Contains dialogue from the episode Houses Of The Holy, it belongs to Eric Kripke and Sera Gamble.
Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page :)
When Dean gets back to the motel, he just watches Sam through the window for a few minutes before he can make himself walk into the room. Sam's slowly packing his things away into his duffel bag, and the look on his face tells Dean everything he needs to know about how the séance went, even from ten yards away and through a dirty pane of glass. Sam looks completely devastated, and Dean aches for him. He still doesn't believe that angels exist, not really anyway, but he knows how badly Sam wanted to believe they do, and it kills him to see his little brother looking so disappointed and let down and just plain sad. Dean's been doing everything in his power since the day Mom and Dad brought Sammy home from the hospital to keep just that look off his brother's face, and every time he can't, Dean can't help feeling like he's failed even more spectacularly than the time before.
Eventually, he forces himself to get out of the Impala and walk over to and through the door, and Sam barely even looks up as he does. Sam probably knew Dean was out there watching him, just like Dean would have if their positions had been reversed. He can't explain it, but he has some kind of honing radar built into his body that lets him know whenever Sam is near, and Sam does too. Sam glances just briefly in Dean's direction but doesn't catch his eye, and then he goes back to folding a shirt and Dean sighs and wishes, just for a moment, that he were the kind of person who could bring himself to give Sam a hug and say something sweet and flowery and romantic, because Sam sort of looks like he needs it right now. He isn't that kind of person, though, so he settles for sarcasm.
"How was your day?"
Sam exhales deeply before he speaks, staring intently down at his hands. Even from just looking at his profile slightly hidden behind his hair, Dean can tell he's completely miserable. "You were right. It wasn't an angel, it was Gregory."
Dean shakes his head a little. He isn't surprised, but he hates how sad Sam sounds. He pulls the flask out of his pocket again and drinks from it, and this time when he offers it to Sam, Sam takes it and drinks from it too. He looks so dazed and confused and just lost as he screws the cap back on, and Dean wishes there was something he could say to make this better.
"I don't know, Dean, I just … um."
Sam trails off momentarily and sits down in the chair, and Dean runs his hand over his mouth. There are a lot of things he probably should be saying, he should at the very least be putting a hand on Sam's arm or something to let Sam know he isn't alone, but he can't move. He's paralyzed by how upset Sam obviously is, and by the fact that there isn't anything Dean can do about it.
"I wanted to believe, so badly, I … it's so damn hard to do this," Sam says, tears in his eyes when he looks up at Dean. "What we do. All alone, you know? There's so much evil out in the world, Dean, I feel like I could drown in it. And when I think about my destiny, when I think about how I could end up …"
"Yeah, well, don't worry about that, alright? I'm watchin' out for ya," Dean tells him, finally breaking his silence because if there's one thing he can't let go, it's that Sam still thinks he's going to turn evil.
"Yeah, I know you are," Sam answers quietly. "But you're just one person, Dean. And I needed to think there was somethin' else watchin' too, y'know? Some … higher power, some greater good. And that maybe …"
"Maybe what?" Dean pushes gently.
"Maybe I could be saved."
Dean figured that's what Sam was going to say, but it hurts like a punch to the gut anyway, to know Sam thinks he needs more than just Dean to save him.
"But, uh, you know, that just clouded my judgment," Sam continues with a humorless laugh. "And you're right. I mean, we gotta go with what we know. With what we can see, with what's right there in front of our own two eyes."
"Yeah, well, it's funny you say that."
"Why?"
"Gregory's spirit gave you some pretty good information. The guy in the car was bad news, I barely got there in time."
"What happened?" Sam asks with furrowed eyebrows.
"He's dead," Dean answers simply.
"Did … you?"
"No. But I'll tell you one thing. If … the way he died? If I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes, I never would'a believed it. I mean … I don't know what to call it."
"What? Dean, what did you see?"
Dean shrugs a little. "Maybe … God's will."
Sam's eyes widen a little, that worried, confused expression Dean knows so well taking over his face, but there's also a glimmer of something else hiding just underneath all that sadness and uncertainty – maybe hope. That, more than anything, makes Dean reach over and briefly squeeze Sam's hand, blinking rapidly to keep his own eyes dry when Sam looks back down at the floor and a tear or two roll down his cheek.
"Look, Sammy, just because Gregory wasn't an angel doesn't mean for sure they don't exist, okay? I don't want you to ever stop believin' you can be saved. 'Cause you can bet your ass I'm not gonna."
"You suddenly changin' your mind?" Sam asks wryly, his voice a little hoarse with emotion again and Dean rubs his thumb over the back of Sam's hand.
"I … I still believe in what I can see. Because I don't know how to be different. I don't know how to have faith like you do. After Mom, after everything that happened to our family, I just … I kinda lost it, y'know? But I think it's a really good thing that you have it. I don't want you to lose that just 'cause you didn't get the proof you were lookin' for this time."
Sam sniffs and nods a little.
"And hey, what the hell do I know, huh?" Dean adds. "Just 'cause I've never seen something doesn't mean it isn't real. We end up huntin' somethin' every other week that I'd never heard of until it's starin' us right in the face."
"Yeah."
"I would kill for you. And die for you," Dean says, softly and gently but he means every word. Uncomfortably strong emotions are bubbling up in his chest, almost choking him, but he fights through it because Sam needs to hear what Dean has to say. "And you better believe I'm gonna do every damn thing I can to keep you safe, just like I always have. It's gonna be enough, I promise. It has to be. But if it makes you happy, if it … if it makes you feel better. You should keep on praying. And I'll shut up about it."
"It doesn't make me feel better. Not really. I just … I don't know what else to do."
Dean nods. He knows the feeling well. And he hates it. Sam sort of shrugs even though Dean doesn't say anything else, and drops his gaze down to the floor again.
"Sammy," Dean whispers, but Sam shakes his head sharply.
"No, I'm – I'll be fine. You don't have to, okay?"
"Don't have to what?" Dean stands up and steps closer to his brother when Sam doesn't answer, reaching out tentatively and touching the side of Sam's face, even though Sam still won't look at him. "Sammy, c'mon. It's me, right?"
Slowly, Sam nods, and then he leans forward and buries his face in Dean's stomach, wrapping his arms around Dean's waist and holding on tight. Dean lets them stay like that for just a minute, petting softly through Sam's messy hair and clenching his jaw to keep his own emotions in check, and then when Sam makes a strange, unhappy sound that was maybe supposed to be Dean's name, Dean lowers down to his knees so he can hug Sam properly. He pulls Sam into his arms, shushing him and kissing the side of his head. Sam sort of collapses against Dean's chest, pushing his face against Dean's neck, and squeezing him so tight it's hard for Dean to breathe but he wouldn't even think of moving. Not when Sam needs him.
"It's stupid," Sam mutters. "I just … wanted …"
"I know," Dean murmurs, rubbing his palm soothingly up and down Sam's back. "It's not stupid."
"You wanna know what I'm really scared of?"
He's pretty sure that he doesn't want to know, because whatever comes out of Sam's mouth probably isn't going to be anything close to good, but he nods anyway. If there's one thing Dean knows for sure he's good at, it's being the big brother when Sam needs him to be. "Yeah."
"That angels are real. That … I mean, if there's no angels or god or whatever, then it's just, like … random, you know? Then nothing happens for a reason, it just happens. But if there is? If all of this is happening because of some plan? What the hell did we ever do to deserve this?"
Dean wants so much to have an answer to that question that would make either of them feel better, but he doesn't. He sits back on his heels so he can see Sam's face, the frown that's already twisting his forehead deepening as he looks into Sam's wet eyes.
"I wanted to believe angels existed because I wanted to believe I could be saved," Sam barely whispers. "But what if … what if they do exist, and I'm just not worth saving?"
Dean's eyes close without his brain telling them to, like his body knows that his brain needs a second or two to attempt to process what Sam said without just shutting down and dissolving into sorrow and heartache and complete, utter hopelessness. When he opens his eyes again, there's so much pain written across Sam's beautiful face and that it's almost unbearable. It makes Dean feel sick, and he can't help leaning up and kissing Sam softly, desperation tingeing the edges of it when Sam makes another miserable sound against Dean's lips.
"You're wrong," Dean says, his face close enough to Sam's to feel his warm breath on his cheek. He closes his eyes again and walks on his knees in just a little bit closer so when he gets his arms back around Sam, they're pressed together completely. There's more he wants to say, but he has a feeling Sam's just hurting so much right now that nothing Dean could say would help at all. So instead, he'll fix this the only other way he knows how.
He kisses along Sam's jaw, and Sam leans back and chases Dean's lips, kissing him like he'll forget how to breathe if he stops. Dean knows that feeling, too. Dean lets himself get lost in it for a while, in the feeling of Sam's soft lips against his and Sam's heat and smell surrounding him, grounding him when everything else feels like it's spinning out of control faster than Dean can manage. The truth is, behind the mask of confidence he can't let slip away, that he's just as scared as Sam is. He meant it when he said he'd save Sam no matter what, but he doesn't know how to do that, and that's terrifying. They're no closer to figuring it out now than they were six months ago when Dad told Dean about this horrible kill-him-or-save-him deal, and Dean feels like he's been running on empty for so long now that he doesn't know where else to turn for answers. Sam is everything, Dean's whole world, and Dean can't lose him. He just can't. The mere thought that maybe he's going to is almost paralyzing.
Dean stands up after a while, pulling Sam up with him and then kissing him a few more times before he leads them over to the bed. He pushes Sam down onto it gently, chasing after him and draping himself on top of Sam's big, solid body. He kisses Sam slowly, as deeply as he can with as much feeling as he'll let himself show to someone else. Sam clutches at the fabric of Dean's shirt, his arms tight around Dean's back like he's afraid to let go, and since probably nothing Dean could say would make Sam feel better about everything, Dean can at least replace those bad feelings with some good ones. And if there's still a few tears in Sam's eyes, Dean's okay with pretending not to notice.
Sam gets impatient after a few long minutes, huffing a little and trying to roll them over so he can take charge, but Dean stops him, pressing him back down into the mattress and nipping at his bottom lip before pulling back enough to look into Sam's eyes.
"Let me," he says, smiling a little when Sam, predictably, huffs again and frowns.
"Dean."
"Please?" Dean cups Sam's face in his hand, rubbing his thumb over Sam's high cheekbone and then tracing his fingers over Sam's lips. "Just let me take care'a you."
Sam doesn't answer, he just looks away, and the frown melts off his forehead but he still doesn't exactly look happy.
Dean drops his head back down and kisses along Sam's jaw, whispering, "Sammy …" against the skin just under his ear.
Sam sighs again, sliding his hands up under Dean's shirt and dragging his fingernails lightly up Dean's back. "Yeah," he whispers back.
"We don't have to," Dean tells him softly, not entirely sure what's putting that troubled look on his brother's face. "We can just talk more, if that's …"
"It isn't." Sam shakes his head. "Shitty day, that's all."
"I know," Dean says sympathetically.
"I want to, though. Need you." Sam sounds so ashamed of it that it nearly breaks Dean's heart. He never wants Sam to think needing Dean is a bad thing.
"Need you just as much," Dean murmurs, nudging Sam's nose with his own and then kissing him again. It's an outright lie, and they both know it. Dean needs Sam more. Way more. But Dean's okay with not dwelling on that.
He reaches down, grabbing Sam's shirt by the hem and pulling it up, helping Sam get it over his head and off and then tossing it to the ground. Sam looks up at him while Dean drinks in the sight – gorgeous masses of muscle under smooth skin that Dean wants to lick every inch of – his hair fanned out like a halo on the pillow, lips shiny and wet and slightly parted, cheeks tinged just slightly pink and so many emotions swimming in his darkened hazel eyes. Dean kisses the spot between his eyebrows, and then the left corner of his mouth, and Sam brings his hands up to hold Dean's face, keeping him there for a moment. Their lips touch but it isn't a kiss, more like just sharing warm, moist air, and Dean's heart is pounding like something important is about to happen even though this is something they've done so many times it should be boring by now.
Dean loves that it isn't.
He nips at Sam's bottom lip one more time and then he moves lower, taking his time to kiss and lick at Sam's neck. There's a spot just above the right side of Sam's collarbone that's always been sensitive, and Dean's lips go there automatically like there's a magnetic force pulling him towards it. He attaches his lips to the skin and sucks, hard enough to leave a mark, and Sam makes a soft, breathy noise and arches up into him. Dean sucks at it again, a few more times until the skin is red and angry looking, and then he smoothes the flat of his tongue over it and smiles. That'll last for at least a day or two, and like he knows exactly what Dean's thinking, Sam mutters, "Possessive bastard."
Dean laughs, and shuts Sam up by reaching down and cupping his quickly filling erection through his jeans. Sam moans, his eyes fluttering closed and Dean smirks to himself. He keeps squeezing gently, just enough to keep Sam interested but not anywhere close to enough to make him come, and he licks down Sam's chest. He gently tugs on one of Sam's nipples with his teeth, and then he kisses down Sam's abs and sticks his tongue into Sam's bellybutton. This slow, easy teasing is something they all too often don't have the time for, what with people's lives constantly in their hands and all, but Dean craves it. But, then, he likes when it's quick and dirty just as much. Really, he just likes everything when it comes to Sam.
When he gets down far enough, he steps off the bed so he won't have to be crouched between Sam's legs while he does this, and then he pulls Sam's shoes and socks off and lets them fall to the floor. He goes a little slower with Sam's jeans, not-so-accidentally brushing his fingers over Sam's cock as he works the zipper down. Sam lifts his hips up so Dean can get his pants off, and Dean drops those to the floor too. He hooks his hands under Sam's knees and tugs him a little down the mattress, and then he sinks to his knees on the floor and drags his palms up the lengths of Sam's legs. Sam goes up on his elbows so he can see, and for a moment their eyes meet and Dean just stares while Sam stares back. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is messy from where Dean was tugging at it before, and his eyes are dark and heavy-lidded but still plagued with a lingering unhappiness that doesn't seem to want to go away. It's not fair, what's happening to him. Dean hates it. Sam's so big but right now he seems so fragile, small, like a strong breeze is all it would take to crumble him.
So many things have happened. Sometimes Dean forgets how young Sam still is.
He smiles just a little, and Sam smiles back, and then Dean remembers what it is he's supposed to be doing. He leans down, sucking at the head of Sam's cock through his boxers until the fabric is clinging to him wetly. Then he gets rid of those too, mouth watering at the sight of Sam's stiff flesh springing free and then resting against his abdomen. Dean lifts it up with his right hand and slides his lips over the head right away, not in the mood to tease anymore, and Sam isn't either, judging by the way he groans and runs his fingers over Dean's hair.
Dean sucks him purposefully, letting spit run down the shaft so he can wrap his hand around it and stroke the bottom half. He moves his tongue back and forth over the web of veins on the underside, and hums deep in his throat because he knows the vibrations drive Sam crazy. He ghosts his fingers over Sam's balls, teasing the sensitive skin, and then he takes them into his hand and squeezes them gently.
"Shit," Sam breathes, falling back down onto the mattress and breathing heavily.
Dean pulls away just long enough to suck on his index finger, getting it wet, and then he moves his mouth slowly down the length of Sam's cock, even slower on the way up just to hear Sam moan. He teases the tip of his finger over Sam's hole for a moment, pressing on it but not breaching, and then he pushes forward fluidly until it's buried all the way in. He sucks hard on his mouthful and he wiggles his finger around until he finds the spongey little bundle of nerves and digs his nail into it, trying not to choke when Sam cries out and bucks up a little into Dean's mouth.
"Fuck, sorry," he mutters, but Dean ignores him and repeats the action. He rubs over Sam's prostate until he's babbling words that don't make any sense, still bobbing his head and swallowing around Sam's dick.
His head is spinning a little, lost in so many different sensations, but somewhere in the mix, Dean realizes he's hard enough to pound nails and the way his dick is pressing into the stiff fabric of his jeans is starting to hurt a little. He stops stroking Sam in the interest of getting his own pants undone, shoving his hand into his boxers and jacking himself off while he presses insistently on Sam's prostate until Sam tenses and comes with a long moan that shoots straight to Dean's groin. He swallows Sam's release down, the flavor earthy and familiar on his tongue, and he comes too after a minute or so. It's noting to write home about, as far as orgasms go, but Dean doesn't mind. He wanted to make Sam happy, to take that hopeless, haunted look out of his eyes, and as he glances up at his brother, it seems like he succeeded.
"You realize you've now blown me twice this week and I haven't returned the favor, right?" Sam asks, with a tiny smile on his face.
Dean laughs a little, and then he laughs louder when he realizes Sam's right. "Yeah! What the hell, man?" he jokes.
Sam smiles just a bit wider and shrugs. "I still could, y'know."
Dean snorts, pretending to be annoyed about it. He wipes his hand off on his jeans and then he quickly shucks out of his clothes and joins Sam on the bed. "Little late now."
"Well, later, then."
Still chuckling, Dean moves in closer and slides his arms around Sam. He kisses Sam's forehead, leaving his mouth resting there. "Not gonna say no to that. But it's … you know. Not always about everything being equal."
Sam nods, taking a deep breath and curling into Dean's chest like he used to when he was small enough to actually fit there. "Thanks," he whispers, and Dean knows everything he means by that. He hears the words Sam doesn't say, like he always does with Sam.
He rolls over onto his back, tugging Sam with him. He trails his fingers along Sam's spine with one hand and absently plays through Sam's hair with the other. When Sam leans up to kiss him, Dean puts everything he feels into it – lets himself be stripped bare for just a moment, lets Sam have all of him like he only ever does with Sam. There's still something sad behind Sam's soulfully expressive eyes, but he's so beautiful like this. Sam's face has changed so much over the years, but sometimes when Dean looks at him all he can see is that sweet, sensitive little boy that meant the whole world to him. Sometimes it seems like Sam is just so different than he used to be, but in moments like this, Dean can see deep down into his brother's soul enough to know that, in the ways that matter, Sammy's exactly the same. He's still sweet and kind and passionate, and has such a big, open heart. He still cares too much about being good and doing what's right. He still has a smile that could light up death row. And Dean would still do anything and everything it takes to protect him.
And, somewhere buried under all those miles of impressive muscles and headstrong will and a stubbornness that rivals even Dean's, sometimes Sam still needs his big brother. Secretly, that's Dean's favorite part.
"Can I ask you something?"
Sam shifts just a little closer and tucks his head into the crook of Dean's shoulder. "Sure."
"What, uh … what else do you pray about? Besides bein' saved, I mean."
"That's a little personal, don't you think?"
Dean can't help smiling as he says, "You're lying naked in bed with the man that just sucked your cock, who also happens to be your brother. I think we're way beyond personal."
Sam chuckles warmly. "Fair enough."
"So c'mon, tell me."
"I …" he takes a deep breath, Dean feels the air tickling his chest as Sam exhales. "I pray for Mom. Hopin' that … wherever she is right now, she's at rest. Jess, too. I ask God to make sure they know I'm sorry for what happened to them, and that I love them."
Dean nods. He tightens his arms around Sam just a little, to comfort himself just as much as Sam.
"And you," Sam continues softly.
"What about me?"
Sam swallows before he answers, Dean hears his throat click. "I thank God for giving you to me. For … for letting me love you."
"Isn't that kinda blasphemous?" Dean jokes, mostly to cover up the way his chest tightens at Sam's words.
"Maybe." Sam shrugs. "M'not really sure. I just … I always heard you weren't supposed to just ask God for stuff, you're supposed to thank him, too. For the things in your life that are good. And you're the thing in my life that's good, so."
"I am?" Dean barely recognizes the sound of his own voice as it passes over his lips. He should be used by now to the way Sam can just floor him with a few simple words, but evidently he isn't.
Sam lifts his head up; his eyes are a little shiny again but he's smiling. "Yeah. You are."
Dean still doesn't quite know how to react when Sam says things like that. It makes him feel good, but also uncomfortable in a way he wishes it didn't. Maybe because he knows that he doesn't deserve how much Sam loves him. But Sam's the thing that's good in Dean's life too – sometimes he's the only thing that's good in Dean's life, even when everything else is so far out of control like it has been lately and Dean's quickly losing the ability to know what to do about it. So he kisses Sam slowly anyway, and says, "You are worth saving. Everything'll be okay, I'm gonna make sure of it. I don't care if it's the last thing I do."