Author's note:Contains Wincest. Warning you now. Review so I know what to/if I should change.
Sam woke up in the car, his forehead red and burning from where it rested against the glass. He muttered an order at Dean to stop but the car pressed faster.
"Dean?" He said, louder. "Dean?" He looked up, the blur of trees bring him out of his sleepslow slur. "Dean?! What the fuck are you doing?" He clutched at the dashboard as if he could slow the car down, tires on the wrong side of the road. He was screaming his brother's name now, grabbing at his jacket, close to hitting him. Pushing 110 and listen to her purr. "Dean. Dean, please. Please." Close to tears, watching the oncoming lights swerve in and out as Dean switched sides, lane to lane. He pleaded one last whimper as they stared into the lights of something big. Something Dean wasn't swerving away from. Finally Dean looked at him, his tear stained face as the light hit the tracks on his cheeks. The wheel turned hard and the car jolted to a stop in safety. Dean laughed.
"Oh, come on, Sammy. I was just having some fun. For once. Think I'd mess up my car?" Sam grappled with the door handle, made it out and retched. For once. Having some fun, for once. He gagged again, Dean laughing behind him.
It's the middle of the night, shadows flitting across the room in the light created from under the bathroom door. Sam's staring straight ahead, making patterns into nightmares on the ceiling. Waking up alone was painful, to say the least. Bed still warm, pillow next to his holding the shape of Dean's body.
How long? He wondered. How long has it been since he's stayed through the night? He turned on his side, listening. All he could hear was Dean's voice. How long has it been since we talked? His eyes took fire and overflowed, little shattered sobs. Dean muttered to himself and cursed about something or other, the sound of water hitting the tub making the base of Sam's skull throb past painfully. Millenia ago, he would have joined Dean in the crowded shower, pressed their bodies together until they were nearly one person. Tasted Dean from head to toe and reveled at the feel of skin on skin, heat on heat.
Finally Dean slipped in bed beside him, hair damp and cold beneath Sam's fingertips as he lifted his hand to pull it straight. Dean leaned into Sam's touch and gave him a crazed look, pulling their chests flush. He could feel Dean's heart, pumped with gasoline and fire. Dean kissed him hard and fast and not at all smoothslick.
"Miss me, little brother?" He whispered, tucking his head into the crook of Sam's neck, reaching out to taste his pulse carefully.
"Yeah. I missed you." I still miss you.
Crappy little bar in the middle of nowhere. Like a million other crappy bars. Sam looked down into his rare beer. Keeping an eye on his big brother, for once. He brought his beer over to where Dean was sitting, tapped on his shoulder. Dean jumped and looked back, sad little broken smile. Like a million other broken smiles.
"Here." Barely a whisper as he handed Dean his beer. Dean gave him that look again and declined.
"Not thirsty. Can we get out of here?" Sam stared at Dean.
"Um. Well. You asked if we could come here." Dean's gaze was full of please and now and panic. "Yeah. Okay. We can get out of here."
Crumby hotel, worse than the bar. Sheets like sand paper. Dean's hands on him before he can ask and Dean's pressing his mouth to the hollow of Sam's throat, making little sighs and gasps and splintered words.
"Sammy..." Sam wants to tell him it's okay, but he knows it's not. "Sammy, I'm sorry about. I'm sorry about everything. Oh, God, Sam, forgive me. Please." Dean's not crying, but his body is shaking against Sam's and it feels like he's dying. Becoming something new and foreign and unDean.
"For what?" He asks, scared of the answer. Dean shakes his head, body trembling just a little more and Sam runs his hand into the small of his brother's back, his lips desperately finding the clammy skin of Dean's temple. "It's alright. Shh, Dean. I forgive you. I love you. Think I wouldn't?"
"Think you shouldn't."
Sam waited as Dean drifted off and started to strip off his grimy clothes, debating on under the sheets or over. He carefully unbuttoned Dean's shirt, ignoring the feeling of deja vu, the hundreds of times when they'd go weeks without a job and haul their father back from some sleazy dive, rid him of beer stained clothes and block out stories of their mother, how much better things could've been 'if only.' There were infinite of those.
If only he had been faster.
If only they hadn't bought that stupid house.
If only he had known then, not now.
If only Dean had been older.
If only they had cut Sam out when they had the chance. Before.
Sam sighed and shut out the voices. He had enough of them in his head without his far-away father's. He pushed Dean's shirt off and ran his hands over Dean's forearms, throat closing so fast he thought he would choke and die right there.
Thin little purple streaks slid across Dean's arms like child's play. Some were black and bruised and Sam wanted suddenly to reach out and grab them, push until Dean cried out. Higher on his arm, inside of his elbow, were little black dots like snake bites. Lots of snake bites. The urge to hurt Dean burned brighter, then broke and vanished and Sam was collapsing onto the creaky mattress, mouth blindly finding Dean's broken skin, cracked and torn big brother, always perfect and fractured and beautifully busted.
"I love you, Dean. Love you, love you, love you." He muttered. Dean's skin tasted like blood and salt and acid and it burned his tongue. "Forever."
"Sammy?" Sleep muffled voice. "Sammy, what's wrong?" His words were slurred. Had they been before? Was he drunk? How had Sam not seen?
"Nothing, Dean." He move up the bed and pressed his mouth to Dean's, fending off the protests and questions and pushed tones. "Go to sleep."