It was over a month since John had driven Sam to college. Dean had stayed behind and gotten drunk. He had rarely been sober since. Every night that they were not on the road, his eldest son had gone out to a bar and ended up between the legs of a different woman, whether it be in her bed or behind the building.

John had more or less left him to it thinking he would soon snap out of the behaviour and get on with the job of hunting, which he knew the lad loved. But it was going on for far too long. Dean had not helped him once on a single hunt. He just slept the sleep of a wino next to him, making the Impala stink.

John had done much to try and help him, ranging from listening to him whine and moan out his loss, to throwing water over him as he lay comatose on the floor. He found himself having as many arguments with him now that Sam had gone than he had when the boy had first appeared on the scene.

Now, Dean sat, bleary eyed, across from him at the motel room table. They had given the house up the day after John had returned from California. There was no longer a need for it and Dean was not the only one to feel the emptiness.

He had had enough. Dean was no use nor ornament to him or himself like this. "For fucksakes, Dean. If you miss him that much, go see him."

"He doesn't want me going near him. He left me," sounding so sorry for himself, petulant and maudlin.

Looking over at the man who had not, to his recollection, been remotely sober for at least four days, John opened his mouth to say something he never would have believed possible. He had wanted Sam to go away, much as he had from the moment he had laid eyes on the boy, but this time he wanted him to be somewhere safe. To be away from Dean.

They were brothers after all, even if one did not know it. They should not be fucking each other but now that they were apart, Dean was practically in a constant drunken stupor. Worse, in fact, than in the days before he had miraculously found Sam.

He took a deep breath and told his eldest son, "The boy loves you. He left because he thought you didn't want him any more. That you don't love him."

"Bullshit! He didn't want me!"

"Fine! You don't believe me? Go ask him yourself. But you can not carry on like this. You might as well put a bullet in your head. But fucking sober up before you get behind the wheel. He definitely won't want you if you turn up stinking of booze and cheep sluts or wrap yourself around a damn tree!"

==000==

Sam found that he had to re read the last paragraph again and realised that there was a low, almost hesitant, knocking on his door. Throwing his pen down to mark his place and closing the book, he slowly stood trying to think who it could possibly be. He only had a couple of friends and they both tended to walk in before announcing their presence. Annoying as hell but he kind of liked the fact that he was comfortable enough not to get freaked out by it. It said a lot about how his life had changed.

He was not stupid. There were wards drawn around the doorway and salt across all the entrances but he felt comfortable and safe here. During the day. At night he locked himself in, the gun close at hand under his pillow. It had always been at night, when he was most vulnerable, that things had happened.

Now, he had a moment of hope halfway across the small room to the door, but squashed it immediately. That part of his life was over, no matter that he still thought of him daily, turned over in the night to find he was not there. So, curious, as he heard the low knock once more, he reached for the knob and opening the door looked up, a pleasant but neutral look on his face.

Dean was terrified. Terrified that when he answered, Sam would look at him with horror, or worse distain. He had waited for over an hour since he had watched him enter this room. He had been watching him all day. He was so beautiful and he looked content. Sam fitted in here, in the sun amongst the green lawns and red brick buildings.

Dean had been half expecting someone to call campus security on him. Hanging around, hiding so Sammy would not see him, he felt so out of place, so rough and common. He had ditched his leather jacket and dug out his brightest t-shirt, light grey, in an effort to fit in better. He had drawn some attention and left many a teenage girl and older, blushing at his wink and smile, and 'hey, how you doin'?'

He had seen Sam laughing, sat on one of those lawns, at something an equally tall, skinny blond kid had just said to him. He was glad, glad that he had friends but he was jealous too. This was a life so separate, so different to the one that they had shared. He just prayed that Sam was not 'involved' with the blond.

Looking up at him now, Dean felt his heart leap. "Dean!" and Sam threw himself at him, engulfing him in those arms, laughing delightedly as he dragged him into the room.

Sam had missed him so much, but now he was here, at his door, in his room, in his arms. Then he was kissing him, ignoring that the man no longer wanted him, no longer desired him like he had when he was younger. All he knew was that Dean was here and that Sam wanted him.

Dean found himself pushed back against the slammed door and Sam was on him, covering him, kissing him. A moment of wonder, Sam had never acted, wanted him like this. He had only ever let him fuck him before, never instigating anything, only giving what Dean would take from him. Now the younger man had him pinned to the door, his mouth crushing over his, his tongue invading his mouth, making Dean feel as if he was going to be consumed.

His hands, that were pushing at the slim waist, slid around and were suddenly hanging onto those newly, so broad shoulders as Sam ground his whole body against him and Dean just gave up. He gave up all his unease and worry, his regret and the false bravado he had plastered himself in as he had knocked so quietly on the worn door, half hoping that Sam would not answer.

His whole body went limp, supple in the boy's arms. He was still young to him despite his new found maturity and increased size. He always would be that beautiful boy that had captivated his heart. This Sam was just a newer version, with new and interesting angles to explore. And damn, he wanted to explore them.

Sam could not believe he was doing this. He had never demanded from Dean. He had always waited for the other to tell him, show him what he wanted. It was right. Dean had 'saved' him, had claimed him and he had been there for him, for whatever he had wanted from him. Until that was, he had stopped wanting.

But now, Sam wanted, he wanted this man who was miraculously here in his arms, pushing his body back against his. He was not willing to wait and be led. He needed him.

He broke off the kiss, moving his mouth over the smooth stubble free, he noticed, jaw. The man had shaved for him and it made him smile. He caught up an earlobe, kissing, sucking it before asking him, breathing hotly into his ear, "You're here. You've come for me?"

And all Dean could do was gasp out, "Yeah. Yes, Sammy. I have."

==000==

TBC...