Dean stuffed a stray shirt into his duffel bag and tried to ignore the emptiness roaring inside of him. It had been one hell of a night, even by their standards. He had watched his bother die, been shot, was sent to Heaven, hunted by the angels, and sent back. He closed his eyes and remembered what God's kingdom had been like.
He remembered watching a young Sam spin in a shower of fireworks. He was looking at his big brother like he was a hero, eyes shining with love. It was the happiest Dean had been in a long time. He remembered his Sammy hugging him, radiating pure joy. Dean thought it had been a dream, but he wanted to stay and see that innocent smile his brother had lost for just a little longer.
He glanced up at Sam and cringed inside as he remembered his brother's idea of paradise. Sam's Heaven was his absence. Dean had always loved his brother more than he should. He never expected him to feel the same, and he sure as hell was never telling him, but he never suspected Sam was indifferent to him. He never thought that his idea of nirvana was being free of his big brother.
Sam was standing near the motel sink cleaning up; Cas stood stock still facing the wall. Dean knew he should feel angry or sad, but he felt nothing. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Joshua's face, his words echoing in his head until he felt he might explode with them.
'He just doesn't think it's...his problem.'
Not his problem? What the hell kind of God says that? If they survived this, that asshole was next on his list of monsters to gank. But they wouldn't survive, not this time. They couldn't kill the Devil, God wouldn't stop him; what else was left except to roll over and accept their fate?
He heard Cas speak, his voice hesitant, "Maybe… maybe Joshua was lying."
Dean looked up at the angel as he pulled on his jacket. He wanted to feel pity, or say something comforting to his friend, but he was numb. Famine had been right; inside he was already dead, and soon his body would catch up to his heart. There was no stopping it, and he was starting to welcome it; anything would be better than feeling like this.
Sam spoke, breaking him from his reverie, "I don't think he was, Cas. I'm sorry." His brother let out a soft sigh. As Dean watched Sam's overlong hair blow out of his eyes, a stab of longing and despair pierced his heart through the numbness. Yes, dying would be preferable to feeling like this. He couldn't stand hiding how he felt about his brother anymore. He was just tired... so tired. Death would be a release, and maybe it would be worth it to see Sam look at him like he had that Fourth of July night. He didn't care that it wasn't real. He'd take what he could get.
Dean watched Castiel move into the entryway of the room. The angel looked up, radiating the same hurt Dean had felt when his father abandoned him.
"You son of a bitch. I believed in…" Castiel's voice broke.
Dean's gut wrenched. He understood exactly how Cas was feeling. Nothing could protect you in the moment you found out your father was no hero, that he's really a dead-beat; Dean was, after all an expert on dead-beat Dads. He knew what his father had thought of him. The words were seared into his brain.
'Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument.'
He imagined Cas felt the same way, and it must be a thousand times worse for the angel. Cas looked skyward as if he was searching for a sign, for something, anything... but nothing happened. His face twisted in pain.
Dean watched as his friend turned to face them, eyes locked on Dean's. He reached into the pocket of his trench coat and pulled something out. "I don't need this anymore," The angel tossed it, and Dean reflexively caught it. He shook the tangled object out; it was his amulet. He looked back up at Cas, internally cringing at what he saw in his fathomless blue eyes. "It's worthless."
Cas turned his back on Dean, and he couldn't help but agree. Yes, worthless. The token he held in his hand represented so much: himself for one. It also represented his love for Sam and his little brother's supposed love for him, but Sam had made it obvious he didn't care about him. The trinket resting in his palm was hope and love and goodness, but none of it mattered anymore. The amulet represented himself, and it was worthless because he was worthless.
Dean was vaguely aware of Sam saying, "Cas, wait." He distantly heard the whoosh of wings, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Sam tossed his shirt on the bed angrily.
Dean stared at the amulet in his palm, and in that moment was utterly broken.
"We'll find another way. We can still stop all this, Dean."
He looked up at his brother's earnest, beautiful face wearily. "How?"
"I don't know, but we'll find it. You and me, we'll find it."
Dean didn't believe his brother, and judging from the look in Sam's eyes, he didn't believe it either. He didn't know what to say, so he picked up his bag and walked past Sam without saying a word; he couldn't even look at him. He refused to look at the face of the only person he'd ever truly loved, the one person he could never have. He felt betrayed.
At the door he stopped, amulet burning in his palm. His pulse was pounding in his ears, one word whispering on repeat in his head:
Worthless...
Dean held on to the string and dangled it over the garbage can. He heard Sam take a sharp breath behind him and felt a sharp burst of pleasure knowing that this would cut Sam as deeply as he was cut. He was about to let go when Sam grabbed him from behind and slammed him into the wall; the amulet dropped forgotten to the carpet.
"What the hell, Sam?"
"Don't you dare," Sam's voice broke, eyes filling with tears. "Don't you dare, Dean. You can't give up."
"Why not?" He said, his voice breaking, "Cas was right. It's worthless."
"No," said Sam, "it's not. Don't you throw it away, Dean. Please. Just don't."
Dean felt that terrible part of himself rise inside of him; the part left over from Hell. It wanted to hurt Sam as badly as he was hurting. "What do you care," he spat, "you don't give a shit about me. Or have you already forgotten that your idea of Heaven is running out on me?"
Sam's face contorted in pain for a split second, and then he was in Dean's face, eyes blazing.
"Sam what the fu-"
Sam slammed his fist into the wall with a crash, cutting him off. "I care, Dean, you moron. Of course I care. When I woke up in Heaven, do you know what memory it was?" Dean sneered and started to speak, but Sam slammed him back in to the wall, cutting him off.
"It was Christmas, 1997. The one where Dad ditched us at Bobby's, and they both left to take care of that poltergeist. It was just you and me. We drank hot chocolate until we were sick and watched crap TV all night." Sam eyes softened slightly as he remembered.
"There was a blizzard outside, but we didn't care. We went out and wrestled in the snow. When it got too cold, we went inside and got under some blankets together in front of the fire. It's one of the happiest memories I have."
Dean remembered, and it was one of his happiest memories too. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Sam interrupted, "Just listen, Dean."
When Dean had closed his mouth, Sam continued.
"Then Bobby's house vanished, and I was in a field. It was the Fourth of July; the same one you woke up in. You looked so happy, Dean. It was the happiest I've been in a long time. Then all the sudden everything went dark and I was having Thanksgiving dinner at that girl's house and it all felt...wrong."
Dean's face twisted in pain as he remembered, and he struggled against his brother. "Let me go, Sam."
Sam slammed him back to the wall again, not giving an inch. "No, Dean. Don't you get it?"
"Get what?" He wasn't struggling anymore. He was perfectly still, all the fight draining from his body.
"Cas told me while you were in the shower. After they realized we were up, Zachariah started screwing with my Heaven because he knew it would hurt you."
Dean felt his mind spin into free fall. "You're telling me that all of that... It wasn't your real Heaven?"
"No, Dean. You're my Heaven" Sam moved closer to Dean, their bodies pressing together tightly.
"Sam, what are you doing?" Dean's voice was breathy and quiet.
"Something I should have done a long time ago."
He leaned in close, and before Dean could stop him, he had pressed their lips together. Dean gasped and Sam took the advantage to slip his tongue in his mouth.
Sammy was kissing him, and for a blissful moment, he kissed Sam back. His lips were warm; he tasted of mint and cinnamon and something sweet and clean that was uniquely Sam. A groan slipped out of Dean's mouth and his eyes fluttered closed.
When he felt Sam's large hand caress his face, the realization of what they were doing crashed over him. He turned his face away. The kiss broke, but his little brother held him to the wall in an iron grip.
Dean's heart was singing, the awful numbness fading slightly. He wanted to kiss Sam so badly it was killing him, but he couldn't do this to his brother, no matter how much he wanted to. Sam was good and pure, and Dean broke the things he loved most. He averted his eyes, looking at the ground. "We're brothers, Sammy. We can't."
Sam reached out and tilted Dean's chin so he had to look at him. "We're soulmates, Dean. You heard Ash. Two halves of the same whole. We're supposed to be together, and I'll be damned if we don't because it's 'wrong'. We've given enough. If it's a sin, I say we've earned the right to indulge a little. They've taken enough from us. They can't take this too."
Dean looked into Sam's eyes, shining with love. His heart swelled.
"I know what you think of yourself Dean. You're not worthless and you're not broken. You're amazing, and you have to stop thinking of yourself like that. You're good, Dean. You've got to believe me. Okay? You've earned this." Dean felt his eyes fill with tears at Sam's words. As they spilled over, Sam kissed them away.
"Okay," whispered Dean.
"Besides," Sam rolled his hips so their cocks dragged together, creating delicious friction through the denim; Dean was painfully hard. "Feels like you want me just as bad."
Dean groaned, his head smacking back into the wall. Sam took advantage and attacked the column of his brother's throat, sucking and nipping, teeth scraping. There would be marks, but Dean didn't care. This was better than any generic Heaven the God squad could ever dream up for him. He'd go to Hell again to keep this. He'd go willingly with a smile on his face. He was never giving it up, not ever.
Sam looked up, his eyes smoldering, lips swollen; so beautiful. Dean could feel his warm breath ghosting over his lips. He was lost.
"Tell me to stop, and I will," said Sam. His voice was low and gravely with emotion, "Tell me if you don't want this." Dean looked into Sam's eyes; hazel made of swirling blues and browns, so deep it was like they held their own galaxy. They were wide and full of love and need and hope.
Dean reached up and brushed his little brother's hair out of his eyes, thumb caressing his cheekbone. Sam closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. "Sammy," whispered Dean.
He closed the distance between them, pressing their lips together softly. Oh God, it was perfect. Sam ran his tongue across the seam of his mouth and Dean let him in. Their tongues twirled together in a slow, sensual dance, two halves made whole. Sam's large paws were caressing his face gently while Dean's hands traced his brothers broad back. It felt right; pure and clean, like a beautiful homecoming.
The numbness that had covered Dean in a haze for so long was washed away by the strength of the emotion rolling off of his brother. He could feel again. Everything was joy, love, lust, want, need, and Sam, Sam, Sammy. Dean captured his little brother's bottom lip and gently bit down, letting it slide slowly from between his teeth. He felt Sam growl and the kiss changed from slow and gentle to scorching hot. Dean thought he might combust.
His clothes felt heavy and uncomfortable on his suddenly sensitive skin. He reached out and slipped a hand under Sammy's shirt, trailing his fingers over his toned stomach. Sam shivered and pulled Dean's shirts off over his head and Dean returned the favor. They were standing, chest to chest, skin on skin; it was perfect. Everything he had ever wanted and so much more.
Dean trailed his fingers down Sam's belly, over washboard abs, and followed the soft smattering of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. He curled his fingers under the denim, not touching, but teasing. Sam went wild, sucking his brother's tongue like he would die if he stopped. He ground himself into Dean, grabbing one of his legs behind the knee and lifting so it was around him. Dean practically scrambled up Sam's body, wrapping both long legs around his waist. Sam lifted him, supporting him by the ass, pinning him to the wall as Dean tangled his fingers in his brother's silky hair, moaning into his mouth, nipping and sucking at his perfect lips. They ground themselves together with no finesse, slave to the rhythm working between them.
Sam moved them away from the wall and started walking to the bed, but it was soaked in blood. He settled instead, for the rickety table nearby, Dean still wrapped around him like a vice, never breaking the kiss. Sam freed one arm and cleared everything off the table with one swipe, sending it flying in a jumble across the room. The radio landed on the floor and switched on, playing the familiar strains of soft classic rock. Sam lay Dean gently on the table, running his long fingers all over his big brothers toned chest, over his belly, and finally to the bulge in his jeans. He started kneading and stroking the sensitive flesh through the layers of clothing. Dean let out a choked noise and writhed under Sam.
"Sammy, need you. Please."
Sam's mouth replaced his hands, trailing kisses down his chest. He took a nipple in his mouth, lavishing it with his tongue, rolling and pinching the other between long fingers. Dean couldn't contain the needy whine that escaped his throat. He felt Sam chuckle against his skin before he continued his journey south. He left wet kisses along Dean's chest and stomach. When he got to the jut of his hipbone sticking out from the cut muscle, he scraped his teeth across it. Dean's fingers were tangled in Sam's silky mane again and he reflexively tugged.
Sam groaned quietly. Dean grinned and did it again, harder. This time and Sam let out a cry, his voice wrecked and wanting. "Knew you kept this mop for a reason, little brother."
Sam growled and grabbed Dean by the hips, holding him down. He ran his nose up and down the length of Dean's member a few times, inhaling his scent like he couldn't get enough before settling his mouth above the waistband of his jeans. Smokey hazel eyes looked up at him as he unzipped his pants with his teeth. Dean couldn't stop the flood of profanity escaping his lips. His brother looked so goddamn hot. Sam moved on to the button of his pants, opening it using only his mouth. "So good for me, Sammy. God you look so fucking hot baby boy."
Sam mouthed at the bulge in his pants, soaking the denim and the cotton of his boxers in spit. Dean could feel the warm wetness and it was too much and not enough all at once. When Sam was satisfied with his work he abruptly grabbed the waistband of his jeans and boxers and pulled them down his legs in one swift motion, pausing to remove his shoes before throwing the clothing carelessly to the ground.
Sam just stood there, staring. Dean could feel himself blushing. Sammy ran a hand reverently down his side, eyes shining.
"You're beautiful, Deano," whispered Sam. Dean flushed a deeper shade of red, freckles standing in contrast to the sudden flood of color. Hearing his childhood nickname touched a place in his heart he had closed off a long time ago.
"Need you, Sammy, c'mere."
Sam kicked off his shoes and pulled off his jeans and boxers. He stood before Dean, gloriously naked and completely unashamed; it took Dean's breath away. Sam started kissing the inside of Dean's thighs softly. He made it up one side and blew a warm breath over the head of Dean's cock. Dean whimpered, but Sam just chuckled and moved on to the opposite thigh, planting wet kisses on the sensitive flesh. Dean was writhing underneath his little brother, unable to keep from begging.
"Fuck, please, Sammy. Need you so bad baby boy, need to feel you. Please, I'll do anything, Sammy."
He felt Sam whisper against his skin, "Tell me what you want, Dean."
Dean blushed and stuttered a little. "I, uh- want your mouth on me."
Sam licked a stripe on the underside of his cock and stopped; Dean whimpered again. "You can do better than that, big brother. Tell me."
Dean was frantic, all inhibitions lost. "Suck me Sam. God, please, fucking do it."
Sam smiled, and took the head into his mouth without warning. Dean leaned up on his elbows and watched Sam take him deeper into his mouth, lips stretched wide to accommodate his girth. It was the most erotic thing he had ever seen and the fact that it was Sam made it a hundred times better. Then his brother hollowed his cheeks and started bobbing his head. The pleasure was so intense, he had to drop his head to the table. His fingers found his brothers messy hair once again and tugged; the vibrations of Sam moaning around his dick was going to kill him.
Suddenly, Sam pulled off and pushed Dean back further onto the table, clambering on after him. The wood creaked ominously, but they didn't care. They attacked each other's mouths like starving animals. Dean wrapped his hand around his brother's dick; Sam made a choking noise as Dean began to stroke him, massaging the slick pre-come that escaped from the tip into his soft skin. Sam stopped Dean's hand, captured his fingers and sucked them into his mouth, licking his taste clean from his fingers. Dean growled low in his throat as Sam released his finger from the warmth of his mouth, and pulled Sam on top of him, hands stroking his back. Sam began to flex his hips, rubbing their bare cocks together. Dean was gasping for air, hands running across Sam's sweat slicked skin. He looked to the side and glimpsed a small bottle of hotel lotion on the floor next to the table. He reached with long arms, grabbed it and handed it over to Sam who's eyes darkened.
Sam popped the cap and coated his fingers in the slippery substance before brushing at Dean's entrance. Dean gasped and tensed up.
"Shhhh, baby. Relax. Let me in." Sam kissed Dean deeply, and pushed one long finger inside slowly. Dean sighed at the exquisite feeling of fullness. There was no pain; just his Sammy. His little brother's free hand reached down to stroke his cock. Dean was awash in sensation, and Sam took this opportunity to slip a second finger inside. Then he brushed something and Dean arched his back, crying out. "Oh my God, Sam!"
Sam smirked and brushed his sweet spot again and again, scissoring his fingers until Dean was a needy mess. Sam worked a third finger in and Dean was almost in tears, the pleasure was so intense. Sam abruptly removed his fingers, leaving him bereft. When he opened his eyes, Sam was slicking up his cock, free hand tracing Dean's face. He lined himself up with his entrance and slowly began to push in.
When the head slipped in past the first ring of muscle, they both gasped. "Dean?" Sam was questioning, afraid of hurting him.
"Don't you dare stop, Sammy. God, fuck, please." Sam began to push in, inch by inch until be bottomed out. It was mind blowing; Dean had never felt more whole that he did in that moment. Then Sam gave a tentative roll of his hips and Dean's heart almost stopped. Nothing he had ever done compared to this. He was a live wire, bursting with electricity he couldn't contain. Sam thrust harder, making a choked noise, chanting his brother's name as the table creaked beneath them. Dean leaned up and kissed Sam with all the emotion he could muster. He poured all of his heart and soul, his pain and heartbreak into that kiss; he knew Sam was doing the same. He could feel his cock throbbing, untouched.
Sam abruptly grabbed Dean's leg and hooked it over his shoulder. "Fuck," groaned Dean; it was so deep this way. Sam changed his angle so he was stroking his sweet spot with every thrust. The forgotten radio sounded a familar acoustic guitar rift. God this song. So perfect. They listened to the words, loving one another slowly and deeply worshiping each other with their bodies.
So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell, blue skies from pain.
They fell into sync with the music, taking their time. Dean felt the heat spiraling in his gut, pleasure coiling deep inside like a spring. He stroked his Sammy's face, thumb brushing over his lips. His brother gasped and started thrusting harder, pushing them higher and higher, molten fire pouring through his veins. The music continued.
How I wish, how I wish you were here. We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year.
"God, Dean, Dean." Sam was close, so close. He reached between their moving bodies and took his brother's cock in his hand, stroking in time with his thrusts.
"Oh fuck, Sam, Sammy, please. Don't stop. SAM!" Dean couldn't hold it back anymore. He exploded; he was soaring through the air, falling, pleasure ripping through his body like a tidal wave. He came harder than he ever had in his life, shooting white ropes in the space between their bodies. Dean was completely undone as Sam smashed him into a million pieces and put him back together again. Sammy continued to thrust around his tight heat, chanting his brother's name. He let his leg drop, and Dean wrapped both arms and legs around him, holding him close. A drop of his come had landed on Sam's lip, and he kissed him, licking him clean. "Dean, fuck-" Sam came with a choked cry, filling him up, whole body trembling. Dean sealed their mouths together, taking his cries into his mouth greedily.
When the tremors stopped, Sam pulled out gently and collapsed next to his brother on the hard wood of the table as the last strains of music faded out. They stared at each other in wonder for a while, touching, memorizing each other's faces with their fingertips. "Thanks, Sammy," whispered Dean, "I'm a dick sometimes, and I would have regretted throwing it away for the rest of my life."
Sam's eyes were soft; he kissed his brother sweetly. "Love you, Dean," he whispered against his lips.
Dean trembled as tears threatened to overwhelm him. He kissed his Sammy back passionately, "Love you too, baby boy. Let's get out of here." Sam nodded in agreement and they got up, wiping off the best they could with hotel towels before getting dressed.
They grabbed their bags and started to leave. Dean stopped by the door and picked the amulet up off the floor, slipping it back around his neck where it belonged. Sam grabbed his hand and kissed it, murmuring, "It's you and me against the world. We'll find another way."
Hope blossomed in Dean's chest; Sam was right. They would find a way to save the world. It might be bloody and it might be hard, but they would do it, and they would do it together. When they left that room, Dean believed, for the first time in a long time that everything was going to be okay. He had something worth fighting for now, and he was never letting it go.