Dialogue at the begging is from the episode 'The Girl Next Door', it belongs to Eric Kripke and Andrew Dabb.

"New rule, you steal my baby, you get punched!" Dean storms, stalking into the room and rubbing his throbbing knuckles as Sam trails after him. "What the hell were you thinking, Sam, running off like that! I mean, for all I know Satan could've been calling your plays!"

"Dean, look, how many times to I have to tell you? I'm fine!" Sam insists, pressing a cold beer into the side of his cheek where the skin is already bright red.

"Oh yeah, no, you're a poster boy for mental health!" Dean spits sarcastically. "Do you have any idea the kind of horror shows I had going on in my head?"

Sam leans against the edge of the table, rolling the can to just under his eye. "Dean, I left you a note. There was a job in town!"

"A Kitsune, yeah, yeah I know. And you ignored Bobby and I's phone calls why, exactly?"

"Because I wanted to take care of it," Sam answers with quiet control. "And I did, I took care of it."



"Where's the body?"

Sam's face falls a little. "There is no body," he says reluctantly.

"Why not?"

"Because I let her go. She's gone."

"You what? Why?" Dean demands.

For a long minute, Sam doesn't say anything. He sighs heavily and rubs his eyes like this conversation is exhausting him. But he's frowning and he looks as guilty as the time Dean caught him with weed when he was sixteen, so there's no way Dean's backing down. Sam's hiding something and Dean's going to find out what it is, right now, whether Sam likes it or not. Sam gets up off the table and settles down into one of the chairs, taking a deep breath before he speaks.

"Alright, look I … don't be mad," he starts hesitantly, and Dean snorts derisively.

"Not a great start," he growls.

"Please, just hear me out, okay?" Sam asks imploringly, and Dean nods. "You remember that one we hunted when I was a kid?"

"'Course," Dean answers abruptly. "You tracked her down and killed her all on your own even though Dad told you to wait for us. He was pissed at you for like a month after that."

"Yeah," Sam grumbles, the light going out in his eyes a little. "Alright well that … it didn't go exactly like I said it did back then."

Dean narrows his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"She had a daughter. That's who's been killing people this time," Sam says heavily, holding up his hand and continuing quickly when Dean splutters and tries to cut in. "No, just – let me finish. Her name is Amy, I met her at the library when I was looking up those records for Dad. I didn't know what she was at first, I thought she was just a girl so I went with her, back to her house. I didn't figure out what was really going on until her mom came home."

"Oh, great. That's just great, Sammy. We were supposed to be hunting the thing, stopping it from killing people and eating their god damn brains, and you were off making friendship bracelets with its side-show offspring?" Dean's blood runs cold and an icy wave of dread sweeps over him. "Oh god, please tell me you didn't sleep with her. Damn it, Sam, as if you needed another monster to add to your already sparkling list of conquests!"

"What? No! Of course I didn't sleep with her, I was fourteen!" Sam protests loudly. "Besides, I was barely there for twenty minutes before her mom showed up."

"Okay, so then what happened?"

Sam sniffs and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "She did it. Amy's the one that killed her, not me. Her mom caught me while I was trying to get away. Amy stabbed her."

Dean shakes his head, huffing in disbelief at how messed up this is. "You never told me that."

"I never told anyone," Sam replies dejectedly. "I mean, can you imagine what Dad would've done?"

"So you saw the article in the newspaper and you just bolted?" Dean's not quite able to mask the hurt and disappointment in his voice. He hates it when Sam keeps things from him.

"It was my mess."

"And you call letting her go cleaning it up?"

"She killed her own mom, Dean, to save me!" Sam maintains.

"I hear you, Sam, I do," Dean keeps his gaze trained on Sam's so his brother can tell how much he means it. "But look at her now. She's droppin' bodies, man! Which means we gotta drop her, no matter how many merit badges she racked up when she was a kid! I'm sorry, but it's that simple!"

Sam huffs and shakes his head, his eyebrows knitting together in a sad little frown. "Nothing in our lives is simple. That woman was going to kill me. She had her claws out and everything. Amy saved me, she killed the only family she had to protect me! You can't just pretend that doesn't matter!"

"Of course it matters, but it doesn't give her a free pass to go around snacking on people for the rest of her life!" Dean cries. "This all happened more than ten years ago, are you really still carrying a torch for this chick? You barely even knew her!"

"I know. Look, it's not like I was in love with her or something, I … I don't know." Sam drops his eyes to the floor. "I just felt something for her."

"You were fourteen and she had boobs, no shit you felt something for her!" Dean scoffs.

"No. It was more than that," Say says seriously. "I can't explain it, I just … I saw myself in her. She wanted me to go with her, she wanted us to run away together and I … I mean, I never would have done it. But I thought about it, at least for a minute or two. She knew what it was like to always be the black sheep, even in your own family. She understood things about me that you and Dad just … didn't."

"Look man, I get it, okay?" Dean says slowly. "You meet a girl, you feel that spark, there's nothing better. But this freak?"

Sam slams his beer can down onto the table and sighs heavily. He runs his hand through his hair and then he gets up, grabbing his jacket from off the table and taking a few steps away. Dean instantly feels like crap. He should know by now that Sam's sensitive about that word, he probably shouldn't have said it.

"I didn't mean – " he begins tentatively, but Sam cuts him off.

"Yeah, you did. I see the way you look at me, Dean. Like I'm a grenade and you're waiting for me to go off."


"I'm not going off," Sam promises. "Look, I might be a freak, but that's not the same as dangerous."

Dean's heart clenches. Sam looks so sad and worn down, Dean hates that he put that look on his brother's face. "I didn't say –"

"It's okay. Say it," Sam interrupts, holding up his hands like he's surrendering. "I've spent a lot of my life trying to be normal, but come on, I'm not normal. Look at all the crap I've done, look at me now. I'm a grade-A freak. But I'm managing it. And so is Amy."

"Is she?" Dean asks incredulously. "How?"

"She works at a damn funeral home so that she doesn't have to kill anyone, Dean!" Sam cries. "She's figured out how to deal!"

"Okay, well then explain the bodies!"

"She's done," Sam says firmly. "Her friggin' kid was dying, Dean. Put you or me in her position and we'd probably do the same thing. Look, you don't trust her, fine. Trust me. Dean, please."

Dean hesitates. It's not that he doesn't trust Sam, it has nothing to do with trust actually. She's a monster, so she has to die. He's a hunter, so he has to kill her. Dean's lived his entire live around that simple, black-and-white rule and he's really not sure he's capable of changing now, even for Sam. He'd do anything for Sam, he'd hang the moon and all the stars too if Sam asked him to, but Dean can't exactly change who he is inside, right down to his core. But Sam's got that pleading, puppy-dog look all over his face and fuck if Dean hasn't been completely helpless to those warm, hazel eyes since the day Sam was born. So he gives in, at least for now.


Sam narrows his eyes. "Seriously?"

Dean shrugs. "Gotta start some time, right?"

For another few moments, Sam eyes him warily, but then he nods. "Okay. Thanks."

Dean manages a small smile and Sam returns it.

"So the word 'freak' still stings, huh?" Dean asks. He'd like more than anything to just let this all go so they can just have a nice, normal evening for a change, but he can tell from the look on Sam's face that everything is still swirling around in his head and he's probably not about to drop it until they hash it out. So Dean figures it's better to cut to the chase.

Sam shrugs one shoulder half-heartedly. He takes a long pause before he speaks, taking a few steps away from Dean and leaning back against the counter, crossing one ankle over the other. "Hurts a little when you say it, I guess."

Dean frowns, his throat tightening. "Why?"

"Cause it's never single-serve," Sam answers, shifting his gaze down to the carpet under his feet. "Always comes with a side order of you lookin' at me like …"

"Like what?" Dean pushes. He's not sure he even wants to know, but it kills him to think he's hurt his little brother.

"Like you wish I wasn't one. Like you wish I was different."

Sam's words hit Dean like a punch to the gut. If there was even an inch of his soul left that wasn't already shattered, it sure as hell is now. "I don't," he whispers.

Sam huffs humorlessly. "You're telling me if you could make me different, make it so I'm not such a … well, you know. You wouldn't do it?"

"I would change all the shitty stuff that's happened, but I wouldn't change you." Dean gets up off the couch and moves across the room toward Sam as fast as his injured leg will let him. "Alright, fine, so you're a freak. Who cares? I am too! But that doesn't mean you're like them."

"Like who?"

"The things we hunt."

Sam flinches a little in discomfort. "You said I was once. You remember?"

Of course Dean remembers. That was one of the worst fights they've ever had. And Sam's accusation hurts, even though he's not saying anything that isn't true. "Well, you're not," he says firmly. "I was mad then, I didn't mean it. You're not normal, sure, but you're not a monster. You're a good person that bad things have happened to."

"And Amy isn't?"

Dean sighs exasperatedly. He should've known this was going to come back around to that eventually. "She isn't a person, Sam."

"So what?" Sam cries. "So she's not human, why does that automatically mean she's evil? Why do you think I cared about her so much back then, why do you think I remembered her even after all these years? Because she's me, Dean! She's exactly like me, she's just someone who was born with something bad inside them! But she's trying to fight it, just like I am! And yeah, okay, she slipped up! So have I! So what, she's not allowed to make a mistake? If I mess up again, are you gonna kill me?"

"That's not the same thing," Dean argues.

"Like hell it isn't! She didn't ask to be a monster any more than I asked to have demon blood in me! She was just a kid, Dean. She had a mom who dragged her around from place to place, she was just a helpless, innocent child, stuck in a life she never wanted!"

"Yeah, I get it!" Dean cuts in. "Her life sucked and her parental figure was an asshole, just like yours, right? I understand, okay? I get why you identified with her or whatever but you are not the same as she is! She kills people, Sam!"

"And I don't?" Sam fires back. "When Ruby was helping me hone my abilities, I killed lots of people! How is it any different?"

"Demons," Dean corrects hotly. "You killed demons, not people."

Sam glares. "You know as well as I do that there were real people in there somewhere. For all we know, they were awake for the part where I twisted the demon out of them and tore up their insides in the process."

"You were sick," Dean tries, edging on desperate now. He has to make Sam understand, he just has to. They can't go back to that place where they're hardly even brothers anymore. Dean couldn't handle it, not again. "Doing bad things doesn't make you a bad person."

Dean meant it to be comforting, soothing even, but Sam's nostrils flare and he just looks even more angry. "That's exactly your problem, Dean," he says quietly. "You've got all these rules, all these opinions on the way things should be, but they only hold with you and me. I killed people because I thought I had to, and you think I deserve to be forgiven, but Amy killed people to save her dying son and she deserves to die? That's not fair, it doesn't work like that. The rules can't only apply to us."

Dean just barely resists scoffing and rolling his eyes. He really doesn't have a solid argument for that because mostly Sam's right, and that's annoying so Dean puts it out of his head. What he does do, is step in a little bit closer to Sam so the toes of their boots are just touching, and reach up to curl his fingers around Sam's arms where he's got them crossed over his chest. Sam relaxes just a tiny bit at Dean's touch, his head falling forward a little so his bangs hang in his eyes.

"I don't care about her, okay?" Dean says softly, rubbing his palms up and down Sam's biceps. "I already said I was gonna trust you on this one, can we just drop it? The only person I care about is you, and you are not a freak."

Sam snorts quietly, and Dean tightens his grip on Sam's arms.

"Hey, I mean it. You're right, you've done a lot of bad things, and a lot of really bad things have happened to you but none of that is who you are."

"You don't know that," Sam argues sadly.

"Yes I do," Dean insists. He reaches up and brushes his fingers through Sam's hair; Sam leans ever-so-slightly into his touch. "I know who you are. You are not demon blood, or the psychic chosen one, or hell, or any of it. You are my amazing, wonderful, beautiful little brother. You're the guy who always wants to see the good in everybody, even in the things we hunt. So much horrible stuff has happened to you, the whole damn world just craps all over you again and again but you still get up and fight back, you still keep trying."

Dean's not even sure where all this is coming from; he's entirely too sober for being this mushy but it's not making him at all uncomfortable like it normally would. Probably because there are tears in Sam's eyes and that does things to Dean that he's never been able to control. He slides the hand that was in Sam's hair down over his neck and chest, settling on his heart and pressing his palm flat against it so he can feel Sam's steady heartbeat.

"After what you've been through, anyone else would be way more broken down then you are. And they'd be cynical as fuck," Dean continues, smiling a little when Sam does. He moves in a little bit closer so he can cup his other hand around the back of Sam's neck and pull him down so their foreheads are resting together. "But you're not. You still have such a good heart. That's who you are, okay? That's the Sam I know, that's the person I love so much I can't even handle it sometimes."

Sam lets out a sort of whimper-sob, and Dean slips his arms around Sam's back and pulls him in close. He isn't crying, not really, but he's shaking a little and he clings to Dean, so Dean holds him tightly and pets through his hair. He shifts in just that extra inch so they're completely pressed together from ankles to shoulders. Sam's like an inferno, even through their clothes he's sweltering and he warms Dean from the inside out. Dean meant what he said – with everything Sam's had to suffer through, sometimes Dean wonders how his brother even manages to get out of bed in the morning. So if Sam needs to be broken sometimes, Dean's more than happy to be what holds him together.

"You're in a sappy mood today," Sam comments into Dean's neck, his voice thick with emotion.

Dean laughs softly. "Must be the painkillers."

"Can't believe you sawed off your cast to come after me," Sam snickers, his breath tickling Dean's neck.

"Had to. I was worried about you, I … I've been worried about you," Dean mumbles weakly. "A god-damn lot. I think more than I've ever been before, and that's fuckin' saying something."

Sam tightens his arms around Dean's back, but he lifts his head off Dean's shoulder and rests his forehead against Dean's again so when he speaks, his words are whispered right into Dean's lips.

"I'm okay."

"No you aren't."

"Maybe not always," Sam concedes. "But right now, yeah, I am. And hey, if I'm ever not, I've got you, right?"

"Damn straight," Dean whispers back. "Is he here right now?"

"Lucifer?" Sam asks after a beat.

Dean nods. He hates the thought of them having an intimate moment while that bastard's sitting next to them, whispering who knows what in Sam's ear.

"No," Sam answers. "Haven't seen him at all today."

"Good." Dean tilts his head up and kisses Sam, instantly with as much intensity as if they'd been at this for an hour already. He doesn't have the patience to slowly work up to it, he wants Sam and he wants him now. He's getting pretty tired of being terrified that Sam's about to shatter at any minute – he hasn't spent this much time constantly scared of loosing his brother since Sam was hooked on the demon blood the first time. It's horrible, feeling like this all the time; it's completely exhausting and sometimes Dean isn't sure how much longer he'll be able to pull it off. But right now, the only thing he wants in the world, the only thing he can even think about, is getting Sam the way he desperately needs him. He needs to feel Sam's strong muscles moving under his hands, he needs to feel all that soft skin, he needs to kiss Sam until they're both dizzy and loose himself in him.

Dean kisses him like he's dying for it – in a way, he is – and Sam kisses back just as ferociously. He sucks greedily at Dean's lips, slipping his tongue into Dean's mouth and letting them play together. Dean moans a little and nudges his leg between Sam's so he can press his thigh up against the quickly hardening bulge in Sam's jeans. It should probably be alarming how quickly they can switch from tears and clinging to each other to this passionate, fervent assault on each other's mouths, it probably doesn't say anything good about either of their psyches that their on/off switches are so abrupt, but Dean doesn't have the capacity or the inclination to care about that right now. He's got Sam in his arms, against his lips, under his skin; and that's all that matters. Dean sucks Sam's bottom lip into his mouth and tugs at it with his teeth and Sam lets out a small whine in the back of his throat; it gets louder when Dean rocks harder into him and their crotches rub together.

It's intoxicating, Sam is completely intoxicating. His scent and the heat from his body, the way he moves against Dean, the feel of him under his hands – skin so soft and almost delicate where Dean pets along the fine hairs on the back of Sam's neck. Dean's so caught up in him that it makes his head spin, although that could very well be from a sudden lack of blood as it all rushes south. Dean delves in deeper, tasting every inch of Sam's mouth his tongue can reach, and Sam pushes his hands up under Dean's shirt and presses palms like hot-plates into Dean's back. They've only been at it for a few minutes but Sam's breathing is already labored and Dean loves that – loves the feeling of Sam's warm breath against his lips, loves the sound of Sam hot and needy and keyed up, all for him.

Between everything with Cas and Sam's hallucinations and Dean's broken leg, it's been close to a month since they've done this. Sam sucked him off a few times while he still had the cast on, and Dean reciprocated as best he could in his half-crippled condition, but it wasn't the same. It was good, but not the same. It's stupid and girly, but kissing might actually be Dean's favorite part of being with Sam. Everything else is amazing, a hundred times better than the best Dean's ever had with anyone else, but when they're like this – pressed together completely, hands grabby and exploring and sucking at each other's lips like they'll starve if they don't – that's when Dean feels the most connected to his brother. It's like they're sharing their souls. It hits Dean particularly hard, like it still does sometimes even after all their years together, how endlessly, hopelessly, dangerously in love he is with the man in his arms. If he was a chick, this would be the part where he'd swoon or faint or whatever the hell it is girls do. But he's not, so he pulls away from Sam with a loud smack as their mouths separate and drops to his knees in front of him.

Or, he tries to. Carnal desire takes over and Dean wants nothing more in that moment than to get Sam in his mouth, get him slicked up and lick him until he's incoherent and let Sam come down his throat, but when Dean bends his knees too quickly something shifts around near his ankle and a sharp pain shoots up his leg. He cries out softly, fingers grabbing at Sam's arms to keep himself upright.

"Shit," Sam mutters, getting a good grip on Dean's hands and then hoisting him back up. "Are you okay?"

Dean exhales shakily, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to breathe through the pain. It recedes after only a minute, and he gingerly tries to put some weight back onto his foot. "Yeah, I … I think so," he rasps. "Fuck, that hurt."

Sam's eyebrows knit together and his eyes go wide and shiny in sympathy. "M'sorry. Guess we should give it a little more time before we …"

"Have crazy, violent, dominatrix sex?" Dean supplies with a grin when Sam trails off.

Sam chuckles. "Or something a little nicer."

Dean chuckles back, little achy tremors still moving up and down his leg. He puts a little more of his weight on it, wincing when it flares up hotly again. "In hindsight, sawing the cast off a week early may have been a bad idea."

Sam outright laughs at that, shaking his head fondly as his eyes go warm and soft. "You think?"

Dean shrugs sheepishly. "Had to go chasing after your stupid ass."

"Yeah, yeah, alright." Sam rolls his eyes but smiles. "So it's my fault we're not getting laid tonight, huh?"

"It totally is! Damn you," Dean groans, dropping his forehead down onto Sam's shoulder. "You should apologize to my dick, it was really looking forward to gettin' some."

Sam both snickers and tries not to at the same time, resulting in a funny little cough-snort that makes Dean laugh. He slides his arms back around Dean's waist and rests his chin on the top of Dean's head; Dean shuffles in closer and tucks himself up against Sam's chest, turning his head into Sam's neck. He can feel Sam's heartbeat, slow and steady, underneath his cheek.

"Been missin' you," he says softly.

"You're just horny," Sam jokes.

"No, I – well. Okay, yes, that," Dean relents, grinning stupidly in spite of himself. "But not just that."

"Me too," Sam murmurs. He doesn't say anything else for a few long minutes; he just kisses Dean's temple once and then rubs one hand up and down Dean's back, warm and gentle and molasses-slow, like he's not even fully aware he's doing it. It's funny; it isn't very often that Dean's the one being held, even though Sam's a lot bigger than he is. Sometimes he hates it, makes him feel like he doesn't belong in his own skin, like he's the kept one in the relationship instead of the provider. But other times, like now, he loves it. Loves that Sam's the only one in the world who knows all Dean's weaknesses, every single chink in his armor, and still loves him anyway. When Sam finally speaks again, his voice is quiet and tentative, almost cautious.

"Hey, um … you think you can get hard again?"

Dean makes a derisive noise in his throat. "Stupid question."

Sam laughs nervously. "Yeah. Okay."

"Why?" Dean pushes when Sam doesn't continue right away.

"I, um. I have an idea."

Dean lifts his head up so he can look Sam in the eye – his brother is a little flushed but he grins confidently and pecks a quick kiss to Dean's lips. He keeps one arm around Dean's waist and leads him to the bedroom they've been sleeping in; Dean still limps a little but Sam holds him up. He closes the door behind them; even though they're alone in the house, Dean likes it better that way and he thinks Sam does too. They aren't used to having a whole house to themselves, usually it's just the two of them in a tiny motel room or cramped in the Impala; in a smaller space it's easier for Dean to let himself drown in Sam and pretend, even for just a little while, that they're the only two people in the world and nothing else matters. Then Sam undresses them, not hurriedly but not exactly taking his time either, stripping Dean and then himself systematically of shirts and undershirts and jeans and socks until they're down to just their boxers.

He pauses, for just a moment, but it's enough time to take in the addicting sight of a mostly-naked Sam; his perfectly sculpted chest, that amazing v-cut of muscle leading down into his underwear, the way his tantalizing caramel skin shimmers with a barely-there sheen of sweat. Dean's whole mouth fills with saliva just from looking at him. Sam steps towards him and kisses him swiftly, cupping Dean's face in his hands and swirling his tongue around Dean's until he's achingly hard again even though his leg is still throbbing a little. Dean cups Sam's hips in his hands, running his thumbs over the ridges of muscle, all-but holding on for dear life as Sam kisses him breathless. Then Sam slides down to his knees, reminiscent of what Dean had been intending to do earlier but so much better because Sam actually gets all the way down, and then he's nudging against Dean's diamond-hard cock with his nose, breathing hot breaths on it that Dean feels even through the cotton of his shorts. Sam mouths along the underside of it, getting the fabric all sticky-wet and sending shivers up Dean's spine. He grips Sam's shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise but if he doesn't Dean's quite positive his knees would give out, and Sam wouldn't be able to catch him this time.

"Shit, Sammy," he mumbles, his words tumbling into a long moan when Sam hand cups him and squeezes gently. "Get on with that genius plan of yours, would ya?"

Sam ignores him for a minute, still sucking at the head of Dean's cock through the soaked cotton and cupping his balls, rolling them in his fingers and shit, Dean loves it when Sam does that. He sways a little on his feet, holding on to a handful of Sam's hair to keep himself upright. Sam doesn't torture him for long, though, he gets back up to his feet and then he's kissing Dean again before Dean's aroused and sluggish brain can even figure out what's happening. Then he guides Dean towards the bed, ridding them both of their boxers and pushing Dean gently down onto the mattress. Dean gets comfortable, stretched out with his head on the pillows, and Sam crawls slowly up his body on his hands and knees, stopping in a few spots that make Dean's skin explode in goosebumps – dragging his teeth over Dean's hip-bone, sucking at a nipple, smearing messy kisses into the hollow of his throat. By the time he gets back to Dean's mouth, Dean's so hard it's painful and he's completely forgotten about his injured leg. He grabs Sam's face and pulls him down for a brutal kiss, getting lost in it until Sam pulls back with a ragged gasp.

"Fuck, I missed you so much," he breathes, barely pausing for a second before he starts licking along Dean's jaw-line.

Dean sighs happily, letting his hands trace down Sam's back, blunt nails digging into the firm muscle. "What are we doing?"

"I – uh," Sam laughs nervously, kissing the patch of skin under Dean's ear. "I thought I could suck you off, while, you know, you … do me."

Dean groans loudly at the parade of pornographic images that burst to life behind his eyelids. "Oh, fuck, yeah."

He pushes at Sam's shoulders, muttering "c'mon" and trying to get his stupid brother to stop kissing his neck because Dean needs this to happen and it needs to happen now. He's so turned on he's surprised he's still conscious, but Sam is not moving and it's suddenly the most frustrating thing ever.

"So that's a 'yes'?" Sam whispers seductively, chuckling darkly into Dean's ear and making him shiver.

"That's a 'you better get this show on the road right the fuck now 'cause we're gonna be lucky if I last five minutes'," Dean growls, shoving at his brother and thankfully this time he complies, shifting off Dean and turning himself around on the mattress, then getting on top of Dean again, one knee of either side of Dean's head and his hands bracketed around Dean's hips.

It's … there pretty much aren't words, so Dean doesn't even really try. Sam's cock is flushed and hard and dripping, right in Dean's face; it's so hot he's quite sure adequately descriptive words don't even exist. Not in English, anyway. The tip is smeared with milky pre-come and it's just begging Dean to take it into his mouth so he does, sealing his lips around the crown and sucking. He can feel Sam doing the same even though he can't see it; he can feel Sam's lips brushing gently against the tip of Dean's cock, smearing around the leaking fluid and brushing his fingers lightly over the underside. It's good, it's gentle and loving and it makes Dean feel warm all over, but he's not interested in this slow torture right now. Not tonight, tonight Dean needs it to be fast and dirty, he just needs to come and make Sam come so he can be sure that Satan hasn't actually managed to take his Sammy away from him. Dean likes taking it slow, but it's the desperate, proof-of-life kind of sex he's after tonight, so he curls his fingers around the base of Sam's shaft and starts stroking firmly.

Sam moans around his mouthful of Dean's cock, the vibrations sending delicious tingles up Dean's spine. "Shit, Dean," he breathes, letting Dean's dick slip out of his mouth and hissing when Dean moves his hand faster.

"Not patient tonight, okay?" Dean warns, lapping at Sam's messy slit.

"Yeah. Okay," Sam answers shakily.

His voice sounds turned on and fucked out but also maybe a little hesitant – Dean can't see his face to gauge his reaction like he normally could; Sam's expressive eyes always betray him even when he's trying to pretend. But he doesn't say anything else, he just quickens his easy pace, wrapping his hand around Dean's cock and moving it quickly up and down, licking around the crown in a wet circle and then sucking it into his mouth. Dean moans at the sensation, and then he gets back to work, drawing Sam back into his mouth as far as he can and bobbing his head. It's incredible, having Sam's hot length in his mouth and his musky scent in his nose at the same time as the most amazing suction on his cock. Dean bucks up into Sam's mouth a little, uncontrollably, and jerks Sam faster – Sam does the same in response. His mouth is wet and hot and if feels so damn good wrapped around Dean's aching erection. He's way too close way too quickly, but he can tell Sam is too, so Dean goes for broke; moving his head faster and sucking a little harder, dragging his index finger through the spit and pre-come mess on his lips and then reaching his hand back to press the pad of his finger against Sam's hole.

He doesn't push in, he just rubs insistently against the little furled muscle and Sam whimpers and tightens his grip on Dean's cock, twisting his wrist as he strokes it and Dean's just done. He lets go, lets himself come in Sam's mouth and tries his level best not to clamp down too hard around Sam's cock as waves of pleasure crash over his body. Less than a minute later Sam comes too, grunting harshly and pulsing in Dean's mouth. Dean lets it land on his tongue and slip down his throat, bittersweet and hot and creamy and so god damn good. He's been addicted like heroin to Sam's flavor since the very first time he tasted it, so long ago now he barely even remembers it. He keeps his lips wrapped around Sam's twitching cock, sucking down every last drop and then letting his head fall back against the pillows with a haggard gasp. His lungs can't draw in oxygen fast enough; his heart is pounding and his head is spinning and he wouldn't be surprised if his limbs never worked again, but honestly he wouldn't care. Dean would happily starve to death if it meant he could spend his last hours right here, in a sleepy, sated, satisfied pile of goo with Sam wrapped around him.

"Fuck." Sam exhales unsteadily and somehow manages to get himself turned around so he can flop down next to Dean's limp form. He lies there and pants for a minute, and then he rolls into Dean's body, pressing them together with one leg nestled in between Dean's; Sam props his head up on his elbow and smiles down at him. "Fun?" he asks, grinning cheekily.

"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters, laughing deliriously and dragging one lead-filled arm off the bed so he can brush the sweaty bangs out of Sam's eyes. "That was fuckin' awesome. How is it possible we've been sleeping together for over a decade and we've never done that?"

Sam laughs back, quiet but happy and free. "Don't know. We're not that smart, I guess."

Dean shakes his head and huffs. "Well we are definitely doing it again. And not just the next time one of us is a gimp."

Sam smiles and kisses him, and then he settles down and rests his head on Dean's chest, hissing in pain when his skin touches Dean's.

"What?" Dean asks quickly.

"Some asshole dented my face, that's what," Sam answers, sticking his tongue out at Dean and then crawling over his body so he can lie down on his other side, getting comfortable again and resting his un-bruised cheek just over Dean's heart.

"Oh." Dean wraps his arms around Sam's back and tugs him in close, kissing the top of his head contritely. "Sorry about that."

"No you aren't," Sam argues, but Dean can hear the smile on his face even though he can't see it. "But I'm a big boy. I can take a hit."

Dean grins widely and hugs Sam a little tighter. "S'what you get for messin' with my girl."

"Hey, I was careful!" Sam protests, poking Dean in the ribs. "I'd never hurt your baby, you'd probably never speak to me again."

Dean laughs softly. "Well can ya blame me? She's gorgeous. And she's our home."

"You're my home," Sam whispers, kissing Dean's neck and snuggling in an extra inch closer.

For a moment, Dean isn't sure how to respond to that. First he frowns, the thought that he really is the only thing Sam has in the world making him unbearably sad. But then something clinches in his chest and a warm, happy feeling swells like a balloon, overtaking him and filling all those dark, achy places inside him. Having Sam next to him is all Dean's ever needed, really. He's getting tired of letting the world come between them. He doesn't care what he has to do to keep Sam this time – whatever it is, Dean'll do it. He's not letting them fall apart ever again.

"Me too, Sammy," he whispers back.