Title: Not Good With Words
Rating: M
Summary: Sam is captured by a witch and when Dean finds him, it gets bad. Add a curse into the mix and you get a big pile of angsty Wincest. WARNING: This fic contains rape (not by Dean) and dub-con. Nice and fluffy at the end, though.
Not Good With Words
"Okay, so is she a witch, or a demon?" Dean asked Sam as the Impala hit seventy miles per hour.
"I've never seen a witch that powerful," Sam stretched his back, probably bruised from being thrown into another bookshelf. "But she didn't react to holy water or the demon trap we drew. So what then?"
"Fucking amateur succubus. That poor guy. I mean, I like kinky sometimes, but that..." Dean shook his head and Sam clenched his fist, remembering the remains of the man they found in her lair. They knew her pattern: she seduced men, tied them up, and tortured them in the most sexually fucked up ways possible. The guy they found was barely alive when they got there, and they couldn't save him. "I need a drink." Dean brought Sam from his thoughts.
"Me too," he muttered.
Sam's fifth shot tasted like water. Dean had only had one, and a little bit of beer. "Sammy, you okay?" Dean looked concerned.
"Just wanna forget what we saw for a minute, thats all," Sam rubbed his eyes. The sight had been gruesome, but that wasn't why Sam was so hell bent on getting drunk. They hadn't worked a sex-related case in a long time and it reminded Sam of how sexually frustrated he was. He was in a bad place, considering who he really wanted was his own big brother. He didn't care about the fact that it would be incest; they've done so much worse than that. Incest for the Winchesters would be along the lines of littering on their long list of faults. No, what he was worried about was Dean's reaction. Dean was as straight as they come. He had enough reasons to dislike his little brother, a crazy crush could push him over the edge, and Sam would never do anything to make Dean leave. So he just... ignored it. All he could do was jack off quickly whenever the older Winchester would pop out of the motel room to get food. Sam felt on edge all the time, especially now.
"Seriously, dude, slow down," Dean looked surprised as Sam reached over and took Dean's beer. "I think you've had enough. It's been like fifteen minutes and you're drunk."
"'M not drunk, you're just short," Sam slurred.
"That doesn't even make sense," Dean muttered as he hauled Sam off the booth seat and towards the car.
"We don't need to leave," Sam said enthusiastically, but slumped against Dean anyway. Dean thanked whoever was filling in for god that he was strong enough to pull his brother's gigantic body away from the bar. Sam steadied himself as they walked towards the impala.
"Let's just go to bed, we'll deal with this bitch in the morning," Dean yawned.
"That's rude," the female voice said behind them. Dean whirled around, pulling the demon knife out of his jacket lightening fast. Sam whirled around and almost fell over.
"Rude but true," Dean lunged at her, but she raised her hand and he went flying back against the impala, trapped by the invisible force. Sam charged her without a weapon, his head foggy. She laughed and held him with the invisible force, bringing a hand to his neck.
"Your brother's so pretty, Dean," the witch smiled wickedly.
"Take your hands off him, bitch!" Dean yelled from is position pinned to the car.
"Ooh," she grinned at Dean and squeezed Sam's neck tighter, white dots appearing before his eyes. "Jealous?"
"Sammy!" Dean yelled desperately as Sam's eyes rolled back in his head. He slumped forward and the witch caught him.
"He's not dead," the witch nuzzled Sam's unconscious head. "Well, not yet." She grinned and disappeared, taking Sam along with her. Dean fell to the ground, gasping.
"Sam! Sammy!" he yelled into the chilly air, but no one was around to hear him.
"Bobby, it's been an hour, he could be dead!" Dean shouted into the phone.
"Then calm down and use your head, kid." The rough voice crackled on the line.
"I already went to her house, searched the basement, and went to three motels nearest the bar. Where the hell could they be?" He was pacing in front of his car, parked outside their motel. His palms were getting itchier by the second.
"Did you turn on the GPS on his phone?"
Dean paused. "GODDAMMIT!" Dean yelled, holding the phone away from his mouth. Why hadn't he thought of that? He'd been wasting precious time when he had a tracker on Sam's cell phone!
"Idjit," Bobby mumbled. Dean wiped his eyes, a tear or two spilling out. What was his job? Protect his baby brother, no matter what. What was he fucking up now? That. "Go get him!" Bobby commanded. Dean hung up and sat heavily in the impala, typing frantically on his phone. Once the red circle popped up, indicating Sam's location, Dean floored it, Baby's tires squealing out of the parking lot. Please be okay, Sammy, please be okay, he prayed. It wasn't just his little brother he needed to save. It was the man he loved.
Sam was woken up by a hard slap to the face. Pain shot through his cheek. He was vaguely aware of blood trickling down from the blow, but his mind cleared slowly. "Welcome," the witch purred in front of him.
Sam shook his head, clearing some of the fog. "Ugh," he mumbled, feeling thoroughly sore. And cold. That woke him up completely. His clothes were gone, in a pile on the floor several yards away in this... warehouse? He tried to bring his hand to his face, but as he pulled, a metal cuff restrained his wrist. The other wrist too, and his ankles were also restrained. He was spread eagle, chained to a huge metal X.
"Don't you look pretty, all trussed up for me," the witch smiled. Before they knew she was a witch, demon, whatever, Sam thought she looked nice. After what they had seen, though, she looked more appalling than ever. "You don't look so happy to see me though," she fake pouted, trailing her long nails down Sam's thigh, next to his very flaccid cock.
"Hideous witches aren't really my type," Sam spat, brain spinning. How could he get out?
She shook her head at him. "Oh Sam," she grasped his balls, squeezing almost painfully. "I'm everybody's type."
Sam gasped at the pain of her nails digging in, but said nothing. He was completely naked; he had no weapons, no salt, nothing. He was completely immobile too, he could barely lift his- "Fuck! Stop that!" Sam yelled as the witch traced her fingers down his ass crack. Even though he had dreamt about all kinds of sex with Dean, he had never actually had anything up his ass, and with this witch, he preferred to keep it that way.
"This is supposed to be the fun part," she trailed her tongue around his hip. It felt wrong and bad. Even when she took his cock in her mouth, it felt wrong. Her lips looked wrong around him, the cracked makeup completely turning him off. She pulled off and pouted again at his limp member. "Guess this won't be so fun then. Oh well. It'll still be fun for me."
Sam craned his next as far as it would go as she disappeared behind him. He heard shuffling and clinking of metal objects. He tried not to shake, but he was afraid of what she was going to do. He had seen her last victim, and he did not want that to be him. He had barely finished the thought when something cold and glass-like touched his hole. "You're going to feel every second of this," she hissed, pushing the glass object roughly against him. "You'll feel it even after you die." She bit his ass cheek, hard, and wormed the glass object through his hole. He cried out in pain, his muscles tight against the intrusion. It was uncomfortable, violating, and it frankly terrified Sam. Nothing he had ever hunted could have prepared him for how grotesque this felt.
A very unmanly yell escaped his lips as she pushed the long glass cylinder up his ass. "I'm going to fucking rip your throat out!" He cried out again when something hit his balls sharply. Was that a riding crop? His brain went a little blurry again, this time from the hot pain radiating through his midsection. Was he going to throw up? He sure felt like it.
"That's for your mouth," she scolded, sounding entirely too calm for the pain Sam felt. Sam breathed heavily, trying to calm himself down, when the witch came in front of him. "I wanted to hear you beg, but it looks like that won't happen." She sighed as if disappointed and forced a large ball gag into Sam's mouth, buckling it tightly behind his head. His protests were muffled by the red plastic. "Perfect." She smiled and lunged at Sam's neck, biting down hard. He grunted as blood trickled down his chest. He had dealt with being cut up before. Cut up he could handle. He had failed to realize that she was holding something else until they were right up by his face.
His eyes widened. "Ah, maybe you'll like these?" She clamped hard bits of metal to each of Sam's nipples. The sensation was too painful to be pleasurable. "And they vibrate!" she clapped to herself, as if that would make it better. She turned it on and he jumped at the feeling, but then forced himself to relax and glared at her. She arched one eyebrow and trailed a knife down his cheek. Where did the knife come from?
"I almost feel bad, damaging this beautiful body of yours." She suddenly slashed out, knife ripping through the tissue of his upper left stomach, not deep enough to really injure, just enough to draw blood and pain. The gag muffled a pained moan.
She disappeared behind Sam again and he closed his eyes, bracing himself for more pain. The witch then yanked the glass object out of his ass. He squirmed, obscenities silenced by the gag. Several large connected spheres replaced the glass, each one bigger than the last. They were shoved in roughly, mercilessly, and it felt like Sam was being ripped in two. She tapped his balls with the crop again and a tear slipped down his cheek. He couldn't even double over in pain.
Then something else slipped inside him along with the spheres, something slimy, with ridges all over it. His hole stretched too far, and he arched in pain as tissue tore.
"Ooh," the witch laughed behind him. He felt the knife tip work its way in lazy patterns around his back, and a few more tears fell from his eyes. "You want more?"
He shook his head weakly from side to side, but he knew she wouldn't stop. "More then!" The riding crop smacked an ass cheek, hard, and before the pain registered in Sam's mind, the witch fit another thing up his ass, this time a long rod with a big knob on the end. It didn't hurt as much, ironically because his blood slicked its way. She flipped a switch and the knob vibrated on, off, on, off, sharp waves of movement with pauses in between. Sam broke out in a sweat as she pushed on the slimy object, moving the rest of the toys around in his ass. The vibrating thing then hit something inside him and he cried out and bit down on the gag, drawing blood from his own lip.
"There it is," she cooed at him, trailing the crop around his side. With every vibration, a whimper escaped Sam. It felt weirdly good, but in a very bad way. "So we've made a little progress," she stood in front of him, grasping his half-hard cock tightly. "Will this help?" The crop stung his balls again, keeping time with the vibrations. Slap, buzz, slap, buzz. He was openly crying now, his body limp from all the sensation. A part of him wondered if he should just hold his breath until he blacked out again. Anything was better than this.
A loud crash alerted them both to another presence in the warehouse, but Sam couldn't lift his head to look. His muscles were done; only the cuffs held him up. The witch looked around warily, then quickly carved a little symbol right above Sam's cock. He didn't even notice- the sensations in the other parts of his body were too overwhelming. As the blood dripped down on his member, she muttered something in a different language, not one that Sam had heard before, and she disappeared.
A moment later, he heard another crash, then steps coming closer. "Oh god, Sammy, I'm so sorry." Dean, his mind cried out, but Sam could only twitch at the vibrations. He lifted his head as much as he could. He saw his brother's shining green eyes, and suddenly the witch was behind him with a knife. Sam's eyes widened and he whimpered in warning. Dean whirled around just in time to dodge the witch's blow. They grappled for several minutes, Sam watching feebly from the metal X.
Dean won, as he always did. That bitch was human, and Dean cut her head off. Sam thought he might have blacked out for a moment, because the next things he felt were gentle fingers on his face. "Sammy," Dean murmured, unbuckling the gag. Blood trickled down Sam's lip.
"Help," he whimpered. He would have been embarrassed for his brother to see him like this, but the pain overwhelmed embarrassment right now. He felt the vibrations gently removed from his ass, then the slimy thing, then the spheres. The clamps were removed too. A few lines of blood ran down his thighs, and Dean's heart broke at every one of them.
"It's gonna be okay, Sammy. Stay with me." He felt the chains disappear, his ankles then his wrists. Dean caught him as he fell, Sam doing his best to stand upright and mostly failing. In his duffel, Dean had shoved a large blanket, and he wrapped that around his little brother now. "I've got you, baby boy. I've got you," he repeated over and over, because he didn't know what else to do.
Sam had completely blacked out for the rest of the night. It was a bit of a relief for Dean- then Sam wouldn't see him cry. If his baby brother wasn't in such bad shape, he would've killed that witch a lot slower, and probably torched her afterward. In the dead of night, he managed to drag Sam into the motel room and get him on a bed. He cleaned up all the blood, on Sam's back, his stomach, his ass, his cock, god it was everywhere. He stitched up the nasty gash on his stomach too. In any other situation, Dean would be ecstatic hovering over Sam's naked body, but not this time. Dean did the best he could to patch Sam up and make him comfortable, but he would just have to wait until Sam woke up.
Sam's eyes cracked open as soft light hit his face through the motel curtain. He was momentarily confused. A soft blanket wrapped around him like a burrito, and he was surrounded by pillows. He was even tucked into the motel bed covers. His muscles ached everywhere, but he didn't feel too injured. He did, however, have a raging boner. He smiled as his eyes found Dean, slumped on the other side of the king sized bed, fully clothed and on top of the covers. He hadn't even taken his shoes off. Dean looked so peaceful in his sleep.
"Dean," Sam mumbled, unable to sit up because of his arms pinned under the blankets.
Dean's eyes blinked open slowly, then he shot up, all worry and concern. "Sammy! Are you okay? That bitch really did a number on you. Tell me what else hurts, I need-"
"Dean, I'm fine!" Sam shushed him. "Just let my arms out, would you?" Dean's hands shook as he pulled away some of the blanket, freeing Sam's arms. Sam pushed himself up into a sitting position and immediately regretted it, the pressure on his ass reminding him of the previous night's pain. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and let out a shaky breath. Dean opened his mouth to say something and Sam reflexively cut him off. "I'm fine, I'm fine, just give me a second." He shut his eyes again and willed the blush rising to his cheeks to go away. He needed to go, to be away from Dean. Dean had just seen him bound and gagged with three things shoved up his ass, and now he had a huge hard on.
"Help me up, I need a shower," Sam muttered, one hand clutching the blanket around him and one hand grasping Dean's forearm.
"Sam, you should stay in bed. I mean, I haven't seen you that bad since you died."
"Please, Dean? It would really make me feel better." Sam pulled the puppy eyes on him. He didn't do it often, and Dean probably didn't even realize it happened, but it always softened Dean up.
"Okay, whatever you say," the older Winchester mumbled.
Still gripping the blanket, Sam got to his feet and waddled to the bathroom, turning the shower on hot. "I'll probably be a little while, so don't come in thinking I'm hurt, okay?" Sam said from behind the door. "I just need to wash all that witch off me."
"Yeah, okay," Dean mumbled, his forehead resting on the closed door. He was so worried about his brother. Was Sam covering up his emotions like the Winchesters did best? How emotionally scarred was he? How much help was too much? How would he act around Dean now?
Sam let the blanket fall and leaned his head back against the door for a moment. He thought he should feel a whole lot worse than he did. He was just raped, really badly. He should be a shuddering emotional mess right now. But all he was was sore, tired, and horny like nobody's business. Before the steam from the shower fogged the mirror, Sam removed all the bandages and examined his cuts. They would heal. None were deep enough to warrant concern. The hot water eased most of the tenseness of his shoulders. The temperature was just shy of too hot, which reminded Sam that he needed to take care of something.
It wasn't difficult for him to jack off. He didn't do it often, so the release was usually quick. He put a hand against the wall and wrapped the other around his engorged shaft. His grip was fairly loose; he opted for speed rather than pressure. The muscle in his forearm flexed as he stroked up and down, occasionally twisting at the head. He bit his lip as he felt the pleasure pool in his stomach, but it just plateaued. He squeezed harder, but he was still far away from orgasm. He gritted his teeth and imagined Dean, sweaty and rutting against him on a cheap motel bed. His cock twitched violently in his hand, but the pleasure didn't increase. It stopped just shy of what Sam really needed. After a solid twenty minutes of manhandling himself, he gave up. Was it the situation he was in? His body might just be unconsciously reacting to the previous night's experiences. Even so, it frustrated him beyond belief. He quickly cleaned his hair and his body, only pausing to see that the cut low on his abdomen had vanished. He had a foggy recollection of the witch muttering to his dick. That was weird, even for them, and he shuddered, turning the water off.
He couldn't leave the bathroom like that. His cock made the towel look like a flag, waving high above the flagpole. "Dean?" he cracked the door.
"Yeah?" he heard from across the room.
"Could you hand me some pants? And underwear?"
"Sure." Dean didn't ask why Sam didn't just come out. They saw each other after showers before. Individually, both men knew how to quell their erections when they did see the other shirtless. Nevertheless, Dean let Sam have his privacy.
Things went back to semi-normal after that. They ate, drank, looked for cases, and as Winchester tradition dictates, they didn't talk about what had happened. The strange thing was Sam's boner; it never went away. At all hours of the day, it raged on, becoming more and more painful every minute. He tried to jack off so many times, even in a restaurant bathroom, but nothing ever happened. He was starting to get pissy too. He eventually came to the conclusion that the witch had cursed him.
Sam seemed emotionally stable, even when Dean caught him with his guard down, so he let the details of the night go. The only thing different was Sam's mood. After a few days, it turned foul. After a few more, he was a downright asshole. Dean didn't push much, other than the occasional, "Dude, what's your problem?" But Sam was definitely getting more touchy, and more aggressive.
It took ten days.
They had closed a case four days previous and couldn't find anything to hunt. Not only was Sam on his last nerve, but both Winchesters had a severe case of cabin fever. That morning, they barely spoke. Dean threw down donuts on the little table. Sam sharpened his knives like he was about to throw them. At four in the afternoon, Dean decided to clean his guns.
"I already cleaned them, Dean. Twice." Sam channel surfed, not paying any attention to what was on.
"Well I'm gonna do it again." Dean gave Sam a fake smile and sat on the couch, taking the gun apart.
Sam muted the television. "What, you don't trust me to clean a fucking gun correctly?"
"I know you can clean a gun, Sam, that doesn't mean I'm not allowed to touch it." High road, Dean thought to himself. Take the high road, don't provoke him.
"I see, it's all about control with you." Sam's classic bitchface was on full power. "You just hate it when baby brother wants to help out, huh?" He stood. "Cause you think I'll screw it up, like I screw everything else up, right?"
"Sam, that's-"
"No, Dean, put the goddamn gun down! It's done, why do you always have to do it again?" Sam was yelling now.
"What else am I supposed to do?" Dean yelled back, the gun abandoned on the couch. He got in Sam's face. "We're stuck in this little room until some asshole demon fucks some shit up again, then we can leave! So I'm gonna clean my guns until we get a case!"
"If you just got off your ass, we'd have a case already! Why can't you do any of the work around here?"
"Sam, seriously, what's wrong with you?" Dean's voice calmed a little, but the intensity held. "You've been a ticking time bomb ever since that witch kidnapped you. So tell me what's wrong!" He grabbed the front of Sam's jacket. "Tell me!"
"I'm just so fucking frustrated!" Sam roared. He turned around, a little embarrassed. The whole motel must have heard that. "I just have all this pent up physical energy and it won't go away," he said, lowering his voice.
There was a pause, and then Dean said, "Hit me."
Sam turned around, confused. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me, Sammy. Hit me, punch me in the face. Get it out." He braced himself for impact.
"No, Dean, you don't understand-"
Dean pushed Sam then, not that hard, but enough to bring back the frustration. "Hit me!"
Sam didn't hit him. Sam pushed Dean roughly against the nearest wall and attacked his mouth, pinning the shorter man down. The kiss was teeth and tongue and only lasted maybe five seconds, but it already eased a little bit of Sam's tension. "Sorry," Sam broke off with a gasp. "Sorry, I didn't mean... I shouldn't have done that." Desire replaced his anger, burning hot. He wanted his brother so badly, more than anything else in the world. That would definitely make him feel better. He wanted Dean under him panting and begging. His cock twitched at the thought.
Dean looked surprised, but not angry. He still had his back against the wall, cornered by Sam's action. Sam's anger flared right back up, directed at himself. God, he was so stupid! He just kissed his own brother! Now Dean would leave and he would be all alone with his rage and grief and agonizing erection. Sam turned around again, pulling against his own hair. "Goddammit," he growled.
He felt a hand on his shoulder turning him around. Dean's expression was determined as he grasped the front of Sam's shirt and pulled him back in for a kiss. That one was much softer. Not gentle, but not violent. Sam ached for more.
Dean pulled away, looking Sam in the eyes. "Is this what you need?" he said, face still intense. Sam nodded, not breathing. "Take it. I'm giving you permission. Take me." And that was all Sam needed.
He pushed Dean back against the wall, lips once again crashing against his. Calloused hands ran up Dean's sides under his shirt and almost ripped it off his body. Dean let it all happen, giving his little brother control. Sam was seeing red, all his pent up lust seething under his skin, ready to be released. Dean pulled Sam's shirt off and pushed their torsos together, the hot skin contact sending shivers up both Winchesters' spines. Dean's hands tangled in Sam's hair as Sam squeezed Dean's ass.
Dean was a little apprehensive about all of this. This was definitely not how he imagined being with Sam would be. He imagined it being slow and emotion-filled, like his brother usually made everything. He expected to top and take care of Sammy gently, with all the love he could show. But honestly, he never thought it would happen in the first place. He wanted his Sammy so badly, but the thought of him being the bottom had never crossed his mind. He had never even been with another man. But this was Sammy, his baby boy, and he really would do anything for him. So if this was what it took to make him smile again, he would do it a thousand times.
Somehow, Dean ended up on his knees with Sam's pants somewhere on the other side of the room. Sam didn't even have to say anything to him, Dean just went right for it. He was not an experienced giver of blowjobs, but just the sight of Dean's lips wrapped around Sam's cock made Sam moan. "God Dean, so hot, your mouth around my cock," Sam babbled, hand grasping Dean's short hair. Sam began to thrust his hips, Dean swallowing it up every time. Saliva ran down his face and tears pricked his eyes from the pressure of Sam's monster cock, but he didn't gag. Sam eventually put both hands in Dean's hair and fucked his face, Dean working to hold himself up. Sam came down Dean's throat with a low cry. Dean swallowed most of it, but a little trickled out.
Sam pulled him to his feet and kissed him hard, licking the rest of his own come off his brother's face. "Not done," Sam growled, pushing Dean back onto the bed. Dean begun to unbuckle his belt, but Sam pushed his hands away and did it himself. Dean's pants and briefs were gone in seconds and there Sam was, rubbing their cocks together. The older Winchester whimpered softly into Sam's mouth as the younger Winchester tweaked his nipples. "You like that?" Sam growled, and Dean's cock jumped at the sound. Suddenly, Sam got up.
Dean pushed himself up on his elbows and watched Sam pluck a bottle of gun oil off the table. Really, gun oil? Dean thought to himself. Better gun oil than spit, another part of him figured. Sam pushed Dean's legs apart, mouth nearly watering at the sight. Wordlessly, he slicked up his fingers with oil and pressed one slowly into Dean, watching his face. Dean relaxed as much as his body would let him. He had felt much worse pain than the burn of Sam's finger. He was tough. "C'mon, Sammy," he murmured, pushing his hips down. Sam slid the finger out and pushed it back in, repeating several times. He slid another finger in and Dean reminded himself to relax. Sam grasped Dean's erection then, and the pain disappeared. "Oh fuck," he breathed, Sam pumping while adding a third finger. When he hit Dean's prostate, he got the wanton moans he was looking for.
Sam's hands were gone and his quickly oiled cock poked at the entrance. Dean saw a tiny bit of awareness through Sam's haze of lust. He wanted permission again. Dean pulled Sam's head up and kissed him roughly. Sam slid into his brother, seeing stars. "Dean, fuck, so tight," he breathed against Dean's neck. The intrusion didn't feel that bad. Dean knew it would get better, and he was impatient.
"Sam, move," he mumbled in his ear. Sam eased himself out slowly, eyes screwed shut with pleasure, and pushed all the way back in. Dean never took his eyes off his baby brother. He looked beautiful in the throes of passion like that, flushed cheeks and slack jawed. Dean pulled Sam in for another kiss, pushing his hips up against his brother's. Sam sped up, breath hot on Dean's neck. Dean spread his legs as wide as they could go, giving Sam a better angle to- fuck, right there.
Dean moaned breathlessly as Sam thrust against his prostate, setting a brutal pace. The sound of slapping skin filled the motel room, with the occasional "aaahhh" and "oh fuck" thrown in. Dean could tell Sam was close when his thrusts became erratic. Thankfully, he was close too. Sam's large hand wrapped around Dean's leaking cock, pumping it fast. Dean watched Sam's blown out pupils expand some more and gave a low breathy moan, and with that, Sam came. Dean felt the heat wash into him and it felt good, more than he thought it would. Sam thrust a few more times as Dean came over Sam's hand. The feeling of warmth and satisfaction spread over him, and his lips pulled up in a smile. Though this was far from what he had expected, he had Sam, and that made him happy.
Dean winced a little as his younger brother rolled out of him and flopped down on the bed, pulling the shorter man into his arms. There was come and oil everywhere, but neither of the Winchesters did anything about it. Sam's cock was finally flaccid, and he was satisfied. Dean settled in to Sam's arms and after Sam's breathing evened out, he fell asleep too.
When Dean floated back into consciousness, he noticed a distinct lack of Sam wrapped around him. "Sammy," he drawled, his voice thick with sleep. He turned over and saw Sam, who had moved as far away from Dean as he could. He was crying. "Sam," Dean was up and alert now, scooting towards him. "Sammy, what's wrong?" his voice was soft and concerned.
"I raped you, Dean," Sam whispered, unable to meet his brother's eyes.
"No you didn't. I gave you consent." Dean pulled Sam's face up to look at him. "I told you to, remember?"
"You only did that cause you think you have to take care of me," a sob escaped his lips. "You did it even though you didn't want to."
"Hey, I do have to take care of you. It's my job." He pulled Sam's eyes back to Dean's own green ones. "And who says I didn't want it, huh?"
"You... did you?" Sam looked confused now.
"Yeah, I did." Dean was talking about feelings. It was so... foreign. "Now go shower, you have come all over you." He stretched. "And don't take too long, I need one too." He smiled at Sam. Sam nodded and headed towards the bathroom, still completely naked. "Save me some hot water!" Dean called after him. Save me some hot water. That's something he would usually say, as Sam's brother. He was still Sam's brother, but also his lover? Dean rubbed his eyes. This just got a lot more complicated.
This time, it was Sam who turned on the music in the Impala. They were finally on a case again in Michigan now, and Dean was frustrated. A little sexually, yes, but way more emotionally. As the Winchester tradition dictated, the two pretended the whole encounter never happened after Sam's shower. It was two weeks of normal, except for the fact that Sam wouldn't touch him. Not even the tiniest of innocent touches. When Dean said "Pass the ketchup," Sam would slide it across the counter. When brushed his arm through the sleeve of their fake FBI jackets, Sam jumped a mile in the air. When they were forced into a king bed, Sam took the freakin' floor. It was really getting on Dean's nerves, especially because Sam was so good at faking innocence. He used those damn puppy eyes more in the past week than he had all year.
The Beatles "I Want to Hold Your Hand" came on, and Dean looked pointedly at Sam. The younger man, as clever as always, buried himself in the map and turned the music down. "So it looks like a whole clan of Vetalas. Two in every major city. Between five and eight people have gone missing in each city in the last two months alone." He glanced at his older brother. "We should start in Detroit. As least we have plenty of silver knives." Dean grumbled about something that Sam couldn't hear and made a left turn, heading for Detroit.
Detroit, Flint, and Lensing were pretty easy. They managed to save five people, which was a lot more than either brother expected. It was nightfall when they squealed into Grand Rapids, and they headed directly to where the others had holed up: the sketchiest motel in town, next to the sketchiest bar in town.
The twin Vetalas seemed to only capture couples, and Sam and Dean found themselves beat up and trapped in that tiny motel room next to two other men, one who had been fed upon twice, and one three times. Vetalas kill after the fourth feeding.
Like so many times before, the Winchesters found themselves tied up in front of monsters. The thin men stood in front of them, smirking. "Definitely the prettiest couple we've snagged, aren't they?" One dragged Sam's chair forward. "We'll start on you first."
"Sammy!" Dean struggled against the rope, trying to work the knife out of his sleeve.
"Aww, really loves him. Isn't that sweet," the other Vetala grinned.
"We're brothers," Sam spat at them. He struggled a little bit, but mostly just glared at them. A small part of him had flashbacks to the horrible event three weeks ago, but he tried to push that down. Fear was a disadvantage.
The creature smirked. "You sure?"
Sam knew what Dean was doing. They were always in sync, no matter what went on between them. Sam's voice rose above the sound of cutting rope. He spat insults at them, telling them exactly how monstrous they were, especially so for killing couples in front of each other. In the grand finale, he lunged at them against his bonds and knocked down his own chair. They laughed, but it was part of the Winchesters' plan.
As the Vetala knelt down to grasp Sam's hair, Dean burst out of the rope and shot towards the two, kicking the monster next to Sam directly in the face. It fell backward into its brother and Dean slashed through Sam's rope. As the Vetala collected themselves and charged the Winchesters, Sam pulled a knife out of his jacket pocket. Synchronized, the brothers spun the two creatures around at the last second and knifed them in the back, piercing their hearts. The Vetalas faced each other, eyes glued to their brother as they died.
They fell, their carcasses turning into the snakes they were. Sam kicked them to the side and Dean went for the brunette man. "Help Duncan first," he choked out, trying not to cry.
Sam went to the redhead who looked worse than the brunette and cut him free. He fell into Sam's arms. The brunette man stumbled over to Duncan when he was loose, despite Dean's protests of "Relax, we're gonna help you."
"Duncan," the man fell to his knees and pulled the redhead to him. "Duncan, baby, talk to me."
"Ugh... Alex?" the redhead's eyes opened. "We're never going to a trucker bar again."
Duncan laughed tearfully and kissed Alex. "Never again. I'm just so happy you're okay."
The two men hugged, tears wetting each others shoulders. Sam couldn't help but glance at Dean, who gazed back at his little brother, face unreadable.
They took the two men to the nearest hospital and booked it, leaving a number to call to update them about the victims. Dean floored the Impala, passing one motel, then another.
"Dean?" Sam furrowed his brow. "Where are we going?"
"Somewhere," Dean said, closing the topic.
In ten minutes, they pulled up to a nice hotel. "Are you serious?" Sam exclaimed as Dean exited the car. "Dean, this is too expensive!"
"It's really not," Dean said casually, hefting the duffel from the back seat. "Plus, you don't get a say in it."
"But Dean-"
"Nope," he cut Sam off. "Deal with it."
Sam followed Dean silently until they reached their room on the fifth floor. It had a large king bed with nice smelling sheets, a big desk, a flat screen television, holy crap, and a really nice bathroom.
"Why?" Sam asked simply.
Dean said nothing. He took the bag from Sam's hand, Sam dropping it so Dean couldn't touch him. He stared at the younger Winchester hard for a moment, then put his hand up to touch his face. Sam automatically took a step back. "Stay still," Dean commanded in a soft voice. Sam froze, looking more nervous than ever. Calloused fingers ran across Sam's cheeks and he closed his eyes, the touch feeling better than Sam remembered. Dean's fingers traced a path across Sam's cheek, into his shaggy hair, down his neck, and back to his cheek. Sam relaxed.
"Dean-"
"I know why you won't touch me," Dean murmured. "It's about two weeks ago. You think you forced yourself on me. You think I'm as fragile as you felt after... the witch." Sam swallowed thickly. "You're wrong." Sam screwed his eyes shut tighter. "Look at me," Dean brushed his thumb over Sam's cheek again. Turquoise eyes his emerald ones and the rest of the world melted away. "You're wrong. You may have caught me off guard, but I did want it."
"Dean," Sam said, with nothing to follow up.
"Sit down." Sam sat on the end of the bed, looking up at Dean. The older Winchester didn't know whether Sam was in awe or going to cry. Before he could find out, he pulled out a little stack of papers from his jacket. "You know I can't talk feelings real well, Sammy. So I wrote it down, cause you need to know." Dean looked at the floor and held out the papers. Sam took them with a shaky hand. They were a jumbled stack of the small stationery from the different motels they had stayed in for at least the past week, all with Dean's scrawly handwriting on it.
My Sammy,
Everything I write is absolutely true. If I'm really putting myself out there like this, you know how true it is. Here it goes... I have loved you with every bit of myself since the day you were born. When Dad was busy hunting or doing whatever he did when he was gone, I was kind of like a dad to you. I taught you how to read, I made you dinner, hell I even dressed you. It was my job to take care of you and protect you, and I was more than willing to do it.
Even when you grew up more, I still loved you with everything I had. I didn't ditch school the few times we were enrolled because I wanted to keep an eye on you. I needed you to be okay in any kind of new environment. Though it didn't make a lick of sense to me, I sat with you and helped you with your homework. I let you crawl into bed with me when you had nightmares. I was the one who gave you the birds and the bees talk. When you were the tall, gangly, awkward kid, I thought you were beautiful, and I loved you. I was your brother.
You grew up some more and I didn't know that I could love you more. It turned into something else. I still wanted to protect you with my life and keep you safe, whatever the cost, but it was more than that. My mission was to make you happy. Remember when I took the impala that one night to get you your first beer? You looked more happy than I'd seen in a long time. I let you rant to me about girls and hunting and Dad, even though you knew I scolded you half the time. I let you go to Stanford. I say 'let' because I didn't argue. It broke my heart to see you so angry at me for telling you to go. I told you to go because I knew it's what you wanted, and I would never do anything to hold you back, ever. I wanted you to have that chance to have a good, safe life, even if it meant having to say goodbye to you. Every day you were gone, it was like a part of me was missing. You know, I didn't talk to Dad for a week after you moved in. I couldn't. I couldn't bear hearing the voice that told you not to come back to me, because it felt like he was signing my death sentence. I loved you with every fiber of my being every day you were gone. I was your brother, but I felt so much more.
When I came and got you, it was only half because Dad was MIA. I was alone with my thoughts and I could barely handle being alone with Dad. I had to see you, even if it was only for one day. And when I did see you, you were even more beautiful than I ever imagined you could grow up to be. You were a smart, talented, beautiful man, and I was so jealous that Jess got to have you. I thought I'd be happy if you left her, but to see you so sad... it just made me hurt more. No matter if you seemed like a psychotic killer or a weeping mess on the floor after that, I loved you with everything in my heart.
You probably think that being on the road with me has made me tired of you. We fight, more than I ever want to, and I think about my words after I say them and feel like crying for how horrible I've been to you. My biggest fear is you leaving me. I can handle torture, tragedy, and even death, but losing you would rip me apart. Every time we fight, I hate myself a little more. I don't know why I've said some of the things I did. Every time you yell, I want to say I'm sorry. Every time you turn your shoulder, I want to tell you how much I love you. And every time you cry, I want to hold you in my arms and tell you that I'm here, and when I'm here nothing's going to hurt you. I'm just stupid and stubborn and bad with words and didn't know how to tell you what I was really feeling. But through all the fights and rough patches we've had, I have never once stopped loving you.
Though it pains me to admit this, when the witch got you and I dragged you back to the motel and fixed you up, I cried for hours when you were asleep. What she did to you made me as angry as I've ever felt in my life. It made me justify all kinds of horrible things to do to her in my head, because she traumatized my baby boy. And when she cursed you, which I figured out before you did, I wanted to help you out every minute. I wanted to touch you, to make you feel good and take the pain away, but I was so scared you would leave me. Cause if you leave me, I got nothing left. So I didn't. And when that night two weeks ago happened, I wanted it so bad. I've wanted you since I knew what physical love meant. It just took me by surprise. I would have never thought you would think of me like that, and I figured that afterwards, you would chalk it up to the curse and be disgusted with me for telling you to do it. I would do anything for you, and I knew you needed it. I wasn't scared of you, Sammy. I was scared about the next morning and what you would say. It was different than I expected. I should've known my baby boy would be kinder than I would have been.
These past two weeks have been torture. You won't touch me and we've barely talked, and every moment you're far away breaks my heart, again. I crave you, I need you more than anything. You make me feel thing that I didn't know were possible. You make me think in colors that don't even exist. And if the only thing I could hear for the rest of my life was your quiet breathing beside me in that bed, I'd be a happy man. So please, know that you didn't do anything wrong. Know that I love you, and I'd live that night over and over again if that's what you needed. Know that I want you in every way possible, and nothing you can say or do will ever make that stop. Even if you turn around right after reading this and leave, I will love you til the day I die, for the last time. And though I feel really stupid for ending this with a quote from Elvis: I want you, I need you, and I love you.
Your Dean
The letter finished and Sam stared at the paper, processing everything he just read. It took him a minute to feel the tears streaming down his face, and when he moved to wipe them away, he saw the tearstains down the front of his shirt. He sniffled, trying in vain to pull himself together, and met Dean's glassy green eyes. They were definitely frightened, but also hopeful. This was the most vulnerable he had ever seen Dean.
"You... you mean it?" Sam clutched the paper.
"Every word," he mumbled, cheeks flushing. The brothers were silent for a moment, the tension in the room palpable. Then, Dean loosened Sam's grip on the papers and set them on the little table. Slowly, as to let Sam pull away if he wanted to, the older Winchester brought his lips down to his baby brother's and brushed them together. Sam gripped Dean's waist as if it were an anchor and Dean sighed happily into Sam's mouth. The pressure on their lips increased, and Sam stood up, forcing Dean to tilt his head up. Sam was tall. Dean's fingers carded through Sam's hair gently, tingles running over Sam's scalp.
Sam made the first move, slipping Dean's jacket off his shoulders. Dean immediately complied, tossing it into the armchair, and pulling Sam's jacket off as well. Their lips parted as Dean unbuttoned Sam's shirt, focusing on each button. The younger Winchester touched his forehead to his brother's, slipping his fingers onto Dean's sides under his shirt. Dean's hands shook slightly, but soon all the buttons were undone and Sam's shirt dropped to the floor. Dean took his time examining his little brother's perfection. Sam hummed his approval when Dean traced his hands along the creases in Sam's abs. His palms trailed up and over his chest, tracing the anti-possession tattoo and finally resting on his pronounced collarbones.
Sam tugged at his brother's shirt and Dean lifted his arms off Sam's torso, allowing the shirt to slide off and join Sam's on the floor. It was now Sam's turn to take Dean in. Dean's muscles were much more cut then Sam's were, and he couldn't help but press his fingers into Dean's stomach, feeling almost no give at all. Dean gave him a lopsided smile and slid his hands up Sam's arm, all the way to his neck, and pulled him into a deep kiss. The skin contact fueled the fire growing in both brothers' stomachs. Dean backed the two up until Sam's knees hit the bed. Sam quickly sat and scooted back until Dean crawled on top of him and settled between his legs.
Dean propped himself up on his elbows on either side of Sam's head. "Dean," Sam whispered, pupils blown out and flushed. "You sure?"
"You need this," Dean murmured, pressing his lips to Sam's neck. "I need it too." He worked his way down his little brother's neck, nipping and licking and kissing until Sam whimpered and bucked his hips up a little. The contact of their jean clad erections made both men moan.
"Dean," Sam gasped. The word was like a prayer.
"I'll take care of you, Sammy," he promised, trailing kisses down Sam's stomach and stroking his thighs. Sam shuddered as his belt came off, followed by his jeans and his briefs. His erection was just as red and diamond hard as it had been when he was cursed. Dean admired it. He knew how it felt, long and thick, in both holes of his body. But this time, he wanted to go slowly and show his Sammy just how much he loved him.
Sam felt Dean's hot tongue trace the vein on the underside of cock. "Ngh," he choked, fisting the bedsheets. Dean's tongue swirled around the head, something he hadn't gotten to try last time. Sam watched, lips parted, as Dean's mouth slipped farther and farther down his engorged member, and let out a breathy moan when Dean's cheeks hollowed. Dean bobbed slowly up and down, and to Sam it was sweet torture. The shorter man continued his ministrations as one hand snaked up to rub Sam's nipple.
He scrambled for purchase in his big brother's hair. "Please, god, Dean," he moaned, hips bucking up involuntarily. Dean's hand came to rest on Sam's hip, holding him down. The other reached into his jean pocket and pulled out a small bottle of lube, setting it next to Sam on the bed. Dean's mouth drew off of Sam. The younger Winchester raised his head to look into Dean's eyes.
Dean traced one finger lightly over Sam's hole, asking for permission with his eyes. Sam nodded, even though he was nervous. He trusted Dean with his life, but his one and only experience with this had been much less than pleasant. Dean has lube, Sam reassured himself, Dean knows what he's doing. Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head back, reminding himself to relax. He felt Dean's tongue around his head again, tingles shooting up his spine. Dean suddenly swallowed as much of Sam as he could while pushing one slick finger into his hole. The dual sensations of pleasure and burning drew a high pitched noise from his throat. Dean's finger withdrew and pushed back in again, the burn fading with every push. Sam's legs opened wide as his brother slowly worked him over. His tongue traced the underside of the head as he added another finger, finding Sam's prostate. A high pitched keening noise escaped Sam's lips as Dean rubbed the little area, hollowing his cheeks again. "Dean," Sam sobbed, "DeanDeanDean."
Dean's boxers were surely stained with his precome. He bucked his hips into the bed with the rhythm of Sam's moans. Sam's entire body was flushed and covered with a thin sheen on sweat. He was beautiful. Dean added a third finger and worked his tongue over his little brother, reveling in the needy scratches Sam was leaving on his shoulders. "Dean I'm... I'm-" Sam didn't finish the statement. Dean sucked Sam hard into his mouth and pushed against his sweet spot. Sam's hips came off the bed as fire licked his entire body, white spots appearing before his eyes. A guttural scream ripped its way out of Sam's chest as he came violently into Dean's mouth, the shorter Winchester swallowing as much as he could.
When Sam came down, Dean was right there, lips sliding languidly over his. He brushed the damp hair out of his baby brother's face. "You done for the night? Or do you want some more?" Dean asked, his voice a low purr. Sam made a breathy noise when Dean drew a line behind Sam's ear with his tongue.
"More," Sam answered, pulling Dean back up to his mouth. They kissed for several more minutes, allowing Sam's cock to fill back up until his hands were fisting into Dean's short hair. Dean couldn't help himself- he pressed himself against his brother's hip, the small bit of contact relieving some of the aching pressure.
"That's... ahh, not the right place," Sam pushed back against him. "Please, I want this." He gripped Dean firmly and used his bigger body to pull Dean between his legs.
The older Winchester hovered, looking down at his baby brother. Sam was flushed and wide-eyed and trembling, but there was something more. He looked vulnerable and trusting, like Dean was all that mattered right then. "I love you," Dean blurted out. He didn't turn it into a joke, or break eye contact, not this time.
Sam stared up at his big brother. He had never seen so much care in anyone's eyes before. He'd never seen Dean like this: no longer rough and tough but open and exposed, baring his heart for the first time in his life. "I love you," he replied immediately, reflexively. It was so natural to say.
Their lips met once again, but the kiss was softer. Dean stroked Sam's cheek, his hair, his chest, and slowly pushed inside him. Sam felt completed, all traces of the witch gone from his mind and body. There was no dry burn. Sweet, hot friction replaced it, setting his nerves on fire in the best way possible. He whimpered into Dean's mouth when he bottomed out.
Dean, meanwhile, was trying his hardest not to come right then and there. His Sammy was so perfect and hot and tight. Dean held him tight, claiming him as his own. The kiss broke and his head swam. "Good?" he asked. He was going to make this the best for Sam. He had to fix what had happened- it was his job, his privilege now.
"Dean, good, Dean," Sam babbled, shifting his hips and earning a hitched breath from Dean. The shorter man pulled himself back and sheathed in again. They moved slowly, relishing every brush of skin. Dean slicked his palm up and brought it to his brother's throbbing cock, hand moving in time with his hips. Sam pleaded with him, "More Dean! Harder! Please!" but Dean kept his pace slow, drawing out every second of pleasure.
Tears were now leaking out of Sam's eyes, or maybe Dean's, probably both. They were nothing but nerves and sensations, building to the highest peak physically possible. Sam could no longer speak, and Dean could only chant Sam's name over and over. The fire built in their stomachs and then all at once, they were pushed over the edge together. They flew higher and higher, unable to hear their noises anymore.
Minutes later, they came down, corporeal again. Dean pulled slowly out of Sam and rolled next to him. To the younger Winchester, the pretty motel room seemed oddly out of place. They had just been in heaven, and now they were back to Earth. For some reason, this made Sam laugh. And Dean laughed too. Soon, they were laughing and holding each other.
Sam was happy. Inside, outside, all around him, there was only Dean. He felt clean and pure in body and conscience. Dean pulled Sam close and covered them with the blanket, tucking Sam's head under his chin like he used to when they were children. They fell asleep to the synchronized beating of their hearts.