A/N: This is my first (but probably not last) story in Supernatural fandom, also in English. I guess it's pretty obvious why this story is rated M... ;) I would really appreciate some reviews, please let me know what you think and what am I doing right or wrong. Thank you for your support. :)

Edit: I forgot the disclaimer, whoops. So then:

Disclaimer: As much as I would like to own the boys, I, even though my heart bleeds at the thought every damn time, do not. (Was this theatrical enough...?)

Sam glanced at his brother, trying to figure out the reason behind the unusual (and, in fact, a bit scary) look on his face. Dean was like that for days now, and Sam was losing his patience exponentially with every passing minute. Whenever he had asked him what was going on, the answer was a silent headshake or a quick change of the subject. Hell, he tried; he tried so many times he lost count. He even pulled the tricky dialogue method, asking the question in different words at the most unsuspicious moments, but he simply couldn't catch Dean off guard. This whole situation was so ridiculous.

He let out a troubled sigh and slowly pushed himself to his feet. He just couldn't bear with his brother's stubbornness; he felt like his brain was going to explode if he had to spend one more minute in the same room as Dean. They were on a case, so at least he had an excuse for wandering around in the town randomly.

"I'm off," Sam stated, his voice cold as ice. He really wanted to help his brother, to know what was wrong (obviously, there was something wrong and judging from Dean's behaviour, it had to be something big), fuck, he was even ready for a fight. It would have been way better than this 'not-talking-leave-me-alone' sign on the man's forehead.

"'kay," Dean answered absent-mindedly. He was so absorbed in his own world that he didn't even notice it was 2 a.m. – or if he did, he didn't seem to care. That pissed off Sam even more, if that was possible at all.

If it wasn't for the other guests and the late hour, he would've slammed the door (several times, actually) to get rid of his anger and frustration, but then again, he had to find another way. A little walk always calmed him down, especially when the streets were abandoned. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, pushing his mind back on the trail and taking a chance to put the picture together for the hundredth time. At least.

It started about three, maybe four days ago, after they'd met Chuck. Yeah, Sam was also startled when it turned out the writer was an actual prophet, but it wasn't that... unacceptable. For instance, there was Castiel and this whole angel-stuff, so after all, this 'prophet of the Lord' crap seemed quite reasonable. To be honest, on the first day Sam couldn't even tell the meaning of the expression on Dean's face; but after long hours of thinking, he managed to figure it out. It was a hint of fear, a whole lot of guilt and uneasiness topped with self-loathing and probably disgust. Hence, he came up with a theory.

Dean must've had a secret. A secret of some unspeakable kind, hidden nice and deep in his mind; a secret he was going to protect and take to the grave rather than talk about it… and now, there was this man, Chuck, who knew everything about them. Hell, he was even writing about their thoughts!

Well, that was quite inconvenient for him, too, considering the business with Ruby and his crazy appetite for demon blood, shortly all the things he'd been doing while Dean hadn't been around. He wasn't exactly going to tell his brother about that stuff; somewhere deep in his soul, he hoped that he would never have to talk about it. He could just defeat – more precisely, kill – Lilith on his own, without putting anyone in the crossfire. And after setting things straight Sam would quit this goddamn bloodsucking. He would be his normal self again, they would go on hunts with Dean and maybe, someday, they would have a home. Sam's lips curled into a sarcastic, bitter smile at the thought. To escape from these poisonous dreams he chased his mind back to the problem with Dean.

So, what was this secret? What could've been possibly worse than sucking demon blood (and enjoying it) and fucking a demon (and enjoying it pretty much)? Sam already knew about what happened in Hell anyway and he thought it was the heaviest secret Dean'd ever had.

Apparently, it wasn't.

Or Sam just didn't know everything about those months – or rather, years – his brother spent in the pit. There were just too many possibilities, too many unknown variables… Sam had to go with his instincts this time. Although he didn't like to follow his premonitions blindly, he learnt it pretty fast that the hunter's best weapon is to trust his instincts, especially when a case couldn't be solved with salt, iron or some badass demon-killing knife.

Now his so-called instincts told him that Dean's current mood wasn't connected to Hell. It was something else, most likely something older; and if he didn't want to talk about it to Sam, then it probably involved the younger brother as well.

Shit, this was fucking irritating. Sam was aware that he had secrets too, and even though he trusted his brother, he just couldn't make himself to confess. Not about the demon blood, not about how damn good it felt when he swallowed a mouthful of pure evil. He knew how freaked out Dean would be if he told him. Freaked out and angry. But most of all, disappointed. Sam didn't want to cause him pain or lose Dean's trust in him, and as long as he didn't know of the betrayal, nothing would change. Except Sam's feelings towards himself of course, but the self-loathing and guilt was a cheap price to pay if that meant keeping the world safe. Sam's been through this a thousand times and he made the decision a long time ago, so it didn't really matter anymore.

Sometimes, he felt awfully bad about it. He went down that road because he knew there would be no looking back. Back then, he had nothing to lose – Dean was gone, too, and with the last anchor that kept him from going mad perished, he had this momentary insanity. It was hell long of a moment… He wasn't at peace (damn, not even close to it), but at least he didn't have to lie to Dean. Or keeping secrets from him, whatever, same difference. When he thought about this, it occasionally occurred to him it would've been so much easier if Dean hadn't come back – and at these times he seriously wanted to beat the crap out of himself for thinking that way.

God, just when did he become so insensitive and selfish?

\\\

Dean was watching the naked brunette sleeping on the bed, a happy smile on her lips, obviously dreaming about something nice and calming. As for Dean, he would've given almost anything for a 'nice and calming' dream, but unfortunately he couldn't do a thing about his nightmares. When it wasn't some flashback from Hell, it was usually like a horror movie, starring people he had let down so far.

The worst of all was this returning fucked-upness: it started as the hottest (or rather wettest) dream ever, then it turned into Hell, literally. Normally he wouldn't have given a damn, a nightmare was a nightmare after all, but this one was about his brother.

As long as he could remember, he always loved Sam. Of course, it started with the purest brotherly feelings which most people would just refer to as a strong 'older brother–younger brother' relationship, and a few would probably say 'brother-complex' mixed with some overprotective parental instincts. Yeah, but for Dean, it was simply love. Not the blazing 'I want to fuck you' kind, but it was definitely and undeniably love. Then it gradually grew into a physical need what was inevitable and totally understandable in a twenty-year-old guy's case… but he had to keep this part of himself out of the game for the sake of… well, everyone. The hardest time was when Sam left their dad and Dean for the university. Dean wanted to get rid of the shameful lust and go back to the silent admiration and caring (which he considered acceptable and very brotherly), but no matter how hard he tried, his sexual fantasies were still filled with his brother and it only seemed to get worse in the two years of Sam's absence.

By now, he accepted his fate (no, not the crap with the Apocalypse and all) more or less – that he couldn't hope for more of a love-life than quickies with chicks. Oh, speaking of chicks: Dean wasn't gay. He wanted to try it with another guy once, but then he realized that it wasn't a man's body he craved. It was Sam, only him, and because it was Sam, Dean knew he wouldn't mind the fact that he's fucking a man. Hell, it wouldn't be just a man.

He wasn't exactly satisfied with only having Sam by his side, but it was better than nothing. Even if it hurt bad sometimes, real bad. Especially when Sam was hitting on a girl (well, it was usually the other way around, but it didn't make it any better). Fuck, Dean had almost lost it with Madison, that werewolf bitch… after that night, he swore he'd never ever let any suspicious girls or guys anywhere near Sammy again. And still, he failed with Ruby. The demon whore was anything but innocent, and even though Sam was trying so hard to convince Dean to believe her, to trust her as he did, Dean never let his guard down. Never, until he was dragged down to Hell. Then he couldn't keep an eye on his little brother anymore and everything started spinning out of control.

Dean shook his head and pulled on his clothes. He didn't want to stick around till morning; the girl wasn't half bad, but when he asked himself whether he was ready for another round or not, the answer was a pretty straightforward no. Even though he was horny for most of the time, he knew this girl just wouldn't be able to sate his hunger… so then, why should he stay?

He softly closed the door behind himself and went to his baby, quickening his steps when he felt the chilly breeze cutting through his jeans. The sky already started to lighten up, deep shades of blue mixing into the night's raven black. Dean wasted no time with the sight; the dawn was way too icy for his taste to just stand around and admire the sunrise. Besides, he could do that on his way back to the motel, enjoying the comfort of his baby at the same time.

Sam woke up to the sound of the lock, his hunter reflexes kicking him out of his dreams mercilessly in a fraction of a second. It had to be around 6 a.m., and he sure as hell hoped it was only Dean coming back from who-knows-where after a little everyone-knows-what with Miss Who-cares-about-her-name. When Sam saw his brother's silhouette by the bed, he turned to him and discreetly cleared his throat.

"Y'know, I was a bit worried when I got back here and you were gone without any sign," he sighed, voice tired and scratchy from the sleep (which wasn't nearly enough, by the way).

"Sorry, Sammy. Nature called."

Despite the joke, Dean's tone was somewhat weary. Sam raised an eyebrow; Dean used to be in the clouds after getting laid or, at least, he would have his smug smile on his lips and this special 'I had such a nice night, dude' attitude. (Not that Sam missed the last part, but it would've been unquestionably a lot better than this sour atmosphere.) Now this made Sam frown anxiously.

"Dean, seriously, what's wrong with you? Talk to me already," Sam asked him, almost whining in frustration.

"Nothing. I'm just tired. Didn't get much sleep," Dean replied icily as he pulled off his shirt and threw it on the floor lazily.

In the next moment, Dean found himself pinned to the bed, Sam on top of him, staring at his older brother warily.

"Look me in the eye, Dean, and tell me that everything's fine," he told Dean commandingly. Sam could put up with a truly impressive amount of bullshit from his brother, but this was just too much. He reached his limit and now he didn't want to stop until Dean told him what had been bugging him in the past few days.

"Get off of me," Dean growled, impatience and tension pouring from his voice.

"Or what? Dean, seriously, you know you need the release."

Dean almost let out a bitter, barky laugh. That was exactly what he needed, what he'd been craving for long years and hearing this from Sam was a fucking joke from above.

"Damn right I need it. So, release me," Dean grinded his teeth. He knew he couldn't possibly overpower Sam from this position, but the longer they stayed like this, the bigger the probability of Dean losing his mind grew. He most definitely didn't want to lose it.

"Not until you open up."

It felt like Sam was intentionally choosing his phrases so that he could tease Dean with their secondary meanings. Dean took a deep breath, trying to get a hold of his fading consciousness.

"I can't."

"Why?"

"'Cause I don't want things to be any more fucked up between us than they are right now," Dean gave a diplomatic answer. For a brief moment he thought he managed to get away with it, but then Sam leaned closer.

"Look, Dean, it's gonna get a lot worse if you keep up this non-talking policy. I've had enough." In spite of being upset, Sam managed to keep his tone clear, calm and dead serious. "Start speaking or I'll pack my stuff and walk out that door without ever looking back."

First Dean wanted to say "no, you wouldn't do that," but then he saw the cold determination in Sam's eyes. He opened and shut his mouth, not knowing where to start or how to put it. He was surely losing Sam one way or another… then he might as well take his chances and kiss him. At least that way Dean would be happy, even if only for a moment.

"Why are you doing this to me, Sammy?" Dean sighed heavily and glanced at his shoulder. Sam was holding him still. "Okay, I swear you'll have your answers, just let go of me already," he looked at Sam, his gaze slowly moving down to his brother's bare, muscular chest (which was, in Dean's opinion, screaming for being touched). He wanted to moan with thrilling lust from the sight.

Sam felt a bit of uneasiness from Dean's ravenous green eyes fixed on his body, so he shifted nervously.

"Sammy?" Dean asked in a low voice. Sam finally seemed to get the basic idea of what was going on, and at the moment, Dean couldn't decide if that was good or bad news for him; obviously, there was no way he could kiss him now, but on the long run he was most likely better off without the painful memory of a one-sided, fundamentally forced kiss.

He was lost in his thoughts about the worst case scenarios (and the best case kisses) he could come up with, when he suddenly realized that Sam was moving closer to him, his lips only an inch away from Dean's.

"It's okay," Sam whispered softly, his hot breath caressing Dean's skin in a much more tantalizing manner than the older had ever dreamt of. Dean was absolutely positive that he'd passed out from all the thinking and he was dreaming right now. That was the only way this could be happening…

And since he was dreaming, he could kiss Sam as many times as he wanted, without having to worry about the consequences.

He couldn't fight the smirk when their mouths met.