As per usual, I don't own the boys, just the writing.

Before Sam leaves for Stanford, he scribbles out a note to his brother and leaves it on Dean's pillow.

All it says, in Sam's messy, rushed writing, is I'm sorry.

Dean keeps the note in the glove compartment of the Impala until Sam comes home.

Sam finds the note on the way back from a hunt, as he's rummaging through the glove compartment to find one of their many maps. His hand closes around the creased paper, and he pulls it out, a slight frown playing at his brows.

Dean glances over, feels a flush spread across his cheeks as he realises what Sam's holding. He watches his brother open the folded note, watches Sam read the two words, mouthing the hurried apology once, twice, over and over. Sam's face shuts down, and Dean can't read the emotionless space in his eyes, and it almost scares him.

"Pull over, Dean," Sam says quietly, and Dean goes to question, but shuts his mouth with a soft snap. The roads are empty, it's easy to find a junction to stop in, and when the Impala comes to a halt, Dean looks over at Sam.

"You kept it," Sam murmurs, fingers smoothing over the paper, staring down at his hands. Dean nods numbly, then clears his throat.

"Yeah. Yeah, I kept it."


Dean shrugs, and Sam looks up and over at him. Dean sees something flash and harden in his brother's eyes, watches silently as Sam undoes his seatbelt and slides across to Dean's side, pausing for no more than a heartbeat before burying his head in Dean's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he whispers gently, "I'm so, so sorry."

Dean doesn't know how to reply, doesn't know what to say to make it better, so he runs a hand through Sam's hair, strokes the back of his baby brother's head. Sam presses closer, hand sliding down and releasing Dean's seatbelt with a low click.

Sam's pushing himself up and onto Dean's lap as soon as the belt's gone, as soon as Dean's free to lean back and wrap his arms around his brother, pulling him in closer. Sam presses desperate kisses to Dean's face; to his cheeks, his jaw, his lips, pushing himself closer and closer until there's nothing between them except three years of loneliness and bitterness and guilt, and then closer still.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Sam breathes, almost like a prayer, mouth moving against Dean's skin, hot and warm and frantic. Dean shakes his head, shuts Sam up with a kiss, hands tangling in his hair and pulling his lips down.

Sam collapses into the kiss, moaning softly and clenching his hands on Dean's shoulders. Dean drops one hand to his brother's back, holds Sam close as they rock together in the front of the Impala, mouths biting and dancing together in a heated mess.

His brother's hands tighten against him as Sam rolls his hips down, shuddering at the contact and the friction and the feel on denim on skin. Dean groans into Sam's mouth as he moves his hips again, grinding down harder, hands reaching back to cup Dean's neck and cradle him closer.

Dean flips them easily, pushes Sam onto his back against the front seats, kneeling above on all fours, caging him in. Sam whines gently, pulls Dean's mouth down for another clash of teeth and tongues, lifting one leg and hooking it around Dean's hips to drag them down until their groins are pushing together again.

Sam whimpers and shudders again, pushing his tongue into Dean's mouth as Dean's hips roll against his crotch, their cocks pressing together through the rough material of their jeans.

"Fuck, Dean, fuck, I've missed you so much," he grits out, sliding his mouth down to Dean's jaw and running kisses along the stubbled skin there. "Missed your body against mine, missed the way you taste, the way you touch," he leans up and steals another kiss from his brother's lips, "missed your mouth, your hands, missed you, Dean."

Dean's losing himself in the feel of Sam's cock against his, in the rush of words flooding from his brother's mouth, breath catching in his throat and leaving him in ragged exhales.

Sam stiffens beneath him, breathes out a low fuck, clutching Dean tighter as he climaxes, come coursing out of him and staining his jeans. Dean can feel the damp seeping into his own jeans, and it pushes him over the edge he's been teetering on, until they're both crying out in the cramped space in the front of the Impala.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispers again, holding Dean close as he collapses on top of his brother, hands cradling Dean's head.

"I didn't want to let go of the hope that you didn't really want to leave," Dean murmurs against Sam's neck, shutting his eyes tightly against the onslaught of tears. "That's why I kept it. Because I couldn't stop believing that you really were sorry."

Sam's silent for a moment, pulls Dean up and presses a slow, soft kiss to his lips.

"I'm here now, Dean. I'm here now and I'm not going to leave again."

Dean nods tiredly, curling up against his brother and closing his eyes against the world, content to just lie in the arms he'd been missing for the past three years.

So I don't normally write stuff down here, but I'd like your opinion on something - would it be worth it if I tried to write a multi-chapter Wincest fic? I've never actually successfully completed a fic with more than on chapter, so it'd be a big thing and there would probably be long gaps between each chapter, but I'm thinking about it.

I'd just like to know what you think; should I give it a go, or should I stick to these little PWPs?