Word from the Author: Lost and alone, now that Sam's left for college, Dean does what he can to make up for the gaping wound where his heart used to be.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, the concepts or the characters. Or, for that matter, Jared Padalecki or Jensen Ackles. Especially with the whole abolishment of slavery thing we've got going…
Part I
Absence Makes
Whoever said absence makes the heart grow fonder had seriously fucked things up, Dean thought morosely, as he contemplated the miles that now stretched long and far between him and his brother.
As far as Dean was concerned his heart wasn't any fonder than it had ever been given these first few months since Sam had decided that he was really, truly, honest to God, leaving. If anything, Dean's heart was feeling a little desperate.
Maybe that's what drove him to this place. For all intents and purposes, it looked like a cheap, run-of-the-mill bar, which most of the time would've held a certain appeal to Dean anyway. In those kinds of dumps people didn't usually take note of you as closely as they did in the 'upper-class' places, and for almost as long as he could remember anonymity had been a close friend of his.
It was anonymity along with a good helping of that same desperation that had brought him here tonight.
The purr of the Impala was as soothing as ever, as he pulled up into a free parking space a little off from the entrance way. He needed to keep her a safe distance from it, just in case any brawling should ensue. He'd discovered something of a trend for that happening around the doors of places – something about taking up as much space, and being as great an encumbrance as was possible.
Twirling his baby's keys on one finger, Dean nonchalantly headed inside. The acrid smell of smoke, alcohol and old sweat hit him as soon as he opened the door; he could feel the base of music just a notch too loud to be properly heard thrum through him as he walked deeper and deeper into its midst.
He didn't come here often, only when he felt the need. And he'd felt it particularly strongly after his latest brush with death.
See, the thing is, normally, or rather as normal as they'd been back when Sam had accepted their family as it was, all Dean would have needed was Sam's quiet presence, the rhythmic sound of his breathing, the heat he seemed to radiate from even feet away. And it's not like Dean ever went further than that.
Basically, this absence thing? Really wasn't doing Dean any favours.
All those things had become staples for him, the things that kept him going, the things that told him Sam was alive, and safe, and okay. But most of all, that he was there with Dean, by his side, where he was meant to be.
Dean couldn't help but wonder whether he hadn't properly appreciated all these little things. Because sure, he'd whined and bitched about a lot of them, countless of times, but that never meant he'd ever wanted any of it to just go away.
Pausing as he surveyed the scene before him, Dean pondered that maybe that's what the whole absence thing was about. Not fondness, per se, but epiphany.
You don't know what you got 'til it's gone.
And all that sort of sentiment they sing about in songs.
Still, there was hardly anything Dean could do to change the fact that Sam wasn't here anymore. That Sam had made his choice – to not stay by Dean's side.
Which brought him back to reality; this bar was one Dean had happened upon purely by chance. It was pretty isolated. One might even say for good reason. For one, it tended to cater to slightly eclectic tastes.
Now, it wasn't so much eclectic that Dean was seeking. No, it was something entirely different. Someone, in fact. Because what he'd found here that first time, had become scarily addictive. Almost to the same extent that Dean was addicted to Sam, himself. Only, Sam, Dean knew, he couldn't have. Whereas this stranger, with his uncanny resemblance to his brother, let Dean have all he wanted.
It was sick, it was wrong. Dean knew. But what addiction wasn't? There were worse paths Dean could have taken. At least this way, no one was getting hurt. Unless Dean asked for it, that is.
"Jared," Dean murmured as he came up behind the man.
"Dean," he replied, just as softly.
Dean was happy to note that Jared looked pleased to see him. Bolstered by the smooth smile, Jared sent his way, Dean slid into the seat next to him, offering to buy him a drink.
Jared languidly nodded his agreement; after all, Dean already knew what he liked.
They drank in silence for some time. It was comfortable even though, Dean thought, it really shouldn't have been.
The simple fact that it was, though? Was probably a bad sign, one that seemed to indicate that Dean was already getting too used to this. To them. To what they were going to do.
It seemed as though the time for pleasantries had passed. Their drinks together had become something of a ritual before they got down to the main course, and dessert, of course.
"Ready?" Jared asked, his tone muted under the heavy, chaotic sounds of the bar.
"Yeah," Dean breathed, already more than. Standing quickly, Dean headed out first, the feel of Jared's intense gaze burning along his back reassurance enough that Jared was right behind him.
The chilled night breeze kissed his skin as he shoved his way outside, while a slight shiver traversed his skin, raising goose-bumps and prickling the hair at the nape of his neck in response to the change in temperature. The muggy, humidity of the bar's interior seemed mildly oppressive in comparison, and he was glad to escape it, if only so he could breathe.
He headed straight to the pickup that was Jared's pride and joy. Personally, Dean thought it had nothing on his own baby, but he wasn't about to voice that thought aloud – not if he wanted any. And want he did.
Jared silently unlocked his truck, chucking Dean the keys to do the same on his side, this too having become custom.
It took about ten minutes to get to the motel that had become habit for them to frequent. It was cheap, but serviceable. Then again, Dean's only interest was in getting Jared naked and in him as fast as was humanly possible.
Jared took care of everything at the counter, while Dean shifted anxiously from foot to foot. He wanted Jared's big, strong, warm hands all over him, hands also oddly reminiscent of his brother's. Hands so similar that if he didn't look too closely at the lack of scars, and the much tidier nails, he could easily pretend they were the hands he really wanted, hands that would never touch him no matter how he longed to be touched.
Heading to the room, always the same room if it was available, their roles were reversed; Dean stalking sedately behind and a pace to left from Jared, his lowered eyes covertly burning their own trails along Jared's admittedly impressive form.
It wasn't so much that Dean was truly submissive. It was more that, sometimes, what he needed was to be able to hand over control, to let someone else drive. And if Dean had a deep, dark secret, it would be that the one Dean wanted more than anything to give himself up to was his baby brother, who in the last few years had grown so tall that he appeared to tower over Dean's smaller stature, his baby brother who had rapidly lost baby fat, gaining solid, dense muscle mass in its place.
But just as the changes had started to come, just as Dean had begun to see an edge in the way Sam looked at him, smiled at him, sometimes with a touch of wildness that made him seem even larger than life, just as all these signs that Sam just might become all that Dean desired him to be presented themselves, they came to a shuddering halt. As if Dean were cursed with misfortune, the transformation never came to pass.
Balancing on the precipice, Sam had looked into the abyss and had simply turned heel and left. Leaving Dean floating in darkness, alone, stranded, and unfulfilled. With nothing but the vestiges of what could have been. If Sammy hadn't been such a damned coward.
Dean paused at the thought. That wasn't fair. Dean couldn't, shouldn't have expected more from Sam. After all, what Sammy wanted most of all was normality. Something Dean had next to no conception of. To Dean's mind, normality was overrated. In fact, to some extent, normality, Dean found, was often the face of evil.
Dean thought it a little sad that Sammy himself hadn't yet come to realize this, and that he too wished to change what he was not, for his own gains, by wearing a mask made to deceive. Dean was sure his brother's intentions were pure, but as they say, the path to hell is with good intentions paved.
Thoughts of Sammy swirled endlessly through Dean's mind as Jared opened the door for them. Closing it behind himself, Dean began to strip, quickly and efficiently.
Licking his lips in anticipation, Dean watched carefully as Jared slid his jacket and shirt off.
Because fuck, if he wasn't built just the same as Sammy.
With reverence in his fingers, and awe in his eyes, Dean approached the skin now bared to him. Rubbing tenderly at the smooth, silky warmth, Dean eventually couldn't resist its call for him to lean forward to taste it. Willingly, he went, before dropping to his knees to further follow the path of heat laid out so alluringly before him.
If there was one thing Dean regretted about these trysts, it was that, even though Jared was close enough to the real thing to sometimes deceive Dean's eyes, he didn't smell like Sammy. There was no musky smell of old books, or any hint of gun powder, or even the scent of the cheap, generic shampoos Sam seemed to prefer to use.
There was a likeness, certainly, but when Dean closed his eyes, it just wasn't enough. It was no longer Sam here with him, but a stranger in Sam's body. Or at least, that's how it seemed to Dean.
That's why Dean always kept his eyes open.
It was strange that that was the only way he could pretend that this was real, that this was more than its truth, more than make-believe. When Dean lived for each second, that was when it was easiest to fool himself, fool his body into accepting this when really, the only thing Dean wanted to let inside was Sammy. Turning each moment into a selection of stills, he found he didn't critique them as closely as he did when they stood as a whole in his mind.
Dean wasn't sure whether it was better or worse that he had nothing to compare them to.
Fingers nimble and sure, Dean eagerly unbuttoned Jared's jeans, not once glancing away from Jared's face as he did so.
Sam's face, Dean thought sadly, with a stranger's expression.
Despite the sometimes grating falsity, Dean couldn't help but drink up every sight and sound, hoarding each and every one. He'd survived on rations before, he could do so again.
In fact, people often bought prints, when they couldn't have the original, when the true masterpiece was just too far out of their reach. Sometimes it amazed Dean at how much like normal people he could sometimes be.
Then again, thinking about it rationally, Dean supposed that people didn't usually think of their younger siblings as masterpieces they couldn't afford, couldn't ever quite touch, not as they would if they owned them. Nor did people usually take someone who bore a striking resemblance to said masterpiece in their place.
So, in actual fact, Dean probably wasn't quite as normal as he might sometimes fear.
The slightly bitter taste of cock in his mouth was, undoubtedly, one such indication.
Curling his hands gently against powerful hips, all the better to fuck you with, Dean opened his mouth wide, swallowing as much as he could take. Before trying to take more still. He would've choked himself on it, if he could. He didn't think Jared would've appreciated that much though. Instead, he made do, as he was already so used to doing, with the scraps he was given.
His own cock was almost painfully hard, and dripping slightly, but Dean made no move to take it, simply moaned at the feeling of fullness, of heat and flesh against his tongue, the glorious ache of his jaw already setting in.
Ignoring his own arousal for the moment, vicariously enjoying Jared's in its place, Dean squeezed his hands in encouragement, giving tacit consent for Jared to thrust, as deep as he could.
So deep, Dean wished, that I'll taste it for days to come.
Jared didn't hesitate, hands lingering at Dean's temples. Calmly caressing, Jared thrust hard. Again, and again, and again, and again, steadily, continuously, never once breaking pace.
Dean just tried to keep breathing, all the way gazing up wondrously at the sight before him.
Sam, Dean whimpered around Jared's cock, vibrations echoing sharply along sensitive flesh.
It was odd to think that that name was the one that drove Jared to completion. It was ironic, in some ways, if not just a little poetic.
Dean swallowed convulsively, all the while trying to savour the taste, if only because in this, there was little more than Dean could do, other than speculate how close the flavour had bred true.
Rations, Dean thought. Imitations. Simulations. Nothing more.
It didn't stop Dean from rising from his knees, from kissing Jared long and deep and dirty, with his eyes wide open, and Jared's fluttering closed.
Breaking the kiss, Dean whispered, his head slightly bowed, "Need you in me."
Dean watched through lowered lashes as lust flared in those ridiculously green, oh god, Sammy, eyes.
"Lie down," he was instructed, in a tone that brooked no argument.
Not that Dean would've argued, not about something like that anyway. And so, obediently, Dean moved to the bed, lying on his back, and shamelessly spreading his legs wide. Almost immediately, Dean felt those giant hands on his calves folding him practically in half.
"Hold yourself for me," Jared ordered, his voice a deep rumble, and Dean's hands rose on command, gripping his own legs, so that he was completely exposed.
"Don't come."
Dean nodded his understanding. It had happened the first time, and every other time that Jared didn't tell him not to, as soon as those big, gorgeous fingers were up Dean's ass, he was gone.
The imperative, though, once pronounced, seemed to stick. And somehow Dean managed to ride it out, at least until there was something far bigger and better for him to ride in its stead.
Gasping, Dean quivered as he was breached, clenching hard at the intrusion automatically.
"Hush," Jared murmured, and Dean did, relaxing at the warmth, the desire in the sound. Stroking unhurriedly, Jared added more lube, before entering with a second finger, and scissoring expertly, all the while deliberately avoiding Dean's prostate.
Jared had made it something of a tradition, not to touch that spot except with his cock.
It's a special button that needs to be pushed in a special way, Jared had once smirked to him. Dean had simply laughed, not complaining in the least.
With the entrance of a third finger, Dean's breath hitched, and he found himself panting, begging as he wreathed helplessly, not once letting go of his legs, but still bucking up against those three fingers that were now a burning firestorm of promise inside him.
"Please?" Dean asked around a moan, his eyes shining with a myriad of emotions. Most of which were directed inward, to thoughts of Sam, of Sam here, Sam doing this, Sam's fingers inside him, Sam's cock to come. All Dean's thoughts were of Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam!
"Please!"
As Dean's voice broke on the word, the fingers withdrew, leaving him achingly empty, but also ready to be filled. With little more than a jagged shove, Jared pushed inside, Dean drawing him in. Legs now bent over broad shoulders, Dean's free hands wandered raggedly over Jared's face, gliding along his cheeks over his lips, into his hair, as Dean stared, his heart bursting, desperate for more.
Roughly Dean tugged Jared forward, lips and teeth and tongue begging to be consumed, all the while seeing nothing but Sam.
As Jared kissed him hard and hungry, viciously, deliciously, pounding into his waiting and willing body, Dean strained to keep his eyes open, to make this fantasy last.
It didn't, however. Not for that much longer.
Dean knew that what he was doing here was reckless, and stupid. But Dean was sometimes like that. And if this was the closest thing to having Sam inside him, to having some of Sam left inside him, Dean was going to take it, even if it killed him.
His mind filled with such thoughts, Dean screamed his rage at being denied the real thing, screamed wordlessly at Sam for not wanting him, for not loving him the way Dean loved Sammy. Screamed his release.
His heart howled its anguish in the form of the name imprinted deep within its folds. It howled its pain and fury, in complete disaccord with singing pleasure of his flesh.
As his orgasm ripped through him, Dean felt Jared come inside him.
It was the only real warmth in the moment where there was no love lost between them.
And it wasn't the first time that Dean wondered how long he could keep doing this, as the fantasy swiftly, surely, dissolved in his grasp…
… making the absence of the real thing heartbreakingly poignant.
†
Sam woke up breathing hard, eyes wide, sweat drenched, his erection harder still.
He had no idea where these dreams came from, dreams of his brother, of all people. And himself, only… it wasn't really him. But still, his brother had called for him; had called him by name, while with a stranger that looked just like him.
He'd thought he'd be able to escape if he just went far enough away. But wherever he went, his brother's shadow was sure to follow, haunting him, fucking taunting him, in ways that Sam knew he shouldn't have been tempted, but which indeed he was. He was tormented now in ways that felt as if he were slowly, but surely, being driven insane.
Sitting up, elbows rested upon bent knees, hands pressed firmly against eyes squeezed shut, Sam wondered why the distance hadn't changed anything.
It wasn't fair.
†
To Be Continued.
Another Word from the Author: I'll have Part II up soon! Keep an eye out for it!