anything he was doing, not to act guilty or worried or ashamed.

John looked them up and down very slowly as he trudged toward the car, narrowing his eyes slightly but noticeably, and Dean locked onto him with an unblinking stare, ironclad, arranging his face into an expression of ‘don’t you dare,’ challenging him to say anything, to even fucking think it. 

That was when Sam noticed, untangling himself from Dean slightly and following his line of sight, only to inhale sharply and leap backwards in obvious alarm (well, fuck, that hadn’t helped any), wiping his tear-wet hands down the fronts of his thighs and clearing his throat nervously…guiltily.

”W-what’d you get?” Sam stammered as John stepped into hearing range, and then, without waiting for a reply, “I was just-it’s been hard, I-“

”We’re losing daylight,” John interrupted, gruff, unreadable, walking by his sons to the driver’s side door and slinging his bag onto the hood while he opened it.

”Come on. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

Chapter Text

The air was warmer here, warmer but dustier, and Dean dug through his jacket pocket, fingers closing on the pack of smokes he’d picked up a few towns back.

Yanking one free with his front teeth, he fumbled for his lighter, sparking the flame and sucking in a few long, slow drags that buzzed an electric trail of dizziness through his head, a brief distraction from the dull ache that continued to linger around the edges.

The door to their motel room clinked open and shut behind him, and he took his time tapping away loose ash, feigning oblivion while his free hand clenched instinctively into a painful, preemptively-defensive fist.

”Dean, it’s me.”

With a relieved hiss of an exhale, he turned to face Sam, smiling softly and using his cigarette hand to hook two fingers into a “c’mere” gesture, his shoulders leveling out, relaxing, now that he knew it wasn’t Dad coming to chew him a new one or even to try and apologize. He didn’t know which he’d have a more dangerous reaction to at this particular moment.

Sam eyed the outside of their still-curtained window, padding down the steps towards Dean and offering up a shy, tired smile in return.

“Hiya, Sammy,” Dean purred through another drag, grabbing a fistful of Sam’s shirt and tugging him close, “What’d you tell Dad?”

Sam hung his weight forward onto Dean’s chest, resting his cheek over the now-steady thudthud of Dean’s heartbeat and breathing out long and gentle as he absently looped his fingers through the worn leather of Dean’s oversized belt loops…endearingly-needy and exhausted and loving and so many other things that made Dean’s insides soften right up.

“I said I-ws gonna check on you, make sure you were okay, which’s exactly what’m doing.”

Sam’s voice was muffled against Dean’s jacket, sleepy-sweet, and Dean smiled again, his stomach feeling Sammy-light-and-velvety under the weary warmth of his brother’s body pressed in so tightly against him.

“I’m glad you did,” he whispered, hauling back a moment to press a tentative, almost nervous kiss to Sam’s lips before dragging again from his cigarette off to the side, using his other arm to keep them flush against each other, torso to torso, like two pages of a closed book.

“Shouldn’t smoke, Dean, s’bad for you,” Sam slurred, his eyelids drooping, fingers searching around Dean’s hips and back now, pressing and touching everywhere as if examining for wounds.

“Yeah, I know, Sammy,” Dean admitted, mussing his brother’s hair and wrapping a long strand of it around his thumb before unwinding it again. 

“But I’m keepin’ my Sammy-attitude, my Sammy-tude towards Dad all locked up, for now, because some adorable boy asked me to-“

He broke off, chuckling as Sam nuzzled his face deeper, playfully...wearily swatting at Dean’s hip.

“-so I gotta latch onto some vice or another, huh? Plus, I can’t touch you most of the time again, which I’d pick over a cigarette in a damn heartbeat.”

He said it breathlessly, a little too quickly, still navigating the parameters of the new intimacy between them, of his own boldness...still a bit unsure, unsteady on his feet. 

But Sam mewled into him, fluttering Dean’s stomach, deep and warm and whispery-soft, and...god, it really was a blissful, provocative, perfect thing having Sam like this...letting himself tease and pamper and pretty-talk, touch, hold, kiss... 

“C’mere, baby,” Dean hummed very quietly after a long time, the timbre of his voice a low, tender pitch, and with a gentle tap of his fingertips, he coaxed them, as one, around the front of the car, only untangling their limbs and dropping his half-smoked cigarette to the asphalt as they reached the bottom step leading up to their room.

”Let’s get you to bed, Sammy, c’mon. We got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

——————————

John had about twenty loose pages of scrawled notes spread across the round table and was muttering under his breath, squinting down in the dim light of early morning while Dean ripped open a bag of crap instant coffee to pour into hot water. 

“Alright, Dad,” he sighed after a few minutes, taking a small sip from his styrofoam cup and wrinkling his nose at the burnt taste, “now you’re gonna tell me everything we’ve got on this freak, and then we’re gonna do what we do, find it and kill it.”

He crossed the room to grab a page from the table, skimming it over through another sip while John surveyed him, likely suppressing a series of sharp remarks, Dean figured.

”Right,” John grunted, snatching the page back from Dean, “but we’re doing this my way, and we’re going in smart, you hear me? Not half-cocked.”

Dean clenched his fists, forcing himself back to neutrality, for Sam’s sake, but then-

“Hey, did that say-...what was that on there? Why do have stuff on Selase for this? Give me that.”

John narrowed his eyes, folding up the page Dean was reaching for and slipping it into his back pocket.

”We’ll get to that,” he said vaguely, cutting off Dean’s immediate retort with a warning curl of his shoulders.

Dean caught Sam in his periphery emerging from the bathroom and bit his tongue, his knuckles pushing painfully into the sides of his thighs.

“We’d better,” he settled for hissing quietly in John’s direction, using his foot to kick one of the chairs closer in towards the table and slinging himself down before glancing back at Sam again.

”I’m catchin’ up on the homework, Sammy,” he explained as if that wasn’t obvious, “you wanna start getting everything packed up?”

Sam nodded, locking pleading eyes with Dean for a long moment, reminding him, Dean knew, to behave. 

Dean gave his brother a quick and subtle half-smile and one small nod of his head in response before turning back to Dad.

”Alright, let’s do this. Come on. Just...start at the beginning.”

———————————

“They’re called Hidherim, but from what I can gather, there’s only a handful of ‘em out there, and they only ever come out to play about once every hundred years or so for however long it takes to eat, which makes it near impossible to get any reliable intel.”

”So, they’re...what, exactly? Ancient, immortal...whats? I mean, seriously, Dad...what the fuck?”

”Well, that’s just it. I’ve found accounts, theories, you name it, but with a hundred years, sometimes more, in between ‘em, pretty much everything people know about the world…hunting, history, the whole nine has changed. Not to mention...once they pick a victim, they don’t quit until they close the deal, so from what I can tell, there’s only ever been a few people who ever lived long enough to write about it or talk about it.”

”And they’re after what? Give me that paper-no, the one next to it, that one. Yeah, here. So...help me out. They-I mean how does that work? They go after the grieving?”

”Not just. Sometimes, yeah, seems that way. But it’s a whole spread of different emotions and states of mind they hone in on. All of the extremes, really, especially when they’re in tandem. Plus, I think it might depend on the specific Hidherim in question. I don’t really have that part of it nailed down, yet. Hunters, though. They find us before we even know there’s something to hunt. Usually. They’ve-…there are a lot of variables.”

”So…basically, you don’t know anything. Not definitely. I mean, they eat the whole person? Or is it like werewolf style, going after the heart? Or blood? How does it work?”

”So, here, this guy, second paragraph, this hunter, Alexander Grimes, he followed one for a few weeks in the early 1900’s, it’d been after his nephew. Alex saw the final attack from the window of a cabin. He described the thing, it matches up to fact, and he laid out this series of events detailing the victim first slipping into a state of madness, hysteria. Finally, well, that part about the rock, there.”

John tapped his index finger down onto the faded ink.

“I mean you can read it. Pretty gruesome. And then it seems they feed on the remains, see, this note here at the bottom.”

“Well that’s just...great. I mean, this is weird, right? This is like...way beyond the norm, the monster norm. Do we even know what they are, like...what they are?”

”Not even a shot in a dark, and we likely won’t, but the good news is that they’re not invincible. They can even be killed, just like every other thing, but it’s not gonna be easy…”

“Come on, what, we gotta find some crazy-ass thing? Blood of a gypsy libra virgin on crack? What is it?”

”Grab that journal page. Yeah. Keep reading. Go on, skip to the last part, there.”

”Claircognizance. What the fuck is that?”

”It’s a very rare psychic gift that gives someone the innate ability to understand how things work, how things will unfold, and how all the parts fit together to make the whole.”

”Christ, Sammy, how the hell do you know that? And I thought you were packing up.”

”Jeez, you’re welcome. And I know things!”

”Boys, the point is, we need the help of a Claircognizant-…person, and there is one, at least one, but I might’a...burned that bridge pretty badly a long time ago.”

”Selase.”

”Bingo.”

”Okay, so...we just show up, Dad. If that’s what we gotta do, right? We don’t give her a chance to leave or to take any...I don’t know, countermeasures, and then we make it clear that she’s just gonna...she’s just gonna have to help us. I mean, we do what we gotta do, always have. This is no different.”

”That’s the plan, for lack of a better one.”

”But, here’s what I still don’t get, Dad. It went for us to - what, to bait you? I mean you were…it followed you to Brady’s? And for that matter, this ancient creepy bastard crawls out of the woodwork after a century and somehow draws your name out of the cosmic hat of crazy people? Why? And how did you even know? How’d you even figure it was after you in the first place?”

”Dean...that’s the other thing I, uh. Well, Bobby and me got the scent. Early, thank god. Nothing wild, either. Mostly damn good luck and Bobby knowing a good bit about it from the get-go. But that’s not what I-…that’s-you...I did think it was after me. Once we ruled out Bobby. I swear to you, Dean…Sammy, I thought getting you both away from me was the best thing I could do for you. But it-just it’s...”

John sighed, deep and heavy and slow.

“-we can safely assume…now, after the shit that just went down, how it all played out…how it…found you out there and tried to - tried to get a hold of you, get a hold of your mind like that, that it’s…it’s you, Dean. Maybe it wasn’t at the start of this. Maybe it was. But it’s…dammit, it’s you.”

Chapter Text

————————

“-tell him-...-getting supplies-”

“What time-...-and then we’ll-“

“-have everything ready-...staying one more night, because I couldn’t find any-...have to track down a-“

Dean stood in the too-small motel bathroom, listening to the hushed, mostly inaudible conversation on the other side of the heavy door and gripping the white porcelain sink with unsteady hands.

Watching himself in the mirror, he pursed his lips into a tight line, his eyes ragged and suddenly strange to him, darker than normal, harder than normal.

‘I guess I really am the most fucked up person on the planet,’ he thought witheringly, his mind drifting to Sammy, to his own inner turmoil, to those seething thoughts and wants and worries that were already terrifying even on the best of days, to the possibility of this monster using all of it to drive him to beat himself to death with a fucking rock. 

Or even getting to Sammy…doing it that way. It’d work...

There was a knock, a hesitant tap, followed by another and then a third.

“Dean? Can I come in? It’s just me. Please.”

Silently examining his own reflection for another long moment, not replying, Dean finally sighed and cleared his throat, reaching over for the metal lock and twisting it with a sharp ‘click.’

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine, I’m-“

Sam practically burst through the door, tripping over his own feet in the process and earning a raised eyebrow and an expression of surprised indignance from Dean.

“Christ, Sammy, calm down,” Dean huffed, shifting his weight and giving his brother a quick once-over, hating the obvious concern he could see etched into Sam’s expression, wishing he could just...scrub it away.

“Don’t go giving yourself a damn coronary, come on. I needed half a second to process...things, and now I have. That’s all.”

There was a palpable, uncomfortable stillness between them while Sam seemed to be wading through the many possible responses available to him, and Dean rolled his eyes skyward, dropping his hands heavily to Sam’s shoulders.

”I’m seriously gonna need you to not do this, Sammy, okay? Can we just drop the doom and gloom shit and move forward with the damn plan? Which hasn’t changed, by the way. We didn’t need to get hung up on our feelings when we thought it was Dad, and we sure as shit don’t need to now that it’s me.”

Sam looked up, his eyes bright and hurt and shocked behind dark lashes, flooding Dean with an ache of punishing guilt but not steering him away from the self-destructive, self-sabotaging tirade he could feel himself building towards like a grating crescendo.

He half-shoved his way past the blockade of Sam and out into the small room, reaching for his temporarily-forgotten cup of coffee and inexplicably feeling angry again...furious, even.

Furious with himself, furious with Dad, furious with the monster and the damn world...furious with Sam, although he didn’t understand why, which only made him more furious with himself.

”I’m sorry, Sammy, but you always do this,” he continued, hating himself for not just shutting up but feeling aggressive, antagonistic even.

“I’ve seen and done things that would make you sick, okay? This is just another thing. Just another hunt with our lives on the line and a fucked up monster that shouldn’t exist. You don’t get it, couldn’t possibly get it. You’re just a kid.”

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Sam bridled, his face hardening, his eyes fixed on Dean in a penetrating stare. 

“Just a kid, huh?” he challenged, crossing his arms over his chest defensively, “You really think you ever again get to call me ‘just a kid?’”

Dean felt invaded by a kind of bitter, crushing delirium that had swept in completely from left field as he kicked the flat of his foot into the radiator, his throat tight and dry and burning. 

“That’s what you are!” he snapped, turning his back on Sam and stalking across the room to yank his coat from the seat of the armchair.

“Christ, Sammy, fuck! You think everything is puppies and kisses and happy endings, but that’s not how shit works in this damn world. It never will be!”

He leaned into the wall, pinching his eyes tightly shut before opening them again, unable to even look in Sam’s direction, unable to stop the tangle of ugly words from spilling out of him like bile.

“Today, it’s a...whatever the hell the thing is called, and even if we get it, which is a big fucking if, it’ll be something else tomorrow. And you think I’m supposed to be falling apart because of it? Yeah? I’m not wrong, am I? You think I need to cry and talk and cuddle and tell you I’m scared?”

He punched the top of the armchair, not hard, but hard enough.

“But this is just my fucking shit hand, Sammy, the same as always. And you can’t fix it. And you can’t fix me, and we can’t ride off into the sunset like a goddamned-“

He broke off, ironing a hand down his face before shouldering into his jacket and snatching one of the keys from the table by the door.

”I, uh, heard Dad...say we’re not leaving, that we’re here another night. Just gonna - I’ll…be back. I’ll just-I’ll be back. Don’t leave this room, Sam, I’m not kidding. I’m not going far. I’ll be fine.”

And without waiting for a response, Dean hooked his backpack over his elbow and slammed out the door, only making it to the end of the parking lot before falling to his knees on cold grass and sobbing silently, his entire body heaving with it, not caring that passerbys were watching him in alarm, not caring that he had left a warded room with a target on his back, just wracked with angry, hopeless adrenaline and fear and wave after wave of guilt.

And really, fully understanding in that moment why the monster had chosen him.

Chapter Text

Sam’s P.O.V:

“Where the hell did he go, Sam?”

“I told you! I don’t know! He stormed out. He said he wasn’t gonna go far, but it’s been too long. That’s why I called you.”

“How long?”

“Four hours. I looked for him everywhere I could think of. I asked the office, no one’s seen him. I came back here, hoping he’d show up, I guess, but that was two hours ago.”

“I’m coming back. We’ll find him. Don’t do anything else until I get there.”

“I’ll-...Someone’s at the door-....hold on. Dad...it’s fine. He’s back. He just came in.”

“Sam, Sam, you do not let him leave again, hear me? You tell him we’re having words when I get back.”

“Um, yeah, will do. When’s that gonna be?”

“8:30, most likely...as long as your brother’s done being a jackass. I’m waiting on a contact. You keep him put.”

“Mhm. It’s fine. It’ll be fine.”

———————-

Back to Dean’s P.O.V:

“You called Dad, Sammy? Christ, I told you I’d be back later, and what’d’ya know? It’s later, and I’m back.”

Dean slouched over to the foot of the first double bed, sinking down heavily into the mattress and avoiding Sam’s eyes as he busied himself with easing out of his backpack before tossing it carelessly to the floor by his feet.

Sam hovered, motionless, for a long moment before stepping in close to Dean, his hands clenched into tight fists by his sides and his breath shallow, forced.

“Look at me,” he snapped, and without really knowing why, Dean did, lifting his chin almost defiantly to meet Sam’s angry glare.

Without hesitating, Sam slapped him across the face, hard, actually knocking Dean back onto his elbows and drawing a snarl of “Wha- fuck” from his throat.

Dean stared, open-mouthed, at this version of his little brother who was shaking the sting out of his palm and still appraising Dean through narrowed eyes.

”Don’t you dare put me through that EVER again,” Sam hissed furiously, a few loose tears trailing down his cheeks, “You wanna yell at me? Insult me? Fine. But don’t you dare disappear like that for four fucking hours with this thing out there, don’t you fucking-“

Sam broke off, the words dying on his tongue as he pressed an unsteady hand over his mouth, sucking in a sharp breath around it.

”You’re not pushing me away, Dean,” he finally continued, his voice quieter and softened of some of its rage, “I don’t care what you say or how much of a damn jerk you are. You’ve got me, and there’s nothing you can fucking do about it.”

Sam’s lower lip was trembling as he spoke, his expression pained, uncertain, and Dean found himself once again giving in to base instinct, only this time in the form of pulling himself to his feet to collide with his brother, toppling them both backwards into the armchair behind them as he pressed his face to the side of Sam’s neck with a deep, wounded sob.

”Fuck, Sammy, I’m sorry,” he choked against Sam’s skin, his anger bleeding into shame and self-loathing, “I’m so sorry, so sorry, oh god, please, I’m so sorry, Sammy-“

Sam’s arms were reaching for him, wrapping around him, pulling him close, clinging to him.

”Dean, it’s okay. I’m right here. I love you. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean actually let himself cry, then…openly cry against Sam for what felt like a long, long time, his fingers pressing up and down the length of his brother’s sides and arms and back and his own chest heaving with raw emotion, with gratitude, regret, guilt, fear...love...all of it together, all at once.

”I don’t deserve it,” he finally managed in between stuttering breaths, feathering his thumbs down Sam’s tear-stained cheeks and feeling wildly, acutely unworthy, “Sammy, I don’t deserve any of this-”

Sam cut him off with a brush of his lips against Dean’s, whispering a gentle “shh” onto his mouth before easing back, and god...Dean really didn’t deserve this...

”Yes, you do, Dean,” Sam murmured, letting his head fall to Dean’s chest, his legs winding through Dean’s…thighs, knees, and ankles…pulling them close, locking them together inextricably all the way down to their feet like two magnets finding each other at every possible point of contact.

“But even if you didn’t...like I said, it doesn’t matter. Because you’ve got me...no matter what.”

—————————

Dean emptied his jacket pockets onto the table and reached for a black film canister’s worth of weed and a half a pack of rolling papers, looking up through another twinge of guilt to see Sam watching him with raised eyebrows and an exasperated expression.

”Really, Dean?” Sam scoffed with a little twitch of a smile despite himself, “That’s what you were out doing? Finding weed? We don’t even know anyone here!”

Dean shrugged, popping the cap off the canister and setting to work rolling himself a generous joint, his breath still stuttering annoyingly every so often from his recent, uncharacteristic cry...which he was trying very hard not to think about (hence the weed).

”I know the type,” he said vaguely, licking the paper and giving the whole thing a small shake before digging his lighter from the back pocket of his jeans.

“And, uh, Sammy...” he continued, his voice hitching on the words, “God, I-...I really am sorry. I should’a never...just-any of it. I know what you said, but I’m such a fucking train wreck, and maybe you don’t really..I’m just - I’m just so fucking sorry, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyelids fluttered as he folded his arms loosely over his chest, remaining silent for an anxiety-inducing stretch of a moment that had Dean’s heart nearly in a vice.

“Hmph,” Sam finally offered cryptically, looking down at his shoes and then up at Dean again, and just as Dean was getting ready to fling himself onto the floor apologizing in earnest, dignity be damned, Sam wrinkled up his nose a little, the corners of his mouth tugging into another reluctant smile.

”I know, I know you are. Just-don’t...do it again. And give me some of that-“

He gestured towards the joint between Dean’s fingers.

Dean sputtered out half a word, squinting doubtfully at his brother.

”Thought you didn’t smoke,” he countered, secretly just relieved beyond belief that Sam seemed to be willing to put his poor (okay, awful) behavior behind them for now.

Sam made a sarcastic sound, strolling over to lean against the side of the table before plucking the joint gingerly from Dean’s hand.

”Yeah, well, I don’t. Not really. But I liked it that one time. So, I mean-“

He trailed off, letting the memory of that night do the talking for him in Dean’s head, which it did, in excruciatingly vivid detail, causing an alarming flurry of nervous energy to bunch Dean’s stomach into jolts.

“Christ, Sammy. You, uh, sure got the Winchester manipulation gene down to a science, don’t’cha? Christ...”

Dean wavered on his feet for a second, momentarily dizzied by the increasingly-extreme backs and forths they’d been tangled up lately, thanks to him, of course...but-

“Why not? As long as you can pull yourself together by the time Dad’s here, space cowboy. C’mon. Let’s go around back.”

———————

“Dean, DEAN, look!”

Dean flopped lazily onto his side, his eyes following Sam’s finger and his face scrunching around the edges in confusion.

”Uh...the...pretty...light switch, Sammy? What the hell are we looking at?”

Sam laughed like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, just...laughed and laughed, actually bending nearly in half on the bed and clutching at his stomach.

”Oh my god, Dean, that was-“

He laughed again, burying his face in the pillow for a moment before pulling himself to his elbows and cocking his head quizzically in Dean’s direction.  

“What’d you want me to look at?” he slurred, smiling adorably, and Dean palmed his forehead, suppressing an eye roll.

”Holy crap, Sammy, you-seriously? You are...completely stoned, aren’t you?”

Sam keeled forward, nuzzling the tip of his nose down Dean’s cheek through another fit of tinkling giggles.

“Dean, look, I’m a cat! A kitten-cat...kit-kat? Is that it? Is that-...It’s kitty-cat! Hey...actually, do we have any kit-kats? Doesn’t that sound delicious right now?”

”So...that’d be a hard yes, then.”

———————-

“Feeling a bit less loopy, there, kit-kat?” Dean teased, playfully patting the side of Sam’s head and chuckling down at him. 

Sam shot him a mock frown that pulled immediately into a smile on one side, scooching closer to Dean on the bed. 

“Your...face...is a kit-kat,” he huffed, reaching for Dean’s shoulders and holding on lightly, his eyes brighter and less hazed over now that the high was north of an hour in. 

“Except,” he murmured, licking his dry lips and sliding his hands inward along Dean’s collarbone to push pointedly under the cotton fabric of his shirt, “you didn’t take advantage of me in my inebriated state of mind like I had hoped you would, but...I suppose I’ll survive.”

Dean choked on a breath and a swallow trying to happen at the same time, shaking his head and waving an ‘I’m fine, I’m fine’ as Sam widened his eyes in alarm.

“Woah, that was, the-“ Dean finally rasped, signaling his hand vaguely around in a circle and clearing his throat with another cough, “-the, ah. Dust. In...the air.”

Sam bit his lip against an obvious giggle, straining to keep his face faux-serious.

”No, nope, no...’don’t think so, Dean,” he purred, arching his back off the mattress in a slow stretch of his torso before flopping back down again.

”I think it’s because-“

He breathed out in a sexy push of an exhale, halfway lowering his eyelids and letting his hands slip further beneath Dean’s shirt as Dean silently floundered.

”I think it’s because you wanted to take advantage of me in my inebriated state of mind…still could, you know.”

Dean’s lips parted wordlessly in response, his heart beating all the way down to his bone marrow and his mind struggling to catch up...to pick apart what Sam had just said, to make sure he wasn’t just unbelievably stoned and horny and hearing things he wanted to hear, like some kind of delicious, pornographic fever dream. 

”What-uh-“ he struggled, his head spinning, “you...I haven’t exactly been, uh.”

”Yes, yes, you were a complete asshole. But…you could always make it up to me. If you felt…if you felt like it.”

Sam paused, soft and sly, quirking his mouth into a mischievous little grin.

“You gonna try to lie and tell me you don’t want it? Or that you can’t do it? Even though you’re gonna do it anyway and we both know it? That’s always fun. But we could skip that part...”

Someone’s got a bold mouth when under the influence, fuck...

Dean stared, entranced.

He could acutely feel himself slow-motion losing the battle against his willpower as he inched closer to Sam, even digging his nails into the mattress in a ridiculous and futile attempt to halt his own movements for just long enough to regain control of his own decision making, but Sam had already picked up on the answer Dean’s body was so blatantly delivering and had started panting under him, panting...

Stoned or not...who on god’s green fucking earth could say no to that? 

Maybe there was someone...maybe.

But it wasn’t Dean.

Chapter Text

————————

“Sammy, you...you’re high, and I’m, uh, fuck, I’m high, and it’s, uh-“

Where had he been going with this again?

“I just need to-I mean, you drive me batshit even when I’m stone-cold sober, Sammy. It’s not exactly easy for me to be, uh, to not-“

But Dean was already touching his brother even as his mouth tried to advocate against it, his hands snaking out to drift across Sam’s throat of their own volition, to skate over soft skin, to anchor into that spot where he could feel the push of Sam’s pulse, where he could…

He pressed his fingertips more thoroughly into the sides of Sam’s neck, his mind buzzing with the erratic little gasps whispering from Sam’s lips and his cock already aching in that immediate, untouched way only Sam, underneath him, like this, could evoke.

“Sammy-“ he heard himself breathe out, struggling to clear some of the heavy, hazy need from his thoughts that had blended with the weed-fog already there and was making it very difficult to focus on anything other than the malevolent lust currently leaking, untapped into his bloodstream.

“We should…maybe we should wait,” he tried, not pulling back, not easing his hands to safer territory, feeling incapable of any action that involved not touching his brother, “I think I’m...less sober than I realized, uh, plus everything that’s, that’s happened…”

Sam blanketed Dean’s hands with his own, holding them in place as if that was even necessary, his eyes wide and wet and so full of want that it felt like getting shot in the chest to Dean as he stared, his own pupils expanding like spilled paint in response.

“Fuck,” he managed from deep down in his throat, digging in with his fingers and shivering convulsively, “Sammy, you, fu-“

He couldn’t even speak under the influence of Sam...Sammy, who was, god, who was rippling his body in a kind of feral, carnal invitation that had Dean suddenly stamping out the embers of his own cautious uncertainty and mounting his brother the rest of the way in less than the time it took to draw in a single breath.

It could have been, at least in part, the weed, but Sam had somehow unwrapped an even dirtier, sexier, more staggeringly eager version of himself, which Dean wouldn’t have believed was humanly possible, and yet...here it was.

“Dean,” Sam panted, his hands clawing into Dean’s thighs, already bucking up with his pelvis like Dean had been edging him for hours, “Dean, you- unng, you think you’re gonna be too rough, fuck- but I want you to be. I-...god, Dean-...I know you want it like that, and I want it, so fucking badly. I can give it to you, I think about it all the time, about what you could do and say, mmhh, fuck, fuck-”

Sam was sex-personified, milking it, being so goddamned filthy with every inch of himself, with every sound dripping from his mouth, and Dean hissed out through his teeth, drinking in the sight of it, meeting Sam’s upward thrusts now with rhythmic drags of his own and rutting down into the solidness of Sam like their goddamned lives depended on it.

“God, Sammy,” he groaned, his jaw locking on the words and giving them a dark, hungry pull, “-you…really mean that, baby? You sure about that? Sure you don’t…want to take it…slow?”

It wasn’t a real question, didn’t sound like a real question, wasn’t even a real option. 

He just…he needed to hear Sam say it again. He fucking ached for it.

Sam arched the curve of his spine off the mattress, twisting his body under Dean and blushing adorably even as he managed to stammer out a low moan of “no, no, fuck, Dean, please, you could- I want it like you’re…like you’re m-making me.”

Dean’s insides nearly combusted at that specific phrasing, his eyelids fluttering halfway closed against a blinding rush of fire and friction that collapsed him forward, smacking the air out of his lungs.

“You-“ he started, breaking off with another sharp exhale as Sam bucked feverishly into him, “Sammy, I’m - uh. Fuck. Are-are you-”

But Sam was in a frenzy, now, a full-blown frenzy, big fingers closing around the back of Dean’s head to crush them together, flattening the words against Dean’s mouth with a desperate little whimper and breathing little murmurs of nonsensical sounds and sex-purrs into the stretch of Dean’s lips. 

And without wasting another fucking second to caution or reason, Dean let go, couldn’t even imagine doing anything else, pressing in from above to assault Sam insatiably, savagely…grabbing at him with reckless abandon, searching his hands through his brother’s hair and knotting them tightly into place. 

”Stay. Don’t move,” he finally panted after several delirious minutes of kissing Sam to pieces, reluctantly easing space between them to slide backwards and off the edge of the bed.

Sam propped himself shakily up onto his elbows, a stripe of soft red creeping in a swift diagonal across his cheeks as Dean fixed him with a pointed, penetrating stare.

”Take off your clothes,” Dean ordered quietly, his voice honeyed, hypnotic, and he could practically smell Sam’s exhilaration as he stepped back a pace, working at his own belt and tossing it to the floor with a little click of the metal buckle hitting tile.

”Wait,” he murmured, halting Sam’s progress to skate even further away, reaching behind him to rummage through his backpack where it had been moved, by Sam, to the armchair, his eyes never leaving his brother.

”Alright, come on, Sammy, take it all off for me. Everything.”

Sam bit his lip, shivering eagerly and fumbling with the zipper of his jeans, his hands clumsy, getting it undone on the fifth try and falling back to wriggle out of each leg.

”Good, Sammy,” Dean praised, devouring from a distance, flicking his own fly undone in an echo and stepping out of the constricting fabric, “-now your shirt. Then boxers.”

Sam’s fingers tore at his too-tight shirt, finally managing to drag it over his head, and without missing a beat, he was hooking both thumbs beneath the waist of his boxers, stripping himself bare for Dean, fully exposed and breathless and hard and perfect.

”Fuck, look at you,” Dean hummed, the words soft but staggeringly hungry as he rid himself of his own shirt and boxers, catching the heady hitch in Sam’s throat while he straightened up and rewarding it with a slow, voyeuristic stroke of his cock that had Sam twitching his hips helplessly, greedily.

Prowling towards the bed, Dean was right there again in an instant, and Sam was immediately collapsing in his presence so fucking prettily, just...melting down into the mattress, spreading open everywhere, tossing his head back and licking his lips.

Dean snaked his body down over Sam’s, only barely touching, his arms supporting the bulk of his weight and his face hovering a mere inch above his brother’s.

”Sammmy,” he purred, giving a teasing brush of cock against cock just to see Sam strain upwards for more, writhing beneath him so sweetly, so desperately, “Sammy, look at me. Mmhm. Good, jesus…can’t get enough of you like this, love you like this…can’t fucking stand it.”

Sam whimpered, his lips falling open, his eyes wild, transfixed with Dean, and-

”Sammy-“

Dean relaxed downward slightly, pressing his hand in close to Sam’s side and opening his fist, trapping what he’d been holding there between his palm and Sam’s skin.

”You know what that is, baby? Can you guess?”

But he didn’t wait for a reply before continuing, letting each word slip from his tongue like syrup, thick and sweet.

”I’m gonna fuck you, Sammy...yeah, that’s right. You heard me. I’m gonna take it...because it’s mine to take...and I want it...now...so-”

He broke off, bending to nip at the top of Sam’s ear.

“-I’m gonna take full advantage of my...innocent little brother who can’t do a thing about it, because someone got him all nice and loose and stoned...”

He had whispered that last part, almost drowning on the words for more than one reason...god, for too many reasons to keep track of, and Sam skidded his head back into the pillow with a full-body shiver that wracked through him like an electric shock, his nails digging, drilling, into Dean’s hips.

”Oh my god, De-please, fuck, didn’t think you would, god, please-“

Dean wasn’t even trying to talk himself out of it, didn’t even hear that now-familiar, distant voice from the dredges of his mind telling him that he couldn’t, that he shouldn’t...

His teeth connected with the bottom of Sam’s throat, biting into the delicate skin with no warmup, sucking and nipping and working at it mercilessly while he circled in a steady grind with his hips until he knew he had left a significant mark.

And Sam was gasping and twisting with it like he was already being fucked, his cock leaking onto Dean’s lower stomach and his arms shaking as he clung on in a frenzy, bucking and groaning and finally rasping out an unbridled cry of Dean’s name before Dean was done.

Pulling back to admire his handiwork, Dean was suddenly sliding off of Sam just enough to slap at his thighs, yanking them wider apart and pushing himself in between them, his lips curled at the edges around a panted snarl and his chest sheened with a glisten of sweat as Sam melted into his assault with a prayer of his name and something etched into his expression that made Dean feel like he was a fucking god moving the earth.

Sam still wore the bruises from their little tryst back at the cabin, just a few small circles of barely there purple, and Dean traced their edges with his fingertips, hauling Sam further up into his grip to reach.

”Dean, nnh, Dean, please.”

Sam sounded torn apart, his voice barely recognizable, and Dean scrambled, one-handed, for the lube again, furiously ripping off the top with his teeth as soon as he had it in his grip and biting it nearly in half before spitting it over his shoulder to be dealt with later. 

Using the full length of one arm, he heaved Sam’s legs toward his chest, leaning his weight against them at the knee and looming over Sam with another forward grind of his hips, this time connecting with Sam’s exposed ass and taunting little jerks and twists of pressure and friction.

”Please what? Please don’t? Please stop?” he cooed, playing into their little game and liking it probably far too much but not caring even a little, “can’t fight it, Sammy. But…go ahead. Try to escape. Try to get away, baby, give it your best shot.”

He slapped the sensitive inside of Sam’s thigh again, much harder this time, digging in with his nails and dragging a long, broken-up moan from Sam’s lips.

”Come on, Sammy. I mean, who knows? Maybe you have a chance. Certainly not if you do nothing.”

Sam finally picked up on the hint, his cock twitching sluttily and his eyelids drooping, his mouth open around shallow, not-enough gasps of air.

He struggled obediently under Dean, just slightly at first and then with more enthusiasm, straining to untuck his legs, to lift his torso...finally even using his big palms to push up real weight against the mass of Dean’s chest.

Dean growled at the invitation, crushing down into his brother from everywhere all at once and wrapping the full stretch of both hands around Sam’s throat, pressing in on either side with his thumbs and wrangling his knees bruisingly into a position of control with his cock flush against Sam’s hole (god, he could fuck Sam right now, dry, if he wanted to...just force his way right in)

”You’re in my hands now, baby. Can you feel it?” he grated out, tightening his grip around Sam’s neck and thrusting again with his hips for emphasis, “-and I can take whatever I want. So...you going to behave and fucking give it up to me? Hmm? Take my cock in your ass, all of it, like a good boy? That’s right, little brother…I’m gonna fuck you until you fucking pass out, until you forget your own name. Your body belongs to me, Sammy, mmhm, that’s right. You’re fucking mine-”

Sam’s entire body suddenly stiffened, his pulse hammering under Dean’s fingers, and to Dean’s utter amazement, Sam was cumming...hard, painting his own torso with it nearly all the way up to Dean’s hands and jerking convulsively, every muscle in his lithe body rippling and pulling and pulsing, his eyes rolling back in his head and his skin slicking with beads of sweat.

And again, maybe it was the weed, but the sight of Sam cumming almost untouched like-…fuck...like that…to being overpowered by him, choked by him, to his depraved description of just how he was going to use Sam’s body so perversely, fuck him so savagely…jesus, it was too much...oh my god it was too much, even for Dean, who liked to think...used to think, that he had prize worthy stamina when he wanted to.

With a groan of “Sammy-fuck-god-ghhh,” Dean was immediately following suit, surging forward with a buck that almost did actually force him inside of Sam and cumming with an intensity that drew a strangled, primal sound from deep in his chest, his fingers squeezing entirely too tight around Sam’s throat before he finally loosened them with a scratchy hiss and an “oh my god - oh my god,” keening onto Sam’s legs, gasping and shuddering and shivering and groaning.

“Sammmmy, jesus, jesus jesus, fuck, you-jesus christ, fuck-“

He was rambling, panting out the words in between kisses all over Sam’s body, wherever he could reach, and Sam was grabbing for the sides of his face now, hauling him up, gazing into his eyes with so much reverence...so much awe and devotion and passion.

”I-Dean, you...” Sam finally whispered nonsensically, trailing his fingertips down Dean’s cheeks with another deep shiver, rocking up to move them closer together and tangling his legs around Dean’s calves.

”I’m just...I can’t even believe you exist sometimes, Dean.”

He trailed off, his lower body twitching again, and Dean smiled into the side of his neck, striping his pinky gently over the soft-red fingerprints that were starting to blossom low on Sam’s throat and wondering hazily how he would ever manage to actually follow through with his threat, his promise, of fucking Sam senseless.

”It’s a good thing it ain’t summer, Sammy,” he hummed into sweat-sweet skin, “‘cause, uh, turtlenecks...for, uh, few days.”

Sam laughed breathlessly, turning to press his lips to Dean’s forehead.

”Mmhm, ‘prolly a good idea, and...hey, Dean?”

Dean nodded wordlessly in response, petting downward to toy casually with Sam’s nipples and earning himself another mewling whimper.

”Yeah, Sammy?” he coaxed, still brushing back and forth with the rough pad of his thumb as Sam sucked in a flustered gasp, trying to pant out words in between groans.

”I, ugn, Dean, I’m just...nnss, fuck-“

Dean eased off with a teasing little smirk.

”Go on, Sammy. I couldn’t help it. Sorry, baby, I’m listening, I am. ‘Promise.”

Sam fluttered his torso prettily, curling inward to press his mouth, so sweetly, to Dean’s upper arm before continuing.

“I’m just...I’m just glad you’re here, Dean, that’s all. I’m really, really glad you...came back, today…because I thought, I thought-“

He brushed trembling fingers across Dean’s lips, trailing off, and Dean understood.

“I’m here, Sammy,” he murmured, baring down to kiss Sam’s face, the tip of his nose, his chin, his lips.

”I am...I-god help me, us...but I am. I’m right here.”

Chapter Text

John’s P.O.V, present time:

Sam was still worked up about Dean taking off the way he did, that much was clear. 

John regarded both boys from across the room, chewing absently on the pen held loosely between his fingers.

He had always known his sons were close, closer than close even, and in the hunter’s life...well, you clung to what you could, and you clung hard, but this was...different.

His thoughts drifted back to the gas station and to the way Sam had lept away from Dean like his pants had caught fire, and maybe the kid was embarrassed to be caught crying, but-

He narrowed his eyes a little, pretending to turn away, but still watching, intently, in his periphery.

Sam and Dean were absorbed in some...movie...about something, lying side by side, shoulder to shoulder, on the bed they were sharing, and John honed in on Sam tilting his head sideways to glance up at Dean, smiling shyly, hunching down just a bit with his torso.

Dean caught his brother’s look and smiled back, giving Sam a little playful nudge with his elbow, but his eyes then immediately searched, nervously, in John’s direction.

John cleared his throat, standing with a mock stretch.

”I hope you learned your lesson today, Dean,” he barked, turning to brush his papers into a neater pile on the table, “Sam nearly went out of his head.”

There was a tick-tock-tick-tock of silence before Dean responded, and John felt convinced that he had missed some significant exchange of expressions between his sons that might help him understand.

”Yeah...I did, Dad. I did.”

The stranger part still was the disappearance of Dean’s anger, like it had just...melted away since earlier that morning, but John supposed he should simply be unquestioningly grateful for that bit of the whole thing.

He gathered up his papers and slotted them roughly into a manilla folder, trudging around the foot of both beds for the bathroom, where he suddenly paused, hidden from view, making a snap decision he wasn’t proud of.

He put on a loud show of tapping his shoes on the tiles before shutting the heavy door with an echoing ‘click,’ hating himself more than a little for the fact that he was resorting to lurking in the shadows to spy on his own children.

Turning slowly on his heels to squint into the darkened full-length mirror that hung across from him on the wall, he let his eyes adjust, soon making out the boys, vaguely, where they lay together on the bed.

Dean hadn’t wasted more than a second and was already leaning in close to whisper something in Sam’s ear, one hand cupped around the side of his own mouth and his other hand fingering through Sam’s hair, tugging and pulling and...massaging, it looked like.

Sam was kind of...slinking back on the mattress, biting his lip, floppy and boneless, and he started to make a noise, a noise John heard the beginning of, but Dean’s hand immediately struck down from its place in Sam’s hair to press over his brother’s mouth, holding him like that while he continued to whisper, his fingers rubbing into Sam’s cheek.

John bridled silently.

Christ, were they on drugs? 

Of course they weren’t on drugs, but it…surely it wasn’t what it...what it...looked like…

Dean would never. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

No. God, no. He-he…wouldn’t.

The little hallway was very dark.

And John was exhausted to a severity he hadn’t been familiar with in years. 

Boys...will be...boys? 

John forced his shoulders to relax, swatting the awful, fearful thoughts from his mind, not feeling mentally or emotionally capable of even contemplating the possibility of any of it at that particular moment. 

It’s not like they’d been kissing, christ.

He was…they were…you know, they just had their own way of…their own…

It just...it was fine.

It was…fine.

But he knew, deep down, with a sinking sensation of icy trepidation curling sickeningly at his stomach, that it wasn’t actually fine…

Chapter Text

————————

“Hey, if Selase is claircognizant, won’t she, uh, just...know we’re coming?” Sam quipped, leaning forward onto the center console, “and how do you know she really is claircognizant anyway, Dad?”

John elbowed at Sam’s hands.

”Seatbelt, Sammy. Christ, I’m going 90. And…I don’t think it works that way. Doesn’t matter, really, if it does or doesn’t. We’ll find her. And, yeah, she is, just…trust me on that.”

Dean threw a disparaging sigh in John’s direction from the passenger seat at those words (‘trust me’) while Sam mumbled something like, “It kinda does work that way, but okay,” followed by a series of huffs from the back.

”Dad, I swear...” Dean muttered, pinning John with a cold, indelible stare, “if you’re holding out on us again, just-don’t, okay? Whatever you know, we know. It’s gotta be like that.”

John wiped a sleeve slowly across his mouth before taking a long time to adjust the overhead mirror.

”You do know what I know,” he finally said, reaching over to give Dean’s wrist a reassuring squeeze.

“In connection, even loosely, to this hunt, you know what I know. You’ve got my word on it. We’re in this together now, okay? All in, all the way.”

Dean hesitated for a few tense seconds before nodding curtly in response and tugging his arm a bit too blatantly out of John’s grip.

Sure, they were gonna do what they needed to do, like always, and they were gonna do it how they did this kind of thing best: together. 

And that was that...’had to be.

But, necessities aside, moving on and forgiveness weren’t the same thing.

Not by a long shot.

”We’re about thirty minutes out,” John deflected, shifting his hand back to his own lap and fixing his eldest son with a weighted side-glance that wasn’t lost on Dean.

”-so, uh, strap in, I guess. ‘Cause there’s a lot of ways this thing could go down, like we’ve been talking about, and I doubt it’s gonna be anything other than a damn shit-show, given the whole…everything. But, we’re gonna get it done. Together.”

———————-

“John, boys, my goodness...Sammy? Look at you! And Dean! All grow-ed up, both ‘a you, and right heartbreakers, but I shouldn’t be surprised! Come on in! Get over here! I need hugs!”

The three Winchesters stood open-mouthed and shell-shocked in the small garden at the base of the steps leading up to Selase’s door, John with his hand hovering, frozen, over his back pocket, Sam halfway straightened up from searching the ground for a hide-a-key, and Dean actually holding a taser gun that he hastily tried to shove behind him, catching it on his belt and dropping it to the cobblestone with a sharp clatter.

“Uhn, wha-…S-Selase, is tha-“ John stammered dumbly, and Dean flashed a death glare over his shoulder, kneeing the backs of Sam’s legs with a whispered “stand up, moron” and barking out a forced, nervous laugh that didn’t make things any better, all while trying to kick the taser out of view behind him.

Selase continued to ignore what was very obviously a break-in attempt caught pre-break-in, simply waving them inside with her hand and smiling like they were nothing more than old church friends just dropping by for tea.

”Well, let’s not stand out here in the cold all day. We’ll catch our deaths. Come on! I made cookies. Oh, and Dean, don’t leave that gun on the ground. We’ve got weather rolling in. Besides, the neighbors have enough to gossip about as is.”

Dean mouthed at her for a few seconds before nearly tripping over Sam’s feet to grab the taser, struggling with the zipper on his backpack and finally flustering out a hushed “Dad, can’t get the-just take it, take it, fuck.”

John snatched the gun and hurriedly shoved it into his own shoulder bag, swaying in place for a dizzying moment before tripping forward awkwardly and turning to mouth the words, “come on, you idiots,” to Sam and Dean before following Selase up the steps.

——————-

“So, Dean, good gracious, quite the looker you sprouted into, huh? What are you, nineteen now? Twenty?”

Dean stumbled over the raised welcome mat, catching himself with an unsteady hand on the wall and clearing his throat, his eyes glued to the floor. 

“Uh, t-twenty, twenty one,” he mumbled, finding it spectacularly difficult to get sounds from his thoughts to his tongue and wishing Selase wasn’t being so disarmingly...nice.

Part of him wondered if it was a trap, all of this (he almost hoped it was), if the nonsensically warm welcome was a ploy to lull them into a false sense of security before...before what, though? Trying to singlehandedly take on all three of them in a fight? No, that didn’t-

“And Sammy! Sweet little Samster, that’s what I used to call you. I can’t even believe it’s you! That’d make you...seventeen, am I right?”

Sam offered up a cheery “mmhm,” sinking casually down into a chair carved with little anchors and rubbing his fingertips over the painted wood, admiring it.

”Samster like...hamster?” he asked as an afterthought, and Selase laughed, a tinkle of a laugh that sounded like a hundred little bells. 

“No, but gosh darn it! Such a little cutie pie, even now, ain’t’cha?”

Dean silently marveled at Selase getting away with baby-talking Sam, expecting there to be at least passive aggressive repercussions but getting the exact opposite: a deep blush and an unapologetic grin from Sam that defied all logic and made Dean feel suddenly angry on top of everything else and too-warm in his jacket.

Selase turned to John next, who had crunched himself into the far corner of the room like he was trying to disappear, his attention flickering back and forth between his own palms and the frayed threads of the carpet under his feet. 

‘Man, Dad looks as guilty as I feel,’ Dean thought distantly, the forefront of his focus shifting immediately back to Sam, who was staring too-intently at the back of Selase’s head and unconsciously dipping forward with his torso in a way that made Dean’s stomach actually hurt.

And yeah, yeah...okay, yeah, Selase was drop-dead gorgeous, he had to admit...for a cougar who used to fuck Dad. 

“John,” Selase said softly, interrupting Dean’s spiraling train of thought and smiling so big and bright that Dean suddenly knew for certain none of it was for show, “I am...gosh, I’m just real glad to see you...I’ve missed you. God, I’ve missed you to pieces, actually. And heck, you’re still just as handsome as ever!”

John twitched his upper body in a kind of wildly erratic half-shrug-half-bow that was completely ridiculous, and Dean palmed his forehead, flicking his gaze sideways to try to meet Sam’s eyes.

”But, listen to me going on and on,” Selase chimed merrily, trotting in between Sam and Dean to scoop up a silver tray of cookies from an end table near the door.

“Have some cookies, help yourselves, please! And John, before you have a heart attack over there, just...come sit. That’s right, sit here, I’ll bring you a cookie. And all of you, stop looking so darn surprised. I know why you’re here, and we’ll get to that. But catch up time first. Oh, and of course, cookies!”

———————-

Dean sidled up to Sam where he stood by the kitchen sink, reaching out to flick at his brother’s ear and earning himself a hard swat on the shoulder.

”Cut it out, Dean, jesus, don’t be annoying,” Sam huffed, but he said it through the tug of a half-smile, scrunching his face into a perfect little pout and reaching out with his foot to prod at the bottom of Dean’s pant leg.

”Where’s Micky and Minnie?” 

“Out there-“

Dean gestured vaguely.

“-talking about thistle...seriously, thistle, like the plant.”

Sam giggled adorably, hauling up on his tiptoes to peer out the window in front of them before tumbling forward against Dean’s chest, his fingers hooking through belt loops in that all too familiar way that was sweeter than damn cherry pie.

”Thistle can be sexy to talk about,” Sam hummed into leather, urging Dean’s feet apart with his own and sliding into the new space.

”Like, ohhh Dean, check out my...thistle, yeeaah, it’s all purple and thistly-“

Dean chuckled quietly, nuzzling into the top of his brother’s head and spanning his hands to stretch across as much of Sam as it was possible to reach.

”Why Sammy, quite the phone sex operator voice you’ve perfected there, huh? I could get used to that.”

Sam fake-groaned in response, trying not to laugh, his fingers pressing into Dean’s hips.

”You could, mmmm, yeeah, get used to it? Wanna see my thistle?”

Dean pulled back an inch, slipping a hand between them to hook two fingers under Sam’s chin, urging his face up, meeting his big, god...beautiful eyes.

”You better not show your...thistle...to anyone else,” he murmured, trying to keep his tone light but already furious with himself for bringing it up at all since he now knew that he wasn’t going to be able to stop, “-or even wanna show it to anyone else…”

He trailed off, holding Sam’s gaze, his smile flickering and his throat suddenly much tighter than it should be.

”I saw you lapping up Selase in there like a puppy with a damn treat. You got a little cougar crush, huh? Too bad she’s got the hots for Dad.”

He said it all in the rush of an exhale, the words just falling off his tongue, and, fuck, he at least wished it hadn’t sounded quite so snappy and mean and sullen and...clingy.

But, to his surprise and confusion, Sam’s face was swiftly erupting into a glow of a grin, his eyelids heavying and soft streaks of pretty pink color spilling to the surface of his cheeks.

”Dean, you’re jealous,” Sam whispered like he was actually awestruck by the notion of it, pressing in with his whole body from everywhere.

”You are. You’re totally jealous. And, um, it’s really, really...hot.” 

Sam tried to make himself smaller and wedge himself closer, humming tiny little sounds and wriggling...just wriggling so fucking maddeningly, and Dean couldn’t help it. He couldn’t.

Grabbing Sam’s ass with a groan he tried to swallow, he lifted and pulled, dragging his brother’s entire weight into him, holding Sam off the floor to maneuver him, to rut them against each other with an immediate friction that had him grinding his back teeth in the span of just a few aching seconds.

”No one else could make you feel like this, Sammy. Fuckin’ no one. No one else gets to even try,” he hissed, fiercely struggling to slam a lid on the possessive tirade, even biting his tongue hard enough to taste salty copper, but-

But it was driving Sam so completely into some kind of instinctive state of sexed-over submission that Dean almost immediately stopped trying to censor himself, collapsing his brother even further against his torso as Sam mewled out a constant little litany of breathy assurances like “mmhm, no one else” and “f-fuck, D-Dean” that all dripped soft and dirty from his mouth while he let himself be rag-dolled and groped and pinned against the counter, just…boneless and eager and perfect…

”Mine, Sammy. You’re mine.”

Saying it out loud in a stranger’s kitchen with Dad practically right on the other side of a pane of glass was…equal parts disorienting and erotic, but Sam just tossed his head in response with an affirmative moan that was entirely too fucking loud, his hips trying to kick forward with no leverage and his fingers clamoring, drilling into Dean’s sides.

Shit, this was a losing battle, and one Dean was losing quickly. 

And he absolutely…absolutely was not allowed to do this right here right now, so with another slow exhale of “-mine,” he spun in place to lean his own back against the counter, crushing Sam into him, just one last hard thrust with a poorly concealed gasp that morphed halfway through into a deep, surging groan, finally dropping Sam back to his feet but keeping their bodies pressed flush against each other, panting more than he had any right to and leaning in to lick a stripe down the edge of Sam’s ear.

”Fuck, Sammy, fuck,” he whispered shakily, his muscles twitching with the urge to drag forward with his hips again, “-christ, you...you drive me fucking crazy, you know that? Fuck.”

Sam purred into the side of his neck, but-

…

-abort, abort, immediate abort. 

The sound of footsteps and laughter directly in front of the turn-off into the kitchen flooded molten panic into Dean’s bloodstream.

When had they even come back inside?

Frantically, he tried to fumble enough space between him and Sam, but-

“John, actually, come here, over here. I want to show you a sword I picked up at the flea market last week, back here, come on.”

Dean and Sam hissed out a simultaneous breath of relief, turning to then shush each other in unison, which made Sam giggle again, landing Dean’s fingers over his lips.

”Not funny,” Dean mouthed, shaking his head darkly and freezing in place to listen to fading voices before jerking his head towards the bathroom.

”Quick, quick,” he whispered, steering Sam by the small of his back, “Get in there, pull yourself together. I’ll meet you back in the living room, okay? C’mon, ya little slut, jesus.”

This had Sam caving against him again with another groan Dean had to stifle, and fuck if his desperate, horny little brother wasn’t the single hottest damn thing in the whole fucking universe...

Not following Sam into the bathroom took the kind of staggering self-control Dean felt he only had about a quarter of the time, and as he closed the door and slumped into the nearest wall, breathing against the cool plaster and struggling to calm himself down, something suddenly dawned on him...something that had him straightening up so quickly and unevenly that he almost toppled right over again.

Selase didn’t...Selase couldn’t...know, could she? 

Could she?

She knew why they were here.

She knew every other damn thing.

Holy. Fuck.

How was this just now occurring to him as a very real possibility?

But…she wasn’t a mind reader...right?

He wasn’t sure…couldn’t remember the specifics. He-he would…he would find a moment to discreetly ask Sammy. 

They would...come up with a plan-some plan. Something.

He gritted his teeth, feeling intensely lightheaded.

They needed to find out for certain one way or another, that was for damn sure.

And if…if she…did know…

.

.

.

-they’d need to decide real fucking quick what the hell they were going to do about it.

Chapter Text

“Dean, quick! Come look! Come.”

Dean jerked his head to the side, landing eyes on Selase where she stood near the front garden, her expression excited, childlike almost.

”Uh, wha-what is it?” he asked warily, folding his arms over his chest and trying to peer around the open doorway into the darkness of the outside.

“Just come,” she coaxed breathlessly, adding on one of her dazzling smiles that was hard to say no to. “Come on! You’re gonna miss it!”

Dean looked around for Sam, having last him about ten minutes earlier heading to the little library of sorts down the hall to check out some of Selase’s books.

He had decided, after a heated back and forth with himself, not to voice his suspicions about Selase to his brother after all.

If Sam wasn’t already thinking about it, worrying about it, Dean wasn’t going to be the one to strike that match…not yet, at least.

He figured he’d just have to find a way to deal with it, whatever ‘it’ was, on his own…and if he was being brutally honest with himself, the deciding factor had ultimately been a pretty simple one: he wanted Sam less focused on Selase, not more…regardless of the reason behind it.

Selase was still watching him expectantly.

“Where’s-“

He drew a circle in the air.

“-everyone?”

She trotted in to loop her arm around his, giving an urgent tug.

“Just c’mere, silly, my goodness.”

Dean reluctantly gave in, allowing Selase to lead him down the front steps and onto the cobblestone pathway spiraling up to her front door.

“Look up,” she breathed, actually reaching to move his chin, and he stared into the black, star-speckled sky with squinted eyes, confused.

“What exactly am I supposed to be-“

“See! There! And another one! Isn’t it beautiful?”

Streaking tails of light were shooting across the night, one...two...four of them, swiftly followed by another three and a final two before the spontaneous shower seemed to reach its conclusion.

It really was quite something...

”Cool,” Dean finally mumbled, giving Selase a little nod and feeling idiotic again, “Uh, neat. Neat. Thanks, I guess.”

Selase rolled her eyes with another smile, lightly play-punching him on the upper arm.

”How come you don’t trust me, Dean?” She asked as casually as if they were discussing the weather, turning to plant herself in front of Dean and reaching up to gently lay both hands on his shoulders.

”We used to get along like two peas in a pod, don’t you remember?”

Dean swallowed uncomfortably, staring around for Sam again, or even for Dad at this point.

”Who, ah-who…says I don’t trust you?” he countered with an awkward shrug, shifting his weight and turning to try to subtly step back a pace.

Selase tinkled out another one of her otherworldly laughs, looking up at the sky once more before turning back to Dean.

”Is this about Sam?” she asked, lowering her voice ever-so-slightly, still smiling, and Dean choked, whipping his neck around to meet Selase’s eyes head-on for the first time.

Guess they were doing it this way, then...

”What’d’you’mean?” he challenged, saying the words too quickly and too quietly to not sound at least a bit suspicious.

Selase bent to pick something up from the ground by their feet.

”Hey! A purple leaf,” she exclaimed, tucking it delicately into her coat pocket, “Those are pretty rare, and...what do you mean, Dean?”

Dean was starting to feel angry again, almost immediately, angry and scared and trapped.

”Oh no, no, noo, none of that crap,” he pressed, taking a long stride backwards away from Selase, his heart beating wildly at the top of his throat, “What do you mean? You’re the one who said it.”

Selase clicked her tongue in the same way Dean might have said “touche” had their roles been reversed, sliding in too-close yet again to reach for Dean.

“Well, hmm, okay, I suppose I mean...you’re a big brother, and you’re-“

She paused, thinking.

”-you love Sam, you don’t know me, haven’t for many years, anyway. I think you’re just trying to protect what you two have. Am I...touching something?”

Dean floundered silently for a few seconds, wanting to say ‘yeah, you’re touching ME, so quit it’ but giving his torso what he hoped was an obvious jerk to the side instead.

”I d-don’t know,” he finally stammered, remembering that he still needed to answer Selase’s actual question and turning his back to her, desperately trying to slow his breathing, his pulse, his own thoughts.

”What is it that you-I mean, christ, Selase, what - what do you know?”

God, he hadn’t meant to ask that, and could he sound more guilty?

But Selase was behind him now, right behind him (could she back off??) and Dean held his breath, not daring to make a single sound, unsure if he was going to punch her or run away or pass out.

”I know what I’ve always known, even back then, before you did,” she offered softly, hurrying to continue as Dean fisted his hands tensely, “But I can’t read your mind, Dean, not in the way some other people can. Earlier? In the kitchen? Just hunter’s hearing, that’s all. Bambi hunting, that is.”

Dean stood rooted to the spot, utterly frozen, his mind operating with a molasses level of thickness.

”Oh and John? Your dad? No, he doesn’t-he didn’t-“

”Shut up,” Dean interrupted, his voice furious, shaking, “Just shut up, I’m serious, you don’t know what you’re-“

”Dean? You out there?”

Sammy.

”Dean? Earth to Dean? ‘That you over there? Selase?”

Selase reached out to gently rub Dean’s back, but he flinched like she’d burned him, hitting her hand away before he could process what he was doing.

”Yeah, hun!” Selase called in her sing-song voice, slipping past Dean toward the steps, “Yeah, it’s us, we’re comin,’ baby. Your Dad out of the shower? I guess now’s as good a time as any to talk business, eh?”

Dean stiffly, mechanically moved after her, his face hot and his chest trembling. And with everything else he had to be angry about, to be panicked about, to be focused on, the only thing he wanted to do in that particular moment was to shove Selase down into the dirt and make sure she understood that he would kill her...kill her...if she ever called Sam “baby” again.

Chapter Text

Dean was on the brink of a full, sloppy ‘throwing-all-fucks-to-the-wind’ meltdown as he leaned way back in his chair, nearly toppling himself over in an attempt to get a solid visual lock on Sam where he stood at the entrance to the living room, talking quietly with Selase about something Dean couldn’t quite overhear.

His face felt tight while he glared at the exchange of inaudible words, like his skin was shrinking...constricting over his bones, and where the hell was Dad? Shouldn’t he have come downstairs by now? 

What the fuck did Sam and Mrs. Robinson even have to talk about for this long, anyway?

He hated this stupid place and this stupid plan, and he especially hated Selase, who was slutting it up so eagerly with Sam over there like he was a big bowl of young Winchester candy, even though she knew...she knew, which was, god, another shit-show he was going to have to deal with. 

And, okay, logically speaking, Dean realized that it wasn’t fair, realized it wasn’t even remotely like that, not by any stretch of the imagination…but fairness was an overrated concept, goddammit, and maybe what bothered Dean more significantly than Selase’s sickening level of comfort with his brother was how long it had been since Sam had looked over at him.

He wanted to punch himself in the face for how needy that was, for how dependent he had clearly become on being able to claim a monopoly over his little brother’s focus, but no matter how hard he tried to bury it, to suppress the unhealthy fixation, wave after wave of possessive anger continued to boil its way to the surface of his mind at the sight of Sam’s obvious captivation with Selase.

There was that chime of a laugh again, and now Sam was...Sam was-

Dean stared, his stomach churning so severely that he wondered if it was possible to throw up from jealousy.

Sam was...no, fuck no, was touching Selase’s shoulder...lingering his hand there and leaning in far too close with his upper body while he laughed in response, and it was night-and-day different from Selase touching Sam, because Selase apparently touched everyone all the time, but Sam-

“Sammy!” he gritted out furiously before he could stop himself, colliding the front legs of his chair back into the floor with an echoing ‘thud’ that seemed disproportionately loud in the now otherwise quiet room.

Sam almost tripped as he spun to face Dean, like he’d actually forgotten that his brother...his highly displeased brother...was on the other side of the room (fuck, had he forgotten?).

As Dean watched through narrowed eyes, Sam’s expression curled into something that was quite blatantly edged with guilt...guilt...which only fueled the rage inside of Dean that was spreading like cancer, dripping through his veins and eroding at him like battery acid.

”Uh-“ Dean mumbled, clearing his throat and frantically trying to assemble a valid-enough reason for his outburst, “I, uh, forgot-that, remember the...thing I was-I was trying to remember? Yeah, I, I remembered it, so...”

Christ, a toddler could have done better than that, god.

Before Sam could figure out how to respond to Dean’s debacle of a failed sentence, Selase patted her hands down onto the tops of her thighs, smiling first at Dean and then at Sam before bouncing across the room to the base of the stairs like she had damn slinkies glued to the bottoms of her shoes.

Dean hated every single thing about her.

”I better get up there to check on your Dad, anyway,” she announced, hopping to the first step and glancing over her shoulder in Dean’s direction. 

“I’ll drag him down as soon as I can so we can get on with things, alright boys? Oh yes, and before I forget, I also need a few folders from the boat house. I keep sensitive information in my kayak, down in the dip. Would you boys terribly mind running down there to grab the ones marked ‘H’ and ‘E?’”

Dean didn’t respond, stubbornly pretending he hadn’t heard the question, leaving Sam to quip a blanketed “sure, no-no problem,” before Selase said something as she continued up the stairs that Dean genuinely didn’t hear over the buzz of anger grinding like rusted gears inside his head.

”Dean?” Sam half-whispered after a small stretch of tense silence, still frozen in place across the room, “Are you-um, are we going to, or do you want me to-“

”Yeah, we’re going,” Dean interrupted, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth for a second before straightening to his feet, avoiding even looking at Sam as he made a beeline for the front door.

—————-

Dean kicked his way into the boathouse, feeling a flicker of satisfaction in his stomach at the hefty dent left in the base of the wooden door from his steel-toed boot, and Sam halted immediately behind him...Dean could feel it, could feel his brother’s trepidation without even having to turn around.

”It...wasn’t...locked,” Sam said very slowly and very quietly, putting a lot of extra space between each word.

Dean just shrugged, walking backwards five steps to kick it again even harder, holding it open this time with his heel and gesturing Sam inside. 

He felt sullen and volatile, like a child throwing a temper tantrum, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, at least not enough to change his behavior.

Sam blinked rapidly at him for a few seconds before stumbling inside, after which Dean kicked the door shut behind them, despite the fact that it was already swinging closed on its own.

The third kick crumbled an entire panel of wood into kindling, and Sam actually lept backwards at the sound, colliding with some fishing gear that clattered noisily down to the floor around him.

”Dean,” he snapped, immediately unsnapping his voice to add, “uh, w-what is...happening, here?”

Dean could actually feel a vein twitching in his forehead, and he almost laughed at the thought of what he must look like to Sam, wondering with what little sanity he was still holding onto if he had finally completely lost his shit.

He clenched his hands into fists, unclenched them, and then clenched them one more time before slowly turning to directly face his brother in the dark dome of the boathouse, his eyes finding Sam’s immediately, even in the shadows.

”Come here,” he heard himself say, very low and very rough, like he was listening to his own voice through an old speaker.

Sam hesitated, swallowing too many times and nervously wiping his hands down his sides before padding over to Dean, stopping about a foot away, his gaze flickering back and forth uncertainly between Dean’s face and the floor.

”What, w-what...is it?” he asked in a hushed whisper, and Dean had figured once Sam was in front of him, once he had kicked the crap out of some things and demonstrated his severe disproval, that he would calm down, that he would manage to regain enough self-control to be able to turn this into an actual adult interaction, but it wasn’t happening, it just...wasn’t happening.

And before his mind and his muscles could even properly communicate, he found himself snatching the collar of Sam’s jacket in a surgical strike and yanking downward, hard, crumpling Sam immediately to his knees on the wooden floor with a sharp hitch of a surprised gasp.

Dean’s heart was pounding in his chest and his vision was wavering, spotting, his mouth too-dry and his temples aching on either side of his head.

Snaking his fingers through Sam’s hair, now, he fisted as much of it as he could and pulled, forcing Sam’s head back and triggering a sound from Sam’s throat that was halfway between a snarl of pain and a groan, which...really was just a bonus…

”D-Dean,” Sam stammered breathlessly, falling the rest of the way down onto his haunches with Dean following to loom over him, face to face, in a crouch, “w-what are y-you-“

Dean used the knuckles of his other hand to rake across the front of Sam’s jeans, morphing Sam’s unfinished question into another gasp followed by a series of whimpering little pants as Dean continued the assault.

”Huh, Sammy, what do you know?” he hissed, digging his fingertips into the crease of his brother’s thigh and flexing his other wrist to force Sam’s head into an even sharper backwards tilt, “-already so nice and hard for me, before I even touched you. And all I had to do...was remind you, fucking again, who the fuck you belong to.”

Chapter Text

“-so nice and hard for me, before I even touched you, and all I had to do...was remind you, fucking again, who the fuck you belong to.”

Dean didn’t want to be saying any of this, not really, not with the rational side of his mind.

He shook his head a little as if trying to wake himself up from a dream.

”Or maybe,” he continued anyway despite an unsuccessful attempt to move both of his hands that left him with twitching fingers but still rubbing against the outline of Sam’s cock and wound tight through a fistful of mussed hair, “maybe you were already halfway there talking to Selase, hmm?”

He spat her name, sneered it, even though he knew what he was saying wasn’t true, and Sam had gone slack, now, against his grip, actually hanging the bulk of his weight from the spot where Dean had his hair in a vice.

”nnn, Dean, no, n-no I wasn’t, I s-swear,” he managed, leaning back even further like he was trying to punish himself, his eyes watering, leaking from the pain while Dean just growled wordlessly in response, so spectacularly-far beyond logic, beyond even a shred of sense as he dragged his hand from Sam’s jeans to the bottom of his shirt to yank the fabric up to Sam’s neck in a bunch, keeping it firmly in place.

”Well you could have fooled me, Sammmy,” he hissed, emphasizing Sam’s name, drawing it out and lowering it by almost a full octave, “-from where I was sitting, ‘looked like you were about ready to climb on top of her right then and there.”

As he spoke, he moved to dig his nails into Sam’s waist, clawing sideways across his brother’s stomach and forcing Sam further into the sensation by his hair, enjoying the tense of muscles and the muted cry on Sam’s lips to a degree that very distantly made him feel sick to his stomach.

”Dean, I-ungh, f-fuck, I-“

Sam seemed beyond words at that point, sucking in shallow gulps of air and shivering perceptibly before suddenly switching tracks and giving an inexplicable little buck of his hips against nothing that drew Dean’s fingers downward again before he could dig in for another scratch.

”Sammy, you’re getting off on this, you little slut,” he grated out, pressing down with the heel of his palm and rubbing against rough denim hard enough to friction-burn his own skin as Sam arched into the push, curving his spine and letting his hands fall haphazardly to the floor on either side of him.

Dean hadn’t said it teasingly, “slut,” the way he had earlier, hadn’t said it in fuck-spun awe the way he had any of the other times. 

No, this time it had come out harsh and unhinged with a sharp fission, a gash, of dominating darkness to it, but he could still feel the way it was hungering Sam up into a frenzy, a string of half-words and whines skittering out of him to hang in the air like vaporized ecstasy, collecting in Dean’s lungs and drugging him into an even deeper delirium.

But-

Dean yanked his hand back, swiftly then using it to muffle something like a wail of protest that had surged, much too loudly, from Sam’s mouth.

”Quiet, Sammy. You don’t get to cum,” he taunted, leaning in centimeters-close again, “-and you’d better not, you hear me? You’d better fucking not. Not for the rest of the night, no matter what. Do you understand? As much as I would love to have you go in there wearing it…”

This seemed to only make things more difficult for Sam, and god...Dean was practically dripping with the power-lust of it all as he tightened his fist again in Sam’s hair, moving his other hand slowly, provocatively, making sure Sam was following it with his eyes, only to bring it down in a harsh, sudden, echoing slap across Sam’s chest, directly over his left nipple.

”Answer me,” he growled as Sam rippled his torso through a drawn-out groan, convulsing under the slap, his fingers scraping at the wood beneath him.

”Do you understand?”

”Y-yes, yes, fuck, I understand,” Sam panted, his voice so wracked and raw that it was barely recognizable, and Dean hummed, deep and low, in approval, landing another slap directly across from the first.

”Good,” he breathed out through clenched teeth, letting go of Sam’s hair and watching him fall back onto his elbows, his mouth hanging open and his eyelids fluttering uncontrollably in the barely-there light.

Prowling toward the kayak, Dean flipped the entire thing with a well-placed push of his boot, fumbling inside for the pile of folders and thumbing mindlessly through them.

”Now, come on. We’re bringing these inside.”

——————————-

“So...so you know of these...things? The Hidherim?” John asked with a small frown, leaning forward to rifle through a stack of yellowed pages on the table as Selase nodded, her fingers steepling in front of her mouth.

”Ohh, I sure do. As you can imagine, they aren’t much fond of folks like me. I think a lot of us have been wiped out by them, actually, whenever they pop out to say hello. And my gram told me stories even as a little kid…real unsettling stuff, although if you know enough about ‘em, you can thwart ‘em.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, leaning back on the couch, his hip brushing up against Sam’s.

”Thwart ‘em. Not kill ‘em?” he pressed, mimicking John’s frown and glancing over at Sam instinctively where he was still breathing heavily and was...holding a...pillow...over his...lap-focus, focus.

Fuck, focus.

Selase sighed, creaking her chair in a slow rock, her expression distant.

”Okay, so that’s the kicker, though,” she finally replied, busying herself with straightening some of the papers, “‘course they can be killed, like everything else, but that’s not realistically an option for most people, the few who even know about it-“

”We’re not just people,” Dean interjected too-angrily, trying to smooth it over by offering Selase the smallest smile in his repertoire.

”What I mean is...there’s not much we do that other people would-“

Ain’t that the fucking truth on so many levels…

”-so, uh, why don’t you just skip to the end and tell us how it’s gotta go down, and we’ll do what we do and take care of it, bing bang boom without the bull.”

John shot a warning glare in Dean’s direction, but Dean just rolled his eyes, struggling to contain what was turning into a pretty hefty bout of not giving a shit and slouching backwards with a poorly-concealed huff of impatience.

God, what was actually wrong with him? 

”No, it’s alright, John. It’s okay,” Selase hurried, reaching to circle her hand over John’s shoulder soothingly, “Dean’s just-he wants to get the thing. I understand. Not to mention-“

She broke off, surveying Dean’s rigid posture and tapping foot pointedly.

”-the, uh, the psychic effect they have on a person they’ve targeted is usually quite...something. Although, Dean, here, managing to break free of it back in Mosier the way you described, however briefly, is a whole other puzzle and not something I’ve ever heard of happening once the monster gets as close as it was. But, either way, I suspect Dean’s not feeling…quite like himself. Seems like - maybe especially right now, and I’m not surprised.”

Dean snapped his head up so quickly that he had to massage away an ache in the side of his neck, clearing his throat and gripping the edge of the cushion beneath him.

”Wha-what’s…what do you mean by that?” he fumbled, narrowing his eyes again at Selase, “Explain. And drop the vagueness.”

It had been an order, a demand, and not a nice one, but Selase cut off John’s bark of “Dean!” with a gentle “Just shush. I’ve got it, I got it. You, you’re gonna feel pretty...over-emotional, Dean, to put it mildly. Unstable. Ebbs and flows of it. Sometimes…severely so.”

She locked eyes with John, communicating another stern ‘leave it’ before turning back to Dean.

“-so you need to stay aware of that. But the good news is that it can’t find you as long as you stay on this property, on this side of the thistle that’s planted all around in a big circle. It’s not in bloom right now, of course, but it’s marked with posts, and in bloom or out, it’s the binding agent for a bit of warding I came up with to stay off the grid.”

She paused again, seemingly searching for the right words before adding, “and Dean, if you can find…an outlet, you know, for those pent-up...emotions, you’re going to fair a whole lot better. A whole lot better. I’ve got some home gym equipment in the den, a punching bag downstairs, or...you know, just see what-I, I mean, whatever works. Whatever works-“

She cleared her throat awkwardly.

“And don’t...under any circumstances, leave the thistle, or there ain’t much anyone can do for you.”

Dean was on the verge of making a joke about the whole thistle thing to Sam right there in front of everyone but bit his tongue, cracking each knuckle on one hand very slowly instead and trying to wade through what Selase had just said, what she’d obviously been trying to hint at.

He was pretty sure she was insinuating sex...with Sam, which was so far beyond anything that he could ever comprehend being encouraged to do, by anyone other than himself of course, that he almost laughed out loud at the thought of it.

He just couldn’t...couldn’t seem to think, couldn’t clear his head of smoke and anger, and it didn’t matter anyway, because he wasn’t fucking Sam here, like this, with fucking wonder-woman Selase somewhere nearby.

He fisted his hands by his sides again, reaching hastily for the closest page of notes and holding it up to his face as a visual barrier with a sharp grind of his back teeth.

Oh, shit, everyone was waiting for him to respond, weren’t they?

“Yeah, yeah, fine, but also, no, no, I’m fine, not-uh, not feeling...I’m fine,” he grumbled, squinting at the small scrawl and then over the top of the paper at Selase and John, who were both regarding him doubtfully.

”Wha-jesus, christ, I’m just...I’m just tired. You know what? Are we not going over how to ice the fucker tonight? Is that next meeting? Gotta drag this out, real fun, real fun...‘cause if so, can we just...can we just call it a night? I’m just...listen, I’m sorry, okay? Christ, I’m sorry. I’m just...tired.”

He wasn’t. Not even a little.

But Selase, in her ever-the-tension-breaker kind of way, simply smiled again, nodding empathetically and standing from her rocker. 

“Yeah, yes, ‘course we can. Sure we can. We have time, it’s alright. Come on, let me show you boys where you’ll be bunking. John, you too, up you get, c’mon. Been a long few days for you all. You’ve earned a nice full night of sleep.”

——————————-

Selase had ushered Sam and Dean into what would serve as their one room…together…for the remainder of their stay and was now tinkling a soft little “nighty night, sweets” before shutting the door behind her with a click.

She had led them all the way down into the cool, dark basement on the opposite end of the house and then further back even still after taking John upstairs, finally gesturing them over to a small, hidden-away guest bedroom in the corner and handing Dean an armful of extra blankets for one queen-sized bed.

Dean had felt a flutter of...not gratitude, not ‘like,’ even, just...slightly less homicidal hatred for Selase, and he listened, now, to the fading tap of her footsteps on the stairs, waiting for the low thud of the basement door swinging closed before pivoting on his heels to face Sam, his breath catching violently in his throat at-at...jesus fuck...

Sometime in the fifteen seconds Dean had been turned away, Sam had silently lowered himself to his knees on the carpet, putting himself back exactly the way Dean had left him in the boathouse, even curving himself at a sharp angle like Dean had him by the hair all over again.

Like he knew that Dean had been about to do exactly that and was getting ahead of it.

It was...fuck, it was-fucking…just...fuck.

Dean went from mostly soft to completely hard so quickly at the visual that it was actually painful, his blood sharp-shooting itself into his cock with an intensity that stumbled him a step sideways into the wall, where he had to reach out a hand to steady himself, dropping the blankets in a heap at his feet.

Sam started to sit up, to curl forward doubtfully, his fingers twining through strands of carpet to regain some balance, but-

”Don’t…move, Sammy,” Dean managed, exhaling in a long, noisy hiss and crossing the room in two quick strides, “don’t you dare move.”

Sam shuddered, slinking cautiously back into a dip, his legs trembling in the awkward position, and Dean slid rough fingers down the sides of his brother’s neck, back up again, across both soft cheeks, and finally through unkempt hair, fisting another handful...in the same place as before, and giving a sharp yank, his chest filling with immediate heat at the primal, desperate sound dragged out of Sam’s throat in response.

”Not so hung up on little...soft...sweet Selase now, are you Sammy?” he snarled, accenting each of the three adjectives with another sharp yank while he used his free hand to palm his own cock.

”No-no-oh god, Dean, n-no,” Sam panted, already helplessly trying to rut down against the floor but getting Dean’s boot instead on the second try, the steel toe of it wedged in fast between his spread thighs and pressing right up against the crotch of his jeans.

Dean clicked his tongue, adding a little upward grind of his foot and lifting Sam’s head by his hair as he crouched down so that his own thighs were spread around Sam’s upper body.

“What did I say, Sammy?” he gritted out, biting at the edge of Sam’s cheek and pressing in with a shove of his pelvis that would have knocked Sam to his back if not for Dean’s grip, “You don’t get to cum tonight.”

Chapter Text

—————————

Dean’s vision was swimming like a lucid acid trip, his skin sheened in a fine line of sweat despite the chill of the basement and his body seemingly operating of its own accord, detached from higher thought processes as he used one hand to strip off his belt, his other still tangled inextricably through Sam’s hair.

Lengthening his calves, he wrenched Sam into him, dragging the outline of his cock across his brother’s mouth in a harsh, staticky pull and snarling at the hot breath of a groan from Sam’s lips while he opened up to the assault, his hands landing on the backs of Dean’s thighs to knead in desperately. 

“No,” Dean growled, swatting at Sam’s hands and hauling his brother half a foot away from him, staring down at him through dark, power-hungry eyes while Sam bit his lip against a cry, leaning into Dean’s unrelenting grip.

“Hands, Sammy, hands behind your back,” Dean ordered, not waiting for his brother to cooperate before releasing his hair and full-crouching again, hitching Sam’s wrists high enough around his back to draw a stifled wince of pain and holding them there in one, unyielding fist.

”Keep them here...exactly here” he breathed into Sam’s ear, giving a little warning squeeze before letting go and watching Sam struggle so prettily to hold the position on his own, Dean’s spine prickling around an electric shiver at the intoxicating sight of it.

He threw his head back to suck in a deep breath.

”Good,” he finally hissed, his cock twitching at the way Sam’s shoulders were rippling, tensing, straining, his face contorted into something that was pain and need and anticipation and...even fear, which shouldn’t have been a turn-on...shouldn’t have been so fucking unbelievably hot, but fuck...it was, and Dean would deal with the inevitable guilt associated with that later, because now, now...

”Spread your legs, Sammy,” he urged, pressing at Sam’s inner thighs with his palms before leaning back to just watch, “more...more, that’s right, baby, good, stay just like that for me, and look at me, you keep your eyes open.”

Dean slid in close again on his heels, his hand slipping into his jacket pocket and his gaze fixed unblinkingly on Sam.

Sam exhaled in a rush, his lip trembling noticeably as Dean peeled up his fingers very slowly to reveal his pocket knife, making a long, pointed show of flicking it open and lightly brushing the pad of his thumb down the edge of the blade with an unrepentant smirk at the frightened hitch in Sam’s chest.

Using his other hand, he lifted Sam’s chin, tapping firmly on the underside, his own breath catching sharply as Sam actually obeyed the unspoken command, shakily but without hesitation, letting his head fall back and exposing his throat to Dean.

”Would you let me do...whatever I wanted to you, Sammy?” Dean murmured, fingertips playing over Sam’s racing pulse, crowding in over the pull of a nervous swallow while Sam just nodded mutely, straining even further backwards to submit the full stretch of his soft throat, and Dean shuddered, his vision hazing hot-red again.

”God, you really would, wouldn’t you?” he breathed, tugging his hand away to cup tightly over the front of his own jeans, trying to relieve some of the aching pressure before sliding his fingers to the carpet and clutching at the course strands, balancing himself against the heavy rush of it all that was threatening to crush him from the inside out.

Forcing in a few lungfuls of cold, steadying air, he turned his gaze back to Sam, licking his dry lips and raking his eyes over every inch of his brother, devouring each curve, every little dip of Sam splayed out for him so submissively, so fucking exquisitely. 

He wondered if this might kill him...

”Your hands are slipping, Sammy,” he managed through his teeth, feeling overwhelmed with the need to take everything, to shred Sam to pieces for him, only for him, even if it murdered them both in the end.

”Get them back where I told you to keep them. Hold them there. And then...I’m gonna need you to stay absolutely still for me...okay?”

He held up the knife, making sure Sam was paying attention, his expression shadowing perceptibly.

He wasn’t going to really do it…what he was implying, but he wanted Sam to think he might and to know that he could…if he wanted to.

”You gonna do that, Sammy? Exactly. What. I. Say?”

Sam shivered, forcing his arms up a full inch with a gravelly little wine, his stomach muscles visible through even the loose fabric of his shirt as he literally bent himself over backwards for Dean.

”Y-yes,” he whimpered, and Dean could see a tear of pain leak from the corner of his eye to trail down his forehead, soon getting lost in his hairline, “a-always, always a-am, Dean.”

Dean traced the wet path of the tear with the tip of his forefinger before hauling the collar of Sam’s shirt away from his skin and using his blade to rip through the cotton down to Sam’s chest in one, fluid slice, his thigh sliding in to press firmly, provocatively against Sam’s erection, claiming his body from everywhere.

Dropping the knife to the carpet, he moved in now with both hands to tear through the rest of the shirt with a vicious yank, flicking the ruined fabric open on each side while Sam panted noisily and strained to keep in position, his cock leaking through his jeans obscenely and triggering an upward thrust of Dean’s thigh.

”De-an,” Sam cried, his hips twitching in response and his arms shaking in violent, haphazard tremors, “p-please, I c-can’t-“

”Oh yes you can,” Dean hissed, cutting off the protest and rocking up again with his thigh, his fingers closing around Sam’s hips to crush him further down into the friction, “and you fucking will.”

Sam cried out again, a pained cry, his eyes pinching tightly shut, straining instinctively, helplessly, to pull out of Dean’s grip, to ease the too-much of the sensations being forced on him, but Dean dug in harder at his resistance, muscling up with shoves of his knee now much more brutally than he had ever even intended to, and Sam finally wailed out a broken-up, “fuck, fu-, Dean, I-I understand, oh god, please, please,” collapsing into Dean’s full control again.

Dean reluctantly slowed the abuse at his brother’s surrender, petting his hands down Sam’s sides and raking rough fingers briefly across the bulge of his cock in a final push of torment before leaning in to nip at sweat-slick skin with another whispered “good boy, Sammy, good, good.”

Sam was a wreck, his entire body tremoring beneath Dean, his pupils blown out so entirely that he almost looked possessed, and Dean slid a small space between them, finally murmuring, “Let go, Sammy, christ. Relax your arms. Let yourself fall.”

Sam heaved out a groan of relief, crumpling limply onto the carpet, his arms still tucked behind his back like he didn’t even have the strength to move them. 

Slowly, haltingly, he twitched his legs straight, his expression a half-grimace, half-silent-moan, but Dean immediately straddled his waist, giving him no time to recover, his nails tickling across Sam’s nipples, hands ironing down Sam’s bare chest, pressing into the dip of his lower abdomen and trailing just slightly beneath the top of his jeans.

”Oh, don’t worry,” he taunted in a low purr at the obvious panic in Sam’s eyes while he breached his fingertips below the belted denim, “I’m not gonna touch you. I don’t think you could behave for me if I did that.”

Sam tossed his head to the side, whimpering wordlessly, and Dean draped himself down to blanket his brother’s torso possessively, his lips once again toying at the outside rim of Sam’s ear.

”What I am gonna do, baby...is fuck…your…pretty...mouth.”

Sam’s eyes rolled back to the whites, his lips already open around flutters of erratic gasps, and Dean eased up to his knees, dragging his nails down Sam’s chest one more time before slowly pulling himself to his feet, still standing over Sam with one foot snug-to-skin on either side of his hips.

Flexing the muscles in his legs and cracking his knuckles, he heeled his boot into Sam’s waist.

”Untie it, Sammy...then the other one,” he murmured, palming his cock again as Sam scrambled to obey...god, with no hesitation, his fingers trembling over the laces, working them clumsily undone.

”Now..fucking look at me,” Dean continued once he had kicked each boot to the side, his voice suddenly lower than low, scratching the air and forcing another shudder from Sam, his sex-dizzied stare flickering upward, trailing back and forth between Dean’s face and his hands where they were gradually, provocatively flicking open the fly of his jeans.

Letting his pants drop, the faded denim gathering over Sam’s stomach, Dean hooked his fingers under the elastic of his boxers, tugging them down as well to finally free his cock, slowly toeing out of both articles of clothing but leaving them where they had fallen on Sam.

”Deeaan,” Sam panted, almost choking on the end of it, his legs bunching together in a desperate, feral attempt to reach his own cock, bending slightly at his knees like he was trying to actually curl up into himself.

But Dean’s socked foot came down on Sam’s upper thighs immediately, stepping them flat to the carpet again before pushing between them, forcing them apart, a warning growl collapsing what was left of Sam’s upward struggle.

”Spread them,” Dean ordered, toeing into the crease at the very top of one thigh for emphasis, “all the way, Sammy, all the way...and keep them spread.”

Sam thrashed against the floor for a moment like he couldn’t help it but finally obeyed, inching his legs into the widest ‘v’ he could manage while Dean looked on, fisting the shaft of his cock, his stomach constricting to a tight, heavy ache.

Lowering himself to a straddle again, only this time over Sam’s chest, he continued his slow, deliberate strokes, his free hand brushing across Sam’s mouth, fingers pressing against warm lips, pushing past them, greedy and searching as Sam drew him right in and lapped at him shamelessly.

”So eager, Sammy, fuck, look at you,” he breathed, exploring Sam’s mouth with four fingers, invading, pushing back until he reached the spot that he knew would trigger a convulsive gag from Sam and grating out a deep hiss of an exhale at the tug around his fingers, his eyes flashing darkly and his head spinning with it.

Keeping his fingers firmly in the back of Sam’s mouth, he eased forward with his hips, dragging the head of his cock down Sam’s cheek and marking him there, twitching at the guttural groan from Sam in response and trailing his cock back up that fucking softer than soft...beautiful skin, this time closer to the very edge of his brother’s lips.

Centimeter by centimeter, he retracted his fingers, wiping them down Sam’s chin once he drew them fully out and sucking in a deep breath, his jaw clenching tightly and nearly every muscle in his body following suit, his rational mind long-gone...replaced with just a sticky tangle of escalating need and a lust for total dominance over Sam that felt like hellfire in his lungs.

”De-“ Sam panted, unable to even get out the full word, a trembling hand rising to flit across his mouth, “wha-what if I-I...wha-“

He broke off, the question turning into a high-pitched whine as Dean’s cock trailed across the stretch of his lips.

”What if you cum, Sammy?” Dean hummed, skimming back across, very lightly, barely touching, “that what you were trying to ask? I’ll tell you what-“

He paused, palming Sam’s head down to the side roughly and holding it there to cock-paint along the line of his jaw.

”You keep spread open just like this and you don’t move a fucking inch, and if you cum with nothin’ but your jeans rubbing you and me taking your throat to get you there...I’ll give it to you...hmm?”

Sam’s stomach clenched, his body writhing in stifled quivers under Dean, and he groaned out a series of “f-fu”s and “gnnh”s and fractions of Dean’s name, which was all the confirmation Dean needed.

”But-“ Dean added, wrenching Sam’s head back into position and pressing in against his brother’s only-slightly-parted lips with little forward and back teasing thrusts of his cock, “IF you get there, which I doubt, you better still ask me...while you’re sucking me off. You think you can figure a way to do that?”

Sam was nodding frantically, his eyes glued to Dean’s cock, and suddenly, Dean couldn’t wait any longer...couldn’t draw this out for even another second, his expression shadowing into pure, predatory dominance.

”Now open…your fucking...mouth,” he hissed, spreading it out and slowing it down as he spoke, dropping it so low at the end that he could see the very real trepidation it sparked in Sam.

”Open, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyelids fluttered as he parted his lips with a vibrating groan, his hands fisting by his sides and his face red, sweat-sheened, lust-dirtied like Dean couldn’t even believe.

Guiding his cock with a hand wrapped around the base, Dean eased into the heat of Sam’s mouth, his heart nearly stopping as Sam’s tongue tried to reach everywhere at once, and jesus this was going to be over way too soon...fuck, fuck.

”Jesus, Sammy,” he gritted aloud through a fuck-forward of his hips, his hands clawing into Sam’s hair, his torso bent over so far that his lower stomach was almost resting on his brother’s face.

”Your fucking-god, your fucking mouth.”

He was panting obscenely, already consumed by the velvet suction of Sam’s fucking wet-dream of a mouth that was beyond his wildest fantasies.

”You like that?” he rambled through shallow pumps, tugging, yanking fistfuls of Sam’s hair to lift his head up from the carpet, “you like getting throat fucked by your big brother, huh? Such a slut for it, Sammy, gonna make sure you take it all, swallow it all like a good boy.”

He slid a hand to Sam’s chin, firmly urging upward with three fingers and thrusting even deeper at the new and improved angle, a steady growl leaking from his chest now that seemed to be driving Sam into a fuck-crazed frenzy as he practically devoured Dean’s cock, straining for every last inch, even through increasingly severe gags as Dean pumped harder and faster.

Dean could tell that Sam was only just getting enough air in through his nose in between thrusts, but he didn’t ease back, couldn’t, digging into the sides of Sam’s face and actually fucking Sam’s entire head up onto his cock, his stomach coiling up like a loaded spring with searing heat.

Sam’s hands were on him now, scrambling into his sides, his eyes rolling back again, his face contorting while he made a strangled sound against Dean’s cock, and it was almost like he was...he was-

“Jesus, jesus, fuck, you gonna cum from this Sammy? You-fuck...Yeah? Jesus, god, how is that even-...god, fucking god, yeah, baby, do it, fucking do it, Sammy, fuck.”

Before he’d even finished talking, Sam was going rigid all over, choking on Dean, his throat contracting hot and tight, his fingers clawing into Dean’s hips and his entire body lifting from the carpet, wrenching Dean’s own orgasm out of him like it was every single one of his vital organs, like falling into the goddamned sun.

Dean bucked wildly through wave after wave of it, force-holding Sam into the onslaught, growling out a thousand different combinations of swear words until it was too much, until it was too painful, finally pulling out of Sam’s mouth to slump, groaning across his chest.

He felt like a ton of weight had been siphoned from his body, like everything that had been burning through him, tearing him up, had evaporated away, had drained out of him into Sam, and as he panted against his brother, hands spanning everywhere, reaching for wet, hot skin and shivering in the suddenly-freezing air, he finally felt like he could think again, like he could process, like he could feel something other than heavy, blinding need and anger and jealousy and power.

And for a single second, a single second...it was nothing but bliss.

Until...

”Sammy? Oh, jesus, Sammy...oh god, I don’t know what-, I...christ, baby, baby, are you, a-are you okay?”

Chapter Text

Sam’s reply turned into a wracking cough, and he reached up to rub a trembling hand down the front of his neck, his muscles clenching again under Dean.

”Shit, ugh, fuck...I’m okay, Dean, it’s okay, really,” he finally scratched out, trying to prop himself up onto his elbows but collapsing down within seconds, his expression contorting in pain.

”Jesus, you are not,” Dean whispered urgently, his chest scrunching tight with wracking shards of guilt as he scrambled to his knees, sliding around to gently, delicately lift Sam’s head and lower his brother down into his lap, shaky fingers brushing away strands of sweat-soaked hair from Sam’s forehead.

”Sammy, god, Sammy, I-I’m...so, so sorry,” he stammered, his eyes flooding with tears as he pet down the sides of Sam’s face, his breath catching and his torso curling at the center around a deep, sickening ache in his stomach.

Sam shook his head, wincing again at the small movement and slinging his upper arms limply onto Dean’s thighs, tilting his chin to fix his brother with a stubborn frown.

”No,” he pressed quietly but firmly, struggling to contain a flinch as the words clearly scraped at his raw throat, “Dean, I-I can handle it, didn’t I do a good job of proving that to you? I mean...didn’t I?”

Dean pinched his eyes tightly shut at that, against the flood of images jittering across his thoughts, his hands moving to Sam’s shoulders, rubbing into the scraps of shirt there, kneading in with his fingertips.

”Christ, baby, you...you, god, Sammy, that’s not the-that’s…I-I can’t…believe I…did that. Why - god, fuck. I was-“

”You were just...you weren’t feeling guilty about anything, Dean,” Sam interrupted, nesting into the touch on his shoulders and shivering a little in the cold air.

“You were doing what…you know, what that part of you wanted to do…maybe a little, I dunno, intensely. Okay, maybe a fucking lot intensely. But it’s because you always, I mean you just, you push it all down, and, Dean…it was-it is okay, because I want it, too, I-I can take it, I can. I can do it.”

He broke off, big eyes silently imploring Dean, his breath ragged but slower, now...calmer, and Dean pulled one hand to his own mouth, pressing in with the back of it, adrenaline still churning through his veins in spiky aftershocks as Sam continued very softly and quietly.

”It’s just...your emotions, it’s this…you just got a bit…” Sam was making himself taste each word, being careful with it, testing the water, “-it’s, everything’s just on…overdrive, like with you, earlier, with the…you know when you got…uh-“

Dean sighed, turning it into a self-depreciating groan halfway through.

”You can say it, Sammy, I got...jealous, real jealous, real, real bad. It was completely…stupid. Christ, it’s like I can remember every second of it. I just can’t figure out why, anymore, I mean why it was that bad. But I guess...probably that’s the whole-“

He gestured around vaguely.

”-everything, with the...thing.”

He slumped further forward, unable to look at Sam anymore while he spoke, feeling too exposed.

”And yeah...okay, fine...yeah, I-“

He paused, forcing himself to take a slow, deep breath, his pulse speeding up to a dull roar in his ears again.

”I, ah, I obviously...have certain...things-“

How many times had he said the word ‘things?’ 

”What I’m getting at is...I guess there’s no point pretending with you of all people that I don’t get a certain way, monster mojo or not, but it’s...I don’t…just...god, it’s-fuck, ah...I can’t do this, Sammy. I can’t. And why’s it you that has to keep paying the price, anyway? How is that fair? How is that okay? When I’m not hurting you mentally, I’m hurting you physically. It’s just…”

Sam reached up, his fingers brushing softly against Dean’s still-slick chest, halting Dean’s attempt at shakily heeling his way out from under his brother’s head.

”Dean,” Sam murmured, trailing down with feathering touches that drew a convulsive shiver up the length of Dean’s spine, “-now that you’re - I mean, now that you’re…feeling…better, tell me to do something-I-I mean, if you, if you would, just...humor me, please, just...pick anything, I don’t care, you know I’ll do it, I...always will.”

Dean’s head fuzzed over with that, spun thick with it, his hands landing on Sam’s sides before he even realized he was moving them, nails just ever-so-slightly tickling into sensitive skin. 

“Sammy...” he breathed, his thigh muscles twitching under his brother’s weight and his eyelids pulling down into a heavy flutter, “I, uh...I don’t think-“

But Sam was gazing up at him so sweetly, so goddamned beautifully, and it really was just a little, little thing to ask...after, fuck, after everything.

And dammit, he wanted to...he did...he wanted to see, was aching to see it, needed to see it now that he was clearheaded enough to actually process it.

”Yeah...ah, yeah, okay, Sammy,” he agreed in a low voice, his breath shallowing inexplicably and his skin heating up in a way that was distinctly...alarming...and arousing…and several other adjectives that were flip-flopping around in his thoughts.

He’d keep it simple, though, keep it small.

He just wanted to see it...

”Undo your pants,” he heard himself murmur very quietly, immediately biting the tip of his tongue between his front teeth because where had that come from?

Fuck-but, fuck...

Sam hadn’t even flinched, hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t shown even a flicker of doubt and was already obeying, his fingers popping the button of his fly and tugging at the zipper before Dean could even properly start chastising himself.

Dean’s eyes rolled back dizzyingly, his grip tightening on Sam in some instinctive way...fingers pressing into smooth skin while he sighed around a clenched tightening of his jaw that seemed to ricochet right down to his cock, twitching it painfully back to life.

”Show me,” he managed breathlessly, the words coming out as almost all vowels, and he suddenly realized that he had to, he had to get the full visual, fuck, he couldn’t even believe he was just now realizing it, “I want to see it, Sammy, see what it did to you, when I was fucking your mouth.”

It felt like pure sin on his lips, saying that out loud after the terrible things he’d just done, now that the full stretch of his cognition was back…and he shouldn’t have been surprised by the fact that the sheer wrongness of everything was, in fact, actually an intoxicating part of the turn-on, but it still caught him off guard as Sam moaned something inaudible and lifted his hips to slide his jeans and boxers down to his knees.

”God, you-baby, you’re perfect,” Dean praised, reaching to touch before he could talk himself out of it, hitching Sam higher into his lap so that he could angle down and just...

His fingers brushed, pressed, stroked, spreading the cooling wetness over Sam’s heated skin, and he was immediately mesmerized, fully-entranced, hopelessly lost in it.

When his fist finally closed around Sam’s half-hard cock, Sam melted backwards into his lap with mewling little whimpers of his name that dripped right into his bloodstream, instantaneously pumping through him to reach every dip of his insides, igniting him on a molecular level that felt like shattering back to life from the dead.

”Sammy...you really are...mine,” he whispered, his heart suddenly feeling like a galaxy exploding inside his chest, all-star colors, unparalleled agony, beauty beyond measure, and Sam partially closed his eyes, his head keening back even further and his lips parting to drag in a shivering breath.

”I always have been,” he panted softly, his pulse thudding against Dean’s thigh as he pressed up with his hips, offering himself to Dean.

”And I always will be.”

Chapter Text

“Scrambled eggs, baby?” Selase chimed, brandishing the iron pan in front of Sam, and Dean’s neck cracked loudly as he spun in her direction from the seat next to his brother’s with a blatant glare that Sam caught and Selase missed by a mile.

”Oh, yeah, yes, please,” Sam replied in a tiny voice, clearing his throat and bunching down in his chair before adding, “and, hey, m-maybe...you could call me Sam-just...Sam?”

Dean’s stomach butterflied wildly at that, and he smiled at Sam, his eyes heavy-lidded and immediately hazed over, highly enjoying Selase’s flustered response of “‘course, ba-...Sammy-whoops, Sam, silly me, ‘course I don’t mind that.”

—————

This reminds of me of SPN s1 Sam saying (about the name ‘Sammy’): “He’s the only one who gets to call me that.” Mmmhm.

—————

John lumbered down the stairs halfway through the meal, looking about as sleep-deprived as Dean felt, and Dean couldn’t help but wonder if Dad and Selase had enjoyed some late-night activities of their own after he and Sam had “gone to bed,” chuckling to himself and making a mental note to tell Sammy about it later.

Sam, however, was kicking out his foot at Dean under the table, locking frantic eyes and leaning dramatically forward to mouth the word “Dad” behind one hand, his other hand closing over Dean’s where it was planted solidly and provocatively on Sam’s upper thigh.

Shit, shit, right...

But-

Dean glanced over his shoulder to make sure Dad was engaged enough in his morning greeting with Selase before curling over his plate to take a long time preparing a bite while he waited for Sam to follow suit, Dean’s mouth close enough now to Sam’s ear in this position to get away with a barely-there whisper.

”Tablecloth,” he simply replied with a casual shrug and a smirk before straightening again, hiking up on Sam’s thigh by a couple of inches and digging in with his fingers stubbornly, pointedly.

Sam’s mouth twitched hotly around a shaky breath, like he was trying to resist protesting the whole thing, and fuck, Dean felt like a damn addict when he was with Sam, but he couldn’t seem to help it, couldn’t seem to help feeling territorial at the thought of anyone having more influence over his brother than he did, even Dad...even knowing full-well that the motivating factor was simply not getting caught.

He was confident that it would ease up a bit once they’d iced the fucking monster and his system had finally cleared itself of whatever the hell was making him so damn crazy, but until then, he’d pretty much decided, as of last night’s...very substantial evidence, that his only real, viable option was to hold on for the ride and to try to do as little damage as possible.

The tricky part was going to be working through what was likely to send him off the deep end and getting a jump on it, but-

He smiled through another bite of eggs, feeling smug about the whole Selase issue.

-Sammy was helping.

They’d get through it, they’d find a way to navigate it together, and as long as he could hold onto that as a certainty, even surrounded by nothing else but uncertainties, he figured he’d be alright.

Sure, he was coiled through and through with exhaustion, not at all looking forward to the next play family meeting, heavily obsessing about the implications of last night’s exchange with Sammy, and already feeling a bit emotionally wound tight again, but as he shoveled in famished bites of an actual home-cooked breakfast with one hand and discreetly praised/teased a nervous, uncomfortable, but still turned-on Sam under the table with the other, Dean couldn’t help feeling like maybe it was shaping up to be an alright day, after all.

—————————-

“Dean, Sam, we’re going over some new information in a few hours, after Selase and I check the warding and tweak it a bit, so just, don’t break anything, don’t dig around in Selase’s things, just, put on the TV, yeah, good, alright? We’ll be back in soon.”

Dean yelled an “uh-huh!” before leaning back to flick the curtain closed behind him, stretching luxuriously on the den couch and cocking his head down at Sam where he lay on the plush carpet, headphones in, thumbing through an old, dusty comic book.

Lengthening one leg, Dean used the toe of his boot to flip the comic closed, startling Sam from his reverie with a “wha-Dean?” while he struggled with an ear of his headphones, finally tugging each side out and resting his cheeks on his palms, gazing up at Dean shyly.

”You watching me?” Sam mumbled through a smile, blushing a pretty shade of red and hiding his face for a second, “was I singin’ along?”

Dean crossed his arms, letting his eyes wander lazily up and down Sam’s body before hooking his finger, his stomach fluttering again at the way Sam scrambled immediately to his feet, brushing off his thighs before padding over to stand so fucking sweetly right up against Dean, their knees pressed lightly together.

”Nah, no singing,” Dean finally responded with a wink, reaching out to play with front of Sam’s belt and eying the comic book on the floor, “-definitely a big dork though, but you already knew that.”

Sam grinned, scoffing at Dean before sliding in next to him on the couch, lowering his head and scrunching his legs up underneath him.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he teased, turning to crinkle his nose at Dean, “at least I read.”

Dean swatted at the back of Sam’s head lightly, chuckling.

“I read,” he retorted in mock outrage, “porn, anyway, but that counts.”

Sam nuzzled through jacket into shirt, pressing his lips down before moving to wriggle a hand into Dean’s left pocket, fuzzing Dean’s insides with a soft layer of staticky warmth.

”Whatever you say, Dean,” Sam murmured sweetly, landing Dean’s hand in his hair to tousle and twine, and yes...yeah, it was definitely shaping up to be a good day.

—————————-

As they lay together on the couch, Sam napping and huffing out cute little snores against Dean, Dean found himself giving in and re-living the more...depraved stretches of the night after having put it off all morning, his tongue snaking out to wet his lips as he gazed down at his brother’s unconscious form. 

God...

He shivered, fingers twitching on Sam’s back, half-wishing he couldn’t remember, or at least that he couldn’t remember quite so vividly, because it was just so, so unbelievably, excruciatingly...hot, and he couldn’t deny it, try as he might.

Sam had been willing to give him anything, anything, and the thought of that rippled a shock of hot, painful electricity through his chest.

He knew, without thinking about any of it too directly, the kinds of things he wanted, but he cleared his throat in alarm as the fantasies took on a life of their own and spiraled rapidly downward, his nerves burning, vibrating, as he tried to push it all back, to keep it all at bay, searching his eyes around the room for anything else he could use as a replacement thought..squinting at book titles, counting the ceiling tiles, finding every frayed strand of the carpet and cataloging it in his mind.

‘Maybe I should make ‘em keep me on lockdown until this is over,’ he thought only half-seriously, knowing right away that he wouldn’t stand for it even if it had been his own idea.

It wouldn’t matter much, anyway, because the things he was trying to hide from were inside of him, always had been, as much as he wished he could assign blame elsewhere.

But acting on them seemed like something he could scapegoat away, for now, and he allowed himself to take some small comfort in that.

Sam’s eyes suddenly dragged open in a slow pull, and he smiled sleepily up at Dean, lifting his head.

”Wha-time ‘s it?” he slurred, yawning and flexing his legs out from under him, “we gotta go t’the thing?”

Dean shushed his brother softly, petting his hair and brushing the pad of his thumb downward along the line of his jaw, watching the way Sam eased into the touch instinctively.

”Not yet,” he said quietly, pressing Sam’s head gently but inexorably back into his lap and shifting his weight to slide further beneath his brother’s upper torso, his free hand circling Sam’s arm.

”Sammy,” he started without thinking it through, cutting himself off immediately, but Sam was gazing up at him expectantly, waiting for the rest of the sentence, and Dean didn’t, he wasn’t-

“Flip the rest of the way onto your back for me,” he heard himself say, not at all surprised when Sam immediately moved to do it but still blown away by it nonetheless.

Dean bent down, his mouth feathering across Sam’s cheek before moving to hover over his ear.

”Just...stay still for me, and keep your eyes closed...yeah?”

Sam nodded silently, his lips parting and his eyes flickering under their lids, his hands coming to a rest by his sides, shoulders still solidly heaved onto Dean’s thighs.

Dean wasn’t sure why he was doing this or even what exactly he was doing, and distantly he felt like he really should decide all of that first and then stick to a pre-set plan, but he was already hiking Sam’s shirt up to his collarbone.

His hand slid upward over Sam’s lower abdomen, massaging in deeply, dipping Sam’s skin under his fingers.

”Sammy,” he murmured, trailing up further still, skating over Sam’s chest, now, curling to lightly use his nails and not missing the goosebumps this triggered all over Sam’s bare arms below the sleeves of his t-shirt, “last night I...-“

He forced in a few deeper breaths.

”-I...I asked you if you would let me do anything to you, do you remember?”

Sam swallowed heavily, nodding right away, and Dean slowly closed his eyes and opened them again, working to keep his voice calm.

”Did you really...really mean it?”

Sam was shivering beneath Dean’s little nail-scrapes, and he opened his mouth like he might say something before simply nodding again, his eyes remaining closed despite constant movement beneath his lids, as if not being able to see Dean’s expression while he spoke was taking every ounce of his willpower.

Dean’s chest knotted tightly, his nails digging in a bit harder as his vision churned in that all-too-familiar way.

”You’d give me…anything?”

He barely whispered it, struggling to say it out loud even though he already knew the answer, knew that asking was completely redundant, but it was part of it for him, needing to see it, hear it…

Sam’s nod was accompanied by a little gasp, his hands pressing down into the couch, hips lifting ever-so-slightly in that offering-himself kind of way that was so fucking indescribably perfect.

Dean clenched his back teeth, skimming praise-touches across Sam’s skin, every neuron in his brain firing up at once.

He felt like he needed to explain more, to tell Sam that he would regret it even, as much as he knew he wouldn’t be able to...wouldn’t be able to delve into the almost-thoughts from a few minutes earlier.

He hastily pushed them down again, not ready to have them at the surface where they would be too real, too inevitable.

But there was something…an important clarification that he felt he really should actually explain, at least vaguely. something he needed to say out loud to Sam…if he could even figure out how to.

He walked his fingers provocative-slow down Sam’s stomach to the front of his jeans, rubbing with teasing presses.

“I don’t mean just...in this way, though, Sammy-“

He coaxed a few more needy-pretty noises from Sam’s lips before settling his hand once again in the dip of his brother’s navel to continue tickling with his nails.

”I mean…any way. Every way.”

Sam pulled his bottom lip between his front teeth like he was trying to puzzle it through, breathing in through his nose, his face colored sweet with a fresh blush from Dean’s touches.

”Every way,” he finally echoed in a quiet pant, nodding for the third time, “any way...every way...”

Dean’s felt fully clutched, body and mind, in the grasp of it all, his head swimming and his throat contracting.

It was almost enough to overwhelm him completely knowing that Sam, young...jesus, 17-year-old Sam...likely had no idea what ‘every way’ could really, truly translate to…

”Yeah, Sammy,” he breathed out in a rush, his voice deep and soft, lined with admiration, edged with something else, “Good...I-...you show me, okay? What I tell you to do. When I say it. No matter what.”

Sam hummed a wordless affirmation, licking his lips and rubbing into the cushion beneath him with his fingertips.

“Anything you want...it’s already yours. I promise. All of me, everything I do, say, anything...you can have it, if...if y-you want.”

———————————-

Dean could barely focus on anything but Sam as they sat around the small wooden table again pouring over new pages of stupid notes about the stupid monster that suddenly seemed so trivial to Dean, even though he logically realized it was anything but.

Selase was explaining things he already knew about its physical form, although he did tune in a bit more solidly in hopes she might know what it really looked like, out of morbid curiosity, he guessed.

But, no, she didn’t...go figure.

”How do we kill the damn thing?” he finally interrupted, feeling more than a little fed up with it all.

”I mean-no, come on, Dad, don’t give me that. None of this other crap even matters. We’re here because Selase can help us end it, and that’s it. That’s the only reason. So let’s do it. Right?”

John started in on an angry retort, but Selase cut him off, holding up her hand in the same way she had yesterday, except this time, she wasn’t smiling.

”Alright, listen,” she said after several long, uncomfortable seconds had ticked by, her voice weary, strained, very suddenly and very decidedly just...un-Selase.

“Can you kill it by yourselves? No. Can I kill it by myself? Still no. Could we kill it together? Us…specifically? Yes, but we ain’t gonna, Dean, not unless we find another way, which is what all this is for-“

She brushed a trembling hand across the papers in front of them, and Dean couldn’t remember ever seeing her this far from cheerful, from unruffled at least.

”Because,” she continued, reaching up to press a hand to her forehead, her eyes darting down to the floor by her feet, “because to kill it the only way I could ever figure out how...we’d have to-...Sam would play the biggest part in that, we’ll get to why, and it might work, what he could do, alongside everything else…but, it…he wouldn’t survive it.”

Dean froze, every muscle in his body going rigid, his blood thinning in his veins and his ears ringing with a grinding, high-pitched buzz.

They’d have to-

”We’re not doing it, Dean,” Selase hurried, actually standing from her chair to slide around the table, crouching down and gripping Dean’s shoulders firmly.

”I need you to stay with me, Dean, okay? We will find another way. I give you my word we will find another way. I would never...never suggest...just-you, you don’t have to go there, you don’t have to worry about it, you don’t need to know what it’s…you don’t need to hear the details, just please. We’ll...we’ll find another way.”

Dean forced himself to breathe, raking in a small amount of air through his too-tight throat, rationalizing, scrambling to iron out his thoughts, to regain control, to focus on the fact that it wasn’t what they were doing...wasn’t the plan. Whatever ‘it’ even was.

He knew with heart stopping certainty that he couldn’t handle even hearing the ‘why,’ not yet, not now…that it would send him off the deep end again, and he knew that Selase knew it too.

‘We’ll just stay here forever if we have to,’ he thought wildly, pushing at Selase’s hands as they tried to find his shoulder again and heeling his way further back in his seat.

”I’m, it’s...fine,” he gritted out, immediately spinning to face Sam and leaning over the arm of his chair to cup his brother’s face without even giving a single fuck about what it might look like to Dad.

”Sammy, I will kill everyone on this goddamned planet if I have to...no one is letting this happen or even fucking thinking it, you hear me?” he choked out, only pulling back as Sam nodded shakily, his eyes flicking across the room toward Dad.

”It’s okay,” Sam urged quietly, clasping his hands in his lap and staring down at them nervously, “It’s really okay. I-I...I know we’ll figure it out, like always.”

————-

John’s P.O.V:

Dean continued to quietly reassure his brother while Selase settled back into her own chair, and John’s face shadowed and paled all at once as he surveyed Dean and then Sam and finally Selase...who hadn’t even glanced in his direction after dropping that damn bomb on them all.

She would sure as shit be giving him the details, about his own fucking son, as soon as they were alone.

She could have warned him. She could have told him privately, before the meeting. She could have fucking told him.

It took every ounce of his willpower to not say it out loud, to not force some fucking answers out of her right then and there.

And why…

She had gone straight to Dean...straight to Dean, and then Dean had-

John cleared his throat, feeling angry and sick and dizzy.

Was it...? And did Selase-?

Years ago she had said…she’d tried to tell him-

He couldn’t even finish the thought, couldn’t process it, couldn’t carry it inside of him.

He eyed his sons over the top of the paper he still had clutched in his hands, his foot tapping rhythmically against the hardwood floor before he shifted his gaze, narrowed and accusatory, towards Selase.

”Excuse us. Sam, Dean. Selase…a fucking word, please.”

Chapter Text

“Dean, are you still upset about the whole...that, uh, the whole…thing?”

Sam was peering anxiously at him, his expression pulled into a nervous twist and his back hunched, fingers clasping repeatedly at the hem of his shirt.

Dean forced himself to smile, giving his head a little shake and lifting his weight to wrench his chair closer to Sam.

”Kinda hard not to be, Sammy,” he admitted quietly, glancing behind him before reaching over to rub Sam’s thigh.

”But...it’s okay. I’m okay. And what matters is...are you okay? I mean really? Because I swear, Sammy, I’m not letting anyone-“

”I know, Dean,” Sam interjected softly, trailing his fingers over the back of Dean’s hand, “I know. I’m okay, too. I guess, I mean I’m confused, and…I’m curious. I can’t deny that. But I’m…okay. For now.”

Dean locked eyes intently with his brother.

”Yeah, well…Sammy, I know. God, I can’t…I need you to understand that I-I just can’t. Not right now. Just, we can’t. You and me. Because if you know, I’d end up…I’d make you tell me. I would. And knowing is just too close to doing. So listen, after we…when we figure out the plan, the real plan, then…then we can know. Then we’ll…we’ll know everything. Okay? Just…you gotta trust me, alright?”

Leaning in further, he combed all ten fingers through Sam’s hair, finally giving a little upwards pull and signaling for them to stand up.

“Come on, baby. I’m thirsty. I’ll sneak you a beer, how ‘bout that? ‘Should help with the calming down thing. For both of us.”

Sam looped an arm tightly around Dean’s waist, his head finding the crook of Dean’s shoulder to nuzzle in for a moment, his heartbeat steadying, softening, as Dean held him close.

”I trust you, Dean. You know I do. And that...sounds perfect, actually. Yeah, I’d like that. Thanks, Dean. Just...thanks.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, look, part of my shirt,” Sam chuckled, tossing it at Dean, and Dean caught the shredded fabric in his fist instinctively, staring down at it and quite suddenly feeling hot all over again.

In the wake of the craptastic information Selase had dropped on all of them like a damn nuclear bomb, followed by nearly all of a bottle of whiskey since Dad had been fresh out of beer, Dean had temporarily forgotten to obsessively overthink...everything else...

”Yeeah, there it...there it is,” he coughed, dropping the shirt almost immediately and hastily chugging another four sips of whiskey as he side-glanced Sam, who was bending over now, digging through his duffel.

”What’cha...looking for in there?” Dean deflected, perching himself a bit precariously onto the edge of the bed and letting the burn of 80-proof alcohol mellow him out, steady his frayed nerves.

”Maybe a jacket,” Sam responded, smiling over his shoulder at Dean, “When did it get so cold? Fucking Maine…”

”Mmhm,” Dean replied vaguely, watching Sam’s back intently and allowing himself the familiar comfort of hyperfixating on his brother from a distance…on each tiny detail, each quiet breath, each pull of cloth defining muscle up the stretch of Sam’s torso.

As he stared, he felt almost like time itself was inexplicably slowing to a crawl, not just his own thoughts, his own pulse, but Sammy’s little rustling movements, the ticktick.tick…tick of the clock on the far wall, even the molecules vibrating in the air.

…

It wasn’t more than a minute until Sam seemed to find what he wanted, straightening up again with a little flex of his calves and turning around, but in that minute, Dean had sharpened the full stretch of his focus onto Sam, and he was realizing, as Sam searched his face, that…they were here. Together. Right now. 

I mean, fuck, after everything…

Sam was watching him in silence, his own expression shifting, melting into something that plucked wildly at Dean’s heartbeat, and-

They were here.

Together.

Right now. 

After everything…

Dean breathed out an almost word, letting it merge into a slow exhale, his hand coming up to brush against his lips before he finally managed a low murmur of, “Sammy, come...come here. And leave the jacket.”

Sam was moving in less than a second, dropping the fleece he had clutched in one hand and padding close on socked feet with a shy smile and a soft, downward tilt of his head.

He used his toes to gently nudge at the edge of the comforter where it hung from the bed by Dean’s ankles. 

”Yeah?” he asked in an almost-whisper, using the tilt of his head to look up at Dean through his lashes despite being above him, which was so fucking pretty, so intrinsically demure that it quite literally stopped Dean’s breath in his chest, lowering his eyes to a heavy slant.

”Hiya, Sammy,” he purred, reaching out to glide his fingers down his brother’s waist to his hips…watching, entranced, as Sam ‘o’ed his mouth around the sweetest sigh and instinctively stepped his legs spread like Dean had actually told him to…which was - fuck…just…narcotic and lovely to a degree that Dean could barely even wrap his head around.

God, he still wanted to see more of it, though, to push it…to drag it, to scrape out its perimeters and feel it from the inside.

”Down,” he suddenly urged, his fingers closing now on the hem of Sam’s t-shirt and gently tugging, “Show me, Sammy. Show me again.”

Sam realized what was being asked of him with a soft groan, falling immediately to his knees in front of Dean, and it was…jesus…it was the perfect goddamned visual, but somehow…it was also just…not quite enough…

Dean found himself standing from the bed, sucking in a shallow breath through his teeth, his hands petting at Sam’s head, grazing down his neck, trailing across his throat.

He needed to make it…bigger, somehow…to spread it out like an elastic band and test it.

”So good for me,” he breathed, his legs open in a wide stance with one on either side of Sam’s torso, “Sammy…I, uh, just…don’t stand up. Until I tell you to. Okay, baby? You understand? I wanna…see something.”

Sam swallowed through another breathy, wordless sound, nodding his head and licking his lips and just gazing up at Dean with huge eyes like he didn’t want to even blink.

And…fucking god…Dean’s forearms pricked with a shiver of goosebumps as his gaze landed on Sam’s crotch.

He was hard.

Just from this.

Just from fucking this.

It wasn’t a surprise, but jesus christ it still hit Dean like a damn freight train to the chest…

He dragged the sole of his boot in long stripes up and down the front of his brother’s jeans, taking his time with it and nearly collapsing Sam into a fit of whimpers before he finally relented, moving to then very slowly back-step his way across the room, never taking his eyes off of Sam. 

Once his heels brushed the wall on the far side, he inhaled deeply, grounding himself, struggling to steady himself against the wild thrum of his pulse before lowering his head and gesturing Sam over to him.

”Come to me, Sammy,” he urged, the timbre of his voice now dripping with his own heightened arousal, “Come on. You know what to do. You know what I want.”

Sam blushed furiously, averting his eyes, and that made it even better, god, so much fucking better, fanning the flames in Dean’s chest and instantly twisting his stomach into tight, burning knots. 

”Behave, Sammy, baby...”

Before he’d even finished saying “baby,” though, Sam was breathing out in a flustered rush and dropping to all fours, his hands bunching at the carpet on the floor and his cheeks such a pretty shade of pink as he flitted his eyes shyly upward to meet Dean’s. 

”Fuck, good,” Dean praised, his organs now defying gravity inside of him and his veins spiked with punches of hot, electric adrenaline, “Good boy. Come on. Come to me. Come, Sammy.”

Sam hunched back for a single second, one hand darting between his legs like he couldn’t stand not to, but at the smallest little ‘tsk’ from Dean, he immediately lowered himself back into position, crawling forward obediently, his lower lip sucked in between his teeth and his lids so low and heavy over glassy eyes that he looked quite literally drugged by it all.

By the time Sam reached the toes of his boots, Dean felt utterly and hopelessly feral just from watching it…violently insatiable, his heart pumping actual fire and brimstone through his veins.

But then...

Sam gazed up at him, and as Dean stared, unblinking, into his brother’s big, bright, beautiful eyes, his insides transformed, metamorphosed, like tectonic plates shifting, grinding, grating into place.

It was a moment of paramount importance that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, couldn’t quite fully interpret, and instead of trying to say it or think it, to tarnish it with an explanation, he crouched, feathering his fingers wordlessly across Sam’s chin before gliding down the length of his right arm. 

Circling over Sam’s wrist, Dean breathed out a hiss of approval as Sam gave him no resistance, letting Dean lift his arm and bend it behind his back, now balancing the full weight of his upper body on one palm.

Supporting the side of Sam’s head, Dean moved to tap on his brother’s left wrist with two fingers, murmuring, “I’ve got you, Sammy, you know that,” before pulling up, wrapping Sam’s left arm around with his right and slowly collapsing him to the floor.

Sam winced as the position tugged at his still-sore muscles, his back trembling, twitching under the strain, and Dean praised him softly, striping the pad of his thumb from shoulder to elbow on each arm before skimming back up with his nails.

”So good for me, Sammy,” he echoed, slipping a hand under Sam’s lower stomach to push up, his fingertips digging in just enough…and just low enough…to encourage another beautiful little whimper from Sam in response.

Sam stretched his arms closer together, higher up, without even being told to, his breath catching sharply at the painful pull and his fingers twining together, hands holding each other perfectly in place.

”Keep me like this forever,” he pleaded quietly into the floor, and Dean had to press his palm over his mouth to hold himself in, to stop himself from falling apart, to iron the taste of it onto his DNA like an indelible tattoo and to keep it…just like this…forever.

Chapter Text

The sky, white with October’s teeth, had a heavy feel to it, an ominous feel, and Dean wondered if it might snow, thinking back to the last time they had been here and how it snowed, then, too...just once, light and fluffy in big, beautiful flakes.

He and Sam had relished it, dancing and playing and batting at it with bare hands while Selase had laughed from the porch, telling them that they should put on gloves and hats but not enforcing it, and they hadn’t minded the cold, anyway.

They’d seen more snow than most by that point, but it had been different that day, like experiencing the wonder of it for the first time, and Sam had tried to catch flakes of it on his tongue, standing with his arms outstretched and his face turned skyward while Dean had moved in from behind to lift him up by his waist, offering him to the curtain of white tumbling down around them.

Dean smiled, pressing a hand to his stomach, still reeling from the much more recent image of Sam on his knees, his cheek to the floor, his arms wound tight behind his back...

And, god, the way that Sam had stared at him afterwards…captivated, wide-eyed, blown-away-reverent…

Dean shivered, his eyelids fluttering in the chilled air, feeling dizzyingly spun with it even all these hours later.

He took a slow drag off the cigarette between his fingers.

Feeling a bit sick to his stomach suddenly (damn cigarette), he curled over, spitting onto the frost-bitten earth, but he straightened up sharply at the sound of his name, barely whispered, airy and foggy, almost like he hadn’t even heard it at all.

”Wha-“

He spun around, feeling jittery and nervous, peering into the dusky twilight, his hand reaching instinctively for the gun he didn’t even currently have.

Wait, was that-

“Sam?” he called out, his voice getting instantly lost in a sudden gust of icy wind that chilled him to the bone.

Sam was standing, absolutely still, his back turned to Dean, all the way down on the shore, his legs in the frigid ocean as it lapped up around him, each small wave reaching up to his jeaned calves.

Dean’s pulse quickened as he lunged forward in a panicked jog, dropping his cigarette, his mind swirling over in heavy confusion.

”Sam?? What the hell are you doing?? I thought you were-...SAM!!”

As Dean spoke, Sam keened forward, tipping face-first into the storm-frothed water, and Dean yelled, halting for a split-second, frozen in place, unable to process what he had just seen before stumbling into a full run, a strangled cry dragging from his chest.

”SAM! SA-“

He was suddenly on the ground, crushed into the dirt heavily, the air knocked out of his lungs in a massive blow that spotted his vision and cornered it black.

He struggled blindly, his ears vibrating with a high-pitched, torturous, glass-in-a-blender buzz, and as soon as he could tell up from down again, he maneuvered himself to one knee and smashed his fist into...into-

“Wha-what, wh-Sammy? You-you were - no. Wait. I saw-it was-“

He squeezed his palms to his temples, crying out, his head pounding in immediate, world-spinning agony, the kind of pain he’d only ever felt once before, when he was, when he was-

He scrambled to his feet, trying to see over the stabbing ache behind his eyes, tripping backwards in erratic steps and holding out a shaky hand, flicking his eyes back and forth between the Sam on the ground in front of him and the spot down on the shore where he had seen-

“Stay away from me,” he spat at Sam, lunging forward recklessly, feeling consumed with a sudden, intense rage that was icing his blood and tearing a growl from his throat.

“I’ll fucking kill you, you fucking bastard!”

He threw his whole arm into a second violent punch that Sam only barely managed to block with both knees lifting to protect his chest before falling back onto his elbows, gasping in fear, tears springing to his eyes and his fingers clawing downward, trying to get a solid grip on anything.

”Dean, Dean, it’s m-me, please, Dean it’s me. You w-were about to go over the warding. I was yelling for you-but but you couldn’t hear me. I had to, Dean, I had to stop you, just listen to my voice. Look at me. Please. It’s me.”

Dean stopped, his expression twisting, contorting, his thoughts messy, too unfocused.

“It’s me, j-just listen, hear me, it’s me-Dad stay away, get back, NOW-no, it’s okay Dean, listen to my voice, it’s me, it’s me, you know it’s me.”

Dean pressed his eyes tightly shut and then opened them again, the pain now so excruciating that he could only see hazy shadows, but, but...

Sam’s voice was working its way inside of him, reaching him, and he leapt for it, clinging to it, holding it close, wrapping himself around it.

”Sammy?” he finally choked, clutching at his stomach and falling sideways, his head hitting the ground with an echoing thud that he could barely feel over the knives ripping through him from the inside out, “Sammy? Oh god, Sammy, it hurts, I think it’s, I-“

He wretched, curling up in a fetal position and throwing up violently.

”You fucking leave him alone!” Sam was screaming, too loud, fuck, so loud.

”YOU FUCKING LEAVE HIM ALONE! DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU SON OF A BITCH? LOOK AT ME!! YOU CAN’T EVEN IMAGINE WHAT I WILL FUCKING DO TO YOU UNLESS YOU LEAVE HIM THE FUCK ALONE!!”

Dean pressed his forehead into the dirt, wanting to rip his own head off, just needing it to end, needing it to be over, and then...suddenly, amazingly, inexplicably, the pain was trickling away, fading, slinking back into the far corners of his mind, still there, like an echo, but not as-

He couldn’t-he couldn’t think...his thoughts were fuzzing into static, his eyes darkening, his muscles limping, and with a sensation of falling a long, long way down, he blacked out, with Sam’s name on his lips.

Chapter Text

“Goddammit fucking-not again,” Dean groaned, coming to achingly-slow, his hand shooting up to his forehead to crush into the dull, lingering pain there, blinking against the blur of his vision and struggling to clear the buzz from his ears.

”Sammy, that you?-Sammy, thank god, aspirin, so many aspirin, god. Need.”

Sam was talking to him, touching him, looming over him, and Dad was saying something...

And was that Selase?

Yes, Selase was shushing-

“Oh god, please shut up. Everyone. Aspirin. Give me a goddamned second.”

Dean hauled himself to a sit, palming his eyes blearily, his stomach still churning, his muscles screaming against the movement.

Sam’s fingers were brushing across his knee, and Dean blanketed them with his own, raking in a deep breath that nauseated him even more, bending him over in another groan.

”How did the damn fucker-just, never mind. Not now. Can someone please...please just...get me some fucking aspirin??”

————————

“-soon,” Selase echoed, handing Dean a fresh cup of water, “We need to figure this out soon…or it’s finished, it’s done.”

Sam landed a hand on her shoulder comfortingly, and in Dean’s state of near-delerium, it was enough to send him spiraling, his foot coming down hard onto the floor, startling both Sam and Selase a jump backwards.

”Just don’t-“ he warned, gripping the couch through another reel of dizziness, “not...feeling...like myself, just don’t, just...everyone separate. Back away. Thank you.”

Selase glanced at Sam in concern, mouthing something, but Sam, at least, seemed to partially understand, practically leaping to the side, his hands pushing shakily into his pockets.

”Dean, how are you-no, dumb question, um...w-what can I do?” he asked quietly, shifting his weight and bowing his head, his foot twitching like he wanted to step in close again but didn’t think he should.

Dean sighed, forcing down a small sip of water and cracking his neck to the side with a wince, feeling frustrated and angry and sick and restless.

”You’re good, Sammy,” he finally replied through another wince, his nails digging into his palms, “It’s...fine. I-why the hell did the warding fail? Did we already go over that? And how am I even still alive, for that matter? And why do we not have time anymore? Christ, I don’t...feel good.”

Sam breathed out a soft reassurance that Dean only heard the beginning of over another pounding, vibrating roar splitting atoms between his ears.

”-and so it didn’t, we guess, it can’t get in, but somehow it still figured out where we were...likely it’s been lurking nearby already for the past couple of days, maybe ‘cause you were on this side of the warding, maybe that’s why it stopped, Selase doesn’t know...Dad’s putting up extra mojo, should tide us over, but we figure only a matter of time until it breaks through everything completely. Selase figures. Since...the warding is really set up to hide, not to withstand attack.”

Dean was silent for a long moment before laughing dryly into his palms, glancing up to see the alarm and confusion written all over Sam’s face.

”That’s just...it’s just fucking fantastic, that’s all...it really is,” he added flatly through another laugh, shaking his head, “Fucking go figure. Yeah. Alright. So what, then? What’s the move?”

Selase moved back into his space now, reaching out a tentative hand that Dean slapped away furiously.

”Don’t touch me. Ugh, just-what? What is it? I don’t feel great, just...please don’t touch me, there, that better?”

Selase nodded, tripping back again and clearing her throat nervously.

”No, I mean yes, of course, I-I understand, and...I called in some backup, with your Dad’s blessing, someone who should be able to help with a bit of a…plan I’ve been tossing around. He’ll be getting here tomorrow night, driving up from South Dakota...”

She trailed off, turning her head toward the front door like she desperately hoped John would choose that particular moment to come back inside.

”Ah, until then...I guess we...we hunker down, we go over what we already know, see if we missed something, we...we just wait. We just...wait.”

————————-

“Dean?”

Sam shuffled forward in small steps, his gaze glued to the floor, gripping a little silver tray of food with intermittently shaking hands and pausing, breathless, halfway across the room like he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do next.

Dean forced himself to smile, hating that he had apparently reduced his brother to a nervous wreck and propping himself up on one elbow.

”Looks good, Sammy, thank you, god, I’m starving now that I don’t feel so fucking awful.”

Sam calmed visibly at that, exhaling in a tiny huff of relief, and Dean beckoned him close, frowning as Sam lifted his chin to reveal what had blossomed into an obviously black eye.

”Jesus, Sammy, I really...clocked you one. I’m...I didn’t mean to. Christ, I thought-“

”It’s not that bad, really,” Sam hurried, lowering the tray onto the bed and twining his fingers together against his belt, “I know why you did it. I’m just glad you’re...okay, Dean.”

He paused, biting his lip, his eyes falling to his feet again.

”Are-are you...okay?”

Dean grimaced, reaching for a piece of dry toast and stretching the knuckles of his other hand, still sore everywhere like he’d gone rounds with a damn mac truck.

”I’m, uh...don’t-don’t be scared, Sammy,” he said softly, avoiding the question and breaking off a small corner of crust, staring down at it for a moment before locking eyes with his brother again.

”If it comes to it, I’m...I’m not letting this thing get you or Dad or anyone else-“

Sam bridled instantly at that, his face twisting up suddenly into very real anger as he shoved himself back on the mattress, scrambling away from Dean.

”Don’t you dare do that to me,” he whispered, hastily wiping away a stray tear as it trailed down his cheek, “Don’t you dare...”

Dean inhaled deeply, wishing he hadn’t said it out loud, and he slid forward to circle his hand over Sam’s knee, needing him to listen, needing him to understand...

”Sammy, we’re gonna do everything possible to find another way, of course we are. I just meant-I don’t know…can’t you see that in the end, if it’s one of us or all of us-“

”Then it’s all of us,” Sam interrupted, his voice high-pitched and trembling and full to the brim with stubborn determination, and Dean opened his mouth for a moment before closing it again, realizing that there was no arguing this.

How could there be?

He’d do what he had to do when he had to do it, if he had to do it...but until then, there was no sense in getting Sam prematurely panicked about it.

”Yeah...okay, Sammy,” he murmured, offering his brother another weak, half-smile before turning back to his toast, his chest flurrying with too much to piece through, too much to dissect...feeling on the verge of something big that frightened him...something that was swimming his head with worry.

”All of us.”

——————————

(three hours later)

Dean paced back and forth across the too-small kitchen, silently fuming, his thoughts a jumbled heap of untethered emotions and turbulence and hostility.

”Dean,” John ventured cautiously, folding his arms and regarding his oldest son with obvious concern from the archway leading into the front hall, “you’re...well, you’re losing it, here, and pretty damn quick...can’t you see that?”

Leave it to Dad to skip the sugarcoating.

Dean spun to face his father, glaring at John wildly, his eyes narrowed almost to slits and his hands bunched into tight fists by his sides.

”I gotta get outside, goddammit,” he growled, kicking out at the base of the fridge impulsively, “I swear to god, if I have to stay in this house for one more minute...”

He broke off, prowling over to the window to stand with his back to John, his shoulders shaking and his fingers digging splinteringly into the wooden frame.

”Because I fucking am losing it, yeah, no shit. That’s the damn point.”

He could hear a hushed, whispered conversation starting up behind him, Sammy and Dad, just fucking perfect, and he groaned, connecting his forehead with the opaque glass pane too hard and grinding his back teeth against the ache.

”You gotta leave me alone,” he hissed, pinching his eyes shut and feeling too dizzy right away, opening them again and fogging the window with an angry, impatient snarl.

“Just..leave me alone, at the very fucking least, all of you, get out of here, just...get away from me.”

He held his breath, waiting, and fucking finally-

Receding footsteps.

Thank fucking god.

He turned around, kicking the fridge again as he landed eyes on Sam, still hovering, stubbornly, on the other side of the room, watching him...staring him down.

”Sammy, GO!” he practically yelled, pointing his finger for added emphasis, “Just go! I need you to leave me alone, is that not fucking obvious?”

He hissed in frustration at Sam’s silence, at the fact that he wasn’t leaving, grabbing the closest curtain and yanking it to the ground in a sharp clatter, the metal rod coming apart at its hinge as it smashed into the tiled floor.

Selase rushed in from the living room looking panicked only to be shooed away immediately by Sam with a muted “go, go, I got this,” and Dean just laughed, hysterically, slapping his palm against the wall and twitching Sam sideways in surprise.

”You got this? Really? How, Sammy? How exactly? How the hell do you figure?”

Sam steadied himself with a deep breath, keeping his gaze on Dean and stepping his legs wider apart, curling ever-so-slightly into a defensive stance like Dean was going to lunge at him, like he was going to try to fight him right here, right now.

”You can’t destroy her house, Dean,” Sam said in a quiet tremor of a voice, flinching at another kick from Dean, his breath catching in a small gasp.

“And I’m scared you’re going to try to leave. It’s - it’s n-not safe. Can you…try to pull yourself out of this? Can you try to calm down? Please. Please.”

Dean laughed again, a dark laugh that sounded frightening even to his own ears, throwing his head back with it, heeling brutally into the radiator with his boot.

”Does it fucking look like I can do that, Sammy?” he spat, taunting Sam with his own name, feeling a thousand times more volatile than he could ever remember feeling, unable to think or even breathe around it, just...flooded with pure, overwhelming chaos.

Sam wavered in place, his chest rising and falling with quick, fearful breaths, finally swallowing a few times before slowly back-stepping into the hallway away from Dean.

”Stay the fuck away!” Dean yelled after him, collapsing against the wall, his blood boiling in his veins, burning him from the inside out.

”Please. Just stay the fuck away.”

———————-

Sam’s P.O.V:

“Listen, ahh, we-we all, Dean...h-has to...get to bed, because, because it’s late, and I just think-“

Sam trailed off, toeing at the edge of the carpet while John made a low, disbelieving sound from across the room.

”What makes you think that’ll happen?” he scoffed, getting shushed by Selase in what was becoming a fairly regular occurrence since they had arrived.

”I...think Sam’s right,” she whispered, nudging into John’s side and giving Sam a long, pointed stare that was more confusing than helpful, “John, Sam’s got a way with him like no one else does, you know that. You…remember the conversation we just had? You and me? I think...I think if we disappear, for now, for the worst of it...it’ll make things go smoother, for everyone. It’s a miracle he’s as lucid as he is, actually. And if anyone can get through to him, it’s you, Sam. We won’t-we’ll just…your dad and I will stay upstairs. John? We will, won’t we? Please.”

John sighed, wearily slumping against the wall, starting to say something, to argue it, and finally throwing up his hands in exhausted defeat, groaning and hunching his shoulders like he could barely keep himself upright.

”Fine. Fine...fine. Fine, but Sammy, you are not going with him, do you hear me? You come get me at the slightest-...you just come get me if you need me, if you need...anything. And, you - you talk to him, but from a distance. Understand? If you can convince him to move downstairs, fantastic, but do NOT even step one foot into that room with him. I’m serious, Sam. Promise me.”

Sam nodded silently, waving John and Selase toward the stairs with what he hoped was a convincing enough smile.

”Mhm, um, yeah. Sure, yes. I…promise, Dad. I, uh, I won’t. I understand. Just go...please. If you come back down here, you’ll make it so much worse. Please don’t. I-I know what to do. It’s okay, I promise. I, uh...I know what to do.”

Chapter Text

—————————

Back to Dean’s P.O.V:

The small lamp on the round, wooden table cast a halo of pale light as Sam tiptoed back into the kitchen, anxiously bracing himself against Dean’s outraged glare and wiping sweaty palms down the fronts of his thighs.

“Christ, Sammy, WHAT? Didn’t I tell you to stay away?” Dean growled, leaning his torso over the counter and fuming, breathing in through his nose in deep, noisy drags like an angry bull, his biceps actually twitching visibly under his shirt.

Sam backed into the corner instinctively, looking away, his arms shaking a little as he hunched with his upper body, his voice small and almost too quiet to hear when he finally spoke.

”Selase and Dad are upstairs...um, she says we-we...we should go to…the room…for the night,” he whispered, flinching in anticipation and with good reason as Dean punched into the cabinets by his chest, laughing again in that maniacal, psychotic kind of way.

”Fuck that,” Dean shot back, straightening up and turning to face his brother, his eyes feral and neurotic, piercing into Sam with a kind of wild, barbaric frenzy.

”I’m not going downstairs with you. Are you fucking kidding me, Sam? Fuck that. Look at me! You tellin’ me you wanna be stuck in a goddamned room with me right now, Sammy? Like this? Just go. You go. I’m staying here.”

Sam pressed his fingers into the white wood of the archway behind him as Dean stalked to the far side of the kitchen, stepping himself onto his toes and palming the wall, dropping his weight forward into a rapid-fire series of push-ups against it, frantic at this point for anything to sate the tingling itch under his skin.

”Yes. Yeah...I-I mean, yeah, I do...want to. Want...that.”

Dean froze mid-lift, his muscles straining under the pull, and he tried, again, for the hundredth fucking time, to climb up and out of this hell-hole inside of himself, to get back to even some tiny semblance of light, but it was fucking pointless...dammit...it wasn’t possible.

”Oh no you don’t,” he said darkly, resuming his push-ups, not even bothering to look behind him, just knowing that he needed to keep himself distracted, that he couldn’t go there, couldn’t even fucking think it.

”You don’t want that, Sammy, fucking hell...trust me. Please just...leave. Please go. Don’t fucking do this to me. You don’t know what it’s-just, you wanna help? Get away from me, go downstairs, go to bed. Or read through more goddamned notes, jack off, I don’t care. As long as you’re not here. I fucking mean it, Sammy. You gonna pick now of all times to stop doing what I say?”

His throat burned, constricted, shrunk alarmingly as he listened acutely for Sam’s footsteps...but they just weren’t coming, christ, god-fucking-dammit-all-to-hell-

“Yeah. I guess-I guess...I am, Dean. I’m-I guess...I am.”

Dean snarled at that, his nails actually digging into paint and plaster, scraping it painfully into his over-sensitive skin.

”Don’t, Sammy,” he warned, low and menacing, “don’t you fucking, fucking do it.”

He cut off whatever Sam had started to say in response, impulsively wrenching himself into a 180-degree pivot and prowling towards his brother, closing the majority of the space between them in two long strides and crushing Sam even more inextricably into the corner, his hands coming down hard over the wall on either side of him.

”You need me to spell it out for you, Sammy?” he hissed, dropping the timbre of his voice down in volume but hiking it up in raw threat.

”If that’s what it takes, fine, but I want you to really, really hear me. So listen up good. You know that little voice that chimes in and tells you not to go around doing every goddamned thing that pops into your filthy mind?”

He grabbed Sam’s hair, yanking up harshly for emphasis before slamming his hand back into the wall.

”Yeeaah, right in there. Now, I want you to imagine the worst possible things you can think of that might pop into my mind, add whatever the hell is going on with my goddamned...this-“

He scraped his bruised knuckles down the rough paint before punching in violently enough to crumble nearly through to drywall, flinching Sam’s eyes tightly shut in fear.

“-and then take away the nice, helpful, little Jiminy-Cricket voice, and you’ve got a mild...mild, Sammy...idea of the kinds of things that would happen to you, alone with me downstairs tonight.”

Sam shivered convulsively at that, his eyes slowly pulling open again and nervously searching out Dean’s, pleading and wet and wide and fucking innocent, dammit, still so fucking naive...

A clashing, ironic portrait of trust blanketed on one side by the deep, purple bruises Dean himself had inflicted.

”You-you wouldn’t hurt me bad enough so that I...wouldn’t be...wouldn’t be okay, Dean. I know you wouldn’t. Even if y-you don’t. And everything else, everything else...I can handle it. I swear to god I can. I can-“

Dean growled again, his right hand striking down to dig mercilessly into the soft front of Sam’s throat, tenfold harder than he’d ever done it before and instantly unyielding...choking off Sam’s words, pressing in on both pressure points at once and effortlessly cutting off access to air...all the way...completely.

”You think you can handle it, Sammy?” he grated, squeezing even tighter, moving in face to face, watching spotty-red start to flush his brother’s cheeks and a glassy haze behin to creep across his irises, “you don’t even know what ‘it’ is. You couldn’t even imagine how much I could do to you that you could recover from. You couldn’t...even fucking...imagine.” 

He let go with a brutal shove, driving Sam’s back into the wall where he slid to the floor immediately, his knees buckling underneath him in less than a second while he grabbed at his throat, gasping in ragged, shallow, not-enough breaths.

”You think you know Sammy, but you don’t,” Dean hissed out through his teeth, turning away to kick blindly at the legs of a chair this time.

”I’m trying to keep you - just…you don’t. You don’t know. And now, you need to leave. So just...go to bed, Sammy.”

At the sound of frantic movement from behind him, Dean dared to glance over his shoulder, his stomach sinking heavily and heating up all at once as he watched Sam scramble, all clumsy limbs and desperation, to his knees, still struggling to breathe, half-crawling, half-dragging himself towards Dean, his eyes still pleading, still genuine, still wide and wet and...fucking bloodshot, now, christ...

“Maybe I don’t know,” Sam rasped, barely even able to get the sounds from his throat to his lips, reaching trembling hands for the bottoms of Dean’s jeans and clinging, staring up at him, falling back onto his haunches and looking so young like this...oh god, so young...

”But-but I...Dean, you could…show me…”

Chapter Text

note: if you’re wondering about the validity of Dean being able to heave a huge 17-year-old Sam over his shoulder and carry him, have you seen the convention footage where Jensen does this exact same thing to Jared? 
——————

Dean stared, finally yanking his leg out of Sam’s grip and hauling his brother to his feet by a fisted handful of mussed hair, actually shaking him like a rag doll for a brief moment and snarling a low “shut the fuck up” while his other hand crushed down over Sam’s mouth to muffle his sharp, fractured cry of pain.

”If you won’t leave on your own, I’ll just fucking take you,” he snapped, lifting Sam by the waist and heaving him up and over his shoulder in one fluid movement, his muscles straining, aching, but his hands still bruisingly clamping down nonetheless, holding Sam inescapably in place.

Sam cried out again, a startled, shaky sob of a too-loud cry against Dean’s upper back, and Dean growled a feral warning at him, shifting to swat the flat of his right palm down over Sam’s ass hard enough to numb his own skin, hissing another “Shut up, Sammy, fucking shut up. Behave.”

Sam gasped against him, his fingers bunching suddenly in the fabric of Dean’s shirt, and-jesus fuck, dammit...

Dean swallowed a groan, forcing himself not to acknowledge the fact that his spank alongside his specific phrasing (‘behave’) had hardened his brother up like fucking Pavlov’s bell, his cock pushing into the side of Dean’s chest through denim and his thighs trembling, flexing, jesus, jesus...

Dean stomped across the kitchen, making a beeline for the back exit leading to the basement stairs, frantically struggling to grasp onto anything, oh god anything that might slow down the rapidly-expanding black hole inside of him that was so close to snatching him up and eating him alive, eating them both alive.

”Why couldn’t you just fucking listen to me, Sammy?” he suddenly seethed, his nails digging into Sam’s shoulders, pushing into flannel like tacks into a wall, needing to hurt, needing to make Sam feel how badly he had fucked up, and Sam whimpered out a choked sob, writhing under Dean’s grip, managing to pant, “I’m-I’m so sorry, Dean, god..fuck, p-punish me for it, like you w-want to…”

Dean strangled out a wounded hiss, forcing his feet to move forward, to land on each stair, suddenly no longer sure whether or not he was going to leave Sam alone in the room, his fingers stretching outward to hover over the door while his forearm continued to hold Sam in a vice.

”Sammy, you don’t fucking, I can’t-“ he choked, using his last desperate push of sanity, wrenching it from his center, but unable to even complete the thought, unable to wrap his lips around the words before slamming into the room and violently throwing Sam onto the bed, landing him on his back, his head snapping into the mattress as he gasped out in another surprised rush.

Sam immediately flattened himself down while Dean just...stared, his thoughts black and stretched and insidious, actually inching sideways with one leg in an unsuccessful attempt to move, to leave, his mouth halfway open around some silent sound and his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Sam.

”Dean, it’s...it’s okay,” Sam pleaded, quiet and breathless, “You can t-take it out on me. No matter how bad it is. I’m...I’m telling you it’s okay.”

Dean’s eyes rolled back, fluttering half-way behind his lids like he was in the throes of a full-blown seizure, his head tossed with it and his hands shaking visibly by his sides. 

“Tell me to leave right now, and I will,” he grated, forcing his gaze upward, “change your mind now, Sammy, this is it, this is your only chance. I’m not fucking around. I-I...do you hear me? I can’t help it. I can’t do anything about it after that. Do you fucking understand what I’m saying?”

Sam just whimpered softly, using his feet to scramble against sheets and blankets, to balance himself, to lift up with his hips, offering himself up to Dean like a goddamned sacrificial lamb.

And everything left inside of Dean just…broke apart, his stomach flooding with dark lust and hostility absent of any tether, free of any resistance as he prowled towards Sam, his eyes transforming, his jaw clenching, his expression melting into something that frightened Sam backwards on the bed already, right away, with an anxious little whine.

Dean didn’t even hesitate for a single second at the edge of the mattress, lunging at Sam wildly, fucking famished for it, wrenching him to a sit and ripping at his shirt before shoving him back down with a snarl, yanking the zipper of his jeans, wrestling the fabric over each of his legs alongside his boxers and finally slapping his palm across Sam’s stomach with a deep growl of “don’t fucking move.”

Sam panted heavily, his fingers scratching into the sheet, all of his muscles tensed so prettily in raw anticipation, and Dean slid down, slow and hard, to straddle his brother’s calves, his face twisted into a dark, hungry sneer as he rubbed against Sam’s balls teasingly before swatting harshly with the flats of his fingers, once, twice, three times, holding Sam firmly still while his legs tried to spasm up in pain, his head thrashing back, an uninhibited cry piercing from his throat that jolted through Dean’s bloodstream like a hit of damn poison-laced ecstasy.

He smirked, swiping his thumb over the head of Sam’s cock, arching him up into another shivering cry.

“Open up, Sammy, open your pretty, goddamned mouth.”

Sam’s knees tremored under Dean as he parted his lips obediently, still clenched everywhere from the aftershocks of Dean’s slaps, and Dean pressed in between them, swirling the pad of his thumb over the tip of Sam’s tongue before shoving back even further, up to the knuckle.

”There you go, baby, suck it clean.”

Sam nodded, trembling, his cock still fucking hard as Dean watched, and he felt...overwhelmed, flooded with the urge to push, to push and push and push until Sam wouldn’t give anymore, until it was too much for him and then until he broke down, until he just shattered apart into a million fucking beautiful pieces.

Snatching Sam’s boxers from the bed, he rubbed them up and down Sam’s cock, digging in, making sure to jack his brother rough and dirty and hard until he was groaning desperately, his heels frantic against the mattress, his eyes hazy and heavy and rolling with it.

”No,” Dean hissed suddenly, pulling off as Sam’s abdomen began to dip and ripple, his skin shiny with a thin layer of sweat, “I don’t think so.”

Sam stuttered out a series of gasping protests, and Dean used the golden opportunity to swiftly ball up the fabric in his fist and shove as much of it as he could into Sam’s open mouth, pressing his palm down over it, holding it in as Sam gagged at the sudden invasion and tried to spit, his eyes widening and his hands rising to Dean’s wrists.

”Hands on the bed, now,” Dean ordered, nothing but darkness left in his voice, “Relax your jaw. Do it, Sammy, or you’ll make it a lot worse for yourself.”

Sam pinched his eyes shut, resisting for another partial second before doing as he was told with a strangled, muffled sound that planned Dean’s next idea for him.

”Good boy, that’s it, you keep it in your mouth or you’re gonna wish you did, Sammy. Now…say it. You know what I mean. Say it. Tell me who you belong to.”

Sam bridled...writhed against it for a moment before groaning and choking it out, almost trying to spit again but catching himself at the last second. 

”Fuck, Sammy, yeahh. That’s right.”

Dean clenched his back teeth into a grind as Sam keened backwards, only forcing the fabric further into his throat while Dean looked on with a low hum.

He was on fire with it, didn’t ever want to stop, wanted to drag this out forever, keep escalating it until it just fucking killed them, hell...it’d save the damn monster some work, anyway.

Pulling himself to his feet along Sam’s sides, he stared down at his brother through slitted eyes, rubbing one palm over his own crotch before flicking pointedly at his belt.

”Understand, Sammy, that I haven’t even started to actually punish you yet. Nahhh, this?”

He reached up with his boot, prodding down with his toe over Sam’s mouth.

”-this was just for fun…”

Chapter Text

Year: 1993 (Sam is 10, Dean is 14)

“Who’s this, Sammy?”

”Oh hi, Dean! Thought you were out with Dad. This is Caleb.”

”...Not ringin’ any bells. And nah, jus’ upstairs. Dad know you have someone over?”

”Caleb...you know...I told you about-oh my god, my brother’s being a jerk, sorry. Dean, he’s my friend from school, remember? And um, maybe. Not, maybe not, but we’re just hanging out! You have people over all the time when Dad’s gone.”

”Yeah, well...I’m older. Besides, I thought maybe we could...hit up a movie or somethin.’ I got the mula!”

”That’d be awesome! Can Caleb come?”

”Does Caleb have any money?”

”Dean, he’s right here, don’t be mean, and...no, he doesn’t. We could use snack money and get him a-“

”Well, too bad, bud, another time, right? There’s not enough, Sammy, sorry...you could stay here and hang, I guess, but, uh...Jurrassic Park? Yeah? I mean you guys already had a nice little...time anyway, right? Yeah. Right. Sammy’ll see ya at school, Caden.”

”....Caleb, Dean. Caleb.”

————————————-

Year: 1991 (Sam is 8, Dean is 12)

“Simon says...touch your feet.”

Sam bent in a fit of giggles, his fingers brushing his socked feet before straightening up again.

”Hmm, Simon says wave your arms.”

Sam scoffed at that, flapping his arms like a bird trying to take flight and landing his hands on his hips afterwards.

”De-an, you have to go faster or I’ll get it every time and never lose!”

Dean stretched on the couch, sticking out the very tip of his tongue in Sam’s direction. 

“We can’t have that! Fine, but I’m changing it to ‘Dean says.’ Who’s this Simon guy, anyway? He ain’t here.”

Sam chucked a wrapper at him, missing by a mile and shoving the stick of gum into his mouth.

”It’s a game, Dean. But I like ‘Dean says’ better. Simon’s a bully’s name.”

Dean laughed at that, standing to grab the wrapper from the ground and looping an arm around Sam’s neck, knuckling playfully into the top of his head.

”I’m the only one who gets to bully you, Sammy, but you love it. Dork.”

Sam clawed at Dean’s forearms, trying not to laugh but almost immediately giving in, hanging loose against Dean’s grip and toeing his sneaker.

”Okay! Uncle. And yeah, yeah...whatever you say, Dean. Jerk.”

”Bitch.”

—————————————-

Year: 1997 (Sam’s 14, Dean’s 18)

“Sammy, hand me the-thing, the remote.”

Dean gestured with his fingers, reaching out his arm, but Sam just huffed in response, shooting him a little frown.

”No! You’re gonna just put on what you wanna watch.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest and turning to face Sam.

”Yeah, ‘cause it’s my turn.”

Sam snatched the remote from the table next to him, shoving it underneath his body with a “hah!” and looking very pleased with himself. 

“My movie’s not over. See? Look! I call an extension.”

Dean rubbed his chin slow for a second before lunging at Sam and tickling his sides, bursting him into fits of laughter and protest but not budging him from his seat over the remote by even an inch.

”Oh my god, Dean! Low blow! Not gonna work, though. You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

Sam swiveled to face the TV again, leaning forward to squint at a new row of subtitles, but before he could finish reading the sentence, Dean was on top of him, grabbing for his waist and trying to physically lift him off of the remote, laughing and digging in for another tickle while Sam squirmed and shrieked.

”I guess I gotta make you give it up then, that it, Sammy?”

Sam ventured a defensive-attack of his own, fingers pushing up against Dean’s chest and trying to get to his armpits, but Dean met the strike with bigger, stronger hands, circling Sam’s wrists and yanking them above his head, kneeing in on either side of his brother’s thighs and finally winking down at him with a click of his tongue.

”You surrender, Sammy?” he smirked, tightening in a bit more with his knees, “cause, ah, looks like I pinned ya...again.”

Sam had a dazed, parted-lips expression on his face, like he always did when Dean pinned him, and with a shallow, breathy laugh, he finally said, “Yeah, you win, Dean, remote’s yours. You can...you can take it.”

”Damn right I can,” Dean murmured with another wink, letting go of Sam’s wrists to lightly swat at his brother’s cheek with one hand and haul him to the side by his hip with the other, reaching under him to grab the remote.

”Damn right I can.”

Chapter Text

Present time:

“-this was just for fun…”

Sam’s eyes were wide...determined, acutely-afraid as Dean slowly stripped his belt from its loops, wrapping the buckled end of it around his fist and widening his stance over Sam. 

“Turn over,” he ordered quietly, his blood infused with nothing but violence and lust, a need for power, an urge to hurt...his darkest, most depraved depths sucked all to the surface and given full reign of his body and mind.

The entirety of his world, all he wanted, all he was capable of wanting in that one moment was to tear away Sam’s composure, to rip it up by its roots, and as Sam cautiously, shakily flipped onto his stomach, remembering (Dean was pleased to see), to keep the boxers tucked securely in his mouth, Dean’s chest seemed to constrict and expand all at once, his lips curling into a reflexive sneer.

”You wanna know what real punishment feels like, Sammy?” he taunted in a heavy rasp, his voice foreign and cold and abrasive even to his own ears, “If you move, baby, if you try to get away...if you even fucking flinch too far to one side, I’ll tie you to the damn bedpost and double it. We clear on that?”

He could tell that Sam was crying through his nod, his shoulders rising and falling in little, sporadic heaves, but instead of easing the brutal savagery pulsing in shockwaves through Dean’s system, he felt even more bent on destruction because of it, fiercely craving more, wanting Sam so utterly far beyond the edge that he couldn’t mask it anymore, couldn’t even begin to keep it in.

”We’d better be,” he grated, flexing his knuckles around the belt and drawing back his entire arm.

Sam shook visibly, struggling through shallow huffs of air, and with a sharp smack, Dean whipped the hard leather down in a ruthless diagonal blow across Sam’s upper back, dragging an immediate muted scream out of Sam and welting his skin with an angry stripe like a splash of red paint.

Dean’s pupils expanded wildly at the feel of it, at the sight of it, his stomach blazing into delerium and his cock straining through a feverish rush of blood that had him frantically closing his other fist around himself, digging in tight, tight enough to hurt...hissing out a long growl of a breath while Sam spasmed on the bed below him, the undersides of his wrists holding the weight of his arms and his fingers clawing desperately at the air.

Dean dipped the mattress as he stepped around to stand with both of his feet by Sam’s upper thigh, snaking the belt down with no warning for a second time, even more viciously, in the opposite diagonal, X-ing his brother’s back with matching lash-marks and actually inverting Sam into a backwards curl of agony, his spine straining downward at the center as he instinctively struggled to distance himself from the assault with an almost panicked scream of “Dean!” through layers of fabric. 

The sound of it ricocheted through Dean’s chest...every hitch of wounded fear, every ounce of beautiful fucking pain.

Dean swung back again, halting midair, gasping in surprise as his head exploded to life with a sudden chaotic jumble of blended-together noise that he snarled at furiously, flicking his wrist in an almost strike but-

Something was echoing through his brain, scurrying out of his grasp as he tried to snatch it, to crush it...burrowing its way in like a metal drill to soft tissue and hurting him, somehow, on a thousand different levels, making his throat shrink and ache around a forced breath.

He shook his head violently, growling at the goddamned trojan horse inside of him, shifting his weight, swinging back again-

“Fuck!” he yelled, both hands closing on his temples now, around a vibrating attack of firing neurons, the belt still clutched between his twitching fingers and trailing down to hang, limply, over his own chest and stomach.

Sam rippled his muscles, his neck lifting ever-so-slightly like he was about to turn in Dean’s direction...but, almost immediately, he fell slack again, collapsing himself back into obedience, forcing himself to be still, to keep himself exactly how Dean had threatened him to stay. 

That’s right...threatened.

He had threatened Sammy.

Actually. For real this time.

So the fuck what? The little slut had practically begged for it.

But it was...it was Sammy...his little brother, Sammy, who was-who was...

Dean wavered in place, swaying like a tree caught in a storm, flustered and battling for control over his own mind, needing to drown it all out, to stomp it all away again...wanting to scream, to keep whipping Sam, too much, too many feelings, too...excruciating, too nonsensical.

Suddenly trembling all over, he shouldered the belt back in a preemptive strike for a third time, his vision drifting back and forth between focused and hazed...his entire sense of self feeling dizzy and spun-loose and...and...

He dropped the belt to the mattress with cloudy-thick realization, his palm rising to blanket his mouth as he stuttered a weak, sloppy breath in through his nose around the tops of his fingers.

Without a word, he collapsed onto Sam’s upper thighs, confused and wildly disoriented, his eyes sliding up and down the welted strips of raised skin on Sam’s back and his mind filling with icy, staggering awareness of what he had been about to do to his brother, of what he already had done, yes...that too, but what he had been about to do?

What he had planned, what he knew for certain he would have done?

Jesus...fucking christ.

And then there was the other question: why…why hadn’t he?

Still silent, he inched up Sam’s body, his knees pushing into the mattress on either side and his mouth tightening into a thin, unforgiving line as he reached around to gently pull the boxers from between Sam’s lips, dropping them to the sheet and lowering his other hand to the middle of the X he had brutally struck into Sam’s back.

Sam breathed out softly, the air stuttering in his throat, and Dean knew that he needed to say something, that he couldn’t fucking stay silent forever, but...my god...what?

”Keep going,” Sam whispered, so quietly that Dean had barely heard it, so quiet that it took a double take and a full thirty seconds for him to even process the actual words.

”Please...”

Dean’s palm was at his mouth again, holding in a sudden tsunami of trepidation.

His eyes closed against the heaviness of it.

”Sammy, no, it’s okay, I’m-it’s…it’s okay. I don’t know how, but you’re okay. It’s…okay.”

He broke off, his fingers shaking, but Sam wasn’t moving, wasn’t using the new space Dean had just created between them to turn or to sit up, to slide away, to get away…

”I...I want you to keep going Dean,” Sam whimpered into the cotton sheet, his arms slowly straightening and flattening again by his sides, “I…I-just…”

His voice faded into a breath as he flexed the muscles in his back.

“-I…fuck...you could-”

”Sammy, stop it,” Dean interrupted sharply, putting even more space between them, his hands bunching the blanket beneath him into tight fists, “I..I don’t...”

He trailed off, his heart staggering in erratic thuds at the very top of his throat and his palms slick with nervous sweat as Sam shuddered compulsively, deep and low, spreading a sympathetic shiver of pinpricks up Dean’s own spine in response.

“Dean...I-I want this. I just...I want it with you. All-all of you. You know…not just…I want you to choose it, I want you to do it, to-to do it, everything. You can’t leave me like this, now, after-you just can’t-“

Sam’s scrambled plea ended in a whimper, and Dean fell back onto his calves heavily, staring down at Sam in disbelief, in...confusion...his lips parting silently, searching for something, anything, to say.

“Sammy, you...you don’t really…want…that? You can’t…I mean. You don’t…”

But Sam was already nodding desperately right away, fluttering out a pretty, barely-there moan that heated Dean from the inside like an instant fever, bringing his palm up to blanket his mouth for a third time in a few short minutes, his other hand pressing flat against the mattress to steady himself, to calm the frenzy of his pulse.

He trailed his fingers over from the mattress to Sam’s hip, skating up soft skin and keening Sam into the touch with another little groan of “Dean, fuck, please” that spun Dean’s vision white.

”What do you want?” Dean finally breathed, heeling closer, now skimming feather-light brushes up Sam’s back to trace around the belt marks, flicking across them with just the tips of his nails.

”What I mean is-I need to know exactly. Specifically. Just-you…tell me what you want, Sammy.”

Chapter Text

“I want…everything,” Sam panted, squirming against the bed while Dean once again flicked his nails across scarlet stripes, “I don’t…I mean…I-I just…I don’t know what, what the options are…but, but I…”

He trailed off in a trembling breath, and Dean used one finger to trace another slow circle around the center of the X between his shoulder blades.

”This?” he murmured, skating back over the damaged skin, harder this time, and Sam just gasped through the thrash of a broken-up nod with no hesitation, his muscles flexing under Dean’s nails and his own fingers pushing, kneading into the mattress with constant little dips and tugs.

Dean paused, his stomach clenching tightly.

Leaning across Sam, he brushed his other hand over the spit-wet boxers where they were still balled up on the bed directly in front of Sam’s side-turned face.

”…this?” he asked, but it sounded different now, lower...edged with a touch of gravel and dripping with a new velvet certainty about how Sam would respond.

Sam rippled his torso, his lips parting around something like a whine of a beg followed by a hot little whimpered affirmation that Dean had to close his eyes against, his own jaw locking around a silent groan.

He slid upward on Sam’s back to tangle through soft hair, tugging and twining, his other hand moving to splay out possessively across the base of his brother’s spine while his pinky arched in provocative, teasing swirls over the curve of Sam’s ass, flexing him into another noisy, wracking shiver.

”How about…” Dean started, his throat tight, “-well…you like it when I call you my little slut, when I talk dirty to you…I know how much you get off on that.”

Sam breathed out a long shudder as Dean inched his fingers sideways, pushing under Sam’s waist and digging into the V of his lower abdomen before sliding under his cock...not gripping, not holding or stroking, just pressing up firmly, pointedly, as Sam clawed into the sheet with a stuttering drag of his hips.

”Stay still,” Dean ordered, flicking teases with his fingertips, “You like it when I tell you what to do, baby, of course I know that, too-“

He stretched with his index finger to swipe very slowly over the head of Sam’s cock, murmuring another “stay still, Sammy, be good” as he circled up a bit more purposefully with the center of his hand.

”What if I wanted to...make you do something real, real...filthy...make sure you remember nice and good who you belong to?”

It was still disarming in such a fucking delicious way, watching Sam’s slutty, needy reactions to his words, and Dean pressed up even more thoroughly with the heel of his palm under the base of Sam’s cock, holding down inexorably with his other hand as Sam nearly came apart for him, twitching and groaning and panting, his thighs flexing and an almost panicked “Dean-” fluttering from his lips like he might actually cum.

”Yeahh, fuck, Sammy,” Dean praised through his teeth, relaxing his physical torment on Sam just slightly, his own cock achingly hard as he rutted forward into a long, rough grind against Sam’s hip, “That’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

He eased off a bit more, still teasing, playing, claiming with torturous little swipes and strokes and moving to fully straddle Sam now, holding his cheek into the mattress with a heavy grip, riding him, owning him as Sam came alive with it all beneath him, clenching muscles seemingly at random, gasping out bits of words, begging nonsensically around constant mewling little whimpers.

”Shit, Sammy,” Dean snarled, thrusting down with a vicious snap of his hips against Sam’s ass, “love you like this, fuck, fuck.”

Dean’s head was spinning with it as he lengthened his fingers downward from the side of Sam’s face, hooking his thumb into the very corner of his brother’s mouth and yanking, working his hand like a bit.

Sam shuddered, his cock twitching again where it was still pressed against Dean’s other palm, and Dean curled up at his knuckles, drawing a cry from Sam that was fucking obscenely perfect.

“Relax your hips,” Dean purred, now mercilessly rubbing light and soft and staggered under Sam with the pads of two fingers, tightening his knees sharply with a firm ‘tsk’ of a warning at Sam’s desperate, little buck.

“Behave, Sammy,” he echoed, swiping again at his brother’s cock with a little dig of his nails and urging up with his wrist so that the bottom of his forearm was pushed into Sam’s balls, “Stay still.”

He was being deliberately provocative, setting Sam up for inevitable failure, baiting him into breaking...making sure that he was taunting with slow and not-enough pets from below as he rocked again and again into the swell of Sam’s ass from above.

It didn’t take long at all for Sam to urge into the friction with a breathy whine, his toes flexing to grip against the mattress, to push himself further into Dean’s hand, and Dean was swiftly pulling his fingers from under his brother’s hips with a low hiss, his other hand trailing its way down from Sam’s mouth in a slow, wet drag.

Easing back onto Sam’s upper thighs, Dean swung a hard spank across still-slightly-bruised skin, earning himself a raw, untethered wail from Sam that was stifled in the thick fabric of the blanket. 

”You take it real nice, baby,” Dean growled, landing another palm-numbing slap directly over the first and bending at the waist to shove his brother flat to the mattress again with his free hand after Sam had arched up in pain with his shoulders.

”Real fuckin’ nice, but Sammy, if you ever-“

Dean brought his hand down in two more rapid spanks over the other side of Sam’s ass, keeping his brother’s upper body firmly in place for it.

”-go against me the way you just did, putting yourself in harm’s way like that…”

Dean swiftly overhanded the most vicious hit so far, followed by three more, each within a second of each other, triggering a wounded sob from Sam as he strained upwards against Dean’s grip.

”-just…don’t. If that happens to me again before this is over…fucking don’t, Sammy. Understand? Because you…fuck, you don’t know how bad it almost got. And not good-bad. Just bad-bad. So don’t. Not like that.”

Sam sobbed again through a frantic nod into the edge of a pillow, his lower back spasming while Dean rubbed soothing circles over red skin, murmuring a gentle “good boy, good, Sammy” and leaning down to blow a cool breath against the sting.

Snaking a hand under Sam again to press briefly in with his fingers, he breathed out in a low groan.

”Jesus, fuck, I could spank you into cumming, couldn’t I? Fucking...jesus.”

Sam could barely contain himself over his own begs and whimpers, nearly blacking Dean out with a fresh, churning rush of feverish heat pooling his stomach that had him fisting the sheet by his sides and sucking in quick, shallow lungfuls of air to steady himself against the intensity of it all.

”God, god, fuck...”

Rocking into a sudden crouch, he flexed his calves to stand again, shaking a little with raw adrenaline as he straightened up with one leg on either side of Sam to stare down at him greedily, his eyes traveling the length of each belt lash, the perimeter of each reddening handprint, his heels digging painfully into Sam’s waist.

”Don’t move,” he ordered breathlessly, stepping over Sam’s back and off the bed in a lithe jump to cross the room in a few swift strides, hopelessly drugged by Sam’s continued little pleas...sounds that he wanted to fucking etch into his brain, to keep forever, caged up inside of his thoughts, inside every single one of his thoughts...just for him.

After digging haphazardly through first his duffel and then his backpack, he sauntered back towards Sam to toss several things onto the mattress, everything only slightly out of his brother’s sight, smirking as Sam’s upper arms twitched with the urge to turn himself just enough to see what Dean had planned for him.

”Close your eyes.”

Dean gritted his teeth, silently sliding back onto the bed and reaching for the flannel shirt he’d grabbed from his duffel. 

With a hasty flick of his pocket knife, he cut effortlessly into the seam of the shoulder, ripping off the entire sleeve with a noisy tear that had Sam shivering again, and christ...his responses...god, to everything…

Swinging his leg into another full straddle over Sam, he stretched the flannel straight, tapping on Sam’s cheek and murmuring “lift up, baby, keep your eyes closed...stop, that’s enough, stay just like that.”

Sam’s lips had fallen halfway open, his eyes flitting under their lids, and Dean wrapped the sleeve, a tight, makeshift blindfold, around Sam’s head, tying it off in the back and using his grip on the flannel knot to push Sam down flush to the mattress.

He dipped into another heavy drag against Sam’s thighs before reaching for his brother’s wrists, noticing with a jolt to his chest that Sam had flipped his arms underside up, palm-side up by his sides in a fucking staggering display of purely instinctive submission.

Dean exhaled a long, reverent breath of his brother’s name before circling Sam’s wrists with his fingers and easing them up, resting one over the other above Sam’s head on the blanket and holding them both down with his left palm as he reached for the loop of rope he’d been lucky enough to find in his backpack.

”Keep them just like that.”

He paused to watch the way Sam’s muscles rippled in needy anticipation, his lower back contracting and expanding under Dean’s weight like he was trying to feel as much of Dean as he possibly could without breaking the rules.

It was fucking intoxicating...

Cutting the loop at the halfway point, Dean lowered his torso to Sam’s, twining firmly around and between his brother’s wrists and knotting it all off finally with a double bowline that he hooked with his thumb to yank nice and hard, triggering a fresh push of a moan from Sam’s lips.

”See, Sammy-“ Dean began, speaking very slowly, his voice all dirty vowels and sex-infused inflection, “-the thing about this knot is that the more you struggle, the more you pull against it...the fucking tighter it gets...can you feel that?”

Sam was panting again, far beyond the ability to use actual words, his fingers locking into a trembling weave and his thighs trying shakily, futilely, to spread below Dean’s straddle.

Dean reluctantly kneed his way backwards to the edge of mattress, his body almost overwhelmingly drawn back towards Sam, but not yet...not quite yet.

Grabbing the last half of the loop, he sliced it down the middle again before slipping off of the bed completely to stand on the floor by Sam’s feet.

He closed one fist around his brother’s left ankle and yanked harshly outward in stark contrast to his gentle repositioning of Sam’s arms, startling Sam into another hot little whimpering cry.

With another low “behave, Sammy,” Dean was quickly securing the rope and locking Sam’s leg, slackless, to one of the carved, wooden bedposts.

Wasting no time, he wordlessly moved to do the same with Sam’s right ankle, effectively securing Sam inescapably in place, helpless and naked and marked-up and pleading and splayed open wide on the mattress for Dean to have his way with.

It was the most obscenely, lucidly, mind-numbingly erotic thing Dean had ever fucking seen or imagined…

With a groan, he was on the bed again, touching his brother everywhere, spanning his hands over Sam’s back, digging fingers into his hips, his thighs, his waist, his shoulders, shoving underneath to grip a tight fist around the base of his cock...making sure Sam could feel his press at every curve, in every dip, owning him completely, taking his time, making everything count.

For whatever time they had left, he was going to make everything…everything count.

Finally, once Sam was tossing his head feverishly and gasping out constant, stuttering begs of desperation, keening and straining and rippling his muscles against the pull of the rope, Dean eased back, just as breathless.

“By the way, I got somethin’ for you, Sammy,” he teased darkly, purposefully being as vague as possible, “-you know...back when I bought the lube, but-“

He paused, straightening up to a sit and heeling down to settle in between Sam’s spread thighs, tickling feather brushes of his fingertips over Sam’s sweat-damp hips.

”-but I’ll play with it later, maybe…because first...”

He slipped under with one hand again, skimming the head of Sam’s cock with the rough pad of his thumb and relishing the strangled moan his brother gave up in return.

”-first, baby, you’re gonna cum for me, and that...is just going to be the fucking beginning.”

Chapter Text

Flashback, Selase’s P.O.V (the boys’ first visit), Sam is 10, Dean is 14:

“Hook your middle finger a bit more, baby. Good! Perfect. And your other thumb, see how that’ll be the foot if you curve it into more of a C? Just like – right there, exactly! Look! See it? See the bunny?”

Selase erupted into an enthusiastic round of applause, and Sam made his shadow bunny wiggle its ears, hopping it forward along the base of the wall before bending it at the middle to sniff out some imaginary flowers.

“We could even record it sometime!” Sam added excitedly, testing different bends and twists of his knuckles, “-invent characters. You know, like for kids. This guy could be the hero. We’ll call it the adventures of Mr. Fuzzy Bunny.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, baby,” Selase praised, glancing briefly over her shoulder in John’s direction where he stood kicked up against the back of the room watching his youngest son’s performance with a soft smile.

Sam was suddenly giggling as a crocodile mouth joined the show, nipping at his bunny’s fluffy tail before finally diving down from above to devour in a flurry of Sam’s fingers losing their shape while Dean chomped one big hand around both of Sam’s.

“Nom nom nom says the croc,” Dean teased, his green eyes glowing like Christmas lights at Sam’s shriek of laughter and his fist closing fully around his brother’s wrists as he continued to narrate in an exaggerated announcer-style drawl.

“Can Mr. fuzzy bunny escape from the jaws of…the beast? Dun dun dun…tune in next week, ladies and gents.”

Sam kicked sideways at Dean’s shins through another round of giggles, and Selase simply looked on with an affectionate chuckle and a ‘what can you do?’ shrug aimed at John as Sam’s focus melted away from shadow animals.

After a few minutes, she patted her palms down onto the tops of her thighs and stretched to her feet from the couch.

“Speaking of eating,” she chimed, tsk-ing a little as Dean pounced his full weight onto Sam’s lap, mock-growling and pretending to bite into his shoulder blade while Sam swatted up at him playfully and struggled to untuck his knees.

“-you crazy kids going to help me with dinner, or what? You too, Mr. Hungry Hungry Crocodile. That corn ain’t gonna shuck itself.”

——————————

Flashback, Sam’s P.O.V (about a month before chapter 1 begins), one of the specific nights that inspired certain parts of Sam’s song - swimming with the stars:

Dean stepped 3-inches close, snaking two of his fingers under the waistband of Sam’s too-tight swimsuit and tugging out against the worn polyester.

“You outgrew these fuckin’ quick, didn’t’cha?”

He snapped the elastic snug to skin again and clicked his tongue the same way he did whenever he saw something pretty, instantly collapsing Sam’s stomach into an alarmingly tight and heavy ache that felt like a block of heated lead inside of him sinking him down into the earth.

“Christ, Sammy, what are we putting in your milkshakes these days, anyway?”

Sam’s higher brain functioning had ceased to exist under the influence of his brother’s hand in his shorts, but he forced out some wordless fluster of an almost-chuckle, striping his palms anxiously down the outsides of his thighs and feeling hugely grateful at least for the sheet of late-summer clouds currently blotting out most of the moonlight.

“You-ah, you tell me. You’re the one who makes them for me,” he finally managed, curling all ten of his toes into the sand before batting upward at his brother’s forearm where Dean was moving in fast and strong to knuckle one fist teasingly into the top of his scalp.

“Ohhh yeah, how could I forget about that extra scoop of testosterone I add into ‘em? Pssshh, that explains it. Come on, big league. Let’s dive in before I freeze my balls off. Just try not to bust out of that thing. Jesus.”

—————————

The ocean was whispery cold and disarmingly still, lacking its usual froths and dips and clinging like ribbons of black mirrors to both boys as they treaded water side by side.

“-so I told him I was under-compensating for my massive dick and not to fuckin’ worry about it.”

Dean was recounting an exchange he’d had earlier that day with a local college kid in a red Porsche Boxster who’d apparently made some snide comment about the beaten-up bike Dean rode around town whenever Dad had the car.

Sam laughed at Dean’s retelling of it, not at all doubting its validity, but the majority of his focus was…elsewhere.

This had become a sort of ritual for them ever since they’d arrived here a few months back, sneaking out as often as they could (whenever Dad was in one of his whisky induced comas) to trespass on private property and swim in the cold ocean and play in the sand and talk to each other about anything and everything and…to do…other things.

Because maybe it was the cover of darkness or the frigid water or the half a flask of whiskey Dean himself liked to chug on their walk from the cabin, but there were…moments here between him and Dean, on these particular nights, in this particular place, moments where it would almost happen.

Moments where they came so fucking close.

And Sam lived for it.

It was never enough, and it always left him aching and wondering and acutely hurting somewhere deep in his center, but one of these nights he was going to grab hold of it and drag it the rest of the way out into the open, just…collide them both into it headfirst, into this thing between the two of them that had been fucking years in the making…

“…-I really pissed her off, though. She might poison my soda next time I’m in there.”

Shit.

Sam had fully lost the thread on what his brother was saying.

But it only mattered for about a second, because Dean was suddenly staring at his mouth. His mouth.

Blatantly.

And not just staring, either. It was something else. Something so much better. And bigger.

But then, just as quickly, it was buried again.

“-uh, but, ah, no real loss there. I mean, their pizza’s crap anyway. So…”

Sam felt like a leaf caught in a hurricane as he auto-piloted his side of the verbal exchange, his entire body somehow impossibly hot even in the freezing ocean, just…burning, burning hot from his fingertips to his toes, the heat all rushing to the surface of his skin and dizzying him, spinning him, tangling him up like a ball of yarn.

Dean was watching his expression change, watching him wordlessly now, everything light and playful and easy melting away from the edges of his own face in an echo, and Sam knew, he knew that this was his chance to say it, to force it onto both of their lips. Or to do it…to do something. Anything.

Fuck. Something.

“Dean. I-I have to…to tell you-”

“Shit, man. It’s, uh. Fuck, it’s getting late. Plus, I’m fucking freezing. We…we should head in. Tell it to me later, yeah? You can tell me about it later. Just…let’s head in.”

—————————

“…but you say, ‘Man, it's getting late. I think we'd better head on in.’

And, yeah, I'm feeling kind of tired, and it's getting kind of cold,

But all I want to do is offer you 

My body and my soul.

If we could only just be you and me

And not ‘who’ or ‘what’ we are…

Exposing naked glimpses of ourselves 

When we’re swimming with the stars.”

Chapter Text

“-first, baby, you’re gonna cum for me, and that…is just going to be the fucking beginning.”

————————

Dean’s P.O.V, present time:

Dean wrapped his fingers into a loose splay around the base of Sam’s cock, muscling his forearm to push further under his brother’s hips and reaching with his free hand for one of Selase’s huge downy pillows where it lay, swatted away earlier by him, on the far side of the bed.

“Lift. Use your palms,” he instructed, his voice breathless and impatient as he bunched at the pillow to shove it fully beneath Sam’s lower abdomen, kneeing his way in to claim the new space and immediately tightening his fist to jack Sam hard and fast and dirty with no easing into it.

“-I’ll tell you when. Not until I say it. Understand?”

It was less than ten seconds before Sam was already tensing himself into visible tremors and gasping into the bed as he struggled frantically, his fingers clinging to twisted sheets and his calves straining against the ropes trapping his legs while Dean just crowded in even more thoroughly between his thighs, using his other arm now to force-hold Sam flat to the mattress, his palm ironing down at least half his body weight over the intersection of both crimson lash marks on Sam’s back.

“So good for me,” Dean praised after several long minutes of torturing his brother, making him wait, “let it go, baby. Right now,” and jesus, it only took one pump…one single upwards glide of Dean’s fist before Sam was seizing his legs straight and flexing everywhere in shuddering jerks, swearing around some raw, strangled noise wrenched from deep in his chest and cumming obscenely…like Dean was a fucking God tearing it out of him.

It was a delirious, euphoric high, because Dean felt like a God there with Sam. He really, truly did. Not just ‘a’ God but ‘the’ God…the primordial God of all things Sammy.

Omnipotent, transcendent, but also…wrathful…corrupted.

Because he was quickly realizing as the seconds ticked by that the unbridled savagery ruling his thoughts and actions just a few short minutes earlier…that dark place inside of him with all of its monsters, hadn’t actually been chased away into its cage again like he had dared to hope.

But it had changed. Into something he could carry with him, for now, at least.

Like a noose around his neck...

Bending his torso, he lowered his chest to his brother’s heaving back, still circling with one thumb over the head of Sam’s wet, twitching cock.

”Do you have any idea how hot that is, Sammy?” he murmured very quietly, his face hovering to the side of Sam’s ear, centimeters close, “-when you cum because I tell you to? Right when I fucking tell you to? God…even that first time between you and me, in your room. You remember? You remember asking me?”

Sam arched his neck into a silent, trembling nod on the mattress, his front teeth nipping down over the middle of his bottom lip as Dean hummed a vibrating groan into the crook of his shoulder.

”Yeahh. Fuck, baby. It’s…it makes me…fucking crazy…”

It had been the better thing to say than what he was really feeling, really thinking…which was how fucking intensely he wanted to mold and shape Sam with unrelenting squeezes into something only his hands could hold, to ruin him for anyone else, to condition him ruthlessly until his body didn’t even know how to cum anymore without his big brother’s voice giving him permission.

God…god…

Dean knew he could do it, too. He could do it. 

He might have already done it, for all intents and purposes at least, and that realization perforated through him like vaporized hellfire as he fluttered his eyelids halfway closed around the seething thrum of his own pulse.

“Sammy…” he breathed, shifting to impulsively flick his tongue down the middle of one of the welted stripes on Sam’s back and clenching his jaw to stifle a groan at Sam’s responding hiss of pain, “-since I guess we’re putting it all out there…”

He licked back up along the same damp track with much more pressure this time, tasting copper, his own blood burning hot with it and his hand quickly lifting to push down against sweat-damp hair and flannel as Sam jerked his face from the bed with a nervous, flustered whine.

“Breathe through it. You’re okay.”

Sam inhaled and exhaled…noisy, shallow pants of air that he was able to deepen a bit after the first two, finally groaning a rough sigh of Dean’s name and forcing the muscles in his neck and shoulders to slack as he collapsed himself obediently again under Dean’s palm.

“That’s good, Sammy. That’s perfect.”

Dean massaged with his fingertips on either side of the makeshift blindfold, straightening to his knees and dragging forward with his hips…deliberately, pointedly, slow and rough, his denim-clad cock a hard line of heat against Sam’s bare ass, not quite hitting dead-center…until-

He lined up a greedy, almost-brutal thrust to finally connect exactly where he wanted, and Sam responded with an immediate flurry of shameless little moans, his throat hitching around a stuttered, needy beg of “-oh my god-please, I’ll-I’ll do anything…De-an - please, god…Dean, please” while he strained backwards into the grind of Dean’s crotch with a kind of helpless, dirty, animalistic desperation that expanded Dean’s pupils like a fucking black tide and twisted a hungry snarl onto his mouth.

“God, you-fuck…baby,” Dean gritted out through the razor-edged coil of lust slashing his chest into ribbons, “-yeah, Sammy…that’s what I was about to fuckin’ tell you. Since I guess we’re putting it all out there…you should know that I am going to fuck you…hard and filthy like you couldn’t even fucking dream up. And I don’t mean someday. I mean right here. Tonight. Just like this.”

Chapter Text

Sam’s P.O.V, present time:

Sam was blindly listening to Dean panting out a constant litany of the dirtiest things imaginable from behind him, every few phrases punctuated by hungry groans that Sam could feel right in the middle of his chest like defibrillator shocks, just…electric punches knocking the breath out of him repeatedly in bursts and waves.

He could hear that Dean was thumbing the zipper of his jeans, teasing it up and down in very gradual, sporadic flicks, because Dean was making sure of it, making sure he could hear…purposefully pausing whatever filthy hot thing he was in the middle of saying to pull and drag at the metal teeth.

It was-just…jesus fucking christ…

Even after practically cumming himself into several brain aneurisms, Sam was still somehow so unbelievably, excruciatingly turned on that he couldn’t even properly put words or thoughts to it…in the way it would feel ridiculous to call a super-volcanic eruption the same thing as a lava lamp or the Pacific Ocean just an oversized guppy puddle.

And…god…if Dean actually did fuck him tonight, for real, all the way, right here, like this…

He wanted it so badly that it was close to overwhelming, almost too much, and the only thing he could figure out how to do under the smothering fog of his own lust was to moan and shiver into the sheet, finally then managing to outright beg again, or to try to, anyway…exhaling a heated jumble of half-formed swears and ‘please’s and ‘Dean’s alongside desperate little twists of his hips that had his big brother folding himself down like origami to cover him at every dip and curve and to grind into him savagely, all solid muscles and tongue and teeth and fingers against bite marks and bruises.

As Sam struggled frantically for enough leverage to connect himself harder and faster with Dean’s thrusts, he suddenly honed in dizzyingly on Dean shifting his weight to rifle with one hand, deliberately slow and loud, through whatever was left of the items he’d thrown onto the bed at the start of all this, an unknown quantity of things that he hadn’t allowed Sam to see or even to touch.

”Yeahhh, Sammy,” Dean breathed out in a low rasp that scraped maddeningly across Sam’s nerves like it was something corporeal actually touching him, “-so many things we could play with.”

Dean paused to ghost his fingers down the stretched fabric of the torn-sleeve makeshift blindfold, gripping the knot to yank sharply just once for emphasis.

“With a little luck, you’ll never be able to even see one of your flannel shirts again without getting turned on. And, of course-”

He continued to sift pointedly through whatever he still had laid out above Sam’s head, taking his time with it.

”-the same could go for, you know, any of this. But first - yeah. Fuck. That is definitely fucking first.”

It was glaringly obvious, now, that Dean was taunting him…blatantly, that his intention was to force Sam’s imagination into overdrive, leaving him completely helpless to do anything other than wildly speculate about what his brother might be grabbing and why.

Fucking god…the exhilaration of it had Sam actually writhing on the mattress and biting his back teeth together into a noisy grind against another relentless surge of arousal that was shredding him into an aching mess while Dean just hummed his name in that deep, long, scratchy way that drove Sam fucking crazy.

“Saaaaammy. God. Fuck…baby, love you like this. Love you like this. Fuck…”

It was Sam’s all time favorite of his brother’s many sex mantras. So rough and visceral and raw and primal. 

But equal parts reverent, too…Dean’s honeyed voice practically dripping with adoration for Sam. Drenched in it…

It lit Sam up from the inside, made him feel like he could hold up the entire universe.

Dean’s other hand was suddenly back at the front of his jeans now, the soft ‘snnnnnkk’ of the fully-tugged zipper recapturing Sam’s full attention and plucking his pulse into an immediate, jittery race.

The mattress dipped as Dean leaned first to the left and then to the right, easing slightly forward and then back to rustle a bit painstakingly out of articles of clothing with only one hand while he kept his other hand, for the most part, flat to the bed directly in front of Sam’s blindfolded face to audibly play with whatever he was holding, rolling it around in his fist, skating across it with just the tips of his nails.

When he finally slid back in with his whole pelvis flush to Sam again, he teased the head of his cock into a barely-there graze down the inside of one of Sam’s thighs, already leaking so fucking hotly against the sensitive skin there before jerking his hips into a lift to suddenly drag in a hard, tight line directly up the crease of Sam’s ass.

Every shred of oxygen was instantly pancaked from Sam’s lungs.

Because…oh, fuck…this was-

Dean was going to-he…was he going to do it? Was he actually going to follow through with it?

Dean’s hand was still working at whatever he was holding, but impatiently now, rushing with it, and the realization of what it was, of what its implications were in that specific moment between the two of them, hit Sam like a sledgehammer to the chest a single second before his brother’s slicked fingers were on him.

Chapter Text

Returning to Dean’s P.O.V, present time:

“Relax for me, baby.”

Dean used the tips of two fingers to pet in teasing swirls, shifting to vertical stripes of pressure as Sam sucked in a noisy, stuttering breath.

“-gonna make you feel so good, Sammy…open you up real nice, get you all hot and ready for me.”

Sam groaned out an eager “Deeeeaan-ghhh,” and with a low hiss, Dean was swiftly giving up on taunting to ease his way in with his middle finger up to the first knuckle, tossing his head back as velvety heat kicked his poor impulse control into overdrive, his nerves buzzing, prickling with the urge to force it, to just take it for himself, right then, all at once.

“God-jesus god I forgot how fucking tight you are, fuck,” he rambled through fiercely clenched teeth, clamping down around the base of his own cock with his free hand and simultaneously twisting his finger in further, “-that’s right, baby, doing so fucking good, just gonna-”

He grabbed impatiently for the lube, pooling three times too much of it at the base of Sam’s spine and arching his pinky to swipe at it, to glide it downward as he greedily worked his pointer finger far too quickly against the tight ring of muscle.

But Sam just flustered out some wildly-dirty sound at the press of a second finger, rolling Dean’s eyes with it and jolting his stomach white-hot around another electric curl of arousal.

”-wanted this for so fucking long, Sammy,” he murmured breathlessly, half to himself, an almost nervous edge leaking into his voice and lining it with a shiver, “-god, you don’t even…shit, I don’t even - just…so fucking long. So goddamned long I’ve wanted my cock in your perfect fucking ass.”

“fu-fuck,” Sam swore reactively into the sheet, his hips suddenly pitching backwards against the pressure of Dean’s hand, “please, fuck, n-need you to, oh god, please.”

Dean temporarily forgot how to breathe, answering his brother with an unplanned shove of both fingers that drove him in to the last knuckle with no warm-up, immediately then hooking upwards into a sharp angle as Sam shook violently and clawed his nails against the mattress.

“Yeahh, baby, I’m not teasing you this time,” Dean gritted out, scissoring his fingers, his other hand anchoring into a wide splay over the side of Sam’s ass to dig in against the swath of pretty purple bruises coloring his skin, “-I’m going to fuck you. There’s nothing, no one, on this whole goddamned planet that could stop that from happening.”

He bared his front teeth into some kind of an instinctive, feral growl of an exhale as he remembered that-fuck…that Sam wanted it to hurt…

“-and…actually, Sammy…you don’t even want me to bring you there easy, do you?”

Sam thrashed his head feverishly, and Dean bent at the waist, lowering his voice to a conspiring whisper and grazing his teeth across the strip of flannel directly over his brother’s ear, his fingers still working mercilessly in constant flexes and drags.

“Nahh. I know how you really want it. And you…you definitely know how I fucking want it.”

Sam was already gasping his name on repeat, the hottest broken record imaginable, and Dean growled wordlessly again, a hoarse and primal sound coming up from deep inside of him as he rutted forward against his own knuckles with a brutal snap of his pelvis, forcing his fingers even more thoroughly into Sam with the hard grind of his cock.

”D-D…Dean…mmnnnn-god-g-god-”

Sam had started to audibly chatter his teeth around full body tremors like he was completely losing control of his nervous system as Dean pushed right away for more, scraping a third nail harshly downward from the top of Sam’s ass to drag through excess lube before twisting and turning like a screw until he was halfway in…and then…until he was all the way in, pausing briefly to watch in amazement as Sam clenched both fists around handfuls of sheet and scrambled clumsily against the bed, against his bindings, in a frenzied attempt to shove himself even further onto Dean’s fingers.

“So goddamned filthy for me, fuck, Sammy,” Dean snarled, breaking off in a hitched groan and moving his hand into an indulgent series of rough, driving thrusts that had Sam practically dissolving underneath him, twitching and crying out fragments of words and straining his calves and thighs so aggressively against the ropes holding his ankles that the wooden bedposts were heaving dangerously with it.

“Fuck me, please-please-ple-Dean, fuck me, just take it, I need you to take it, god-I can’t-please…”

Dean shuddered deeply, his face contorting around a fresh coil of heat thickening his blood, practically oozing from his pores, and any remaining threads of rationality, of ‘do this one right for Sammy’ that might have still been lingering in the deepest dredges of his mind were annihilated in a single heartbeat, less than a second, a mere shimmer of time, because…

-fucking yeah he was going to fucking take it.

Of course he was going to fucking take it.

“-gonna hurt, Sammy,” he was already panting, flexing all three fingers one more time before easing them out, Sam’s hips keening back instinctively to follow his hand at the sudden emptiness, “-it’s gonna hurt real bad, but just for a minute, baby. After that, it’s still gonna hurt…the way I’m gonna do it, but real, real…fucking…good.”

He reached again for the bottle of lube as he spoke, his whole arm shaking with the raw anticipation of it as he urgently coated his entire palm before fisting around his cock and jacking himself twice, all the way up.

Jesus fucking jesus…fuck…

His heart was beating like a machine gun at the very top of his throat, his nerves all sparked into such an unbridled state of overdrive that it was close to unbearable.

Gripping himself hard enough to white his knuckles, a punishing squeeze that he desperately needed in order to ground himself against the relentless tide of his own hormones, he kneed his way in as close as he could between Sam’s spread thighs, his other hand finding the dip of Sam’s waist and fanning out possessively, hungrily, fingertips curling into heated skin.

“You ready, baby?” he coaxed, completely rhetorically, guiding the head of his cock flush to Sam’s hole and very slowly, deliberately, circling with his hips to ease Sam open for him just enough.

“Fuck me,” Sam pleaded in a rush of all vowels that left his throat sounding almost like a challenge, and with a snarl of “yeahh Sammy,” Dean was suddenly using his grip on his brother’s waist to haul Sam unyieldingly backwards while he snapped his own hips forward, hard, forcing himself into tight heat that wrenched a choked growl from the bottom of his chest and spun his vision with churns of colored stripes and flashes of stars.

He dizzily widened his eyes through his own heavy, panted groans, hazily drinking in the visual of Sam clenched into acutely-defined and trembling lines along the curve of every single muscle, the undersides of his bound wrists holding the weight of his entire torso while his fingers flexed, curled, into the air, and jesus fuck it was exactly…exactly what Sam had looked like in the moments directly after he had taken Dean’s belt to his back…his body twisted into nothing but rigid muscles and raised tendons while Dean had stood above him and ruthlessly lifted his arm to swing down again.

Seized by another blinding shock of lust that nearly split him in half, Dean had to jerk his head urgently into a sharp upwards slant and pinch his eyes shut for an intense count of five while he mentally strong-armed himself back from the edge of cumming right fucking then, from swan-diving immediately off the edge of that cliff, because…god…Sammy fully clutched in the throes of pain that he was inflicting…this time with his fucking cock…was hotter than anything should be, hotter than the damn 9th layer of hell being shredded by a thousand infernos, and he was entirely too far gone to feel even the slightest twinge of guilt for thinking it.

“Breathe through it. You’re okay,” he was finally able to grate out in a rasp of a hiss that was anything but reassuring, echoing his earlier instructions to Sam after he had been compelled to taste his own handiwork and had power-licked the length of one of the lashes painting his brother’s back, “-good, baby, yeaaahh, you like that? Huh? You like…my fucking cock…in your…tight…ass?”

His voice was lust-drenched-dark and unrepentant as he rocked himself forward into shallow, inward thrusts to emphasize each word without giving Sam the time to even partially recover, but Sam’s shoulders were already shivering and twitching in response, a low, wracked groan leaking from his throat like wheels rolling across gravel as Dean dug all ten fingers into both sides of his ass, holding him open, needing to see it, all of it.

“Fuck-god, look at you, fucking look at you,” he managed around an almost completely locked jaw as he shoved forward with his whole pelvis to force himself the last third of the way in, now fully sheathed, fully inside his brother, god…every fucking centimeter of every inch…Sam’s hole spread around his cock like the most sinful fantasy imaginable as he stared down with unblinking, pupil-blackened eyes. 

Impatiently shifting his position, he angled with no warning, grinding his teeth almost deliriously and flexing both thighs to suddenly jerk his hips into a rapid-fire series of hedonistic thrusts that were rough and fast and right-away-deep, knowing within seconds that he was expertly hitting his mark on each brutal drag as Sam started to loudly choke on an untapped flood of broken-up cries and buck wildly against the pillow shoved underneath his crotch and stomach, finally strangling out a frantic gasp of “oh my god, Dean-D-Dean-“ before smothering himself face-down into the bed to halfway muffle a long, scratchy moan that was pure, untamed, dirty desire.

God. Jesus god…

“Uhhhnn-fuck-fuck, baby, yeahh,” Dean groaned, lengthening the splay of his hands and shifting outward to grip bruisingly around his brother’s hips, fucking Sam’s body back onto his cock with muscle-aching hauls on every forward punch of his own hips and directing both of them into a rhythm of animalistic savagery that was taking over him utterly and completely, bleeding through him like liquid fire…burning him into ash all the way down to his fucking neurons.

“oh-f-mmm-shit, god, gggnnn, Dean, I…fffuck, Deeeaan-”

Thank god they were so far removed from the rest of the house, because Sam was practically wailing, his entire body uncontrollably trying to thrash under Dean’s weight and his throat constricting around raw, nonsensical noises that were spilling out of him so constantly that he could barely manage to speak even a single word all the way through.

And Dean didn’t miss a single beat as he impulsively smacked one palm down into an echoing spank over the already bruised swell of Sam’s ass forcefully enough to numb his own skin, wrenching a hot little flurry of partial swears from Sam’s mouth and keening him into another seizing shiver.

“I-sh-shit, fu-Dean, oh god please, gonna-…Dean I’m-”

Dean snarled, his stomach condensed into an implosive, aching knot as he thrusted his lower body so ferociously into Sam now that he could feel the individual muscle fibers in his thighs tearing under the strain, hardly even registering the pain, thoroughly incapable of focusing on anything other than the insidiously-perverse and exquisite depravity of binding his baby brother wide open, making him beg, and then fucking him into the goddamned ground.

”-fucking made to take my cock, aren’t you?” he was hissing, his voice so untethered and dark that it might have been alarming if he’d been capable of giving a shit, and, fuck, Sam had started clenching around him in repeated, sporadic little bursts, his mouth open all the way wide now around breathless pants and the muscles in his back flexing so severely that his shoulder blades looked almost like wings. 

Jesus, it was too damned good to possibly be real, because Dean knew right away what it meant.

“You gonna cum again for me, Sammy? Yeah? You gonna cum with my fucking cock taking your ass? That’s my dirty fuckin’ boy, god-fuck, such a dirty whore for me, yeeaahh, my little cockslut, baby-god-Sammy, fuck, give it up to me, show me, baby, come on little brother, mmmm-jesus-jesus, Sammmmy.”

Sam froze very suddenly and completely like he’d actually been Medusa’d into stone for a fleeting second, an inhale catching noisily in his lungs and hanging there for an extended moment before he was suddenly contracting like a loaded spring around Dean’s cock, a wrecked, overwhelmed cry on his spread lips and his spine practically snapping into an inverted arch as all four of his limbs convulsed, the hair on both of his arms lifting over visible goosebumps and the side of his face slamming down into the mattress as he desperately tried to suck in mouthfuls of air.

It was so…unbelievably hot beyond all reason or comprehension that Dean was already cumming before Sam had even finished violently quaking, before he could even begin to mentally prepare himself for it, his hips grinding to a halt at the deepest point of a thrust and his nails drilling into Sam’s skin as he threw his head back nearly 180 degrees around something that was half a feral growl, half a strangled yell, pulsing into Sam like he was fucking dying, like he was being shredded into his base elements, like he was crushing the goddamned galaxy with his fists.

It was-

He just didn’t-he didn’t…he couldn’t…

Jesus-jesus…jesus…

…

…

His blood felt like gunpowder and scorched earth in his veins as he wondered a bit hysterically if he should immediately fling himself to his knees and pray for mercy to whatever higher power might be responsible for smiting twisted sadists and deviants.

Because Sam…fuck, Sammy…

He had destroyed his little brother.

Destroyed them both.

Mostly Sam, though.

And the truth was…this time, he felt nothing but fucking alive with it.

Gazing down, awestruck and shivering, at Sam’s disheveled, shaking, bruised, beaten, sweat-wet body beneath him, he shuddered into a slump over Sam’s hips, the air in his throat charged with a fierce electric hum.

…

”Fuck, fuck, Sammy. You - god, that was…baby…you. You-you drive me fucking crazy…you know that? I just, jesus, you make me…so fucking crazy…”

Chapter Text

unspecified P.O.V, present time, Selase’s bedroom:

“I’m going down there.”

“No. No, you’re not. You’ll make it so much worse, John. Please. You have to trust me on this.”

“Trust you? Trust you, Selase? You-…how can you even ask me that? And you don’t know. You don’t know that everything is okay, not in this specific moment right now. You told me yourself that’s not how it works, and it doesn’t matter anyway, because there’s no way in hell that I’m just going to take it on blind faith at a time like this…not when Sammy might be…just…I can’t do that. You can’t ask me to do that.”

“But…John, you can’t really think-…you-you must know that Dean wouldn’t hurt Sam. I mean that he wouldn’t…just…you – of course you know that. Don’t you?”

“Honestly, Selase? A week ago, I would have agreed with you. A week ago, I would have sooner believed that Dean could sprout wings and turn into the tooth fairy than ever hurt Sammy. But now? Today? I don’t know anymore. And that kills me. Don’t give me that look! You think it doesn’t? It kills me. But you don’t…I, shit. I just don’t…know. I just don’t know anymore.”

“John. Please-”

“-don’t bother. I’m going. I can’t just do nothing. It’s been too long. I’m-”

“-wait. Just…wait. Listen to me. Stop. No-you-stop. Sit. Sit back down. If you do this right now…John, you…they’re…I think you know why you can’t. Not right now. Please.”

“I know why I have to! Are you…my god, Selase. If we’re talking about the same thing, here, and I think we might be, how can you sit there so calmly and try to ask me not to go down there? Sammy’s a kid. He’s a kid. I mean, he’s not. But he…he just…he is. And they’re-god, you don’t…jesus christ, Selase. What is wrong with you?”

“You don’t understand all of it, John. Not the big picture. You don’t see it the way I see it. You can’t. No, that’s not how I meant-…John, you know me. You know me. Please, please don’t do this. Talk to me. Just talk to me about it, and we’ll figure it out. Well-we’ll figure it out, together. Just don’t. Please…”

“There’s nothing to figure out. Not with you. I don’t know what kind of twisted game you’re playing, but I’m their father. And I’m not. I won’t. I won’t do this. No one in their right mind would even ask me to. Just…I’m going. Let go of me. I’m going.”

Chapter Text

Returning to Dean’s P.O.V, present time, Dean has just untied Sam and is now holding him:

Dean carefully thumbed back a slick strand of Sam’s hair, moving in a delicate arch as he brushed over the streaked purple bruise he’d accidentally punched into Sam’s cheekbone earlier that afternoon during their most recent monster tussle. 

It was just one of many bruises now marking Sam, but…unlike all the others, Dean wished that he could wipe this one away. 

Reflexively, he tightened his arms around Sam’s still-trembling shoulders, thoroughly cocooning his little brother’s entire upper body into his lap and bending his own torso at the waist to trace his lips into a barely-there glide over the top of Sam’s head.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured in a hoarse whisper, his voice hitching around the leftover adrenaline still spiking his bloodstream, “Just lay still. I’ve got you. Deep breaths. That’s good. Sammy, are you…are you okay?”

Sam exhaled a long, noisy purr of a sound in response, turning to press his mouth shakily against the overheated skin of Dean’s chest before searching out one of Dean’s hands to blanket it fiercely with his own.

“I’m-fuck. I’m more than okay. I don’t-”

He shivered deeply, weaving his fingers into a tight squeeze and lifting his chin to lock his gaze onto Dean’s face with those huge, bright, beautiful eyes, god…just…eyes that Dean could fucking drown in…the air in his own lungs stuttering to a standstill as he held his brother’s stare intensely, reverently. 

“Hey,” Sam added very quietly after a few seconds, a smile tugging sweetly on the corner of his mouth and coaxing it into an upwards curl, “-you’re not, uh…”

He paused, biting down over his bottom lip.

“I mean, you’re not freaking out, Dean. And…actually…you’re - you just seem…different. It’s-it’s a good thing. It’s an amazing thing. God. Is it…real? You know, not-…like…I just…”

He trailed off a bit anxiously, his forehead pinching slightly over each of his temples like he couldn’t quite figure out exactly what he was trying to say.

Dean bowed his head again, letting his lips just rest, motionless and deliberate, against his brother’s mouth for a handful of silent moments before he eased back by an inch, still so close to Sam that they were breathing each other’s breaths.

“Mhmm,” he finally offered in a low hum, his own mouth twitching into a responding smile and his eyelids fluttering while he watched Sam watching him, “Yeah. It is. It’s real, Sammy. It’s…I guess I just-

…

-shit-…what-”

Every nerve in his body was instantly on high alert at the echoing thud of the slamming basement door followed immediately by the sound of feet heavily hitting stairs, and it was…what was…his brain couldn’t make sense of it, couldn’t understand what was-what was-

“-Dean! DEAN. You have to-is it…did you lock it?? Shitshit-go-go-GO!!”

In a single heartbeat, Dean had his brother rolled to one side while he propelled himself off the end of the bed, nearly blacking out at the sudden transition on his first running step, his vision churning dangerously and one of his palms pushing frantically into the wall to steady himself against the protesting scream of his sore muscles.

He was at the door in three swift strides, his fingers closing around the metal lock and yanking it latched with a grinding click at the exact second the handle started to turn.

Fuck-fuck-fuck.

He held a shallow breath at the top of his throat, his pulse racing erratically, his mind still jumbled and unfocused and entirely unwilling to accept the inexplicable reality that was unfolding in front of him. But-

“Dean. Open the fucking door.”

Dean jerked the back of one hand to his mouth, his blood icing his veins as he locked wide eyes with Sam over his shoulder.

“Say. Something.” Sam mouthed at him, forcing himself upright to dig wildly through bedsheets and blankets in a panicked search for discarded articles of clothing, but Dean felt completely frozen in space and time, utterly trapped by his own dread, unable to move even a single muscle until John actually kicked the steel toe of his boot violently into the base of the wooden door from the outside, startling Dean into a tripping backwards stumble.

“Don’t think I won’t break it down, Dean, because I fucking will. OPEN IT.”

Sam was on his feet, now, shimmying haphazardly into his pants with his right hand while he struggled clumsily with his left hand to at least somewhat fasten his mussed flannel shirt, most of the small buttons ripped right out of the fabric and strewn around the base of the bed.

“Uh, D-Dad, what-what’s…what is it?” he finally blurted out far too loudly and nervously in leu of Dean’s continued silence, simultaneously balling up Dean’s jeans after snatching them from the top of the mattress and hurling them across the room in Dean’s direction like a denim bullet as he scanned the floor for Dean’s shirt, “-can it…wait? We’re-we were, asleep, uh, you know…can it just-”

“-Sammy,” John interrupted, his voice heart-stoppingly close like he was pressing his face directly into the crack at the side of the door, “Sammy, open this door right now. And I TOLD you not to go in there. God-fucking-dammit, Sam. You promised me you wouldn’t go in there. Is that - Dean, I can fucking hear you breathing. You want me to kick it in? Open the goddamned door.”

Shit. Shit.

Dean knew, of course, that Dad knew.

That much had been evident as soon as they had heard him storming down the stairs, his weighted footsteps immediately distinguishable from Selase’s and practically vibrating on each resounding stomp with an urgent and volatile rage that could only mean one thing.

What exactly did he know? Well, clearly, he knew enough. And even if he hadn’t been 100% certain before reaching their room, he sure as shit was now, which was just…fucking fantastic…

It was-…shit…it was fucking bad…

This was really, really fucking bad.

And it was about to get a whole lot worse, Dean knew…for him, at least…because there wasn’t a chance in hell Dad was going to let him try to talk his way out of this one with the two of them on opposite sides of a wooden barrier, that was for damn sure.

John had never been one to make empty threats, so both brothers were acutely aware of the fact that their father absolutely would bust the entire door down at its hinges if it came to that, and Dean knew what he had to do.

Grabbing his jeans from the floor and stepping into each leg, he motioned hastily for Sam to get back in the bed with a mouthed “stay” followed by one finger held to his lips and then a final “you let ME handle it,” his shoulders flinching into a forward curl as John’s boot furiously connected with the outside of the door again.

Waiting the few tense seconds it took for Sam to scramble his way underneath one of the blankets and yank the top of it up to the collar of his torn shirt, Dean forced a deep breath of cold air into his lungs, widening his feet into a defensive stance and lifting his fingers solemnly to the lock.

“Yeah. Dad. Jesus. I hear you. I get it. Calm the fuck down. I’m opening it, okay? Just…I’m opening it.”

Chapter Text

John had the door flung open the literal second Dean drew back the latch, his angular face cast in a shadow of pure, unbridled rage that plucked Dean’s already-racing pulse into immediate overdrive.

“You gonna at least let me talk-” Dean tried breathlessly, but John shoved him a stumbling step sideways with an unyielding palm on his chest and wordlessly stomped across the room towards Sam, crouching once he reached the side of the bed to put himself at eye level with his youngest son.

“No, we’re not doing it like that,” Dean snapped in a tone that thankfully came out sounding much more assertive than he really felt, “Dad. No. Don’t involve him in this. Not right now. Come on.”

John pinched his eyes tightly shut around a noisy inhale, his jaw locking with an audible grinding click.

“I’m making sure my son is fucking okay, Dean. How dare you even think you can tell me not to do that.”

Dean lifted the back of one hand shakily to his mouth again while Sam visibly bridled and tried to twist himself away from John’s looming shoulders.

“Of course I’m okay, jesus!” Sam shot back, his voice several notches higher than normal and trembling slightly on each word, “-why wouldn’t I be okay? Do I look like I’m not okay? Why would you even say that?”

Dean clenched his back teeth painfully, wishing he could somehow communicate to his little brother that they were so far beyond feigning ignorance…that either of them trying to pretend they didn’t understand what was happening here would only make everything much, much worse…

On cue, John suddenly grabbed for a fistful of Sam’s shirt above the top of the blanket, easily pulling the ruined fabric fully into view as Sam yelped in surprise and tried, too late, to slap away his hand.

Reaching with his other arm while Sam sputtered indignantly, John used the flats of two fingers to sweep the several detached buttons scattered along the base of the bed into a pile before pinching at one and silently holding it up, aimed at Dean, without his eyes ever leaving Sam.

Yeah…

Dean bit down hard on both sides of his tongue.

It wasn’t for nothing that their father was the best hunter in the states, and the exact same skill set that served the three of them so well in the field was going to be Dean’s undoing right here tonight in this bedroom…where the remnants and souvenirs of his guilt were quite literally everywhere.

“-well, you know, Dad…maybe if everything I owned wasn’t a piece of crap hand-me-down-”

“-Sammy. Stop. Stop talking.”

Dean locked pleading eyes with his brother for a single second while John straightened up ominously from his crouch, slowly pivoting in place before prowling back across the room in Dean’s direction, his expression sharpened into a cold, accusatory glare that Dean could feel like dry ice burning him somewhere deep down in his chest.

Stopping about three feet away, John stood as still and daunting as a stone monolith, finally then hissing “fucking look at me,” which Dean did…because what the hell other choice did he have?

John widened his stance, leaning uncomfortably far into Dean’s personal space with his entire upper body, his hands folded into tight, white-knuckled fists where he held them both rigidly against the outsides of his thighs.

“You look me in my eyes and you tell me it’s true. You say it to me, Dean. You tell me you did this. Say the words. You owe me at least that fucking much.”

Dean held his father’s stare resolutely, unblinkingly, an intractable ache clutching at his stomach and twisting it into a heavy knot.

Shit-shit-shit…

“You know what?” he finally replied far too quietly, forcing himself to raise the volume of his voice and sucking in a shallow, not-enough breath of air, “-shit. Yeah, Dad. Okay? Yeah. It’s-it’s…and I’m sorry. God. Jesus-god…I’m sorry. But you have to-aghhh-fuck…fffuu…”

John had punched him in the face, hard.

Really, really hard…and too quickly for Dean to even react, too quickly for him to even partially shield himself, the force of the hit actually knocking him backwards into the wall behind him and shooting a ribbon of colorful stars across the left side of his vision like fireworks where John’s fist had connected with his temple.

“Get away from him! Don’t you dare touch him again!” Sam was suddenly yelling, furious and frantic, as he scrambled in a frenzy out of the bed, and Dean weakly held up one hand, trying to halt his brother’s approach, still dizzy and nauseated and reeling from the severity of the punch.

“Sammy-no, ugh, it’s-it’s-”

“-It is NOT fine, Dean. It is NOT OKAY. Step away from him. Get away from him! How could you? After everything he’s already been through? You’re a piece of shit. If you get anywhere near him-get, get OUT of here! Get out! GET OUT!!”

Dean’s head was pounding, roaring between his ears, his entire sense of self hazed over and impossibly foggy as he leaned his full weight into the wall just to keep himself upright.

But then there was a – there was…a flurry of sudden and violent and inexplicable backwards movement as Dean desperately struggled to refocus his vision, and it was all happening so quickly, too quickly…just…

Dad was…he was…he-he was…he was in the hallway (why? how?) on the other side of the open door.

He had fallen, somehow, onto his back, and it almost looked like…like he was being pressed right into the ground…like some invisible force had dragged him there and was holding him down.

And with an abrupt slam that startled a wordless noise of shock from the bottom of Dean’s throat, the door was just…closed. It was just closed…shutting Dad out as Dean finally slumped completely to the floor with a wildly confused gasp of an inhale.

It was…too nonsensical, too bizarre, and he wondered hysterically, somewhat distantly, if he was dreaming…if this entire, terrible, awful thing had all been just a very bad, very lucid nightmare.

But he wasn’t waking up. He wasn’t waking up.

Why…why couldn’t he wake up?

And where was-

“Sam. Sammy. Are you – am I-I don’t. Sammy…what’s-what is…happening?”