Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Dean turns the music lower, although, he guesses that if the Impala’s roaring engine doesn’t wake Sam, Led Zeppelin won’t either. Dean needs a little Zeppelin right about now to keep himself awake so he can keep Baby racing down the blacktop. He’s humming along with the music, keeping his attention mostly on the dark highway aside from frequent sideways glances at his sleeping brother.

It’s been about ten hours since they left a victorious Queen of Moons in Farmington Hills, Michigan at the end of the epic battle for Moondor. Dean can’t help the smile tugging at his lips at the memory and at the fact that there’s still some white and red paint coloring Sam’s hairline.

It’s been a good day. A simple day. With his brother by his side. No complicated feelings to unravel. No boiling anger to keep in check. No sneaky paranoia to tamp down. No danger to avoid or seek out. Just some long overdue, good old-fashioned fun.

Dean was surprised to discover that he really enjoyed seeing Charlie again. After working this unusual case with her and having so much fun afterwards, she had unexpectedly morphed from the “little sister he never wanted” to “the little sister he never knew he needed”. Her feisty and open hearted way of speaking her mind when he told her about his douche move to send Sam after Amelia with a fake text was refreshing. He appreciated her courage and no-nonsense attitude when it came to accepting yet another crazy aspect of the supernatural world and fighting the idiot human who was behind the summoning. He even admits that he envies her almost childlike love for all things “geek”.

She’d definitely been a breath of fresh air after the high tension, fights, and misunderstandings he’s been having with Sam since his return from purgatory.

Dean doesn’t mean to be a complete asshole, but, most days, it’s been fucking hard to be back, to cope with “normal” life after the constant fight for survival in that place. There’d been a stark clarity to life in purgatory – be at your best, your most alert, all the fucking time or die. No two ways about it.

Here, on earth, everything is complicated. It started right out of the gate when the massive relief he felt at having Sam back morphed into crippling disappointment when he learned what his brother had been up to while he was gone.

It’s been a constant uphill struggle from there and he had no desire to talk about it aside from a few grunted exchanges with Benny who seemed to be in worse shape than Dean felt. If he thought before being trapped in purgatory that hunters were on edge on their best days, Dean’s learned since that he fits into a whole new category of paranoid now.

However, it seems that he and Sam had gained some common ground lately after the commitment they made to leave their other partners behind and jump back into hunting together with both feet. It feels good to have Sam’s full attention again, have his brother’s familiar presence at his back and not feel a constant vibe of seething mistrust and anger from him anymore. Baby steps, Dean reminds himself, and chances another quick look at Sam, who’s now snoring softly through slightly parted lips.

‘He looks so peaceful. Even after all the shit I’ve put him through.’

The last couple of days had been another few small steps in the right direction, culminating in Sam’s suggestion that they join the nerdy LARPING crowd for a full-on fake battle over a fantasy kingdom, complete with aluminum chainmail and foam swords. Dean loved seeing Sam’s deep dimpled smile. Loved hearing him whoop and laugh as they ran down the hill shoulder to shoulder and charged into the melee together without the usual worries about death or serious injury.

‘Yup, today was pretty awesome’ . Dean feels his smile widen.

It’s also been a long day. Dean’s been driving ever since they left the mock field of battle. He doesn’t mind, though. The Impala, the road, and his brother riding shotgun have been Dean’s home and safe haven for most of his life. Endless ribbon of white or yellow gliding along Baby’s side, his favorite tunes spilling quietly into the cabin and the comingled scents of the past and present – it’s almost hypnotizing in its serenity.

They’re tracking northwestwards along I-94. As per Sam’s intel, a possible case awaits them in Nowhere, North Dakota. Dean didn’t listen close enough to catch the actual town, just the general direction. It never matters anyway. Cattle mutilations and a few missing humans promise a hunt for werewolves or vamps or maybe a pack of ghouls.

Dean doesn’t really care as long as there’s a good fight and satisfying kill at the end of the research.

He’s always been better at doing and improvising than waiting and researching.

In the quiet calm, Dean’s mind wanders and he reflects how that had worked to his advantage in purgatory. No research necessary there. All that was required were the skills he’d worked his whole life to perfect - sharp observation, laser focus, spot-on instinct and the will to do whatever it took to win the next fight, and the next and the next and the next – day and night. Really, all you had to do was cling to a reason to keep fighting – no matter that you had to sleep standing up with one eye open, no matter that you seriously considered whether or not shoe leather was a food group, no matter that drinking blood started to appear preferable over choking down the sulfur flavored slush that passed for water.

His reason had been Sam, of course. The surety that his brother would find a way to get him out sustained Dean through week after week of searching for Cas and fighting for his life in a myriad of ways even he couldn’t have imagined. Sam was the smart one after all. No way would he fail him now.

Dean shudders at the recollection, but his mind keeps pulling him down that particular dark, murky path.

Months went by and Dean’s hope slowly eroded at the same rate as his survival tactics became more and more proficient, honed to a razor’s edge. He shifted his sole focus and reason for going on to finding Cas. He tried not to think about Sam since it only brought on visions of every possible death his brother might have suffered after Dean and Cas had been sucked into that fucking nightmare. After all, if Sam were alive, he’d have been there by then. Dean could do this. He’d kill every fucking evil sonofabitch in that Godforsaken place if necessary to find his friend.

When even that reason finally started to look as foolish as hoping for a bacon cheeseburger and some good shut-eye in that wasteland, and the last bullet in Dean’s Colt 911 became damned tempting as a possible option for reuniting with Sam, Benny showed up and saved his life in more ways than one.

Armed with the quest to find the portal as a new reason to live and having a determined and skilled fighting companion by his side, Dean shed all other doubts, along with most of the remnants of his humanity, and soldiered on. Who needed comfort or peace when you had a mission? His dad had taught him that much.

As uneasy as their alliance was at the start, Benny quickly became Dean’s brother in arms, guide and teacher in purgatory. Always challenging him, never letting him fall short and steadfastly covering his back no matter what came at them. After awhile, Dean made peace with the idea that although Benny could never fill the swirling black hole that the loss of Sam had left in his soul, he was as close a friend as Dean could hope for in that shithole, aside from Cas. Benny could be trusted and relied on without fail – and that was worth more than Dean was able or willing to deny, in purgatory as well as topside.

And now he’d had cut that tie. For Sam. For Sam, who he’d pulled away from a girl and a dog and a white picket fence somewhere in Texas. For Sam, who seemed to resent that fact every day until just recently. For Sam, who had not looked for him and who quit hunting by his own admission, two things Dean still can’t quite comprehend. For Sam, who said he wanted to be back in the game with him now, give up the girl and go back to their old life again.

Why?

Dean has no illusions of ever having been a great catch. A great fuck, hell yeah. At least before purgatory, when he wasn’t distracted by every dark shadow and didn’t have to fight the urge to take every conquest from behind to keep watch while he fucked them. Not that any of that mattered to Sam. So, why would Sam want to be back with him, when all he is most days is on edge and irritable? When all he does most nights is sleep uneasily, sitting up against headboard to cover his back? When all he gave Sam until recently was suspicion and blame and shit about quitting?

No, he was never a good catch before, but now, what’s left; he’s mostly a great guard dog. A highly trained killer you can point at any target for guaranteed success.

Dean shudders again and shakes his head sharply to snap out of this fucking spiral.

GOD DAMMIT. Today had been a good day!

*****************************

Sam sleeps as the rumble of the Impala lulls him under deeper and deeper until he’s dreaming. The dream begins with that time Amelia wanted to cheer him up, telling him to drive but not telling him where.

That time has been soon after they’d met and the place had turned out to be an outdoor music festival where five beers and a hard rock band that took the stage an hour in conspired to make him miss his brother even worse. When Amelia pressed her ass back against his fly in an open invitation, he thought that taking her up on her offer might help him forget, even if only in a very superficial and temporary way. He fucked her hard against the wall in the dark behind the stage, music earsplitting, bass shaking him to his core. Right when he spilled into the condom inside of her, pushing her stomach against the brick, something cracked open in his chest, and he gasped out Dean's name in the rush of release. So much for forgetting. Amelia didn’t hear a thing over the music. Sam hadn’t anticipated Dean’s name clawing its way out of his throat, and it took him by surprise, but when he tried to dissect it later, alone with his thoughts in the quiet of the Impala, he was content to accept that that little slip up was his subconscious seeking relief from the crushing, ever-present guilt he carried over his inability to save his brother. Calling out for him as if he could never stop searching. Because he couldn’t.

But the release, at least, was a relief. Combined with the alcohol, it kept the sharp edges at bay as long as he had a way to let go of his longing and stress every so often. Sam was grateful that Amelia was warm and willing and he took comfort in not only the physical pleasure, but in being able to help her live in the moment when they were both chasing the high of bringing each other to climax.

Sam wasn’t the only one with someone else on his mind. She apologized to him for a week after the time she called him by her dead husband's name when she was down on all fours in front of him. Ass in the air, cheek pressed against the pillow as she asked him to please fuck her harder when he'd only been able to slowly ease himself halfway inside at that point, too tight to go any further, but she begged him not to stop. She later reassured him that the pain made her feel alive and it was so much better than feeling numb the way she had ever since her husband was killed in action. It really didn't bother him at all, that she'd called out her husband's name instead of his. They were both processing their own grief. Living in their own hells and meeting up every so often in their own private purgatories to fuck their frustrations out with each other. They were using each other to survive and they both knew it.

It wasn't only therapeutic pain and relief though. Some nights, Amelia would bring home a chef salad for Sam and a burger for herself and they'd eat together in easy silence. If it had been a particularly exhausting day at the vet clinic, she'd snuggle up against him on the couch, head on his chest, his arm pulling her close, and they'd watch a movie - a thriller, usually - as long as it wasn't about the military as per her request or had anything to do with vampires, as per Sam's. They'd throw out theories about who in the movie would die and who was going to kill the doomed character and one of them usually figured it out within the first five minutes, but they'd watch the whole thing anyway just so the winner could gloat.

It felt good to be needed. That someone in the world cared about him enough to ask how his day had been and that it was appreciated when he returned the favor. Feeling useful to someone in some way was better than all of the brutal months immediately following Dean's disappearance when failure after failure as he tried to find his brother had worn him down to the point that he thought seriously about ending it all just to make the pain stop.

But he still couldn't leave an injured dog on the side of the road. Not when that, like everything else, was his fault. His failure.

When the dog led him to Amelia, he figured that anything that took his mind off the pain of failing Dean, even for an hour, was something he had to try.

She'd asked him "why no vampire movies?" once, but he only said he thought they were stupid - too overdone in pop culture to be believable onscreen villains and he wasn't interested. She didn't ask again.

Of course, the problem was that they were far too real for Sam.

They haunted him. Even now. Dean hadn't been back long enough for Sam’s brain to relax into this new reality. It still feels fleeting, undependable. Here he is, safe in the Impala with his brother, and yet the same fucking nightmare that has plagued him since he found out about Benny just can’t wait to ambush him like always.

It’s a nightmare inside the dream that starts with him fucking Amelia at the concert. In the dream, he startles awake, then settles back into the sofa when he realizes Amelia’s there against him, under his protective arm, fallen asleep after movie night. He relaxes until he hears a very distinct Cajun accent coming from the shadows at the other end of the seemingly very long couch.

"Aw, Sam, it's really sweet the way you think you can help her when you can't do a dayum thing to help Dean." Benny's face flickers into view in the cold ambient light of the TV several cushions away. He’s always lounging against the far arm of the couch. Toothpick in his mouth. Stupid fisherman's hat on his head, absentmindedly playing with a bowie knife in his hands. He squints at Sam like he knows everything about him already.

"Dean waited for you, you know," and Benny sneers at him, "But you never showed, mon frère ."

"I'm not your fucking brother," Sam always hisses at the apparition in his head.

"Weren't much of a brother to Dean either, were ya?" Benny points the tip of the knife at him as he continues. "But itz all good, 'cause I'm taking care of him now. Keeping him alive. I got his back. I listen to him worry that somethin' happened to ya to keep ya from coming for him. Just ain't got the heart to tell ‘im you're too busy with fucking movie night and with fucking her to worry about what he's goin' through."

"I'm going to fucking kill you," Sam always spits back at Benny's mirage.

"Well, that'd be a good trick now, Sam, seeing's how you can't find Dean and I'm with him." Then Benny always winks at him. "See, I'm with him all the time. 24/7. Makin' sure he don't starve durin' the day...don't freeze at night...don't lose hope like he started to when he realized you weren't comin' for 'im."

"You'll never be his brother."

"Funny you say that, Sam, 'cause that's what he calls me now." And Benny's smug smirk makes Sam’s stomach turn. "Yessir, seems he's forgettin' about you the same way you're forgettin' about him."

"NO!!!!!!!" Sam shouts at the top of his lungs.

There's an iron grip on his bicep and Sam's disoriented gaze flies around the inside of the Impala before he's pitched forward as the car screeches to a halt on the gravel shoulder.

"Sammy, Sammy stop, it's me, wake up - what the fuck was that? You were asleep and then all of a sudden you’re yelling and swinging at nothin’. Spill it."

Sam’s wild eyes meet Dean’s.

“Whoa, Sam, come on, breathe man.” Dean’s looking at him like he’s trying to diagnose a mechanical problem with the Impala. “Talk to me.”

“Nothing to talk about,” Sam averts his eyes, tries to get his breathing under control, and looks out into the night.

“Bullshit,” Dean waits.

“Just keep driving,” Sam demands, shaken by the dream-turned-nightmare that always gets under his skin.

Dean gives him a hard look, but reluctantly puts the car in gear and pulls back onto the highway. He hasn’t been back that long and, the world, being about as different from purgatory as you can get, means that a congested highway in the daytime still freaks him out a bit. He wishes they could take the secondary roads, but that would take twice as long, so he sucks it up and hits the gas. At least it’s quieter at this time of day.

By the tenth mile marker after they pulled back onto the road, Sam looks straight out the front windshield and mumbles, “Did you ever call him ‘brother’?”

“What?” Dean shoots a sideways glance at Sam. “You gotta speak up, man.”

Sam turns to him now, clearly exasperated. “I said, did you ever call him ‘brother’?”

“Who?”

“You know who.”

“No, Sam I really don’t – you’re going to have to fill me in.” Annoyance mixes with impatience in his voice.

“Fuck, Dean, Benny, did you ever call Benny your brother? You know, while you were stuck there with him.”

“That’s what this is about?” Dean asks, slightly incredulous.

“Just answer the question,” Sam replies flatly.

“No, Sam, I didn’t. Benny was my friend. It’s like what they say about people in the military; we fought together, all day long and most of every night, pure survival mode. He understood what had to be done and he had no problem doin’ it. He helped keep me alive down there. AND he’s the one that found the way to get me back up here,” Dean gets quiet on that last part. “Back up here to you. I owe him. Fuck, we owe him a lot.”

That just makes Sam more uneasy, even if it’s the truth. Maybe because it’s the truth. He’s quiet for a second. “What’d he call you?”

“I don’t know, Sam, some fucking Cajun shit like ‘moan fryer’, I have no fucking clue. Why do you care?”

“That’s ‘mon frère’, Dean, it’s French for ‘my brother’.” Sam looks at Dean like he won some kind of argument.

“Okay, so what? If that’s how he felt, fucking great. I only have two brothers, Sam, you and Adam. Adam’s our brother, but you’re my brother. “

Sam doesn’t look convinced.

“Okay, fuck this,” Dean growls as he suddenly swerves the car onto the exit ramp next to them, tearing into the nearest gas station parking lot, skidding to a complete stop and shutting the engine off. He turns and looks directly at Sam. “There’s somethin’ we gotta get out in the open.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?” Sam’s nothing but defiant.

“I don’t think that me and Benny keeping each other alive in purgatory is quite the same thing as you settling down with Amelia. You fucking left me there, brother, what the fuck was I supposed to do?”

“I didn’t ‘settle down’ with Amelia,” Sam shoots back.

“Oh yeah? And what would you call it?”

The color rises in Sam’s face, “I’d call it fucking ‘survival’ Dean!” he raises his voice. “She kept me alive too.”

“Okay, so while you were having dinner with your reason for living, I was in a fucking war zone that never took a day off. I was – “

“I never said that,” Sam glares, outraged at his brother.

Dean’s on a roll and can’t remember what he said that Sam is disagreeing with. “Jesus, fuck, Sam, you never said what?”

“I never said she was my ‘reason for living’. I said she kept me alive.”

“And the difference is?”

“Dammit Dean, I wanted to die. I fucking wanted to die after I spent month after month after month researching everything I could think of, asking everyone I could think of, fuck, summoning every evil sonofabitch I could summon to try to deal to get you out. Nothing worked! NOTHING! I fucking failed you Dean, and before I ran into Amelia, I was ready to end it.”

The color drains from Dean’s face. He stares at Sam, eyes wide now, mouth slack, his own argument sputters in his throat, suddenly out of gas. Sam’s words sink in slowly like an oil slick into sand.

“She kept me alive. That’s all. You want me to fucking thank Benny? If you’re glad I was still around when you got back, you should be thanking her.”

Dean’s voice carries a quiet weight when he responds: “Sam, of course I was glad you were still here. You being here is the only reason I fought so hard to get back and you gotta know that.”

Sam swallows hard and looks away.

“You tried everything?” Dean just has to hear it again, can’t quite believe his own ears. “But…you said…you didn’t…”

“Man, I’m really sorry I didn’t explain it all earlier. I made it sound like I just fucking walked off and hooked up with the first chick that came along.” Sam forces himself to look at Dean, desperation to make his brother understand in every line of his face.

“I swear to fucking God Dean, I tried everything. And you fucking know why? Why I was ready to die when it didn’t work?”

Dean just shakes his head.

“Because you’re my reason for living, dumbass!”

Sam finally comes to a stop on a shuddering breath, but his words keep resonating through Dean’s brain like the echo of a gunshot through a canyon.

Sam had searched for him. Sam had been close to giving up….his life….FUCK. Sam might’ve killed himself. He might’ve gotten back to earth too late. Panic at that thought makes Dean’s windpipe constrict and his stomach roil before he sucks in a deep breath and locks the feeling down resolutely. Sam’s right here. Sam’s alive. They’re alive. Made it through another clusterfuck the universe threw at them. Maybe they didn’t figure it out together this time, and maybe they each needed some help from others, but ultimately they didn’t give up and that was purely because of each other.

‘I’m Sam’s reason for living, just like Sam’s mine.’

Dean’s heart thumps hard against his ribs, pushing liquid warmth through his body, color returning to his face.

How had they gotten from an argument about who was hurting more to this revelation in two seconds flat?

It doesn’t really matter. He suddenly feels about a ton lighter, like he can actually breathe some clear, sulfur-free air for the first time since purgatory.

‘We can move past this.’

Sure, there’s still shit to work through, they’re definitely both still a little too raw from the endless weeks of friction and fighting, but he finally feels like he has his brother back. Like there’s an actual way forward together. It’s a start. Baby steps.

He can’t keep his lips from stretching into a fierce grin as enormous relief spreads through him.

Sam’s brows draw together in concern and his eyes tighten as if he’s not sure what to expect next.

“Better not forget it, Sammy,” Dean’s voice is warm with affection, “or I’m gonna have to kick your ass.”

With that Sam’s whole body relaxes and the answering smile deepens his dimples.

“You can try, Dean.” Sam’s voice cracks a little with cautious amusement.

Dean barks a short laugh.

“Oh, I think we both know how shamefully out of shape you are, little brother.”

Sam feels the teasing words slide across his neck and down his spine like a warm, familiar hand.

He swallows hard. He can’t believe his luck that trying to talk to Dean about something so emotional hasn’t ended in another blistering fight. Dean seems as relieved as Sam to get some of these simmering tensions out in the open. He didn’t shut Sam out immediately, as has been his custom in recent months. Dean actually seems willing to find a way to reconnect instead of pushing him away. Sam draws in a deep breath, trying to calm his still-jittery nerves and welling emotions. He has a hard time ripping his gaze from his brother’s fond expression, drinking in every detail of his reassuring smile and swearing to himself that he won’t ever lose Dean again.

“Don’t be fooled, I can still take you down easy.” Sam keeps his tone light, although his heart beats high in his throat.

“In your dreams,” Dean goes for the last word and Sam lets him have it.

Sam gestures to the Quick Mart outside, finally taking his eyes off his brother. “How about one of those disgusting gas station pies?” Sam asks. “You’re probably still about a quart low on hydrogenated oil and preservatives since you got back.”

“Food of the Gods, Sammy,” Dean smiles, recognizing the peace offering. “Could only dream about that shit in purgatory. You’re buying. Make it three of ‘em and you’ve got a deal.”

“Yeah, I’m buying,” Sam’s dimples make another appearance. He stands with a groan, cracking his spine as he straightens up.

*****************************

An hour and a half further down the road, Hostess wrappers drift into a pile in the corner of the footwell next to Dean’s boots, plowed into a heap by the current from the vents, and Sam crunches on a handful of sunflower seeds from the open bag next to him, glancing every so often at Dean’s relaxed form riding shotgun. Sam took over driving after the gas station so Dean could rest and once he’d decimated the pies, he was out like a light. Knees splayed apart, head cushioned against the backrest, arms crossed loosely over his chest, eyelashes barely touching his cheeks as he breathes heavily in his sleep.

After their talk, Sam feels fifty pounds lighter.

Dean had never replaced him. He’d only done what he had to do to get back to him. Pretty much the same thing Sam had done, though the circumstances couldn’t have been more different.

Sam lets his mind wander. He can’t quite believe how much time and energy he’s spent eaten up with jealousy over Benny. Just the fact that someone else was fighting alongside Dean when it should have been him. But Dean never stopped fighting. He could have stayed in purgatory. He could have returned to earth and kept working with Benny.

‘And I could still be in Kermit’

Yeah, he could still be in Kermit. And it would still feel like he was trying to force a square peg into a round hole. Sam used to think that it was just his upbringing that made his way of life in Texas feel prickly sometimes – like he was trying on clothes not meant for him. That if he just stuck with it long enough, it would fall into place. But it never did. For a time, he thought it was just him. That he was fucked up somehow. That nothing would ever feel truly right for him. But now, driving with Dean sleeping next to him, his brother trusting him to get them safely from point A to point B, everything fit. The too-warm air from the vents, the smell of leather and canvas and whatever product Dean had been using in his hair, faint artificial fruit scent from the pie wrappers, the dependable rumble of the engine. Sam feels like himself again for the first time in over a year. He forgot how good it was to follow his gut instead of his head. His brain that had told him to do the conventional, rational thing, to “move in with her” and “put down roots” and “just fake it ‘till you make it – it’s what Dean would want for you” – but that voice in his skull had unexpectedly been exorcised by the first sight of his brother, fleeing for the nearest exit in a cloud of smoke. It was as if their talk had provided the last necessary lines of Latin that would banish that voice forever. He could breathe easier. He could think without analyzing everything he did or wanted. He and Dean were in it together again and nothing felt better than this.

What he’d found with Amelia was some measure of comfort and security when he was adrift, alone, and desperate for both, but the purest source for him for those needs is, and always has been, Dean.

He had a choice. Dean had a choice. Thank fucking God they had made the same decision.

Dean shifts slightly in his sleep and the movement catches Sam’s eye, causing him to take his attention off the road for another second. His brother, even asleep, looks less stressed than Sam has seen since he got back. Sam feels an expanding in his chest. No more worrying about when one of them will leave. Hearing that Dean still puts him first in the same way he puts Dean first settled something inside him.

He feels…peaceful.

Now that Sam knows the whole story about Benny, he wonders if perhaps that particular vampire will stop showing up on the couch in his recurring nightmare. Maybe the nightmare will stop altogether. That would be fucking awesome. He’s sick to death of that particular rerun, can conjure up every second of that dream in exacting, vivid detail, repetition having ground it into his psyche over the months. At least it always started with him fucking Amelia and –

‘Holy shit’

A sudden realization brings his wandering thoughts to a screeching halt and he has to focus to keep from letting his foot off the accelerator and waking up his brother.

That dream. It always started with sex. With Amelia. But the sudden clarity metaphorically slaps him in the face: it was never about Amelia. It was Dean. He groaned out Dean’s name when he came that night with her, and then over and over and over again in the recurring dream, when Dean was the last thing he wanted to be thinking about. But there it was. It wasn’t a dream about missing that kind of release…or missing the life he had with Amelia, it was a dream about how deeply, how fundamentally, he needed his brother. At that moment, when he was least in control of his body or his thoughts, that’s what roared to the surface. Dean.

Now Sam’s brain races. Back in time. Back to the first time it ever happened. Back to Rhonda Hurley. Back when it felt, when it was, innocent. His big brother teaching him something about life. About pleasure. About what was natural and healthy for his teenage body. Something not to be ashamed of. It too had been seared into his memory; what it felt like to watch Dean fuck Rhonda; to watch his face as he came with his eyes fastened on Sam who was jerking off on the couch in the other room. Sam mulls it over. If he’s really honest with himself, what’s most seared into his memory is what DEAN looked like fucking Rhonda. His confidence, the amazing way his body moved, the way his arms, his shoulders, his back flexed, the way his ass clenched tight with every thrust. It was, hands down, the hottest thing he’d ever seen. Dean letting go like that. Dean trusting him enough to share it with him. Choosing the moment he came to connect with his brother, instead of with the woman moaning on top of him. After that, Sam couldn’t resist sneaking a peek whenever he could manage when Dean brought home another girl. Whenever Dean didn’t close the bedroom door all the way. Whenever it felt like Dean tried to include him and put on a bit of a show.

‘Jesus, Fuck.’

Sam swallows hard and feels his face heat and the fine hair on the back of his neck rise to attention.

‘Had Dean put on a show on purpose? Had it been all innocent on his own part?’

Sam’s mind keeps racing along the timeline of their lives – momentous occasions and small moments alike; times they had been so in sync it was hard to tell where one’s thoughts ended and the other’s began; times they had been so at odds with each other that even physical violence couldn’t relieve the frustration; moments of unity and moments of jealousy, helpless anger and pure elation…always, always, over what they meant to each other and how far they would go to preserve that.

Had there been an undercurrent of something else? Something neither recognized or was willing to let manifest completely? Something that had started with Rhonda Hurley and had lingered until cut off at the root when Sam left for Stanford?

Sam feels his blush deepen and he steals another glance at Dean’s stunning face, sprawled posture, splayed legs….

'Shit. Had it ever actually stopped; this thing between them?’

Their lives had been so insanely complicated and frantic when they got back on the road together, there had barely been enough time to grieve one loss before the next one occurred and a third one threatened. Still, Sam remembers the buzz he felt every time Dean was in step with him. When his brother was unconcerned with bumping shoulders, tangling feet under tables, wrestling for the remote without the merest hint of discomfort. The little stabs of jealousy that took Sam by surprise over Cassie and Lisa and even some of the meaningless conquests along the way. The happiness that flooded in each time Dean would come back to him and they would move on. All through the years, Sam remembers being happiest, most at ease, when he and Dean were alone, and it felt like they were enough for each other. Seems they’d been choosing each other, one way or another, over and over for a very long time.

Could this be reason why he was never good at the casual fuck where Dean so excelled? The reason that he didn’t enjoy the prowl, the flirting the triumph of success as much as Dean did?

'Has Dean always been enough for me?'

Sam feels like he just realized something important. About accepting what is and not what anyone else thinks “should” be.

A small smile plays at the corners of Sam’s mouth. He’s getting another chance with Dean, a chance he never thought he’d get. He’s not going to fuck it up.

*****************************

“Hey, Dean? You hungry?” Sam calls softly, trying to catch his brother’s attention in an attempt to wake him slowly, preferably without jolting him into the immediate battle readiness mode that has been the norm ever since his return. After a bruised cheekbone and small cut at this throat from the knife under Dean’s pillow, Sam learned to keep his distance when waking him. Sam watches warily, leaning a little to the left against the driver side door, waiting for Dean’s reaction. Indeed, Dean snaps awake instantly, but he does so with a happy grin and audible gurgling of his stomach.

“Starving. What you got?”

Sam glances around as they drive down a stretch of highway on the outskirts of Who Knows, North Dakota.

“Uhm, Chinese, Mexican, steak or…..”

“Hooters,” Dean remarks zeroing in on the familiar sign featuring the iconic owl.

“Really, Dean?” Sam’s eyeroll almost gives him a cramp.

“What?” Dean’s tone is as artificially innocent as his expression.

“You know their food sucks because they hope patrons don’t notice. And the girls are….”

“Hot?”

Sam snorts. “If you’re into twentysomething farm girls, dude.”

“Naww. Too much work. Let’s go for steak but only if it’s not one of those cheap ‘peanuts on the floor’ places.” Dean makes a face of utter disgust and Sam laughs at the contradiction that is his brother.

“A moment ago you wanted wings and boobs, man, now you’re in line for something like Morton’s?”

“Gotta keep it classy, Sammy,” Dean declares and sits up fully scanning their surroundings for himself. “‘Sides I haven’t had a decent steak in….well, over a year.”

The beat of silence between them feels heavy. Sam swallows at the unwelcome reminder of purgatory, but before he can think too much about it, Dean barrels on.

“C’mon, Sammy, we’ve earned it. The victory feast after a great battle demands that we gorge ourselves on meat and mead.”

Sam can’t help but laugh again at the awful Scottish accent Dean puts on, no doubt in reference to his equally bad Braveheart impression during the clash of the LARPING armies.

“Sure, Dean, if you say so.”

He pulls the Impala into a u-turn at the first opportunity and drives back to the steakhouse he spotted earlier. Both brothers are pleased to find that the place looks clean and inviting and is on the same lot as a slightly shabby, but acceptable motel. They look at each other, Sam lifts his eyebrows, Dean shrugs one-shouldered, and with that it’s decided that they’ll take a room here now instead of having to deal with the search for one down the road.

Fifteen minutes later; after checking into the corner room on the back side of the motel, laying the usual salt lines and protective spells and dumping their gear, Dean sinks into the large, red leather-covered booth he directed the hostess to give them and takes a satisfied look around the interior of the restaurant.

“See? Classy.” He nods to himself as Sam bites his lip to keep from grinning too widely.

It’s not that he’s overly familiar with fancy restaurants, but Sam’s pretty sure that the combination of old-timey gentlemen’s club and hunting lodge vibe the décor provides doesn’t count as “classy”. Still, it’s nice to sit at a table that’s topped with a tablecloth instead of chipped Formica, where the menus are leather-bound thick paper instead of plastic-covered printouts, and the glasses are actually made of their namesake material instead of plastic.

Seeing as how they normally discuss business during their meals, neither of them has ever been a fan of the stuffy, overly attentive service at nicer restaurants. However, today, after a long drive and enlightening conversation, this feels like a celebration, a fresh start, and each brother can tell that the other is looking forward to a break from the normal diner food and mediocre service.

Settling into a comfortable sprawl and browsing the impressive list of meat choices, Dean feels as relaxed as he’s allowed himself to be in a long time. He bumps his knee into Sam’s and is surprised to find Sam pressing back for a moment with a small smile before returning his concentration to his own menu.

They banter and bicker amicably over the options like they haven’t in years. Dean teasing Sam that he’ll disown him if he chooses a salad or fish in a steakhouse, Sam shooting back that with Dean’s eating habits he just has to wait out his clogged arteries to inherit everything they own anyway.

One microbrew lager leads to three, the bison steaks are delicious (Even if Sam insists they are healthy), the waitress is pretty, professional and flirts with both of them and the conversation stays light, covering everything from Charlie to Garth to funny incidents from their childhood and early hunting days.

Dean finds his eyes wandering over to Sam’s face more often than strictly necessary, taking in the ridiculously long hair, unusual deep tan, and almost constantly visible dimples. He thinks to himself that there isn’t a more welcome sight than his “little” brother contented, safe and relaxed by his side.

When they finally settle their bill and walk back to the motel, Dean enjoys the warm evening breeze ruffling his hair almost as much as the mellow buzz coursing through him.

*****************************

Dean has to admit that dinner had been pretty great. The meal and beer relaxed him to a point that it made him a bit handsy with Sam; slinging an arm across his brother’s back on the way back to the motel, enjoying Sam’s answering arm across his shoulder; warm and solid.

Sam grabs his current book out of his duffel when they reach the motel room and Dean flops down on the couch, clicking on the TV and scrolling for an old action movie. Everything feels easier.

When Dean fails to find anything interesting after his fifth pass through the limited channels, he saunters over to the kitchenette table where Sam’s engrossed in “Master-Mind; How to Think Like Sherlock Holmes”. Sam can’t miss Dean’s expectant expression across the table or the flush in his cheeks Dean always gets after having one too many.

“What’s up?” he asks, glancing up from the page. “Can’t find anything on?”

Dean shrugs languidly and gets a decidedly mischievous smile. "So," he nudges Sam’s foot with his own under the wobbly motel room table, "You think you might wanna take the kielbasa for a little road trip tonight?"

"Do I think I might take the what where?!" Sam’s book sags towards the table.  "What did you just say to me?"

"You know," now Dean’s smile turns slightly lascivious, "might be a good night to free the anaconda."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Dean gives Sam a completely exasperated eye roll.  "Do I really have to spell it out for you?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid you do." Sam sounds mildly annoyed.

"Sex, Sammy, I'm talking about sex!"

"No thanks," Sam says flatly and turns his attention back to his book.

Dean grabs the book away and Sam protests loudly.  "It's Friday night," Dean insists, as if that alone is some kind of a reason that sex is necessary.

"So?"

"So there are women out there waiting for you to unleash the love snake." Dean tries again, putting suggestive emphasis on the ridiculous phrase.

"Can you please never say 'love snake' to me again?  Give me my book back."

"No. Look, I get that you miss the horizontal tango with Amelia, and I saw our waitress checking you out. You should go get yourself some. Get out and have some fun.”

"And you think I should do that by having meaningless sex with a stranger?"

"Is there any better kind?" Dean sounds genuinely curious.

"Yes, Dean, there is."

“You wanna give Amelia a call then?” Dean asks earnestly.

“No, Dean, that’s done.” And the words ring with absolute truth.

"Aw, come on.  You deserve some no-strings-attached fornication." Dean’s grin is as infectious as it is infuriating.

"I don't see you dressing up the, 'love snake' for a night out." Sam shoots back sternly.

"Well, it sounds stupid when you say it like that," Dean scowls.

"No, Dean, it sounds stupid whenever anyone says it."

Dean shrugs. "I don't feel like going out.  But that's different."

"How?"

"I don't want to draw attention away from you.  Wouldn't be fair."

"Bullshit."  Sam snorts and tries to grab for his book again.

Dean holds the book out of reach.  "Look, it's different because I could have sex anytime.  I'm choosing not to.  You're not even giving yourself the chance."

"Dean, I don't want to go pick up a woman."

"Why not?"

"I just don't, okay?!" Sam snaps, louder than intended.

"Are you gay?" Dean pokes at him, acting as if that could be the only reason.

"No."

"Look, Sammy, these days, coming out doesn't have to destroy a family." Dean teases, slurring his words slightly.

"Shut up.  I'm not gay," Sam groans with another desperate grab for his book.

"Then what is it?  We got past another crisis.  We can actually think about having a future again...there could be someone out there for you - " There’s actual worry in Dean’s tone now.

"Shut up, Dean." Sam starts to sound more than a little fed up.

“No, I'm serious, Sammy, there could be -"

"I'm serious too.  Shut up about it."

Dean throws up his hands in exasperation, raising his voice, "I just fucking do not get you!"

"No, Dean, you don't." Sam annunciates with precision.

Dean looks back at Sam, stunned like he's been slapped.  "Enlighten me then," he says, undercurrent of anger mixed with confusion and some true concern.

"Dean, you say you want what's best for me."

Dean nods almost imperceptibly.

"So listen to me," Sam implores.

"I do."

"No, you don't.  You hear what you want to hear - you hear that I want the same thing you want for me.  Some kind of normal life.  Well, newsflash, Dean, we’ve both been there, tried that, and for me?  It’s taken me long enough to realize, but I finally get it. Our life is normal to me.  This is the normal life I want."

"But there could be someone - something better."

"There is someone."

Dean's eyes widen. They haven’t exactly been as close as they’ve ever been since he got back, but there is no way Sam could be hiding someone else from him.

"You, dammit, Dean! It’s you!"

"But, Sam - "

"You want to understand what I want?!"  Sam increases the volume of his voice in exasperation.  “You think everything is about sex? Then let me make myself perfectly clear in a way you might actually be able to understand."  Sam grabs Dean's shirt and hauls him the two feet of distance between them, crushing their lips together, tongue pushing insistently against Dean's mouth.

Dean's stunned.  In spite of how physically close they've been their entire lives Dean would never allow himself to dream of anything that would risk driving away the person who matters most to him in the world.  Fully expecting his purgatory-sharpened fight or flight response to kick in, Dean is even more surprised when there’s no desire to fight and “flight” is nowhere on the table as any sort of an option. His body goes on pure instinct, ignoring his shocked brain, and his lips part, letting Sam in.

An unexpected wave of "right" surges through him when he starts kissing Sam back, closing his fist around Sam's still gripping him by his shirt. And fuck, it’s good. When did Sam get so good at this? He feels Sam’s free hand winding into his hair at the back of his neck, pulling his head into just the right angle, Sam’s tongue surging into his mouth in powerful thrusts, sliding right past his own tongue, rubbing up against it as he reaches past Sam’s lips, through the airlock where they’re joined, and into his brother’s hot, wet mouth. Sam’s tongue against his feels like a shove and a caress at the same time. Dean’s overwhelmed at his body’s strong reaction, at the tsunami of sensation racing through him. It feels so incredible, he doesn’t care if he can’t breathe, doesn’t care if he’s suddenly gasping, his body heating up, pressing back into Sam’s palm at the back of his neck on pure instinct and loving the way Sam doesn’t back down, but keeps surging forward, a faint, “Oh God, Dean,” mumbled into his mouth.

There’s a pleading note to his brother’s voice around his name and Sam’s tongue in his mouth is back to shoving instead of caressing and it feels so fucking good and so different, to let Sam in this way, to kiss someone strong who could push him around, who could challenge him, his brother who knows him so well and is welcoming him like he wants and needs a lot more from him.  Dean didn’t know he could read Sam in this way.  Turns out he can. Something breaks open in Dean’s chest and he readily gives into it.

Dean plants his palms on Sam’s shoulders and suddenly shoves him back against the wall, losing contact only momentarily before he full-body crashes back up against him.  Sam’s surprised hands reach out, hold onto Dean’s waist, and Dean goes from “give and take” to “take”, cock hardening in the tight confines of his jeans as he thrusts his tongue into Sam’s mouth in aggressive stabs, feeling the vibration of Sam moaning around it.  He can feel the hard line of his brother’s cock pressing into his stomach through his clothes and that, that’s just insane. Sam responding to him like this, it digs deep into his subconscious, lighting up parts of his mind that had been neglected for his entire stay in purgatory. Instinctive responses he hadn’t needed in over a year have him grabbing Sam’s hands from his waist, pinning them to the wall over his head, sucking his brother’s bottom lip between his teeth and Sam’s letting him.  Moving with him.  Dean feels his own hard cock shoved up against his brother’s full balls, frustratingly encased in denim.

Dean can’t believe this is happening. Would have never seen this coming. Can’t comprehend how this can feel so fucking right, like it should have always been part of their connection to each other. Their….relationship….

Something stutters in Dean’s brain. ‘What if this fucks everything up?‘ Everything they just barely managed to glue back together, cracks and all. What if –

Dean pushes back from Sam, breathing hard, releasing Sam’s wrists from his grip, catching and holding Sam’s gaze instead to make his point absolutely clear.

"If we do this-“

“Pretty sure we’re already doing this.” Sam grabs for him.

Dean maintains the space he forced himself to put between them. “No, Sam, if we do this, I can't go back."

Sam looks at him, nostrils flared, eyes narrowed, sucking in a breath before answering, "Go back to what?!  Jerking off alone in the shower? Not talking about anything? Sneaking out for one night stands? Thinking there's something better?  Because fuck that, Dean, if there is something else, I don't want it and it's not better."

"You don't know what you're saying." Dean’s voice wavers between uncertainty and conviction.

"You're wrong, Dean, you couldn't be more wrong.  Would you fucking listen to me.  Do you even hear
me right now?!"

"I'm listening." Dean’s eyes can’t keep from lingering on Sam’s reddened lips as his tongue sweeps unconsciously across his own chasing Sam’s taste.

Sam's frustration ebbs and now he just looks tired.  "You, Dean. I fucking choose you and this life, okay?” 

Dean just stares at Sam with a mix of wary suspicion and fragile hope on his features, mouth open slightly as if preparing to speak.

Sam licks his lips nervously and decides to plunge ahead, get it all off his chest and roll the dice – all or nothing. “Man, I didn’t just leave Amelia to hunt with you. I left because ever since you’ve been back I finally realized I couldn’t live without you. Amelia and I would have never worked out in the long run. She was a band-aid,” Sam barks a harsh laugh. “No, she was more like fucking duct-tape that held me in one piece, and I was the same for her. It wasn’t love, it was convenience and comfort and it was nice for awhile, but that’s all it was. It’s so fucking clear to me now.”

Sam averts his eyes and rakes a shaky hand through his hair in a forlorn way that makes him look lost. Dean’s instinct to protect him flares to life. He reaches out a tentative hand towards Sam’s cheek, but lets it fall onto Sam’s shoulder instead.

“Sam.” Dean’s voice is rough with emotion.

“No, let me finish. I was a fucking mess and so was she and we held onto each other for a while, but, Dean, she never replaced you. Took me way too fucking long to get my head back on straight. I’m really sorry for that. I know I disappointed you. I don't even know why you'd want me, but I want you."

"Don't say that."

"It's the truth, Dean.  That's all I can say."

"No, not that. You said you don't know why I'd want you.  Sammy, anyone would be crazy not to want you."

Sam, looks up, slight hope flitting across his features.

"Sam, If I fuck this up, I can't do it without you.  This life, with you, is all I've ever wanted."

"Make me believe that.  Show me you really hear me, Dean." Sam moves back in, his lips inches from Dean's.  "Please."

“Then there’s something I gotta say first, Sam.”

Sam bites nervously at his bottom lip. “I’m listening.”

“Yeah, you were always better at that,” Dean admits.  “About Amelia –“ Dean draws in a deep breath and blows it out slowly.  “When I figured purgatory was it for me, when I thought I wasn’t gonna get out, I thought you were finally free to go after the life you deserved, one where this life, our life, wasn’t holding you back –“

“Dean,” Sam puts a hand on Dean’s arm, “I never thought that, I –“

“I know that now Sammy, but just hear me out.”  Sam presses his lips together and nods in reply.  “You only ended up doing what I’ve always pushed you to do; go find a woman and try for a normal life; and when you did that?  When I found out that you had a life that didn’t involve me?  I wasn’t happy for you, Sam, I was angry.  It was so fucking selfish of me, but I guess I thought you’d seen the light; seen how fucked up I was, and you’d made the choice I always figured you’d make.”

It’s hard for Sam to hear Dean talk about himself like this, but he knows Dean wants to get this out in the open, so he puts a large hand on top of his brother’s and is glad when Dean doesn’t pull away.

Dean’s voice is thick with regret as he goes on, “I didn’t know how to be without you.  And I hate admitting this, but I wanted to hurt you.  Wanted to act like I was fine and if you were going to leave me, well, fuck you because I had Benny.  I made it into more than it was. Yes, he was a good friend to me and I’ll always be grateful, but he was never a replacement for you, Sam, because no one could ever replace you for me.”

Sam swallows hard and brings a hand up to Dean’s cheek, small finger stretched out along his jawline, thumb nestling into the short hair above his ear. Dean closes his eyes for a second and leans into the touch.

“Always thought you deserved better than me, Sammy,” Dean says, easier now that he’s not looking at his brother.

“Dean, c’mon,” Sam pleads. Dean reluctantly opens his eyes, green locking onto hazel like they’d done a million times before in so many different situations for a thousand different reasons. “There is no one better than you. Not for me.”

Dean’s hand shifts from Sam’s shoulder to tuck his brother’s long bangs behind his ear. Another thing he’d done countless times when they were younger. Sam looks down for a second, almost shy, and, on instinct, Dean lifts his chin back up so Sam can see the small smile of relief and the resolution in his face as he leans in and presses his lips softly against his brother’s.

Right now, there’s nothing left for either of them to say. Dean feels light, calm, the opposite of his purgatory self. Usually, a tipping point like this, something so monumental in their lives, requires weighing the pros and cons to the point of a migraine, but, oddly, Dean finds this isn’t a decision. “Sammy,” he breathes like a benediction for the end of their old lives as he deepens the kiss.

“ ‘M here Dean,” Sam quietly responds, “Always gonna be here. Never letting you go again.”

The promise is deeply earnest. Sam’s choice is final.

Dean believes him.

Gratitude washes through him and he wants to make Sam understand that, so he grabs his brother by the wrists and pulls him from the wall, settling him against the edge of the kitchenette table instead. Breaking the kiss, he lets his eyes search Sam’s for a second. Sam’s face is open, hopeful and resolute.

Dean steps over his brother’s outstretched legs, straddling them, and Sam slouches a bit until they’re on the same level. He feels Sam’s arms reach around his waist, tugging him closer, Dean’s hands go to Sam’s face, fingers buried in his hair and they kiss, pressing closer against each other as their mouths open wider and tongues reach deeper. Open, press, breathe, slide, tease, change the angle a bit, mouth full of the slick width of his brother’s tongue, then empty space as Dean chases the retreating muscle before it surges back again. Sam’s starting to make noises he hasn’t heard before. Dean drives, then Sam drives, and Dean hasn’t made out like this since he was in his early 20’s.

It’s hot, scorching, in fact, but there’s no urgency. They’ve lived on deadlines their entire lives. Some self-imposed, some forced upon them by the universe and the timetable dictated by one supernatural creature or another. But right now, Dean feels like their time is truly theirs. No emergency. No guilt or fear. Dean sure as hell is gonna fucking enjoy this because it’s the best kiss he’s ever gotten and, he hopes, the best one he’s ever given. They flow like they always do – two parts of one whole and it blows Dean’s mind that their dynamic applies to this just as naturally as it does to hunting together. It just works. It’s starting to work on his entire body and by the way Sam’s moving, it’s working for him too.

They kiss until their lips are tingling and the kisses become softer, slower, and less desperate. Dean presses Sam against him, chest to chest, heated skin thrumming under their t-shirts. Lets Sam take his weight and relaxes his tired mind and body in Sam’s arms.

“You wanna…keep going?” Sam asks tentatively.

“Yeah, Sammy, I do,” but Sam can hear the tired tinge to his brother’s voice alongside the want.

Sam pulls back slightly, still keeping a tight hold on Dean, determined to make this anything but a rejection. “We have all the time in the world,” he points out and Dean loves that it’s the truth. “It’s uh, it’s been a big day,” and Dean knows he’s not talking about the drive.

“A good day,” Dean corrects, looking up at him as Sam straightens his slouched back.

“A really good day,” Sam smiles and dives in for another quick kiss. “I think I’m already getting used to this. You’re a damn good kisser,” he praises his brother.

“You’re no slouch either,” Dean admits, enjoying Sam’s eyebrow going up and the smile on his face.

“So, we pick this up again tomorrow?” Sam’s hands dance lightly around the edges of Dean’s waistband.

“Try ‘n’ stop me,” Dean challenges.

They’re both smiling, goofy, happy, understood.

*****************************

The backfire in the distance is barely audible. A quiet “pop” somewhere in the far-off blackness, but Dean’s purgatory reflexes have him alert, hand around the handle of his knife under his pillow, before the last muffled echo fades. He takes a moment to orient himself, then looks over at Sam in the other bed. He didn’t hear a thing. His brother’s body, sunk into the saggy mattress, small bump under the covers, much of his weight probably sagging below the edge of the frame like a hammock strung between antique springs.

Dean wills himself to release the handle of the knife, trying to convince his muscles that he’s not in immediate danger. Neither is Sam. It’s okay. He’s okay. They’re okay.

They’re okay.

It’s kind of an astonishing thought. Still hard to believe after everything that happened over the past year. But it’s real and it’s now and Dean’s body relaxes just as his mind revs up in the silence of the motel room. ‘Sam chose me. Sam kissed me. Fuck.’ The way Sam kissed him. Just the memory has his cock interested. He’s never going to have to share Sam with anyone else. Never going to lose him to another woman, or another life, because Sam made it clear that whatever happens, it’s the two of them, in it together, from now on.

It’s what Dean always wanted.

Sam’s what I’ve always wanted.

The simple realization makes him catch his breath for a second as he thinks back. The pride he felt at teaching Sam about how to be safe, about how to physically protect himself in a fight, about condoms, all the things Dean knew Sam had to learn to grow up, to be independent, but things that Dean really wanted to be there to help him with at every turn. Thinking about not being there made his stomach turn back then, even as the practical voice in his head had told him, “You gotta let him go. He can do so much better. You protect him from this life by letting him go. He’s not yours.” How guilty but fucking happy he felt when Sam left college and took up residence in the passenger seat of the Impala again. Once Sam had been able to emerge from the trauma of losing Jess, things between them were just like they had been before Sam became a moody teenager. Dean had been so thankful the first time his brother bumped shoulders with him again as they walked, the first time Dean knocked his leg up against Sam’s under a restaurant table and Sam didn’t move away. Those small gestures meant something to Dean. A wordless connection. Some kind of unspoken acceptance. So whenever Sam did pull away, moved his leg away from Dean’s, walked with extra space between them, it got under Dean’s skin more than it should have and he couldn’t understand why. That made the major fights and rejections downright hard to survive, when Dean would panic that Sam might walk out the door and never return even if that damn voice in his head still told him that Sam would be better off if he did exactly that. There was so much pain in their past, both together and apart. Dean’s beyond ready to leave all of that behind. To move forward with a new set of rules. Because now, Sam is his. Sam made him understand that, finally, and in several different ways, just hours ago.

His.

Something darker and deeper sparks in Dean’s chest.

At that moment, the backfiring car cracks through the night again, this time less than a block away, sounding for all the world like a rifle blast. Dean’s instincts make him bolt out of bed to his feet, facing the door, possible danger mere yards away, knife in the death grip of his fist once again, ready to stand his ground and protect this new life of theirs to the death.

“Dean?” Sam’s sleepy voice hits his razor-sharp hearing. “Everything okay?”

Dean forces his breathing to slow and wills his mind to reengage in a attempt to drown out the cursed purgatory reflexes.

“Dean?” Sam’s bed creaks as he tries to get up out of the bowl of a mattress and get to his brother.

“ ‘S okay, Sam,” Dean fights to keep his voice as calm as possible. “Just a backfire. Just a bit jumpy I guess.”

And he’s trying. He’s trying hard, but his instinct to protect Sam is raging inside of him. Nothing can take Sam away from him, especially not now that Sam chose him and their life to the exclusion of every other possibility.

Dean can feel Sam at his back, but his muscles are still coiled too tight, his readiness to eliminate the perceived threat still pulsing inside his chest like a living thing. He doesn’t trust his self-control just yet and he quickly stretches out a warning hand behind him.

“Gimme a sec, Sam.” Dean’s voice has an icy edge to it, and he senses Sam stop in his tracks.

“Dean? C’mon. What’s wrong? Talk to me.” Sam’s voice is low and sure and his presence large and steadying. Dean lets his hand sink back to his side and Sam seems to take that as an invitation to close the distance between them.

One of Sam’s hands curls carefully, but firmly, around his shoulder and Dean can tell that it’s both meant to calm him and to keep Sam ready to react in case Dean takes a swing at him. A small, fierce smile tugs at one corner of Dean’s mouth.

‘I taught him that.’

Sam’s other hand reaches tentatively for the knife and Dean’s fist clenches hard for a moment without conscious thought.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam’s words brush warmly across the fine hairs on Dean’s neck sending a chill down the length of his spine. “You know we’re safe, right? Nothing’s out there. ‘S ok.”

Dean can’t quite let go yet. The persistent inner voice that he can’t give up what feels like the only weapon that can keep Sam safe screams through him and refuses to be silenced.

“I know,” his words sound more like a quiet growl than discernable speech. He hates that his body resists relinquishing his ever-present purgatory fight mode, but the equally strong need to protect Sam keeps pouring more fuel on that particular fire.

Sam doesn’t give up though, closing his long, strong fingers around Dean’s fist and prying gently.

“Alright, then why don’t you come back to bed?” Sam’s voice coaxes and his lips leave a trail of fire down the side of Dean’s neck pebbling his skin in their wake and breaking his concentration. “Spend your energy in a better way? Gimme the knife, huh?”

Dean’s nerves fire wildly with scrambled signals: ratcheted up to fight at a moment’s notice, determined to protect Sam or die trying, those instincts at war with reality, present mind trying to grasp that there’s no real danger, memories from hours ago poking holes through the fog in his brain, mixing with what Sam’s doing to him right now, how close he is – Sam kissing him, Sam needing him, how fucking incredible that felt, how insanely good it feels right the fuck now.

Suddenly, he twists the opposite way Sam expects and manages to slip free from his surprised brother’s grip. Dean immediately wraps one strong arm around Sam’s back and snakes his knife hand behind Sam’s neck, carefully keeping the blade pointing outwards, and crushes himself against Sam’s chest, surging up to meet his lips.

The first contact is no more than a hard clash of mouths and smashing of teeth, but Dean quickly adjusts the angle and delves deep, claiming Sam with a raw and urgent kiss.

Sam stays on guard in light of his brother’s unexpected response, but he’s relieved that Dean’s stopped staring at the closed front door, clutching the knife like both of their lives depended on it. Dean didn’t take a swing at him either and Sam’s grateful that he seems to have chosen the right approach to diffuse the perceived but false immediate danger that was all-too-real to Dean.

He doesn’t want to risk making his brother feel trapped in any way, so he keeps his arms at his sides and lets Dean blanket him, envelop him, protect him from the imaginary threat with his entire body, holding onto Sam like he’d been holding onto the knife seconds before.

Now that Sam’s the one grounding him, Dean finally lets the weapon clatter uselessly to the floor behind his brother and gets a better grip on his neck.

Sam wants to be whatever Dean needs right now, even if he can’t predict what form that will take. This expression of Dean’s need is raw and rough, and Sam intuitively absorbs the force of his brother’s onslaught, willing in Dean’s arms. He lets Dean adjust the angle of his head with a sharp tug on his hair and opens up for his demanding tongue. No resistance, nothing but acceptance. Grateful that Dean wants this from him.

It’s also fucking intoxicating, being the focus of Dean’s intensity like this, and Sam moves with him, understanding that his brother has to be in control right now. Sam’s glad to surrender. PTSD hits Dean at odd times, sparked by a million different triggers that completely rob him of his grasp on reality. Sam’s determined to keep him firmly rooted in the present, letting his brother devour his lips, his mouth, and Sam can’t hold back a small moan at the rough treatment that’s making him feel so needed and so essential.

Dean pushes against Sam with chest and stomach and a shove of his hips, forcing him back until Sam’s calves hit Dean’s decidedly superior bed.

The jolt dislodges their kiss enough for Dean to rasp, “Fuck, Sam, ‘m sorry.”

Sam leans his head back enough to look at Dean’s face. “Why?” He sounds breathless but apprehensive, as if expecting a brush off.

“Can’t fucking shut my lizard brain off. Can’t…..fucking no one’s getting between us….ever again. No one’s gonna hurt you. Take you away. You hear?”

“Yes, I know,” Sam’s simple answer gives Dean pause and he narrows his eyes at Sam. His brother’s gaze is intense but calm and sure.

“You’re mine, Sam,” Dean growls between clenched teeth.

“Show me,” Sam challenges.

Sam’s simple words, the clear intention behind them, the fearless conviction in his voice, they unlock something in Dean and the tight self-control that he’d held onto with an iron fist since his return finally breaks. There is no doubt, no question, no hesitation as he dives back in. All that’s left is a fierce need for connection, a hunger to learn more, and a bright joy at Sam’s acceptance.

“Fuck, Sam,” the words smashed to pieces between their colliding lips.

Sam can’t exactly answer, but the thought “yes, please” ghosts through his mind as he pushes back against Dean and lets himself enjoy every sensation in Dean’s rough kiss.

Dean holds onto Sam as if he’s worried someone will forcibly remove him, securing Sam’s neck and jaw in his grip, then grasping at his back, then grabbing fistfuls of Sam’s shirtfront, hands roaming restlessly, greedily, like they want to be everywhere at once. The need to get deeper, be closer, get more, show Sam how serious he is, apparent in every frantic movement and involuntary sound.

‘Show me.’

And Dean wants to. So fucking much. Everything. Yesterday.

He doesn’t think, just takes, pushes, challenges, explores, laying claim to Sam’s mouth and body. His senses flooded with ‘so right’ and ‘need more’.

It doesn’t take long for Dean to notice, however, that this is a pretty one-sided affair. Although, every fiber of his being loves the fact that Sam is open and willing against him, he craves some push back, needs to feel his brother’s answering hunger, needs to sense that Sam wants this as much as he does.

Dean stills with great effort and nips at Sam’s lower lip. “Sammy?”

“Yeah?” Sam’s eyes are dark and hot on his, his lips wet and a little swollen from Dean’s assault, but he’s also grinning breathlessly. “That all you got?”

Dean finds himself panting, heart galloping in his chest, t-shirt sticking to his damp back, cock full and heavy and throbbing. All worked up, just from kissing. ‘Christ. What’s happening to me?’ He also realizes that for all the ferocious want in him, all that he’s demanded of Sam so far, he hasn’t really let himself feel Sam or take in the moment for himself. He just let his fucking lizard brain lead him around by the cock.

‘That’s going to change right the fuck now.’

He pulls in a few ragged breaths to get a grip and shakes his head with small smile.

“Not by a long shot, little brother.”

Dean feels the room, the air, with the same high-octane definition with which he perceived a deadly threat moments earlier. The focus of what’s important has shifted and he feels firmly rooted in the here and now as he lifts his hands deliberately this time and rakes them slowly through Sam’s hair, then runs them over his brother’s shoulders and down his arms, noting how different this familiar move suddenly feels from the hundreds of times he did the same when checking Sam for injuries after a hunt. Now, Sam’s hair glides through his fingers with a soft weight he never appreciated before. Sam’s shoulders feel round and tight and broader than he ever let himself notice. The muscles in Sam’s arms bulge and flex under his palms, giving an impression of power Dean could almost let himself be intimidated by. When Dean’s hands reach Sam’s, he pauses for a moment, feeling the obvious difference in size, enjoying the strength in his brother’s grip, before he moves Sam’s hands onto his own hips.

“C’mon, Sammy, not gonna break. I’m not a girl.”

Sam’s bark of laughter sounds a little shaky and a lot relieved. His fingers follow the invitation eagerly, digging into Dean’s sides and pulling him flush against his chest again before he ducks his head and licks across Dean’s bottom lip slowly. “Finally,” he breathes against Dean’s mouth and chuckles. “Welcome back.”

God, Dean can feel Sam’s ridiculous washboard abs against his stomach through the thin t-shirts they’re wearing. He’d subjected Sam to endless teasing about everything from health-conscious eating to his workout routine, but now, the rock-hard muscles jumping and rubbing against him feel amazing. So different from anything Dean has ever experienced. He tentatively slides his hands up Sam’s front to the flat, wide planes of his chest, his brain marveling at how everyone he’s has ever slept with was soft and giving where Sam is hard and solid under his touch. Dean’s skin seems suddenly too tight when Sam’s hands glide under his t-shirt and up and then down his back until they finally reach his ass and squeeze tight. Sam shoves his hips forward and suddenly Dean has a whole new appreciation for Sam’s hardness as the hot, stiff length of him rubs along his own cock through the cotton of their boxers with delicious friction.

“Jesus.”

“Fuck.”

Both groan in unison as the moment of calm exploration intensifies to another level entirely.

Heat flashes through Dean, quick and bright, as he grabs the hem of Sam’s shirt and pulls it up.

“Off,” he demands.

Sam quickly complies and then nods at Dean.

“You, too.”

Dean’s arm gets stuck in his haste to get out of his shirt and Sam has to help, flinging both their shirts carelessly behind himself, never taking his blazing gaze off Dean.

Their arms go around each other like they have a thousand times before, natural and familiar, but when skin touches naked skin they both gasp and shiver at the novelty of the sensation.

Dean’s hands repeat their path from the side of Sam’s neck, across his shoulders, down his arms and up his back as his mind soaks up every sensation – harsh scratch of his stubble, definition of his muscles, softness of his hair over hardness of his forearms, sweeping curve of his spine.

Little shocks skitter across Dean’s nerves in response to Sam’s hands on him like there’s electricity flickering in the wake of his brother’s touch, exhilarating and sharp. There’s no mistaking Sam’s attention for anything but hot need.

Sam converts his deep, medical knowledge of Dean’s body into a textbook course on arousal with astounding speed and Dean’s body responds to everything, more alive and present than he’s ever felt before with any woman he’d been with.

“C’mon, Dean, please....” Sam’s voice pleads low and hoarse in Dean’s ear.

And Dean doesn’t need to be told twice. He leans in, touches his tongue to his brother’s collarbone, licks reverently along it, letting the warm salty spice of Sam flood his mouth as he drinks in the quiet moan spilling from above. He lets his nose travel up the strong column of Sam’s neck, breathing in is scent, and his hind brain purrs with pleasure at the way his brother exposes his throat to him. He seals his mouth over Sam’s jugular and sucks strong and fast, feeling the heat of his brother’s lifeblood pulsing just beneath is tongue. The groan that rips from Sam’s chest shoots straight to Dean’s cock and he growls in response. Dean files that particular pleasure point on Sam away for future study.

One of Dean’s hands finds its way back into Sam’s hair, fisting it tight and keeping his brother’s head back to give him room to explore with mouth and lips and teeth, coaxing more harsh gasps of enjoyment out of them both. Dean rakes the nails of his other hand bluntly down Sam’s side and then follows the pronounced “V” cut at his hip before sliding it between their bodies and cupping his brother’s impressive cock through the fabric of his shorts.

“Jesus fuck Dean!”

“Holy shit, little brother.”

It wrenches out of both of them, rough and gritty, and Sam rocks his hips forward into Dean’s grip forcing him to squeeze tighter.

Sam’s hands fly up to frame Dean’s face and he takes Dean’s mouth, plunging his tongue into his brother’s welcoming heat. Sam’s brain lets go of that final bit of worry that this surprising, intense desire he’s feeling might not be mutual. Dean’s body’s telling him nothing but ‘yes’ and ‘more’ and ‘don’t stop’ without Dean saying a word. It feels so fucking right even though they’ve never gone here before, not by a mile, and he could never have predicted it would feel like this. It’s incredible that Dean’s on the same page. Sam needs to keep going, to feel just exactly how “in this together” they are.

Head held tight in his brother’s grip, Sam’s hand wedges between them, sliding easily past the elastic waistband of Dean’s boxers, and he reaches in, palm rubbing the hard, proud length of his brother’s cock, all the while, rutting into Dean’s hand pressing against him through the cloth. Dean feels unbelievable, wide and heavy; hard to the point of having very little curve. It feels like touching a thicker version of himself, but his guide for how to move next isn’t his own pleasure, but his brother’s soft grunts, fingernails digging in where Dean has him by the hair, jerking of hips into his grip. The low rumble of Dean’s voice settles in Sam’s core; doing things to him that a the higher-pitched cries of the women he’s pleasured never have. The frequency reaches a different place inside him, somewhere sacred that’s always been there. Somewhere where he’s always kept his love for Dean safe so matter what swirls around them.

Dean’s hard and leaking, just enough to reassure Sam that his brother’s loving it as much as he is. Sam wraps his large hand around Dean’s blood-warm, cock. “Need more,” he rasps out as Dean continues to firmly hold him by the hair and palm him skillfully. “You feel so fucking incredible, Dean, wanna feel your hand on me too.” He feels Dean release his head, hands moving to the shorts Sam sleeps in and tugging down on each side. Sam’s breath hitches as the fabric catches on the head of his cock, straining in the air, starved for some friction. Dean picks up on the sharp intake of breath and hurriedly gets his thumb and first finger under the inside of the waistband, lifting it up and over, sending Sam’s shorts hurtling towards his ankles. Now Dean’s strong, calloused hand curls around him and he moans at the perfect pressure and slight rough scrape of skin over his velvety hard length. Wanting to be joined in more places than where his brother’s slowly starting to stroke him, he gets his free hand on Dean’s jaw and pushes his tongue into his brother’s mouth once more.

They kiss, bed frame digging into the back of Sam’s calves, Dean’s hand on him sure and strong, Sam’s hand shoved deep below Dean’s waistband, jerking him in long strokes. Sam tries to stay tuned in to his brother’s response, speeding up in time with the thrust of Dean’s hips, but it’s getting more difficult with what Dean’s doing to his cock right now. Maybe Dean likes some of the same sensations Sam does because how the hell else could he know that Sam enjoys having his balls stroked, precisely the way Dean’s palm is rolling them right now at the bottom of the down stroke. Dean’s hand slides back up, paying special attention to that spot right under the head, making Sam involuntarily spurt clear fluid and moan at the amazing sensation. He could come right here, just like this, but he still needs more. Sam’s not even sure what he’s asking for next, but he doesn’t want the intensity to stop. He also doesn’t want to come all over Dean’s hand where they stand. It would be so easy - “God, Dean,” Sam breathes against his brother’s lips, “want more, I mean, if you’d –“

“Get on the bed, Sammy,” Dean growls without hesitation, without letting him finish the sentence, and Sam reluctantly lets go of his brother’s cock and falls back with gravity, the springs groaning but supporting him much better than the bed he’d been sleeping in. When his back sinks into the mattress, his legs fall apart slightly and he reaches for his own cock, so turned on, long fingers slowly stroking, eyes hungrily fixed on Dean shedding his boxers next to the bed.

Dean watches him, eyes bright green, chest flushed, rising and falling rapidly, unable to tear his gaze away from Sam’s moving fingers, mesmerized by the sight. “That’s it, Sammy, so fucking hot,” and Sam blushes a bit under his brother’s praise. “Always sounded so hot touching yourself, giving your body what it needed. Back when you always tried to hide what you were doing.” Dean holds Sam’s gaze for an intense moment, willing him to understand. Flushing a darker shade, he glances down for a split second, as if trying to decide if he should say what comes out next, “Sometimes I just wanted to see you, Sammy; see how much you enjoyed it.” Dean swallows hard before adding, “So many times I wanted it to be my hand on you instead.”

Sam’s eyes widen and his cock jumps at the unexpected words, “Me too,” he manages.

The bed bounces violently as Dean comes down on top of him. His brother quickly spreads his thighs and gets up on his knees so he can straddle Sam, flushed cock leaving a wet trail where it comes in contact with Sam’s stomach. Kneeling over him, Dean impatiently pulls at Sam’s wrist and Sam lets go of himself, watching greedily as Dean replaces Sam’s hand with his own.

“Need to feel you,” Sam confesses roughly before bucking up into Dean’s perfect grip.

Dean takes one of Sam’s hands and places it around his cock, thick, rigid shaft filling Sam’s palm and Dean closes his fist around Sam’s, letting him know he wants to take more than a little pressure.

And it’s heaven to Dean when Sam sets up the perfect rhythm, long fingers completely encasing him, undulating along his shaft in a way Dean rarely takes time to do for himself. He doesn’t even try to hold back the loud groan escaping him, hand grasping Sam’s shoulder for a moment to steady his suddenly shuddering body, eyes fluttering shut as a wave of heat rushes through every part of him.

“Shit, Dean,” Sam croaks in a hushed voice, ”look so fucking hot like that. Used to….fuck….used to watch you….sometimes….back before Stanford….”

Dean’s focuses his lust-blown gaze back on Sam’s face.

“I know….” Dean bites his lip on another groan. “Used to….wanted to show you….fuck, Sam….felt awesome having your eyes on me.”

Sam’s breath hitches at that, quick stab of regret piercing him at the thought of all the time they wasted, never really considering what else there was to explore between them if they’d only seen the signals, if they’d really listened to each other sooner.

His mind is quickly pulled back to the present when Dean’s thumb sweeps over his slit and rubs a slow circle just under the head of his cock before locking it in the ring of his thumb and forefinger. A long, low moan pulls from the center of Sam’s chest, flowing out of him on a rushing breath. Hot sparks jump all over his skin, pin pricks of pleasure raining down.

“God, Dean….please….”

Dean soaks in Sam’s approval of his hand on him, the way his eyes almost roll back in his head and how his neck arches up. For a moment he’s torn between giving in to the fantastic torque and pull of Sam’s strong grip on his cock and taking advantage of Sam’s vulnerable pleading and exposed throat. Dean’s base wiring, insisting he always put Sam first, and the reemerging need to mark him as his win out over his own pleasure and he quickly moves in, latching onto the soft skin below Sam’s chin with his lips and teeth. Their hands are forced to still for a moment as Dean pins them between their bodies while he possessively licks and nips and sucks along Sam’s jaw and neck to his shoulder. He registers every twitch, every gasp and moan he can earn from Sam along the way, each seemingly directly attached to Dean’s cock judging by the way it stiffens further and drools copiously between them. He’s never been harder in his life.

Finally, he curls back up to sit on top of Sam, one hand on the center of his brother’s heaving chest as he examines his work; a series of small red marks all over Sam’s skin. His brother’s eyes are glazed and unfocused, his lips parted on his panting breaths and he still stretches his neck towards Dean in the most inviting way.

‘Fuck, it’s beautiful how he’s just asking for it.’

Dean moves his hand over Sam’s tattoo and firms up his hold on his cock to give him a good strong stroke, then another. Sam’s free hand flies up, clutching Dean’s bicep, holding on like a drowning man, while the other locks around Dean’s rock-hard length like a vise, making him shudder.

“Shit….ungh…” Sam whimpers. Dean almost joins in.

“Like that, Sammy?” He rasps, digging his fingers deeper into Sam’s pec and shoving his own hips into Sam’s hand with frantic little jerks.

The answering groan and throb of Sam’s long, hard shaft against his palm and his writhing body underneath him is all the answer Dean needs. His hand picks up its rhythm again and he watches in fascination at the way Sam glides through his tight fist and easily clears a few inches on the top.

Dean has never disappointed in the cock department, but his little brother is definitely in a class by himself.

‘Fucking Christ. Hung like a fucking porn star.’ He thinks, oddly proud.

He’s concentrating so intensely on taking every cue and making it good for Sam that he isn’t prepared when his brother surges up to meet him, sliding one arm behind Dean’s back, grabbing Dean’s knee with his other hand and tossing him in a rolling flip onto his back. Sam immediately blankets Dean completely and grabs the side of his face to descend for another incredibly intense kiss.

There’s a long breath of complete suspension for Dean, his senses clanging on highest alarm, every muscle paralyzed, brain and body fighting for control over the building panic of being trapped, being subdued, being helpless, but then Sam’s pelvis rocks against his, cocks dragging and pressing against each other, Sam’s harsh groan vibrates all the way through Dean’s core, shaking something loose. His mind snaps back to the present.

What seemed oppressive a mere split second ago suddenly feels liberating. Sam’s full weight anchoring him, his heat and familiar scent creating a safe cocoon, Sam’s hands on him like pure love. Not to mention the way Sam’s tongue is caressing his, stroking, sucking, circling like he’s the most delicious thing Sam’s ever tasted or the way Sam’s rutting against him like he can never fucking get enough.

Dean wraps one leg around Sam’s waist, grabs onto his tight, muscled ass, and rolls his hips in counterpoint to Sam’s movement.

Their bodies move in beautiful synchronicity, skin against heated skin, hands gripping and releasing flesh, roaming mouths taking and giving and both are lost in the ease and comfort of this, feeling like they’re forging a deeper level to the bond between them, feeling like this is far from the first time.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice is low, serious, needy.

Dean doesn’t stop moving, “Yeah, Sammy?” thrust and friction with shining skin and fluid easing the slide.

“Need you closer,” Sam pushes out between labored breaths and hugs Dean’s back as if attempting to meld them into one being by sheer force, “Can’t get close enough to you.”

There’s barely room for sweat between their tightly fused bodies. “Feels so good,” Dean groans in reply, “So fucking hot, Sammy. Wanna….ungh…I…”

“Fuck. Wanna feel you inside of me, Dean,” Sam moans against his ear and reaches for one of Dean’s hands on his ass, sliding his fingers into the heat between his cheeks. “C’mon, fuck me, big brother. Please.”

The scorching request and new sensation as his fingers skim Sam’s entrance almost makes Dean come on the spot, cock and balls convulsing at the thought of what Sam wants from him. Desire so acute is almost hurts setting his nerves alight.

“Fuck, yeah whatever you want, Sammy.” He rumbles against Sam’s shoulder.

Right on the heels of that mind-blowing spike of want, however, comes a wave of concern for his brother’s well-being and the realization of what has to happen first.  

Dean doesn’t slow the pace, rubbing their cocks together between their bodies but he presses a hand against Sam’s chest, forcing him up.

“Don’t stop,” he smiles a small, slightly wicked smile, “Make me so fucking hard watching you touch yourself. Gimme a second, but don’t stop, okay?”

Sam nods, mouth tight with arousal, wraps his long fingers around himself and strokes slowly, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, Dean easily recognizes he’s trying to keep from blowing his load. Dean looks up, momentarily frozen at the sight of Sam’s incredible hands working himself excruciatingly slowly, head thrown back, on his knees over Dean, balls rubbing against Dean’s inner thighs underneath him as he thrusts into his hand. Yeah, he’s not going to last forever. Neither is Dean for that matter.

He slides out from underneath Sam, perches on the edge of the bed and rummages through his duffel on the side table at breakneck speed. Lube. Check. Condom. Check. He quickly turns and is greeted by the sight of Sam on his back, thighs spread wide, heels digging into the mattress, slowly thrusting into his hands, both of them wrapped around his cock, covering the entire length, wide head dark and leaking over the top of his fingers as he massages himself gently.

“Jesus fucking Christ Sammy,” Dean quickly presses a palm against his own balls, willing back the orgasm that’s building fast. “Slow down, man,” he pleads, climbing back onto the bed between Sam’s strong legs.

“You done this before?” Dean watches Sam intently as he pops open the cap on the lube.

“No. You?” Sam pants, holding Dean’s gaze with eager curiosity.

Dean shrugs one shoulder. “Coupla times with girls. Never on the receiving end though.”

Sam bites his lower lip hard over another broken sound and says, “Good. Get on with it then. Can’t…not gonna last…”

Dean leans forward, free hand on Sam’s sternum, face deadly serious, voice honey soft, “You sure, Sammy?”

Sam stills, searches Dean’s eyes for a moment, and whispers roughly, “I trust you, Dean, always,” and he does without question. Everything feels so right, so overdue. This isn’t just living together, this is being everything possible for each other – taking care of needs that may have simmered quietly, willfully ignored for years, but that they never knew they could explore without risking driving each other away. Now there is no doubt in the way Sam caught his brother’s pupils expand when he pressed his fingers deep between the muscles of his ass. That purely physical reaction showed him that Dean wants this as much as he does.

“This is gonna be a little cool,” Dean warns as he squeezes a generous amount of lube onto the fingers of his left hand and nudges Sam’s thighs a bit wider apart as he kneels between them. “Yeah, keep your knees bent just like that.”

Dean takes Sam’s hand from where it’s currently clutching the bedspread and places it on the forearm of his lubed hand instead.

“Look at me, Sammy. Lemme know if you need to stop, ok?” The bone-deep concern in his brother’s voice spreads over Sam like the most comforting blanket. He feels safe, loved, completely ready.

Sam locks eyes with Dean, nods encouragingly, keeps some even pressure on his own cock just to maintain control, and his mouth opens in a small “o” as he feels Dean’s firm finger, cloaked in slippery, rapidly-warming lube, circling, massaging his entrance.

“So tight, Sammy,” Dean sighs. “Gonna feel so good, you gripping my cock with that tight ass.”

Jess had teased Sam with her fingertip a few times during a blowjob, and he never complained. But that was more like a gentle stroke than this…this has intent behind it. Experience. He’d always marveled at Dean’s wordly knowledge. This is no exception.

“Christ, you’re burning up,” Dean observes and he moves his right hand back to his own rigid cock, gripping it hard, as he slowly presses one finger inside his brother, stroking firmly as he goes, setting up a lazy, rocking pace and pushing a little deeper each time. He studies Sam’s face as he does it, enjoying his pleading expression and sharp intake of breath, carefully listening for any sound that would indicate “too much”. Sam’s hand on his own cock speeds up slightly and the other grasps Dean’s arm firmly with building pleasure as Dean slowly advances, wider base of his finger stretching Sam gently. “Good?” he checks in.

Sam nods quickly.

“Words, Sam,” Dean insists. “How’s it feel?”

“Weird. Good weird. Never, fuck, never had anyone inside me like this.”

Dean’s answering smile is warm, caring, flattered. He speeds up the pace of his finger and Sam bucks, Dean’s eyes narrow and something possessive flashes across the circular fields of green, “And there’s not gonna be anyone else, is there?”

Those words and Dean’s intense expression send a jolt of anticipation through Sam. Dean’s usual protectiveness, amplified by his incredibly sensual focus with an edge of jealousy is a surprisingly powerful turn on and Sam could think of all kinds of interesting ways to use that to his advantage if he could spare a single brain cell for thought right now.

“N-no, no one else.” Sam moans and pulls on Dean’s arm to force his finger deeper.

“Good. ‘Cause I don’t share well.” Dean growls quietly.

He leans down to kiss Sam, hard and deep, enjoying the way his brother kisses back just as forcefully, their tongues wrestling and encouraging. He marvels at how insanely hot this is. He never could have imagined the freedom he would find in doing this with Sam. Now there’s no need to guess because he can read Sam like an open book, can see, hear, feel how much Sam wants him. No need to hold back since he knows exactly how much Sam can take. It’s fucking mind-bendingly, gut-meltingly hot and he wants more, wants everything, wants inside of Sam in the worst way….now.

With a groan, he pulls out of the kiss and seals his mouth to Sam’s chest over his tattoo instead, sucking and biting at it none too gently while adding a second finger and pushing in without hesitation.

The grip on his forearm is momentarily crushing, but Dean doesn’t stop as Sam’s accompanying strangled moans indicate nothing but ecstasy. Moving in and out of Sam deftly, stretching him, working him into a sweat while relishing the tight squeeze of his brother’s infernal heat around his fingers, his brother’s skin under his lips, his flesh between his teeth and the continuous flow of increasingly desperate sounds pushing out of Sam almost send Dean over the edge. His cock aches and throbs in pace with his racing heart, and it feels like there’s a ball of fire pulsing and expanding in his gut.

‘Fuck….not gonna last…’

Knowing he’s going to have to get to the main event pronto or lose his very tenuous grip on control, he hits Sam with every skill he’s learned, whether by experience, “literature”, or porn in his own personal and impressively diverse “encyclopedia of sex”.

Concentrating hard and searching for a moment, the tips of Dean’s fingers find Sam’s prostate and split around it, rubbing both sides and Sam just about goes out of his mind.

The pleasure ripping through him is so intense, Sam’s vision explodes into white static for a moment, crying out and bowing his back completely off the bed. Dean keeps rubbing and twisting and thrusting inside of him, hitting that spot again and again and Sam pushes his hips into each stroke. The initial uncomfortable feeling of intrusion has transformed into the most amazing sensation of fullness and connection. Sam can’t get enough of it, wants more.

“Please, please, Dean, please…..need you,” he begs when he finds his voice.

“Yeah, Sammy, yeah, I know….hold on,” Dean rasps and slowly withdraws his fingers causing a groan of protest from his brother.

“Hurry,” Sam demands.

Dean nods quickly, sits up, grabs the foil packet, tears open the condom wrapper with his teeth and rolls it onto himself one-handed with barely a glance at his own cock.

His eyes are glued to Sam’s ass, slick with lube, looking impossibly tight. Dean bites hard into his lower lip, trying to keep focus. He feels like he’s about to burst, cock, balls, gut and heart all too full.

Taking one deep breath, then another, he looks into Sam’s flushed, sweaty face and feverish eyes for permission.

Sam nods.

Dean hooks one of his brother’s knees over his arm and lines up, nudging Sam’s entrance with the wide head of his cock. A spike of doubt that he might hurt his brother preoccupies his mind for a second and it shows on his face.

“C’mon, Dean, not gonna break. I’m not a girl.” Sam echoes Dean’s earlier words with a wicked grin and lays a large hand against the side of Dean’s face aiming to reassure him. “If you chicken out on me now ‘m gonna kill you.”

Dean huffs out a laugh, disarmed by the trust and confidence he sees so clearly in Sam’s eyes, comforted by his cocky, brotherly words.

“Have I ever chickened out, little brother?”

“Never.” Sam lifts his head and kisses Dean passionately before sinking back and adjusting his position slightly, eyes burning into Dean’s.

Dean grabs ahold of himself, groaning at the feel of his own hand on his overly sensitive cock, and presses into Sam excruciatingly slowly, watching in fascination as his brother’s body eagerly accepts him.

Sam’s long, broken moan is not entirely one of pleasure and Dean knows from the sound that this hurts, but the bruising grip Sam maintains on Dean’s ass and the way he pulls him steadily deeper let him know that it must be the best kind of hurt.

The tight fit around his wide head makes Dean grind to a halt and screw his eyes shut for a few breaths, fighting back the orgasm brewing in his core. His cock twitches eagerly as a hot flush rushes down his spine, sweat beading on his forehead and running down his neck. He forces himself to open his eyes - check on how Sam’s taking him. He has to make sure Sam’s okay.

Sam’s drawing in shallow breaths, brows knit together, mouth slightly open. Bathed in the soft, otherworldly light of the motel’s neon sign, red highlights painted across his sculpted body, Sam looks like a surreal work of art. Dean feels like he’s seeing his brother for the first time. In a way, he is.

“Move, Dean, please….” Sam’s words grab Dean’s attention and the raw need in them makes his body respond on autopilot.

Dean pushes forward, insistent, relentless, driven by the small, eager movements of Sam’s hips and breathless moans escaping his lips, until he bottoms out with a grunt. The tight heat of Sam’s body holding him is so intense it momentarily robs him coherent thought.

It feels like a revelation, a long-awaited homecoming neither of them knew was essential.

With Dean buried to the hilt inside him, Sam feels a burning expansion around his brother’s sizeable width, and another further up in his chest. That bright thing he’s held onto so tightly, the need to have his brother with him, to have that one person he trusts absolutely as close as possible, that spark ignites and grows, consuming any leftover doubts as fuel, burning them into harmless ash, no room left for anything negative between himself and Dean as his brother fills him so completely. Dean taking care of him. Dean giving him what he needs. Dean agreeing that it’s just the two of them from now on and this right here is the most perfect oath.

His brother has always been the master of body language. Would rather do than discuss, and what he’s doing to Sam make his intentions transparent and undeniable. It’s so fucking much.

The fire is roaring now and Sam craves release with Dean, needs to let it go, the emotional energy in a full state of combustion, consuming their old life from the inside out, obliterating the way it was, leaving scorched earth and a clean slate for the way it will be from now on. Sam rolls his hips instinctively and Dean curses above him. “Oh fuck, Dean, yeah, always know what I need.”

Sam’s words form a lump in Dean’s throat, but his thrusts gain confidence. He’s no longer worried about hurting his brother, encouraged by the way Sam’s body hungrily grabs at him, undulates against him. The searing heat, the vise-like embrace around his cock, the force with which Sam’s urging him to move are a better high than anything Dean has ever experienced and a fierce sense of exhilaration engulfs him.

He gathers his knees under him, tilts his hips and fucks into Sam at a new angle that drives straight into Sam’s prostate with each piston of his hips. Sam cries out in rhythm with Dean’s plunging cock, writhing, tossing his head, senseless with the building need.

They move in gorgeous unison together, minute adjustments in response to nonverbal cues, subtle changes in eyes and brows and tightly-clenched jaws and it just feels better and better; Dean swelling, lengthening inside him, now in almost constant contact with his prostate, making Sam’s own cock reach towards his navel, exceptionally hard, harder than he’s ever been, hot precome pooling on his stomach and dripping down his flank, tightly gripping himself, hand barely moving, wanting to hang on to this feeling of being intertwined with his brother as long as he can.

“Holy fuck, Sammy,” Dean exclaims.

Dean’s as frantic and mindless as Sam is underneath him and he can feel that he’s mere seconds from his own nuclear meltdown, pressure and heat cresting to a head. He adds his own hand over Sam’s on his brother’s diamond-hard cock, squeezing tight and giving it a long pull, letting him know it’s okay to let go.

Sam’s whole body seizes and arches into the pounding from inside and the firm stroking pressure from Dean’s hand over his on the outside. Muscles straining, ass clenching so hard that his brother grunts from the sensation and suddenly, Sam’s coming in creamy, hot ribbons, cock and stomach convulsing with the force of it, shouting Dean’s name, back curved into an arc again with the second blast shooting white onto his throat, third pulse running generously over their hands, fused around Sam’s cock.

It’s the most beautiful and intense thing Dean has ever seen.

Before he can even gather his thoughts, his own orgasm roars through him, blinding him to everything but Sam’s blissed-out face, drawing the heat from his limbs to his core before exploding out into Sam in powerful waves. He rocks deep into his brother, pushing, shoving with all the strength he has left, needing to be as connected as possible before he lets the pleasure take him completely. “Oh fuck yes, little brother.”

Sam feels Dean ram into him, forcing him higher up on the bed, staked there by Dean’s cock as deep as it can go and he spread his thighs wide, Dean’s balls hard up against his ass and even with the condom, he feels his brother pulsing hot inside of him. He can’t take his eyes off of Dean’s face; lips pressed together, forehead lined in exertion alternating with open-mouthed gasps of ecstasy before a slight pull-back and an even more punishing thrust, voice grating, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Sam –“ Sam moves with him, presses hard against each snap of his hips, taking everything Dean’s giving, willing his brother to look at him.

Dean’s thousand-yard stare starts to clear and his eyes fall and catch Sam’s intense gaze as he starts moving slower, more sensuous, with every last firing strobe of orgasm transmitting between them, asking and answering over and over until Dean slows to a stop, lowering himself carefully down on top of Sam, not caring about the mess, wanting to be skin-on-skin with him everywhere he can – slight wonder and disbelief at what just happened, how mind-blowing it felt, and the certainty that this would not be the last time. Exuberant that it is, in fact, just the beginning.

They lie together quietly for awhile, catching their breath, soaking up the lazy buzz of endorphins after the intense exertion.

One of Sam’s large hands cradles Dean’s skull, fingers moving lazily like a soft massage. Sam’s other hand is still clamped on Dean’s ass holding on, holding him inside.

Dean doesn’t think he’s ever felt this content, this safe and it’s a little overwhelming and a lot awesome.

Unwilling to let the mood devolve into a mushy chick-flick moment, Dean finally lifts his head from Sam’s shoulder and grins at his brother.

“Gotta let me out, eventually, Sammy.” He softens his words with a quick kiss on Sam’s chin.

Sam smiles back lazily. “Eventually. As long as you promise not to go anywhere.”

“Don’t ever have to worry about that, Sam,” Dean says quietly, pushing into Sam’s stroking fingers. “Promise.”

After a moment Sam continues, voice a little too nonchalant.

“Thought you said you had no experience. I mean, other than a few girls.”

“Uh-huh, that’s right.” Dean holds his brother’s hazel gaze reading the suspicion there.

“Soooo, how’d you…..I mean….you kinda nailed this….me….how?”

Dean shrugs slowly, but his grin turns positively mischievous. “Does self-service count?”

Sam’s resulting full, rolling laugh is a thing of beauty that Dean needs to hear a hell of a lot more often in his life.

“I’ve never been so grateful for your curiosity,” Sam chuckles. “That was…”

“You trying to say I’m an awesome lay?” Dean moves a hand to grip the base of the condom.

“You’re one cocky sonofabitch is what you are,” Sam scolds.

“One cocky sonofabitch that just rocked your world,” Dean smirks.

Sam rolls his eyes.

THE END

Fanart post for this work and contact info for the artist can be found here: https://archiveofourown.info/works/25748755