Violently (Part I)
The night was warm around him, the central air blowing softly in the background, and even that was too much noise. The room was painted in streaks of bluish light, the moon casting in through the sheer curtains that Jess loved so damn much. Sam could live without them, the whole damn place actually, just so long as he had her, but she loved to dress everything up and he adored her enough to go along with her decorating whims.
His heart was racing, but in a way that he associated with a good workout or a night with Jess underneath him, not in a scary way. The sound of breaking in should have him running scared to the phone, calling the police, but he was Sam Winchester, and there wasn’t anything a human could throw at him that scared him.
Movement in the front room caught his attention. Whoever it was, they were really good. If he hadn’t woken at the sound of the slight creek, if he hadn’t been raised to be ever watchful, he would never have known someone was breaking in. Even now, feeling the oppressive energy of another person unexpectedly in his apartment, Sam had to concentrate to find the guy.
He knew the intruder was a man from the build of the shoulders, the height, as his silhouette caught in the moonlight. Sam had a moment where something familiar crossed his mind, but then he was in the room and instead of the easy prey he’d expected, he was in a real fight.
Blood coursed through his veins as Sam swung out at his opponent, only to find air. There was no noise but the soft exhale of breath and the blunt force of flesh on flesh and suddenly he was on his back, blinking up as the air was driven from his chest. The figure didn’t continue though, instead he found himself staring up in the dark of his living room at the last person he ever thought he’d see.
His brother smirked, and Sam could feel the arm on his chest move up slightly, ever so slowly, fingers reaching across Sam’s neck like he could squeeze and - “Whoa there, easy Tiger,” Dean said, letting his hand slide back to Sam’s shoulder instead.
“Dean?” Sam was having a hard time picturing his brother here. The last time they’d seen one another had been bitter and bloody. The angry words hadn’t ended when Sam walked out on their father, and he was just grateful John hadn’t tried to follow Dean out that night with him. John did a lot of stupid things when it came to raising his boys. Sam still wasn’t sure if staying inside the hotel room that night had been one of them. He never thought to find out either, but his brother was still there, pinning him to the floor. Dean’s weight was heavy on top of him, making Sam’s cock throb in memory, and his fists clenched trying to force the sensory-memory down. Sam had a scar across his right forearm from the way Dean had thrown him up against a tree the night he’d left for Stanford, forcing Sam’s face into the bark as he fucked Sam hard against unyielding trunk.
He never got the chance for his revenge, and the thought of Dean writhing underneath him made him knock his head back against the floor to stop the train of thought. He was supposed to be over this. He’d had two years without Dean, of straight, normal living to get over this violent need. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“That’s because you’re out of practice,” Dean’s voice was light, but there was something else there as well, under the teasing notes, an underlying heat only Sam understood. He wanted no part of it, never had, even when he’d been forcing his own way into Dean’s body, and it just showed how right he was to walk away while they were both relatively unhurt. It didn’t still his need to prove himself, though, and he watched for a second before taking advantage of Dean’s loose demeanor and flipping him over onto his back.
“Or not,” Dean said, looking up at Sam, something appraising in his eyes. God, the things Sam wanted to do to him. It was his turn after all, retaliation was due. Dean’s eyes hardened under him though, and it wasn’t the possessive need Dean usually gave off. “Get off me.”
“Dean, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Well, I was looking for a beer.”
He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of Dean’s words, of his presence there at all, but he felt hollowed out by his brother’s appearance. He’d spent two years trying to forget the feel of his brother’s body, the taste of his sweat and semen, the way his mouth felt when Sam forced his jaws apart, how he squirmed when Sam pressed into his body, mouth gagged so he could only make the most inane whimpers as Sam took what he wanted from Dean.
Whatever Dean wanted from Sam, his appearance had nothing to do with beer. “What the hell are you doing here?” his voice was cold as he spoke, trying to keep a safe emotional distance from his brother.
“Okay,” Dean said, seemingly pulling them out of the dangerous ground they were walking and heading into the brotherly territory they needed to stay in. “Alright, we’ve got to talk.”
“Uh... the phone.”
“If I’d have called would you have picked up?”
He thought about how to answer that but he had nothing. He didn’t know if he would have. How did they start that conversation? Sorry? A word could never make up for this thing between them, the violent, forceful acts they perpetrated against one another. Nothing could, and Dean standing there in front of him, like he had any right to the normal life Sam was trying to build, made him want to remind Dean just who was bigger now.
“Sam?”
He took a step back before he could gain the momentum to force his brother onto his knees. He looked back at Jess and the world was spinning around him, the two people he’d always loved most and who he’d prayed would never come face to face.
It was gonna be a long fucking night.
If Dean didn’t get his ass reamed good before the evening was over, it would be a miracle.
**
He leaned his head back against the soft head rest, years of use and abuse making if perfectly formed to cushion his head. He tried to keep his eyes closed as Sam took one last look at the apartment and the girl he was leaving behind. He wasn’t sure he could bite his tongue hard enough to stop the angry words that wanted to spill out. Words like betrayal, coward, thief, that were heartfelt, but only a shallow weight against the one word he could never say. Mine.
“Just the weekend,” Sam reiterated as he gently closed the Impala door. There was too much caution in that move and Dean wanted to yell at Sam, to tell him to remember who he was, to act like his brother again, but they were long past that point.
Years and states away.
“Yeah, I heard you the first time, Sammy. Some big law school interview?”
“It’s probably nothing, Dean,” Sam said, changing the topic.
Dean didn’t answer except to start the car up. The music blared on the radio and he smirked as Dirty Deeds played across the silence between them. The song was slightly appropriate. After all, a cheap bottle of tequila and a few beers had gotten them into this awkward situation anyway.
Sam didn’t mean what he was saying though, and Dean wouldn’t have been there if it was. No matter how fucked up he’d made their lives, he knew how to read his brother in most ways, and what Sam wasn’t saying was that their father’s disappearance might be nothing, but it was enough that he was getting back in the car with him again after nearly ten years of absence from the Impala’s passenger seat.
Dean pulled away from Stanford, feeling his heart grow lighter with each mile, but heavier as the city lights began to fade and turn into the darkness of the open road before them. He usually took comfort from that. The things they hunted loved the night, but out in the open country there were no people to make a mess of things, nothing to possess or haunt.
If Dean ever gave up the hunting life, he was determined to go live like a hermit in some forgotten countryside where no one had ever lived or died. It was the only way he’d ever get any piece of mind. That was, of course, if he didn’t die young, and with Sam at his side again it was only a matter of time before they started ripping into one another again.
He was surprised they’d made it as long as they had already. Hell, he’d almost had his hand around Sam’s neck as soon as he had him pressed to the floor of his squeaky clean apartment. He’d wanted to, God help him, but he’d seen the way Sam’s eyes had narrowed and he’d let go against his own desires.
The memory was enough to leave him hard though, his cock straining against the fabric of his jeans. The last time they’d been together, the night Sam had left for college, he’d held his brother’s life in his hands, chest heaving and body thrashing as he’d held him tighter and tighter. Fucked him hard and curled his fingers over his throat, like he could force him into submission with his dick and his hands. Dean had come harder than ever before, and even though Sam fucking gushed as Dean stripped his cock and gave him back his breath, as soon as he had gulped down a few breaths, he’d come up swinging.
By the end of the night Sam wasn’t the only one bruised, which seemed fair, because even if Sam’s was the only ass touched, Sam wasn’t the only one to get fucked.
“Gonna stop soon?”
Sam’s voice was deceptively quiet as the dark night began to make way to the lights of the next small town. Dean wanted to sleep, wanted to pull over and let the burden down for a little while, but he wasn’t sure he could do force himself off the road yet. He had no idea what was going on in Sam’s mind; his brother had been silent so far, and the quiet made Dean twitch. Dean was far more experienced with Sam’s verbal assaults than he was the brooding quiet.
It didn’t pass his notice that if they stopped, he’d be left in a room with Sam. Nor did he miss the fact that if he didn’t, he’d be headed for a gas station soon to fill up and hit the bathroom. Neither idea was appealing, no matter how much he’d wanted Sam to come with him.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want his brother there. It was just that now that he was, Dean remembered how hard things had been for them. He’d tried to block out most of the trouble, repress the memories, shove them down, salt and burn the fuckers and bleach them with alcohol when he’d had to. It was all coming back now with Sam sitting beside him, the feel of his brother’s skin, how he struggled and fought to get out from underneath him. The way he always plotted and carefully planned his revenge and got Dean when he wasn’t expecting him, fucking him hard and angry against whatever surface he could force Dean on top of, just the way he deserved.
This thing between them was cyclic in some messed up way, abuser becoming victim in rounds as they lashed out at one another. Dean knew why Sam hurt him, understood in his bones how much he deserved retribution. He didn’t know how many nights he’d lain awake under the scratchy blankets of some filthy motel room next to his brother wishing he could take back that one night. He couldn’t though, and he could never give Sam back what he’d taken. What little of Sam’s innocence John hadn’t destroyed on the hunt, Dean had taken in a misguided attempt at protecting his brother.
Sam looked away from Dean and back out the window when Dean didn’t answer right away. It was a loaded question, though, and Sam damn well knew that. Some part of Dean tried to hold back the adrenaline rush, hoping he and Sam could put their relationship back into some semblance of normality with the years that had passed between them. As he watched Sam’s finger scratch lazily against his thigh in nervous agitation, he knew it was a lie though. Sam was plotting. He might not make his move now, maybe not here, but he had something in mind. Sam always had liked to leave his revenge until the anticipation was thick between them, both so strung out that Dean flinched whenever Sam got close and Sam smiled viciously whenever Dean looked his way.
It was his turn. He just hoped whatever Sam had planned, he remembered they needed to find John above anything else.
**
Dean wasn’t happy about finding John’s room and his clippings about a woman in white, but he was damn grateful for the lead. A hunt would keep their minds focused on something besides the tension between them. Things were steady there, the words a little harsher than their banter used to be, but neither of them was happy about the circumstances of their reunion. Dean had always hoped Sam would call him, even if he wouldn’t come back to their life. Hell, Dean didn’t want Sam to give up his normal. He might have fucked up their relationship plenty over the years, but it never stopped Dean from loving his brother and wanting the best for him. It was how he showed his love that always got twisted.
Sam didn’t make their relationship any easier though. No matter how messed up Dean was, Sam had retaliated, and there was something about his brother taking his revenge that made Dean go back for more. He didn’t do that psychobabble crap, but even he could see he was forcing Sam to punish him for something that could never be forgiven. Acting out that first time over and over again when he’d begun feeling the guilt kept him from having to deal with what he’d done.
His head was drowning in the memories, and he pulled away from the wall and headed for the door. “Let’s get moving, Sammy.”
Sam flinched at the nickname, a hard line forming on his lips. “It’s Sam now.”
Dean stopped with his hand on the doorknob, taking a deep breath at the censure. “Yeah, okay.”
**
“Sammy.” Dean’s voice was hushed as he crossed the room. Sam was a light sleeper and he’d wake too much if Dean was loud. He wanted Sam awake. He just didn’t want him completely awake. Even in Dean’s drunken state he knew sleepy Sammy was easier to deal with.
“Dean? Y’okay?” Sam’s sleep slurred voice asked as he shifted in his bed, turning his head to look up at his brother.
Dean nodded and took a step forward, his tee shirt pulled off and dropped to the floor as he did. He just hoped the fast motion managed to hide the shaking of his hands. This, what he was about to do, it could change everything. Sam had to understand though. Dean loved him, he would never hurt him. He had to protect him from everything, no matter how difficult that job was.
He sat on the edge of Sam’s bed and kicked off his shoes, then lay down on his side, Sam still watching him from his back.
“Long night, Sammy,” was all he could think to say when he realized his brother was still looking at him, concern written on his face. “Just needed to be sure you were safe.”
Sam’s eyes lightened slightly. At fourteen Sam was in a never ending argument with their dad, and both of them seemed to think Dean favored the other side. The truth be told, he tried to stay the hell out of their way as much as he could. He hated the feeling that his family was pulling him apart. Times like this, though, he could see Sam melting a little because of something he did or said, and it made him feel good about being the brother he was.
He reached out to tangle his hand up in Sammy's hair, feeling the silky strands that Dad wanted him to cut. Dean argued with both of them about it, asking Sam to give in and telling John he should let Sam have a break, but neither cared to see his point of view. He gave a tiny tug and Sammy's eyes widened as he let go, his hand moving further down to cup Sam's cheek. "Should have kept you away from all this Sammy," his voice broke slightly as he whispered. "No idea what's still out there, even knowing what's in Dad's journal." He kept his voice low and steady as his thumb traced his little brother's bottom lip. "I can't keep you safe from it all Sammy, but you don't need to worry. I'll do everything I can to protect you."
Sam nodded underneath him, and he could see how unsure Sam was about his words, about what he should say. Dean smiled softly, more affection coming through than he usually allowed. "It's alright. With us I mean. We're not like other people Sammy," he clarified. "No one else, you can't trust no one else, just me. We belong to each other, Sammy, and no one can do anything about that, right?"
"Yeah, Dean." His eyes looked uncertain but his voice was clear as ever. Dean wished he were the eloquent one but that was never him. Sam didn’t need his words though, he never had. Sam would understand. "Sure."
"Good." His hand drifted away from Sam's face then, moving down his arm in sure strokes. He reached the hem of Sam's shirt and pushed the fabric back slightly, letting his fingers breeze over the skin. Sam squirmed under him. "You alright, Sammy?" Dean asked, not taking his eyes off the strip of flesh that'd been exposed.
"Tickles." Sam said in a quivering voice.
"Yeah." Dean answered, transfixed by the sight of his hands on Sam’s pale skin. "Gotta take care of you, Sammy. Gotta make sure they don't hurt you."
"Dean, who's going to hurt me? Dad would never let the monsters-"
"Don't!" Dean shifted on top of Sam before he realized he was moving. He was right in Sam's face, breathing hard to keep from doing anything more. Sam’s hands pinned over his head was enough. Sam's eyes were wider than Dean had ever seen and he figured that was a good thing. Sam was ready to listen. "Don't think the only monsters in the world are the types in Dad's journal or Bobby's books. You trust me, Sammy. You understand that! You trust me and only me!"
Sam shivered under him, and Dean saw the fear in his eyes. Fear and pity, and he wasn’t looking into the second one too much. Sam couldn’t know. "I'm sorry, Sammy. So sorry I have to do this." He let go of Sam's hands and moved down his body, determined and ready to continue. His fingers found the elastic of Sam's shorts and he pulled, ignoring the startled noise from Sam. He felt Sam trying to sit up, but Dean pulled his clothing free quickly and pushed Sam back into the bed before he could get away.
"Stop, Sammy. I told you, you have to trust me. I have to do this. I have to protect you, from all of them."
"Dean, you don't have to do this." When Dean looked up into his brother's eyes he could see the understanding there, just like he knew he would. "You don't want to do this."
Dean licked his lips as he looked up at Sam, disheveled from sleep and Dean's own hands. "Maybe I do want to, Sammy," he said as he leaned up and pressed his cock into his brother's tender stomach, letting Sam feel the hard length of him. It was fucked up and he knew it, but he wasn’t doing this because it was what he wanted. "But that's not why I am. I have to, Sammy, have to make you safe. They won't want to..."
He trailed off and didn’t try to explain, just pushed away the memories - hands gripping too tight, pain as he tried to push away, too weak from blood loss and the hunt and confusion because where the hell was Dad-to keep them from interfering with what he had to do. He wanted this to be good, wanted this first time to be something memorable for Sammy, so he leaned up and nudged his brother's shirt up with his nose, leaving a trail of hot breath over sensitive skin. Sam squirmed out from under him, and when Dean wouldn’t let him, he brought his hands up to Dean's face and pulled him up.
"Dean, please stop."
"Sammy, I have to do this, now stop fighting me, or I’ll tie your goddamn hands to the bed," he looked up, really looked, and saw the fear back in his brother's eyes, and he hated it all a little more that he had to be the one to protect his little brother like that. Hated that he wanted his brother so bad he could barely keep his hands from shaking as he pushed gently against his brother's shoulders. Sam went down without another sound.
He moved down again, only this time he didn’t dawdle but went straight to Sammy's cock, taking it in one hand and letting his fingers run over it lightly. Sam moved a hand up to his mouth, biting hard, and Dean thought maybe Sam understood then. It only took a couple strokes before Sammy was hard in his palm and Dean reminded himself that he was only fourteen and anyone could get the same reaction from Sam right now. The way Sam’s body reacted didn’t mean anything, didn’t mean his brother was as twisted as he was, and didn’t have the same dark past Dean was trying to protect him from.
He leaned over his brother then, allowing himself that little bit. If it had to be him, if he had to be the one to protect Sammy, then he could at least make sure he enjoyed his first time. He licked at the head of his brother's cock, and even if he was biting his hand, he could hear Sammy's moan. The sound shot through him like liquid fire, and he had to keep himself from moving any faster. He licked around his shaft before he took him down, licking and sucking as he went.
Sam's hips were starting to move under him, starting to thrust slightly. Dean reached into his jeans and pulled what he needed from his pocket, knew he needed to start now or he’d never last. He had his fingers slicked up and pressed against Sam's hole, before anymore doubts could assail him, and he sucked Sammy down further as he pushed his first finger inside. Sam bucked up off the bed and damn near gagged Dean, but he pulled off his cock and leaned up, pressing his body against Sam's as much as he could, his hand going to Sam’s chest while his body pressed into his brother's hips. "Gonna be good, Sammy, I promise. Trust me, alright? Just me and you, remember."
"Dean..." There were things in that voice Dean didn’t want to hear, so he pushed a finger to his brother's lips to shut him up, and Sammy took it in, sucking on his finger like he'd been waiting for it.
Dean couldn’t stop his own groan, and he worked another finger into Sam’s hole as he watched his brother's tongue sliding across the fingers of his other hand. Sam's hips thrust up in time to Dean's hand, and he was working finger three in when he found that spot, and Sam was off the bed again even with Dean draped halfway across him.
He stopped everything then and pulled away, watching Sam as he blinked up at Dean. Sam watched as Dean stepped off the bed and slid his pants off, then as he sat between Sam’s legs as he covered his cock with lube.
"Dean... no... Not this."
"Told you, Sammy. Have to."
Sam started to sit up, but Dean pushed him back. That time Sam didn’t just lay back down though. They wrestled on the bed for a minute but Dean had the weight and experience on his side, even if Sam was almost the same height as him. He managed to flip Sam, which wasn't how he'd planned on doing this, but it was better than nothing. He had Sam's chest pushed to the bed and Sam's turned his head to one side. "You don't have to do this, Dean! You want to do it and you’re drunk enough to find an excuse."
Dean pushed Sam down further into the mattress while his hips edged forward slightly, his cock sliding between Sam’s cheeks before he pulled one hand back and positioned himself behind Sam. "You trust me, Sam. I know you do."
"Don't do this, Dean. You don't have to."
"Yes, I do, Sammy, just … you don't know what's out there." He could feel the tears falling down his face, the tremors of memory he'd tried to evade for the last year now, and all he could think was he had to keep Sam away from that sort of evil. "I'll keep you safe, baby boy. You just trust me. You do, don't you, Sammy?"
There was a break in Sam's voice when he whispered, "Not tonight."
His words were more accusation than Dean could take. He had his own demons, and he was fighting damn hard to make this about Sam, and protecting him instead of Dean’s own fucked up needs. "You do, Sammy! You trust me, goddamn it!"
Sam didn’t scream when Dean thrust into him, but he could see where he’d bitten his lip hard enough to leave little red spots on the sheet. He slowed his hips, instantly sorry for the aggression. "Shhh, Sammy, s'alright. Trust me. Gonna make you feel better," he said, pulling Sam up, his back against Dean's chest, and this time Sammy was completely compliant. He thrust slow and steady as he reached around for Sam's limp cock. Dean’s fingers worked him well though, and he hardened in his brother’s grasp. When Dean found his prostate with another thrust Sam's moan was pure pleasure, and Dean kissed the back of his shoulder. "Good boy, Sammy."
"Dean..." his voice was raspy and heavier than Dean had ever heard before, and suddenly he could feel Sammy's muscles clamping around his dick as he felt the wash of warm come coating his fist. He pushed Sam down into the mattress then, thrusting deep until he felt his own orgasm pulsing through him.
He breathed through the aftershock, careful not to collapse on his brother. When he pulled out of Sam’s body, he lay down beside him. He pulled at Sam's hips until he was on his side as well, back against Dean’s chest where he could throw an arm over Sam’s waist. He heard Sam's slow sobs and kissed the skin between his shoulder blades again. "Shhhh, Sammy. S'alright. They can't take anything more from you now."
He felt Sam stiffen against him, and Sam's voice was smaller than he could ever remember hearing it. "When did they take it from you, Dean?"
He pressed his lips to Sam’s shoulder, refusing to answer. Sam didn’t need the words anyway. He never had. Sammy knew him better than that and he’d always understood Dean without them. He fell asleep to Sam's sobs and angry mutterings mixed in with incoherent pleas to Dean and for Dean, that he didn’t allow himself to hear.
In the morning, Sammy was gone from the bed, and all that was left was the gaping imprint of who they had been the night before and of what Dean forced him to be. He stood up from the bed, horrified, and then locked himself in the bathroom to throw up for an hour straight. When Dad came back for help on the hunt that night, Dean was no better. He swallowed bile every time Sam looked at him, fear and hate and pity bearing down too heavy for him to escape. When he got hit that night he had no excuse and no regret. His only thought was that maybe the monsters were doing them all a favor by taking him out.
**
The pressure was building. Not that it hadn’t already been there, but as soon as Dean smacked the back of his head, Sam felt the desire burning through him. This was messed up; the way Dean’s touch affected him. He’d removed himself from his family completely to get away from it - with Dean’s blessing, even if their last good-bye had been brutal. He’d never tell Dean, but he’d taken the bus to the first big city, hopped off and found a free clinic because he’d been bleeding so badly. The staff there had tried to get him to report the rape, but they didn’t understand. Dean could never take anything from Sam that he didn’t want to give.
He reveled in the bruises and blood, because each mark meant Dean didn’t see him as something weak and broken, the way he’d looked at him that first morning. John hadn’t seen Dean throw himself into the hunt that night though, hadn’t witnessed Dean throwing himself at death. Sam had barely been able to contain his anger. He could forgive Dean his drunken invasion, because as drunk as Dean was, Sam could have fought him off if he’d wanted to. Sam fought for Dean’s sake, not his own. If drunk and stupid was the only way he could have Dean, his fourteen year old self had been ready to settle. He knew even then, though, Dean wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. If he’d realized then what he was setting them up for, he’d have knocked his brother out with the handle of his knife that had been right under his pillow the whole time.
He’d still had hopes, back then, that Dean would someday realize what Sam felt, that he didn’t need to rip and tear and force his way into Sam’s body. Sam had grown out of those dreams when he stepped out the door to go to Stanford; Dean telling him to get the hell out of their fucked up life and make something of himself as he pressed a wad of smoke-scented bills into Sam’s hand.
Dean never came for him at Stanford, though Sam waited. When he finally gave up on his brother he went out and found Jess.
Jesus, how was he supposed to go back to her? She was beautiful and amazing, and he did love her. She would never be Dean though, his first and only lover before Stanford. For two years they’d bandied words and patched each other’s wounds, fought like brothers, defended one another, and fucked each other raw in public way stations and restaurant bathrooms with their dad waiting outside or asleep in the front seat, letting them stretch their legs as he power-napped. Two years, until Sam’s big mouth let on what had happened, and Dad became John to both of them when he beat Dean within an inch of his life and left Sam to the role of mediator.
Another level of anger and hate he could throw at his brother or father when needed.
He took a deep breath as he looked across the bridge where the latest trouble had been. The darkness settled around Dean like a cloak, his eyes dragging the light from the moon until he was the only source of illumination Sam could see. He swallowed against the lump in his throat, trying to push down the lust that tried to crawl out of his chest.
He took the hunger he felt and channeled it into anger, something far more comfortable for the Winchesters. Dean made his anger easier. He questioned Sam’s life, his need to get away from the hunt. He knew his brother though, knew he was pushing, that he wanted Sam to push back. When they started arguing and Dean pushed him back against the girder of the bridge he had to force himself still.
As much as his younger self had been willing to settle, Sam needed to be more than a spoke in Dean’s guilt and punishment cycle. Dean’s eyes were wide with anger and hunger and guilt, and Sam waited for Dean to force him around, to fuck him rough and hard against the metal, but it never happened. Sam watched his brother pull himself back from the edge in ways he never had before.
He wasn’t sure what would have happened then, but the woman in white was there, on the bridge with them, and the hunt took precedent over whatever emotional turmoil was working its way through the Winchester brothers.
When the car started toward them, Dean’s keys still in his hand, they had no choice but to run for safety. For a fearful moment he thought Dean might have been lost as he threw himself over the side of the bridge and into the river below, but, as always, his brother came out remarkably unscathed.
He couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that followed that realization, and as he managed to get himself back on the right side of the railing he was smiling like a loon. As much as he’d always focused on the worst parts of this life, he’d almost forgotten how good the adrenaline felt rushing through his system. He’d forgotten how good it felt to be truly alive.
Dean was a mess, drenched and covered in mud and God only knew what else, and Sam couldn’t help but smile at the way his brother griped. It was almost like the moment on the bridge was gone. It reminded him so much of the old days, the way Dean would let him in at even the slightest provocation.
When they got back to the motel, Dean slammed into the bathroom and Sam walked out, heading for the nearest restaurant. There was a little mom and pop shop down the block, and Sam ordered take out. When he got back the shower was still running and he banged on the door. “Dinner’s up!”
He took a seat on the bed and flipped on the TV, coming up with a zombie flick, before tossing the remote to the end of the bed and digging into his roasted chicken. When Dean came out a few minutes later wearing nothing but boxers and a tee shirt, Sam ignored the way his body ached and nodded towards the table. “Country fried steak.”
“You’re a good man, Sam. Don’t let them tell you otherwise,” Dean said, as he walked past to grab the food. He grabbed his white container and took a seat on the bed with Sam. They were both resting with their backs against the headboard and for the first time in years, Sam found himself completely relaxed.
“Remote is yours, man,” Sam said, suddenly needing to fill the silence between them.
When Dean looked at him there was nothing dark or sinister in his eyes. This was just his brother, the man who’d loved him his entire life, sacrificed more than he would ever admit, and who took care of Sam better than anyone ever had. He smiled warmly back at Dean until a crash on the TV screen made them both look up.
They finished eating side by side, commenting about how realistic the zombies were, making bets on whether the actors would actually survive the smell of a real zombie, and how badly Hollywood portrayed the family business.
Sam’s eyes nodded closed a few times, but it wasn’t until the movie ended that he felt Dean pulling him down the bed. His brother pulled Sam’s shoes and socks off before sliding him out of his jeans. He helped Sam get his tee shirt off when his weary fingers made clumsy work of the fabric. He felt Dean’s fingers thread through his hair, pulling the strands back off his face right before he fell into the pillows, blanket magically making its way up to his shoulders the way he liked.
When he turned over and placed his hand under the pillow, Dean’s hand was there placing Sam’s favorite knife in his reach.
“Good night, Sammy.”
He shivered lightly at that name on Dean’s lips, but he was smiling as he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
**
They were three towns over before Dean finally stopped for the night. He was tired as hell, but he wasn’t about to let Sam drive the Impala after he’d just driven her into a building. Luckily, the car had a sturdy frame and he hadn’t been able to see too much damage by night. Come morning, he’d get a look under her and see what they’d really done.
Dean didn’t bother to ask if Sam wanted first shower. Once they were in the motel room, he jumped in the bathroom, under the steady stream of water and cleaned off. Sam was fuming about something, probably their dad, and he didn’t want to have that argument again. The woman in white was gone and the stretch of road was safe again to all passersby, so Dean counted the day as a win.
When Dean got out to get dressed, Sam was pacing the room, and Dean ignored him. He rummaged through his bag for clean clothes and slipped on his boxers and a tee shirt for the night. He was exhausted and he planned to sleep hard.
“Fucking bitch knew.”
Dean sighed. It’d been a long time since he’d heard Sam so furious, but Sam wasn’t the boy he’d known four years ago. He’d changed, become harder in ways and softer in others, and he didn’t know what to read into his tone. “Knew what, Sam?”
“This.”
Dean knew what was happening as soon as the angry word dropped from his brother’s mouth. He’d been waiting, both of them on edge in ways he had always hoped time and distance would cure, but he had never been so lucky. He took a step back, but Sam had been counting on that move and he used Dean’s momentum to push him backwards. Dean landed hard against the wall, the shock of impact making him malleable to his brother for a moment. A moment was all it took as Sam turned Dean around to face the wall, hands wrenched around and held tightly at the small of his back.
“Don’t do this, Sammy.” He demanded. He didn’t beg, wouldn’t, couldn’t, didn’t know how after all the years. His foot was kicked out from under him and his stance widened as he caught himself. “Get the hell off me!” Dean yelled as he tried to push away from the wall.
Sam just laughed as he pushed Dean harder against the partition. He felt his boxers being pushed down and then the sound of Sam’s pants as well. He knew what was coming, and his breath became ragged because he was too off balance to kick out with his feet and his wrists were pinned behind him, held tightly in Sam’s humongous hands. Sam had learned years ago not to let his head too close or he’d have bashed their heads together to try to get free.
“Sam! No! Stop it!” He screamed again as he felt Sam’s naked thighs between his own. He felt Sam against his ass, felt his brother, long and hard and leaking, riding against his crease.
“Fuck, Dean.” Sam said, voice wrecked and hungry. “So fucking long. I didn’t even miss this until you showed up, had to drag me away from everything so you could play big brother again. Does it feel good, Dean? Having me back in the Impala? Feel good to force me back into the hunt again?”
Dean struggled as he felt the head of Sam’s cock press against him. “Know what feels good to me, Dean, the only part that feels good? Forcing my way back inside you again. Fuck, I missed this.” And then he was pushing in, no prep, no lube, just pressure and pain and Sam’s hand pressed over his mouth to keep him from screaming so loud someone called the cops.
Sam’s hips pistoned in and out of Dean, his body slowly relearning what he once knew, shivering in desire even as he tried to break his arms free of Sam’s one handed grip. Sam’s hand pulled away from his mouth and then Dean’s face was pushed into the wall.
“Stop fighting me, Dean, and this will be so much easier on you. I don’t want to leave you bloody, but I fucking will!” Dean’s whole body shivered at the voice, desire warring with the pain, pleasure beginning to warm him as Sam hit his prostate time and time again.
“Gonna show me, big brother? Show me how much you hate it my cock buried inside you?” Sam laughed harshly. “Gonna show me how much you hate being taken by your little brother by painting the goddamn wall with come?”
Sam’s nails dug in hard, his thrusts harder, and Dean was sure there was blood, but he was so busy whiting out, orgasm screaming through his body, that he was barely aware of the pain.
He felt Sam pull out, bit his lower lip to keep from making a noise. Bad enough he hadn’t been able to keep Sam off him, but he wasn’t a fucking girl. He took the pain and rolled with it.
“Jesus. I need to clean the hell up.”
He didn’t look back to see Sam pulling away to go into the bathroom. He didn’t pull away from the wall as he heard the shower starting up. It wasn’t under he heard the pattern in the water that meant Sam had stepped under the spray that he finally pulled his boxers back into place, ignoring the slow leak of his abused hole, the need to check up on Sam. Instead, he crawled into his own bed and closed his eyes, trying to figure out where the hell they went from there.
**
Sam knew it was shock. He could remember certain moments like they’d happened in slow motion - like the fire as it crept across the room, bursting out from Jessica’s chest to try to make its way to Sam - but other moments were gone. He couldn’t remember Dean being there, didn’t remember his brother carrying him away from a fire a second time, but he remembered the strength of his brother’s arms and the smell of him - not all that different after the fire, which really spoke of how fucked up their lives were that Sam’s life went up in flames and it still smelled fucking good on Dean - as he sat in the back of the ambulance waiting for them to finish.
He closed his eyes as tears tried to come again. He didn’t deserve that sort of release. He brought this on himself, killed the amazing woman he loved just by being in her life. By walking out the door with Dean.
He didn’t remember what the police and firemen had to say and he didn’t remember being bundled up into the front seat of the Impala and driving off. He remembered looking into the trunk to check the weapons in the trunk, checking off the inventory list that still resided in the back of his head. He remembered thinking they needed more iron rounds and they needed to pick up some extra blades and maybe another sawed off for himself.
He remembered the motel room though. He remembered Dean gently pushing him into the bathroom and starting the shower. He remembered Dean’s calloused hands stripping his clothes off him and he remembered the way Dean grunted as Sam pushed his hips into the counter, burying his grief and anger in his brother’s body.
He didn’t remember anything after that. He didn’t know if Dean had come, if he’d been harsh when he pulled out of his brother - there was sure to be blood again either way - or if he’d been gentle. He didn’t remember moving out of the bathroom or pulling on his boxers before sliding between the sheets.
When he closed his eyes though, he could see Jessica on the ceiling and he understood what his father must have felt all those years ago. He understood how Dean could have become the man he had. And he hated Jessica for making him understand that. He hated himself for even thinking it. He hated himself for surviving, but most of all he hated Dean for saving him.
The bed dipped down on the other side of him and Sam turned onto his side, away from where his brother was sitting.
“I understand,” Dean said softly.
Sam didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to hear his brother’s voice at that moment but he didn’t know if he could stop him either. He opted for pretending to sleep even if they’d both know it was a lie.
“When you were sixteen, hell you probably don’t remember the moment. It wasn’t the first and it certainly wasn’t the last time you stepped between me and John but …”
Dean’s voice trailed off and Sam was torn by the need to reach out and touch his brother and the need to shut him the hell up. Dean continued before he could decide which.
“I was lying there in bed and I was all beat to hell. One eye swollen shut and about as strong as a kitten. John came into the room and I was mouthing off. I wanted him to end it so bad I could taste it.”
And Sam knew what Dean was talking about them. Knew and couldn’t stop the need to hear his brother’s confession.
“It wouldn’t have taken much. His temper was always so damn bad and he’d already beaten the hell out of me for what I did to you. He was ready and I saw it in his eyes, fists clenched, ready to step up to the plate and finally take care of me the way he should have. But there you were, calling him out of the bedroom.”
Sam had been terrified. John had beaten Dean within an inch of his life and Sam had sat by his side for five days, nursing him back to consciousness. As soon as he began to wake up though Sam had fled - at John’s insistence, not his own - leaving John to care for Dean. He’d come back to check on John when he was gone too long only to find his brother’s taunts had finally gotten under their father’s skin and he was enraged. Sam had called John away, barely able to catch his brother’s eye before he was pulled down the hall and away from Dean. He’d never understood the look in Dean’s eyes that night.
“I deserved to die that night, I wanted to, and John was finally gonna man up enough to take care of you the way he should have instead of letting his goddamn quest get in the way, but you stopped him. I never thanked you for saving my life that night and I never will. I’ll never forgive you for it either.”
Sam felt Dean stand up and he bit his bottom lip to keep the tears back.
“So you see, Sam. I do understand.”
Yeah, now they both did. That night, that look in Dean’s eyes, Sam felt it too.
For the first time, he didn’t hate the things Dean did to him or for him. He didn’t hate the way Dean made him feel or the way he responded to it. No, tonight it was something else entirely, and Dean understood perfectly. It was what Sam had seen in his big brother’s eyes all those years ago as he led John away from Dean’s broken body.
He hated his brother.
On to Part Two