A/N:
So, you know, this chapter is mostly "porn", but I say, they're MAKING LOVE (sweet, soft, tender love) … IF you don't want that kind of stuff, you better skip the cursive part ?
I've named this chapter differently before, but then I figured I'd give away what's going to happen at the end of it ^^
THE FINAL CHAPTER or SHIT IS GOING TO HIT THE FANIt's been one hell of a ride.
But Sam was safe now. Dean was safe.
Sure, both were exhausted from what had went down in the younger man's mind the day before, but other than that they were fine. Just fine. And for the very first time in the past two months, they were really together again.
Neither of them had brought up debouching subjects, which could've led to arguing or them not feeling united again. Neither of them wanted to draw a rift, which they may were not able to overpass in the future.
Though, both men were having their thoughts, topics that were ghosting through their heads at some point. Questions for each other, which had to wait until they felt healed enough to talk about them.
~ GRAPHIC CONTENT ~
Dean lay sprawled out on his bed under the covers, content and sated and just happy. Things may or may not would resolve and go back to where they had been before, or they wouldn't.
Time would tell.
For now, Dean Winchester didn't want to think about that. – About anything. And just rely on the trust Sam was having into him right now. Rely on that everything would turn out in a good way for the both of them.
So yeah, Dean Winchester was content and happy and blissful.
He got torn out from his thoughts, when the bathroom-door squeaked open. Dean opened his eyes to the bright light of day which filled the room tenderly and looked over to where Sam was emerging from the bathroom. His hair damp, towel tightly wrapped around his waist, bare feet patting against the wooden floor.
Dean gaze darkened though, and his face fell, when his look caught on the cuts hidden behind thick white bandages and tape. But the hunter knew what lay hidden underneath them. He knew that this would become a steady reminder of his failure and stay some for - what he called - betrayal after all. No matter if Sam had forgiven him, or not.
Because he couldn't forgive himself. He would never.
Shoving those rather uncomfortable thoughts aside, and not wanting to ruin the mood, he forced himself to smile.
Sam stopped on his side of the bed and stretched his long body, flinching at the obviously tearing sensation as he felt the stitches in his soft flesh and skin tug and pull and scratch along the inside of the bandage.
Dean pulled the covers aside and gave Sam an inviting look when his man seemed to hesitate.
Sam gave him a soft smile, though the exhaustion and the emotion of still feeling drained, written all over his face.
He didn't have to be asked twice at the opportunity to crawl back under the covers and lay alongside his partner.
Sam untangled the towel from his hips and it slid to the ground.
He was wearing nothing. Nothing at all.
Neither did Dean – and though – it somehow felt foreign to the both of them.
As if they were seeing each other for the first time all over again.
Once settled, he wrapped himself around Dean with his incredibly long limps and tugged the man closer, head resting on his chest, one flat palm spread over his stomach.
Dean tugged the younger man's head under his chin and buried his fingers in his long hair, massaging his scalp tenderly, causing Sam to make those incredibly soft moans he loved so much.
Oh, how Dean had missed this. Being together with Sam in that way. Skin to skin, without clothes in between, without borders that threatened to tear them apart.
"You good?" Dean's voice was all soft and husky and low and just so damn hot in that way, which let Sam squirm slightly.
"I'm good.", he whispered, his eyes closed, drowning in that feeling of being loved – cared for.
Those past months – though he had known that Dean was there and caring the living shit out of him – this was different. It felt different. Past then, everything had seemed like a dream. Sam had felt disconnected, not really belonging THERE and much lesser HERE.
He's been torn.
And now that feeling was gone. Ever since Dean had brought him back – bust him out from that prison of his mind – he felt whole again.
Sam inched closer, his front flush with Dean's side. He felt his man's stomach rise and fall against his palm with each inhale he took. Steady and strong. Now he was truly home again.
Sam's long finger's fluttered over his stomach, tender touches around his navel and tentative tries to go further to where he could feel soft pubic hair. Asking if this was okay – if he was allowed to go there – if Dean would want that too.
"Are you sure, Sammy?", he asked, his voice – despite the yet not intimate touches – dripping with arousal.
Sam didn't say a word. Instead, he traced his flat palm along Dean's hip-bone, downwards, featherlight touches against soft skin until they found their destination (which wasn't hard to find anyway).
Sam traced his fingertip along the thick pulsating vein on Dean's hardened flesh. Ghosting up and down, feeling velvet-soft skin beneath them.
A long-drawn soft moan fell from Dean's lips, when Sam's hand wrapped around his manhood in a barely-there grip, stroking him, Dean pushing up into his fist for more friction.
Sam knew exactly how to push the hunter's buttons. Not because it once had been his job. Not because he felt like he owed him. But because he loved him. He wanted him to feel good, to make him feel the way he felt whenever Dean would touch him that way.
As if he was the most precious gift in the whole damn fucking world.
"Wait.", Dean said breathlessly, his skin already flushed, his pupils dilated with arousal and want and all the other good feelings he wanted – NEEDED – to share with Sam.
The younger man stilled and propped up on his elbow, not letting go of Dean, looking at him questioning.
Dean shifted and lifted himself from the bed, just enough to climb over Sam, straddle him beneath him. Their looks locked. He then leaned down, his hands pushing into the left and right sides of Sam's pillow and kissed him.
Only tender brushes of air against his lips at first. Soft cushions of flesh covering more dry, thinner ones. A tongue darting out, tracing them, making them wet and slick and asking. Asking if he was allowed to, if Sam would open up for him.
Sam did. He always would.
Dean lowered himself down until their chests were flush against each other's, though he kept most of his weight on his hands, so not to irritate the bandaged area on Sam's chest. He ground his hips down against Sam's, feeling their swollen manhoods rub along each other's in the process.
Dean snug his left arm between the pillow and Sam's neck, one hand still supporting his weight until he had found the right angle. Once there where he wanted himself to be, he shifted his weight on his left arm, so that he had room to sneak with his other one in between the both of them.
With a tight grip, he lined their aching cocks up against each other, savoring the incredible feels the movement caused as they vibrated through them.
Sam's answer was a surprised sound followed by row of sweet and low noises.
They kept on kissing, never falling apart.
Sam's hands rested on the man's ribcage above him, one tracing down along scarred skin towards tender flexing globes of flesh. He thrust up into the strong hand holding them together.
"Dean.", Sam breathed into the kiss. His eyes huge and dark, a ray of colors flashing back at Dean.
"I know.", Dean answered, breathlessly, "We'll get there, baby boy."
Another two tugs, and Dean let go, about to climb off of Sam and towards the nightstand.
Sam stopped him with a hand to the older man's bicep and he shook his head. "We won't need it."
In Dean foggy mind, it took him a second to process what Sam was telling him. That he's gotten himself ready before, under the shower. That he's lubed himself up and that Dean wouldn't have to prepare him in any way.
Sam had planned this.
Dean's answer was a searing kiss and with a swift motion, Sam found him in between his legs and his butt propped up in Dean's lap.
Sam's eyes fluttered closed, like they always did when they were like that and when Dean was about to sink into him, taking away his doubts and fears and every kind of negative emotions he tended to harbor.
He let himself relax and being guided, and Dean loved that. He loved having Sam like this. He loved becoming one with the man beneath him in this way.
It wasn't like he was some sick'o, who got off on his partner being all vulnerable and submissive and shit. Though, he had to admit, when it was Sam – all sprawled out and a writhing mess beneath him – offering himself to Dean like a sacrifice, it was the greatest turn-on for the Winchester ever since he's had sex.
So, he lined himself up at Sam's entrance, feeling the tight ring of muscles work against his tip, feeling the slick fluid cover him, when Sam relaxed completely. And then he pushed – slow and steady, feeling how the younger man's body was giving in to him. – Only him.
Feeling like this was what he's hungered for so long, his entire life. Feeling as if this was what he had been searching for. To be one with him. With Sam. And with no-one else.
Sam's breaths were coming in short puffs now, relishing the feel of having Dean buried inside of him, their bodies connected – becoming one.
He moved his hips in a slow circle, telling Dean that he was ready. That he wanted this. (And that he was supposed to get it the fuck on now, because he was already loosing his shit already.)
Dean's hands laid over Sam's sharp hipbones as he began to move – ever so slow, drunken with arousal and the want to never let this end, to let them stay like this for eternity.
When they came apart with each other – FOR EACH OTHER, the world seemed to stay still for a long moment. A moment that was supposed to last a whole lifetime. A moment neither of them thought they'd have again.
~ END OF GRAPHIC CONTENT ~
One Week later … (THAT'S WHEN SHIT HITS THE FAN, FOLKS)
Bobby shook his head and a frustrated sigh fell from his lips. "We gotta talk, Dean.", he said, looking him square in the face with an expression that told Dean that he rather not wanted to know what Bobby had to say.
Not after Sam was okay again – or rather was going to be okay again very soon. Not after the Sam-Whumpage had found an end.
He and Sam needed some more time. Time to heal, to get their shit together. Time to spend quality-time without monsters, creatures, witches and demons. Without having something looming over them, threatening to crush them at any time.
So no, actually he didn't want to know what Bobby had to say. Not at all.
"Do you remember … That day when I got that call and went outside to pick up?", Bobby spoke up, a sour expression written all over his face – with a hint of guilt.
Dean cocked an eyebrow and answered with a long-drawn "Yeah".
"Ellen called me back then.", Bobby gestured towards the chair beside Dean. He took a deep inhale and held it for a moment. "You better sit down for this, son." His look said you-better-consider-my-suggestion.
Dean's left eye twitched. "You're scarin' me Bobby." He chuckled nervously. Yeah, old grumpy was scaring the living shit out of him right the fuck now, because Bobby Singer had never told him to sit down, before telling him whatever shit was going to come for him.
So – whatever this was – it had to be bad. REAL BAD. Like … real fucking bad.
Bobby did not argue with him. He didn't call him a princess. Or a moron. Or even an Idjit. – So, Robert Singer was about to tell him something he did not – under no circumstances – want to know.
Dean fumbled for the chair and sat down on in, his lips twitching.
"Ellen had news on Sam.", he said quietly and handed Dean the glass with whiskey. It was filled up close to the brim, so Dean had troubles not to spill it with his shaky hand when he took it from Bobby.
Well, that did not seem as bad. – News about Sam couldn't be bad, right? Right? RIGHT?
"Shouldn't Sam be around for this?", Dean asked, because this was about Sam, so Sam should be here having that talk with Bobby and not him. Though, something told him, that Bobby wanted to talk to him first – or tell him first.
Robert Singer sighed. "Maybe he should. – But I wanted to tell you first." His look told Dean, that the old man wasn't worried about how Sam would take the news. He was probably worried about how DEAN would be taking them.
The Winchester nodded pensively, eying the old man. He nodded at him, telling him to go on, to spill what was so bad that he wanted to tell Dean first and leave Sam out of it – for now.
"Dean. – There are fairly believable and proofed records about who gave him up to adoption.", he informed the young man, and waved at him to drink from the glass.
Dean nipped on it.
Bobby waved again, telling him without words that he'd need more alcohol to digest what he was about to hear.
Dean didn't usually have to be told twice, but now he was rather cautious and curious about what Bobby would tell him next.
"So far it doesn't sound that bad." Dean chuckled – he was tense. Sitting on the edge of his seat. "Spill, Bobby. Whatever it is. – I'm sure I can handle it." Dean put the glass aside, his face turning serious.
"You were supposed to have a little brother. – You remember?" Bobby asked, obviously trying to approach the topic carefully.
"He's been born dead." Dean nodded. He knew that. He's only been four years old, but he could remember. He could remember, that his mother – Mary – had been in hospital longer than she was supposed to be, and when she came home, there was no baby.
And his parents had been devasted after that. For a pretty long time.
A couple of months later, his mother died. Their house burnt down. John changed after that, and well yeah, the rest was crystal clear …
"What does that have to do with Sam?" Dean was truly irritated.
Bobby looked at Dean, giving him a once-over as if to make sure he truly could take what he had to give right now. He probably figured that due that short trip down memory lane, bells should be – at least – start to ring in Dean's head.
They so did not, because, maybe if they would have, it wouldn't have hit Dean like a freight train.
Bobby cleared his throat. "Dean. - Sam's your brother."
The End (for now) …
A/N: We've still got work to do …
We need to hunt down the guy who survived the warehouse in "PILOT"
Now that we know that they're brothers, we will have to learn why Mary gave Sam to Jody, and why Jody had been hiding him – specially from demons & hunters.
We have to resolve the issue with Dean carving his initials into Sam …
BUT: At the moment I'm working on "Souls of Decay", so it might take a while before I'll return to "Bruised Bloody Broken" for the next Sam-Whump…