May: Age 4
Dean bounced happily in the backseat as the Impala purred down the suburban streets of Lawrence Kansas. Taking in the familiar scene of houses, counting street lights as they passed. Knowing that he was precisely 4 houses away from home. The place where he would meet his new baby brother for the first time.
"Daddy, Can I hold the baby?" His tiny voice piped up nervously.
"Were you good for Mr. and Mrs. Holland?" John's gaze drifted up in the rear-view mirror. John already knew the answer. The Holland's had gone on and on about how Dean had been a perfect little angel for them the whole time Mary had been in the hospital.
"Uh-huh, I was Daddy, promise!"
"Well, I'll tell you what champ, if Mommy and the baby are awake when we get home you can hold him. But only for a minute." John watched in the rear-view mirror as his eldest son's face lit up with joy.
Dean had been over the moon ever since John and Mary had first told him they were going to have a baby. He'd placed his tiny hands on Mary's belly every day. Rubbing it as he talked to his unborn sibling about all the great adventures they were going to have together. Going on and on about teaching him to walk, throw a football, or how to know if a comic book was good just by looking at the cover.
When they'd pulled up in front of the house, Dean had sprung out of the car before John even had her in park, bounding up the stairs in excitement. John shook his head with a laugh as he pushed his key into the front door deadbolt. He gave it a turn, placed his hand on the knob before looking down at Dean.
"Now remember son, you gotta be quiet in case the baby is sleeping. When we go inside go wait in my chair in the living room. Got it?"
John gave his son a stern look, making sure he knew he was serious. Dean nodded, his face bearing a wide grin. John pushed the door open. Dean crept inside, careful not to make any noise. He sidestepped the floorboard that creaked as he moved to the old leather chair in the living room.
It seemed like a lifetime before his parents came into view. Mary moved towards him holding a tiny bundle of blankets. High pitched wails coming from the squirming blue bundle. She looked exhausted. He could hear his parents talking even though he didn't understand many of the words.
"God John, I just don't know about this one. Dean latched right off the bat. Sam's just not seeming to catch on. What if something is wrong? He just won't stop crying." Mary's voice was full of worry.
"Well honey just sit with him and Dean while I get what you've pumped into a bottle and maybe I can get him to drink it," John said as he kissed her forehead. When John left the room, Mary finally looked over at her oldest son.
"Mommy, I wanna hold him." Dean's arms were out ready to take on the responsibility.
Mary was bouncing the baby in her arms, trying in vain to soothe him. "Ok sweetie, remember what Mommy told you about his head?"
Dean nodded. Mary slowly placed the shrieking babe into Dean's arms. Making sure he cradled Sam's head just the way they'd told him to, Dean pushed the softness of the baby blanket away from where it had moved to cover the baby's face partially. Looking up at his mother with uncertainty as the shrill cries rose an octave.
Mary smiled at her son, "You got this. Remember what I taught you, sweetie."
That was all the reassurance Dean needed. He gently rocked the baby in his arms. "Hi baby boy, My name's Dean, and I'm your big brother." The moment the sound of Dean's voice drifted gently into the screaming baby's ears the crying stopped. Tiny little hazel eyes drifted open to stare at Dean's face. Not yet able to see clearly at 3 days old but taking it in all the same.
Dean smiled a silent victory over being the sole person able to stop his brother's cries. "I'm gonna take care of you, little brother. Forever and always."
John came into the room with a bottle of breast milk in hand. "Ok son, time to give him back to Mommy." He said as he reached out to take Sam from Dean.
"No John, give him the bottle." John opened his mouth as if to argue. He decided it best not to when Mary shot him a stern look of finality. He handed Dean the bottle after testing the temperature on his arm. From that moment on, Dean seemed to be the only one that could quiet his baby brother. From the very first time Dean ever held Sam in his arms, he knew that Sam belonged to him.
December: Age 8
John was leaving like he always did. Dean watched from the bathroom doorway of a run-down motel room as John moved about packing his bags with haste. The sounds of Sam's rendition of the Jaws theme behind him as his little brother played in the bathtub with a toy boat and shark.
"Dean, get your brother an' come here," John barked. The once loving father's face turned cold, empty.
"Sam's still playing," Dean protested.
John cocked his pistol before tucking it into the back of his jeans. "Now boy! Do what I say."
With a huff of defeat, Dean grabbed a towel from the rusted old shelf in the bathroom. He ignored John's remark about not asking for an attitude. He unfolded Sam's towel only to be met with a frown of disappointment from Sam. "Come on Sammy, don't make it hard on me. Just do what he says," Dean sighed. Sam pulled the drain plug out before stepping out of the tub.
Dean draped the towel and began drying the boy off. Ruffling it over his hair before wrapping it around Sam to cover his nakedness. The two of them stepping out into the room together. Dean pointed over to their bed before bending down to pick up Sam's pack to begin rummaging around for a pair of Spiderman pajamas.
The sound of John's boots stomped behind him just before he felt his father's hand cuff him hard in the back of the head. "Next time do what I say, boy. Don't give me no fuckin' lip." Dean smiled down at Sam's confused face. John didn't usually hit Dean in front of him. But all that didn't matter to Dean. He'd take whatever John dished out to him. As long as it meant he continued never to hit Sam.
"There's money on the counter for food. Lock the door, the windows, and watch out for Sammy," John barked before picking up his bag and slipping out of the motel room door. No word on how long he'd be this time. Dean sighed. At least Sam didn't know where their dad was going. What he hunted. That things really did go bump in the night, even though Dean promised Sam they didn't.
It didn't take long for Dean to get Sam dressed. Sam always did what Dean said, was always such a good boy for him. Dean was closing the cover of Green Eggs and Ham for the second time that night. He reached over to turn off the bedside lamp before snuggling under the blankets with Sam. Wrapping Sam in his arms in a protective hold. Sam was his, forever and always, and Dean would give him the world.
June: Age 13
Dean was walking past the register of a little mom n' pop owned store in Lincoln, Nebraska. A heavy backpack over his shoulder. Making sure not to make direct eye contact with the man behind the counter. Freezing in his tracks when he heard the old man's voice tell him to stop. He never understood why he didn't make a run for it.
"Come here, boy. I know you got something in your bag. Just show it to me," the old man said as he stepped around the counter. Dean turned to face him, his body shaking all over. He still wouldn't look the man in the eye as he let the bag slip from his shoulder. He knew the man was eyeing him in judgment. Taking in his worn-out old Converse, baggy jeans, and a faded shirt.
He unzipped the bag to reveal a loaf of bread, jars of peanut butter and grape jelly, and a two-liter of Coca-Cola. The old man kneeled down to be eye level with Dean. Bright green eyes were finally rising to meet the old man's set of ice blue. "What's that stuff for, son?" the old man asked, his tone easy going.
Dean shifted on his feet uncomfortably. "It's...for my little brother sir."
"Where are your parents' son?" the man asked as he rose to his feet, moving over to the counter. Dean didn't answer, he just couldn't, simply didn't know what to say. The old man was shuffling through some comic books on a rack beside the counter. He picked a small stack of them along with a few candy bars from the counter. Moving back to place them inside Dean's bag before zipping it closed. "What's your name son?"
Dean was blinking dumbfounded at the man, "Dean."
The old man smiled, giving Dean a gentle pat on the top of his greasy hair. "Well Dean, My name is Jerry. Come back tomorrow, and we can see what all we can fit in that bag for your little brother, okay?" Dean smiled wider than he ever had at the old man. Tears were running down his cheeks.
January: Age 16
Cassie rolled over in her bed to face Dean's back. She clutched the comforter to her naked chest. "Mmm, Dean, that was unbelievable," she sighed. Crawling out of the blankets to wrap her naked body around him as he pulled on one boot then the other.
"Cassie we need to talk," Dean groaned as she nibbled his ear. Sending shivers down his spine.
"Oh come on, don't start this shit again," she huffed. "There is no such thing as ghosts. Stop being crazy Dean."
He broke out of her grip. "I'm not crazy! And I'm not kidding! My Dad's back, and he's found a ghost. We're leaving tomorrow."
She stomped out of bed, pulling her robe over her, clutching it tightly. "You know, you're a great lay, Dean Winchester, but if you wanted to break up with me you didn't have to make up all this bullshit to do it!" she screamed at him.
"I'm not!" he yelled back.
"You know what Dean, just get out. I never want to see you again!" she spat the words out like venom.
Dean stood there stunned for a moment. He'd thought this girl could show him what it meant to love. She had said she was in love with him. Maybe that was just a trick to get him into bed with her. He'd known it all along. She wanted his body not his heart.
He caught his leather jacket one-handed when she'd launched it at him. Slipping it over his broad shoulders as he moved to her bedroom window. Keeping his face in shadow as he slipped out without a word.
He'd made the small jump down from her first-floor window with ease. He'd hit the ground running, only stopping when he slipped inside the automatic doors of a liquor store around the corner from the run-down house they were squatting in. He walked the aisles perusing the different bottles until the cashier turned his back to grab a pack of cigarettes for a man at the counter. He slid a slender bottle of bourbon into his inner coat pocket, slipping back out the doors before the cashier even noticed.
He was once again running down the block. Halting at the front door to the abandoned house. He tapped three times on a window on the side of the house. The window slid open, and Dean crawled inside. Sam was looking up at him with a wide-eyed grin. Dean breathed a sigh of relief, or maybe it was comfort. Either way, he knew it didn't matter as he squeezed back the hand that gripped his own. Numbly following as Sam led Dean to the small bed in Sam's room.
As Sam climbed in, pulling the blankets back, Dean shrugged out of his leather jacket. He pulled the bottle from the inner pocket. With a single twist, the cap was off. Dean pressed the cold glass of the bottle mouth to his bottom lip as he watched Sam dusting off the sheets where Dean was meant to lay. Dean wrapped his lips around the bottle, tilting it up to chug a significant amount of its contents. It burned a hot trail down his throat leaving him breathy as he set it down on the ground next to Sam's bed.
Dean pulled his tee shirt over his shoulders, letting it fall forgotten to the floor before crawling in under the blankets. He pulled Sam onto his chest. The small boy was nuzzling into Dean's chin. Dean placed a gentle kiss on Sam's forehead. He ruffled Sam's hair with his nose, breathing in the smell of green apple shampoo. Sam continued to nudge Dean's chin with his nose. Dean knew what it was that Sam wanted. He also knew they were getting too old for this. Dean tilted Sam's chin up further with his hand, pressing their lips together in a sweet, timid kiss.
Dean relaxed into the mattress. Surrounded by the sweet smell of Sam, the feel of Sam straddling his hips. The weight of Sam's small tender frame on top of Dean's tall, lean body. The soft brush of Sam's lips meeting his own. Sam was the first to pull away, leaning back from the kiss to meet Dean with sleep-dazed hazel eyes and a satisfied smile. The small boy was slinking down to lay spooning his big brother's side. With one final nuzzle of his head into the crook of Dean's shoulder for comfort Sam drifted off into a peaceful sleep.
Dean lay there flat on his back. The arm wrapped under and around Sam going numb. His fingers laced with Sam's started to tingle. The thoughts swirling in his mind were something he couldn't admit, even to himself. He ground his free palm into the crotch of his jeans. Cursing himself along with the feeling of friction against his erection.
He hated everything. He hated his father for exposing Sam to this shit life by leaving his journal where Sam could find it, for hitting him, drills, and wanting to beat Sam. He hated Cassie for failing him. For not being able to satisfy the animalistic desires that had sparked within him the first time they fucked. Cursed himself for wanting something he could genuinely never have. For his disgusting desire to defile the purest soul, he'd ever known. He sighed, he couldn't think of that.
Sam shifted in his sleep, bringing one leg up on top of Dean's hips. A thought crossed Dean's mind. Maybe it wasn't up to Cassie to teach him what love was supposed to be. Staring down at his little brother sleeping he realized he already knew what love was. Sam was love. Sam was everything right in the world. Maybe Sam was meant for Dean to love and women were meant to handle his fucked up sexual desires.
Dean grinned wide to himself. He'd figured out a way to give Sam his heart while keeping Sam's purity. A way to resist his sickness. He turned on his side, closed his eyes. Snuggled up to Sam as close as he could before pulling a blanket up over them. Dean slept a peaceful, dreamless sleep.
October: Age 17
Dean watched John stare blankly at the set of keys in his hand. He hesitated to say a word. Dad had said to get in the car yet now he had been standing there for way too long not moving. Sam was shivering in the back seat. Dean itched for the heat to be running almost as much as he itched to wrap his body around Sam's and warm him himself. He'd settle for the heater running.
He rolled the window down about 5 inches or so. "Dad come on if Sammy's teeth don't stop chattering I'm gonna lose my mind," he yelled out the crack in the window.
"Dean, come 'er," John barked, not looking up at his son.
Dean slammed the door behind him as he stepped out. Worry eating away at him. Dad was acting strangely. Something had to be horribly wrong. He pulled his colt out of the waistband of his jeans, cocking it as he ran over to John.
"Put the gun away, son." John's words were more of a barked order than he'd meant them to be. He held out the keys for Dean to grab.
"Want me to drive?" Dean asked.
"She's yours now son. Take good care of her." John smiled at him. He patted Dean on the shoulder as he stepped past him, opening Baby's passenger side door and climbing in.
Dean held the keys in his open palm. Tears were coming to his eyes.
July: Age 18
Sam sat down the milk crate full of fireworks on the ground of the field they stood in. Dean had hustled a couple of rich-bitch frat brothers out of some cash in a poker game at a local college bar near the Florida State University campus. He'd run straight back to the motel to get Sam. They ran to the closest fireworks stand blowing the cash on the best they could find. What kind of college students stayed home during the summer? Sam pulled two Roman Candles out of the crate. He turned to look up at Dean. "Got your lighter?" he asked.
"Fuck yeah, you know I do." Dean pulled his silver Zippo out of the pocket of Dad's old leather jacket.
"Fire 'em up!" Sam wore an excited grin, he handed Dean one of the fireworks. Dean struck the lighter before holding it first to Sam's than his own firework. When sparks roared out the ends, they held them up, watching with wide-eyed wonder as they rushed towards the sky to explode in bright colors. When they died out in a gust of smoke, Sam turned to Dean meeting his eyes with pure joy. "Dad would never let us do anything like this. Thanks, Dean, this is great." He wrapped his arms around Dean's waist. Squeezing him in a tight embrace.
When Sam finally let go Dean kneeled down until he was eye level with his little brother. "Tell you what, light 'em up, Sammy." He held the lighter out for Sam. From the expression on Sam's face, Dean didn't think life could ever get any better. Sam was practically buzzing as he took the lighter before running up lighting the fuses on each of the canon fireworks in the crate. Backing up to Dean's side once they were all sparking to life. Sam's hand slid into Dean's, lacing their fingers together as bright lights of every color exploded in the sky. Dazzling booms were sparking out and whirling around into the night.
May: Age 21
Dean placed a small plastic food container down on the motel table in front of where Sam sat in a dirty old chair. He popped it open to reveal a single slice of cake. "Happy birthday Sammy. Sorry Dad couldn't be here." Dean forced a smile so fake it did little to hide his frustration with John.
Sam leaned up in the chair, looking down at the cake then up at Dean's face. Dean was holding out a plastic fork. Sam took it with a gentle whisper of thanks. He plunged the fork into the cake cutting into it to come up with a single bite. The sugary sweet confection was moist in his mouth. He let out a pleased mmm sound. Dean's smile was finally turning genuine. Sam looked up from the cake to soak up Dean's warm smile. They stayed that way until Sam had finished the slice.
"Hey, Dean, do we have enough money for pizza?" Sam asked hopefully.
"You bet your sweet ass we do," Dean boomed with pride, running to the motel phone.
An hour later they lay sprawled out on Dean's bed, a large pizza box sitting between them, the TV blaring an old episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer. Dean spoke with his mouth full, a slice of pepperoni and cheese hanging out of his mouth. "I swear the Vamps in this show are the closest I've seen to the real thing."
Sam let out a sarcastic, "Wow." As if he were genuinely impressed. Dean smacked him playfully in the shoulder.
Dean laughed, his half eaten slice falling to the floor. "Ah, shit!" Dean spat. They both reached for the last piece of pizza. Their fingers were touching on top of it.
Sam pulled his hand out from under Dean's shyly. "Go on, you can have it, Dean."
"Wrestle you for it." Dean gave a wicked grin. He pounced on top of Sam tickling his sides. Sam fought Dean off as best he could. Struggling due to how much taller and bigger Dean was. They rolled around on the bed, knocking the pizza box onto the floor where it snapped shut. Until Sam gained the upper hand, straddling Dean's firm hips. He pinned Dean down onto the mattress, pressing his hands onto the broadness of Dean's shoulders.
Dean groaned at the feeling, resisting the urge to buck his hips up to grind against Sam's ass. He sighed, closing his eyes to fight back his disgusting urges. Trying to steady his breaths through slightly parted lips. Lips that suddenly felt warm as something pressed against them. He hissed in an excited breath. This was a dream, that's all. He was dreaming again that his sweet, beautiful Sammy was kissing him.
Sam's tongue slipped into Dean's mouth, seeking to explore. Dean's eyes flung open. Sam's frame was draped down over him. His little brother's body heat was filling him with intense hunger. He felt his cock twitch with sudden interest. It started to swell at an alarming rate, more eager than it had ever been before. He could feel it lengthening down the leg of his jeans. In a panicked lusty daze, he did the first thing he could think of. A hard smack sound echoed in his skull as his fist slammed into Sam's right cheek sending the boy flying off him, flailing to the ground.
Dean rose up off the bed so fast his head spun. Sam was staring at him with tearful eyes. He was clutching his softly swelling cheek. "Jesus Sam, what the fuck? You some kinda fucking faggot?" Dean barked at him. He marched to the front door, grabbing his keys and jacket on the way, slamming it shut behind him.
On the other side, he pressed his back against the cold wood, panting to catch his breath. His gut swelled with self-hatred. He heard Sam's timid voice croak out a sob, "I'm sorry don't leave...want you so bad," on the other side of the door. It was quiet, but Dean heard it so clearly. He almost turned around to go back inside. He knew he couldn't. If Dean did, there was no turning back. He wouldn't be able to cage the lusty beast inside him.
"Fuck!" he grumbled under his breath. His erection wasn't going anywhere soon. He walked over to where Baby was parked, head hung low. He'd find a bar to lose himself in a bottle. Then find a woman to bury himself inside, along with his filthy desires.
October: Age 21
Dean sat at the bar of some dump in Arizona. He turned the shot glass in his hand staring blankly at the whiskey inside, to lost in thought to down it. If Dean was being honest … shit was getting weird with Sam. They'd always been strangely close, that he would admit. But until Sam's last birthday Dean had thought himself a monster. Almost every bit as bad as the ones they hunted. A fucking freak because he wanted …
He pressed the lip of the shot glass to his bottom lip, tipped his head up and downed it. He motioned to the bartender for another. If he was finally going to admit it to himself, more liquor was needed. That he wanted to fuck his little brother. There, he'd finally admitted it. It didn't even matter that Sam was a guy. That Dean had no sexual feelings towards other men. It wasn't like he'd never fucked a girl's ass before. He knew how to do it properly, how to prepare. It's just … this was Sam. His baby brother, it was fucked up, and he knew it.
Now Sam was acting weird. Had Dean infected his pure sweet Sammy with whatever shit was wrong with him? Sam had kissed him millions of times. Sweet innocent shows of affection for a big brother, all that was changing since the night of Sam's seventeenth birthday. Now when Dean stumbled in piss drunk with a woman to fuck he knew Sam was watching. Sam had been watching them for a while, no longer hiding in motel bathrooms or the room Sam would claim for his own in abandoned homes they broke into. The last time Dean had seen him peering through the half-open bathroom door.
He bent the girl over the bed, shoving her face down into the mattress to keep her from seeing Sam. With expert skill, he undid the buckle of his pants, snapped the button of his jeans, pulled down the zipper before pulling his hard cock out, then buried himself to the hilt into her wetness. The way Sam's eyes stared at Dean's body turned him on. It was like Sam never even noticed the girl. Dean's eyes grew wider when Sam's hand plunged into his jeans. Dean groaned a guttural noise when Sam began jerking himself. He'd fucked the bitch like a savage until she was a raw drooling mess, excited and driven by the sight of Sam's teeth raking his plump bottom lip when Dean spat out the filthiest dirty talk his depraved brain could think of.
He silently cursed himself for the way he'd once again been a dick when he'd found Sam crying after. But the whole thing consumed his thoughts. It had started a fire inside him. Something he still couldn't get over. He ached to bury himself inside Sam. Slide his throbbing length down Sam's warm throat, or better yet bury it deep in his perfect little bubble cheeked ass. He groaned at the thought, pressing his palm into the crotch of his jeans. He gulped down the shot in his hand. He'd bet his Baby that virgin ass was the tightest fucking hole a man could pound. A shiver went down his spine as he slid the empty glass across the counter, emptying it again the second the bartender slid it back.
Dean's eyes shut tight as the whiskey burned his throat, sighing in his drunken haze. His hand was squeezing the hardness creeping its way down his thigh, making his jeans uncomfortably tight. God this was fucked. Sam wanted it, he had to. Sam had practically tongue fucked Dean on his birthday. He'd jerked off to Dean fucking that girl like a man possessed until his cum soaked the crotch of his pants. When they'd sleep together, Sam would pant as he ground his ass against Dean's crotch when he thought Dean was sleeping. Then when the morning sun began to rouse him, he'd rut his morning wood against Dean's leg. There was no doubting what Sam was after.
Dean stood from his bar stool covering his hard-on with his jacket. He threw a 20 on the counter before turning towards the door. Sam wanted Dean to fuck him, and Dean was going to prove it to himself. He was going to march himself into their motel room, throw Sam down on his bed and take him. Dean settled in behind the Impala's wheel. Fear was setting in to fill him with doubt. What if he was reading all of this wrong? There could be no chance Sam would ever return his feelings. He was just a freak. In love with his baby brother, a lustful monster that wanted something he could never have.
"I'm sorry don't leave...want you so bad." Sam's voice rang in his head.
He turned the key in the ignition, Baby's engine roaring to life. Her gentle purr was calming him. Sam's own privately spoken words were ending his inner struggle. Sam did want it, he'd unknowingly told him so. At that moment he knew there was no denying himself a second longer. Dean would stop at nothing until he was inside Sam, blowing his load in Sam's fucking guts if he had to. He wanted to fill Sam with his cum until it squelched out of him with each thrust. Wanted it to pour down Sam's leg when he pulled out. Whatever it took to mark his territory by leaving a piece of himself in Sam forever. Claiming him so that no matter who Sam fucked Dean would be there. Forever and always there.
Dean smirked wickedly. "Oh, baby boy. Big brother's gonna give it to you so fucking good." He promised himself. He'd bet Sam would scream while he was fucked. That he'd rock his hips into it. Not just lay there as women did. He sped down the road towards the motel. The excitement was rushing through him at the thought that finally, he'd be whole. Because ultimately he'd be able to put his heart and sex together and give everything to a person. The only person that ever meant anything to him.
July: Age 24
Dean woke from a fitful sleep. His back searing with pain from the deep cuts Sam's nails had left there. He could feel where the blood had begun to soak through the bandages Sam had wrapped around his torso. "Sammy wake up. Need you to change these bandages," he crooned in a raspy sleep-dazed voice. His hand was reaching over to stroke down Sam's shoulder, finding cold, empty sheets his eyes shot open. "Sammy?" He sat up looking around the room to find he was alone. He stood up out of bed, grunting as a sting of pain shot down his back. He dressed quickly in jeans and a plain black t-shirt. He walked out to the living room finding John passed out drunk in a recliner.
Dean shook his head in distaste at their father's state of being. He breathed out a steady sigh before moving to search the house for Sam. Panic set in when he didn't find Sam anywhere inside. Dean ran out onto the front porch, mossy green eyes scanning the yard. When he noticed John's, truck was parked next to the impala fear rooted deep in his stomach. Had the thing that got their mom attacked while he slept and taken off with Sam? The feeling that Sam was in danger gnawed at his gut.
"Sam!" he screamed out as he bolted barefoot down the porch steps. He stumbled forward cursing loudly at whatever he'd stepped on. Turning to look his face contorted into an emotion that could only be described as earth-shattering grief. He bent down to pick Sam's ring up off the bottom step. Tears threatened to fall as he turned away from the house to look across the yard again before settling on the silver band in his palm.
"He's gone." John's voice behind him caused him to jump slightly. "He don't want us anymore son. That boy has never been like us. Never cared about hunting the thing that took my ,Mary, from us." John was moving towards his truck to toss a duffle bag in through the passenger side.
Dean slid Sam's ring on to his pinky beside his own. "Good idea Dad, I'll be packed in just a second, and we can go find him." Dean turned, making it halfway up the stairs before John's voice froze him where he stood.
"We ain't looking for him boy. Don't you get it? He didn't want you anymore. He don't want this life." John's words were like venom worming its way to Dean's heart. Bringing a painful dread that would surely end him. "I'm headed to town to find out more about this werewolf. And you're headed to meet up with Bobby to take out a vamp nest. Come on now son, we got a job to do."
Dean could feel the last spark of life draining from inside him as he shoved his dirty clothes into his duffle bag. He could hear the rumble of John's truck as it peeled down the gravel driveway. Sam had been everything to him. Without him, Dean was empty of any happy emotion. Left only with the darkness of angry nothingness.
He'd loved Sam in every sense of the word. Loved him with his heart, his body, his soul. Now John was leaving him too. He had nothing. Dean was nothing. He'd continue to hunt because it was the only thing he had left. He floored Baby's gas pedal as he hit the highway towards Sioux Falls. No music was playing through her speakers to calm his broken heart.
March: Age 26
Dean woke in the early hours of morning. The dark of night still claiming the land. So many things had happened so fast since Dean picked Sam up from Palo Alto on Halloween night. They'd hunted monster after monster on Dad's trail, finally ending up back in Lawrence. Dean had vowed he'd never return here but couldn't resist Sam's pleading concern for the family living in their house. Still, at this moment with Sam laying naked snuggled tight in his arms, sleeping in peaceful post-coitus bliss, Dean couldn't be happier. For two years Dean had been an empty shell, a hollow man that was operating on autopilot fueled by alcohol and rage.
He'd taken orders from John over the phone, utterly alone since the day Sam left him. For two years it had been like clockwork; orders, driving, hunting, drinking, repeat. Since Sam was here things had been better. Now that he had once again felt Sam's touch everything was perfect. Dean had thought himself doomed. That he'd fade away hunting alone, his life ended by some creatures' teeth or claws. Maybe nobody would even know. Perhaps nobody would even find his body. All that was in the past now. Sam was back and was his once again.
Dean shifted himself on top of Sam, nibbling Sam's neck to rouse him. Sam groaned a sleepy complaint as Dean nuzzled the tip of his nose against Sam's. A playful giggle escaped Sam's throat as Dean pulled Sam's legs apart to place his hips between them. Dean held onto the backs of Sam's thighs as he loomed over him. Dean slid inside Sam with ease, his entrance still slick from their first round that night. Sam's head fell back into the pillow as he moaned, allowing Dean access to suck and kiss the tender flesh there as Dean's hips began to rotate. He thrust steady and sure, pouring his love into Sam with each movement.
March: Age 28
"Well, it's 12:04 Dean. You good? You happy?" Sam asked sarcastically.
"Yeah, I am happy!" Dean spat back.
"Let's go hunt the Morton House you said. It's our Grand Canyon." Sam's tone was mocking.
"Sam, I don't wanna hear this..." Dean said with his head bowed. He knew Sam had tried to talk him out of this. Yet he was ever stubborn, refusing to listen. Hunting and sex were the only things that kept his mind off his fear of hell.
"You got two months left, Dean." Sam's face was soft, full of emotion. His voice ached with sadness.
Dean didn't need to be reminded. It's not like he could forget. How could he when everything was spiraling out of control. Sam was showing definite signs of addiction to Regina's demon blood. He needed to drink from the canteen more often. The worst thing being Sam wasn't just having visions anymore. Now he could move objects with his mind, pin demons down by restricting their movements and god only knows what else. Dean hated it. It made him sick to his stomach. Like a part of Sam was changing into something he didn't recognize.
Sam's need to break Dean's demon deal and hunt down Lilith was becoming an obsession. Yet all Dean wanted to do was kill monsters and fuck Sam nonstop for the time he had left. It was all he could do not to pin Sam against the wall behind him and rip his jeans from his body. Dean wanted to lift Sam up, wrap Sam's legs around him, bury himself balls deep inside of Sam. He knew he could arch Sam to just the right angle where he could find his prostate on the first thrust. Dean wanted to fuck Sam so hard he'd be left a drooling cum covered mess. He wanted to rut against Sam until their bodies were flush. As if they were molded into one single being. The way they should be. The way they were born to be.
No doubt Sam was still slick with lube from where Dean had done just that before they came here. Dean let out a soft groan at the image he pictured of his cum still running down Sam's leg under his jeans. Dean shook his head at his own thoughts. He'd just had Sam less than an hour before yet here he was wanting more. He knew he couldn't. For one they were in great danger. Two, these kids with their fucking cameras were staring right at them. He silently cursed to himself at the missed opportunity.
Dean's thoughts came to a halt at the sound of Sam smashing a chair against the boarded-up window of the front door to the house. He raised his arm to protect his face as splinters of wood flew around the room. The Ghostfacers were beginning to scream and yell around them. Dean rolled his eyes at them.
April: Age 28
The Impala roared down the highway on a warm April night. Sam was curled up on the front bench seat with his head in Dean's lap, attempting to calm himself after his near-death experience with the mad alchemist doctor. Dean gripped the steering wheel tight as he listened to the dial tone coming from his phone. When someone picked up on the other end of the line, he didn't wait for a hello.
"Hiya Bela, here's a fun fact you may not know. I felt your hand in my pocket when you swiped that motel receipt." Dean's voice bore darkness.
"You don't understand." She pleaded with him. For a moment Dean felt regret though it faded fast at the memories of what she'd put them through, what she'd done. A deed Dean realized he could never forgive when Sam's hand squeezed his inner thigh. How could she do it? He'd never understand.
"Oh, I'm pretty sure I understand perfectly. See I noticed something interesting in your hotel room. Something tucked above the door?" He paused for a moment. "An herb, Devil's Shoestring?" He paused once more as the memory replayed itself to him.
Bela stepped through the door of her dark hotel room, turning to push the key into the deadbolt to lock it behind her. Large hands grabbed her in a firm grip, spinning her around before slamming her against the door. The attacker's strong hands gripped the front of her blouse with overwhelming aggression. Her eyes not having time to adjust to the dark couldn't make out his face.
"Where's the colt?" he snarled at her. His voice a smoldering rich bass, dark and heavy like molasses yet thick and sexy like the sweetest of honey. A voice she would have loved to know the sound of its moans as its owner lost himself in pleasure. That is if only she hadn't recognized who it belonged to.
"Dean," she said in a sharp tone. Smirking at him as she briefly imagined what his face would look like if he were sprawled out beneath her while she rode him. Everything about him from the hard set of his sculpted jawline, devilish good looks, broad shoulders, muscled thighs, the impressive bulge in his jeans, all the way down to his bow-legged stance assured her he was an exquisite lover. It was sad really, all the things he'd never know, she thought. In truth, she'd gladly have bedded both of the Winchester brothers if they weren't already screwing each other. "Tell me have you ever known a woman's touch? Or are you so sick it only gets hard for your brother?"
Dean's upper lip rose into a grimace of disgust. "No extra words." His tone was harshly finite.
"It's long gone," she sighed, "across the world by now."
"You're lying," he growled.
"Call the buyer, speak Farsi?" she asked sarcastically. He jerked her towards him causing her to gasp. She could feel his left-hand move down to her waist. She gasped, weakly beating her fists against his chest as best she could in the small space between them. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she yelled.
"Don't flatter yourself." He pulled her pistol from her waist holding it out beside her face so she could see it before flicking the light switches next to her on. "Don't move," he ordered as he stepped back from her, waving the gun at her to enforce his point.
"I told you I don't have it." She snapped.
"Oh yeah, I'm definitely gonna take your word for it." Dean pulled the dresser drawers open, rummaging through them. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bela with her back pressed to the wall inching her way towards the door. He spun around fast as lightning, firing a shot from his 1911 through the door inches from her face. She shrieked in shock, gasping in fear. "Don't. Move."
Her shoulders slouched in defeat, tucking her loose bangs behind one ear she pressed against the door watching as he lowered the weapon before resuming his search. "It's gone." Her voice was soft as he pulled a suitcase out from under the bed to rummage through it. "Get on a plane if you must." He threw an article of clothing back down into the case his eyes searching through his rage.
"Track down the buyer you might catch up to him eventually." She immediately regretted the words because those green eyes landed on her. They held an emotion she'd never seen him give a human being before. She felt a sense that something dark, something purely evil dwell within him, scratching just under the surface, waiting to be released. He stormed over to her, pointing his pistol at her head.
She kept her face blank in a refusal to show him the fear she felt. "Are you going to kill me?"
"Oh yeah." His words held a tinge of laughter causing his voice to quiver on the first word. His face bearing a cocky smirk.
"You're not the cold-blooded type." She added a nod to her statement. Trying more to convince herself than him. That look in his eye made her quite unsure, had he always been this way or perhaps she had failed to pay enough attention to his behavior in the past. It wasn't as if she knew him well. Any action she took in the next few moments had to be carefully planned out.
"You mean like you? It's true," he said mockingly. "See I couldn't imagine killing my parents." There was a sharp bite to his sentence that spoke of disgust.
"I don't know what you're talking about." She held her blank expression, hoping he'd buy it.
"Yes, you do. You were what, 14? Folks died in some shady car accident. Police suspected a slashed break line, but it was all to crispy to tell." His smile was wicked as he spoke. Full of judgment and hate. "Cut to little Bela; Oh, I'm sorry, Abby," he paused, giving her a look that read as yeah honey I know, "inheriting millions."
Shock finally settled on her face. "How did you even?"
"Doesn't matter," he barked.
Her eyes drifted to the floor as she sighed only for a moment before she met his own again with a pleased grin that didn't exactly meet her eyes. "They were lovely people," She tipped her head in closer to him. "And I killed them, and I got rich. I can't be bothered to give a damn. Just like I don't care what happens to you."
He rushed her, slamming her back against the door frame, staring down into her as he pressed the barrel of his gun against her chin. "You make me sick."
She smirked at him, knowing this was the end. She'd said all the wrong things but stopped caring when he'd mentioned her parents. "Likewise."
He let go of her, backing up then retaking aim, smiling as he did. She closed her eyes, ready for death. Something caught his eye then. He glanced up, seeing the herb above the door frame. When no shot came, she opened her eyes slowly, finding him gazing at her in confusion. He lowered the gun, yet she didn't understand why his eyes held victory. "You're not worth it." He gripped her by the arm, shoving her out of his way. He opened the door, stepping out before closing it quietly behind him.
Sam shifted on Dean's lap as the rain began to rat-a-tat against Baby's windshield. Dean supported his phone with his shoulder, reaching down to run his fingers through Sam's hair before returning his grip to the phone. "See there's only one use for that, holding hellhounds at bay. So, you know what I did? I went back and took another look at your folks' obit. Turns out they died 10 years ago today. You didn't kill them; a demon did your dirty work. You made a deal didn't you Bela? And It's come due."
He paused for a moment when he felt Sam nuzzle his waist, understanding yet ignoring Sam's signal that he was being too harsh. "Is that why you stole the Colt? Trying to wiggle out of your deal? Our gun for your soul?"
"Yes," She sobbed through the phone line.
"But stealing the Colt wasn't quite enough I'm guessing?" he asked sarcastically.
"They changed the deal, they wanted me to kill Sam." Dean's face grew dark at her words, causing Sam to sit up and stare at him.
"Really? Wow, demons untrustworthy." He chuckled lightly. "Shocker, that's kind of a tight deadline too, what time is it? Oh, look at that it's almost midnight."
Her sobbing became uncontrollable. "Dean, listen, I need help."
"Sweetheart we are weeks past help."
"I know I don't deserve it." He could hear her sniffling through the phone.
"You know what, you're right, you don't. But you know what the bitch of the bunch is? If you would have just come to us sooner and asked for help we probably could have taken the Colt and saved you!" he barked loudly.
"I know and saved yourself. I know about your deal, Dean." Her confession shocked him.
"And who told you that?" His voice was calm even through his anger.
"The demon that holds it, she holds mine too. She says she holds every deal."
"Lilith." He stated.
"How...did you know?" she almost whispered the question.
"I'll see you in hell," he growled. She didn't deserve an answer. He pressed the end call button, his hand still clutching the phone as realization settled in. They'd lost the Colt for good. Leaving only Sam to fight for Dean's life. Dean's back up plan was ruined. An age-old hatred he'd felt swelled in his gut. He'd failed to protect his baby brother, again. He knew then at that moment that he deserved hell.
April 27th: Age 28
Dean's lips pressed firmly against Sam's to swallow his moans. He let out a deep groan as Sam bit into his lower lip. His hips thrusting harder when he felt the pull of Sam sucking down the blood leaking into their mouths from the bite wound. He pressed Sam hard into the mattress of the squeaky motel bed. The two of them a sweating, panting, moaning mess of limbs as they began to edge towards the final mind-blowing climax of the night. Sam's long legs were wrapped around Dean's waist, one arm wrapped around Dean's back from under his arm, nails digging into the tender flesh of Dean's shoulder blade; the other dripping with lube was stroking his own cock matching the pace of Dean's thrusts.
Dean's upper body was hovering low over Sam's, his hands placed tenderly on each of Sam's cheeks clutching him like a treasure as their tongues battled each other in a mesh of saliva and Dean's blood. Dean had set a slow rhythm with deep, long, brutally hard thrusts. "Fuck Sam, ugh, let me cum," Dean growled against Sam's parted lips when they'd broken the kiss. His hips jerked forwards giving three rapid, massive thrusts against Sam's prostate.
Sam cried out, his nails digging deeper into Dean's back. "No De, don't stop, not yet." Sam's pleas sounded breathy. He was far past his limit yet he never wanted it to end. Never wanted Dean to stop. He wanted to keep Dean here inside him forever, hot, hard, and safe.
"Can't hold out much longer baby boy. Please, Sammy, I need it." Dean's heavy lust fueled eyes meeting Sam's in a desperate plea. Sam had been denying him release for the past hour. Every time Dean would reach the edge Sam's legs around him would squeeze him tight to keep him from moving until the feeling that he was about to cum had died down. He couldn't hold it back anymore, he was struggling to keep his slow, steady pace, his thrusts speeding up then slowing again.
He watched Sam watching him. Taking in the flush of Dean's cheeks, the bead of sweat running down the tip of his nose from his damp hair, his mouth open, panting with exhaustion and the need for release. Sam seemed to be struggling with himself as if thinking over a serious decision before Sam's expression softened as he made up his mind. "Cum for me De, cum deep inside me." Sam's words were more a moan than speech.
Dean groaned deep in his throat at Sam's words. He sat up straight causing Sam's arm around him to fall to the sheets where Sam's fingers gripped the fabric tight. Dean's hands slid down Sam's stomach to squeeze Sam's waist in a mean grip, his hips snapping into action as he pounded into Sam faster and faster. Sam mewled like a wild thing beneath him as his head tipped back into the pillow. Sam's hand around his own cock between them speeding up to again match Dean's pace. It wasn't long before Dean gave a final sharp thrust, growling out a primal, guttural sound. He doubled over Sam's body, his face buried in Sam's throat as he came, spilling hot and thick inside Sam.
Sam's gasped out loud, his eyes snapped shut. He cried out his own orgasm at the feeling of Dean cumming inside him. "Fuck Dean! There's so much." Dean continued to groan into his neck, his body shaking slightly. Sam could feel it filling him, feel it starting to leak out of him around Dean's softening cock. When Dean pulled out, it gushed out of him, spilling onto the bed sheets. Dean collapsed on the bed next to Sam, satisfied and utterly spent. Sleep was calling to him in haste.
"Fuck Sammy that was amazing. God, I'll never get over how good your sweet ass feels," Dean huffed out, his voice raspy from hours of loud sex. The sound of broken sobs filled the air. Dean's eyes jerked open to land on Sam. Sam had curled up into Dean's side, tears running down his flushed cheeks.
"Sammy! What's wrong? D-did I hurt you?" Dean was pulling Sam to him. "Fuck! Sammy, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be too rough! This has never happ-"
"You're gonna die Dean…in 6 days," Sam choked out crying, cutting Dean off. Dean opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His lips pressed together firmly. Instead, he pulled Sam over his body to straddle his hips before pulling the thin, threadbare comforter over them.
"How can I go on knowing where you'll be? Knowing I'll never feel your warmth again? Feel your skin? Hear your voice?" Dean thought Sam had more to say, but his sobs choked whatever it was off.
"Hey hey, now baby boy. You're gonna be great without me. You're gonna get out of this life, go back to school, be a lawyer. You'll find a pretty little thing to love. All I've ever done was bring you down Sam. You're better off without me. I'm a fuck up Sam." Sam was shaking his head in protest at Dean's words.
"No, Dean! You're my big brother! You're everything!" Sam yelled.
"No, Sam I really am. I'm shit, Sammy. Dad's dead because of me because I couldn't be a good brother to you, because I couldn't stop myself from giving in to how bad I wanted you. And because of me, he went off alone and …" Dean's eyes drifted downward.
"Jo is never gonna be ok cause of me. Because I couldn't live up to the guy, she thought I was. Now she's gonna question the intentions of every guy she falls for. And it's my fault for leading her on. For being a typical douchebag. And there's Bobby…" Dean sighed, he couldn't talk about his feeling about how his death would break the man that had been a real father to them.
"And you Sam, I couldn't save you, and this is my punishment. And Regina, she sacrificed everything to help me for nothing … and the demon blood … "
Sam cut in, "Dean I don't need the blood. I can stop anytime."
"No, Sam! It's fucked! I should never have said yes to you drinking that stuff. How many times have you lost control and binged on that shit?" Dean kept his voice as calm as he could.
"A few, but Dean I don't need it! It's ok. I'm not an addict. I can fight Lilith, and everything's gonna happen like Regina said it could. I won't let you go to hell. And I won't let you be a demon." Sam's tears were slowing, but he clung to Dean like it was the last time he would.
"A few? Sam try 7." He sighed in defeat at Sam's defensive expression. "No, let's not fight baby boy. You're right. I'm not going anywhere, we will beat that bitch, together." Dean's hand was sliding across Sam's ass cheek. Comforting Sam in the best way he knew how. Solving problems with sex was Dean's MO. He slipped two fingers inside Sam to the last knuckle earning a surprised moan. He curled them at just the right angle to graze against Sam's prostate, the organ slightly sore from over stimulation and slick with cum from the considerable load Dean had left in him.
Dean felt far too spent to get hard again for a while so instead he'd distract Sam by fucking Sam's ass with his fingers. Dean gave a wicked smirk as Sam's hips jerked, rutting down onto Dean's fingers. Dean was sure he could get at least one more orgasm out of his little brother. A theory he was determined to make a fact. Mere minutes later Sam was a quivering against Dean's chest, riding out the waves of climax while chanting Dean's name so loud the person in the room next door beat on the wall. Dean bellowed a hearty laugh. "Goddamn, I'm fucking good."
Dean pulled his wet sticky cum covered fingers out of Sam to press them against Sam's bottom lip. Sam parted his lips so Dean could slide them inside towards the back of his throat before closing his lips tightly around them. He began to suck, bobbing his head gently up and down them. Dean bit his sore bottom lip in a failed attempt to suppress a moan. Sam let Dean's fingers slip from his mouth once they were clean. Dean craned his head forward licking the ghost trails of Sam's tears up from Sam's chin to the tops of his cheeks.
"Well, whatta you know? Looks like I'm hard again," Dean rasped out. His teeth against Sam's cheek as he spoke in a dark tone that was pure sex. He gripped Sam's hips with both hands, lining Sam's entrance up with his erect tip then burying himself to the hilt in Sam's warmth again. Biting down gently on Sam's cheekbone as his mouth dropped open to let out a loud gasp of surprise then claiming Sam's mouth with his own.
Present day: Age 28
Dean stood up from his chair on Bobby's front porch, a warm cup of coffee steaming in his hand. He stared off into the distant sky as the first rays of morning sun began to peak above the trees. A brisk early morning breeze was leaving chill bumps on his skin. He could smell the grass, the morning dew that settled upon it. The tinge of motor oil from the cars in the salvage yard, the coffee in his cup, the ghost of gunpowder on his hands. All the things he'd grown so used to he never noticed anymore.
Robert Plant sang the words, 'and as we wind on down the road our shadows taller than our soul. There walks a lady we all know who shines a white light and wants to show how everything still turns to gold,' through the radio on the patio table behind him. Dean took a sip of his coffee savoring its flavor like a treasure. He'd woken in the middle of the night from horrid nightmares of being chased through the woods, the sound of howls and vicious barks on his heels.
He'd lost track of how long he'd been sitting out here remembering the past. The good times along with the mistakes he'd made. The sun was halfway above the treeline now, casting it's warm glow upon the earth, bringing its warmth in all its stunning glory. Robert was crooning the last line, 'And she's buying a stairway to heaven,' on the radio. Dean smiled a halfhearted grin. His contract came due today. Today, was the day Dean Winchester would die.