It was the third request in the past six months via email. A Private Investigator two states over had been contacting PI Dean Vedder to request info on murdered girls in Dean's region. The guy offered to send a bank transfer before Dean even had to mention payment, and he pre-paid every time, but the questions were getting weirder. Why the hell would a PI want to know if there was sulfur at the crime scenes?

But Dean couldn't really turn down the cash. And these cases were a whole lot more interesting than his bread and butter cheating spouse cases, so he agreed to head down to the station to see if he could dig up any info.

Sergeant Julia Jones was working the desk that afternoon, and she rolled her eyes when Dean entered the station, but Dean gave her his best 1000 megawatt smile. She rolled her eyes again, even more dramatically, but there was colour in her cheeks now. She buzzed Detective Olson and then waved Dean past. He winked at her as he headed back and she feigned smashing her face into the desk.

They'd gone on a few dates when Dean was settling in to the city of Bismarck, but after an awkward night of really adequate sex, they decided not to pursue things further. That didn't mean Dean didn't enjoy flirting shamelessly with the woman, and that she didn't enjoy pretending to hate it.

Detective Olson was a different story and was completely immune to Dean's impish charm. He did, however, respond quite favourably to the bottle of single malt whiskey that appeared as if by magic each time he helped Dean with an investigation. Dean was greeted by a gruff, "What is it this time, Vedder?" as he entered Olson's office.

Though Det. Olson had an uncanny poker face, his partner Det. Suarez did not, and Dean was pleased to see the young woman seated across from Olson, flipping through a file. Her head snapped up to stare at her partner when Dean asked about the sulfur. Dean might not remember any details about his life before the previous eight months, but he never forgot how to read people, and the young Detective was freaked out.

He asked a few more questions about the cattle mutilations that had taken place each time there was a murder, as if he might be enquiring on behalf of farmer clients, then took his leave. He sent a quick confirmation text to the other PI about the sulfur and decided to go check out the crime scene. One murdered girl was unusual for a quiet county like Burleigh, but it was impossibly weird that the body of a third girl had been found in the nearby historic frontier town of Jamestown. Dean wanted to have a look for himself.

He tapped the sobriety chip on his keychain against his leg while he walked to his car. He'd have to hit an evening meeting later, though he'd much rather head to the pub for beer and pool. He didn't remember being a heavy drinker, but when he awoke in hospital after the accident that had left him comatose for a week, there was a 30 day chip on his keychain, so he figured he must have had a problem. He figured if he got his memory back, the old Dean would be seriously pissed at him for screwing up his hard won battle, so he kept to the program. He really missed beer, though.

There'd been a young guy who visited Dean a few times when he was just barely waking up. He claimed to have found Dean lying near the vehicle he'd been thrown from during the accident. He'd been a passenger and the driver, a John Campbell, passed away shortly before Dean woke up, but Dean didn't remember anything about the man, and the name didn't sound familiar.

His own name didn't sound familiar either, for that matter. He made the nurses stop calling him Mr. Vedder because it sounded so wrong to his ears, something they said was typical in these kinds of brain injuries. The name Dean sounded right; it fit him like a comfortable shirt, but if all his ID hadn't said Vedder, he wouldn't have believed it. He couldn't argue with his driver's licence, credit cards, and Private Investigator's licence, though.

Dean started the Impala and headed west out of the city. There was no doubt in his mind about his long term love affair with the sleek, black muscle car. It had felt like home the moment he spotted it in his driveway and he'd spent many evenings just driving around in her rumbling embrace. He didn't know why he felt such a strong need to go investigate the scene of the murders for himself, but he couldn't ignore it.

The frontier town was no longer an active crime scene but it remained closed to tourists, so Dean was able to explore at will once he hopped over the high fence. The place was creepy, no doubt. Something about old vacant buildings with windows that had seen too much always set his flesh crawling. He could see some remnants of yellow police tape and he wandered through a few of the empty buildings, noticing small traces of yellow powdered sulfur on a few windowsills. He stood staring at the bloodstained wooden slats on the floor of the old saloon until the ambient creep-factor was too much and he headed outside to open sky.

Shaking off the heebie jeebies, he was headed back to the car when he heard a small scrape and thump coming from one of the buildings. He pulled his gun and advanced slowly. The door was locked, but when he rattled the knob, the scraping sound got louder and a small whine sounded. Tucking his gun away he instinctively reached for his lockpicks and when the tumblers fell into place, he drew his gun again and slowly opened the door.

The smell was overwhelming and he was rubbing his stinging eyes against the sensory onslaught when he caught sight of the most wretched dog he'd ever seen surrounded by its own filth. It was trying to move toward him, but was too weak to do anything more than crawl. That didn't stop it from attempting to wag its tail.

Dean was not a dog person. He had an instinctive aversion to pets of any kind because they tied a person down, were a burden, but he couldn't help but reach out to the pathetic creature. He let it sniff him, speaking softly and calmly as it licked his hand. It seemed to be some sort of pitbull mix with a square snout and a white blaze on its tan forehead. Dean risked a potential bite, hoping that in its weakened state it couldn't inflict much damage should it decide Dean wasn't a friend, and picked up the emaciated dog in his arms. It was then he discovered the missing back leg.

"You have not had a good time of it, have you, pup?" he asked softly. "Let's get you out of here," he added, pulling his face away as he got a mouthful of enthusiastic dog tongue.

He carried the dog back to the car, hefting its weight onto one arm as he opened the trunk and found an old army blanket. He made a soft bed in the footwell of the passenger seat and gave the dog a drink of water from a bottle poured into his hand. She - manhandling her into the car revealed her gender - gulped greedily but Dean didn't want her to get sick so only gave her a little.

"You can have more when we're home, pup," he assured her when she whined for more.

He dialed Sergeant Jones as he started the car and explained the situation. She said she'd meet him at his place after swinging by the rescue organization she worked for to grab some supplies.

"I hope you know what an honour this is, missy. Baby doesn't let just any dog come along for the ride."

He drove carefully so as not to jostle her too much and had a visceral memory of driving carefully to protect someone in the back seat more than once. He couldn't grip more than just the vaguest feeling and sense memory, though, so he focused on the road ahead.

He pulled into the driveway and gave her another drink before he lifted her out of the car. He placed her on the grass in case she needed to relieve herself but she just stared at him so he grabbed the blanket from the car and picked her up again. He carried her inside to the bathroom, where Julia suggested he put her for now, closed the door and headed to the kitchen to grab a bowl for water. The desperate whine she let out at being closed in again made his heart ache so he raced back as quickly as he could.

He let her drink small amounts as he waited for Julia to show up, speaking sweet nonsense to her. It felt ridiculous, but he had flashes of taking care of someone when he was young, speaking gentle reassurances, so he just went with it.

Julia showed up about 10 minutes later with various gear and she paled when she saw the state the dog was in. She put out a tiny bit of food, which the skinny creature inhaled and looked eagerly for more. "We're just going to give her a bit at a time, even though it seems mean when she's so hungry. Dogs can get really ill from eating too much too soon when they've been starving like this."

They opted to give her a warm shower to clean her up. Dean supported her, since she was still too weak to stand on her own, while Julia shampooed and rinsed. The woman made a bit of a thoughtful face when she was washing the dog's abdomen but put Dean off when he asked what was up. Both of them were nearly as wet as the dog by the time they were finished, and Dean was pretty sure at least one of the facefulls of water he received from the shower sprayer wasn't as accidental as Julia claimed.

"You'll need to take her to the vet tomorrow, but all things considered, she seems to be doing okay. Her leg surgery was cleanly done and well healed, so she must have been someone's pet at some point. God knows how she ended up where you found her. She's a fighter, aren't you girl?" Julia rubbed the dog's head affectionately, receiving an enthusiastic lick in response as they dried her with a large towel. "You should keep her in here, I brought a baby gate so can have the door open and she won't be as scared. You don't know what her control levels are like, so you want to be able to easily clean up any messes." She looked down at her soaked t-shirt and laughed. "Speaking of messes…"

Dean threw Julia a towel and went to get them each a dry shirt to wear. He averted his eyes like a gentleman, only peeking a little when she stripped off her shirt to replace it with one of his. She was beautiful, even sopping wet with running mascara and stringy hair, but Dean couldn't feel more than affection for her. He sensed that if he made a move she'd be up for it, but their last time together just hadn't felt quite right, and he didn't want to put either of them through it again when they'd developed a pretty decent friendship.

"Do you want to stay and have some iced tea?" Dean offered, wishing, not for the first time that day, that beer was an option.

"Naw. I've gotta get going. Early shift tomorrow. But call me if you need anything else. I left a message at the vet's office so they'll call you to set up an appointment for tomorrow. I'm so glad you found her. You gonna keep her?"

Dean looked at the dog. He hadn't considered what might happen beyond saving her from the filthy building. There was a voice deep in his brain that told him a life on the road was no place for a dog but he wasn't on the road. He had a house and a job and there was no reason he shouldn't have a dog.

"Yeah. I think I am."

Julia helped him get the collar on and the dog accepted it readily, again suggesting she'd been someone's pet. When they made to leave the bathroom the dog stood on wobbly legs as if to follow them, whimpering slightly.

"Do you want to go outside? Let's try again, okay, Tripod?"

Julia stared incredulously at Dean when she heard the name, but then just shook her head at his determined expression. Dean hovered closely over the dog but let her walk unsteadily to the door. He lifted her down the steps to the grass but then let her stand, check that, squat on the grass to do her thing. Julia headed to her car after giving Tripod an affectionate scruffing, muttering to herself about the ridiculous name.

Dean would never admit it, but he slept on the bathroom floor next to the dog that first night (and perhaps the next two or three as well) because he didn't want her to be alone and scared. He awoke gasping several times in the night from dreams involving a man with yellow eyes and a malevolent smile, and he was glad to have her warmth to settle against as he returned to sleep.

The vet visit the next day went well. Despite being malnourished and dehydrated, Tripod was in pretty good shape. He was pleasantly surprised to find out that half the cost of the visit, blood, and urine work had been paid by the Julia's rescue group, but less pleasantly surprised by the declaration that Dean was going to have more than one dog in the very near future. Tripod was pregnant.

The vet explained that there was a chance she'd lose the puppies if her body wasn't able to recover from her ordeal quickly enough so he was given instructions on how to help her gain weight as quickly as was healthy. He was pretty sure that nothing in his life had ever been uncomplicated so he listened and took notes, and hoped for an upswing in the town's cheating spouse population to help him pay for all of it.

They stopped by the pet store on the way home to pick up a few more things, and the staff lavished the dog with affection and treats. Thanks to a few good meals, she was walking as steadily as she could, and her three-legged gait brought her much attention. She had a very gentle demeanor, despite her ordeal and the reputation her breed had for aggression, and Dean thanked whatever force had inspired him to go investigate the historic site where he found her.

Once home, he had her do her business on the lawn - he was very glad for the box of little baggies Julia had brought by - then got her settled in the kitchen with a soft dog bed, food and water. There was a lot of light in the room and he set up the baby gate so she could see the rest of the house and wouldn't feel trapped. She whined a little as he left, but he reassured himself that she was safe, and that he had to go into the office or he wouldn't be able to pay off the credit card charges he'd accrued that morning.

He greeted Cindy, the receptionist who supported all the small businesses in the furnished office space he rented to give him credibility and keep clients out of his personal space, and headed into his tiny office. He was sorting through email requests - two suspicious wives and a father who wanted him to check out his daughter's fiancé - when a text came in from the out-of-state PI.

Heading your way. Need to check things out for myself. Meet for drink Thurs PM?

Dean figured why not since it might be nice to chat with someone with experience in the business. Dean's licence said he'd been at it a while, but it all felt somewhat new to him.

Sure thing. Coffee instead? Diner on Front Street has great pie. Meet you there 7ish?

Sounds good. See you then.

When Dean got home work and a meeting that evening, he found traces of dog hair on the couch and Tripod curled up in her dog bed wearing a suspiciously innocent expression. "I see how it is," Dean muttered as he opened the kitchen door to let her into the back yard. He poured himself a glass of iced tea and sat on the back steps as she wandered around sniffing everything in sight until she tired herself out and flopped at his feet. He rubbed her belly absently and realized just how alone he'd been.

Dean quickly settled into a routine with the dog and Julia came over a few times over the next couple days to see how they were doing, bringing her dog Max over for play dates. She was really happy with Tripod's weight gain and the four of them walked around the neighbourhood companionably. Dean and Julia stopped to get coffees at Starbucks and they were waiting in line to order when Dean spotted a tall, broad-shouldered man walking toward the far exit. Dean froze and the noise of the shop became a dull buzz in his ears. It was like he knew every angle of that body. Knew exactly how the man's arms would swing as he walked, how he'd duck his head as he opened the door for someone entering, how he'd brush his chestnut hair out of his eyes.

Dean had no idea he was staring until Julia nudged him. He still seemed so confused that she ordered a large black coffee for him and herded him over to the pick up counter to wait for her latte.

"You know that guy, or just like what you see?" she asked mildly.

"What?" Dean asked, focusing on her for the first time in several minutes.

"I mean, it explains a lot if you were checking him out. You've got good taste in guys for sure."

"But I wasn't…" Dean cut himself out. "Was I?" Was he? He had felt an extremely strong pull toward the other man. Maybe that's why he hadn't connected with any of the women in town. Maybe he was gay. He frowned and checked out some of the other male patrons in the shop but none of them did anything for him.

Julia's laugh pulled him out of his pondering and he realized how absurd the situation was.

"I'm sorry. I'll have my amnesiac sexual identity crisis another time."

His lingering confusion switched to a huge grin when Julia did a latte spit-take at his comment. He grabbed her some napkins to wipe up then they headed outside to get the dogs for the return journey to Dean's place.

That evening Dean headed to the diner to meet up with the other PI and he almost broke the handle off his coffee mug when Mr. Tall-and-Distracting from Starbucks walked in and headed straight for Dean's table.

He held out his hand. "You must be Dean. I'm Sam Young. Glad you could make it."

Dean found himself staring into Sam's eyes, trying to work out exactly what colour they were. Hazel didn't do them justice, but it was the closest he could come. He realized that the other man was still speaking and Dean hadn't heard a word. The guy laughed at Dean's blank expression and a set of dimples popped out that made Dean's breath catch.

Since Dean had no idea what the guy had said since he sat down across the booth, Dean had to play his sympathy card. "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to repeat all that. I had a brain injury and my focus isn't always as good as it should be."

He felt like such an ass when he saw the devastated look on the other PI's face, so he rushed to reassure the man. "Naw. It's all good. I'm okay. I just sometimes zone out at inappropriate times."

Sam asked him a few more concerned questions but Dean quickly brushed off all the queries, emphasising how fine he was. He asked a series of questions back until the man realized Dean wasn't going to talk further about his injury and they focused their conversation on the murdered girls.

Dean tried the best he could to focus but found himself staring at the other guy more than he'd like. There was just something so familiar about him, and yet, also not. Sam chuckled nervously when he caught Dean's intense stare for the umpteenth time and wiped his face with his napkin. "Do I have something on my face?"

Dean blushed and just came out with it, ignoring how it sounded like a bad pick up line. "Are you sure we've never met before?"

Sam's nostrils flared and he looked at the table for a moment before looking back at Dean. "Hard to say, really. I meet a lot of people…"

Their conversation grew stilted from there, so after Dean gave Sam directions to the crime scene, they parted with a handshake.

Dean had a vivid nightmare that night. There was fire, and the yellow-eyed man was laughing. Black-eyed people were converging on him and then he was in the back seat of the Impala. Sam was there, sitting in the front passenger seat talking to the dark-haired driver. And then there were blinding lights, flying glass, and pain. He woke up screaming and crying, and could hear Tripod whining and scraping at his bedroom door.

He staggered to open the door and knelt before the distressed animal, burying his face against her soft chest as she licked away his tears.

Two days and two nightmare-riddled, sleepless nights later, Dean was running on empty. He tried to work, but couldn't do anything much more than stare blankly at his computer screen. Coffee wasn't having any impact anymore, merely making his hands shake uncontrollably. A serious amount of bourbon to knock him out cold was what his brain told him it wanted, but that wasn't an option. He wondered if it might be safe to take a sleeping pill since his problem had been with alcohol, not drugs, according to the letters on his sobriety chip, but he didn't think it was worth the risk.

That night he let Tripod come to bed with him, her comforting presence and gentle snore lulled him to sleep better than any tranquilizer. He didn't have any nightmares that night. Instead, his dreams were filled with sunflower eyes, long naked limbs, broad shoulders, a sexy curved ass, and a thick cock. He woke up with a raging boner and when Tripod looked quizzically at him from her station at the bottom of the bed, Dean quickly ran to the bathroom to take care of things in private.

He and Sam had been lovers, before. He knew it in the deepest recesses of his body. He knew what it felt like to have Sam's hands - and mouth - on his body and he felt like he could chart every inch of Sam's body for someone who didn't understand the concept of male beauty. Why was the guy playing coy with him? Did they have an ugly breakup? Did one of them cheat? Why hadn't he mentioned knowing Dean when he made contact so many months ago? It all made his brain hurt because he could feel the edges of the memories so close but not quite grasp them.

He shook it off and went to the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast, shooing Tripod into the backyard so he could think in private. He was definitely getting flashes of memory. Sam laughing, or sleeping, or bitching at him in the passenger seat of the Impala. Their naked limbs tangled together in a dizzying number of scummy hotel rooms. Sam's worried face peering down at him in an ugly green hospital room.

Holy Shit! Sam was the young guy who'd taken him to hospital after the accident. Why didn't he stick around?

The air inside felt too close so he called the dog and they headed out on a long walk.

Sam was waiting on the sidewalk in front of his house when he and Tripod returned from their sojourn. He looked incredulously at Dean. "You got a dog?" he asked, then knelt immediately before the dog, submitting himself to her enthusiastic greeting. She was wriggling so hard she nearly knocked herself over and a shocked laugh burst forth from Sam's lips when Dean called Tripod to calm down. "You did not name a three-legged dog Tripod," Sam breathed. "That's horrible."

Dean shrugged. "It's not like it's gonna hurt her feelings. She's a dog. And she's pretty aware that she's only got 3 legs."

Sam murmured something like, "I'm so sorry for him, Sugar," against the dog's neck, and then he stood up his full height. Dean was struck with the familiar lines of the man's body and how much he wanted to stroke the worried lines that furrowed Sam's forehead.

"Listen," Sam began, "do you think we could go inside and talk?" He gestured to Dean's house. Dean was leery of how Sam knew where he lived, but then realized that Sam was a PI and it wouldn't be hard to find out. Or maybe Dean had given him the address when they broke up and he moved? It was killing him that he was so close to remembering. Still, Tripod really seemed to like Sam so he invited the guy inside.

When they were seated on the couch drinking coffee with the dog sprawled on the carpet between their feet, Sam got to the point. "This is gonna sound really weird, so please let me get through it."

"Before you start," Dean interrupted, "tell me that we know each other. I've been having some pretty vivid dreams and what feel like memories."

"Yeah, Dean. We know each other."

"We were together?"

Sam nodded. "We were, but it's complicated. I know that sounds cliché, but in this case, it is not the typical story. We were hunters. Monster hunters."

Dean wanted to scoff, but Sam's description didn't sound wrong. His eyes widened. "The yellow-eyed man. I dream about him."

"Demon," Sam corrected. "He was a demon, and he was the one killing those girls, or at least having his minions kill those girls. But I stopped him last night. He's dead." Sam looked at Dean intently. "We've hunted this thing our entire lives, but we don't have to anymore. He can't take anyone else away from us. He's dead. He's really dead." Sam's voice broke on the last sentence and Dean moved in close, stroking Sam's shoulder.

"You're right," Dean said, "it sounds weird. I've been in this town for the past eight months following dirtbags around to hotel liaisons, not hunting monsters."

"When you woke up with no memory, you didn't recognize me, and I thought it was your chance at a normal life. You always wanted me to have a normal life and I wanted to give the same to you. I set everything up for you here - the house, the office, the job. I wanted you to get to sleep in the same bed for more than a few nights in a row. Maybe date the cute waitress at the diner."

Dean ignored the fact that his former boyfriend was trying to set him up with a diner waitress. "But how could we have been hunting this thing our whole lives? How long have we known one another?"

Sam's eyes filled with tears and he slumped forward. "Oh, fuck, Dean. I was so hoping you'd remember this part on your own. I don't know if I can explain and have it make any sense."

Dean pulled Sam into his arms and as he let Sam weep against his neck, he caught Sam's clean scent. There was a layer beneath the soap and shampoo, though. Something more essentially Sam. When Dean buried his nose shamelessly into the nape of Sam's neck trying to identify it, the smell pulled him to a memory of him holding a much younger Sam, assuring the little boy that Dad would be back soon, but that Dean would take care of him until then because that's what big brothers did.

"Oh," he breathed. "We're…" Dean wasn't even sure if he could say it out loud. "But we were together? Like, together together?"

Sam chuckled darkly. "I told you it wasn't the typical story."

"You weren't kidding. Fuck." Dean scratched the back of his neck but he didn't move away from Sam on the couch. "And the guy driving the Impala when we had the accident? That was our dad?"

"Yeah," Sam answered sadly. "John Winchester. He didn't make it. It was his mission I just finished. That demon killed our mom when I was a baby, and my college girlfriend Jess, and Dad spent the rest of his life hunting the creature down. I think it came here because it found out you were here. I'm sure you were next on its hit list but I got it first."

Dean stood up and started pacing in front of the dog who grumbled quietly. "Fuck, I need a drink." Dean pulled his sobriety chip out of his pocket and stroked it. "All I've got is iced tea, though. At least it's the colour of whiskey."

"You're still not drinking?" Sam's face was filled with wonder.

"Yeah. There was this chip on my keychain when I woke up. I'm in recovery."

Sam flushed pink and licked his lips awkwardly. "I was worried that you'd disappear into a bottle once you were out of hospital, so I put that on your keys when I set up your life here."

"You mean I didn't even have a drinking problem and I've been denying myself beer for eight months?"

"I'm not saying you didn't have a problem, Dean. I'm saying that you hadn't admitted to having a problem."

Dean stared furiously at Sam for at least ten seconds before he burst into laughter. "That does sound like kind of thing the Sammy I remember would do."

It was Sam's turn to stare as his eyes filled with tears again. He stood and took a few steps toward Dean. "The name's Sam," he said tentatively.

"Sure thing, Sammy," Dean answered, the nickname flowing effortlessly from his tongue, and pulled his brother into a tight embrace.

Sam didn't have a lot of gear so it didn't take much to move him into the house with Dean. They set him up in the spare bedroom because neither of them were sure of where they stood, but on more than one occasion, Dean had slipped into the guest bed with Sam to seek comfort, and some mild making out.

It seemed ridiculous to Dean that he felt so shy about getting physical with Sam. Clearly, they'd been lovers for years; Dean was getting more and more memories back that reinforced the knowledge of their intimate relationship. And although it felt anything but wrong when he held Sam in his arms and he felt Sam's soft, pink lips pressed against his own, and a harder, more insistent pressure against his hip, he couldn't get over the fact that they were brothers.

They held a barbeque to celebrate Sam's moving in, inviting Dean's friends over to get to know his new boyfriend. Julia hugged Sam tightly, while the Detectives just gave him a nod and asked Sam to keep Dean out of their hair. Several people from the diner and coffee shop came by after their shifts and the back yard was quickly filled with the sounds of laughter and conversation. Tripod gamboled around the yard, charming everyone in her path, her pregnant belly making her gait even more awkward, but nothing stopped her effusive happiness.

Dean was sitting on the back steps after the party looking at the mess that resulted from a life with real friends. Sam sat down next to him and handed him a beer. Dean looked at the bottle and back up at Sam.

"I shouldn't have forced you into recovery without your consent," Sam admitted. "I did it with the best intentions but it still wasn't fair. If you want, you should be able to have a beer or two."

"You trying to get me drunk so I'll put out?" Dean asked saucily.

"Actually, yeah." Sam's look was so openly heated that it took Dean's breath away. He put the bottle to the side, unopened and then he grabbed the back of Sam's neck and pulled him into a kiss, not bothering with the slow build, just going for relearning the contours of Sam's mouth with his tongue. Sam moaned into Dean's mouth and Dean pressed forward, laying Sam back onto the wooden landing and covering Sam's body with his. They thrust their hips together as they kissed, the friction so good but not nearly enough.

Dean pulled back reluctantly. "C'mon, Sammy, let's go in. I need to get you naked."

They made their way down the hallway awkwardly, stopping to kiss and grope every few steps. Clothes scattered in their wake and by the time Dean was pressing Sam back onto his soft, down duvet, there was only the thin cotton of boxer briefs between them, and nothing had ever felt more right. Dean kissed a trail down Sam's throat, stopping to lap at the hollow of his collarbones before working down to suckle and tease at each dark nipple.

Every one of Sam's moans and sighs was a revelation, and Dean felt lucky to get to discover them all again. He kissed and nibbled his way along each of Sam's prominent hip bones, loving the way Sam's essential scent grew stronger as Dean got closer to the impressive erection that tented Sam's underwear. When Dean finally released Sam's cock from its stretchy cotton prison, it sprang forward and slapped against his flat belly.

Dean took Sam's velvet length in hand, rather intimidated by its size. He looked up at Sam questioningly. "Which of us, um…"

Sam chuckled huskily. "Either of us, depending on our moods. I'm happy for it to be me tonight. I've missed having you inside me."

Dean's dick twitched at Sam's words and he forced himself back to the task at hand. He swirled his tongue around the ruby crown at the tip of Sam's cock and then lapped at the small bead of precome that formed at the slit. Dean locked his eyes on Sam's then slid as much of Sam's length as he could into his mouth, wrapping his hand around the base. He sucked and stroked, making sure to let a lot of saliva dribble out of his mouth to smooth the way for his hand, remembering that Sam liked it messy. Sam's pupils had essentially eclipsed his irises when his head fell back against the pillows as Dean continued pressure with hand and mouth.

When Sam was quivering beneath him, Dean pulled off and mouthed at Sam's balls, bending his brother's knees up to expose his tightly furled hole. Dean stroked some of the errant saliva over the dusky bud, feeling it twitch and clench under his touch. He lifted Sam's hips further and echoed the motions of his finger with his tongue and Sam fucking whimpered. Dean had never heard a more beautiful noise than that so he nibbled and sucked and probed with his tongue and fingers, until Sam's whimpers turned into begging. He wasn't sure where the lube Sam handed him came from but Dean continued to work him open with his tongue and fingers long past the point Sam told him he was ready for Dean to fuck him, and he was a quivering mess by the time Dean finally slid inside.

Dean wanted to smack himself up the head as seated himself fully in Sam's ass. How could he ever have convinced himself that this was wrong? This was perfect. He captured Sam's lips in his own and they kissed lazily as he thrust slowly in and out of Sam's heat until neither of them could stand the slow pace anymore.

He pulled Sam's hips up even higher and thrust down deep into him. When he heard the gasping moan, he knew he'd hit the right spot so he aimed his strokes to hit Sam's prostate every second or third time. He knew he wasn't going to last long, and he needed to get his brother there ahead of him so he spat into his hand and began jacking Sam's cock rhythmically as he pounded into him. Sam got there only seconds before Dean did and the sight of Sam spraying his release across his six-pack sent Dean cascading into orgasm, pumping his brother full of his hot come.

Dean collapsed into a sweaty heap next to Sam, pulling out only reluctantly. Their ragged breathing was the only sound until a small sharp cry pierced the air. Tripod. Where was she?

Dean followed the sound, staggering naked on orgasm-wobbly legs until he found the dog lying on some discarded towels on the bathroom floor. She whined again and lifted her back leg, pressing out a sticky bundle.

"Puppies!" Dean exclaimed as Sam arrived behind him, handing him a t-shirt and boxers to put on.

In the end, only two of Tripod's four puppies survived. There were many tears as Sam buried the tiny towel wrapped bundles in a place of honour in the back yard. The two surviving pups - Turbo and Speedy - nursed their way into plump balls of energy much sooner than Dean or Sam were ready for.

It wasn't the life either Winchester brother expected, but Dean Vedder and Sam Young settled happily into their town with their canine family and lived a life that they loved.