*

*

The silence between them festers and roils, polluting the air in the car with thick tension.

Sam feels the weight of it pressing in on him and he watches Dean in his peripheral vision, his brother's movements jerky and erratic, one second his fingertips are drumming a beat on the steering wheel, and the next, he's clenching at it so tight, his knuckles are bone white.

"Dean?" the whisper barely hitches the air but Dean hears, flicking his eyes over to Sam's and then away.

"Yeah?"

"Can we-" Sam swallows hard, clearly he's pissed Dean off somehow, it's screaming across the seat at him with every line of Dean's stiff body but he can't help, can't fix things unless Dean tells him what's going on, "Can we talk?"

Dean's lower lip trembles and his eyes fall, almost slide over to Sam's and then he catches himself, jerks his gaze back straight ahead and his mouth clamps into a hard slash, slicing one word out and no more, "No."

Dean's hand hits the radio, cranking it up as loud as he can and Quiet Riot thumps through the car, shaking the windows and Sam feels it vibrating through the seat under his ass.

Seriously, what the hell? It's like time's gone backwards, reversed and Dean's just like he was before, closed down and locked up tight, like everything they've gone through, everything they've said to each other is a figment of his imagination.

Worse than strangers now.

Sam bites back the sob that's threatening to overwhelm him because his goddamn brother has shut him out again, slammed the door and hammered the nails home, and Sam is so freaking tired, the past week of trying to save Dean has taken its toll and he just can't-

Can't find the energy to fight Dean for Dean anymore.

It's not fair.

He'd saved Dean, been through hell, barely sleeping or eating, letting himself be used as a sex toy to get Dean back from that asshole Pan, died for him, for Christ's sake, and for what? Not even a thank you or good job or anything.

And even though he's trying not to think about it, the sour bitch in him wants to know why the fuck Dean hasn't kissed him or touched him since he's been freed. Ok, so James had been there for part of the time but still-

They could've stolen a moment or two, to reconnect, let each other know they were there and still loved-

But, no…after his initial relief at Sam's being alive, all he'd gotten from Dean was brooding silences and hurt looks and Sam doesn't know what the fuck anymore.

The desperation is crowding in on him, curls around his gut, and frustration hits him hard because for the life of him, Sam can't understand why.

On top of that, he's off-center in his own skin, tilting to the left and something's been gnawing at his belly for days, just off perspective and he can't identify it. He worries at it, pushing and pulling at his memories, going over every second since Dean got possessed but can't find a freaking thing he did wrong, that wasn't done out of love for his stupid brother.

He looks over at Dean again, at the stony jaw and distant eyes and feels a tired nudge of strength stir in him, gathering energy with each passing mile and it pulls the edges of his courage up by its bootstraps, causing Sam to sit up straighter and take in a deep breath, mentally rolling up his sleeves and ready to go another round. Ok, Dean, one more time we'll do this dance.

A sign flashes past, Rest Stop Ahead and Sam abruptly reaches out to twist off the radio, Dean's angry glare hits him with both barrels but Sam doesn't flinch, doesn't cave, just firms his jaw and shoots back, "Pull over at that rest stop, Dean. We're gonna talk."

The harsh voice is commanding, brooking no argument, "No, Sam. We're not."

But Sam's not gonna let this go any further, "Dean. You stop the fucking car or so help me, God, I'll make you stop it!"

The fury in Dean's eyes wavers uncertainly and then giving a fuck it shrug, Dean pulls off the road, parking in front of a dilapidated building, broken vending machines and bent rest room signs the only indication of why it's even here. Picnic tables and barbeque grills dot the field surrounding the structure and the highway behind keeps up a steady hum as truckers roar past on their way to big cities.

Dean's out the door and striding away before Sam can say a word and he sits, watches his brother stomp stiff-legged towards the trees, his own temper gathering in his gut, pooling heavy and dark inside him and he needs to push it back, keep it down because picking a fight now will only make Dean shut down further.

He follows Dean to the picnic area, the tall pine trees surrounding them covering the sky, darkening the day under the foliage. Why's it always pine trees? The thought trickles through the back of Sam's mind as he studies his brother's rigid stance, shoulders hunched up to his ears and he knows Dean's gearing up for a slugging match and might not be such a bad idea right about now-

He drops a hand on Dean's shoulder, swinging his brother around to face him, locking eyes, "Dean-"

Dean shoves at his hand, clearly furious and snapping the words out like he wants to bite something "What the fuck do you want from me, Sam?"

"I want-" Sam starts hotly and stops, takes a breath and tries again in a calmer tone, "To know why you're not talking to me, why you're not looking at me, why you're gone from me…"

Dean looks away, kicking at the ground with the toe of his boot, jamming hands deep into his pockets, "I can't, Sam, ok?"

"Can't what? Dean, for Christ's sake-" and when Dean turns away again, Sam reaches out, wrenching him back, "Fucking talk to me-"

And Dean's hands are suddenly clenched in his shirt and he's being shoved backwards hard, fast, almost falling on his ass before he hits into something big and unyielding, making him cry out in pain because the welts on his back are still raw and sore.

Shit, that fucking hurts!

He's gripping Dean's arms, holding him back as best he can but Dean's still too close, breath huffing on his face, eyes glittering and mouth pulled tight with rage, spitting out the words, "God damn it, Sam! I can't get it out of my freaking head, ok? You were jacking off another guy, you had your hand on someone else's cock and you were rubbing your dick on his leg like a fucking dog in heat!"

Sam feels the bottom fall out of his stomach, elevator plunging from the top floor down and he can't speak for a moment, bewildered because Dean was there, Dean should know-

"It was the flute, Dean! You know that! You above all people should know that!"

Dean's mouth twists with scorn, "Oh, yeah, the flute! Let's talk about that, huh? Seems funny that I managed to get out of there without pulling out James's dick but you…nope, you couldn't help yourself, could you? Maybe because you wanted to be with him the whole time and the flute gave you a reason, a fucking excuse!"

And like a key sliding into a lock, there it is.

That's what's been eating at Sam this whole time…he hadn't been as strong as Dean, hadn't been able to resist-

The truth of it hits him hard, leaves Sam struggling to cope, to deal, his weakness an unforgivable sin in his own eyes and no wonder Dean can't get over this – Sam can't get past it either-

But, Dean can't really believe the shit he's spouting, can he? Sure, Sam had been weak and pathetically susceptible to Pan's flute, yes but choosing James over Dean? Never, absolutely not and Sam's hanging onto his temper by a thread, not wanting to open his mouth because it's gonna spill out and Dean'll shut right down, not giving Sam a chance in hell of getting his freaking hard headed brother to listen.

"Dean-" Sam's throat closes up and he tries again, pushing himself because he has to reach Dean, tell him how it really is, "Dean, that's not true and you know it! You fucking know it, man!"

"I don't know anything anymore, Sam. But maybe if you had been strong enough to resist, none of this would've happened! And now look where we are, huh?"

"Oh, wait, so, it's my fucking fault you blew into the pipe and got possessed? Great. Anything else you want to lay on me?"

"You were with him, every day and night while Pan was in me, we watched you from the woods. You kept the shades drawn most of the time so we couldn't see in and I gotta wonder, Sam…just what did you and he do during that time? You sure seemed awful goddamn chummy just now when you were saying good bye and he told me point blank he was gonna try to get you back." Dean's eyes flick to his and away, not wanting to know the answer but driven to ask anyway, "Did he?"

That's it. Sam's temper boils over, can't even give a response to that because it's so ridiculous and stupid and he shoves Dean back, yelling out the words into Dean's face, "Fuck you, Dean!"

And Sam turns away, clenching his fists and rolling his shoulders to ease the knots clenching there, breathing out his anger, and his guilt, trying desperately not to slug his idiot brother into next week.

But Dean's not done, whipping him around with a hand on his arm, "No, fuck you, Sam! I find you with some guy's dick in your hands and I'm just supposed to forget it? You did Pan twice and I guess I should just wipe that outta my head, too?

"That was you, Dean!" Confusion colors Sam's voice because Dean knows that so what the fuck is he talking about?

"No, it wasn't! I was inside, I could watch but it wasn't me! Pan controlled the whole thing and you didn't even know, couldn't even tell the difference between us-" The look of hurt, of pain flashing in those green eyes cuts Sam to the quick.

"Wait, just wait-" Sam needs to think, quickly running through every second of that time, "Dean, the first time, you had my dick in your mouth so fast, the only thing I could think about was how good your fucking tongue felt on me so yeah, ok, wasn't operating on all cylinders right then. Never even occurred to me that you were being possessed by some God because you blew into his flute! So, yeah, dropped the ball on that one!" Sam lets sarcasm drip through his voice, "And the second time, it was you! Until the end, anyway-"

"It wasn't me, Sam! It was Pan, the whole time and you didn't even know." Dean's voice cracks and breaks with the words, "How could you not know, Sammy?"

Sam hears his own voice, edging on panic, trying to tell Dean how it was, "It was you! It had to be…he talked like you, said things you would say. Why would he-"

"To get your guard down, you stupid son of a bitch! And it worked because the minute you thought it was me, you went right along with it and he was gonna hurt you, was gonna rape you and I managed to stop him but it took all my strength. I kept screaming at you not to listen, that it wasn't me but your dick was pulling you along by the nose and you just let it lead-"

"No…" Sam stares at Dean, shaking his head in denial but in his gut, he knows Dean wouldn't lie to him, not about this and why hadn't he known it wasn't Dean? Was he so caught up in himself that he had missed something he should have seen, overlooked a clue that it really wasn't Dean?

Guilt slams in, crouching on his heart, claws digging into the thick layer already heavy there, and the weight of it is hunching his back, twisting his features into a hurting mask, "Dean, I'm…sorry, I…didn't know."

The look on Dean's face mirrors his own, arm limp at his sides, shoulders slumped in defeat, "Yeah, I'm sorry, too."

Silence.

Sam's hands flail out, palming the air, "So what now?"

"I wish to Christ I knew, Sam." And Dean stares away from him, into the trees, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

*

The color of guilt is black, shame a deep hurting red, and he closes his eyes against it because it's smothering him and he can't stand to be in his own skin anymore.

Dean's right.

Sam should have been able to resist James and why the hell hadn't he? The minute Dean said it, Sam knew. It's been chewing at him since Dean got possessed, undefined and shadowed but there, a constant twist to his gut and the bitch is, he probably could have found the strength but-

He owed James.

He'd used him, abused his trust and taken all the love James had to give and returned non of it, selfish and self-absorbed, so caught up with loving Dean that he hadn't seen the wounds he so casually inflicted-

Until the end, until he'd told James the truth.

Sam searches his heart and he knows why it happened, why he couldn't resist. Because it made James happy and Sam had a debt to pay. He'd kissed James for the same reason and now, they were even, account closed, paid in full but the price-

Dean had been ripped apart in the process, his trust in Sam shredded and his love-

He'd buried that deep inside, so far under that Sam couldn't even see it anymore and the cold in Dean's eyes would haunt him to his dying day.

There's nothing he can do to make this right, nothing he can say to make it better. He loves his brother heart and soul but it's not enough and how can he expect Dean to forgive him when he can't forgive himself?

*

Sam can't get comfortable.

His freaking back hurts like hell, the flare of pain from the whipping is new and fresh again from being slammed into hard tree bark and he keeps moving from one butt cheek to the other, twisting and resettling, trying to keep his back off the seat and finally cups a hand around his knee and pulls himself forward, holding himself stiffly.

"Sammy, what's wrong?"

Sam glances at Dean and then away, shrugging and staring back out the window, "Nothing."

"You're wiggling around like you got ants in your pants. What is it?"

Sam just shakes his head, "I said it's nothing. Forget it."

Dean gives a sigh "Ok." And he's checking the rear-view mirror, slowing down and pulling off the road, turning narrowed eyes to Sam "Wanna try that again?"

Sam searches Dean's face for compassion, for love but there's only detachment, a cold emptiness that wraps around Sam's spine and chills him to the bone, making him grit down against his pain and he presses his lips together stubbornly. He'll be damned before he says one fucking word to Dean about his freaking back-

Sam turns away to look out the window, feeling the sting of tears, a wave of self-pity rolling over him, and he manages to choke out, "Just drive, Dean."

Dean's hand is on his shoulder, pushing him forward, dragging up his shirt and Sam gives a hiss of pain as the cotton is pulled up, over his skin.

"Jesus, Sam!" Dean's fingers touch gently, almost tenderly and Sam jerks away, pushes away his brother's hand.

His voice is angry, "Don't, Dean. Just don't. I don't need your fucking pity."

And Sam tries to pull his shirt back down but Dean gives an exasperated noise and shoves it back up again, "Let me see!"

"That's from your belt? When Pan hit you?" Sam feels him trace a particularly sore spot, "What is that, a buckle mark?"

Wordlessly, Sam stares out the window, giving a curt nod.

Dean pulls down his shirt carefully before gunning the car back onto the highway, glancing over at Sam with a curt nod, "We'll find a place to hole up, ice your back and give you a couple of days to heal. Keep an eye out for a motel."

*

*

Dean gets a room with two double beds.

Sam stares at them dully, like twin slaps in the face, drilling home that everything's changed, everything's broken and shit, they haven't slept apart since they became lovers-

Dean's behind him, nudging him in the leg with a duffle and Sam goes two steps forward, enough so that Dean can sidestep around Sam's bulk, throwing his bag onto the first bed before bee-lining it to the bathroom.

And Sam is alone, the twist of hurt in his gut almost physical and he shuffles in, slamming the door shut and tosses his bag onto the other bed, sits down hard on the edge of it, shoulders dejected and mouth slack-

He rubs his hands along his jeans, sees the tremble in them and doesn't even want to know what this means, can't face it because it hurts too much-

And shit, this is when he needs Dean the most-

When Dean comes out, Sam doesn't look up, scared to meet his brother's eyes for fear he'll break down into a blubbering fool so he stays his course, eyes tracing a stain on the dirty carpet and listens to the movement in the room.

The door opens, closes and opens again a minute later, Dean coming to his side, voice brusque and commanding "Take off your shirt, Sam."

He feels the trembling in his gut, storm's a-coming, and doesn't want to move because the tears are right there, burning at the back of his eyelids and making his vision all smeary and he's breathing hard, fists clenched and swallowing fast, can't break down, can't let it out-

All he wants to do right at this moment is bury himself in Dean's stomach, hug him close and beg Dean to love him again and he grits his teeth and firms his jaw because there's no way in hell he's gonna humble himself like that-

Sam doesn't look up, just tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it aside, letting his arms fall back into his lap, sitting quietly while Dean puts a cold, wet ice pack on the worst of his welts, holding it there for while he checks for breaks in the skin-

Out of nowhere, Dean's voice comes soft and low, dazed, almost, by the glimpse of memory, "You liked it when he did this-"

Sam shakes his head, not sure he heard right and he's twisting his gaze to catch Dean's but Dean won't look at him, eyes trained on his back as he adjusts the ice bag over another slash.

"W-what did you say?" Sam's voice is haggard, breathless.

Dean pulls in a deep breath, his eyes flicking to Sam's and then away, his voice casual, matter-of-fact, "I saw you, Sam, saw your eyes…at first it hurt you and I fought for you, fought to stop him but Pan pushed me back and then…I saw the look on your face, you were--hungry for it. You-you wanted it, wanted him to hit you again-"

Then Dean's eyes slide down and lock onto his, freezing him in place, searching for truth and Sam's drowning in the intense glare, pinned to the wall like a bug under inspection and Dean's whispered words are as loud as if he'd shouted them across the room, "You liked it, Sammy. Didn't you?"

Sam's trembling with denial, mouth bone-dry, eyes scratchy from not blinking and his heart, shit, it's hummingbird fast and he tries to laugh it off but what comes out is a choked whimper, pathetic as it breaks across the air, "No. No, I-"

And his words trail away because the knowing look on Dean's face kills the lie on his lips before he finishes uttering it, Dean's awful hiss "I was there, Sam." slices through raw and deep, rips him open and leaves him exposed.

Dean knows.

But not all of it, doesn't know the worst of it-

Sam can barely admit to himself, gasping with it, shoving it away because no, that's not right, it hurt like hell, and he didn't want it-

He grits his teeth on the words, forces them out harsh and clear so there's no mistake, no misunderstanding, "No, Dean. Didn't want it, didn't like it. Needed it. Needed it so fucking bad-"

And he's up, pulling on his shirt and across the room in seconds, scooping up the motel key and blowing through the door, slamming it behind him, shutting off the narrowed eyes, the shrewd gaze that sees too much, knows him too well-

*

*

He doesn't go back until after dark and then he's stumbling drunk, the office manager having directed him to a hole in the wall Bar N Grill two miles down the way where he'd hustled some pool, played some darts and cried into his beer along with some of the saddest fucking Country Western music he's ever heard.

Dean's curled up into a ball underneath the blankets, doesn't move when Sam falls through the door and he tries to be quiet but the room is unfamiliar and he kicks the waste basket with a boot, the metal crash of it loud in the silent room. The light is flicked on and Dean is sitting up, staring at him with wild middle-of-the-night eyes and Sam puts a finger to his lips, hushing Dean so that Dean won't wake up and frowning because thinking about that is too damn hard right now-

"Are you fucking drunk, Sam?" the harsh voice tells him he should be ashamed, apologetic but the whiskey singing through his blood has other thoughts and he giggles at the thunderous frown Dean's directing at him.

"Gee, Dean, lemme see-" and he pokes himself in the face, yup, numb all over and he nods, agreeing wholeheartedly, "Yes, fucking drunk."

"What the hell, Sammy?" Dean's eyes are burning into him and Sam feels disassociated, head separated from his body and before he knows it, he's slumped down on the foot of Dean's bed, breathing heavy through his mouth so he doesn't throw up all over his brother and staring at Dean's chest, bare and smooth, in the lamp light. And he's fighting against the impulses rushing through him, just wants to touch, that's all, one touch isn't going to hurt anything, right? Just wants to trace a line over that nipple there, the one that's stiffening up for him, begging for a finger to flick it-

He gropes along Dean's body, hands heavy and clumsy, palm spreading hot across the chest and ribs, stroking and petting and Dean's breath catches in his throat at the touch, goose flesh pulling up tight against his fingers, twitching with raw nerve endings as he caresses the ribs and belly.

"Dean, need-"

"No. No, Sam. Stop." And his hand is stilled, grabbed up tight in a clench of iron but Sam keeps going, leaning forward, falling onto Dean, into his neck, grasping and sucking against the soft skin of his neck, inhaling his scent and Jesus, so fucking good that Sam wants to devour him, right here, right now, it's too much, no one should smell that goddamn sweet-

And Dean's pushing him off, hands on his face to shove him away and he grabs Dean's head, holding him tight, finding his lips and sucking them into a drunken, sloppy kiss, parting the delicious lips and slathering in his tongue, running hands over Dean's taut chest and stomach-

"Want you, Dean, want you so bad." And Dean's shoving him away, off the bed and onto the floor where he lands with a thump, looking dazedly up at his brother and Dean's growl hits his ears with a slap, "Sleep it the fuck off, man-" and the light clicks off, Dean rolls over and Sam's sitting stupidly on the floor, trying to figure out what the hell just happened and what the fuck he's doing here.

He breathes quiet for a few moments before he huffs his way to the other bed, throwing himself face first across the top of it and passing out instantly, dick hard and unsatisfied.

*

The next day, Dean's boring a hole into him, staring when he doesn't think Sam's looking, studying him, weighing and measuring-

Finally, Sam's had enough, "What?"

And Dean's gaze is penetrating, seeing right down to his soul, "What did you mean when you said you needed it, Sam?"

"Dean-"

"Sam, please. I need to know."

Sam feels the roll in his belly, the quaking that's been with him for days and he just wants to scream with it, won't go the fuck away and he really wants to tell Dean the truth, because this is the first time Dean's here, right here, with him and not shuttered away behind his mask-

So he takes in a deep breath of courage, spreading his hands wide apart and lifting his shoulders helplessly, not even sure where to begin, "Dean, I-I fucking hate it that I touched James, that I hurt you and I can't goddamn get past it! And you-there's no way you can make me feel any worse than I already do, man, believe me, I'm the fucking scum of the earth and I know it, Dean, I know it but there's nothing I can freaking do to fix this-

He takes in a shuddering pull of air and pushes out the words, "When-when Pan was hitting me, when I was goading him, it felt like…like I deserved it, deserved the whipping and that if he kept doing it long enough, that I could …I don't know…make it through and get past this."

Dean starts to speak but Sam holds up a hand, "I know it's not gonna be a quick fix, I know that but it felt like if I could pay for this with enough blood and enough pain, then it would be done, I would be done and we'd be…clean again, the two of us."

Sam's voice breaks on the last, "It's like I broke us, dirtied us and that belt would wipe it all away, make us pure again."

Dean narrows his eyes at him, examining him closely.

And Sam gives an awkward shrug, "Yeah, sick and twisted right? Given you shit for at least a month to fucking razz me with, huh? Sam wants to get beaten…"

But Dean stares at him for a moment longer and turns away, and doesn't say a word, not a fucking word.

*

*

Something is moving, shaking near him, he can hear it, it's squeaking, rocking and he comes to slowly, knowing it's not a threat but unable to identify the source-

Sam's hung, seriously, head-pounding hung and his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth and there's a herd of elephants roaring through his brain, kicking and trumpeting against his skull and swirling nausea through him.

He blinks his eyes open in the darkness, lifts his head to scan the perimeter, all secure, except-

The lump in the next bed is moving, beating out a familiar rhythm and he squints his mind around it, knows he can identify it if he just has another minute and when he hears the slip-slap of flesh on flesh, it clinches it for him – someone is jerking himself off and isn't that nice-

He shakes his head, frowning, reality slamming into him like a brick wall and he blinks, trying to deny what his eyes are very clearly seeing.

The movement is in the next bed and it's Dean and what the fuck?

He's-he's...jerking himself off?

Why would he be-? Sam's right here, just a foot away and aching to touch Dean again, just waiting for the word and he'll be right there, loving on his brother.

He watches as the blanket covering Dean shakes and trembles, the gasp of breath reaching Sam's ears a second later. The twitching movement goes faster, Dean's panting matching it and he hears the whispered, "Fuck, fuck!" and the low groan tells him Dean climaxed, finished and the slow pulls under the covers are for the after shocks.

Sam feels like the world just got ripped right out from under him.

"Dean?" His whisper seems to shout and Dean's eyes find his in the dark, glittering like black diamonds at him in the moon lit room, "Why would you-"

And words fail him, his voice trailing away into silence, the slash of pain through his heart leaves him gasping and when Dean's eyes fall away and he rolls over, turning his back to Sam, something huge and scary rises up inside Sam, isolation, so fucking alone, and he's off the bed in a heart beat, flicking on the light and yanking Dean onto his back-

Angry eyes meet his and he's got both hands on Dean's shoulders, pulling him up off the bed, shaking him violently, "Don't you turn your fucking back on me-"

"Get your goddamn hands off of me, Sam!"

But Sam's too far gone, snapped and jumped into the deep end and he's had enough-

"No! You did this to hurt me, to cut me down and now you don't wanna see the damage? Too fucking bad cause you're getting it, whether you want to see or not. You know I didn't cheat on you, you know it but you're using any excuse to pull away from me, to break us and I want to know why! We were so good before, so close and now…Yeah, ok? I wasn't as strong as you and yeah, I fucking jerked off James! I didn't fuck him, I didn't blow him, I didn't kiss-"

Sam trails off when he remembers that he did kiss him but not then – it had been later.

Dean's eyes widen, "You fucking kissed him?" And Dean starts struggling harder against Sam's grip, "You goddamn son of a bitch, let me go!"

And Sam does, releasing his brother so suddenly that Dean stares up at him with wary eyes, not sure when the next attack is coming.

Sam's voice is low and dangerous, "Yes, I kissed him - when he propositioned me. I kissed him goodbye, Dean but you know what? You gonna keep accusing me of cheating on you then I don't see any reason why I shouldn't just do the deed, you know? Then at least you can feel all righteous and justified that I'm not worthy of your love cause you know what? You're right. I'm not worthy of it, not at all."

And a tear he didn't even know he had rolled down his cheek and he's turning away, grabbing the motel key, "Found a bar a ways down the road. Sure I can find someone to fuck and then you'll know you were right about me all along. Happy now, Dean? Is this what it takes to make you happy? Don't worry – I won't be back."

Sam starts towards the door and next thing he knows, he's face smashed into the wall, Dean's hot breath in his ear, body a solid mass behind him, "You're not going anywhere, Sam-"

Sam struggles against him "What do you fucking care, huh? You're just looking for a reason to stop this, man, so I'll give you one. You don't want to fix this or try to make it better, you just want to punish me because I was weaker than you-"

Dean's hand is yanking on his belt, unbuckling and unbuttoning his jeans, "Shut the fuck up, Sam, just shut your goddamn mouth right now-"

And Dean's pulling him around, pushing up his shirt, twisting it off and his mouth is crashing onto Sam's, rough and fierce, shoving open Sam's mouth and thrusting in with his tongue, angry and attacking-

Sam pushes against him but Dean's not letting up, just tightens his grip and pushes him wider open, smashing into his teeth hard, fucking into Sam's mouth and he can't get a breath in, tries to pull away but Dean muscles him against the door, holds him there until he's done, taken what he wants from Sam.

When they break, the anger between them is a living thing, snapping and snarling between them and Dean's shoving him face down onto the bed, laying on him with his full weight, hissing into Sam's ear, "You want to fix this? You stay the fuck there and don't move-"

And he's gone, and Sam feels his boots yanked off and thumping to the floor and Dean's fingers are on his jeans, yanking them and his underwear down until he's naked and splayed on the bed and he waits, insides shaking and rolling because he doesn't know what the fuck is happening but-

He does want to fix this, of course he does and so he tries to stay still, do what Dean wants but-

A rustling behind him has him pricking up his ears and a familiar snap cuts through the air and what is that?

The sound comes again and Fuck!

Pain slashes across his back and shit, goddamn, Dean's fucking hitting him with a belt, laying it across the welts already there and his breath whooshes out of him, his back arches and he's clenching the blankets in tight fists-

He's up on his knees before he knows it, starting to roll over and get the hell out of here and Dean's on him again, knee to his back, holding him down-

The voice harsh and rasping in his ear, "You need this, Sammy, you told me so-"

"Dean-" Sam's voice cracks like glass, the sob thick in his throat, "You don't even know-"

Dean's voice comes again, huffing into his ear, his lifeline, his love, "I need it, too, Sammy. God help me, I need this, too-"

And Dean's weight is gone from him and he's hanging on by a thread, arms shaking with reaction, the pain in his back biting into him and he takes in a shuddering breath, feels Dean waiting, needing his permission, his approval before he'll finish this.

And bows his head, because Dean's right, he needs this, needs the guilt taken away from him by force because he won't give it up willingly, can't get rid of it on his own-

And Sam closes his eyes and lays back down, hanging onto the blanket for dear life, "Do it."

*

*