He knew that it was wrong. In a life like his, you learned what was right and wrong very quickly and just where exactly he could blur those lines. But this, what he was doing, this was so past wrong and he couldn't, he couldn't corrupt his brother like this. His brother who was still so pure and innocent.
Dean knows that Sam wants it. He sees it in his eyes every time they look at each other. He hears it in his voice every time he asks for something that Dean shouldn't give him. And what makes it worse is that Dean wants it so desperately too. There's nothing more that he rather do that to gather Sam up in his arms and run away somewhere and be with him for ever like this was so fucking chick flick but he can't do that.
Dean Winchester was fucked in the head.
He knew that. He did things that on good nights had him asking if he was even human. But he wasn't about to fuck up Sam too.
There wasn't a future for Dean, not like there was one for Sam and Dean wasn't about to taint Sam's life just because of this taboo love that they had.
He had already taken it too far. He'd taken it entirely too far. He knew that the moment that Sam looked up at him with those big, doe eyes asking for things that no little brother should ask for. And god, if Dean were a stronger man, he would have said no. He would have broken Sam's heart early on before anything ever started so he would have time to heal. So he would have time to see that what he feeling wasn't something that he actually wanted forever.
But Dean was weak. Always was when it came to Sam. He would roll over on his back and do whatever Sam asked him to do.
Sam was the one that kissed him. At night when Sam is nestled up against him, that thought is the only thing that keeps him from losing his mind. Sam wanted this as much as he did. He didn't force any of his sick desires upon Sam. Sam wanted this, wanted him.
But that never was enough for Sam. He always wanted more. Just one more kiss. Just a little longer and when Sam dropped to his knees in front of Dean one day, looking up at him through his eyelashes saying that he wanted to taste him, begging Dean to let him taste him, Dean couldn't deny his brother.
Dean Winchester was weak.
He knew that. He knew that when he broke that promise to himself that he would never touch Sam. He said that he would let Sam do whatever he wanted, he would let Sam use him until he got bored and went off to find something new. But the kid never got bored with Dean. He always wanted to learn, find the things that Dean liked the best. And Sam wanted nothing more than for Dean to touch him.
It was one day at school when Sam was in gym and Dean was missing third period English to hang out with Sam when Dean finally touched him like Sam had been begging for. They were out on the football field, sitting in the bleachers, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. Everything was perfect.
He never meant too. Not really. An innocent touch to his knee that grew higher until his hand was resting over Sam and Sam bucked up into the touch, needing so much more. The kid always needed more.
And he was weak and he did what every weak man does, he broke and he shoved his hand down in the front of Sam's pants and touched him and stroked him and held him until Sam was screaming his name.
But that night when Dean completely shattered and made love to the boy like he wanted too the first time that Sam kissed him, Dean knew that he had to stop this because if he didn't he was going to shatter and destroy his little brother.
And then there was Sam, sweet little Sam who was so in love with his brother couldn't see how wrong it was.
As he laid awake that night, his naked body wrapped around Sam's listening to the steady sound of his breathing he shut himself off. Turned off his emotions and tried to forget everything that happened because this was going to kill him. What he was going to do, what he had to do was going crush Sam and he wouldn't be able to survive watching that.
The bed was empty when Sam woke up the morning, a stupid little sated grin on his face. Dean didn't offer him an explanation as to why he was fully dressed, sitting as far away from Sam as he could manage in the small motel room and when Sam suggested that he should just skip school that day, that they could stay all day in bed, Dean immediately shot it down, saying that he needed his education.
That stung and Sam looked away from Dean before he could see the way that his nose suddenly prickled with tears. But Dean saw them. He always saw everything about his brother and he forced himself to stay quiet, to go back on his word and stay with Sam tangled in the blankets.
After Dean dropped Sam off at school, turning away from the kiss that Sam tried to give him, Dean drove to the nearest bar, not even caring that it was before noon and fucked the bartender on her break in hopes that it would ease the ache in his chest of what he was giving up.
It does nothing but wound him even more. Everything about the girl is wrong. She feels so wrong underneath his fingers, her voice moaning out his name sounds nothing more than a betrayal to the boy that he had fallen in love with but couldn't have.
It's torture to be so close to Sam and not too touch him. Every second that passes is a knife to the heart and by the time that the end of the week rolls around and he's sure that he's spent enough money at the bar at the end of the street to buy the owner a Bentley, he's completely broken inside. So weak and starved and if Sam pushed him up against a wall and demand answers, Dean would cave and he wouldn't let Sam go ever again.
But Sam doesn't. He looks at Dean with these big hazel eyes, pain right underneath the surface watching as Dean's fingers flex around the bottle that's ever present now, bringing it too his lips.
Sam can't help but feel as if he was the one who did this to Dean. Pushed him to drink so much, pushed him away.
Used to, touches were often. Dean would pass by Sam, run his fingers through his hair or press a kiss to the crown of his head. Whenever he would look at what Sam was working on, Dean would always have a hand on him as he looked over his shoulder. There's nothing now.
Even when Sam tries to touch Dean, Dean flinches like his touch burns.
It's late and Dean isn't as drunk as he usually is this time of night. He's sitting on his bed, staring at the TV that's trying to sell some kind of magic blender or something and he hasn't said anything. Hasn't spoken, hasn't touched, hardly even looked at Sam since he picked him up from school earlier that afternoon.
"Dean, did I do something wrong?" Sam asks, the words spilling from his lips and Dean can't stay in the room.
He leaves without even looking at Sam.
The little red numbers on the generic alarm clock that sits on the nightstand in between the two beds reads sometime early in the morning and Dean expects to find Sam curled up underneath the thin sheet (he always strips the bed of the comforter the moment that they step into the room. Maids don't clean the comforters and Dean doesn't even want to think about taking a black light to it) but Sam's awake.
He's sitting criss-cross applesauce on Dean's bed, the bottle that Dean was drinking from clutched in his hand, nearly empty. His face is stained with tears, eyes red, shaggy hair a mess and Dean drops his head.
He was really hoping that Sam would have been asleep. He was wishing that he was because if he was then that meant that Sam wouldn't see the lipstick that stained his neck.
But he's awake and Sam's never one to miss things and he sees it.
Sam scoffs, taking a long drag from the bottle before speaking. "Fuck you, Dean." He mutters.
Dean takes a step into the room, trying to get closer to his baby brother who was hurting but the look on Sam's face freezes him to the spot. He can't fix this. "Sam… I'm sorry, Sam." Dean says but the words sound thin, meaningless.
"Shut up." Sam spits, jumping to his feet, the bottle falling to the floor. "You fuck me then ditch me? You fuck me and then forget about me just like everyone else. I thought that I was different!" His words are like daggers.
Dean opens his mouth to say something else, anything else but Sam shakes his head.
"Don't. I don't wanna hear it. Leave."
And that's it. That's all Dean has to hear and he's back out the door, tears threatening to fall as he runs. He thought that he could do this, that he could end whatever was between him and his brother before anything really started but he was so stupid to actually believe that.
Sam was his and he was Sam's from the first moment that he ever kissed him.
Later when Sam threw the now empty bottle against the wall, glass shards breaking everywhere and screams out in frustration because that's not what he wanted to say. He wanted to know what he did, why Dean didn't look at him anymore but seeing him, lips of another outlined on his neck he couldn't do say anything else.
He finds Dean a few miles away from the motel nearly curled in on himself, the moon reflecting the tears in his eyes.
"I need cha, Sammy." He croaks, his voice sounding so raw and exposed. "I need cha and I'm…"
But he doesn't finish because Sam's dropping to his knees, curling up against Dean, tucking his head in the crook of Dean's neck and Dean holds onto Sam so desperately, his fingers digging into the shirt he's wear, clinging to him.
"I need you too, Dean." Sam mumbles, kissing Dean's neck.
Sam doesn't mention the fact he feels the tears from Dean hitting his face. He holds onto Dean and lets him cry and they don't let go.