Big thanks to brie630 for her help with this one!

Warning: there are parts of this fic that could come off as me hating on Genevieve, but that's not my intention. I'm seeing things from Sam's perspective. I'm sure she's a lovely person and I promise you I have no problem with her.


At least we're talking.

Sam's ridiculous words still hang in the air between them like a seraph, painting the room with an odd mixture of tension and outright ridiculousness. It's crazy, to even think about a world where people were surprised to find Sam talking to Dean. Sam's been talking to Dean his whole life. His first words were to Dean, Dad told them that often enough. Hell, his first word was Dean; his big brother's name was the first thing he ever figured out how to say. It's probably the most important word he ever learned how to say too. Dean's everything to him, always has been, and seeing those looks of shock all those strangers wore when they saw them together is so foreign that Sam's not even sure how to deal with it. With whiskey, he figures is his best option.

But not yet. Sometimes they can just brush a hunt off with a few beers and a hand or two of Texas Hold'em, but this doesn't feel like one of those times. This one was so far out of Sam's comfort zone that he doesn't even know how to begin wrapping his head around it. The thought of their life as a TV show is so buckets-of-crazy that it defies description. But that isn't even really what's bothering Sam. What's bothering him is that look he saw on Dean's face; that sad, resigned look while Dean's mouth said all those things. You wouldn't be that broken up if we didn't find a way back. You gotta admit; being a bazillionaire, married to Ruby, the whole package? It's no contest. It is no contest, actually. But not the way Dean thinks.

"Can we talk about something?" Sam asks quietly, cautiously. Dean does talking better now than he used to, but usually it needs to be him that initiates it. When Sam wants to talk, Dean still has a tendency to close up.

Dean looks up, meeting Sam's eyes with his own emerald ones, and he looks a little hesitant but not altogether unreceptive.

"Sure. Unless you're gonna ask me to marry you or something." There's a playful glint in Dean's eyes now, and Sam laughs softly.

"What, you think having a fake wife for a few days bit me with the marriage bug?" Sam asks.

Dean shrugs. "Maybe. She was kinda hot, I mean when there's not an evil, apocalypse-inducing demon bitch inside her."

Dean's still joking, but there's a hint of truth to his words now, and that's exactly what Sam wants to talk about.

"Well it didn't." Sam bumps his right shoulder against Dean's left. "And yeah, she was cute, but she did nothing for me, man. You're it for me, you know that."

Dean rolls his eyes, but he still bumps back. "Not like we could anyway, right? Even if we were gay, which, for the record, we're totally not."

Sam can't help barking a laugh. "Oh, totally. Straight as a crazy straw."

"Well I certainly am. Not so sure about you, princess." He ruffles Sam's hair fondly and then reaches over to the fridge. He grabs two Budweisers and hands one to Sam.

Sam takes the cold, glass bottle from his brother and twists the cap off, then he leans over and clinks it unconsciously with Dean's like they always do. Sam doesn't even think about it anymore, it's a reflex.

"You know," he begins carefully. "If we actually did go to Vancouver, we … we could. Just … yeah."

Dean fixes him with a funny look. "Are you asking?"

"No," Sam says quickly, and it's the truth. "I'm just, I don't know, saying."

He's not asking, he's really not. He's just putting it out there because it's kind of throwing him that Dean isn't freaking out right now. And Dean brought up the gay thing too, which has always been an off-limits topic even in a joke. Sam's aware that Dean being the only person who ever really did it for him means that he's probably at least half gay, but it's always been one of those things they just don't talk about. Sam's never needed to talk about it either; this thing with Dean, he knows exactly what it is. He's never needed to define it. They're not boyfriends, they're not star-crossed lovers, they're just brothers and they're together. They're monogamous, and least when one of them isn't dead, and they sleep together and they love each other (even if Dean won't say it) and that's just how it is. Sam doesn't need an explanation any further than that, but Dean seems sort of hung up on this whole Sam – Jared – having a wife thing, so maybe this is a bigger issue than Sam thought.

"We're brothers, Sammy," Dean says after a long moment. "Pretty sure they don't allow that. Even in Canada."

The 'even in Canada' part is a joke, Sam can tell by the way his brother leans on the word 'even', and it's Dean's way of putting his walls back up. Sometimes Sam really wishes Dean wouldn't do that.

"Although I wouldn't be surprised, they get up to some weird shit up there," Dean continues with a smile on his face that doesn't quite make it to his eyes. "That – shit, what's it called, that crazy sport with the brooms?"

It takes Sam a second to figure out what Dean's talking about. "You mean curling?"

"Yeah!" Dean snorts. "What the hell is that? I think the weather gets to them. They're too frostbitten to think straight."

Sam shakes his head and laughs a little, halfway amused and half exasperated. He'd love to let this go and spend the evening drinking and laughing about how completely messed up the last few days was, but there was something in Dean's voice before, when he was talking about how much better Sam's life was in that other world. It was honesty. Dean actually believed what he was saying. He actually thought that Sam should choose a life as an actor with a pretty wife over the one he has with Dean.

"Look, we're – we're not gonna get married in Canada, I don't know why I said that," Sam carries on, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You just … you seemed a bit … off. About the whole me being married to Ruby thing."

Dean stares stonily at a spot near Sams' left elbow and doesn't say anything, so Sam pushes a little harder.

"Or maybe it was me being married period. And I just – I wanted you to know that I meant it when I said you were crazy for thinking I'd want to stay in that world. I want this, us. It sucks sometimes, yeah, but you're still the only one I'd ever want that with. If I ever … did. Want it, that is." Sam trails off lamely when his words start to fumble.

Dean's expression has softened just slightly, but now he's wearing one that Sam can place.

"Did you sleep with her?" he asks in a small voice.

"What?" Sam cries. "Of course not! How could you even think that?"

"Well you spent the whole night in that room with her. What exactly was I supposed to think?" Dean says, that sad, resigned look back on his face, like he's hurt but he somehow thinks he deserves it.

"I – Dean, I had to, you know I did!" Sam protests. "She thought I was her husband, if I'd refused to sleep in what she considered our bedroom she would've realized something was up! But I didn't sleep with her Dean, I didn't even sleep at all! I spent the night researching, I told you that!"

Dean scoffs. "Yeah, so you said, but that sounds pretty convenient if you ask me."

"You think I'm lying?" Sam asks incredulously.

"What I think is that I was right downstairs the whole time," Dean spits venomously. "If you were really researching why didn't you come down and ask me for help?"

Well that just doesn't make any sense at all.

"Because I never ask you to help me with that! What's wrong with you? How can – I mean, I can't even believe you think I'd do that to you!"

"Yeah, well, it wouldn't exactly be the first time, would it?" Dean's eyes are wild and fiery; irrational. "You slept with Ruby once before, right? And I have no idea how many people you had sex with in the last year but it's at least four, and if your M.O. was any indication there were probably a lot more!"

Sam's chest feels like it just got crushed by a steamroller. "You – are you serious? You're actually gonna throw that in my face when all this time you've been the one going on about how none of the stuff I did without a soul was my fault?"

Dean huffs an unamused laugh. "I'm not the one who was tapping everything in a skirt, dude."

"Yeah, not this time. But that used to be exactly who you were, you've said it yourself!" Sam chews out angrily; desperately. "Look, I'm sorry about everything I did in the last year, I really am, but I hardly remember any of it! I'm sorry you're hurt, but I can't exactly explain it to you when I have no recollection of doing it at all!"

"Yeah, I freakin' know that!" Dean cries, his arms flailing out to his sides in irritation. "But you know what? The fact still remains that you did those things and I'm the one who had to watch you do it! I'm the one who had to clean up after you! It wasn't even a blip on Robo-Sam's radar but it fuckin' sucked for me!"

Sam can't even believe how unreasonable that statement is. He knows he did horrible things without his soul; he feels the umbrage and the regret every single day, but that doesn't mean he wanted to do any of those things. He doesn't remember them and if he'd had a choice he wouldn't have done any of them. He would take the entire year back if he could, but he can't. And he's trying to make it right, he really is, but it's completely unfair for Dean to be using it against him right now.

It's all kinds of ridiculous that they're even having this conversation. This thing between them has been on and off in the past, and yeah okay, when it's off, when Sam was at school and during the year they just spent apart, they've been with other people. But when it's on they're only with each other, and Sam knows that as well as he knows his own name. The lines of their relationship blur sometimes as a result of their crazy life, but right now they are very clearly back together, and Sam wouldn't cheat on Dean, he just wouldn't. Especially not with the doppelganger of Ruby.

"I don't know what you want me to say," Sam mutters, straining every inch of self control he possesses to keep him from being mad at Dean. Dean's hurt and he's lashing out, that's all this is, but Sam's always had a temper and he kind of wants to slug the asshole right about now.

"I – God, I don't know!" Dean shouts, running his hands over his face in frustration. "I just didn't like seeing you with her, okay? I know it doesn't make any fuckin' sense, I just … I don't know!"

Dean actually growls in anger and hurls his half-full beer bottle out the broken window. It hits one of the wooden beams that support Bobby's deck and shatters, but it's still raining too hard to see the shards of brown glass falling to the ground.

"Look, I'm sorry," Dean offers after a minute. "This was just a weird one, man, I'm still reeling a little. And I did see the look on your face when she kissed you, I know you weren't into her. But then you two went upstairs and I crashed on the couch and, I don't know, I guess I was expecting you to stay until she fell asleep and then come back down. To me."

Sam has no idea what Dean wants him to say to that, so he just nods and doesn't say anything.

"But you didn't, and then I was just lying there all night with nothing to think about except what you might be doing up there and I know it's stupid but I got mad and jealous and …" Dean trails off and sighs.

"Dean, I … nothing happened," Sam says softly. "She changed out of her dress, I didn't look, and then she kissed me on the cheek and got into bed. I said I wasn't tired yet, so I set the laptop up at this little table by the window and she went to sleep. That's it, man, I swear."

Dean nods shortly. "Yeah. Okay."

"I mean it," Sam insists, stepping forward enough so he can put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I wouldn't do that to you. I mean, you … we just got it back, you know? That whole year we were trying to stop the world from ending, it was like we were juggling chainsaws, man. Everything was so messed up and it felt like we were always one bad fight away from never wanting to see each other again."

"Yeah," Dean agrees quietly, not meeting Sam's gaze.

"But now, it's – we're just starting to be us again. I finally feel like I've got my big brother back." Sam lets his thumb play gently back and forth against Dean's collarbone. "Trust me, I wouldn't do anything to fuck that up."

Dean nods again, but this time his expression looks genuine. "Okay. I believe you. M'sorry."

Sam nods back and lets his hand drop back down. "Don't be sorry. Besides," he adds, grinning a little at the irony, "even if we weren't back together, do you really think I'd wanna have sex with Ruby? After everything she did to me? To us?"

Dean's eyes flicker toward Sam's for a moment. "She wasn't Ruby," he points out dryly.

"Yeah, I know that, but she, I mean she still had Ruby's face and Ruby's voice, and – God, she kinda made my skin crawl, man. We're lucky I didn't punch her or something."

Dean huffs a laugh. "She made my skin crawl too. Shit, we're lucky I didn't stab her. Again."

Sam laughs back shakily. Crisis averted.

"Be honest, how happy were you to get to do that?"

Dean's face breaks into an all-out grin. "Are you kidding? She was a psycho bitch and she hurt my little brother. Ganking her was one of the most awesome things I've ever gotten to do."

Sam smiles too, but he can see the twinge of hurt that still behind his brother's plastic smile.

"Hey, you … I never had feelings for her, even back then," he begins gently. "You know that, right?"

Dean just shrugs and turns away, scratching at the back of his neck out of habit.

"I was just lonely," Sam promises. "I missed you like crazy and she was there. That's all it ever was."

Sam isn't sure why he suddenly feels the need to justify something that happened so long ago, something he's already explained to Dean, but seeing that face again, hearing that lilting voice that spend months taunting him and lying to him, calling him Sammy even after he repeatedly asked her not to; it's kind of bringing everything back. Sam really wishes Balthazar could've left that particular detail out. If he never saw her face again it would've been way too soon. Ruby's always been a sensitive topic with Dean. One they've glossed over a hundred times but never really dealt with.

"Yeah, I … I know that," Dean says hesitantly. "Doesn't make seeing her kiss you feel any better, though."

"She wasn't kissing me. She was kissing the guy she thought was her husband."

"I know that. Alternate universe, I get the concept." There's an edge to Dean's voice now. "You can rationalize it all you want but it doesn't make it feel any different."

"Dean. Look at me," Sam pleads.

Reluctantly, he does, over his shoulder. His eyes are glassy.

"I would pick you every single time," Sam says, slowly and emphatically, trying to drill it into his brother's skull. Trying to drill through all the years of psychological damage he and Dad have done, every time they took advantage of Dean's devotion, every time they asked too much of him but he gave it willingly anyway; everything they've done to turn Dean into a man with an innate, pathological fear of being left behind.

"I didn't even know her, Dean. It's crazy for you to think I'd want to stay with her. I had all of about ten minutes of a conversation with her, she seemed nice or whatever but she didn't mean anything to me. She was just a random girl who happened to look like Ruby and I get why that would mess with your head because it messed with mine a little too. But I never, even for one second, wanted to stay there. I will always pick you," Sam repeats.

Dean swallows thickly but he nods, and he doesn't pull away when Sam moves back in and cups his palms around the back of Dean's neck.

"What do I need to do to make you believe me?" Sam asks.

"Show me," Dean answers. There's a hint of a challenge in his eyes, somewhere behind all those feelings of rejection.

Sam doesn't need to be asked twice. He all but pounces; lips crashing into Dean's as he stoops down, gets a good grip on the backs of Dean's thighs and lifts his spluttering brother right off the ground. Dean's arms scramble around Sam's neck, frantic to hold on even as his mouth protests being picked up. He's sort of kissing Sam back and sort of not, soft little noises of indignation get swallowed into Sam's mouth as he takes a few awkward steps and Dean's back crashes into the wall. Dean grunts as his head thunks into the drywall.

"Fuck, put me down!" Dean demands, but it comes out muffled around Sam's tongue.

Sam ignores him, pressing his chest as close to Dean's as he can to hold him steady against the wall and licking roughly at Dean's mouth. He swirls his tongue around Deans, licking over his brothers teeth and the insides of his cheeks. Dean tastes exactly the same as he always does, and he's still as responsive to the feeling of Sam's tongue in his mouth as he always was, if the broken little gasps are any indication. Dean stops resisting when Sam starts sucking on his lower lip, going a little more lax in Sam's arms and wrapping his legs around Sam's waist. Sam smiles around his mouthful, and then he pulls back a little and kisses Dean's red lips gently. When he looks up, Dean's eyes are wide and blown completely black, and his breath is coming in harsh pants that tickle Sam's nose.

Sam pushes his hips up into Dean's, grinding his mostly-hard cock against Dean's crotch.

"Feel that?" he whispers, sliding his parted lips across Dean's cheek. "That's all for you. Only ever for you."

Dean just laughs shakily and tugs at Sam's hair. "Yeah okay, you made your point. Can you put me down now? Fricken Neanderthal."

He doesn't sound nearly as irritated as he's trying to; betrayed by his heaving chest and by the hardness Sam can feel pressed against his stomach. So Sam just grins and shakes his head, sucking a few kisses into Dean's neck. Then he pulls them away from the wall and, still licking and nipping at Dean's pulse, he blindly stumbles into the kitchen and plunks Dean down on the countertop. They're more or less face to face in this position, so when Dean pulls Sam back in and kisses him he gets him flush on the mouth. Sam hums happily and moves in close again, running his hands down Dean's chest and then getting his fingertips up under Dean's shirt to pet at the soft skin. He lets Dean control the kiss for a minute or two, pushing Dean's t-shirt up and smoothing his palms up and down Dean's ribcage. He rubs his thumbs over Dean's nipples when he gets high enough, loving the hitch in Dean's breath. Then he pulls away and moves back to Dean's neck, pressing his tongue against the mark he'd made earlier. Dean moans and Sam's so hard he can barely think straight.

"What do you want?" he murmurs into Dean's skin. "Anything, whatever you want, you can have it."

"Sammy," Dean sighs, fingers feebly running through Sam's hair.

Sam slides his hands back down and around to the small of Dean's back. He nips at Dean's collarbone with his teeth and pushes his fingers into Dean's jeans just enough so the tip of his middle finger can rest just barely in the top of the crevice.

"Want me to fuck you? Open you up, nice and slow, make sure you feel every inch of me?" Sam's lips make their way up Dean's jaw so he can whisper his next words right in his ear. "Or you wanna fuck me? Fill me up, remind me who I belong to?"

Dean moans.

Sam kisses the delicate skin just behind Dean's earlobe. "You can, if you want to. Just you, though. Been with other people but I've never done that with anyone else. Never would, either. That's all yours."

Through his haze of arousal, Sam's freaking himself out a little. Dirty talking is Dean's department, Sam is almost never like this. But Dean wanted to be shown that Sam loves him the most, and Sam's never been one to back away from a challenge.

"All mine," Dean mumbles back, clearly losing control of the words coming out of his own mouth, because normally he'd have told Sam to shut up and stop being so sentimental.

"Mhm," Sam agrees, moving back to recapture Dean's spit-slicked lips. "So, you wanna? There's a bed right upstairs."

"No," Dean mutters, coming back to himself a little and tugging at the waistband of Sam's jeans. "Too far away. Right here."

"You wanna fuck in Bobby's kitchen?" Sam laughs.

"No," Dean shakes his head, flushed and looking adorably frustrated that he can't seem to work the button open on Sam's pants. "No fucking. No time. C'mon Sammy."

"Anything you want," Sam says again, licking at a bead of sweat on Dean's temple. "Just gotta ask, baby."

Dean must be really horny at this point because he, miraculously, doesn't punch Sam in the face for calling him that. He does roll his eyes and shoot Sam a look, though, and then he pokes Sam hard in the ribs.

"Shut up and get your dick out," he orders. "My stupid fingers aren't co-operating."

Sam smirks and Dean rolls his eyes again, but Sam does what he's told. He unzips his jeans and pushes them down his hips far enough to get his dripping erection free. Dean wastes no time wrapping his hand around it and tugging almost roughly, swallowing Sam's answering groan into a brutal kiss. Sam sees stars for a moment or two, damn he loves the feeling of Dean's hands on him, or Dean's mouth or Dean's ass or Dean's anything, but then he gets with the program and manages to kiss back and simultaneously get Dean's pants undone and his cock free. Sam curls his fingers off and jacks his brother just as furiously, moaning loudly into the kiss when Dean squeezes and twists the head just the way Sam likes it. That particular discovery was made more than a decade ago, the first time Dean jerked Sam off when Sam was fifteen. But Dean's remembered that through all these years, just like Sam remembers how sensitive Dean's nipples are when he's this worked up. Sam moves his free hand there and gives one of the hard bugs a gently pinch, and gets rewarded with the filthy groan he knew was coming. Some things you don't forget.

Dean pitches forward suddenly, and Sam stumbles a little but Dean doesn't let him fall. Once Sam's steadied himself, Dean uses his new leverage to reach his other hand down too, cupping Sam's balls and rubbing a fingertip against that sensitive spot behind them. Sam gasps into Dean's mouth.

"Shit," he mutters, tightening his grip on Dean's cock to up the ante for him too.

"Bet that pretty little wife of yours didn't know how to take care of you like I do," Dean whispers huskily.

He doesn't mean anything by it, not really, but Sam still feels a small, painful twinge at Dean's words. It hurts to think that Dean's still comparing himself to some chick that Sam doesn't even know and didn't sleep with, regardless of whether or not Dean believes it. For half a second Sam wishes Cas was here because then he could do his freaky angel thing and tell Dean that Sam isn't lying and Dean would believe him. Then he spends another second or two being a little hurt that Dean's more inclined to believe the angel than his brother, but really, Cas has never lied to them and it's not like that's something Sam can say of himself. Then Dean thumbs over the head of Sam's cock, smearing precome and digging into the slit, and all thoughts that don't revolve around holy fuck fly right out of Sam's head.

"Dean," he sighs, pulling at Dean's short hair and rubbing his tongue against Dean's.

"Tell me," Dean growls, stroking faster as Sam's breathing quickens. "Tell me I'm better than them."

Sam knows Dean isn't talking about fake-Ruby anymore, he's talking about all of them, every woman Sam's ever been with, and it pains him right to his core to know Dean's so desperate for Sam's approval that he has to be sure he's the best Sam's ever had. He is, by far, but the bad part is that if Sam said he wasn't? Dean would spend the next few months breaking his own back trying to be better.

"Nobody's like you, Dean" Sam breathes, licking at Dean's lips. "Never will be."

Dean comes first, it catches Sam by surprise when Dean stutters out a choked "Sammy" and spills warm and creamy over Sam's fingers. Sam follows close behind him as Dean's hand tightens around the head of Sam's cock. He moans, low and deep in his throat, bucking up into Dean's hand and gasping into Dean's mouth. There are stars twinkling around the edges of his vision and his whole body feels warm and lucid. For a good five minutes, they just stay like that – Dean's forehead resting against Sam's and panting into each other's mouths. Then Dean manages to lift his arms up sluggishly and drop them heavily down onto Sam's shoulders. He leans in the extra centimeter it takes to press his lips into Sam's, and he kisses Sam slowly, languidly. His lips slide against Sam's, warm and comforting, and Sam braces himself on Dean's thighs and kisses back. Then Dean slides his arms around Sam's neck and pulls him into a hug. He scotches forward a little on the counter so his chest is pressed up against Sam's and buries his face in Sam's hair.

Dean doesn't need to say anything for Sam to understand that this is a 'thank you', so he doesn't speak. He wraps his arms around Dean's back and holds on.


PS – for any Canadians who are spitting in rage that I made fun of curling: I am Canadian and I love curling. So calm down, eh!