Chapter Two: Brotherly Bonding

Dean woke to a mouthwatering aroma of apples and cinnamon. His stomach was tight and churning as usual, but after expelling all contents so recently, he also felt a surprising hunger pain at the smell. Stretching his arms above his head, Dean realized he had actually slept, not passed out. Recalling events earlier in the morning, Dean scowled and sat up. How was it something as pathetic as being half carried to bed and having his face just barely touched by his brother was enough to allow him real sleep and reignite his appetite? Dean sat up and looked around the room for Sam.

"You're awake, good. I have something you gotta try. I picked it up while I was out replacing my toothbrush." Sam said brightly, turning around from his position at the table in their room, cheek dimpling in a smile. "Open your mouth." Dean's jaw dropped open slackly, wondering if he was still dreaming.

"Wha…" But his question about what Sam was planning to put in his mouth was cut off but a forkful of apple pie crammed between his lips. Dean choked slightly, then closed his mouth and groaned, rolling his eyes back in his skull, eyelids blissfully closed. "Wow, Sammy, I can't remember pie tasting this good." Sam smiled faintly, sitting in a chair he had pulled up in front of Dean, determined to get his brother to eat as much as he could. Sam didn't know much about what was going on with Dean recently, but he did know he needed to eat, and pie was the best bet.

"Open." Sam demanded again, holding another forkful of apple pie to his brother's mouth. Dean opened his eyes, his impossibly green eyes, and looked impassively at Sam, swallowing his current bite and opening his mouth again.

"Don't gotta tell me twice, bossy." Dean growled, taking the fork into his mouth, and sliding his teeth down the tines of the fork in an almost sexual manner. Sam's breath hitched in his throat, and he smiled. This was good. Dean was allowing himself to be fed, getting some sustenance into his body for the first time in too long for Sam to remember. Dean flushed a little at Sam's smile. "You don't have to feed me Sam, I'm fully capable of eating on my own."

"Sure Dean, and that's why you're barfing and passing out and looking emaciated. All that 'feeding yourself' you've been doing. Shut up and let me just… take care of you, okay? Just shut up for once." Sam leaned forward, pressing another bite of pie to Dean's mouth. Dean's flush hadn't faded away, in fact, it was spreading. He was breathing a little heavier than normal, and his eyes were liquid pools of emerald fire. He sucked the fork into his mouth and scooted closer to the edge of the bed, his knee bumping into Sam's, reminding bot,h men that Dean was still wearing just a towel. Sam pulled the fork back, feeling slight resistance from Dean's pursed lips. Sam watched as Dean chewed slowly, savoring his first bit of food that didn't make him sick in what felt like years. Sam pulled his knee away from Dean's, and handed the pie dish and the fork to his brother. "On the other hand I really don't think I've ever seen you not finish pie. I'm gonna get you some clothes, you eat." Sam said gruffly, standing up out of his chair and bending down to rummage through Dean's suitcase. Dean cocked his head and watched Sam, humming tunelessly while stuffing his face with pie, admiring the strong curve of his brother's bent back, trailing down to the band of boxer briefs visible over his jeans, and… Dean coughed, choking on his pie, and looked back down at his plate, suddenly feeling as though he was attempting to swallow ashes. Sam straighten back up, unaware of what had just transpired, and handed Dean a pair of his flannel pajama pants, and a plain white undershirt. Dean frowned. "Sam it's only what, like, 12 pm? I need some real clothes, dude." Sam shook his head decisively, sinking into the bed with Dean, switching on the small television on with a remote, and placing his hands behind his head on the pillows.

"Nope. We're hanging tight here until I'm sure you're not going to be charfing on a wendigo when we're supposed to be ganking him or something. Get comfy, man." Sam replied, grinning cheekily at Dean. "Just see it like a sick day. Normal people get sick days with their jobs, why can't we have one?" Dean grumbled incoherently but didn't disagree, enjoying the thought of some brotherly bonding time. When the last time they had just sat together, not working a case, and relaxed to some television? He would never admit it, not under the threat of torture, but some of his happiest times as a kid was John leaving the boys in some shitty hotel or motel to go on a hunt, eating junk and watching tv together all day, for days on end with nothing to entertain them but reruns and each other's' company. Back when it was Dean taking care of Sammy, not Sam taking care of Dean. Leaning back into his side of the bed, absentmindedly continuing to eat the pie bite by giant bite, not realizing that for the first time in weeks the tight knot in his stomach was slowly uncoiling. Staring intently at the tv, Dean almost didn't notice that he had inadvertently pressed his left arm against Sam's right arm, and that the heat of contact was what soothed the tightness away from deep inside him.

He's so fucking beautiful. Sam thought wistfully, observing Dean silently. Dean was intently watching whatever show was on the screen, Sam didn't know, he was watching a different show- Dean's eyes crinkling at the corner as he laughed along to a laugh track, sooty black eyelashes framing those electric eyes of his. Sam's breath caught in his throat as Dean looked over at him to grin, looking better than he had in ages, pie mostly gone except for a few scraps of crust. Dean wiped his thumb inside the pie tin picking up a few stray crumbs and smears of apple filling, and popped the digit in his mouth, sucking on it noisily.

"Damn, Sam, that was some good stuff. Look at you, being all grown up and looking after your big brother." Dean teased, wiping his saliva dampened thumb across Sam's cheek.

"Dude! Not cool!" Sam exclaimed in a sufficiently shocked tone of voice, but instead of wiping his cheek off immediately, he just looked away from his brother and back to the tv screen, saliva glistening on the glowing blush of his cheek. Dean stared at the wet spot on his brother's cheek, and his head filled with visions of him climbing over on top of Sam, pressing his tongue to his cheek, and tasting the sweet saltiness of his skin where his thumb had left a wet trail. Sam would turn his face to Dean's, catching his lips with his mouth, and draw Dean into a kiss so deep Dean's heart would stop beating altogether... Blinking, Dean broke himself out of the glorious daydream, standing up so abruptly from the bed the pie tin and fork clattered to the ground, and Sam looked up questioningly. "You alright?" Dean didn't answer him, a look of complete and utter helplessness covering his features as he backed away from the bed. "Dean what the hell?" Sam asked, sitting up further in the bed growing concern painting his face.

"I… I… I …" Dean faltered, his back finally pressing up against the door, his hand seeking the handle. Sam frowned and jumped out of the bed, walking over to his brother at the door, covering his hand as it found the handle.

"Dean what the hell is going on with you?" Sam asked, a look of frustration on his face. One step forward and two steps back was getting old. Whatever was going on with Dean, it was time he spilled.

"I just gotta go Sam. Let me go." Dean practically pleaded, his hand twisting ineffectively at the door handle. But Sam's grip was like iron, and he wasn't letting Dean run away from this one.

"No. You're gonna sit your ass back down and you're gonna tell me what's turned you into such a mess, Dean. I'm not asking." Sam grabbed Dean's wrist and placed his other hand behind his shoulder, half pulling, half pushing his brother away from the door. Dean resisted, breaking his wrist way from Sam's grip, and shrugging his hand away from his shoulder.

"Fuck off Sam. Just leave leave me the fuck alone." Dean snarled out, full on, radiating hostility. Sam had had about enough of this. Weeks of watching his brother caught in his own head, worrying himself half to death, depressed and angry in bouts, practically trying to starve himself to death, screwing anything that moved… there was only so much of this he could take, and he was way past his bullshit limit. Instead of trying to drag his big brother further into the room, Sam shoved Dean, hard, causing Dean's back to thud into the door. Sam slammed his left fist right beside Dean's head with a hollow thump, his face coming in close to Dean's, irritation snapping from his eyes, smothering down the concern Dean had been seeing all day. In his right hand Sam grabbed a fistful of his brother's shirt, pulling their faces so close Dean could feel his breath on his lips.

"Enough of you being a little bitch, Dean. I've had it. I'm not doing it anymore. I am going to get this out of you one way or another, so you better sit down, shut up, and start talking." Normally Dean would have inquired how he was supposed to shut up and start talking at the same time just to further push Sam's buttons, but this wasn't normally. Dean's chest heaved and he felt his stomach tighten back up. Sam was full on blazing, so concerned about and upset with Dean there would be no reasoning with him. What was Dean supposed to say?

Well Sam, it's like this. Lately, all I can think about is putting my hands on your body in a very unbiblical way, of kissing your mouth like no family member ever should, of bringing you so close to the edge that one graze of my hand reaching down the front of your jeans would have you keening and begging for me to have my way with you? That even while all of this is running through my head, I hate myself, I know how sick I am, that the baby brother who I held in my arms every night for years, soothed after nightmares, dressed and fed and loved and protected… is now the object of my desire? That the more I can't keep these thoughts from my head the more I think you'd be better off if I just put a bullet in my brain before I do something irreversible, unspeakable, unforgivable to you? Because I could never live with hurting you Sammy, I could never live with looking into your eyes and seeing betrayal, disgust, fear, or pain. I'd rather die a million deaths and spend every moment of eternity back in hell than ever have you feel anything for me other than love and trust.

As these thoughts tumbled through Dean's mind but no words left his lips, Sam dropped his clenched fist from its perch on the door, and rested his hand against Dean's neck. Some of the unspoken, violent anger faded from his eyes and he read the look of fear on Dean's face. Something was seriously frightening his brother, and Sam felt his heart clench with empathy. He couldn't stand Dean in pain, not for a moment.

"Dean…" Sam sighed, lowering his forehead gently against his big brother's, the way Dean used to do to comfort Sam, back when their height distribution was different, before age and masculinity had them punching and elbowing each other instead of being comfortable with physical touch. "I love you, man. Let me help you. I can see something is eating you up inside, and I'm scared, Dean. I can tell you're scared too. Please, let's figure this out, let me help you, D." His voice got softer as he spoke, so soft that Dean almost didn't hear Sam use his old nickname for him from childhood.

"Sammy.." Dean choked out, his voice breaking. There were tears, real and actual tears, glistening in those shockingly green orbs Dean had for eyes. "I can't. I'm broken, man. There's nothing we can talk about that will fix what's going on inside of me. I've got something dark growing in me Sam, and it's only a matter of time until I can't control it anymore. It's eating me alive, baby brother, it's consuming me and turning me into this hateful thing, this beast that I don't even know anymore…" Dean trailed off, a tear spilling from one of his brimming eyes, snaking a trail through his spattering of freckles, until it came to rest in the corner of his perfect bow-shaped lips. Sam lifted his forehead from Dean's, love and fear battling behind his eyes. A lock of dark brown hair fell in front of his face, obscuring the look behind silken lock and shadow. He had no clue how to fix this, how to help. He had never in all his life of hero worshipping his brother seen him like this. He was astounded that Dean, the strongest person he'd ever known, could ever feel this way. It was shifting the very foundations of Sam's world. It felt like the floor was dissolving from beneath Sam's feet, like everything that he knew was flipping upside down.

Choking back a sob, Dean dropped his head onto Sam's shoulder, screaming for forgiveness inside the caverns and recesses of his soul, yet desperately needing the contact. He felt his brother's chin nestled into his hair, felt strong iron arms wrap gently around him.

"It's alright, Dean. We're gonna figure this out. We always figure things out. Shit Dean, you went to hell and back, literally, and you're still here, saving people, hunting things. Shhh, Dean, really, you're gonna make it, we're going to be okay." Sam instinctively pressed his lips to Dean's forehead, mentally willing all his love and reassurance to soak into his big brother. Dean grunted against Sam's chest, burrowing deeper into the embrace, not speaking, but not trying to break away. Sam took this as a sign that Dean needed the contact right now, that he needed to feel supported and loved. Sam removed his lips from his brother's forehead and slid his face down further to kiss his cheek. If this is what Dean needed right now, physical affection and reassurance, that was sure as hell what Sam would give him. Of course that was his motivation. This was all just for Dean, to help his brother with whatever he was struggling through. It had nothing to do with the heat flooding into him from all the hard planes and soft curves of Dean's body pressed against him, nothing to do with the smell of Dean's musk drifting into Sam's nostrils or the way Dean's breath against Sam's ear made it impossible for Sam to see straight. The feeling of Dean's velvety soft cheek pressed to his lips was indescribable. Sam had a flash back to all those times when Dean, after Sam had skinned a knee riding his bike or cut himself whittling wooden figures, would hug Sam and kiss his cheek, and tell him to hush, big brother was here now. Sam's lips moved gently on that silken skin, tasting the salt and wet of the tear that had leaked down Dean's face. STOP. A voice inside of Sam tried to alert him, tried to break him away from whatever trance was causing him to act irrevocably unbrotherly. But Sam's lips found the corner of Dean's lips, the tear lingering there mingled between both mouths. Sam parted his lips ever so slightly, and pressed his lips against Dean's soft bottom lip in a tender, butterfly soft kiss that lasted less than a second. Pulling away, Sam said softly, voice thick with compassion, "I'm here Dean, I've got you."

FuckFuckFuckFuck Raced through Dean's brain as he felt his brother kissing first his forehead, and then his cheek. What is he doing? STOP SAM, YOU'VE GOT TO STOP- pure liquid fire was rushing through Dean's veins, blood coursing and pounding through his body setting every sense and nerve on high alert. The liquid fire was pooling inside Dean's groin, causing him to swell and harden instantly, painfully, engorging fully in a matter of the seconds it took as Sam pressed soft little kisses onto his face. And then Sam's lips weren't on his cheek anymore. Dean almost whimpered in relief. Until he felt the softest, lightest kiss press against his lips, and tasted his own tear on them. Sam had kissed him before. Sam had been an affectionate child, and required bedtime kisses on a nightly basis until he had reached puberty. His kisses had always been warm and firm and trusting, a little brother giving affection how he could to his best friend and confidant. But Sam hadn't kissed him in years, and this wasn't the kind of kiss Sam had ever given. The feeling of Sam's lips lightly brushing against his own was hesitant and practically fearful, but ardent at the same time, warm and searing. Dean's head absolutely exploded. Was he hysterically crying? Was he sinking through the floor getting sucked directly back into hell? He was sure he must be.