Welcome to my Wincestiel 2013 Big Bang. I had a hella lot of fun with this one. It's loosely based on the Kurt Russell movie "Captain Ron". Huge thanks to my beta, Saltandbyrne (on tumblr) and my artist, Kidezt (sassypancakes on tumblr). Feel free to check out my tumblr (Winjennster) to see the artwork, since fanfic dot net won't let us embed pics or links.

Enjoy!


It's these changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes

Nothing remains quite the same

With all of our running and all of our cunning

If we couldn't laugh we would all go insane


He doesn't own much. An old ramshackle house full of ancient musty books, a salvage yard full of rusting cars, hell, the land is worth more than anything sitting on it. But he loves those two boys, they are the closest thing he's ever had to sons, and as Bobby Singer signs his Last Will and Testament, he soaks in the deep feeling of peace it gives him.

If nothing else, the boys can sell the land and live off of the earnings.

And Dean will be highly amused by the boat…and the Captain.


Dean Winchester stands near the funeral pyre of the man he's thought of as his Dad for most of his life. His brother Sam stands next to him, sniffling slightly, ridiculous long hair plastered to his face by the light November drizzle.

They'd never expected it would be something as simple as a heart attack. Not in their line of work.

They are the only mourners. Sioux Falls had written Bobby Singer off as crazy years before, and the boys honestly didn't think the townsfolk would understand the ritual of the salt and burn. He has no family beyond Sam and Dean, and Sam and Dean have no one other than him. Their parents are gone, all of their friends are dead. All Sam and Dean have is each other, and up until three days ago, Bobby.

People that know the Winchester boys know something is off, although they can never really put a name to it, and really, no one knows them that well anymore.

They stand too close, they spend too much time together, they finish each other's sentences and fight like an old married couple. Strangers often do mistake them for a couple.

Dean always finds it hard not to laugh in their faces, knowing they've stumbled onto the truth when so many others in their life don't.

He and Sam have been more than brothers for a long time.

And, truth be told, Dean can't find it in him to fucking care who knows anymore. He's happy. Sam's happy. They aren't fucking hurting anyone and fuck society and their norms. And that's exactly what he'd told Sam the last time his brother had expressed any kind of concern about their relationship.

A few days later, they sit in the living room of one Rufus Turner, fellow hunter and executor of Bobby's will. They're both surprised to find that Bobby has left them everything, including a savings account with $800,000 in it.

"There's also the boat," Rufus finishes, setting the will aside and staring at the boys over the top of his reading glasses.

"Boat?" Sam croaks.

"Yeah. Hunt down in Key West, Singer sees a boat with a 'for sale' sign and decides he needs to have it. It's an old sailboat, built in the twenties or something. Rumor has it Clark Gable used to own the thing."

"Well, we'll just sell it. Not like Sammy and I would know the first thing to do with a boat." Dean crosses his arms across his chest and does his best to look stern. He isn't amused when Rufus out right laughs at him.

"That's just the thing. Bobby apparently really wants you to have this boat. You don't get the rest of your inheritance and you can't sell it until you've been to see it and take a ride. There's even a business card for a Captain to show you the ropes. I can't allow you to sell it until the Captain signs off."

"Sonuvabitch," Dean grumbles, pointedly ignoring the mirthful look on Rufus's face. "What the hell was Bobby thinking?"

"Dean, it won't be that bad. It's a vacation, right? Key West? We've always wanted to go there. It's pina coladas, beaches, Jimmy Buffet and Hemingway territory. Might be kind of nice." Sam's working the puppy dog eyes, and that's a force to be reckoned with.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Dean rolls his eyes. "Fine. Key West it is. But I am not flying. You understand me? I am not fucking flying!"


Dean Winchester grips the arms of his tiny coach seat and squeezes his eyes shut.

They aren't going to Key West, at least not for more than one night, oh no, the boat was in some little island in the Caribbean, someplace he'd never heard of, someplace even the giant geek boy sitting next to him had never heard of!

In order to sell the boat, they had to get the damn thing to Miami first. And this was after Captain Whoever took them on some little romp. The only part of this journey that has anything to do with Key West is the fact that Bobby actually purchased the boat there.

Dean's knuckles were whiter than the clouds passing by the window, which Sam couldn't seem to stop staring out of.

He thought Bobby loved him. He was sure of it. The man was like a second dad to him and Sam. So why the hell would he do this to him? Why would he make Dean get on a plane (which hello? Motherfuckin' plane?!) and fly to buttfuck nowhere island and why would he make him take some stupid boat ride when the closest thing Dean has to sea legs is his penchant for skillfully staying upright when he's blind wasted?

This is, by far, the stupidest thing Dean has ever experienced in his thirty plus years on the Big Guy's green Earth. A list that includes the truck stop waitress with the bizarre rash, pretending to be married to Bela fuckin' Talbot, or not following Sam to Stanford. Actually, that last thing was totally holding the dumbest thing Dean Winchester's ever done top spot.

Still, this is pretty fucking stupid.

Who the hell needs a boat? It's not like he's going to be hunting sharktopus or whatever other weird monsters of the deep are out there. That's so not in his job description. No, he's a hunter of land monsters! Vampires, werewolves, wendigos, things that go bump in the night. In the woods, under the bed, wherever, but not on the fucking water! No water! Dean did not sign up for water. Or boats. Or motherfucking airplanes!

The plane decides, now that Dean has worked himself into a righteous anger, that it's the perfect time to hit a patch of turbulence, and the whole thing shakes violently, from nose to tail fin.

"Oh god oh god oh god," he whispers frantically, tightening his grips on the arm rests.

Sam looks over at him, raising an eyebrow over the Sky Mall catalog. "Seriously? It's just a little turbulence."

"Yeah, and King Kong was just a little monkey."

Sam sighs.

"Shut up."

"Didn't say anything."

"Could hear you thinking it."

"And what, pray tell, was I thinking?"

"That I'm a big old wuss."

A big grin from his little brother. "Got it in one."

Another rough patch, and Dean feels the blood drain from his face as his heart starts beating overtime. "Oh we're gonna die, we're gonna die, god, I'm gonna die."

Setting aside the magazine, Sam reaches across the arm rest and pries Dean's hand off. He takes his own two hands and wraps them around Dean's. "It's going to be ok. I swear. I'm right here, and it's going to be ok."

Dean turns and looks at Sam, his brother's eyes filled with concern, not a trace of mocking, and he relaxes slightly.

"Keep looking at me. Focus on me." He leans in closer so he can whisper in Dean's ear. "I booked us a really nice place for tonight. We spend tonight in Key West, make our way out to the island tomorrow. Really nice place, hot tub and minibar in the room. I'm going to make you feel so much better. Just wait 'til we land." Sam brushes his lips against Dean's neck, and Dean finally, finally lets go of some of the tension, now that he has something to distract him.

"Minibar, huh?"

"Mmhmm," Sam whispers, dragging his tongue along Dean's neck. "Minibar, king size bed, Jacuzzi tub, gorgeous views, and me. Feel better now?"

"No!"

"What?" Sam looks up in surprise. "Why not?"

"Because now," Dean whispers furiously, "I've got a boner. A boner I can do nothing about, because I don't care how kinky and awesome it would be, 6'1" and 6'4" are not fitting in the same airplane bathroom!" he hisses.

Bitch-face #9 makes its appearance.

And Dean goes back to anxiously awaiting touchdown.


They barely make it to their room, and Sam is shoving Dean across the floor. He thinks it might be a nice room, but Sam is not giving him a chance to look around, and he's far too busy having his jeans ripped off by his baby brother anyway.

There's the sound of fabric being stretched to the limit, and Dean's tee is gone, then Sam is on him. He shoves Dean hard, toppling him onto the bed, and making short work of the rest of Dean's clothes, jeans pulled off all the way, boxers tossed carelessly over his shoulder.

Scrambling up the bed, Dean watches with hooded eyes as Sam strips away his own clothes, tossing them down to the floor to join Dean's. He crawls up the bed with cat-like grace, a predatory gleam in his eye.

"Damn. Look at you, all spread out waiting for me." He dips his head, and Sam's tongue licks up his leg. "Been waiting all day for this, haven't you?" Dean nods. "Thought about it on the plane, on the drive here…" hot breath on his inner thigh, "…you'd let me do whatever I want, wouldn't you? You'd take anything I give you?" Sam's lips ghosting across the very tip of Dean's cock, making him squirm with anticipation. "You want this so bad. Beg me. Beg for it."

Dean's cheeks flame. It's scary sometimes, the transformation of Sam-the-geek-boy into Sam-the-dominating-sex-god. He loves it though. Dean's spent his whole life taking care of Sam. He doesn't regret a minute of it, and would do it all over again in a heartbeat, but in the bedroom, Sam's in charge. And Dean fucking loves it.

"Sammy," he whispers softly.

"What baby? What do you want? Tell me." Sam's lips and tongue draw a wet path up the center of Dean's torso.

"I want you."

"Want me how?" Lips on his nipple, sucking, teeth gently nibbling.

"You know…nnghh."

"Gotta tell me baby. What do you want?" Teeth biting a little harder now, big hand slipping down between his legs, his brother's thick fingers gently rolling his balls.

"God, Sammy, just fuck me. Fuck me already!"

"Mmm, that what you want?"

"You know it is! Dammit, c'mon…oh god, fuck Sam-mm-y." That mouth was on him now, kissing around his shaft, tongue snaking out to lick at his balls. "Oh god, Sammy, please, fuck me, god fuck me!"

"That's it," Sam murmurs, then swallows Dean down to the base.

"Oh fuck!" Dean yells, back arching off the bed. "NGGH! FUCK!"

Sam's good at this, beyond good at this, and he knows Dean better than anyone, he knows what makes Dean lose his mind the quickest. Two hard and fast deep throats, then pulling almost all the way off, Sam swirls his tongue through the slit, licking tiny little circles around the very tip, gentle, soft, teasing touches, then he plunges all the way down again, taking in as much of Dean as he can, and Dean's sure he's going to come right then, his dick gives a massive twitch as Sam pulls back and deep throats him again, then again, and oh god, this is it, he's going to come, and his hands shoot forward, wrapping deep into Sam's long hair.

Of course, that's the moment when Sam pulls off completely, reaching down to tightly wrap his fingers around the base of Dean's shaft.

"Oh, dammit, that's not fair. C'mon Sammy, let go, let go, god…pl-please. Please."

"Uh-uh. Not until I'm inside you."

"Well do it, then, dammit. Fuck me."

"Impatient much?" Sam chuckles, even as he's dripping lube onto his fingers. He shoves two of them into Dean rather roughly, and is rewarded with a lusty, wanton moan from his brother.

"Oooohhhh fuck, Sammy, yeah, that's it, fuck, fuck."

"God, I swear, you never shut up," Sam chuckles, twisting and scissoring his fingers.

"Oh fuck, gah, you, fuck, you love it," Dean sputters breathlessly.

His brother chuckles again, "yeah, I do." He slips in another finger, finding Dean's prostate almost immediately, and Dean can't help the whine that tumbles out of his mouth, his hands tightening in his brother's hair again.

"Oh, oh, fuck, oh fuck, Sammy! Dammit, I'm ready, c'mon, I'm ready!" There's only so much a guy can take after all.

Sam yanks his fingers out and flips Dean onto his belly, using those ridiculously big hands on his hips, roughly pulling him up on his knees, and Dean doesn't even have a second to get comfortable before Sam is driving into him and all the air leaves his lungs in a whoosh, stars igniting in his eyes.

Fuck, he never gets tired of this. He loves the way Sam just takes over, just owns him so completely, thrusting so ridiculously hard into him, it's a wonder Dean doesn't snap in half. Dropping his head down onto the mattress, Dean just gives up and enjoys the ride. Sam is fucking him like a man possessed, well not really possessed, they have tattoos for that, but hard, and animalistic in his drive, and Dean loves it. He'd be lying if he tried to say otherwise.

"God, after all this time, and you're still so fuckin' tight. Dammit, Dean, love fucking you. And you love it too, don't you, getting fucked by your little brother? You love how fucked up and wrong and twisted it is. I know you." Sam's words go right to his dick and so does his hand, he's stroking Dean with hard, rough strokes, and Dean's about two seconds from losing it. "Wanna come? Wanna come while I fuck you Dean?"

"Nggh, Sam, you know I do. C'mon dammit. C'mon!"

Sam chuckles, a low, dark sound, and for some reason, that satisfied little laugh does it, and Dean spills hot over Sam's hand. Two or three, or maybe six (he's post-orgasmic and you expect him to count?) and Sam's gone too, hot splash of liquid deep inside of Dean.

They collapse onto the bed, Sam completely covering Dean's body, until the smushed feeling becomes too much and Dean elbows his brother.

"Offa me, Sasquatch!" he growls, shoving Sam to the side. The other man simply rolls over, laughing heartily.

"Wore me out. Sorry."

"So not sorry."

"Yeah, not so much." Sam reaches one long arm down to the floor and grabs someone's tee-shirt and cleans them both up. Then he reaches for Dean and pulls him in close, standard post-coital procedure for the moose in charge. Dean just goes with it, rolling onto his side and allowing Sam to position Dean's head on his shoulder.

"Think about it. You and me on a pretty old sail boat in the middle of the Caribbean. It's going to be amazing, crystal blue water and palm trees. Maybe this captain guy will teach us how to sail it. Maybe we'll love it so much, we'll never want to go back to land. Maybe…"

"Seriously, are you sure you're not a woman? I mean dude, afterglow la-la-land fantasy boat talk? Did you grow a vagina when I wasn't looking?"

Sam snorts. "Says the guy who just took it up the ass from his little brother. Whatever dude."

Sam rolls away from Dean, and he can tell he just hurt his brother's feelings. And really, Sam's right, the boat might be kind of awesome. It's old, vintage really, might have belonged to Clark

Gable, hell, maybe they will have a good time. Maybe they'll love it.

"Yeah, maybe you're right Sam. Maybe it'll be great."


"What the actual fuck is that?"

They're standing on the pier on Sandwich Island. Sandwich. As in two pieces of bread, baloney and maybe a little cheese.

And their boat, their beautiful-vintage-was-once (maybe)-owned-by-Clark Gable-boat?

Total piece of shit.

Dean sighs. It's one of those legendary sighs that Sam has an internal list of. Like, he knows Dean indexes his so-called bitch-faces. This particular Dean sigh says many things, chief among them, I'm-right-because-I'm-older-and-you-are-wrong-and-now-we-are-fucked-and-if-you-think-I'm-taking-the-blame-you've-got-another-thing-coming-bitch!

Sam's pretty sure he's wearing his patented and-I'll-be-damned-if-you-think-you're-putting-this-one-on-me-jerk bitch-face.

The boat is a wreck. It looks like it's being held together by fishing line and duct tape but not in the MacGyver-can-fix-anything-with-duct-tape manner, no, this is more like the People-of-Walmart-fix-things-with-duct-tape manner.

Huh. When did he start using so many hyphens in his internal monologues?

It might have been green once. There's possibly a bit of red lining the hull. There's a peeling set of letters on the back that reads "assy dy". Upon closer inspection, he realizes that at one point, it must have said "Sassy Lady". Huh. Assy fits better.

"What a piece of floating garbage," Dean grumbles. He's staring at the boat like it's personally offended him. Sam can see his scowl even through his black lensed aviators. His brother is wearing a vintage black Led Zeppelin tee from the 1975 tour and a pair of khaki cargo shorts that Sam forced him to buy. The man drew the line at sandals or flip flops of any kind, so he's standing there in his standard run of the mill work boots.

He looks ridiculous.

And hot. Definitely hot.

"So now what? We stand around and wait for Captain Courageous?"

Sam's eyes sweep over the hideous hunk of broken down boat and stop on the strangest sight he's ever seen in his life (and he's a hunter of all things supernatural. Strange is the family business).

There's a man sitting in the lotus position on the top of what Sam can only assume is the cabin.

His arms are outstretched, hands turned palms up and thumb and index fingers touching to form an "O". He's got long beaded dreads all around his face, his hair is a dark brown, almost black, his eyes are closed and his whole face is a serene expression of Zen.

He just happens to be wearing a black speedo and a tan trenchcoat.

Dean leans over and hisses in Sam's ear. "Is he...is he wearing a trenchcoat? It's like a thousand degrees out here! And what's with the beaded dreadlocks? Captain Jack Speedo?"

"Dude, I dunno. Y'think that's the captain?" Sam whispers back.

"Holy shit, I fuckin' hope not! I didn't sign on to be friggin' Will Turner to your Elizabeth Swann!"

Sam glares at his brother. "Why the hell do I have to be the chick?"

"Your hair, princess. 'Sides, I'm older and I say so."

"Fuck you."

"Ya did that last night. C'mon, let's get this shit over with."

With a heavy sigh, Sam walks as close to the edge of the pier as possible. "Hey," he calls.

No answer. Captain Speedo maintains his posture of Zen-liness, continuing with his deep breathing. Sam moves slightly closer.

"Hello? Mr.? Uh…er, Captain?"

Still no answer. Dean huffs a sigh and tosses his duffel onto the boat. He reaches out for the ropes lining the sides, grabs on, and hauls himself over the edge onto the deck.

Well he tries to, at any rate. He kinda misses, his stupid work boot slipping on the wet wood, and Dean disappears over the side with a loud "Fuck!" and a splash.

Now, Dean's a grown man. He should be able to pull his ass out of the water, right? Right. But about thirty seconds later, Sam is still standing there, Captain Speedo is still hanging out on the deck in Zen oblivion, and Dean is nowhere to be found. Hell, the water isn't even moving anymore.

Sam crouches down on the edge of the pier where Dean went over, peering down into the murky water, looking for his brother.

"Dean? Dean, where are you?" he calls down, concern starting to raise goose bumps on his neck. He shouldn't have been down there so long. Hell, it's been about a minute now, and still no Dean.

"Fuck!" Sam drops his bag and is just about to dive in to find him, when there's a splash near the front of the boat, and when he looks up, Captain Speedo is gone.


Fuck this boat. Fuck this trip and fuck Sandwich-fuckin'-island and Rufus-fuckin'-Turner and fuck Captain Jack Speedo and this ugly ass boat and dammit, why the fuck can't that asshat even bother to acknowledge us and I'm just gonna get my ass up on that damn fuckin' boat myse-whoa, FUCK!

Then his head's connecting with something hard and wet blackness swallows him up.

Dean comes around to ungodly bright sunlight and blue eyes. Unbelievably blue. And dreads. Wet dreads. Wet trenchcoat. Pretty smile. Nice teeth. Very white. Kinda cute guy all around actually, in sort of a freaky tax accountant with the whole wet trenchcoat kind of way. Blue eyes.

Dean likes blue eyes.

"Am I-am I dead?"

Blue eyes smiles kindly. "I hope not. That would be most inconvenient as Mr. Singer was very clear that I was to teach you and your brother the ways of sailing."

Sailing.

Brother.

Sailing? Brother?

Dean sits up abruptly and the entire world spins around him. He leans over the side of the pier and is violently ill.

There's a very large and warm hand on his back.

"Are you ok? Scared the shit out of me!"

"Sorry, S'mmy. Fell in the," a disgusting vomit-y burp, "water."

"No kidding. You tried to do some kind of crazy gymnastics stunt to get on the boat and fell in, hit your head. Castiel had to jump in and get you." Sam's wearing one of his patented bitch-faces. This is the one that says you're an idiot, Dean. It's probably the one he sees the most and wait, Castiel? Who's that?

"Castiel?"

"Yes, Castiel. I am your Captain and sailing instructor for this little journey," he informs them enthusiastically, sales pitch at the ready. "I will teach you how to maintain and sail the boat Mr. Singer left you. I assure you, I am quite knowledgeable in this area. I can provide all the instruction you need to operate and own this vessel. I will teach you how to maintain the sails for the maximum amount of life, how to catch the wind, how to read the boat's instruments and preserve the overall condition of the vessel. This boat will give you many years of enjoyment…"

"Hold it right there, Ahab, we aren't looking for many years of enjoyment, we're just looking to get this hulk of crap to Miami so we can sell the damn thing."

Castiel's face falls slightly. "Oh. I misunderstood. Mr. Singer seemed to think you would greatly enjoy…"

"He thought wrong."

"Dean…" Sam says quietly.

"Look," Dean grumbles as he gets to his feet. "Let's just get this over with. The sooner we take our little trip and get this damn thing to Miami, the sooner I can get back to normal." Reaching out for the ropes again, this time Dean is able to successfully complete his vault onto the boat, although there's a price to be paid. His head spins and his stomach tosses violently, and he wants very much to lie down.


Fuck this boat.

There's an engine.

A stinky, noisy, oil-consuming engine.

It runs all day, and all night, taking them out of port and into open water. They're heading somewhere, Dean can't remember.

That might be because he's spent the last thirty-two hours being seasick.

Miserably seasick.

Hands and knees on the floor seasick.

I-think-I'm-dying-Sammy seasick.

The boat rocks hard to the left (port) and Dean's stomach rolls hard to the right (starboard). He leans over the miserable little bed (berth) and empties the extremely small amount of bile left in him into a trashcan Sam has stationed next to the bed.

Also? Captain Nemo can go fuck himself with his goddamn boat terms. Oh excuse me. Vessel.

Stalking out to the kitchen (galley) Dean digs through the tiny fridge looking for a beer.

No dice. Water it is.

Muttering under his breath about a serious lack of proper supplies and well-meaning father-figures, Dean stomps his way back into the bedroom. He's so damn irritated, so tired of the boat already. They left port in such a hurry they didn't even get supplies, Castiel (or Cas, as Sam so adorably calls him) telling them that they could stop in San Something-or-other and get everything they need there, plus Carnivale (whatever the fuck that is) would be on.

Flopping onto his bed with a huff, Dean irritably retrieves his journal from the duffel under his feet. Sam's been cleaning everything in sight and has unpacked, putting his clothes away in the drawers underneath the bed Dean is using. Dean stubbornly refuses to unpack.

He's tired, sick, and cranky, and Sam has decided, since the intrepid Captain knows they are brothers, that he and Dean will use separate beds.

This makes Dean very unpleasant.

Snatching a pen off the headboard, he opens his journal and begins to write.

Bobby, if I see you in the afterlife, I'm going to end you for this. What made you think I would be happy on a boat? When did I ever give you any indication I wanted anything to do with the seven seas? Not to mention, what the hell possessed you to buy a boat in the first place? Some crazy ass Gilligan fetish?

And where the hell did you find Captain Asshat? I swear I have never met anyone more infuriating or smug or fucking gorgeous annoying in my entire fucking life!

Distracted again, Dean stares off into space thinking about blue eyes. Glacial blue. There was that one time, they were hunting chupacabra along the Texas/Mexico border, and they'd spent a day splashing around in the Gulf. That kind of blue. As far as the eye could see blue. Sammy didn't have blue eyes, his were hazel. Most of the time anyway, sometimes they morphed into green, or aqua, or golden green-brown, and why is he thinking about eyes again? Shit, he really is turning into a girl.

Dean throws his journal across the room in frustration, then jumps a mile when a pair of strong arms wrap around him from behind.

"What's wrong?" Sam whispers in his ear.

"Nothin'," he grunts, wiggling his way out of Sam's arms. Digging in the duffel again, he yanks out a pair of swim shorts, which is all he really feels like putting on. A whiff of himself drifts up to his nose. "Fuck it, I'm gonna shower."

"Dean, what's wrong? Why are you so pissed off?"

"I dunno, Sam, maybe because you've acted like you barely know me for the last two days?"

Dean snatches a towel of the end of his bed and shoves past his brother on his way to the shower.

"Cas knows we're brothers! What did you want me to do?"

"I don't give a fuck what you do, Sam," Dean hisses, yanking his clothes off. "I'm gonna shower and you can go play first mate or whatever the fuck you do while I'm barfing my guts out. Just fuck off." Naked, Dean steps into the shower stall and slams the door shut on the tiny two-by-two foot room. Hissing slightly when the first blast of cold water hits him, Dean plasters himself against one wall until it warms up.

Damn, he hates fighting with Sam. Sure, he's frustrated, but Sam probably is too. And they just need to get the damn boat up to Florida and then everything will go back to normal. They can make a home base at Bobby's, only hunt when they want to…for the first time, Dean's finally seeing light at the end of the tunnel. A life outside of hunting, a life without the bruises, cuts, and concussions.

If they manage that $800,000 carefully, they can live off of that for the rest of their lives. A few careful investments, and Dean could start running the salvage yard, and the two of them could live very comfortably. Only take local hunts just to keep their skills alive, run the phones like Bobby did, hell, maybe Sammy could go back to school…

Dean's lost in a blissful daydream of domesticity when the shower door opens, and a hard body is pressing against him.

"Sam! Dude, what the fuck?"

"I missed you," Sam whispers into his neck, "and Cas is off the boat, getting supplies." Sam's big hands sweep down Dean's flank, "and I've been going crazy, first you were sick, then I couldn't touch you…been losing my mind."

"You're the one who demanded separate beds and there ain't enough room for both of us in here dammit!" Dean shoves hard, trying to push Sam out of the tiny shower, but there are times his moose of a brother is unmovable. This is one of those times.

"C'mon, don't be like that. I love you, you know that, but Cas knows we're brothers and I don't want it to get more awkward than it already is."

"Whatever. Just…go. Leave me alone." He tries shoving Sam again, but his brother doesn't move.

"Dean. C'mon man. Just let me, just let me." His hands drift further downward, sliding over Dean's hips.

"Why is it ok now, then? Just 'cause he's off the boat? So it's ok to go back to the brother loving? Whatever, Sam. I don't even care." If the stall was bigger, he'd turn away from Sam.

"Dean, don't be like this. It's not normal, what we have, and most people wouldn't be ok with it. I don't want Cas to freak out or something, not when we need him to help us get the boat to Miami. Ok? We have to keep him happy for now. But, he's not here, and you are, and so am I, and I am really turned on, and," he wraps one of his big hands around Dean's cock, "so are you," he finishes triumphantly.

Yeah, ok, he is turned on. Extremely turned on actually. Dean lets his head fall back against the wall of the shower as Sam starts stroking him in earnest. It's all they can really do in there, pressed tightly into the stall as they are, and Dean lets the washcloth he's been holding drop to the floor, his arms moving upward to wrap around Sam's neck.

Sam ducks his head and licks a slow trail up Dean's neck, and he's starting to get lost in it now, thrusting hard into Sam's fist. He's close, really close, when there's an odd gurgling sound from below them.

"What was- what was that?" Dean gasps.

"Dunno," Sam says carelessly, nibbling on his neck, "not important." Sam's fist moves faster, relentlessly pushing Dean closer to the edge. "Come on, let go, let go Dean."

Dean sucks in a breath, all the feeling in his body pooling in his belly, and moments later, he's coming all over Sam's hand.

"That's it, there you go," Sam murmurs happily, his face buried in Dean's neck. He pumps Dean a few more times, then pulls his body back to let the water wash over Dean's chest. "Let's go get in bed. I wanna fuck you. Gonna let me?"

Dean groans, runs a hand down his face and tries to convince his wobbly knees to cooperate. "Yeah, just get out. Too crowded in here."

Sam moves to go out the door. Nothing happens.

"Get out Sasquatch!"

"I can't. Door's stuck." Sam pushes back against it again, but the door holds.

"Oh come on! Push harder!" Dean shoves an arm between the wall and his brother and gives the door a solid push. "Oh shit, it's not moving! What the hell?!"

"I don't know! I can't get it either! It's fucking stuck!" They're both frantically shoving at the door, but the door is not moving. It's official, they're trapped in the shower.

"Well this is just fucking great. Explain to me how we're going to get out of this one!"

"I dunno, guess when Cas gets back…"

"And what do you plan on telling him when he finds us in here together, naked?"

"I don't know, Dean! I don't…uh…"

"What?"

"Why is the water up to your knees?"

Dean looks down in surprise, shocked to find that the water level in the stall is far higher than it should be. "Must be a clog…shit! The washcloth! That's what that weird noise was!" His eyes widen. "We're gonna drown in the shower, Sammy! We're gonna drown naked in the shower!"

"We're not going to drown," Sam retorts with a roll of his eyes. "I'll just shut off the water." He reaches for the knob, gives it a spin and the damn thing falls off. The water stays on.

"Ahh…fuck." Sam looks at Dean helplessly. "It broke."

"Oh for Christ's sake! We're gonna drown on a boat, naked in a shower! This is insane!" The water is still rising and is up to their waists now. The stream coming out of the shower head is cold and Dean's starting to shiver.

"Dean, I'm sorry, this is my fault."

"Damn right it's your fault!"

"I didn't mean…"

"Shut up!"

"…acting like a spoiled brat…"

"…asshat that just had to get in here with me…"

"…so not my fault…"

They're screaming incoherent insults at each other and the water is getting forever higher, up to the middle of Sam's chest now, and Dean finally realizes how serious the situation has become.

"Sammy."

"What?"

Dean's eyes are wide with panic. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Oh god, we're really gonna die in here aren't we?"

Sam looks at him, hazel eyes sad. "I don't know how we're going to get out of this one. But we will, ok? You've got to calm down."

Dropping his head in defeat, Dean leans against Sam and lets his little brother pull him close.

"I'm sorry Sammy. I'm so sorry."

"It's ok," Sam says huskily. "At least we're together."

"Dude, when we get to the, y'know, the other side, how the fuck are we gonna explain this to Bobby?"

"I dunno, man. I don't know."

The water is lapping at Dean's chin now, and he presses himself tighter against Sam. "I love you, Sammy." He can't help the tear that drips down his face.

"Love you too, Dean." Sam pulls Dean as tightly against him as he can. They're both shivering from the coldness of the water, clinging to each other, resigned to their fate, when there's a loud clunking noise from outside the shower stall.

The water shuts off.

"Wha…how?" Dean sputters.

"Oh my god. We're not gonna drown. We're not gonna drown!" Sam grins at him.

"Uh…guys?" A muffled voice from outside the door makes them both jump and Sam's face flames bright red.

Dean groans, drops his head to Sam's chest.

"Um. Yeah, Cas?" Sam asks, voice filled with resignation.

"You can't run the water non-stop like that. It's hard on the pumps, the water heater can't keep up, and it'll kill our batteries."

"Um. Ok?"

"Also…there's a mop handle. It fell over the door, and it's wedged in the handle. You wouldn't be able to open the door with it here. I'm going to move it so you can get out…"

"No! Cas don't!"

The door opens, and Sam and Dean are swept out of the shower by the receding wave of water.

They both land face first on the floor with a wet squelch, Dean sprawling across Sam's back.

Sam makes a noise that's a cross between a sob and whimper, shoves Dean off of him and scurries to his feet, dashing off for the bedroom, and he slams the door behind him.

Dean gets to his feet slowly, hyperaware of the man standing in front of him. Castiel is holding the offending mop, and his eyes sweep shamelessly over Dean's naked body. Dean stares back, taking in the trenchcoat and speedo outfit, the messy, messy dark brown dreadlocked hair, and those insanely blue eyes.

He hasn't had much interaction with Castiel so far, having spent most of his time below deck barfing his brains out.

"So, I will uh, clean this water up for you." Castiel moves forward with the mop, inches from Dean.

"Uh, dude, personal space?"

"Oh. I'm sorry." He looks slightly confused, and his eyes drop again.

Shit, Dean realizes, he's checking me out.

"So I'm gonna…I'm gonna go get dressed." He shuffles awkwardly towards the bedroom door, his bare feet making little waves in the several inches of water on the floor.

"Of course." Castiel trails off, still standing there, stone still, eyes carefully tracking Dean's retreating ass.

They stand there a minute more, staring at each other, then Dean grunts and forces himself to move into the bedroom.


If there's a hell, a for-real place, not just the goofy religious legends, but a real place where you go when you die if you've spent your life fucking up and messing things up and doing it all wrong, if that place really and truly exists, well, Sam Winchester's pretty sure that's where he's gonna end up.

As evidence, he cites the following truths.

One, he regularly and vigorously fucks his older brother. Two, he likes doing this. Hell, he loves it. Three, he's ridiculously attracted to the incredibly gorgeous, smart and funny captain employed to teach him and Dean how to sail their boat (and he also thinks Dean might be as well, and probably would be for sure if he'd just take the time to get to know Cas). Four, he's very much enamored with the idea of being with both Cas and Dean at the same time.

This is why he knows he's going to hell. Because it isn't enough to be fully involved in a twisted incestuous relationship and actually really enjoy it, oh no, he's got to be lusting after yet another man, worse, he wants to sleep with both men at the same time and seriously?

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Taking a long, long drag off the drink in front of him, he observes the man sitting across from him.

He'd let Cas convince him it was a good idea to leave the boat.

Dean declined, citing his weak stomach (bullshitting jerk, he was just too ashamed to be seen with Sam now that Cas, well, knew) so Sam was the only Winchester sitting at the small table with Cas, mojito in hand, listening to reggae and steel drums, watching pretty people dance in San Esteban's charming little square.

The tiny island is celebrating its Carnivale with gusto, people moving about and having a good time, and all Sam can do is entertain the morose and guilty thoughts dancing in his own head.

"What's wrong?" Cas asks, blue eyes searching Sam's face over the rim of his pina colada. He'd left the speedo and trench behind on the boat, opting instead for a rather nice button down black Hawaiian print shirt and khaki shorts, although he'd completely forgone footwear. He'd pulled most of the dreads back with a thick rubber band. He looks halfway…normal. And gorgeous. Fucking beautiful even.

Dammit.

"Nothing."

"I don't believe you. Something's bugging you."

"Really, you have to ask?"

Cas studies Sam a moment more. "So you fuck your brother, who cares?"

Sam spits mojito all over the place.

"Cas!"

"What? You don't fuck you brother? Does he fuck you then?"

Cas's frankness is a little alarming. "Cas, seriously…"

"Why do you think I would have a problem with it? Have I expressed any distaste? Honestly," he leans in closer to Sam, a conspiratorial look on his face, "I find it pretty hot."

Sam blinks in surprise. "Really?"

"Mm-hmm." Cas takes another sip. "How could I not, the both of you being as gorgeous as you are, and the thought of you together…yeah. Hot." He looks pointedly at Sam, whose face heats. "Believe me, I wouldn't mind being in the middle of that."

The icy glass in Sam's hand slips out of his grip and shatters on the stone of the square, glass and mint leaves everywhere. His hand is sweaty and shaking, and his lungs feel starved for oxygen.

"What? Why are you surprised? You and Dean have such beautiful souls, you shine so bright. Of course you're attractive to me."

Sam fidgets, a little undone by Cas's words.

"You are like stars in the night sky, the two brightest planets in rotation, glittering and twinkling, shining your light over everyone."

All Sam can do is stare. Cas is weird. It's been obvious since they met three days ago. Cas is just flat-out weird. He can run on for hours about bees, and the growth patterns of flowers. He can wax poetic about why tornados prefer the Midwest, how a light year works and why the stars appear to twinkle in the night sky. He spent an hour explaining to Sam about the waves and the water and how they do as they please, choosing their own paths, refusing to be directed by man. He can easily expand on Einstein's Theory of Relativity like he knew the man personally. He's weird. He's incredibly weird. Weird with a capital "W" weird.

But Sam can't deny the imagery the man describes is beautiful.

"You should dance with me," Cas says suddenly.

"Uh…"

"It's Bob Marley. Three Little Birds. One of my favorite songs. It's pretty out here, the moon is sparkling on the ocean and there are beautiful people and beautiful you, and you should dance with me." Cas stands, the matter already decided in his mind, and holds his hand out to Sam.

Sam sucks in a breath, looks up into twinkling blue eyes, and he feels completely swept away and unprepared to deal with the force of nature Castiel is turning out to be. He stands, and takes the hand offered him, and lets Cas pull him out into the square, ignoring the looks from the other dancers, some amused, some pleased, and some repulsed.

He doesn't care.

Dean doesn't go in much for PDA. It's a sad fact of Sam's existence. Because Sam is very handsy. He'd love to hold Dean's hand, to kiss him softly in public, play footsy in a restaurant. He just can't convince Dean.

But Cas…Cas is a different story completely.

He leads Sam out to the dance floor, putting one hand on his waist, and taking Sam's other hand in his own, pulling it close to his chest. He then proceeds to take the lead, dragging Sam into a dance that is halfway between a tango and a waltz, completely off-time with the reggae beat pumping through the square as Bob Marley's voice carries over the crowd.

"Don't worry about a thing,

'Cause every little thing gonna be all right.

Singin' don't worry about a thing,

'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!"

Cas spins Sam around in a lazy circle and he can't help himself, he throws his head back and laughs, Cas laughing with him. He's truly having a wonderful time, and he forgets about everything, all his responsibilities, the horrible mess in the shower, and he forgets about how much he's still grieving for Bobby.

And when Cas leans in for a kiss, slow and sweet and perfect, Sam goes with it. He goes with the hand in his hair, and the soft press of a tongue against his own.

Sam focuses on Cas, and letting go, and for the first time in a long time, Sam Winchester has fun.


There are hands on him.

They're hot, gliding over his hips and thighs, in his hair, touching his face, playing with his balls and palming his cock.

There are entirely too many hands on him!

Dean opens his eyes, startled, sits up in bed, stunned by the first thing he sees.

Sam and Cas.

Cas and Sam.

Holyfuckwhatisgoingonhere?!

Cas has his hands buried in Sam's hair and Sam has his tongue buried in Cas's mouth.

They are all naked, even Dean, who could swear he went to bed with fucking clothes on!

Dean makes an incredibly embarrassing noise, a mutated cross between a whimper and a squeak, and Sam languidly pulls his head away from Cas to look at him.

His hazel eyes are completely lust-blown, lips pink and swollen as he grins at Dean. "'bout time you woke up, big brother. We thought we were gonna have to play without you."

Cas smiles at him as well, letting his hands drop from Sam's hair to sweep up Dean's legs. His eyes are also gone, and the smile on his face is a wild, feral thing. "We would so much prefer to play with you."

Sam hums his assent. "We're gonna wreck you, Dean. Gonna shatter you. You're gonna let us, too, there's no saying no," he looks down, "and your body sure isn't saying no."

Sucking in a harsh breath, Dean goes to move his arms, just to find that they're tied to the headboard. "Ohfuckohfuckohfuck," he murmurs.

"That's the plan," Cas smirks. He stops climbing up Dean's legs for a moment, reaching out to grab Sam by the hair and yank him in for another kiss. Dean can see their tongues dancing and his dick gives an almost painful twitch.

Sam breaks away first, and dips his head, licking a bead of precome off of Dean's dick. Dean gasps; he's finding it hard to breathe at all.

Oh shit. He didn't know he wanted this. He didn't. Yeah, Cas is hot. He's beautiful in fact, just like Sam, god, they're both beautiful. But this is too much. He can't have them together, his brain can't handle it, it will fucking explode.

Cas dips his head next to Sam's and now they're licking his dick together. He can feel the brush of Cas's dreads, the cool of the little beads on them, dragging across his thighs. He can feel their tongues touching, both of them snaking around the head, licking at him and at each other and oh god, I'm gonna die!

His heart is pounding out of his chest, and just when he thinks it can't get any more exciting, Sam takes him down. All the way down. Down so far his brother's nose is buried in his pubic hair.

Closing his eyes, he lays back in the pillows, desperately trying to hang onto his sanity. A loud moan around his cock has him opening his eyes again.

Cas has moved behind Sam, and has his face buried in Sam's ass. Sam pulls off, turns to see what Cas is doing, then turns back to grin at Dean. The look on his face is positively euphoric, and he drops his head, descending on Dean's cock again.

Fuck. I'm going to die. Death by sex. I'm going to die. I'm going to die.

Sam deep throats him again.

Oh, but what a way to go!

Dean blinks, and Cas is on his knees, pushing into Sam, his hand firmly wrapped around a chunk of his brother's hair, while Sam is still trying to suck what's left of Dean's brain out through his dick. It's too much, the visual, and the sounds, Sam moaning, Cas grunting, and he's going to come, fuck this is it…

CRASH.

Dean sits straight up in bed. There's a giggling (and fully dressed) Sasquatch draped across his legs.

He runs a hand down his face, not surprised to find himself covered in sweat. That was a dream. A fucking-hot-as-hell-yeah-I-wanna-do-that-in-real-life-dream. He's drenched, and unsurprisingly, achingly hard.

"I'm drrrrrruuunnnnkkkk!" Sam sings, "I'm really, really drunkkkk!" He rolls over on the bed like an overgrown puppy. "Hi Dean!" he yells at the top of his lungs. Dean flops back into the pillows.

"Oh for shit's sake, Sam, get your own bed."

Sam giggles like a moron, and crawls up the bed to lay beside Dean. "I like it right here."

"No. Separate beds, remember?"

"Nope! Cas knows all about us, and what's more," Sam grins smugly, "he doesn't care."

"Huh."

"Yup. He doesn't care. He thinks we're hot. And we are. Hot. Hot, hot, hot." Sam rolls onto his back and giggles. He giggles for like five minutes.

"There you are ladies and gentlemen, Sam Winchester is gone." Dean smiles despite himself. Not like anyone could really stay mad at the cutest overgrown drunk the world has ever seen. Sam rolls back over, a big happy grin on his face, and gives Dean a wet sloppy kiss on the cheek as his hands start wandering Dean's body.

"I had a buncha mojitos. I love mojitos! They're all minty and rummy and jus' yum. I danced with Cas! I love Carnivale! I love our boat! I love sailing!" He hiccups. "I love you! I love you bestest Dee," Sam giggles.

"Yeah, yeah."

Sam slides his hand down Dean's leg. "Oooh, you're really hard. Want me to do something about that?"

Eternally grateful that the cabin is too dark to really see how flushed Dean's cheeks are, he gasps when Sam yanks his boxers down and sucks Dean into the back of his throat without any warning at all.

"Sammy," Dean murmurs quietly, hands snaking into his long, floppy hair, remembering for a moment how Sam had looked, flushed and sweaty, with Cas's hands wrapped in his hair. Remembers the noises Sam made when Cas fucked into him. Remembers how Cas's eyes looked, blown with desire.

"Fuck, Sam, just like that, just like that, fuck, I'm coming, I'm coming!" His orgasm hits like a freight train, and he arches up into Sam's mouth. His little brother sucks him through it, until the overload of sensation becomes almost painful.

A wet pop, and Sam's back up next to him, snuggling into his shoulder. "Fuck, that wasss fass, Dee," he slurs, "mussa been a good dream."

"Yeah, it was. It really was." Dean closes his eyes, feeling a thin strand of shame and guilt. But he can't control his dreams, right? He sighs. "Want me to return the favor?" No answer. "Sam?"

Sam is gone, passed out on his shoulder. Dean smiles, and kisses his baby brother's forehead, then pulls the blankets back over them, wiggling back into his boxers. He snuggles in beside Sam, and follows him down into sleep.

Up on the deck, Cas slowly backs away from the cabin window and licks the come off his hand, tilting his head back to smile up at the stars.