Sam came back to himself, slowly. His brain felt like it had been boiled and he had that awful foggy feeling that came from being drugged. The strange, pulsing pain and urgent lust was thankfully gone. Glancing at his arm, even the patch of stone pattern had faded and shrunk. He was sprawled half over Dean who was squished between him and the seatback. His brother's fingers were still tangled in his hair. Rolling away as far as the tight confines allowed, Sam put a bit of space between them. Holy shit, what had they done? The door at their feet was hanging open, but Sam had no interest in sliding down Dean's mostly naked body to get to it. Instead, he scrabbled for the handle and opened the door above his head. A small gust of slightly cooler air blew across his face helping to clear the fuzziness from his head. As gently and efficiently as possible, Sam extricated himself from Dean and wriggled out of the car. He almost fell on his ass, but caught himself before he ended up in the dirt.

The clearing was completely unchanged. The sun shone brightly, the birds sang in the branches above and there was no evidence of the extraordinary thing that had just happened. Padding around the car in his socked feet, he carefully kept his eyes away from the backseat where Dean was lying with his arm flung across his eyes. He wasn't quite ready to face his brother and no doubt Dean needed a few minutes to himself too.

Finding Dean's keys beside the car where he'd dropped them, Sam grabbed them and went to the trunk. The powder they had been dosed with seemed to become inert once it was exposed to moisture. Luckily most of it was stuck to his clothes which were currently on the ground, damp with sweat and humidity. Wishing for a shower, he had to settle for pouring a liberal amount of holy water from their 3-gallon jug over his head and hands. He felt dirty in more ways than one. At least the holy water didn't sting or steam. Maybe it should, considering what they'd just done.

Still, he couldn't feel guilty. They were both alive. Sam had accepted shortly after Jack had ascended that he and Dean were a package deal. They had made a life together as a family. He'd tried to live without his brother before and he never wanted to try again. So, they'd done what they needed to do.

Deciding that there would be time to process his complicated thoughts later when he wasn't standing in his socks and grubby underwear out in the open, he focused on riffling though his duffle bag. Quickly he stripped and redressed with clean clothes right down to his back up pair of boots. Once he was fully clothed, he felt a little calmer about things. Fetching a garbage bag from their supplies, he quickly gathered their clothing, boots and bags and stuffed them inside. The powder might be harmless now, but he wasn't taking any chances until they were out of these woods. Finally, he rooted around until he found the curse box tucked at the far back of the trunk. Hector's grimoire went into it and he locked it, shoving it back into the depths.

Sam wasn't sure what to do next, but he figured he should give Dean some space, so he wandered across the clearing to examine Hector's truck.

xxxxxx

Dean was way too hot, which made thinking in general difficult. Oddly, he wasn't in any pain except for a mild headache, but he definitely wasn't firing on all cylinders. It wasn't until Sam rolled away and he felt the air hit his sweaty body that he began to claw his way out of the drug fog. His stomach lurched. What the hell had they done? Dean had a pretty liberal attitude towards sex, but bumping uglies with his brother? It was too weird to think about. In the moment, with no other options, he'd been sure they were doing the right thing. No way was he going to let Sammy turn into some kind of museum piece. But now, he wasn't so sure.

Laying there, he listened as Sam rooted around in the trunk, appreciating the cooling cross-breeze flowing through the car and across his clammy skin. He didn't want to think about what they'd done. In fact, he didn't want to think at all. Unfortunately, he didn't have that luxury. A couple of miles away were two dead bodies. They needed to get out of here. To do that he had to get out of the back seat, get cleaned up, stow their gear, and navigate their way out of the wilderness. All without looking at Sam and dying of humiliation.

Dean should have insisted that they wear their respirators into the cabin, he should have looked for booby-traps, he should have left that friggin candlestick alone. He'd been sloppy and because of it, Sam had paid a terrible price. They'd both been forced to cross a boundary that should never be crossed. What if this was the straw that had Sam leaving for good? God, he felt sick to his stomach.

The sounds from outside stopped and Dean risked a quick glance. Sam was across the small clearing looking at Hector's truck. They'd already examined the vehicle before they went into the woods, so Dean knew it was Sam's attempt to give him the illusion of privacy. With a sigh, he peeled himself off the sticky leather and shimmied his way out of the car. Circling round to the open trunk, his keys dangled from the lock. Soaking a mostly clean rag with holy water, he wiped the worst of the grimy feeling off his skin. There was a high degree of irony in having a whore's bath with blessed water. Quickly he changed into fresh clothes. Sam had kindly left his spare boots by his duffle so in a few minutes, he was dressed. Closing his eyes again, he took a deep breath and tried to shove his feelings into a deep dark hole. Repression was his friend.

As prepared as he could be, Dean closed the trunk with a metallic thud and locked it. He couldn't bring himself to call to Sam, he just got into the driver side and waited. Sure enough, the passenger door opened a moment later, and his brother slid into shotgun. Without a word, Dean started the car and headed for home.

xxxxxxx

There are different kinds of silence.

Sam had spent countless hours in the car with Dean, in the companionable kind. Times when the rumble of the engine and the hum of the tires were the only sounds, and all was good in their world – well, as good as their lives could get. So comfortably in sync with each other that there was no need to talk.

Then there was the angry silence. The uncomfortable, prickly quiet where a job, circumstances or their own stubborn nature forced them together when they really needed some space. The kind where words were designed to hurt each other, so they were better left unsaid.

The silence of despair was different again. After a loss, when things seemed most hopeless, it was a quiet of self-reflection, guilt and pain, lessened a tiny bit because they were together, but so bleak that no words were adequate.

Sam thought he'd experienced every kind of silence with his brother, but this one was new. Usually they'd talk after a hunt, even if it was just to complain about the quantity of digging they'd had to do or how tired they were. And while he drove, Dean would shoot furtive glances him, as if to confirm that Sam really was safe and sound. He probably didn't realize how often he did it. Sam generally found it comforting. But today, Dean kept his focus firmly on the road, fingers white-knuckled around the steering wheel and shoulders rigid. The giant elephant sitting between them seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the car and Sam had no idea what to say to break this awkward tension.

Just thinking about what they'd done had Sam's face heating up again in a blush than felt like an epic, unending sunburn. Logically he knew that being drugged was just another kind of injury. It wasn't even the first time one or both of them had been dosed, cursed, or hexed. When Dean had become a demon, Sam had done things that made him squirm to think about, but he couldn't regret them. If he was honest with himself, there was very little he wouldn't do to save his brother. Sure, frottage with Dean hadn't been on his bingo card, and he never wanted to do anything like that again, but it wasn't even the worst thing he'd done to keep Dean sane and alive. They had patched each other up their entire lives. This cure just happened to be extremely embarrassing.

But he knew Dean. And he knew his brother was blaming himself, both for picking up the stupid candlestick and for proposing their indecent liaison. He'd completely ignore that it was Sam himself who got things started. The memory of that kiss and what followed it was blessedly hazy, but Sam was pretty sure he hadn't held back. They were both going to have to get past this and if that meant that Sam had to be more up front about his feelings than their usual Winchester style, well that was just too bad.

"So," Sam began, formulating his strategy as he went. Beside him Dean flinched, but Sam forged onward.

"I know you just want to forget that this ever happened. Me too, okay? But this wasn't your fault."

"Fine," Dean clipped out. "Forgotten, let's never mention this again."

The words were false, placating, said to avoid further conversation, but Sam wasn't going to let Dean off that easy. He remembered another kind of quiet, one he never wanted to feel again. The silence of being alone. The void he'd experienced when he'd lost Dean, first to Hell, then Purgatory. No way was he letting this unfortunate incident drive them apart.

"Dean," he sighed. "Sure, what we did was weird, and it wasn't anything we would have intended, but for once we're not bloody or beat to hell. Considering the alternative…we're okay."

"Are we?" Dean asked and Sam understood that he meant more than physical. "It's a pretty big thing to get past. I'd understand if you wanted to…take off for a while once we get home." There was a note of fear in Dean's voice. Did his brother really think that Sam would leave him at this point? Of course, it made sense when deep down Dean's greatest fear had always been being abandoned and alone. Sam mentally kicked himself. It was time to lay all his cards on the table and for once say the truth out loud.

"Dean, I'd do the same thing a million times over rather than lose you. I'm not going anywhere unless you want me to. This is it – the two of us. I chose our life, and I chose you. So, if you don't feel the same way…" Surprising even himself, his voice broke with emotion.

That earnest confession had Dean finally looking his way and Sam met his eyes as honestly as he could. His brother's face softened with affection and relief.

"C'mon Sammy, of course I do. It's always been you and me."

"So, we're solid?" Sam had to ask. Although his question was serious, Dean's eyes twinkled with mischief, and he offered a crooked, sassy grin.

"Like a rock, little brother."

Sam groaned even as he burst out giggling.

"Dude, that's bad…even for you."

Dean was laughing now too, the warm, rich sound filling the car and erasing the tension.

"Hey, don't blame me, you set yourself up for that one bro."

The joke wasn't that funny, but Sam found himself laughing harder. Maybe it was the black humour of a near miss, maybe it was the just the joy of being alive and together, either way it seemed to affect Dean as well since he was chortling away too. Sam couldn't remember the last time they had cracked up like this, but it was wonderful. By the time it stopped, Sam's belly hurt, but his soul was soothed. A peaceful quiet settled between them.

Dean reached over and clicked on the radio; the opening bars of AC/DC's Back in Black filled the car and they headed for home.

The End.