Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Sam can hear thunder rolling in the distance, the dark of night becoming overwhelming as the clouds devoured the last of the moonlight. When the first drops hit heavy and cold on the back of his neck, Sam manages to let go of John and trek into town. He falls a few times, the path quickly turning into slippery mud beneath his tired feet. Stumbling into the sheriff's office completely exhausted, he's still covered in enough of his father's blood to cause an uproar. Bobby spills his coffee down the front of his shirt in his haste to get up and over to Sam. He kneels down next to him and grips his shoulders tightly, forcing Sam to look up at him.
"Sam, what the hell happened to you?" he demands. Sam can't find his voice, tries to spit it out, but can't do anything but tremble and shake his head.
"Sam!" Bobby yells, shaking him roughly. He lets his eyes roam over Sam's body, patting him down to see if he can find the source of all the blood. When he can't detect any injury, he shakes Sam again and when Sam starts crying, realisation begins to dawn. "Is it John?"
"Help," Sam manages, his throat seizing around the word.
"Show me, boy," he says, straightening and gesturing to the other deputy to follow. He stops to wrap a blanket around Sam's shoulders and Sam grips it thankfully. He turns towards the bridge as soon as they exit the building, but Bobby directs him towards his truck, opening the door and helping him into the passenger seat.
They drive as close as they can get and tackle the last stretch on foot, but it's slow going. It's still pouring down and Sam's not the only one seeming to stumble over every little thing in his path. When they reach the edge, Sam points towards his father's body where he dragged it to the foot of the bridge and collapses down onto his knees as the other two men rush past him, kicking water up into his face. He doesn't know how long he stays like that, more people and cars arriving and moving around him, summoned on Bobby's radio. Bobby comes back to him at last, gripping his shoulder and helping him up.
"My mom," he asks weakly, clutching at the blanket as it threatens to slip from his shoulders.
"Over there," Bobby answers, twisting to point behind Sam and she's there, barefoot and beautiful, staring at him with blank eyes. There are people endlessly milling around her, church cronies, come to peck at the bones of their misery like the vultures they are, but for a heartbeat the world slows and stops between them. He doesn't move, but it feels like his entire being is expanding and stretching, reaching out to her. Emotion creeps back into her expression, a fierce and despicable hate twisting her features that has Sam recoiling and shrinking back into himself.
Everything speeds up again suddenly when Ellen barrels into him, folding her arms around him and crushing him in her embrace. He wants to cry, to rest his head on her wide shoulder and let it all go, but he can't.
The funeral is on a Tuesday, early in the morning, with the birds still singing softly in the tree tops. Almost all of John's coworkers from the mill are there and they takes turns giving one or two sentence speeches. They've never been men of many words, but struggle nevertheless to express their condolences. Mary stands next to her son, but it's clear for all to see that she's not standing with him. Afterwards, they go back home. Sam locks himself in his room and Mary scrubs down the kitchen until her fingers are blistered and bleeding.
Sam sneaks out after dark, climbing through his window and taking the once familiar trail up to the cabin without the aid of a flashlight. He walks around it twice, straining in the unhelpful moonlight to see if there is any sign that Dean may have been back. Realising that it's useless, he goes inside, leaving the door open and sitting down cross legged in the middle of the floor. He waits, still and silent, irrationally hoping.
After what feels like hours, Sam gets up, takes the letter from his pack pocket, and scans the room for a place to hide it. His gaze lands on the loose floorboard, the one that Dean marked for him and scrambles over to it. With his pocket knife, Sam lightly carves a rough D into the wood next to his ragged S. He hopes it's enough for Dean to notice but not anyone else. Then he pries it up and stuffs his letter down there, covering it with debris just to be safe. He hammers it back in place with his fist, stabbing a splinter into the fleshy meat of his palm, then hesitates and almost digs it back up.
Dean's going to hate him for this.
Sam goes to the cabin every day after school for a month, checking quickly if Dean had been there and then ambling down to his usual spot on the bridge. After his father's death, he thought his mother, maybe even the sheriff, would try and stop him from coming down here again, but now they all seem strangely resigned to letting him do whatever he wants. He doesn't think they care much either way anymore.
Sometimes Jo's already waiting, swinging her legs over the edge, gathering a pile of rocks gathered next to her. She smiles up at Sam when he sits down next to her. Taking the ribbon from her hair, Jo ties it to a steel beam as the wind whips her hair out of its braid. Sometimes she reaches over and takes his hand and he lets it rest loosely in her grip, palms growing sweaty against each other as the shadows grow tall across the water. Sam walks her home, throwing her book bag over his shoulder with his. Sometimes he stays for dinner if Mary's working a late shift.
Mary finds work at the supermarket, ringing up groceries in eight hour shifts and with John's pension they manage to keep the house. Sam returns to school and loses himself in the daily routines he makes up for himself, but every day he goes back to check.
It's a cold day close to Christmas, no reason to be any different from the rest, when he finds the cabin door half torn off its hinges and he knows. The windows are smashed, a single trail of blood smeared across the surface of one ragged piece still lodged in its frame. He wipes it off with the bottom of his shirt, stands staring down at the dirty red stain and resists the urge to suck it into his mouth.
The place is a mess, but their floorboard is still firmly in its place and he pries it open with trembling fingers. Sam has to dig through the debris and he almost misses it. The paper is a thin strip torn from the bottom of his letter and printed boldly on it are three words.
I'm not sorry.
He doesn't go back to the cabin after that. Time passes, the seasons bleeding into each other, going from cold to hot and back again and at the end of each day he promises himself, one more. Make it through one more and he'll be closer to being with his brother again. Sam keeps his head down, his grades high and in the fall he starts filling out college applications and waits.
They're down at the river again when Jo corners him about prom.
"You have to go, you know," she starts. He thinks about teasing her and pretending he doesn't know what she's talking about, but he's not really in the mood.
"No, I don't," he says instead.
"Yes, you do. Missy said they can hold back your diploma if you don't go." Jo juts out her chin they way she normally does when she thinks she's right, or if she's just being stubborn.
"Load of horseshit. What're you doing talking to Missy anyway? That piece of white trash even believes her own lies." Sam punches her lightly on the shoulder, but she doesn't punch him back like always, just sits there sulking and staring out over the water.
"You really wanted to go?" he asks, feeling like an ass.
She shakes her head, but says, "Yes?", like it's a question.
"Because I'm a girl and it's an excuse to put on a pretty dress!" she huffs. "I don't know, Sam. I just, you know, always dreamed of going one day. Dean would've asked me and bought me a corsage and ... whatever, it doesn't matter." Jo blushes fiercely and gets to her feet, pushing her algebra book back into her bag.
"Hey, wait." Sam stops her with a hand on her arm. "Would it be okay if I asked you and bought you a corsage instead?"
"Only if it's lilies," she answers after a while, sitting back down. Sam grins at her sideways.
"Lilies it is."
Mary doesn't say anything when he asks for money to rent the suit and to get the flowers, leaves it for him on the kitchen counter and then grabs her Bible and goes off to church. They don't have one that really fits him, his legs have gotten too damn long for that. Jo's giddy and giggly about her dress and he rolls his eyes and mumbles very loudly under his breath about what a pain in the ass she's suddenly become.
Jo crosses her arms across her chest and pretends to get mad enough to spit, but smiles at Sam fondly when she thinks he's not looking. It's all a show and they both know it, they've been each other's only friends for too long now.
Ellen drops them off at the gym after taking a million pictures on her old Kodak. Jo clutches at his arm as he ushers her inside and will only dance with him once the slow songs start.
"I look like a chicken with it's head chopped off," she insists adamantly when he tries to persuade her otherwise.
Pretty soon, the other kids start disappearing, couples breaking off from the pack and sneaking outside. When Jo notices Sam looking at them, she blushes and he arches an eyebrow.
"You want to get out of here?" she asks, biting at her bottom lip and getting lipstick onto her teeth.
"Sure," he says, already tugging at his collar and leads her outside into the cool night air. She shivers and Sam takes off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders. Taking his hand, Jo takes their old route towards the bridge and for a moment he falters, fear gripping his heart tight.
"Jo, it's dark, maybe we should just go home," he suggests quietly.
"Please," she asks, "just for a little while?"
Sam nods and they walk the rest of the way in silence, Jo carefully lifting the hem of her dress to make sure it doesn't snag against anything. When they get to the bridge, Sam sits down at their usual spot, staring out at the moonlight reflecting off the water. Jo walks up next to him, but doesn't sit down. Sam looks up at her questioningly, but she simply holds out her hand and he lets her pull him up again.
Jo leads Sam back towards the bushes, to a blanket spread out between the roots of an old oak and letting go of his hand, lies down on it.
"Jo ..." he starts, but she cuts him off, patting the ground next to her. He sits, stiffly, pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around his knees. "What are we doing here, Jo?"
Jo slips the jacket from her shoulders, reaches back and starts undoing the zipper of her dress. Sam turns away even more, keeps his eyes firmly fixed in front of him.
"I miss him so much," Jo says, reaching out and running her hand down his back, making him shiver. Sam closes his eyes. "I thought ... for a little while, you could be him for me. They way I imagined he would be. And ... I could be him for you too."
"What?" Sam asks, his head whipping up.
"We could, you know, do it that way. If that's what you want."
"What way?" Sam finally looks at her and she twists, laying down on her stomach and looking back at him over her shoulder.
"Like this," she answers.
"You knew?" Sam can't breathe, can't believe what she's saying.
"Kinda, yeah." She reaches back for him again. "It doesn't matter."
"Jo," his voice cracks. "I can't." Sam can try and explain to her how he could never find any kind of the release with her, never be able to let go. That for him there will only ever be Dean. Instead he cups a hand against her cheek, bends down to plant a soft kiss on her forehead and says, "I'm sorry."
Sitting up, she zips her dress, shuffles until she's sitting next to him and drops her head down onto his shoulder. They listen to the frogs croak down near the water's edge, tension slowly seeping back out of the silence between them.
"We're gonna be okay, aren't we?" Jo asks softly.
Sam takes her hand and holds it tightly. "Yeah, we are." Sam sounds a lot surer than he feels.
"Walk me back?" she asks later, pulling him along as she stands. He gets up and drapes the jacket over her shoulders, folds up the blanket and stashes it against the tree trunk. Hand in hand, they walk home.
The house is dark when he gets there, even though it's not that late. Sam doesn't know whether his mom's home or not. He sneaks in quietly anyway, careful not to wake her if she happens to be asleep already. Leaving his shoes in the kitchen, he shuffles through to his room in his socks, his left big toe poking through an unraveling hole. Carefully hanging up the jacket, he unbuttons his shirt as he walks through to the bathroom. The heavy weight of his bladder is almost pleasantly painful as he flicks on the light and shuts the door.
He unzips quickly, fumbling as he frees his cock from the tight confines of his dress pants in his haste to relieve the pressure. The relief as he lets go is immense and he tiredly runs his free hand through his hair as he finishes. Sam catches sight of his torso reflecting in the bathroom mirror, sees his fingers curling around his cock from the far side. Closing his eyes, he imagines feeling the weight of his brother's body against his back, leaning into the welcome heat as he drapes himself over Sam's back, reaching round to jerk him off. He moves his hand back and forth lazily over his rapidly filling cock, feeling it grow hard as the fantasy takes hold.
"Dean," Sam breathes, feels his brother's name hitch in the back of his throat and his eyes fly open, pinning his gaze to the image in the mirror. It's easy to pretend that it's Dean's strong fingers, callused and rough, gripping him tight. The flat, broad nail of his thumb drags over the slit as he fists the head and Sam bites down sharply onto his bottom lip. He watches as more precome dribbles from the tip and is spread over his hard shaft with the next stroke. Fascinated, he can't look away, tears burning hotly in the corners of his eyes as he stares.
Sam, he hears the whisper in his ear, breath hot and wet against his neck. Here for you, Sammy.
With a strangled moan Sam's knees unhitch, pitching him down onto the cold tiles as he comes, his orgasm mercilessly ripping through him. His harsh breaths catch and draw out, turn into anguished sobs as he leans against the bowl of the soiled toilet, the smell of piss and spunk overpowering as he rests his forehead against his arm. He opens his eyes and through the tears stares at the still warm come pooled in his trembling palm. For a moment Dean's presence is so real, the realisation he isn't actually here is devastating. Pulling a wad of toilet paper from the roll and wiping his hand, Sam wonders if missing someone this much can drive a person insane.
Sam buys a calender and hides it under his bed like an adolescent would hide porn. Every night before he goes to sleep, he crosses off another day. He counts ahead, obsessively checking how many days are left until graduation. It's getting so close now.
Jo goes with him when he buys his bus ticket, double checking the money as Sam counts it out onto the counter before sliding it across. She sits on his bed when he carefully slips it into the big brown envelope containing his college papers that he keeps hidden beneath his underwear.
It's a full ride. A chance to make something of himself.
Jo's own acceptance letter got torn in half and trashed when she decided to stay, talking her mom into opening a little saloon together.
"When are you going to tell your mother?" she asks.
"I think she already knows," Sam answers.
"Yeah, well, you're going to have to start packing soon. You better talk to her before then."
"Jo," Sam starts, walking over to sit down next to her, "you know I haven't really talked to my mother since ..."
"I know," she says, placing her hand on his knee. "But do you want to leave it like that when you go?"
"I'm really going to miss you, Jo," Sam smiles at her sadly and places a hand over hers.
"Hey, sorry, Sam," she smirks, pulling her hand away. "You had your chance, remember?" Sam laughs, pulls on her braid and she swats at him, mock scowl slipping from her face as she joins in on the laughter.
That night he takes out his treasured envelope and sits waiting in the living room for his mom to get back. The crazy pattern of the carpet makes his stomach churn and his head ache. When he hears the front door open, he sits up straighter, forces his sweaty hands to relax around the paper.
"Mama?" he stops her as she walks past, heading straight for her bedroom. He hasn't called her that in a really long time.
"Sam?" she asks surprised, stopping in her tracks. "What are you doing sitting out here in the dark?"
"I have to talk to you, Mama," he answers and she walks over, sits down in the armchair across from his.
"This about you leaving for college?" she asks, eyes flicking down to his hands.
"How did you know?" he asks back, eyes wide.
She gives a dry, humourless chuckle and reaches across to ruffle his hair. "I hoped," she answers, holding out her hand for him to hand everything over.
Sam does so quickly, nervously wiping his hands on his pants afterwards. She reads in silence for a few minutes, then folds it back up and holds it in her lap. "This is wonderful, Sam. I'm very proud of you."
Her words threaten to warm his heart, but her tone is the same one he's had to get used to in recent months, completely devoid of emotion, and Sam swallows thickly.
"I'm leaving Saturday," he says, taking the envelope when she hands it back.
"You got your ticket?" she asks and Sam nods. "I've got a prayer meeting, I won't be able to see you off."
Sam nods again. It would probably have been the last time he'd see her, and he wonders if she knows.
"I'll cook us dinner Friday night," she offers.
"With apple pie for dessert?" he asks, smiling at her.
"With apple pie for dessert," she confirms. Sam gets up and bends down to kiss the top of her head before going to bed.
"Good night, Mama."
Sam doesn't sleep a wink the night before he leaves. He sits on the edge of his bed fully clothed, watching the minutes ticking by one by one. Every hour or so he gets up and checks his backpack, tugging the straps tighter and testing its weight over his shoulder.
When the alarm goes off, he hits the off button after the first shrill beep, already on his feet. Closing the door behind him, he takes a deep breath, looks around one last time. It's been a marathon journey to get to this moment and there were times he doubted it would ever come. It always felt so far off, so impossible, and now it's finally here. The first day of the rest of his life.
Sam can hear the bus's engine gunning, the scratch of the gears as it rounds the corner to where he waits. It stops in front of him, the door opening and he thinks about the ticket stuffed in the back pocket of his jeans. How he never, not even for a second, considered using it. As the bus pulls away again, the door slamming shut, Sam's already melted away against the line of trees at the top of the ridge. His breathing is fast and erratic, burning in his chest, as he makes his way through the undergrowth. It's not that far, he's made this trip a thousand times, but as he climbs, his destination seems to be getting farther and farther away.
Without warning, the trees suddenly clear around Sam and he's there, he's made it. Incredibly, Dean is there too, dressed in torn jeans and a T-shirt, his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of an old leather jacket. He leans against the hood of a sleek black car, nervously chewing on a stalk of grass. He spits it out when he catches sight of Sam though, pushes himself upright, his eyes and mouth going wide with wonder.
Sam freezes, he can't believe his eyes. Is Dean really there, only three more steps and he can touch him? What if it's just another one of his crazy fantasies, too beautiful to possibly be real? He's afraid he might lose his mind once and for all if he reaches out and the vision disappears beneath his hand.
"Sammy?" Dean asks, haltingly too, like he can't believe it either. Sam blinks and Dean's moving. One step, two, three - and he's slamming into Sam, tipping the bag from his shoulders and gripping him tight.
"Oh my God, Sammy, it's you. It's finally you," Dean chants in his ear, pressing kisses against his neck in between every other word and Sam can only stare wide eyed past him into the distance, his arms slowly coming up to wrap around Dean's middle. Dean's body against his feels exactly the same and completely different, all at once. There's a new weight to Dean, his muscles harder, the angles sharper. Maybe it's all changed, Sam worries, maybe they've grown up and apart until they no longer fit. Then Dean quiets, relaxes his hold to rub a hand up and down Sam's back and Sam sags against him. Dean has him, he's safe in his brother's arms and it's like all the time and distance between them is erased and what's left, what's still there, is their unwavering love.
Dean pulls back, takes Sam's face in his hands and darts his gaze all over, like he needs to re-learn every inch of Sam's features.
"It's me, Dean."
Dean drops his hands, runs them down Sam's arms, lifting them and continuing his inspection down to the top of Sam's feet.
"It's really me." Sam smiles.
"God, Sammy, you got tall, kid!" Dean huffs out a laugh, sounding out of breath, somewhere between excited and scared shitless.
"Dean." Sam rips his hands from Dean's grip, wrapping them around the back of Dean's skull and pulling him in to smash their lips together. They gasp into each other's mouths, too overwhelmed by emotion to co-ordinate the kiss into anything more than just being connected. Dean regains control first, kisses the corner of Sam's mouth softly, reverently and untangles himself. He takes Sam's hand and picks up the discarded backpack with the other.
"This all you brought?" he asks, leading Sam back towards the car. Sam nods and lets Dean open the passenger door and push him inside. Dean walks round to dump the bag into the trunk and then slides in behind the wheel. Sam lifts his hips, digs into the right front pocket of his jeans and holds his closed fist out to Dean.
"You got me something?" Dean asks, brows furrowing.
"No," Sam answers, opening his hand to drop Dean's amulet, still hanging from the same old leather cord, into the open palm he's cupped beneath Sam's hand. "Just returning what you left behind."
Dean stares at it for a moment, then slips it back around his neck and looks up at Sam. He reaches out, pulls Sam forward until their foreheads are touching, closing his eyes and just breathing in Sam's air. Sam watches a smile spread across his face. Dean breathes out slowly as he lets go of Sam. Sitting forward, he curls his fingers around the key stuck into the ignition and grins sideways at Sam before turning it over.
"Ready?" he asks, all teeth and twinkling eyes. Sam lets the excitement and wonder overtake him, flood through him until every trepidation and fear is washed away.
"Yeah," he answers clearly, dimples cutting into his cheeks as he grins back.
Sam wakes with a start when the car stops. It feels like they've been driving for hours, Sam finally falling asleep under the lull of the car's engine and Dean's steady breathing. He grabs at Dean and Dean catches his hands, folds them against his chest.
"Shh, it's okay, Sam. I'm just going to get us a room." Sam blinks up at the blinking neon vacancy sign of the motel and reaches for the door handle.
"I'll come with you," he offers. He's not ashamed of admitting he doesn't want to let Dean out of his sight even for an instant.
"No, you have to wait here. I don't," Dean ducks his head, almost shyly. "I don't want them looking at you like, you know ..."
"They don't know, Dean. About us. It's fine," Sam assures him.
"Sammy, please? Just wait. For me?" Dean pleads and Sam wonders how Dean knows how they're supposedly going to look at him. Has he booked into rooms at sleazy motels like this before, strange men standing behind him, their fingers hooked through his belt loops as he paid for the night? He's overcome by such blinding jealousy and rage at the thought, he almost draws back and punches Dean, but Dean's patiently looking at him, waiting for him to agree.
"Okay, Dean. Just, hurry, okay?" Dean grins at him and slips out into the dusk falling around them. Sam nervously picks at his thumbnail, shooting regular glances at the rear view mirror to follow Dean's progress as he concludes his business at the front desk. When Dean walks out, keys dangling from his fingers, Sam's already swinging out of his seat, slamming the door shut behind him. He stares hungrily at Dean, eyes devouring him as he stalks towards Sam. Dean reaches him, doesn't break stride, just grabs Sam's hand and drags him along. Sam points in the direction of the trunk, wants to protest about getting their stuff, but Dean ignores him.
Dean jams the key into the lock, struggles to get it open one handed, but doesn't let go of Sam. Sam can hear the click of the lock as it falls open at last and then he's being hauled through the door, swung around and pushed up against it, all in one smooth motion. Dean's on top of him immediately, sucking and biting at his jaw as his hands go to work on Sam's jeans, popping the button and dragging down the zipper without ceremony. Sam takes hold of Dean's shoulders and tries to duck his head to move Dean's lips onto his.
Dean breaks away and yanks at the hem of Sam's shirt, pulling it up over his head quickly. As soon as it hits the floor, he rips Sam's pants and underwear down, grunting at him to lift his feet one after the other to wrench off his shoes so he can tear them off completely. As soon as Sam steps free, Dean is up again, tipping Sam forward onto the bed.
"Need you, Sam. Been so long, nobody else ... need you so bad."
Sam catches himself on his forearms and tries to rise up onto his knees. Strong hands press down on his lower back, rough calluses scratching against the tender skin and stopping him. They force him to stay down and then slide lower to roughly rip apart the cheeks of his ass. The sound of Dean spitting hits him just before he feels the wet glob sliding down over his exposed hole. One hand leaves him and Sam can feel Dean fumbling to get his own jeans open. He wants to stop Dean, roll over and make Dean kiss him and lick him and suck him and tell him he loves him. At the same time, he can feel the mirrored urgency thrumming through him, setting him on edge until he wants to crawl out of his own skin. He needs this as much as Dean does, to let Dean take what he needs.
Sam manages to drag the pillow under him and holds on to it as he feels the head of Dean's cock at his hole and he spreads his legs more, tries to relax his muscles. A ragged scream forces itself from his throat as Dean surges forward and buries himself inside of Sam with a brutal thrust of his hips. It's too dry, too fast and it burns more than anything Sam could have imagined. He stuffs the corner of the pillow into his mouth to muffle his moans. Dean's fingers grip his hips and his ass as he plows into Sam mercilessly. Leaning forward and grunting against his skin, Dean bites at his shoulder blades, at the knobs of his spine, anything he can sink his teeth into.
Dean's pistoning hips gather even more speed, smashing into Sam as his orgasm draws nearer. He grapples to get his hands in under Sam, curling them around his shoulders and plastering his chest against Sam's back. Dean cries out and strains to bury himself as deep into Sam as he can get as he comes. Sam can feel Dean pulsing so deep inside of him, painting his insides with come and even though Dean's weight on top of him is making it hard to breathe, he never, ever wants him to move.
Dean's breathing slows and he unwraps a hand from Sam's shoulder to run it up and over Sam's head, tangling his fingers in Sam's hair. He pulls Sam's head back, mouthing at his temple, down his cheek to his ear. Sam hasn't recovered enough to respond to the tender affection and when he doesn't move, Dean stills.
"Oh my God. Sam, what have I done?" Dean whispers in his ear, gently letting go of Sam and pushing himself up. Sam can't speak, he's still biting down on the fabric between his teeth, so he just shakes his head and hopes Dean understands that it's alright. Gingerly, Dean pulls out of him and Sam is left with only a dull ache that spikes slightly when he tries to move. Dean starts licking over Sam's back, tracing every mark he made on Sam's skin with his tongue, soothing it with tender licks and kisses and murmured apologies. Gradually, Sam begins to relax under his ministrations, letting go of the pillow and turning his head to rest his cheek on it instead. The permanent marker scrawled over the dingy pink of the wallpaper tell him he's a dirty whore, but Sam is too lost in the sensation of his brother touching him to care.
Dean smooths his palms over Sam's ass, spreading Sam's cheeks again, careful and slow this time and sooths the swollen edges of his bruised hole with kitten licks and featherlight kisses. Sam can feel his brother's come leaking out of him, dribbling down his perineum, but Dean catches it, pushes it back into him with broad sweeps of his tongue. He's getting hard under Dean's ministrations and he pushes his hips into the sheets, growing desperate for any kind of friction. Dean takes hold of his hips and he stops immediately, but only to maneuver Sam around until he's laying on his back, gazing up at Dean. Rubbing his thumbs over the bruises forming on Sam's hips, Dean stares down at them, not meeting Sam's eyes.
"Dean," Sam asks, but Dean ignores him, slides back and lowers his head, breaking contact. Without Dean's hands on him, Sam feels truly naked for the first time. "Dean," Sam says again, clearer, stronger and sitting up slightly, takes hold of Dean's head, forcing him to look up at him.
"Sammy, I'm sorry." Dean is still whispering, like even his words are causing Sam further harm. Sam could tell him that it's fine, that he's fine, but he knows mere words will not convince his brother. He won't believe him and it will be ages before Dean touches him again, if ever. So Sam looks at Dean, lets him see the want, the love, everything that Dean is to him and pushes Dean's face down against his straining dick. Dean closes his eyes with a sigh and wraps a hand around the base of Sam's cock, rubbing the head over his lips, covering them with slick strings of precome until they glisten sinfully. Just when Sam thinks he'll come from the sight alone, he sucks Sam's cock into the wet heat of his mouth. Sam slams his head back against the bed, back arching and straining, fucking his hips up into Dean's face wantonly. Dean lets go with an obscene pop, pumping Sam with his fist as he looks up at him.
"Don't hold back. Give it to me, Sam." Dean's voice is raspy, his lips red and swollen and he asks for it like it's punishment, like he deserves it to pay for what he took from Sam. His eyes keep on asking and Sam gives in, slamming up into it when Dean lowers his mouth over him again. He feels his cock hit the roof of Dean's mouth and Dean relaxes his throat around him, trying to swallow him down.
"Like that, yeah." Sam's close, he can feel the strain to come tugging at his balls. "God, Dean, I'm gonna ... " he warns, but Dean's already letting him go and sitting back up over him as Sam's cock slaps wetly against his stomach.
"Not yet, Sam, got something else in mind." Sam slams his fists against the mattress in frustration, straining and cursing Dean as he rolls off the bed. Dean gets undressed, smirking at Sam when he catches Sam hungrily staring at each naked inch being exposed. Sam realises he's still wearing his socks and he wants to reach down and roll them off, but Dean's already getting back on top of him and pushes him back down again. Sam runs his hands over the smooth planes of his brother's chest and stomach, down over his hips until he's digging his nails into Dean's thighs. Dean folds one hand over Sam's, forcing Sam to grip tighter and then sucks two fingers of the other into his mouth. Sam's eyes are glued to the way Dean lets his tongue poke out between the two digits, curling around them, getting them good and wet. Sam lets go with the hand not held captive by Dean to wrap around Dean's wrist, pulls his hand down and sucks the same two fingers into his own mouth. They're warm and slippery, tasting like Dean and kind of acrid and bitter from his own precome. His eyes roll back in his head as he sucks harder.
Dean leans into him and pulls his fingers free. He seals his lips over Sam's, tongue delving deep and taking the taste for himself. When he pulls away, reluctantly breaking the kiss, he's already reaching back and Sam can hear the wet squelch as he pushes his fingers into himself. Dean's face screws up painfully and he lifts off somewhat, not used to the intrusion. Sam's heart clenches when he sees it and tries to stop him. That Dean would want do this for him is enough.
"Dean, you don't have to," he says, pulling at Dean's arm. Dean bats him away.
"I want to, Sam. Oh God," he cries, twisting himself down onto his hand as he brushes across his prostate. "I really want to."
Sam laughs, deep and throaty, then drags Dean down to kiss him again, thrusting his tongue in deep as he reaches round to slide one of his own fingers in alongside Dean's. Dean collapses on top of him, shoulders shaking as he deals with the incredible fullness stretching him wide. Sam moves his finger out and then back in again, shallowly fucking Dean with it as he feels Dean's own fingers continue to scissor inside him.
"Jesus, Dean, so fucking tight," he pants against Dean's cheek before pressing his lips to the sweat damp skin, his teeth scraping against it when Dean sits back up suddenly.
"Now Sam, need you inside me now." Dean licks his palm, takes hold of Sam's cock and Sam groans as he runs it over his aching length a few times. Rising up fully on his knees he feeds Sam's cock into his hole, slowly sinking onto it as it breaches him.
"Oh God, oh Jesus," Dean chants as Sam fills him and Sam knows this, knows the slow sweet burning ache of having someone entering you, the need for a chance to get used to being so full. He wraps a hand around Dean's limp cock resting against his thigh, jerks him off slow and steady until he can feel him getting hard under his fingers.
Sam lets go of Dean's cock, rolls them before Dean can react. Dean lifts his legs higher, spreads them wider and Sam slams in all the way, the hard slap of his balls against Dean's ass echoing loudly around the small room.
"Like that, Dean?" he asks, rolling his hips a little before pulling almost all the way out again and pounding back in.
"Yes, yes, yeah Sammy, like that, fuck me like that," Dean forces out, scrambling to take hold of Sam's ass, forcing him deeper. Sam leans down on his forearms, kissing down the side of Dean's neck and licking at his collarbone as his hips keep moving him in and out of his brother. Dean's fingers stretch wide over Sam's ass, the tips of his fingers pushing against Sam's hole, still slippery with Dean's come and spit. As Sam fucks him, he can feel Dean's fingers pushing into him, sometimes one, sometimes more. The harder he thrusts, the deeper they go and Sam moans appreciatively.
"Touch yourself," he tells Dean when he feels his orgasm drawing close again, determined to see Dean lose it with Sam's cock inside of him before he lets go.
"Don't ... need ... it," Dean breathes, arching up into him and he can feel the drag of Dean's cock between their bellies, slippery and hot. "Just ..." Sam swivels his hips on the next thrust, hitting him just right and Dean's next words dissolve into a ragged scream as he comes, cock spurting thick white come against their skins, insides clenching almost painfully around Sam. That's it for Sam, all he can take and he buries himself deep as his cock jerks and pulses, hips futility pumping as he comes and comes.
Sam tucks his arms in and rests fully on top of Dean as their breathing calms and their speeding hearts try to slow. Dean wraps his arms around Sam, holding him in place. Sam can't remember ever feeling this close or connected to Dean. The drag of Dean's arm against his sweaty back makes his breath catch in his throat all over again, but he guesses that he must be crushing Dean by now, so he tries to push up.
"So, uhm, how do I ..." he asks, blushing at having to ask his brother how to pull his dick of out his ass.
"Don't," Dean answers immediately, tightening his grip on Sam. "Just ... stay like this, for a little while. Okay?"
"I'm not too heavy?" Sam asks softly. Dean only chuckles and shakes his head a little, his hair tickling the side of Sam's face. Dean is silent for a long time and Sam can feel himself grow soft inside of him, the slightest breath threatening to slip him from the loosened sheath of Dean's body.
"I dreamt about him sometimes, you now," Dean confesses finally. Sam wants to ask if he means their father, but there's a weight to Dean's words that make him afraid to speak.
"The drifter," Dean clarifies when Sam stays silent. Sam keeps perfectly still, waiting for Dean to continue. "Reaching out to touch you, even after ... I'd wake up and be so sure that it was after you again. All I wanted to do was go back and check on you. Keep you safe."
"It's over, Dean. We're together now and nothing like that will ever get us again." Saying it out loud like that sounds childish to Sam's own ears, but he still believes it. Dean falls quiet again after that, just the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath Sam, the comfort of their limbs tangled together. Dean swallows thickly and his voice is wrecked when he speaks again.
"For a while I thought she might have been right. That what happened was punishment, for what we did. And I swore to God that I would change, that I'd never touch you again, if only he'd looked out for you. I," he hesitates, "even thought of not coming back at all. Of making you get on that bus and go have a normal life. But now here I am, fucking you up all over again. I'm sorry, Sam."
This time Sam does bear up, breaking free of Dean and looking down at him, suddenly furious.
"Don't say that!" he spits out. "Don't you ever say that. It was hard. It was fucking hell, getting through these two years, but you've got nothing to be sorry for, Dean. I want this as much as ever." Rolling off at last, pulling Dean along so they lay on their sides facing each other, their breaths warm and sour in each other's faces. "God, I still can't believe that you're really here, that I got to touch you like that."
"That was pretty awesome," Dean admits, tilting his chin up and kissing Sam softly on the corner of his mouth. "About before, I ..."
"Before was pretty awesome too," Sam cuts him off quickly.
"Sam," Dean objects, but Sam just kisses him again, licking into his mouth and biting down on his bottom lip. They kiss, lazily making out, relearning the way they fit together with lips and teeth and tongue until Sam can feel his cock start to stir again against his brother's thigh. Then Dean pulls away and sits up grinning.
"Easy there, tiger, you've pretty much worn me out here," he says leaning down to pick up his shirt and wiping them both clean as best he can. "Wanna take a shower?" he offers instead.
"Nah," Sam says, stretching lazily. "Wanna go to sleep. Have some happy dreams for a change." Dean drops the shirt and settles down behind him, wrapping an arm around Sam's middle.
"It's not going to be easy, you know." Dean's voice sounds too loud in the sudden quietness between them and Sam tenses against him. "Remember how you always wondered what the world outside of our little town was like? Well, it's much bigger and uglier and meaner than we ever imagined. People don't ... just because they don't know about us, won't make it any less dangerous."
"Did something happen to you, Dean? Where've you been all this time? Tell me." Sam implores, a fierce protectiveness over his brother exploding in his chest.
"It's not important anymore, Sam. It's over." Dean tightens his hold. "All of it."
All of it, reverberates through Sam. The lies and betrayal, the total destruction of their lives and their family, the incredible losses they've suffered. Dad. Dean hasn't said anything about his death yet, but Sam knows how he felt about the man. Eventually they're going to have to deal with the steep cost of their freedom.
Sam lies awake, listening to Dean's breathing settle and even out. The strangeness of the motel room and the foreign sounds seeping in through the thin walls keep him awake even though he knows he should be getting some sleep. Dean's right, it's not perfect and it'll never be, but he's in his brother's arms again and he knows they can make it. Together.
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