A/N: Hello, folks! Slightly earlier than anticipated, I present you the extra-long sixth chapter of What You Don't Know. I apologize for anything that doesn't make sense in advance! I've been really ill this week, only going for my exams, so I've had more time to write, BUT a big part of this was written while I was down with a fever, so...
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this nonetheless!
Thank you for all your favorites, alerts and of course your reviews!
Disclaimer: All the characters do not belong to me. I do not make profit from this story.
Dean hurriedly scrambled off the couch, nearly falling over in the process. Sam was obviously terrified of him, of being touch by him and he honestly didn't realize what he'd done wrong. Okay, he hadn't been too friendly towards him mind you, but for Sam to beg him not to touch him?
His mind whirled dangerously.
He needed space, needed to get away before the look on Sam's face, the panic directed at him, broke him completely.
As soon as he got his legs under him he backed off, blacking out Sam's heart-wrenching sobs currently tearing at his insides. Finally, he turned away and leapt up the stairs to the main door of the bunker, grabbing the keys to the Impala on the way and slamming the door shut behind him.
His breaths came a little easier once he was outside. He felt ashamed for running away when his little brother was distressed. Since he was the reason for Sam's terror, though, he pushed the emotion back down.
He couldn't deal with this. Suddenly exhausted, he leant back against the door, not having made it to his car yet, throwing his head back and closing his eyes.
Never in his entire life had his brother ever been afraid of him.
Then again, things have been quite different lately. Frustrated, Dean let out a weary sigh. Feeling sorry for himself wasn't going to get him anywhere.
One minute, Sam had been fine. He'd been asking strange questions, because how could Dean ever not want Sam? But he'd been convinced that his brother wanted them to touch. Sam had willingly given him a blowjob and even after that things had been fine. Until Dean started to return the favor.
He remembered a lot of these moments now. Sam frightened of being touched, flinching, wincing or something equally disturbing for Sam who liked being hugged and cuddled so much.
Dean eyed the Impala where it was parked just off the small road. He could hit a bar, get drunk off his ass and forget about his troubles for a while. He didn't particularly desire the hangover he'd certainly have the next morning. And it wasn't even afternoon yet.
Turning to press his ear against the door, he strained to pick up where Sam was, what he was doing. Nothing but silence. He figured that wasn't much of a surprise, the door was probably sound-proof. He could call someone like Bobby or Cas. Not having the motivation to talk to someone about anything right now, he gave himself over to his unknown fate with another weary sigh and opened the door again, stepping inside.
Sam was nowhere to be seen and Dean was equal parts relieved and worried.
Deciding on the best course of action he could think of, he stopped by Sam's room, softly knocking on the door. There was no answer, so he carefully tried the knob. The door wouldn't budge. Having already anticipated Sam's desire to be left alone to come to terms with the situation, Dean merely knocked again, very lightly.
"Sam? It's okay you don't have to open the door. Just remember to change the bandages on your leg, okay?" He paused, unsure. "I'm sorry." He waited again to see if his brother would say something and when he didn't Dean went down again.
It had been strange for him, being in one place for so long, a place that felt like home to him. Not hunting had left their days pretty empty but with how stressful his days have been emotionally he hadn't noticed too much.
Now, though, he wished he had something to do, for him to feel useful. He needed to keep himself busy in order not to work his brain into a frenzy. Settling on the most relaxing task he could think of he began gathering all the weapon bags and all the other hunting equipment for a thorough cleaning and a check-up.
It would definitely take a while and he'd done this so many times he didn't even need to think about it anymore. Starting on the check-up of his least favorite things, Dean inspected various ropes to make sure they weren't torn or otherwise damaged, tested the hold of the handcuffs, counted the wooden stakes.
Saving everything to do with the bullets and guns for last – they were his favorite, after all – Dean took to the knives next, sharpening and cleaning them.
He stopped mid-stroke on the demon knife, dirty rag in his right hand still wrapped tightly around the blade. There was something about it… He couldn't place it but he suddenly had an odd feeling and switched on the lamp at the table he currently occupied. Holding the metal under the light he took a closer look.
At first there was nothing at all. Dean turned the knife around and around, not sure what he was searching for. Finally he saw it, just before he gave up. He wouldn't even have noticed, but when the light fell at a certain angle, there was this weird stain. Rubbing at it with the rag, it came off and he set the now clean knife down.
Huh, strange. It wasn't just blood, he decided. Dried blood yes, but it was gluing together tiny little patches of charred something.
He remembered Sam had a particular love for this one and handled it often. Dean resolved to ask him about it sometime.
***WYDK***
Sam sat in his room with his back to the wall, facing the door, staring blankly into space for hours.
He'd moved up here after the disaster downstairs on auto-pilot, not taking anything in at all. He wasn't even seeing anything, just the scene from earlier replaying in his head in a cruel loop to drive him insane.
Why couldn't he just be normal? It was all he'd ever really wanted. Of course, normal people didn't lust after their brother and initiated a relationship with him. With the demon blood and his psychic powers and hunting and their overall messed up family, he'd accepted that he'd never be like others.
But now he couldn't even make out with Dean without being a freak somehow.
He had seen it in Dean's eyes, the moment his brother had realized yet again how disgusting Sam was. He'd tried to avoid it, distract Dean from having to find out and protect himself from the rejection that was sure to come.
In the end, he'd failed at that as well.
Sam was glad that Dean hadn't really tried to talk to him since then, only reminding him of the bandages and staying gone after that. Sam was grateful.
But that didn't mean he couldn't acknowledge the real reason for it. Dean was such a terrible liar sometimes, the disgust for Sam obviously making him stay away and avoid him like a plague. Sam wondered how long it would last this time.
And the resigned "I'm sorry" that barely made it through the door? "I'm sorry you're such a freak Sam." He'd heard the pity clear as day.
After even more silent thinking, he quietly and obediently changed the wrapping on his leg. It would not help him if it got infected.
Sam thought about his options, carefully laying them out in his mind. He could stay, ask his brother for more time before they did anything, maybe even cancel their relationship altogether and they would hunt together again soon. No, he couldn't take the lies. It had been so nice while it lasted, his brother trusting him again. Having it ripped out again… he couldn't leave himself open like that anymore.
He could run away. Sam was good at that, he knew he was. Somehow, though, Dean always found him. Not an option. It would simply lead to scenario number one made worse by his attempt at escaping.
Then there was the ultimate out for everything. He actually hasn't thought about it since he was seventeen – not unless threatened by something supernatural turning him evil.
He certainly had the knowledge on how to do it. He'd seen Dean die over a hundred different deaths.
He saw himself pinned to a wall, Dean lying on the ground being ripped to bloody shreds by the hellhound, screaming all the while.
Sam decided he couldn't force his brother to see something similarly awful. With a plan in mind, he found the energy needed to get up and drag himself onto his bed.
For it to go down smoothly and provide him a safe escape, he needed some time to set things up. He had no doubt in his mind that it would work.
Sam knew his poisons, after all.
***WYDK***
Something was up with his brother, Dean noticed. After the incident – he didn't know what else to name it – Dean had expected Sam to talk to him, which had never happened. Realizing Sam was shutting him out again, Dean had expected Sam to sulk and give him the cold shoulder, which – also – had never happened.
Dean was at a loss. His brother never let anything on, instead Sam spent hours on the computer researching. He tried sneaking glances at the screen, but he couldn't get close enough. If that wasn't enough to make him suspicious, Sam was deleting the browser history, too.
Admittedly, Sam had gotten very good at playing pretend, the illusion of normalcy almost completely perfect. In fact, after a week of stalking every move Sam made and not finding any proof to confirm something was wrong, Dean relaxed into the act his brother was pulling off.
They reverted back into their tentative routine from before the incident with Dean refusing to let them hunt and Sam assuring Dean it was fine, he was fine and they could go back to their old life.
Half a week later, Dean had forgotten all about his suspicions and also about his quest to interrogate Sam about the demon knife. At the end of a long day of sparring and running to keep up their strength and endurance, Dean found himself leaning on the doorframe to Sam's room, hesitating.
He missed their regained closeness, he just wasn't sure how to ask for it without pushing his brother into something he didn't want.
Sam had gone into his room to shower and change. When he felt Dean watching him, his hands stilled on the buttons of his shirt.
"Dean?" he questioned softly, knowing his brother would understand.
Said brother looked away, blushed slightly.
"Sam, I… Say no if you don't want to – it's just… Can I kiss you again? Please?"
Sam blinked stupidly, waiting for his brain to gather the meaning of the question.
His eyes widened slightly when he did, not fearfully, only from anticipation and maybe a little embarrassment.
"Y-Yes. Yes, of course." Despite his permission, Sam made no move to act on Dean's request, staying where he was positioned near his bed in the middle of the room.
Dean looked up and after a long moment, he stalked towards Sam, slowly as if approaching a frightened animal. When he reached Sam and raised his hand carefully to Sam's cheek and Sam moved into the touch, not drawing away, Dean was encouraged.
Without further procrastination, Dean captured Sam's lips in a soft kiss, gentle and shallow.
Sam closed his eyes against the spreading warmth in his chest, making his skin prickle lightly. He hadn't wanted to come too close to Dean in order to avoid another shameful failure, but he couldn't deny that this felt good. So good…
Craving more of the blissful feeling of Dean's lips pressed against his, Sam opened his mouth in invitation. Dean groaned and reciprocated, slipping his tongue inside his brother's hot mouth, drawing back after a moment and sucking Sam's lower lip between his teeth.
Lust and desire filled Sam's find, forcing out all the bad thoughts, almost as effectively as the pain did. Only this felt so much better.
As Dean continued to kiss him senseless, Sam felt his legs go weak. A strong arm wrapped around his middle, catching him before his knees gave out and he could feel Dean smirking against his lips.
Dean looked into his brother's eyes, the pupils so dilated there wasn't any brown left in them. Swallowing deeply at the unconcealed want he could see there, Dean felt his already half-hard cock twitch in his jeans.
"Bed, now" he croaked out, his voice barely recognizable.
Sam followed the command readily, edging back until the back of his legs hit the bed and dropping down on it with Dean landing on top of him. When Dean put one hand on either side of his head and loomed over him, Sam tensed up.
There was a cold current of fear distinguishing the pleasurable heat in his veins. He clenched his eyes shut to block out the feeling of helplessness and focused on keeping his body engaged in what they were doing.
A voice startled him. It wasn't hard like he expected. Even though it was close – so close – to him and there was a strong body covering his own, the voice was gentle and loving and the hands touching his face were warm and gentle.
"Sam? Hey, it's alright" Dean whispered, stroking the hair from Sam's face. He'd seen Sam tense up when he leant over him. Dean wasn't sure why Sam was reacting the way he was, but something was awfully familiar about this. On the couch, that incident. Sam had seemed fine – more than fine – until Dean was on top of him…
Putting off questions and prying until later, Dean quickly rolled over on the bed, pulling Sam on top of him, reversing their positions. He didn't mind at all, he only wanted his brother to feel safe.
Sam realized the presence above him was gone. His breaths immediately came easier and the cold feeling faded to almost nothing. Gazing down, Sam saw nothing but his brother under him, concern in his eyes. No flashbacks, no voices, nothing.
"Are you okay?"
Instead of answering, Sam kissed Dean deeply, grinning all the while.
Dean chuckled slightly when Sam moved to trail open-mouthed kisses down his jaw and collarbone.
"Guess that means yes, huh?" Sam grinned even wider, remaining silent again. His hands pushed Dean's t-shirt up until it was bunched up under his arms, already leaning down to lick a circle around Dean's right nipple.
"Shit" Dean cursed above him, rolling his head back onto the pillow and pulling off his t-shirt himself since Sam seemed too distracted to do it. Dean allowed his concern to ebb off when he felt Sam shift, straddling his knees and making Sam's clothed erection move against his jeans.
Sam played with his nipples for a long while, biting them softly and running his tongue over them to sooth the sting. Finally, Dean couldn't take the slow torture anymore, sure his cock would explode any minute.
He quickly considered their positions, but he wanted his brother to take some pleasure first, wanted to see Sam cum from this.
"Take your jeans off." he ordered huskily, pushing Sam away a bit. Sam stilled.
"But Dean – "
"Jeans off. Please" Dean repeated after making sure Sam hadn't complained from fear.
Huffing, Sam moved off of Dean and the bed, hastily taking off his jeans. He was about to climb back on the bed when Dean said "boxers too" and he obediently pushed them down and stepped out of them.
"Happy?" he asked and spread out his arms in exasperation. When he looked at Dean again, his eyes were immediately drawn to his erection which was hard and throbbing. Dean was stroking it lazily. His brother merely smiled, patting the bed in invitation.
"Very." Dean adjusted Sam on top of him until his little brother was straddling him again, this time a bit lower so he his own cock was free. He glanced at the bandages still covering Sam's thigh even though the cut was healed completely, a tender scar remaining in its place.
"Is your leg alright? No pain in this position?" Sam followed Dean's gaze to the white fabric on his skin. He rubbed his arms self-consciously, glad all his other scars from cutting were covered by his shirt or the wrappings on his thigh. He had forgotten all about that. You have to be more careful! He could've found out, you know what would happen then…
Sam rushed to reassure Dean and made a mental note to be more careful.
"It's fine, Dean. Really."
Dean's pupils dilated at that and he moved his hands to the buttons on Sam's shirt. Before he got the top one open, hands caught his wrists and stopped him.
Confused, he looked up at Sam.
"Leave it." Sam schooled his expression into one of desire. It wasn't all too hard, he wanted this. He just couldn't let Dean take off his shirt or he'd see the neat red lines covering arms, starting above his wrist.
Dean analyzed his brother's body language but couldn't find anything wrong.
He splayed his hands on Sam's hips instead.
"Touch yourself for me." he demanded, one hand moving to squeeze Sam's ass.
Sam closed his eyes in relief, covering it up quickly. He brought his right hand down to his cock, starting at the base and dragging his hand up, muffling a low groan. Taking in his brother sprawled underneath him on the bed, hard and wanting, Sam noticed it wasn't too difficult for the lust to take over his brain again.
Dean felt weird being the only one naked, but he was so relieved to see his brother still wanting this, touching himself for him that he let it go.
With the visual of his little brother jerking off, Dean pulled back one hand and wrapped it over Sam's, controlling the pressure and the speed of his movements. He used the other one to mirror every stroke on his own cock, begging for attention.
It wasn't the most intimate or creative way they'd ever done this, but it was still hot as hell and he'd take everything his brother would give him at the moment.
With Dean's skilled hand over his, Sam felt the muscles in his abdomen clench pretty soon, his orgasm approaching quickly and he moaned loudly.
Dean noticed and increased the speed, locking his eyes with Sam's.
Leaving Sam to continue the motions on his cock, Dean trailed his hand further back and lightly tugged on Sam's balls.
"Come for me, Sam. Now." he demanded and Sam exploded with a shout of Dean's name.
Dean's eyes rolled back as Sam came on top of him, his own release ripping through him in a white-hot burst of pleasure.
Panting, Sam collapsed on top of Dean falling forward until he rested on his brother, spreading the sticky mess on their bodies around. Dean pushed him away after a moment, grumbling something about "giant Sasquatches" and "air supply".
Compliantly, Sam rolled over onto his stomach next to Dean, stretched out lazily and completely blissed out from his orgasm, a relaxed smile on his face.
It had been so long… Not only with his brother, but also so long since he could let go in the presence of someone else. He'd relied on cold showers most of the time, seldom using quick and efficient strokes of his hand to bring himself off, thinking about anything but what he was doing. It had been too shameful. Now, though, he couldn't bring himself to care, for once content to accept release in a pleasurable way.
Dean caught his breath, lying still on the bed. His limbs were heavy and weak, his brain felt as if it had short-circuited and needed to reboot now. He was almost dizzy with the aftershocks, the warmth next to him and the relief that everything had gone perfectly.
Seeking further contact, Dean turned on his side, facing Sam and pressing himself against him, listening to the slowing heartbeat of his little brother. He kissed Sam's neck on the exposed side, gently smoothing the hair out of the way and carefully watched Sam's face – the one not currently smothered in the pillow – for tension or other negative signs.
Finding nothing but the happy smile and the softly closed eyes, Dean continued, humming slightly while mouthing Sam's earlobe. Dean was too far gone to be put off by the fact that Sam was still wearing his shirt. He would not push for anything right now; he wouldn't even want Sam moving right at the moment out of fear that it would ruin the moment.
Dean continued with his ministrations, skimming one hand down Sam's partially clothed body while he rested on the elbow of the other.
Reveling in the feel of Sam's warm naked skin when he reached the small of Sam's back, Dean started caressing the side of Sam's hips, passing over the bone down to the muscled junction of hip to thigh and up again. Sam moaned beautifully underneath him, a low sound that was followed Sam displaying more of his throat to him when turned his head more towards the headboard.
Dean grinned against Sam's skin and stroked down Sam's hip again, this time pressing his hand between Sam's body and the sheets, more on the front than the side. Being done with the left side, he pulled his hand free again and moved to repeat the process on the right. The position was a bit awkward for him and he wouldn't be able to hold it long without straining his arm, but he was too engrossed in his task to move.
Starting on the small of Sam's back again and sliding down the side of Sam's right hip. His fingers touched something weird and out of place on the otherwise smooth skin. Dean's mouth stilled on Sam's throat, a frown on his face.
"Uh… Don't stop, Dean." Sam requested in a husky tone, completely oblivious to the reason for Dean pausing.
Dean took up his caresses again so as not to tip Sam off. His hands sought out the place of the foreign thing again, on Sam's right hip on the round part, somewhere in the middle between his crack and the side of the soft spot where Sam's thigh began.
Not moving his hand further after he found it, Dean gently dragged his index finger over it, realizing it was a scar. The skin was raised and uneven, forming a shape he couldn't name, around three inches long.
Dean knew Sam's body like his own, could recite every scar and how Sam had gotten it – at least every scar from before he was in purgatory.
This was not one of them. Releasing Sam's throat with a wet pop of his mouth, Dean sat up quickly, glad that the lamp on the bedside table was still on. He'd have to take a quick look before Sam realized what was going on.
Sam was disoriented when the pleasant sensation disappeared suddenly from his neck and only the fingers on his ass remained, but they were harder now, not as reverent.
"Dean?" he questioned, not coherent enough to do much else.
Dean paid him no mind, thankful for the mindless state Sam was in. He pulled his hand away from Sam's skin and looked carefully at the offending scar he hadn't known about.
His body went rigid even though his mind was too shocked to be angry, it didn't seem to catch up.
He just continued to stare, slowly bringing his hand up again and tracing the raised scar that was not as tanned as its surrounding areas. Brand. The thought seemed to come from nowhere, but it echoed loudly in his head. Yes, he was sure of it, this was a brand.
There was a big "R" branded on his little brother's right hip.
A/N: Thank you for reading!