This is a compilation of an ongoing thread from my roleplaying account. Wanted to put it into fic format for easier reading, seeing as there are a few fans of the work already. Prepare for the angst.

Dean is here: whiskeyandgunoil | tumblr

Sam is here: hellbound-hunter | tumblr

Enjoy, and let me know if there's anything that needs fixed. Story will switch points of view very often, considering it's a roleplay thread.

A lot of fluff / emotions in this chapter. In for the ringer in the next one though, hang on for the ride.

As Sam broke the kiss, he took the moment to slip out of him, a sigh leaving his lips as he leaned into the touch on his cheek. It wasn't until he felt Sam's hand travel down his arm that he started to panic. So many things that Sam didn't know about. So many things he didn't want to tell him, keep it from tainting the mostly innocent mind in front of him. When his fingers brushed over the scar, though, he had to let out a low whimper. This was something he hid from everyone, something he didn't like talking about. But Sam had inquired, and he wasn't in a position to deprive his brother of anything. He cleared his throat slightly, half-tempted to press another kiss to his lips but holding off. Knew he was caught. "Y'still believe in angels, Sam?" his voice was soft, almost quivering. "I, uh-" he faltered, hand coming up to rest over Sam's, which was sitting over the very scar he was trying to explain. "One named Cas, he's saved my ass a few times."

Sam whined his protest when Dean pulled out of him, his back arching and his body reacting to the sudden emptiness with his brother's cock no longer inside of him. Still, it didn't take very long for his mind to return to the question at hand, but what Dean asked him in return caused his brows to lift. Despite all of the things he'd seen, all of the things he'd done, he did believe in angels. A flip side of the coin, something good to balance out the bad. It didn't matter much to him that he'd never met one, "Yeah, I believe in angels." He watched Dean's hand cover his own as he abruptly turned his gaze upon his brother again, He'd met one? They were real? The initial shock was only dampened by the scar itself and the fact that this Cas was a friend and yet he'd marked his brother. His brother, "He's your friend?" Already, there was a cold twisting in the pit of his stomach, but he suppressed it. Angels helped people. That was what they were supposed to do, right? "But the scar…what does it mean?" Surely, it had to mean something if Cas was a friend. Dean wouldn't have trusted him if it'd been placed there maliciously.

Slowly, Dean pulled Sam's hand away from his arm, lacing his fingers with the other's as he matched the younger's confused expression. This was really the last thing he wanted to discuss, especially after how easy things had been since he arrived. He wouldn't tell him about Hell, about selling his soul. No, there were secrets he needed to keep from his brother. He was already fucking up time as it was. "Friend, kinda—" truth be told, he had no idea what Castiel was these days. Even the angel had become cold towards him, a sentiment that hurt more than he liked to admit. "It's kind of," a pause, licking over his lips and rubbing the pad of his thumb against the back of Sam's hand. "When souls come in contact, y'know, with one another, sometimes… they leave scars behind. Like an open door." Dean's brow furrowed, trying his best to explain this in a way that wouldn't reveal what it was really from.

The way Dean reacted, lacing their fingers and stroking the back of his hand, made Sam think that he was preparing him to hear something that he truly didn't want to hear, and once Dean finished explaining, he found his fears to be validated. Kind of a friend? Souls connecting? These were things that sounded all too intimate for everything Dean had just said to him, everything they'd just done. Sex was nothing new between them, but this time had been…different, and Sam suddenly found himself wondering if he'd read further into it than he was supposed to. Maybe when Dean said he loved him he meant the brotherly kind of love that was understood but unspoken between them when the younger Winchester had understood it to be something more…personal, if that was the word. Pain ripped through his chest, striking him directly in the heart as he tugged his hand from his brother's and pressed it against the cushion, a little wiggling seeking to dislodge him from beneath the weight of the other man until his knees were pulled against his chest with his arms cradling them against his him, making himself as small against the corner of the couch as he could if only to break all contact with Dean. For as high as he'd been when he thought he'd at last come to terms with emotions he'd always hoped Dean was experiencing in secret, that was how far he'd fallen, and there was a pressure in his eyes that turned them glossy. Abruptly, he turned his head when he felt a tear drift down his cheek, swiping it away bitterly with the back of his hand, "You're not mine?" His voice was strained, the question emerging as little more than a whisper, and the pain in his chest seemed to be seeping across his entire body, "I thought…Dean…" He hated the way he so desperately wanted him to comfort him, even though it was he that caused him to need comfort in the first place, "Doesn't matter what I thought. I was wrong. What are you doing here, Dean? Why aren't you with…Cas? I can take care of myself."

Seeing the hurt expression that his brother suddenly wore, that was the first crack. The second was when Sam pulled away, crawling out from underneath of him to curl against the couch. As far away as possible. Damn his stupid mouth. He shouldn't have come back to begin with, should've finished the demons off before they got sent back here. But it was too late now, he was here. He had done the damage, fucking bared everything for his brother and Sam had thrown it all back in his face. Mind-shattering pain, how dare Sam tell him to just go be with Cas, he didn't know anything. Sam was the one that Dean ached for in the middle of the night, the one he screamed himself hoarse over, the one who he'd gone crazy looking for in the past few months. Sam was the one who took off, left him without a trace, without even saying goodbye, throwing his affection right out of the window. But this wasn't the Sam of his present. This Sam had tears welling up in his eyes and no matter how mad he would get, he would always try to make amends with his brother—that's what love was. "Sammy, please," his voice was cracking, fucking tears threatening to spill over the brim of his eyes. Damn his brother, with his kicked puppy look. "It's not like that—not at all—I'm yours, always been yours." His voice was nothing but a whisper, arms coming up to attempt to wrap around the younger, pulling him to his chest, cradling him softly. He reached for Sam's hand, bringing it to his shoulder once again. "Put your hand on it, please, you'll see." Dean continued, a desperate plea to wipe that look off his sibling's face. Knowing from prior knowledge that when Sam would fit his hand on the scar, he could feel the pulsing of his soul, how it yearned for his brother. The dull ache of a shattered love, edges burning white hot and reaching for the soul it shared a heaven with.

Dean implored him, but he didn't move at first. Instead, his voice cracked as lips parted to speak, "…You don't even wear the necklace anymore…" It wasn't that Sam ever required it of him, that it was some symbol of whatever it was between them, but he'd never been without it, not since he'd given it to him that Christmas morning. After they became intimate the first time, Sam took a certain measure of pride in seeing it around Dean's neck, knowing, even if no one else did, that it was a piece of him that he always carried with him. Sam didn't have enough fight left to resist when Dean pulled him in, and his body reacted violently to the convoluted mess of emotion swirling around in his chest. He'd always wanted to hear his brother say that he was his, that he belonged to him, and now that he had, it only clashed with the pain already sending a minor tremor through his entire body. Like standing in hot water and then immediately having it run cold. Still, his head fell against Dean's chest, the dull thumping of his heartbeat comforting him in a way that he wanted to resist. He still didn't fight when Dean guided his hand toward the scar, his fingers fitting into the imprints. What he felt all of the sudden nearly suffocated him, and Sam was breathing heavily as he used his vacant hand to cling to his brother in spite of himself.

The necklace. Dean's heart sank into his stomach, hiding the guilt behind the already tear stained eyes. Had thrown it in the trash, had given up hope. He would let it slide, address it another time, maybe he'd noticed that Dean no longer wore his mother's wedding ring either. He'd died too many times to retrieve jewelry from rotting bodies. Had become a chore. But when Sam leaned into his touch, his free hand came up to tangle in his hair, massaging softly. Pressing his lips briefly atop his head, before his hand came in contact with the print. This was a trick Dean had figured out almost as soon as he returned from Hell, with Sam's incessant wandering hands, finding purchase on the raised skin. It had since been a way to add another dimension to their ever fading love life, sometimes forcing Sam's hand on it to express words he couldn't form. But now, this was the first time for his brother. He felt it too, the slight stirring of something buried in his chest, awakening, reaching for the entity it knew so well. He closed his eyes against the sensation, rocking them both slightly and humming a tuneless song, heart slowing in his chest as he let the feeling wash over him, hoping Sam could feel the same intensity.

Dean didn't respond to his comment about the necklace, but Sam hardly cared as the strange sensation infected his every nerve ending. Emotion swelled beneath his ribcage, and he wasn't entirely sure who it belonged to, but it somehow made him feel wanted. Perhaps even needed, "I'm sorry, Dean." Sam muttered against his brother's chest as he rocked them, the sound of the tune he hummed lulling him into a state of ease. Whatever anger or hurt he felt seemed washed away by the overwhelming influx of emotion, Dean's emotion. Needless to say, the tears didn't vacate his eyes, but this time they were for an entirely different reason. What he experienced now was more than he could've ever hoped his older brother might feel for him, and he clung to it like a lifeline, "I never want to lose you, Dean. I just…I know I left for Stanford, but I didn't go to get away from you. Saying goodbye to you was one of the hardest things I've ever done."

Aqua blue stretches and yawns towards the contact, reaching the edge of available room as it pulsates against the younger's hand. Dean found himself pulling Sam closer, until he was quite literally in his lap, other hand coming to turn Sam's head up, pressing a needy, desperate kiss against his lips. He didn't fight back the tears that finally spilled, closing his eyes as he tried to express how insatiable the fire for his brother had become. Had always been. "Don't you everthink I don't love you, Sammy: you hear me?" His voice was the same as when the younger was in trouble, struggling to save him. To take care of Sam no matter the cost. He pressed his nose against the other's briefly as he spoke, smiling slightly beside the tears. "You won't ever lose me, never again." Dean knew now how badly it had hurt when Sam left him for Stanford. Breaking away from the only family he had ever known. He pressed another, deeper kiss against his lips, not bothering to wipe the tears that rolled down his cheeks.

Sam moved to the will of Dean's urging hands, soon finding himself in the other man's lap. With the pulsing beneath his palm, the overwhelming sensation filling his entire body, there was nothing he wanted more than to be as tightly pressed to his brother as he possibly could, and he was thankful for the contact. More than that, even. He needed it. The younger Winchester whimpered against Dean's chest, only lifting his head when a hand prompted him to do so, and it was the tears rolling down his cheeks that struck him first. Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him cry, and it summoned tears to his eyes as well as he leaned up as much as he possibly could to meet Dean's lips with his own. Slowly, his mouth massaged his brother's, barely leaning back when they separated to allow him to speak, "I won't. Never again, Dean. I promise." Dean said he would never leave him, and Sam trusted him wholeheartedly. It didn't matter what happened between them. Sam still believed he hung the moon, and that was all it took for him to know that he'd never lose his brother again. A second kiss left his mouth tingling as he tangled the fingers of his vacant hand into the older man's hair, "Please don't cry, Dean." When the kiss ended, he brought his hands to his cheeks, his thumbs seeking to gently brush the tears from his skin.

Dean had continued to rock his brother, a habit, from when they were both so much younger. When Sam would have nightmares and Dean would try to calm him. Though, when his brother's hand leaves his shoulder, he stops, almost whining from the connection being broken. It had been so long since he had felt that familiarity. The only thing he could bring himself to do was to cling tighter, fighting the whine that was bubbling up in his throat. Dean didn't know if Sam felt it the way he did, didn't know if the intensity was there like it had been for the elder. Perhaps it had just been the longing deep in his belly to feel so close to him again. He found himself leaning into the younger's touch, opening his eyes reluctantly, the dim light in the apartment making his face nothing more than a silhouette. As the pulsing faded, Dean found words hard to form. "I-" he took in a breath, trying to get his mind back into reality. "So sorry, Sam." For everything, for crying, for not being the strong big brother that Sam needed him to be, for being so god damned broken, for letting his mouth run ahead of his thoughts. He could apologize for a thousand things, a million times over, and it still wouldn't be enough. The best he could do was to stick to his word, not leave him, not ever.

Sam felt it all, and it struck him more deeply than he could've anticipated. It took that alone for him to realize just how much Dean had loved him all this time, and it killed him to think that he'd hid it so well. Mostly, Sam couldn't understand why. Because they were brothers, maybe? Dean apologized, and Sam couldn't imagine what he had to be sorry for. A hand lifted to the back of his brother's head, guiding it against his shoulder as he turned his own enough to lay his cheek against him, "You haven't done anything wrong, Dean. It was my fault, okay? I didn't mean to assume…I just…All of the things we've seen, none of it scares me as much as losing you." Fingers drifted slowly through his brother's hair before his palm fell still against the back of his neck, "I came to Stanford because I wanted to be safe, but even surrounded by monsters, nothing's ever made me feel as safe as you do."

Dean moved willingly, nuzzling into the crook between Sam's neck and his shoulder, the skin there bruised and bitten from earlier. The thought almost had a smile pulling at the corners of his lips, thankful for it being as dark as it was. But his brother kept talking, Dean's ear remaining attentive, despite running his hands along the younger's back. "Not your fault, never your fault," Dean whispered, lips brushing against skin as he did so. As much as losing you. Those words struck him to his core, bringing his head out from against his neck, pulling Sam into another needy kiss, never wanting to pull away. Dean knows, now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that where he belongs is right here. Nothing in this world could tear these two apart, chained to each other, knowing that even if he tried, it would take heaven and hell colliding to wrench his brother from his arms.

The delicate nuzzling against the tender spot upon the side of his neck prompted his eyes to close as the tips of his fingers drifted across the back of his brother's shoulders. Sam didn't entirely know if he had the words to explain how much he cared for the man in his arms. It seemed to feel so far beyond any love he'd felt for anything else that love no longer seemed to be an accurate word. Yes, he was his brother, but he was so much more than that. When Dean leaned back, seeking to kiss him, Sam gave it willingly, groaning into his mouth as his thumb idly drifted across the older man's temple. He savored the taste of his lips until it made his head spin, and when he leaned back, he remained close enough that they just barely touched the elder Winchester's, his body instinctively trying to move even closer, despite the fact that there was no more space between them, "I've never wanted anything more than to tell you how much I love you."

Dean whined softly as Sam pulled back, though grateful he still remained close. Bringing a hand up to palm at his cheek, his stomach seemed to do a flip at the younger's words. He needed to know, needed Sam to elaborate. Wanted to hear him talk for hours, savor the reunion as long as possible. "Tell me, Sammy, please," he breathed, lips brushing against his sibling's as he spoke. Dean knew it was improbable, that they would have to get moving soon, explain to Sam what was coming after them. Why he was truly here. But he wouldn't do that until he had his fill, didn't want to ruin the moment they had going. Wanted to prove to Sam that he had always cared, always. Even when he was too stupid to say anything in the past.

A palm pressed itself flat against Dean's chest, his fingers slowly drifting toward his stomach as he canted his cheek into his brother's rough hand. Sam had no urge at all to put space between them, enjoying that every muttered, intimate word they shared caused their lips to graze. When Dean spoke, asking him to tell him, Sam found that he was all too glad for the opportunity to make his brother understand how much he loved him, how desperately he needed him. The younger man smiled as he laid his forehead against Dean's, looking him directly in the eyes, "You're always the last thing I think about before I go to bed and the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning. I dream about you, always dream about you, and wake up wishing you were there. Before I left for Stanford I'd just…watch you sleep sometimes and wish you would let me crawl in beside you. You've always been my hero, Dean. Always."

Dean matched the pressure that Sam was putting against his forehead, a slight smile playing at his lips. Running his hands through the younger's hair, listening to his words; every part of him yearning to hold on to his brother and never let go. "I wish I would have told you before you left, Sam." His words were soft, apologetic, twining his fingers in the soft hair at the base of his neck, shifting slightly so Sam was still pressed as close to him as possible. More than anything, Dean knew he should have told Sam before he left. To maybe keep him from leaving; for Stanford and for wherever the hell he was now. Dean knew he probably could have stopped him, if only he had been more open, more honest about the burning desire he harbored for the younger.

For all of the things that Sam loved about Dean, perhaps what he loved most was the feel of the other man's hands against him, and he smiled as he lifted his own to rest it over one of his brother's. Now, with their bodies pressed so close together, exchanging whispered words in the darkness of is living room, Sam felt more at ease than he'd ever felt. The monsters didn't matter anymore, or the way they were raised. If Dean had done these things before he left for Stanford, there was no way he'd ever been able to go. Sam smiled as he brushed his lips against his the other man's, the pads of his vacant hand tracing indecipherable patterns across his chest, "It's okay, Dean. Everything's okay now. Trust me." Sam didn't know that he would someday betray Dean, or of the ways that they would hurt each other over and over again, but when Sam told him now to trust him, he met it wholeheartedly. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing wrong between them, and nothing that could be wrong again.

Dean found his fingers lacing against his brother's, squeezing softly. All the words exchanged in the past few hours, everything said, everything meant. It felt as if a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders. Dean didn't know if it was because this Sam didn't have his back turned to him as he spoke, or because of how things had progressed, but it felt good to be able to confess to something so huge. Let his brother know that he had always cared about him; definitely more than a normal sibling should. "Don't forget about what I said, ever." He returned, pressing another kiss to Sam's lips, the hand on the back of his head seeking to pull him closer, never let him part.

"I won't, baby, I promise." Before Sam really had a moment to seriously consider the pet name that seemed to escape without his permission, Dean kissed him and he was taken with the feel of his brother's lips against his own. The younger Winchester groaned against his mouth as he idly toyed with his hair. There'd been times the word almost slipped out, but he knew how his current Dean would've reacted. The penny was still in the air as far as this Dean's reaction. As if afraid that it might be negative, his arms tightened significantly around the older man, clutching him securely against his chest in the hopes that he wouldn't pull away, "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean's brow furrowed against the kiss, considering all the times—perhaps less than five in the past year—that that word was used between them. It was more common of them to just use their names when addressing the other, making things less complicated. The hunter picked up on the worry in the younger's embrace, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lip at the thought. "For what, Sammy?" He whispered, lips pressing a trail of kisses along his brother's jawline.

Dean didn't get upset or pull away from him. In fact, he didn't seem to mind at all. His eyes slowly drifted to a close as the line of kisses moved along his jaw, and he reached up to slowly massage the back of his neck as his head canted toward his brother. Maybe everything really was going to be okay, maybe things truly were different. The last thing in the world that Sam wanted was to break any connection between them, but he did eventually. If only out of necessity, "Don't you dare run off, okay? I'll be right back." He offered a final kiss to Dean's temple as he stood, groaning his protest the whole way before he turned to make his way across the living room and in the direction of the bathroom.

Dean leaned into the touch, a low groan leaving his throat as Sam massaged at his skin. His tongue came out momentarily, seeking to swipe across the sensitive skin underneath of his jaw. But he was cut short by Sam announcing his departure, though only to the other room. He felt his heart set into panic mode, not wanting his brother to leave his sight if only for a moment. Whining gently as the younger got up, closing his eyes against the kiss momentarily before opening them again, almost wracked with desperation. "Wouldn't dream of it," he returned, moving to grab his discarded clothing off the floor, dressing himself slowly as he waited for his return.

Even as he left, Sam was surprised by the ache already setting in. Already, he wanted to crawl against him, and the brief glimpse he got of the other man dressing as he disappeared summoned a groan from deep within his throat. Once the door shut, there was some distinct shuffling in the bathroom before, at last, he emerged, disappearing into his bedroom and then the kitchen. By the time he made his way back toward the living room where he'd left his brother, he was dressed. Hands extended, reaching for his waist as he pressed his lips securely against Dean's own, and the younger Winchester groaned into the kiss. Presumably, it was the younger Winchester, "I missed you so much, Dean." The words were accompanied by a broad grin and the reveal of a knife he'd carefully concealed against the hem of his jeans. At once, green eyes turned black until the darkness consumed them entirely as the demon stepped back, "Did you miss me?" Finally, a palm extended toward Dean, some invisible force seeking to push him against a the far wall.

Dean's eyes flickered to the bathroom door, brow furrowing with worry. He let out a soft sigh as he finally pulled on his button down over the t-shirt, retrieving the weapons he had brought with him and tucking them back in their rightful place. When Sam emerged, heading straight for him and pressing a kiss to Dean's lips, he almost resisted. This felt wrong, but it was Sam. He almost whined as the younger pulled away, but his eyes narrowed at the knife he was now wielding. He moved quickly, but to no avail. As soon as he made the connected, he was slammed backwards into the wall, unable to move. His voice was strangled when he did get the chance to speak. "Who… the hell… are you?" Trying his best not to panic, knowing it was most likely the demons who had come to kill Sam in the first place.

"Just a friend." The demon grinned broadly, staring at his vessel's brother through the blackness that consumed his eyes, "Does Sam know why you're here? He's screaming awfully loud. I might need to shut him up a little sooner than I'd planned." As if to make his point, the demon applied the blade of his weapon to his cheek, dragging a long, deep line in the flesh that immediately caused blood to seep from the newly created wound, "We have orders not to kill him immediately. No, no, Dean. You see, this is as much for you as it is for us. We don't want the gates of Hell to open, and getting to piss you off along the way just makes it that much sweeter." At once, he adjusted the tip of the blade in his palm before plunging it roughly into the flesh of Sam's thigh, his head rolling back on his shoulders maniacal laughter poured from his throat.

Guilt. Fucking dripping through his blood. His heart sank at the demon's words, using his innocent brother as a tool. It was ripping his heart out. "No." The word was soft, either because of the pressure on his chest or the impending tears he was trying to hide, he didn't know. Though, the demon took it one step further, slicing into Sam's flesh, and Dean felt his heart go into overdrive as he tried to wrench himself from the invisible grip. "No, fuck!" Voice raised now, malice obvious in his eyes. Now the leg. Panic and rage seeped through his body as he watched what this abomination was doing to his brother. "Stop. Now. Take me, please." A plea, a hopeless one at that. "Don't hurt him, just take me. You can do anything you want."

"That worked for you last time, didn't it? Well, not this time, Dean. This time, we've already got what we want, and it isn't you." Violently, the demon ripped the knife from Sam's leg, if only to plunge it a second time. "Ah, I could do this all day." The demon chuckled as he removed the knife once more, and this time, he applied the sharpened edge against the delicate flesh of his neck, "I could end this quickly." The slightest pressure caused blood to trickle from the small opening, "Would you like to know what he's saying up here, Dean?" The question came as he tapped his temple with his vacant hand, "He's screaming your name. He's telling you to run. But you can't, can you? You can't do anything." The demon sighed heavily before he turned his gaze upon the door, "As much as I'm enjoying our time together, I have a date with your brother. I have no doubt I'll be seeing you soon." And with that, the demon started toward the exit of the apartment building, taking his time as he kept Dean secured against the wall.