Title: Orpheus Drowning

Rating: NC-17

Characters: Dean/Sam (Wincest)

Genres: Angst, First Time, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Sam has to come to grips with the deal Dean made. Dean has to deal with a broken Sam. Secrets are kept, admissions are made, all in the name of finding a way to break their pattern of each trying to die for the other. (Spoilers for Seasons 1 & 2)

Disclaimer: So not mine, if they were I would have better things to do then write about them.

Author's Notes: A/N: First time writing in this fandom. I just started watching the show and second season finale, of course, did me in. So I had to write something. This story is what came of it. Might be a chapter fic, if people like it, cause I definitely have a plot bunny in here somewhere with all the angsty porn. Thanks for reading, hope someone enjoys!

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Sam is silent on the way to the motel. Every now and then he turns to look back at the headlights of Bobby's car as he and Ellen follow them. It's like a nervous twitch. He's waiting for something to attack the cars. He has images of giant bird like demons flying off with the only friends, the only family, he has left. He shudders hard and feels his stomach reel.

And that thought, always that thought, makes him turn his head just enough to watch his brother in his peripheral. Dean has the music cranked loud, the window open so that the chill night hair sends Sam's hair flying in all directions. His arm is out the window, beating the door of the Impala to the beat of Kansas' Carry on Wayward Son. He looks- happy, content. There's no fear in him; he doesn't check the rearview window or look to the sky for would be enemies, or even look sideways at Sam to make sure he's still there. Dean was goddamned Orpheus, bringing people back from the dead, only without the need to look back, to make sure.

He wants to say something. No, he wants to hit something. He watches Dean, openly now. There's still blood on his face from when the damned demon had thrown him and there's dirt on his hand as it grips the wheel of the Impala. Sam looks for something; some sign of the countdown that began just yesterday, the countdown to the end. But he can't see anything. Sure, Dean looks battered and not a little tired, but that's nothing more than usual after a job. Especially not after this, not after tonight.

All of his surety; that he could find a way out of this for Dean, that he could save his brother for once, is gone. There had been something in Dean's eyes when he said it, something more that Dean wasn't telling him.

His fury is near a boiling point. But it's more than that. There's an ache in his chest he can't make go away, a pain that makes it nearly impossible to breathe. He feels every minute, every second that passes.

"How could you?" He asks loudly, angrily, straining to be heard over the music. And he's shocked at how quickly the relaxation in Dean's face flees. How quickly his brother's features break again.

"Please, Sammy. Don't." Is Dean's broken reply. And Sam shuts his mouth, stiffens his jaw. He can't deny the plea in Dean's voice, because it's not something he hears often.

So Sam says nothing for the rest of the ride, says nothing as Bobby and Dean get rooms. He says his goodnights to Ellen and Bobby, giving them fierce hugs, knowing they'll be heading out in the morning and knowing he probably won't see them for a few days, maybe weeks.

And Sam is silent again after that. He follows Dean into their shared room, and sets a small bag on the table in the corner of the room. It's not a bad room; one bed that's more than large enough to share and Sam can't honestly say he minds sharing tonight, no matter how angry he is at his older brother, a TV against the wall, a large bathroom that Dean disappears into immediately, and the table that Sam is standing near. It's painted in light colors and something about that soothes Sam. He takes out the bandages and the peroxide from the bag and sits at the chair, staring at the items. He can hear the shower running in the bathroom.

When Dean comes out of the bathroom just a few minutes later he's wrapped in a towel and glistening wet. He stands in the doorway, staring at Sam for a long moment. Sam blinks heavily, but meets his brother's gaze. There's something in it, something he can't read, but desperately wants to. His chest seizes and he has to fight the urge to stand and take Dean in his arms. Instead he nods his head towards the bed. Dean nods his head once and goes to sit down.

Sam brings over the bandages and the peroxide. Dean is watching him, quiet and somber now, all traces of victory gone from his features. He looks paler somehow, weaker, and that terrifies Sam. What if this is how it happens? Dean taken away from him a little bit more every day until a year is up and there's nothing really left of the Dean he loves. Sam tries to push the thought away and kneels in front of Dean.

His hands are shaking as he cleans Dean's head wound, and by the time he's bandaged and taped it he can't keep them steady no matter how hard he tries. Dean's eyes don't leave his face, and in the soft light of the motel they are more green than hazel and Sam can't deal with that at the moment. There are tears blinding him and burning his eyes. And as he kneels in front of his brother he closes his eyes and lowers his head until it rests on Dean's still shower damp knee.

"Sammy." His name is hardly a breath; it doesn't even stir the air at all as it leaves Dean's lips. A hand rests lightly on his head, the fingers tangling in his hair.

The tears fall loose then, because he doesn't know how to stop them. But he doesn't want them either. He's shaking and breathing has become a task he can't seem to complete. He's shuddering and gasping and his vision is so blurred he can't see anything. It's all a blur. And then he's pushed and prodded a little and without knowing how they're both on the floor and he's wrapped up in his brother's arms, resting against his chest, Dean's legs bent, and surrounding him like a barrier from the rest of the world.

It's a strangling mix of rage and sorrow and hopelessness that claws its way up his throat. It escapes his lips in a ragged scream. And he's pounding his fists on Dean's chest, hitting as hard as he can, which isn't hard considering how badly he's shaking. And Dean just takes it, whispers his name, and touches him; hands brushing his hair back, touching his shoulders, grabbing his face. But he never blocks the blows and Sam loses count how many times he hears the solid thud of his fists hitting his brother.

It isn't enough. Nothing is ever going to be enough.

…….

"How could you do this to me? You selfish, stupid, stubborn son of a bitch!" Sam screams, but it's strangled and barely coherent. A retched sob escapes his lips. His eyes are red ringed and swollen from his tears, and his jaw is clenched tightly. "You dragged me back into this. You came and got me and it was supposed to be you and me and how the fuck am I supposed to do this without you, Dean?" He snarls, but the sound is so weak, so broken that it physically hurts Dean to hear it.

He manages to wrap his arms around his struggling younger brother and pull him closer than he already is. He presses a desperate kiss to Sam's temple, and he tastes Sam's sweat and his tears and the faint copper of Dean's own blood that's somehow been smeared on Sam's temple.

He's shocked by how hard Sam shoves him away. And he's more surprised by how quickly Sam is up on his feet, long legs untangling, so that he towers over Dean. He stares down at him, and Dean is honestly scared of the light in his eyes. Not scared for himself, but for Sam.

He thinks, for the first time, that maybe he really did underestimate just how badly Sam would take this. He'd known he would be upset; angry, guilty, sad, terrified, all those things that Dean had felt when their dad had done this for him. But he wasn't expecting this; this total breakdown, this desperate madness, the helplessness that bleeds off of his little brother in drowning waves. It's suffocating Dean, and he can't imagine what it's doing to Sam.

"Sammy." He says softly.

Sam stumbles away as if he's been shot. He slams hard into the wall and leans precariously there, wipes his face on his shirt sleeve. He's staring at Dean, but he's not seeing.

"Sammy, please." He tries again, his voice is a ragged whisper; it's harsh to his own ears. It's hard to breath.

Sammy's eyes focus back on him, and his face crumples again, lips pulling back in something that is half grimace, half sob.

"I couldn't let you die!" Dean shouts. He gets off the floor, slowly, because he's lightheaded and not a little sick to his stomach, and there isn't a muscle in his body that isn't shaking. The towel is hanging precariously on his hips, but he doesn't notice. "I'm supposed to take care of you, damn it. That's my job. My job! It's always been my job; since before the fire, before mom, before all the fucking demons. Dad never had to tell me, if he'd never said anything I still would of known; you were mine and I was supposed to protect you!" He advances on Sam, who seems like he's trying to find a way to just meld into the wall.

"Fuck you." Sam grates out between clenched teeth. He's shaking so hard, so hard, and Dean can see it as he comes closer. His heart hurts, worse than it did when it was dying. This is all so much worse. "Fuck you and your job. It's my job too. You think I don't feel the same damn way, Dean? How am I supposed to- how can I-?" Sam's anger seems to slip away, just like that, and his face, his beautiful face, is breaking again.

He's sliding slowly down the wall, back towards the floor. Dean steps quickly and grabs him, wrapping him up in his arms, and keeping him up. He gets him standing again, and then backs away just enough to grab Sam's face in his rough hands. He leans forward and presses his forehead against his little brother's. With Sam slumped against the wall they're nearly even height.

"You got to live for me, Sammy. You have to. I need you to be alive." He says fiercely. He lets his hands move to tangle in the hair at Sam's temples, to pull his brother's face up just an inch so that they are breathing in each other's breath. "Only thing that's ever mattered is that you lived." Then he presses his mouth to his brother's, firm but soft, hesitant and yet not. He knows Sam won't push him away. It's just a question of how close he'll let him get.

A sob escapes past Sam's lips, bubbling thickly out of his throat. He sounds like he's dying. Dean pulls his lips back, stares into Sam's eyes, which are mere shades lighter than his own.

"I've got to save you." Sam whispers brokenly. He leans forward and lays a desperate kiss on Dean's lips. He pulls back a moment later and his hands have moved up lay flat over Dean's bare chest. "Can't let you die, Dean. I can't do it." He lets his head fall onto Dean's shoulder. Dean wraps him in his arms, holds him so tight he knows it must hurt, but he doesn't care.

"You can't save me, man." And Dean thinks it would hurt less to tear his own heart out then it does to say the next words. "That's part of the deal. If I try to get out of this- you- you-." He stops because he can't swallow around the words. He can feel Sam struggling again, trying to pull away from him, but Dean won't let him. And he's still got at least a few years more of training against Sam's exceptional height and size. "You'll die, Sam. Drop right dead at my feet. And you can't do that." Sam stops struggling, practically goes limp in Dean's arms.

"No hope then." He says softly, voice like a spirit, against Dean's neck. His breath on Dean's damp skin makes him shiver. "Dean." His name is a high, keening noise in his brother's voice.

He lowers his face, nudges at Sam's until Sam lifts his face enough for Dean to kiss him again. Sam's hands trail down his chest to rest on his hips, digging in hard as he opens his mouth to Dean. Dean's moan is swallowed by Sam's eager, fucking perfect mouth, and Sam's tongue is tasting and teasing. He lets Sam back him up slowly, moving step by careful step until the back of his knees hit the motel bed and he falls back onto it, with Sam falling heavily on top of him.

…….

It should be harder to do this, to cross this unspeakable line. But it isn't. It's easy as breathing to run his hands down his brother's muscled body, feel the hitch of his breath in the sudden movement of his chest. It's easy to kiss his full lips fiercely, feel the life and the pulse of blood in his veins as he licks his way down his neck. It's easy and it's impossible.

He's breathing hard, and he can't seem to catch his breath. Dean is barely covered by the motel towel, but Sam can't help but grind his hips into his and try to get them closer. Dean makes a low noise, a sound that lands somewhere between a hiss and a moan. Sam raises his head to kiss it from his lips. Dean's hands tangle in his hair and pull hard.

"Dean. Dean, please." He doesn't even know what he's begging for; Dean's hands on him, his mouth, his life, the beat of his heart for more than a god damned year, all of it.

Dean flips him over easily, and he's got Sam's shirt off in one smooth motion. He lies down over Sam so that they're bare skin to bare skin. The feel of it, the heat of it, makes Sam's eyes roll back in his head and a desperate moan leave his lips. Dean's hands are slow and steady, not shaking the way they were before, against the wall. Sam keeps his eyes closed; he can't stand to look at Dean right now. He tries to concentrate on the feel of dry, somewhat calloused, hands as they run over his skin, and remove the rest of his clothes.

"Dean." The desperation is bubbling back up and it makes him shake twice as hard as before. "I can't- you can't- god, don't leave me, Dean. Please. I need you." Dean kisses him hard, but his hands are still gentle.

"Shut up, Sammy. I love you, but you have to shut up because I can't- I can't listen to your voice anymore, man." Sam opens his eyes and looks at Dean above him; his eyes are dark and clouded, still wet and glistening with tears. And that does shut him up, because he doesn't know what to say to that face.

Dean kisses his neck, nipping and licking over the sensitive skin. His hands move lower and his mouth bites the line of his collar bone. Sam bites his lip hard because he doesn't trust himself to stay quiet. He's so hard it hurts, and every sweeping brush of Dean's hand over his hips and down his stomach makes his cock jump. He can feel Dean's pressing into his thigh as they rock together.

It's too much, all this contact, everything laid bare, the tears between them. Sam can't keep his mind of any one thing and he can't, just can't get his breath back, or seem to stop shaking. Dean puts just enough space between them to look up at Sam, and Sam forces himself to watch his brother's face.

Dean reaches a hand up, softly tracing the lines of Sam's lips until Sam opens them slightly, sucks one long finger into his mouth. Dean's eyes flutter close for a minute and Sam sucks just a little bit harder, letting his teeth graze his brother's skin. Sam watches, fascinated and silent now, as Dean pulls his finger from Sam's mouth and brings that same hand back down his body, almost but not quite brushing over Sam's straining cock, before dipping down between his spread legs.

When Dean's finger enters him, slowly and carefully because they don't have lube or anything else to help ease the way, he cries out and bucks against Dean. He's torturously slow in prepping Sam, careful and easy, as if Sam were the one living on borrowed time. By the time he has three fingers in Sam, Sam is thrashing on the bed; moaning through gritted teeth, his hands clawing at Dean's shoulders because if he can't get closer to Dean soon he's going to lose his mind, or maybe die all over again.

"Dean, fuck, now, damn it." He growls out, reaching out to grab Dean's neck and pull him in for a kiss that's more violent than passionate but still seems to get the point across. Because the minute he lets Dean's lips free Dean is pulling his fingers out and reaching to the floor, to his jeans, where even Sam knows a condom is waiting. He grabs Dean's hand and stops him. He glares at the questioning glance Dean gives him. "No. Just you." Dean opens his mouth to argue. "I don't care, damn it, and you owe me. I want you, just you. And I don't care what fucking comes of it." He fights back the sob that closes off his chest, tries not to let the tears fall, but even as he closes his eyes he can feel them leaking past his lashes.

He doesn't actually expect acquiescence, but Dean doesn't fight him on this. He just wipes away Sam's tears, still silent except for his ragged breath and the occasional moan. He reaches between them again, and Sam opens his legs wider for him. He feels the head of Dean's cock against his ass and moans, biting hard on his lower lip and tasting blood.

And its heaven and hell and every single dimension in between when he starts pressing in, because he's bigger than his three fingers, and it's just not easy going. But it's worth it when Dean is finally buried deep inside him, body shuddering above him, breath coming in short, high gasps. He looks wild, looking down at Sam, and that would scare Sam a little except that Dean has never scared Sam and never could.

"Okay, Sammy?" Dean asks in a breathless whisper, the first words he's spoken since he told Sam to shut up. Sam closes his eyes, let's his brother's voice wash over him. "Sammy? I need to know you're okay."

"Just move. Need to feel you." He manages to get out. He moves his hands from Dean's shoulders to his face, his long fingers brushing over the high cheekbones, the almost roman nose, over his perfect lips. "Dean." And that's all the encouragement that Dean needs.

……..

They move together after that and even though it's painful at times for both of them it only makes the pleasure all the more sweet. Every ache and burn let's Dean know they are alive. He can see the slight winces in Sam's features, the flaring of his nose, the tensing of his jaw, but whenever he slows the rolling motion of their hips the hands that run ceaselessly over his back and shoulders, pulling him closer, find their way to his face. And there's no mistaking the message in his little brother's eyes. The pain is the cost, those green eyes say, and it's a price Sam will pay.

Dean would stop to wonder if this means they are sincerely fucked up now, if the pleasure will ever be without the pain, but he doesn't want to think about anything other than Sam and the smell of his sweat, the taste of his skin, the feel of his tight heat wrapped around him.

He presses in deeper into Sam and leans forward to rest his forehead against Sam's. And then he can't shut up. He's close and no orgasm has ever felt like this one. Sex has never felt like this. And he can't shut the fuck up about it although he really wishes he could. But he needs Sam to know, needs him to hear.

And so, as Sam shoots hot and sticky between them, and as his ass seems to milk Dean dry so that he comes mere seconds after his brother he can only repeat, over and over again, against the flush skin of his brother's forehead, his lips, his neck;

"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you."

He knows that the same words roll desperately off of Sam's lips. And it's all that matters, all that can ever matter from here on out.

……

For hours they doze; wrapped together, Sam around Dean's warm body and bundled under the blankets. It's quiet and peaceful, just for this precious stretch of time; the universe giving them an all too brief break.

When Sam wakes there are just a few streaks of light in the sky. It's too cold outside of the blankets and too warm underneath, they're sticky and he aches in places he never even imagined, but he doesn't care. He wants to stay in his brother's arms; Dean's grip seems to have only tightened as they slept. But his mind is working over time.

He already has several ideas forming in his head. Some of them he thinks might be good; some of them he knows are suicidal. All of them though, he knows, he can't tell Dean about. The way Sam figures it, Dean's the one who made the deal. So fine, Dean can't try to find a way out. And just to be safe Sam is assuming that means he can't knowingly let Sam try either. But that just means that Sam's going to have to be able to pull off the hardest scam he ever has.

He has to let his brother think he's accepting his death. And he needs to find a way to stop it.

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(The End-Chapter One)