Your Turn to Curtsey: My Turn to Bow

Fandom: Supernatural

Category/Rated: NC-17 slash

Year/Length: 2008/~5000 words

Pairing: Dean/Sam

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, only having fun.

Summary: Sam wants to help Dean getting over his sojourn in Hell. Dean isn't so sure.

Author's Notes: for buttoneddown specified an established relationship with bottom!Dean set in season 3 or 4. Honey, I hope that this is what you wanted.

Beta: marys_scribbles

I met a man the other day
Who said he never cried.
This worried me, because, you see,
It must still be inside.

It had been a shock to Sam when Dean finally told his brother about the things that Hell had done to him. His heart had stuttered, squeezed, thumped painfully as Dean had made his terrible confession, and now he had no idea how his brother could still function.

He could certainly understand the excessive consumption of booze that he'd observed, but he had no idea what he could do to help his brother deal with the pain and suffering he'd been through.

He was silent, because there was nothing he could say. His brother was broken, possibly beyond repair, and he understood that the only person who would ever be able to help put him back together again was himself. He'd always seen Dean as his – his to love, his to defend; his to bruise. He'd run away from life with Dean after his father had told him that the way he and Dean loved each other wasn't natural, and since then he'd felt an ache inside that never lessened, merely grew colder and harder until he believed that this was how he should be. Dean hurting like this was breaking through the cold and tapping heat he'd long thought buried. He didn't know how to deal with it. He wanted to help Dean, but he had no idea what he should do or say. He looked at his brother as he sat, face averted, full of the anguish his confession had laid bare. He wanted to weep, to pull demons from their hosts in revenge, to scream and shout and curse God, but he didn't; he merely sat, wishing.

Finally, he put his hand on Dean's shoulder and let his warmth seep into the tense muscles there. "I still love you, dude. It wasn't your fault."

Dean had frozen at the touch, and Sam wondered whether he'd been forgotten as Dean confessed to the ugliness he'd endured. Finally, he felt a shuddering breath move Dean's shoulders, and his brother turned, red-eyed and shifty, to give him a half smile. "Girl much, Sammy?" was all he said, and even though he felt as though Dean had slapped him, Sam chose to let him off the hook.

"Always. You know you love it," he said, cuffing the back of Dean's head.

Back in the hotel room, Sam punched in Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and began reading about what one did to fix the sufferer. The literature discussed medication, and Sam knew that idea of medication would be dismissed out of hand by his brother. It also talked about debriefing the sufferer, allowing him to describe his experiences and helping him work through them. Good luck, thought Sam, shaking his head in disgust. He'd give it a go, but Dean had never exactly been the caring, sharing kind, and Sam could just imagine his reaction to Sam's invitation to talk about it! He wasn't looking forward to it,
for sure.

He was so engrossed in his research that when Dean suddenly announced that he'd found a case it made him jump.

"Dude, you okay?" Dean was looking at him, eyebrows raised to the heavens. "You look like you just saw a ghost, and this job doesn't actually involve a ghost at all."

Shaking his head as if that might clear it, Sam dragged himself away from thoughts of DIY psychotherapy and memories of Dean, way back when they'd been young and innocent and loved each other. "Okay, so what is it?"

"More witches, it looks like. Not quite sure, 'Cos it could be voodoo, but I'm putting my money on witches." Dean held out the paper to him, and as Sam took it, he smirked. "Okay, so what porn site were you checking out? You were really giving it your all, dude."

"Wasn't porn," growled Sam, snorting at his brother. "Was doing research."

"Oh, yeah? Into what?" Dean was grinning a particularly annoying grin that let Sam know that he didn't believe a word he'd said. "No, no, don't tell me... Britney Spears? Jennifer Aniston? Come on, Sammy, tell me your darkest fantasy." For a moment, Dean paused, his grin wide and irritating, then he sat forward. "Tell me it isn't Billy Bob Thornton, dude. I don't think I could deal with that."

"Shut up!" Sam was fast to react, even though he was aware that Dean was aiming for just such a response. "Let's just go find this witch and send her back to Oz, shall we?"

"Dude, there were no chicks in Oz; it's a guys' prison." Dean shook his head as if bemoaning Sam's folly, and Sam merely rolled his eyes before following his brother out to the car.

It had been a long, hard fight, and Sam could feel exhaustion taking him. He longed for his bed, but he knew that they had to finish the case first, before he would be able to sleep. What they'd thought to be a witch had turned out to be a sidhe, and rather than a few hex bags and minor spells, they'd found themselves in a fight for their lives before they'd bound her in cold iron and taken her back to the portal to banish her back to her own dimension.

He'd found a banishing ritual and was waiting for midnight so that he could start it. Dean was pacing behind him, and Sam stood, nervously twitching as he waited for the clock to tick over.

It was 11:59. The moon rose high and fat, its fullness showing almost as bright as day, and there was a rime of frost on the grass around the standing stones on the hilltop where they stood. The sidhe maiden smirked at Sam, and he saw images that he really didn't want as she silently offered him her body if he would set her free.

Shaking his head, he looked away from her, knowing that to meet her eyes spelled disaster, and she hissed at him, murmuring words in a language he didn't quite understand.

He thought he felt a tingle in his limbs, a sudden ache in his bones that made him gasp, and then she laughed, mocking laughter that was high and clear. "Samuel Winchester, you will regret this night. I give you a gift."

"I don't want a gift, thank you," murmured Sam, checking his watch for the eleventh time.

And the clock finally chimed the hour, much to his relief. As Dean stepped up beside him to hand him the branch of rowan he needed for his spell, she gave him a look of derision. "You need help to master Samuel, don't you?" she said. "I grant your wish."

Sam sped up his delivery of the banishment, and it was only a few seconds more before she was fading away, returned to her rightful place, leaving the chains they'd bound her with in a pile on the sparkling white of the grass.

"Get the chains, Sammy," said Dean, tossing his own rowan sprig to one side. "Let's go."

Turning to gather up the chains, Sam heaved a sigh of relief and then fell in behind Dean, wondering what the sidhe had meant by what she had said to Dean.

The first inkling that there was something wrong came as they were climbing wearily out of the Impala, although it was only in hindsight that they realized it. Dean had been extolling the beauty of the sidhe they'd just sent home, and Sam had become angry. As Dean emerged from the car, he turned to Sam with a frown. "Kiss my ass!" he growled.

Horrified at himself, Sam somehow found himself rounding the car and dropping to his knees behind his brother, reaching to grip his hips and bending forward, and... "Dude, what the fuck?" Dean stopped short, turned to frown down at Sam and folded his arms.

"Just kissing your ass as requested," said Sam, wishing that the ground would open and swallow him.

"Ha, ha, fucking ha!" was Dean's witty response. "It's too late for your feeble attempts at humor, Sammy. Go to bed. I'm tired."

Sam was very tired. As he raced gratefully to his bed and dove in without any further ado, he suddenly remembered his research earlier in the day and began to wonder about how he would broach the topic of getting Dean to talk about his experiences in hell.

Taking a deep breath as Dean clambered into his own bed and reached to turn off the lamp, Sam rolled to face his brother and stared through the gloom, making out the shape of Dean's shoulders. "Dean, what you said earlier about hell? You wanna talk about it, because I've been reading up on post..."

He got no farther. Dean's snort was audible. "Shut up, Sammy. Sleep well," he said.

A blanket of darkness descended on Sam, and he knew no more.

It was warm and comfortable where he was. He didn't want to, but there was no help for it, and he slowly became aware that Dean was shaking him. "Sammy? Wake up!"

Dean's words seemed to galvanize him, and all of a sudden he was awake, alert and ready to start the day. "Morning," he said, sitting up and scratching, his hair standing out around his head like a splendidly tousled halo.

"It almost isn't. Dude, I thought I was gonna have to kiss you to wake you up, like Sleeping Beauty only uglier – you could be Sleeping Ugly, the Anti-Disney! It's nearly twelve, and I wanna get on the road." Dean suddenly frowned as he was speaking. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" Sam shot him a grin. "I'm not sure what happened. I'm usually up long before you. And what's all this about kissing me? You think you're my handsome prince or what?"

"Sammy, I'm everyone's handsome prince." Dean gave a particularly annoying smirk.

""You wish." Sam grinned as he swung out of bed and went to brush his teeth. "You're pretty handsome for a goldfish, I'll allow that."

"Oh, bite me." Dean was turning away, and he yelped as Sam took him by surprise and sank sharp white teeth into his shoulder. "Dude, what the fuck? Get off!"

As Sam backed away, Dean turned to snap, "You think that's funny, or you got rabies or something."

"I..." Sam was at a loss. "Well, you did tell me to bite you."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dumbass! Go and get ready; I wanna get out of here and checkout's at noon."

Turning back to the bathroom, Sam was wondering what had happened himself. Then he recalled Dean's face and started to snicker. By the time he was out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to go, Dean had apparently forgotten the incident. As they drove away it seemed to be business as usual for the Winchester brothers.

"How're you doin', Dean?" Sam was bored. He usually slept through long drives, but for whatever reason he was awake, alert and raring to go. The only sad thing was sitting in the Impala gave him little space for the going he was raring to do.

"You know me, Sammy. I'm always good. What makes you ask?" Dean quirked an eyebrow in Sam's direction, and Sam felt his insides clench. He so did not want to do this, but he owed it to his brother to give it his best shot.

"The things you told me. You must be suffering so badly." Sam swallowed. "Dude, I checked out the treatment for PTSD, and..."

"Sam!" Dean's voice was loud, and he was frowning in a particularly fierce way. "Don't make me hurt you."

"But Dean...?" All that Sam was quailed from Dean's words. He sought to make things better without enraging his brother beyond all bearing. "I just want to help you – ease the pain you're going through."

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Dean swung the car into a gas station and screeched to a halt beside the pump, flinging himself out of the car as if he needed to run and hide from Sam's concern. "Go to hell, Sam! Go on, get lost!"

The words ignited something in Sam's brain. He watched Dean's progress as he filled the Impala, and then stalked off to pay for the gas. As he saw Dean disappear into the building, he pushed open the door and slid out of the car. A few seconds later, he was gone, lost from sight in the trees behind the building.

Four hours later, Sam suddenly realized that he had no idea where he was. The sun was low, and there was a haze around it that promised a storm to come. There was a tangled thicket before him, and a canyon to the right of him with a thin, rock-strewn trickle of water. He could hear nothing that might indicate civilization, and he frowned, wondering how the hell he'd gotten here and why.

"Dean?" His voice did nothing but make the soft sounds of nature still for a moment. "DEAN!" A slide and thump somewhere close to him indicated that something had moved. He froze, listening intently, wanting to hear his brother's voice greet him, even if it was with derision, but nothing further happened.

He surveyed the terrain, and finally decided that he should follow the stream for want of any better idea. Climbing down into the ravine took him a while, and when he reached the bottom he was exhausted. He had no idea how long he'd been without food, but it felt like too long. His stomach was sending him constant reminders that he needed to eat, and he wondered what there was around him that might feed his hunger.

He was starting to follow the pebble strewn canyon down in the direction of the stream, when his phone rang. Fumbling it out of his pocket, he saw that there had been a number of calls that he'd missed, although he didn't remember his phone ringing. Thumbing the thing open, he put it to his ear.

"Yeah, what?" he said, wondering why he hadn't thought of his phone before.

"Sammy? That you?" Dean sounded scared, and Sam's whole body seemed to melt with the relief that came with hearing his brother's voice.

"Yeah." Sam's voice sounded desperate to himself. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Yeah, it's me. Where are you?"

"More to the point, where are you?" Dean's voice broke, and Sam could hear the pain in it.

"I..." Sam looked around, trying for inspiration. "I'm in some canyon, following a stream and I have no idea where it is. I'm lost."

"Yeah." Dean sounded devastated, his voice shaky. "I don't know why you suddenly up and left," he said. "Come back, Sammy, please. I need you to come back."

Dean had always been the light in Sam's heart. Dean had been his caregiver, his companion, his friend. Goddammit, as far as Sam Winchester was concerned, Dean was everything. He stopped walking and closed his eyes. Somehow, God only knows how, he could feel Dean somewhere to the west of him, a comforting presence that meshed with the golden red of the setting sun. Turning, he began to make his way back to his lodestar. It never occurred to him to wonder how he knew where his brother was. Somehow, he just knew – he'd always known.

"Okay." Sam could feel the pull of his brother's vital presence, and he allowed it to draw him home.

Dean had parked at the side of the gas station, and he was pacing the parking lot when Sam stumbled out of the trees and back towards him. "Dude, what were you thinking?"
he growled as Sam got within earshot. "Why did you vanish like that?"

Staring at his brother, open mouthed, Sam sought for the words to explain his actions. For the life of him he had no idea why he'd suddenly run like that. He tried to marshal his thoughts, but for whatever reason his brain was spinning.

"I... I don't know," he whispered.

"Get in the car," snarled Dean, pulling open his own door as he spoke.

Sam did.

Lambert, Oklahoma was typical of the places they spent their lives in. There were a few stores, a bar that was playing loud country music that spilled out onto the street, and a shabby motel with a courtyard made from hard packed, rutted dirt. Checking in, they made for their room to discover bilious green wallpaper and water stains in the corner of the room. It smelled musty, and when Sam sat down on his bed, it made the kind of sound that indicated a tired mattress and a poor night's sleep ahead. Sighing, he lay down to confirm his worst suspicions, and a spring instantly poked him in the back.

Dean had pulled the bag containing the guns out of the trunk, and was beginning to break down his favorite shotgun prior to cleaning it, and he sat, clever hands petting and stroking dull metal into perfection. "So, Sammy, wanna tell me why you took off on me?" he asked, head down as he studiously refused to meet Sam's eyes.

"Told you, I don't know." Sam's mind felt sluggish, his body antsy and restless. He tried to determine just what he'd done, but, somehow, each time he tried to concentrate on it, his mind skittered away into inconsequentiality. He was confused, but there was apparently nothing he could do to clear his head. He sat up, causing his mattress to make an uneasy 'sproing'! "What do you think? We were talking about you, I think. I don't really recall what happened after that."

Nimble fingers caressed the barrel of a pistol as Dean inserted the oily swab. "You had a tantrum about my refusal to share, dude."

"Dean, all the stuff I've read about PTSD say that the best way of getting over it is to debrief – to talk about it to... to..." Sam faltered as he saw his brother's face tighten, his lips compress.

"You wanna be my own personal shrink, Sammy?" There was derision in Dean's voice, but Sam could see fear echoing behind his brother's eyes. "Well, fuck me!"

And suddenly, Sam saw Dean clearly, saw everything about him. He knew intellectually that his brother was handsome, that girls flocked to him, but he'd never really examined him with that in mind. Now he did, because suddenly he couldn't help himself.

Gazing at Dean, Sam took in the curl of his lashes, the shine of lustrous eyes, wide as they carefully avoided his gaze. He wondered why he'd never noticed them before, never noticed the tender skin over his cheekbones, the light dusting of freckles on the delicately flushed cheeks and the perfect curve of mobile lips. This was what he wanted; this was what he'd needed all along. He wasn't sure why he'd never given Dean the admiration that was his due. He could remember fumbled kisses with his brother long ago, before he'd run to college and hopes of normality and fled the possibility that he and Dean would be something his father might despise. He couldn't imagine now why he'd left Dean behind, and all of a sudden a surge of love filled him – a surge so intense that it rocked him, shortened his breath and sent the blood spinning, pounding, filling his cock and making him shake with need.

Rising to his feet, he stalked towards Dean. His fingers itched, and his breath was staccato in the quiet of the room. He said nothing, merely bent and took Dean's face between his two palms. "Yeah," he whispered, stroking over the roughness of Dean's chin up to the finely fleshed cheekbones. "Yeah, I will."

Dean's flush deepened, and he opened his mouth to say something, but just at that moment Sam bent to capture his lips, smothering his words as he licked his way into Dean's succulent mouth.

Gun and cloth clattered to the floor, forgotten as Dean reached to tangle his fingers in Sam's hair, pulling tight. His hand trembled, and Sam wasn't sure if Dean was trying to pull him closer or push him away. He kissed harder, tongue snaking through the softness of Dean's mouth, learning the sweetness of it all over again, the hard ridges of his teeth and the juiciness of his lips. He wrapped his arms around Dean and half pushed, half pulled him against his chest, and Dean came, followed his lead, apparently willingly.

When he no longer had the breath to go on, Sam drew back and gazed down at his brother. Dean's eyelids looked bruised, his mouth soft, lips trembling and swollen from his onslaught. He said nothing, but he didn't need to; all that he was, all that he felt, was in his eyes. Sam felt that kick inside again, forty thousand butterflies spreading through him until it seemed as if he was melting from the inside out.

"I think I know what's happening," said Dean, lashes veiling his eyes as he looked away from Sam, a delicate flush blooming on his cheeks to obscure his freckles.

"I fucking know. I want you. Forgot how much I wanted you, Dean." Sam's voice was harsh, scratchy, and he was finding it hard to stay back as he watched Dean's face run the gamut of his emotions.

"The sidhe, she put you under a compulsion. You don't want to do this. It's what I said that's making you." Dean's pulse fluttered under Sam's fingers, and Sam shook his head. His! Dean was his. Why was he trying to deny that?

"I want you, Dean. I love you. I always have." Sam's fingers curled against the soft hair at the nape of Dean's neck, insisting that he present himself for more kissing, and Dean shuddered.

"Sammy, stop!"

It hurt. The pain of waiting for Dean cut him, pierced him, made him shiver, but he froze, because he had to.

"Stay there." Dean's voice was full of regret, but it didn't stop him as he rose to his feet and went to the door, pulling out his phone as he did so. "Bobby, I have a situation," Sam heard him say as he left the room. Sam sat, bewildered, wanting, memories of Dean under his fingers, in his arms, filling him with need. A single tear welled up, ran down his cheek, and dripped, unnoticed, onto the barrel of his Glock, where it lay awaiting its turn for cleaning.

He didn't know how long Dean was gone. He could only sit and wait, wanting, hopeless.

When his brother returned, he was smiling. Looking up at him with his soul in his eyes, Sam willed him to be who he wanted him to be. Dean dropped to his knees beside him and put a hand on his arm, gazed at him with what looked like love to Sam. "Sammy, you're under a spell. Sit tight; I can break it."

He rose to his feet, paced over to the kitchenette and drew out a couple of bowls. Air, earth, fire and water, words in an ancient tongue and Dean's kiss to his forehead, and Sam sat, still bespelled, wishing that Dean would just let him be and love him again the way he used to.

"Sam? Sammy?" Dean's voice cut through his reverie, and Sam started awake from his fugue. "Dude, you okay?"

"Dean?" Sam felt fine, in fact more than fine. He rose to his feet, reached for his brother and swung him around, laid him down on the bed where he'd been sitting. "I'm okay, Dean," he murmured, sucking Dean's lower lip in between his teeth and nibbling.

"It's okay, Sam. You don't have to..." Sam cut short the protests. Couldn't Dean tell that he wasn't under any compulsion? His fingers stroked up from Dean's neck until they could cup the back of his head, and he gave a little snort of laughter.

"My turn to say it, Dean." His dimples flickered into prominence, and he could feel Dean buck under his body. "Shut up; I want you; deal with it!"

All the fight went out of Dean. Sam could feel him suddenly shudder, inhale, moan and finally reach for him. He closed his eyes and went for it, one hand sliding down to fumble at his brother's groin until he could get the zipper down and reach inside. Dean had closed his eyes, and Sam frowned, not wanting there to be any way for Dean to shut him out. He bent and bit Dean's ear, surprising a yelp out of him and ensuring that eye contact was re-established as he protested the abuse.

"Jesus, Sammy, didn't you have a good breakfast or what?" Dean's complaint was smothered as Sam claimed his mouth again, losing himself in lush, soft lips, kissing away his brother's protests.

Dean was all hard body, hard cock under velvety skin and soft, soft mouth clinging desperately to Sam's. Sam could hear the little hitches of his breath, the tiny gasps and moans as he worked his fingers over the silky-slippery length of him. Dean tasted like fear and regret, love and hope and honesty; he tasted like Sam's.

Walking him over to the rickety bed, Sam laid his brother down and stood back to gaze at him, love and need in his eyes. Dean was close to coming, his pupils blown wide as he panted, hips bucking against his touch.

"Don't worry, dude, I won't let you down." Sam's whispered words shot through Dean's body, a shudder at each syllable, and he peered up at Sam with drowning eyes.

"Sammy, Oh, God, Sammy, I told myself... I promised I'd let you go." His brother's voice was gritty, sounding like whisky and honey and gravel, and it slid over Sam's senses, hiking his need.

"Don't want to be let go." His reply was almost a snarl, and he began to pull and tear at Dean's clothes, his own too, until he could press skin to needy skin and feel the heat of Dean's body melting his own. "Love you. Always did. You're mine, Dean."

Dean didn't argue. He merely spread his legs to allow his brother access, moaned softly as Sam's fingers sought entry and then bit his lip with a soft cry as the questing fingers found his sweet spot and played over it.

"You got any...?" The need for lube suddenly became imperative.

"In my jeans – left hand front pocket..." Dean panted out his answer, and Sam reached blindly for the garment he'd tossed onto the floor, fumbling urgently through the pockets to find the sachet containing lube and condom. By the time they were both ready, Sam was shaking, because he was so desperate to climb into his brother, meld with him and be as close to him as he possibly could.

The press of his cock against Dean felt like coming home. When Dean's opening gave way and he slid inside, he knew he'd found his place again, lost so long ago when he'd run.

Dean wasn't speaking. He clung to Sam, pressed his mouth against Sam's cheek, his chin, his lips. His tongue licked, probed, tasted, and Sam gasped, pulled him closer, pressed him down and gave him back taste for taste in the duel of tongues.

"Love you, Dean. Loved you all my life."

And Dean shivered, gazed up at him with dark, desperate eyes and breathed, "Sammy..." Sam drove into him hard, and Dean's whispered, "Love you," was almost lost.

Taking in the sight of him, Sam felt desire surge through his body, and he redoubled his efforts to get inside of Dean. He felt his brother tighten, heard him whine and finally lose it, tissues rippling and pulsing around Sam's cock. He came with a shout, spurting thick and sticky against Sam's belly.

It was all over then. Dean's face, kiss-plumped lips and lost, bruised eyes locked in the sweetness of his orgasm was too much for Sam. As Dean's body clenched and tightened around his cock, Sam felt his release boil through him, locking up his joints and shattering him with the strength of it.

Coming down afterwards, trying to find the air he needed with lungs that seemed to refuse to co-operate, he could only lie against Dean's welcome warmth and gasp and pant and feel Dean's arms tight around him, lips pressing against his face.

"Sammy? You mean it? You and me...?"

The question, when it came, was unexpected. He lifted his head to look into his brother's eyes, soft and green and wide. "Yeah, I meant it, Dean. You're mine; you always have been. I just... I just forgot for a while."

And the sweet smile on his brother's face made Sam's heart thump painfully against his chest, made him dive in with another, claiming kiss, and close his eyes against the need to ever separate again.

They were a pair, and that's just how it was. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Reaching up to trail his fingers down over Dean's rough jaw, Sam nipped the side of his face. "So now will you let me help you with your post traumatic stress?" he asked, smiling into warm, salty skin.

The rumble of Dean's voice as he voiced his feelings made him laugh, and Dean's growl of "Sammy!" was less intimidating than it had been. Sam knew that if he could only hang in and persist, he'd be able to wear Dean down, and Dean would be able to work through his pain. He, Sam Winchester, would make sure of that.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled the scent of his brother and purred. They were together now, and they would be from now on.

---

| Back to My Stories –|– Email Dr. Ruthless |