The Pit – Chapter Two: The Realization

A/N: Hello! Here is my second chapter to The Pit! Thank you in advance for all the reviews that have yet to come! Did I mention this was my first solo fanfic? Hope you like it!

Again, I don't own anything. (Unfortunately).


"Morning!"
"…Morning."

Dean walked into the kitchen, still in his boxers, to find Sam cooking up a storm—a full breakfast, complete with coffee and the daily newspaper on the table waiting for him. It must've been noon, since the sun was glaring right into Dean's face as he sat down to eat fried potatoes and ham, only worsening his already bad hangover.

"Sleep well?"

"Not bad, better than other nights. The beer helped." Dean was debating whether it was a good trade off though; a good night's sleep for this pulsating pain behind his eyes. He couldn't read right now, so he set the paper aside. He caught a glance at the clock: 9:23am. God, it was too early for moving.

Yes, it was that time again. Pack up and leave this God-forsaken town. After that grueling fight with those stupid vampires, Dean was glad to leave, but not with this sad excuse for a mind right now. After last night's escapades, he wasn't ready to drive. He couldn't trust himself.

"So, hey, listen. I'm not sure we're ready to get goin' yet, so why don't we take a little hiatus from the hunting right now?"

As if Sam read his mind.

Dean didn't like hearing the truth from his brother though, so obviously, he had to object.

"What! We can't stay!"

Sam gave Dean a look, are-you-an-idiot look.

"I'm fine. We really should leave soon."

"I'm not so sure. Let's give it a day, and then see where we're at tomorrow. Besides, I already paid the guy for an extra night."

Dean couldn't argue anymore, nor did he want to.

"One day Sammy! Then we're outta' here!"

Dean scooped the rest of the food and drink into his mouth and left for the shower. As he walked in the bathroom, he caught a glance of himself in the mirror, making him do a double take.

He really did look like a train hit him. He had bags under his eyes, his hair looked like a giant cat had licked it into a sculpture, and his face was streaked with dirt and grime that his tear lines cleaned. He couldn't remember a time that he had cried harder. Dean knew that every person had a breaking point, but he refused to believe that he himself had one, and if he did then it must be extremely high. It'd better be if you're going to Hell and back without becoming a blubbering lunatic.

Dean stripped off his boxers and turned the water all the way to hot. As he waited for the warm, soothing water, he went back to the mirror. Dean had gained weight. Not too much to be obvious, but a baby beer gut was starting to form. His thighs had grown with some fat too. As he got into the hot water, Dean couldn't help but think about Sammy and his physique. Sam was the picture of perfection; strong, long hair, tan skin, tall, boyish face, everything Dean wasn't.

He couldn't help but be jealous sometimes, but he never let it get him down. Dean got more tail anyway.

Dean suddenly remembered a conversation, or should he say possession, he had with Alastair. It was a complete turnaround from the last 'conversation' he'd had, with 'Al' about Sam never caring about him, with all his antics and trouble he brought with him everywhere.

Next thing Dean knows, Al is talking to him about how Dean loves him in that way. With sex and everything. Then Al's showing him images of him and Sammy doing it. Dean knew how Al made him feel, good and sexed up and horny. Dean liked it. At the time.

He didn't know anymore. He didn't know if he loved his brother that way. Ever since Al perverted him, he could never be sure. But, if he were to go off on what happened last night, he would say he did, and by the half-hardness of his cock right now, he would say that was a positive indication too.

Dean did have a stint with a guy once before; in high school, to get back at his father for not taking him on a good hunt. But he'd never had sex with another guy before. The thought of it now was still the same, except with Sammy. He couldn't help but see his brother that way now that he remembered his time with Al. He couldn't hate himself for it, as it was now a part of him, but he also felt this need for Sammy that he'd only felt for girls before. And for some reason, that didn't scare him, or make him feel weird, because it felt right on some philosophical level. Sam had been the one who was there for him, time and time again. He was the one who got him out of everything. He was the reason Dean was even here on this planet. It only made sense.

Dean finished washing his hair for a second time and looked down to see his cock in full rigor. Curious, Dean started stroking his erection, thinking about those images Alastair gave him. Of him and Sammy having hot, steamy sex. Of his brother throttling his cock and Dean ramming his dick all the way down his brother's ass, Sammy screaming with pleasure. He found it exhilarating. It felt so right, so…perfect.

Dean hadn't jacked off in a while. The porn he watched just didn't get him going like it used to. It became nearly unattractive to him. But this. This is what Dean needed to get through this. He needed his brother. It was finally clear to him.

Dean continued jacking himself to his brother's naked image, of Sam's cock in Dean's mouth, sucking vigorously, of Sam coming in Dean's hole; he was getting closer and closer each second, until finally he let go and came all over the shower wall, whispering Sammy's name as he did so.

Dean cleaned up the shower, washed and rinsed the rest of his body, and turned off the water. Just as he stepped out, Dean realized the one thing that has always been his constant battle with the shower, and he had lost this time. He forgot a towel, again.

"Sam, can you grab me a towel?!" Dean yelled through the door.

"Yeah, hold on." He heard Sam yell back in a slightly tweaked quality. Sam had to get Dean a towel about 80 per cent of the time, and it would get tiring after a while. Sam looked at it as a girl would look at the toilet seat always being left up. That was his Sammy.

"It's outside the door," Sam said outside the door in a muffled tone. As Sam went back to being a busybody, Dean opened the door and grabbed the towel, dried off, wrapped it around his waist, and left the bathroom for their bedroom. Opening the dresser, Dean grabbed his favorite pair of jeans, a black T-shirt and button-up, and a pair of brand new socks from the plastic package.

If there was one thing Dean had an aversion to, it was wearing the same pair of socks twice. That pet peeve probably came along in gym class, when he could smell the two-week-old socks 50 feet away from some of the other football players. Eventually, athlete's foot was running rampant in junior year and Coach Greg had to cancel a game because of it. That got everybody's feet clean and they still won that year's championship, but the forfeit definitely didn't help their record. Ever since then, you could find slightly used socks in the trash wherever Dean was. It annoyed Sam, but Dean would never budge.

The more Dean thought about it, he liked the fact that he liked Sammy. It made him feel complete, reposed even. Like a great painting, finally finished after 29 long years of hard work and determination.

Dean had found his culmination.