Withering
story_works
Author/Artist: jdl71
Title: Withering
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing(s): Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Rating: Mature
Word count: 4,839
Warnings/Tags: Hurt Dean Winchester, Witches, Curses, Cursed Object, Concerned Sam Winchester, Sick Dean Winchester, Dying Dean Winchester, Knives, True Love’s Kiss, Minor Character Death, Sibling Incest, Kissing, Cursed Dean Winchester, Stab Wounds
Summary: When Dean is stabbed by a witch, he finds himself cursed and unable to speak about it. The only way to break the curse is by love’s true kiss.
Withering
Love’s true kiss. That phrase kept running through Dean’s mind. He couldn’t shake it or the implication of what it meant. How could he when he knew it was what mattered the most to him? It was what would save his life. His life had changed a week ago after the last job he and Sam had been on. What they’d thought was a run-of-the-mill demon possession had actually been a man under the influence of a witch. Fucking witches! He hated them and for good reason. They’d managed to find the hex bag and save the man from harming anyone else and had traced everything back to the bitch who’d wreaked havoc in the sleepy town of Ojai, CA. He’d enjoyed the look of fear on the witch’s face when he’d kicked in her door, gripped her by the throat, and held his knife to her chest. She’d shrieked at him in anger and when that hadn’t worked, she’d begged for her life when she’d realized who had come to take her out, that she’d caught the attention of the Winchesters. “You witches, you’re all the same,” he’d pushed out from behind gritted teeth. Seeing that he wasn’t going to offer her mercy, she’d managed to slice his chest, right above his heart, with a knife he hadn’t known she’d been concealing.
“You kill me, I kill you,” the witch had hissed at him. “It’s only fair.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” He winced at the sudden sharp pain cutting into his skin and then gasped at the white-hot burning sensation coursing over his heart and down his left arm. “What…?” he gasped, never faltering in his hold on the woman. Whatever she had done to him, he wasn’t about to let her escape so she could cause trouble for others. The only good witch was a dead witch as far as he was concerned.
“Cursed blade.” The witch gave him a cruel and taunting smile. “Only love’s true kiss will break the curse.” She looked at him triumphantly despite knowing she was going to die at his hands. “You won’t be able to speak of this curse to anyone, especially the one you truly love. He or she will have to return your love with a kiss voluntarily with their whole heart in order to break the curse. If not, your life comes to an end. Good luck, Dean Winchester,” she said and then gasped in pain as Dean’s blade found its mark, ending her life.
Dean had looked down at the witch’s corpse knowing that even if he’d spared her life, which he’d had no intention of doing, she would never have lifted the curse. Quickly, he’d bent down, grabbed her knife, and shoved it into the waistband of his jeans, not wanting Sam to see it. It was bad enough that Sam had mother-henned him when he’d seen the jagged cut the witch’s blade had left. He hadn’t had time to cover it up before Sam had burst through the door, his hazel eyes first landing on the corpse and then on his wound.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked, concern for his brother clearly etched on his face, his hazel eyes set on the wound on Dean’s chest above his heart and his bloody shirt.
“Yeah…” Dean shook his head, the witch’s words repeating in his mind, love’s true kiss. He forced those words from his mind when he felt Sam’s hands on him, and he shuddered from his brother’s touch. Heat bloomed in his chest when Sam’s long fingers connected with his skin and he forced himself away from his brother’s touch. “Said I was fine,” he groused but there was no heat in his voice.
“Still, we need to get that wound cleaned before it gets infected.”
“Sam,” Dean grunted as he pushed past his brother on his way to the Impala. That night back at their motel room he’d let Sam disinfect his wound before slapping gauge and tape over it. All the while, the witch’s words danced tauntingly in his head. Love’s true kiss. If the curse was real, then there would be no escape from what would happen to him. The curse would claim his life and no amount of antiseptic would stop that.
“How did this happen?” Sam had demanded to know. “What did she cut you with?” Judging by the wound on Dean’s chest he’d guessed it’d probably been some type of knife, even if his brother hadn’t bothered to answer him.
A cursed blade was on the tip of Dean’s tongue as an answer, but he found himself unable to say the words. He could only look down at his chest, at the bandaged flesh and Sam’s hand, feeling his brother’s fingers running over the tape to make sure the edges had adhered to his skin. He felt a surge of pain emanating from the cut, pulsating and radiating out toward his arm causing him to wince and grunt. Pulling away from Sam, he pulled his shirt down and over his torso covering his pale freckled skin. He could feel the residual heat from Sam’s fingers on his chest and he rubbed a hand over his wound. He heard Sam talking to him, asking him again what she’d cut him with, and again he found himself unable to answer. He scrubbed a hand down his face. Shit, the curse was real and had found its mark. Sam. Sam was the one he loved despite it being wrong on so many levels. They were brothers and he knew Sam didn’t feel the same way about him. He’d done his best to keep his feelings for his brother in check, never wanting Sam to discover how he felt for fear of losing him. He’d rather suppress his feelings for Sam, never act on them in order to keep his brother in his life. He’d be lost without Sam.
That had been three weeks ago, and he still hadn’t answered Sam’s questions about the wound or the witch. While he stood in the bathroom with the door closed and locked so Sam wouldn’t walk in on him, he shed his t-shirt and peeled back the gauge, wincing as the tape pulled away from his skin. He forced himself to look at his reflection and the angry-looking wound. The skin had started to knit together leaving a jagged scar, something he was used to, but from the red and raw-looking area, thin black lines resembling a tree branch had appeared running down his chest and over his heart. At first, the lines had been faint and he hadn’t paid much attention to them, but as the days from his encounter with the witch and that damn blade began to grow, so had the telltale signs of the curse. Each day the lines seemed to branch off, moving further down his chest to his abdomen, up his shoulder, and down his arm. He did his best to conceal this from Sam. He had to. He couldn’t explain it to Sam, the curse had seen to that and if he’d been able to utter a word about it, he’d still be doomed because he was sure there was no way Sam could ever return his love. Slapping the gauge back down, he smoothed the tape over his skin and then shrugged his t-shirt back on before reaching for his flannel shirt. The more layers he added would ensure that Sam was kept in the dark about what he was dealing with. “Are you ready?” he asked after leaving the bathroom to find Sam sitting on one of the queen-size beds.
Casting his hazel eyes at Dean, Sam nodded in response and then rose from the bed, grabbed his jacket, and headed out the door and over to the Impala where he folded himself into the passenger’s seat to wait for his brother. Glancing back at their motel room door, he wondered what was taking Dean so long to make his way out. He drummed his fingers on his thighs while he waited knowing if he got out to question his brother it would only end up in a heated discussion between them like it had the past couple of days. He’d noticed a change in Dean since their last hunt. After killing the witch, Dean seemed different, almost distant. Sure, Dean had never been one to share his feeling with him, or anyone for that matter, but it was like his brother had just shut down on him, refusing to talk about his wound or anything the witch might have said to him during their encounter. It frustrated him to no end, but he knew if he pushed it would start a fight between them and that was the last thing he wanted. It was already difficult enough for him to be around Dean since coming to the realization that he was in love with him. He’d never said a word for fear of losing his brother, besides, how could he ever admit to being in love with Dean to him without his brother walking out on him? No, he’d take that secret to the grave with him and just be happy to have Dean in his life, as his brother, and nothing more.
Tugging on his jacket, Dean wondered how long it would be before this curse was impossible to hide from Sam. Would the ever-growing black lines extend past his wrist and up his neck or would there be a stopping point so he was able to continue hiding things from Sam? And then, what would he do? He couldn’t speak about it. Hell, he couldn’t even write it down on paper. He’d tried and all he’d managed was to scribble something illegible across the paper. He’d tried to tell Sam, hoping to get the words out, but he’d found his jaw clenched shut and unable to say a word about it. He stomped out of the motel room and over to the Impala, slid behind the wheel, and started the car without a word or glance to his brother putting as much distance between himself and the town they’d stopped in for the past week, but he knew he couldn’t outrun the curse or the idea that eventually it would claim his life.
A month later, Dean found himself in another town he couldn’t remember the name of. He was so tired, yet he couldn’t seem to sleep. He’d lay there in whatever fleabag motel room he shared with Sam staring up at the darkened ceiling wondering how long he had left before the curse ended his life. As bone-weary as he was, whenever he closed his eyes, he couldn’t seem to drift off to sleep. Even Sam had commented on his state, how tired he looked, and he’d made some lame excuse, “You know me Sam, gotta give the ladies what they want.” Sam had scowled in response but seemed to buy his excuse since he’d been staying out late every night. What was the point in returning early to their motel room when he couldn’t sleep and all he’d do was stare at Sam’s sleeping form? He’d stay out at whatever bar he found, shooting pool or playing darts until last call, and even then, he wouldn’t go back to the room. Sometimes he’d just drive around, other times he’d pull into the motel’s parking lot where they were staying and just sit in the Impala until the sun was starting to make its presence known in the sky. Knowing Sam would worry that he wasn’t in bed, he’d make his way quietly to their room and collapse into bed only to rouse when his brother did.
Food tasted like ash in Dean’s mouth causing him not to want to eat even though he felt hungry. He could feel his stomach twisting in on itself making him wonder if it twisted enough would it just separate itself from the rest of his body? He still had the same reaction he always had to the smell of food. His mouth would water, and he would crave whatever it was that had tickled his nose. His eyes would light up when he saw whatever it was he’d ordered, causing him to lick his lips in anticipation but as soon as he picked up his fork or the burger he’d ordered and took a bite, he tasted nothing and he had to force himself not to spit out the food. He still tried to eat, tried to put up a front for Sam’s sake, hoping to stop his brother from questioning him and the loss of his appetite. So far, he’d managed to hide the fact that not only was he not eating, but he’d also lost weight. He’d seen the changes to his body, how his face looked gaunt, how his ribs protruded from his lack of body weight, and that his clothes didn’t fit his body well. He’d taken to layering on his clothes, a T-shirt under a flannel, under a jacket, never letting Sam see him in any state of undress for fear of his brother taking notice of the changes. He was a shadow of his former self, and he knew it was just another aspect of the curse he was suffering from.
Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean as his brother pushed away his plate after only taking a few bites of food. “You’re not eating?” he questioned and then took a bite of his food waiting for his brother to answer him.
“Not hungry,” Dean grunted, turning his face away from Sam. He didn’t need to see the scrutinizing look on his brother’s face, but he could hear the concern in his brother’s voice and that was bad enough. “Come on, I’ll drop you off at the motel so you can get back to your research.” Not waiting for Sam to answer him, he slid out of the booth and made his way over to the counter where he paid before leaving the diner.
Quietly Sam followed his brother wondering about the changes in Dean he’d noticed. It was clear to him that Dean wasn’t sleeping. How could he when his brother stayed out all night? But the funny thing was, he’d followed Dean one night to see what his brother was up to; to find that he’d either been playing pool or darts to pass the time when he’d thought Dean had been off with some chick. He wasn’t sure how to reconcile his emotions, his jealousy, about that. Why would Dean rather spend that time at some bar instead of with him? There had been a few times he hadn’t been able to follow him since Dean had the car, but on those nights his brother hadn’t come home smelling of cheap perfume and sex, instead, he smelled of the night air. On a few occasions, he’d found Dean just sitting in the Impala which had been parked in the motel’s lot. It was strange, even for them, but it wasn’t something he was going to push for answers on. But the lack of sleep was evident in Dean - the sallow complexion, the dark circles under his eyes, and the way he was acting were enough to make him worry. And he’d noticed how gaunt Dean was these days, a clear indication that he wasn’t eating. Sure, Dean had done his best to hide that from him by pushing his food around on his plate and layering on his clothes, but he’d taken notice of the change in his brother and it frightened him. So, going back to the motel to do some research was fine with him. He just wasn’t about to tell Dean the research wasn’t about any local cases, but about him or at least what might have caused these changes in his brother.
The drive back to the motel was made in silence with Dean keeping his eyes on the road, ignoring Sam, and doing his best to not dwell on the situation he was dealing with. Lately, it was becoming harder for him to breathe, and he suspected that was because the once faint lines running over his heart and left side of his chest had deepened to an inky dark black and had spread across to his right side and now wrapped around his sides and just slightly along his back. The lines seemed to be branching off as if they were trying to migrate to each other and he feared that once that happened, they’d squeeze any breath he had out of his lungs. The lines had also started working their way down over his pelvis and had reached his hips. He knew eventually they’d reach his thighs and continue on to his calves. The lines on his left arm had stopped at his wrist and now that they had reached the right side of his chest, he knew it wouldn’t take long before they branched off, spreading over his right arm. He’d been lucky enough that his clothing covered everything so far, but he doubted how much longer he’d be able to keep things from Sam. Pulling up to their motel, he let the car idle while he waited for Sam to make his way inside before driving off.
From the window, Sam watched Dean pull out of the parking lot before he pulled out his laptop and set to work on trying to figure out what was wrong with his brother. He clicked through the supernatural app he’d created hoping that Dean’s symptoms would pull up a match to a creature that had infected his brother. Frustrated after ruling that out, he decided to go “old school” figuring that maybe there would be something in one of their obscure lore books. Pushing himself off the bed, he grabbed what he thought was his duffle bag and started rummaging through it, his hand landing on the hilt of a knife. Perplexed, he pulled out the knife realizing that it wasn’t his bag but Dean’s duffle he’d been looking through. Running his fingers over the unfamiliar hilt, he noticed lettering etched into it in a language he had to translate - fìor phòg a’ ghràidh - Dean hadn’t been infected, his brother had been cursed and somehow the knife played a part in it. Now that he had an indication of what was going on with Dean, he just had to figure out how to cure him because Dean was withering away and there was no way he was about to let that happen.
Pushing open the door to the motel room, Dean stopped mid-step when his eyes landed on Sam and the knife his brother was holding. How had Sam found it? Why did Sam have it? He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and he took a step backward ready to turn and to flee because Sam was going to ask questions he wouldn’t be able to handle or answer.
“Dean,” Sam breathed. “Why didn’t you say anything? Did the witch curse you?” He watched as Dean’s eyes landed on the knife in his hand before moving up to his face, a look of sadness mixed with fear in his green eyes.
Dean opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. No words would. Feeling as if his world was ending, he dropped his eyes to his feet not wanting to see the look of pity in Sam’s eyes.
“Dean,” Sam said again trying to urge him to speak. From the research he’d done, he’d figured out the curse was Gaelic in nature. Once the blade cut someone’s skin the curse was enacted, making it impossible for the person to speak about it, especially around the one who could lift it. Only love’s true kiss would break the curse. If that didn’t happen, the person would slowly wither and die - something that was happening to Dean, and he hadn’t been the wiser. Judging by Dean’s reaction and his inability to speak about the curse in his presence, he might be the one to end this with a kiss. It was something he was willing to try, hoping that Dean felt the same about him, wanting to be more than just brothers. Not giving Dean a chance to shy away from him, he crowded into his brother, pushing him against the wall and using his larger body to make it impossible for Dean to escape. His eyes landed on Dean’s pink plush lips and for a second he was hit with the overwhelming desire to kiss him until Dean shifted, the movement causing the skin of his left shoulder to be exposed. He sucked in a startled breath at seeing the black lines branching over Dean’s pale skin. Another indication of the curse, of the imminent threat to Dean’s life. How hadn’t he noticed that? Then again, he hadn’t seen Dean in any state of undress since the night they’d taken out the witch. “The witch… The blade… A curse…” he stammered, piecing it together, watching Dean nod and look away from him.
Bringing his hands up to Sam’s chest Dean attempted to push him away but couldn’t seem to dislodge his brother. “Sam…” he started to say and then he felt Sam’s lips on his. His eyes widened in surprise and then slipped closed when Sam deepened their kiss, his brother’s tongue slipping past his lips to tangle with his. “Sam…” he murmured when the kiss ended, leaving them both breathless.
“Been wanting to do that for so long,” Sam admitted licking his lips, tasting Dean on them. “It took a fucking curse for me to act on it.” He looked into Dean's eyes, saw the confusion in them, and smiled. “I couldn’t lose you and I was scared to tell you how I felt. Then I noticed the changes in you, you’re not sleeping and you’re losing weight, and found the knife…”
“I couldn’t say anything… The curse wouldn’t let me.”
“It’s me…” Sam gave Dean a hopeful look before asking, “Right?” If Dean had been able to speak about the curse after his kiss that had to mean the curse had been broken, Sam reasoned.
“Yeah, Sam, it’s you. Love’s true kiss,” Dean confirmed and then surged forward, crushing their lips together in a searing kiss. “If you felt this way, why didn’t you say anything?”
“I was too scared I’d lose you. I figured I’d at least still have you in my life as my brother. It was better than nothing, and you never said a word either.”
Dean nodded in understanding. “Yeah, I get it. It was the same for me…” he started to explain and then felt Sam’s lips against his and his brother moving them toward the bed. He felt his body getting on board with that idea, his cock throbbing in his jeans from the friction of Sam’s thigh rubbing against him. Whatever Sam was willing to offer, he was willing to take and reciprocate.
Sam ran his fingers along the hem of Dean’s shirt before pulling his brother’s jacket and shirts off, exposing his torso and the black lines of the curse covering Dean’s skin. He failed at suppressing his gasp and then reached out, gently running his fingers along the lines, tracing them from the healed wound before placing his hand over Dean’s heart.
Dean felt the warmth of Sam’s hand on him, causing him to sigh at the touch. Looking into his brother’s eyes, he saw concern and unshed tears. He licked his lips before saying, “It’s not as bad as it was. They were darker. Guess your kiss had something to do with that.”
Sam seemed to brighten from Dean’s words. “Yeah?” he questioned, leaning in to kiss Dean again. “Wonder what else I can do to you to make them disappear,” he commented with a mischievous grin, his voice low, full of want, and then he pushed his brother onto the bed.
Dean landed on his back on the bed with a startled gasp from Sam’s manhandling. He saw the glint in his brother’s eyes and watched hungrily as Sam pulled his shirt off. He took in the chiseled physique, watching as his brother kicked off his boots and socks before pulling off his jeans and boxers. Before his brain short-circuited, he managed to relieve himself of the rest of his clothing, dropping it on the floor as he lay there naked on the bed, revealing himself to Sam.
Sam gave an appreciative look at seeing his brother laid bare before him before climbing on the bed between Dean’s legs, coaxing them open to accommodate his larger form. He kissed his way up Dean’s abdomen, stopping to lave at his brother’s nipples, running his tongue over them until they’d pebbled, and Dean had shuddered from his breath ghosting over them. With a smirk, he nipped along Dean’s collarbone, neck, and jaw before reaching his brother’s lips. “Been wanting you for so long and now I get to have you.” He took in the sight of Dean’s skin, the pinkness spreading across in stark contrast against the black lines which seemed to fade from each kiss he placed on it.
“Any way you want,” Dean confirmed, panting, his chest heaving. He moaned when Sam started kissing his skin again. With each press of Sam’s lips against his skin, with each kiss given voluntarily, the tightness in his chest began to lessen, and his breathing began to ease as the lines started to fade.
“Gonna start it slow, take my time with you tonight. The buildup is everything,” he murmured against Dean’s chest and then reached between his brother’s legs, his fingers wrapping around his brother’s hard cock. He heard Dean’s moan and smiled against his brother’s heated skin.
“Sam,” Dean moaned in pleasure at the feel of Sam’s hand making contact with his cock. His hips bucked up when Sam started fisting him, his brother’s thumb swiping over the head of his cock, collecting the bead of precome, making the slide of Sam’s fingers pleasurable. Reaching out, he tried to wrap his fingers around Sam’s cock only to have his brother bat his hand away, making him grunt in response.
“I’ve got this,” Sam assured Dean, lining his erect cock up with his brother’s and wrapping his large hand around them both. He moaned at the feeling of their cocks touching each other as he began to fist them, jacking them off, watching as Dean’s eyes closed.
At the feeling of Sam’s cock rubbing against his, Dean groaned, letting his eyes slip closed as Sam began to fist them. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, breathing heavily as Sam’s speed increased. He knew it wouldn’t take long for Sam to get him off, he just wanted to wait until Sam was ready, feeling the need for them to come together.
With the way Dean was breathing heavily and bucking his hips up, driving his erect cock into his hand, he knew his brother was close to his release, and so was he. He just needed a little push to get them both there. “Fuck, Dean, you feel so good. Are you close, because I am. Are you gonna come for me?”
Opening his eyes, Dean groaned and then nodded. “Yeah… so close.” He bucked his hips in response to Sam’s hand gripping their cocks tighter, stroking them harder. Feeling that and the twist of Sam’s wrist brought him over the edge, ringing his orgasm out of him with Sam’s name on his lips.
Hearing Dean calling his name while his brother’s cock pulsed in his hand and feeling Dean’s release spilling over his fingers and hitting his stomach pushed him over the edge. “Dean,” he grunted as he came, spilling over his hand, and hitting Dean’s stomach. He worked them through the after wave of their orgasms before letting go of their spent cocks. Reaching out he trailed his fingers over Dean’s stomach rubbing their combined release into his brother’s skin before leaning forward to lick a trail up Dean’s body until he reached his brother’s lips.
Eagerly Dean accepted the kiss, tasting their combined release on Sam’s lips and tongue. “Love you so much,” he murmured against Sam’s lips when the kiss ended.
Smiling, Sam rolled off Dean to lie next to him. He pulled Dean to him, encircling his brother in his arms. “Love you, too,” he said and then buried his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, closing his eyes with a smile on his face. With love’s true kiss, his kiss, he’d broken the curse and saved his brother, the man he loved.
Dean finally had admitted the truth, the same truth they shared. Sam wanted him just as much as he’d wanted him. It had taken a cursed blade and love’s true kiss to bring them together and he was fine with that.
Gaelic: fìor phòg a’ ghràidh
Translation: love’s true kiss
Author/Artist: jdl71
Title: Withering
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing(s): Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Rating: Mature
Word count: 4,839
Warnings/Tags: Hurt Dean Winchester, Witches, Curses, Cursed Object, Concerned Sam Winchester, Sick Dean Winchester, Dying Dean Winchester, Knives, True Love’s Kiss, Minor Character Death, Sibling Incest, Kissing, Cursed Dean Winchester, Stab Wounds
Summary: When Dean is stabbed by a witch, he finds himself cursed and unable to speak about it. The only way to break the curse is by love’s true kiss.
Withering
Love’s true kiss. That phrase kept running through Dean’s mind. He couldn’t shake it or the implication of what it meant. How could he when he knew it was what mattered the most to him? It was what would save his life. His life had changed a week ago after the last job he and Sam had been on. What they’d thought was a run-of-the-mill demon possession had actually been a man under the influence of a witch. Fucking witches! He hated them and for good reason. They’d managed to find the hex bag and save the man from harming anyone else and had traced everything back to the bitch who’d wreaked havoc in the sleepy town of Ojai, CA. He’d enjoyed the look of fear on the witch’s face when he’d kicked in her door, gripped her by the throat, and held his knife to her chest. She’d shrieked at him in anger and when that hadn’t worked, she’d begged for her life when she’d realized who had come to take her out, that she’d caught the attention of the Winchesters. “You witches, you’re all the same,” he’d pushed out from behind gritted teeth. Seeing that he wasn’t going to offer her mercy, she’d managed to slice his chest, right above his heart, with a knife he hadn’t known she’d been concealing.
“You kill me, I kill you,” the witch had hissed at him. “It’s only fair.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” He winced at the sudden sharp pain cutting into his skin and then gasped at the white-hot burning sensation coursing over his heart and down his left arm. “What…?” he gasped, never faltering in his hold on the woman. Whatever she had done to him, he wasn’t about to let her escape so she could cause trouble for others. The only good witch was a dead witch as far as he was concerned.
“Cursed blade.” The witch gave him a cruel and taunting smile. “Only love’s true kiss will break the curse.” She looked at him triumphantly despite knowing she was going to die at his hands. “You won’t be able to speak of this curse to anyone, especially the one you truly love. He or she will have to return your love with a kiss voluntarily with their whole heart in order to break the curse. If not, your life comes to an end. Good luck, Dean Winchester,” she said and then gasped in pain as Dean’s blade found its mark, ending her life.
Dean had looked down at the witch’s corpse knowing that even if he’d spared her life, which he’d had no intention of doing, she would never have lifted the curse. Quickly, he’d bent down, grabbed her knife, and shoved it into the waistband of his jeans, not wanting Sam to see it. It was bad enough that Sam had mother-henned him when he’d seen the jagged cut the witch’s blade had left. He hadn’t had time to cover it up before Sam had burst through the door, his hazel eyes first landing on the corpse and then on his wound.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked, concern for his brother clearly etched on his face, his hazel eyes set on the wound on Dean’s chest above his heart and his bloody shirt.
“Yeah…” Dean shook his head, the witch’s words repeating in his mind, love’s true kiss. He forced those words from his mind when he felt Sam’s hands on him, and he shuddered from his brother’s touch. Heat bloomed in his chest when Sam’s long fingers connected with his skin and he forced himself away from his brother’s touch. “Said I was fine,” he groused but there was no heat in his voice.
“Still, we need to get that wound cleaned before it gets infected.”
“Sam,” Dean grunted as he pushed past his brother on his way to the Impala. That night back at their motel room he’d let Sam disinfect his wound before slapping gauge and tape over it. All the while, the witch’s words danced tauntingly in his head. Love’s true kiss. If the curse was real, then there would be no escape from what would happen to him. The curse would claim his life and no amount of antiseptic would stop that.
“How did this happen?” Sam had demanded to know. “What did she cut you with?” Judging by the wound on Dean’s chest he’d guessed it’d probably been some type of knife, even if his brother hadn’t bothered to answer him.
A cursed blade was on the tip of Dean’s tongue as an answer, but he found himself unable to say the words. He could only look down at his chest, at the bandaged flesh and Sam’s hand, feeling his brother’s fingers running over the tape to make sure the edges had adhered to his skin. He felt a surge of pain emanating from the cut, pulsating and radiating out toward his arm causing him to wince and grunt. Pulling away from Sam, he pulled his shirt down and over his torso covering his pale freckled skin. He could feel the residual heat from Sam’s fingers on his chest and he rubbed a hand over his wound. He heard Sam talking to him, asking him again what she’d cut him with, and again he found himself unable to answer. He scrubbed a hand down his face. Shit, the curse was real and had found its mark. Sam. Sam was the one he loved despite it being wrong on so many levels. They were brothers and he knew Sam didn’t feel the same way about him. He’d done his best to keep his feelings for his brother in check, never wanting Sam to discover how he felt for fear of losing him. He’d rather suppress his feelings for Sam, never act on them in order to keep his brother in his life. He’d be lost without Sam.
That had been three weeks ago, and he still hadn’t answered Sam’s questions about the wound or the witch. While he stood in the bathroom with the door closed and locked so Sam wouldn’t walk in on him, he shed his t-shirt and peeled back the gauge, wincing as the tape pulled away from his skin. He forced himself to look at his reflection and the angry-looking wound. The skin had started to knit together leaving a jagged scar, something he was used to, but from the red and raw-looking area, thin black lines resembling a tree branch had appeared running down his chest and over his heart. At first, the lines had been faint and he hadn’t paid much attention to them, but as the days from his encounter with the witch and that damn blade began to grow, so had the telltale signs of the curse. Each day the lines seemed to branch off, moving further down his chest to his abdomen, up his shoulder, and down his arm. He did his best to conceal this from Sam. He had to. He couldn’t explain it to Sam, the curse had seen to that and if he’d been able to utter a word about it, he’d still be doomed because he was sure there was no way Sam could ever return his love. Slapping the gauge back down, he smoothed the tape over his skin and then shrugged his t-shirt back on before reaching for his flannel shirt. The more layers he added would ensure that Sam was kept in the dark about what he was dealing with. “Are you ready?” he asked after leaving the bathroom to find Sam sitting on one of the queen-size beds.
Casting his hazel eyes at Dean, Sam nodded in response and then rose from the bed, grabbed his jacket, and headed out the door and over to the Impala where he folded himself into the passenger’s seat to wait for his brother. Glancing back at their motel room door, he wondered what was taking Dean so long to make his way out. He drummed his fingers on his thighs while he waited knowing if he got out to question his brother it would only end up in a heated discussion between them like it had the past couple of days. He’d noticed a change in Dean since their last hunt. After killing the witch, Dean seemed different, almost distant. Sure, Dean had never been one to share his feeling with him, or anyone for that matter, but it was like his brother had just shut down on him, refusing to talk about his wound or anything the witch might have said to him during their encounter. It frustrated him to no end, but he knew if he pushed it would start a fight between them and that was the last thing he wanted. It was already difficult enough for him to be around Dean since coming to the realization that he was in love with him. He’d never said a word for fear of losing his brother, besides, how could he ever admit to being in love with Dean to him without his brother walking out on him? No, he’d take that secret to the grave with him and just be happy to have Dean in his life, as his brother, and nothing more.
Tugging on his jacket, Dean wondered how long it would be before this curse was impossible to hide from Sam. Would the ever-growing black lines extend past his wrist and up his neck or would there be a stopping point so he was able to continue hiding things from Sam? And then, what would he do? He couldn’t speak about it. Hell, he couldn’t even write it down on paper. He’d tried and all he’d managed was to scribble something illegible across the paper. He’d tried to tell Sam, hoping to get the words out, but he’d found his jaw clenched shut and unable to say a word about it. He stomped out of the motel room and over to the Impala, slid behind the wheel, and started the car without a word or glance to his brother putting as much distance between himself and the town they’d stopped in for the past week, but he knew he couldn’t outrun the curse or the idea that eventually it would claim his life.
A month later, Dean found himself in another town he couldn’t remember the name of. He was so tired, yet he couldn’t seem to sleep. He’d lay there in whatever fleabag motel room he shared with Sam staring up at the darkened ceiling wondering how long he had left before the curse ended his life. As bone-weary as he was, whenever he closed his eyes, he couldn’t seem to drift off to sleep. Even Sam had commented on his state, how tired he looked, and he’d made some lame excuse, “You know me Sam, gotta give the ladies what they want.” Sam had scowled in response but seemed to buy his excuse since he’d been staying out late every night. What was the point in returning early to their motel room when he couldn’t sleep and all he’d do was stare at Sam’s sleeping form? He’d stay out at whatever bar he found, shooting pool or playing darts until last call, and even then, he wouldn’t go back to the room. Sometimes he’d just drive around, other times he’d pull into the motel’s parking lot where they were staying and just sit in the Impala until the sun was starting to make its presence known in the sky. Knowing Sam would worry that he wasn’t in bed, he’d make his way quietly to their room and collapse into bed only to rouse when his brother did.
Food tasted like ash in Dean’s mouth causing him not to want to eat even though he felt hungry. He could feel his stomach twisting in on itself making him wonder if it twisted enough would it just separate itself from the rest of his body? He still had the same reaction he always had to the smell of food. His mouth would water, and he would crave whatever it was that had tickled his nose. His eyes would light up when he saw whatever it was he’d ordered, causing him to lick his lips in anticipation but as soon as he picked up his fork or the burger he’d ordered and took a bite, he tasted nothing and he had to force himself not to spit out the food. He still tried to eat, tried to put up a front for Sam’s sake, hoping to stop his brother from questioning him and the loss of his appetite. So far, he’d managed to hide the fact that not only was he not eating, but he’d also lost weight. He’d seen the changes to his body, how his face looked gaunt, how his ribs protruded from his lack of body weight, and that his clothes didn’t fit his body well. He’d taken to layering on his clothes, a T-shirt under a flannel, under a jacket, never letting Sam see him in any state of undress for fear of his brother taking notice of the changes. He was a shadow of his former self, and he knew it was just another aspect of the curse he was suffering from.
Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean as his brother pushed away his plate after only taking a few bites of food. “You’re not eating?” he questioned and then took a bite of his food waiting for his brother to answer him.
“Not hungry,” Dean grunted, turning his face away from Sam. He didn’t need to see the scrutinizing look on his brother’s face, but he could hear the concern in his brother’s voice and that was bad enough. “Come on, I’ll drop you off at the motel so you can get back to your research.” Not waiting for Sam to answer him, he slid out of the booth and made his way over to the counter where he paid before leaving the diner.
Quietly Sam followed his brother wondering about the changes in Dean he’d noticed. It was clear to him that Dean wasn’t sleeping. How could he when his brother stayed out all night? But the funny thing was, he’d followed Dean one night to see what his brother was up to; to find that he’d either been playing pool or darts to pass the time when he’d thought Dean had been off with some chick. He wasn’t sure how to reconcile his emotions, his jealousy, about that. Why would Dean rather spend that time at some bar instead of with him? There had been a few times he hadn’t been able to follow him since Dean had the car, but on those nights his brother hadn’t come home smelling of cheap perfume and sex, instead, he smelled of the night air. On a few occasions, he’d found Dean just sitting in the Impala which had been parked in the motel’s lot. It was strange, even for them, but it wasn’t something he was going to push for answers on. But the lack of sleep was evident in Dean - the sallow complexion, the dark circles under his eyes, and the way he was acting were enough to make him worry. And he’d noticed how gaunt Dean was these days, a clear indication that he wasn’t eating. Sure, Dean had done his best to hide that from him by pushing his food around on his plate and layering on his clothes, but he’d taken notice of the change in his brother and it frightened him. So, going back to the motel to do some research was fine with him. He just wasn’t about to tell Dean the research wasn’t about any local cases, but about him or at least what might have caused these changes in his brother.
The drive back to the motel was made in silence with Dean keeping his eyes on the road, ignoring Sam, and doing his best to not dwell on the situation he was dealing with. Lately, it was becoming harder for him to breathe, and he suspected that was because the once faint lines running over his heart and left side of his chest had deepened to an inky dark black and had spread across to his right side and now wrapped around his sides and just slightly along his back. The lines seemed to be branching off as if they were trying to migrate to each other and he feared that once that happened, they’d squeeze any breath he had out of his lungs. The lines had also started working their way down over his pelvis and had reached his hips. He knew eventually they’d reach his thighs and continue on to his calves. The lines on his left arm had stopped at his wrist and now that they had reached the right side of his chest, he knew it wouldn’t take long before they branched off, spreading over his right arm. He’d been lucky enough that his clothing covered everything so far, but he doubted how much longer he’d be able to keep things from Sam. Pulling up to their motel, he let the car idle while he waited for Sam to make his way inside before driving off.
From the window, Sam watched Dean pull out of the parking lot before he pulled out his laptop and set to work on trying to figure out what was wrong with his brother. He clicked through the supernatural app he’d created hoping that Dean’s symptoms would pull up a match to a creature that had infected his brother. Frustrated after ruling that out, he decided to go “old school” figuring that maybe there would be something in one of their obscure lore books. Pushing himself off the bed, he grabbed what he thought was his duffle bag and started rummaging through it, his hand landing on the hilt of a knife. Perplexed, he pulled out the knife realizing that it wasn’t his bag but Dean’s duffle he’d been looking through. Running his fingers over the unfamiliar hilt, he noticed lettering etched into it in a language he had to translate - fìor phòg a’ ghràidh - Dean hadn’t been infected, his brother had been cursed and somehow the knife played a part in it. Now that he had an indication of what was going on with Dean, he just had to figure out how to cure him because Dean was withering away and there was no way he was about to let that happen.
Pushing open the door to the motel room, Dean stopped mid-step when his eyes landed on Sam and the knife his brother was holding. How had Sam found it? Why did Sam have it? He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and he took a step backward ready to turn and to flee because Sam was going to ask questions he wouldn’t be able to handle or answer.
“Dean,” Sam breathed. “Why didn’t you say anything? Did the witch curse you?” He watched as Dean’s eyes landed on the knife in his hand before moving up to his face, a look of sadness mixed with fear in his green eyes.
Dean opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. No words would. Feeling as if his world was ending, he dropped his eyes to his feet not wanting to see the look of pity in Sam’s eyes.
“Dean,” Sam said again trying to urge him to speak. From the research he’d done, he’d figured out the curse was Gaelic in nature. Once the blade cut someone’s skin the curse was enacted, making it impossible for the person to speak about it, especially around the one who could lift it. Only love’s true kiss would break the curse. If that didn’t happen, the person would slowly wither and die - something that was happening to Dean, and he hadn’t been the wiser. Judging by Dean’s reaction and his inability to speak about the curse in his presence, he might be the one to end this with a kiss. It was something he was willing to try, hoping that Dean felt the same about him, wanting to be more than just brothers. Not giving Dean a chance to shy away from him, he crowded into his brother, pushing him against the wall and using his larger body to make it impossible for Dean to escape. His eyes landed on Dean’s pink plush lips and for a second he was hit with the overwhelming desire to kiss him until Dean shifted, the movement causing the skin of his left shoulder to be exposed. He sucked in a startled breath at seeing the black lines branching over Dean’s pale skin. Another indication of the curse, of the imminent threat to Dean’s life. How hadn’t he noticed that? Then again, he hadn’t seen Dean in any state of undress since the night they’d taken out the witch. “The witch… The blade… A curse…” he stammered, piecing it together, watching Dean nod and look away from him.
Bringing his hands up to Sam’s chest Dean attempted to push him away but couldn’t seem to dislodge his brother. “Sam…” he started to say and then he felt Sam’s lips on his. His eyes widened in surprise and then slipped closed when Sam deepened their kiss, his brother’s tongue slipping past his lips to tangle with his. “Sam…” he murmured when the kiss ended, leaving them both breathless.
“Been wanting to do that for so long,” Sam admitted licking his lips, tasting Dean on them. “It took a fucking curse for me to act on it.” He looked into Dean's eyes, saw the confusion in them, and smiled. “I couldn’t lose you and I was scared to tell you how I felt. Then I noticed the changes in you, you’re not sleeping and you’re losing weight, and found the knife…”
“I couldn’t say anything… The curse wouldn’t let me.”
“It’s me…” Sam gave Dean a hopeful look before asking, “Right?” If Dean had been able to speak about the curse after his kiss that had to mean the curse had been broken, Sam reasoned.
“Yeah, Sam, it’s you. Love’s true kiss,” Dean confirmed and then surged forward, crushing their lips together in a searing kiss. “If you felt this way, why didn’t you say anything?”
“I was too scared I’d lose you. I figured I’d at least still have you in my life as my brother. It was better than nothing, and you never said a word either.”
Dean nodded in understanding. “Yeah, I get it. It was the same for me…” he started to explain and then felt Sam’s lips against his and his brother moving them toward the bed. He felt his body getting on board with that idea, his cock throbbing in his jeans from the friction of Sam’s thigh rubbing against him. Whatever Sam was willing to offer, he was willing to take and reciprocate.
Sam ran his fingers along the hem of Dean’s shirt before pulling his brother’s jacket and shirts off, exposing his torso and the black lines of the curse covering Dean’s skin. He failed at suppressing his gasp and then reached out, gently running his fingers along the lines, tracing them from the healed wound before placing his hand over Dean’s heart.
Dean felt the warmth of Sam’s hand on him, causing him to sigh at the touch. Looking into his brother’s eyes, he saw concern and unshed tears. He licked his lips before saying, “It’s not as bad as it was. They were darker. Guess your kiss had something to do with that.”
Sam seemed to brighten from Dean’s words. “Yeah?” he questioned, leaning in to kiss Dean again. “Wonder what else I can do to you to make them disappear,” he commented with a mischievous grin, his voice low, full of want, and then he pushed his brother onto the bed.
Dean landed on his back on the bed with a startled gasp from Sam’s manhandling. He saw the glint in his brother’s eyes and watched hungrily as Sam pulled his shirt off. He took in the chiseled physique, watching as his brother kicked off his boots and socks before pulling off his jeans and boxers. Before his brain short-circuited, he managed to relieve himself of the rest of his clothing, dropping it on the floor as he lay there naked on the bed, revealing himself to Sam.
Sam gave an appreciative look at seeing his brother laid bare before him before climbing on the bed between Dean’s legs, coaxing them open to accommodate his larger form. He kissed his way up Dean’s abdomen, stopping to lave at his brother’s nipples, running his tongue over them until they’d pebbled, and Dean had shuddered from his breath ghosting over them. With a smirk, he nipped along Dean’s collarbone, neck, and jaw before reaching his brother’s lips. “Been wanting you for so long and now I get to have you.” He took in the sight of Dean’s skin, the pinkness spreading across in stark contrast against the black lines which seemed to fade from each kiss he placed on it.
“Any way you want,” Dean confirmed, panting, his chest heaving. He moaned when Sam started kissing his skin again. With each press of Sam’s lips against his skin, with each kiss given voluntarily, the tightness in his chest began to lessen, and his breathing began to ease as the lines started to fade.
“Gonna start it slow, take my time with you tonight. The buildup is everything,” he murmured against Dean’s chest and then reached between his brother’s legs, his fingers wrapping around his brother’s hard cock. He heard Dean’s moan and smiled against his brother’s heated skin.
“Sam,” Dean moaned in pleasure at the feel of Sam’s hand making contact with his cock. His hips bucked up when Sam started fisting him, his brother’s thumb swiping over the head of his cock, collecting the bead of precome, making the slide of Sam’s fingers pleasurable. Reaching out, he tried to wrap his fingers around Sam’s cock only to have his brother bat his hand away, making him grunt in response.
“I’ve got this,” Sam assured Dean, lining his erect cock up with his brother’s and wrapping his large hand around them both. He moaned at the feeling of their cocks touching each other as he began to fist them, jacking them off, watching as Dean’s eyes closed.
At the feeling of Sam’s cock rubbing against his, Dean groaned, letting his eyes slip closed as Sam began to fist them. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, breathing heavily as Sam’s speed increased. He knew it wouldn’t take long for Sam to get him off, he just wanted to wait until Sam was ready, feeling the need for them to come together.
With the way Dean was breathing heavily and bucking his hips up, driving his erect cock into his hand, he knew his brother was close to his release, and so was he. He just needed a little push to get them both there. “Fuck, Dean, you feel so good. Are you close, because I am. Are you gonna come for me?”
Opening his eyes, Dean groaned and then nodded. “Yeah… so close.” He bucked his hips in response to Sam’s hand gripping their cocks tighter, stroking them harder. Feeling that and the twist of Sam’s wrist brought him over the edge, ringing his orgasm out of him with Sam’s name on his lips.
Hearing Dean calling his name while his brother’s cock pulsed in his hand and feeling Dean’s release spilling over his fingers and hitting his stomach pushed him over the edge. “Dean,” he grunted as he came, spilling over his hand, and hitting Dean’s stomach. He worked them through the after wave of their orgasms before letting go of their spent cocks. Reaching out he trailed his fingers over Dean’s stomach rubbing their combined release into his brother’s skin before leaning forward to lick a trail up Dean’s body until he reached his brother’s lips.
Eagerly Dean accepted the kiss, tasting their combined release on Sam’s lips and tongue. “Love you so much,” he murmured against Sam’s lips when the kiss ended.
Smiling, Sam rolled off Dean to lie next to him. He pulled Dean to him, encircling his brother in his arms. “Love you, too,” he said and then buried his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, closing his eyes with a smile on his face. With love’s true kiss, his kiss, he’d broken the curse and saved his brother, the man he loved.
Dean finally had admitted the truth, the same truth they shared. Sam wanted him just as much as he’d wanted him. It had taken a cursed blade and love’s true kiss to bring them together and he was fine with that.
Gaelic: fìor phòg a’ ghràidh
Translation: love’s true kiss