Dean burst through the door of the motel room, grinning ear-to-ear. He set their recently bloodied supplies down in a corner of the room and then turned back towards to door to watch his brother walk in behind him. Sam's face was somber, he had his hands in his pockets, and his posture was hunched. At seeing Sam's expression, Dean headed over to the dresser and pulled out a full bottle of whiskey.
"Come on man, stop looking like a priest on Sunday!"
Sam shot his brother a questioning look. "What are you talking about?"
Still holding the bottle, Dean raised his hands in the air with his elbows crooked and then he shrugged. "I mean, I know decapitations aren't your idea of a good time, but sometimes you gotta lighten up a little." He walked over to the bathroom, emerged with two plastic cups, and set them down on the desk beside Sam. "Come on Sammy, we gotta celebrate, eh? That was one hell of a move you pulled on that nasty son of a bitch!" He smiled, beaming with pride as he poured their drinks into the two cheap, plastic cups.
Sam looked appreciatively at his brother. It had been a long time since he'd seen Dean look at him with such pride and admiration and maybe even longer since he'd seen him genuinely smile. It was nice to see after so long. Hell, after their recent separation right after the apocalypse had started, it was actually nice to see him at all. Over the past few years, Sam had come to accept two things in life once and for all: one, if he ever tried to have any semblance of a normal life that innocent people were going to die; and two, he didn't want normal anyway, because life without Dean just wasn't worth living. He had felt dead inside whenever they got separated, like a body that was just going through the motions without any actual purpose. He didn't feel right without Dean around, didn't feel whole. He knew that, back when they were younger, Dean used to feel something similar, but he wasn't sure if that had changed. After all, a lot of things were different between them now and not just because he had started the apocalypse; there was Ruby and all the things he had done with her, the demon blood, the way his nature had become so cruel in the last few months before the apocalypse began. Sam looked at Dean's face; it was untroubled and light. Dean was happy and, despite his own disturbed thoughts, Sam couldn't help but smile as he took one of the cups out of Dean's hands and took a shot of the whiskey.
Sam cringed. It was embarrassing and weird for to know that Dean was going to read his thoughts like this, put on paper by someone else. He sneaked a quick, shifty glance over at Dean, but saw that he was determinedly looking down at the paper and nothing else. He looked upset and embarrassed and Sam wondered if Dean was already further down the page than he had gotten. He quickly shifted his eyes back to the manuscript and kept reading.
Dean stared amusedly at his brother as Sam made a sound of quiet discomfort when the burn of the liquor hit his throat. Sam put his cup back down on the desk and Dean refilled their glasses. He waited until Sam picked up his cup and then held out his own in a gesture of a toast.
"To the revenant; may the son of a bitch burn in hell."
Sam shot him a confused look but clinked his cup against Dean's anyway and downed his shot. Okay, so Dean realized that maybe he was being a little ridiculous at the moment, but he was in a good mood; he and Sam were back on the road, just the two of them, killing evil things, just like in the good old days. And Sam wasn't even banging any of those evil things, ditching him for them, or sucking their blood. He smiled as he thought about how he'd barged in right when the devil had been sprung from his cage and then watched Sam hold Ruby in place while he stabbed her. That bitch fucked his brother, used him, and screwed their relationship to hell and it felt good that the first thing they'd done as a team right after their big fight was take out that blank-eyed skank. He thought about her putting her damn hands on Sam and it made him feel sick and seethe with rage. She had no right to touch him, absolutely no fucking right.
Sam looked up from the page, feeling surprised and a little confused. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought that Dean was actually jealous over him being with Ruby. Weird. He looked back down at paper and kept reading.
"What's got you in such a good mood?" Sam asked as he set his again empty cup down on the desk.
Dean grinned and shrugged. "I don't know, I guess, well, I guess it feels nice is all." Sam raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "You know, you and me, on the road again, hunting things, working together. I guess, I don't know, man, I guess I'm still just getting used to it. It's good."
Sam smiled and stared down absently at his empty cup, before setting it back down on the desk. "Yeah, I like this, too."
Dean picked up their glasses with one hand and the bottle of whiskey with the other and made his way to his bed with Sam following behind him. He set the cups and the bottle down on the nightstand and sat down, feeling the mattress springs groan beneath him. Sam sat down on his own bed. Dean poured them both a third shot, then lifted his glass and shot it back and out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam do the same.
Dean laughed and said, "hey, remember when I put itching powder in your shorts that one time?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Dude, that was so not cool!"
Dean laughed and poured them both another shot. "Yeah, well, it was no picnic having to pry off that beer bottle you super glued to my hand, either. Man, I couldn't jack off for a week!"
Sam threw his head back and laughed out loud. "I remember doing that! You had it coming after the itching powder thing, though." He took his shot and found that it no longer burned quite as badly as before.
"Yeah, maybe. Thank God those douchebags came along and helped us put an end to that prank war before it got too outta hand."
"What, the guys who nearly got us killed? Twice?"
"Come on, you gotta admit, making them drive out to California for no reason with a dead fish in their backseat was some pretty good payback! Well, at least for the first time they almost got us killed, anyway."
They sat like that for a while, drinking, laughing and reminiscing. A few hours later, Dean drank another cup of whiskey, no longer bothering to try measuring out a shot, then lifted the bottle and sloshed around what little was left at the bottom.
"Well, this one's just about done."
Sam, who had been sitting on his bed looking deep in thought and absently biting his lip, turned to his brother and held out his hand. "Here, I'll finish it."
Dean handed him the bottle and then went back to the dresser where he had a bottle of tequila waiting. He drank some of the tequila and then they moved on to a six-pack they had in the fridge. As they sat on their beds and drank their beers, the room became quiet for a moment and Sam's face went from thoughtful to brooding and pensive. He sat still for several minutes, looking increasingly moody, before he finally spoke.
"Dean, I'm sorry."
Dean looked over at his brother, surprised. "What for?"
Sam looked down at the floor, shamefaced. "For everything."
Dean nodded. "Well, that's specific."
Sam looked up and Dean saw the sorrow and pain in his eyes that sometimes came out with such ferocity when he was drunk. "The way you looked at me earlier tonight, you were proud of me."
Dean grinned at Sam happily and shifted his weight a little towards him. "Of course I was, Sammy. You really saved my ass back there."
A few silent tears began to run down Sam's face and he looked at him pleadingly. "Dean, don't."
"Don't what?" He wasn't quite sure where Sam was going with this.
"Don't call me Sammy. I'm not Sammy, I don't deserve…"
Oh. Sam's speech was slurred but fairly coherent and laced with overwhelming pain and it hurt for Dean to hear. Dean scooted forward on his bed and leaned in forward, resting his forearms on his knees so that he was only inches away from his brother. "Hey, hey, Sam, don't talk like that. How can you say that?"
"How can't I? I see the way you've been looking at me lately, Hell, for years even, like I'm some sideshow freak! And it used to make me angry, but now," he paused and looked down for a moment and when he spoke again his voice cracked, like he was barely keeping it together. "Now I know it's true."
Shit. Well, it would figure he'd bring that up. He'd been dealing with those feelings of shame and self-hatred over what he'd done for months now and had just been avoiding talking about it to Dean. After all, what was Dean going to say? That it was alright? It wasn't, and they both knew that. That it wasn't his fault? It was, and it was only recently that Dean had stopped reminding him of it. That he would stick by him? Of course he was sticking by him; he had to or else Sam was going to go out and do the most monstrous thing yet; say yes to Lucifer and end the world. God, he hoped he didn't bring up the fact that he was still craving demon blood. This, right here, was one of the reasons why he didn't get drunk very often; he almost inevitably ended up talking about his feelings.
Dean flinched. Over the years, he had been scared for Sam because of his powers, and then later he was scared of Sam when they had started to change him, but he never meant to treat him like a freak. Okay, maybe he'd thought it, sure, but it never changed the way he really felt about his brother. The man sitting in front of him was his Sammy, his baby brother, his best friend, his partner, his…Hell, his everything, and, after everything they'd been through, nothing was ever going to change that.
"You're not a freak, okay? You didn't ask for what that yellow-eyed son of a bitch did to you."
"Yeah, well, I played right into his game, didn't I? I did everything he wanted, and Lilith, and Ruby too." He disdainfully spat Ruby's name, and it made Dean wish she was alive again just so he could kill her for a second time.
"It doesn't matter, Sam. I already told you, we make a mess, we'll clean it up. We'll fix it, together."
Sam, the ever-emotional drunk, suddenly exploded with anger. "No Dean!" He pointed vehemently to himself, "I made the mess! I mean, Ruby? Drinking demon blood? What the Hell was I thinking? And then right before I popped Lucifer from his cage, I left you and, god, I choked you! I…" he let out a little snivel. "And I still crave the blood. Sometimes it just drives me crazy; I can't get the thought of drinking blood out of my head. You were right; I'm a monster, a vampire, and you should have just killed me like you were going to."
Huh? Dean knew he'd said a lot of hurtful things to Sam in the past, but, even in his clearly inebriated state, he was pretty sure he'd never said that. His mind was spinning from the alcohol, but he was also beginning to feel lack of inhibition, and that was rather freeing. "You listen to me, Sam. I never said you were a monster. And I don't care if you burn this entire world to the ground, I will never kill you. I mean it; I'd rather die first. And I don't give a crap if that's selfish; I will never live without you"
"But you're voicemail – I –" Dean looked confusedly at him and Sam began to trip horribly over his words. "Right before – I was outside the, the monastery, with…" he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to put his thoughts in order, "and I was trying to decide what to do – the demon blood was making me evil," he clenched his teeth, "I could feel it, you know, burning inside me, poisoning me, and I thought – I thought that maybe you were right, that maybe I should find you so we could kill Lilith together. But then I got…" Sam's voice cracked and broke off. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and streaky, silent tears rolled down his face. "I got your message, and when I heard you say you were done trying to save me, that's when I knew you didn't, that you couldn't…love me anymore, so I thought I'd save you the trouble. I thought – thought icing Lilith would kill me and then she'd be dead and you wouldn't have to…I mean, something good could come out of it…"
Sam flinched and shrank a little in his seat. Now Dean knew about the demon blood cravings. Great. Given how drunk he was that night though, he was actually amazed and a little proud of himself that he was as lucid and coherent as he apparently was. He had already known that, even stinking drunk, Dean could usually hold a fairly coherent conversation, but Sam had never guessed that, at a point like this, he would be capable of much more than spluttering a few drunken, broken, sentence fragments. As he was reading though everything that he said that night though, it felt kind of like he'd been given the gift of a curse that he was able to be so coherent at a time when he was also so incredibly drunk.
Dean's face turned to a mask of sheer fury. He got up from the bed, wanting desperately to shoot something. Instead, he walked to the front door and punched the wall beside it.
"Damn it! Those angel dicks! It's no wonder…that's what he meant when he said…oh, when I get my hands on him, I'm going to dunk that bastard in holy oil and roast him on a spit!"
Sam sat watching his brother as he seemingly babbled incoherently. "What?"
"I never said that, Sam! They – the angels, Zachariah – they changed the message so you would think that and then go and spring Lucifer from his cage."
Sam walked up to him and looked him in the eyes. "Tell me you never said it."
He stared at him about as intensely as he could. "I never said it. You're my brother. You're my Sammy. That'll never change."
Sam's lower lip trembled slightly as tears began running down his face anew. He reached up and cupped Dean's face in his hands, lightly stroking Dean's his chin. "Thank you, Dean, thank you."
Something was wrong; they were too close. Sam's face kept moving closer to Dean's; his fingers were caressing him too much. Dean felt an excitement in his belly at what was happening, but he didn't fully understand why. This had happened before, Sam touching his face, moving in close, and he'd stopped it as soon as he'd felt this same arousal. This time though, he stood still, stomach clenched and lips slightly parted. Then Sam closed the distance between them and tenderly kissed Dean on the mouth. His lips touched Dean's lightly and experimentally, moving slowly against Dean's mouth, as if waiting to see how Dean would respond. Dean had a couple of fuzzy thoughts in his head about "wrong" and something about awkwardness the next morning, but when he felt Sam's lips stop moving Dean picked up the kiss, amazed at how good and right it all felt.
When Sam felt him kissing back, he immediately deepened the kiss, moving his lips more forcefully and running his tongue against Dean's lower lip. Dean moaned into Sam's mouth and opened wider, letting Sam's tongue slide into his mouth. Their tongues met, caressing each other, and Sam inhaled sharply and pushed Dean against the wall, fully assaulting his mouth with wet, hot, deep kisses. Dean felt himself growing hard. He broke the kiss, breathing heavier than before, and Sam moved his mouth down to Dean's neck, licking and sucking the spot just below his ear.
"God, Sammy, oh god, we, mmm, fuck yeah, no, wait, mmm, we should stop."
Sam pulled his mouth away from Dean's neck and moved so that his face was mere inches from Dean's, his face serious, his clearly lust-blown eyes intensely staring at him. His hands were caressing Dean's face, running themselves through his short locks, fingertips gently caressing his neck. "Do you want to stop?" His tone sounded earnest, as if he was asking an honest question, even if the lust in his eyes and the travelling of his hands were refusing to obey the seeming seriousness with which he was treating the question. Dean felt Sam's breath ghost across his lips as he spoke and it sent a pleasant shiver through his body. Sam moved even closer and their lips were now lightly touching. "We can stop if you want to, Dean." He kissed Dean on the side of his mouth. "Tell me you want to stop."
Dean growled in arousal and, ignoring his brain's half-formed objections, he grabbed Sam by the back of the head and mashed their lips together in a hard, passionate kiss. God, he never thought doing this with Sam would feel so unbelievably good, so hot, so damn perfect. Sam's kiss became needier, deeper, almost frantic, as he once again shoved Dean hard against the wall, his mouth nearly crushing Dean's, his tongue sliding all over Dean's mouth. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's shoulders, running his hands through Sam's long, soft locks as he kissed him back just as hard, lightly biting his lips and moaning into his mouth.
Sam pulled away and moved his mouth down to the front of Dean's neck, lightly sucking his Adam's apple. Dean felt Sam's shaking hands on the front of his button-down over-shirt, clumsily trying to undo the first button. After a few seconds, Sam took his mouth away from Dean's neck altogether so he could look down at what he was doing. Dean neither helped him nor made any attempts to stop him. God, he wanted this so badly; he was fully hard now, his jeans feeling painfully tight against his erection. But he kept getting the feeling that this was something he shouldn't want, no matter how good or right it felt.
"Do you want this, Dean?" Sam had finally gotten the first button undone and was now clumsily working his fingers on the second. He grabbed the neck of Dean's t-shirt and stretched it, displaying his collarbone, which he licked and then lightly ran his teeth over. Dean moaned and he felt his body shiver. "Tell me right now if you want to do this."
Dean was no longer sure if Sam was asking the question to ensure his full consent or if it was because it was some kind of turn-on for him to hear the words, but then Sam sucked and bit the juncture where his neck met his shoulder and he heard his own rough and throaty voice say, "yes!" Dean's heart fluttered in excitement and nervousness. He was beginning to wonder if he was really just having one of his many sex dreams about Sam and that any second now he was going to wake up in his bed, painfully hard and having to jerk off with Sam sleeping just a few feet away before he could get to sleep again.
Sam looked up from the manuscript with his eyes and mouth wide open in shock and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Reading about himself and Dean touching each other like this was making him uncomfortably hard. Also, Dean had sex dreams about him? That was… incredibly sexy. He wondered what Dean dreamed about when he thought about him in that way. Was it always like the scene he was reading in Chuck's story? He turned his head and stared at his brother. Dean's face and neck were both crimson and he was still purposefully staring down at the paper as if he would be shot if he looked away. After a couple of seconds he saw Dean's eyes shift slightly towards him. He coughed and cleared his throat, then leaned over and turned the car's tape player back on. "Coming Under Fire" filled the car and Dean once again stared determinedly at his paper, refusing to make any more movement.
Sam gave Dean's neck one last kiss and then he pulled away and rested his forehead against Dean's, breathing hard through his mouth. Dean felt Sam's breath on his face; it smelled of whiskey.
"Me too." He moved his hands back to the buttons of his shirt, moving a little more quickly than before to get them undone. "God, Dean, I've wanted this for so long."
Wow. For years, he had never even been able to admit it to himself, even if in some dark recess of his mind he had known this whole time about his weird, more than brotherly feelings towards Dean. Without a sober Dean to stop him from talking and put him to bed, the things he was able to say and do were surprising him.
Sam removed Dean's button-down shirt and tossed it on the floor then moved his hands to his own buttons and began to shakily undo them. Dean put his hand over his, leaned forward and gave Sam a quick, reassuring kiss on the lips, then began undoing Sam's shirt buttons himself. After he undid the last button, he slid his hands around Sam's hips. His warm fingers glided slowly over the waistband of Sam's jeans, fingertips just barely touching the smooth skin underneath. He moved his hands first backwards, feeling where Sam's hipbones met his ass, and then forwards, feeling the hipbones and the muscular V on Sam's hips that dipped down to places still unknown to him. When he reached the front of his jeans, he moved his hands upwards underneath the shirt, stroking the hard ridges of his stomach. Then he moved south, sliding down Sam's front until he felt the large, hot, hard bulge underneath Sam's jeans. He rubbed his palm up and down against the hard length. Sam let his head fall back a little, closed his eyes, and moaned, and Christ if that didn't turn him on even more. He began rubbing him a little faster.
"Christ, Sam."
"Oh God," he whispered, "touch me, Dean."
Dean very readily unzipped Sam's jeans, reached in, and gripped Sam's thick, hard shaft through his boxers, moving his hand back and forth and building friction through the thin layer of cotton. He looked at Sam's face as he jerked him, watching his expressions of pleasure that played on his features at what Dean was doing to him. Sam bit his lip and Dean grabbed the back of Sam's head with his free hand and pulled him towards him. He licked the spot on Sam's lips where he had bitten and then brought their mouths together in a slow, sensual kiss. Sam wrapped his arms around him and Dean felt him tugging at his body. After a second, he realized that Sam was trying to bring the two of them over to the bed. Dean felt himself swaying slightly as he stood and with his first step he tripped over his own feet and nearly fell over. After that, he was pretty sure that if they didn't separate to make the trip over to the bed that it was going to result in some serious physical injury. He took his hand out of Sam's pants and pulled away.
Sam looked at Dean, shamefaced and stunned. "You don't want…" His voice trailed off.
Dean looked at his brother; hair messed from his fingers, lips red and swollen, over-shirt unbuttoned, fly undone with white cotton boxers poking out from the hole. He looked even hotter than anything Dean had ever seen in his dreams. Dean began wrestling with his boots, fighting to get them off.
"Are you fucking kidding me, Sam? You're a goddamned walking, talking wet dream." Sam blushed and looked down, hiding his face behind his hair. Dean finally managed to get off his boots and threw them across the room. He stepped into Sam and slid his hands underneath his over-shirt, pushing it back and letting it fall to the floor. "Don't be embarrassed, Sammy."
Wrapping his arms around Sam, Dean trailed his fingertips down Sam's back, feeling the hard muscles underneath his clothes. He tugged at the bottom hem of Sam's t-shirt and pulled it up over his stomach. Sam lifted his arms and helped him take it off and then Dean removed his own t-shirt. Sam eyed him for a moment and then reached out and ran his fingers over Dean's tattoo.
"I love that you have this, that we share this," he said, looking fondly at the place his fingers were tracing.
He moved in, dipped his head down slightly, and ran his tongue along Dean's tattoo, moving it in a wide circle around the outline of the sun at the outer edge.
Dean moaned. "Oh, fuck. On the bed now, Sam."
Sam smirked and backed up towards the bed, stumbling several times on the way. Once his calves hit the bedframe, he fell down on his back and then propped up on his elbows with an expression on his face that was just practically begging Dean to touch him. Dean unbuttoned and unzipped is own jeans, then hastily pushed them to the floor and stepped out of them. He quickly threw off his socks and strode over to Sam where he lay watching him, and stood at the foot of the bed where he removed Sam's boots and socks. From there, he climbed on the bed and on top of Sam, relishing the way his body slid up Sam's, his eyes enjoying every inch of his body along the way. When his entire body was finally hovering over his and his eyes were looking directly at Sam's face, he saw trust, love, and lust in his brother's eyes and it touched and aroused him simultaneously. He peppered Sam with kisses on his mouth, cheeks, nose, forehead, and chin.
"God, look at you." He moved his lips down to his neck and Sam turned his head to allow him more access. Dean laid a trail of open-mouthed, wet kisses down the length of the left side of Sam's neck, lingering for a moment on each spot where his lips touched. Nothing would compare to the taste of Sam's skin. It tasted of salt, cheap soap, and still a hint of gunpowder from their last hunt. It was perfectly… home. "You are so fucking…" he got down to the bottom of his neck and unexpectedly bit down on Sam's collarbone, then licked the mark and sucked hard and Sam let out a loud moan. "…Sexy," he finished.
Sam grabbed Dean's ass and brought his body down on him hard. Still clenching Dean's ass, he pushed their pelvises together and began rubbing himself against Dean's crotch, looking for friction between their bodies. Granting Sam his wish, Dean rubbed his rock-hard erection against Sam's, feeling himself get impossibly harder at hearing Sam's moans and quiet pants. He leaned his face in and tenderly kissed Sam on the mouth, enjoying the slow, sensual feeling of their lips sliding against each other. After a few moments, Sam moved his hands from Dean's ass and brought them up to his chest, pushing on it lightly. Dean lifted his upper half off of Sam, stopped dry-humping him, and looked into his eyes questioningly.
Sam looked nervous and determined. "Dean."
"Yeah?"
Sam wrapped his arms around him and began to run his hands up and down Dean's back, lightly caressing it. Dean smiled, glad that Sam wasn't giving him the signal to stop, and began rubbing their cocks together again. "God, Dean, mm, that feels so good!" Sam threw his head back and shut his eyes. Dean watched his face, feeling happy and highly aroused that he could bring Sam pleasure like this. After a minute, Sam opened his eyes and looked at Dean. "I want – I want you to…" he blushed and shifted his eyes away.
Dean smirked, completely smitten with Sam's shyness and embarrassment. He probably wanted him to suck his dick. He thought about it for a moment and decided that he wanted to try it. He'd done it a lot in his dreams about Sam, and in them he always enjoyed doing it. But first he wanted to hear Sam say that he wanted it.
"What do you want, Sam?" He nuzzled Sam's neck. "You know I'd give you anything." He laid a closed-mouthed kiss on Sam's neck at the pulse point. "Anything you wanted."
"Fuck me."
Sam said it almost as a whisper, and it was such a shock that it took Dean a second to fully take in what Sam had just said. "What?"
Sam looked so vulnerable as he stared up at him, so broken and burning up with need. "I want you to fuck me."
Dean's stomach twisted excitedly as he thought of himself buried inside of Sam. He'd thought of doing that to Sam, too. Dean preferred to be the bottom in his dreams, but he definitely wasn't opposed to the idea of it being the other way around. He looked down at his brother. Sam was lying underneath him, skin flushed, rock hard, looking like the sexiest thing he'd ever seen, and in that moment he realized that he'd always wanted this moment with Sam, wanted him laid out like this underneath him, begging him, wanting him. But it was more than he ever thought he'd do, even in this moment with their hot mouths and hands all over each other.
Sam looked at him pleadingly. "Please, Dean. I feel so unlovable, so disgusting."
Dean gave Sam a quick kiss on the mouth. "You're not."
"The things I did, what I heard you say…"
"I never said those things and you'll always be my Sammy no matter what you do."
"Show me. Fuck me."
Dean nodded and looked seriously into Sam's face. "Okay," he whispered in his deep, whiskey-scratched voice.
Sam stopped reading for a moment and then shifted his eyes back up a couple of paragraphs and re-read a part of one sentence three more times; he'd always wanted this moment with Sam, wanted him laid out like this underneath him, begging him, wanting him. He hadn't forced Dean into this and it hadn't been a one-time, confused, drunken mistake. They were both so plastered that they didn't remember it the next day, but the act they performed together was purposeful and wanted on both sides. Dean wanted him and always had. He looked over at Dean, who looked like he couldn't get any redder now as his eyes continued to move left to right down the page. Sam put his copy of the manuscript on the dashboard, leapt over the seat onto Dean, straddling him in a mere matter of seconds, and caught Dean's lips in a fiercely hard kiss.
16
