When Right and Wrong Collide
Summary:Sam and Dean had been out hunting a coven of witches when one of them cast a spell on them. It took three days for it to affect them, and when it did, every barrier between them vanished. Every. Single. One. When it was all said and done, Castiel tells Dean that the feelings had to have been mutual, or the spell wouldn't have worked. Did Sam love Dean as more than a brother? Or was the angel just trying to make him feel better?
Everything was silent, too silent, as Sam and Dean crept through the house that had formerly housed a coven of witches. This particular coven had been the biggest that the two brothers had ever seen before, topping at thirty-seven witches. It was almost like they'd been trying to make a community, something that Sam and Dean might have believed, if they hadn't been summoning demons and shoving them into the bodies of little kids. The two men had spent most of the night hunting these witches, and now there was only one left: the leader. The only problem was that she'd literally vanished when Sam took a swing at her, and now the brothers were slowly making their way up the stairs, trying not to make them creak as they crept up them.
A soft thump and a series of shuffling noises sounded above them, securing their theory that the witch was still in the house. They quietly made their way down the hallway to the only closed door at the very end, and Sam shifted to the left, hand hovering over the knob as he waited for Dean's signal. Dean hoisted his gun a little higher, tightening his grip before giving his brother the teeniest of nods. Sam returned it, then flung open the door. The witch whirled around, gasping in shock and fear, as the brothers stormed into the room, guns trained on her. She flung her hands out, palms forward, and threw the boys against the wall. Sam was back on his feet instantly, palming a throwing knife, and sending it spiraling through the air. Unable to dodge completely, the dagger embedded itself into the witch's right shoulder. She shrieked in pain as she flicked her good arm to the left, tossing Sam at Dean, who had just managed to untangle himself from the cable cords he'd been thrown into, knocking them both to the ground. As they started to rise again, the witch saw that she may not make it out of this house alive, so she began to chant. If she was going to die today, then she was at least going to be remembered.
"Odium inimici mei, carmine vocat hanc. Evasione mea, iures postulo portae inferi. Fac amore familia rubigo, et torquent eam in negari libido!" She cried out, latin pouring from her lips in an unstoppable tide. Dean whipped up his gun and fired, striking the witch directly through the mouth, the single bullet burning a hole in the wall behind her.
But he was too late.
Red mist pulsed from the floorboards, seeping from the walls, and leaking from the air vents. It flooded the room in the blink of an eye, and wrapped itself around the boys. Sam and Dean coughed and choked on it as it forced itself past their lips and down their throats. Once the boys had swallowed all of the mist, their violent hacking finally stopped. They raised their heads and stared at each other in confusion and fear. Finally, Sam murmured to Dean softly, "What was that?"
Dean shook his head, examining his hands as he flipped them back and forth. "I don't know, Sammy. I-I don't feel any different; I don't feel like I'm on the verge of death. What about you? You feel any different?" He looked up to find Sam shaking his head.
"Huh. Well, I guess there's nothing we can do now accept go back to the motel, and wait it out. See if we start shifting into creepy aliens or switch bodies or something. If it's anything too bad, we'll just call Cas to come fix us." Dean grinned, standing up.
"Right."
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The first night after the strange incident with the red mist, nothing happened. The second night after, both brothers began to feel a little itchy, like they'd been in the sun too long, whenever they accidently brushed against each other, or if one stood near the other for too long. But it was on the third night when Sam and Dean realized just what kind of spell the witch had cast on them. Sam had been laying on the motel bed, arm flung over his eyes, when he suddenly jerked upright, startling Dean, who was looking for a new case on the bed next to him. Dean gave him a funny look when Sam just sat there staring at his hands.
"You, uh, you okay there, Sammy? You feelin' alright?"
"No." Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper. "No, I'm not. My insides feel like they're melting, but my skin feels like I've dunked myself in ice."
Dean clicked the laptop closed, setting it down on the bed before walking over to kneel in front of his baby brother. He reached out to touch his hand, only to yank it back when Sam let out a small hiss. Dean hesitated for a moment before standing. "Sam. Sam, look at me; I want you to look at me."
Sam shook his head. "Sam." Dean growled, sending shivers up the brunette's spine. "Look. At. Me."
Finally, slowly, very slowly, Sam tilted his head back. "Open your goddamn eyes, Sammy, and look at me."
Sam bit his bottom lip, and slowly slid his eyes open. Dean stared at his brother in shock. Sam's eyes were a deep brown with bright green flecks, and while Sam's always hated them, Dean found them beautiful. His eyes now were still that same stunning color, but now they had a ring of bright scarlet around the irises.
"Sam-"
"Dean-"
"Your eyes." They said at the same time.
"My eyes, Sammy? Your eyes have-",
"A ring of red around them? So do yours." Sam said, cutting his brother off.
For a moment, the two of them just stared at each other, the tension in the room nearly tangible. Sam noticed Dean's shoulders tensing up, like they do whenever he's trying to control himself.
"Dean?" Sam asked, standing. "What's wrong?" He made the mistake of touching Dean's shoulder, and the tension in the room snapped like a rubber band.
So did Dean's self-control.
The oldest Winchester threw his brother onto the bed, and was on him in a second, straddling his hips and pushing the heel of his palms into his shoulders as he leaned down to kiss him fiercely. Sam moaned into it, even though part of his mind told him this was wrong, albeit a very rapidly shrinking part. Still, he had to try and talk some sense into his brother.
"Dean." He gasped, when Dean moved to kiss down his jaw and neck. "Dean, you have to-oh. You h-have, ngh, to stop."
"Stop?" Dean laughed. "You really want me to stop? What do you want me to stop exactly? This?" Dean ground his hips down roughly, causing Sam to grip his brother's shoulders hard, and give a soft moan. "Or maybe it's this you want me to stop." He reached under Sam's shirt and gently raked his nails down his ribs, silently enjoying the way his brother's back arched against him. "It might even be this." Large hands slid down lean muscle to grip Sam ass tightly, and slowly grind his hips in small circles. "Tell me, Sammy. Do you really want me to stop?"
"No!" Sam cried out, the logical part of him drowned out by how much he needs this, needs Dean. "Don't stop. Don't you dare stop!"
Dean grinned. "Well, since you asked so nicely…" He lunged forward to smash his mouth to Sam's, drinking in the loud moans he was given as they pushed and pulled at the other's clothing. Somehow, someway, they managed to take off each other's shirts, and Dean was running his palms over his baby brother's chest, marveling over his lithe form. Light brushes of his mouth over sensitive places made the gorgeous body beneath him quiver and shake in the most delicious way.
Dean was going to take his time, oh yes. He was going to take his time and explore every inch of his little brother's gorgeous form. By the time Dean actually gets to the sex part of tonight, he'll already have Sammy begging and panting, falling apart beneath him. He'll know of every sensitive spot on his body, what he likes, what makes him writhe and moan. What makes him scream. Oh, yes. Dean was going to enjoy himself tonight.
Because Sam was his. Sam had always been his.
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Sam shivered at the feeling of Dean's mouth smoothing over the back of his neck, of his teeth biting down hard enough to leave a bruise, of his tongue licking over said bruise. Sam had to admit, he was a little surprised by Dean. He expected his brother to be rough in bed, to get straight to it, but he wasn't, and he didn't, and Sam loved it. He loved this soft side of Dean that he didn't get to see all that often. It made him feel loved and cherished, and with everything they did, how often they moved, it was nice to feel this way once in a while.
"Dean." Sam breathed as Dean slowly pressed tender kisses along his throat, his head tilting back to give his brother access to more skin. "Dean, please."
Dean brought his head up, a smug smile on his face at the small whine Sam gave when he'd pulled away. "Yes, Sam? What is it, baby?"
Sam closed his eyes and swallowed, unsure of how to put his incredibly jumbled, hazy thoughts into words. "Dean, I-please…"
The dark, velvety laugh above him made the brunette arch his back, his body craving contact. A soft sigh escaped him when warm lips humored him and began kissing him softly. "Please, Dean. I need you. I-I want you. Please."
"Mmm." He mused against the other's lips. "Tell me. What you want from me exactly?"
Frustration welled up inside the brunette, but he didn't let it show. Instead, he decided to demonstrate what he wanted. Propping himself up onto his forearms, he lifted his right leg and wrapped it around Dean's waist, pulling his brother ever closer. He rotated his hips against Dean's, rubbing their erections together with nowhere near enough friction that either of them craved. It was slowly beginning to drive Sam mad, and he fervently hoped that it was affecting Dean too, so he would take over. Sam let his head fall back, closing his eyes, and adding a little more pressure. His heart sped up when he heard Dean groan low.
"I want this, Dean. I want you, and I want you-", he cut off to place his hands against his brother's shoulders and, using his leg as leverage, flipped them around so that he was on top, straddling Dean's waist. He shifted his weight so that he sat down on his older brother's erection, gasping out a moan at the feeling. He unconsciously ground down against it, his head tossed back. "-here." He breathed out.
"Holy son of a bitch, Sammy." Dean growled breathlessly. Seeing his baby brother do something that sexy had done more than just take his breath away; he might've gotten harder. "You trying to kill me?"
Sam didn't answer, too lost in the feeling of Dean against where he needed him most. Dean finally gave in when he saw the look of pleasure on Sammy's face; he hooked his index fingers inside his jeans, tugging slightly. "Off, off, off." He demanded impatiently. Sam immediately lifted his hips, so Dean could sweep off the last of their clothes. Dean started to reach toward the motel nightstand, only to have Sam stop him. He shook his head. "It's not needed."
He was about to ask what he meant when he was all of sudden enveloped in warmth almost too hot. Dean gasped and fell back onto the motel bed, his hips instinctively thrusting upward, and drawing a mewl from his baby brother. "Fuck, Sam." He groaned. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Should've done this years ago." He did an experimental bump-and-grind thrust, and was rewarded with his name keened softly. "Dean. Oh god, please, Dean."
The older Winchester rolled them gently, so that Sam was cradled underneath him. "Don't worry, baby. I've got you." He pulled out slowly, and pushed in slightly faster, all the while watching his brother's face. Sam was in complete bliss. With every partner his brother had, he just assumed that sex with him would be fast and hard, but Sam couldn't have been more wrong. When it came to him, Dean didn't fuck. Dean made love. And it was perfect.
Both men shut out everything around them, except for themselves, as their bodies fit together so perfectly. Dean gently took Sam's hands in his, lacing their fingers together and placing them on the bed by his head. Their bodies moved in sync, a sacred dance of giving and taking, their bodies not the only part of them becoming one, but their hearts and souls too. Dean watched his baby brother with half lidded eyes, as Sam's back arched delicately, his long, long legs wrapping around Dean's waist and tangling with his own. The soft, sweet sounds that he was making were being slotted away, so that Dean could remember them later when they both woke up. Even though the hazy red lust clouding his vision had long since vanished, he wasn't sure how his sweet little Sammy would react to this. He'd been in love with his little brother since Sam was eight, and he was twelve. It was the year Sam had saved him from that werewolf. That had been twenty-two years ago.
He buried his face in his Sammy's neck, breathing in the sweet smell of his skin, as their sweat slicked bodies began to reach their limits. "God, Sammy. My Sammy. You're so beautiful." Sam let out a soft moan, lifting his leg higher around Dean's torso to pull him further on top of him.
"Dean. Dean." He breathed against his cheek.
"What is it, baby? What is it?" Dean purred softly against his throat.
"I-I'm…I can't…" Dean nodded in understanding.
"Me too, baby, me too. I'm close." He shifted slightly, pressing their interlocked hands above Sam's head, as he began to move faster. Sammy's quiet moans turned into soft pants as they drew closer and closer to the edge.
"Dean, I-Dean." Sam panted.
Dean pulled back just enough to look Sam in the eyes. Taking a deep breath for courage, he finally voiced those feelings that he's been nursing for twenty-two years. "Sammy…Sammy, I-I love you."
It was enough. Sam arched his spine, threw back his head, and cried out in pure, complete bliss as he came. With the feeling of Sam clenching around him, Dean couldn't hold on any longer, his passion and love exploding from his body like a bolt of lightning. Both brothers collapsed onto the bed, and fell asleep immediately.
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When Dean woke up, Sam was gone, and Castiel sat in his place, staring at the bathroom door in that intense, brooding way of his. The green eyed male sighed sadly, and curled deeper into his pillow, trying to ignore the horrible, aching pain in chest. The two stayed that way for a few more minutes before the angel spoke. "The feelings must have been mutual." He rumbled.
"What?" Dean asked into the pillow.
"The feelings must have been mutual." He repeated, still staring at the bathroom door. "That is the only way for the spell to have worked."
Dean blinked up at the angel in confusion, though a small bubble of hope filled his chest. "What do you mean?"
Castiel turned to him and said, "The spell cast was a lust spell, but the only way for it to work is for the two of you to have the same kind of feelings for each other, something other than familial love."
That little bubble of hope expanded almost painfully in his chest. "So, what you're saying is that Sam had to love me as something more than a brother for that red mist to work?"
The angel nodded. "That is correct."
Dean shot up. "Cas, where's Sammy now?"
Cas turned back to the door he'd been staring at. "He has been in the bathroom for the last hour, wondering if what you said last night was an effect of the spell, or if you truly meant it."
Dean tore back the blankets, grabbed a pair of boxers and slipped them on, before turning back to thank the angel, only to find that he'd vanished. Deciding not to think too much on it, he turned back to the door. Striding up to it, he lifted his hand to knock, hesitated then rapped his knuckles on the wood. -It's now or never- he thought. Sam opened the door slowly, keeping his gaze low. Dean let out a growl that made the taller male whip his head up, too shocked to dodge as his brother's hand shot out to cup the nape of his neck, and yank him down for a kiss.
For a brief moment, Sam didn't react, and Dean started to second guess Castiel's words, until Sam lifted his hands to his face to tilt his head to a better angle. When they pulled away, they were both panting and clinging to each other. "I love you, Sammy. I love you in a way that I know I probably shouldn't, but I do anyways. I haven't really thought of you as my brother since you were eight, since you sacrificed your life for mine. I meant what I said last night. I meant it then, and I mean it now. I love you, Sam."
Sam stared at his brother, his mouth slightly open. Dean shifted nervously. "Will you say something? Anything?"
Sam's jaw worked. "Dean, I…" He suddenly slammed Dean into the wall and began kissing him. He punctuated each word with a kiss. "I." Kiss. "Love." Kiss. "You." Kiss. "Too." Kiss, kiss, kiss. When the words finally sank in, a huge smile bloomed on Dean's face, and he began kissing his Sammy back with just as much vigor.
"Sammy. My Sammy. I love you." Dean chanted against his brother's lips, dragging his hands through his hair. "I love you. My Sammy."
"Dean." Sam breathed, tears in his eyes. "I love you too."