1: Iowa
The first time it happens they're in Iowa, and it's too hot to breathe.
Sammy's 13 and doesn't know any better. They're wrestling over something unimportant that they've both long since forgotten. They're both sunburn hot, and sweat slick and dusty. Then Sammy just leans up and kisses him. Like it's nothing. Like it's something.
Dean pulls back like he's been burned.
Because he has. There's this fire left behind where his baby brother's lips were. This heat that he'll never get rid of. This aching desire for more simmering under the surface of his skin.
Sam blushes and shuffles back. Dean stares at him, horror in his eyes and lust in his skin.
"I'm sorry!" Sammy mumbles, he looks guilty like it was him who did something wrong. Like it was his fault somehow that Dean's fucked him up like this. Dean's bled on him once too often, and he's got infected with this broken, twisted wrongness he's had buried inside him for too long.
Dean shakes his head. Denies the facts of it all. Tries to deny himself.
He can't quite grasp that he isn't dreaming. Can't quite understand that this is real, that this is something Sam would do. God, if only he knew he was dreaming. If only he could lean back in and-
Dean gets up and walks away. It's the only thing left to do. The only way not to break them both. He doesn't say anything. Can't risk his voice. Doesn't know what to say or how to say it even if he could. The flush under his skin won't go away.
He goes out that night and gets blind drunk. More drunk than he's ever been. He gets so messed up, that if he's lucky he'll forget it ever happened. Forget the heat of it. Forget the way it felt like home and heaven and heartbreak all in one.
It doesn't work, but they both pretend it did.
2: Texas City
The next time it happens is just before Sam leaves for Stanford. He's 19 and desperate. It makes an awful kind of sense. It always has. It's cold for September, cold inside and out.
He left it until the last minute to tell them. He knew it was gonna be fight. And as little as Sam cares about upsetting his father, he cares a hell of a lot about upsetting Dean.
Dean chases him out the door and shoves him, tries to start something. But Sam won't let him. If he wants to fight then he's gonna have to really hurt his baby brother, which Sam knows he won't. Even if he wishes he would. Maybe Dean could break and beat the sickness out of him. Maybe if he pushed hard enough, far enough, fast enough. Maybe?
Sam spins them both, angry, hurt and terrified. He slams Dean into the outside wall of the latest cheap motel.
"Either come with me or let me go," Sam bites out, past the fire in his lungs.
Dean shakes his head. Maybe can't trust his voice. He gets like that, sometimes.
Sam's angry, that's why he does it this time. He's actually trying to push Dean away. Make him let the hell go.
So he leans in and kisses his sibling, hard, with teeth and tongue and all the things he's dreamed of half his life.
When Dean kisses back Sam's heart almost stops. His whole world tilts. Suddenly something seems possible again. Breathing makes sense again. Something inside him clicks into place and for one wild, hedonistic moment he thinks maybe he doesn't have to leave. Maybe he doesn't have to run away from the freak inside him, because maybe, just maybe Dean wants this too. Maybe Sam's been running from the wrong things his whole life.
He pulls back, breathing, because that's a thing he still needs to do. Because this is real, a real moment in real time, taking real breaths of air. Breaths that Dean shares, chest rising and falling hard against the chill night air.
Dean's lips are spit slick and perfect. Sam stares at him in some kind of wonder. He aches for it, aches in a way he'd forgotten to feel.
"You… would you…" Sam's got no idea where he's going with this. He lets his words trail off, opens the air to Dean just like he's opened his heart all those years ago.
"Yeah, if you stay. Anything you want… if you stay."
Sam stops. Sam stops everything. For a moment even breathing stops. And then, when he has to breath, everything comes crashing back down on top of him. His lungs burn with it. He feels sick. Sick of himself. Disgusted even. To think that Dean would sink that low, sink down to Sam's level, it hurts. It almost breaks him. And he knows it'll break them both if he stays.
It's Sam's turn to step back sudden, like he's burned. Like Dean burns him. Because he does. He always has. Like fire in his blood.
Sam grabs his bag, turns heel and runs. As far from dad, and Dean, and this twisted thing inside him as he can. Just like he always had to.
God, for one stupid second he thought it was real. But then he realised just how far Dean would go to keep them all together. Just how much Dean would do for Sam. And he can't. He can't do that to Dean. He can't break what they had because of what he wants.
He spends the next four years trying to forget the taste of his brother's tongue. When he meets Jess he almost succeeds. For a while.
3: Colorado
The third time is a mistake. More than the first two even. Sam's tired and desperate again. Always desperate when Dean's around.
There's a smoking wendigo back in Blackwater Ridge and they still haven't found dad. Another wild goose chase. Another sleepless night in a two bed hotel room too close to his brother.
He thought he was getting better. He thought he was getting over it. But he isn't. He never did. Maybe never could. Then Dean's too close, too drunk - on the win as much as the whiskey. He's gorgeous like this. Always has been. Long lashes on freckled skin and this goddamn glow to his skin.
Jess has been dead less than a month and Sam's already back in old patterns. The good old spin and twist of desire that comes with being anywhere near Dean.
Thing is, Dean must see it coming. Must feel it coming. Sam doesn't so much pounce as slide into it. Puts his hand rough on the back of Dean's neck and pulls him forward. Dean goes with it. Seems to think it's their normal sibling tussle. Because of course all Dean wants is for things to go back to how they were. He wants Sammy back, the chubby teenager who loved his brother like breathing but kept it to himself. Dean wants what they had, Sam wnats what they never could.
Right then, in that icy November night, Sam's sick of it. He kisses his brother like he's always wanted to. He doesn't even care if the only reason Dean kisses him back is to make him stay. He won't push it further. He just wants to know. Just wants to feel it one more time. Just feel Dean's skin, and lips and...
"We can't…" Dean says. "Sam, we're gonna find Dad.. he'll.. Sammy, we can't." He sounds so damn broken that Sam feel sick again. Sick of himself and all the bile inside him, all the sticky darkness. Sick of the way he touches Dean and breaks him, sick of the way he twists himself, and them and this.
Sam shoves his chair back, pushes himself away from Dean. He's shaking.
"Sammy…" Dean makes an aborted gesture, almost reaches for him. Almost stops him running away. Maybe Sam wishes he would. Though he's not sure if it's Dean's touch he wants or a fight. Something, anything and nothing.
Dean always defends Sam. It's like some endless Sisyphean cycle. Dean even tries to protect him from the broken places inside him as much as the monsters around them. It's like it never stops, and all Sam can do is think about how much he could take advantage of it. How far he might let him push it. And he can't. He can't be that thing.
Sam runs away again. Not so far this time but far enough. He locks himself in the bathroom. And when he final comes out Dean's not there. Just as well. Dean saves them both, the way he always has.
4: Connecticut
Number four doesn't count. It's not even a real kiss. All he does is try. But god does he want to do more.
They're in a hotel full of creepy dolls. Dad's dead and Dean's alive. And there's this dark treacherous place inside Sam that says 'good' - the demon might be on the run but Sam's almost glad. No, that's a lie, he isn't 'almost' glad that Dean's alive. His heart feels like it might learn to beat again. He's not glad Dad's dead, though. Not really. But he is glad he's gone. He's glad the shadows he cast aren't looking over them anymore. Which just goes to prove how broken he real is. How wrong.
Sam has always been twisted, but now he knows it's worse than that. He's evil. That real, big bad, the kind of thing you hunt kind of evil. Dad knew it. Maybe always knew it. And now Sam can feel the darkness creeping up on him every damn day.
So he gets drunk. He tries to take a leaf from Dad's book, Dean's too if he's honest, and it doesn't work. It doesn't push it down, it just brings up a different, just as wrong kind of sickness in him. The return of the not very repressed. He might not want to kill anyone right now, but he sure as Hell wants to taste his brother's tongue. Broke, twisted, melted, sick.
Dean doesn't let him, though. Pushes him off when he tries it. Then Dean does what he always does. He takes care of Sam. Takes care of him like a sick little puppy while he's drunk, then mocks him the next morning. Dean seems more upset by what Sam said, than what he tried to do. Isn't that typical. Dean forgives Sam even when Sam can't. Even when he shouldn't.
He even lets Sam sleep in his bed, after all that, and Sam is so grateful he doesn't even try it on again. Even though he wants to. He just holds Dean close and breathes instead. He smells like home, even when it feels like a sin. Sam could be happier. It doesn't fix anything. But it helps. Even when all it really does is make his skin itch and burn for more. Just being that close to Dean helps ease the pain of being what he is.
The next day they both pretend to forget the kiss. Sam doesn't let Dean forget his promise though. If this goes too far, then Dean's gotta fix it. Gotta fix him. That's what big brothers are for, right? There's a sick kind of symmetry to it. Part of Sam is even looking forward to it.
5: West Texas
The fifth time would have been perfect. If it was real. Maybe the fifth time doesn't count either. Seeing as it wasn't really Sam.
After the creepy dolls and the hoodoo grandma they end up in Texas on a dead end hunt. It turns out sometimes creepy murders are just creepy murderers. Just people. Somehow that sets Sam off again though. He gets stuck in this spiral of self-hatred that leaves Dean exhausted and helpless on the sidelines.
"Sammy," Dean says. Tries to calm him down. Tries to get his focus back on Dean, back on the case. On anything except his own potential for destruction.
Dean drags them both back to the motel. Sam isn't even drunk this time, just morose and broken is a way that makes Dean feel even more useless than usual.
Dean goes out and gets them food, 'cause Sam went last night but also for a break. He gives in and gets Sam's salad shake thing without even complaining. That's how hard this whole thing is hitting him. When he gets back and finds the room empty he almost panics, he's that far on edge, but then he hears the shower. Thank God for that. Even to this day when Sam isn't there he thinks back to Flagstaff or Stanford, or any number of times he's lost his baby brother. And every damn time his heart damn near stops. That head shrinker Sonny made him see once used the word fixated. Dean tries not to think it now.
Sam comes out of the shower glistening, towel slung low on his hips and Dean has to swallow thickly through a hot, dry throat. There's something predatory in the way he's moving. Something that captures Dean's attention in a way it shouldn't. Sam saunters up to him and reaches into the bag of food. The bag that Dean is still holding way too near his hip for a practically naked Sam to be reaching. Too close for Dean's already tenuous sanity.
When Dean tries to take a defensive step back Sam grabs the whole bag of takeout and pushes it aside. Then he grabs Dean's hip in a possessie gesture. The sort of gesture that should put his back up but doesn't.
"Sammy?"
"Shh," Sam whispers, still close enough that Dean feels his brother's breath on his skin. Sam gets both hands on Dean, one of his neck and the other finding it's way up and into his hair. Dean's a desperate idiot, because he gives in and lets him. Maybe they're both fighting too many battles on too many fronts to keep fighting this one. Maybe they deserve this.
When Sam kisses him, Dean kisses back like salvation. Skin and tongue and bitten gasps. It's wrong, and it's fucked up, and it's damn near perfect. Sam leads and Dean falls head first. He lets it go so much further than he should. It isn't the first time he's come with his brother's name on his lips, bit it's the first time Sam's been at his side when he does.
When Sam goes missing the day after next Dean thinks he's broken everything.
When Sam says he doesn't remember anything since the first night in West Texas, Dean realises what broken really feels like.
After Meg has been exorcised and they're both wearing demon wards, Dean waits. He waits for Sam to say something, anything. He waits and he waits.
Sam never does. Maybe he doesn't remember, or maybe he just wants to pretend it didn't happen. Maybe all the other times were just Dean. Maybe it's just been Dean or the demon blood all along. Maybe they'll both be better off pretending it didn't happen. Maybe forgetting it is best for both of them. And Dean would do anything if it's better for Sam. Anything at all.
By the time that Djinn takes him, Dean's almost convinced himself Sam would be better off without him. He's not sure if he's grateful or destroyed when there's a hot brunette in his bed where he's always kind of wanted Sam. In Dean's wish he hasn't broken Sam, still can't keep them together. In Dean's dream Sam is safe. Safe from Dean. Maybe that's better. Maybe Sam's better off without him. He's still grateful when he wakes up.
He doesn't remember that Sam kissed him before he came to. Maybe that's better too.
Then, after that, all Hell breaks loose. There's no time to worry about who kissed whom. There's just demons, and darkness, and hunting, and Hell. Just the same broken little life they always had. It's not enough. But it's close.
+1 Detroit
The first time Dean kisses Sam takes place a few hours before Sam offers himself to the devil and saves the world.
It shouldn't be perfect but it kind of is. Because it's them, both of them, and they meet in the middle for maybe the first time in forever. It burns.
Sam stares at Dean a moment after, in half horror and half fixation.
"What was-" Sam starts to say.
"You really don't remember West Texas, do you?" Dean says, and his voice is a growl. The kind of growl that takes up residence like erotic fire in Sam's spine. He never wants that fire to go out. He wants to hear Dean's voice in his veins for the rest of his life. All 12 hours of it.
Sam shakes his head. Voice still burned away under Dean's words and stare and mouth. He doesn't remember West Texas, he only remembers flashes of horror and fear from the time Meg possessed him, and it was years ago. Dean's been to Hell and back and Sam is tattooed safe from that kind of violation ever happening again. He's hardly thought about it. But it's obvious that Dean has. It's obvious it mattered. Matters still.
"So that was all her? All Meg?" Dean asks, but Sam isn't sure who he's asking. Or even what he's asking, although he's starting to suspect. Sam's wound so tight he's shivering.
"What happened?" Sam prompts. So Dean shows him, kisses him again. Sam melts into it, presses back, resists the urge to take over because what if that scares him away - what if it stops.
This time it's full body, full force and unashamed, and everything Sam has ever wanted. Because Dean is all he's ever wanted, wrapped in freckled flesh and calloused hands. Gun oil, Old Spice and old leather. This is how he always wanted it. This is how he imagined it, his hands on Dean's skin, blood warm and real. And Dean's hands on him, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. Both of them bucking and rolling into it, no restraint, no hesitation, no guilt. Just them. Wrapped in a moment, and wrapped in each other. This is how it was always meant to be.
They kiss like their world is ending while they hope that maybe it won't.
When Dean pulls back for a moment his eyes are star shine bright in the dim motel. He's got Sam's spilt on his lips and Sam can't breathe. He might be dreaming. He doesn't care if he is. He's about to say yes to the devil, but that night he says yes to his brother instead.