I'm too tired and achy to be posting this, I'm bound to screw it up somehow. But then, if I was feeling myself I probably wouldn't be posting it at all. I'm pretty sure I was really angry at this part for not turning out right. It is kind of crap really and that's not nice at all, some people seem to actually have been waiting for this and then I give them this... And I'm not at all sure if I managed to keep this apropriate to the rating, but I never really figured out those ratings anyway. *Sighs* Well there is a slightly different version of this chapter on my livejournal, but really it's very slightly different and I'm possibly even less happy with that than I am with this. Not worth the effort to read both versions.
Yeah... I'm in a good mood it seems. Sorry. Lets pretend the preceding paragraph sounds less... whiny, pathetic and whatever other adjective fits (there's many that would I'm sure) because I don't have the energy to figure out anything better to say or a better way to say it.
Dean tugged at the boxers a bit and they slipped about half an inch lower. He couldn't look away from his hand holding on to the fabric like his whole life depended on it. Dean's fingers were curled tight enough that the hand had almost stopped shaking. He moved his other hand to the boxers as well.
It took a pretty huge effort to unclench his hand enough so he could move it, but somehow he managed it and moved his hands. He gripped the waistband on either side of his brother's hips.
Dean shut his eyes and gulped in air in fast and short little breaths. A bit too short probably, since he was feeling a bit dizzy.
He made himself breathe out slowly and tried hard to focus on that tiny little flicker of heat inside that was turning colder by the minute. He thought about Amy from three nights ago, with her chocolate brown eyes, curly hair and playful smile. He thought about her smooth skin under his hands, of the soft curve of her hip, about tanned legs and soft thighs that spread open at a light touch.
He kept his eyes closed as he pulled at the boxers. His fingers brushed against Sam's cool skin when he wriggled the boxers out from under an unmoving ass. Dean blinked his eyes open when he pulled the boxers down a very long expanse of thigh that didn't feel especially soft or gentle under his hands. Any determination he'd had to think of something else crumbled, there was no way he could pretend this wasn't Sammy.
It really had nothing at all to do with the stupid small voice inside of him, that he'd never admit to out loud, telling him that Sammy deserved better than that.
It wasn't exactly easy to get the boxers of his unconscious, freakishly tall brother, but it wasn't the first time he'd undressed Sam. The familiarity was jarring, didn't quite seem to belong in this horribly strange moment. Of course most of the time Dean wasn't pulling of his brother's underwear when Sam was sleeping. That was so many kinds of wrong it didn't even bear thinking about.
Carelessly he tossed the white boxers to the floor and gave a brief look at Sam's face, half expecting his brother to be wide awake and pissed as hell. Dean thought he might just let Sam deck him if that had been the case, if Sammy was just awake. He wasn't. Of course he wasn't and Dean couldn't stand looking at the slack face or long.
His eyes drifted lower on Sam's body, going past the t-shirt still bunched up and leaving his stomach bare. His gaze stuttered to a halt and he couldn't move his eyes away from his brother's crotch. Sam's cock was nestled in dark curls, just as slack and dead to the world as the rest of him.
Man, was this ever fucked up.
Something flared in Dean's belly. It was fear, bone deep, soul crushing fear. But there was something else as well, something fierce and dark and just as strong. He'd never wanted to look at his brother and feel that. And not like this.
Not in any way, he amended quickly. Never.
But it was there. All mixed up and twisted together with everything he felt for Sammy. All the need, love, and protectiveness, the anger and betrayal and…
Oh, fuck.
Dean scooted upward along his brother's body, letting one hand trail up along Sam's bare leg. Letting himself be reminded of who exactly it was he was touching, not that he needed a reminder of that. It was kinda hard to miss. And, damn it, that should not have made him feel better.
Then he was sitting on the side of the couch, his right jean clad hip brushing against Sam's naked one. A small shiver ran through him. He reached out hesitantly to touch his brother, ready to snatch the hand back at any moment.
Dean's hands weren't shaking quite as much anymore, but he knew there wasn't much chance of getting over that anytime soon. Because god fucking damn it, this was not how you were supposed to touch your brother.
A light scowl made it's way over Dean's face. Very deliberately, he made his touch on more solid.
Yeah, this was so wrong and he was damn well completely freaked out. Dean damn well had every right to be, because this was his baby brother, who he'd practically raised. But if the twitching that had been going on in Dean's pants for a while now was anything to go by, then… well… yeah… He'd been going for that, sure, had let himself look at Sammy like that, but man was it ever wrong. So. Fucking. Wrong.
But Dean had made up his mind and this was what he had to do to save Sammy. That's all there was to it. You did what it took to get the job done.
With determination, Dean turned his touch into something he'd only ever done to himself before. Dean had quite a bit of experience of jerking himself off and it shouldn't be that hard to apply that to someone else, because he sure as hell knew what he liked.
Of course, he wasn't really surprised when nothing happened, to Sam anyway. He wasn't. Sam stayed soft and limp under his hands and Dean knew good and well that there was nothing wrong with his technique and if Sammy had been awake he'd be sporting a decent hard on by now. Make that if Sam was awake and had developed a sudden case of amnesia that made him forget that he was straight and that Dean was his brother and had actually let Dean do that to him.
It was a stupid thing to think of. If Sam was awake none if this would ever be happening, Dean would never have had to do this.
He'd already figured out that whatever was working its evil mojo on Sam, it was pretty damn effective, but he'd kind of hoped for some sort of reaction. And Dean would completely deny ever having had that thought. But it would have made him feel less like he was forcing this on Sam, would have made it seem like maybe Sam… well not that he'd ever want this, neither of them would under normal circumstances, but at least like Sam was getting some sort of pleasure from it.
But that plan was out and Dean would just have to suck it up and get it over with. His dick twitched in his pants and at least someone seemed to be okay with this. What the hell did that say about Dean?
Dean looked his brother over and it might have taken a bit longer than he'd meant it to. Maybe his eyes lingered a bit, but he didn't think about that. He didn't think about his brother's muscled thighs, didn't at all think about those firm abs rippling under his fingers, didn't think about Sam's huge hands… And, yeah, maybe he hoped that his brother was awake. Fuck, yeah. Sure. Of course he hoped his brother was awake. This wouldn't damn well be happening if Sam was awake.
He looked at his brother and really wished that Sam wasn't so damn huge. He was pretty sure that manhandling his brother's unconscious ass would have been easier if he was normal sized, or anything that wasn't freakishly overgrown. Dean didn't see this working unless he got his brother turned over and… His brain blanked out for a moment. He didn't need to think any further than that. Not at all. He was fine thinking just far enough to know what to do next.
Dean managed to get his brother turned over on his stomach. He stuck a few of the cushions littering the couch under his brother's hips, feeling awkward and a bit stupid. He really thought that the whole thing shouldn't have made his dick almost poke a hole through the front of his jeans.
What made it so god damned fucked up, like this whole situation needed more of that, it made Dean feel relieved. When he'd decided that he was going to do this he hadn't been sure he could. Not really. Hadn't been sure his body was up for it. Man, had he been off the mark there.
Dean pulled out his gun, slowly set it down on the floor, and picked up the bottle of lotion he'd gotten from the bathroom what seemed ages ago. It took him three tries before he finally managed to open it. He squeezed out a good amount and put the bottle back on the floor. Dean took a very deep breath before he leaned over his brother, smoothing the hand that didn't have lotion on it over one ass cheek. Sam, of course, didn't so much as twitch.
He considered Sam for a moment, took a deep breath and straddled the back of Sam's legs. He felt a bit stupid for having to be careful about the stupid lotion still in his hand as he did so. Hadn't really thought that one out.
He spread the lotion over his fingers and smoothed a hand over Sam's ass again, petting him. Dean realised distantly that he was trying to reassure Sammy, as if that made some sort of sense.
"I'm sorry Sammy," he whispered quietly.
Dean had done anal before. When it came to sex there wasn't all that much Dean hadn't given a go, except you know, with women. Women with breasts and pussy and a distinct lack of dick. So he sort of knew what he was doing, what he was supposed to do. But sort of having an idea was sort of nothing at all like how real this all suddenly felt. It made Dean feel a bit like maybe he wanted to throw up and a little bit like maybe he should hurry and get done with the prep.
Sam's muscles didn't tense, of course they didn't. Dean tried to see the upside in that; at least it would make the discomfort less he thought. Maybe that would have been good if Sam had been awake… and again, this really wouldn't be happening at all if Sam was awake.
Dean kept petting Sam with his other hand, making small soothing motions against Sam's hip. It didn't really make him feel better about what he was doing, but it kinda helped and he was just fine with keeping on doing that even if it was a bit useless.
Dean did as thorough a job as he could with stretching Sam out. There wasn't exactly any clues from Sammy, so he might have been a bit overly cautious, but that was just fine. He didn't want to hurt Sam any more than he had to, didn't want to hurt him at all. So Dean took his time, making sure that Sam's passage was nice and slick and loose.
Dean had been ignoring the attention his dick had been demanding for awhile. By now his jeans were feeling anything but comfortable. But there sure as hell wasn't going to be any more nudity than was strictly necessary.
He sat up a bit, fumbled at his jeans and managed to get them open somehow with slippery, shaking fingers. At least there was no one to see how Dean was suddenly about as smooth as a teenaged virgin. He was usually better at this, so much better, but then usually it wasn't his brother lying under him.
Dean let out a small sound of relief when his erection sprang out of his pants. That part of him was more than definitely on board with this. He pushed his pants down enough so that they wouldn't be in the way and leaned over to fish up the bottle of lotion from the floor, as he did so his aching hard on brushed against Sam's ass and Dean hissed in what almost sounded like pain.
He felt clumsy and awkward as he spread the lotion over his erection. And god, that felt just a bit too good. Dean finished as fast as he could, coming now would be a very bad thing. Not to mention that it'd be embarrassing as all hell, but considering the circumstances embarrassment was probably not Dean's biggest worry.
Dean smoothed a hand over Sam's hip and down over his ass and didn't give himself time to reconsider. He moved faster than he'd meant to, but Dean didn't really think he could have done it any slower.
It felt good. This wasn't supposed to feel any kind of good.
"Sammy," he moaned low in his throat, the name slipping out without conscious thought.
If he'd been thinking at all anymore Dean would have realised that it was a good thing that he wouldn't last long at all. Would have known that his hands on Sam's hips were holding on tight enough to bruise. Would have realised that he was wishing that Sam had been more than a life sized Sammy doll under him.
"Sammy," he moaned again and "sorry," and "oh, fucking god," and "love you." The words were broken and desperate and Dean was too far gone to notice he was even saying them.
Dean came down from his orgasm to the sound of lazy applause, his dick hanging out of his pants and his brother nowhere to be seen.
"What the hell?"
"Nice show honey," Ellen's voice drawled. "Very nice." The tone was honey sweet and lazy and was suggesting things that made Dean feel beyond awkward.
He made a frantic grab at his jeans, pulled them up as fast as he could, shoving his still tender dick back inside. She might be some sort of evil she witch or something, but she still looked like Ellen and damn it if he could face her with his dick hanging out and knowing that she'd probably seen exactly where he'd been sticking it a moment ago.
Awkward didn't even begin to cover this.
"Where the fuck is Sammy?" Dean asked the moment he'd managed to get things back in place. Sammy was all that mattered anyway.
"He's awake of course," she told him, leaning a hip against the back of the couch and giving him that 'are you completely stupid' look again.
Dean scrambled of the couch and backed up a few steps. He really needed some space between himself and this Ellen look alike that was still wearing the damn fairy outfit. And had just watched Dean fuck his brother. Yeah, space was good. Space was fucking excellent. And also got him closer to the weapons he actually had with him this time. He was thinking gun, that was good. Didn't need to be close to her for that. Nothing wrong with the machete either really, except that it was still over at the door and there was no way he could reach it now.
Fuck, the machete was awesome and getting at her with it would be fucking fantastic if she'd just looked a little less like Ellen. And even with the disturbing resemblance he was really looking forward to damn well killing her already.
"Oh, sweetie you're not going to kill me," not-Ellen told him with a smile that was all gentle admonishment pasted over sharp edges.
So either her weird mojo included mind reading or Dean was just being completely obvious about wanting to get his hands on a weapon.
"Yeah?" He asked her, angry defiance written into every line of his body.
"Oh, you're just the sweetest thing, aren't you?"
It sort of knocked the wind out of his sails when the thing kept reacting like that. She could at least have the decency to act like Dean was some sort of threat. He wasn't even going to think about the possibility that maybe he really wasn't, because he really, really needed to kill this thing.
Dean was trying to figure out the quickest way of getting the gun from the floor when not-Ellen gave a sigh and waved her hand. Pink sparkles trailed from her fingertips and the gun vanished, leaving only an afterimage of those same sparkles before they too blinked out.
If she wasn't a trickster, then at least a close cousin or something. Some sort of pagan god anyway. Had to be. Because this required imagination and your everyday supernatural creature was much more direct than any of this had been. She'd been playing Dean from the beginning.
"Now, will you pay attention?" She sounded a bit exasperated, but her lips were curved up into a fond smile that was painfully familiar.
"What, don't want me to be distracted from your next sick little fairy tale?"
"Not mine, honey. I'm just using what's here."
Dean's mind blankly refused to understand what she was implying.
"Dean." Not-Ellen's forehead creased into a frown. "Don't you go trying to be stupider than you are. This," she swept her arm out in a semicircle, which probably meant to indicate the house and, well other stuff that was around them. It seemed like that sort of gesture. "Is all you. I just use the things I like."
"Let's just cut the bullshit," Dean told her. "Because there's no way I'd ever think of…" he faltered, didn't know how to describe what had happened just moments ago. "I'd never do anything to hurt Sam."
The air of fond indulgence that she'd had going suddenly vanished.
"I'm not going to explain this to you Dean." Her posture straightened and there was anger there, something alien behind the façade of mischievous humanity. "These are thoughts, memories, dreams and ideas. Yours all of them and you can recognise each and every one of them if you want to. I put together a different picture from them, but it's still all you. This is your dream Dean Winchester."
Dean suddenly had no trouble at all being completely and utterly aware of the fact that this thing was not Ellen, wasn't anything human at all. It looked at him with eyes like the night sky, unknowable and endless behind the soft brown of Ellen's gaze. Fury radiated from it and Dean knew exactly why people had used to fear the wrath of gods.
Also Dean told himself, for future reference, pagan gods had mood swings from hell. Not that he had any proof that she was one, but shit he'd bet his favourite knife that he was right about that. Dad had given him that knife.
"Yeah, well… fuck that." It wasn't the best comeback he'd ever thought of, but his mind was still reeling from the orgasm and the following burst of adrenalin. He was under a lot of pressure
She shook her head in exasperation and it was like she shook of the alienness as well. She settled back into her human face and gave Dean a small smile.
"It's just a dream honey, but that doesn't make it less real." All the anger was gone and she was all warmth, smiles, and faint amusement again. "It's time to wake up now." He almost wanted to call her look compassionate, but that was a load of crap. Dean knew that human mask wasn't her.
She gave him a small wave and Dean's eyes snapped open.
They'd stopped at a roadhouse two days away from the little nowhere town Dean was doing his very best to forget. The food was decent. But Sam kept looking at him with a small worried frown and that look he always wore when he was trying to figure something out, the same look he'd been giving Dean for the past two days. The cheeseburger had tasted like cardboard and grease and Dean had choked it down with suddenly tasteless beer.
He'd eaten all of it, because Sam was already freaked out as it was and there was no need to give any more reasons for that look he kept giving Dean. To be fair, Sam had every reason to be freaked. Because Sam had woken up from the dream that wasn't a dream with no idea what had happened, but with bruises on his hips and, Dean suspected, sore in places Sam wasn't going to mention to his big brother. Then they'd found out that the whole town had skipped a day.
Dean had told him that he'd been trapped in a dream and that he'd barely made it out, but he'd left out the details. (It was a dream, how much did Sam expect him to remember?) There was nothing that would ever make him tell Sam what had happened. But he had told Sam about not-Ellen, forgetting to mention the whole looking like Ellen in a porn movie part, and what Dean suspected she was. Then, to Dean's own surprise he'd convinced Sam that maybe this once they should just let this one go. And by convince he meant he'd told Sam that Sam could stay and do all the research he wanted, but Dean was so out of there.
He didn't exactly blame Sam for worrying, even without the unexplained bruising. It wasn't like Dean to leave a job unfinished. Hell, Dean had been all set to kill that evil bitch for what she'd made him do. It wasn't like the Winchester's hadn't taken on things that they probably shouldn't have stood a chance against before and so what if Dean had started to suspect that she was a bit stronger than the monsters they usually faced. But there was no way he could ever risk Sam finding out about the dream.
Dean swallowed the last of his beer and stood up. He told Sam he needed to take a piss and walked to the rest room, locking the door behind him.
The note wasn't very long and was written on plain white stationery, it smelled faintly of roses. Of course it did. The script was surprisingly sharp and angular, not the flowing cursive Dean had almost expected, but still oddly feminine. Then again that might just have been the fact that it was signed with a small drawn heart followed by "Your Fairy Godmother."
Dean had found the note in his jacket after the day spent inside his head, tucked away for only him to find. He was almost grateful for that. Grateful that Sammy hadn't seen it, not that it really gave anything away.
Be careful, honey. The note said in neat, sharp letters. Even without you poking around and interfering you're too lovely to pass up easily. And there are things worse than me out there. Sweet dreams.
It sounded too friendly, like they knew each other or something. Like she actually gave a fuck beyond getting her own twisted rocks off on Dean's suffering.
Dean flicked his lighter open. The piece of paper crumpled to ashes and he let the last pieces of it fall into the washbasin. Soon the last pieces swirled away with the rust flecked water.
He didn't look at himself in the mirror as he turned away and walked out of the bathroom to rejoin his brother and pretend that nothing at all had changed.