Tuesday 5 June

The sound of the motel phone ringing woke Dean around 7am. He flopped off of the couch and made his way over to the phone. It had rung 3 times and then stopped before Dean had gotten over there, meaning it was John and he would call back in a minute. Dean answered when he did. It was a tense conversation, and Dean didn't say more than one word at a time. He only half listened to his dad's rambling, other things were on his mind.

"Was that Dad?" Sam asked when Dean hung up the phone. He was getting ready for school.

"Yeah."

"What did he want?"

"Nothing."

Sam glared at Dean. He was talking to Sam the same way he had been talking to their Dad a moment ago, and Sam did not appreciate being put on the same level as John. He turned away and gathered up his things, leaving for school about half an hour earlier than he needed to.

Dean sat back down on the couch and stared at the floor. He knew he was being unfair to Sam. He knew he was being cold and distant. And he felt terrible about it, but he was worried that if he let himself be normal with Sam then something else would happen. Every time he let his guard down, got too comfortable, something happened. While he absolutely did not want to spend the rest of his life treating his brother like this, he had yet to find a viable alternative. And Sam didn't help. Even though they had barely spoken since the trip, Dean could feel Sam's eyes on him when Sam thought he wasn't looking. Undressing Dean with his eyes, undoubtedly thinking filthy thoughts, quickly looking away if Dean tried to catch him in the act.

The day after they got back, they had both been lying awake in bed. Dean had had a little bit to drink. He told Sam that they had to stop, that nothing else could happen between them. Sam had asked why, and Dean told him he shouldn't have to ask that question. After that, Dean had gotten up and returned to the couch, where he was still sleeping. It was too hard being in that room together; hearing Sam's gentle breathing, seeing his silky skin when he climbed out of bed in the morning. After that night in the tent, Dean felt like he could barely control himself. Even some nights on the couch, Dean wanted to tear into the bedroom, climb into Sam's bed, and savagely fuck him. And that just wasn't something he could allow to become more than a fleeting thought.

He glanced around the room. It was kind of a mess. He figured he should tidy up a bit, starting with the mountain of garbage and beer bottles that had accumulated between the couch and the coffee table. He was still off work because the shop's owner had decided to extend his vacation, so he didn't really have anything to do until he went back on Friday. Cleaning would at least occupy a bit of time. About twenty minutes later, the room looked pretty good. A little disheveled still, but relatively clean. Dean silently hoped this would earn him points with Sam. He knew that Sam hated mess, and also that the reason his brother hadn't been doing any tidying of his own was probably because he didn't want to be in the same room with Dean's icy demeanor.

Dean put on headphones and started playing Deep Purple loud enough to (hopefully) drown out his own thoughts. He thumbed through a magazine that he didn't remember bringing home, then walked to the bathroom to brush his teeth. While he examined himself in the mirror, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. When he turned to look, he realized it was Sam's notebook, sitting on the tank of the toilet. He was surprised to see it; Sam usually took it to school with him. He started to wonder what could have made him leave it behind, then remembered with a grimace the way Sam had marched out of the room that morning, and why.

Dean found himself picking the book up, flipping it over in his hands a few times. He went into the bedroom and climbed into his bed, a welcome feeling after a couple nights on the couch - the one in the new room did not fold out into a bed. He turned his music up a little louder and tried to figure out if he was really going to open the book. He felt bad even thinking about it, but he could feel his curiosity getting the best of him. He had watched Sam obsessively scribble in and pour over this book for over six months, and Sam's weird non-answers when Dean asked what he was writing only made him want to know the real answer more.

He flipped open the cover. He squinted suspiciously at the text, turned a page. Turned another page. Leafed through the notebook, stopping to read excerpts here and there. His stomach churned. Jesus Christ. It was… porn. The first pages were rather mild, getting more and more lewd the further he went. The characters included Dean and Sam, various unnamed men and women, and Jacob. Dean fucking some girl. Sam fucking some girl. Dean fucking Sam. Among a wide variety of imagined scenarios were a few that were painfully familiar: that night at the water hole, the time Dean had kissed Sam in his bed; a description of actual events followed by what Dean figured was what Sam had wanted to happen. The night in the tent was also included, no embellishments, as well as Sam's version of what he thought was going on the night he heard Dean and Jacob in the living room.

Dean felt himself getting hard. He set the book down on the bed next to him. "Fuck you," he muttered, half to his dick and half to Sam. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the headboard, feeling his heart jumping in his throat.

Dean just stared down at the book. He didn't know if he wanted to put it back and pretend he had never opened it, or keep reading, or walk outside and burn the damn thing. Should he tell Sam he had seen it? He picked the book up again and flipped to the extended version of the kiss they had shared in the bedroom, feeling disgusted with himself but also too horny to care. He groped himself through his sweatpants, letting his head fall back against the headboard again. He imagined himself sucking Sam off, how he might buck his hips or wind his fingers into Dean's hair. He opened his eyes and felt his breath get stuck in his throat.

Sam was standing in the doorway. They stared at each other for several seconds before Dean pulled his headphones off. "Uh… what are you doing back here?" he asked shakily.

"I… forgot something." Sam looked pointedly at the notebook in Dean's hand.

Dean set the book on the table and took a deep breath, trying to decide if he was really going to do what he was thinking. "C'mere."

Sam hovered in the doorway before slowly setting his things down. He reached down to untie his shoes, holding eye contact with Dean, then padded to the side of the bed in his socks. He pulled himself onto the bed and into Dean's lap with one smooth movement, pressing their lips together forcefully before Dean had a chance to reconsider. He slid his hips back and forth, feeling Dean's erection beneath him. He was already rock hard himself. Dean dug his fingers into Sam's thighs, then wedged his hands between them and hastily unbuttoned Sam's shirt. Sam shrugged it off and let it fall behind him. Dean pushed Sam away until he was laying on his back, his head near the foot of the bed, and climbed on top of him. He began working his way down Sam's torso. Sam grabbed a fistful of Dean's tshirt and pulled it off over his head as he descended. Dean pulled Sam's shorts and boxers off at the same time, not bothering to unbutton them.

He wasted no time getting his mouth around Sam. He heard a sharp inhale and immediately felt Sam's hands on the back of his head, urging him on. He bobbed up and down, slowly taking more into his mouth with each downward push. Soon he felt his nose brushing against the fine hairs at the base of Sam's dick. He pulled off slowly, stopping to swirl his tongue around the head, causing Sam to whine and dig his nails into Dean's scalp. Dean sat up abruptly and began pulling his pants off. He looked down at Sam, flushed and panting. He discarded his pants and leaned over to his bedside table, digging around for the little bottle of lube that he had brought home with Jacob in mind.

It occurred to him as he applied lube to his hand that he wasn't completely sure that Sam really wanted this, that maybe it was just an idea Sam appreciated on paper. It only took him a few seconds to decide that he didn't care. He hadn't wanted what happened in the tent, but Sam had given it to him anyway. He felt almost angry as he met Sam's lips again. Sam tensed as he felt Dean's fingers pressing inside of him, moaning into Dean's mouth. After what felt like it could have easily been an hour or a minute, Dean found himself slowly rocking his cock into Sam. He paused when he bottomed out, pressing his forehead into his brother's shoulder, feeling Sam carving lines into his back. He slid a hand into Sam's hair and slowly started moving, quickly picking up the pace, his hips snapping, the sound of skin against skin filling the stiflingly hot room. One of Sam's hands slid down to Dean's ass while he used the other to stroke himself in time with Dean's thrusts.

"Fuck, Sammy," Dean exhaled, feeling himself getting close, his thrusts becoming more erratic. He could tell Sam was close too, which was good since he wasn't sure he could hold back much longer. He ignored Sam's attempts to bring their faces together, feeling anger rising inside him again. Dean nipped at Sam's neck instead, feeling his back arch as his hand sped up, warm cum splattering against both of them. Two thrusts later and Dean was there. He collapsed on top of Sam and stayed there for a minute, trying to muster the strength to sit up, both of their chests heaving. Finally, he pushed himself up and moved back to the top of the bed. Sam followed.

They lay next to each other silently, sticky with sweat and various fluids, catching their breath, both feeling slightly sick. They both knew a line had just been crossed that would be difficult or impossible to step away from. Up until that point, everything that had happened could have been dismissed as simply poor judgement, a result of emotional stress or alcohol. But this was different.

Dean sat up and reached for his pants, pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of the pocket. He lit a cigarette, ignoring Sam's previous instruction not to get smoke in the house, the clicking of the lighter sounding awfully loud in the quiet room. Sam picked up the carton and took a cigarette without asking and pulled the lighter from Dean's fingers. Dean watched his smoke hover in the thick air in front of him, no fans on or windows open to send it away. He breathed in the hot, stale air, smelling sweat and sex and smoke.

Dean glanced down at Sam, his blank expression giving no indication of what he was thinking or feeling. "You alright?" Sam nodded without looking up and took a long drag on his cigarette, then held his mouth open and allowed the smoke to drift out on its own, watching the semi opaque lines swirl and dance before dissipating. Dean lowered himself onto his side, facing Sam, setting his elbow on the mattress and supporting his head with his hand. He extended the hand holding his cigarette and dragged his fingertips over Sam's skin, tracing circular patterns around his hips and stomach. Any feelings of anger had disappeared, replaced by something similar to nostalgia he couldn't put a word to and a pit in his stomach.

Sam put his cigarette out on the bedside table and headed to the bathroom for a shower. Dean lit another and smoked it quickly before standing and pulling his clothes back on over his sticky skin. "I'm going for a drive," he called to Sam, who didn't respond.

The tires of the Impala squealed against the pavement as he ripped the car out of the driveway and onto the road. He sped away, unsure of how fast he was going. His head started to spin. He was so hot and dehydrated and mentally burnt out. The hot leather seared his skin through his thin tshirt, drawing his attention to the welts on his back. He cranked his window down as sweat began to drip from his face. He felt his vision blurring. He pulled off the road, about ten miles away from the motel at that point, threw the car into park and hurled himself out, his feet barely hitting the pavement before he vomited. He slid down the side of the car, panting, and sat on the asphalt.

* . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

The door to the motel creaked open just after sundown that evening. Dean shuffled inside and dropped the keys on the counter with a clatter before digging in the fridge for a beer. He used the edge of the counter top to pry the lid off, letting it fall to the floor. He turned towards the living room to see Sam sitting on the couch, staring at him, the TV playing quietly in the background. Dean made his way over to the couch and sat down. The living room windows were open and a cool breeze was wafting in. Dean took a sip of his beer then lit a cigarette and tossed the pack onto the coffee table.

"You ever go to school?" Dean asked.

"Nope," Sam replied without looking at him, reaching for a cigarette.

"Attaboy," Dean said with a chuckle. He handed over his lighter. Sam rolled his eyes and lit his cigarette without saying anything or looking at Dean. Dean observed Sam's face, blueish light from the television dancing over his skin in the otherwise unlit room, a strand of hair hanging in front of his eyes. Dean reached out and tucked the hair behind his brother's ear, letting his hand linger in the air for a moment before sliding his fingers into Sam's hair. He saw a smile pulling at the corners of Sam's mouth as he slowly massaged his scalp. He scooted closer and put an arm around Sam's shoulders. Sam laid his head on Dean's chest as he took a long draw off his cigarette and held it, his eyes closed. "Why do you do that?" Dean asked. He slipped his hand under the sleeve of Sam's tshirt and ran his fingers over the skin, feeling the rows of scars, some slightly raised, others slightly sunken.

"I dunno, it just feels nice. Kinda gives you a buzz." Sam rested his free hand on Dean's knee. "Where did you go?"

"Uh… just drove around, mostly. I just needed to clear my head."

"For ten hours?"

"Was it that long?" Dean examined the arm of the couch as he thought about it. "Huh… guess I was gone a while."

"You go anywhere in particular?"

"I went to some corner store for food, and stopped at Jake's on the way home. Other than that, no."

"Yeah? How's Jacob?"

"He's fine."

"When am I gonna get to meet him properly?"

"Oh, uh… you still wanna do that?"

"I told you I did."

"Uh… sometime soon, I guess. I'll ask him about it."

"Cool."

* . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .