Okay, chapter four. Im not sure how far Im taking this, so we'll all just have to wait and see...

Warning: Wincest, yet again.

Sam had decided not to move into a dorm, scared of the prying eyes when they glanced at his plain duffel bag, rich kids giggling behind thier hands over his torn jeans and flannel shirts. He had rented out a room near campus with the roll of bills he had saved up, which was dwindling quickly now.

He turned in the covers and clutched at the pillow, his chest seizing. The room was empty. The bed was empty. Nothing was familiar. Sam had gone eighteen years complaining about not having a home, only to realize now that he had a home, and he had pushed it away. He eyed his duffel bag from across the room, the moonlight catching the silver clasp on the strap and sending little slivers of reflected moonlight onto the dirty carpet. He finally threw the blankets off, padding barefoot over to the dresser and spilling out everything he owned onto cheap plywood, sifting through it until he found his prize; a ragged Zeppelin teeshirt wrapped around a tiny, woven leather bracelet. He slipped on Dean's shirt, and it clung to his shoulders and ribcage, even though it had always been loose on Dean, and took the bracelet back to bed, his thumb running over the grooves idly until the feel lulled him to sleep.

Sam was working at a bar down the road from Stanford, using all his good looks to take tips from shy young girls and hustling pool when rent got too steep. He would never tell Dean any of this, not in a million years, but he did what he had to to get along. Twice tonight he had heard the low rumble of a classic car and felt his heart jump in his chest, but ignored it.

Two years, two years of watching that barroom door swing open, hoping every time he would spy Ray Ban wraparounds, a dirty brown leather jacket, military haircut, straight down the sides. It didn't happen - Dean wasn't coming to join him.

He told himself that a million times, but he still wasn't surprised when he walked down the sidewalk, hands in his pocket and head down under the street lights only to look and see the most familiar shadow on this world. His brother was hunched on the front stoop of a little townhouse Sam had rented only months before, when the days were getting chilly and the leaves were starting to rot in the parking lot.

"Sammy." One word, and Sam was pulling Dean up to full height, wrapping him in arms of steel. Tears streamed down his face as he clutched Dean closer. "Sam." Dean pulled back and looked at him.

"You have to know. When you asked...what you asked. I didn't do it because I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you to know I would've done anything for you to stay, but I...I didn't want to hold you back. I..." Dean didn't know what he was saying. He had planned to come here, be all cool, like it was no big deal. 'I was in the neighborhood' He wanted to stay, but he couldn't.

"Sam." Sam's mouth covered his, briefly, one of his brother's big hands coming up to card into his hair.

"Doesn't matter. None of it matters. I've missed..." Dean was pushing Sam backwards. He hadn't planned on doing this, he had come here to let Sam know that he didn't need this, that they were okay. But now Sam was opening up beneath him, hands hooking into his belt loops and grinding their hips together as thier mouths met, a tangle of tounges, and God how had Dean gone without this for a second? Sam turning from him to unlock the door was too long to go without that mouth, and he was devouring Sam before the door shut behind them, sliding his hands under Sam's jacket and tearing at the buttons on his shirt, Sam's skin hot beneath his hands, Sam muttering against his lips as his hands found the buttons on his jeans, snapping the teeth of the zipper off in the rush to just remember.

It was different than before. It was different because he knew what it was like to be away from Sam. It was different because he was so mad, so utterly pissed off and so utterly ecstatic to feel Sam groan deep in his chest like that, so deep Dean could feel it through his skin. Every pulse of Sam beneath his hands made Dean die inside, and every soft breath of his name brought him back to life as he pushed into Sam, harder than he meant to, but damn he didn't care; he wanted to mark Sam as his for all the world to see. Sam opened his mouth in a silent scream, his hand finding the sheets and tearing them in his claws, his knees bruising Dean's ribcage with every rock of his brothers hips. He was loud now, much louder than he ever used to be, and his own name was being whispered through clenched teeth. He felt Dean's rhythm falter above him and hurried to catch up, letting the waves wash over him as he spilled across his chest, his skin slick with sweat. Dean groaned and followed him over, ever muscle in his body shaking tortuously as he pulled off of Sam, turning him on his side and curving in behind him, his arm wrapping protectively over Sam's chest.

"Sammy?" He followed the sound with a kiss, tounge finding and marking a scar below Sam's shoulder blade.

"Mmm?" His breath caught in his throat.

"Are you? Happy here, I mean." He waited, and thought Sam had gone to sleep, but then Sam nodded.

"Yeah. I think so." Now that you're here. He didn't say that part. He slipped into sleep and didn't feel Dean's tears slide down his back.

When he woke up that morning Dean was long gone, the sheets a tangled mess, and he smelled of sweat and sex. He smelled of Dean's cologne and Old Spice. He skipped class and called in sick at work, forcing himself into the shower to clean himself off. The hot water didn't calm him, and before the sun rose he was on his knees, huge shudders coming through him as he screamed at the shower wall.

"You were supposed to stay, you selfish bastard! You promised me! You fucking promised me!" But no one could hear him, and no one ever would.

The bar was almost empty and Sam stared at the clock, barely awake as he stacked the chairs on the scarred tables, the old peanut and Heineken smell making him nausious.

" 'Scuse me? Is there anybody else here.? Tall, redhead, probably hammered?" He looked up and felt the stool slip from his fingers, diving down to catch it last minute.

"You okay?" She flashed another smile and Sam realized he didn't know if he could comprehend English anymore. He turned and almost knocked over the tray of glasses that were setting on the wet bar, getting his hold and feeling quite proud of himself for not breaking anything. Yet.

"I'm fine. There's nothing else here. No one, I mean, no one else here. I mean with me. She's not here." He wasn't used to being flustered, but she took it pretty well, giggling.

"Do you work here?"

"Yeah. I just turned 21 a few months ago, so..." He looked back up at her and realized her eyes weren't the color he thought they were. That was a very good and a very bad thing.

"So you're here all the time?"

"Uh...yeah. I go to Stanford." Way to go, jackass, brag.

"Me too." their eyes held for a moment and then she shrugged, her hair falling from behind her ear and cascading in beautiful gold curls against her red tee.

"Well, I guess she isn't here. Thanks for the help."

"Yeah, you too." Shut up, dipshit.

"Oh, by the way, my names Jessica."

"Sam."

He was going to love this girl.

Mmmkay, there we go, we are past all the preseries stuff...yay, i guess. I still have a while to go, but i could probably end it here, im not sure yet...

I might revisit the Sam/Jessica relationship in my next chap, i have some pretty decent passages in my head...we'll see, i might not get to the series until chap 6. Wow, Chap 6...

I am taking this way to far...but things just piled up in my brain...

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