The sounds were the worst. Echoing through the room like a wailing child's screams would or the blaring music of a television jingle, just loud and grating and seemingly endless. Shattering any silence and shutting out all other sounds in the most infuriating way. Splitting a headache right through the center of his skull.
Sam didn't know how Dean was still sticking around after three days of this, listening to him moan and shudder and vomit and whimper like the pathetic fucking person he was proving to be. He also didn't know where he was finding the room in his brain to think about these things around the constant 'fucking make it stop' plea that seemed to be on loop in his head.
Of course, there was a light at the end of this tunnel and he never lost sight of that; it was the only thing keeping him going at this point: it was Dean. Because contrary to what Sam believed his brother should do, Dean hadn't left, and he made no move to now even as Sam shuddered and rocked and moaned. He was still here curled protectively around Sam's back, mumbling soothing nothings in his ear and constantly stroking calming fingers over his fiery skin.
"Sh, sh Sammy. Calm down you're okay. I'm right here." Dean said as he held a trash bin under Sam's head, moving his hand from stroking Sam's back to bracing over his shoulder and keeping him steady.
"See that. Why the fuck are you here?" Sam snapped struggling to lift himself back onto the bed.
Sam really wanted to be done with this, and he didn't mean to snap at Dean. Really. He wanted him here more than anything. But another part of him, the part that was currently winning over the other - and also so overridden with guilt and shame it wouldn't mind dying right about now - wanted to scare Dean off so he'd stop getting this fucking close up of Sam's darkest, and most humiliating, days.
"What?" Dean's face was completely bewildered, but not at all hurt. Sam would've laughed at that if he didn't think he'd puncture a lung in the process.
"I said: Why. Are. You still. Here?" Sam managed to ask between shuddering breaths, trying to calm down for his ribs sake.
"Yeah, heard you sasquatch, just had to double check cause that may have been the stupidest question you've ever asked." He paused wondering if Sam was really going to wait for an actual answer, and apparently he was. "Cause you're my brother you idiot and you're a fucking mess. Where the fuck else would I be?" Dean asked obviously angry now. Sam knew he'd have to keep egging his brother on if this was going to work – and even then it was a pretty slim chance he'd actually leave – but he had to try.
And he was just about to before he saw something changed subtly in Dean's expression, in his eyes. No one else would've noticed it, but Sam picked it up right away: and he knew right away he'd been caught because Sam could see that patronizing tone bubbling up in Dean waiting to feed him some condescending speech.
"Sam," He began in the exact tone he'd been expecting, the Dean gets when Sam's being an idiot, "It's not gonna work man so you better drop the act now before you really piss me off."
How fuckin' see threw am I?
Well, time to abort that plan.
Sam huffed stupidly, but the guilt and apology was in those damn puppy dog eyes: wide and scared and trying not to be sorry, staring up at Dean. He didn't say anything more, embarrassed and ashamed as he was and for more than one reason, but instead tried to relax back in his pillow and close out the rest of the world because fuck, he was really stuck here to make a pathetic fool out of himself in front of his brother. The one he just so happened to be in love with.
He might be sick. Again. And that really hadn't been any fun a few minutes ago he didn't want a repeat. Sam felt weak and belittled and even though his brother's presence was basically the life line pulling him through this mess, Dean was subject to see Sam slowly shrivel to a pile of useless nothing and neither wanted that.
But Sam once again had little time to dwell on any of that as his fever spiked again, his nose steadily began running uncontrollably, his muscles took up their defiant limbo dance twitching his battered body without his consent and his head throbbed in time with his backside and ribs all synchronized with the heavy beat of his heart; he really was a fuckin mess. And this was hell. Oh, and it'd only been about 36 hours ago that'd anything had started, there was still a long road he was looking down. Because now this was set on steadily tearing him apart.
"God, hurts Dean." Sam said putting a bandaged hand over his tightly wrapped ribs, both providing a striking contrast to the tan of his skin, "Just wanna…just wanna be fuckin' done." He faded off and tried to even out his breath, his body twitching to its own accord anyway.
The look of his brother was almost frightening, and Dean never thought he'd be able to say that about his brother. He'd really been abusing this drug – like never spent a second sober – for the two months if the withdrawal was any indication. Sam had lost weight not having eaten and kept down anything for three days now, the sunken shadows under his eyes were so severe it almost looked like he had two black eyes now. His shaking and writhing and moaning for help (something Sam just wouldn't do unless he thought it was life or death, which perhaps was the case in his fevered delirium) and god Dean could do nothing.
"Try to breathe Sammy, like dad taught us. Just slow. Focus, in and out." Dean rubbed a hand down Sam's bicep squeezing slightly for reassurance, and he let out a breath he didn't realize he'd held when Sam started to comply. "That's it Sam," Dean whispered pressing a chaste kiss to Sam's collarbone as he placed a hand high on his chest: his own subtle reassurance that his brother was still listening to him and a little provided encouragement for Sam.
The fissures in Dean's heart crackled a little further, sizzling like acid when Sam's eyes flickered open to meet his. All that reassurance and encouragement and what he thought may have been a step in the right direction vanished. Seemingly foolish now, looking at the emotions playing in those all too revealing, beautiful but almost haunted eyes.
There was pain, but of course he expected that, there was frustration, but he could deal with that too. What he couldn't though, was the undeniable self-loathing and hatred there. Hatred for himself. Sam was ashamed, all confidence gone, and he was humiliated. By everything, needing to be consoled, looked after – that's what the whole act earlier had been about. He saw himself as an inconvenience, a burden: pathetic and weak.
As if watching his brother in agony wasn't enough, he had to watch him hate himself for it too?
"C'mere Sam." Dean whispered as he laid down and pressed his body flush with Sam's, absorbing some of the feverish heat rolling off his skin in waves, "I love you Sammy." He barely whispered into the crook of Sam's neck, almost instantly feeling the faint wracks and shudders quiet a little. Dean took the opportunity to slide down Sam's almost still body, pressing gentle pecks into the valleys of smoldering skin and whispering hushed encouragements to the fluttering muscles under his lips.
"There you go Sammy," Dean breathed into the divot of Sam's chest before pressing his soft mouth to the flesh, "Just relax," He kept gliding down, "Keep breathin'," Another kiss. Letting them fall parted as they passed down his skin, catching and sliding across skin. Dean flicked his tongue out to dip into Sam's belly button, eliciting a soft moan before pressing another kiss, "Doing so good." He sighed into the now wet skin. Sam shivered, but for an entirely different reason than his unabashed fever. He lifted a shaky hand to Dean's head, tangling it in his hair.
"Love you too." He breathed unsteadily, pulling Dean's face up to meet his.
A silent, fragile moment settled in as they simply stared shamelessly, revealed everything to the other: behind their walls and their barricades and their secret hidden chambers – everything came out. They didn't need words to understand the conversation, because it was clear. There would no other from that moment on. There would be no waver in love; no shame in affection. This was it, a silent but steadfast commitment to the other: so small, so seemingly pointless to a third eye but so undeniably important they might has well have just signed their contract in blood. There was absolutely no choice to turn back now. Which worked just fine for them.
Dean quirked a one sided smile lifting the intensity of the moment, "How you feelin' Sam? The truth."
The walls lifted again, just because they'd silently decided whatever this thing was between them was real and irreversible, didn't mean they couldn't keep hiding things every once in a while, "Fine." He lied, "Just glad you're here." He tried, attempting to cover the lie with the honest sincerity in his last words, doubling as an apology for his earlier snap. "Couldn't do this if you weren't."
Dean sighed, "You think you could keep down a pill or two? It'll really help with the fever," He said picking up on Sam's white lie right away, but appreciating the apology as he brushed a hand down Sam's cheek. His sweat-slick cheek, he had to get this fever back down. It was a constant battle as he imagined it would be till whenever this ended.
Sam hesitated, momentarily upset at how easily Dean had seen through him, "I can try." He offered, dropping his fleeting anger a second later. Dean nodded and dropped his head back down to the trembling muscles of Sam's stomach, just barely brushing his lips against the sensitive skin. Sam's breath hitched quietly and he plopped his head down to the pillow threading his fingers through Dean's hair again.
Then he was gone, and Sam pulled his head back up, voicing a nearly silent whimper trying see where the extra body warmth had disappeared to. Dean was clad in only boxers, fucking beautiful as ever, rummaging around in his duffle on the desk. Sam's stomach actually had the incentive, to flip and flutter watching the way the sculpted muscles of his back moved and tensed as he continued his search.
"Ah there you are," He muttered to himself, unaware of the extra eyes studying him. Then he turned around and saw Sam's hands clutching his stomach, "Muscle cramps?" He asked as he took a gentle seat on the edge of the bed. Sam didn't catch on till he saw Dean observe the position of his hands and he quickly moved them, leaning back against the pillows propping him up.
"Fine," He answered on beat, "How do you even know about that anyway?"
"I was doin' some research a couple days ago." Dean shrugged. Sam's brow furrowed, why hadn't he noticed that?
"What for? What'd you find?"
"What for?" Dean scoffed, "Cause I needed to know what the hell was happening to you." He paused to shake his head, "And I found that heroin withdrawal is basically hell on earth unless you've got professionals who know what the fuck there doing to help." Dean rapidly went from concerned to frustrated to infuriated so fast Sam's head spun. But at who exactly he wasn't sure.
"Okay, okay Dean calm down. I'm alright. And the cramps aren't that bad. It just kinda feels like the flu." Sam tried to shrug as he sniffled, but failed as his ribs shifted painfully under the tape pretty much holding him together at this point.
"Yeah, I read that on my search too. Exact words from someone who went through it: 'it's like the flu, only ten times worse,' and that's without the added injuries. And the flu sucks ass, all on its own" Dean was still mad, but now it was obvious he was beating himself up about withholding Sam from real help.
Sam just let it drop, knowing arguing or denying anything would only make it worse, "Got that pill for me?"
Dean opened his hand and revealed two little Ibuprofen tablets, dropping them into his brother's palm. Sam never felt so intimidated by something so small in his life, but the thought of another session heaving his guts out was so repulsive, and not to mention scary as hell, that he wasn't sure he could take them.
But he glanced up into Dean's eyes, a silent and subtle plea for encouragement, and saw nothing but unmasked love, something he almost never got to see so openly. From anyone but especially Dean. Tough, cocky, mask-everything Dean. He could almost feel it pouring out of him though, settling an almost tangible blanket of calm over his aching body. And how could he refuse now, really? No matter what happened or would happen, Dean still loved him and that was all the encouragement he needed.
Sap.
So he tossed them back, chasing them down with a few sips of water and laid back into the pillows.
Dean quirked a smile and brushed a couple dark strands of Sam's hair out of his eyes, silently praying the meds would stick. He flipped on the TV, turned it down real quiet and lay down next to Sam pressing a hand into his chest as he took his protective stance behind him, reassured by the steady, though maybe a little fast, beat he felt there.
Every fifteen or so minutes Dean would subtly check Sam's temperature by brushing his hand down his cheek, noticing it wasn't going down.
What the hell's wrong? How am I supposed to help you if your body's gonna be so fuckin' stubborn?
He thought, directing his anger at himself and not the prone, still slightly trembling figure in front of him. Because how could he do that? He propped himself up on his elbow to get a better look at Sam, being as gentle as he could manage so as to not wake him if he'd fallen asleep.
But, no.
Sam's eyes were open when Dean finally peered over enough to see him, he had gone three shades paler though, a film of sweat covering his face and chest. God, he looked awful.
Dean sighed at a complete loss. Sam's legs started up the uncontrollable, twitchy kicks that'd originally started about two days ago and came back whenever his anxiety became to heightened. Dean tossed the thin sheet that had been covering Sam's bottom half off the bed, figuring it was doing no good anyway and slipped off the bed moving down next to Sam's face.
"Hey buddy, how do you feel?" Dean asked, feeling as though that question had become all too familiar on his tongue.
"Um," Sam's brow formed a small crease, "Not much better. It doesn't…really feel like the fever's g-gone down." He said tentatively, shaking and quiet, like he was afraid Dean would be angry at him for it.
"No man, it hasn't. Not yet. How's the stomach feel?" He questioned, not only talking about the muscle cramps but wondering if the meds would make a reappearance soon.
Sam just shook his head and pressed his lips tighter together as he went another shade paler, then a faint tint of green.
Ah shit.
Dean simultaneously grabbed Sam's forearm and trash bin, hoisting his brother upright as he put the garbage under him.
God damn Sammy. I'm so sorry.
He apologized profusely, grabbing a still damp washcloth from the nightstand and pushing it to the back of Sam's neck as he waited for the painful wretching to stop. The tears were back almost immediately, uncontrolled on Sam's end as just a knee jerk reaction to the pain, but for mere heart brake on Dean's. He was done watching Sam trying to fight this; he didn't know how much longer he could stomach it. He wanted more than anything to just switch places with him.
"Ungh," Sam groaned flopping back to the bed, breaking off into a couple harsh sobs, "Fuck my fuckin' life." Sam remained quiet a few seconds composing himself before he spoke again, still feeling his brother's presence in front of him, "Sorry. I hate making you watch this." He whispered before opening his eyes to see a rogue tear dripping down Dean's unshaven cheek.
Sam's face crinkled again. "Don't Dean. 'M okay. Please, don't." He continued whispered, lifting a shaking hand to swipe away the tear. Dean turned away quickly from Sam's touch, trying to hide his weakness and resituate the mask of impenetrable strength he'd mostly been able to keep in place through the past couple of days. He'd never felt so helpless, or so much like a woman in his life. Too many fuckin' chick flick moments getting to him.
Dean nodded, laughing humorlessly, "Yeah," He croaked, "Sorry." He apologized wiping away the tear himself, "I'm supposed to be strong for you, I know." He let out a slightly shuddering breath, "It's just hard…seein' you like this. When there's nothin' I can do." He shrugged still looking away as the smile he was trying to mask his despair under faded shakily.
Sam's heart was aching; he shook his head at how wrong his brother was, "I'd kiss your stupid ass right now if I hadn't just puked my guts out." He bantered, lightly hitting Dean on the shoulder. He turned to him confused.
"You're wrong. You're so wrong." He confessed more seriously, "You're already doing everything." He said softly, placing a wrapped hand on the side of his neck, moving his thumb as much as he could across Dean's pulse point, "Just stickin' around."
It was Dean's turn to shake his head slightly in disbelief or something like it, as he knelt in closer keeping his eyes firmly locked with Sam's until the last second when his lips touched the soft, slightly chapped skin he'd descended toward. Dean remained shy and slow in the kiss at first, just assuring Sam he wasn't going anywhere.
But quickly he lost himself in the slow tantalizing dance of lips and tongues and heat and he didn't care what Sam had just been doing. Dean could still taste the underlying flavor of pure Sam and that's all he needed. He slowly maneuvered himself up onto the bed, making sure not to jostle the abused body, and hovered over Sam never fully breaking from his lips.
Sam straightened one leg out under Dean so he was half way on his back still favoring his uninjured side as Dean settled in on top of him.
Yeah, Sam knew then he could survive the withdrawal and rape and whatever the fuck else life had ready to throw at him so long as Dean never took this away. Sam could live off this.
Dean was tentative with Sam's body, unsure how certain injuries were healing and not wanting to put too much pressure on his hips so he kept himself as light as possible as he brought a hand down to explore the half of Sam's torso that was unscathed. He lightly tweaked a nipple as his tongue delved into the hot mouth under him, exploring and pushing and sliding up against Sam's tongue effectively eliciting a quiet, verging-on-desperate moan from him.
Sam cursed that his hands were still too stiff and swollen to grasp anything with much pressure, and then cursed the fact that his past opportunity to use something besides his useless hands for Dean had been interrupted by the first churn and flip of his stomach that had thrown him into this mess. Now he could do very little but kiss Dean in return, especially in this position pinned under his much heavier, much stronger (at the moment at least) body above him.
He didn't mind too much that he wasn't able to reciprocate a lot of the work, but he did want to show his brother just how much he cared he was still here. How much he truly, undoubtedly loved him. Thanked him. Sure, he could tell him that all he wanted: with his eyes, with his words, but he wanted to show him.
His inward rant was shattered and forgotten when a skilled hand slipped under the hem of his basketball shorts and light fingers trailed over the muscles in the inner joint of his hip making his lower abs shift on their own, spreading smoldering heat through his belly. This time not at all unpleasantly.
"God Dean, ah," He groaned "You shouldn't be…" Sam huffed, "not possible to make me feel… so fuckin'… good right now." He concluded through his hazy thoughts, "Jus' shouldn't be possible." He wasn't sure if he was making sense, but he tried.
Dean chuckled as his hand shifted to the right brushing teasingly over Sam's now obviously erect shaft, wrapping firmly around the base and giving a light squeeze.
A very unintelligible, rather embarrassing guttural moan followed by a whimper Sam would not attest to later escaped him as he felt the pressure of hot fingers grip around his dick. How Dean had the ability to get through withdrawal to make him feel this, something good, was beyond Sam. But he sure as hell wasn't complaining.
Dean started pumping his fist with that little flick of his wrist over the head Sam learned he loved the last time they did this. Dean's free hand laid flat on the inside of Sam's thigh, spreading them apart as his tongue moved to taste the tanned expand of skin, taut over the muscles he found tensing under his hand. His nose drew a line down the sensitive skin, inhaling the heavy musk until he reached the silky curls nestled around the cock he was still working.
Sam writhed under his brother's touch, and then the hand stopped and fell away and god did Sam mourn the loss. His head snapped up, his hand's fisted in the sheets under him, "Wha…?" He complained deliriously.
Dean looked up at the beautiful sight before him, his brother's confused, heavy-lidded, upset gaze staring back at him. Dean wanted to laugh at that before he lowered his head down toward the still weeping cock, lips parting to slid and catch on the moist skin. Sam's breath caught and stuttered and the 'upset' faded right away. Dean never took his eyes away from Sam's.
His lips opened wider, his hand returned to the base of Sam's dick and he wrapped the heat of his mouth around him. Dean's hand came down on Sam's hips, not pushing them into the bed of course, but holding them still. He was in charge here. Sam feebly tried to buck against him, but Dean was firm and steady and set his own rhythm, driving Sam to insanity – complete disarrayed incoherent insanity. Dean swallowed around Sam pulling him deeper until he relaxed his throat, coaxed his gag reflex to stop protesting and took almost all of him down.
Sam let out a startled cry of bliss, pulling the sheets up in his white-knuckled fists pushing his head back into the pillow, savoring the liquid heat as Dean kept bobbing, swallowing, tonguing the slit and pushing up under the sensitive skin just under the head. God he knew what he was doing, how did he know what he was doing?
The thought derailed him from the moment as it sparked an image into his mind: Dean riding that faceless piece of shit in their motel room all those months ago, the proverbial last straw for Sam that had started this whole mess. A tidal wave of jealously crashed down on him and he looked down angry, ready to push Dean off and ask him just how the fuck he knew so well what he was doing – which honestly would've sounded like such a stupid idea had he not been so turned around and fucked from Dean – but he stopped.
Because the scene was too much.
Dean's green eyes were heavy, sparked and excited as they stared up at Sam, his tinted lips so plush and pulled taut around his cock, he was bobbing and then he swallowed as he pushed Sam deep into him again and oh god. Sam lost all fight, the jealousy receded and was quickly swept away, lost in the ocean of pure bliss his brother was currently, very determinedly drowning him in.
His moans were coming faster, getting higher pitched and more desperate as the heat in his body cut through him, setting the pit of his stomach on fire. He brought his knees up, resting one over Dean's shoulder as he fisted a hand in his too-short hair and kept trying to thrust up into the perfect heat engulfing him.
"Gah-" He nearly sobbed, pushing his hips up as far as he could manage, "Dean!" He screamed, in his croaking and gravelly, fucked out voice. His body jolted, tensed and then released in a shudder as he came fast and hard.
Dean pulled back leaving just the head surrounded as he felt the squirming body under him tense and still before juddering lose as Sam found his release, shooting it onto Dean's waiting tongue. He swallowed it down, vaguely remembering years ago (when he started experimenting with his own gender) promising himself this would be one thing he'd never touch.
He didn't think he could stomach swallowing someone else's seed, but here he was. And he found he didn't give it another thought; he was too busy relishing in the fact that his brother was a shot-to-hell mess, heaving in breath with an arm slung over his eyes, desperately trying to recover from the painfully strong orgasm he had just coaxed from him to dwell on his promise. Plus, he didn't think it counted in this territory, because it was Sam.
Watching his brother trying to pick up the pieces of himself and put them back together so he could function again, god it was great. He was feeling pretty good about himself, proud he'd finally found the solution to taking his brother's mind away from what his body was really going through right now.
Dean crawled up Sam, laying on his side next to him and propped up by his elbow.
"Heya Sammy." He croaked, "How you feel now?" Dean asked with a hint of smile in his voice, though he was halfway seriously looking for a real answer, concerned for him.
Sam nodded and a smile twitch across his lips, his arm still slung over his eyes as he sucked in as much oxygen as he could. "Much better…" he heaved exhaling a breath.
Dean smiled and ignored his own painfully hard member, knowing Sam would probably have a better chance sleeping now if he left him be. And he did, staying protectively alert and curled around him without letting his body heat contribute to the fever Sam was still fighting.
Finally Sam did sleep and Dean was immensely grateful for it, careful not to make more than a whisper of a sound for the next six full hours: the longest Sam had slept uninterrupted since the withdrawal started. But he woke a sweating, moaning mess, either resurfacing from a nightmare or in pain again. Dean wasn't sure yet.
"Fuck Sammy," he whispered walking across the expanse of the room to his brother's side and tapping him the rest of the way awake: so a nightmare "Hey Sam." He gripped his shoulder and tapped his face again, "Come on man, you're here with me. 'S Dean, it's just me. You're safe, open your eyes." They finally fluttered open.
"Hey sleepy head." He tried to smile despite the worried creases of fear etching his brother's skin. "You all good?" Dean asked, his voice a husky grumble.
Sam's face relaxed ever so slightly, he nodded, they both laid back down and over the next six days, worked through the pain and fear and pleasure together in very much the same fashion.
Dean called in for food, left the room only on the few off hours Sam managed to find sleep and they survived until the withdrawal waned and Sam could confidently say the worst was over and he was still in one piece. All because of Dean.
Sam started walking on his own, his ribs were finally resting and getting the chance to set and most of his plentiful bruises had faded to a soft yellow; overall he was feeling pretty good.
"So where to now lil' bro?" Dean asked as they packed their bags, an almost giddy grin playing at his lips. Sam was eager to get the hell out of that motel room, but Dean was just relieved Sam wasn't hunched over a trash can or toilet anymore.
"Actually I was thinking we'd stick around for another day," Sam said with a dark, mischievous smirk, keeping his eyes away from his brother as he folded a shirt and stuffed it in his bag, "Got some people I wanna say bye to first."