part 2

warning...non/con abuse...sexual violence

"What time is it?" Sam called from the bathroom.

Dean sighed glancing at his watch yet again, "What I said last time you asked, plus four minutes!"

"Dean," exasperated and slightly panicky.

"Deeean," he mimicked quietly shaking his head then, relenting, called back, "A quarter to eight."

"Shit!"

Dean chortled at the noises from the bathroom. There was a crash as something fell into the sink and was accompanied by swearing. "You need help in there?" he called enjoying every moment of this. Sammy was fourteen years old all over again. It was amusing but sweet also.

"Damn it!" and Sam exited the bathroom giving Dean a look full of daggers.

"Hey. Only offering," as he held up his hands.

Sam let his shoulders slump, looking over at his brother sat on the bed, boots still on and beer in hand already. It was all so easy for him. Dean would not have been spending the last hour deciding what to wear, constantly changing both mind and clothes. It was stupid. He had already fucked this guy, or rather been fucked, but still he wanted to make a good impression. Sure, he was planning on a repeat performance but also because he wanted to know the man. That was where he and his brother differed too. A series of one night stands would never be his thing. That would never give Sam what he needed. Sam needed relationships.

He was not so unrealistic to know that, with their lifestyle, it would be a short one but still. All his thoughts must have been written across his face and for once Dean did not take the piss, instead saying, "Sam. You look great. You'll be fine." But as Sam smiled up through his fringe Dean could not resist adding, "For a freak."

"Thanks."

"Hey, don't knock it. You'll fit right in. They're all…"

"…Freaks around here. So you said," but laughed, feeling a little better. "Okay. I'm out of here. Don't wait up."

"I won't. I've got faith in you Sammy. Look! I only got the one bed!" the grin fit to split his face.

Sam had wondered at that but not for long, he had got enough to wonder about. Whether to go commando or not, for a start. So, shaking his head, he moved to leave only to stop and ask, "Where are you going?" as Dean made to get up off the bed.

"To go get more beer," Dean said innocently.

"You're coming to scope out my date aren't you?"

"…N..o" totally unconvincingly.

"You are so not leaving this room," sounding determined whilst covering up his sudden anxiety. He had learnt a long time ago to never let Dean see his dates. Or rather, let his dates see Dean. And fixing him with a, 'I'm not joking' look, left the room.

Dean smiled knowing he had been rumbled and moved to the side of the window but the view was not great. Stood drinking, he watched as Sam left the guest house and sort of lingered looking, to his trained eye, nervous. It was not long until a red pickup truck pulled up to the kerb in front of his brother. "Huh!" he commented to himself as Sam hopped in and was driven away.

He smirked to himself. Good job the truck was not a Chevy as he did not think Sam was into, 'young bronking bucks', as the lyrics popped into his head.

Moving back from the window, Dean mused that that was more likely himself than his straight laced brother. It also got him to thinking that it had been a long time since he had enjoyed some male company.

Knocking back the beer, he put the empty down and picked up his phone. Opening another bottle, he retreated back to the bed and dialled. "You have reached John Winchester…." the message began.

==000==

"What're you doing back so early?" Dean said in surprise as the door opened to admit a disgruntled looking Sam. Figuring that he was stuck in this town for the night, while his brother hopefully got his end away, Dean was sprawled out on the bed in nothing but briefs and socks, beer bottle in hand, slowly drinking himself to oblivion as he literally hid out in the guest house. There was no way he was going outside.

Not unless it was to find this Jason guy and beat the crap out of him. He could not decide if it was because the bloke had seemingly run off and left unfinished business behind or because he was obviously so well liked and respected. A lot of people apparently missed him. No one would miss Dean. Except maybe Dad and Sammy of course but right now his brother was stood at the bottom of the bed staring at him with an unrecognisable expression.

Well not truly unrecognisable, but Dean could not ever remember Sam looking at him like that before, no matter how much he had pissed him off.

"What's the matter? Wouldn't she put out?" smirking, being his usual callous smart mouthed self, the alcohol having extinguished the slight prudence he should have used on seeing Sam's expression.

"You fucking Bastard!" Sam spat at him, his face twisting into a sneer that Dean finally registered through the pleasant haze he had created. He scooted back on the bed to sit up against the headboard but still relaxed.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. But it's not my fault if you couldn't close the deal," and laughed as he took another drink. No matter all the advice he had given him over the years, his younger brother was still so inept with the ladies. There were some genes they obviously did not share.

"What the Hell?" he cursed as the beer bottle was knocked from his hand to go flying against the wall, hitting hard enough to shatter.

It had been so quick and now Sam was stood over him, all of his six foot four frame rigid with anger as he hissed through a tight jaw, "Of course it's your fault. It's always your fucking fault. He doesn't want me anymore. Not after he saw your face!"

Dean was about to laugh and make some cheep comment but Sam was looming over him and Dean now put a name to that expression. It was naked hatred. "It's always the fucking same," Sam continued, his head tilting to the right then coming closer and Dean fought the urge to shrink back. "They see you and don't want to know me."

Dean watched Sam from slightly fearful eyes, his head turned away. He was beginning to think that Sam was about to lay into him and, sat on the bed as he was, he was at a great disadvantage but then Sam backed off, giving him a parting look of disgust. He let out a breath he had not realised he held and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Standing slowly, Dean was torn between demanding what the hell Sam was on about and consoling him as he was obviously upset. Then a thought jumped to the front of his brain. "Did you just say 'he'?"

Back turned towards him, Sam looked over his shoulder and stated, "Yes." Short and clipped.

"Huh!" Sam was looking at him as if he expected some crude comment or outrage. Actually Dean was too shocked to say anything. This was Sammy after all. Sammy, vanilla through and through. "Huh!" he said again and Sam just turned away from him.

Moving around the bed, pondering this new found insight, Dean opened two beers and handing one to Sam asked, "So who was it?"

"Clark Kent," sounding sad and deflated.

"Who's that?" speaking quietly, wanting to find out what went wrong so maybe he could come up with a solution and help Sammy have another 'crack' at him because, from his stance, his brother obviously liked the man. Man. Dean had another mental slap in the face. But it was still part of his job description, getting his younger brother laid. "Have I met him?"

Sam swung around looking at him in disbelief. "Of course you've fuckin met him. If you hadn't, I would be with him now not stood here with you!"

"So…" speaking a bit hesitantly as Dean could sense Sam's anger building below the surface. How the hell was this his fault?

"So…" Sam mimicked, his hand doing that winding, get on with it, motion.

"So…err.." not wanting to remind Sam that he thought him responsible just now, "… where did I meet him?" sounding quite sheepish, then taking a hit from his bottle, trying to hide his unease.

"Apparently, outside that Talon place. He's tall, well built. Brown hair. Clear grey eyes. Remember?" Sam stopped talking, trying to restrain the feeling inside. He had wanted him so badly. He still did. Hell, he had gotten them to come to this shitty little town just on the off chance of finding the man and now he had, Dean had ruined it.

"Nada. Doesn't ring a bell," shrugging his shoulders, taking another drink.

Sam could have hit him. He had spoilt everything and did not even know who Sam was talking about. His jaw was clenching up again and he felt a pressure behind his eyes. "He was wearing a blue t-shirt and jeans. Red jacket. Had a rucksack? … Ring any bells yet?" he knew what Clark had been wearing because seemingly he had come across Dean about ten minutes after he had made him so happy by agreeing to go on a date with him.

"Oh. You don't mean that High School kid that ran from me when he realised I wasn't this Teague guy?" a light bulb seeming to get switched on.

"Yes!" through gritted teeth.

"Yatzee!" and Dean foolishly laughed, gesturing with his bottle as he exclaimed, "Dude! He looks like you! Geek and all! You could be related…. Ewe …Dude! It'd be like doing your brother!"

"Him being my brother would not be a problem. It's you being my brother that's the fucking problem!" his voice raising, pointing a jagged finger and beer bottle at the stunned man.

"Sammy!" hurt and angry all at once.

"It always has been!" Sam's anger was rapidly rising to the surface once more as he thought of all the times Dean had gotten in the way.

"Growing up. All thru High School. It was always you they wanted. Any girl showed an interest in me it was to get to Sammy Winchester's older brother." Sam was gesturing widely his beer splashing across Dean as he got closer. "Older, better looking, charming ' 'Ooh' have you seen that car? 'Ooh' have you seen those lips. Those fucking cocksucking lips of yours. Yeah, I know," nodding violently, "It wasn't just the girls was it Dean? Anyone you wanted would just…" clicking his fingers, "fall to their knees...open their legs for you and it's still the same now.

"Waitresses, barmaids, anyone, one and all. Every one wants Dean Winchester and his fucking beautiful lips. And…." laughing in exasperation, his eyebrows rising in incredulity, "even now, you've still got High School kids pining after you. You've got my High School kid fucking weeping over your face. Enough that I have to contend with that face next to me all the time now I'm no good 'cause you fuckin look like the fuckin love of his life. Always, always the damn same. Even Dad didn't want me. You! Oh yes! You he wanted. You he loved! But Me? He never fuckin touched me!"

"Sammy! No!" Dean's heart missed a beat, then another. No way. No way should Sam know what he had done.

"Don't try and lie to Me!" Sam threw his bottle at the wall over Dean's right shoulder, his hand swinging back to slam across his brother's face, the power and speed taking Dean by surprise, knocking him to the ground. Sam stared down at him then shaking his head slowly from side to side, "Did you and Dad really think I didn't know? That I wouldn't follow you to see what the big secret was? What you two did when you left 'little Sammy' behind?"

Dean could do nothing but sit there on the floor looking up at his brother, slightly shaking his head, trying to deny what they both apparently knew to be true. "Please, Sammy. You don't understand. You can't know wh…"

"Shut up!"

"Sammy, please."

"It's Sam. How many fucking times do I have to tell you?" and he took a swift step forwards and kicked Dean.

"What the fuck?" as he curled up, protecting his side, hands on the floor as he prepared to get up but Sam kicked him again knocking the breath from him.

"Always the fucking same!" Sam reached down and, grabbing Dean's arm in his strong grip, his right hand wrapping around the back of Dean's neck, he pulled his gasping brother awkwardly to his feet only to set him up for the punch.

Dean fell back onto the bed and managed to roll backwards and off the other side, standing ready as Sam came around, fist drawn back yet again. "Stop!" Dean yelled. But Sam did not. This time Dean was ready, blocking the punch and landing one of his own. Sam just stood, blood on his lip matching Dean's, and stared at him as if he was going to kill him. "What the fuck Sam?"

But Sam was watching those lips, not the words coming out. Everyone loved those lips. He had heard their father once praising those very lips and what they had been doing at the time. For every one Sam had ever liked that had ended tasting those lips instead of his own, he wanted to hurt them and the face they belonged to. Sam, at this moment, hurt so much he wanted Dean to feel it.

Dean was wary. He knew this, whatever it was, was not over. He could sense not only the anger in Sam but also, from years of practice, he recognised the stance. He was ready and as Sam launched at him, he used the only advantage he had. The knowledge of his brother's favoured fighting methods. He used the other's height against him but with each blow he blocked and the few punches he actually threw, he was tiring and Sam was getting angrier. He was in a rage.

Sam was not thinking. He was not thinking about the fact that Dean could give as good as he got. He did not think that it was Dean he was hitting. He was not thinking that it was his brother. He was not really thinking at all. But he was cursing. From his bleeding lips came an incoherent litany of all the reasons he was hurting so much, why his heart could not take disappointment after disappointment. It was bad enough the things that happened to them they had no control over, but something as simple as a date? And his brother had managed to ruin that without even being there.

Finally Sam got the advantage and, up on his knees, he continued to hit Dean as his brother curled on the floor, knees drawn up, arms protecting his head and neck. He was not punching anymore, he was more just dropping his hands, fists banging as he kept repeating over and over, "Why, Dean? Why?" tears streaking his cheeks. Then he let his fists fall for the last time and just knelt, shoulders slumped and head dropping.

Dean carefully peaked out from beneath an arm. Was it over? Had whatever set his brother off been worked out of his system? Moving slowly, he let his arms down and gingerly moved to sitting. Damn, he hurt. He looked at Sam. His brother appeared defeated and resigned.

They had fought before, many a time, but this had been different. He had held his ground but Sam had slowly gotten the upper hand. He had grown a lot in the four years away. Still young, but Dean had just had a lesson that Sam was no longer a boy. He was a man now and apparently stronger than Dean. Physically at least. Now he was kneeling there crying quietly, seemingly focusing on his bruised and bloody knuckles.

There was blood on his hands. His and Dean's. All he could do was breath and look at his hands. He was not going to think about what he had just done. He was not going to think of why he had done it. He could feel that the emotions swirling around his heart had not changed. Everyone knows that feelings came from the brain and not the blood pumping organ but it did not feel like it. As he concentrated on the hollow feeling in his chest, he knew exactly where it was centred. And the cause.

Fingers delicately touched the back of his hand and he raised his eye line to look at him. Him. Dean. The eyes looking back at him so full of concern were so clear, so green and so beautiful. The blood trailing from an eyebrow onto his cheekbone only emphasised the colour of his skin, slightly tanned, the freckles more prominent now summer had hit. Sam scrutinised that face, searching every inch, cataloguing the damage he had inflicted and attempting to analyse just what it was about this face that had so many people on their backs.

"Sam?" very quietly, bringing his attention back to those lips as they spoke. There was blood there too, just as on his own as watching Dean's mouth made him lick his lips. Those full lips that had kissed so many. Those lips that had their father so enraptured. They were even more swollen now, bruised as Sam had aimed for them, hitting Dean's face repeatedly. His face would swell and discolour but right now Sam just stared at those lips.

Reaching out a thumb, Sam used the pad to wipe away the blood on the split bottom lip making Dean hiss and take a sharp breath. He studied Sam in turn, his head tilting back and to the side slightly. Sam slowly licked his thumb making Dean's eyes open wider in shock. He was in slow motion, desperately not thinking about what he was doing. Desperately not thinking about what he was thinking of doing.

"Sam?" Dean asked again. This whole trip had been weird and now they were heading into the bizarre. Sam had such a look of concentration on his face, mixed with something else he could not quite define. At least the tears had stopped and the beating, but whatever this had been, was, it was not over. Of that Dean was certain. He needed to get Sam to talk, to explain what had just happened and what had caused it. If he had not sensed that the situation was still shaky he could have laughed. It was always his brother that wanted to talk things out, not him.

Sam pulled the thumb from his mouth, letting his tongue cover it with saliva then placed it on the right corner of Dean's mouth. He did not notice and would not have cared about the frown on his brother's face as, biting at his own lip, Sam ran the thumb along Dean's swollen bottom one. Dean pulled away slightly, opening his mouth to ask, "What the fuck?" quietly and Sam push his thumb onto the inside of that bottom lip, running it back.

Enough of this, Dean grabbed his brother's wrist, pulling the hand from his face and stiffly climbed to his knees but Sam broke free from the grip and, as his other hand circled to grasp Dean's hair, he repeated the motion, this time his thumb rubbing harshly across the slightly parted lips. Dean's own hands came up to grab both of Sam's wrists but he was not quick enough.

Holding the back of Dean's head, his other hand covered the side of his face as he surged forwards. He had to know what it was about the man's lips that had everyone panting for him. His mouth covered Dean's and he kissed him hard, mashing their lips together.

Dean pushed at Sam's shoulders, his fingers digging in through the fabric of the shirt he had helped him choose for his date. His brother's tongue was demanding entry and Dean clamped his jaw shut. The hand on his face, one of Sam's so large hands, moved around to grasp his throat and, as he continued to struggle, it tightened.

Breaking the kiss, Sam pulled back and with his thumb on that bottom lip again, told Dean, "Kiss me." At the slight shake of the head and the pleading look in the older man's eyes, he tightened his grip on his throat briefly. Dean's hands clawed at Sam's wrist, a tear leaking from his eye.

Sam pulled him up without changing his grip and pushed him hard against the wall. Once more he crushed their mouths together, thrusting his body against the other. Dean did not kiss him back but he stopped fighting. He could not.

He did not believe that Sam would seriously hurt him. The beating he had just received was nothing compared to previous injuries but that hand on his throat scared him. The expression in his brother's eyes was something he would never have expected to see, least of all aimed at him.

Dean went limp against the wall, judging that Sam would stop, that he would 'come to his senses' if there was no resistance. It worked as Sam lessoned the pressure but stared into his eyes searching for something. Dean did not understand this, any of it. What could he have possibly done to have made his brother treat him like this?

Sam studied the face before him. He did not see the blood or the flesh beginning to swell. All he saw were the beautiful eyes looking so hurt and worried. He saw the freckles that people find so adorable if they do not have them and he saw those lips. His hand moved from Dean's throat to cradle his face again but his thumb still dug into the soft flesh under his jaw. His other hand moved to lie on Dean's waist then slip down to the hip, fingers reaching around to spread on a buttock, squeezing briefly but with pressure.

He had to know, had to understand what the attraction was. Sure, he knew his brother was attractive but he had never thought of it in terms of having an affect on him. He had idolised his older brother over the years, had felt that hero worship but had never really thought about being with him other than companionship or comfort and safety. But now, as he looked at him, he felt something twisting in his belly and he had to know. He just had to.

Sam released his face but was not letting go. He was pressing his body against Dean hard and it took a moment for Dean to realise past the aches and pains of the pummelling he had received that Sam was rubbing his hardening prick against his own. He stared straight into his brother's eyes so close to his but Sam's eyes were dark, hooded and dropped to look once more at his lips as he struggled to speak for the hand holding his face hard, "Sam, please….stop this."

The thumb moved from his throat and Dean dragged in a breath only to turn to a gasp as the hand on his buttock gripped harder, pulling him forwards as Sam crushed their mouths together, forcing his tongue into Dean's mouth. Dean managed with difficulty to force his hands between their bodies and, hands on the front of Sam's shoulders, pushed with all his strength, twisting his body sideways as Sam gave a little. He managed to break the contact of their mouths and breathing heavily, holding the now still figure of his brother at arms length, he demanded, "Sam. What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Sam stood breathing deeply, eyes fixed still on his lips but as he spoke, Dean saw the flare of anger rip across the brunette's face and stunned, he did not react in time as Sam drew back his right hand and once more hit him with a stinging full handed blow to the side of his head knocking him dizzy and disorientated. His knees gave out and he would have fallen but for the rage flowing through Sam that caused him to grab Dean and, putting all his weight behind it, slung Dean face first down onto the bed.

Sprawled out, Dean knew he should move and shaking his head, trying to clear his senses, he pushed up only to be knocked back down and have Sam land on top of him, pinning him down, spilling curses and commands into his ear. The breath forced from him, he could do nothing but lie prone as with horror he admitted to himself what was happening.

Time slowed to a crawl as he felt Sam lift himself up enough to unfasten his pants and push them and his boxers down. He told Dean to spread his legs and open up for him, just as he did for all those others, just as he did for their father.

He swore back at Sam, trying to rear up, to buck him off of him, but the only thing he could move were his legs. Frantically he pushed back, his legs trying to find purchase but the bedding just slipped beneath him then Sam reared up himself to kneel astride Dean's legs and, with one violent tug, Dean's briefs were ripped from him and Sam was forcing his legs apart, kneeling between, a hand pushing into the base of his spine keeping him trapped.

As one of Sam's so big hands pushed his thigh up, bending Dean's leg high out to the side, he started to plead with him. "Sam. Don't do this. Please. You can't do this. This isn't you."

"Shut your damn mouth. Stop fighting me. You give it to everyone else. Why the fuck not me?"

Dean's hands gripped the bottom sheet, either side of his head, as he forced his face into the pillow. The hatred and hurt he had just heard in that voice. How had he managed to anger Sam so badly? He could do nothing as Sam leant across his shoulders on a forearm and his other hand pulled his left buttock painfully to the side. Then he could feel his brother's prick begin to push at his arsehole. "No. Please… Sammy" his voice breaking into a sob on his brother's name.

All Sam could hear was the pounding of his heart, his blood rushing through his veins, deafening in his ears and from far off the sound of his brother calling out his name in fear. He froze. His brother was in danger. He stilled then tilting his head, he looked down and saw what he was doing, what he was about to do. Lifting his head he looked up and saw fear in the one eye of Dean's he could see as his brother's face was twisted to the side, watching him desperately.

With a cry of revulsion, Sam sprang backwards off Dean as if the contact seared his flesh and he crashed back into the wall, sliding down, arms covering his bowed head as he realised just what he had been about to do.

The door burst open, splintered wood from around the shattered lock preceding Clark Kent into the room. He looked around in horror as he felt a kind of 'deja vu'.

==000==

TBC...