You Can Hear The Whistle Blow A Hundred Miles

by Bommaloo

Sam leaves at 15. Unable to force himself out of love with Dean, & resentful that John thinks him useless, he fakes his age & joins the marines, determined to prove that being gay & not being Dean doesn't mean he can't hack it. After years of excelling in the marines, mastering his psychic powers & using his visions to protect his family long-distance, Sam is snatched by the YED.

6. Chapter 6

Sam left at just after six the next morning. He'd called ahead to the car rental place in Sioux Falls and booked a nondescript sedan for his journey, and had made a call to Bobby's gun guy, so the rifle he wanted, along with the ammo and a silver knife would be waiting for him as he detoured there on his way to Aberdeen.

He left a note on Bobby's fridge saying he was out running some errands and would call if he'd be late back, so hopefully his family wouldn't freak out when they couldn't find him, although he was pretty sure they'd see through that easily and the freaking out would commence almost as soon as they noticed he wasn't just hanging around the junkyard working out. He figured that they'd start chasing him down within an hour of finding his note, so once he'd picked up his new M40, a dozen silver rounds, Ha! One will do it. Two for safety and his new knife, Sam stepped on the gas and relied on his foreknowledge of the journey to avoid getting picked up by the cops for speeding.

Including his detour for his weapons, Sam made the three-hour drive in just over two and a half hours and found a discrete parking spot for his hire car. While searching along the tracks he'd found the identity of the werewolf, a customer service rep called Francis Lentham, and had determined that his best chance was during his lunch break, which he always took at one o'clock sharp, and always at the same diner. Had Sam found any evidence of Francis not realising what he was doing, or of him realising and trying to stop it from happening, he might've tried a different approach – looked for a cure despite being almost positive there was none or tried to help the guy lock himself up safely during the full moon. But what Sam had seen along the tracks was a dangerous and cunning man who was only too happy with what he considered a special gift. The guy was actually searching for a woman to turn so that he could create himself a mate, and he had not a care for who he might kill in the process. Sam was used to taking out threats in the field, and this guy certainly counted as that, so he had no qualms about what he was about to do.

Reaching into the back seat and grabbing his M40 and a half dozen rounds, Sam climbed out of the hire car and checked his belt to make sure his knife was secure. He'd pre-selected the building he was now parked behind as the perfect sniper position; The top four floors were vacant in preparation for renovations, the building was high enough to give him an excellent vantage point over the rout Francis would be taking to the diner, and there were even a couple of flags on nearby buildings to help inform Sam of the wind direction. The only disadvantage was the distance; It was closing in on two and a half thousand yards. Not the longest shot he'd ever taken successfully, but with the others he'd had a spotter, feeding him information such as wind speed and direction. Still, Sam had seen he'd make the shot, so he wasn't concerned, he just had a familiar focused energy buzzing through him – he always did when taking up a sniping position.

He checked to see that no one was watching and jogged to the back entrance of the building. Carrying the M40, he couldn't risk the elevator – it was only the top four floors that were empty – so with a sigh, Sam started a slow jog up the thirty floors of stairs to his position. He was just rounding the corner on the fourteenth floor when he caught sight through the window of a familiar black car pulling in around the back of the building. He grinned. He'd known they'd chase him down, but he was kind of impressed they'd found him so quickly. Still they were too far behind him to stop him. He'd have made the shot and be on his way back down by the time they got within shouting distance of him. He sped his ascent a little, just to give him a slightly bigger margin – not too fast; arriving at his position out of breath would be no good. He needed his breathing slow and even to make a perfect shot. As he cleared the door to the twenty seventh floor he heard the fire door far below him bang closed. They were inside, but as he'd expected, they were too far behind to stop him. He slowed a little, allowing himself to regain his even breathing as he walked up the last three flights and pulled open the door to the top floor. Walking carefully through the dust and debris from the renovations so as not to leave behind any evidence of his being there, Sam crossed to the West side of the building and cracked open the window, seating himself on an upturned paint tub in as comfortable as shooting position as he could find. His left foot placed firmly on a raised ledge before the window and his left elbow resting carefully on his knee, Sam looked carefully down his scope and adjusted it for the distance. He focused it in on the position he'd seen and then sat back and observed the flags on the buildings opposite. There was a gentle breeze blowing from his right, not much to adjust for. He looked through his scope at the trees in the square below and noted the lightly swaying branches – the wind was a little stronger at street level. Sam checked his watch – Francis would be walking by in less than a minute. He listened intently, hearing the tell-tale sounds of several pairs of boots running up the stairs. By the sounds of it they were only on the twelfth floor or so. There was no pressure. He adjusted his shot according to the stronger street level breeze, chambered a round, and again raised his M40, pouring all his concentration down the scope. Calm breaths in and out. His finger rested on the trigger. Calm breaths in and out. He checked the flags. Calm breaths in and out. Francis Lentham came around the corner, talking on his cell phone. Calm breaths in and out. Sam gently started squeezing the trigger. Calm breaths in and out. Francis Lentham, a werewolf, passed between the passers-by and into an open space on the sidewalk. Calm breaths in and out Sam applied the last half-ounce of pressure to his trigger. Calm breaths in and out. Frances Lentham, a vicious werewolf dropped to his knees between two steps, a bright red stain appearing over his heart on his crisp white shirt. Calm breaths in and out, Sam cambered another round and squeezed the trigger. Calm breaths in and out. Francis Lentham, a vicious and murderous werewolf collapsed sideways to the ground from his knees, the back of his head spread across a three-foot radius of side walk.

Sam sat back and blew out his last breath. Job done. He collected his casings and retraced his steps back to the stair exit, careful to place his feet precisely where he had before and scuff any boot prints up, so they were unrecognisable. He rubbed any prints from both side of the door with his sleeve and turned to go down the stairs.

In front of him was a panting and furious-looking Dean. A couple of flights down, he could hear more boots running – John must be there too. Sam grinned brightly at his brother.

"Hey Dean! Out for a run?" Dean's face, already furious, grew red and apoplectic.

"Don't try and smirk your way out of this, you stupid, reckless dick." He ground out, his anger all the more chilling for the quietness of his voice. "You're a smart guy. Surely you must see the trouble you've gotten yourself in. Now I thought I heard two shots. Please tell me that you didn't open fire in broad daylight on a random innocent on the off-chance that they might be the werewolf." Sam rolled his eyes, refusing to be cowed by Dean's fury.

"Of course I didn't." He retorted, insulted by the suggestion. Dean's shoulders relaxed a little. "I fired two controlled shots and took out the man I knew damn well was the werewolf." He gestured vaguely at the stairs behind Dean, where John could be heard just a flight below now. "So, it would probably be a good idea if we got out of here before some bright spark works out where the shots came from and comes to investigate.

Dean's fury hadn't abated in the slightest, but even through his anger he was able to see the sense of that last. It wouldn't be very long until police were swarming the high buildings in the area, looking for the gunman responsible and it would be a very bad thing if the Winchesters were found in the vicinity with a sniper rifle. He growled at Sam and licked the wall.

"Fine. Get your ass down those stairs and to the piece of shit car you hired, and if you've got any sense, you won't even make eye contact with dad on your way down, let alone shoot off some smart-ass remark; On top of everything else, he's going to be livid that he's just hauled ass up all these stairs just to turn back around and run back down them. Meet us at the first diner off the highway, and if you're lucky I will have calmed dad enough on the way there that he doesn't greet you with a right hook when we get there." He gave the wall another couple of kicks for good luck and Sam made good on his suggestion, starting at a jog back down to the exit. As he passed John, he had to quickly dodge the outstretched arm that attempted to grab him and bring him to a halt; on this much, Dean was correct. Attempting to reason with his dad just then would be a very bad idea.

As he trotted down the flights of stairs, Sam grumbled silently to himself. Do an exemplary job, taking out a monster before he can increase his body count, and all I get is shit. He snorted with irritation. His silent complaints continued running through his head as he descended, punctuated by the not so silent bitching descending slightly slower a few flights behind him. John was making it very clear exactly how pissed he was, and Dean didn't appear to be disagreeing with their dad.

Once he reached his hire car, Sam resisted the urge to throw his M40 into the trunk in anger. Instead, he carefully removed the sight and clip, and secured everything in the case he had stashed there. He made sure he drove calmly and unhurriedly away from the building, yielding when necessary for the increasing number of police cars that were converging on the area like flies around an open jelly jar.

The news reports on the radio were full of confusion and conflicting reports – theories about a sniper, a mugger and a jilted lover were flying across the new desks, making Sam grin. He'd be well clear, and Dean and their dad too, before the cops even thought about setting up roadblocks. With any luck at all, they'd all be safely back at Bobby's before the police even put out a statement saying they were looking for a sniper.

He had to wait nearly fifteen minutes in the parking lot at the diner before the familiar rumble of the Impala's engine caught his ears. Sam straightened up from his slouch against the trunk of his hire car, reminding himself to keep his cool and not let the others spark his temper. His actions were completely defensible, but he'd have to maintain his calm in order to get that point across to them. John in particular would have a hard time accepting that a way other than his own was also valid, and in this case, actually better.

As expected, John's body language was screaming his barely controlled rage as he climbed out of the car and stalked over to his youngest son. Dean appeared to have calmed himself a little on the drive – he looked more resigned than furious.

"Explain yourself." John ground out through clenched teeth. Sam was actually impressed – back in the day, John wouldn't have even given him that chance. He would've launched immediately into a tirade about how stupid Sam had been and started listing all the things he'd one wrong.

"I did what I do best." Sam explained calmly and concisely. "I acted on intel and took out a threat with minimal loss of life and minimal danger to myself." His cool response caused his dad to falter in his hostility. "It was a clean kill – one to the heart and one to the head just in case, no one saw me or even caught the tiniest glimpse, I left no fingerprints or footprints and I picked up my spent casings. I used a fake ID to rent the car, the rifle is untraceable, and because I didn't have to wait until the next full moon, there's a certain brunette out there who doesn't need to die because old Francis never got the chance to attack and turn her like he was planning. I really don't see what the problem is here, dad." Sam replied reasonably.

John's ire deflated with each point that Sam ticked off.

"You're certain of your target?" He asked tensely. "There's no way you could've made a mistake?" Sam looked insulted.

"No chance at all. It was definitely him. Hell, if you want, you and Dean can sneak into the morgue tonight and test his corpse for a reaction to silver. I promise you there will be a reaction though." John blew out a long breath.

"It's just not how we've always done things, Sam. You know that." He raised his hands to keep Sam from arguing. "I'm not saying it's a bad way to do it, but you know I'm not good with change. You've got to give me a while to get my head around this." It was entirely reasonable. Sam was honestly amazed at how well his dad was taking Sam's actions. From the look of Dean, he was a little less surprised. Sam suspected his brother had been doing some fast talking on the drive to the diner to get their dad to this point. Sam owed him.

"Let's go in and get something to eat; I'm starving." Dean jumped into the pause in conversation. To his mind that had gone far better than he'd expected, and he wanted to put an end to the conversation before one of his stubborn relatives said something to set the other off. "Sam can fill us in on the rest later on, but I'm seriously craving a cheeseburger right now." He turned and walked in to the diner, leaving his dad and brother little choice but to follow.

The diner was almost completely empty – just a couple of obvious trucker-types sitting at the counter nursing bottomless coffees – so the Winchesters chose themselves a booth in the back corner of the place, all three of them trying to get to the bench with its back to the wall ahead of the others. Sam snickered.

"That's going to be awkward; we've all got the same instincts to have our backs covered. What are we going to do? Draw straws every time we eat together?" John snorted.

"Screw that. I've got seniority. I get the first choice."

"Ah, but I outrank you now." Sam reminded his dad with a wink to take the edge off the comment.

"Bullshit." John responded with a cocky grin as he shoved Sam to one side and sat with his back to the wall. "That only counts in the Corps. Dad outranks son every time out here in civi-land." Dean snickered and sat on the other side of the booth, at least allowing Sam the outer position on the bench. Sam sighed.

"Maybe we should just make sure we get a table next time. Then at least the seats can be moved." He murmured, picking up the menu. In the background the tv was showing the local news. "Hey, can you turn that up, please?" He called out to the tired looking waitress. She grumbled but did as he asked.

"…on the streets of Aberdeen, South Dakota today, as a local businessman was gunned down apparently without motive on a crowded street. A CCTV camera outside the nearby bank caught the action. What you are about to see contains disturbing images, if you're of a nervous disposition, please look away now." The scene cut to a slightly pixelated shot of a crowd walking along past the shops and then suddenly a man in a crisp suit dropped to his knees and then a couple of seconds later slumped to the floor with the back of his head missing. Sam grunted with satisfaction at the clip and turned back to his menu, not noticing at first the astonished, awed and flatteringly impressed looks his brother and dad were giving him. After a moment of silence, he glanced up, finding them still staring, expressions unchanged.

"What?" He asked concerned, his hand going up to his nose instinctively to check for boogers.

"We didn't see the shots, only heard them." Dean murmured quietly, not wanting to draw any attention. "How far was the range?" Sam shrugged casually, not used to the admiration he seemed to be getting, certainly from his dad at any rate.

"I can't tell exactly. Not quite two and a half thousand yards, is the ballpark though." Both John and Dean's jaws dropped even further.

"And you just tapped him with one to the heart and one to the head? From that distance?" John whisper-yelled in a strangled tone. He didn't sound angry – just stunned.

"Well yes." Sam replied, starting to blush. "I've made longer shots – a little longer anyway – but I always had a spotter then to track the wind and stuff like that."

"Fuck me!" Dean and John whispered in unison, pride and admiration clear in their tones. Sam dropped his eyes to his menu once again, not sure of how to deal with their admiration, John's in particular. He'd always craved it as a child, but now he had it, he felt uncomfortable and didn't know what to do with it.

"I think I'll join Dean and go with a cheeseburger, maybe get some chilli fries too. How about you, dad?" He tried to change the subject. John looked thoughtful. I don't know what he's looking so pensive about; he always gets the same thing in these places – Burger for lunch, meatloaf for dinner. Sam thought to himself. His answer was quick in coming.

"You know, Sam, we might have a problem after all; There can't be more than five people in the country, maybe the world who could make that shot. Your name is bound to be on a list somewhere. What happens when they realise that you're in the country and living only a couple of hours' drive away from this shooting?" John asked in an urgent whisper, leaning across the table. Sam's reply was put on hold by the arrival of their waitress. Once they'd all ordered, without the standard Winchester flirting for once, Sam sat back on the bench and spoke quietly.

"Yeah I thought about that too. Thing is though, dad, as far as the Marine Corps is concerned, I'm half crippled, one hip shattered, missing fingers on one hand, scarred up to hell with barely healed burns over half my body and tied to my crutches. If anyone thinks of me after looking at that list, they're going to be told in no uncertain terms that I'm too disabled to have pulled it off. And on the outside chance that someone does come out to Bobby's to check on me, well I'll just put up a glamour like Justin taught me to years ago, and all they'll see is exactly what I just described – a crippled and retired Marine, not capable of even driving to Aberdeen, let alone climbing all those stairs and making those shots." He gave a self-satisfied smirk. John glowered.

"Those fucking stairs nearly killed me, and I'm certainly not on the disabled list. Yeah I can see that they'd write you off in that case." John gave a decisive nod. "Well ok then. I guess I've got nothing else to add to that. It was a clean kill and you did a good job of it. Well done, Sam." He reached across the table and gave his stunned youngest a firm handshake.

"So, you you'll get off my back about coming back to hunting?" Sam asked once he'd cleared his suddenly tight throat a few times and recovered his voice. Dean tensed beside him.

"I'll want to see you sparring a bit with your brother, just to set my mind at ease that you're back on form there, and I'd prefer it if you took a backseat for a few hunts until you've got your eye in, but yeah, I guess I'll get off your back about it." John confirmed cautiously. Dean gave a heavy sigh and painted on a fake grin which only fooled himself and John – Sam didn't buy it for a second.

"Excellent!" Dean blurted out, his enthusiasm ringing as fake in Sam's ears as the grin straining his brother's face. "All three Winchesters back in the hunting game together again." He raised his beer, which the waitress had delivered just a moment earlier, in a toast which the others returned.

"Together again." They all toasted quietly.

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To Sam's surprise, a pair of FBI agents appeared at Bobby's yard only two days later, eye's snapping around and clearly on edge as they approached the house from their standard issue government issue black SUV. Luckily, Sam had been inside, working on a stack of brand new fake IDs, ironically a couple of FBI credentials amongst them, so Bobby was able to quietly call out a warning to him before he even heard the doors on the vehicle outside slamming closed.

"Sam, there's a black SUV pulling up outside." Bobby's voice was tense but relatively calm.

"Feds?"

"Yeah, looks like. Nervous too. Scouting around for gunman and trying hard not to look like they are." Sam snorted softly under his breath and stood up, dodging into his room for the crutches he'd not needed for a while. Muttering a glamour spell under his breath, Sam slouched a little, leaning heavily on his crutches to add to the effect his spell had cast over his appearance. To anyone looking at him, he looked just as he had when he'd crutched his way out of the hospital – scarred and broken, pretty much crippled, and certainly not capable of carrying out a long-distance assassination. As he approached the door, he heard Joh's terse reply to what must have been a request from the agents to see his younger son.

"…if you really must, but don't you go upsetting him. My boy's a true American hero, and he deserves your respect and gratitude, not accusations and suspicions just because you agents" the sneer in John's voice was clear on that word "have somehow gotten it into your heads that he's a dangerous gun-toting madman." Sam allowed a small smirk to cross his face as his head was down, looking at the floor as he limped his way over.

"We're not accusing Lieutenant Winchester of anything, sir." One of the agents replied, his tone making it clear that he was lying – they'd already concluded that the co-incidence was far too great that one of the tiny number of people capable of making the shot that had killed Francis Lentham was currently living only a couple of hours' drive away. "We simply need to talk to him to see if he can shed any light on the incident in Aberdeen two days ago." Sam suspected they'd either not read far enough into his file to see that he'd been medically discharged, or if they had, they'd not properly checked the extent of his injuries.

"Sounds like a standard regulation bullshit answer to me." John grumbled. "You can wait out here on the porch and I'll have him come out to you. It's a little hard for him to manoeuvre inside." John's belligerence nearly made Sam laugh out loud. As he limped forward, he caught the eyes of both Dean and Bobby who were also struggling to keep their amusement at bay; John was really making the most of his chance to put the feds in their place. It was quite touching too, the honest pride he'd heard in his dad's voice as he described his youngest as 'a true American hero'. John came back inside, leaving the pair of agents grumbling away to each other.

"They're really not happy being left out there." John whispered gleefully to Sam as he passed him. "They're half expecting a sniper to pick them off from somewhere in the pile of junkers." Sam was surprised at how well his dad was taking the event – he would've expected at least irritation, and probably later a long round of 'I told you so', but it seemed that John had finally found the ability to have faith in Sam's abilities, and he nodded at his son as he cast a quick eye over the glamour he'd cast over himself. "Feel free to play up the cripple front – really make the bastards feel bad for all but judging you guilty before they even got here. Maybe that'll teach the idiots to actually read through a file before jumping to conclusions." It seemed John had come to the same conclusions Sam had. With a smirk and eyes twinkling with mischief, Sam nodded at his dad and crutched his way to the door. Dean pushed it open for him and walked through ahead, unwilling to miss the show.

The expression on the agents' faces as they took in Sam's appearance was truly epic. Jaws dropped in stereo, and hands that had been tense and twitching as if eager to reach for guns relaxed suddenly like puppets with their strings cut.

"L-Lieutenant Winchester?" One of the agents managed to force out after a few seconds, disbelief colouring his tone. He leaned to one side, unconsciously looking around Sam for an alternative candidate for their lethal crazed sniper.

"Yes?" Sam replied politely, his face a perfect mask of irritated curiosity. The agents just stood and stared, completely at a loss.

"You know, it's rude to stare." Dean pointed out blandly. The agents seemed to jerk back to themselves at the rebuke. They both broke into blushes and immediately averted their gazes.

"Sorry, sir." One of them stammered. "We didn't intend any insult." Sam just grunted and carefully lowered himself onto the bench on the porch, Dean playing his part beautifully and offering a lot more assistance than Sam would've needed even if his injuries were still as bad as they appeared.

"So, what can I do for you then, agents?" Sam could hear Bobby and John fighting back their giggles behind the door. Apparently, all it took to turn them into a pair of naughty eight-year-old school boys was a bit of casual fed-taunting. The next fifteen minutes was, for the two agents a horrendous minefield of potential insults against a decorated and horrifically injured veteran, littered with transparent excused for coming out to question him. For Bobby and the Winchesters, it was a quarter hour of pure entertainment, watching the feds twist and spin in the tornado of politely phrased, but deadly accurate accusations of harassing Sam and a failure to do due diligence before haring off to question or possibly arrest a suspect. By the time the hapless pair left, they were cursing their luck and seriously re-thinking their careers, and Sam and Dean, the latter of whom was clutching a piece of paper with each agents name and badge number, which he fully intended on using in a call to complain to their superiors, were biting the inside of their mouths in an attempt not to join Bobby and John who were still inside the house, now giggling and snorting like a pair of pre-teens at a slumber party. The brothers managed to hold in their laughter until the SUV was pulling through the gate and then it was all just too much, and they let it go in a loud gale of laughter. Sam waited until the feds were completely out of sight before grabbing up his crutches and sauntering inside, dropping the glamour as he went so that his appearance was back to normal by the time he passed through the door. John and Bobby seemed to finally be getting control of themselves.

"Well that was entertaining." Sam grinned cheekily at his family.

"Yeah. I don't know quite why we found that so funny, but for some reason the whole thing just set us off." John replied, rubbing a hand over his face and rubbing the soreness out of his cheeks muscles. "I haven't laughed that hard in years!" Sam didn't get why they'd all been so struck by the hilarity either, but he was just happy to see a lightness and humour to his dad that he couldn't remember ever seeing before.

"I can teach you all that glamour spell. It's not so easy to make big changes like I did if you don't have some psychic power to boost it, but it's enough to make a few small changes to your appearance – make it easier to get around and not get busted by suspicious cops when you're out hunting." He offered, not sure how it would be taken. John had never been too fond of any kind of magic, only begrudgingly using rituals when it was the only way to get a job done. John looked thoughtful.

"You know, I might just take you up on that. Maybe it's about time this old dog learned some new tricks." Dean's eyes boggled at his dad being willing to try something new, and magic no less, but then looked less than eager when Sam looked his way, making it clear the offer extended to him too.

"You want me to learn how to make myself look less stunningly handsome?" He choked with mock indignation. "Dude, why would I want to cheat the world of the opportunity to look on my natural perfection, even temporarily?" The whole family rolled their eyes.

"You could make yourself look taller." Sam said teasingly, making sure to loom over his brother as he spoke. "I thought you might enjoy not looking like a munchkin once in a while." He raised a mocking eyebrow. "Even though in reality you'd still be a shrimp." The strangled, outraged sound from Dean's throat made Sam grin evilly, and had John a Bobby snorting in amusement.

"Not everyone wants to look like a freak of nature, Gigantor." Dean grumbled and shoved Sam with his shoulder as he stalked past him. "You're just jealous that I got all the handsome genes, and you just got a couple of extra inches in height in compensation." Sam resisted the urge to childishly stick out his tongue at his brother… just.

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As it turned out in the end, they didn't all go hunting together. For a week after the FBI agents came by, John and Bobby eagerly, and Dean somewhat less so, learned the glamour spell that Sam had used to alter his appearance, Bobby made calls and trips to fill out Sam's personal weapons cache, and John had Sam and Dean sparring out in the yard, watching carefully in part to ensure Sam was back on form, but also eager to see what new tricks and moves his youngest had picked up. He couldn't believe the speed of his younger son now, how fast he was able to move his body to avoid a hit and land one of his own in return.

"You sure you're not using teleportation?" He'd asked semi-seriously one day, after Dean had tried and failed to land a hit for nearly half an hour. Sam had just laughed from the ground where he had Dean in yet another submission hold. Dean didn't look like he found it anywhere near as amusing. Having never managed to get his older brother in a hold even once when they were kids, in Dean's opinion, Sam was enjoying the payback way too much.

But Dean was learning quickly. Having had the same background training as Sam from an early age, he also had the same knack for picking up new moves, and it wasn't even a whole day before he was throwing some of Sam's own new moves back at his younger brother. Not quite with the same level of success yet, but they all knew that eventually he'd level the playing field. The Winchesters were already formidable opponents in hand-to-hand combat, with Sam's input they'd be almost untouchable.

Just as the week was coming to an end though, and John was beginning to scour the papers for a likely looking job for them, a call came in to Bobby's from an old hunter in Idaho. He'd decided to retire, but his son wanted to start hunting and he wanted John and Bobby to handle his training.

Both of the older men were flattered but unsure if they wanted to be saddled by a green young man, full of piss and vinegar, and one who wasn't even related to either of them for that matter. But they owed the old guy a big favour after he'd pulled their asses out of a hunt gone very wrong a few years back, so they didn't see how they could turn him down.

"You know, maybe this is the way things should go." Sam mused as they sat around with a few beers the evening of the request. "We've always said that old hunters never get to retire – they just keep on hunting until finally they're not fast enough and the thing they're hunting gets them. But maybe it would help turn hunters into more of a community, and increase our general skills and effectiveness if we kind of formalised things?" The others looked at him a little blankly, not following his drift.

"Formalise things?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah. I mean none of us are immortal, none of us can avoid the fact that as we age we're all going to slow down and find the general everyday tasks involved in hunting tougher and tougher on a physical level. If we were back in the old days, working a job like, say blacksmithing, it would be the norm to take on an apprentice when we got to that point; a younger set of muscles to take on the grunt work, who in return learns all the tricks and skills they'll need later on when they're out on their own, you know?" Sam took a big swig of his beer and set it down, leaning back into his chair.

"Actually, that's a pretty good idea!" Dean jumped in, seeing immediately the future that Sam was envisioning. "It'd be like semi-retirement. Training up the next generation of hunters so that no skills or knowledge is lost, then turning them out into the world to keep up the fight, while you either take on the next newbie, or set up a home somewhere and take on a research and support role." He was excited by the idea; finally seeing a way that older hunters like their dad and Bobby could survive into old age without loosing face by retiring. John and Bobby looked thoughtful.

"There's another huge advantage that we've missed here too." Bobby added in a considering tone. "Now, I mean no offense here, so don't jump down my throat, but I know all of you have thought about how you boys were brought up. Every year another family is ripped to shreds by some evil or another, sending the remnants out into the world with a fire in their bellies for revenge against the monsters. That's how almost all of us got started in this life. But the ones with kids like yours, they're the ones that face the hardest future. Either the kids get carted around the country like you boys were, always in danger and never being able to be proper kids, or they end up dropped off with a distant relative, or in foster care while the adults run around the country looking for monsters to kill." He looked around to find the others nodding sadly in agreement.

"True, but I don't see how Sam's suggestion helps with any of that." John said quietly.

"Well now it's not so much his 'apprenticeship' idea that struck me, although that could play into it too. It's more what struck me when he mentioned a community. Fact is, outside of Ellen's roadhouse and me here at the junkyard, us hunters don't have any kind of network of support apart from our own hard-won contacts. None of us have a clue how many others are out there, what kind of expertise they might have, who might specialise in what, how many have kids they're dragging around with them, how many might need help right now – this second. If we could somehow start to build a network – a community out of our rag-tag little group, maybe things would go easier and better for all of us. We could share ideas and skills, back each other up when needed, and most importantly, set up some kind of arrangement where the kids could be looked after, safe when their parents are hunting, looked after if the worst happens and they're suddenly alone in the world." The idea resonated with all of them.

They all knew that had something terrible happened to John, Bobby would've stepped in and taken care of the boys – he long been considered a part of the Winchester family in all but name - but even with that loose agreement, something could have easily gone wrong, and the Winchester boys could've ended up lost in the foster system. How many more kids were out there that didn't even have the fragile back-up system Dean and Sam had grown up with?

"I bet Pastor Jim would be more than happy to help us start setting something up." John mused. "He was always after me to leave you boys with him while I hunted. Sometimes I wonder if it might've been better for you both if I had. But we can't go back and change it now. Maybe though we can help make it better for others in the future."

Over the next few days, they all began thrashing out a loose framework for formalising a proper hunting community. Pastor Jim was indeed very interested, the phone almost constantly ringing as he had another thought to share with John and Bobby about setting up a kind of sanctuary for hunters and their families somewhere.

Throughout the years, Bobby had amassed a huge portfolio of backwoods properties, courtesy of hunters dying and having no one else to leave their property to. There was bound to be something amongst it all that would serve as a decent home base for their new community. Somewhere easily defensible and remote enough not to draw much attention from civilians, while still being close enough to civilisation that families could be safely homed there, either temporarily or permanently, and still have the kids go to school. Contacts were reached out to, encouraging them to do the same with their contacts and so on, in the hopes of spreading the word and also of building a decent network for communication.

Among all this activity, John and Bobby agreed to train their friend's son, on the condition that the old hunter would help them setting up their hunter community as much as he could. Amazingly quickly, things were coming together.

Dean and Sam put in more than their share of work at Bobby's fielding phone calls and in Sam's case, building a website (with online help from Justin) for the hunter community, sharing knowledge, contacts and help. Ellen was contacting other hunter-friendly bar owners, getting their agreement to have someone come to their places and throw up some protections, to place a discreate rune on their signage, indicating to hunters that they could get help there, and to keep a comprehensive hunter contact list behind their bars so that they could offer that help when needed.

The Assembly were delighted to take a big role in helping out, and even Castiel was content to offer what support he could when Sam asked him, seemingly pleased by the idea of there being a much bigger and more organised network of help available should the next big player from hell pop back out of the woodwork wanting to get the Apocalypse back on track. But eventually they got to a point where they'd run out of phone calls to make, and only getting out on the road and spreading the word with hunters they'd meet along the way would get them any further.

Having committed himself, John couldn't go out on the road, and neither could Bobby. So, it was down to Dean and Sam to take the word out and spread it, hunting as they went and keeping their ears and eyes to the ground for any sign of apocalyptic rumblings.

It had to be noted that Sam was distinctly more excited by the idea than Dean was. Dean seemed more resigned to the fact; he'd already been finding it difficult to keep his resolve and keep his hands off Sam (keeping his mind off him was beyond his abilities) even with their dad and Bobby around all the time. When it was just the two of them alone, sharing the confines of the Impala by day and a motel room at night, he really didn't know how he was supposed to manage.

Dean was clinging on to his resolve by a thread as it was; one by one, Sam had eliminated his well-reasoned arguments as to why they shouldn't be together. Firstly, he'd pointed out to Dean the futility of finding himself a good man outside of hunting, next he'd pointed out that he wouldn't and/or couldn't leave hunting behind and go off to build his own life in the normal world. The only thing Dean had left to cling to was his insistence that a sexual and romantic relationship between brothers was wrong on a moral level – a shaky argument from someone who'd always shunned the social norms – and his belief that he just wasn't good enough for Sam. Dean had a terrible feeling that it wouldn't be long at all before his desire and need for his brother overcame that guilty feeling of not being good enough.

Except… Well, except for the fact that Sam still wasn't fighting for what he'd seemed to want on that first day they'd reunited. At first, Dean had thought maybe Sam was trying to make him jealous with his flirting with Justin. Fucking hate that guy! But he'd never once caught his younger brother looking over at him to see what effect his flirting was having. The laughter from the bathroom the first evening Justin had helped Sam in the shower, and then the low voices and chuckles from Sam's room that night had almost spurred Dean into bursting through the door and pulling Justin away from his brother in a fit of jealous rage – only the presence of their dad and Bobby, along with the other Assembly members had kept Dean in check. But Sam didn't seem to be watching for the effects of his behaviour. He was oblivious to how it was affecting Dean, like he'd just accepted Dean's rejection at face value and moved on. That still stung, and it still had Dean off balance. He'd have found it so much easier to fight against his own desires if Sam had been pushing too – something to fight against always made being stubborn easier for Dean. But with no push back from Sam, dean was struggling to keep his own wants at bay. Once they were alone for weeks at a time, he didn't know how he'd manage.

I'll just have to pick up a new fuck buddy at every bar we go to – burn off my urges that way. He told himself, even knowing it probably wouldn't work. Even though Sam didn't seem upset by Dean's rejection, he figured that picking up men in front of his younger brother was probably twisting the knife. So, he'd be limiting himself to women which, while he enjoyed women as much as he did men, he was definitely in need of harder, cleaner lines, taut muscles and strong grips, more than he wanted soft and yielding curves and gentleness these days.

As day by day the brothers readied themselves for leaving – creating collections of fake IDs, building up a decent arsenal of weapons for Sam, stocking up on lighter fluid, salt, holy water and a fuck-load of herbs that Sam declared they wouldn't be leaving without, Sam's expressions became lighter and lighter, and Dean's became grimmer and grimmer – a complete reversal from how things went when they were kids. Dean's mood wasn't improved by the constant itching from his new tattoos. He'd opted for three; a healing tattoo on his left hip, a warding-type devil's trap over his heart, and a blocking rune on the back on his neck to keep anyone or anything from getting into his mind. They all itched like motherfuckers as they healed, and anytime Dean went to scratch at them, Sam was always there to nag at him about ruining the protection if he scratched off the scabs. The combination of itching and nagging was enough to send Dean mad. Flipping his brother off each and every time was only a little relief, but it was all he had, so he made a point of keeping it up, even when Sam's back was turned.

By the time the brothers were stood in the yard, saying goodbye to their dad and Bobby, Dean couldn't ever recall having his head less in the game. He was a twisted mess of resignation, anticipation, irritation, frustration and any other 'ation' he could think of. Fucking Sam just looked happy to be off – calm and relaxed, his eyes bright and a grin on his face. The facial scarring was almost completely gone, so the grin was no longer pulling in an ugly way at the burn marks. He looked more like the Sammy that Dean remembered than ever, just in case Dean needed something else to screw with his head.

"Man, I can't believe how much I missed this car over the years!" Sam marvelled as he folded himself into the passenger seat, grinning at the well-remembered creak of the door hinges when he pulled the door shut. The comment even managed to lift Dean's spirits a little and he reached out a hand to pat the dashboard lovingly.

"Yeah she's a member of the family, my baby is." He agreed. "I hope you remember the rules about the music, Sammy. He raised a condescending eyebrow at his brother. Sam just rolled his eyes with a sardonic grin.

"Yeah yeah." He replied. "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake-hole." Sam recited The Rule Dean had drilled into his head so long ago. "Not like the music will bother me all that much anyway; I've grown to appreciate Metallica as I've aged." Dean's face lit up

"Dude! It's about time. I knew with your brains you'd eventually get it." He shoved in a tape and twisted the volume knob, setting the speaker thrumming with overly loud rock music as he pulled away with a flashy spin of the rear wheels that probably had John and Bobby shaking their heads at him. Not that either brother could see it in the mirrors through the dusk they'd kicked up.

They were heading to Sugar City, Idaho where one of the many phone calls they'd all been fielding all week had clued them into a nasty haunting which seemed to be the ghost of a victim of the Teton Dam collapse nearly 40 years before. There had been reported sightings for years of a man in fishing gear popping up all around town, but the spirit had always seemed pretty benign – not doing much more than giving people a scare until they convinced themselves they'd been seeing things. But in the last few weeks, something had changed, and the scares had become pushes, pinches, falls down stairs, and then just a couple of days before, a woman had been shoved by invisible hands into eh path of an oncoming car. She'd been lucky and had gotten away with just a few broken bones, but the haunting was clearly escalating, and it only seemed a matter of time before there was a death to lay at the feet of the spirit. Sam was reading up on the Teton Dam collapse as they drove along, the loud music not even putting a tiny dent in his concentration.

"Well the good news is, despite how bad the disaster was, and how little warning most people had, there were only eleven deaths when the dam burst and only eight of those were adult males, like witnessed are reporting the spirit to be." He told Dean, chewing absently on a pen as he spoke. "So even if we struggle to identify the spirit, the worst-case scenario is eight graves to dig up. Granted, that's not a fun time, and we'd have to get it done over just a couple of days or get caught in the act, but it's better that having a suspect list as long as my arm."

"Well let's just hope we can narrow it down even further, Sammy. I don't much like the idea of trying to dig up four graves a night, two nights in a row. Even with you giving us a psychic shove to help out, we'd be dead on our feet by the end of the second night." Dean's voice was a little strained. Not because of the thought of all that digging, but due to his inability to drag his eyes away from the pen in Sam's mouth for more than a few seconds at a time. It was just as well the road ahead of them was straight and pretty much empty; Dean really wasn't concentrating on his driving at all. His world had narrowed down to that fucking pen, dragging back and forth across Sam's lower lip, sliding into his mouth a few inches and then sliding, glistening with saliva back out again, only for the tip of Sam's tongue to peek out and tease at the divot in the very end. Dean's jeans were uncomfortably tight, his skin was clammy and tingling, his pulse and breathing were rapid and choppy, and his eyes just would not stick to the road. Dean swallowed the gallons of saliva that had suddenly filled his mouth and shifted in his seat, trying to make a little room in his jeans. Seemingly oblivious, Sam continued with his eyes glued to his research.

"I guess we should start with trying to nail down exactly where the spirit had been appearing, and who it's been targeting; 'popping up all over town' doesn't sound like any kind of haunting I've ever heard about. There must be some link between either the places, the targets or both. Ghosts just don't act out randomly. Maybe once we establish what the link is, it'll tell us who the spirit is."

"Makes sense." Dean agreed. "So, you think going in as journalists?"

"Yeah. The local cops are barely looking into the events. If we go in as state cops or FBI it'd really raise some eyebrows." Sam finally took the pen out of his mouth and threw it, and his notes into his open duffle bag on the back seat. Dean couldn't decide if he was relieved or disappointed. At least we're in less danger of crashing. He figured. I seriously need to clean out the pipes tonight.

"So, we'll get set up at the motel and find a diner. See if we can combine getting dinner and pumping the locals for gossip?" Sam nodded.

"Sure. I could go for some dinner. Maybe we can find a bar later and see if we can get a few of the regulars talking too." Dean was relieved that Sam had made the suggestion. He'd been wondering how his brother would take it if he came up with the idea to hit the bars. When it came down to it, he still didn't really know this adult version of Sam. Little Sammy had been too young to go out for the night with his brother, although he'd managed to make his opinion clear on Dean's habit of going out cruising. Nothing overt, but his disdainful looks and pointed sniffs whenever Dean returned in the early hours of the morning, reeking of booze, stale cigarettes and cheap perfume had made his scorn more than obvious.

Dean had absolutely no clue how an adult version of his brother behaved when at liberty – was he prone to staying in with a book? Did he go out to the nearest bar and have a quiet drink with friends, returning on the right side of drunk at a sensible time of night? Did he find a good rowdy bar and play darts and pool until he was too drunk to do either? Was he fond of hitting the clubs, drinking and cruising for one-night stands? Dean just didn't know. Probably the first option. He smirked mentally. No matter how much Sammy's grown up, he's always been too sensible for his own good, and a real bookworm – reading for fun!

Bearing in mind his plans for the evening, Dean figured it would be best to get two rooms at the motel. More expensive, sure, but firstly, he really didn't want to deal with the hassle of finding somewhere to take whichever lucky woman he picked up that evening, and secondly, sharing a room with Sam, being right there when he wandered out of the bathroom after his shower, trying to make himself avert his eyes while Sam got changed, lying in a bed only a few feet away from Sam's bed, listening to each sleeping breath and forcing himself not to cross those few feet, and every boundary he'd given himself, seemed like an obviously bad plan.

Of course, he probably should've let Sam in on at least the first half of his reasoning; when they pulled up in the parking lot of the motel, Sam climbed out and was inside the office, asking for a room with two queens before Dean had even finished stretching the driving kinks out of his back and legs. He ground his teeth in frustration; Sam wasn't likely to accept 'just because' as a reason if Dean asked him to get a second room, so he was stuck with sharing – for this hunt anyway.

"You planning on just standing in the parking lot with that blank look on your face the whole time, or are you gonna grab your shit and bring it in the room?" Sam jolted Dean out of his musing.

"Was not." It was childish and definitely not Dean's best work as far as witty comebacks went, but sometimes the classics needed a dust off he reasoned to himself as he grabbed his duffle and went inside.

Sam had dropped his bag on the bed furthest from the door, making Dean grin to himself; whatever else was different, some things never changed. Sam knew full well that Dean wouldn't sleep if he wasn't between the door and his younger brother. The fact that these days Sam was actually the more capable of the two of them was something Dean wasn't going to look at too hard. Denial was a useful tool sometimes.

They headed straight back out to the nearest diner and sat at a quiet table in the corner where both of them could have their backs to the wall, but they could still hear the quiet conversations of the other customers.

"What can I get you boys?" The waitress was pretty in a cornfed, wholesome kind of way, and Dean turned on the charm without really thinking about it.

"Well now… Chessie" Dean made a show of leaning in to read her name tag and appreciate the rest of the view on the process. "I'll have a double cheeseburger, extra onions, extra cheese, chilli cheese fries and a side of onion rings." He switched on his tried and tested flirting grin, all warmth and suggestive undertones and was rewarded as usual with a blush, fluttering eyelashes and a returning warm grin.

"Is that everything?" Chessie asked, a suggestive edge to her tone.

"For now." Dean's smirk left very little to the imagination. Subtlety was wasted on encounters like this. A clearing throat distracted them from their borderline leering at each other.

"You do realise I'm the one who's going to have to put up with the results of your extra onions and chilli fries tonight in our room, right?" Sam asked with a slightly pissy attitude. Dean shot him a furious and astonished glare. However innocent and natural Sam's complaint was, his timing was appalling – there was only one way the woman was going to take that statement. Sure enough, Chessie's flirtatious smile froze on her face, replaced by shock and then quickly followed with anger. She narrowed her eyes at Dean and turned her glare on Sam. It softened a little as she took in the smile he directed at her. Somehow, he managed to edge it with a combination of friendliness, understanding and weary, put upon sympathy.

"Can I have the chicken salad please?" He asked politely. She gave him a weak smile and noted his order down, glaring once more at Dean as she turned on her heel and swished away angrily.

"Dude!" Dean yelp-whispered as Chessie stalked off. "You couldn't have waited a couple of minutes before you said that? You do know what it sounded like, right?" Sam's eye widened innocently, something Dean had always been suspicious of in his brother when they were younger.

"Sorry, Dean. Were you trying to pick her up? I wasn't really paying attention." Dean was almost sure Sam had done it on purpose, but not quite certain enough to pick a fight over it. He snorted in frustration.

"Sure you weren't. I was hoping to pump her… for information." He smirked. "But you totally blew that for me. Bitch."

"Jerk." Sam replied on reflex, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth. "Guess it's been so long since I saw you in action that I didn't recognise your moves."

"I'll be lucky if she doesn't spit in my burger now." Dean grumbled. "You better keep your ears open while you munch your way through that bowl of rabbit food you ordered. I'll be too busy working my way through my delicious proper food to listen in on the locals and their gossip."

"Yeah, your delicious proper burger with extra cheese, onions and spit." Sam taunted. Earning a scowl from his brother. "There's nothing wrong with eating vegetables once in a while you know, Dean. Your arteries and digestive system might actually thank you for the relief."

"Whatever, dude. I'm a growing boy and I need my fuel." He gave Sam a curious look. "The salad though – that seems more like something you used to go for in the old days. I thought I'd gotten used to your new eating habits. At Bobby's you were packing it away like your average hunter, now you're back on the health food crap?" Sam rolled his eyes.

"It's not crap, Dean. It might be healthy, but that doesn't mean it doesn't taste good. I was using my abilities a hell of a lot while we were at Bobby's, and I have to really fuel up after that to replace all the lost calories. When I'm not using them so much, I try to keep it as healthy as I can to balance things out."

Their food arrived before Dean could come up with a response, Sam's placed in front of him with a slight shy smile, and Dean's slammed down so hard it nearly slid right of the plate and into his lap. With a little glare at Sam, who was finding the whole situation far too funny for Dean's tastes, Dean lifted the lid of his burger and peered cautiously inside, relieved when he couldn't see anything disgusting inside. He threw a triumphant grin at his brother and picked up his burger with two hands. Sam waited until he'd take a huge bite before he spoke up.

"If she spat on it, she would've done it on the bottom layer not the top." Dean froze mid-chew, eyes wide in alarm. Sam couldn't hold back his laugh at the scowl that was coming his way. After a few moments, Dean shrugged and slowly began to chew again.

"I've eaten grosser things." He mumbled out around the huge mouthful. Sam just rolled his eyes and started picking his way through his salad.

AS they'd hoped, during their meal, there was plenty of gossip floating around in the diner. With Sugar City being such a small town, not much of interest ever happened, so the appearance of a violent ghost was pretty much all anyone could talk about. As Sam had suspected, the phrase 'popping up all over town' wasn't at all accurate. In fact, from what the boys had overheard, it wasn't the town that was being haunted, it was one specific family. Every sighting of the ghost had been accompanied by the presence of one or more members of the Martin family. Sam was actually amazed that none of the locals seemed to have made the link themselves yet.

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Once they left the diner, it was too late for them to hit the library, but first thing in the morning, they planned to go and look through old records and microfiche of the local paper, looking for possible grudges against the family. For the mean time though, Sam was hoping to spend the evening hanging out with his brother, maybe having a few beers and watching a cheesy old horror flick or two like they used to in the old days. As much as it had stung watching Dean hitting on the waitress in the diner, being only moments away from a sure thing with a total stranger he felt nothing for, when he was refusing to give in to his desire for the person he'd admitted he loved and wanted, he'd gotten a real kick out of playing innocent while thoroughly ruining the pick-up. The look on Dean's face had almost been worth the pain of seeing his so carelessly throw himself at a random woman.

Sam couldn't work out if Dean was trying to prove a point by picking up a woman right in front of him, if he was just trying to relieve some of the sexual tension Sam knew he'd caused in the car by damn near fellating that pen, or if he had bought Sam's pretence of giving up on his hopes for a relationship between them so much that he himself had given up on it too. That of course, was the last thing Sam wanted, so he was hoping that an evening in the motel room, with the excuse of a few beers too many would give him the opportunity to get thing back on track before it was too late.

Unfortunately for Sam, Dean was determined to go out and hit a bar or two and try to find another woman to pick up. Sam's work was going to be cut out for him – sabotaging Dean's prospects while appearing not to be doing anything of the kind would be simple enough if he could just make discrete use of one or two of his gifts to help him out, but it just felt wrong to do so; he was barely comfortable with the fine line he was walking in trying not to emotionally manipulate his brother – adding in telekinetically nudging women away from Dean, or using his healing gift to make someone feel queasy or feverish would be just totally unacceptable.

No, he'd have to go with a combination of subtle glares and comments and carefully crafted body language, all kept out of Dean's notice to keep the women from jumping his brother. Gonna be nearly as exhausting as actually using my abilities would've been. Sam mused as he waited for Dean to finish primping in the bathroom.

"I swear to God, Dean, if you're not out of there and ready to go in the next five minutes, I'm going without you, and I'm taking the car too." Sam finally burst out in frustration. If he was going to have to suffer through this evening, he just wanted it over and done with.

The bathroom door burst open and Dean stormed out angrily, wearing nothing but a thin motel-quality towel around his waist and the amulet Sam had given him when he was eight. Sam's eyes nearly bugged out of his head and he licked his lips before he could stop himself. Shit! I hope Dean didn't see that, but Holy fucking Shit he's hot! It had been years since he'd seen his older brother wearing do little and time had definitely not been the man's enemy. Impossibly, he was even more perfect now than he was in the glimpses Sam had burned into his memories years before. He was so busy trying to collect himself and regain his cool that he didn't spot the split second where Dean's angry scowl slipped into surprise and then a brief self-satisfied smirk before he dragged the scowl back onto his face again.

"Sammy, you touch my car, and I'll smear your new rifle scope with peanut butter when you least expect it." He threatened with a growl. I'm nearly ready, so just keep your panties on, bitch."

"Jerk. Touch my rifle and I'll pull you out of bed ever morning and have you on the floor in a submission hold before you're even awake every day for a week." Sam threatened right back as Dean sauntered back to the bathroom. Dean couldn't quite shake off the arousal he felt from the mental image that gave him.

"Whatever." Once again, not one of Dean's best comebacks, but his mind was busy whirling through thoughts of being wrestled out of bed every morning by a sleep-warm and rumpled Sam, along with the knowledge that even though his brother seemed to have given up on his hopes for a romantic relationship, he clearly still found Dean very attractive – it had been written all over his face when Dean stormed out of the bathroom. "Now just give me a few more minutes – the perfection that is me shouldn't be rushed you know." Somehow, just that brief glimpse of Sam's attraction to him had lifted the sour mood Dean had been carrying around with him since before they'd even left Bobby's yard. He grinned to himself and quickly began pulling on his clothes.

Back in the other room Sam rolled his eyes, threw up his arms in exasperation and flopped down on his back onto the lumpy bed behind him. He'd barely hit the mattress when Dean re-emerged from the bathroom dressed in tight faded blue jeans and an even tighter black t-shirt. He strode past Sam briskly, smacking one of Sam's booted feet as he went by.

"Come on, Sammy. I want to get going and I'm not waiting around for you." He called over his shoulder cheerily. Sam bit the inside of his mouth to hold back a very bitchy reply and dragged himself reluctantly out of the door behind his brother.

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The first bar they tried was a complete failure for the second they walked in the door. The place was making an attempt at being more of a club, but it wasn't the heavy booming beat of club music or the sweaty crowd that had Dean ushering Sam back out the door before they'd taken more than five steps inside – it was the lighting. In a tragic flashback to the sixties, the management had gone for an overwhelming amount of black light in the place and the moment Sam stepped in, the hundreds of devil's traps and other wardings that littered Sam's skin popped into view. The only parts of him not decorated were the areas of new skin which now replaced the scarring. A brief thought flashed through Dean's mind that Sam looked a little like a djinn, before he caught sight of the shocked expressions on the people nearby. Without a word he grabbed Sam's shoulders, spun him around and marched him back outside.

"Dean! What the fuck?" Sam burst out, one hand reaching for what Dean knew was almost certainly a concealed knife in the back of his jeans.

"Black light." Dean explained shortly. He didn't need to say more – realisation dawned on Sam's face immediately.

"Oh. Yeah that can be an issue once in a while. So, another bar then?" Dean nodded tightly. He'd not really quite grasped the sheer amount of work Sam must have gone through to rid himself of the demon blood until he saw the physical evidence. He was in awe of his younger brother's determination and also couldn't deny to himself that there was something strangely beautiful about the hundreds of little tattoos.

The next bar was a lot better. The background music was quiet enough to allow for conversation, which would hopefully be a help in the hunt for information on their ghost, and Dean knew he'd find it pretty easy to chat up the women if he wasn't having to yell over the music. The total absence of black light was a definite plus too.

They'd barely leaned back against the bar with their first beers when they were approached by the first pair of women. Dean had always appreciated women who knew what they wanted and went out to get it, so his welcoming grin was warm and suggestive as the blonde began talking with him, leaning ever so slightly too close and 'accidentally' brushing her breasts against his arm. Her brunette friend made an attempt to chat Sam up at the same time, totally oblivious to the complete absence of attraction Sam was displaying, much to Dean's amusement if the evil smirks he kept sending Sam's way were any clue. Eventually, the brunette who was still trying to tempt Sam with glimpses down her ample cleavage and repeated touches to his arms to marvel at his muscles noticed Dean's smirks.

"What's he finding so amusing?" She snapped at Sam. Sam rolled his eyes and looked at her sympathetically.

"He's wondering when either your or your friend's gaydar is finally going to go off." He replied, not without sympathy. He'd worded it very carefully so if Dean overheard he couldn't accuse him of telling her Dean was gay. The look of shock, then horror, then indignation that flashed across the brunette's face was almost comical, but Sam very carefully didn't smirk. Instead, he casually leaned back against the bar and looked around the room, wondering who would be the next contestant in the never-ending gameshow 'Who wants to bang a Winchester?' To his surprise his eye was caught by a tall blonde guy over by the pool tables who was clearly checking Sam and Dean out. The man's mouth curled up in a slow sensual smile. Huh. If I wasn't completely determined to finally get things going with Dean I'd be all over him like white on rice. He thought to himself, offering the guy a small smile in return. At least someone in this town has functioning gaydar.

To his left he heard the brunette, who'd finally given up her hopes for Sam, tensely asking her friend to go join her in the bathroom. Sam carefully held back a smirk. She wouldn't be coming back to hit on Dean again, so that was two contestants struck off the list. The blonde guy stared to walk over, his eyes flicking between the two brothers as if trying to decide which one to hit on. Knowing that as hard as he was finding it to deal with women draping themselves all over his brother, he'd never be able to tolerate another man doing something similar, Sam decided the best option was to make the choice for the guy, so he pushed off the bar and sauntered over towards the blonde man to cut him off before he ever even reached them. Allowing his smile to turn a little suggestive, dragged his eyes up and down the man from head to toe and back, smirking a little at the widened eyes and the bitten lower lip he got in return. The clasped the hand the guy held out firmly and let his fingertips lightly brush the inside of the other man's wrist, clearly demonstrating the sheer size of his hands in comparison. This close, he could see the guy's pupils widening and he bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed unconsciously. Really, it was kind of a shame Sam wasn't really intending on taking the guy home – he could pretty much guarantee both of them a really good night. Instead, he'd have to be careful not to lead the man on too much, being a cock-tease was never ok, no matter how good the cause.

"Darryl." The man introduced himself with a warm smile. Sam's mouth lifted a little further at the corners in a sensual smile, almost unconsciously reverting to the persona he'd always adopted when on leave in the Marines. He'd spent so many years of his life hiding such a large part of who he really was, that even now he was finally able to completely let go of all the disguise, situations that felt familiar, like being hit on in a bar without any of his squad around had his old disguised jumping back up into place.

"Sam" he introduced himself, his voice low and husky, forcing Darryl to lean in to hear properly.

"Can I buy you a drink, Sam?" Darryl asked, gesturing over to the bar, Sam caught a glimpse of Dean still leaning against the bar, beer clenched in his hand. As Sam had assumed, the two women they'd been talking with hadn't returned to Dean after the bathroom, but in their place, there was a very pretty young woman with short brown hair talking away at Dean with a dreamy expression on her face. Dean was, rather unusually for him, completely ignoring the girl, his attention completely focussed on Sam and Daryl. The jealousy on his face as he saw Sam truly flirting, rather than the half-assed version he'd witnessed back at Bobby's with Justin was more than clear to Sam and he realised that if he played this right, he might finally, finally manage to get Dean to overcome his misgivings and take what he wanted. What they both wanted. He didn't want Darryl to get the wrong idea – he knew only too well from his own past experience just how difficult it was to be openly gay in small town America, and how much harder it could be to actually hook up in a small town like this. As attractive as he found Darryl, he wasn't looking to actually sleep with the guy, and he didn't want him to waste his time if he had better options open to him. Looking away from Dean before he noticed Sam was looking, he leaned down slightly to speak in Darryl's ear.

"Look, Darryl, I'd be more than happy to have a drink with you and I have to say you're seriously hot. But I'm not looking for a hook up tonight – I'm kind of trying to get something long-term going with that guy I came in here with… if he can ever pull his head out of his ass long enough to take what he wants - and I don't want you to miss out on a sure thing you might have going on with some other guy just because you're unknowingly helping me make Dean jealous." Sam straightened up again, looking down into Darryl's eyes to gauge his response. The blonde gave him a gentle, regretful smile.

"Ah isn't that always the way? The good ones are always taken – or trying to be." He grinned at Sam. "Thanks for being honest – you could've just led me on all night and then blown me off later." They both smirked a little at the double entendre. "I've got to say you've got good taste. That guy – Dean was it? He's as hot as you are. If you guys do get together, and you're looking to add to the fun sometime, you should definitely give me a call." He winked and the both chuckled. "In the meantime, I've got nothing going on with anyone right now, and if I can spend an evening flirting with someone as hot as you, even if I don't actually get into your pants at the end of it, at least it'll give me some good fuel for the spank bank." Sam laughed outright at that.

"You're a good guy, Darryl. Wish I'd met you a few years ago; I've got a feeling we could've had some real fun." Sam leaned back in a little now that he knew the blonde wasn't going to expect anything he had no intention of giving he let himself fall back into his old flirty persona. He let his voice drop a little lower, just the right side of a growl, and lightly grazed his nose up the side of his neck and jaw line, stopping by his ear. "I'm going to really enjoy having a few drinks with you." He felt Darryl shiver and smiled, leaning back to see the other man's eyes half-lidded and his pupils once again dilated.

They wandered back over to the bar, Sam unconsciously prowling rather than walking, one hand lightly placed in the small of Darryl's back to guide him through the crowd. Before the blonde could order, Sam jumped in and bought them a beer each, not wanting the guy to spend his money as well as his time on him. They sat together by the bar, talking and laughing quietly, heads close together. Sam even managed to pick up some solid intel on their ghost without the conversation seeming weird to Darryl. Sam genuinely liked the guy and, in another world, would've really enjoyed getting him into bed.

"You know, I think us flirting together is actually going to work out for you and that Dean guy." His eyes flicked up to glance over Sam's shoulder. He's steadily been looking more and more pissed the longer we talk, and the flow of women coming over to try their luck has slowed almost to a complete stop since he wasn't even noticing most of them standing right there." Sam fought the urge to look back and see if the guy was right.

"Really? He was completely ignoring them?" Sam asked, astonished.

"Completely. You've got it real bad for the guy, huh?" Darryl asked sympathetically.

"Only since I was about fourteen or fifteen." Sam said wryly. "I didn't think he'd ever be interested in guys at all, let alone me in particular, but not long ago he admitted he felt the same for me, but he's got some stupid idea in his head that I deserve better than him and he refuses to step up and move our relationship along. But we work together, and our work means we travel everywhere together and I'm pretty sure it's killing him to keep telling himself not to make a move… It's definitely killing me…" Sam broke off, looking at Darryl's widening eyes as he stared over Sam's shoulder. No longer able to help himself, Sam turned in his seat to look at Dean, only to find him stalking towards them, fists and jaws clenched.

"Looks like you've got a reaction, Sam. Now I hope for your sake you can direct it where the two of you clearly want it to go." Darryl leaned over and just before their lips made contact he murmured "See you around, Sam. Don't forget to look me up if you two are ever looking to add a third." He grinned and then planted a warm kiss on Sam's lips before they, and the man they were attached to were suddenly pulled out of his reach by an irate Dean.

"Sammy. We're leaving. Now." Dean growled through clenched teeth, glaring harshly at Darryl. Sensing that even attempting to argue with his brother just then was going to result in a very ugly scene, Sam stood and glanced over apologetically at the blonde man he'd been talking and flirting with – a really good guy all in all.

"Sorry, Darryl. Thanks for tonight. I'll see you around maybe." He didn't have a chance to say more, as Dean was steering him away with a firm grip to the back of his neck. Ordinarily a dangerous move that Dean would know better than to try on Sam – they both knew that Sam could take Dean out without much difficulty, but Dean evidently wasn't thinking clearly just then, and in fact, Sam found Dean's caveman display kind of hot. Ok, not just kind of hot – searingly, blindingly hot.

In all his years as a sexually active gay man, Sam had never once been interested in bottoming, with any of his hook-ups. He'd always figured he was an out and out top, just not into bottoming. But with Dean's manhandling and the images that popped into Sam's imagination as a result, something was suddenly made very clear; it wasn't that he wasn't interested in bottoming. It was that he wasn't interested in bottoming for anyone but Dean. It made sense; he'd never been able to trust anyone else like that – the way he instinctively trusted his brother. How would he have been able to let anyone else make his so vulnerable as bottoming would make him when he couldn't even stand sitting or standing with his back to a room in case someone walked up behind him? He could definitely do with out the authoritarian manner Dean was exhibiting just then as he was marching them both towards the car, but suddenly Sam was realising that he wanted Dean to fuck him so much right then that it practically made his eyes cross with the intensity of the need.

As they arrived at the car, Dean attempted to shove Sam towards the passenger side and let go to storm around to the driver's door, but Sam's hand flashed up and grabbed his brother's wrist before he could complete the shove. His control frayed beyond all recognition, Dean finally snapped a lunged into Sam, using his whole body to slam the pair of them up against the Impala and crashing their mouths together so hard it was amazing that neither of them lost any teeth. Sam's answering kiss was just as ferocious. Finally!Was the only thought that had time to sprint through his brain before all thinking came to a complete halt. Hands and tongues tangled together in an almost vicious battle between the two as they fought to get what they had each so desperately wanted for so many years. Dean had a fistful of the longer hair on the top of Sam's head, pulling it painfully as he dragged Sam's head to a better angle for him to slide their mouths together and Sam made no effort to fight against it, instead grabbing a fistful of the front of Dean's t-shirt and ripping it a little as he pulled his brother closer to him against the car.

Neither of them knew just how long they stood there in the parking lot, grappling and making out before they were startled to awareness by a loud wolf-whistle from the door of the bar. Jolted out of their frenzy, Sam pulled his head back, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath and stared blearily over at the door. Darryl stood there, a broad grin painted across his face as he pumped one fist in victory for Sam. Sam sent him a wobbly smile back and raised one hand before turning back to look at Dean, wondering how his brother was going to react to breaking and giving in to his feelings. There were no clues on Dean's face. With a blank expression, Dean strode around to the driver's side and climbed in with only the barest pause to adjust the probably painful erection in his tight jeans. Hoping for the best, Sam too got into the Impala and he'd barely closed the door before Dean was peeling out of the parking lot in a spurt of gravel and dust.

The short drive back to the motel was silent and tense, the air practically thrumming between the two and Dean didn't even pause for a second as they pulled up outside their motel room, simply jumping out of the car and stalking up to their door, keys in hand. Sam took a deep steadying breath before following, hoping to all the gods he could think of that Dean wouldn't freak out and put a stop to what they'd just started. He walked through the door and quietly closed it behind him, finding himself standing almost nose to nose with his brother.

"Sam I can't…" Sam's heart sank, and he opened his mouth ready to argue with his stupid, stubborn, self-sacrificing idiot of a brother, but Dean held his hand up, stopping him and continued to speak. "I can't start this with you and it just be a one-time thing. We do this and that's it. It's you and me for good. No one else for either of us for good. Forever." His voice was cracked and raw. "I've tried, God knows I've tried to hold myself back, to give you a chance to move on with someone better, but even though I knew you'd given up on me and were trying to at least get a little action with someone else, when I could see it happening right in front of me, I just couldn't do it. It was destroying me to see you with that guy and I can't let it happen. I just can't." He dragged in a huge breath, raking one hand through his hair. "But if we do this then you're stuck with me for good because I won't be able to let go, so if you're over me like you seemed to be, then you should tell me, and I'll grab my shit and head out. I'll have Bobby or Dad come to collect you and I'll stay gone for a while until I can get a little control over this." Dean sank down on the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he waited to hear his sentence passed.

Sam stood for a second completely frozen in shock and then dropped to his knees in front of Dean, grabbing and holding the back of his neck, just like Dean had to him earlier and pressing his forehead against his brothers.

"You and me for good. No one else for either of us for good. Forever." He repeated Dean's words calmly and resolutely, with all the finality of a wedding vow. "That's all I've ever wanted Dean. I don't want to move on. There is no one better for me than you. This – you and me – is what I want." He leaned in and pressed a firm kiss against his brother's mouth, waiting for a few seconds until Dean got with the program and kissed him back. None of the frantic viciousness of their last kiss remained. The passion and the desire were still there, the urgency, but the harsh and painful edges had been filed down. A low groan escaped Sam, reverberating from somewhere deep in his chest and he was thrilled to hear an answering moan coming from Dean, the sound making Sam impossibly harder in his pants.

"Mine!" Dean growled, pulling Sam up off his knees and onto the bed beside him. They allowed themselves to fall back, lying entangled on the mattress without breaking their kiss again.

"Mine!" Sam replied without letting up from Dean's lips. They kissed for hours or minutes, days or seconds. Neither of them knew or cared as long as the other was right there with them. Sam reached down and slid his right hand under the hem of Dean's ripped t-shirt, letting the material ride up with his movements and he dragged his hand along sweat dampened skin covering tight defined muscle. Feeling for the first time as a lover the perfect abs and pecs he'd admired for years in his dreams and again that evening when Dean had stormed out of the bathroom in just his towel, Sam marvelled at the contradiction of smoothness overlying hardness.

Dean tore his mouth away finally to catch his breath, and let out another loud groan, letting his head fall back, exposing the column of his neck which Sam wasted no time in latching on to. He left a trail of small red bite marks as he worked his way down towards his brother's chest, causing Dean to whimper as he pauses to suck a dark hickey into the skin over his shoulder blade. The back part of Sam's brain busily filed and catalogued all of his brother responses away for future reference, but the rest of his mind was completely focussed on the here and now, delighting in the feel, sound, taste and even smell of Dean. Finally, his hand rising up under Dean's shirt and his mouth, edging down towards his chest reached the territory they'd been seeking. Dean's chest had always been a thing of beauty to Sam. He'd spent hours over the years picturing it and wondering how the dusting of blond hair would feel against his hand, or his lips. Now here he finally was, only the slightly torn t-shirt hampering Sam's access. He gave a small frown and, sitting up slightly, the grabbed the shirt in both hands – one either side of the tear and pulled hard, ripping the shirt all the way down until it fell away from Dean's body. Sam looked up and kind of smirked at Dean's wide-eyed expression.

"It was in my way." He tried to keep his voice light and reasonable, but despite his attempts, what came out was dark and rough with lust, wet velvet dragged over gravel. Sam watched as Dean's pupils widened even further, almost completely absorbing the green iris.

"You do what you gotta do, Sammy" Dean murmured back, licking his lips and swallowing.

Tearing his eyes away from the enticing sight of Dean's kiss-swollen mouth, Sam's hands fell from the pieces of his brother's shirt land on his chest, taking in the scratch of chest hair and the warmth of skin, he shifted one palm across to centre it over Dean's heart. The thump of Dean's pulse picked up, his chest rising and falling as he breathed. Stretching his palm wide, the tip of one finger brushed against Dean's left nipple, drawing a light gasp from his brother. Emboldened, Sam moved his hand to capture the nipple between his thumb and index finger, tugging a little. The panting and involuntary thrusting of Dean's hips told Sam he'd found a real hot spot, so he dropped forward and ran his flattened tongue over the pebbled flesh, catching it in his teeth and giving it a sharp nip. The resulting arching of his back and bucking of his hips nearly knocked Sam from the bed and onto the floor. He chuckled lowly and went to work, alternately licking sucking and nipping to drive his brother wild.

"Sammy!" The part plea and part want in that single word spurred Sam into action, crossing to the other nipple to give it the same treatment as he pulled himself to his knees and climbed over Dean, fitting himself between his splayed legs and gave into temptation a little, grinding his erection against Dean's, both relieving the ache a little and stoking the fire even higher. The boys let out twin groans at the contact.

"Oh God, Dean!" Sam gasped out, shutting his eyes tightly as he tried to cool himself down a little. "I wanted this to go slower, at least the first time but I…" He shuddered as another wave of desire crashed through him. "I don't think I can go slow. I want – I want…" He huffed out a desperate little laugh "I want everything, all of it and all at once."

"Fuck, Sammy me too." Dean moaned, rocking his hips to try and get some friction against his painful hard-on. "We can go slow next time. What do you want the most right now?" Sam really didn't think he'd be able to answer. Even the thought of it had him fighting back from the edge of coming in his pants like a teenage boy his first time making out. Actually verbalising it might send him right over the edge. He dove back up to Dean's face, fusing their mouths together in an almost desperate kiss.

"I want… want you to fuck me." He growled out against his brother's mouth. Dean froze beneath him.

"Fuck yes!" The elder Winchester suddenly burst into action, grabbing Sam's shoulders and hooking one leg over his hip before flipping them over on the bed. "God, Sammy wanna be in you so bad. I've dreamed about it for years. Never thought I'd ever get to though. Fuck!" Dean leaned down and laid an open-mouthed kiss against Sam's neck, dragging his tongue upwards until he reached a spot under the corner of his jaw that had him gasping and panting, fingers digging cruelly into his brother's shoulders.

"My bag." Sam managed to gasp out. "We're gonna need something…" he broke off as Dean leaped up, sprinting over to Sam's duffle and scrabbling through it in his desperate search. Later, Sam would remember the frantic expression on his brother's face and laugh. Right at that moment though I felt pretty much like Dean's face looked. After a few more moments' search, Dean made a frustrated strangled noise and snatched up the entire bags, shaking it upside down and then when the tube of lube dropped heavily to the ground, pouncing on it with a cry of triumph and also snagging the loose condoms lying beside it on the floor.

"Been busy, Sammy?" Dean asked with a scowl as he looked at the more than half empty tube in his hand. Sam was so focussed on getting back to it with his brother that he almost missed the danger in the question. Almost.

"Not the way you're thinking, Jerk." Sam replied a little exasperated. Dean never wanted to talk, but he suddenly decided that this was the moment to begin a conversation? "I've not been a monk over the years, true, but with Don't Ask, Don't Tell I had to keep on the down-low and restrict my pick-ups to whenever I was on leave. That tube there was for… let's call it me time." He raised a brow at his brother. "I've topped plenty of times over the years." Sam went on, deliberately ignoring Dean's scowl. "But I've never bottomed with anyone. Never trusted anyone enough. Not like you. I trust you, Dean. I want to do this with you, something I've never done with anyone else." The expression on Dean's face softened.

"Sammy." He almost whispered, crossing quickly back to the bed dropping the lude on the mattress and the condoms on the nightstand.

"So, you want to kill the mood a little more, ask a few more questions about my sexual history like you're all virginal yourself, or shall we get this back on track?" For an answer, Dean just leaned in and kissed him slowly. The love and desire clear in the gesture. Swallowing back a moan, Sam kissed back, grabbing on to Dean's shoulders as the kiss deepened and began to approach the level of passion they'd had before Dean got up to fetch the lube. It seemed they could barely last seconds of lip-to-lip contact before their hunger for each other overrode everything else. Despite knowing full well that it was due to both of their long pent up desires, Sam was still tempted to blame Dean for that; the way Dean kissed…like he was proving a point, answering a question Sam hadn't even asked. Like it was his job, and Sam felt it all the way to his toes.

He kissed Dean back with equal hunger, one leg coming up to slide around his thighs and pull Dean flush against him. It was getting seriously uncomfortable in his jeans and he knew Dean couldn't be feeling any better bearing in mind how tight his brother's jeans were.

Sam pushed a hand between them, undoing first his belt and jeans and then Deans. Getting with the program immediately, Dean toed off his boots and wriggled his pants and boxer briefs down his legs all in one go, before reaching over and helping Sam do the same. Now there's a useful skill! Sam found himself thinking as he realised that even with all that manoeuvring, they hadn't broken their kiss once. Dean's ripped shirt had fallen to the floor when he'd jumped up for the lube, so all that was now between them was Sam's shirts. There was no way he was going to let Dean show off and rip his favourite new t-shirt off him, and he knew without a doubt that his brother would – there was no way he'd let his younger brother outdo him or upstage him. Not willing to risk it, Sam quickly sat up and heaved his shirts over his head, dropping back down and resuming their kiss before Dean even had time to voice his complaint.

Their need for each other was approaching frenzied once more - there was nothing sweet or romantic about the way they were devouring each other's mouths. Sam broke away and slid quickly downward, a dirty smirk the only response Dean got for his squawk of complaint. Dean instantly translated that smirk correctly and shut his mouth like it was spring-loaded; Je wasn't about to mess up his chances of getting his cock sucked. Something else he'd fantasised over for years, despite hating himself for it every time he was weak enough to let the thoughts in, he always came seriously hard when he beat off to that fantasy. And now he was going to get it.

Sam paused on his way down to torment Dean a little more by lavishing attention on his nipples again so that by the time he'd shimmied down enough and was at eye level with Dean's honestly beautiful, there's no other word for it) cock, it was red and angry looking, weeping a steady stream of precum from the top. Sam's mouth filled with saliva at the sight and he had to quickly swallow before grasping it by the base and running the flat of his tongue up from base to tip in a broad stripe.

"Fuck!" For the second time, Dean almost bucked Sam right off the bed. "Holy shit, Sammy. That feels so fucking good. More please…please!" Dean babbled and only the fact that his lust had frozen his features kept a self-satisfied smirk off the younger Winchester's face. Instead, he repeated his action, licking a broad stripe up Dean's cock, and then when he reached the tip, dropping his jaw wide and plunging straight down, taking the entire, definitely well above average, length in the whole way, until at least two inches of his older brother's cock was buried in his throat.

Luckily, Sam had had the foresight to drop his grip on Dean's cock, and take a firm hold with both hands on his hips instead, or the completely unconscious flex of Dean's hips as he found his entire length (and considerable girth) swallowed by his baby brother would have probably broken his nose. As it was, Dean wasn't able to rise more than an inch off the mattress as he let out the bastard child of a scream and a roar.

"Holy fucking Christ!" Dean yelled, his voice cracking. "Sammy I can't believe you did that, but oh God don't stop. That feels so fucking good. Oh shit, oh fuck, your mouth, Sammy. Your fucking mouth!" Dean's babbling cranked up a gear, and before long he was reaching down, scrabbling at the longer hair on top of Sam's head and trying to simultaneously push his brother's head down further and frantically pull him back off his cock before he came and ruined the main event of the night.

Sam was lost in the taste, the feel, the smell of his brother. Every dream he'd had paling in the face of the reality he'd been gifted with. When Dean finally managed to pull his head away, he looked up with a furious glare, having forgotten everything else in the self-indulgent pleasure of deep-throating Dean. His glare was met with a chocked off laugh/gasp/groan as His brother was torn between amusement at Sam's irritation, relief that he'd managed to keep himself from coming down Sam's throat, and burning lust at seeing just how much Sam had truly been enjoying sucking him off. Dean panted for a few minutes to catch his breath before managing to murmur huskily.

"Come back up here, Sammy. I promise you can do that again another time – fuck, you can do that pretty much anytime you want, but right now you gotta stop or I'm gonna come before I get to fuck you.

Reluctantly, Sam allowed himself to be tugged away from his prize and back to dean's mouth, where his brother eagerly licked the combined flavour of his own precum and the distinctive taste that could only be labelled as Sammy in his mind. His mind whirled with the joy of it all.

Rolling Sam gently onto his back, Dean reached blindly for the lube without breaking their kiss and sighed with relief when he finally found it. He trailed kisses down Sam's incredibly toned chest and abs before settling himself comfortably between his legs, thumbing off the cap of the tube and squirting a generous puddle of the stuff into the deep cut between the muscles leading down towards Sam's groin. Cum gutters Dean's mind helpfully supplied as he ran admiring eyes over his brother's body. Dean had been hopelessly attracted to him even when he'd been a somewhat scrawny teenager, but now… well the man was a real work of art. No matter how much Justin had pissed him off, the guy hadn't been wrong when he'd practically drooled over Sam. Neither had that guy earlier at the bar. Dean had been almost blind with rage and jealousy watching his Sam flirting with a man that evening. The naked desire painted on the stranger's face had been obvious, and Dean could completely understand the feeling; the way Sam had held himself, the sensual smirks, the way he'd seemed to suddenly become boneless and fluid as he stalked like a leopard across the bar. It was easily the sexiest thing Dean had ever seen in a bar.

Shaking off those thoughts, Dean focussed in on Sam's cock. A little longer than Dean's but not quite as wide, it was just as gorgeous as the rest of his brother. Not normally a big fan of sucking dick, Dean could feel his mouth water at the sight. Making a quick change to his mental plans Dean hunkered down and laid a wet kiss to the side of Sam's cock as he simultaneously dipped two fingers into the puddle of lube by his hip. He ran his tongue around the head of his younger brother's cock, drawing a strangled gasp and a tensing of all his muscles as he struggled not to thrust upwards like Dean had done. Dean grinned a little – well as well as he could with a sizable dick in his mouth – and lowered his lube-slick fingers to Sam's crack, lightly stroking the slick across the tight hole and pulling another moan from Sam.

"Oh Jesus, yeah. More, Dean." Sam encouraged him. He was trying to hold back the high, needy noises threatening to escape the back of his throat, and not managing with more than half of them, but Dean didn't mind in the least; he really loved hearing just how hot he was getting his brother. He shifted his position, so he could surreptitiously rub his erection into the mattress.

Sam threw one arm over his eyes and closed them, focusing on the press of Dean's slick finger against his hole, tilting his hips up a little to help and breathing through the stretch. He wasn't a stranger to a finger or two, or even three a few times, up his ass during a blowjob, and every once in a while, he used a couple of fingers on himself when beating off in the shower, but it wasn't something he did all that much, mostly because it usually wasn't worth the fight, so it took a moment for him to relax around Dean's thick finger. Suddenly Dean's mouth left his cock and Sam looked down ready to complain and also to tell Dean that he didn't need to be so gentle, but at the sight of his older brother, his eyes glued to his hand watching his finger slide in and out of Sam, bottom lip caught between his teeth and his free hand gripping the base of his cock like he was trying not to come, Sam let out a loud groan and lost his train of thought. From the expression on Dean's face, he was clearly finding the view of his finger sliding in and out of Sam a huge turn-on, and when Sam saw the look on Dean's face he let out a moan and pushed down against him.

Dean's eyes snapped up to his face at the sound and smirked a little before dropping his head back down and sucking Sam's cock into his mouth once again, his tongue doing a little dance on the underside of the head, teasing the little bundle of nerves there and driving Sam crazy. With Sam so distracted, Dean carefully pushed a second finger in to join the first, and Sam focused on relaxing and on the intense feeling from the pretty amazing blowjob he was getting.

Before long, Dean had worked up to three fingers and was brushing firmly over Sam's prostate every so often, setting off a shower of sparks in his brain every time. With fingers as thick as Dean's Sam was pretty sure he was stretched enough to take his brother's cock several minute ago, but just like Sam had been earlier, Dean appeared to be completely caught up in what he was doing, enjoying it almost as much as Sam was himself. He reached down and gently pushed his thumb into Dean's mouth beside his cock, breaking the seal and Dean's concentration.

"Dude, I'm pretty sure I'm good. You waiting for an invite or something? Cos this is definitely me inviting you." Sam groaned out, shuddering as Dean's fingers brushed one last time against his prostate on the way out. Nodding and massaging his sore jaw, Dean sat up, reaching over to the nightstand for one of the condoms he's thrown up there.

"How do you want this, Sammy?" He asked quietly and seriously. This was a first for his younger brother, and he wanted it to be exactly what he'd imagined it to be.

"I… I really don't know, man. I never really let myself think this far into it if I'm honest. Have you got a preference?" Dean laughed a little, nudging Sam's legs further apart and surging up to cover his body with his own.

"Like this." He replied, his voice like gravel. "I wanna see you while I fuck you. Wanna watch you come for me"

Sam clamped down hard on his need to come at Dean's words and just nodded at his brother. H knew what he meant – he definitely wanted to see Dean's face as he came and the thought of staring into Dean's eyes while Dean fucked him made his heart beat so hard he thought it might burst right through his ribcage.

The steady slow pressure of Dean's cock as he carefully pushed inside Sam's ass was right on the edge between uncomfortable and painful, but Sam forced his body to relax, to accept the intrusion, and after pausing to allow Sam to adjust to the head of his cock once he'd passed the outer ring of muscle, Dean pushed deep into Sam on one long slow stroke, dragging a litany of cursing and deep satisfied groans from the younger Winchester. Finally bottoming out, Dean leaned in and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the side of Sam's neck. Mumbling and murmuring to his brother as he did so.

"Oh God, so hot, so tight. So fucking perfect for me, Sam. Never felt anything this good, never knew how this could be before now. Oh fuck, Sammy. You're mine, Baby Boy. Mine!" Dean's babble was back, and Sam loved every bit of it. The lust and desperation as well as the love and devotion he could hear. He felt precisely the same. He turned his head to join their mouths together again in a long, tongue-tangling kiss as they waited for his body to adjust properly to Dean's presence inside. He felt his body start to relax, the edge of pain disappearing into discomfort and finally into a need for… something. He flexed his hips a little, pulling a deep desperate groan from Dean who was right at the very edge of his control. He had just a fingernail's grip on his need to thrust, a fingernail's grip on a greasy mirror and it was slipping fast. Sam turned and pressed a kiss to his brother's clenched jaw and murmured quietly to him.

"I'm good, Dean. You can move. Just… go easy, will you?" Dean nodded minutely and took a new, tighter grip on his control, slowly withdrawing and then pushing back deeply into Sam, a deep and loud groan coming from both of them.

"Oh my fuck, yes!" Sam wasn't even sure which one of them had said it, but whichever one of them it was, the voice sounded like broken glass.

Dean sucked hard on Sam's skin while they moved together, Sam's hips snapping up to meet each slow thrust, trying to drag Dean further inside with every stroke and changing the angle when he could, trying to get Dean to hit just the right spot inside him. Realising what Sam was trying to do, Dean changed the angle himself, grabbing a loose pillow and tucking it under Sam's hips, tilting them just so and making it easier for him to nail Sam's prostate on every thrust. The first time Dean nudged the bundle of nerves, His Brother let out an ear-splitting yell that must have been heard by the people in the next room. For a moment Dean froze, afraid that he'd hurt his younger brother, but the blissed out expression on his face, along with the leg hooked behind his back, hauling Dean back into his thrusting tempo reassured him, and he fell back into his rhythm of driving forward and withdrawing, galloping ever faster towards his own orgasm while trying desperately to keep his grip on the reins long enough to let Sam reach his climax first. Both brothers were overwhelmed by the profundity of the experience it had never been like this before for either of them. It had never been so…intimate, so loving, so… everything.

Knowing he has only a handful of thrusts away from coming, Dean shoved his hand between them to close around Sam's cock, his thumb thumb sliding across the tip and dragging strangled moans out of Sam with each upstroke. His rhythm became erratic, wild lunges as deep as he could get, striking Sam's prostate only by sheer luck on and off. Fortunately, it was enough and with one last nudge against the right spot, Sam let out a roar, arching his back so far that Dean was almost certain he'd hear his brother's spine snap at any second, and spurted great white gouts of come across Dean's fist and both their stomachs.

"Oh fuck! Sammy!" The clenching and clamping of Sam's internal muscles around Dean's cock triggered his own orgasm and with a yell, he followed behind his brother, his vision actually blacked out a little for a moment, the climax harder, longer and more profound than any he'd ever experienced. Beneath him, Sam barely seemed conscious, every muscle and joint that had been so tense moments before, now completely limp.

Sam wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, sweat and come making their skin slide together and Sam's arms locked tight around Dean's back. Dean's hands slid up and down Sam's sides, his mouth moving on Sam's neck, but he wasn't sucking marks into Sam's skin anymore. In fact, Sam was fairly sure that he was talking, and his heart pounded against his ribcage as he made out the quiet words.

"Love you, Sam. Love you so fucking much. You and me for good. God, I love you." Forcing his exhausted muscles to cooperate, Sam turned and gently kissed Dean on the mouth, rubbing their noses and foreheads together.

"I love you too. More than you'll ever know." He murmured. He winced as Dean carefully pulled out, pinching and tying off the condom before weakly throwing it in the general direction of the trash. It barely even cleared the edge of the bed, but Dean could hardly even find the energy to drag the covers up over them both, let alone tidy up after them. He reached a floppy arm out of bed and caught the edge of his ripped and ruined shirt, using it to clean then both up a bit and then gave in to sleep, curling around Sam's body and hearing the slowing heartbeat on his younger brother indicating that Sam was well on his way to being fast asleep himself.

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The sun was high in the sky by the time the pair stirred the next morning. Sam couldn't remember ever feeling so well rested, so content, so complete. His muscles and joints felt sore but loose and his mind, usually busy flitting through a million thoughts at once from the moment he woke each day until well after he fell asleep, was finally still. He turned and looked at his brother who was just beginning to rouse from his own sleep. The damp patch on his pillow from drooling was evidence that he'd slept as well as Sam had, but it was yet to be seen if the acceptance of the night before (which had led eventually to the deep and peaceful sleep he was just waking from) was going to hold, or if Dean was going to have a morning after freak-out.

Deciding to risk it, Sam leaned in and, ignoring both of their morning breath, gently kissed his brother, brushing the dark blonde hair back from his forehead and waiting to see what would greet him behind the green eyes when they opened.

"You know, watching people sleep is actually kind of creepy." Dean spoke without opening his eyes, but the curling corners of his mouth hinted that maybe a freak-out wasn't on the horizon.

"Aww you know you love it, Bella." Sam retorted, happy enough to just play along for the moment – maybe until after breakfast because he for one was completely starving. Dean snorted in amusement.

"So now you're a mind-reading vampire?"

"Hah! I knew you'd seen Twilight!" Sam crowed, bouncing the bad with his glee. "All that shit you were spouting at Bobby's last week about how you'd never watch those movies or read the books, even if it were a matter of life or death was just a whitewash, but I knew you were talking out your ass – you kept pulling at your left earlobe – that's your tell." Dean's brow creased, but he didn't look all that pissed, so Sam wasn't overly concerned.

"Ah bite me, Cullen." The response surprised a loud laugh out of Sam and Dean opened his eyes to witness the full-on Sammy smile; twinkling eyes, deep dimples and a flash of white teeth. "Morning, Sammy." Dean greeted his brother with a gentle smile, knowing all too well that Sam, not unfairly if Dean was honest, would be at least a little concerned that Dean might freak the morning after. Sam's laughter faded into a soft but genuine smile, his eyes warm and loving.

"Morning." He replied, laying a hand gently against his brother's cheek. Dean leaned across and pressed a kiss of his own to Sam's lips. "Shower and then find somewhere other than that diner from yesterday for breakfast?" Sam chuckled and nodded.

"Sounds good." He sat up, the covers pooling around his waist and tugging back away from Dean. "You wanna join me?" He asked a little shyly, making Dean smile.

"Sure. Just go brush your teeth and take a leak before I follow you in there. I love you, but there's no way we're going to be one of those couples that goes to the toilet with the door open." Suddenly he found himself flattened by half a ton of little brother, kissing him deeply regardless of both their morning breath. "Oof! Careful, man, What was that for?" He asked when Sam finally let him up.

"Nothing. Everything. I love you too." Sam replied, a cheek-cracking smile plastered across his face. Dean grasped his brother's hands in his and looked hi in the eye seriously.

"You and me. For good." He reminded him.

"You and me. For good." Sam agreed, then got up and, unembarrassed by his nakedness, walked over to the bathroom. Dean watched him go, his cock twitching and filling as he took in his brother's fantastic ass and the fingertip bruises he'd left on the younger man's hips. He liked seeing his marks there and knew that once he could look in a mirror he'd see marks on his own skin, courtesy of Sam. Something about that, the ownership perhaps, warmed his heart and stirred his lust.

Dean knew that it wouldn't be all perfect, cloudless days in their future; they still had a lot to sort out between themselves – what had been going on between them for the last couple of weeks before Dean just gave in and took what he wanted, how their relationship would work going forward and how they'd keep it from destroying their relationship with Dad and Bobby the first items on that list. They had a lot of work ahead of them getting the new hunter community running smoothly and finding their own place within it. The death of the demon Bobo had only delayed hell's plans for kick-starting the apocalypse, not ended them entirely, so they had to remain vigilant and Sam would have to frequently check the tracks for trouble in the future while Castiel did some investigating of his own.

But despite all of this, Dean could feel nothing but joy that morning. After years of self-hatred and self-disgust – after denying himself what he wanted most in the world – after thinking his brother was dead and being desperate to either follow him into death or to make a deal with a demon to bring Sam back, finally, finally he was filled with peace and happiness and had what he most wanted in the world. Hearing the toilet flush, he climbed out of bed and wandered over to the bathroom, opening the door and then leaning against the frame, arms crossed and cock rapidly filling as he watched his brother climbing in to the shower, more than half hard himself.

Dean followed his brother into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind them. No, life wouldn't be perfect, but he still couldn't think of a single thing that could make him happier.

End

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