DISCLAIMER: Don't own it people

Oh God, I totally wrote this fic on literally on an hour and a half of sleep going on 35 hours. So, therefore I plead the fifth if it is completely heartbreaking...which I am told by some people clears throat Anna, that I was being a complete evil whore. grins and shrugs Sorry, guys.


I heard about your trip, I heard about your souvenirs, I heard about the cool breeze and the cool nights

Dean couldn't stand listening to another word out of his father's mouth. He stood up abruptly and got funny looks from John and Bobby.

"I'm not feelin' well." He mumbled. "Gonna go lay down." That seemed to be enough because John went back to filling Bobby in on all the details of Sam's glorious life. He didn't stomp up the stairs, no, that would have been childish. But he couldn't help himself when the bedroom door seemed to shut harder than he intended. Okay, it wasn't really a shut, it was more of a slam.

He paused just inside, looking around and comparing things to how they were a few years ago.

Before, there were two unmade beds, looking as though the room was a war zone. Clothes had been thrown about in a complete mess, and Sam's textbooks had been tossed onto his bed and on the shared dresser. The screen on the window had been permanently removed so Dean could easily slip out at night, with Sam hissing in his ear about telling dad.

Now there was just one bed that was never made…the other was always neatly folded. One half of the room had clothes on the floor and there were no longer textbooks getting in the way of his dresser space. The screen had been put back on the window because Dean no longer had to sneak out.

He ran his hands over his face and along to the back of his neck. He made his feet walk towards the bed, even though they felt like they were cement blocks. He flopped on the bed and let his mind wonder to what his father had been saying earlier.

"Sam's says that he's been fitting in remarkably well, considering everything."

Bobby had nodded, knowing full well what 'considering everything' meant. Sam wasn't a normal kid…but neither was Dean. Sam had to have known that Dean could have wanted more too. But the life that they had, this life, was enough for him…what Dean couldn't understand was why it wasn't enough for Sam.

Why he wasn't enough.

That was the root of the problem. It wasn't that Sam had left the job or the fact that he hadn't told his family about the application, it was because Sam left. Period.

Sam had left him.

Their fucked up relationship had been going on for five years before Sam decided to up and leave. And for what? For normal?

"I want something normal in my life for a change…is that so hard for you to understand? I don't wanna be fucked up anymore."

And that had been the crushing blow, the one thing that Dean could not forgive him for. Dean had already felt responsible for making their lives even more messed up than it already was, but Sam actually admitting that he knew how far their lives had spun out of control only added fuel to the guilt.

So now Sam was off living the normal life, enjoying all the perks of being a college kid. Oh yeah, Dean had heard all about all the nice boys that Sam had met.

It made him want to stick his finger down his throat and revel in the sour burn flowing up his esophagus.

And the cool guys that you spent them with, I guess I should have heard them from you, I guess I should have heard them from you

He listened as the phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times before John picked it up. Dean listened to his father's husky laugh and knew that it was Sam. He called at least once a week now, giving John all the updates on college life…which he couldn't entirely blame all on Sam. Their father had practically ordered Sam to check in…just to make sure he was safe.

But it was annoying as hell that Sam never asked to talk to Dean. He had even been in the kitchen one night when Sam had called. Dean heard one side of the conversation for twenty minutes before John said, clearly, "Did you wanna talk to Dean?"

He hadn't heard the response, but John's "Oh" had spoken volumes. When he got off the phone he had found Dean and moved on the telling his eldest son how Sam was doing…not that Dean didn't care, but he would have rather heard it from his own brother's lips. Apparently that was asking too much, because Sam always had a reason as to why he couldn't talk to Dean. Midterms to study for. He was dead on his feet. There was a party to go to, Dean would understand. Not enough fucking minutes left on the phone to get a 'how are you doing?'

He glanced toward the empty bed across the small bedroom. The light was off so the moonlight splayed across the tidy bed spread. When John poked his head in the door a few minutes later Dean was glaring at the ceiling.

"Sam didn't have much time to chat tonight, apparently he has a date." John cleared his throat, making an uncomfortable sound and shifting the balance on his feet. "With a boy."

Dean looked away, couldn't stare his father in the face knowing that to some degree it was his fault. At least that was the way it seemed to him. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

He closed his eyes when he felt the bed dip. John's warm hand covered his shoulder…it was the most contact he had had with his father since Sam had left.

"Dean." His voice was firm, but gentle in a way that Dean hadn't heard in a long time. "Dean, I don't blame you for this. You are the way that you are, and Sam…" He sighed. "Sam's confused, that's all. He'll figure things out for himself."

Dean kept his eyes closed. His father had known for awhile about him, about the men. It was hard not to notice when your son was not only flirting with the women, but also the men in a bar.

"Dean this is not your fault."

Dean opened his eyes and nodded at his father's concerned gaze. If there was one thing Dean prided himself on, it was begin able to keep his emotions in check. Sam being gay might not be his fault, but him leaving was.

And the thing that hurt was that Sam couldn't even find the guts to tell his brother about these other guys that he found. He couldn't own up to his own actions.

"Is there something wrong?" Dean could have laughed at the many things that were wrong. "Sam and you…you haven't been speaking."

Dean didn't know what to say. 'Well, dad, that's because we started fucking five years ago and when Sam left, the walls came crashing down around me. It wasn't something I got over'. Dean let out a weak laugh, John would have had a heart attack if he told him the truth.

Dean climbed in the window and let out a loud giggle as he fell to the floor in a limpless heap, the pot that he had smoked earlier hitting him full force. He pushed himself onto his hands and knees and came face to crotch with Sam's pants. The giggle fits died in this throat as his mouth became dry. He moved his eyes up to look into Sam's stunned face.

Sam's hand came to rest on Dean's head, gently stroking the tips of his hair.

Dean groaned. "Sam." He wasn't quite sure what was happening, Sam had never acted like this before.

Before Dean could comprehend what exactly Sam was doing, he had his hand fisted in Dean's hair and was pulling his head up. The kiss was sloppy and it shouldn't have been by any means as arousing as it was. When Sam's tongue darted out to run along his lower lip, Dean pulled back and held Sam at arms length. "Sammy…"

And then Sam smiled. Not just one of his trademark half smiles, but a full blown hit-in-the-chest smile. There was nothing Dean could do to stop himself. Their clothes were tossed about in a frenzy of kisses, licks, nips and tugs.

Dean tripped trying to get his jeans from around his ankles and he fell to the floor with a dull thud, and dragging Sam down with him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that they should be worried that dad would have heard the noise and investigate…but when Sam's lips started suckling on his neck all his rational thoughts were gone.

As Sam ravished his throat, Dean groped blindly for the dresser in the room and managed to open the bottom drawer to grasp a small tube of lube. It wasn't the first time that Dean had been with a guy, but his brother? They only awkward part of the situation was how not-weird it felt.

Dean looped one leg around Sam's back and expertly flipped him, reversing their positions. Sam groaned as he jerked his hips forward, grinding his boner into Dean's hip bone. Dean let out a choked sound and squeezed some of the lube onto his fingers before gently nudging Sam's legs farther apart and moving one finger inside him.

Sam's fingers spasmed on Dean's shoulders and he rolled his head from side to side. Dean leaned in and kissed the side of Sam's neck. "Sammy?"

Sam was practically writhing beneath him. "I'm fine." He choked out. Dean jerked his head in a nod and slipped another finger in. This time Sam moaned and Dean nearly lost it. The small noises that Sam was making in the back of his throat made Dean compelled to talk.

"Just one more, Sammy, and then it'll be all me." He heard the hitch in Sam's breath when he added a third finger. After letting Sam get used to it, Dean leaned in close and whispered a breath into Sam's ear. "Are you ready, Sam?"

The only comprehendible word that he got from Sam's jumbled words was Dean

His brother was thirteen when Dean stole his innocence.

Not that the little brat was ever truly innocent. No, Sam learnt very soon what he wanted and knew all the buttons to push to get it. Still…that was not something that you told your father.

"We talk." Dean tried to lied, but he stopped in mid-sentence when John gave him The Look. The Look that said 'I know what you're doing and you better stop before I get mean'. He sighed. "We just don't agree on some things, and lately…" Dean shrugged. "I dunno."

"Sam sends his love, Dean."

Dean didn't respond. Why couldn't he just tell Dean that himself?

Well don't you see, don't you see, That the charade is over, And all the "best deceptions" and the, "Clever cover story" awards go to you

When John announced that Sam was going to be coming home for summer holidays it hit Dean like a ton of bricks. But it was nothing compared to what he felt when Sam walked into the house. It would have been bad enough just seeing him again after not speaking to him for over eight months…but he wasn't alone.

His name was Shawn. He was shorter than Sam by a couple of inches and had short, dark brown hair. He was cocky and made Sam laugh. And it was all Dean could do not to punch the prick in the face.

Dean could hardly stand to sit through dinner with the idiot. And Sam was not making things any better. The way that he so easily ignored all the past history that they had, and made it seem like they had the perfect childhood and were as close as brothers could get. That's what Dean had thought too…until Sam up and left.

He didn't touch the food on his plate. In fact, he got up and left the table without a word. He could feel the worried gaze of their father and Sam's heated glare like a sunburn. He walked straight through the back door and around the mess of broken and old cars that Bobby had in the yard. He was deep in the mess of scrape metal when he heard the back door slam shut again.

He stopped and squeezed his eyes shut, not sure if he was ready for this. He knew it was Sam. John and Bobby had already stopped trying to talk to him. He put his hands behind his head and enjoyed the coolness of the night air dancing across his face.

"Dean."

He didn't move from his spot. Didn't say anything…because really he didn't have anything to say anymore. Every single thing that he had wanted to say over the phone suddenly died and became a memory. A fleeting thought.

He heard the deep sigh from behind him. "I knew you were going to be like this."

He whipped around at that. "Going to be like what, Sam?" His nostrils flared. "Pissed off that you just took off? Or that you haven't spoken one word to me in the past eight months? Or the fact that you brought some guy home and expected me to pretend like we have a fucking normal life?"

Sam stepped forward. "I didn't expect you to do anything. I just wanted him to meet you. Is that so bad?"

Dean practically ran forwards until the space between them was gone. "Bad?" He whispered harshly before grabbing Sam's shoulders. "No, it's fucking cruel."

Sam barely got out a stutter before Dean's mouth was devouring his.

So kiss me hard, 'Cause this will be the last time that I let you

Had Sam pushed him away, Dean might have been able to stop…to control the animal that was threatening to escape. But Sam met his rage with a fire of his own, and Dean let out a guttural growl in his throat before swinging Sam backwards and slamming him into the side of a rusty old pickup. He was leaving bruises everywhere but he didn't care…in fact the more the better in Dean's opinion. Sam's neck. His shoulders. His navel. Hips. Thighs.

He couldn't stop. He didn't want to. He had Sam's pants around his ankles in record time and his own were quick to follow. Without getting Sam ready, without any lubricant and without caring if he hurt Sam, Dean rammed himself inside Sam and swallowed Sam's cry of pain.

He covered Sam's mouth with his hand and leaned close to whisper in his ear as he fiercely continued to pump into him. "You're never going to forget who you belong to now, Sam. And I'm never going to forget what you did to me."

He bit the soft spot behind Sam's ear and Sam was jerking in his grasp as he came between them. Dean followed almost immediately after.

Dean turned abruptly and yanked up his jeans, hearing Sam do the same behind him. "I can't believe you." Dean growled at Sam.

Sam looked up from his task of buckling his belt back up. "Me?" He dropped his hands. "What about you, Dean?" He held out his arms. "You practically lured me out here just to fuck me, because you knew even with Shawn here that I would let you." He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "It's like how it's always been for you. Nothing but a damn game."

"Oh no, Sammy." Dean had a scowl on his face. "You don't get to say something like that to me. I wasn't the one that ran away. Just keep that in mind next time you wanna blame something on me. You're the one that stopped caring."

"I never said I stopped caring."

Dean's fist was flying through the air before he even registered the anger coursing through his body. It connected with a smack against Sam's cheek bone. Sam was on him not three seconds after that. And that was how they explained the bruises. Nothing more than a brotherly tussle.

You will be back someday, And this awkward kiss that tells of other people's lips, Will be of service to keeping you away

Shawn left three days later. And Sam stayed home for the rest of the summer, meaning that Dean had Sam to himself. Every time that they were together it was similar to the first. Angry and painful, but Dean used that to steal himself against Sam. Slowly building up a resilience to something that Sam claimed to never want in the first place.

The most painful times happening after Sam got off the phone with Shawn. It wasn't that he felt threatened anymore, no, he was fairly certain that Sam now knew that there would never be anyone else but Dean. But it was that he still talked to the prick just because he knew that it got a rise out of Dean.

On the day that Sam left to return to college, Dean decided that that was it. There would be no more 'them'. It was Sam. It was Dean. It was no longer Sam and Dean.

I heard about your regrets, I heard that you were feeling sorry, I heard from someone that you wish you could, Set things right between us

Four months after not hearing from Sam again, and their father talking to him nearly every day, John walked into the kitchen while Dean was eating a bowl of cereal. From the look on his face, Dean knew that the conversation was going to be about Sam.

"Sam called."

Bingo. "Yeah I heard. He's usually the only one anal enough to call at exactly nine o'clock every time he phones."

John's brows furrowed at his tone. "Look, I thought that you two had gotten over whatever thing was between you…" He stopped and looked away.

Dean set his bowl on the counter. "What is it?"

John looked back at his eldest son. "Your brother doesn't sound very happy anymore. He keeps telling me that he's sorry and that he doesn't know how to fix anything anymore."

Dean tried not to let that hit him in the chest, but it practically knocked him over. He grasped the counter until his knuckles turned white. "What? Did he have a little fight with Shawn?"

"I don't think he's talking about Shawn, Dean." He felt his father's hand on his shoulder.

Dean shrugged it off. "Well, he's sure as hell not talking about me." He threw out the angry words before leaving the kitchen and walking out of the house.

Well, I guess I should have heard of that from you, Guess I should have heard of that from you

Dean rammed the keys into the ignition of the Impala and peeled out of the driveway. There was no way that he was taking that little brat back, especially not if he was going to resort to sneaking hidden messages through their father.

He took a turn going too fast and the thrill that he got scared the shit out of him. He had to force himself to stop the damn car. The fucking damn car that had always been his haven. He pulled over to the shoulder and nearly fell out because he whipped the door open so fast. He slammed the door, actually slammed the door, and leaned against the side. It took too much effort to stay up so he slid down the side.

He sat there, with his forearms on his thighs, crouched, just thinking. Killing himself would only end up in Sam's satisfaction, finally being free of the hold that Dean had over him.

Dean wasn't even sure that he wanted to hear from Sam…because the truth be told, if Sam begged him, Dean knew that he would take him back.

I'm waiting for blood to flow to my fingers, I'll be alright when my hands get warm, Ignoring the phone—I'd rather say nothing

Dean dropped onto the mattress in a boneless, naked heap. He was sweaty and sticky and really needed a shower, but couldn't seem to force himself to move. He curled away from the warmth next to him, not quite ready to embrace this new relationship. He felt a possessive hand stroke down his spine.

He buried his face farther into the pillow, not wanting to let it get personal. His phone rang on the small nightstand table beside the bed. The ringtone made it clear just who the caller was, hell he'd been hearing that specific ring for the past three weeks. His chest was suddenly too tight and he couldn't breath. He pushed off the bed, grabbed the phone and without looking back, murmured, "Taking a shower."

He made sure to lock the door, not wanting any unexpected visitors. He checked the caller ID, and careless dropped the phone onto the counter. He turned the cold water on full blast, stepped into the freezing spray and yanked the shower curtain closed as the phone rang again. Somehow having the curtain between the phone and him making it hurt less.

I'd rather you never heard my voice, You're calling too late, too late to be gracious, You do not warrant long goodbyes

He walked out of the bathroom with a towel slung low over his hips. He didn't even look over at the bed, just kept walking towards the dresser and grabbed his watch.

"You wanna order some pizza and beer?"

He turned towards the bed, just as the bedroom door opened…and Sam stepped in the room. Both his and Dean's gaze swung to the blonde woman lying on the bed. Sam was stunned, Dean could see the shock on his face. And why shouldn't he be? Dean had always gone for the guys…but somewhere along the way he decided to stop trying to replace Sam…it just wasn't possible.

"Sorry, dad said that you weren't here…I tried calling…" He motioned helplessly with his hands.

Yeah, Dean knew that he had been trying to call. He'd been trying for a few weeks. The thing was that Dean didn't feel like talking with Sam anymore. He didn't feel like fighting with Sam anymore. Hell, the only thing that Dean was interested in doing with Sam was X rated and then leaving him high and dry.

Just because he could, and because he got some sick satisfaction from the look on Sam's face, Dean dropped the phone onto the ground and stepped on it. "Yeah the damn thing's broken."

Sam's face paled, but he straightened his back. "I need to talk to you." Without waiting to hear a response he turned and walked out of the room. Dean grabbed a pair of jeans and pulled them on. He grabbed a shirt and cast the blonde, he couldn't remember her name, a look and followed. Sam walked downstairs and out of the house. Dean pulled his shirt on as he silently followed. He didn't stop until they were far away from the house.

"What the hell was that, Dean?"

Dean gave him a one shouldered shrug. "It was pretty clear, wasn't it?"

"I've been trying to get a hold of you for three weeks, Dean. You can't tell me that you've been seeing that chick for longer than that?"

Dean barked out a laugh. "So? You think that I'm going to drop everything in my life, because you decided that you finally wanted to talk? Sorry, Sam, but that's not the way things work."

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I understand why you're angry…"

"No, you don't!" Dean took a step towards Sam and forced himself to stop. Getting angry wouldn't solve anything, even if he would get unimaginable pleasure from pounding Sam's face into the ground. "You just don't get it, Sam."

"Dean…" Sam stepped forward to grab Dean's wrists. "I'm sorry." Dean looked into his brother's eyes and felt himself weakening. Those damn eyes that he could never refuse before. "I didn't know what I was doing, I didn't know what I wanted. I needed to get away and clear my head."

"You didn't need to go that far away to clear your head, Sam. And besides you were right."

Sam's eyes narrowed and his breath hitched. "What are you talking about?" His voice was laced with hidden panic. His nostrils flared like an animal in danger.

"You and me, Sam…that was just a fantasy."

Sam's grip tightened. "You don't mean that." Dean could see the tears welling up behind his big, brown eyes. Those damn eyes that he could never refuse before, they were his weakness…but now they infuriated him. The way that Sam could manipulate him with just one look.

"Go back to college, Sam, where you belong." He pushed the next words past his lips. "Cause you sure as hell never belonged here with me."

He ripped his wrists out of Sam's grasp and brushed past him to walk back towards the house. He didn't turn around but he heard the thud as Sam fell to his knees.

"Dean." It whispered promises. Apologies. Pleas. Everything that Dean had ever wanted. He still didn't turn around.

You're calling too late, You're calling too late, You're calling too late

Sam went back to college and Dean found someone new to fill that void. It was always someone new because there was never one person that could fill the hole. Sam didn't call very often anymore.


Wow, okay just reading that over again, I have come to the realization that Anna is very right...I am an evil whore. Lmao