fragmentedwhole: (Sam bloodlust)
[personal profile] fragmentedwhole
Title: For the End of my Broken Heart
Chapter: Three
Author: [ profile] bloodkisses
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17/Adult
Warnings: Angst. The usual drill. Slash
Spoilers: Devil's Trap (seriously, is there *anyone* who would be spoiled by this?)
Summary: Dad's disappeared and Sam's left to pick up the pieces of his broken brother.
Disclaimer: They're not mine, sadly, no matter how much I pleaded.
A/N: My first plot!fic. I have sweated blood and tears on this thing. I need to thank *everyone* who supported, cajoled, bullied, hand-held and babied me through this. I especially need to thank my betas, [ profile] sosoru and [ profile] wenchpixie. Special thanks and much love go to [ profile] sosoru, because without her belief in me and her endless patience, this thing would never have got this far. Love you darling.

Dean's mind is stuck on an endless loop of 'no' and 'Sammy'. He can't believe he just watched the coach carrying his baby brother crash over the bridge. He doesn't remember stopping the car, or getting out, but as he walks towards the bridge, towards the point where the coach disappeared into the gully, he knows he's never going to forget a single step; guilt and despair and grief make his heart twist, and leave him tasting bile, as his eyes blur with tears he doesn't even notice spilling down his cheeks.

Anguish drives him to his knees, his forehead bumping the rough stone wall. He doesn't notice the small pain, nor the cold of the night. All he can feel is the gaping hole left by losing Sammy. A hole that Dean knows nothing is ever going to fill. He's never felt despair like this before, never felt so empty and alone. Even when Sam went to college, Dean knew he was there, knew Sam was only a day's drive, or a phone call away, even if he never actually drove over, or called him. To know his brother's gone, for good, is just more than Dean can stand.


Sam hauls himself back over the edge of the bridge. He's furious. Angry with the stupid kid for being in the wrong place at the wrong time; with Dad for sending them on this hunt before they were ready; and with Dean, for fucking up and forcing Sam to leap out of the coach as it toppled into the gully. He's bruised, scraped, cold and seriously going to shake his brother until Dean’s teeth rattle.

Then he sees Dean, on his knees, head resting against the wall of the bridge. He looks surreal and almost supernatural himself, his form back lit by the car headlights. Anger gives way to concern, and as Sam gets closer, concern turns to distress when he sees the silent tears leaving trails down Dean's face. He's throwing himself to his knees beside his brother before he realizes it.

"Dean. Oh, Dean."

He knows exactly what Dean thought. That he went over with the coach. That he'd died.

Dean lifts his face to look at Sam, and it breaks Sam’s heart to see Dean like this; broken, despairing, lost. He doesn’t quite know what to do, what to say, so he just gathers his brother’s trembling body against his, wraps his arms around Dean and just holds on. It’s the most natural thing in the world to press his face into Dean’s neck, to whisper soothing words against the soft skin and scratchy stubble, to turn his head as Dean turns towards him, until his lips meet Dean’s, almost accidentally. It’s nothing more than a soft brush of lips at first, until Dean’s lips part, and then they’re kissing properly; wet and slow and tasting of salt from Dean’s tears.

It’s slow and delicate and so utterly unlike Dean that Sam can barely recognize the man in his arms. Dean’s the one who’s breaking, and yet he still treats Sam like something precious, something to be treasured. It makes Sam want to repay that devotion, makes him want to shake Dean for putting everyone else first, makes Sam want to give him everything his heart desires, everything that’s in Sam’s power to grant him.

Sam could stay like this forever, trading slow, sensual kisses that warm his heart, even as they start to fire his blood. It should feel so very wrong, but god help him, it doesn't. It feels like they've been heading for this their whole lives, and if there is a hell, Sam would gladly burn there for eternity, so long as he never has to give this up.

Dean's hands are wrapped around his biceps, tight enough to bruise, and Sam doesn't care. Dean's already left his mark on Sam, a long time ago. The kiss that started out so soft and gentle is changing, becoming heat and passion, driven by fear and grief. Sam doesn't know which of them is moving, trying to get closer to the other; maybe they both are. He runs gentle hands down Dean's back, feels his brother wrap a hand around the back of his neck, fingers sliding into his hair.

And god, he doesn't want to stop kissing Dean, because fuck, he needs this like he needs to breathe, and Dean kisses like he does everything else; all focused intent, and deadly concentration. He doesn't want to stop, but his knees are aching and the temperature has dropped considerably, and he just wants to get them into the car, doesn't care that the back seat is a cliché, he just wants.

He pulls his mouth away from Dean's with an effort, then gasps and shudders when his brother's mouth moves down to his neck, licking and sucking and biting, and Christ, Sam's half tempted to just stay right where he is as long as Dean keeps doing that. In the end, he manages to marshal enough will power to pull away, heart clenching at the sudden panic in Dean's face, and the way his brother's hands dig into his skin, trying to hold on to him as he stands.

Fuck, even now, Dean thinks he's going to leave. Oh god, Dean, I'm not going to leave. You're all I've got, all I want, I love you, damnit. I want you.

Sam pulls Dean to his feet, and kisses him again, slow and hot, trying to chase away the fear and the loneliness they both know far too well. This is so fucked up, but they need this so much Sam doesn't care anymore.

He walks slowly towards the car, still kissing Dean, guiding his brother backwards, and Dean lets him; trusts him to take care of him, and Sam loves him even more for it. Trust is the most precious thing Dean has to give, bar his heart, and Sam thinks maybe he already has Dean's heart; maybe he always did, he just didn't know it.

They bump into the car, and Sam can't help himself. He presses up against Dean, feeling the lines of solid muscle shift against him; feeling the hard line of Dean's cock, pressing against his hip. Jesus, that's good, the little whimper that escapes Dean as Sam thrusts gently against him. It's every wet dream about Dean that Sam's never had, and even if he had ever thought of this, he's certain his fantasy would never have felt so desperately sensual, so agonizingly emotional, so seriously hot.

Dean's shifting restlessly against him, hips arching to meet Sam's shallow thrusts. Dean has one hand on his face, stroking over his cheekbone, while the other rests on Sam's ass, pulling him closer, as if Dean wants to climb inside him. Dean's mouth moves over Sam's jaw, stubble catching on stubble, making Sam shiver. Hot lips and slick tongue slide down his neck again, and Sam needs to get them horizontal now, before he's rendered incapable of any thought at all.

He fumbles for the handle, unable to pull away from Dean for even the few seconds it would take to look at what he's doing. He completely loses his train of thought when Dean nuzzles into the crook of his neck, tongue moving over his skin, hot and wet and feeling like sin given form. He finally gets the door open, but has absolutely no idea how he's going to maneuver them around the door and into the back. When Dean suddenly sinks his teeth into his neck, he can't stop the gasp and growl, nor the way his hips buck into Dean. The groan Dean gives, breath tickling over damp, sensitive skin, and the way his hands tighten and his body arches into Sam's is so fucking hot that Sam wonders how he's ever lived without knowing this. Need and necessity overtake rational thought, and as Dean lifts his head and drags Sam back into a wet, sloppy kiss, Sam drags them around the back door, and then he's pressing Dean into the car, guiding him down onto the back seat, following him all the way down, the symbolism not entirely lost on him.

Dean's hands cup his face, and despite the obvious desire, his brother's eyes are soft with devotion, still clouded by fear and loss, but his gaze is open, vulnerable, trusting and god, Sam can only hope that he's going to be worthy of that trust; that he isn't making a mistake by binding them together even tighter. He can only hope, because nothing on earth, not thoughts of laws, nor morals, nor right or wrong could make him stop now, not when Dean's pulling him down, spreading his legs awkwardly, so that Sam's stretched out over him, weight propped on the hand that's gripping the back of the seat.

Sam can feel the tremors that still shake Dean's body, and he doesn't know if they're desire, or a residue of Dean's earlier scare, or both. He wants to wipe that fear away, wants to give Dean something real to hold onto, wants to drive out the cold he sometimes sees in Dean's eyes when he thinks Sam isn't looking.

Dean's hands are busy, sliding from his face to stroke over his shoulders, under Sam's jacket, sliding it off his shoulders until Sam has to kneel, bent damn near in half to pull it off, hampered by the confines of the car. Warm hands worm under his t-shirt, fingertips ghosting over the skin of his sides, his ribs, teasing touches over his nipples, making him squirm and suck in a breath. He drags the shirt off, shivering as the cold air from outside hits the bare skin of his back. He'd like to shut the door, leave them cocooned in the warm isolation of the car, but there's barely enough room as it is.

His brother sits up, lips and tongue following the path of his hands, making Sam arch towards him, forcing desperate moans from his lips. A gentle bite to his nipple makes Sam curse, and breaks his temporary immobility under Dean's touch. He fumbles and scrambles, and drags Dean's jacket and shirt off with indecent haste.

He slows himself, deliberately, sorrow catching him at the sight of Dean's scars, the outward sign of the wounds left on his brother's heart and soul. Dean shudders, a broken sob escaping him as Sam traces the angry marks with his fingers. Dean turns his head away, as if afraid of Sam's reaction, so he leans forward, pressing gentle, reverent kisses to the damaged flesh, moving until he's kissing Dean's neck, up over his jaw, until he can catch his brother’s mouth with his.

The pace is slow as they share long, gentle kisses, right up to the point where Dean unexpectedly sinks his teeth into Sam's lower lip, hard enough to sting. It makes Sam jerk, and flicks the switch from patient to frantic.

He's not sure whose hands are shaking more as they undo buttons and zips, stripping off boots and denim; limbs tangling, and leaving even more bruises in their haste. Sam can't resist licking and nibbling Dean's neck, enjoying the way Dean squirms beneath him, one leg trapped between Sam's body and the car seat, the other curling up around Sam's hip and thigh.

"Sam. Oh fuck... Glove compartment. Oh..."

Christ, Dean's voice is rough, deeper than normal, and just god, the sexiest thing Sam's ever heard, and hell's looking like more and more of a certainty.

"What...?" It's nothing more than a mumble against Dean's skin, raising goose-bumps and making Sam pant as hard as Dean when his brother hisses and arches, cock rubbing against Sam's.

"Gun oil, damnit. Oh Jesus, Sam..."

The reality of what Dean's implying hits Sam like a sledgehammer. Fear and desire war in his head, but lust wins, because damn, just the thought of what Dean appears to be suggesting is enough to have Sam moaning.

"Dean. God, you want me to... Oh fuck."

"Yeah. Just get the damned oil."

It's a wrench, to pull himself away from Dean, away from the heat of his brother's skin, but he scrambles for the front seat, leaning over to dig through the glove compartment until he finds the familiar bottle.

Dean looks utterly debauched, naked and spread over the back seat of the car, tanned skin against cream leather, cheeks a little flushed, eyes bright, pupils so dilated his eyes look black. The way he's looking at Sam, all heat and need and dear god, love.

It's utterly surreal, kneeling between Dean's legs, watching the muscles in his thighs shift and flex, seeing one hand, slick with oil stroke his brother's cock slowly, while the other slides behind his balls, and presses carefully into Dean's body. The way Dean twists, breath stuttering past his lips, skin shining with sweat despite the cold air makes Sam's cock twitch. He's caught between watching his fingers sliding deep into the heat of his brother's body, and watching the open pleasure on Dean's face.

It could be minutes, or hours, Sam honestly can't tell, before Dean opens his eyes and looks at him with a mixture of arousal and annoyance that at any other time might be amusing.

"Damnit, Sammy. Just do it.. please."

It's the please, the desperate, needy plea in Dean's voice that undoes Sam, and he's pressing Dean down, grabbing a thigh and spreading Dean open even more. It's uncomfortable and awkward in the back seat, but Sam doubts he'd care if they were on a bed of nails as he slides into Dean. It's dark and addictive, the way Dean groans, like he's dying; the way his body clenches, then relaxes around Sam; the mix of pain and pleasure that twists his face; the way his hands cling to Sam like a lifeline.

Sam buries his face in Dean's neck, fucking Dean in slow, deep thrusts. It feels as though they've done this a thousand times; it feels so right, so necessary, so profound that Sam never wants it to stop. Inevitably though, his body takes over, and he drives harder, struggling to find the purchase to move faster, driven on by Dean's gasps and breathless words of encouragement.

Dean squeezes a hand between their bodies, stroking his cock as best he can given the cramped space, and the thought of Dean touching himself while Sam's taking him, fucking him, drives Sam crazy, and he somehow manages to get his knees beneath Dean's thighs, pulling his brother's hips half off the seat, bracing his weight on hands either side of Dean's head, shuddering when Dean wraps his legs around his waist.

He's almost afraid he's hurting Dean, but the look on Dean's face, the way his brother is biting his lip reassure him that if it hurts, it's a good hurt. And oh god, the noises Dean's making, whimpers and shocked, desperate gasps. He can feel the knuckles of Dean's hand brush against his stomach as his brother strokes his cock, and fuck, that makes his gut clench and his cock twitch.

The moment Dean comes, muscles locking, body tightening, head arching back to expose his neck is damn near soul shattering; Sam doesn't think he's seen anything so perfect. It's mere seconds later when his own orgasm catches him by surprise, so sudden and so strong that he can't breathe for several seconds.

They're both trembling now, slick with sweat, still panting. Dean shifts, and can't quite hide the wince as Sam's cock slips out. Sam's glad for the first time that this isn't Dean's precious car, because he's fairly sure that semen and leather are a bad mix. Dean shoves at him, until he can get them both lying on their sides on the seat, facing each other. It's cramped and Sam's skin is sticking to the leather already, but he doesn't care, not when Dean's holding onto him, pressing gentle kisses to his shoulder and neck.

"You ok?" Sam winces at the sound of his voice; he sounds like he's been shouting for hours, and it's nothing like the sexy rasp Dean had earlier.

Dean doesn't say anything for several minutes, though he tightens his grip on Sam, and Sam begins to worry. He'd assumed Dean was ok with this, assumed he wanted, needed it as much as Sam did, but what if he hadn't, what if he'd only done it because it was what Sam wanted?

Dean's voice is quiet, muffled a little because he doesn't lift his head from Sam's neck.

"I thought you'd died. Oh god." Dean's voice breaks, and Sam can hear the terror. "I don't want to go on if you're dead. And it would have been my fault. I froze. Sammy, oh god... I thought you were dead...."

Oh. Oh fuck.

"Dean, don't, please. I'm here, I'm fine. I'm not going anywhere, I promise. Dean, it's ok. It'll be ok. I love you, I'm here."

"Don't want you to leave Sam. I need you." Dean's voice is soft, and desperate, shattered.

"It's ok. We'll get through this."

He clings to his brother, sated and scared and worried and more content than he's been for months. He hopes he hasn't made promises he can't keep. He knows it's not going to be easy; Dean's still as broken as ever, and Sam's real concern is that this could just make things worse, but he can't, won't regret it, wouldn't change it for anything. They're just going to have to deal with it. Hell, in the grand scheme of their lives, it's hardly the worst thing they've ever faced.


They lie, pressed together on the back seat for what feels like a long time to Dean. His body is heavy, sated, relaxed in the way only really good sex achieves, but his mind is still reeling.

Dean's not certain what he should be feeling. He'd be the first to admit that he's not great on emotions at the best of times, and in any event, he's pretty sure there are no guidelines for what happens after your brother's just fucked you damn near senseless, and watched you fall apart in front of him, again.

What he certainly isn't feeling is any trace of guilt, or shame, or regret. He's aware that what they've done is illegal, and definitely wrong in most people's eyes. Dean couldn't give a flying fuck what other people think, and he's never worried much about laws that don't apply to his family anyway. He does care what Sam thinks though. This is about as far from the normal that Sam's wanted as you can get, and Dean can feel the cold knot of fear sitting in his chest. Thinking Sam was dead was the worst thing Dean has ever experienced, but watching Sam walk away after this, would come a damned close second.

Despite the fact that Sam certainly didn't seem to have any reservations earlier, when he was pressing Dean down into the back seat of the car, driving into him, hard and fast and dirty, Dean still can't quite believe that Sam will stay. It's more than Dean dare hope for and more than he could bear to lose.

It's enough to make him tremble. He feels broken, cracked wide open and vulnerable in a whole new and completely shitty way. His mind seems to skate between the fear and horror and utter despair of thinking Sam was dead, to the shocking, slightly hysterical relief of seeing his brother in front of him, to the surreal, unexpected feel of Sam's lips on his. He'd clung to that touch, to Sam, like a lifeline. The feel of Sam's body pressed against his, of Sam's touch, Christ, the feel of his brother's cock inside him. God, but Dean can't regret that, no matter how this turns out.

'I love you'. Sam's words keep rattling around in Dean's head. It's not the first time Sam'd said them, but Dean could hear new layers of meaning in his brother's voice this time.

He shivers, telling himself it's just the cold night air. Sam shifts, stroking a hand down his arm, making Dean shiver for an entirely different reason, and damn, if that isn't seriously fucked up.

"We should probably get dressed and get back to the motel." Sam's voice is soft, and the unease and regret Dean expected to hear isn't there. His brother sounds uncertain, but not disgusted.

When Dean doesn't answer Sam moves again, trying to dislodge Dean's face from where it's buried against his neck, and Dean briefly considers resisting, staying where he is so he doesn't have to face Sam like this, knowing every scraped raw emotion is going to be showing on his face. But he knows Sam, and he's only going to buy himself a few extra minutes, at most.


He lifts his head, ignoring the spike of sick fear at what he'll see in Sam's face. The expression he sees is not the one he expected. Despite the obvious concern, Sam looks calm, almost content, and Dean has absolutely no idea what that means. Since he stepped out of the hospital, his world's been turned inside out, and nothing seems to be the same. It leaves him feeling out of place, uncertain, confused, and not a little scared.

"Hey, you ok? Dean, talk to me man, you're freaking me out here."

He blinks, and realizes that Sam's hand is stroking his cheek, and now Sam just looks worried.

"Why aren't you...?" Dean's voice breaks, and he hates himself for that weakness. He clears his throat, dropping his gaze from Sam's face. "You're ok, with this?" It's not really what he wants to ask, but it's close enough.

"I...yeah. I didn't mean for this to happen, I didn't ever think about..." Sam trails off, and Dean can imagine the awkward expression, and the faint blush on Sam's face. Some other time, it'd amuse the hell out of Dean, but right now, this is too important to laugh. "But yeah, I'm ok with this. A little, uh, stunned, but I'm good." Nervous pause, then "Are you... are you ok with this?"

And really, Dean has absolutely no fucking idea how to answer that. Because he's not entirely sure what this is, let alone how to deal with the fact that Mr I-want-to-be-normal apparently doesn't have any issues with fucking his older brother. There's a small voice in the back of Dean's head that tells him he should be grateful that Sammy isn't freaking out right now, because there's no way Dean could deal with that.

"I..." Great, again with the girly voice and shit. Damnit, get a grip Dean. If Sam can deal, so can you; don't fuck this up anymore than it already is. "I think so, yeah."

"Oh. Good." Sam shifts away, and Dean can't help the way his hand twitches, fingers digging into Sam's arm briefly, before he can stop them. He hears Sam's slight intake of breath, and a cold wave of panic slices through him. He forces himself to unclench his hand, and draw it away from Sam.

Sam doesn't let him, though. He catches Dean's hand and holds it tightly.

"It's ok. We'll be ok." Sam sounds so certain, so sure. Dean wishes he could believe that easily, but he can't. He wants this too much to believe he's going to be allowed to keep it. He feels afraid, and suddenly angry. He yanks his hand back, and shoves Sam away, sending him sliding off the seat. He sits up, trying to remember where the hell his clothes went.

"For how long, Sam? Until you decide you want normal again? Because I hate to tell you, dude, but fucking your brother is definitely not normal. What happens when you want to go back to your apple pie life? What happens to me? How the hell am I supposed to keep going...." He hates the way his voice shakes, the obvious desperation, and fear.

Sam's naked, sprawled on the floor of the car, looking startled, and hurt and dear god, debauched and utterly fuckable. Damnit, Dean's angry at Sam for adding yet another layer of confusion and potential misunderstanding to their already damaged relationship, even though he knows he's as much to blame as Sam. He didn't stop Sam, damn near ordered his brother to fuck him, because Dean wanted it, wanted one thing for himself.

He's trembling, cold and sick to his stomach, and he knows he's being unreasonable but he can't stop. If Sam's going to go, better he goes now, before he gets even more of a hold on Dean's heart.

"God, Dean, if I could take it all back, every time I said I wanted to leave, I would. I'm sorry." He reaches out, one hand catching Dean's and lacing their fingers together, while the other slides up Dean's arm, and tugs him down, until somehow, he ends up in Sam's lap. "Damnit, Dean, stop it. Stop pushing me away. I'm not gonna leave. What the hell is it going to take to convince you?"

"I don't know, ok?" His breath catches, and he can feel the hysteria building up again, but he takes a deep breath and forces it down. "It's just, fuck, Sam, you up and leave like it's nothing, and you never think about those of us you leave behind. It feel like we don't matter enough, like we're not good enough for you."

"I never thought that Dean, I never...that wasn't the reason I left. I was only going to college, Dean..."

"And would you have come back after? Gone back to hunting? Or was Dad telling you to go for good just the excuse you needed?" Dean can hear the bitterness in his own voice, and he doesn't care. He's just so tired of fighting.

"I just...I was stupid, ok? I shouldn't have tried to cut you out of my life. I just, I never thought I was hurting you so much. Oh man, I'd never have been such a bastard if I'd realized. I'm sorry, I won't make that mistake again, I promise."

Sam's voice is close to breaking too, and Dean has to close his eyes. It's too much and he just wants to get away, wants to put some distance between them, but Sam's holding him too tightly. The panic, and the anger abruptly subside, leaving Dean exhausted, shivering and too drained to move.

The hand on his shoulder slides to curl gently around the back of Dean's neck, pulling his head down and angling him until Sam can kiss him, slow and steady and yeah, it might be wrong, but he doesn't care.

There's no lust in the kiss, just comfort and safety and affection and Dean's too tired to fight any more. He lets Sam pull back, and rest their foreheads against each other. He's can't fight anymore, and he lets Sam cradle him in his lap, fingers stroking over the back of Dean's neck, soft and gentle, until Dean thinks he could almost fall asleep like this, almost believe the illusion of safety and love within Sam's arms.


Dean finally relaxes, breathing deepening until Sam's half convinced he's fallen asleep. Sam lets him rest there, enjoying the feel of Dean in his arms until the cramp in his legs from the awkward position forces him to nudge his brother.


"Get up, my legs are killing me."

"Shouldn't have such freakishly long legs then." It's a familiar insult, and the sleepy indignation in Dean's voice just makes Sam smile. He thinks that if they can still be so comfortable with each other, after everything they've been through, maybe things will be ok in the end..

"If you weren't so damned heavy, it wouldn't be such a problem."

"Are you calling me fat?"

Sam swallows a laugh and squeezes the back of Dean's neck lightly, then shoves him so he ends up sprawled across the back seat. Dean's face is the perfect picture of outrage and wounded pride. But it's the expanse of bare skin, and the way Dean's arms and legs are spread over the leather that draws Sam's attention. He's always known Dean was good looking, but damn, he'd never really appreciated his brother's physical appeal before tonight. The rush of lust, and the sense memory of Dean beneath him, hips rolling into Sam's thrusts catches him by surprise. Whatever he might have expected to feel after taking his brother over the back seat of the car, it wasn't this.

Dean opens his mouth, as if to speak, but then his eyes narrow, and he quirks an eyebrow, all cocky arrogance. If it wasn't for the fact that Sam's frozen in place, he'd be tempted to punch his brother. As it is, he just really, really wants to kiss him. Dean's expression shifts, and for just a second he looks scared, then his whole face softens, and he reaches out, grabbing Sam's shoulder and pulling Sam towards him. Sam watches as something hot flares in Dean's eyes, then they're kissing and he's positive he's never, ever going to get bored of kissing his brother.

He only pulls back when his leg damn near goes into spasm, he's been sitting on it so long. Dean's eyes are dark, pupils wide, and there's just the faintest flush across his cheekbones. Sam feels as though he's seeing his brother through entirely new eyes, and he likes the new perspective, although he's absolutely not going to tell Dean that, ever. Bastard has a big enough ego as it is.

Dean's watching him, his slightly curious expression belied by hot eyes, and Sam wonders how this can feel so easy, so simple. How he can want to run his hands over Dean's skin again, and never stop, make his brother make those soft, helpless noises again, have Dean fuck him. He realizes everything he's just thought must have shown on his face when Dean's eyes widen, and he sucks in a breath.

The briefest look of surprise, and something very like wonder slides across Dean's face, before being replaced by a toned down version of the smirk that Sam's so familiar with. He shakes his head, and grins back. As much as Sam would like to carry on, his leg really is hurting now. He clambers out of the car, and they spend several minutes finding their clothes, untangling various items and using the wet wipes Dean always carries to remove all trace of oil and semen. Sam’s almost tempted to comment on the fact that it makes a change for them not to be cleaning up blood after a hunt, but he doesn’t want to spoil the mood by reminding Dean that he could have died tonight. Some of the earlier tension has bled from his brother, although Sam can tell he's still wary. It doesn't matter, Sam's determined that he's not going to give up; he's going to prove himself to Dean; he's going to get it right this time.


The drive back to the hotel is silent. Dean feels calmer, though the memory of thinking Sam was gone is still tormenting him, in the back of his mind. He ignores it, and concentrates instead on the fact that Sam's alive, and here, with him.

Sam's driving and Dean's staring out of the window into the darkness. He can feel Sam glancing over at him from time to time, but he doesn't respond. He's still trying to get his head around the fact that Sam isn't freaking out, let alone the way Sam is trying so hard to convince Dean that he's going to stay.

Dean wants to believe, god, he wants it so much, and Sam sounds so honest, so earnest. The way Sam touched him, kissed him, like Dean was precious, was thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. And damn if Dean doesn't want to feel that again, doesn't want to be the center of Sam's world for once. He wants it enough that he's almost ready to risk believing Sam's actually going to stay this time. Sam's been trying so hard to convince him that he means what he says about not going, and Dean's always had a hard time holding out against Sam when he gets that earnest look on his face.

He's torn between protecting what's left of his heart, his dignity, and giving in, letting himself lean on Sam, trust Sam not to tear his world apart again. It's so close to everything he's ever really wanted, and then some, offered on a silver platter, and though Dean's sure there'll be a high price to pay for this later, it's more temptation than he can resist.

Dean can damn near hear Sam's brain working overtime, and he knows there's a question coming when Sam takes a breath. He tries not to tense, but he's certain he knows exactly what the next words out of Sam's mouth are going to be.

"So, what happens now?"

Well, he was actually expecting 'We need to talk', but that's pretty close. Dean closes his eyes and tries not to sigh, not to start an argument.


"Dean, we need to..."

"I swear to God, Sammy, if the next word out of your mouth is 'talk' I will shoot you full of rock salt and leave your corpse by the side of the road."

He can almost hear the click as Sam snaps his mouth shut in surprise. Score one for the older brother. But he knows that just this once, Sam's got a point. Like it or not, he's actually going to have to talk to Sam about this, because otherwise, it's either going to drive a wedge between them or come back and bite them on the ass at the worst possible moment. Or, quite possibly both.

He turns to face Sam; if he has to have this conversation, he'd rather it was here, now, where Sam's going to have to concentrate on the road as well as talking. Dean has a feeling he's going to need any advantage he can get.

"Fine. You're not going to leave this alone, are you? You're like a dog with a damned bone sometimes Sam. You want to talk? Ok, talk."

The insulted, then stunned look that Sam turns to him has Dean fighting a smirk. As much fun as it'd be to get under Sammy's skin right now, it's not going to help, and Dean honestly doesn't want another argument tonight.

"I..." Oh, but the sight of Sam lost for words is priceless.

Sam shuts his mouth again, and licks his lips, obviously unbalanced. Dean's distracted by that simple, innocent action, and all he can think about is how it felt to kiss Sam and have his brother's mouth on his skin; how Sam's lips would look, stretched around his cock. Dean's tempted to tell Sam to just pull over, but he reigns in the desire and tries to concentrate. Talk first, jump Sam later.

"Ok, look, what are we going to do about... ah..."

Dean rolls his eyes. This whole conversation is surreal, and Sam's sudden attack of shyness, while amusing as hell, really isn't helping. Dean wants a cold beer, a long, hot shower, and, just in case any gods are listening, an easier life where his family is concerned.

He raises an eyebrow and lets just a hint of a smirk out, though in truth, he's starting to worry that maybe Sam's about to start flipping out on him, finally, and yeah, maybe having this conversation in the car wasn't one of his smarter ideas.

Sam scowls, trying to divide his attention between the road and Dean. Dean has no intention of helping him out here. Just because he knows they've got to have this conversation, doesn't mean he's got to let Sam have it all is own way.

"We're good with this? I mean, no regrets, right?"

Dean sighs, there's that earnest look and tone again.

"No Sam, no regrets. Scout's honor."

Sam slants a look at him, half exasperated, half amused.

"Dean, ah... you think we might...ah..." Dean would laugh at Sam's sudden shyness, if it weren't for the fact that it is suddenly, unaccountably, hot.

"Do it again?"

The flush that colors Sam's cheeks is unexpected, and pretty damned interesting. Possibly even just pretty.

"Yeah. So, you would, you know..."

He can't keep the laugh in this time. Christ, he's probably laying himself open to having his heart ripped in two again, and he's damn sure going to hell, but if he can have this, just for a while, it might just be worth it.

"You want to fuck me again Sam?" He watches, fascinated and ridiculously aroused when Sam's flush deepens, staining his cheeks bright pink, and yeah, he might be a fool, but if he's going to pay for this later, he might as well enjoy it now.

"Dean..." Sam's slightly breathless, and just damn. If there's a special hell for people who fuck their brother, Dean's going to make damn sure that he earns his place there.

Sam swallows and Dean's eyes follow the motion, and he's suddenly tempted by the idea of leaning over and licking a long stripe up Sam's neck.

"We're here." Dean looks away from Sam and realizes that they are indeed back at the motel.

There's a subdued, slightly awkward few minutes as they leave the car and head for the room. Dean wonders if Sam's come to the same realisation he has; it's one thing to get hot and heavy with your brother in the heat of the moment, but it's something quite different when you've had time to think about it. Dean knows this might be where it all falls apart.


Sam's all too aware of Dean following him back to their room. He can feel the nervous tension humming between them, but even that isn't enough to drown out the insistent buzz of arousal; desire; want.

He knows he shouldn't want this so much, want Dean's hands and mouth on him. He could blame the first time on fear, his and Dean's, on the need for comfort, and reassurance. But whatever happens in their room tonight, and he's honest enough to admit that something is going to happen, he can't blame on anything but his own needs.

Sam's not the prude that Dean seems to think he is. He's not a complete novice when it comes to guys, though a few drunken fumblings, a couple of sloppy blowjobs and some late night internet surfing barely count as experience. He's trying very hard not to think about the fact that Dean apparently knew what he was doing, because that leaves Sam not sure if he wants to kill someone, or throw Dean up against the wall and fuck him all over again.

So he's no innocent, but Jesus Christ, he's just had sex with Dean, with his own brother. That thought is part fear, part stunned disbelief, and part lust. It might be wrong, and obscene and illegal, and dear God if Dad ever finds out they're both dead, but he has to admit that he wants to do it again.

He has no idea how they're going to cope with this. How do you deal with the knowledge that you know just what your brother looks like when he comes, how he sounds when you wrap your hand around his cock, the way he feels when you drive into him and fuck him. When the memory of the single time you've done all that makes you shiver and gets you so achingly hard you can barely remember why you're not supposed to be doing this in the first place.

In some ways though, the biggest shock is discovering that he's just as fucked up as the rest of his family.

Sam unlocks the door of their motel room, acutely aware of Dean standing behind, not touching him, but close enough that the hair on the back of Sam's neck stands up. The air feels charged, like right before a storm, and he can only hope that's not a premonition of any kind, because they've been through enough already tonight.

He doesn't look round when the door opens, just walks straight in. He's halfway across the room when he hears the door close, softly. There's something about that soft snick that gets to him in a way that Dean shutting the door normally wouldn't have. It's stupid, but it's as if there's a whole sub-text of intent and meaning in that deliberate action.

When he turns, Dean's leaning against the door, face carefully blank, arms crossed across his chest. Sam tries very hard not to notice the way the pose makes the T-shirt Dean's wearing stretch across his chest, nor the way his hips jut forward, and especially not the way his lips always look as if Dean's pouting. Fuck, how is he supposed to ever look at Dean in the same way again. Could this be any more screwed up?

"Dean, what we did..."

"Oh god, not again." Dean's tone is bored, but Sam can see the fear in his eyes, before it's hidden behind the mask again.

"We're brothers, Dean."

"I know." Dean shifts, almost nervously, and it's a shock to realize that maybe his brother is as unsure about this as Sam is. Dean's never cared for what other people think, always lived by his own set of morals, but perhaps this is something even he can't justify. Sam isn't sure whether that idea leaves him relieved or worried.

"Other people..."

"Other people? We're not other people Sammy, we never have been. Their rules don't apply to us."

"Christ, you sound just like Dad."

"Don't bring him into this."

"Yeah, because he's going to be thrilled to find out."

"Sam....." 'Dean's eyes are narrowed, that bland indifference is slipping and Sam feels as though he's caught in some weird alternate universe, because his mouth is saying one thing while the rest of his body just wants to learn and relearn how Dean's skin feels against his.

"I know you don't care about the legality, but damnit, Dean, what about the morality?"

"What happened to 'no regrets'? What happened to 'you wanna do it again'? Because, I don't know about you Sammy, but I do. I want to do it again."

Sam sucks in a breath, forgetting whatever he was going to say next, because Dean's words make goose-bumps break out over his skin, and the look on Dean's face, dear god. Now that Sam knows what it feels like to touch Dean like that, to hold him and treat him like a lover, he can't go back. And he honestly can't say he regrets it. God, he should, and some small part of him wants to, the same part that wants his life to be normal. But even that isn't enough to make him deny that he wants this, right or wrong.

"I don't regret it. I should, but I don't. I do want to do it again. But fuck, Dean, how are we going to... I mean, what if people notice..."

Dean grins, suddenly and brilliantly, and Sam's not sure whether to be worried, pissed, or aroused.

"Man, half the people we meet already think we're fucking lovers instead of brothers."

"That's not the.... What?"

Dean laughs, and it's definitely arousal that Sam's feeling, because fuck, Dean looks so completely different when he laughs. It's the faint laughter lines round his eyes, the way his eyes seem to sparkle, the way those damn full lips stretch around the grin, and it's all sorts of wrong that Sam's suddenly hit with the mental image of Dean on his knees, that mouth around Sam's cock.

There's just no way they're going to be able to hide this. Sam can barely look at Dean without thinking about fucking him and what if that never changes? What the hell is going to happen when Dad turns up again, as he's bound to do? How the hell does he keep his hands, let alone his eyes, off his brother? He's going to hell for this but he can't muster up the strength to care right now.


Dean watches Sam, can see the internal struggle between what Sam thinks he should want, and what his body wants. When Sam's eyes rake him, from head to toe, Dean pushes away from the door, uncrossing his arms, knowing that Sam's going to see that Dean's half hard, has been since he closed the door. This is the point where they either move, or fall apart, and he doesn't know which scares him more.

Sam stares at Dean's groin, and the look on his face; wanting, hungry, torn just makes Dean swallow, makes his cock harden a little more. Sam's eyes widen, and his gaze jumps up to Dean's face, meeting his eyes briefly, before dropping to watch Dean's mouth, and when Sam licks his lips, Dean knows just what his brother's thinking. He's been told often enough that he has pretty lips, cock-sucking lips. The idea of doing that to Sam has him completely hard, and ready to show him just what he can do. Sam might still have reservations about this, but his body knows what it wants and Dean thinks if he can just keep him from thinking too much, they'll get past this moral thing. It won't stop Sam tearing Dean apart again if he leaves, but it might just make him think twice before doing it. Dean's not above fighting dirty to keep his brother with him, even if it leaves him even more open to being abandoned again.

He can see Sam's breathing speed up, see that his brother is half hard again too, despite his protestations of how wrong this is. Dean wonders if Sam's right, if he should feel bad that he wants this, but he meant what he said; they're not like other people, and Dean's never felt that society’s rules have applied to him. Like he said, it's a dangerous gig, and he can't see the point in denying himself fun and pleasure, especially when he knows it could all be over in a heartbeat. He's even more aware of the risky nature of their lives after the horror of thinking he'd lost Sam tonight.

So he might be laying himself open to Sam stamping all over his emotions again, but he'll take that chance this time.

He walks towards Sam, watching his brother almost square his shoulders, as if Dean's about to throw a punch. Dean has no intention of beating on him, but he suspects what he is planning is going to hit Sam just as hard. He sees the moment Sam gives in and accepts that he wants this, that he's not going to say no. One of his hands reaches out towards Dean, and he starts to dip his head, as if expecting a kiss.

Oh, Dean'll kiss him alright, he just intends to do it a little lower down.

Sam's quiet gasp as Dean drops to his knees is absurdly gratifying. The full body shudder when Dean reaches for, and undoes his fly is stupidly arousing, and the gentle hands that cup the back of Dean's head and his shoulder make Dean want to do this even more. There's a tenderness, and a reverence in Sam's touch that undoes Dean. He can't stop the fear that this is going to go horribly wrong, but he can ignore it for now.

Sam's hard, and he hisses when Dean pulls his jeans and boxers down and wraps a hand around Sam's cock. When Dean licks the head, slowly, letting his tongue drag over the soft, sensitive skin, Sam starts panting. He starts cursing when Dean opens his mouth and slides down over Sam's cock, tongue flicking against the underside as he does. There’s the faintest trace of gun oil, and the lingering antiseptic tang of the wet wipes, but he ignores them both, concentrating on drawing as much of a reaction from Sam as he can.

"Oh. Oh fuck, Dean.... Damn. We shouldn't... Oh fuck..."

Sam's hips arch as Dean slides a hand between his legs, cupping and rolling his balls. He lets his fingers slide further back, touch firm enough not to tickle, but nowhere near as firm as he wants. The way Sam trembles, legs trying to spread as far as they can, despite the jeans hampering his movements is beyond hot, and Dean slides his hand further back, fingertips pressing more firmly, teasing, promising.

"Christ. Yes, Dean, God."

Just the thought of what Sam is offering is enough to make Dean tremble himself. It's the dirtiest kind of hot, and Dean knows he shouldn't want it, but fuck, the idea of fucking Sammy is scrambling his brain and making his hands shake.

He thought he was ok with this, but Jesus, as much as the idea turns him on, it scares the shit out of him. It's one thing for Sam to take him, but to do that to Sam, he doesn't know if he can. He pulls back, and looks up at Sam.

Oh, fuck. Sam's eyes are nothing but pupil, his cheeks are pink, and he's gasping for breath. He looks well fucked already, and Dean's mind is helpfully supplying him with vivid images of how Sam'll look when he's really been fucked hard. Dean's certain he should be playing the responsible older brother here, but he's nowhere near noble enough for that. Not when Sam looks so damned edible.

"Dean, please... I want..."

Sam's voice is rough, desperation and lust deepening it even more than normal. How is Dean supposed to resist this? Sam's offering him every dark fantasy he's ever had. Oh yeah, he's going to hell, no hand basket required.

"What Sammy, what do you want?" Tell me Sam, I need to hear you say it. I need to know you want this.

"Fuck me. I want you to fuck me, damnit."

Dean's fairly sure he shouldn't be as turned on by hearing Sam say that as he is. Damn, this is still wrong, but he's always given Sam what he needs, and if he tries, he can convince himself that this is no different.

"Whatever you want Sammy. Always what you want."

Sam closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. Dean's certain this is where his brother will come to his senses and push Dean away again.

"No. What we want Dean. You need to want this too, damnit."

Dean must have something in his eyes, that's the only reason he can think of for why they're suddenly suspiciously wet.

Sam's hand moves from Dean's shoulder and strokes across his cheekbone.

"Dean, I want this, God help me, but only if you want it too. I don't want you doing this because it's what you think I need. I won't use you that way."

Dean has to close his eyes, but he leans into Sam's touch; turns his head and kisses Sam's palm.

"Oh, Dean..."

"For as long as you'll have me. I want you, damnit. Just don't..." He doesn't open his eyes, scared anew that he's exposing himself to being hurt.

"Forever, Dean. For as long as we live. I swear. No more running away, ok? No more hiding. This is for good. I promise."

Hands pull Dean up off his knees, but he's still too scared to open his eyes. Sam's hand tugs him closer, and then they're kissing. Slow, deliberate, and no-one else has ever kissed Dean like this. He's certain Sam has no idea what he's saying, but he can't fight it anymore. He needs Sam, and to have this is worth all the heartache in the world.

Sam's hand tugging at his fly startles Dean, but when Sam gets the denim open, and slides a hand around Dean's cock, he can do nothing but whimper into their kiss. He returns the favor, and for long minutes they stand, trading kisses and long, slow strokes. It's hot, and intense, and intimate and Dean couldn't stop if he wanted to.

Sam comes first, pulling his mouth away and dropping his head to Dean's shoulder, biting down hard enough that Dean can feel it through his jacket and shirt. Sam's hand tightens almost painfully on Dean's cock as he rides the spasms, then he resumes stroking, mouth moving over Dean's neck; licking and kissing and nibbling until Dean can't hold off any longer and comes, the idea of his semen spilling over Sam's hand making him twitch and curse and come just that little bit harder.

Seriously fucked up. And Dean doesn't want it any other way anymore.



Dean's half asleep in Sam's arms, physically and emotionally wrecked, even though he'd deny both to his last breath. Sam kicks himself for forgetting that it's only been a couple of days since Dean got out of hospital, even though so much has happened in that short period of time.

Sam ends up manhandling his brother over to the bed, stripping him down. Dean's asleep the moment his head hits the pillow, leaving Sam to clean them both up.

He takes the opportunity to study Dean as he does, seeing the toll the last few weeks have taken on his brother in the fine lines and the dark circles around his eyes, but even with those he looks a little less wary, a little less guarded, as if he trusts Sam to watch over him. It's not the first time Sam's watched Dean sleep, but he does so through new eyes now.

He doesn't regret what they've done, though he knows he should. He just can't bring himself to feel any kind of remorse for it. It's the first time since Jess died that he's honestly felt any kind of connection to another person. He never expected to ever feel this much for another person again; wasn't even sure he wanted to. He'd loved Jess so much and he was scared of letting anyone else in, of opening himself up to that kind of pain again.

Dean though, is different. He doesn't have to worry about opening up and letting Dean in, because he's always been there, a constant presence in Sam's life, even when they weren't talking. Despite Sam's anger over Dad's ultimatum, and Dean's attempt to take both sides, he'd never honestly meant to cut them out of his life, especially not Dean. It was just that as time went by, his anger dimmed, but it became harder and harder to make the first move and call his brother. He's sorry for the stubbornness that drove such a wedge between them for so long.

There's some sort of perverse logic, of the kind that seems to follow the Winchesters, that if he was going to fall for anyone again, it would be the one person he's always relied on; his older brother.

Brother and now lover. He gets a strange thrill from that thought. He has no idea how many laws they've broken, just by crossing that line, though that worries him less than he would have thought. It's so wrong, what they've done, what Sam knows they'll do again. They're going to have to hide it from everyone. It's dirty, in both the hot and the shameful sense.

Sam wonders if it'll hit him later, when he's actually had a chance to sit and process the enormity, and the ramifications of what's happened. If he'd done something differently, if he'd thought before kissing Dean, then they'd still just be brothers. But the sight of his brother, broken wide open and damn near destroyed with grief and guilt had shocked Sam to the core, and he'd acted without thinking. He'd needed to offer solace, comfort, and affirmation that they were both still alive.

Kissing Dean had felt no different to holding him and even though the memories of Dean giving himself to Sam like that, willing and pliant and desperate were as sexy as hell, it was more than that. Dean's spent most of his life looking out for Sam, giving him what he wanted and needed, so rarely taking what he needed for himself that the shame and unease Sam feels pales in comparison to the desire to repay just a little of Dean's devotion, to give his brother whatever he needs to mend, to start to heal, though he's honest enough to admit that it was as much about his own need to reassure himself, to take the gift Dean so willingly offered him, as it was about Dean. And he feels more guilt about that than about the fact he's fucked his brother.

Sam's biggest fear, though, is Dad. He's not stupid enough to believe that Dad will stay away forever, and he just knows that their father will pick up on the change in his and Dean's relationship. And when he does, all hell's going to break loose, and Sam'd bet good money that it'll be Dean that'll bear the brunt of Dad's inevitable anger.

He never realized until they'd found Dad again, just how much harder on Dean Dad was. Sam wonders how much Dean had shielded him from Dad's disapproval, how much of the blame his big brother had taken when things went wrong. It's only recently that Sam's started seeing Dean through adult eyes, and discovered that his brother was so much more than the stereotype Sam had thought him.

Sam knows that there are only three things Dean considers truly important in life; Dad, hunting, and Sam himself, but he's discovering that behind the apparently shallow, cocky, devil may care attitude Dean presents to the world is an easily wounded man, with layers and secrets that Sam in his arrogance never suspected existed.

He feels guilty for it now, but he didn't want to be on the road, hunting, with Dean again and that resentment was like a wall between them that Sam was unwilling to breach, though god knows, Dean tried often enough.

Dean whimpers softly, twitching in his sleep, and Sam's across the room before he knows it, sitting on the bed, one hand resting on Dean's shoulder, while the other strokes his brother's head in a way Dean would never allow if he were awake. The sudden tension at Sam's touch is hardly surprising, but it hurts, none the less.

"Shsssh, Dean. I'm here."

Dean whimpers once more, then seems to relax again.

Sam considers heading for the other bed, and trying to grab a few hours sleep, but he looks at Dean; at his hand, still stroking Dean's hair and discards that idea. He strips down to his boxers and slides into the bed, curling loosely around Dean's body, chest to back, and rests a hand on Dean's hip. It's hardly the first time they've shared a bed, but it's loaded with new meaning now. This is the first time they've shared a bed as lovers, even if Dean is dead to the world. It's surreal, but comfortable, and Sam lets Dean's steady breaths lull him to sleep.

When he wakes, hours later, Dean's still sleeping, although he's turned during the night and is now curled into Sam, one arm and a leg thrown over him. It reminds Sam of sharing a bed when they were kids, but the memory is overlaid now with the newly awakened arousal, and the memory of Dean's skin under his hands.

The temptation to touch Dean, to arouse him and drag him from sleep with kisses and caresses is strong, but Sam's not sure how Dean'll react and he's not comfortable enough with their transition to lovers yet to risk trying. Instead he gently disentangles himself, surprised that Dean doesn't wake, but amused by the sleepy snuffle that's his brother's only reaction.

He stands under the shower, letting the hot water spill over him, welcoming another day and feeling hopeful and just plain happy for the first time in God knows how long. He knows things aren't going to be simple, or easy, but he's used to that and if Dean feels like this too, then it's worth it, whatever else they have to deal with.

Chapter Four
Anonymous( )Anonymous This account has disabled anonymous posting.
OpenID( )OpenID You can comment on this post while signed in with an account from many other sites, once you have confirmed your email address. Sign in using OpenID.
Account name:
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
HTML doesn't work in the subject.


Notice: This account is set to log the IP addresses of everyone who comments.
Links will be displayed as unclickable URLs to help prevent spam.


fragmentedwhole: (Default)

January 2007

141516 17181920

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 19th, 2017 11:31 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios