Coming to Terms

Fandom: Supernatural

Category/Rated: NC17

Year/Length: 2006/~18,440 words

Pairing: Dean/Sam

Spoilers: For "In my Time of Dying" and "Everybody Loves a Clown"

Disclaimer: Dean and his Sam belong to Eric Kripke and Supernatural. We own nothing, and we are doing this for love rather than money.

Warning: Wincest

Summary: "I'm worried about you, Dean. Don't you get that?" Sam spread his hands, helplessly. When next he spoke, he sounded much younger than his twenty four years. "You're destroying the things you love, and I don't want you to."

Sam felt totally inadequate. He felt as if the entire world had lurched sideways and left him standing on empty space, and it seemed to have a distressing need to do that these days. First Jess had been taken, and then his father, and now it seemed as though Dean was about to fold.

The world had always seemed so secure to him. Dean was his rock. There had always been Dean; even when he had been away at Stanford, Sam knew that Dean was there for him, and that some day if he needed to, he would be able to call on his brother. Behind Dean, the solid presence, the bedrock of his existence, his father had stood, an overwhelming being, who made the world right just by living, broad, strong and unstoppable.

Sure, Sam had fought for his own independence. He had seen Dean give himself up in the service of John Winchester, and had struggled to stop the same thing happening to him. And now, John was gone, leaving an empty void, and Dean was so remote, so changed, that Sam couldn't reach him, even when they were side by side.

He didn't know what to do. He'd tried. He'd bared his soul to Dean, and it seemed as if he'd wasted his time. He'd turned away to go back into the house and brood, and he was walking away when he heard the clang of metal on metal.

Shocked, he turned around, only to see Dean destroying his beloved car with a crowbar.

"What the fuck? Stop that! Dean! Stop it right now."

Dean stood at bay on the dirt, chest heaving, teeth clenched tight, and eyes stinging from sweat and unshed tears. His throat was tight, his hands vibrated from the metal to metal contact as he stared at his car. The hole in the trunk was irreparable, much like the hole left in Dean's heart. It was gaping and bleeding, and Dean wasn't sure it would ever stop.

He glared up at his brother, swallowing the lump in his throat. "WHAT?" he snapped. "First you don't want me touching the damn car, and then all of a sudden you're worried about it?" He stepped back and turned away to grab a rag, wiping his hands.

"I'm worried about you, Dean. Don't you get that?" Sam spread his hands, helplessly. When next he spoke, he sounded much younger than his twenty four years. "You're destroying the things you love, and I don't want you to."

Dean looked at the car, eyes dead. "It wasn't mine."

He turned and threw the rag upon it before grabbing his shirt and pushing past Sam, then stopped, turning back. "What about what I want?" Looking away, he kept walking back toward Bobby's house. He needed a drink, and he knew Bobby had whiskey in the house. Hopefully there would be a few full bottles.

"What is that, Dean? What do you want? Just tell me, and I'll give it to you, if I can." Sam followed him, tears in his eyes blurring his vision. "Don't shut me out; talk to me."

Dean stopped then and whirled on Sam. "I want you to leave me the hell alone. I want you to stop asking me if I'm okay. I..." He allowed his fists to unclench. "I want a fucking drink," he added, more quietly.

Now Dean thought he understood why their father drank after their mother's death. Dean could remember just sitting there, watching dad from around a corner. He could recall seeing his dad's head droop, seeing his face look so different.

So empty.

Dean pulled away from Sam and started off again as his father's last words to him echoed in his head.

"Yeah, go on," growled Sam, bitterly. "Drown yourself in a bottle, because that's what he did. You tell me that he and I were too alike, but I'll tell you, Dean, I never yet needed to drown my sorrows in a welter of self pity. Not like him. Not like you."

Sam turned on his heel and stalked away from his brother, feeling as if he'd somehow lost his only friend.

Dean's fist closed tightly again, and he trembled. His breath caught in his chest as if he had been punched. In a way he had been. Sam's words struck him hard, knocking the wind from him. Dean turned in looking over his shoulder seeing the retreating backside of his brother.

His brother.

His friend.

Dean looked away, wondering when he and Sam had reached this point. When had they started pushing away from each other? Then, suddenly, he knew. It had been the moment his father had leaned down to him and whispered in his ear.

Dean felt his chest tighten once again. He turned back, knowing Sam was out of earshot, "Don't leave me, Sammy," he whispered into the wind.

Sam had headed back to where the Impala, with its ruined trunk, stood waiting. He understood Dean's distress, but he didn't know how to reach him, and that hurt almost as much as their father's death itself.

Sam wasn't like Dean; he had no real mechanical aptitude, but he did the only thing he could think of under the circumstances. He grabbed the wrench and set about taking the damaged lid of the trunk off the car, and then went to find another to replace it with from the countless dead cars that littered Bobby's lot.

Dean found himself a bottle. A glass. And soon found himself sitting outside again on a dusty hood. He hadn't opened the bottle, just stared at the glass as the sunlight reflected off it.

Everything seemed to have been taken out of him; he felt empty and drained. Sam was the only bright spot he could look to, but even he had changed with the death of their father, and Dean wondered who he was any more.

It was as if the wind that had been constant in their lives, carrying them before it, giving them direction with only a few storms, had turned into a hurricane. Not only stirring up the air but everything else below as well.

He set the glass down and stared at the bottle. He turned it around, the light passing through the brown liquid. He just couldn't bring himself to open it right then; he had seen his father drink, and even Sam had once said maybe if he'd drunk a little less things would have been different, better.

Dean got to his feet, grabbing the glass as well. He headed back toward the Impala then stopped as he noticed the trunk lid that he'd damaged was missing. He blinked for a moment as he spotted Sam carrying another black one towards the Impala.

Dean walked over, "Here, I'll trade you." He held out the empty glass and still unopened bottle.

"Put it down there," grunted Sam, still toting the large piece of metal. "Help me put this on, and then we'll both have a drink when we're done." Sam was staring over Dean's shoulder, afraid to meet Dean's eyes in case he broke down, determined to keep it together for as long as Dean did. "You can make sure I put it on the right way up, okay?"

Dean's arms dropped as if a sudden weight was placed on them. He moved away, putting the glass and bottle down then went over to join Sam by the car. He grabbed the wrench and screws.

He took one end from Sam, and the pair of them lifted it on and put it into place, lining it up. As he put the screws into position, Dean closed the trunk to make sure it lined up correctly before tightening the bolt, and, despite his misgivings, he let Sam do the other side.

From the house, Bobby watched the two brothers and sighed softly. He only hoped they would be able to hold it together.

Sam concentrated on his side of the trunk, watching Dean's sure fingers tightening the nuts, trying to remember how he did it so that he didn't make more of an idiot of himself than he usually did when faced with machinery. Slowly tightening his own side of the trunk, his hand slipped, and he cut it on the sharp edge, but he carried on, somehow feeling that, if they could only get this into place it would bring the two of them together again.

When at last it was fastened on he was dirty and disheveled, but the car looked as good as it had before Dean had taken the crowbar to it. Turning to his brother, he spread his hands. "Okay, so now we drink - together. You want to take the glass? I can go get another."

Dean reached into his pocket, pulling a rag out and grabbed(ing) Sam's hand. The blood was welling up, but at least the cut wasn't deep. He grabbed the bottle and opened it, pouring some on the rag, "I'll take the bottle, you can have the glass," he answered, busy as he concentrated on wrapping Sam's hand.

"You were always clumsy around the car." Dean spoke quietly as he stepped back from Sam, reaching for the glass to pour Sam a drink. He handed it over before leaning against the newly repaired trunk to take a drink for himself.

The whiskey was smoky and mellow, and Sam took a good mouthful, coughing slightly as it went down. "Here's to Dad," he said. "He should be here, but since he isn't, we'll just have to drink it for him."

He clinked his glass to Dean's bottle and took another sip. "You remember that clown? How old was I? About eight, I guess. Man, I was so scared of that sucker. Dad thought it was funny, the bastard."

Dean didn't say anything; he couldn't, and he didn't even want to. He really didn't want to talk about their dad. "Clowns should have been the least of your worries, dude; that's why. He wasn't the only one to think it was funny, either," he managed at last. "If I recall, you also slept in my bed for a month after. Then there was the monster in your closet."

Dean took another drink.

"Yeah, I had nightmares about that friggin' jerk and his balloons for weeks after that. I was fine ‘til he stuck his face into mine and honked his nose at me." Sam shook his head as he drained his glass and held it out for more. "And I swear to god that there was a monster in the closet - I'm sure I saw it. I remember telling dad about it, and he gave me that stupid gun. Dude, what kind of man gives a nine year old a 45?"

Dean looked over at Sam, "You really have to ask that?" Dean poured some more of the fiery spirit into Sam's glass before drinking again.

Staring into the bottle again as if it would reveal the secrets of the universe to him, Dean frowned. "Sam," he began. "Dad knew you loved him. And even if you didn't, it didn't matter because he loved you."

"You telling me you think I didn't love Dad?" Sam set his glass down on the ground and rubbed his forehead. "Of course I loved him; how could you think otherwise? It's just that he didn't see me as a person - he saw me the same way as he saw you - as a weapon he could use. If I hadn't fought for what I wanted, I wouldn't have stood a chance of being a person in my own right. I always had the feeling that he didn't care about what we wanted."

He drained his glass and held it out again. "Hit me," he murmured. "Fill it up and tell me what you want, Dean. I wanna know."

Dean poured more into Sam's glass. "I meant you thinking Dad thinking you didn't love him. But Dad did the best he could, and he didn't see you that way. Why do you think he pushed me the hardest? Because he knew I would have to be the one to protect you when he wasn't there." He fell silent for a long moment and then took a deep swig from the bottle, while forming his thoughts into words, then shrugged. "Doesn't matter what I want."

"Of course it fucking matters. It matters to me, or I wouldn't have asked you." Sam frowned. "So don't give me that. Tell me what you want. Tell me, Dean - and while you're at it, tell me why you and Dad both think I can't protect myself."

"Why does it matter so much now what I want? Huh? Didn't before. It was always what you or Dad wanted," snapped Dean, taking another drink. More was poured into Sam's glass, and his brother matched him, drink for drink. "I want Dad back. I want us all to be together. Everything to be like it was." Dean drank again and didn't say that he wished his father hadn't told him what he had. Which brought him to the vexed question of why Sam needed to be protected. "We knew you could take care of yourself, Sam. It's the other things that you don't see coming that we do. Sammy, that thing, that demon wants you. But it's not going to happen."

"You're right, it's not." Sam looked belligerent as he lifted the glass to his lips again. "You don't care about me anyway. I'm just a chore that Dad left for you to do." Easy tears sprang to his eyes. "You complain because I had what I wanted. I fought to get that for myself, but I don't have it now, do I? So why are you still so fucking jealous?"

Dean turned his head to Sam. "You don't get it, because you're so damn, fucking selfish." Dean pushed away from the car and stood before Sam. "Everything I did was for you and Dad. I didn't complain once. I gave up everything I ever wanted to do, because of you two, and all I fucking was to Dad was a babysitter. And to you... I came and got you from school, because I didn't want to find dad alone. I told you that. But you... you just wanted the hunt to end. Kill the demon and go back to school. Now after Dad's death, all that just changes. You two butted heads, screamed at each other all the time. I've been trying to get you back into this, and all it takes is Dad's death?"

"If anyone doesn't care... it's you, Sam."

"You don't play fair!" Sam clenched his fists, angry now. "I never asked you to give up everything you wanted. You did it. I didn't get a choice in the matter, did I; how could I? I was only a baby. Now you're blaming me? How the fuck do you manage to work that out?"

He drew in a deep breath. "And I came with you to find Dad. I came with you, and I'm still with you. But you, you keep making up rules that only you know, and woe betide me, if I happen to break them."

He took a drink from his glass, angry spots of red on his cheeks indicating his anger. "And yeah, we butted heads. The last time was because he wanted to fuck around summoning the demon when you were dying, as if you didn't matter. If he could summon the demon, why didn't he do it years ago and put us all out of our misery? We could both have had the lives we wanted then."

"You weren't a baby all your life, Sam and the only reason is because Dad and I made sure you were safe. Because we couldn't stand to lose you. Because we loved you." Dean backed up as Sam took his drink.

"You still don't see it do you, Sam. Did you bother to think Dad didn't because he wasn't ready? Because he didn't want to bring it to him till he knew he could kill it?"

"Well, he didn't, did he?" Sam was crying now, tears coursing down his cheeks unnoticed. "He summoned it, and it killed him, and he didn't give a flying fuck about you, or me, or any of it."

He dropped to the ground, suddenly no longer caring about facing off with Dean, and sat leaning his back against the door panel. "I know he summoned the fucking thing. Bobby told me what the stuff he wanted was for, and anyway, where's the Colt that's supposed to be our one way of killing the cursed thing? I know what he did."

Dean stood looking down at Sam. He then turned and sighed as he sat down. "What did he do, Sam?" He looked at him, his face stricken. "What do you think he did?"

Sighing, Sam looked at his brother. His eyes were beginning to grow hazy with the alcohol he'd consumed, and his words were starting to slur a little, but he leant forward earnestly and began to talk. "He gave me a list of stuff to get him, and told me it was for banishing demons. Bobby took one look at it and asked me why Dad was trying to summon one. He lied to me, Dean. He did. I yelled at him for wanting to fuck around with demons while you were at death's door. You died, once, I saw it. They had to revive you, but he didn't care. He didn't care; he just... went off... and did it."

The last few words were muffled by sobs, and he put his hands to his face, suddenly feeling naked under Dean's hostile gaze.

"Banishing or protection?" Dean mused. Of course, what difference did it make? Sam was right; their father had lied. "You know dad has his..." Dean sat down in the dirt as well. "He... he didn't try to..." He took another deep drink. He was tempted to tell Sam what their father had whispered to him, but... Dean looked up, surprised by the pools of black shadow that surrounded them, the sun had long since set and neither brother had noticed. "He was a bastard at times wasn't he? All he cared about was revenge."

"I wish I knew what he cared for." Sam shrugged, tilted his glass to his lips and sipped the liquor, wincing as he swallowed. "I mean, why's he go on 'bout protecting me an' takin' care o' me, an' he never tol' me t' take care o' you. Din't say, 'take care o 'Dean,' an' I wan' ask him why."

Dean stared out at the yard with its unfamiliar shapes and looming hulks of metal before looking down again, the rim of the bottle glistening from his spit and liquor mixed. He tipped it back up to his lips, feeling the burn as he drank a healthy swallow. His head was already swimming, and the drunken fog had settled in.

"He cared, Sammy," Dean paused, "You were his baby. His youngest. I... I didn't need protecting 'cause I always did what he said. Asked. I wasn't like you, Sam." So what if he'd nearly died... twice. Dean had always known that Sam... his brother had been special. Not just because of his abilities but special to his father for some other reason as well.

God he was so mixed up. He suddenly banged the back of his head on the car in frustration.

"Don't!" Sam's head jerked around to study his brother. "Please don' hurt yourself any more, Dean." He reached out, fingers sliding into short, soft hair to rub the place where he'd banged it. "Don't wan' you to hurt y'self. Don' want you to hurt th' car. Love you. We're all we got left, now. Jus' you, me, n' the car."

Dean pulled his head away a bit, the pain had felt good, and it gave him the sharpness he needed to notice that his brother was drunk.

He pushed up. "I'm fine." Reaching down, Dean hooked an arm under Sam and pulled him up. "Let's not sit on the dirt, Back seat is fine." Dean pulled Sam's stumbling form around and guided him into the back seat reflecting wryly that at least he didn't have to open the door for that side.

He climbed in as well, slumping down as he took another drink. "The car... damn fuckin' thing."

"You love the car." Sam was vehement in his assertion. "'S your baby. You can't hurt your baby. Wouldn't be right." He looked forlorn. "You got a car t' love, an' me, I ain't got anythin' any more. Don't got a car, or Jess, or even anythin'. Jus' me."

He sat in silence, turning his glass around and around and then suddenly turned to Dean. "You realize I grew up in thish... this car? S'my home. S'our home."

Dean really wanted to reach over and punch his little brother for his words. Instead his face tightened up in anger, and he turned his head towards Sam to speak to him.

"That's a bunch of shit, and you know it, you little pissant. You got me. You got me to love but... I'm not Dad. I'm not Jess. I'm nothin' apparently." He pushed out of the back seat, nearly falling onto his ass, "S'yer home, well it's perfect. J'st like us. Broken. I'm left to pick up the fuckin' pieces."

"You don' love me. M' jus' a thing t'you - some duty thing that you gotta protect. People don' love things, do they? They love people." Sam followed Dean out of the car and stood swaying before him. "You resent me. You jus' want me t'do what you want, an' tha's all, an' I don' know anythin' any more."

Dean stared at his brother. He didn't know how long, possibly just a few breaths. Then the world seemed to move in slow motion. Dean's fist drew back, and before he could stop the action, Dean felt it connect with his brother's jaw.

Dean backed up, looking down at his brother, "You bastard. Yer j'st like... like HIM!" He shouted the last words. "Only thinkin of yerself. Poor me. It's all 'bout me. Protect Sammy, he said. Not, I love you son. J'st take care of yer ass."

Staggering back, Sam would have fallen if not for the car behind him. As it was, he smacked into it and half stood, half lay against it, feeling his jaw. "But I love you, an' that doesn't fuckin' count, does it? Cos... cos I'm a thing an' not a person t'you. Jus'... a Chinese obligation."

Sam spat a little blood and glared at his brother. "An' you wanna hurt me, so go on, 'f it makes you feel better."

Dean rushed in, pinning Sam to the car, "You know why I did the things I did? Because of you, Sam. BECAUSE OF FUCKIN' YOU! I gave up everything for you the moment I carried you out of that house. I promised I would always protect you, but you... you didn't care. Didn't even see. Didn't even bother to see. Not you. Not DAD! You two... it was just what you wanted. But what about ME!"

"The first chance you got you ditched me. Left me. Pfft... gone." Dean stepped back, his hands waving. "Dad... same thing. No goodbye, son, see you around, jus' gone. Now all I have left is his damn, fucking car. And the only reason he gave it to me was to get rid of me. But what do you fuckin' care? What do you care it's all I have left of Dad to hold onto?"

"Get off me!" Sam shook his head, trying to clear it. "You're full of shit! How the fuck could I see anything when I was a baby? How the fuck could I see anything but you? You did everythin' an' I didn't know any different, except other kids had moms an' houses an' stuff, an' I couldn't."

Sam shoved Dean, pushing him back. "I never asked you to do it for me, an' if you didn't even want to, why did you bother?" He was shaking with anger now, and he pulled his own hand into a fist, ready to strike out. "And why do I have to follow you to prove that I love you? Why couldn't we both do what we wanted? You wanna hunt. I wanna go to school, but you say if I love you I can't do that. That's how you see it, isn't it?"

Dean stumbled back, hand going back to the car to steady his legs. He was still glaring at his brother,

"I did it because I loved you, asshole," Dean snapped back. "I did... You know what, forget it. Just forget it. Do what you want, Sam."

Dean turned to walk away, but then whirled around, grabbed his drunken brother by the front of his shirt, fingers twisting in it, before he jerked him close and kissed him, hard. Dean's mouth worked against Sam's, letting every emotion he'd tried so hard to keep deep inside him show.

Just as quickly, he pulled away, pushing his brother back as he did so. He glared at Sam, before grabbing the bottle from the ground and began to walk away.

"What the fuck?" Sam pushed away from the car, reached to grab Dean's shoulder and almost knocked them both off their feet. "Wha' you do that for?" he asked, looking utterly baffled. "Don' leave me 'lone. Need m'big brother."

Arms wide, Sam enveloped Dean in an all-encompassing hug. "You 'n me, Dean. 'Sall we got."

"Damnit, Sam," Dean grumbled and tried to keep them both from falling over. He made a face as Sam wrapped his arms around him, squirming a little as he tried to break free of Sam's hold. "Let go of me." Dean tried to push Sam away, but the two ended up falling over, driving the air from his lungs as Dean ended up under his gigantic brother. "Dude, get off me."

Dean tried to push Sam off. He knew he shouldn't have kissed Sam, but hopefully his little brother would be too drunk and hung over to remember it. "Okay, okay, enough of the hugging already! You're gonna use up my quota for the year."

"Don' wanna." Sam continued to squeeze Dean against him, long arms wrapped tightly around him, pinning his arms to his sides, still swaying slightly as Dean struggled. "'F I let you go, you're gonna run an' leave me 'lone. Don' wanna be all alone."

A stray tear trickled down Sam's cheek and plopped onto his brother's shoulder. "You 'n me, Deano. We're th' two musketeers. Don' got anyone else. 'Sides, you 'n me rock, wi' real rock salt. Tha's good stuff, right there."

Dean had his head turned away, still making a face, but his struggles had ceased. His arms folded at the elbow, resting his hands upon Sam's side. "In my state, I would be lucky to run." his head bumped Sam's as the two wobbled again, "More like Heckle and Jeckle, Chip and Dale,"

Leaning back, Dean looked at Sam, "Dude, you crying on my shoulder? Don't. Don't cry, Sammy," The last part was spoken very softly.

"But you... you don' love me any more." Sam gazed forlornly at his brother. "Y'mad at me, an' I din' do anythin' wrong."

He made as if to let go of Dean and wobbled alarmingly, grabbing hold of him again in an effort to stay on his feet.

"Don' know how t' stop."

Dean rolled his eyes, about to answer his brother when he felt him wobble. Grabbing him up against him to keep him from falling, Dean crushed their bodies together. He regretted it the moment he did, because he figured that Sam would surely feel the lump in his pants and know that it wasn't his knife or his keys.

"Let's get you into the house, down on your back and sleeping, dude. You'll feel better in the morning."

"Don' wanna sleep," protested Sam. "Wanna stay here an' be with my Deano."

Sam suddenly clapped both hands to Dean's cheeks and applied a huge, smacking kiss to the astonished Dean's lips. "My Deano," he said, looking at his brother with glazed eyes and he teared up all over again. "Don' run away from me. Need you."

Dean blinked as another wave of grogginess from the whiskey tried to wash over him, flinching as his lips received a sloppy, puckered kiss from his brother.

"Sam, I'm not going anywhere and... you don't need me, you never did," Dean whispered out the last part as he tried to shuffle them over closer to the back seat, where he hoped he could possibly get his brother to spread out. His feet shuffled in the dirt ‘til he finally succeeded in getting them where he wanted to be, and he promptly fell forward, sending them both into the back of the car, with him on top.

"Do too need you." Sam was vehement, his long, bony finger pointing up the message by beating a tattoo on Dean's chest. "Need you all the time."

He uttered a yelp as Dean toppled them into the back of the Impala, flailing wildly as he fell, and then clinging to Dean. "Don' say I don' need you. My Dean." He wound his arms around his brother and pulled him close, then frowned. "Dude, you got a gun in your pocket, or you happy to see me?"

Dean was squirming against Sam, and it wasn't helping any that his brother was squirming as well. It wasn't helping his erection one bit, and of course, Sam just had to point it out.

"A gun," Dean lied, planting one hand on the seat as he pushed up, a knee resting between Sam's parted legs for balance, so he could push away. "You need me like you need a hole in your head."

"Got one." Sam was giggling softly now, clinging to Dean like a limpet as his brother tried to get free. "Got a big hole in my head. 'S a cakehole." This seemed to be very funny to Sam in his state of inebriation. "Need you like I need my cakehole."

He pulled Dean down against him again and then, for good measure, wrapped his legs around his brother as well as his arms.

Dean dropped back down, closing his eyes tightly, because he didn't want to feel the way he was feeling. He knew that he shouldn't be reacting the way that he was, but the goddamn, little, tall bastard under him wasn't helping any, paralytic as he was.

There was a sloppy grin on Dean's face as he turned his head towards Sam, "You are a cakehole!" He could feel Sam's hips move, and though he knew it wasn't intentional it was rubbing him just the right way. He reached up, grabbing a hand full of hair, jerking Sam's head back, "I can't do this, Sammy," he breathed. "Not like this."

"Can' do what?" Sam still clung to Dean, but now he was attempting to sit up and getting horribly tangled in his brother's limbs as he did so. "You're pullin' my hair, dude. Hurtin' me."

He blinked at Dean, his eyes big and wide, as if he couldn't believe his brother would do such a thing. "'m jus' not good enough, am I? 'M not Dad, an' I'm jus' useless. I'm sorry."

Dean released Sam, "Damn it, Sammy." His anger showed in his voice as he growled, and he tried even harder to push away, "Let me go. It's not right, that's all. It's not because of Dad."

Sam didn't comply, he merely looked at his brother, puppy dog expression on his face, the one thing that Dean had never been able to resist.

"Y'er drunk, Sammy," Dean paused, casting about for an escape route, then, giving up, he surged in, giving Sam a deep kiss, exhaling into him as he dragged his lips down along Sam's jaw and then to his ear where he nuzzled him, sighing against his ear.

"I can't, Sammy, I want to but I can't," He closed his eyes tightly, "God, Sammy, I love you but I can't... stop pushing you away. I can't lose you like I lost Dad. Not because of it."

The kiss made Sam shiver. He'd been relaxing his grip, but now he reached again to cling to Dean.

"Don' wan' you to push me away." He smirked. "Much better to kiss me. Nice to kiss me." He aimed a clumsy kiss at Dean's mouth and landed it half on and half off. "Damn. Missed!" he mumbled, sliding his own mouth along until he could connect with Dean's. "Wan' to kiss you too. Not gonna lose me, cos you 'n me're gonna kick asses! Everyone's asses gon' get kicked!"

He was still trying to get away, but Dean was finding his efforts becoming less and less real. Sam's kiss was clumsy, but Dean didn't pull away, though in his mind, he knew he should. The next kiss was on target, and they exchanged their breath as they explored each other's mouths. Dean trembled and felt the strain in his pants getting worse.

Damn Sam.

Reaching fingers back in Sam's hair, Dean growled, and when he gripped those dark locks, he pulled Sam's head back not to move it away, but so his brother's throat was exposed to permit Dean's mouth to ravish it.

Dean moved against Sam, rubbing his erection through tight jeans.

"Sam," He lifted his head and started to kiss Sam all over again, when he heard a noise in the junkyard.

Dean's head whipped around, trying to look over his shoulder. His heart was beating fast and he got a little dizzy from doing so, the whiskey fogging his brain once again.

He pushed away from Sam, pulling from his brother to stand, looking around. He turned left and right, looking into the darkness. It seemed as though the sound that had disturbed them was merely the settling of metal as it cooled after the heat of the day, but the initial rush had left them, and they were both feeling uneasy now.

Sam felt his head whirling. He hung onto Dean as he pulled himself to standing, leaning against the Impala to look around with a frown. "Should go in, I s'pose," he murmured. "Don' want the demon t' get you."

Sam tried to stand upright and staggered a little, then grabbed Dean's hand and started to tow him back towards the house. "Got to go to bed. We'll be safe there, 'cos the house 's got protec... protec... 'S all right. Bobby'll watch an' he won' let our li'l drunk asses get hurt."

Dean looked back to Sam when he mentioned the Demon. His expression was hard to read, and he couldn't even decide himself if he was feeling worry, fear, or if he was just ready for battle.

Upon Sam's pull, Dean stumbled forward, then followed to keep his brother upright and stop him from falling flat on his face. "Best," he muttered in walking beside him, picking his way through.

As they reached the house, Dean tripped on the stair, and found Sam's hand catching him to prevent him from falling. "Damn," he muttered.

Bobby opened the door. "Hey boys, wondered where you... whew!" He waved his hand before him as Sam got close. "You guys been sucking gas from the cars?"

"Something like that," Dean answered as he got close enough for the fumes to hit too.

Bobby helped Dean as he guided Sam into his room, "You boys get to bed. Gonna have one hell of a hammer hitting your heads in the morning."

"Me 'n Deano, we drinkin' t' Dad, cos he w's the... the fuckin' best!" Sam swayed in front of Dean and Bobby, and slowly turned pale. "Think I had too much t' drink. Don' feel so good."

For a moment or two, Sam stood looking at Dean in mute appeal, and then he lurched forward. "Do need you, Deano. Tell'm, Bobby. Tell 'm how much I need 'm, 'cos he don't b'lieve me." Stumbling to where Dean was standing, he flung his arms around Dean's neck once more and leant there, apparently bent on remaining where he was for the foreseeable future.

Bobby looked at Dean and then back at Sam. "Boy, you hurl on my floor; you can bank on cleaning it up in the morning."

Dean looked at Bobby for help, but the old hunter just shook his head and gave a laugh. "C'mon, bed for you."

Dean started walking Sam in and got his brother to the bed, leaning down and nearly falling as well.

Bobby walked over, and started to take Sam's shoes off for him. "Deano?"

"Shud'up," Dean tried to worm his way loose.

Giggling, Sam allowed Bobby to remove his trainers and released Dean, only to grab hold of his hand and pull him down to sit on the bed next to him. "Don' let 'im. He can't call you Deano. Tha'... that's my name for you."

He closed his eyes for a moment, and then began to struggle up again. "Gon' go visit the... the li'l boy's room. Feel... not good."

As he rose from the bed, Bobby reached under one arm, and Dean got back up to help lift his brother and guide him to the bathroom, "Dude, I'm not holdin' yer hair," Dean commented as he succeeding in getting Sam into it and released him.

"Deano?" Bobby looked at Dean again.

"Don't ask." Dean leaned against the door frame.

"You hold your liquor like your..." Bobby cut off for a moment.

"I'm surprised he's not doing karaoke," Dean nodded to Sam.

"He does, he's sleeping outside."

Sam had slumped to his knees by the toilet bowl and was currently engaged in turning himself inside out as he vomited up the half pint or so of whiskey he'd drunk. When he was done, he continued to slump, exhausted. His earlier good mood had vanished, and now all he could think of was the fact that his brother wanted to leave him - wanted him to go away and somehow pretend that none of this had happened. Tears rolled down his cheeks again, and he sat, head on his forearm, allowing his grief to take him.

Dean turned his head back to where Sam still crouched and then moved over, getting a washcloth wet before handing it down to his brother. "Here, little bro," he whispered and placed his arms around Sam so he could whisper in his ear, "Let's get you to bed. I'll stay with you," he breathed, starting to lift him.

"Need help, Deano?" Bobby joked.

"I got him," Dean answered, pulling Sam to his feet.

"Alright, holler if you need anything," Bobby headed out, glancing back from the door before closing it.

Dean got Sam up and led him over to the bed. "C'mon," he murmured, sitting Sam down and tugging at his shirt to get it off.

His brother's gentle hands on him made Sam cry all the more, and he sat forlornly, tears dripping from his cheeks as he allowed Dean to remove his shirt and then, with a little difficulty, his jeans. His head had cleared a little following his session with the toilet bowl, and he suddenly realized exactly what an idiot he must seem.

"Don't blame you for wanting to see the back of me," he slurred. "'M an idiot."

"I'll get me a tee shirt that says I'm with stupid, okay," Dean got Sam's pants off, and then pushed him to lie back under the covers. Dean had made a promise to his father before he died that he would take care of Sam, but that was only one of the many reasons he was tucking his brother into bed.

Dean pulled his own dirty shirt and shoes off, before he climbed up onto the bed behind Sam and pulled his brother to him, the way he always had when they were kids.

Sam didn't know what time it was when he woke up, but his head was splitting, his bladder was so full that it ached, and his mouth tasted like the bottom of a birdcage. He suppressed a moan, feeling the heavy body that lay against him, arm warm and loose around his middle.

"Dean..." he breathed.

Sliding out from the embrace, he lurched to the bathroom to empty his bladder and rinse his mouth, and then to the kitchen, where he found himself a bottle of water and drank it thirstily.

Stumbling back to his bed, he did his best to slip back into Dean's embrace.

Dean was sleeping soundly, the drunken stupor he'd fallen into had helped him stay that way, secure in the knowledge that they were safe in this place. Bobby had made sure of that for them.

Sam getting up went unnoticed, but when he came back, Dean jerked away and blinked. "Huh? What?" He rolled then fell out of the small bed, landing on his chest. Groaning, he pushed up, holding his head as he peeked over the bed. "Sammy?" he whispered. "What time is it?" he asked, rubbing his hand through his hair then stumbling up to go to the bathroom. He was in a bad way, with a dry mouth, a greenish tinge to his face and tired eyes.

"Dunno," mumbled Sam, watching Dean as he headed out of the room. "'Bout three, I think. Dean, you comin' back?" Sam was almost tempted to follow his brother into the bathroom, but realized just how silly that would be and rolled to sit on the edge of the bed to wait for his return.

"In the morning?" Dean called back as he zipped his pants back up and washed his hands, rinsing his cotton wool-flavored, dry mouth out as well before wandering back to see Sam sitting on the bed. "Now what kind of question is that? Am I comin' back." Dean rolled his eyes as he moved closer.

He dropped down beside Sam, the bed making a noise and looked over at his brother. "You still look tired, go back to sleep, Sammy."

Lying back against the headboard, Sam reached for his brother and pulled him closer. "We're both tired," he whispered. "But I want to tell you something."

He paused. Now he'd started, he didn't know how to say the things he needed to. Finally, he bent his head to press his lips against Dean's, wondering if Dean would kiss him back or punch him out.

Moving up to lean next to his brother, Dean stared into the darkness for a long while before turning his head to Sam, having to really listen to his brother's softly spoken words. He was about to ask what Sam was going to say, when Sam paused, and something in Dean made him hold his tongue. The battle on his little brother's face was clear. Dean could appreciate the need to search for just the right words, and he could see that Sam looked as if he'd been dropped in the middle of a forest and told to find his way out.

Dean would have found it amusing, the way he often did with Sam, however any thoughts were whisked away from him as his lanky brother kissed him. Dean felt his insides tighten, and he knew then and there that he should pull back. He didn't. Instead, he returned the kiss.

He pulled away slowly, his eyes looking up to Sam, "We shouldn't, Sammy," he whispered.

"It's what I want." Sam winced. Dean already thought he was selfish, and that wouldn't help. "It's what you want too. I could feel." He turned to look at Dean, big-eyed in the glimmer of moonlight peeking in through the thin curtains at the window. "You're everything to me now, Dean. There's nothing else, no other reason for living. I need you to get by. If you leave me, then there won't be anything left."

He lifted his hand to slide it down over Dean's cheek, thumb caressing the fullness of his brother's lower lip. "I want you - I want us to be together."

Dean looked down, because it was what he'd wanted, for too damn long. He'd always scolded himself for getting excited when Sam would touch him in a perfectly innocent way, feeling that touch all through his body and having to fight (from) getting a hard-on. And now, now that touch was having its effect, and this time it seemed that Sam didn't want him to fight it.

Dean gazed at his brother; Sam's thumb felt as light upon him as a whisper. He reached up, closing fingers around Sam's wrist, "You will always have me, Sammy. That's not gonna change no matter how far apart we are." He was trying to give his brother reasons, trying to give assurance.

He leaned in, getting closer, his head tipping while he raised a hand to rest at the side of Sam's neck. He knew that he should just kiss his cheek and let it be and not fall into this, but he also knew that it wasn't going to happen.

Dean touched his lips to his brother's once again, but this time he poured his emotions out, leaning more and more into Sam as he deepened the kiss, fingers sliding up into the younger man's hair, but this time they weren't gripping, they were caressing, pulling his brother closer to him.

The caress was unexpected; (and) Sam had half expected a blow. When Dean's hand twined into his hair he gasped, and as Dean's soft mouth met his own, his lips were parted, eager. Sam closed his eyes, the better to savor the taste, the feel of his lover, his brother. His own hands slid along the muscled planes of Dean's back, one creeping up to fondle his brother's neck, and the other slipping down to cup one firm, rounded buttock as his tongue invaded Dean's mouth, slick and wet, to tease and explore.

He thought that his insides might be melting, and he knew for sure that he was aroused, needy in a way that was more urgent than anything he'd ever experienced. He hadn't made love - or even wanted sex - since he'd seen Jess's immolation on the ceiling, and the desire for Dean hit him like a freight train, all the pent up love and longing he'd ever felt slamming through him as he held Dean against him and wondered just how they would survive.

Dean's mouth worked against Sam's, teasing, exploring, loving. He sighed into the kiss, as if that sigh could release all the tension from his body that was pressed so tightly against his brother. He moved his hand, sliding it down Sam's back to feel his muscles, letting his fingers wander along his spine.

Sam wasn't wearing as many clothes as he was, so when Dean's hand reached the top of Sam's underwear, he could feel every inch of his brother, and he was almost preternaturally aware that Sam's cock was pressed against his thigh.

He pulled back to let them both breathe, but he didn't stop kissing, instead working his mouth over Sam's chin, along his jaw and down to his neck, feeling the prickle of whiskers that needed shaving. Teeth pulled at the soft, tender skin upon Sam's neck, tugging at it just a little before he let it go. Fingers worked along the band of Sam's underwear, exploring and testing to see if his brother was going to object.

All of his life, Sam had known the touch of Dean's hands against his skin. Dean had bathed him, dressed him, fed him and played with him since before he could walk. Occasionally, Dean's hand had meted out summary discipline to him as well, and Sam knew that touch almost as well as he knew his own.

As Dean's fingers slid in delicate inquiry down and below the waistband of his boxer briefs, Sam pushed in against him, his own hand ghosting around to start unfastening the button holding Dean's jeans closed.

His hand was shaking, and he moaned, feeling as if he was about to enter totally uncharted territory. Sam wished he could see Dean other than as a silhouette in the scant moonlight and wished he could watch his brother's eyes as he began to touch him, claim him for his own.

He urged Dean's lips close again, seeking out his mouth and sucking on it before pulling away with a gasp. "I've never..." he mumbled. "Do you know what to do?"

Dean lifted his head, his mouth closing over Sam's. While Sam wanted the lights on, Dean was perfectly fine with them being off and it being dark. It eased the guilt that had already settled in the growing pit in his stomach. This is incest. This is my brother. This was the man he had taken care of all his life, and here he was, trying to get down his underwear like some sick pervert.

Right now, Dean couldn't think of that. Didn't want to.

Gazing into the dark, he shook his head, "You caught me, Sammy. I'm still a virgin at this kind of thing." He shoved his hand down Sam's underwear, gripping his ass and pulled Sam closer to him, feeling the covered erection scrape against his jeans.

Inside his head, Dean was wondering just how hard it could be? He'd been the lucky recipient of many blowjobs, and remembering how good that always felt, he thought that maybe he could do that for Sam? With his plan in place, Dean moved over his brother and started working his way down Sam's chest.

Fingers caught at Sam's underwear, and he tugged as he moved down. "Let's try this first, huh?" He pulled the boxer briefs off, letting them fall to the side of the bed, before he moved himself into position smoothing one hand along Sam's thigh and using the other to balance himself.

Dean used his hand to explore, learning the way Sam's hips jutted out to each side of the flat belly, the way his stomach muscles twitched when he got close to sensitive areas. How his fingers fitted around the base of Sam's cock.

Dean glanced up at Sam. He had seen his brother naked many times. He would never admit it to Sam, but it was so tempting to touch him, to reach out and do all the things he had been thinking of for the past ten years or so but never acted on, ‘til now. And now that it seemed that it was really going to happen, he had never felt more insecure in his life.

Dean curled his fingers around hardened flesh and started to stroke. He watched, shivering as the skin of Sam's cock pulled up in his hand and then slipped away as it traveled the length of it up and down. He found the scent of his brother delicious, so pleasing his mouth was watering. As a little drop appeared at the eye of Sam's cock, Dean used his thumb to wipe it away, smearing it around the head, doing everything that had ever made him feel good when he jerked himself off.

The cool air on Sam's belly was a stark contrast to Dean's warm breath as he slid down to touch him. Sam felt goose bumps rising at the anticipation of Dean's caresses, and when his brother began to slide his hand over him, he couldn't stop his body shuddering. His breathing had hitched, rasping as he tried to draw in the fuel to sustain him and felt the air too thick to breathe.

"Dean," he murmured, voice shot. "God, Dean." He wanted to reciprocate, wanted to touch his brother's cock, wanted to draw little sobs and cries from him and hear him gasp the way he sometimes did when he jerked off when he believed Sam to be sleeping, but Dean was down out of his reach, and all he could do was pet his brother's hair and fist the bed sheets and buck helplessly into the hand that gripped him so firmly.

It was only a hand job, but it was Dean, and that thought heightened the pleasure. His balls were tight to his groin, his cock sending sparkling pleasure through him, little signals that he would not last long, and he reached to warn his brother that he was close.

"Gonna blow in a minute," he croaked. "It's been a long time."

Dean looked up to his brother then quirked a little smile at him, "Yeah?" He glanced down to Sam's cock, drinking in the redness and the way it was swelling in his hand. Leaning down, Dean lowered his upper body till he could uncurl his hand from around Sam and breathe upon the side of his throbbing shaft. His eyes drifted up to catch Sam's reaction, wondering how he would look when he came. It was gonna be something he would burn into his memory.

The deliberate release of his cock made Sam whimper, and then Dean's breath along it sent a shudder through him. Sam was wound so tight that he thought he might burst, every muscle was taut; every part of him craved a touch. Frowning, he looked down at Dean and bit his lip. "You gonna leave me hanging, dude?" he asked, plaintively. "That isn't friendly."

Dean shook his head, "I should, but I have something better in mind," Dean moved over Sam a little more, placing an arm over his stomach so that he could pin him down and hold him steady, then he breathed over Sam's crown, pausing only long enough that Sam could take that in, before he lowered his head to cover Sam with his mouth.

Dean didn't know what he'd expected to taste, but it didn't make him gag. If anything, it made him want more. He salivated, the taste of Sam making his head spin. As he started working Sam, he remembered what his women had done for him and tried each trick to see what kind of effect they would produce on his brother. He was most definitely not grossed out by what he was doing, and he wanted to punch the air and scream, ‘yes!'

Sam had had blow jobs in the past, but not often. His tendency had been to stay true to his partner of choice, and Jess had been it for him. Jess hadn't really enjoyed oral sex, and the sudden heat that enveloped his cock was shocking. He let out a yelp as Dean went down on him, then shoved the back of his hand into his mouth to try and stay silent.

"Dean," he hissed. "Oh, fuck, that feels good."

Liquid bliss was pooling in his groin; tingles ran the length of his spine, and there was a dull, sweet ache in his balls. He bucked helplessly and then reached down to try and push Dean back.

"Coming. Oh, fuck, now!"

Dean glanced up at his brother and damn if he didn't like what he could see. It made his own cock twitch and ache desperately. Damn, but his brother looked so good with that expression on his face. And damn if his cock didn't taste good as well.

Dean kept working Sam till he felt his brother shove him. He had already felt the swelling and had tasted the drops of pre-cum that mingled with his saliva. He pulled back then, his hand still stroking hard flesh, watching while Sam spurted out his orgasm, and it brought a smile to Dean's face.

Giving him a few more strokes, caressing now, Dean moved back up the bed. He nuzzled his brother, who was sweaty and spent. "That's my boy," he breathed.

Completely overwhelmed by the force of his orgasm, Sam lay panting, staring up at his brother, who was smiling at him, his face flushed and his eyes tender. "God, Dean," he murmured again, trying to kick-start his brain, which seemed to be stuck in a place where its only thought was, "Now, me, fuck!" Reaching to pull his brother down, Sam captured Dean's lower lip between his teeth and nipped, then covered the tender mouth with his own. His hands strayed down and found button and zipper, making short work of them as he continued to explore his brother's mouth.

Dean was hard, and Sam grunted in satisfaction as he took hold of him, fingers tracing ridges and veins that were so familiar to him and yet so different.

"My turn," he husked. "Just you wait."

The corner of Dean's eyes had that familiar wrinkle of happiness to them, but there was also a softness to them. He couldn't help the smirk, because Sam's reaction was perfect. But then he was being pushed to his back and Dean flowed willingly down.

"Your turn," he nodded. His hips were lifting themselves up automatically in response to Sam's caresses, while his mouth worked against his brother's. Dean's hands weren't still; he couldn't keep them off his brother, running his hands over well developed muscles.

Hard and aching, Dean didn't care if Sam got his pants off or not; he was enjoying everything that his brother cared to do to him. However, unlike Sam, Dean had been having sex on a regular basis, so his control was much better, and he wanted to make it last as long as possible, in case it never happened again. "I'm waiting," Dean breathed, still thinking that he was gonna wake soon and find this all to be a dream.

Sam smirked at Dean's expression, bent to kiss the soft lips swiftly one more time and then slid down the bed, eager to see if he could make his brother lose it the way he wanted him to.

"Brace yourself," he murmured, frowning. "This could be very good, or incredibly bad. I don't have a clue what I'm doing."

Gingerly, he licked at the head of Dean's cock. It tasted salty-sweet, and not at all unpleasant. That was enough, and he began to tease it, licking around it, swiping away the liquid it was oozing. It was a while before he felt confident enough to take the whole of the head into his mouth, but as he finally did so he heard Dean gasp and knew that he was starting to get it right. His hand gripped the lower part of it, and as Sam began to suck, he slid his palm against it, working the loose skin as though it were his own cock. As he felt Dean twitch under his lips, he knew that he'd nailed it.

Dean gave a chuckle at Sam's words; he really didn't know what to expect either, but he soon realized that it was going to be perfect as that first little lick sent a spark through him and made his leg twitch. "Ohh fuck, Sammy," Dean groaned as he gripped the bedding and hung on tight.

Damn but Sam seemed to be a natural at this. He may not have had any experience, but he seemed to know instinctively how to tease. He gasped as Sam finally took his cock into his mouth. Shit! There was a heat here that was totally unlike that of a woman. And Sam was doing all the right things. His little brother had him groaning, squirming, breathing heavily.

"Ahh, shit, so good at this," Dean breathed as his head pushed back into the pillows, and a hand went into Sam's hair. "Jesus!" Dean gazed, lost in love for his brother. He'd never realized just how much the sight of Sam, loving him like that, would have an effect on him.

Dean's words spurred Sam on, and he redoubled his efforts to make his brother lose his mind. All thoughts of his earlier distress had vanished in the moment, and he devoted himself to attempting to suck Dean's brains out of the eye of his dick.

He laughed softly at each quiver and moan he elicited from his brother, fingers beginning to explore Dean's body to find potential sweet-spots. Scratching delicately across his balls seemed to make him buck, and as Sam felt his way down to the crease of Dean's ass, he could sense the increasing urgency of his brother's response.

He pulled away for a moment and smiled at Dean, wide mouth causing teeth to gleam in the low light. "Tell me what you like. Tell me, and I'll do it. Want to see you come."

Dean was breathing heavily, unable to catch a decent breath, because Sam seemed to be sucking all the air out through his dick. Sam's caresses only seemed to add to his tension, and it made him jump and want to thrust his dick down his brother's throat.

Pulling away, Dean panted, looking down the smiling little shit. "You..." he panted. "You really expect me to think? You're nuts, bro." He dropped his head back, turning it to the side. Sam couldn't keep sucking him; he just wasn't used to it, so Dean reached down, grasping Sam's hand and curling it around him to get him to keep it moving on him.

"I can see research in our future." Dean pulled him up to lie half on top of him and prompted his brother to keep on jacking his cock. "Kiss me, Sam; get me off this way," he groaned and kissed him deeply.

Sam needed no urging. He renewed his hold on Dean's cock and began to work it in earnest, hand moving fast, thumb polishing the head as though he were jerking himself off. He fastened his mouth to Dean's as though he were feeding, sucking on his brother's tongue and worrying at his mouth with teeth and tongue.

"Always wanted you," he whispered against Dean's mouth. "When you were going with all those sleazy women... I used to be so jealous."

Dean couldn't help the buck of his hips into Sam's hand. He was so close he could taste it. It wouldn't be long now because, Dean swore, either Sam had been practicing to make him crazy, or he was just a born natural at this.

When their mouths parted, Dean was huffing for air. "Really? Mmm, secretly I always wished that you would be. I always wanted you too, for so long. It..." Dean lost the thread of what he was saying, his brain incapable of speech while he was feeling this good.

For the first time in a week Dean just let himself go, and he didn't even feel it coming until his release slammed into him, and he cried out as he buried his face into his brother's neck, spilling his seed over his own chest and his little brother's hand.

This wasn't what Sam was used to, this blaze of need as Dean spurted out his essence. Sex for him had always been slow and deliberate, a gentle progression as he and Jess had learned each others' bodies. This spiraling out of control, this need to touch and own, to bite and swallow hit him hard, surprised him and took him with his brother to tumble over the edge again, gasping against Dean's hair and shuddering out a little jet of his own fluid.

"Mine," he said, voice cracking as he whispered the words. "Mine now, and nobody else's."

Dean sagged against Sam before dropping back to the bed, completely drained. He swore that he had gone blind from the force of his release, so intense it had been. Most of his joy had come from the fact that it was Sam who had brought him off. He felt more wetness against him and realized that Sam had released yet again. He opened his eyes, looking into the dark, feeling Sam still breathing against his hair. His. Nobody else's. As good as that felt, it also scared him. "Greedy," was all he could manage to get out.

"You bet your ass I'm greedy." Sam sank his teeth into the fleshy part of Dean's shoulder and worried at it gently. "I never knew... never realized you felt this way. When I was a kid... before I went off to school..."

He coughed for a moment, and then lifted his head so he could look Dean in the eyes. "I left because of it, because I wanted you so badly, and I knew it was a really bad idea. I shoulda stayed and jumped you instead, shouldn't I?"

Dean sighed softly and closed his eyes, his arms tight around his brother as he felt the wetness sliding down his body. "It's okay." He rubbed Sam's back.

Opening his eyes to peer through the dark at his brother, Dean leaned up and kissed Sam before pushing away and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "It was an option." He murmured. "Of course Dad would have..." He cut himself off and then pushed up to go and look for a towel.

"Yeah, you're not wrong!" Sam nodded, his face tight as he realized that he'd made Dean unhappy again. "But I love you, and I'm here now, and you're gonna have to beat me off with a stick."

He lay back, sticky and sweaty, and watched Dean's pale form move in the gloom to head to the bathroom.

Dean glanced back at Sam, staring at him in the dark. What little light was present reflected off his brother, and he could see the fine muscles that formed his chest. He closed his eyes as Sam told him that he loved him.

Sighing softly, Dean went into the bathroom to wash up. He really hoped that Bobby was a heavy sleeper. Cleaning up, he came back with a wet hot towel. "Here," he whispered as he handed it over to Sam then began to look for his underwear and pants to put on.

"Thanks." Sam took the cloth gratefully, sitting up to clean his skin of their juices. As he saw Dean preparing to get dressed again he dropped the towel and reached for his brother. "Don't?" he murmured, quickly moving over to put his arms around Dean. "Please don't? Stay with me. I want to... I want us to..." He bent to kiss the nape of Dean's neck. "Just stay with me, please?"

Dean stopped, having found himself suddenly surrounded by Sam. Unable to resist, he moved in closer, "Okay, as long as you stay with me," he whispered, climbing back onto the too-small bed. He pulled his brother to him, his naked body pressed to Sam's.

Staring into the dark, he knew that the pit, that strange empty hole in him was still there even as he held his brother to him, his hand gently rubbing up and down Sam's arm. "What do you want us to do, Sammy?" He asked in the dark.

"I don't know, Dean." Sam snuggled up against his brother, arms tight around him as he laid his head on Dean's shoulder. "I'm re-thinking so many things, because until a half hour ago, I never even realized that I could have this." He smiled a little, rubbing his rough cheek against Dean's shoulder. "I've tried to stay away from you for so long that I think I'm gonna wake up any minute and find out I just had another wet dream about you."

Dean made a face at the rough abrasion of Sam's bristly skin. "Yeah?" he looked lovingly down at his little brother before gazing back into the dark. "If anyone finds out, you know they will use it against us, and it'll be vicious. They won't only look at us strangely – they'll want to tar and feather us."

Shifting so he could become a human blanket over his brother, Dean laid his head upon the pillow next to Sam so his breath was gently wafting against Sam's ear. "Try and get some sleep, Sammy, okay."

They were asleep again in seconds, and the sun was starting to come up when Bobby came to wake the two of them. He frowned when he didn't see Dean in his room and figured correctly that he'd stayed with Sam.

"Hey, boys," He knocked on the door, pushed it open and paused when he spotted Dean's naked butt, his body wrapped around his brother, who was happily hogging the blankets.

The sound woke Sam from a deep, dreamless sleep. Dean's weight against him was comforting in a way he'd never experienced before, and he yawned, then jumped as he realized that Bobby was at the door.

"Hi," he said, blinking owlishly. His heart sank at the thought that Bobby had caught them so quickly, but he put on a brave face and gave Bobby a slight smile. "I've got a bastard of a headache."

Dean made sleepy sounds, shifting a little and then jerked awake. He half rolled, blinking as he looked back over his shoulder. "Hey, Bobby," Dean flashed a quick smile before grabbing the covers and pulling the blanket back over him to cover his ass.

"Uh-huh, figured as much. Got breakfast downstairs. If you two can find your way to getting up, it's waiting. Oh, and Dean, the doors came in and so did the hood." Bobby started to head out.

"The hood?" Dean threw the covers off and began dressing quickly. This was what he'd been waiting for.

"That's part of your car?" Sam smiled, sitting up cautiously. "Food'd be really good. Maybe I can come help?" He looked hopefully at the two mechanics who already, it seemed, had forgotten him as they planned to fix the car. "I can...uh... bring snacks or something."

Dean was dressing as fast as he could, putting his shoes on and dashing down the stairs, before Sam could get an answer from him. He was still pulling his shirt on as Dean rocketed out of the bedroom.

Bobby watched Dean charge down the stairs, before he turned to Sam, "You can help." He paused, "Sam," he didn't know how to say it, "You and your brother... tread carefully."

"What do you mean?" Sam thought that he knew very well what Bobby meant, but he wanted to hear what his dad's old friend would say. "If you're gonna tell me that Dean's my bro, and that it's wrong and that kind of thing, I don't care. Dean's my bro all right, but I love him. I'm not going to stop, just because he's my brother."

Bobby had been half in and half out of the door. Now he turned to face Sam after throwing a glance down the stairs to see if Dean was close enough to hear.

Sighing, he turned his full attention to Sam. "I know how close you are to your brother, but this path you are taking," He shook his head, "You need to be careful around him. I see a lot of your father in him, as I do in you. But seems like Dean got your father's..." How was he gonna explain it? He didn't know. He gritted his teeth and tried again. "Your father was a very closed off man. He kept things bottled up, right. But when the pressure got too much..."

"Dean is a walking volcano, Sam. When he erupts, it's not going to be pretty. And whoever, whatever is around... is gonna get hurt. Why do you think your father had such... falling outs."

"Yeah, you think I don't know that?" Sam frowned. "Dean's hurting. He needs me as much as I need him, and there's no way I'm ever going to let him down." Sam flushed. "Not now," he whispered. "And you'd better give him the benefit of the doubt and let him get over Dad's death as best as he can. It hit him hard, Bobby. It hit us both, but Dean most of all."

"I think sometimes your judgment gets clouded, but I guess you know your brother best." Bobby cleared his throat at that statement. "But I'm looking in from the outside. I'm just saying... be careful." He nodded to Sam and headed off down the stairs, closing the door behind him so the young man could get dressed in privacy.

Dean was outside, looking over the doors and hood. He was a few steps closer to completing his car. His baby. She'd started out as his dad's girl but she was now his, and now more than ever before. "Don't worry, baby, you're gonna be purring real soon. And I'm gonna ride you."

Meanwhile, Sam had headed into the kitchen, where Bobby had made breakfast. Quickly starting to eat, Sam made short work of eggs and toast and ham, washing it down with coffee. He looked around and noticed that Dean hadn't bothered to eat. Smiling to himself, he made his brother a sandwich of ham and toast, poured a large mug of coffee and took it out to the car.

"Hey, dude, I've brought sustenance. Here you go!"

Dean was looking over the hood. It was used, but it looked pretty fine to him and he couldn't remember when he'd ever seen anything better. When Sam came out he paused at the bench and looked around. "Yeah, just set it down." He indicated a spot with the wrench he was holding as he went back to looking for the screws for the hood.

Finding them, he turned his attention to the food and grabbing the sandwich he took a bite, going over to the hood as he chewed. "Where's Bobby? I need his help putting this on, unless you wanna grab one end, same way as the trunk."

"Here." Sam had set the food down in the place Dean had indicated and stood watching Dean. Now he walked around to pick up the edge of the hood, observing the way Dean moved and admiring his competence, his grace and his single-minded focus.

At Dean's nod, he bent to take hold of the hood, beaming with the knowledge that his brother was allowing him to assist in the repair of his beloved car. "See, I can be useful, when you let me, dude."

Dean merely just glanced up before reaching to put the screws in just like the trunk. "I'm gonna need you to help me with the doors as well." He took up the two wrenches to start tightening and adjusting.

Sam had smiled eagerly at Dean's request for him to help. He had expected a rebuff, and the knowledge that he could assist Dean in rebuilding the beloved car that his brother cared so deeply about made him happy. He nodded. "She'll be as good as new - maybe better, ‘cos that door always squeaked before."

After a while Dean finished and stepped back, going to the bench to eat some more, and he nodded approvingly at Sam. "She's coming together. Pretty soon, she'll be like she was before. Can't wait." He took a swig of his coffee.

Bobby emerged and walked over to join them, admiring the way that the repairs were going. "Well now, there's something else you boys need to think about." He paused a moment before continuing, "Your dad's truck."

Sam was suddenly stunned. He'd totally forgotten about that, and he suspected that Dean had too. "Hell, yeah. We need to go find it. Apart from anything else, Dad's weapons are all in there. You want me to go while you keep on working on the Impala, or should we go together?"

Dean had stopped dead where he was, holding his breath. He hadn't thought about their father's wheels. All Dean had thought about – all he'd been able to think about - was what his father had whispered to him. Dean looked down at the tools in his hand, then he started wiping them clean as if nothing mattered.

"Why don't you guys go ahead, I'm gonna stay here, do what I can to get her going." He motioned with his head toward his car.

Bobby just nodded, knowing not to argue with Dean. "Let's go, Sam," he headed toward his wrecker truck.

"Wait!" Sam turned to his brother, hopefully. "You sure you don't want me to help you get the doors and stuff on first?" he asked Dean, eyes seeking out any sign at all that he might not want Sam to leave him alone. "And I'm a little nervous about what might be coming for you while I'm not around to get your back. I don't want to come back and find that... that it got you. We need to put some safeguards around you, dude. Bobby? We have to make him safe."

Bobby had been patiently waiting. He could see how quickly Dean had busied himself finding other tools while Sam was talking to him.

"Dude, I'm fine, go get Da... the truck," He snapped and turned away to go and start working again.

"Dean will be fine, Sam, let's go. It's a long drive, and we better leave now, if we want to get back before sunset." Bobby started heading for the truck again.

Dean didn't even look up as he went to work.

"Sure." Sam turned away, feeling a little defeated. "See you later," he mumbled, following Bobby to where his truck was parked.

As they clambered into the cab, Sam looked back at where Dean was single-mindedly concentrating on his beloved car. "You sure he'll be safe?" asked Sam, still feeling a little uneasy.

Dean was busying himself with the tools as he heard the truck driving away. He just couldn't bring himself to look at his father's truck. He still ached inside, and there was something else worrying him as well, something which he couldn't admit to Sam or anyone.

Bobby glanced back at Dean in the mirror then nodded, "He'll be fine, Sam. No one knows you are out here. If they haven't come by now, they're not going to. Besides, Dean knows how to take care of himself." Bobby nodded to himself as he pulled the truck out of the junkyard.

It had taken them nearly half a day, but, after getting some new tires, they were able to hook up the truck and bring it back. It was long after dark by the time they pulled up.

The Impala now had the doors on, and the hood was closed. Dean was inside the house, in the kitchen. A pot of stew was bubbling, and a bottle of whiskey was half empty.

Bobby walked in and paused to sniff the air. "Who let the home-maker in?" he called out.

"Figured since the maid didn't come…" Dean stepped away from the stove.

"We got it," said Sam, darting a critical look at his brother. "The tires had been slashed, but we changed them, and now it's back home." He gave the whiskey bottle a frowning glance too, trying to decide just how much liquor Dean had put away. "Dude, that smells really good. Want me to peel potatoes or something?"

"Good," was all Dean said as he stirred the stew. His face was blank and his eyes were a little glazed, however he seemed to be standing on two feet and functioning all right.

Bobby walked over, lifting the bottle, "Just how much of this went in the stew and how much in you? I swear between you two, my stash is heading south faster than birds in migration."

"Yer not my father," Dean muttered under his breath, then he indicated the pot where it stood on the stove. "It's good, dude, this has been slow cooking nearly all day. It's ready to eat. There's the bowls," Dean pointed with the spoon.

"You gonna have some?" asked Sam, wanting badly to go and put his arms around his brother, but unsure about doing so in front of Bobby. "You've been working hard, dude. The car looks pretty damned good - almost as good as new. I bet you were celebrating."

He watched as Bobby went to ladle some of the stew out into the bowls. "Haven't had food you've cooked for far too long."

Dean didn't respond to Sam's first question, "Something like that," he mumbled as he moved away to wash his hands.

Bobby handed Sam a bowl, "Here, eat." He ladled out another and was about to hand it to Dean, when the boy walked away.

"I'm gonna go shower." Without looking back, Dean headed off.

Bobby looked at the bowl then went to sit down at the table to eat it. "Eat, Sam," He motioned with his spoon.

Taking his own seat at the table, Sam began to eat. Dean's stew was delicious, but Sam felt too worried about his brother to really do it justice, and finally laid down his spoon with the meal only half eaten. There was something going on with his brother, he could see that, and Sam could only guess that it was related to John's death. He ached for Dean, didn't know how to comfort him, and all he could do was wait for Dean to come to him, knowing that he never would.

"I'm gonna go look at the car," he said to Bobby. "Maybe I should get the weapons out of the truck and go through them, too."

Bobby frowned looking at Sam, "Your brother is handling it the best he can, Sam. You Winchesters are like that. Dean takes that part of him from your daddy. If I were you, I wouldn't do too much to that car. Best you stick to your daddy's truck."

"I'm not going to do anything to it, dude. I just want to look at it." Sam felt a flare of rage at the assumption that he would even touch his brother's car without Dean right there with him. "I just want to see what he's done, how far he's got, and what he's still got left to do."

He shrugged. "And it seems like it's fine for him to fuck himself up because Dad died, but it isn't fine for me to even be upset. At least Dean has the car. What do I have? Nothing but Dean, that's what, and when he totally wrecks himself, I'll have nothing at all."

He scrubbed his eyes angrily and turned blindly to go out into the yard, needing to get away before he started to cry.

"Sam," Bobby called out, "When Dean wrecks himself, you'll still have him. He's gonna need you, even when you think he won't."

Upstairs, Dean showered, staring at the wall as the hot water hit him. How long he was in there, he didn't know, didn't care. The hot water hid his pain - hid the anger inside him. Dean felt that if he could just breathe out, the hot water would wash it all away.

When the water finally turned cold, Dean got out at last, drying himself off and getting dressed in a clean tee shirt and jeans. He headed downstairs and then outside, heading toward his car but then stopping to stare at the ominous shape of John's truck.

Sam had been inspecting the Impala, but now he'd moved across and was busy taking inventory of his father's weapons, removing each gun, each item of ammunition and each sharp object from the compartment in the tailgate and cataloguing it, then setting each piece aside to either clean or sharpen. Looking up as Dean stood watching, Sam stared at him, desperately trying not to show how worried he was, how scared of losing him he had become.

Finally, he just nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and turned back to his self-appointed task.

Dean stared at the truck for the longest time. He didn't feel able to move even if he wanted to. He swallowed hard then slowly walked over, his feet reluctantly moving after much effort. "Doesn't look like there is any damage," He said, trying to keep his voice level.

He gave a soft laugh, "Dad had a thing for the classics didn't he?" Picking up one of the guns, he checked it, seeing that it was perfectly kept, as expected and smelled of gun oil. Throughout their lives, if Dean hadn't been polishing and cleaning the weapons, his father had, keeping the tools of the trade always ready for action.

"Wonder where Dad got these," he mumbled. "Don't think even Caleb had this nice a set of tools." He sat one of the guns back in its place in the foam where it lived.

"Yeah. All we had to do was change the tires - they'd been cut up to stop him driving away." Sam didn't dare look at Dean for fear of breaking down in front of him. "Everything's in perfect order. He's got it all in here."

He turned to Dean suddenly. "Dean, please eat something," he said, voice a little unsteady as he spoke. "Don't fuck yourself up, please? I... don't want you to."

Dean was looking over a knife when Sam turned to him. Dean just gazed back, his face a blank. Then, like it had earlier, the lie to his brother spilled out easily, too easily, "I ate before you two came home. I couldn't wait."

He put the knife back down and walked away, going over to his car to open the door then close it again, as if testing his work.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll bet." Sam watched helplessly as Dean walked away from him, feeling the tears prick the backs of his eyes as he looked on. "You're a fucking liar, and I don't know what to do to help."

He finished with the weapons, slowly replacing each one in its cocoon and stood for a moment, lost in misery. Finally, he went to the door of the cab and climbed in to sit behind the wheel. The scent of his father had lingered in the cab, and a wave of desolation washed over him. As he sat and remembered his father, he suddenly put his head down against the steering wheel and wept.

Bobby had walked out of the house. He stood there for a moment looking from one brother to the other in their positions one on either side of the junkyard. He sighed as he walked over to Sam, uneasy because he knew that each of the brothers was trying to handle their father's death in their own way. Sadly, he saw a lot of John in Dean, who was bottling up his pain and pushing it deep down, ‘til the pressure would build up so much that he would have one of his trademark ‘falling outs' in one swift, unforgivable moment.

It didn't mean that either of the two didn't care.

He leaned against the side of the truck near the open door and held the keys out to Sam. "Guess this is yours now. Got your own wheels."

"Don't want my own wheels." Sam gestured helplessly at Bobby, who merely placed the keys on the seat beside him. "Dean and me, we travel together. Besides," he added, sourly. "Dean might want the fuckin' thing, since he's cornered the market on grief."

"Why don't you ask him?" Bobby moved so he could see Sam's face. "Let me tell you a story, Sam. I met this man once. He was a loner. Very quiet and straight-forward kind of guy. Never wanted to let any weakness show. We got along okay. Taught him a few things; he taught me a few things. Then one night, while we were sitting around, getting drunk, he broke down. Sure he tried to cover it up with anger; lashed out at me. See this scar, got it from the ring he wore," He pointed to his jawline, "Course you can't see it, beard hair covers it nicely. But you know what, I never saw a man care so much in all my life. He carried some burden upon his shoulders, and his problem was that he kept it to himself, because he didn't want it to affect those he loved." Bobby paused, "That man was your daddy. When he talked about you boys, especially you, Sam, his face would light up with pride. You saw life in those eyes again, just for a moment. You know, he told me once he used to pick fights with you, just so he could hear you talk. "

"I'm not defending Dean, Sam. But like in you, I see a lot of your daddy in him. John used to say you reminded him a lot of Mary. Soft spoken, caring, finding good in others. You boys, you handle your grief differently. Give him time, Sam. I think, like John always did, he is trying to be strong for you."

Sam gazed at Bobby, eyes streaming, but he seemed a little less distressed than before Bobby's little speech.

"He didn't love Dean enough, did he?" The words were whispered, almost as if Sam was talking to himself. "Dean did everything Dad wanted, and it wasn't ever enough. What the fuck was that about?"

Getting out of the truck, Sam picked up the keys he'd rejected earlier and stood looking at them for a few moments. They were all he had left of John Winchester, and they meant nothing to him.

Sighing, he made an attempt to give Bobby a smile and used the sleeve of his hoodie to scrub at his wet cheeks. "Okay," he said, a little louder now. "Be right back, maybe."

Picking his way over to where Dean stood aimlessly opening and closing the door of the Impala, he held out the keys. "Here. You maybe ought to have them," he said, and then, "Oh, fuck, Dean!" and moved forward to put his arms around his brother for a wordless hug.

Bobby hadn't said anything about John not loving Dean enough. That was a question only John could answer. He just watched as Sam walked over to his brother, before he pushed away from the door and closed it. He headed for the house, knowing that it would be best to leave the brothers alone.

Dean had been working the door when Sam approached and held out the keys. He blinked as he gazed vacantly at the keys and slowly brought his eyes up to Sam, and then he was suddenly being hugged.

"Oh, c'mon, don't jump me like that," Dean protested, but he wasn't pulling away either.

"Well you'd better tell me exactly how you want me to jump you then, dude," murmured Sam, not letting go of his brother and, if anything, tightening up his hold on him. "I love you, you know," he murmured. "I love you, because you're my brother, but more than that, (M)much more than that. Don't push me away."

Despite his brother's words, Dean grabbed Sam's arms to gently push him away. "Sam," he met his brother's eyes. "I'm not Dad. I'm not gonna leave. But I'm sorry if I'm not as open about things as you are. I don't know what you want me to do - what you expect from me. I know you love me; I love you too. I promised to take care of you, and I will. You're my brother."

"I want you to let me take care of you too, Dean. I'm not a little, helpless kid any more, and I need for you to let me look after you the way you look after me." Sam released Dean and lifted his hands to cup his brother's cheeks. "I know you're hurting, but you've gone somewhere I can't follow, and I want to be there for you. You aren't alone, and I'm not a burden for you to carry. I can carry my own weight. I could carry you too, when you needed it, if you'd let me."

Dean sighed, "Sammy, I'm fine, really." Dean looked blankly at his brother, masking any pain he might have had inside him. Dean knew Sam wasn't a burden for him to carry, but he'd promised their Dad he would look after him anyway. That had been one of the last few words exchanged, before his father walked out of his hospital room for the last time.

"I'm fine," Dean repeated. "But if it will make you feel better, okay." He moved back then pointed to the car, "Look, got the door done. She'll be running soon."

"That's fantastic." Sam pursed his lips as he walked around the car to admire the renewed bodywork. "How long before we can get out there and hunt?" He pulled open the door that had creaked so badly in the past. "Aww, damn! Sounds like she's lost her voice."

"Give her a few weeks in the sun and rain, and she'll be talking to you again, Sammy. She's just a little pissed at you right now," He winked at his brother and hit his arm as he walked around the car.

"I don't know, say another week or two." Dean shrugged, "Just a few more parts for the engine, new muffler, oh and need new lights, she'll be purring again. I can't wait."

"That's great!" Sam forced a smile, wondering if he was overdoing the cheerfulness, but unable really to tone it down. He felt antsy, as though there was something bad coming for them, but he didn't know why. It was just a feeling. Looking at his brother, he held out the keys to the truck. "What do you suppose we should do with these?" he asked Dean.

Dean looked at the keys for a long time. He couldn't bring his hand up to take them, fearing if he did, that it would shake. Dean drew a breath then reached out and snagged them, shoving them in his pocket.

"We'll figure it out later." He moved back and studied his car, grounding himself, and then raised his eyes to Sam. "You look tired."

"I am a little bit," agreed Sam. "Hangovers don't agree with me." He stuffed his hands into his pocket, trying hard to appear nonchalant. "Tired, worried, scared, all of the above." He looked at Dean and gave a crooked little smile. "And if you think I look tired, you should take a good look at yourself. You look fucking exhausted."

Dean was studying the hood, checking to see if it was misaligned, when he glanced up at Sam. "If I was fucking exhausted I'd have this shit-eating grin on my face and... never mind," he shook his head, "I'm not tired. It's just the grease and dirt." It was the only excuse he could think of, even though he had just showered.

"You should go up, hit the hay early," Dean advised.

"Listen, Dean, if you want to be on your own, just say so and quit putting it all onto me. If you don't want to sleep with me, say so and stop pretending you care about whether I'm tired or not." Sam was angry now, his eyes hooded and furiously bright. "And for the record, you aren't greasy; you just look like shit, so I guess it's your choice if you want to make yourself ill."

He stopped suddenly, his throat filling with unshed tears as he remembered the night before. "Just do whatever the fuck you want. You will anyway."

"You telling me to leave? Is that what you want?" Dean snapped back. "Push me out of your life, like you did Dad? Now that he's not around, hey, pick an argument with your brother, he's just as good a substitute." Dean mocked with his arms open.

"For the record, I'm not the one with the issues. I'm dealing with dad's death. It's funny how all of a sudden you are so concerned about my feelings, when, before, before Dad's death, they didn't matter. So what's different now? Oh yeah, Dad's dead."

"You must be joking! It's not me that's pushing; it's you. You're the one with all the passive aggressive bullshit, and you're the one who's picking the fight. You don't want me around; you don't want my affection or my attention, and I'm not allowed to care about you. Well, I do; I care about you too fucking much, so suck it up, Dean, because that's how things are."

Tears were pricking his eyes, turning his nose red, starting to spill over again to course down his cheeks. "And yeah, Dad's dead. Oh, I forgot, I'm not allowed to care about that either, because I didn't always agree with him." He turned away, unwilling to let Dean see his misery. "Well, tough shit!"

"Don't, don't you put all this shit on me. Just because I don't wear my emotions on my sleeve like you do. I didn't say you couldn't care. I didn't say you weren't allowed; I'm just not..." Dean cut off suddenly. "You know, you're right, I'll suck it up." Dean walked around the car, picking up the remaining tools to place on the workbench. He turned to Sam, "Let's go to bed."

Dean's sudden change of attitude hit Sam like a sucker punch. He was weeping, his eyes streaming with unwanted tears. He didn't even know anymore who the tears were for, whether they were for Dean, or his father or himself. He looked uncomprehendingly at Dean, trying to determine just what his brother was thinking.

"I wish you could unbend enough to give me a clue," he whispered. "I feel like I'm locked out, and it's hell."

Dean walked over, wrapping his arm around his brother and started leading him back to the house. "It was the candlestick in the library," he answered as he tipped his head to his brother.

Going up to the house, Dean stepped on the bottom stair first and then suddenly turned around, grabbing his brother, because they were just at the right height, and kissed him deeply.

"How about I unbend you, take all that tension from you... huh?"

Dean's kiss was fierce, and for a change, Sam found himself tipping his head up so that he could kiss back. His face was still wet, and he knew that he looked like an idiot, but if Dean didn't mind, then neither did he. "Is it gonna work for you too?" he asked, his lips against Dean's. "I want us to be a two way thing. Can we do that?"

Dean stayed close, feeling Sam's breath against his lips. He sighed softly, tipped his head then kissed Sam again, this time more searching, tender and loving. He pulled back slowly, taking Sam's hand and pulling him in the rest of the way.

Bobby had cleaned up, and he was already in his room by the time Dean was leading Sam up the stairs. He opened the door to their room, and, suddenly, just as the door closed he had Sam pushed back against it, and he was kissing his brother fiercely.

Sam could only pant and wind himself around his brother, feeling the warmth of his skin, the heat of his mouth against his own.

Tongues tangling, Sam moaned into Dean's mouth, his body trembling with the urgent need to feel his brother there with him, in tune and in sympathy. He wanted so much more from Dean than sex, but making love was a starting point, and if that was what he could have, he'd take it.

"I love you," he said, and the words felt real on his tongue. "You're everything."

Dean pushed at Sam's shirt, bunching it up before turning it inside out as he pulled it over his brother's head. Tossing it aside, Dean assaulted his brother again with more fierce kisses. His lips were devouring, his hands touching, holding, pulling at Sam's frustratingly too-baggy pants.

He pushed a hand down inside them as Sam inhaled, his fingers slipping past underwear to grasp his cock. He sighed into Sam's mouth with a shaky breath. "You're mine," was all he could think to say.

"You've got that right." Sam closed his eyes for a moment and banged his head back on the door. "Yours. I always have been. Don't you ever forget it, Dean Winchester." He reached up to cup Dean's cheek in the palm of his hand and pulled him forward. "But you're mine too," he said and sank his teeth into Dean's lower lip.

Dean hissed from the bite, nearly tasting blood from it, but he kissed Sam more deeply, pressing into Sam so it trapped his hands down his little brother's pants. "I've never forgotten. I promise." He gave Sam's cock a squeeze before pulling his hand out.

Dean backed away, still holding onto the top of Sam's pants then flung him around, walking him back as he kissed him ‘til he could push Sam down upon the bed with a certain roughness and reached down, undoing the jeans to work them down off his brother.

Tossing them aside, Dean pushed Sam back down when he tried to sit up again and crawled over him, nipping at his skin, while his other hand was busily pinning Sam at the shoulder. Moving up, he succeeded in getting an arm hooked under Sam's leg, pulling it up with him as he moved to kiss his brother deeply. Then he let his body drop down, letting rough jeans rub again Sam's exposed groin.

The ferocity of Dean's assault made Sam gasp, but he couldn't stop his body from responding, muscles tense and jittery as his cock leapt in answer to the rough handling.

This was something to do, almost a way of consoling his brother, as walled off as he seemed to be to everything else. It seemed that Dean was demanding savagery, so Sam was savage, raking his nails down over his brother's back as he let his head fall back to expose his throat to the caresses.

"Fuck!" The fabric of Dean's pants was abrading him, hurting him even as it brought him breathlessly higher, and he snatched at Dean's clothing, ripping his shirt as he tried to remove it. "Come on! Naked. Get these off."

Dean growled and pinned one of Sam's hands to the side. He gazed down at his brother, hips pressing hard into Sam before he suddenly let go, getting to his knees as he used both hands to pull his shirt off. Dean tossed it aside, his eyes still dark though it was hard to tell for the room was growing darker with each passing moment and the light outside their window flickered as the moon set.

Dean dropped down, grabbing at both of Sam's hands before his little brother could undo his pants, pinning them to his side. He leaned in, kissing Sam fiercely again, lips devouring, teeth biting at that bottom lip ‘til his brother parted his lips and Dean's tongue was able to delve into Sam's wet warmth and he had to release a moan into it.

He started rocking his hips against Sam once more, jeans scraping. His mouth moved down Sam's neck, biting, leaving marks in his downward trail.

"Turn over," his voice was rough and demanding as he moved back up the bed once more.

Lost in the ferocity of their caresses, Sam fought, mashing his mouth to Dean's, his body tingling with need. He couldn't move as Dean held him still, and he struggled, wanting to grip Dean's hair and give as good as he was getting.

When Dean growled at him to turn over, he cursed, then struggled free and rolled to lie on his stomach, his ass exposed, turning to look back over his shoulder at Dean, whose eyes were dark with passion, his face twisted in desire. "Come on then," gritted Sam, his voice hoarse. "What are you waiting for?"

Urgently, Dean had helped Sam to roll over, moving his leg till his brother was lying on his stomach. Dean's green eyes seared over Sam's body, taking in how his back muscles moved as he turned his own head to look back at him.

"Christmas. Since Santa seems to think I need shafting every year, I figure I'll pass my shafting on to you." With rough hands, Dean grabbed Sam's ass, pushing and pulling it up. His fingers kneaded at the flesh before thumbs drug in the meaty buttocks and parted them.

Leaning down, Dean rubbed his rough whiskers along the tender flesh before giving a swiping lick to Sam's puckered back entrance then washed it over and over ‘til he drove his tongue into Sam's ass, fucking him that way.

Sam bit the back of his hand in his efforts to suppress a scream as Dean forced his way into him. His body tightened, and he gasped, doing his best to relax it and allow his brother in. The invasion burned, and he wanted to cry out, didn't dare because Bobby was so close by, and although their friend knew that they had slept together Sam really didn't want to rub it into his face that the two of them were having sex.

As Dean forced his way deeper inside, he groaned, trying to muffle the sound with the back of his hand, and pushed back, encouraging him to go further, deeper, harder.

"So give it!" he snarled. "I want it."

Dean was near savage in his taking of Sam. His hands bruised in their holding of his brother. Skin was bitten to cover the groan that left him as he took him, burying his cock deep. Dean didn't even give Sam time to adjust as he started hammering him.

Placing a hand on his brother's shoulder, Dean held him as he rocked his hips brutally into him, grunting at times and swearing praise into his skin as he licked and bit at his back, to a point of nearly drawing blood. Sam was going to be marked.

The bed groaned and complained from the two, the headboard hitting the wall at times. Outside the light had gone completely, darkening the room. It nearly matched Dean's mood.

Sam could do nothing but hold himself steady and withstand the battering he was getting. It burned, but it was Dean, and Sam loved him. He let Dean wash over him like the tide, carrying him away, and slowly the burn faded into an ache, the ache became throbbing need and began to flicker into a new kind of burn, one that threatened to consume him with pleasure.

"Fuck!" The word was hissed out as he arched his neck, putting it into position so that Dean's mouth had access to it. "More. Come on! Harder, please."

Dean held Sam tightly, his body covering him. He heard his brother swear, and then ask for harder. He was already giving it to him good, but to hear that had the older brother growling and made the bed nearly scream as he drove into his brother.

Dean reached around, grasping Sam's cock, stroking him roughly in time with his own thrusts. "You like it hard, Sammy. Like it this way? Ever do it this way?"

"Only... only you," gasped Sam, his whole body rocking with the force of Dean's thrusts. "You and... and Jess."

He was close now, and each new thrust lifted him from the bed, forced him nearer and nearer the brink, until he suddenly found himself right there on the edge.

"Dean..." He couldn't talk, didn't know what to say, only that he loved his brother more than words. "Oh, god! Dean..."

Dean growled again; he was close as well, riding the edge. He was holding back, making it painful for both himself and his brother. "No... No one else is gonna either," Dean snarled as he bit down on his brother again to claim him.

"C'mon, Sammy, let me feel it," he growled out near Sam's ear. "I can tell you want to, your cock is so full... give it to me, Sammy," he bit the earlobe so temptingly close.

It was impossible not to do it. Sam heard Dean's voice washing over him, the words stirring him, filling his body with warmth and sending him whimpering over the edge. Dean filled him, and he was suddenly contracting around his invading cock, squeezing him as he came, spurting onto Dean's hand and the bedcover, helpless as he groaned and shuddered and panted.

"Don't want anyone else," he finally gasped, "You... Dean. Love you."

Dean gritted his teeth as he felt his brother‘s release. His followed a mere moment after, expending himself into his brother and feeling his come squish out around him. Dean dropped heavily onto his brother once he was spent, air huffing out over the back of Sam's neck.

He dared a single caress but he didn't indulge himself too much, Somehow he couldn't seem to give himself permission. Dean pushed off Sam's back slowly, rolling off his brother to drop back beside him without a word.

Sam lay spread-eagled beneath Dean, gasping and panting as he tried to get his breath back. When he felt Dean move at last, he moaned, not wanting to lose his brother so swiftly. "Dean...?" he breathed, relaxing in relief as he felt Dean flop down beside him.

Rolling over, wincing a little at the stiffness he could feel setting in, he put his arm around Dean's chest and laid his head on his brother's shoulder. Sam didn't say anything, in case Dean might get up and run; he merely held on tight and prayed that it would be enough to give his brother the comfort he would accept no other way.

Dean (had) stared up at the ceiling, the room dark with shadows only faintly seen. He placed an arm around Sam, keeping silent and letting his breathing be the only thing to fill the room.

He closed his eyes, sleep wanting to wash over him, and for a while, secure that Sam was with him, his mind was able to shut off. Together, Dean and Sam Winchester drifted off into sleep.

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