original by monkiedude
Remix Title: There the Crevasse (Remix)
Remix Author: stone_princess
Original Story: There the Crevasse
Original Author: monkiedude
Rating: 18+
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Dean and Sam made it back to the hotel without incident, except that the whole night was one never-ending series of incidents. Dean knew Sam was going to want to talk about this now; even without telepathy he could read Sam well enough to know Sam was churning something over in his head. And that was exactly what Dean needed to cap a night like this. If he looked at it sideways or long enough, he might think some malevolent force was intentionally trying to torture him, first with hot cheerleader ghosts and now talking with Sam.
What Dean wanted most was to shower the grime off and shut out the day; to rest in peace, though not literally. But for all his silence, Sam was so fucking loud right now. There was a time when Dean thought maybe this telepathy thing was a gift. It helped him do his job better, let him make sure Sam was always safe. But when Sam had left for Stanford there'd just been this huge void that Dean couldn't help poking at like a sore tooth. And ever since Sam had come back it was even worse.
There was no reason not to jump right into the shower, but Dean poked around the room. Finally he gave up the pretense of doing anything else and flopped on the bed to watch TV and try to concentrate on all the ways he'd learned to block out Sam's thoughts when they were younger. He'd nearly achieved mental silence when Sam shattered it by talking out loud.
"Dean," Sam said. "What do you know about telepathy?"
Dean steeled himself, didn't look away from the TV. He'd known this was coming and still it felt like a punch in the chest. And knowing it wouldn't change the outcome, Dean played stupid to start. "What, like mind-reading? Why do you want to know?"
"Just, do you know anything?" Sam pressed. "Like how it manifests. Or when, or why. Is there anything in Dad's journal?"
"Might be. Why, Sam?" He might as well make Sam say it, though Dean didn't want to volunteer information, he knew he'd tell Sam if Sam asked outright and maybe it wouldn't be so bad in Sam knew?
Dean watched Sam prowl around, the cut outline of his shoulders visible under his thin t-shirt. It always felt a little invasive to Dean, to use his "skill" against Sam like this, but he didn't think it would matter much any more after this conversation. He let himself relax a little, try and tune into what was rolling through Sam's head. What he caught was almost laughable under the circumstances.
"I think--I think maybe I have it." Sam said, his forehead creased with concern.
Dean almost snorted out a laugh, but held back. "You do, huh?" He did his best to keep his voice neutral. "Why would you think that?"
"Is it that hard to believe, Dean? I mean, first the visions, then the telekinesis -- it's like a natural progression, right?"
"Could be."
"And you have to admit, we've had a lot of close calls, a lot of near misses, lately, Dean. I figure I'm projecting something, and strongly enough that even you can pick up on it."
Even you, Dean almost cracked up. "Maybe so."
"God, it's not funny, Dean!" Dean clearly wasn't repressing his mirth well enough. Sam went on, "Like I'm not a big enough freak already, now I'm going to have to deal with this? And you think you'll still be laughing if I can actually read your mind?"
"Alright, calm down," Dean said. "If you're serious, then try it." It was damn funny how Sam always managed to make everything about himself.
"What?" Sam asked, clearly projecting that Dean never took him seriously. Oh, if only Sam knew.
"Try it. Close your eyes, or whatever, and tell me what I'm thinking."
Sam screwed his eyes shut in concentration. Dean could feel him trying to focus, and it was actually a little disconcerting. Not the usual broad wave of emotion and images that radiated from Sam, but a sort of flickering beam of intent. When Sam found out the truth there was going to be a cataclysm.
"So can you tell what I'm thinking?" Dean asked, his middle finger raised, just waiting for Sam to look up and see it. "No?"
"Oh, fuck you, Dean."
"Right, well. You keep me posted on the whole mind-reading thing, dude," Dean said, slapping Sam's shoulder and escaping to the bathroom to mull over what exactly he'd do if Sam was that mentally focused on him all the time. Crap on a cracker.
***
The easiest thing to do would have been to tell Sam the truth that night when he asked. Easy isn't the Winchester way, though, so instead Dean spent weeks working even harder at tuning Sam out. When he did let his guard down, Sam always seemed to be projecting and more often than not what Sam was projecting was how hard he trying to read other people. As smart as Sam was, Dean couldn't believe how dense Sam could be.
Now they were standing here, trying to get information from the authorities and Sam was suddenly strongly telegraphing something else. And so was the cop, Churchill, Cole, whoever. The vibe back and forth between them was so strong Dean almost felt like he was in the room while they had sex. It was awkward, uncomfortable, and no one really seemed to get what was happening but Dean.
Dean left Sam to handle the cop, hopefully not literally, and went to explore the house some more.
Dean'd known Sam did guys since, uh, that whole incident with 21 Jump Street. Maybe even earlier than that, but Dean's good at destroying memories he isn't fond of. As much as he'd tried to give Sam privacy, it had been hard to ignore everything that went on in Sam's head, especially when he was a teenager.
Even this far away Sam was screaming in Dean's mind. Dean hightailed it back out of the house when his head flooded with plasma screen quality images of the cop all over Sam, mouth and hands and whoa, hand cuffs. He caught the last of the conversation as he neared the cars, his brother, and a cop who, as far as Dean was concerned, may as well have been shouting "please suck my cock" out loud. But what came out of his mouth was, "Sure, I'll give you my number. Or I could let you buy me a beer when I get off duty. You know, as thanks."
"Let" Sam buy him a beer. Dean rolled his eyes and got into the car.
"So, that looked cozy," Dean said, when Sam slid into the passenger seat. Dean hadn't really even thought the response he was trying to elicit, but the waves of embarrassment, giddiness, and sexual arousal coming off Sam were definitely not it. Sam did need to get laid, though and Dean was never one to cock-block. When Sam blushed, Dean asked, "You wanna borrow the car?"
***
When it came down to it, the weirdest part of the last few weeks was how often Dean had been surprised by Sam. And now he was surprising himself.
The hard work of digging up the bones had cleared Dean's mind. It was a needed release, almost better than sex, but he'd let his guard down while he did it and as he stood there, watching the bones burn and Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam came flooding into his head. Sam falling into the rapid, anticipatory bliss as the cop's hand closed over Sam's cock. Sam's pleasure as he came screamed through Dean's head. And though it was faint, small, strange, Dean couldn't ignore the fact that Sam had been thinking about him, about Dean, even as he came.
Dean did his best to be polite, nonchalant, the understanding brother, when Sam came home. Well, did his best after he'd made sure the car was okay and figured out if Sam had at least cleaned up the backseat. Dean made sure they were safe from being tracked by this guy, did his best to joke about it all and thankfully, Sam fell almost straight to sleep after that.
After that, even as Sam snored in satiated sleep, Dean laid awake wondering at his own relief that Sam wouldn't see the guy again, that Dean couldn't read any regrets over that in Sam's mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt, saw, heard Sam come as someone else touched him. Dean didn't like it, it was too close to the void he'd felt when Sam left. He wondered if this was what jealousy felt like.
***
Sam was in the middle of a full-fledged guilt-fest: guilt about Jessica and being faithful to her memory, guilt about Dad and being faithful to his mission, guilt about Dean and being faithful to the idea of what a brother should be. If Dean hadn't been sure before that Sam's thoughts about him the night before had been pornographic, he knew for sure now. Sam couldn't stop agonizing over it.
The only answer for that was to listen to all of Zeppelin, from beginning to end, in the order they were recorded. Dean turned it up, pretending the music could block out Sam's thoughts. Like that could ever happen. He felt Sam tense up when "Four Sticks" came on Zeppelin IV. Sensing Sam's anticipatory dread, Dean reached to skip "Going to California."
"What are you doing?" Sam asked.
Dean just shrugged. "You don't like 'Going to California'."
"But what about the approximately fourteen million other times you've made me listen to it?" Sam asked, not letting it go. "You've never skipped the song before."
"Shut up, Sam, or I'm starting the marathon over from the beginning," Dean said. Being this close to Sam all the time was starting wear on Dean and he knew it was only a matter of time before Sam finally clued in to what was going on. Or at least figured out that something was going on, even if he continued to be dense about exactly what it was.
***
Driving away from another town, another poltergeist, another job, Dean practically heard it when Sam's brain clicked to what was going on. He felt the whole line of Sam's thoughts about it, down to how he could get Dean to admit the telepathy to him. Dean felt more stubborn than usual when Sam started talking. The past few weeks had been to hard to bear for him to give up his secrets so easily.
"Dean," Sam started, his mind barreling down a track Dean knew he wouldn't be able to stop. "Um. So do you think maybe psychic powers are genetic?"
"I thought you'd given up on the Jean Grey thing." Dean tried for put upon boredom, but he didn't think it worked very well.
"I have, that's not what I mean. Just. Do you think these powers, do you think they run in families? Like, I don't know. Like bad cholesterol or, or homosexuality."
Boredom hadn't worked, next tack, taunting. Dean answered, "Don't you mean bisexuality?"
"I'm serious, Dean," Sam persisted, but Dean could feel Sam's blush even though he wasn't looking at Sam. "Have you ever thought that you might have similar kinds of abilities? As me, I mean."
"If it hasn't happened by now, I doubt it's going to happen to me, Sammy," Dean said, not answering Sam's question. "You can keep the Winchester Wonderboy title for your very own."
"But are you sure you'd know?" Sam's thoughts hit desperation, he was flooded with every thought he'd ever had about Dean that he considered iniquitous and Sam was broadcasting please don't know, please don't see it, Dean, please, please please. Dean's resistance softened and despite himself he felt very sorry for Sam and wanted to keep his secret forever, just to spare Sam the indignity of it.
"I think I'd know," was all Dean managed to say, not wanting to give himself away just in this moment when Sam knew and didn't want to, didn't want to believe, feeling so exposed and violated.
The car was quiet after that and Dean worked as hard as ever to block Sam's mind from his. For a while it worked.
***
Not telling Sam when he had the chance backfired rather spectacularly. The job was in the drudgingly routine part, research, putting pieces together. Instinctually, Dean tuned into Sam, just to check his location, his safety. He stumbled a little when the amount of danger Sam was in hit him. He ran, willing himself there in time, working up his anger at Sam's stupidity.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean raged, as he dragged Sam from the water, hurriedly untying him, wanting kill and hug Sam to him at the same time. "You were going to the library. This is not the library, Sam!"
"I'm sorry, I didn't think--"Sam started.
Dean cut him off. "Bullshit. You knew exactly what you were doing. Jesus! You could have died, Sam! You've heard the 'this is not a game' speech since you were three, and you still pull this shit? What if I hadn't been able to get to you? I almost didn't, I thought..."
"What? What did you think, Dean? You thought I couldn't be that stupid? You thought you read my mind wrong?"
Considering the life he'd led Dean had shockingly few regrets, even where Sam was concerned. And he'd always known keeping secrets was a bad idea. This time it came back to bite him hard.
"God, Sam. I didn't want--you could have just asked me."
Coughing, Sam said, "I tried that, remember? You seemed to think it was pretty funny to let me dance around the subject. Dean, I am sorry that I put us both in danger, okay? But I'm not sorry I know."
"Jesus, Sammy." Dean wanted to pull Sam to him and still he pushed back when Sam wrapped around him. Even with Sam safe, he knew he'd failed them both.
"Stop, I'm just cold," Sam said, clinging tighter to him. "Dean, God, I have so many questions. Is it--it's not just me, is it?"
Dean simply shook his head, unsure where to start.
"Everyone, then? Is that how you, you know. All the girls?"
Dean felt the insult punch through the last wiggling bits of his fear and guilt. "Sam, Christ. I wouldn't do that. You think I need to?"
"Okay, okay," Sam said, curling tighter against him. "So, how long?"
Dean wasn't sure he could do this now. "Sam, could we maybe do this somewhere warm and dry?" Sam didn't move, and he sighed, resigned. "Always. I don't know. As long as I can remember, at least. I didn't even realize I was doing it, or that it was something different, until I was probably older than I should have been. When I started hearing things that, uh, I never would have thought on my own, you know? But by then I knew enough to keep my mouth shut."
"And Dad?"
"He can block me, somehow," Dean said. "Always has."
"No, I meant. Does he know."
Dean shuddered at the thought. "I hope not." Because the implication of Dad knowing and still demanding that Dean look out for Sam was too fucked up for Dean to even consider.
***
Sam wouldn't let it go once he knew. Dean knew it would be like that, but he hadn't ever thought past Sam finds out.
Trying to explain to Sam how it worked was nearly impossible. The radio metaphor, tuning in a faint signal through the static was barely adequate but Dean didn't have much else. The worst came after that when Sam realized just how much Dean had known, even before Sam left. When Sam realized how many secrets Dean really had kept from him. Dean could never tell Sam that he just did it to protect him. Sam wouldn't understand. Sam never understood those things.
In the end Dean had to reveal it all pretty fast when Sam broke down and locked himself in the bathroom. If doors could block, Dean would have spent a lot more time indoors. It didn't take long, though, before Sam was suddenly just Sam again. The embarrassment, humiliation, outrage all gone as quickly as they'd come. Dean should have sensed impending doom right then, but he was just too glad let things slip back to the way they'd been. He really should have realized that Sam would take this places it shouldn't go.
***
When Sam focused it was unavoidable. All the barriers Dean had developed crumbled in the face of directed thoughts from Sam. It was a new low when Sam started transmitting thoughts of Dad having sex while Dean was trying to get the phone number of this pretty little waitress in Memphis.
"I will give you a thousand dollars," Dean said, walking back over to where Sam sat and wondering, not for the first time, about fratricide, "to stop doing that."
"What, is that distracting?" Sam asked, his face the picture of innocence. But Dean saw the wicked gleam in his eye and suddenly his head was full of the girls Dean had just been talking to: naked together, small hands on soft breasts, sweet pink tongues, spread thighs. And a beer bottle. "Better?" Sam asked.
Dean suppressed a grin. "Jeez, Sammy, did you actually ever go to class, or did you spend all your time watching porn?" In retrospect, though, that was when things got out of control. Sammy probably should have stuck to the disgusting thoughts of Dad having sex.
***
Dean should have expected it when it happened. Not because he was psychic or anything, although, granted, he was, just ever since they were kids Sam had always escalated everything until even the smallest of practical jokes became an all out prank war. Sam was a little bitch and never knew a line when he stomped all over it with his huge, Sasquatch feet.
Sam had been continuously teasing Dean with images of girls they met, or guys they met, any kinky thing Sam could come up with. Sometimes Sam would include Dean in the scenarios, but Dean ignored it, knowing better than to let Sam know he was getting under Dean's skin. That was just typical Sam bullshit. It was Sam being Sam, one upmanship and brothers being brothers. Until one day when Sam jerked off in the shower thinking about that cop from weeks ago.
The projection of Sam's thoughts was like an assault, stronger than it had ever been before and so completely overwhelming. Dean saw himself in the back of the Impala, helping the cop out of his police uniform. Flashes that kept changing, the cop leaning over Sam, then over Dean, then Dean's hand buried in the cop's hair, using it to tug him up to take Dean's cock in his mouth. Flicker, switch, Sam's mouth on Dean's cock. Dean's mouth on Sam.
No matter how cruel Sam had been, Dean had never brought up the fleeting thoughts of himself he'd accidentally seen in Sam's fantasies. He never mentioned the thoughts he pushed back himself, either. For both of them, for sanity, for safety, it was a bad idea. One more thing Dean had protected Sam from, but this was too much.
Dean could physically feel the hands of Sam's fantasy on him, the mouth. Mouths. Dean thought he could smell brimstone when his resolve cracked. He was waiting for Sam when Sam finally finished his shower.
"Is that how you see me?" Dean asked, pushing the words through the tension building in his jaw.
"What?" Sam asked, confused, digging around in his bag with one hand and holding up the towel around his waist with the other. "Is what how I see you?"
"That all. Like that. What you had me doing in the car."
Sam stopped and looked at him, and Dean could feel Sam's shame and suddenly he was unsure of just what Sam had been doing. "I didn't mean anything by it, Dean. I wasn't doing it on purpose."
Which was total bullshit. "Is that what I really look like, to you?"
"When you have sex?" asked Sam, but when Dean shook his head Sam added defensively, "That's just what you look like, I wouldn't know--"
"But you want to." Dean slid off the bed and onto his knees, trying not to think too far ahead, trying to keep breathing as he unknotted Sam's towel. "You can go again, right? I mean, that stuff when you were in the shower was hot, but you didn't blow your whole load, did you?" Dean focused on Sam the way Sam had been focusing him and he found he could pick out the thoughts, all of them, in long line back. Sam imagining Dean's hands on him, Sam surreptitiously jacking off in some random hotel bathroom, imagining Dean doing the same.
Sam gently ran his fingers over Dean's face as Dean pulled off his own jeans. He was so hard it almost hurt. Sam stood stiffly and kept his eyes on Dean's, didn't let them stray down to Dean's erection. If Dean hadn't been able to read the turmoil running through Sam's mind he'd have stopped, but he could hear how much Sam wanted this and it was starting to bleed into his own desire.
All of it blurred together when Dean sat back stroking a hand over his cock and pressing his face into the sharp curve of Sam's hipbone. He breathed in Sam's scent letting the dark curls tickles his nose as he moved toward Sam's cock.
Sam whispered, "Dean," and Sam's mind leaped forward, wound through everything about to happen, like he was the prescient one. Dean saw himself slide his lips around Sam's cock, felt Sam shudder. Dean felt the twitches of Sam's pleasure as the silky skin of his dick pushed toward Dean's throat, and before his real mouth could really connect with Sam, Dean felt the short-circuit of orgasm rip over him.
"Oh, you fucker," Dean grunted as come spilled over his fist.
Sam laughed. "Did I do that?" And then oddly the void was back, this time a pleasant reprieve, like they'd connected so closely that Dean no longer had to worry about whether he was feeling Sam's longing or his own.
Dean wiped his hand on his jeans. "We'll get back to that later," he promised. He held up his hand for Sam to help him to his feet, then kicked his clothes the rest of the way off. "I wanna get to the rest of it."
"The rest of it?" Sam asked.
"You do this, right?" Dean pressed and for second he could sense it again. Sam definitely did.
***
Dean groaned when Sam pushed all the way inside of him. Hotel hand lotion wasn't lube enough, but it didn't stop either of them. It felt right, like Sam now had as much of Dean as Dean had had of Sam. There was no violation and Dean imagined himself as open to Sam as Sam had always been to him. Sam started moving slowly and Dean arched his back and pushed back against his brother, wanting more, wanting the void back.
Sam's strokes sped up and Dean could feel the vibration in Sam's body. A current connecting them. His body complained at the tense twist of bracing himself against the wall, but then freedom of giving over pushed it down and pleasure started to creep up his spine making Dean cry out, beg for more from Sam.
Later he turned the tables on Sam, helped him to the bed and slowly jerked him off, making Sam beg for it like Dean had. It was rough, a little unkind and so sweet that Dean didn't want it ever to end.
No matter what they did that night, Sam asked, "Is this okay?"
Dean never had to, because he knew it was.
***
Dean shifted, the light making him aware of the morning as he fluttered to consciousness. He felt Sam's lips between his shoulder blades, felt Sam's satisfaction and contentment. Dean pressed back against Sam, wanting more of how good this felt, thinking, in passing, that the only thing that could make it better would be morning sex followed by doughnuts and coffee.
"What?" Sam said through a yawn before he nuzzled against Dean's neck again.
"Huh?"
"I could barely hear you," Sam said, "but I vote for the morning sex."
Dean's body tensed, he hadn't--
"I didn't say anything, Sam."
Remix Author: stone_princess
Original Story: There the Crevasse
Original Author: monkiedude
Rating: 18+
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Dean and Sam made it back to the hotel without incident, except that the whole night was one never-ending series of incidents. Dean knew Sam was going to want to talk about this now; even without telepathy he could read Sam well enough to know Sam was churning something over in his head. And that was exactly what Dean needed to cap a night like this. If he looked at it sideways or long enough, he might think some malevolent force was intentionally trying to torture him, first with hot cheerleader ghosts and now talking with Sam.
What Dean wanted most was to shower the grime off and shut out the day; to rest in peace, though not literally. But for all his silence, Sam was so fucking loud right now. There was a time when Dean thought maybe this telepathy thing was a gift. It helped him do his job better, let him make sure Sam was always safe. But when Sam had left for Stanford there'd just been this huge void that Dean couldn't help poking at like a sore tooth. And ever since Sam had come back it was even worse.
There was no reason not to jump right into the shower, but Dean poked around the room. Finally he gave up the pretense of doing anything else and flopped on the bed to watch TV and try to concentrate on all the ways he'd learned to block out Sam's thoughts when they were younger. He'd nearly achieved mental silence when Sam shattered it by talking out loud.
"Dean," Sam said. "What do you know about telepathy?"
Dean steeled himself, didn't look away from the TV. He'd known this was coming and still it felt like a punch in the chest. And knowing it wouldn't change the outcome, Dean played stupid to start. "What, like mind-reading? Why do you want to know?"
"Just, do you know anything?" Sam pressed. "Like how it manifests. Or when, or why. Is there anything in Dad's journal?"
"Might be. Why, Sam?" He might as well make Sam say it, though Dean didn't want to volunteer information, he knew he'd tell Sam if Sam asked outright and maybe it wouldn't be so bad in Sam knew?
Dean watched Sam prowl around, the cut outline of his shoulders visible under his thin t-shirt. It always felt a little invasive to Dean, to use his "skill" against Sam like this, but he didn't think it would matter much any more after this conversation. He let himself relax a little, try and tune into what was rolling through Sam's head. What he caught was almost laughable under the circumstances.
"I think--I think maybe I have it." Sam said, his forehead creased with concern.
Dean almost snorted out a laugh, but held back. "You do, huh?" He did his best to keep his voice neutral. "Why would you think that?"
"Is it that hard to believe, Dean? I mean, first the visions, then the telekinesis -- it's like a natural progression, right?"
"Could be."
"And you have to admit, we've had a lot of close calls, a lot of near misses, lately, Dean. I figure I'm projecting something, and strongly enough that even you can pick up on it."
Even you, Dean almost cracked up. "Maybe so."
"God, it's not funny, Dean!" Dean clearly wasn't repressing his mirth well enough. Sam went on, "Like I'm not a big enough freak already, now I'm going to have to deal with this? And you think you'll still be laughing if I can actually read your mind?"
"Alright, calm down," Dean said. "If you're serious, then try it." It was damn funny how Sam always managed to make everything about himself.
"What?" Sam asked, clearly projecting that Dean never took him seriously. Oh, if only Sam knew.
"Try it. Close your eyes, or whatever, and tell me what I'm thinking."
Sam screwed his eyes shut in concentration. Dean could feel him trying to focus, and it was actually a little disconcerting. Not the usual broad wave of emotion and images that radiated from Sam, but a sort of flickering beam of intent. When Sam found out the truth there was going to be a cataclysm.
"So can you tell what I'm thinking?" Dean asked, his middle finger raised, just waiting for Sam to look up and see it. "No?"
"Oh, fuck you, Dean."
"Right, well. You keep me posted on the whole mind-reading thing, dude," Dean said, slapping Sam's shoulder and escaping to the bathroom to mull over what exactly he'd do if Sam was that mentally focused on him all the time. Crap on a cracker.
***
The easiest thing to do would have been to tell Sam the truth that night when he asked. Easy isn't the Winchester way, though, so instead Dean spent weeks working even harder at tuning Sam out. When he did let his guard down, Sam always seemed to be projecting and more often than not what Sam was projecting was how hard he trying to read other people. As smart as Sam was, Dean couldn't believe how dense Sam could be.
Now they were standing here, trying to get information from the authorities and Sam was suddenly strongly telegraphing something else. And so was the cop, Churchill, Cole, whoever. The vibe back and forth between them was so strong Dean almost felt like he was in the room while they had sex. It was awkward, uncomfortable, and no one really seemed to get what was happening but Dean.
Dean left Sam to handle the cop, hopefully not literally, and went to explore the house some more.
Dean'd known Sam did guys since, uh, that whole incident with 21 Jump Street. Maybe even earlier than that, but Dean's good at destroying memories he isn't fond of. As much as he'd tried to give Sam privacy, it had been hard to ignore everything that went on in Sam's head, especially when he was a teenager.
Even this far away Sam was screaming in Dean's mind. Dean hightailed it back out of the house when his head flooded with plasma screen quality images of the cop all over Sam, mouth and hands and whoa, hand cuffs. He caught the last of the conversation as he neared the cars, his brother, and a cop who, as far as Dean was concerned, may as well have been shouting "please suck my cock" out loud. But what came out of his mouth was, "Sure, I'll give you my number. Or I could let you buy me a beer when I get off duty. You know, as thanks."
"Let" Sam buy him a beer. Dean rolled his eyes and got into the car.
"So, that looked cozy," Dean said, when Sam slid into the passenger seat. Dean hadn't really even thought the response he was trying to elicit, but the waves of embarrassment, giddiness, and sexual arousal coming off Sam were definitely not it. Sam did need to get laid, though and Dean was never one to cock-block. When Sam blushed, Dean asked, "You wanna borrow the car?"
***
When it came down to it, the weirdest part of the last few weeks was how often Dean had been surprised by Sam. And now he was surprising himself.
The hard work of digging up the bones had cleared Dean's mind. It was a needed release, almost better than sex, but he'd let his guard down while he did it and as he stood there, watching the bones burn and Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam came flooding into his head. Sam falling into the rapid, anticipatory bliss as the cop's hand closed over Sam's cock. Sam's pleasure as he came screamed through Dean's head. And though it was faint, small, strange, Dean couldn't ignore the fact that Sam had been thinking about him, about Dean, even as he came.
Dean did his best to be polite, nonchalant, the understanding brother, when Sam came home. Well, did his best after he'd made sure the car was okay and figured out if Sam had at least cleaned up the backseat. Dean made sure they were safe from being tracked by this guy, did his best to joke about it all and thankfully, Sam fell almost straight to sleep after that.
After that, even as Sam snored in satiated sleep, Dean laid awake wondering at his own relief that Sam wouldn't see the guy again, that Dean couldn't read any regrets over that in Sam's mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt, saw, heard Sam come as someone else touched him. Dean didn't like it, it was too close to the void he'd felt when Sam left. He wondered if this was what jealousy felt like.
***
Sam was in the middle of a full-fledged guilt-fest: guilt about Jessica and being faithful to her memory, guilt about Dad and being faithful to his mission, guilt about Dean and being faithful to the idea of what a brother should be. If Dean hadn't been sure before that Sam's thoughts about him the night before had been pornographic, he knew for sure now. Sam couldn't stop agonizing over it.
The only answer for that was to listen to all of Zeppelin, from beginning to end, in the order they were recorded. Dean turned it up, pretending the music could block out Sam's thoughts. Like that could ever happen. He felt Sam tense up when "Four Sticks" came on Zeppelin IV. Sensing Sam's anticipatory dread, Dean reached to skip "Going to California."
"What are you doing?" Sam asked.
Dean just shrugged. "You don't like 'Going to California'."
"But what about the approximately fourteen million other times you've made me listen to it?" Sam asked, not letting it go. "You've never skipped the song before."
"Shut up, Sam, or I'm starting the marathon over from the beginning," Dean said. Being this close to Sam all the time was starting wear on Dean and he knew it was only a matter of time before Sam finally clued in to what was going on. Or at least figured out that something was going on, even if he continued to be dense about exactly what it was.
***
Driving away from another town, another poltergeist, another job, Dean practically heard it when Sam's brain clicked to what was going on. He felt the whole line of Sam's thoughts about it, down to how he could get Dean to admit the telepathy to him. Dean felt more stubborn than usual when Sam started talking. The past few weeks had been to hard to bear for him to give up his secrets so easily.
"Dean," Sam started, his mind barreling down a track Dean knew he wouldn't be able to stop. "Um. So do you think maybe psychic powers are genetic?"
"I thought you'd given up on the Jean Grey thing." Dean tried for put upon boredom, but he didn't think it worked very well.
"I have, that's not what I mean. Just. Do you think these powers, do you think they run in families? Like, I don't know. Like bad cholesterol or, or homosexuality."
Boredom hadn't worked, next tack, taunting. Dean answered, "Don't you mean bisexuality?"
"I'm serious, Dean," Sam persisted, but Dean could feel Sam's blush even though he wasn't looking at Sam. "Have you ever thought that you might have similar kinds of abilities? As me, I mean."
"If it hasn't happened by now, I doubt it's going to happen to me, Sammy," Dean said, not answering Sam's question. "You can keep the Winchester Wonderboy title for your very own."
"But are you sure you'd know?" Sam's thoughts hit desperation, he was flooded with every thought he'd ever had about Dean that he considered iniquitous and Sam was broadcasting please don't know, please don't see it, Dean, please, please please. Dean's resistance softened and despite himself he felt very sorry for Sam and wanted to keep his secret forever, just to spare Sam the indignity of it.
"I think I'd know," was all Dean managed to say, not wanting to give himself away just in this moment when Sam knew and didn't want to, didn't want to believe, feeling so exposed and violated.
The car was quiet after that and Dean worked as hard as ever to block Sam's mind from his. For a while it worked.
***
Not telling Sam when he had the chance backfired rather spectacularly. The job was in the drudgingly routine part, research, putting pieces together. Instinctually, Dean tuned into Sam, just to check his location, his safety. He stumbled a little when the amount of danger Sam was in hit him. He ran, willing himself there in time, working up his anger at Sam's stupidity.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean raged, as he dragged Sam from the water, hurriedly untying him, wanting kill and hug Sam to him at the same time. "You were going to the library. This is not the library, Sam!"
"I'm sorry, I didn't think--"Sam started.
Dean cut him off. "Bullshit. You knew exactly what you were doing. Jesus! You could have died, Sam! You've heard the 'this is not a game' speech since you were three, and you still pull this shit? What if I hadn't been able to get to you? I almost didn't, I thought..."
"What? What did you think, Dean? You thought I couldn't be that stupid? You thought you read my mind wrong?"
Considering the life he'd led Dean had shockingly few regrets, even where Sam was concerned. And he'd always known keeping secrets was a bad idea. This time it came back to bite him hard.
"God, Sam. I didn't want--you could have just asked me."
Coughing, Sam said, "I tried that, remember? You seemed to think it was pretty funny to let me dance around the subject. Dean, I am sorry that I put us both in danger, okay? But I'm not sorry I know."
"Jesus, Sammy." Dean wanted to pull Sam to him and still he pushed back when Sam wrapped around him. Even with Sam safe, he knew he'd failed them both.
"Stop, I'm just cold," Sam said, clinging tighter to him. "Dean, God, I have so many questions. Is it--it's not just me, is it?"
Dean simply shook his head, unsure where to start.
"Everyone, then? Is that how you, you know. All the girls?"
Dean felt the insult punch through the last wiggling bits of his fear and guilt. "Sam, Christ. I wouldn't do that. You think I need to?"
"Okay, okay," Sam said, curling tighter against him. "So, how long?"
Dean wasn't sure he could do this now. "Sam, could we maybe do this somewhere warm and dry?" Sam didn't move, and he sighed, resigned. "Always. I don't know. As long as I can remember, at least. I didn't even realize I was doing it, or that it was something different, until I was probably older than I should have been. When I started hearing things that, uh, I never would have thought on my own, you know? But by then I knew enough to keep my mouth shut."
"And Dad?"
"He can block me, somehow," Dean said. "Always has."
"No, I meant. Does he know."
Dean shuddered at the thought. "I hope not." Because the implication of Dad knowing and still demanding that Dean look out for Sam was too fucked up for Dean to even consider.
***
Sam wouldn't let it go once he knew. Dean knew it would be like that, but he hadn't ever thought past Sam finds out.
Trying to explain to Sam how it worked was nearly impossible. The radio metaphor, tuning in a faint signal through the static was barely adequate but Dean didn't have much else. The worst came after that when Sam realized just how much Dean had known, even before Sam left. When Sam realized how many secrets Dean really had kept from him. Dean could never tell Sam that he just did it to protect him. Sam wouldn't understand. Sam never understood those things.
In the end Dean had to reveal it all pretty fast when Sam broke down and locked himself in the bathroom. If doors could block, Dean would have spent a lot more time indoors. It didn't take long, though, before Sam was suddenly just Sam again. The embarrassment, humiliation, outrage all gone as quickly as they'd come. Dean should have sensed impending doom right then, but he was just too glad let things slip back to the way they'd been. He really should have realized that Sam would take this places it shouldn't go.
***
When Sam focused it was unavoidable. All the barriers Dean had developed crumbled in the face of directed thoughts from Sam. It was a new low when Sam started transmitting thoughts of Dad having sex while Dean was trying to get the phone number of this pretty little waitress in Memphis.
"I will give you a thousand dollars," Dean said, walking back over to where Sam sat and wondering, not for the first time, about fratricide, "to stop doing that."
"What, is that distracting?" Sam asked, his face the picture of innocence. But Dean saw the wicked gleam in his eye and suddenly his head was full of the girls Dean had just been talking to: naked together, small hands on soft breasts, sweet pink tongues, spread thighs. And a beer bottle. "Better?" Sam asked.
Dean suppressed a grin. "Jeez, Sammy, did you actually ever go to class, or did you spend all your time watching porn?" In retrospect, though, that was when things got out of control. Sammy probably should have stuck to the disgusting thoughts of Dad having sex.
***
Dean should have expected it when it happened. Not because he was psychic or anything, although, granted, he was, just ever since they were kids Sam had always escalated everything until even the smallest of practical jokes became an all out prank war. Sam was a little bitch and never knew a line when he stomped all over it with his huge, Sasquatch feet.
Sam had been continuously teasing Dean with images of girls they met, or guys they met, any kinky thing Sam could come up with. Sometimes Sam would include Dean in the scenarios, but Dean ignored it, knowing better than to let Sam know he was getting under Dean's skin. That was just typical Sam bullshit. It was Sam being Sam, one upmanship and brothers being brothers. Until one day when Sam jerked off in the shower thinking about that cop from weeks ago.
The projection of Sam's thoughts was like an assault, stronger than it had ever been before and so completely overwhelming. Dean saw himself in the back of the Impala, helping the cop out of his police uniform. Flashes that kept changing, the cop leaning over Sam, then over Dean, then Dean's hand buried in the cop's hair, using it to tug him up to take Dean's cock in his mouth. Flicker, switch, Sam's mouth on Dean's cock. Dean's mouth on Sam.
No matter how cruel Sam had been, Dean had never brought up the fleeting thoughts of himself he'd accidentally seen in Sam's fantasies. He never mentioned the thoughts he pushed back himself, either. For both of them, for sanity, for safety, it was a bad idea. One more thing Dean had protected Sam from, but this was too much.
Dean could physically feel the hands of Sam's fantasy on him, the mouth. Mouths. Dean thought he could smell brimstone when his resolve cracked. He was waiting for Sam when Sam finally finished his shower.
"Is that how you see me?" Dean asked, pushing the words through the tension building in his jaw.
"What?" Sam asked, confused, digging around in his bag with one hand and holding up the towel around his waist with the other. "Is what how I see you?"
"That all. Like that. What you had me doing in the car."
Sam stopped and looked at him, and Dean could feel Sam's shame and suddenly he was unsure of just what Sam had been doing. "I didn't mean anything by it, Dean. I wasn't doing it on purpose."
Which was total bullshit. "Is that what I really look like, to you?"
"When you have sex?" asked Sam, but when Dean shook his head Sam added defensively, "That's just what you look like, I wouldn't know--"
"But you want to." Dean slid off the bed and onto his knees, trying not to think too far ahead, trying to keep breathing as he unknotted Sam's towel. "You can go again, right? I mean, that stuff when you were in the shower was hot, but you didn't blow your whole load, did you?" Dean focused on Sam the way Sam had been focusing him and he found he could pick out the thoughts, all of them, in long line back. Sam imagining Dean's hands on him, Sam surreptitiously jacking off in some random hotel bathroom, imagining Dean doing the same.
Sam gently ran his fingers over Dean's face as Dean pulled off his own jeans. He was so hard it almost hurt. Sam stood stiffly and kept his eyes on Dean's, didn't let them stray down to Dean's erection. If Dean hadn't been able to read the turmoil running through Sam's mind he'd have stopped, but he could hear how much Sam wanted this and it was starting to bleed into his own desire.
All of it blurred together when Dean sat back stroking a hand over his cock and pressing his face into the sharp curve of Sam's hipbone. He breathed in Sam's scent letting the dark curls tickles his nose as he moved toward Sam's cock.
Sam whispered, "Dean," and Sam's mind leaped forward, wound through everything about to happen, like he was the prescient one. Dean saw himself slide his lips around Sam's cock, felt Sam shudder. Dean felt the twitches of Sam's pleasure as the silky skin of his dick pushed toward Dean's throat, and before his real mouth could really connect with Sam, Dean felt the short-circuit of orgasm rip over him.
"Oh, you fucker," Dean grunted as come spilled over his fist.
Sam laughed. "Did I do that?" And then oddly the void was back, this time a pleasant reprieve, like they'd connected so closely that Dean no longer had to worry about whether he was feeling Sam's longing or his own.
Dean wiped his hand on his jeans. "We'll get back to that later," he promised. He held up his hand for Sam to help him to his feet, then kicked his clothes the rest of the way off. "I wanna get to the rest of it."
"The rest of it?" Sam asked.
"You do this, right?" Dean pressed and for second he could sense it again. Sam definitely did.
***
Dean groaned when Sam pushed all the way inside of him. Hotel hand lotion wasn't lube enough, but it didn't stop either of them. It felt right, like Sam now had as much of Dean as Dean had had of Sam. There was no violation and Dean imagined himself as open to Sam as Sam had always been to him. Sam started moving slowly and Dean arched his back and pushed back against his brother, wanting more, wanting the void back.
Sam's strokes sped up and Dean could feel the vibration in Sam's body. A current connecting them. His body complained at the tense twist of bracing himself against the wall, but then freedom of giving over pushed it down and pleasure started to creep up his spine making Dean cry out, beg for more from Sam.
Later he turned the tables on Sam, helped him to the bed and slowly jerked him off, making Sam beg for it like Dean had. It was rough, a little unkind and so sweet that Dean didn't want it ever to end.
No matter what they did that night, Sam asked, "Is this okay?"
Dean never had to, because he knew it was.
***
Dean shifted, the light making him aware of the morning as he fluttered to consciousness. He felt Sam's lips between his shoulder blades, felt Sam's satisfaction and contentment. Dean pressed back against Sam, wanting more of how good this felt, thinking, in passing, that the only thing that could make it better would be morning sex followed by doughnuts and coffee.
"What?" Sam said through a yawn before he nuzzled against Dean's neck again.
"Huh?"
"I could barely hear you," Sam said, "but I vote for the morning sex."
Dean's body tensed, he hadn't--
"I didn't say anything, Sam."