Title: Reason Enough To Stay
Author: destial
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Kind of… reluctant man sex? Oblivious!Sam and angst of the Dean persuasion.
Spoilers: Stanford, Dean's opinion of himself, Sam's floppy hair
Word Count: 3,135
Notes/Prompt(s): Inspired by the March 8, 2002 entry into John Winchester's Journal. Beta'd of course, by weimar27
Summary: Dean misunderstands this like he misunderstood the Stanford letter. As his jacket is pulled off with an urgency he'd only ever seen in his brother during a hunt gone wrong, he thinks this changes things. If he gives himself to his brother now, Sam will have reason enough to stay.

Reason Enough To Stay Sam told me and Dean today that he is going to Stanford. I told him that if he goes, he better stay gone. I think Dean would have taken a swing at him if I hadn't kept my cool. Barely. Trying to work out what to do about this. We can't tolerate any of us quitting. We're better as a team. I've protected Sammy his whole life, and so has Dean. Could be I've gone too easy on him. Dean always responded to discipline because he believed in the mission. I thought that by giving Sammy more room, I'd let him find his own way to dedication like Dean's. Doesn't look like that worked out. Now he's a straight-A student, computer whiz . . . I think he's gone a little soft. How many tight spots have we been in since he was a baby? And now he's going to college? He can go to hell, is where he can go.

-Excerpt from John Winchester's Journal, March 8, 2002

Two months before his nineteenth birthday, Sam tells his family about his acceptance into Stanford.

Dean misunderstands, initially. He knows Sam wants to go to college and be normal but he honestly had never considered the thought that Sam would leave to do so. He had thought this was just another accomplishment; proof typed out and printed onto paper that Sammy was smart in the surface world, in that place they had to fit into, sometimes, but had never belonged to.

And Dean is damn proud because this is his Sammy, the kid he had raised in a long series of hotel rooms while their father went out and did the work of the greater good. He had spent his whole life teetering between thinking of Sam as his little brother and his little boy. This is supposed to be one of the proudest moments in a parent's life, topped only by a child's graduation and wedding day.

So when John tells Sam to go to hell, Dean bristles as much as Sam does. He has to fight the urge to lash out at his father, an internal struggle he's always had: protect Sammy from John Winchester's wrath or join their father in the chastisement. He can't see what provoked such a reaction this time, though.

"I'm going," Sam says, his voice strained. "I got in and I'm going. They've offered me full board and tuition."

Dean feels like he's been sucker punched. Sam had told him about Stanford last year, whispered about it to him as they lay huddled together in their tent, halfway through a hunt and too wired to sleep. He knows all about what Palo Alto has to offer and, more than that, he knows just how infrequently the Winchesters travel that far west.

He thinks back to that night now and wishes he hadn't responded to Sam's excited chattering with, "That sounds awesome, Sammy." This now, it's probably Dean's fault.

John doesn't yell, which is too bad because Dean hasn't figured out speech yet, is still too flabbergasted, and he could really go for some vicarious yelling.

"If you go," John says calmly, "don't think you're ever coming back. You can't walk out that door and expect it to be open when you realize your mistake."

Dean isn't sure who he wants to hit more, in that moment. Sam cannot leave, Dean isn't sure he could survive that. Since he was four years old, he had never been away from Sam longer than a week and even collectively, it probably didn't add up to a whole month. But if he did, if he did leave, he'll need a way home again.

This sets Sam off, who starts using that tone where he's talking so hard it leaves him out of breath at the end. John's voice doesn't raise but it goes to that drill sergeant place. He's on the edge, but he keeps his cool.

Dean sits on one of the beds and gets madder the longer they go; madder at Sam, for wanting to leave; at dad, for pushing him away; at Stanford and fucking Palo Alto, for being so damn tempting to the big idiot. His entire body is tense and ready to snap and he can't take his eyes off Sam's face because now he doesn't know how long he'll be able to do this, sit and stare at Sam. He'll be leaving and it could be any day.

Oh God, what if this is the last time he sees Sammy?

"How long?" he cuts in, unable to not know any longer.

Sam and John stop arguing and look at him and he must have one hell of an expression on because Sam flinches, looking taken aback.

"The semester starts on September second," Sam says, and his shoulders hunch under Dean's glare. He'd been trying to appear bigger when faced with their father's ire, but he had never tried to use his size to intimidate his brother. "I'm checking into the dorm that morning."

It's not as bad as Dean worried, but it makes it real, like something that is actually going to happen and not just some crazy idea that Sam'll get over. And that's too much for Dean. He grabs his wallet and keys from the nightstand and is out the door without anyone trying to stop him.

When Dean returns, the sun is gone and so is John's truck. Sam is sitting at the table, pouting at his laptop like the big kid he is.

He jumps up when he sees Dean and for a moment the two just look at each other.

"Dean," Sam finally says and that's all he says.

Dean had thought he could do this, thought he could talk to Sam and convince him to stay but he has to stay calm to get through that thick head of hair and thicker skull. Seeing Sam now, the anger comes back and with it is a wave of pain, actual physical pain that settles under his ribs.

He turns back to the door but Sam grabs his arm and they stand there for a moment. Sam leans forward and rests his forehead on Dean's shoulder.

"Don't do this Dean," Sam says. "Don't leave again. Please."

Dean lashes out then, shoving his brother off as he rounds on him.

"Don't leave? You're the one that's leaving Sam!" Dean growls and he can't quite keep his voice from breaking on Sam's name. "I can't do this. I can't. We can't just pretend you didn't drop this on me and go ahead living life normal until you leave."

"That's not how it is Dean!" Sam sounds desperate and Dean wants to believe him but he is hurting so badly just thinking about what September will bring. "People grow up and they go to college. That doesn't mean I'm just going to disappear. It doesn't have to be like that."

"What am I supposed to do, Sam? Go against dad too? Get us both shut out?"

Sam looks stricken at that and Dean realizes Sam had expected something like that.

"I'm not leaving dad," Dean grits out. He's so angry at Sam right now, for even thinking about that. "You can't ask me to do that, Sam."

"Not leave," Sam says. Dean can't read his expression but his eyes have that glassy look they get when he's a step away from tears and, despite himself, Dean's big brother instincts are screaming at him to comfort the big lug. "I wouldn't ask you to leave dad, Dean, you have to know that. But we stay camped out in the same location for weeks, months at a time. Can't you just do that in Palo Alto? Bobby has a home base and so does Pastor Jim, don't you want something like that? Wouldn't that be easier?"

Dean shakes his head, unable to look at Sam any more.

"That's not how it's going to be, Sam, and you know it. If you go off to Stanford, you're going to make friends and go to parties. You're going to keep down the same job and you'll have regular neighbors. You'll be a part of that world and me and dad don't fit in there, not anymore. You won't want us there anyway."

"Of course I'd want you there!"

"No, Sammy, you wouldn't!" Dean is breathing hard and that pain in his chest is so much sharper now that he's doing this, saying this and not just thinking it alone in the Impala – if he's completely honest with himself, it isn't the first time he's thought this. "You think I don't see it, when you're at school? When we go into town? You've been ashamed of dad since you knew how to be and you've been ashamed of me almost as long. When you're there, at college, you won't want dad around and you won't want me."

It's just a statement of fact for Dean, something he hadn't realized he's been holding onto for a long time. Dean's never been proud of anything the way he's been proud of Sam and it breaks him apart to acknowledge the opposite is true for his baby brother.

Sam looks just as shattered as Dean feels, but he knows better than to believe it. The thing about Sam is he doesn't know himself as well as Dean knows him. Dean has no illusions about Sam even though he desperately wishes he did. Sam just doesn't think about family the way Dean does. He loves him in the way all brothers love their brothers, loves John in the way all sons love their father. It's biological, instinctive, but given the chance, Sam would leave and Dean wouldn't be able to stop him.

But then Sam does something Dean would never have thought to guard against and he pushes up against Dean so that they are touching more than they had in years.

Dean startles but he doesn't get away; Sam's hands are clutching at the lapels of his coat so tightly that later, Dean will see strains in the leather there, reminding him of this. Their foreheads are pressed together but their mouths aren't and Dean is pretty sure he's trembling because he suddenly knows that's just what his brother means to do.

Sam's breath is unbearably hot against his lips and coming out too fast. Muscle memory is telling Dean to move forward until they're kissing and it's an instinct that flips his stomach in the worst possible way. He's terrified but he's used to hiding that from Sam so it's just a tight little curl around his spine that can't seem to be externalized.

All he can manage is a breathed out, "Sam."

Who must take that as invitation because then their mouths are touching and there's a tongue licking at his upper lip.

Dean snaps out of it then and shoves Sam back, not as harsh as the panic inside would like, but enough to force them apart.

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean bites out, staring at his brother, aghast.

Sam surges into him once more, pressed into him in all the wrong ways. Their mouths are pressed together again, desperate and needy now, but Sam pulls away before Dean can push him. Their foreheads are pressed back together and Sam pants against his mouth as Dean's eyes slide shut in misery.

"I love you, Dean." And for the first time, Dean understands what that really means, the way it had twisted and perverted in Sam's mind. "I love you so much. I can't lose you like this."

When Sam presses forward this time, Dean lets it happen. He doesn't fight when Sam's tongue sweeps into his mouth or when Sam's hands move downward, cupping the underside of Dean's ass and pulling them more firmly together.

Dean misunderstands this like he misunderstood the Stanford letter. As his jacket is pulled off with an urgency he'd only ever seen in his brother during a hunt gone wrong, he thinks this changes things. If he gives himself to his brother now, Sam will have reason enough to stay.

Even thinking that, he can't stop the sob that rises in his chest in the shape of his brother's name when his mouth is released.

This, Sam misunderstands, because that is apparently a family trait. He huffs a laugh against Dean's lips as one of his hands travels up the back of his brother's shirts. Dean flinches away from the touch, which only accomplishes him arching into Sam.

"It's okay, Dean," he says as his lips find Dean's ear. "I've got you. God, Dean, I've wanted this, wanted you for so long. Can I have you, Dean?"

"Okay," Dean responds. "Okay."

He's saying it to himself more than his brother, trying to reassure himself. This is just sex and he can handle sex. It was sex with Sam, though, and Dean found it painfully ironic that he had spent so much time in the last couple years trying to hook up his brother, trying to get him laid by a pretty girl that looked safe enough, good enough for his Sammy.

Dean must have lost some time because suddenly he's being pushed onto one of the beds; Sam follows him, his hardening cock rocking against Dean's thigh. Sam's tugging off his outer shirt, pulling up his tee and Dean can only bring himself to grab at Sam's shirts feebly, can't bring himself to unclothe him. Sam laughs again and helps him before leaning back to wriggle out of his pants.

Dean panics for a moment, realizing Sam's going to see or feel his flaccid dick if it continues like this. He rolls over before undoing his own jeans and helps Sam shove them down and off.

"Dean?"Sam asks and he sounds so young and unsure that Dean's heart aches.

"Want it like this," Dean says weakly. He pushes his face into the pillows and fights back a wave of tears.

"Do you want…" He trails off but his fingers finish the question, ghosting along the crack of Dean's ass before rubbing at the puckered hole with his thumb.

Dean's whole body jerks and he gives his head a sharp shake. His breath hitches as he struggles for an excuse, coming up with, "no lube." Sam hums his acceptance of the lie.

"Sam, just- come on." Get it over with.

He does, then. He fits his cock against Dean's ass and begins to move, picking up a rhythm surprisingly fast and forcing Dean to repress a gag.

Sam is bent over him now, biting and sucking at Dean's neck and ears, gasping his brother's name in between obscenities. But Dean can only hear the rush of blood in his ears, can only feel the tightening of his chest as he sucks in too much oxygen too fast. He doesn't snap out of it until he feels a hand being worked under him.

"No," Dean says, his voice so very weak. He grabs Sam's hand and holds it, maybe too tightly. "No, Sammy, this is enough, this- Sam." He breaks off into a whine of pure frustration over the situation.

Sam must read it as something else because he braces Dean's hand back against the bed, placing his own over both of Dean's and interlocking their fingers. This may have just been what Dean was asking for because he gains enough comfort from the gesture to slow his breathing to a safer rate and ride the rest of this out mostly calm. When Sam comes, it's with his brother's name on his lips and Dean sobs once more.

They rest there for a moment – Sam panting softly against Dean's neck, occasionally nuzzling him – before Dean pushes him off and goes into the bathroom.

He cleans his brother from his thighs and leaves the water running as he fights back retches. One escapes him, a long, thankfully silent roll of nausea that leaves the taste of bile in his mouth.

Dean rinses his mouth and wipes away the tears gathered in his eyelashes, grips the sink until his arms stop shaking. He wets another washcloth – warm, not hot, not cold; damp, not dripping or dry; even now he maintains his normal level of regard for his brother – and he returns to Sam, who looks suddenly relieved as Dean sits on the edge of the bed.

He wipes Sam clean with care that he knows is more maternal than anything else. Sam's smiling at him, a big goofy grin that Dean has to return because he's been broken and missing pieces for a long time. If breaking another piece and giving it to Sam doesn't make a difference except to make Sam happy- well, Dean would give anything for that.

Sam pulls him back down then and presses their lips together in a chaste kiss, just a caress of two mouths. And this, this Dean can do. It's no different than when they pecked each other on the lips before bedtime as children, as long as Dean doesn't think about it too hard.

They lie there for a long time, trading feather light kisses. Occasionally, Sam grows bolder, licking at Dean's lips or nipping at his jaw. Occasionally, Dean becomes coy – ashamed – and hides his face against Sam's throat until he can be coaxed out again.

Sam is the first to fall asleep and Dean pulls him closer. Sam is in his arms and Dean will do anything to ensure he stays there. Even if that means he had to learn to like this. Even if he has to learn how to grow hard at his brother's touch, how to come with Sam's hand on his dick.

Because as long as Sam's here, in his arms and in his bed, then that means he isn't somewhere else.

Dean wakes up to big, hazel eyes and a pit of dread in his stomach.

He's laying on his back now and Sam is draped over him, his chin resting on his crooked elbow on top of Dean's chest. Sam is smiling at him, a lazy grin on his face, and his voice is pillow soft when he says, "Morning."

"You been watching me?" It's not what he'd meant to say.

"Not for long, I just-" Sam shrugs and ducks his head, resting his cheek against Dean's chest. "Didn't think it would happen, you know? You never gave any indication."

"Neither did you." He's pretty sure Sam mistakes the grief in his voice for regret at time wasted.

"I was scared. Dad never spoke highly of, you know…"

He trails off and it takes Dean a moment to realize he's referring to homosexuality.

Then Sam surges up, propping himself on his insanely long arms over Dean, with a panicked expression on his face.

"This- Dad can't find out, Dean. What would-"

Dean is as surprised as Sam when he sits up and cups the back of Sam's neck in one hand, his other carding through his hair.

"It's okay, Sammy," he says and he wants it to be true. He wants to not have to think of this as so very far from okay. "Dad won't find out. No one has to know. It'll be just you and me against the world, okay?"

Sam melts into him then, a look of sheer relief washing over him as he slides back down and rubs his face against Dean's chest.

"I just want to be with you Dean." He mutters. "Just want us to be together."

"That's all I want too, Sam." As Dean says it, he means it. Not how Sam does, but that's all he wants in the world.

That's all he's ever wanted.