I wrote this story as a challenge for myself but I posted it for feedback on my writing. Reviews are always appreciated. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

Dean and Sam left early the next morning to find their father. "I think he wants us to pick up where he left off. You know, saving people, hunting things. The family business," said Dean.

"No," countered Sam. He had just applied to law school, found a girl he loved that he might one day marry, settle down with, have a nice house and two kids that had never heard of monsters in their closets.

Sam couldn't sleep that night because he missed the feel of Jessica's warm body beside him. After two hours of listening to Sam toss and turn, Dean pulled back the covers of his own motel bed. "Come on, Sammy. Climb in." They shared a bed that night for the first time in four years. To Dean, it felt like it had been forever. To Sam, it felt like he was finally home.

"You can't kill me. I'm not unfaithful, I've never been," Sam told the angry spirit. She just smiled, as though she knew something he was about to find out. Flashes of Dean, Dean leaning against the Impala, Dean tucking him in and kissing him goodnight, Dean actually kissing him the night before he left for school, ran through his head as he collapsed unconscious to the ground.

"Sam? Sammy?" He heard his name slicing through the fogginess in his brain. He opened his eyes but the white burst of brightness was painful and he closed them again. "Oh, Sammy, Thank God," said the voice, and Sam recognized it as Dean's. "I had pegged you for a goner, man."

It was November and Jessica was dead when Sam got attacked by the werewolf. There were three of them, actually, and it took all of Sam and Dean's strength combined to destroy them and save themselves. At the motel Dean gently peeled off Sam's shredded clothes and tossed them in a bloody pile on the bathroom floor.

He helped Sam into the shower, but the painful cry when the water hit Sam's back had Dean turning off the water immediately. In the end, Sam lay propped up against Dean in the bathtub, as Dean used a washcloth to rub all the dirt and blood from Sam's sliced up back. Dean was thankful that Sam was too out of it to notice the hard pressure against his lower back.

Carefully, Dean pulled the covers over a drugged up Sam and climbed in beside him. Sam's breaths were ragged, but it comforted Dean to just know that they were there. He didn't sleep all night, for the fear that he would wake up and the room would be silent.

Sam could smell the perfume as Dean stumbled into the motel room and collapsed onto the bed, struggling to pull his shoes off. Dean could smell the alcohol on Sam's breath as he whispered hello.

"Sam. Have you been drinking?" Sam smiled guiltily.

"I was lonely. You weren't here. I had some beer left from the last time we raided the liquor store." Dean smiled at the memory. The man behind the counter had asked just how many people were coming to this party to consume all that alcohol.

Most nights were like this. Dean would go out to the nearest bar and Sam would sit in the motel room, poring over leads. His laptop would be perched on his lap, a book opened on the table, and a bottle of beer sitting nearby if he was in the mood. Dean would come back early in the morning, smelling like perfume, or sometimes cologne. Sometimes Sam wondered about it, but when Dean wrapped his arms around him and held him close, nothing else mattered anymore.

The night Dean came back thoroughly trashed was the night neither would forget for a long time. That night, Dean definitely smelled like cologne.

"Dean, what's it like?" he asked as he had all those years before, his words slurring slightly. He'd been especially lonely tonight, missing Jessica, and had drunk more than usual.

"What's what like?" Dean's voice was grumpy, a mixture of tiredness and too much alcohol.

You know, being with a guy, Dean. What's it like?"

"Go to sleep, Sammy," Dean groaned into his pillow.

"Please, Dean?"

Dean propped himself up on his elbow and leaned over to kiss Sam on the lips. "There. That's what it's like, Sammy. Now will you go to sleep?"

"No," said Sam. "What's it really like?"

"C'mon, Sammy, did you want me to show you?"

"No…" whispered Sam, so neither could understand why in the next moment both had discarded their pajamas and were kissing as though it was the last time they would ever be loved on this Earth.

Dean woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache. His boxers were on the floor and he leaned over and pulled them on before getting up. He grabbed his wallet from the bedside table and tiptoed out of the room to find food.

Sam woke up alone. The sheets around him were cold and slightly damp; at first he thought his hazy memories had been no more than a wet dream. But then the door opened and his brother was standing there with hot coffee and doughnuts and Sam knew that it had been real.

"Sammy, we can't do this," panted Dean, leaning back from their last kiss.

"I know," whispered Sammy.

"Because we're brothers."

"I know."

"Good," said Dean, and he kissed Sam long and hard. Slowly, he shifted, kissing down Sam's neck, down his taut, tanned chest, flicking out his tongue to trace the top of Sam's boxers.

"Dean?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"I'm scared." Dean felt him tremble as he looked up and rested his chin on Sam's stomach.

"We can stop, if you want."

"No. No, I don't want to stop, Dean."

"Don't worry, Sammy. I'll always take care of you." Gently he lifted Sam's hips and slid his boxers off. "I'd never hurt you, Sammy."

When they finally fell asleep, warm and spent, Sam was curled against Dean's chest and Dean's arms were around him.

"I love you," murmured Sam.

"I love you, too," Dean whispered back. A tear fell from his cheek onto Sammy's soft curls. He was so glad to have his brother back with him, feeling his heartbeat as he slept, safe, innocent, pure Sammy. He just hoped that Sam wouldn't regret this in the morning.

Sam kept his eyes shut and his breathing steady as Dean cried. He wondered if Dean regretted it already, hoped that he didn't. It had always been the two of them against the world, a perfect team. He didn't want that to ever change.

"I found us food," said Dean, from the door. "Go take a shower and get cleaned up, then we'll eat."

"Will you come with me?" questioned Sam.

"Sammy…" Dean warned, but it was a feeble protest. He would do anything Sammy asked him to, and he was powerless to stop himself.

John Winchester wasn't supposed to be there. He had told the boys that he would be back in two days, but he had killed the demon more quickly than he'd thought he would and driven most of the night to return to his boys. Looking back, he probably shouldn't have jiggled open the lock to the motel room door in the middle of the night. When he pushed it open the moonlight shone on the brothers in the bed. Sam was moaning softly as Dean kissed him. Their naked skin glistened with sweat and John shut the door quickly. He briefly wondered if it was a mistake, if he had gotten the wrong room, but the Impala was parked right outside and it was the only car in the lot. John slept in the car that night and when he knocked on the boys' room the next morning, pretending he had just arrived, he didn't say anything.

Sam was out finding breakfast when Dean spoke up.

"Dad, you're acting strangely."

"Just tired, is all," said John Winchester. "The demon put up a good fight."

"I saw you last night," replied Dean. "When you opened the door. Sammy didn't see, but I did."

John sighed. "How long, Dean?"

"Since the night he left for college. It just happened."

John nodded, slowly, accepting. "You two were always closer than any brothers I knew. I think it was because you were all each other had. I wasn't the best father, Dean."

"Dad," spoke Dean. "Don't blame yourself. You couldn't have known. You can't change the way things were, the way things are."

"Dean?" asked John, and he sounded so much like Sammy, lost and alone.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Be careful with him, okay? It hasn't been easy on him. This isn't the life he was supposed to have." John spoke quietly, rubbing his hand over his eyes in defeat. In some ways, he was horrified. Two brothers – it wasn't normal. But then, since when had the Winchester men's lives ever been normal? That had ended twenty-four years ago, in a fire-encased nursery, if normal had ever even existed. He was just glad the boys had each other. God knows they needed a friend.

"I know, Dad," said Dean. "I know."

Dean Winchester was a hunter like his father. His life was dedicated to fighting evil and killing demons, and he was good at it. Really good. But more than that, Dean Winchester was an older brother. Sammy was his one weakness. There would be hell to pay if the demons ever discovered thatDean thought. He didn't know how right he was.

Dean was twenty-eight and Sam was twenty-four when Sam died. Dean made a deal with the devil to bring his brother back – a deal that would be sealed with Dean's death in one year. Dean didn't mind an eternity in hell, not if it meant that Sammy was still alive. He would do anything for Sammy, and the Crossroads Demon now knew it.