A/N: Got inspiration after last nights show. Wincest, obviously. And much sweetness. Adios!
"You said you're a big brother,"-Michael
"You take care of your little brother? You'd do…anything for him?"-Michael
"Yeah, I would,"-Dean
S1E18 "Something Wicked"
Dean's face hurt. But that was nothing new. Parts of him were always hurting, somewhere, someway. If he was honest with himself, he relished that pain. Because unlike in hell, there was release from it, eventually. He could feel himself healing. It was yet another reminder that he was alive.
However, Dean was rarely, if ever, honest with himself. He couldn't afford to be. If he was honest with himself, truly honest with himself about where he'd been, the things he'd seen, the things he'd done, he wouldn't make it one day in the world he and Sam existed in. So he told himself pretty lies. Tessa had been right about that, though she hadn't realized that he already knew that.
Castiel had left some time ago, and Dean was secretly relieved. He liked Cas better than he had before, but there was still something unsettling about him. His gaze…every time Dean looked into his eyes, there was nothing there. No anger. No fear. No love. Just nothing. And that unnerved Dean more than he would like to admit. But after all, Dean was never honest with himself.
Dean closed his eyes for a moment. It was strange, hearing Sam's voice these days. Dean wasn't sure how things had gotten the way they were between them. He wasn't sure when they had stopped having civilized conversations, when the air between them had grown so thick that tearing through it with words caused visible cracks. When had they stopped joking? Stopped smiling at each other? Dean emerged from hell, embraced the only person in this world he truly cared about, and then they both proceeded to hack each other to pieces with lies and deceit. Dean would die for Sam a million times over; go to hell again and again for Sam, yet the idea of starting a simple conversation with him? That thought terrified Dean.
Yet there was something different in his voice, Dean reflected, turning his head and looking back at Sam. He was smiling that nervous little half smile of his, and—dear god, he was giving Dean his 'puppy-dog' look, as Dean had so christened it. Dean bit the insides of his cheeks, but it was no use. He had never had any defenses against that look. Then again, he had never needed any.
"Hey, Sammy," Dean mumbled, struggling to get upright. Sam was by his side in a flash, carefully helping him sit up. "Get off me," Dean said in annoyance, batting Sam's hand away. "I'm fine."
"Sure," Sam said, hurt briefly flashing across his face before quickly being replaced by cool nonchalance.
Dean's chest constricted. His instinct told him to instantly find and kill the thing that caused his little brother to look like that, and to understand that he was the one responsible was…painful, for lack of a better word.
"How are you feeling?" Sam asked, pulling up a chair. Dean let out a short laugh, which turned into wheezing.
"I'll live," Dean muttered, still chuckling harshly. "What happened after I passed out?"
Sam tensed slightly, and Dean instantly knew he was about to feed him a line. As he had said to Bobby, what didn't he know about that kid?
A lot these days, actually, Dean realized, watching Sam carefully. That was the crux of it all, and the main reason Dean was so angry, though he had avoided admitting it to himself up until now. He hated not knowing Sam inside and out, hated that that demon bitch Ruby had access to a part of Sam he didn't.
It was the same reason he had been so reluctant to travel to Stanford with Sam four years ago. He hated knowing that there were people out there who knew parts of Sam he didn't. For eighteen years Dean had watched out for Sam, taken care of him, and known Sam better than anyone in the world. Then he left, and though Dean did his best to leave Sam alone, it tore him apart inside. The first year was the worst. Dad had closed lines of communication, but Dean still called Sam practically every day for a month, and started drinking more, picking up a different chick every night. He visited Sam a few times, but the visits were always awkward. Halfway through Sam's first year away, Dean started drunk dialing him every night. Eventually, Sam just stopped picking up, and at the end of his first year, told Dean point blank to leave him alone, let him live his life.
Including time spent in hell, that was the worst Dean had ever felt. He was pretty certain he would have killed himself via alcohol poisoning if Dad hadn't started dragging him on every hunt he went on. Therapy through hunting. Dad should have written a book, Dean thought in amusement. And through that, Dean was able to leave Sam alone for almost two years, until Dad went missing. Then they were back together, the way it should have been, for three years. Now…now what? They were together, yes. So why did it feel like Sam had gone away again?
Dean focused in again on Sam, who hadn't said anything. "Dude, you still with me?" Dean said, frowning.
Sam swallowed. "I nearly lost you again, Dean." He let out a short, broken little laugh, and Dean felt that he might explode where he was sitting from the desire to go kill something bloody for doing this to Sam. "We keep dying, and almost dying, and I—I don't know how you're dealing with it, but it's killing me, man. I mean, Ruby—Ruby's turning me into the thing I was terrified of becoming, and I don't know how to stop it, and I'm freaking sick of the goddamn angels and demons and their big plans for both of us, and it seems like some creature always has a plan for us, an idea in their heads of what we're gonna become, and all I freaking want is to hunt ghosts and werewolves with you, but you and I keep growing further apart because hell wants me and heaven wants you, and I don't know what the fuck to do!"
It was a good thing Sam was here, Dean reflected dully. Dean never would have allowed himself enough introspection to spew out that little speech, or anything close to it. But he knew as well as Sam did that they needed this. Needed it now, or else they would be torn apart, perhaps irreparably.
Dean cleared his throat. "Okay," he said. "First things first. What the hell is going on with you and Ruby?"
Sam cleared his throat as well, and started talking. And he talked. And talked. And talked until Dean wanted to tear his tongue out for using so many damn adjectives. Not to mention the verbs that he could definitely go without.
"You're drinking her blood?" Dean said, feeling sick. "Dude, that's gross. Sleeping with her is bad enough, but seriously man, what are you, a vampire now?"
"It makes me stronger," Sam muttered. "I can kill demons now just using my mind. I killed Alistair."
Dean froze. "You…you killed Alistair? With your mind?" Sam nodded. Dean grinned in spite of himself. "Okay, that's pretty cool." He shook his head quickly. "No, no, not cool, not cool!" He sighed, and focused on Sam again. "Sammy, I know you think you have this under control, but we're working against the demons, remember?"
"But Ruby—" Sam began.
"I don't care how good you think Ruby is!" Dean exclaimed. "That doesn't matter! We're fighting a war against the demons, and I don't think the angels are exactly good guys. You and me, we have to be together! Both sides are trying to drag us down, and we can't let them. If we stick together, we can beat this, I know we can. Screw the angels and screw the demons. If we need their help, that's fine. But we do it together. And we stop lying to each other. Please, Sammy. Let's just be brothers again."
Sam tensed, but his eyes met Dean's, and for the first time in a long time, they both let their defenses fall. And Dean knew Sam's answer before he said it.
"Okay, Dean," Sam said, smiling shakily at him. "Let's do it."
The pain in Dean's chest vanished, and he grinned like an idiot. But it didn't matter. He had his brother back.
* * *
The next few weeks were recovery for Dean, which was fine by Sam. They played cards, and watched bad movies, and just talked. Dean would never admit it if asked, but Sam knew that it was the best time either of them had had for a while. Dean went back to their hotel room after a couple weeks, and they relaxed for a few days there, in their own private little world, trying to escape for a little bit before emerging back into the horror that was their lives.
"Dude, is it just me, or is that Cedric guy trying to lure Harry into the bathrooms for a little steamy bone?" Dean snorted. They were watching one of the million Harry Potter movies, lying on Dean's bed.
Sam laughed. Trust Dean to think a children's movie contained hidden gay porn in it. "You're just jealous he's not propositioning you," Sam smirked.
Dean rolled his eyes, turning back to the television, the corners of his mouth curling up. Sam smiled and yawned. Dean instantly looked back at him. "You tired, man?"
"A little," Sam said, coming down from his yawn. "Think I'll crash soon."
"Well, don't you fall asleep on my bed," Dean said. "I'm not strong enough to move your heavy ass yet."
"Whatever," Sam mumbled sleepily, watching the movie.
And yet fall asleep on Dean's bed Sam did. He lay conked out against Dean's shoulder, and Dean couldn't bring himself to move his little brother. Except for his big head that was digging into a wound that hadn't quite healed. Carefully, trying not to wake him, Dean shifted them both until his arm went behind Sam comfortably. Sam mumbled something in his sleep, and curled closer to Dean, his head falling onto Dean's chest while his arm curled around Dean's midriff. Dean froze a little, feeling something stirring within his chest, something other than his heart rate, which had tripled.
"Sam," he said with a small laugh, trying to ignore his pounding heart. "You'd hate yourself if you could see what you were doing right now." Yet Dean couldn't bring himself to take a picture with his camera phone to taunt Sam with later.
Screw it. Dean shook off whatever it was he was feeling and concentrated on the movie. After a few minutes, he was able to relax again, and unconsciously brought his arm around Sam's shoulders, gently stroking his too-thick hair.
BANG! A car backfired outside, and Sam jerked awake, big head slamming upwards into Dean's chin.
"Shit!" they both exclaimed at the same time, Sam grabbing the back of his head and Dean clutching his chin with his free hand. Sam's hand collided with Dean's as he checked his head, and Dean felt a rush of embarrassment as he realized that his right hand was still buried in Sam's hair.
"Dude," Sam said, eyebrows raised. "What the hell?
"O-Oh, whatever," Dean snapped. "You should have seen what you were doing. Lying on my chest and everything." He was really starting to regret not taking that photo.
Sam frowned and gave him a confused look, cocking his head. "No…I meant what the hell was that sound?"
And the award for biggest foot shoved in mouth goes to…. "Oh," Dean mumbled, heat flooding his face. "Car backfired."
"Okay," Sam said, still frowning at him. "I guess I'll go to bed then."
"Right," Dean said, still beyond embarrassed. Sam got up from the bed and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Dean kicked off his jeans and got under the covers, turning off his light and burying his face into the pillow.
Sam came back into the room and got into bed, turning off his light as well. Dean fell asleep concentrating on Sam's breathing. He might have mortified himself, but the only way he could sleep was by listening to Sam breathe. Assuring himself that they were both still alive.
* * *
Bobby called them the next day and told them that he'd heard rumors of people being possessed in Austin. Sam was all for checking it out, but Dean was much less eager.
"I mean, shouldn't we be focusing on real leads instead of rumors?" Dean asked.
Sam laughed. "Dean, all we do is follow rumors. What is this about? Is there something wrong with Austin?"
"Well, it's just that Austin is full of a bunch of barefoot hippies and guys who walk around in drag," Dean complained. "I mean, why would we want to go there?"
Sam stared at him incredulously. "You loved Austin the last time we visited. Come on, Dean, it's totally you. Austin has an insane live music scene, South by Southwest is this week, and it's Spring Break, so there are going to be a shit ton of drunk college girls, also, dude, it's practically the pot capital of Texas. What wouldn't you love about that place?"
Dean sighed. "Fine. Let's go." He grabbed his duffel bag and hauled it out to the car.
"Seriously, Dean," Sam nagged, following him out to the car and getting in. Dean sped off, heading south. "Why has Austin got you all up in knots?"
Dean rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Look, man, if you really want to know, I'll tell you. But if you laugh, I will pull this car over and you can hitch your sorry ass to Austin. And I'd think carefully about that. There's supposed to be lots of cowboys in Texas."
Sam let out a half-laugh, half-groan. "Seriously, Dean, I thought we weren't ever going to mention that again." Sam had suggested renting Brokeback Mountain, since it looked like a cool cowboy movie, and only understood the suggestive looks he and Dean had gotten after they got back to the motel and watched the movie.
Dean grinned. "Sure, Jack."
"What, does that make you Ennis?" Sam sneered.
Dean's grin turned into a grimace. "Hell, no. I'm not fucking gay."
"And you're not getting off the hook," Sam said quickly. "I still want to know why Austin is such a sore spot for you."
Dean breathed harshly through his nose. "Fine. I—you're right. I did love Austin. I loved it a lot. So much so that I wanted to live there. You never saw this, but I begged Dad to let us stay. He refused, and has avoided the place ever since. I've always been afraid that if I went back there, I wouldn't be able to leave." Dean's cheeks were tinged with red now, and he was looking anywhere except at Sam.
But Dean was wrong. Sam didn't feel like laughing, in the least bit. He felt like crying, but he knew that would never fly with Dean. He coughed gruffly. "We, uh, we can stay for Spring Break. If you want."
"Whatever, man," Dean said, and Sam wanted to kick himself. They rode the rest of the way in silence.
They arrived in Austin the next day at around noon. They drove through downtown, and there were, Sam noted with amusement, a great deal of barefoot hippies. Music blared from every single bar and restaurant they passed, and there were quite a few people walking around with guitars and little drums.
"Dude," Sam laughed. "This is awesome." He had only been fourteen the last time they'd been in Austin, and remembered very little about it, except that the school they'd gone to had been pretty cool.
Dean made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, and Sam shut up. Dean got a motel right next to the capital at a place called La Quinta.
"So where do we start?" Dean said, once they got settled.
Sam grinned sheepishly. "I have a confession to make. There is no case here. It's in San Antonio. Bobby's already on it. He said he'd call us if he needed anything, but he's doing fine so far."
"Then what the hell are we doing here, Sam?" Dean demanded. He felt irrationally angry.
"I just remembered how much you love Austin, and since Cas said the demons have been quiet lately, I thought we could come down here and enjoy Spring Break," Sam said, smiling that brilliant smile at Dean.
How the hell was Dean supposed to fight that statement combined with that smile? Why did he still want to so badly? Dean spun away from Sam, breathing harshly.
"Dean?" And fuck if Dean couldn't hear the smile fading from Sam's face. Sam walked up behind him. "Is everything okay?" He tentatively placed his hands on Dean's shoulders. Dean tore away from him and turned around so fast he smashed into Sam.
"Whoa, easy there, tiger," Sam said, grabbing Dean's shoulders. Dean brought up his hands to push Sam's arms away, but his arms collided with Sam's, who grabbed his elbows in turn. "Dean, what the—"
Dean was frozen, staring at his brother, whose look of concern curved his lips upwards in a way that—
Dean yanked backwards as if trying to get away from these thoughts, but his shoes slipped on the carpet and he fell backwards on the floor, bringing Sam, who was still holding onto him, down as well. Sam groaned as he and Dean went down hard in a mass of limbs. He kept hold of Dean's arms and pushed them over his head once they were on the ground. His legs were on either side of Dean's, and in this way he was able to effectively pin Dean down.
"Dean," Sam panted. "What the hell just happened?"
Dean stared up at Sam, and then wrapped his knees around Sam's thighs, startling him enough so that his hold on Dean's hands loosened, and Dean turned the tables on him, rolling them both over. He held Sam's shoulders down, staring into his eyes. Or trying to. There was a very frustrating lock of hair in the way. Dean pushed the hair out of the way, and Sam seized his hand, holding it against his face. Their eyes remained locked as Sam began to rub circles with his thumb across Dean's hand.
"Dean?" Sam said softly.
"Sammy…I—" But Dean fell silent. There was nothing he could think to say. Nothing that would make any kind of sense. Dean leaned forward, until their noses were touching. Dean was shaking so badly it was a wonder he didn't fall over again, and he could feel Sam's heart pounding through him. It might as well be a reflection of his own.
This was wrong. Wrong in the most basic sense of the word, yet…yet it made sense. In that second, Dean felt as if their entire relationship, his whole life, had just been a buildup to this moment. Because for this one second, everything in his life made sense. The person he cared about—no, the person he loved—most in this world was with him, and pressed beneath him, Sam had never felt more real to him in living memory. The love Dean felt for him was indescribable, unreal. He felt it now more clearly because of its recent absence and reemergence. They say you only truly appreciate something once it's gone…but Dean had never felt more appreciative of anything in his life than he did right then of Sam beneath him. Dean nuzzled his nose against Sam's, and they stared at each other for a long moment.
Then Sam grabbed the back of Dean's head and crushed their mouths together. Dean's tongue collided with Sam's and dear god Sam tasted like vanilla and cinnamon and no kiss had ever compared to this because there was no adjustment period or awkwardness or confusion, just tongue and lips and teeth and no worrying about if Sam would be okay while he was gone because Sammy was here, right here, safe beneath him, and so warm but his mouth was cool and Dean had never in his life dreamed that he would know what Sam's tongue felt like against his, what his lips tasted like, or that it would feel better and more right than anything in his life.
Sam's arms wrapped around Dean and he turned them over, pressing Dean into the carpet and devouring his mouth like he was starving. Dean gave as good as he got, though, because indeed, they had both been starving.
Dean was not, however, prepared to feel his little brother's hardness pressing through his pants and into Dean's leg. He almost stopped them then and there, but Sam pulled away first. Dean was disappointed and relieved until Sam lifted his chin up. He leaned down and lightly bit and sucked on the skin next to his Adam's apple. Dean convulsed beneath him, so hard it was almost painful to not touch himself. But he didn't need to, he soon discovered.
Sam slipped his thigh between Dean's legs, rubbing gently. Dean whimpered, too far gone to even feel embarrassed about it as he pressed himself against Sam's thigh. Sam slipped Dean's shirt off, and as the cold air hit Dean's skin it brought him to his senses enough to wonder how the hell Sam had not only ended up on top, but managed to reduce Dean to quivering mush beneath him as well. Dean struggled with Sam's button up shirt, and a smile curved Sam's face as he undid the shirt for him.
Really, there was no reason to gawk in awe; Dean had seen Sam without a shirt hundreds of times, but it was different now. Perhaps because now, Dean could touch and taste all he wanted. Because now, Dean could admit to himself as well as to Sam that he wanted to.
Dean leaned up and licked Sam's nipple. Sam shuddered, seizing Dean's shoulders and pulling him up off the floor, then pushing him onto the bed. Sam crawled on with him, and Dean shoved him onto his back, climbing on top of his gigantic younger brother. Sam struggled with him for a moment, before giving in and letting Dean do what he wanted.
What Dean wanted involved yanking off Sam's pants and boxers, and leaving him naked beneath Dean. He ran his face over Sam's dick, breathing in his scent deeply and relishing the feel of Sam, just Sam against him. He ran his tongue slowly up the shaft before engulfing him completely. Sam moaned and bucked upwards. There was something so deeply intimate about this that he couldn't quite understand. He swirled his tongue over the silky skin of Sam's cock, and then Sam was pushing him off, breathing harshly.
"Was that not—" Dean began, but Sam shook his head.
"No, that was incredible. I'm just trying to hold on. I want…I mean, I've never done it before, but I want to have sex with you," Sam panted.
Dean paused. He'd never been with a guy before, but he'd done the same thing with girls before. He could pull it off, he was pretty certain.
"Dean?" Sam said uncertainly.
"Shh, Sammy," Dean smiled, kissing his lips gently. "This will feel good, I promise you."
Dean quickly grabbed lubricant out of his bag. Squeezing some into his hand, he warmed it between the fingers of his right hand, while he pulled off the rest of his clothes with his left. He faced Sam, and the expression on Sam's face was one of trust so pure, the only thing Dean wanted was to make him feel as much pleasure as possible. He pulled Sam in for a heated kiss, distracting him while his pushed his first lubricated finger inside. Sam gasped, but it was a gasp of pleasure, not pain, and he ground down on Dean's finger, easily welcoming a second, and then a third. Dean was quickly finger fucking him without a second thought, content to watch the different types of ecstasy playing across his brother's face.
"Dean," Sam gasped, laying his forehead on Dean's shoulder. "Want you…inside…now. Please, Dean."
"Anything you want, baby," Dean whispered, cringing at the pet name but unable to stop himself. He carefully spread lubricant on his dick, and pushed inside.
Sam cried out at first, pressing his forehead against Dean's, his entire body shaking. Dean kissed him to distraction, going inside the rest of the way without Sam crying out again. Now for the real test. Dean pulled partly out, and shoved back in. Sam gasped, eyes shooting open and back arching.
"Feel good, Sammy?" Dean murmured against his lips.
Sam nodded violently. "Fuck—Dean, that feels incredible."
Dean grinned. "Good." He placed one hand on Sam's hip, another on his shoulder, and fucked him. Slowly, then quickly, then slowly again. But it was the sounds Sam made which were the biggest turn-on. Little moans and whimpers that seemed to turn into his name at the end.
They lasted for fifteen minutes before Dean finally couldn't take it anymore. He came, violently, inside of Sam, moments before Sam came all over his chest. They lay there for a few moments after in the same position, until Dean was completely soft again. He pulled out, rolling over. He grabbed his abandoned shirt, wiping the cum off of Sam's chest, then his. Sam laughed.
"Your shirt, Dean? Really?"
"It'll wash," Dean shrugged, and pulled Sam towards him, wrapping his arms around his well-fucked little brother, who sighed contentedly.
"You don't think the angels were watching, do you?" Sam said, worried.
Dean groaned. "Sam, do me a favor. Thought like that ever enters your head, please don't say it."
"What, you aren't thinking the same thing?" Sam yawned.
"Nope," Dean said sleepily. "Now go to sleep."
It just so happened that the angels did see what they had done, and Dean had thought about it, regardless of what he had told Sam. But this was to be expected. After all, since when had Dean ever been honest with himself?
A/N: Wrote this all in one night, so be gentle. Constructive criticism as opposed to flames. Much love! Adios!