Author's notes: Wherein Sam continues to fall down the slippery slope, Dean joins him and the author tries really hard to write some kind of sex scene.

Unholy (Part 2)

The question is thrown out so casually, that for a moment Sam doesn't fully realize what's being said.

Then it hits.

Dean knows. Somehow Dean knows.

"What?" he asks dumbly. It is all he can come up with, what the panic overloading his brain and all.

"Come on, Sam. What do you think, I'm stupid? Just cause I'm not 'college boy' like you, I don't realize when someone's putting shit in my food?" Dean's voice is rising, the anger in it obvious but still controlled.

Sam almost sighs in relief. Dean knows about being drugged and that's really, really bad. But he doesn't know anything else. He can still save this. "Look, Dean..."

"I gotta hand it to you, whatever you've been using is good. It's real gentle. I didn't notice right away. But you had to know I would eventually. So little brother, you want to tell me what the fuck is going on?"

And here, at last, is the moment of truth. The moment that he's been dreading while at the same time anticipating. Sam has known all along that Dean would catch on eventually. He's just chosen to ignore that knowledge, burying it deep down inside him, somewhere near the place where he buries his guilt and shame.

He begins to speak hesitantly, haltingly, because even now, at the big moment, he's still not sure what he's going to say. "Dean, look...it wasn't that long ago that you nearly died. But instead of taking it easy, you've been pushing yourself harder than ever. I guess I just wanted to make sure that you were resting. And I knew you'd never do it on your own."

To Sam's own ears, what he has said sounds like the worst kind of bullshit. Mentally, he curses himself a million times over, knowing that Dean will never believe this.

"What? Sam, I'm fine. I'm completely healed, remember?"

"Yeah, I know...I mean technically I know that. But I still worry so much about you."

Now that he's speaking the truth, the sincerity of his words comes through loud and clear.

At hearing this, Dean's expression softens and the anger drains out of his voice. He sounds more confused and hurt than anything when he asks, "Why wouldn't you just talk to me about this? I would have listened. I mean, why do this?"

Relief co-mingled with surprise floods through Sam's body. Dean is buying it. Somehow, Dean believes him. "I didn't think you would listen," he says. "You're so damn stubborn sometimes. I'm sorry though. I really am. I should have never..." He stops, shakes his head. "I'm sorry."

And he is sorry. More than Dean will ever understand.

Dean crosses his arms over his chest and stares at him for a few seconds, his face inscrutable. Finally he throws up his hands and walks over to the bed, snatching his coat from it. "Ok, you know what? I'm outta here."

"Wait. Where are you going?"

"I need some air."

"Dean..."

"Sam, I get that you're worried about me, but this is just...I just gotta get out for awhile, that's all."

Sam nods. He's not about to argue. This is already going better than expected and he's not about to ruin it by pushing Dean for his forgiveness.

He watches as Dean grabs the keys and walks out the door, slamming it behind him as he leaves. Now that the confrontation is over, the excess adrenaline he's got flowing through his body causes his arms and legs to shake wildly. He wasn't even aware of it before, but now it's as if his body is completely out of his control. Without even an ounce of grace, he stumbles over to nearest bed, dropping down on it before he falls to the floor.

As his limbs begin to still, he settles in to wait; there's nothing else he can do.

Dean wanders back in a couple of hours later. Sam quickly turns off the tv that he wasn't really watching anyway, and sits up in bed. He says nothing, knowing that his brother has to make the first move here.

Dean sits down opposite him and laces his hands together in a strangely proper fashion. His face, his entire demeanor, is so calm as to be unnerving. "I have to be able to trust you, Sam."

"I know."

"I mean, if I can't trust you, then I've got nothing, you know?"

With all he has in him, Sam resists the urge to apologize again. He knows his brother too well; knows it would not be appreciated right now. Instead, he says, "I won't let you down again."

"Sam..."

"You have my word, Dean. You don't have to worry and you don't have to be unsure. Nothing like that is ever going to happen again."

Dean takes a deep breath and sits back, apparently satisfied.

But Sam isn't. Not quite yet. "So?" he ventures.

"So...what?"

"Are we ok?"

"Yeah, we are," Dean says. Then he leans forward, pointing his finger at Sam. "But I swear if you ever do anything like that to me ever again, I will kick your ass from here to next Tuesday!"

Sam can't help but smile. "I wouldn't expect anything less, bro."

After that night, everything falls back into place, exactly as it should be. And yes, sometimes it does seem like the hardest thing in the world to look at Dean and not be able to touch him the way he wants to. Harder still is knowing that he'll never be able to touch him that way again. But it's still better this way.

It has to be.

It is the end of yet another hunt. This time they grappled with a re-animated corpse that was being controlled like a zombie and the evil son-of-a-bitch that was controlling it. Fortunately, the evil son-of-a bitch had been a nineteen-year-old kid and easily dealt with. The zombie had been a different story. When zombies are told to do something, they do it. And they don't stop until they've obeyed their order.

This particular zombie had been told to tear them both limb from limb.

And when it set its sights on Sam first, Dean predictably threw himself in harm's way. And almost got himself killed in the process - again.

By the time they trudge wearily back to their motel room, Sam is fuming. Fuck the zombie, he feels like he could throttle Dean with his own bare hands.

As soon as Dean closes the door behind them, Sam whirls around and gets up right up in his brother's face. At times the difference in their heights seems barely noticeable, but tonight Sam all but towers over Dean. And he's not above using this to his advantage.

"What the hell was that about?" he shouts.

Dean backs away, the previously serene smile on his face disappearing instantly. "What?" he asks, honestly baffled by the question.

"Tonight. What the fuck did you think you were doing out there, Dean?"

"Umm...what are you, new? I was saving both our lives and killing the bad guy. It's kind of our usual shtick, Sam."

"Yeah, except that lately, your shtick seem to be putting your life on the line. It's like you have a death wish or something, Dean."

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about."

"We had a plan. Remember the plan?"

Dean pauses, then flashes his trademark cocky grin. "I improvised."

That was the wrong thing to say. The fact that his brother is making light of this only serves to infuriate Sam more. He takes a step forward, shouting, "What is wrong with you?"

Dean stumbles backward. "Me? What's wrong with you? Why are you so bent out of shape?"

Sam moves forward again, forcing Dean to step back to avoid colliding against one another. "What do you want, Dean? Huh?"

As Sam continues to advance, Dean continues to move backward until he comes up against the motel room wall. He looks around a little wildly, realizing that there's nowhere for him to go.

Sam steps forward, closing any possible gap between them and, grabbing a fistful of Dean's jacket in each hand, shakes him roughly. "Do you want to die? Do you want to leave me? Do you want to leave me completely alone? Do you?"

Dean looks up at him, eyes wide with surprise and a touch of fear and all Sam can think is that he loves this man so much...this stupid, bull-headed, infuriating man...

Caught up in the emotional tide that is threatening to drown him, he leans down, and without thinking about what the hell he is doing, he mashes his lips against Dean's.

The kiss is not loving or tender, or anything that it should be. Instead it's all fear and frustration and anger...

Mixed with a nice, healthy dose of repressed lust.

A volatile combination if there ever was one.

It is over almost as quickly as it begins however, with Sam pulling away from Dean while simultaneously pushing him hard against the wall.

Thought and sanity and reality set back in with a resounding thud. He cannot believe that he has done this, that he has lost control like this. God, he's never been so mortified in his life. If the floor suddenly opened up and sucked him into hell, he would go gladly.

They stare at each other for a long, frozen moment, both of them struggling with their own jumbled, frenzied thoughts.

"What the hell was that?" Dean finally asks after bringing a shaky hand to his lips. He wipes at them as if trying to erase what just happened.

But Sam is already turning away, no longer able to face him. "Oh, man...Oh, man..."

"You kissed me!"

"I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

"You didn't mean to? What, you slipped and accidentally fell on my lips?"

Sam wanders to the nearest bed and drops on it, his head falling into his hands. The tears begin almost immediately and he starts to move back and forth like an autistic child. Why isn't he dying? Why isn't he disappearing? Why is he still here?

"Sam...God, Sam, don't cry."

Still rocking back and forth, Sam mutters, "I don't know what's wrong with me, Dean. I swear I don't. I shouldn't think this way. I shouldn't feel this way. I know it's wrong. I'm so sorry. I'll understand if you never want to talk to me again or see me again, or..."

The feel of a strong hand on his shoulder interrupts Sam's babbling. He clamps his mouth shut, takes a deep breath and tries to wipe away the tears from his eyes.

"Sammy? Is this...I mean...do you want this? From me?"

Sam lifts his head, surprised to find that Dean is kneeling in front of him. "No!" he says indignantly. Then, in a softer tone, "I don't know. Maybe."

Dean nods and looks down, his brow furrowed. Sam knows him well enough to know that he's thinking; really thinking. If this were any other time, he would tease Dean about hurting himself.

When Dean finally looks back up, Sam is shocked at the gravity etched in his features. "Then kiss me," he says simply

At first Sam's not even sure that he heard right. "What?" Then shaking his head vigorously, he says, "No. I can't, Dean."

"This is the reason you've been acting so weird, isn't it? This has been driving you crazy, hasn't it?"

Sam nods, more than willing to let Dean believe that the past few weeks have been about merely wanting to kiss him.

"Then kiss me."

"But you don't want this."

"What I want is my brother back. And if this is what it takes, then I do want this. Besides, it's just a kiss, right? It's not like we're gonna be picking china patterns."

Sam cannot believe that this is happening; that luck is actually smiling down on him for once. And God, he could not possibly love his brother more than he does at this moment. That Dean is willing to offer this to him is so amazing; yet at the same time so like his brother.

Sam straightens. To continue to argue would be stupid. Dean wouldn't have made the offer if he didn't mean it. To be coy is not his brother's way.

As Sam leans down and closes his eyes, his final, rational thought is that this is going to be so much better than those sinful touches in the dark.

So intent is he on his own fulfilling his own need, he does not notice that Dean does not move up to meet him.

Or the look in Dean's eyes right before he lets them close.

This time when they connect, there is no anger. This kiss is tentative and shy at first, slowly deepening as they each get accustomed to the feel of the other. Sam cups Dean's cheek with one hand while the other holds on to his shoulder, anchoring them both in place.

As the kiss continues, it becomes less about novelty and exploration and more about passion and want. Dean's lips are softer than a man's should be and Sam realizes that nothing has ever been this good.

Nothing.

Not even with Jess.

His hand tightens on Dean's shoulder as he slips his tongue inside Dean's mouth; so deliciously hot and wet. But Dean seems to balk at this, pulling back just a little, his body stiffening.

Afraid to push things too far, Sam breaks them apart, then leans his head down so that only their foreheads touch. He is breathing heavily, both of them are, and he takes a minute to not only catch his breath but to let his body slip back into neutral.

Eventually they pull away from each other completely. Sam stares at Dean lazily, feeling blissful and a bit heavy-headed.

"That was different," Dean dead-pans after a moment.

Sam smiles. Leave it to Dean to slice through any residual tension. "But not horrible, right?" he asks hopefully.

"No, not horrible."

Sam hangs his head, so grateful and relieved that it is happening like this. It could have easily gone the other way; with Dean throwing him out of his life and hating him forever. But it didn't. Instead he is getting what he's wanted for so long now. And the best part of all is that Dean gave his consent. And he had enjoyed it. Maybe not as much as Sam himself had, but he'd enjoyed it just the same.

From now on, Sam tells himself, there will be no more tormenting guilt. No more self-derision.

No more hiding.

Sam lifts his head and looks into Dean's eyes. "I love you, Dean."

Dean blinks, looks away. "I love you too, Sammy."

For the first time in what feels like eons, Sam is happy. It's almost frightening, to be able to feel this way again.

Every morning he wakes up refreshed and energetic, ready to take on whatever the world wants to throw at him.

And it is all because he has Dean. All because his brother, the most important person in his life, is with him.

And not just as a brother or hunting companion. The kisses they've shared, the sweet touches, all conspire to add to Sam's contentment.

During the day their time is mostly spent doing research and interviewing people. Killing time usually comes at night. And late at night, when most good people have long since gone to bed, Sam can finally hold his brother close and tell him how much he loves him.

They haven't moved much beyond the minor petting stage, Dean seems pretty reticent about any advancement, but Sam doesn't really care. For now he has everything he could possibly want. And if one day he deems that he wants more...well, he'll just cross that bridge when he comes to it.

On this night they are at a small bar off the interstate. They are not on a hunt, nor are they heading toward one. This is one of those rare moments when they're driving just for the sake of driving; more to feel like normal people than anything else.

Dean, being the one who will actually be behind the wheel, has only two beers and calls it quits. Sam on the other hand, has quite a few more.

Dean finally tells him to stop, that he's going to feel like shit in the morning. Sam listens. He usually does. They go back to the car and drive around until they find what they deem a suitable motel. Dean walks into the office and gets the room while Sam sits in the car and waits.

He sways a little as they make their way to the room and Dean has to put a steadying hand on his elbow. "You ok, man?" he asks.

"Dude, I'm fine. Stop asking."

"Ok. Ok."

They reach the room and Dean pulls out the key with one hand. "If I let go are you going to fall?"

"Just open the damn door," Sam says as he pulls away from Dean's touch. Dean shrugs and unlocks the door, pushing it open to reveal their new home for the next couple of days.

They enter, turning on lights and setting down their belongings as they go.

While Sam plops down on one of the beds, Dean begins to put their things away, opening drawers and stuffing clothes inside with quick, economical movements. Sam watches all of this with interest, enjoying the view of Dean's backside as he bends and shifts.

He feels a familiar tightening in his groin at the same time that his heartbeat quickens. Suddenly it's not enough to merely watch; he has to touch. He stands up and walks over to Dean, grabbing his arm and turning him around. Dean doesn't startle, doesn't resist. It's almost as if he were expecting this. Sam wraps his arms around him and, without any preamble, brings his mouth to his brother's.

Dean's hands are flat against his chest and Sam finds this somewhat feminine gesture oddly endearing. And incredibly hot. He brings one hand up to the back of Dean's head, his fingers trying to find purchase in his short hair. His kisses are hungry and sloppy, falling everywhere in his seeming desire to simply devour Dean.

Dean accepts it all, for awhile, but eventually he pulls away and Sam finds himself kissing air.

He looks down and sees that Dean is smiling at him, already trying to step away. This is the usual routine. But Sam isn't even close to being done. Not tonight. Tonight he wants more.

He moves forward and tilts his head, bringing his lips to the curve of Dean's throat. He bestows tiny kisses upon him, his tongue tasting salty skin as one hand slides up under Dean's shirt.

"Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing?"

Sam pulls away long enough to whisper, "I need you," before his lips once again lock onto Dean's.

He slips his tongue inside Dean's mouth, alternating between exploring every inch of him and pulling back to bite down on that incredibly pouty lower lip of his. He's on fire now, every shared kiss is bringing him closer to the point where thoughts are immaterial and all that matters is touching and tasting and having.

Placing one hand against Dean's back to hold him in place, he brings his other hand to the waistband of his jeans. He rubs his groin hard against Dean's leg as he clumsily tries to undo the buttons with only one hand.

Dean groans and manages to disentangle himself from Sam's clutches. He pushes him away, not unkindly, but still hard enough to cause him to stumble.

"I think we'd better stop, Sam."

If this had been any other night, Sam would have agreed instantly. If his brother wanted to stop, then stop they did - he never wanted to push Dean beyond what he was comfortable with.

But tonight is different. Tonight the alcohol in his system is clouding his thinking and putting his libido into overdrive. He doesn't want to stop. He's not even sure if he can.

He shakes his head and grabs Dean again. "Can't stop. Want you, Dean. I need you. So bad."

Dean makes a small noise in his throat that is neither denial nor consent. But in Sam's mind, Dean has just told him yes.

He half drags, half pulls Dean over to the bed, where they both tumble onto it. The alcohol, while making him horny as hell, is also killing his coordination, and it takes far too long to pry the clothes away from Dean's body. By the time he has rid himself of his own clothing, he is near bursting.

But despite his fuzzy thoughts and the driving sense of urgency, he still manages to stop long enough to gaze down at his brother sprawled underneath him. "Are you ready?"

"Is this what you want?"

"Oh God, yes."

"Then I'm ready, Sammy."

Sam moans, his lust igniting all over again at hearing those words uttered by his brother's deep, smoky voice.

He enters Dean as slowly and carefully as he can, mindful of the fact that they have no lubricant save for his pre-cum. Even then, it is obvious from Dean's wincing and gasps that he is in pain. Sam stills and for a moment considers pulling out and stopping completely. But the heat and friction that Dean's body is providing is simply too much. Instead of pulling out, he pushes himself farther in, quelling his guilt by telling himself that Dean will find this pleasurable soon enough.

As he begins to thrust in and out, all thoughts simply disintegrate until there is nothing left but pure ecstacy. He is so lost in that ecstacy that he forgets to worry about whether Dean is still in pain or whether he's enjoying this or not.

The orgasm that comes soon after is mind-blowing in its intensity and for a wonderfully frightening moment, Sam thinks that he's going to pass out. He rides it out, calling his brother's name in a hoarse voice that sounds like a stranger's.

As soon as it's over, he flops onto his back next to Dean, finding that his arms don't seem to want to hold him up anymore. He lays there for a time, one hand possessively on Dean's chest, waiting for his heart to stop pounding and his breathing to slow.

"That was . . . so amazing . . . " he says.

Dean shifts a little underneath his hand, and Sam turns his head to look at him. "Oh God, Dean," he says, suddenly realizing that he has selfishly taken everything and given nothing. "You didn't even get to . . . Let me . . . let me return the favor."

Dean shakes his head. "No. I'm fine, Sam."

"But I could . . . " Sam begins, although truth be told, he's not sure he could do anything right now. He's feeling more than a little dizzy and his body seems to have been drained of all energy.

"No," Dean says, wincing as he sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. "You don't have to, Sam, really."

"Are you ok? Did I hurt you?"

"I'm fine, Sam."

"Well, where are you going?"

"I'm just going to take a quick shower, that's all."

Sam reaches out and grabs a hold of Dean's wrist before he can stand. "Dean, wait."

"What?"

"I love you. So much. Thank you for that."

"I love you too."

Sam releases his wrist and watches him walk away, reveling in how gorgeous Dean's body is. So strong. So perfect. He stares at him until he disappears behind the bathroom door, then he turns his eyes to the ceiling. He's almost certain that this is what heaven will feel like. The perfect combination of pleasure and peace.

He plans to stay awake until Dean comes out so he can hold him close and thank him again for what they just shared. He wants to tell him again how much he loves him and how happy he is. But the alcohol and the post-orgasmic haze conspire against him until his eyes slip closed and sleep claims him.

Dean closes the door behind him, wishing desperately that he could lock it. But if he did, then Sam would somehow hear. And then he would wonder why.

And that would start a chain-reaction that cannot possibly be allowed to reach its conclusion.

He moves to stand in the front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. For a moment, he is possessed by an almost overwhelming urge to smash it into little pieces. To simply take his fist and ram it through the glass until there is nothing left but wicked, little shards. And then to take those shards and drag them across the tender skin of his face over and over and over.

Dean is beginning to hate his face. Sam is always calling him beautiful, right before he cradles his face in his hands and kisses him.

Dean wonders if Sam would still want to touch him if his face was a bloody ruin.

He pushes away the urges to violence and turns away from his reflection. Then he turns on the shower, turns it on as hot as he can stand it, grabs a washcloth and steps under the spray.

He scrubs as hard as he can at his skin, but it's not enough. What he wants to do is scrub right through his skin, right through to the shame and disgust underneath. They are like a cancer, a black cancer that just keeps spreading and spreading. He wants to be rid of it, to pull this disease from his soul and stomp on it until it's nothing more than a memory.

He wants to stop feeling Sam's hands on his body. He wants to stop feeling Sam inside of him.

He wants to throw up, but he can't - Sam will hear. He wants to cry, but he can't - Sam will hear.

So he does the only thing he can do. He scrubs and scrubs until his skin turns a bright red and blood begins to rise to the surface. He tosses away the washcloth in frustration. He's rubbed himself raw and nothing has changed.

He wishes he could simply tell Sammy that he wants to stop what they're doing. In his fantasies he sits down with Sam, explains to him that what they're doing isn't right, that brothers don't behave like this, and Sam accepts it with a nod and a smile.

If only.

But he knows he can never say anything. Sam is happy now. For the first time in so long - maybe ever - Sam is truly happy. Dean knows he can't take this away from him.

If it weren't for him, Sam would be in law school right now, making wedding plans with Jess. He knows this. Knows this as surely as if he had seen it mapped out before his very eyes.

He owes this to Sam and he accepts that.

Now if only he could stop wanting to die every time Sam touches him.

Dean stands under the water spray as he long as he feels he can without attracting Sam's suspicion. Then he shuts off the water, grabs a towel and dries himself. He has to be careful, Sam was not exactly gentle and he hurts.

He wanders back out to the room, feeling an immense relief when he sees that Sam is already asleep. Quietly, he turns out all the lights, then he crawls into bed next to Sam. Sam would hate it if he woke up and Dean was in the other bed.

He lays there in the dark, fighting tears and listening to his brother's soft snores. He feels very alone and afraid. Now that they've done . . . this . . . he knows that Sam will want it again and again.

He does not sleep for a very long time.