When Dean picks Sam up from Stanford, his has about $1,000 cash, folded carefully in the back pocket of his worn-soft jeans. The two credit cards that he and John have under false names are with John—one in his wallet, the other tucked into the shirt pocket of the shirt Dean borrowed and returned, forgetting the credit card in the process.

Dean gets a slightly better room while they're hunting Constance, the Woman in White, because Sam hasn't been a part of this lifestyle for almost four years, because he's Dean's little brother,

and Dean just wants to take care of him, and because Dean hasn't stopped loving him since he walked out of Dean's life four years ago.

One-upped by the siren call of Stanford, and Dean will do his damndest to ensure it doesn't happen again. To make sure that Sam will not walk out of his life again, leaving him with an aching hole in his chest that hurts worse than any monster-inflicted wound ever has.

It does, of course. Sam returned to Jessica, the leggy blonde who had caused a sudden jolt of jealousy to flash through Dean when he saw her. He had tried to make light of it. Tried to check her out and laugh about how far out of Sammy's league she was (a lie, of course), when really, he was watching Sam in his peripheral vision, gauging his reaction, and letting his eyes wander the frame that Sam had filled out impressively since he'd last seen Sam.

Watching those hazel eyes that continued to haunt every hook up, every worthless fuck he's had since he watched Sam walk out the door of the shitty motel room that night.

Sam had let his hair grow out, now it curls softly at his collar, and Dean wanted to run his fingers through it, breathe in the smell that was just Sam.

He didn't.

Instead, he walked out the door empty-handed, feeling like his chest was collapsing in on the hole where his heart should have been. That was the problem with one-sided romances. That, and the fact that Sam would never, ever forgive him if he knew that Dean wanted to take care of him, in more than just the brotherly way.

As Dean circled the block that night, his stomach turned to lead without Sam, he saw the flames.

Saw the flames, collected his baby brother, who fell against him numbly, his eyes so hollow that Dean wanted to cry, and drove off into the California night.

He'd bought Sam his favourite foods, stayed in motels slightly classier than he was used to, and ensured that there was always wireless internet, so that Sam could use his computer anytime he wanted. Dean had done his best to ensure that Sam felt as at home with him as he possibly could. And in the weeks that followed, the sleepless nights that he kept himself awake so that he could shake Sam out of his nightmares and the days when he threw himself into the hunt, just so that he wouldn't have to deal with the look in Sam's eyes, Dean completely forgot to apply for more credit cards. Which brought him to where he was now. Almost out of cash, and trying desperately to hide it from Sam.

Sam was flopped across the bed, gazing glaze-eyed at the TV, entranced in whatever he was watching. Dean ran his hand through his spiky hair, pulling his jacket on over his last clean tee-shirt,

"I'm going out. You wanna come?"

Sam shook his head,

"No thanks, dude. There's a movie on I want to watch. Have fun, though."

Dean nodded, tucking their last twenty into his pocket.

"Don't wait up, Sammy."

Sam nodded, watching him leave, his gaze intense. Dean hoped he hadn't noticed how the motel rooms had gone downhill, or the way they had gradually slid into greasier and greasier diner food. Or the way that laundry hadn't been done in weeks. Or the way Dean, who was seldom without his flask, hadn't had the shot of whiskey he'd been craving in almost a month. Sam knew him better than anyone, but Dean had been careful hiding their monetary situation. So careful.

Dean lost the twenty in pool. He, who always won bets at the pool table, got hustled for the second time in his life. The man who took the twenty must have seen the look in his eyes, because he pulled Dean in close, pressing his lips against Dean's ear. Normally, Dean would have struggled against the unwanted advances of a stranger. Now, he did nothing, thinking about the way Sam would react when he informed him that they would be sleeping in the car until the new credit cards came through. The man's breath was hot and liquor soaked as it dropped into Dean's ear,

"You lookin' to make some money, beautiful?"

Dean pulled back, his eyes flashing.

"I'm not a fucking prostitute. Get your hands off me, asshole."

The man smirked, his features twisting in a way that made Dean's stomach churn,

"I'm not looking for a fuck, boy. I'm looking for someone to star in my movie. $500 straight up."

The man pressed his card into Dean's hand, crisp cardboard with raised lettering, much more professional than the man appeared. Adult Video, (354)-553-5455, the card read. Dean snorted,

"So you're looking for a porn star?"

"In a manner of speaking. We have found the male adult entertainment business to be very profitable. What's your name?"

"Forget it dude. I'm not fucking some guy I barely know on camera for $500."

Dean muttered, indignantly. It wasn't the fact that he'd be fucking a man—Dean had been there, done that, many times in his quest to forget about Sam—but rather the idea of it that made his stomach churn. The man smiled toothily at him, raising one eyebrow.

"It's not as bad as you think. Tomorrow at three. The name's Gordon."

Dean snickered, tucking the card into his pocket. Poor Gordon had another think coming if he thought Dean would participate in his little "film".

Dean left the club dejected, the fact that he and Sam were literally penniless now because of him weighing heavily on his conscience. As he turned the key in the Impala, he realized that his baby—his beautiful, sexy girl—was running on empty. Dean rested his forehead against the cool plastic of the steering wheel, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. He flipped open his cellphone, leaving a voicemail for Sam,

"Hey Sammy. I met this chick, I'm going home with her. See you tomorrow, dude."

Dean didn't offer further details, straining to keep the edge out of his voice. Gordon's offer suddenly didn't seem so outrageous. $500 would keep them going until the new credit cards arrived. They could be okay. Sam could be okay. Dean's mind was made up almost immediately. He slid against the cool glass of the Impala's window and drifted into an anxious sleep, waiting for morning and thinking about Gordon.

Dean stepped into the studio, squinting under the lights. His hair was still mussed from sleep, his teeshirt clingy against his skin. Gordon smiled brilliantly at him.

"Ah, Beautiful. I was wondering when you'd show up."

"It's Dean."

Dean snapped, feeling entirely too tired, too overwhelmed and too far lost for this. Gordon grinned,

"Excellent. We're just waiting for your co-star. I met him in the bakery this morning."

Dean nodded halfheartedly, not really caring who his co-star was, or where Gordon had met him. He slouched on the couch, trying not to think about how many people had sat here before him. Dean surveyed the room, taking in all the cameras, all angled at the couch.

"Oh good, you're here."

Gordon greeted Dean's co-star. Dean didn't bother turning to look, fully preparing himself to draw up into his head and imagine he was anywhere but here.

"Dean, meet your co-star, Sam."

Dean whirled so fast his head spun. Sam looked at him, his eyes wide and shocked. Gordon grinned, surveying the shocked air between them,

"Yeah, I know right? It's not often I find two boys as pretty as you and desperate for money."

Dean opened his mouth, at a total loss for words. Sam blinked stupidly at him, looking as though he was moving underwater as he processed the situation,

"Dean, I..."

Dean shook his head, cursing quietly under his breath. He should have known better than to hide things from Sam, his beautiful, perfect, too-damn-smart-for-his-own-good baby brother. Damn it.

Gordon stared at them expectantly, clearing his throat impatiently as Dean tried desperately to piece together some kind of explanation—for himself, for Sam, for Gordon.

But then Sam looked at him, his eyes dark and predatory, and in spite of everything, Dean could feel himself begin to harden.

Sam stepped towards him, the questions written explicitly in his eyes, and Dean bit his lip, bit back the moan that threatened at the thought of Sam touching him.

And then, suddenly, Sam's hands were on him, his fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, and Dean moaned into his mouth as their lips smashed together, rough, teeth hitting, already bruising. Dean leaned into Sam, revelling in the sheer weight of Sam's body supporting his. Sam placed on giant hand on the back of Dean's head, pulling him impossibly closer, his other hand ghosting over Dean's ass. All Dean could do was dig his fingers into Sam's back. Hard.

In the background, Dean was vaguely aware of Gordon, shifting and adjusting his pants behind the camera. Dean grinned against Sam's mouth—fuckin' rights they were that hot.

Sam's eyes fluttered open as he tugged Dean down on top of him on the threadbare couch. The hazel colour that had haunted Dean for so long was blown out by his dilated pupils. Dean bit down on his lip, grabbing Sam's shirt with desperate fingers and yanking it open, buttons dancing across the floor.

Dean leaned down, mashing their swollen lips together as he ran his fingertips along Sam's fight-built abs, making Sam whimper into his mouth and buck up against him. Dean undid his belt carefully, pulled his pants down slowly, never losing eye-contact with Sam. Sam cursed softly under his breath as Dean's mouth hovered over his boxers, his breath sweeping soft, sharp pants of hot air over his sensitized cock.

"Jesus, Dean..."

Dean looked up at Sam, his eyes dark and hooded.

"Sammy...are you sure?"

Sam bit his lip, his eyes glazing because Dean cared enough to ask, pulling Dean up into a kiss that was hard, and desperate, and answer enough.

"God, baby boy...so fuckin' beautiful."

Sam moaned as Dean gripped his swollen cock with calloused fingers, his tongue darting out to lick a pearl of pre-cum off the head. Dean took him in his mouth, and suddenly, they were back to the hard, desperate fuck they had started.

Sam wove his fingers through Dean's hair, thrusting up into his mouth, nearly coming as Dean swallowed and hummed around him, the vibrations making Sam exhale on a flurry of curses.

"God, Dean...fuck me."

Dean smiled, sliding off Sam's cock with a pop. Sam groaned as Dean undid his belt, slowly, too slowly for Sam's liking,

"Fuckin' tease."

From somewhere in the background, (from Gordon, Dean assumed), a condom was flung in their direction. Dean handed it to Sam, lazily stroking his rock-hard cock, watching through lidded eyes as Sam's gaze travelled his body. Sam shook his head,

"No. I don't want it."

Dean began to protest, began to reach for the condom, but Sam pulled him close, his lips against his ear,

"I don't want it, Dean. I want to feel you, skin on skin."

And Dean could tell by the tone of his voice that Sam had never been more sure of anything in his life.

Dean drizzled lube over his fingers, sliding one through Sam's tight ring of muscle with little warning, making Sam gasp and moan, writhing beneath him. Dean slid in a second finger, surprised at how tight Sam was, but how easily his fingers slid inside.

"Trust y-you..."
Sam muttered by way of explanation to Dean's unasked question, pushing down harder on Dean's fingers. Dean pulled his fingers out slowly, watching Sam, spread and beautiful, keening and writhing beneath him.

Dean positioned himself at Sam's entrance, feeling the heat of Sam's body drawing him in,

"Love you, baby boy."

Dean pressed his lips gently against Sam's forehead as he pushed past the tight ring of muscle and into Sam's body. Sam inhaled sharply, his breath exhaled on grinding teeth as he fought to adjust to Dean's considerable size.

Dean shifted inside of him, and suddenly Sam's eyes rolled back, his moans almost pornographic,

"Oh, God, Dean..."

Dean thrust into him, gently at first, still giving him time to adjust, but then harder, feeling Sam's velvet heat and incredible tightness. Sam began thrusting down against him, getting Dean impossibly deeper, biting down on his lip to keep the constant stream of moans and profanity from escaping.

"Sammy, god, so good like this."

From behind the camera, Gordon piped up, his voice hoarse,

"Jesus, your boy's a fuckin' slut."

Dean turned, his eyes flashing, and would have readily kicked the shit out of Gordon, if Sam hadn't thrust up harder against him, his muscles clenching to make him impossibly tighter at Gordon's words. Dean groaned, thrusting into Sam at a brutal pace, his head falling against Sam's shoulder,

"You like that, baby? Does it turn you on to know he's watching you get off? Watching you act like a fuckin' slut for me?"

Sam's teeth digging into Dean's shoulder was answer enough. Dean flipped Sam over, kneeling him on the floor before kneeling behind him and thrusting all the way inside him, his hands travelling the planes of Sam's chest, dancing around his bobbing cock. He could only imagine how this would read on film.

Dean could feel his orgasm approaching quickly, the tell-tale tingle in the base of his spine making him press his forehead into Sam's back, his fingers ghosting over Sam's swollen cock, jerking him in time with Dean's thrusts. Dean thrust harder, desperate to get Sam off before he came,

"Come for me, baby. Show the camera what a slut you really are."

Sam moaned, caught between the pleasure of Dean's thrusts and his hand on his cock.

"Come on, Sammy, show him how much you like having my cock in your ass, stretching you out, filling you up..."

Sam's moans filled the room, as he thrust back against Dean, once, twice, and suddenly he was cumming, streams of pearlescent white coating the carpet, Dean's hand, and the sight of Sam coming undone was all that it took to send Dean over the edge,

"Sammy, Jesus Christ!"

Dean's orgasm hit him with the weight of a freight train, and his vision blurred as he fell against Sam.

They both heard Gordon click the camera off,

"Thank you, boys. That was..."

Amazing, incredible, the best ever, Dean's mind supplied. He kissed Sam softly on the temple,

"Thanks, kid."

Tugging on his jeans, he accepted the $500 cash from Gordon, unable to keep his eyes off Sam as they got dressed. Then, Dean turned and walked out the door, because Sam had that "we-need-to-talk" look in his eyes, and they had roles to play—even if he was in love with his baby brother, he wasn't sure he wanted to be on yet another wanted list for this latest transgression.

His phone vibrated with a text message as he walked through the parking lot,

Jerk.

Dean grinned, before typing back,

Bitch.