Back from Hell

by AmyPond45

AU set six months after the end of Season Five. Dean couldn't hack domestic life, so he and Lisa didn't make it more than a week or two. Instead, Dean has been tracking down a way to rescue Sam from Lucifer's Cage. Finally, with the help of a witch from S4, Dean thinks he's finally succeeded. But instead of returning without his soul, Sam comes back without his body.

Back From Hell

AU set six months after the end of Season Five. Dean couldn't hack domestic life, so he and Lisa didn't make it more than a week or two. Instead, Dean has been tracking down a way to rescue Sam from Lucifer's Cage. Finally, with the help of a witch from season four, Dean thinks he's finally succeeded. But there are unforeseen consequences of the powerful summoning spell the witch uses: Sam is back from Hell, but instead of his body returning without his soul, Sam's soul has returned without his body.

"This is crap!"

Dean was pacing Nora Havelock's living room, checking his watch for the sixteenth time in the past hour.

"Maybe it didn't work."

"It worked, Dean," Nora assured him, checking another email on her laptop. "Sam is definitely here."

"OK, so where is he? Why doesn't he call?"

"Give it a little longer, Dean," Nora begged him. "There are a lot of different reasons."

"Like what?"

"Maybe he doesn't have a phone, or he-"

Dean's phone rang and Dean stopped pacing to snap it open.

"Sam?"

But the voice that answered him wasn't Sam. It wasn't even close.

"Dean?"

Dean hesitated. The voice was definitely female. He cleared his throat, putting on his deepest sexy voice.

"This is Dean," he drawled. "What can I do you for?"

"Dean, it's me," the voice sounded slightly irritated. "It's Sam. Your brother."

Dean barely hesitated.
"No, you're not. You're definitely not my brother."

Nora looked up from her laptop, eyebrows raised.

"It's a girl," Dean said to her, covering the phone with his hand.

Nora's lips parted in surprise, then she frowned and shook her head thoughtfully.

"It might be him," she said hesitantly. "Like I said, the spell would bring him back, but not necessarily the way you last saw him. His body and soul have been in Hell for six months, Dean. You said yourself that's like fifty years or something, right? So maybe his body isn't in the best of shape anymore."

Dean winced at the notion of Sam's strong, healthy body being tortured by Lucifer for 50 years - Maybe there was nothing left to return.

Or maybe he just wasn't all back yet.

He put the phone to his ear again. "OK, if you're Sam, tell me one thing only he would know."

The girl sighed heavily, thinking for a moment.

"Just before Dad died, he told you that you should try to save me," the girl said. "But if you couldn't, you might have to kill me. I got really mad and took off to see Ellen, and you followed me because she told you where I was."

Dean's face cleared briefly, then clouded again.

"You could have read that in one of those Supernatural novels," he accused. "How do I know you're not some freak super-fan just pretending to be Sam so you can get me to marry you?"

That didn't sound quite the way he meant it, but whatever.

"OK," the girl tried again, "How about when we were kids and Dad was chasing that werewolf down in Baton Rouge, and you brought Tracy Pickler over to watch a movie and you let me kiss her?"

"I didn't let you kiss her, you doofus," Dean interjected angrily, lost in the memory. "She pretty much swallowed your tongue, if I recall. Among other things."

"How was I supposed to know she liked virgins?" the girl's voice sounded defensive and a little whiney, and - familiar all of a sudden.

"Sam?" Dean's voice dropped to an almost-whisper. "Is that really you?"

"Yeah, man, it's me," the girl sighed. "I'm in a girl, dude!"

Dean didn't miss a beat. "Is she hot?"

"Dean!" the girl was practically yelling. "I was in Hell with Lucifer! Then suddenly I'm here in some girl's apartment, and there's blood everywhere, and I'm naked but it's not me, and I found a phone to call you and you wanna know if I'm hot?!"

Dean shrugged, then took charge. "OK, where are you?"

She gave him an address, then asked, "This is where that witch lives, right, Dean? Is that how you did this? Did she bring me back?"

"Yeah, I'll tell you all about it. I'll be right there." As he flipped the phone closed, Nora watched him expectantly. His look said it all.

"Look, Dean, I'm sorry. I don't know what happened to Sam's body. You may have to accept that this is the best we can do."

"He - she - whatever - says there's blood everywhere. We didn't just kill somebody, did we?" The agony on Dean's face was clear.

"No, that's impossible," Nora said. "A living soul can't enter a dead body. But if this girl was on the edge of death - say a suicide attempt or some kind of freak accident - then her soul is leaving anyway and Sam's could've slipped right in."

"I gotta get over there." Dean grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and headed for the door. When he got there he turned to Nora, his face a conflicted muscle of emotions. "Hey, uh, thanks, Nora. For getting my brother back."

Nora smiled. "Take care of each other," she said softly.

Dean nodded and was gone.

There was a moment after Dean knocked on the apartment door when all the pent-up grief of the last six months nearly overwhelmed him. Sam was back! Dean had found a way to get him out of Hell, and his little brother was finally back!

But then the door opened and he was face to face with the most gorgeous little brunette he had ever seen. She was about twenty-five, with long dark ringlets and big hazel eyes and the most perfect tits, and she was looking up him with an expression of such open hunger he gasped.

Then her eyes filled with tears and she threw herself into his arms, hugging him like her life depended on it, breathing his name over and over as she buried her face in his chest, her small body shaking with emotion.

For several long moments he held her, rubbing her back and murmuring comforting words. Then he became increasingly aware that she wasn't wearing anything under the tee-shirt she had on, and his body started reacting on its own.

She could tell.

Yanking out his arms, she looked up at him in disbelief.

"Dean, seriously? I'm back from Hell for five minutes and you have a hard-on? For this?"

She gestured down the length of her body and he noticed her bare legs for the first time. They were perfect too.

"Dude it's me, OK?"

Dean swallowed, trying - really trying - to tear his eyes away from those beautiful legs.

"Cut it out!"

A sharp slap stung his cheek and Dean registered that he'd been hit. A pretty good one too, for a girl.

"Sorry!" His eyes sprang northward again to meet the angry storm in the gorgeous hazel eyes as he rubbed his cheek. "Ow. That's some mean punch there, sister."

"I'm not your sister, you moron! I'm your brother!"

The girl was truly stunning when she was angry.

"Focus, Dean! This is me in here, remember? You need to look past the meat suit, man. I need you to help me figure out how to get MY body back."

"Your - body. Right," Dean muttered, fighting to keep his eyes on her face instead of the rest of her and failing miserably.

She glared, crossing her arms over her amazing chest, and Dean cleared his throat, closing his eyes for a moment to try to get control of himself. This was Sam, damn it. He had to deal with this the way he always dealt with Weird. Head on, straight ahead, no looking back. This was Sam, and he needed Dean's help.

When he opened his eyes again he could almost look at her, but realized it was probably better if he didn't, so instead he looked at the carpet and took a deep breath.

"OK," he started. "Maybe we should talk to Bobby, see if he has any ideas."

"Good," Sam nodded. "Let's go."

"Whoa! Just a minute!" Dean put his hands up to stop her charging past him and out the door. "You sorta need to - get dressed or something."

"Yeah, but the only things in the closet here are really short slinky dresses and high heeled shoes," Sam huffed. "I need MY clothes."

"Well, given the fact that you're about a gazillion times smaller than you were when you last wore them, I'd say your old clothes probably won't fit you very well," Dean commented dryly. "Maybe you need to let me go get you some new ones."

"I'm not staying here another minute," Sam insisted. "The place gives me the creeps. This poor girl was obviously pretty messed up."

"Yeah?" Dean raised his eyebrows, taking a quick look around the small living room. "What do you think happened to her?"

Instead of answering, Sam thrust her arms toward her brother, wrists up. Dean could see the long, red scars of a serious cutting episode, healed now but still angry-looking against the pale white skin.

"Huh," Dean nodded, resisting the urge to touch her, to see if the skin felt as soft as it looked. "Nora said that could happen. Girl commits suicide, your soul steps in just as hers is stepping out."

Sam flinched, looking utterly horrified.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Suicides go to Hell," Sam said darkly.

"Yeah, maybe," Dean shrugged. "But it's not your fault, Sammy. She did what she did of her own free will. It's not like you could have stopped her. Besides, at least she died for a good cause, right? You're back, aren't you?"

Sam flinched again, and Dean had the urge to take her into his arms and smooth all the bad memories away. Dean knew what it felt like to spend time in Hell, and Sam's memories were fresh. It couldn't be easy.

"Hey, did you figure out who she is yet? Maybe we should notify next of kin or something."

"Her name was Sarah," Sam said softly. "I found her wallet. She was 25 years old, and she lived alone, as far as I can tell. And take a look at this."

Sam led Dean into the bedroom, which contained one neatly-made bed, a dresser, and a small desk with a laptop computer on it. Sam walked to the closet, opened the door, and pulled back the clothes that were hanging there. As she did, the tee-shirt hitched up her hip and Dean got a glimpse of ass that just about undid him completely. Then she turned back to Dean, stepping aside to give him a chance to look at the back wall of the closet.

"Oh for Godssake, Dean," she complained when she saw the look on his face. "You have got to do better than that! Get a fuckin' grip, man!"

With an exasperated sigh, she pointed into the closet again., and Dean did his best to ignore her as he moved forward for a better look.

Knives, guns, rope, tools, all neatly hung on peg-board all over the back of the closet.

"She was a hunter," Sam said, nodding, as Dean lifted his eyebrows skeptically.

"Or maybe just a psycho," he commented. "She's awfully small to be hunting alone."

Sam huffed again and charged over to the desk, slipping onto the chair so she could boot up the laptop. Sam's delicate fingers flew over the keys until a series of images appeared, mostly photographs taken from security cameras and long-range telephoto lens shots. Some were blurry, all were obviously taken without the subjects' consent, and all were of the same subject.

Dean moved closer to hover over Sam's shoulder, his earlier discomfort with her proximity finally forgotten as he took in what he was seeing.

Sam nodded. "It's all you, Dean," she said. "Taken recently. Everywhere. This girl was following you, Dean, for awhile now. Base on the time stamps on the security camera footage, for about the past five or six months, I'd say."

"Wha -" Dean was momentarily stunned. "Why?" He finally managed. He was amazed he'd never noticed her, but of course she was trained, it was obvious now. The girl knew the life, knew how to stay hidden and cover her tracks.

His eyes met Sam's, and for a moment it occurred to him that this whole thing might be some kind of elaborate hoax. He searched Sam's eyes for the tiniest hint of dishonesty, but the guileless hazel orbs returned his gaze steadily; he saw nothing there to hint at deception.

Besides, the spell had worked. Nora said so. This was really Sam. Whoever she had been before, whatever it was she was doing that seemed to center around him - that was past now, and she clearly wasn't a threat to him anymore.

If she ever had been.

"I know what you're thinking," Sam said quietly. "Sarah knew a lot about us. There are files here dating back years, covering hunts we went on together, listing our aliases, media coverage of cases we were on. She must have been keeping records on us since she was in high school."

"But why? I mean, this is serious stalker material, if you ask me. What makes you think she's a hunter?"

Instead of answering, Sam leaned over the computer again, typing away for a moment. The screen went black, then a newspaper article appeared, dated almost ten years ago. "Family Killed in Freak House Fire," read the headline, with the sub-heading "Teenage girl is the sole survivor." There was a photograph of an attractive, happy family - mother, father, three young kids, all with Sarah's wavy dark hair.

"That's Sarah." Sam pointed to the oldest child, and Dean could see it now, the same eyes, the same delicate features. "Her family was killed by demons, Dean. They were all nailed to the ceilings of their rooms before the fire broke out. Sarah saw it happen. She must have seen the demons. I don't know why they let her live, but that's what happened."

Dean shook his head. "OK, I see your point. She's a hunter, turned to the life by family tragedy. But what does she have to do with us? Why the stalker crap?"

Sam raised her eyebrows and shrugged, and Dean couldn't help noticing the way her shirt tightened over her chest. Wow. Girl was seriously stacked.

He cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away and running his hand over his jaw.

"We need to see Bobby," he said. "We need his help on this one."

Sam nodded. "Agreed." She logged off the computer and shut it down, then started up towards the door.

"Whoa there, tiger," Dean stepped in front of her. "You totally must put something on. I'm not taking you anywhere dressed like that."

"Dean - " Sam protested, but Dean put his foot down.

"Absolutely not. You are not getting into my car dressed like a teenybopper who's just been raped."

Sam sighed, recognizing the resolve in her brother's features, then turned reluctantly toward the closet, reaching for the hem of her tee-shirt to yank it up over her head.

"Whoa!" Dean cried, closing his eyes tight. "Wait till I leave the room, OK?"

But when Sam emerged from the bedroom five minutes later wearing the short, slinky black dress and high heeled shoes she had warned Dean about, it was all Dean could do to keep from passing out. The girl was a serious knock-out.

"OK, I think I could get used to this," Dean commented, and Sam scowled.

"Let's go," she snapped, tottering past him on the ridiculous heels, which gave her enough height to fit perfectly under Dean's chin.

* * *

"What I can't figure out is, how did she do any hunting in this outfit?"

They were in the car, Dean driving, Sam sulking because she couldn't get comfortable. The skirt of her dress kept hiking up, exposing so much leg they were in danger of a car wreck.

"Well, it's a little obvious, ain't it?" Dean drawled, grinning crookedly at her. "Girl moonlighted as a hooker."

Sam frowned.

"I mean come on," Dean went on, on a roll. "Look at her. It's not like she's exactly overpowering. She's not taking down monsters with sheer brute force. So she figures, use her weakness as an advantage. The whole feminine wiles thing. Use what you got, I always say."

Sam gave a slight nod, unable to disagree.

It was pretty obvious to the customers at the diner where they stopped because they were both starving after their long night of suicide and resurrection. The looks of open lust and furious jealousy thrown Sam's way were so intense Dean finally couldn't take it.

"What're you lookin' at?" he demanded of the guy seated at the bar closest to their booth.

The guy lowered his eyes and turned back to his meal just as the waitress returned to their table with more coffee.

"You and your lady friend may want to finish up and move on," she warned.

"Why?" Dean growled at her. "What's the matter with people around here?"

But Sam seemed to understand.

"I've been in here before," she said to the waitress. "Haven't I?"

The waitress's jaw tightened and she scowled at Sam.

"Your kind are not welcome here, lady. You better finish up quick and move on before I call the cops."

"Whoa - " Dean raised his hands. "What the - "

"It's OK, Dean," Sam interrupted. "I get it." She mouthed the word "hooker" at Dean and shrugged.

But that only made Dean angrier.

"Hey, this is my sister you're talking about," he said indignantly, and the waitress rolled her eyes.

"Sister. Right. Well, you be a good big brother and take your sister someplace else, okay? And don't bring her back in here."

Dean bristled and things might've turned ugly if Sam hadn't reached across the table and touched his arm.

"It's okay," she said softly. "Let's just get out of here."

So Dean paid the bill and they rose to go, Dean placing a protective hand on Sam's lower back as she tottered toward the door, aware of all the eyes watching her move. He reached around her to open the door, then moved ahead of her to open the passenger door of the Impala for her, and she let him, aware of the diners still watching them from the windows.

After they were safely on the highway, Sam let out a long breath.

"Wow," she murmured. "That was intense. Women have it rough. Can't even go into a diner without all that - unwanted attention."

"Dressed like that, you can't," Dean muttered grimly. "We need to get you some new clothes."

"Yeah, seriously," Sam agreed.

"It's almost dawn," Dean noted, looking up through the windshield. "I'll get you back to the motel, then go find you something decent to wear. I think I saw a Walmart just outside town."

At the motel they unpacked the duffel bag containing Sarah's hunting equipment along with her laptop, which they had gathered from her apartment. The room only contained one bed, since Dean had checked in alone the previous day, so while he took a shower and changed his clothes, Sam went to work on the laptop.

When he came out of the bathroom, Sam was passed out at the desk, her head resting on her arms, breathing deeply. She had put on one of Dean's button-down shirts, and it made her look small and vulnerable in a way Dean's little brother hadn't been for a very long time. Since they were both kids and it was Dean's job to look after Sam, keep him safe.

And now Sam was back from Hell. Not all back, but mostly. The part that mattered, anyway. The part Dean had missed like a hole in his heart that couldn't be filled, that would have always kept him stuck in grief and self-destructive down-spiraling self-hatred, if Sammy hadn't come back.

Dean watched the small girl who contained his brother's big soul, watched her sleep soundly, her long dark hair falling over her face so he could barely see her lovely features.

After a few moments he found a blanket, laying it gently across the girl's shoulders, then laid one of his phones on the desk next to her, where she would see it when she woke up.

"Good to have you back, Sammy," he murmured softly, then headed out the door.

When he got back with the new clothes Sam was awake, catching up on the past six months' news and events on the laptop. Sam accepted the jeans, shoes, and shirts with barely a comment, retreating immediately into the bathroom to change. When she came out, Dean was talking to Bobby on his phone, pacing the room. He glanced up at Sam as she entered, raising his eyebrows. Even in oversized dumbass clothes she was gorgeous.

"Yeah, that's right, Bobby," Dean was saying as Sam flung her arms wide, displaying her new togs. "Sam's a girl now. Guess we'll just have to get used to it."

"Shut up!" Sam mouthed, flipping him the bird.

Dean grinned.

"Yeah, it'll take us about ten hours to get there, I figure," he said into the phone, then listened as Bobby called him an idjit and promised to look into recovering bodies from Hell.

"You know, you could ask your friend Cas," he reminded Dean. "He pulled your butt out of Hell, body and soul. Seems to me he'd know how to do this thing, if anyone could."

"Yeah, I tried that already," Dean muttered. "Cas seems to be a little busy these days. Last time I talked to him he said he couldn't open the box, period."

Dean wanted to forget the last time he had pleaded with Cas to help Sam. It hadn't ended well between them. He frankly wondered if Cas preferred leaving Sam in Hell permanently. He'd always seemed vaguely jealous of Sam, if an angel could feel jealousy. Maybe he was hoping Dean would eventually forget about Sam and Cas could finally have Dean all to himself.

"Well, things might be different now," Bobby said, and it was as if he read Dean's thoughts. "Sam's here now, or part of him anyway, so maybe Cas can do something to get the rest of him back too."

"OK, Bobby, I hear ya," Dean said, irritated. He didn't really want to talk to Cas right now. "We'll call you when we're a few miles out."

Sam watched as Dean hung up the phone, then began stuffing clothes into his duffel.

"How long since you slept?" Sam asked softly, and Dean shrugged.

"Couple o' days, I guess," he admitted.

"Dean, maybe you need to take a couple of hours to rest. I'll go find us something to eat and some coffee, then we can hit the road."

Dean looked like he was going to argue, then he stopped what he was doing, his shoulders slumping in resignation.

"Maybe yer right," he muttered, suddenly bone tired. Without any more coaxing he fell backwards onto the bed, ankles crossed, his arm over his eyes, and was out before Sam left the room.

* * *
Soft lips touched his, nipping lightly as a warm hand moved up his chest. A small, soft body was pressed along his, and even through clothing he could feel the outline of her hips and breasts as she moved sensuously against him. Her hand moved up to his cheek, turning his head gently so she had better access to his mouth. His arm slid under her, pulling her half on top of him as he deepened the kiss, his other hand reaching up to run his hand through her hair as she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him against her, grinding her hips into his. His hand moved down her back to her perfect ass and squeezed, and she tore her lips away in a gasp as she ground even harder against him.

"Dean!" she breathed against his cheek as her lips trailed hot, hungry kisses over his jaw, his neck.

He rolled her over then, so she was under him, all soft and desperate and needy, and he claimed her mouth again as his hand slid down between her legs.

"Dean!"

She threw her head back, freeing her mouth again as he squeezed, feeling her heat through her jeans.

"Dean!"

Her voice held an urgency that hadn't been there before, and for a moment he was confused, raising his head to look down at her.

Sam Winchester lay splayed beneath him, all 200 lbs of muscle and maleness and brother, staring up at him with a look of such horrified indignation it sent a shock of panic through his whole body.

He came awake with a jerk and Sam was gone, and that petite brunette from his dream was standing at the foot of the bed, hands on her hips, snarky look on her face.

"Dean!"

He realized the voice had been coming from her all along, that she'd been standing there watching him, trying to wake him up but afraid to get too close because she could see what he was dreaming about.

Oh God.

But then he noticed her bed-head hair and flushed face and smiled crookedly at her.

So it hadn't all been a dream.

"Shut up!" she protested, recognizing the look on Dean's face. "You were asleep. You slept for hours, Dean. I didn't want to wake you, and I was tired too, so I decided to catch a little snooze."

Dean shrugged. "So you thought we could just - share the bed?"

"Shut up!" Sam ran her hands through her hair, clearly frustrated.

"Not that I mind," Dean commented. "I just wish I'd been awake to enjoy it."

"Wow, Dean, that is a new low, even for you," Sam blustered angrily. "What do I have to do to get you to understand this body is temporary? It's not mine, I am not a girl, and I do not want to sleep with you!"

"OK," Dean shrugged again. "My bad, but I think you just did."

"Shut up!" Sam clenched her fists, and for a minute Dean thought she might launch herself at him, but she must have realized that would be extremely disadvantageous, given their respective sizes.

"I brought food," she snapped. "Coffee's cold, but so is the shower you're gonna take. I'll be in the car."

* * *

When they got to Bobby's the man himself was waiting for them. He looked relieved to see Dean, who had literally disappeared for six months. Winchesters seemed to do that when one of them was dead. The look he gave Sam, however, was less than welcoming.

"So Sam's a girl now," he commented dryly, glaring. "Don't wanna get used to that."

"Me neither, Bobby," Sam assured him. "What've ya got?"

Bobby shrugged.

"Not much. Full body snatching isn't the same as demon possession or skinwalking or anything else I've ever heard of. Once you implant a human soul in an unoccupied body, where the original owner has left permanently?" He shook his head. "You morons have really done it to yourselves this time, that's fer damn sure."

"But it's a spell, Bobby," Sam protested. "It can be reversed, can't it?"

Bobby shook his head.

"This is dark magic, Sam." Bobby rolled his eyes, glaring. "I can't even believe I'm calling you that." His glare shifted to Dean. "You couldn't find him a guy at least?"

Dean cringed.

"It wasn't exactly my choice," Dean muttered. "His soul took the first available vessel. This was it, I guess."

"Yeah, well the thing is, the longer Sam's in this body the more it becomes his own."

"Wha'd'ya mean?" Dean demanded.

Bobby shrugged. "Everything I've read about body transfer magic makes one thing clear - the longer you're in the body, the more it becomes fused with your soul. If you don't find a way to get Sam's body back soon, it won't even accept him when you do get it back."

Sam and Dean stared at each other for moment, then back at Bobby.

"How long've we got?" Sam asked, and Bobby scowled at her.

"I don't know!" he growled. "The sooner the better, obviously. I'd say you've got a week, two at most, before Sam's soul takes root in this body and forgets where it really belongs."

"Great." Sam and Dean spoke together, and Bobby threw his hands up.

"You two are making me sick," he said. "More than usual, I mean. It's like watching a bad movie starring the Olson twins."

He started to turn away, then thought of something.

"And another thing," he averted his eyes. "Don't do anything that you'll regret. And I think you know exactly what I mean. It'll just make it harder to get Sam out of that body. You got me?"

Sam and Dean stared in horror.

"Oh my God, Bobby, you really think I - " Sam started and Bobby put up his hand to stop her.

"Just - hear what I'm saying, okay? You may not believe it, but I was young once. I know how these things go. And don't act all innocent. By the looks of you two, I'd say you're already more than half-way to makin' yerselves a serious situation. So just listen to me, for once - and don't."

* * *

For the next week they tried to resume their old life, taking case leads from headlines, cruising from town to town looking for clues, dressing up as federal agents to get the intel they needed. Sam was as good as ever on all this, and Dean had to admit it could even be an advantage to have a woman on the team, especially when it came to getting answers out of some of these backwoods law enforcement guys with all their sexist prejudices and male pride. Sam got a lot of answers that Dean would've had to hit somebody, or worse, to pull out of these dudes.
It helped, no doubt about it.
But doing the dirty work, that was a problem. When their first hunt came to a head, Sam was knocked aside with a single swipe of the monster's heavy claw, and if Dean hadn't swung his machete and chopped off the head of the damn thing just at the exact moment it was about to bite Sam, she would've been a gonner for sure.
Yeah, that bothered him.
But she could be quick and wily too, and that came in handy when he banned her from the next hunt and she disobeyed him to follow the monster into the alley where it was about to take a bite out of Dean, and her silver bullet hit its mark without a moment's hesitation, even as the creature projected a false image which would have tricked a less-experienced hunter into shooting the wrong target.
In so doing, Sam saved Dean's life. Again.
In shocked appreciation, Dean invited her for a drink, and she accepted, clearly shaken but proud of his approval at the same time.
The bar was nearly empty except for a few single drinkers at the bar and a couple sitting at one of the back tables, heads bent together in quiet conversation. The music was classic rock. The bartender, a blonde, buxom woman in her forties, was unloading the dishwasher under the bar, drying the glasses and putting them away. She looked up as they scooted onto barstools at the end of the bar.
"What can I get ya?" The bartender laid cocktail napkins in front of them.
"Whiskey." "Beer." They said at the same time.
The bartender looked at Dean, then at Sam. She smiled.
"OK, that's cute. Newly-weds, right?"
Dean glanced at Sam, who lifted her eyebrows.
"She's my sister," Dean told the bartender.
"Really?" the bartender looked predictably skeptical. "Well, whatever. I can see what you two have together, and let me tell you, it is so hot it could melt ice. Do not mess it up."
"OK," Sam deadpanned. "We won't. Can we have our drinks now?"
"Sure," the woman grinned. "Coming right up."
"Why do people keep doing that?" Dean asked rhetorically.
"I dunno," Sam lied smoothly. "It's not like we look alike or anything."
Dean turned in his stool and stared at Sam.
"We don't look alike," he commented, puzzled. "We're not even related, technically."
"Right," Sam agreed. She took a long sip of her beer, avoiding Dean's gaze.
Dean knocked back his whiskey in one gulp and signaled to the bartender for another.
"So, what happened back there, in the alley, you totally saved my ass," Dean said. "Thanks."
Sam shrugged, took another swig of her beer.
"How did you learn to do that?"
Sam rolled her eyes. "From you, ya moron," she growled, and Dean grinned crookedly.
"Well, I guess it's a good thing. Now maybe I don't have to worry about you so much when we're on a hunt."
The bartender returned with another round, and Dean knocked that one back too.
Sam narrowed her eyes at him.
"Hey, Dean, slow down," she said. "You're gonna make me think you're trying to hide something."
"What?" Dean glanced at her. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Sam exhaled sharply. "You are trying to hide something," she accused, turning toward him. "What's going on, Dean?"
Dean reached for Sam's second beer, still sitting untouched on the bar.
"You gonna drink that?" Dean asked.
Sam frowned. "Maybe eventually," she said.
"I'll get you another one," Dean said, taking a gulp.
"What's with you?" Sam demanded. "First you're all pissed at me in the car, now you're all let's-get-drunk-so-we-can-black-out-and-escape-eve rything. What are you trying to escape, Dean? Me?"
Dean looked at her then, green eyes hooded and dark, haunted.
"I lost my brother, Sam," he spoke gruffly, his voice liquor-husky. "For six months I dropped everything to look for you. I turned my world upside down, called in every old favor, all of Dad's old favors too. Called every hunter I knew, every hunter Bobby knew, followed every lead, no matter how dangerous or fool-hardy or just plain stupid. I tried everything to get you back."
He paused to take another swig of the beer, taking a deep breath, then leaned close and spoke with an intensity Sam had rarely seen.
"When I got ahold of Nora I was on my last legs, you understand me? I hadn't slept, hadn't eaten much in weeks. See, after the four-month mark I figured you were just about past saving. Four months in Hell nearly destroyed me, Sam. I couldn't imagine taking another day of it, much less another two months! If Cas hadn't pulled me out when he did, I don't know what would've happened to me, but I know for sure I was near broke. I was near being beyond saving. Do you hear me? I was almost permanently lost, Sam. I was becoming something inhuman."
He took another swig of Sam's beer, finishing the bottle. This time it was Sam who called for reinforcements, and the bartender came immediately with more drinks, recognizing the sudden serious turn in the "newly-weds"'conversation.
"See, the fact is, I know what happens in Hell. Maybe I can't imagine the exact tortures that Lucifer put you through, but I know what it does to you, whatever it is. And I don't know how you can still be you, Sam. I just don't see it."
Sam had been returning Dean's intense gaze up to this, but now she lowered her eyes, playing with the label on her beer in a way that was so recognizably Sam it made Dean's eyes smart with tears.
"I don't know, man," she said finally, looking up at the bottles behind the bar as if searching for answers there. "I just kept thinking, Dean will come get me. If I just hold on, Dean will figure out a way to get me out."
She turned and looked into his eyes, and Dean could almost see the flames of Hell flickering there, along with her unshaken and unshakeable faith - in him.
"I never stopped believing you'd come for me, Dean," she said, her eyes filling. "That's what got me through, I guess. That's how I survived."
Dean watched as the tears wet her lashes, then spilled silently down her cheeks. Dean had never been able to stand to see a woman cry, and it didn't make it any easier when the woman was his brother. Without a thought he reached for her and pulled her against him, tucking her head under his chin so she could press her face into his shoulder, soaking his shirt.
"Hey, it's okay," he whispered into her hair, gently rubbing her back.
The bartender looked worriedly at them and Dean smiled reassurance at her.
"She gets emotional when she drinks," he explained, and Sam backed away, wiping her eyes and nose on her shirtsleeve, flashing Dean an indignant glance.
"Come on," Dean reached for her again, slipping his arm around her shoulders. "Let's get out of here."
And, uncharacteristically, Sam let Dean pull her close against him and guide her out of the bar, dropping bills on the bar with the graceful movements of a wolf who had done this many times before.
The bartender watched them leave with a furrowed brow. They were odd folks, that's for sure, but obviously deeply, profoundly devoted to each other. That kind of love was something the bartender had seen very rarely, and never in a couple so young.
She gathered the bills off the bar thoughtfully, wiping down the surface where the newly-weds had left their half-finished rounds. She would go home to her empty apartment tonight and imagine how life might have been different for her, if she had found someone who loved her the way Dean obviously loved Sam.

By the time they got back to the motel Sam had passed out cold, so Dean gathered her into his arms and carried her into the room. He laid her down gently on the bed, then stood gazing down at her. She looked so vulnerable and young, dressed as she was in her tee-shirt, flannel over-shirt and jeans, hair loose and flowing over the pillow around her face.

Sam never looked that way anymore, now that he was an overgrown adult, but in this body Sam brought back all the old protective instincts Dean had felt nearly constantly when they were kids, when Sam really was smaller and weaker than he. Dean's feelings for Sam had regressed over the past few days to the point where he could hardly remember how it felt to have Sam's big, brawny, massive weapon of a body around all the time. Now he thought in terms of keeping her safe, making sure she didn't get hurt, all the ways he used to think about Sammy before he'd grown into such a mountain man. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing; he missed the big guy who always had his back, the broad-shouldered geek who could take a hard punch to the shoulder or a left hook to the jaw and just keep coming. Having Sammy back as he used to be - a small, helpless kid who wasn't much use on a hunt - well, that was weird all right. That was like going back in time and reliving those days with Dad, but without Dad.

And of course this smaller, more helpless version of Sam was pretty useless, at least when it came to doing their jobs, despite the fact that she'd managed to save his life tonight. How the hell could they keep going this way? It'd probably be better for both of them if Sam just went home to Bobby's for awhile, let Dean do the hard work.

After all, she was still Sam, even this way. She was still smart and good with a computer. She could work from Bobby's helping with research, finding hunts for Dean and other hunters who came looking for a fight.

Because Sam's fighting days were over, that was for damn sure. No way Dean was letting this little slip of a girl get her face smashed in by some asshole monster. Or worse.

He leaned down to take her sneakers off; her damn feet were so small he couldn't even find boots in her size, just these funky Converses with the big rubber toes. Made her look even younger.

She muttered in her sleep as he moved her legs gently, then tucked the blanket up around her as best he could.

As he did she turned toward him, still sound asleep, and sighed.

"Dean..." Her lips curved into a small smile as she seemed to sense him there, and before he knew what was happening she took his hand, tucked it against her chest, and turned onto her side away from him, curling into a fetal position with his hand and arm securely pinned against her.

Whatever.

Dean debated pulling away for only a moment before giving in to the urge to lie down with her, spooning her small body with his, letting her keep his arm where it was as he slipped his other arm under the pillow to support her head, burying his face in her hair.

Sensing his body against hers she scooted back into him and tangled their fingers together. Her warmth was deeply comforting, and as Dean inhaled deeply he realized her scent was familiar too. He felt himself relax instinctively, curled around the person he most loved in the world, and before he could wonder how this body could possibly feel so right he was out cold.

* * *
Another week went by.

Sam was becoming frustrated. She had researched and googled and called in favors for help until she was blue in the face, and nothing - absolutely nothing.

Dean had just come in with a bag of hamburgers and a bottle of scotch; she shot him an angry glance and slammed the laptop shut with a sigh.

"I'm going running," she announced, starting toward the door.

Dean stared at her.

"It's the middle of the night, dude," he protested.

"So?" Sam shrugged.

"Well, so - it's dangerous, okay? You can't go out there in the middle of the night. It's a city. We're in a bad neighborhood. And you're a - " Dean stopped himself, flushing.

"I'm what, Dean?" Sam demanded. "I'm a girl?"

Dean pursed his lips and averted his eyes, turning instead to set his packages on the table.

"God, this sucks in ways I can't even begin to explain to you," Sam grated out. "I don't think I can live this way!"

Dean opened the bottle and took a long swig.

"Come on," he held out the bottle to Sam. "Let's take a walk. I'll go with you. It's actually a nice night. You need a break, I need to get drunk."

Sam stared at him for a minute, then nodded, taking the bottle from him and taking a sip.

"OK," she agreed.

They walked in silence for a few blocks, Dean taking occasional swigs from his bottle, until they found a park bench where they could sit and watch the stars for awhile. It was quiet, and they sat sharing the bottle in companionable silence for several minutes as Dean waited for the liquor to do its job. They were seated as close as they could without touching, but Dean was aware of the brush of Sam's fingers whenever she took the bottle from him, and it was getting harder to ignore the longer they sat there. Finally Sam took a deep breath and Dean waited, knowing whatever happened, they were doomed.

"I think I'm changing, Dean," she said, staring up at the stars.

Dean glanced at her, at the perfect profile with the small, straight nose and pert lips, her dark hair framing her face in waves.

He nodded, taking another sip of the scotch. Its warmth spread through him like a blanket, and he was beginning to feel like he could handle whatever she had to say.

"I don't think I'm ever going to be me again," Sam said. She turned to him then, her eyes searching his face in the dark. He knew his profile was as familiar to Sam as her face was strange to him, and he wondered how that felt.

"Do you think you can deal with that, Dean?" she asked.

Dean shrugged. "You'll always be my Sammy," he tried to sound avuncular, but his voice had a slight waver.

Sam frowned. "I'm not a little kid anymore, Dean," she said. "I'm a - was a - full-grown man and a hunter who could beat the shit out of practically anything. Now I don't know what I am."

"How about fuckin' hot!" Dean cracked, flinching as Sam punched his shoulder.

"Not helpful," Sam commented dryly.

"Just bein' honest," Dean insisted, taking another drink.

Sam reached for the bottle, took a long swallow. Dean watched her throat move out of the corner of his eye. Definitely hot.

"We need to face reality here, Dean," Sam insisted. "I'm stuck in this body, and I'm not going to be much use to you this way. I'll just hold you back. Maybe even get you killed. Face it, Dean, I can't have your back anymore, man. Not like this. You need to think about ditching me and getting on with your life."

"Not a chance, Sam," Dean answered grimly. "Your ass is mine. Always has been, always will be. So you can just shut your cakehole and get used to it. I am not leaving you. Ever."

He took another swig, letting the scotch burn a long trail down his throat to his belly, warming him.

He was aware that Sam was watching him, and although in the dark he couldn't see her expression, he could imagine the parted lips and tear-dampened eyes, and he was suddenly hard as a rock.

Damn.

"Sam, you're making me a little uncomfortable here," he said, his voice low and dark with warning.

Sam shifted, startled out of her reverie, and looked away quickly, shifting on the bench to put a little more distance between them.

"Sorry, sorry," she muttered, grabbing the bottle from him.

"Hey, maybe we should get back," Dean said. "It'll be light soon and we should probably get some sleep before we hit the road."

"Right. OK," Sam agreed, and started to jump up to go.

But she had obviously had more liquor than her small body was used to. She stumbled, and Dean caught her, amazed at how light and warm she was.

"Sorry, sorry," she muttered again, trying to stand on her own but almost falling over again.

"Whoa there, Tiger," Dean murmured, slipping his arm around her waist to keep her steady.

"I'm fine," Sam protested, attempting to push him away but succeeding only in stumbling again so that she would have fallen painfully onto the bench if Dean hadn't caught her again.

"Had a little too much," she slurred, and Dean nodded.

"Yep," he said. "You always were a lightweight."

And now she was literally light-weight.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean coaxed gently. "Just lean on me, man. I've got you."

Reluctantly, and with some occasional protests and pushing, Sam let her brother walk her back to the motel, leaning on him the entire way.

Not that he minded, exactly, but having Sam's body pressed against his was definitely effecting him, and after she stopped fighting him he imagined she didn't mind too much either.

In fact, by the time they got to the motel, she had managed to wrap her arm around his waist and seemed to be holding on for dear life, and when he propped her up against the wall next to the door while he found the key she was breathing funny. Almost like panting. In fact, if she'd been a woman, he would've thought she was hot for him.

And when he reached across her to open the door and she leaned toward him, he almost thought she was trying to kiss him, lifting her face up to his with parted lips and half-closed eyes.

And then it just happened. He was kissing her, pulling her against him as they moved backwards into the room, and he was kicking the door closed behind them and they were all over each other, hands in each other's hair, rubbing up under each other's shirts, hungry mouths licking and nipping and sucking as if their lives depended on it.

Somehow they made it to the bed - Dean was yanking off his jacket while Sam was holding his face in her hands so she could attack his mouth - then they were on the bed and Sam's hips were thrusting up against his and she was on her back and he was on top of her, kissing her mouth the whole time.

Then the enormity of the whole thing hit Dean as he was pushing her shirt up and her hands were already forcing his shirt over his head and he took the minute when he had to take his shirt off to pull back and look down at her and MY GOD she was beautiful. Panting and desperate and eyes all dark and hands hot against his chest and arms and back and -

"Sam - you sure?" he choked out, because he really needed to know they were doing the right thing.

Then she paused for a split second and just looked up at him, and he knew Sam's Stanford-educated brain was working at maximum capacity as she contemplated the magnitude of what they were doing.

"Shut up," she said then, reaching up to pull his head down to hers so she could grab his mouth again.

And that was all Dean needed. He loved Sam, he realized as he kissed her mouth, pushing his tongue into every warm, wet recess. Loved this. His hands moved up under her shirt and clenched around her perfect breasts -

Sam had breasts! OK, then!

He really needed to kiss them, so he unbuttoned Sam's shirt and spread the shirt open over her chest. Pulling back so he could look down at her, he shook his head in sheer wonder, letting his eyes meet hers for permission before burying his head there, tongue and mouth busy with the new wonderland of soft skin.

Her hands were in his hair, kneading and urging him, and her hips were thrusting up against him, so he knew they were good, but he still couldn't quite believe this was happening. She was so perfect, so exactly what he had always needed. Could she possibly feel the same? Because if she did, then did that mean she had always felt that way? Did Sam really want him?

"Dean!"

Her voice, desperate with desire, clouded his mind as she arched into him, clearly needing more.

So he let his hand slip down the smooth skin of her stomach and between her legs. Waited a beat while she gasped, then tightened her thighs around his hand before spreading them wantonly.

OK, that was a Yes.

Pulling back again so he could reach down between them to work on the snap and zipper on her jeans, he felt her hands tugging on the waistband of his jeans, so he helped her, standing up and away from her for a New York minute, just long enough to kick his boots off and yank his jeans down while she watched him with hooded eyes, lips damp and swollen from his kisses.

When he was naked he reached for her jeans and she helped him until she had them off, joining her sneakers and socks on the floor. He took a minute to gaze down her body - damn, she was perfect - and then she was reaching for him and he was crawling up her body, planting kisses along her stomach and breasts as his hand slid down into the damp curls between her legs. He gasped as her fingers curled around his erection, guiding him, and in the split second before he entered her he wondered if she had done this before.

Then she was arching up, pulling her legs back, and he was sinking into her body, all warm and wet and waiting for him, and he buried his face in her neck, stifling a moan of pleasure against her warm, fragrant skin. She gave a little gasp and tensed for a split second as he met resistance - oh my god she was a virgin?! - then her channel clenched around him and he sunk in deeper.

"You okay?" He lifted his face to look into her eyes and she nodded.

"I'm good," she choked out, her eyes full and glistening in the dim light.

She cupped his face with her hands, her thumb brushing his bottom lip.

"Come here," she murmured, pulling his face down to hers so she could reach his lips, arching up under him again to encourage him to move.

So he did, thrusting slowly and carefully at first, not wanting to hurt her, his brain screaming "Virgin! Holy Shit!" as his tongue thrust into her mouth, holding himself up with one arm to improve the angle and to keep his weight off her small frame.

He was so hot for her, and it had been so long since he'd done this, and then it kept hitting him that this was Sam and he was actually fucking his brother and that was so incredibly hot in ways he didn't even understand and then he was just exploding inside her, wave after wave of warm, wet, oh-so-good baby juice just spurting out of him...

Oh shit. Protection. Forgot the protection.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

In his post-orgasmic haze he pulled out, careful not to collapse his full weight on her, gently pulling her into his arms and rolling onto his back with her held against him, stunned but too sleepy to care. Just before he blacked out he felt her lips press a soft kiss against his chest, her hand sliding up to caress the tattoo there.

Then darkness.

"Dean."

The voice was familiar. Demanding. He needed to wake up so he could concentrate.

"Dean."

Dean became aware of the body pressed against his, breathing deeply. Sam. Asleep. So who -

Dean opened his eyes with a start.

Castiel stood at the foot of the bed, watching him. Watching them. He was fully clothed, unlike Sam and Dean, who were naked as jaybirds and clearly post-coital.

Oh great.

"Cas!" Dean hissed, not wanting to wake Sam. "Turn around."

Cas raised an eyebrow, not understanding, but did as he was told. Good angel. Dean carefully untangled himself from Sam's body, then slid off the bed to hunt for his jeans.

That's when he saw the body.

Sam's body. His real body. Lying naked on the other bed, unconscious.

"What the hell?" Dean hissed, pulling his jeans on as he stared from one bed to the other. "Cas? What the hell?"

He moved tentatively to the other bed, reached down to press his fingers against Sam's throat. Sam didn't respond, but his pulse was strong and steady.

"Cas?" Dean turned to the angel, who still stood with his back to him.

"Wait," Dean muttered, quickly pulling the bed covers over both unconscious bodies.

"OK, turn around," he commanded, and again Castiel did as he was told. "You mind telling me what the hell is going on?"

"I could ask you the same question, Dean," Castiel glanced at the sleeping girl, then back at Dean, who could've sworn he saw an accusation in the angel's placid gaze. "And you don't need to whisper. I have them both locked in deep slumber."

"You - " Dean took a breath, willing himself to stay calm. "You come now? You bring Sam's body back now? Where have you been, Cas? Why didn't you come the other sixty-nine million times I've called you in the past six months?"

"I have been busy, Dean," Castiel answered smoothly, his deep voice sending shivers up Dean's spine. "With Lucifer and Michael locked in the box, Heaven has been in turmoil. I was needed there."

"You were needed here, Cas!" Dean exploded. "I needed you!"

Cas lowered his eyes, unable, as usual, to face Dean's righteous anger.

"I am here now," he said quietly.

Dean wanted to throttle him, but instead he took a deep breath and leaned down to pick up his shirt, feeling as he always did with Castiel a kind of energy that was weirdly erotic. It made him need to cover himself.

"Yeah, you are," he agreed. "So you brought Sam's body back."

Just to be obvious.

"Yes," Castiel agreed.

"So - can you fix him? Put his soul back into his body?"

Castiel's blue eyes met his.

"I can," he said. "But if I do, the girl will die."

Dean shifted uncomfortably, put his hands on his hips, glanced at the girl on the bed, then back at Castiel.

"That's Sam, Cas," he said. "Trapped in that girl's body for the past two weeks. Not happy there. He wants his body back." It made him slightly uncomfortable to admit it, but he knew what his brother really wanted, and he was damned if he was going to let his own feelings get in the way.

"Do you?" Castiel asked.

"Do I what?"

"Do you want Sam to have his body back?"

Can you give up the girl? he meant.

"Damn straight," Dean insisted. "'Course I do."

Castiel regarded him silently for a moment, then looked down at the Sam/Sarah's sleeping form.

"She is pregnant with your child, Dean," he noted, his voice low and sounding almost sad.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

Dean closed his eyes and rubbed one hand over his face. Sacrificing the girl was one thing. Now he had to sacrifice their child too?

"Damn it," he muttered. "I can't speak for Sam on that one, Cas. I need to ask her what she wants to do."

Cas gazed at him silently for another moment, then nodded.

"I will leave you for one hour. Then I must return to Heaven. I have work to do there."

"Hey, uh - " Dean paused to gather his thoughts. "When you put Sam back together again, is he gonna remember this?"

"I cannot be certain what he will remember, Dean," Cas said. "He has suffered greatly as Lucifer's vessel, as you can imagine. When you rescued Sam's soul, Lucifer was very angry. Sam's soulless body was a far less satisfying object of torture, which explains why Lucifer released him."

"Lucifer released him?" Dean echoed in astonishment.

"Yes. You might even say Lucifer threw him out."

"But Lucifer himself is still trapped in the box, right?" Dean tried to get his mind around the visual image of Lucifer as a bodiless spirit, crashing around in a box in Hell.

"Yes," Castiel nodded. "You do not need to concern yourself that Lucifer might try to reclaim Sam. He is firmly trapped in the box just where Sam put him."

Dean watched him as he moved to the side of the bed and touched the girl lightly on her forehead. She took a long, gasping breath and opened her eyes.

"Cas!" Sam sat up, remembered she was naked, pulled the bedspread up to her chin, staring first at the angel, then at Dean, then over at the other bed.

"Oh my God," she gasped, almost dropping the bedspread.

Castiel looked at Dean.

"I will return in one hour," he said, and was gone.

"What the hell, Dean? Where did he go?" Sam scrambled off the bed, still holding the bedspread.

Dean looked at her silently, an almost unbearable sadness filling his heart.

"What?" Sam demanded, reading the expression on Dean's face and instantly worried.

Dean lowered his eyes, not yet trusting himself to talk about it.

"Why don't you grab a quick shower and get dressed," he suggested. "Then we'll talk."

Sam started to protest, then stopped. Dean needed a minute to gather his thoughts, and Sam could see that was what he needed. So she grabbed the clothes scattered all over the floor and fled to the bathroom.

When she returned, Dean was sitting on the bed, gazing thoughtfully at his brother's body, laid out peacefully on the other bed. This was so freakin' weird.

Sam the girl approached the body and stood looking down at it for a moment, then at Dean.

"Well?" she said finally. "Is Cas gonna put me back?"

"That's what he said, yeah," Dean answered with a nod.

"So why the wait?"

Dean ran his hand over the back of his neck, then looked up at her.

"Cas can put you back, but it will kill you. This you. And - " The baby. He couldn't say it. Just couldn't freakin' say it.

And that's when he realized he wouldn't say it.

Sam stared, open-mouthed. Dean looked down at his hands, fidgeting.

"Wow." Sam breathed finally, and Dean could feel the wheels turning in her smart, pretty head.

He still couldn't look up at her, couldn't meet her eyes, as she crossed around the other bed and sat down next to him, denim-clad leg barely touching his. He held his breath as her hand slid onto his thigh, squeezed his knee gently.

"Hey," she spoke softly. "It'll be okay. We can work this out. It's - I'm still me, Dean. Nothing changes."

Dean looked up at her then, frowning.

"It fuckin' does, Sam," he insisted. "It does because when you're - when you're him - " he gestured at the body on the other bed, "it's all "Games of Thrones" with a twist of "Brokeback Mountain," and I may be Jaime Lannister, but I am not Heath Ledger. Even if Jake Gyllenhaal is hot!

"And besides," he was on a roll, "In this body it's not even technically "Game of Thrones" either."

"Maybe not for you," Sam muttered, and Dean stared at her, then shook his head.

"You did not just say that," he gritted out.

Sam lifted her eyebrows and shrugged in a look that reminded him of the other Sam so much it was scary.

"Okay," Dean was determined to take control, as he always did. "Look, Sam, what happened here - between us - it's just not something two grown men do. I mean, maybe when we were kids and horny as hell and stupid as shit..."

"Fuck you, Dean!"

Sam was on her feet now, furious, backing away to put space between them so she could avoid hitting him, although it was exactly what he deserved.

"You think just because I'm in this body it's okay to fuck me? This body gives you the right to have a really good fuck? Is that what this was?"

Dean looked up at her, and she was so beautiful he couldn't help the smirk that started at the corners of his mouth.

She recognized it, knew his expressions so well, and her mouth tightened into a tight, grim line.

"You know, when I get my body back, the first thing I'm gonna do is beat the shit out of you," she warned, low and threatening.

"You can try, little brother," he grinned, grateful for the change in mood.

Then she hit him.

The blow took him by surprise, which is how he knew it would leave a bruise, but it nearly broke the girl's hand.

"Shit!" she cursed, and he rose automatically and reached for her, pulling her toward him to comfort her as she held her hand between them, her eyes filling with tears of pain and frustration.

"Let me see," he grabbed the hand, flexing the fingers and wrist to check for broken bones as she struggled to pull away, complaining of the pain.

"Just sprained," he noted. "I'll get you some ice."

But as he started to turn away from her she grabbed his shirt with her good hand and pushed herself against him, so he had to look down at her, and the look on her face was so desperate, so hungry, that all he could do was lower his mouth to hers.

"I hate you," she murmured a moment later, when they both came up for air again.

"I know," he murmured back before capturing her lips again.

Which is how Castiel found them when he appeared suddenly, exactly one hour from the moment he had last disappeared.

Dean knew he was there, but he took another minute to finish the kiss, caressing Sam's cheek tenderly as he released her. Dean always had a little sadistic streak in him where Castiel was concerned. He knew the angel liked him - a lot - and he couldn't help teasing. Cas was just too easy.

"Hello, Dean," Cas said in his deepest, sexiest voice. He paused a moment, then added. "Sam." When he said Sam's name it was with some irritation, or - Dean's mind groped for the word to describe Castiel's tone, and all he could come up with was thinly-veiled jealous rage.

Huh.

"Cas," Dean acknowledged the angel with a nod, releasing Sam and taking a step back from her so he could focus his full attention on Castiel.

Cas raised his eyes, having dropped them when he first appeared.

"Yes, I am here," he said, his blue eyes boring into Dean's with such accusatory directness Dean finally had to look away.

"Okay," Dean said gruffly. "Let's do this thing."

Castiel moved quickly then, as if he was afraid Dean might change his mind. He reached out and touched the girl's forehead with the tips of his first two fingers and she immediately collapsed onto the floor at Dean's feet. Dean stooped down instinctively, his need to help and protect overwhelming every other conscious thought. He gathered her body into his arms - she was as light as a child - and placed her gently on the bed.

Meanwhile, Castiel crossed to the bed where Sam's body lay and touched his fingers to Sam's forehead. Instantly, a flash of bright light lit the room, forcing Dean to shield his eyes. When he opened them again, Castiel was gone.

So was the girl.

Sam slept for hours.

Dean took a shower, went out for food, brought back beer and more food. Sam was still asleep. He watched t.v. for awhile, fell asleep, woke up, ate a cold hamburger, lay down on the other bed, facing his brother, watching the even rise and fall of his chest as he slept. Fell asleep again.

Finally, as the first rays of sunlight filtered into the room between the dusty blinds, Sam woke up.

Dean was sleeping, but he had the oddest dream that Sam had gotten up, found his old clothes in one of Dean's duffel bags, took a shower, got dressed, sat down on the bed facing his sleeping brother, and waited.

As Dean opened his eyes, he knew what he would see, and it was just like his dream. Sam sat on the other bed, watching him, big floppy hands hanging loosely from his wrists, elbows resting on the knees of his long legs.

For a moment they just gazed at each other, big green eyes meeting soft hazel ones in a look which held the ageless love of old souls.

Then Sam said, "Hey."

"Hey yerself," Dean answered, grinning, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

Sam cleared his throat, and the sound was so familiar and so long-missed - six months! - that Dean felt his eyes fill with tears. He rubbed them harder, wiping his nose, pretending he wasn't completely choked up to hear his brother's voice again.

"I'm back," Sam said, sounding bemused and tentative. "I guess Lucifer let me go after all."

"Yeah, I guess he did," Dean pulled himself up to sit across from his brother, running his hands through his hair to wake himself up.

Sam frowned hesitantly.

"I had the weirdest dream, Dean," he said, looking pointedly at Dean, who lowered his eyes for a moment before raising them to meet his brother's head-on, daring him to go on.

"Yeah?" Dean challenged. "Clowns or midgets?"

Sam hesitated again, searching his brother's face for signs of - something.

"Ah, never mind," he finally said, dropping his gaze again and rubbing his cheek thoughtfully before running his hand through his long hair. Dean imagined his brain grasping at the fleeing memories, trying to reconcile his strange dreams with the reality of his brother, rock-solid and always there for him but never giving in to his feelings, never letting him know how much he loved him.

"It's good to have you back, Sam," Dean reached across and clapped his brother on the shoulder, and Sam gave a small smile.

"Yeah," he agreed. "It's good to be back."

In the weeks that followed, the brothers slowly rebuilt their relationship, and the "family business." For Dean, it was like Sam had never left. He'd put his life on hold while he obsessively struggled to get Sam back, but now that he was here again Dean was good.

Sam, however, was left with the usual baggage of a sixth-month stint in Hell. Bad dreams, mostly, but sometimes weirdly good ones, too. About Dean. He and Dean together. Together together. It made no sense, but it seemed to Sam that something fundamental had changed in their relationship.

He also had the distinct impression that there was something Dean wasn't telling him.

He tried bringing it up a few times, but Dean always avoided his eyes, or got defensive, or just changed the subject.

Then came the night they got drunk after a particularly nasty run-in with some renegade demons. They both got banged up pretty good, so after ganking the bastards and sewing each other up as best they could they collapsed on the couch in the motel with a couple of bottles of Jack to quell the pain and flipped on the t.v.

They watched re-runs of old shows for awhile in companionable silence, sitting side by side almost touching in that way they often did, comfortable with each others' closeness, comforted by the heat (and sweat, in Sam's case) of each others' bodies.

It was getting pretty late when Sam happened to glance over and notice that Dean had fallen asleep, his head tipped straight back, lips slightly parted, long neck lightly sprinkled with freckles and scruff exposed for Sam's appreciation.

Damn, he's gorgeous. The thought, accompanied by a stab of lust deep inside his body, surprised Sam in its intensity. He had always been attracted to Dean, had always loved him in that complicated way that was beyond mere brotherly affection. But he had long ago learned how to control those feelings. He avoided touching Dean as much as possible, that was key.

But he had forgotten how good he smelled.

Sam shifted so that he could relieve the sudden tightness in his jeans, turning his body toward Dean so he could lean in closer, one hand supporting himself on the back on the couch. He took the bottle from between Dean's legs and reached across him to set it down on the end table, taking a deep breath as his face passed close to Dean's throat, closing his eyes to let the familiar scent wash over him.

That's when Dean stirred, just a little, and a single word whispered from his lips.

"Sam."

That was all it took. Sam's big hand closed gently around his brother's jaw, holding his head steady as he buried his face in the warm skin just below Dean's ear. Taking another deep breath, he nuzzled without letting his lips touch Dean's skin, and would happily have stayed like that for a while if Dean hadn't turned his head, just a little, so that suddenly Sam's lips were pressed into that warm, moist skin.

Sam pulled away, shaking with another wave of lust, surprised at himself. He thought he had more control that this. Must be the booze.

He was still holding Dean's face in his hand, but now that still-sleeping face was turned towards him, full lips parted and so close it took only a tiny movement to lean close enough to take that swollen lower lip between his own, giving it just the tiniest of tugs before releasing it.

There. He's done it. He's kissed his brother. On the mouth.

Okay then.

So what's one more, right?

He leaned in and took the top lip this time, slipping his hand behind Dean's neck, feeling the stubble there as he tasted the salty softness of his lips, running his tongue lightly along the seam where their mouths met, tasting blood and hurt skin from their earlier battle.

He was about the draw back when he felt Dean respond, his lips parting a little more, Dean's tongue touching his, tentatively at first, then with more conviction as his mouth moved to capture Sam's, pulling Sam's bottom lip into his mouth and sucking on it.

Sam was suddenly overwhelmed with need, desire for Dean surging through him like a dam breaking, vivid thoughts of kissing and touching and - fucking! - his brother rushing through his brain with such clarity they felt like memories. He felt certain they had done this before - and not just when they were kids, but recently. It felt so familiar, so right, so meant to be...

Then Dean was pushing him back with strong hands on his chest, dragging his mouth away, gasping.

"Sam, what the hell are you doing?"

Sam stared, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Dean was looking up at him with that intense green gaze of his, lips still damp and reddened, hands flat on Sam's broad chest, breathing hard.

Sam considered bluffing his way out of it, blaming the alcohol.

But it had been too real. Too right. There was something else going on here.

"I remember, Dean," he tried, not sure if he really did, but curious to see how Dean would react.

And Dean took the bait. He looked away, clenched his jaw, his cheeks reddening to match his lips, and Sam had all the tell he needed.

"We had sex and you didn't tell me?" Sam scooted back on the couch, staring in shock.

Dean's jaw clenched again, but he said nothing.

"Oh my God," Sam breathed, more memories coming forward to confirm it.

Then a rush of anger took over every other emotion, and he lurched to his feet, staring down at his brother.

"What the hell, Dean!" he demanded, but Dean still didn't answer, just leaned his elbows on his knees, his eyes on the floor.

Sam paced in front of him, running his hands through his hair, trying desperately to get his head around what Dean was (not) telling him.

"You just let me think I was losing my mind or something over the past few weeks, thinking I was becoming some kind of pervert because I kept thinking about - "

Dean cleared his throat, deliberately interrupting.

"OK, that's enough, Sam," he said. "I'm sorry, OK? I didn't think it was important."

Sam stopped pacing to stare at him again.

"You didn't think it was important?" he echoed. "We had sex and you didn't mention it and you don't think it was important enough to tell me? You're an asshole, Dean, you know that?"

"Look, it wasn't you, okay?" Dean looked up at him for the first time, gesturing to emphasize his point. "Your soul was trapped in that girl's body. And she was freakin' hot, Sam."

"What girl? What are you talking about?"

So Dean told him briefly about Sarah, and Sam's memories flooded back.

"You gotta understand, Sam," Dean insisted, "That wasn't you."

"It sure as hell was me, Dean," Sam hissed. "I remember every detail. I know what you look like - what you feel like - all naked and - God! I should not have that in my head!"

"What can I say?" Dean shrugged. "I'm hot."

"Shut up!" Sam wailed, slapping the side of his own head, because he was so tempted to do it to Dean and he did not want to give him the satisfaction. "The point is, you should have told me. Not telling me - that's lying, ok? If you lie to me, I can't trust you. That's the point."

Dean nodded. "OK, I get it. Are we done?"

"No! Yes! Whatever." Sam dropped his arms, defeated and deeply frustrated.

And it was over. Dean got up, flopped down on one of the beds, and was out like a light, and Sam stomped into the bathroom to take a cold shower, slamming the door for good measure.

But it wasn't over, because you don't get something like that out of your head, as Sam found out. He kept feeling Dean's hands on his body, feeling Dean's mouth kissing his, seeing Dean's face all flushed and vulnerable and - wanting him.

Especially at night, when they were both supposed to be getting some rest between hunts. Sam lay listening to Dean's deep breathing, unable to sleep without jerking off to thoughts of Dean's body all spread out and desperate for him.
He awoke with a choked cry in his throat, nightmares from his time in Hell fleeing blessedly into the dark again, and the only thing that could soothe him was thinking about Dean's arms around him, holding him as he fell back to sleep.

Then came the night he couldn't wake up.

He was back in the bad place, and he knew Lucifer was playing with his head, because Dean was there, chained unconscious to the wall, all broken and bleeding. His clothes were torn, his hair a matted mess of blood and dirt, and there were visible wounds on his arms and torso, staining his shirt black with blood.

Sam didn't hesitate, just started looking around the dark, dank cell for something to break the chains binding his brother's wrists and ankles, holding him upright by chaffing his skin.

Sometimes when Lucifer did this he came back to finish the job, and Sam was helpless to prevent it, making Sam watch as he dealt the death blows or sank the lethal blade into Dean's broken body.

But this time he was alone. Lucifer wasn't in his head any more, but the memories of Dean were there. When he found a stone to use to smash Dean's bindings he did the job quickly and efficiently, letting his brother's body slump against him as he released him and lowered him gently to the floor. Checking his wounds, he found a lot of blood loss but no broken bones, nothing that couldn't be mended. But Dean was still unconscious, so Sam scooped him up in his arms and carried him out the door and into the next room which, in that way of dreams, just happened to be the motel room they had most recently crashed in.

Sam laid Dean on the bed, then collected towels and wet wash cloths from the bathroom to wash his wounds. As he removed Dean's shirt he realized that Dean's eyes had opened and he was watching him. Sam's body responded instantly.

"Hey," he gave his brother a slight smile, and Dean smirked back at him.

"Hey," he answered softly.

Sam took a shaky breath, glancing down at the washcloth in his hand, then at Dean's bare chest.

"Go ahead." Dean's voice was low and dark and sent a shiver right down into the pit of Sam's stomach.

Dean would never go for this, Sam thought. But what the hell.

As he lowered the warm, wet cloth to Dean's skin his brother made a soft sound like a sigh, and Sam glanced at his face. Dean had closed his eyes again, lips parted, an expression of blissful contentment as Sam spread the washcloth over his chest, washing the blood away gently.

So he washed Dean's body, gently removing blood and dirt, careful to avoid re-opening old wounds, dressing new ones. For the most part Dean cooperated, letting Sam turn him first onto his left side, then on his right, sliding the wash cloth up the tender skin there. By the time he was ready to remove Dean's boots and jeans the older man was so relaxed, so comfortable with Sam's ministrations, he only opened his eyes to watch, without protesting, as Sam removed the rest of his clothes.

Sam stopped only for a moment to gaze at his brother's nakedness, admiring the curve of his hip bones, his long, muscular legs, the reddish-blonde hair there and between. Then he was sliding the washcloth down and Dean was spreading his legs to give him better access and he was so hard and Sam was pretending to ignore that until he had washed every inch of skin except his massive erection and Dean was moaning softly and suddenly Dean's hand was reaching down to cover his.

Sam looked up, met his brother's green eyes for permission, saw the heated, desperate look he had been longing for. He knew better than to speak - there were no words for this anyway - and then his hand closed carefully, gently, around his brother's balls. He watched Dean's face, saw his eyes close, his chin tip up to expose that gorgeous neck, his body tensing as he let his brother caress him, first with the washcloth, then, carefully, letting the washcloth fall away, with his bare hand.

"Sam."

The word whispered out between Dean's lips then, almost like a prayer, as Sam's long fingers closed around his erection.

When his mouth followed, taking Dean's hot, salty length between his lips, sucking slowly as Dean thrust, Dean cried his name again, more urgently this time.

Of course, this was a real memory, not some half-conjured dream from another life. Dean and Sam had pleasured each other fairly regularly back in the days when they were on the road with their dad, who had some idea it was happening but was too obsessed with his hunting to do much about it. It was part of why Sam had left for Stanford when he did. The brothers' obsession for each other had threatened to consume them both, and Sam had done enough reading and studying of human psychology to recognize the signs of dangerous addiction in what they were doing. He knew Dean would never stop, could never quit, so Sam applied for and got the full-ride scholarship without telling him. On the day he left, Dean and Dad were both furious, but for very different reasons.

And it had taken a long, long time to build Dean's trust in him again.

Truth was, they had never reclaimed the intimacy of their youth. They never referred to it, at least not overtly, and as time passed it became an unspoken understanding between them that it was just something that happened because they were kids. Now they were both grown men and grown men who were brothers just did not go there.

But Sam missed it. He didn't admit it to himself very often, but the physical intimacy had given their relationship a dimension of closeness that just wasn't there as much any more. Not to mention the fact was that it had completely spoiled Sam for any other relationships. He couldn't find it anywhere else, and even with Jessica he could feel something lacking, although he had been convinced at the time that he could spend the rest of his life with her. What he had with Dean was fucked up, but it was rare and deep and much, much more than just sex or just the bond of brothers who had been through battle together.

But it was also something they never talked about. They never talked about their feelings for each other, but they especially didn't refer to their youthful transgressions. Whenever it came up, Dean just shut down, and sometimes Sam had the feeling he would spend the rest of his life earning back Dean's faith in him.

Which is why his latest sacrifice had felt so redemptive. By saying yes to Lucifer and taking him back to Hell Sam had not only stopped the apocalypse; he had given Dean a reason to trust him again. Which was in many ways the whole point of everything anyway.

And Sam was okay with that, but now Dean had gone and done this stupid thing with the girl whose body he had temporarily possessed, and the whole thing was a mess again.

But at least he was where he wanted to be for the moment, sucking Dean's dick while Dean ran his fingers through his hair. And when Dean came in his mouth and he swallowed the hot, salty fluid he had a moment's satisfaction knowing he had gotten things going again between them, no matter how Dean might deny it.

Because somewhere along the line during these proceedings, Sam had awakened from that almost-nightmare and this was real. This was happening, and they both knew it.

Releasing Dean's softening cock, Sam slid his hands up the silken skin of Dean's sides and let his head rest on Dean's belly, breathing in the comforting scent of his brother's warm skin. Dean's fingers played idly with Sam's hair few a few more minutes, then stilled as his breathing became deep and steady and Sam knew he had fallen asleep.

Sam lay still for a few moments longer, listening to Dean's breathing. He was starting to drift off when he heard the familiar flutter of wings that told him Castiel was in the room.
Great. Why did the angel always show up when he and Dean were having sex? What was his problem?

Of course, Sam knew exactly what his problem was, although he was also pretty sure Cas didn't exactly understand it himself. Being in love with Dean Winchester could really fuck with your head. He should know.

Nevertheless, Cas really needed to learn to wait his turn.

Sam raised his head, meeting the angel's steady gaze with raised eyebrows.

"Hey, Cas," he said quietly, not wanting to wake his brother. "Will you ever learn to knock?"

Cas's eyes dropped to Dean's naked form for a minute, and Sam could see his cheeks redden. He raised his eyes to Sam, who stood up, grateful that at least he was still dressed.

"What do you want, Cas?" Sam demanded brusquely, not even bothering to hide his irritation.

"I have brought someone I think you should meet," Cas said. He glanced down at Dean. "Both of you."

* * *

At the sound of Castiel's voice, Dean's eyes flew open and he jerked upright with a sharp curse, blinking as he tried to focus first on the angel, then on Sam. When his gaze dropped to his own nakedness he all but fell off the bed as he scrambled for clothes, knocking Sam aside as he grabbed his jeans off the floor.

"What the hell, Cas!" he yelled, stumbling into his jeans, then whirling to face Castiel with a glare that made Castiel drop his eyes to Dean's chest, then to the floor, his cheeks reddening again.

"I did not mean to interrupt," he said contritely, and Dean swore again.

"You're not - we're not - What're you doing here, Cas?" Dean reached for his tee-shirt, pulling it on over his head to cover the glorious expanse of freckled skin which threatened to send Castiel to his knees.

When Dean was fully clothed again Castiel raised his eyes and repeated what he had already told Sam.

Dean looked around wildly, imaging another invisible angel watching them from a corner of the room.

"What is this, a fuckin' peep show?" he demanded fiercely. "We have an audience now in the privacy of our own bedroom?"

Castiel looked shocked.

"Of course not, Dean," he said. "I am the only one who watches you and Sam when you are alone."

Now it was Dean's turn to look shocked, then angry.

"Well that's just great, Cas. So you've got a private showing. You wanna explain to me why we are even talking about this?"

Castiel opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, thinking better of his first response. Sam had the distinct impression Castiel would've confessed his love for Dean right then and there if he could've admitted it to himself. It occurred to Sam that Cas was every bit as messed up as the Winchesters, in his way. He fit right in.

"She is waiting outside," Castiel said finally.

"She?" Dean stared, uncomprehending. "She who?"

"Perhaps it would be better for you to ask her yourselves," he answered, turning to the door.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other as Castiel opened the door, beckoning to someone outside.

As the girl walked in, Dean experienced a moment of deja vu. She was beautiful, striking reddish-blonde hair curling to her shoulders, clear green eyes, lightly freckled skin, slim and dressed casually in jeans, tee-shirt, flannel over-shirt, boots.

Sam saw the likeness right away and turned to stare at Dean, then back to the girl, whose gaze was fixed on Dean. It was obvious - too obvious - that she and Dean were related.

The girl spoke first, sticking her hand out.

"I'm Sarah," she said, and Dean took her hand before he knew what he was doing, unable to take his eyes off her familiar face. His mother's face.

She turned to Sam, pulling her hand from Dean's so she could offer it to his brother.

"Sam." Sam cleared his throat as he took her hand. "That's my brother Dean. But you probably already know that."

"What can we do for you, Sarah?" Dean asked, gaining control of his voice and determined as usual to get the upper hand on another weird situation.

"Actually, I'm here to help you," Sarah said, turning to glance at Castiel, then back at Dean. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "I'm your daughter, Dean."

"You're what?" Dean stared for a moment, then glanced at Castiel.

"It's true, Dean," Castiel nodded, his voice deep and dark with power.

"But you're what, twenty?" Dean protested. "Last time I checked, I did not have sex when I was - " He paused for a moment, frowning as he attempted the math in his head.

"Twelve, Dean," Sam provided helpfully.

Dean glared at him.

"What do you know?" he snapped at Sam. "Maybe I did!"

Sam rolled his eyes, not even going there.

"OK, so how is this even possible?" Sam looked at Castiel, who gave him the same heated stare he had just given Dean.

"She's your daughter too, Sam," Castiel said. "Not biologically, perhaps, but your soul possessed her mother when she was conceived, so in the sight of Heaven she is your daughter as well as Dean's."

Sam's mouth dropped open, but no sound came out.

"Sarah?" Dean choked out.

Sarah nodded. "I'm named for my birth mother," she explained. "She died before I was born, although her body was kept alive while I was growing inside it. After I was delivered the doctors turned off the machines and let her die naturally. I never knew my father - until now, thanks to Castiel."

"So, you're telling me you're from the future?" Dean was still working on the details. "And you're here because - "

"You're in danger," Sarah nodded. "I'm here to help you."

"You already said that," Dean noted, then turned to Castiel, frowning. "You took her mother that night. You knew about this."

Castiel nodded. He lowered his eyes for a moment, then raised them to look directly into Dean's.

"The prophecy says that a child of the Winchesters will save the world. I could not let her die."

"Wait - what?" It was Sam's turn to look dazed and confused. "Are you saying I was pregnant?" He turned to Dean. "And you knew?"

Dean's eyes lowered and he shifted uncomfortably, giving Sam all the answer he needed.

"You knew!" Sam accused. "And you didn't tell me! Wow, Dean. This is low, even for you. You let me think I was leaving the body of a girl who was already dead. You never mentioned a baby. A baby who needed that girl to be her mother!"

It was Castiel's turn to look daggers at Dean.

"You didn't tell him." Castiel stated the obvious, as usual.

Dean looked up then, glaring at Castiel.

"No, I didn't tell him!" Dean growled, resorting to righteous anger. "You know why? Because I know Sam, and if I had told him about the baby he would have sacrificed himself and everything else to keep her safe. And I would have lost him. He had to get his body back. He's my brother, and I need him!"

Sam was still staring at Dean, squinting in his effort to recall memories of possessing Sarah's body. It was hazy, like a half-forgotten dream, but he was sure Dean had been tender and caring when they made love. It was hard to reconcile with the angry, hard-nosed warrior, but he was certain Dean had been a gentle lover.

So was it just the girl he was making love with, or had he had feelings for Sam too?

"Uh, excuse me?" Sarah interrupted, and suddenly all attention shifted to the girl.

"I'm standing right here," she said. "And I think you're both full of shit, you know that?"

She turned to look at Castiel. "And you, too. You're so in love you can't even think straight. And the thing is, right now we've got bigger problems, okay?"

She turned to Dean and Sam. "There's a very pissed-off seraph coming for you, and he isn't far behind us. We've got to get out of here."

"What? Wait - a Saraf?" Dean demanded in his best "Explain it now!" voice.

"The seraphim are angelic beings," Castiel explained. "They are from the highest order of the ninefold celestial hierarchy."

"Like archangels, only more powerful," Sam added.

Dean glared at him.

"So why is it coming for us?" he turned back to Sarah.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Because you're the fuckin' Winchesters, Dean," she snapped. "You guys broke about a million celestial laws when you conceived me, and now you've got another badass mo' fo' on your asses."

"Yeah, but killing us isn't going to stop that," Sam protested. "What difference does it make if the damage is already done?"

Sarah looked daggers at him, and Sam cringed at his own use of the word "damage" to describe the young woman standing in front of him.

"Sorry," he offered. "I mean, you're here now, so how can killing us make any difference?"

Sarah lowered her eyes, then glanced at Castiel before answering.

"Because you'll do it again," she said simply. "The prophecy says there are two Winchester offspring. So I have a sister. Or a brother, the prophecy wasn't clear on that."

For a moment, no one said anything. Sam and Dean glanced at each other, shifted uncomfortably, then stared back at Sarah.

Finally, Dean cleared his throat and took charge.

"OK," he said. "And does the prophecy say who the lucky lady is who gets to be a vessel for Sam this time?"

Sarah took a deep breath, glancing at Castiel, who was staring at Dean, as usual.

"Actually, it's you this time, Dean," she said. "And you're looking her. The vessel, I mean."

"Huh? Wha - " Dean's eyebrows shot up and he took a step backwards, shock and horror playing havoc with his handsome face. "You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me!"

Sarah sighed. "I don't write the rules, Dean," she said. "I just follow them."

"Well, you are NOT following this one," Dean sputtered, turning to Sam, whose reaction was almost a mirror of Dean's. "Can you believe this? It's not enough, having sex with your brother, now you need to fuck your daughter too? This is insane!"

"Actually, Dean, it's quite common," Castiel spoke up. "In antiquity, sexual partnerships between siblings, as well as between parents and children, were favored as a means to control wealth and power within a family. Right up until the 19th Century, aristocracies in Europe - "

"Shut up, Cas!" Dean exploded. "This is so NOT okay in ways I can't even begin to explain, and it is definitely not happening. So shut the fuck up!"

Sam's brain had been working overtime, trying to make sense of what he was hearing.

"Sarah," he spoke to the girl, ignoring his brother for the moment. "When I possessed your mother's body, her soul had already passed on. Obviously you're not proposing to kill yourself for this, right?"

Sarah lifted her chin, meeting Sam's eyes with a defiant gleam in her green eyes.

"My mother sacrificed herself so that I could be born," she said. "She slit her own wrists at the exact moment Dean's witch was performing the spell to bring you back. She was incredibly brave, Sam. Are you telling me you don't think I could do the same?"

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again, speechless.

"Wait, you're telling us your mom killed herself on purpose because of us?" Dean demanded. "She knew about us? About Sam being in Hell? About me trying to get him back?"

Sarah turned to Dean, giving him the same look she had just given Sam, except this time there was a film of tears over the green gaze, and as she spoke a single tear rolled down her right cheek.

"My mother knew exactly what she was doing," Sarah answered. "And you know she did. You saw her apartment. She was a hunter. She was tracking you. Why do you think that was, Dean?"

"We never figured it out," Sam admitted. "We thought her death was an accident."

"She slit her wrists," Sarah spat out. "How can you not know that? She did it deliberately."

Sam looked at Dean, confusion playing over his features like light on water. His memories were dim, but with Sarah's words he had a sudden flash of long red scars on soft white skin, of holding out his arms - her arms - to Dean.

Dean lowered his eyes.

"We just assumed she was depressed," he muttered. "Happens to hunters."

Almost happened to me once, he could have said, and Sam remembered the pain of that time like it was yesterday.

"God, you two are pathetic," Sarah shook her head. "I can't believe I'm your daughter."

"Watch your mouth," Dean raised his finger, pointed it into her face, suddenly fierce. "You don't have a clue, missy, if that's your attitude."

Sarah looked like she had a quick retort ready, then thought better of it.

"Okay, Dad," she put her hands on her hips. "Sorry. You're right. I don't know. My life has been such a bed of roses, that I forget sometimes how hard yours was, growing up without a mom, your dad moving you guys around all the time, teaching you how to hunt and protect yourselves. Couldn't have been easy. I get it. I get why the two of you are so bonded. Brothers who share that kind of up-bringing have to be close. There's no one else you can trust like you trust each other. The sex is an inevitable expression of that closeness. For you two, it's normal and healthy because what the hell else are you gonna do? Wank off in your own little twin bed with the other one listening every night?"

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, then at the floor, the color rising in their cheeks like toddlers who'd been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

Sarah gasped.

"Oh my god, that's exactly how it is, isn't it?" she stared at them, aghast. "What's the matter with you two? Can't you see how fucked up that is?"

Dean cleared his throat.

"Last time I checked, this topic was not on the menu, especially between parents and their kids. I sure as hell don't recall talking about this with my dad. So unless you have a point to make, I think we need to change the subject. NOW."

His voice was low and menacing, and it made Sam hard. Castiel too, he could bet from the flushed look on the angel's face.

Sarah put up her hands in a gesture of surrender.

"OK, OK," she nodded. "I was just trying to get a sense of where things stood. Before we do this thing."

"How 'bout we DON'T do this thing," Dean countered gruffly. "It sounds like a really bad idea."

"Yeah, Sarah," Sam chimed in. "We're not going to just let you kill yourself for the sake of some prophecy."

Sarah looked from one to the other Winchester, then at Castiel.

"There is another way to make this work besides suicide," she said. "Castiel knows. He's the one who offered to help. He knows a little about soul transference."

"Oh right," Dean scoffed. "I prayed for you to help when Sammy was in Hell and you never answered, Cas. That's why I had to do what I did in the first place. And now you're offering to help?" He glared at the angel. "Well, fuck you! We don't need you!"

Castiel lowered his eyes, his cheeks red, his jaw clenching.

"I am sorry, Dean," he said, his voice low and miserable. "If I had known what you would do - if I had known about the sacrifice Sarah's mother made so that Sam could possess her body - if I had known about the prophecy and understood what it would mean for you to father this child - "

He raised his eyes to Dean's, and Sam could see the sadness in their endless blue depths.

"But I was busy in Heaven," Castiel continued. "And now I must do what I can to set things right again. I can only hope you will accept my help, Dean, because if you do not, millions of people will die and the world as we know it will end horribly."

He looked at Sam for a moment, then back at Dean, making his point to both of them.

"But before that happens, you and Sam will be destroyed. Very soon as a matter of fact, and permanently. I cannot let that happen." For personal reasons, he might have added, the look he gave Dean saying it without the words.

And at that moment, as if in response to Castiel's words, the lights flickered. Then they heard a low rumbling, like thunder, and the ground began to shake.

Dean grabbed onto Sam as the shaking became more violent, staring wildly. Then a flash of lightning crashed and the lights went out. The rumbling got louder.

"It is the Seraph," Castiel said. "It is coming. We must leave. Immediately."

"We'll take Baby," Dean started toward the door, but Castiel stopped him.

"No, Dean, there's no time," he said, reaching out to put his hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean still had his hand on Sam's arm, and Sarah had grabbed onto Castiel, so that in the moment that the room was suddenly filled with a blinding light and a sound like the earth itself being ripped in half, all four occupants of the room were holding onto each other.

Sam felt a scream rise in his throat as the light and sound became unbearable, threatening to pierce his eardrums and blind him simultaneously, which is exactly what would have happened if Castiel hadn't transported them all safely away in the split second before the room was totally engulfed by the presence of the unnamed Seraph and Sam passed out.

When he came to, Sam was lying on a bed in a large, airy room, the smell of the sea and the sound of waves lapping the shore in his ears. As he opened his eyes, he became aware that he was not alone. There was someone in the bathroom, and as he sat up, reaching automatically under his pillow for his weapon, the door opened and a familiar female figure appeared in the doorway.

"Sarah?" Sam said hesitantly.

"Guess again, brother," she said, and the shit-eating grin on her face gave the game away.

"Dean?" Sam propped himself up on his elbows, stared.

The grin on the girl's face - Sarah's face - widened so that it seemed that it would split her face open and then she grabbed the bottom of her shirt, yanking it up to display her naked chest.

"I have boobs!" she crowed, grabbing them and squeezing for good measure.

"Oh my god, Dean, stop!" Sam complained, turning his head away and shielding his eyes with one hand.

A moment later she was on the bed, actually bouncing down beside him, wiggling out of her jeans.

"And look at this - I have pink silk panties!"

Sam practically jumped off the bed, putting his hands up to ward her off. Her body was almost completely exposed now, and she was touching herself and fondling her breasts with gleeful abandon.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean beckoned with her free hand. "You have got to get a piece of this!"

"Jesus, Dean! What the hell, man!"

Sam was becoming seriously worried. Maybe something went wrong in the soul transference. Dean was behaving as though he'd just won the lottery and it was Christmas and his birthday all at the same time.

"Castiel!" Sam called out, staring around the room desperately. "Where are you? Something's wrong!"

Then Sarah's arms were around his neck and her mouth was on his and her body was pressed tightly against him as she slid her fingers into his hair.

And although he knew he shouldn't, knew he should push her away, instead he found himself kissing her back and it felt really, really good. She was strange and familiar at the same time, and she smelled like green apple shampoo and -

Dean. She smelled like Dean. How the hell was that even possible?

And the heady fragrance was intoxicating and making him so hard so suddenly, and all he could do was lower her gently onto the bed behind her, kissing and kissing her as she kissed him back, running her hands through his hair and stroking his skin, helping him take his clothes off so they were both naked.

When he finally came up for air, Dean was smiling at him, green eyes lust-blown and heavy-lidded, lips swollen and damp with his kiss.

"Fuck me, Sam," she gasped. "Fuck this body. I need to know how it feels."

And Sam did because it was Dean, and somehow Dean in this body had no more inhibitions about making love to his brother, although that made no sense because it was Sarah's body, and Sarah was biologically at least half as related to Sam as Dean was, so it was still technically incest, and somehow Sam had always thought that's what held Dean back in the first place.

But now, as Dean pulled Sam's head down so he could suck those soft, full breasts into hot wet peaks, making Dean moan and grab his hair, practically pulling it out, Dean seemed liberated somehow, as if just being in another body, especially a woman's body, gave Dean the freedom he needed to express his true nature.

And his true nature was a lot more feminine than Sam had ever realized. Dean had always been so tough, so butch, so desperate to appear macho and cool, and although Sam knew that was an act, it was also a barrier to the intimacy and tenderness that Sam craved.

Dean grabbed Sam's hand, pushing it down between them to rub between her legs, making Sam's erection throb.

"Sam," Dean moaned as Sam's fingers found her clit and began slow, even strokes, increasing his speed and pressure as Dean arched up.

"Fuck, Sam, this is amazing," Dean gasped. "I never knew!"

Dean kept up a steady stream of breathless babbling, punctuated by gasps and moans and crazy little cries, arching her back and spreading her legs as she began to quiver with her building orgasm until she suddenly stopped, tension radiating through her entire body as she threw her head back, holding her breath and clamping her thighs around Sam's hand as the waves of release crashed over her.

"Fuck, Sam!" she gasped as the waves began to subside into little pulses, and Sam raised his head so that he could capture her mouth again, plunging his tongue in and out in a languid fucking motion, slipping his fingers down between the hot, wet lips between her legs, thrusting in an out as he fucked her mouth.

Dean responded immediately, recovering from the orgasm in record time, reaching down between them to grab Sam's erection. She fingered the slit, rubbing the head with his seepage, then guiding him to her entrance. He lifted his head to look down at her as she pulled her legs back, making room for him to settle between them, waiting till she grinned up at him, her eyes shining pools of green.

"Oh yeah, baby brother," she rasped. "I'm so ready for you!"

And that was all it took. He was plunging into her and she let out a surprised gasp because she was much tighter than he imagined and even dripping wet for him he was hurting her, he could see it in the fleeting look of shock and fear that crossed her face before she closed her eyes and arched up, and then something broke inside her and -

"Fuck, Dean! Oh shit!"

Sam started pulling out but Dean was holding his hips, shaking her head wildly.

"No, no, it's OK," she gritted out, biting her lip as she strained up against him, trying to pull him into her again.

"But Dean, you're a - " Sam was shivering, and he knew it was the shock.

She opened her eyes, and they were full of unshed tears.

"It's OK, Sam," she assured him. "Really, really OK."

As if to reassure him, Dean reached up and tenderly tucked Sam's hair behind his ear before slipping her hand behind his neck, her eyes sliding down to his lips, tugging a little on his neck and licking her lips to coax him down for another kiss.

And although he was not one hundred percent sure it really was OK, Sam lowered his mouth to hers again, kissing her slowly, sensually, more gently than he ever kissed anyone, kissing his apology and new understanding of her body into her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids and temples, the bridge of her nose -

Dean allowed Sam's gentleness, smoothing his features with gentle strokes of her own, running her fingers across Sam's furrowed brow, his sharp little nose, his dimpled cheeks, tucking and re-tucking his soft, long hair behind his ears, stroking along the rim of his ear before slipping her fingers behind his neck again, tangling them in his hair.

But Sam was beginning to soften, and Dean could feel it, so she pushed her hips up and wrapped her legs around his waist, giving a few quick thrusts to get his attention.

"Come on, Sam," she murmured against his lips. "Let's do this!"

Sam raised his head to look down at her. The smirk was back and Dean's eyes were sparkling. He started to protest and she shook her head sharply.

"Fuck now, talk later," Dean commanded, pulling him down as she thrust up with her hips.

So he did, slowly and carefully at first, sliding inch by inch into her body, watching her face for the first sign of pain. And when she closed her eyes, gritting her teeth again, Sam hesitated, but Dean thrust up hard as soon as she felt him stop, a little cry escaping her, and suddenly Sam was all the way in, the tip of his dick hitting the door of her womb at the exact point at which he was completely and utterly buried inside her, fitting with a perfection he wouldn't have imagined was possible, as if her body was made for his.

She opened her eyes then, looking up at him with wonder and a little relief, and he could tell she felt it too, and then the memory hit him and he knew.

Sam had been a virgin too, when he had possessed Sarah's body and they did this.

All of this was just getting weirder and weirder.

But somehow hot too. Somehow being each other's firsts was incredibly, amazingly hot. Because they were not really virgins, of course, just in these borrowed bodies. It was like its own crazy kind of kinky blood ritual thing -

"Stop thinking, Sam," Dean hissed at him, and he was back in the moment, meeting her accusing stare with a little shake of his head, letting her pull his head down so she could kiss his thoughts away, moving her hips up and down and digging her heels into the small of his back.

"Fuck me, goddamn it, Sam, just fuck me!" she demanded against his mouth, and because it was Dean, his brother, his lover, his fuckin' soulmate, for godssake, he did. First with small, slow movements, then gaining momentum as Dean encouraged him.

She made little cries of pleasure now, still bordering on pain as his cock filled her, really stretching her open. Then Dean bit his ear, gritting out "Harder, damn you!" pulling her legs back so Sam could really pound into her, knowing Sam liked it rough. Then he lost it, shooting into her with a loud bellowing groan that rose up from the depths of his massive chest, tipping his head back to let the sound rip from his throat.

As his orgasm subsided Sam felt the rawness in his throat and let out a self-conscious laugh, opening his eyes to feel tears on his cheeks, his whole body shaking with release.

"Wow, I guess I really, really needed that," he admitted, feeling the flush rise to his cheeks as he looked down at Dean.

Dean was just looking at him, her expression one of such tenderness, such love, it made the tears smart in Sam's eyes and he had to look away, feeling his face break into a huge dimpled smile and completely unable to control it.

Sam gently pulled out and slid down next to Dean, gasping as the cool air of the room hit his sensitive dick. Usually Sam would scoop his partner into his arms at this point, pulling her against his chest for a little post-coital snuggling. But this was Dean, and he didn't want to presume; he knew his brother's disdain for "chick-flick" moments.

At any rate, Dean was clearly enjoying this way too much to spend a single moment lying still. The minute Sam was off her she rolled off the bed and headed for the bathroom.

"Dibs on the shower!" she announced, then winked at him from the doorway, taking her breasts into her hands. "I can't wait to feel these all wet and covered with soap!"

Sam rolled his eyes and reached down for the sheet, pulling it up over himself the moment before he passed out.

Sam awoke to the sound of movement in the room. Opening his eyes, the first thing he saw was Sarah's slender body, clad only in lacy bra and panties, searching closets and drawers. He watched her for a moment, admiring her long legs, her familiar face crowned with long, freshly-washed red-gold hair - then she noticed him looking at her and stopped, putting her hands up in a shrug.

"I was hoping for some cool togs, y'know?" she said sadly. "Stiletto heels, maybe a mini-skirt or some thigh-highs. Nothin'. I gotta put the jeans and the plaid flannel back on like I'm some kind of guy or somethin'"

"Dean, you ARE a guy," Sam reminded her.

"Yeah, but it's just not fair, y'know? YOU got to wear high heels when YOU were a girl."

Sam frowned, searching his hazy memories of his time in Sarah's body, but came up with nothing. It made him blush to think of, though. And he did SO not want to go there.

Sam sat up, realized he was sticky and needed a shower, put his arms out to Dean.

"C'mere," he coaxed, and she grinned, gamely crawling onto the bed and straddling his lap as he wrapped his hands in her hair and pulled her in for a long, lingering kiss.

"You smell like blood and sex," she murmured when she finally came up for air.

"Yeah, I need a shower," he agreed, stroking the soft skin of her shoulder and back as she examined his chest.

"You are so ripped," she marveled. "I don't think I ever realized it before. What a hunk of a man you are, Sam Winchester."

Sam felt himself blush, and Dean grinned, leaning in to kiss him again.

"And I love your dimples," she murmured when she released his mouth. "Dad had dimples."

Sam lowered his eyes, then raised them to Dean's again, and they were smarting with tears.

"Yeah, and you look like Mom," he said as Dean tucked his hair behind his ear, studying him with a gentle smile.

"I guess I do, Sammy," she nodded, running the tips of her fingers lightly over his cheeks, his jaw, his lips. She let her thumb linger on his bottom lip, watching as his lips parted and his breath quickened. Sam felt himself hardening as she studied him, and when her eyes lifted to his they were darker, hotter.

"You know, we could do this again," Dean said softly. "Nobody to stop us."

She leaned in to capture his mouth.

But they were not alone.

With a flutter of wings, Castiel was suddenly there at the foot of the bed, Dean's unconscious body leaning heavily across his shoulders.

"What happened?" Sam recovered quickly as Dean sprang off the bed to help Castiel lay his body down on the bed next to Sam, who automatically checked for a pulse. Weak, but steady.

"Sarah's soul has not manifested," Castiel said in that tone Dean recognized as his "worried" voice.

"What - you mean the transfer didn't work?" Dean demanded.

Castiel shook his head, not taking his eyes off Dean's unconscious body.

"No, her soul is contained in your body, Dean," he said. "But only in a dormant state. She has not gained consciousness. And now your body is weakening. We must reverse the transfer and return your souls to their rightful bodies before they are lost."

"But we're not done here!" Dean complained, and Castiel looked up at her, frowning. He took in her state of undress, then glanced at Sam, who was still sitting up on the bed, the bed sheet gathered around his waist.

"You have impregnated Sarah's body, Dean," Castiel said, puzzled. "Your mission is accomplished."

"Well, technically, Sam did the impreg - impreg - the deed," Dean corrected the angel, who just frowned harder.

"I must warn you, Dean, Sarah's soul may not survive this transfer," Castiel said darkly. "Her soul has been damaged in some way, and I cannot guarantee she will recover, even after we return her soul to her own body."

Dean stared at him.

"You mean she could die?"

"It is possible, Dean," Castiel answered. "In fact, it is more than possible. The damage is greater than I knew."

Dean glanced at Sam, who looked just as worried.

"This was not part of the deal, Cas. She's our daughter! She can't die. We need her. You have to help her, Cas. Save her, the way you saved me. The way you saved Sam."

Castiel shook his head.

"I'm not sure that I can, Dean," he said. "Her soul is corrupt somehow, and is beyond my power to heal it."

"Corrupt - you mean like a demon?" Dean's eyes widened in shock. "Are you telling me our daughter 's a demon?"

Castiel looked uncomfortable, glancing at Sam before turning his gaze back to Dean.

"Not exactly," he answered. "But there are traces of demonic essence in her soul. I believe she has been that way since birth. Since conception, as a matter of fact. It may have something to do with Sam's soul possessing her mother's body at the time she was conceived. Sam's soul had been in hell for six months at that time, Dean, and as you know Sam himself had carried demon blood in his veins since he was a baby."

Now it was Sam's turn to look shocked, then hurt. Dean recognized that look on her brother's face. Had seen it many times in the past.

Dean's protective instincts kicked in and she glared at the angel, clenching her fists in anger.

"What are you saying, Cas?" Dean demanded. "Are you saying my brother somehow infected Sarah's soul with demon - essence?"

"Basically, that is correct," Castiel nodded.

The Winchesters exchanged glances, then looked back at the angel.

"What about the baby?" Sam asked, and the pain in his face was almost unbearable.

Castiel hesitated a moment, looking at Dean as if reading something etched on her forehead. Then he dropped his eyes to the floor.

"I cannot be certain," he said, his voice low. "It is possible the baby is infected as well. However, since it is protected in its mother's body, it should have a better chance of survival. If Sarah's soul is returned soon."

"OK," Dean nodded. "Let's do this."

Castiel looked at Sam.

"Sam, you should leave the room while I complete the transfer. Your soul has been too recently uprooted and may cause interference."

Sam glanced at Dean, who nodded at him reassuringly.

"OK," he said, rising from the bed, sheet still wrapped around his waist. "I think I'll go take that shower now."

Castiel watched him go, then turned back to Dean.

"He smells like - " Castiel began, and Dean put her hand up, interrupting.

"Get on with it, Cas."

Castiel directed her to lie on the bed next to Dean's body, then close her eyes. Dean's last thought was of Sam as the angel touched her forehead. Then darkness.

* * *

"Dean?"

Sam's voice came from a distance, but Dean was sure it was closer now. Sam had been calling his name over and over but now he was right there, next to him.

Dean opened his eyes.

Shitty motel. No more big light airy luxury resort with the sea - the sea! - right outside.

Sam on the edge of the bed, leaning over him, worried look on his handsome face.

"Hey," Dean croaked, his throat sore and dry from disuse. His body was stiff. He raised one hand and it was his all right, no more soft pink skin and lacy underwear.

What? Where did THAT come from?

He started to raise himself up but collapsed back onto the bed with exhaustion.

Sam put his hand against his shoulder, comforting.

"It's OK, Dean," Sam said. "You've been out for hours. Just take it easy."

"Water," Dean croaked, and Sam complied, leaving him for a moment to retreat to the bathroom.

When he got back with the glass of tepid tap water Dean was sitting up, trying to get his bearings, grasping at the crazy, fleeting memories his brain could not quite make sense of. He knew Sam was in them, and he and Sam were - what the hell?

"Here ya go," Sam murmured, handing him the glass.

Dean stared up at him apprehensively before taking the glass, sipping the water, found out he was completely dehydrated and gulped down the water thirstily.

"More," he commanded, and Sam went back to the bathroom to fill the glass again.

More memories. Sam's face above him, head thrown back, lips parted. Beautiful.

Dean grabbed the glass of water from Sam's hand and their fingers touched. A pang of lust surged through him. He gulped the water without looking at Sam, who had the sense not to touch him again as he sat down on the other bed, facing him.

Dean couldn't look at him. The memories were still fleeting, but their content was clear.

"What happened?" he demanded when he cleared his throat, could finally manage to look up and meet Sam's eyes.

Sam frowned, hesitating.

"What do you remember?" he asked.

Dean shrugged.

"Bits and pieces, nothing specific. Mostly - " he paused, cleared his throat, looked away. "Mostly sense memories, I guess."

Sam nodded, blushed.

"Sam," Dean took a deep breath. "I don't need all the details, but I think there are some things you can tell me without - you know. Going into detail."

"Yeah," Sam looked slightly hurt, as Dean knew he would, but he came through, like he always did. "You remember Sarah?"

"The girl you possessed?"

"No, her daughter. OUR daughter."

Dean stared, wracking his brain for the memory.

"Dean, we have a daughter. Remember?" Sam said.

Dean shook his head.

"I mean, I knew about the baby," he admitted, cringing a little because he did remember not telling Sam about that. "Cas told me."

Another memory.

"Hey, where IS Cas?" Dean asked. "He was here. I can feel it."

He started to get up, looking around, then stumbled, his muscles unexpectedly weak.

Sam caught him, sat him back down till the dizziness passed.

Dean shook free of Sam's arms, looking up at him as more of those crazy sense memories hit him - Sam all fucked out and flushed, hair everywhere, hazel eyes lust-blown and beautiful, sweaty and smelling like -

"We had sex again," he muttered, half to himself, and Sam nodded, lowering his eyes.

"And I wasn't exactly myself," Dean continued.

Sam nodded again.

"And Cas was there," Dean finished, panic making his voice rise a notch.

Sam sucked in his breath, shook his head sharply.

"Not in the room while we - " Sam's voice trailed off, but he was very clear on that point.

"Oh," Dean breathed in relief. "Good."

Sudden memory of a girl with long red hair, green eyes, smart mouth, glaring at him.

Dean ran his hand over the back of his neck, willing the memory to come in more clearly.

"Give it time, Dean," Sam said softly. "It comes back in bits and pieces. Come on, you should eat."

Dean was quiet as they drove to the diner. He actually let Sam drive since he was still feeling pretty weak and dizzy. After a burger and a beer he started to feel more like himself again, more sure of himself with Sam. For his own part, Sam wasn't pushing it, wasn't insisting they talk about it or make sense of it. He'd been through the same thing, basically, so he could relate to what Dean was feeling. It wasn't a bad thing, this thing they shared, it was just another bond among the many bonds that kept their relationship what it was - closer than brothers but still just brothers. Still each others' best friends. Comfortable, familiar, family.

Sometimes sexy.

Sometimes making babies.

Oh shit.

When the memory hit him Dean nearly choked on his burger. He took a quick swig of his beer to wash it down and turned wide, shocked eyes on his brother across the table.

"We made another one," he said, watching Sam's face for confirmation.

And there it was, that little furrowed brow thing that told him he was right.

"That's what Cas said," Sam agreed.

"But Sarah died," he felt the catch in his throat, and suddenly he was looking up at Sam through a film of tears.

Sam stared.

"How can you know that?" he asked. "You were unconscious. Cas brought your body back to the motel and you were unconscious the whole time. He told me Sarah had died but he was still trying to save the baby. Then he just left. That was yesterday."

"I was with her, Sam," Dean's memory was of a sunny field, being there with Sarah, and she was calling him Dad and saying goodbye. "Death was there, and she - she just went with him."

Sam's brow furrowed deeper and he took a deep breath to steady himself, holding back the tears smarting in his own eyes.

"But she - " Sam's voice broke, and he took a long swallow of water before continuing. "She was supposed to save the world. Castiel said everything counted on her and the baby. That was the whole point."

Dean shrugged, defeat etched in his features.

"I don't know," he was fighting back tears, his tone suddenly gruff. "I don't write the rules. I guess we fucked it up. Happens. With us, it happens a lot, as a matter of fact."

He picked up his burger, took another bite, trying to shake the crushing grief and sense of failure weighing down on him all of a sudden.

Sam's face was a mask of misery. Oh shit. He was NOT going to lose it. Sam was messy when he cried.

Dean leaned across the table, lowering his voice.

"Get it together, Sammy, you hear me? We'll get through this. We still have each other, which is more than we had six months ago. And I'm telling you, that ain't nothin'."

Sam nodded, took another deep breath, another sip of water.

"Yeah, OK," he agreed.

"Now, when we get back to the motel, we'll see if we can get ahold of Cas, find out what happened," Dean spoke as much to calm himself as Sam, and it worked. They both felt better, having a plan, taking it one step at a time, the way they always did.

But when they got back and tried calling Castiel, the angel did not appear. Not then, not later when they decided to get back on the road and start hunting again.

In fact, another month went by before they had any sign from the angel.

Sam's nightmares of Hell were making it hard for Dean to get any rest. Every night he awoke to the sounds of his brother's anguished cries and wild thrashing, and it took real effort to wake him, so that by the time Dean had managed to calm Sam down again he was wide awake, usually with a couple of fresh bruises from Sam's flailing fists.

One night he tried something new. Instead of shaking and yelling at Sam to get him to wake up, he climbed into the bed next to him, wrapped his arms and legs around Sam and held him tight, the way he did when they were kids.

"Come on, Sammy, it's OK, I've got you," he soothed as he used all his strength to hold down the flailing limbs and avoid getting head-butted, murmuring over and over into Sam's ear.

And it worked. Sam's sweating body finally calmed, his breathing returned to normal and he fell back into a deep, dreamless sleep.

At first Dean would wait until that happened, then carefully disentangle himself and return to his own bed, figuring both of them would get more sleep in their own space.

But after Sam's second and third bout of nightmares in one night, Dean figured it was easier - and less exhausting - just to stay wrapped around his brother for the night. And it worked. As long as Dean was there, crushed up against Sam's massive body, chin wedged into Sam's shoulder, arms and legs entwined, Sam slept peacefully.

And, blessedly, so did Dean.

It was a little awkward in the morning, when Sam finally woke up for real to find his brother in his bed, and at first Dean tried to make himself wake up first, got up before Sam even knew he had been there.

But after the first couple of mornings of waking to find Sam's hazel eyes gazing into his, then looking away quickly as he rolled over to stretch, never saying a word - Dean just let it go. Sam knew he had nightmares, never talked about it, and Dean figured he was doing both of them a favor anyway, making sure they could get a good night's sleep.

The fact that he had never accepted Sam's comforting when Dean was the one having nightmares after his own time in Hell - well, that was just the way it was between them. Dean was the big brother. He kept his own shit to himself, took care of his own recovery from the horrors of his fucked-up life.

He couldn't admit to himself, and thank God Sam never suggested it, but spooning with his brother in sleep was healing him too, in ways he didn't want to think about. It got easier to slip into Sam's bed every night, so that after a week or two he didn't even bother to wait for the nightmare to wake him first; as soon as Sam was asleep, Dean climbed into bed beside him, pulling his brother's big body against him, curling himself around him.

Then came the night they just went to bed together, no questions asked.

The motel that night had only one room left, and it had only one king-sized bed. Rather than drive on down the road, looking for another motel, Dean took it, muttering something about sleeping on the floor.

But when it came time for bed, after supper and showers and gun-cleaning and t.v., Dean lay down first, then patted the bed next to him.

"It's big enough for both of us," he said to Sam. For once, he didn't add, but Sam knew.

So Sam lay down on his back next to Dean and Dean turned away from him onto his side, reveling in the space he had to move for once.

But as he started to drift off to sleep, he felt Sam move and let out a sigh, and before he had time to think about what he was doing Dean turned over and scooted closer, pressing himself against Sam's warm body, sliding one arm across his massive chest and slipping his leg between Sam's.

Sam made a small sound like a gasp and stiffened. His chest rose as he took a deep breath and held it.

Dean reached up and ran his hand along Sam's cheek.

"Go to sleep, Sammy," he murmured into Sam's shoulder, and Sam exhaled with a rush of air, his chest contracting under Dean's arm.

Dean was almost asleep when he felt Sam's hand on his arm, moving lightly along it to anchor him to Sam's chest. Then he felt warm lips against his forehead and he almost moved away but it felt so good, so comforting, and he was almost asleep, so he allowed the kiss.

And Sam knew it.

* * *
In the morning they got up as usual and moved on, minds focused on the hunt and the work at hand.

But they never slept apart again, and that was just the way it was between them.

And gradually, Sam's nightmares stopped. And although there was no longer any real reason for them to sleep together anymore, it was unspoken between them that they still would. It was comfortable and easy now to just lie down together, one of them reading or watching t.v. while the other one drifted off to sleep. Sometimes Sam brought his laptop to bed, and Dean woke in the night curled up against his brother, who had fallen asleep sitting up with Dean's arm flung across his lap, the computer having slid off onto the bed beside him.

Other times he woke up a little as Sam spooned him from behind, and he curled into Sam's warm body, not even minding the boner pressed against his ass.

Or at least, able enough to ignore it so he could get some sleep.

And even when Sam started humping him in his sleep - sighing his name into the back of Dean's neck, moaning as he rubbed his erection between Dean's ass cheeks - OK, it turned him on a little, till he was rubbing himself through his shorts, then reaching inside to get a grip on himself so he could come as Sam groaned out his own orgasm.

And then came the night Sam's hand slipped over his as he was gripping his dick and time stopped for a moment, Dean's body tense with need, Sam breathing into his neck, pressed hard against him. And then Dean let him take his dick and jerk him off as he covered Sam's big hand with his own, gasping as Sam's lips moved along the beck of his neck, then his teeth sank into his shoulder as his orgasm wracked him and he cried Sam's name, his mind flooding instantly with sense memories of sex with Sam.

The next night when it happened again, he let Sam grind against his ass, so that they came together, just like they used to do when they were kids.

And at the last minute, as his orgasm was already waning and Sam was pulsing the last drops from his softening dick, he reached around to cup Sam's neck, twisting his face up so Sam could reach his mouth. Soft, sweet, nothing too deep or with enough tongue to really get them going again. Just enough of a kiss to let Sam know it was OK. They were OK.

And the next night, when Dean woke with Sam's erection pressed against his ass and Sam's lips leaving a trail of tender kisses along his neck, behind his ear, Dean turned his face up and parted his lips, offering his mouth to his brother.

The kiss was deep, slow and sensual, Sam's long fingers holding Dean's jaw, Dean turning onto his back and into Sam's arms, Sam's lips leaving his only to move along his cheek, Dean's head thrown back so Sam could kiss his exposed throat, then capture his mouth again for another long, slow tongue-twining. Sam's big hands moved gently down his body, exploring the sensitive skin along his sides, under his tee-shirt, across his chest, thumbing his nipples, all the while kissing his mouth so slow and deep. And Dean was so sleepy he allowed it, even admitted to himself that it felt really, really good, just lying there with Sam's big body moving against his, his long fingers pushing up his tee-shirt till Sam had to release his mouth long enough to get his shirt off, and Dean lay still, barely breathing as Sam looked at him, his eyes shining in the darkened room, his long hair shadowing his face. Dean felt exposed then, slightly embarrassed as Sam studied him, Sam's breath becoming ragged as he gazed at his brother's bare skin. But he let Sam lean down to capture his lips again, kissing his reassurance into Sam's mouth, feeling his pulse race as Sam kissed down his jawline to the sensitive skin behind his ear. He closed his eyes as Sam's lips skimmed down his neck to his collarbone, then across to the hollow of his clavicle and down his chest, taking first one nipple, then the other into his mouth, sucking and licking each into sensitive little peaks. And Sam's warm hand was moving down his belly, and he was so hard, needing this - needing Sam - and Sam was pushing his shorts down, and his big hand was wrapped firmly around his erection, and then his mouth was there, warm and wet and so, so good, and Sam was fisting his cock and letting him fuck his mouth while Sam held his hips and Dean thrust his hands into Sam's hair, holding on as if for dear life as he came and came and came in his brother's mouth and he all but blacked out with the intensity of it, and the last thing he knew was his limp dick slipping from Sam's mouth and Sam sliding up the bed to hold him as he drifted off to sleep, murmuring Sam's name.

* * *
The morning after this they were a little shy around each other. They both got up and showered, packed, breakfasted and got the car ready without talking much, and they were already on the road, headed to their next hunt, when Castiel appeared.

Dean noticed him first, sitting stock still in the back seat, Castiel's trademark sexy stare gazing at him in the rearview mirror.

Dean started, nearly running off the road, and Sam whirled around, ready to attack.

"Jesus, Cas!" Dean exploded. "You can't do that while I'm driving!"

Castiel just looked at him in the rearview mirror, accusation in his blue eyes, and Dean hit the steering wheel with the flat of his hand.

"I mean it, Cas, you can't keep showing up every time - "

"You had sex," Castiel announced, finishing Dean's sentence and sounding hurt, so that Dean couldn't answer, just pursed his lips and looked away at the road in front of him.

"Dean, you and your brother - "

"Shut up, Cas!" Sam interrupted. "It's none of your business. And if it's any consolation, he loves you too."

Dean glanced daggers at his brother.

"What the hell, Sam!"

"Well, it's true!" Sam insisted. "You call out his name sometimes, when you're sleeping."

"Shut up, Sam!" Dean shouted. "Doesn't mean anything!"

"So how come you have a hard-on when you - "

"I am so beating the shit out of you when we get where we're going," Dean gritted.

"You can try," Sam muttered smugly, and Dean shot another glare at him.

"And you!" Dean glared at Castiel, whose face had relaxed into that sexy look again, in the rearview mirror. "You need to get out of my car, man. I can't handle this right now!"

"I have news," Castiel said quietly.

Dean's face contorted into a myriad of expressions before he finally gained enough control to speak again.

"What?" he demanded.

"I cannot tell you," Castiel said. "But I can SHOW you."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean demanded.

But Dean let Castiel direct them to a farmhouse down a side-road about ten miles on, and Dean drove them there, shooting heated glares at Castiel in the rearview mirror and ignoring Sam's reassuring pat on his shoulder. Sam touched him more now, and he wasn't sure that he was comfortable with that yet. It made him feel soft.

When they reached the farmhouse, it seemed to be deserted. No other vehicles in sight except an old tractor way out in the field, obviously long-abandoned.

Castiel led them up the front steps of the wide porch, where a swing hung and a flower pot held fresh flowers. Not abandoned, then.

Dean reached for the doorknob, but Castiel shook his head.

"We should knock," he said, and the way he said it made Dean think of the many times lately when Castiel had barged in on him and Sam without knocking.

So he knocked, frowning at Castiel, aware of Sam grinning at him because he was thinking the same thing.

For a moment they heard nothing, no sound from inside the house and outside only the birds singing.

But then came the sound of feet pounding down the stairs from the second floor, and a weirdly familiar voice calling "I got it!"

Then the door opened, and time stopped.

Standing in the doorway, looking disheveled and sexy as sin, if he had just got up and pulled a shirt on, was Sam. Or at least something that looked like Sam.

Dean took a step back, slamming into his brother, who was standing right behind him and staring with the same shocked look on his face as the other Sam.

Dean's immediate reaction, to pull a gun or reach for holy water or a demon blade, was only stopped by the appearance of a second figure behind Fake Sam, clambering down the stairs from the second floor, also in a state of undress and obvious bed-headedness.

Fake Dean.

What the hell!

For a moment, both sets of Sam and Dean stared at each other. Then Dean sprang into action, whipping out his gun and leaping forward to pin Fake Sam against the wall, pushing the barrel up under his chin. He felt Sam manhandling Fake Dean in the same manner, heard Sam bellow "Who the hell are you?" as he slammed Fake Dean against the other wall.

Fake Sam and Fake Dean didn't resist, just raised their hands in surrender.

"It's OK, guys," Fake Dean gritted out as Sam pushed his forearm against his windpipe, threatening to cut off his airflow.

"It's not what you think!" Fake Sam choked out as Dean shoved his gun hard into Fake Sam's jaw.

"Then what the hell is it? Huh?" Dean demanded. "If you're not shape shifters, then what are you?"

Castiel's deep voice cut the tension like a knife, sending shivers up Dean's spine.

"They are your sons, Dean," he said. "This is their home. We have traveled into a time portal, and in here it is the year 2036. This is John," he gestured at Fake Dean, who nodded as well as he could with Sam's arm pushed into his throat, "and this is Henry."

Fake Sam nodded. "Hey," he choked out.

Dean shot a wild look at Castiel. "What the hell, Cas?"

"If you will allow your sons to speak, I believe they can explain," Castiel said quietly, and something in his tone convinced Dean that he spoke the truth. Or maybe it was the way the two Fakes were dressed, which was geeky and formal and altogether not cool but more expensive than he and Sam ever dressed. Not to mention Fake Sam had a scruff which looked manicured, for godssake. Sam had never grown facial hair. And Fake Dean's hair was long and girly. What the fuck!

Slowly, keeping his gun trained on Fake Sam the whole time, Dean loosened his grip on "Henry" and backed up a step, and Sam did the same, cautiously releasing Fake Dean - John - who rubbed his throat, glancing apprehensively from Sam to Dean to Castiel.

"OK," Dean said. "Somebody want to explain what's going on here? Besides Cas?"

Henry and John exchanged glances.
"I think I can," Fake Sam - Henry - said carefully, glancing at Dean's gun. "But it might be easier if you put the gun down."

Dean frowned, not convinced, and Henry's brow furrowed in a look so much like Sam's it was scary.

"Please," Henry tried, holding Dean's gaze with Sam's most pleading expression. Dean's every instinct was to trust this man, but he didn't trust those instincts; too often in the past he had gotten himself in trouble exactly in that way.

Dean glanced at his brother, whose shrug said "I'm game if you are." So he sighed, lowering the gun and taking another step back.

"I'm gonna regret this," Dean muttered darkly, then glared first at Henry, then at John. "So you're our sons, huh? When did that happen?"

John lifted his eyebrows and glanced at Henry, who seemed to be the one in charge.

"Sarah was our mother," Henry explained gently.

"Wait, what?" Sam's confusion was obvious. "I thought Sarah died."

Henry lowered his eyes for a moment, then nodded. "She died giving birth to us," he spoke softly, raising his eyes to Sam, then to Dean again. "We're twins. And yes, John is named after your father. I'm the oldest, so I'm named for John's father."

Dean looked up at Henry, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "You're the oldest? But I thought you just said you were twins."

Henry and John exchanged glances, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"What?" Dean glared. "And how can you be twins? You don't even look alike."

"Dean, they're fraternal twins, not identical," Sam said gently. "Henry was delivered first, so he's the oldest." He glanced at his double. "Kinda cool, actually."

Henry smiled, and Dean looked at John.

"So you're the baby brother, huh?" Dean noted. "Explains the hair."

John put his hand up and ran his fingers through his long, dark reddish-blond locks, sweeping them back self-consciously.
Castiel cleared his throat. "I have duties to perform," he announced. "Now that you seem to be on more convivial terms, I can leave you."

Dean shot him a desperate look. "What? You're leaving?"

"I will return in two hours, Dean," Castiel assured him. "I cannot leave you here longer than that without disturbing the space-time continuum. And you must stay inside this house during that time. Do you understand?"

"OK," Dean frowned. "But what the hell are we doing here, Cas?"

"I think I will leave that for your sons to explain, Dean. I will be back."

And with flutter of invisible wings, the angel was gone.

Henry cleared his throat.

"How about some breakfast?" he asked. "John and I were just about to have ours. Right, John?"

"Uh, yeah," John nodded. "Join us."

"John makes killer blueberry pancakes," Henry noted. He looked at Dean. "And I think we might have a little bacon around somewhere. Coffee too."

Still more than a little dazed and confused, Sam and Dean followed the younger men into the large, airy kitchen at the back of the house. The occupants obviously spent a lot of time in that room, which looked freshly remodeled and fully equipped. Dean stood helplessly as his double moved gracefully around the space, opening cupboards, pulling out dishes and pans, displaying an obvious flair for cooking that left Dean breathless.

Henry poured coffee, offering them both a cup.

"John's a master," Henry noted, and John's smile lit up his face. "He has a real talent for this stuff."

"I can see that," Dean agreed, watching John work. "This room is amazing."

"Yeah, we just finished remodeling," Henry said. "Trying to keep the old 19th Century farmhouse look with all the modern conveniences, ya know? It's a balance."

"Right." Dean gave Sam a wide-eyed look that said "This is so gay!"

Sam frowned at him, giving his head a little shake.

"So what do you do, Henry?" Sam asked his double.

Henry hesitated. "I can't say too much," he noted, "A lot of what we do is confidential. You guys understand. But I can tell you we do a lot of organic farming. It's hard work, but it keeps us fit. Beats sitting in a room all day with a screen."

Dean was still watching John, mesmerized by his double's skill and dexterity in this setting. Dean had never had a kitchen, and he was wondering what it would feel like to have such a creative hobby. He loved to eat, made sense he could learn to love cooking. Yeah, he could really see that.

As if reading his mind, John handed him a bowl full of eggs and a whisk.

"Here," John said, smiling at him. "You wanna whisk these for me?"

John demonstrated, and to his surprise Dean got the hang of it pretty quickly, and soon found himself assisting with other tasks, as John seemed to sense his natural talent.

Truth was, being in a kitchen was comforting in ways Dean didn't want to think too hard about. Made him think of his mom, and that was painful.

Sam watched his brother for a minute, then turned back to Henry.

"I'm guessing you guys aren't hunters," he said, and Henry smiled, lowering his eyes.

"Not like you guys," Henry agreed. "But we can hunt, if we have to. We had the training. It's just not all we do."

Henry hesitated again, searching for the right words.

"Look," he said, "I can't tell you everything, but you should know, things have turned out well for us. We have a good life. It's not all messed up and miserable and full of suffering. We don't die all the time. And we owe it to you two. We know that, and we're grateful."

Sam smiled, fidgeted a little, embarrassed.

"It's our job," Sam said with a slight shrug, then looked his double in the eye. "Hey, I know I'm not supposed to know the future, but have we met before? For you, I mean?"

Henry gave it away the split second before he lowered his eyes without answering.

"Good," Sam nodded. "Now I'll know not to kill you when I see a younger version of myself."

Henry barked out a laugh, then looked pensively at Sam.

"Now can I ask you something?" he said.

"Sure," Sam answered.

"What was she like? Mom, I mean." Henry's hazel eyes flickered with sadness.

Sam took a deep breath, looked away, thinking a minute, memories of the girl with strawberry blond hair flying around her surging in his head.

"Well," he began, "she was beautiful. Looked a lot like your brother, actually. Also a lot like our mother, although our mom died when I was a baby, so I only saw her when we were working a couple of cases later on."

Henry smiled. "I know what that's like," he muttered, and Sam realized Henry meant what was happening right now, and maybe that other time, still in Sam's future.

"Did she know about us?" Henry asked, and Sam nodded.

"She knew there would be one of you," Sam said. "I think she thought she might be the other one. But she also knew she might not make it. There had to be two offspring, according to the prophecy. After Sarah's death, we assumed we had failed. Until now, that is." He looked up at Henry, then glanced at John, demonstrating his pancake-flipping technique to Dean, who was clearly getting the hang of it. Dude had natural talent for cooking, that was clear.

Sam turned his gaze on Henry again. Henry's face was pulled tight in a mask of sorrow, missing the mother he never knew. Sam knew how that felt, and he touched the younger man gently, hand on shoulder.

"Hey, man," he spoke softly. "Your mom was incredibly brave. She traveled back in time to find us and fulfill the prophecy. She was amazing."

Henry's eyes filled, and suddenly Sam was enveloped in his own bear-hug, Henry's huge body engulfing his in a way few bodies ever could. It was strange to be hugged by someone his own size, but kinda comforting, too. Nice not being the biggest person in the room for once, he realized as he patted Henry's broad back.

"Hey," Dean called from across the room. "Enough with the chick-flick moment! Come eat yer breakfast!"

So they all sat down together, the two sets of brothers, and it was familiar and weird at the same time, especially when Dean finally realized what Sam had known the moment he saw their sons. John and Henry weren't just brothers. They stood too close all the time, sat too close at the breakfast table. They were always touching, smiling at each other. It was comfortable, easy, nothing embarrassing or obvious, but it shocked Dean so he pretended he didn't notice, even when John said something funny - hey, the guy had Dean's sense of humor! His charm! Dean was actually taking some pride in that! - and Henry reached up to tuck John's hair behind his ear, grinning affectionately at his brother.

Dean felt himself blush and look away, then he met Sam's eyes and saw that Sam knew and he blushed harder. 'Cause now he was hard all right.

"Hey, can I ask you guys something?" Sam said, and Henry nodded.

"Sure, man, what is it?"

Sam shifted, glanced at Dean, blew out a breath, and went for it.

"Well, you guys are obviously - together, right?"

Henry and John glanced at each other, then at their dads.

"Yeah, of course," Henry answered. He slipped his hand into John's and squeezed.

Dean flinched, and all eyes turned on him.

"Oh, I get it," John said, pulling his hand free so he could point at Dean. "You STILL aren't, are you? I read about this. You had some kind of hang-up about this."

Dean frowned in obvious discomfort, stammering "I don't - I don't -"

"Look, man, it's OK," John said, speaking only to Dean now. "You have issues with the whole brother thing. And you're not gay. But this isn't about that. OK? This is about family. About the bonds and the loyalty and the trust. It's what you do best, Dad, and you guys - hell, you've saved the world more times than I can count. You deserve to be together, to hell with the rest of the world, right?"

Dean stared at him, ready to burst forth with a lecture on how it was completely wrong for his son to talk to him about this stuff.

Then Sam interrupted.

"You read about this?" he repeated.

John turned his gaze to his other dad.

"Yeah, in those books," he nodded. "The ones on-line. Years ago. We were teenagers. It's how we figured out what was happening to us."

"Wait, you mean the Supernatural books?" Sam frowned. "There's nothing in those books about our relationship - not THIS side of it, anyway."

"Not the Supernatural books," Henry jumped in. "It was an anthology of fan fiction, I think."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Oh, THAT stuff. Oh god."
"Yeah, but it's TRUE," John insisted. "It helped us figure out why we were so crazy for each other. Plus, it's in the family. Right, Hen?"

Henry nodded. "You guys know about that, right? Sibling bonding is a tradition with the Campbells and the Winchesters. Even grandma Sarah was a child of it."

"Sarah? The FIRST Sarah?" Sam clarified. "What do you mean? We thought her family was killed by demons when she was a child."

Henry nodded again. "The Rameys adopted Sarah as an infant," he explained, "after her birth mother was killed, also by a demon. Sarah Ramey's birth mother was a Winchester."

Sam and Dean exchanged shocked glances.

"What? You mean - " Dean's eyes widened as he took in what Henry was telling him. "God, that is just seven kinds of crazy. What was she, my cousin?"

"Your half-sister, actually," John grinned at him, clearly enjoying Dean's discomfort. "Your Dad met Sarah's mother on a hunt in Indiana while you two were pretty small. It was one of the first times he left you alone and in charge, Dean."

Dean gaped at him, then clutched his stomach.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," he choked out, and instantly Sam's strong arms were there, supporting him, rubbing his back.

"It's OK, Dean," Sam soothed. "Just breathe."

"Get off me!" Dean pushed him away, lurching to his feet, still clutching his stomach. "I'm serious! I'm gonna throw up! Where's the bathroom?"

Dean stumbled off down the hall, following Henry's directions, leaving the others in stunned silence.

Sam took a breath.

"This is weird for him," Sam said apologetically. "And he's pretty used to weird. He'll adjust." But he didn't sound too convinced.

Henry smiled sympathetically.

"It'll all work out, Sam," he said. "Just be patient. Destiny always does its thing, as a wise man once said."

And Sam had a pretty good idea who that wise man was.

A flutter of wings told them Castiel had returned, exactly on schedule.

"Where is Dean?" he asked, and Sam realized there was one more question he needed answered.

"He'll be back in a minute," Sam said as Dean staggered back into the room, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His face was ashen, but when he saw Castiel he seemed genuinely relieved. Castiel frowned, and the angel and the man locked gazes for a moment longer than necessary, making everyone else in the room feel more than a little voyeuristic.

"Wow," John breathed finally. "You two so need to get a room."

Dean and Castiel both glared at him, but he wasn't done.

"Sorry for you, Sam," John said. "I can see you've got your hands full."

Dean raised his finger, taking a step forward to point it into the younger man's face.

"You know, I have had just about enough outta you," Dean growled. "You think just because I wasn't around while you were growing up you can talk to your father that way?"

John's face broke into a huge grin.

"Yeah, I do, actually," he said. "It's not like it's a terrible sin or anything. So you and the angel are in love. You and Sam are in love. It's not a big deal. You have a big heart, Dad. You can handle it. All of it."

Dean stared, speechless. Castiel took a step closer so that his shoulder almost brushed Dean's as he stared at John.

"How can you know this?" Castiel asked, his frown softening into a bemused expression.

John shrugged.

"I'm a simple man," he said, raising his palms to them. "I say it how I see it."

Then he winked at Sam.

"It's time to go," Castiel said, glancing at Henry, then back at John. "I cannot hold this portal open much longer. Sam and Dean need to return to their own time."

Henry was on his feet then, moving toward Sam, holding his hand out. Sam took it, then pulled his son in for a hug.

"I'm glad I met you," Sam said, feeling the tears sting his eyes. He turned to John, pulled him in for a hug next. "Both of you. You two give us hope. I can't tell you what that means."

Henry nodded, brushing the tears off his cheeks.

"Yeah," he nodded. "You hang in there, Sam, OK? It's gonna get better. Worse for awhile maybe, but better eventually. I promise."

Sam nodded.

"Thanks for that," he clapped Henry on the shoulder, then stepped back to let Dean say his goodbyes.

Dean stuck his hand out, and Henry clasped it in both of his own.

"You two take care of each other, ya hear?" Dean said gruffly, and Henry nodded.

"You too, Dad," he sniffed, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

Dean turned to John, offering his hand, and John took it, a look of awe in his green eyes.

"You'll always be my hero, Dad," John said with real sincerity, making Dean flush with pride. As he released his hand John said, "Don't stop cooking. You have real talent there."

"OK," Dean nodded. "I won't."

Dean and Sam turned to Castiel, who was already at the front door, waiting for them. As Castiel opened the door, passing ahead of them over the threshold and onto the porch outside, Dean turned to look back at his sons, standing together in the dining room doorway, Henry's arm across John's shoulders, John accepting the easy closeness of his brother's body like a warm blanket on a cold night.

Sam had stopped to look back too, and Dean could feel his brother's warmth all up and down his back, almost touching him, but still keeping that tiny practiced distance that everyone else noticed but him.

But he was getting there.

"Just tell me one thing," Dean said, and Henry's eyebrows shot up apprehensively. "Did we do it? In the end, did we kick ass?"

Henry's face relaxed into a smile, but it was John who answered.

"Yeah, Dad, you did. You really did."

Dean nodded, satisfied, turning away then. And Sam turned too, in perfect synchronicity, so that as they stepped across the threshold the brothers were perfectly in step, Sam in the lead.

Epilogue:

On the way to the motel the brothers were silent. Castiel had left them as soon as they were safely out of the house, which resumed its former existence as an empty, abandoned place. It was already getting dark when they pulled into the parking lot, time functioning differently here where it was much later than it had been at the farm.

Once they were checked in Sam picked up his laptop and went to work researching cases, and Dean went out to pick up some burgers and a six-pack or two. When he got back Sam had some likely leads for weird activity in a nearby town, and they talked about it for awhile as Dean ate the burgers and they shared the beer.

Then Sam took a shower while Dean watched a little t.v., propped up in bed with one arm curled behind his head. When he came out, dressed only in sweatpants and a tee-shirt, Dean was asleep, still dressed, lying on his back on top of the covers, t.v. still on. Sam turned the t.v. off, climbed into his own bed, pulled the covers up, took one last look at Dean, got up and took the bedspread off his bed so he could cover his brother, then climbed back into his own bed and turned out the light.

"Goodnight, Dean," he murmured into the gloom, and was rewarded by the sound of his brother shifting a little on the other bed and letting out a small grunt.

Sometime in the night Sam felt the familiar weight of his brother's body curling up against him, pushing him onto his side to make room for both of them on the small bed. He curled up to allow Dean's body to spoon his, reached back to pull Dean's arm up against his chest, touched bare skin and realized that Dean had gotten up and undressed while Sam slept. The hotness of Dean's naked body against his just about undid him; he took a shuddering breath and moaned low in his throat and then gasped as Dean's lips pressed against the back of his neck. Dean's hand moved down to the edge of his shirt, then up under it, exploring Sam's naked chest, smoothing his blunt fingers through the hair there, lightly caressing Sam's nipples, making Sam gasp again, his hips shoving back against Dean's erection. Dean's hand moved down to the waistband of Sam's sweatpants and then under it, and Sam had to turn his head into his pillow to stifle a loud groan as Dean's hand wrapped around his bursting erection, thumb skimming along the slit, smearing the moisture there over the sensitive head. Dean's tongue touched his ear, then his teeth pulled Sam's earlobe between them and bit down, not too hard, just enough to elicit another loud groan. Sam was moving uncontrollably now, thrusting his cock into Dean's hand, his mouth finding the soft skin of Dean's other arm where he had he slipped it under Sam's head, pillowing it as Dean kissed along Sam's jaw to the edge of his mouth, then dipped his tongue in. Dean's hand was in his hair, holding his head so he could angle in for his mouth, and then they were kissing, and Sam was on fire with Dean's tongue teasing his, kissing in that electric, perfect way that was tight and teasing, plunging his tongue into his mouth, then pulling back to nibble and suck his lips. No wonder all the girls wanted to kiss Dean. He made an art of it, taking his time, sensitive lips caressing back along his cheek to his ear, then nuzzling into the sensitive skin behind, pushing his nose into Sam's hair, breathing in Sam's smell.

When Dean pulled his hand away from Sam's aching cock Sam turned almost onto his stomach so he could grind himself into the mattress, moaning as Dean's hand slid across Sam's hip, down between their bodies to find Sam's hole, pushed the end of one blunt finger just past the tight muscle of his rim. Sam cried out, rocking back against Dean's hand, then he felt Dean's lips whisper against his ear.

"Is this what you want, Sam?"

Sam gasped, "You know it is."

Then Dean's hand was gone, reaching around behind him.

For a moment Sam was confused, and he left off grinding into the bed so he could roll back over to see what Dean was doing. When he saw the little tube of lube he closed his eyes, lust wracking his frame. The thought of Dean buying a tube of lubricant was nearly the end of him, and he had to clench his teeth to keep from coming all over himself, untouched.

Then Dean was pushing him onto his side again, slipping a lubed finger into his ass, and that was all it took. His orgasm was blinding, soaking the sheets under him, shaking his body to the core, making his throat sore with the growling sound that ripped out of his very soul.

Dean kept his finger inserted deeply as Sam's orgasm spent itself, riding it out with his mouth pressed against his ear, murmuring, "That's it, Sammy, that's it."

Afterwards, they lay still for a good while, breathing together. The enormity of the step they had just taken, the knowledge that they were obviously on the road to something new, hit Sam like a ton of bricks, and when Dean got up to move to the other bed, pulling Sam with him, Sam was shaking.

But he knew better than to push it. Tonight was different. Baby steps, Henry had said, but somehow Sam had never let himself really think too much about where this was going.

Until now.

But Dean was laying Sam down on his side, climbing into the bed behind him to spoon him again, and for a few minutes they just lay there, comfortably pressed together.

But Sam couldn't sleep.

Dean let out a soft breath against Sam's neck and Sam knew he was awake too. He scooted back against Dean's body, feeling his erection pressed against Sam's bare ass, and it suddenly struck him that they were really going to do this. Dean was going to fuck him. In the ass.

A long, low moan rose up out of his chest, and his entire body shuddered with need. Dean's hand slipped across his belly and found his dick, fisting him, and his skin was still so sensitive it was almost painful, but in a good way.

"You ever done this before?" Dean's low voice was like a drug, his breath sending shivers up Sam's spine as he breathed into Sam's ear.

"Yeah," Sam choked out. "With Ruby."

Dean froze, and Sam sucked in his breath and held it.

Shit. He had to go and ruin the whole moment by mentioning that demon bitch.

He lay still, trying not to grind himself into Dean's hand, waiting for Dean to say something.

"Ruby fucked you in the ass?"

Dean could be so blunt sometimes.

"Yeah," Sam grunted, turning his head so he could meet Dean's eyes.

Dean was frowning, still holding Sam's dick, teetering between disgust and fascination.

"She knew I wanted you, Dean," Sam rushed to explain. "She got inside my head. I think she thought it was funny. She pretended she was you. It was completely fucked-up, man."

Dean stared at him, then gently released Sam's softening dick.

"Well, that spoils the mood," he muttered, but he didn't move away, didn't get up and go sleep on the couch. Still stayed, pressed against Sam's body on the small bed.

Sam turned toward him so he was on his back, looking up with desperation in his eyes.

"Dean, I'm sorry," he said. "I fucked up, I know I did. I thought I was doing the right thing, going after Lilith, making her pay for what she did to you. I was wrong, and I see that now. And I paid for it, Dean. Those months in Hell with Lucifer, I've paid for those mistakes, man."

Dean's eyes softened, and he brushed the hair back from Sam's face, letting his fingers twine in the long dark strands, linger there.

"I know you have, Sam," he murmured. "Believe me, I know. I'm just a little freaked out at the thought of you and Ruby, of her doing that to you. Somehow I was figuring I might be the first, y'know?"

Sam relaxed. Dean didn't hate him, didn't find the whole thing disgusting. He just wanted it to be special.

Sam reached up and ran his hand along Dean's jaw, loving the rough feel of his stubble against Sam's fingertips.

"Remember when you came back from Hell, and you said your body was like new? All your old scars gone, old bone-breaks completely healed?" Sam said.

Dean nodded.

Sam smiled. "You said you'd been re-hymenated, remember? You were all excited about being a virgin again."

Dean's lips curled in a grin, clearly enjoying the memory of his own joke.

"Yeah, I remember," he said.

Sam waited to see if Dean would get his meaning, watched as realization dawned on his brother's handsome face.

"Oh, so you're saying you think the same thing happened to you? So what, now you're a virgin again?"

Sam shrugged. "Weirder things have happened, right?"

"Yeah, and they usually do," Dean agreed, but he seemed suddenly very happy, which made Sam all warm and fuzzy inside.

"Well, I guess that explains why you couldn't hold your wad when I stuck my finger up your ass," Dean smirked, then ducked as Sam swung at him playfully.

"Jesus, Dean," Sam protested as Dean flung his leg over Sam's waist and grabbed his wrists to pin him to the mattress.

And although Sam was bigger and stronger and could easily have twisted out of Dean's grasp, he let his brother hold him down, lay still as Dean gazed down at him, really looking at him for the first time, his eyes moving down his broad chest to his dick, back up to meet his eyes again.

And although it made Sam uncomfortable to be the object of his brother's rapt attention, it was also a huge turn-on, so he tolerated Dean's silent perusal with a hot blush warming his cheeks.

"Jesus, Sam, you are a piece of work," Dean muttered. "Like a fuckin' Playgirl centerfold."

"Shut up." Sam turned his face into his own arm, closing his eyes to shut out the sight of his brother's hungry look. He felt Dean lean down, felt the warmth of his breath against his cheek as Dean whispered into his ear.

"Gonna fuck you now, Sammy."

And he did, true to his word, as always.

And when Dean came deep inside his brother's body, tensing as his orgasm wracked his body, Sam thought he had never seen anything more beautiful than Dean's flushed face, green eyes half-lidded, full-red lips taking deep, ragged breaths as if coming up for air after a deep-sea dive. His brother had always been beautiful to him, but at this moment there was nothing Sam would put before this; there was no moment more perfect.

I will love you till the day I die, Dean Winchester, Sam thought silently, watching as his brother's eyes, still all blissed out and hazy, struggled to focus, smiled faintly at him as he collapsed on Sam's chest. And if Heaven is anything like we've already seen, I've got an eternity to love you, even after all this is over.

Sam held Dean's body against him as his brother drifted into sleep, tucking Dean's head under his chin as he wrapped his arms around him, reaching down at the last moment to pull blankets up around them before drifting off into his own blissful sleep, filled with dreams of Dean.

And just before he lost consciousness, Sam felt his brother's lips press against his chest and heard Dean's voice, deep and sure, murmur into his skin.

"'Night, Sammy."

* * *

They were both sleeping soundly when the angel appeared, standing quietly in the corner of the room to watch over them as they slept, dreamless and safe in the comfort of each others' arms, the dark shadows hiding him from view even if one of them had awakened at that moment to see the blue eyes watching, wanting and needing and hoping and loving.

Always.