bit of wincest from me here! this is purposely all in lowercase as i'm just in that mood today.
it always has to happen behind closed doors. stolen kisses, touches that burn with a fire that rages, telling them it's wrong, telling dean to stop, because that's his brother, for fuck's sake, but they never do.
it starts in motel rooms when dad is out, when there's nothing else to do but be there. dean doesn't know exactly how it started; he doesn't want to remember, if he's honest. remembering brings with it a rush of guilt, a rush of why are you doing this he's your BROTHER, dean. dean doesn't want that. it's hard enough.
and then when sam leaves for stanford and dean doesn't know what to do and it's behind closed doors that he jerks off to the thought of sam's hands and sam and everything sam and he can't cope without him but he can't tell anything, can't say a word. behind closed doors dean sits there thinking and wishing and waiting for his brother to come home.
and it doesn't start again for a while. they're travelling together again and both of them act as though they've never been anything more than brothers (although they've always been more than brothers, even before they started) and they hunt. yet sometimes in the motel rooms they come close to something, sitting close to catch the end of a tv show, or brushing past each other and feeling that unmistakable tingle that they both know the other can feel. and they're behind closed doors but it's almost as though there are more doors in there too; doors that keep sam and dean apart. dean knows it better than he should.
they fuck again one night and dean won't think of how it started. stupid fucking hunt that nearly got them killed and sam's looking at him in that way again and dean is staring right back, daring him to accuse him of being reckless or something like the shit that sam always says. and then sam's on dean and dean is pinned on the bed. and he swears to god he doesn't know whether he should be aroused or scared and sam's lips are on his and it's rushed and it's messy and it's hard and quick and fast and wrong but it also carries one simple message: i missed you so much.
they treat the impala as their home more than anything, more than they could say. it's not anything they could put into words but the impala is there when it's only the two of them and the sky. and surely it's not so wrong when the car doors are closed and they're in the backseat and they're so close together it's almost painful not to do anything, surely it's not so wrong if they're together? if they go down that road. it shouldn't be. and it gets so warm in the car when they're sweating and breathing heavily and hissing words at each other and their names fill the car up and make it an entire world, but neither sam or dean dares open the car doors or windows to let some air in. because everything happens behind closed doors.
years pass and it's still that same, scared routine. years pass in earth and in hell, a fleeting day spent in heaven and time in purgatory. and sam and dean are still behind these closed doors and dean won't let it be any other way. his brother is his. he knows that. but he still knows how wrong it is, how awful that they should be together in that way when he's meant to protect him. but when sam's voice hisses 'dean' in his ear he can't do anything but do whatever his little brother wants, whenever. as long as it's behind closed doors.
years have gone by and they've never had a home, never. the impala could pass for one but it's been broken and destroyed so many times; you couldn't call it secure. but the bunker that used to belong to the men of letters begins to become that for them, and dean knows it. it's a place that dean never thought he could ever have; some sort of security. and so one night, when it's late and their need for each other overcomes the need for sleep, they end up in dean's room. and just that once, for the first time in all those years, dean leaves the door open.