Supernatural: When It's Over
Title: When It's Over
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, background Sam/Amelia
Rating: R for some sexuality, mentions of past suicidal thoughts, past attempted underage (age not specified and it's only a kiss), and (canon, temporary) character death
Word Count: 3,839
Author’s Note: So this was supposed to be written for insmallpackages for the prompt: Fic - SPN, Sam/Dean - I CANNOT HANDLE THE S8 ANGST, AND I NEED SOMETHING TO FIX IT. But it doesn't have to be 10k+ and it shouldn't focus too much on Dean/Benny, Sam/Amelia. I just, I want conversation, I want explanation, and I want make up sex. Unfortunately I suck and missed the deadline, but I still wanted to post this before hiatus ended and lol, I suck even more. I doubt anyone is still even angsting about why Sam did or didn’t do what he did or didn't do over the summer, but whatever. At least I finished it in time to have a fic to post in April. Not beta'd. Spoilers for all aired episodes up to 8x14 with NO SPOILERS for any unaired episodes (and please don't spoil me in the comments).
Summary: Dean's got no illusions that Sam stayed for him. He knows that as soon as they've sealed Hell's gates Sam is gone. That's the thought that sends him to Sam's bed. He won't have Sam pretty soon, he can't keep Sam, he's gotta take every damn crumb he can get before Sam's gone.
It's not something Dean plans or even really thinks about. If he'd thought about it, he probably wouldn't have done it. Definitely wouldn't have done it. He's been thinking about it for most of his adult life. Figures it would happen by accident.
He's not drunk. Sam would have stopped it if he'd been drunk.
The lights are out, but there's more than enough moonlight shining in for Dean to find his way. He glances to his left and his brother's there, all cramped up in the tiny twin motel bed like always. Sam looks kinda stupid with his feet poking out like that, his hair, even shaggier than usual, spread out over the pillow. Maybe that's how she liked it. Dean tries not to think about it.
He stumbles over, feet moving like clockwork, and Dean can't stop them. Sam's not sleeping. Dean knows the sound of him when he's sleeping, just as well as he used to think he knew everything about Sam.
It makes his chest ache. A few hours ago, Dean didn't think Sam would be here right now. He could be sleeping pretty, wrapped in Amelia, free from the life and from Dean. He chose to stay.
Dean's got no illusions that Sam stayed for him. He knows that as soon as they've sealed Hell's gates Sam is gone. Maybe not back to Amelia, maybe Sam chose to let her go, but it wasn't for Dean and this isn't forever.
That's the thought that sends Dean across the room. He won't have Sam pretty soon, he can't keep Sam, he's gotta take every damn crumb he can get before Sam's gone. He's got this one damn job to convince Sam to stay and no fucking idea how to talk to him anymore. A part of Dean hopes they never stop Crowley.
"Dean?" Sam sits up when Dean crawls onto his mattress, his face worried and confused and instantly on guard. Like it wouldn't be if he'd left.
Dean grabs at that face, pulls it in with two hands and kisses Sam so hard it doesn't even feel good. It's just sloppy and forceful and desperate. Dean is so fucking desperate, so goddamn pathetic, and Sam knows. Sam's always known.
He pushes Dean away now. It doesn't hurt, Dean tells himself. Sam's been pushing him away for months, what's one more way to do it? "Go to bed, Dean."
Dean shakes his head, moves down and presses his lips to Sam's neck instead. Hides his face against Sam so Sam won't see him. Right, Dean. Great plan.
"I know," he says. He grabs onto the worn cotton of Sam's shirt and lets his nose skim over the sweat on Sam's neck. He smells like sharp bar soap and cheap aftershave and Dean wishes he could just drown in it already. "I know it's hard to live like this. You miss your girl. I get it. It's nice, having someone there. I get it, I do. I had Lisa once."
"Dean," Sam says, his voice quiet and weirdly detached. He hasn't moved an inch since breaking the kiss. "What are you doing?"
"I can't be her," he tells his brother. "I can't. But I can tide you over. We can-sometimes there's no time for finding someone, and you still wanna get off. It doesn't have to mean anything."
"Don't." Sam's voice is strong and pointed, but his hands come up, fingers getting lost in the hair on the back of Dean's head, and he presses Dean closer as Dean mouths at him again. Sam makes a wounded sound. "Dean, you know-you can't do this."
"Just pretend I'm her," Dean instructs, one hand moving down, cupping Sam's crotch through his boxers and feeling his brother start to get hard under his touch. "You don't have to go anywhere. You can stay right here and have whoever you goddamn want. Just close your eyes and I'll take care of you."
Dean slips his hand in under the elastic band, wraps his fingers firmly around his brother like he's been wishing he could do for decades. Sam gasps and gets harder, so fucking hard, his hips working up into Dean's palm.
"Dean," he groans.
"Shh," Dean says, almost laughing against Sam's skin because he's getting away with this. Sam is actually letting him get away with it. "Not me. Just pretend."
He kisses Sam, kisses the name right out of his mouth, even though he's been dying to hear Sam say his name like that for so many lifetimes he's lost count.
Sam's a fast fuck. He grinds into Dean, his breath hot and heavy, and comes on an upward twist of Dean's wrist. Dean rubs off on him, humping his brother's side as he touches Sam because that's all he's allowed. He's already crossing the one goddamn line he ever drew for himself.
He goes back to his bed with come on his hand and in his boxers and no motivation to clean himself off. He stares up at the even gray of the ceiling and listens as his brother's ragged breathing evens out.
Dean feels dirty, and he knows he's coming back for seconds as soon as the lights are out tomorrow. His fingers are salty, and he licks the taste clean off himself because it's Sam.
_______________________________________________________________
It's working out, Dean thinks. It's certainly working for him; he's getting parts of his brother that he'd told himself he wouldn't ever get. Sam is happy-happier at least. Dean doesn't doubt that he's still missing Amelia. But Dean's missing Benny, and they're both getting on. They've had some good times, tried to let go of the shit that's eating at them, even if Dean still looks at Sam while he's sitting with a book in his face and wonders how that's the same little brother that didn't care enough to come looking for him.
It doesn't matter now. They've got a home of sorts-that's something Dean couldn't offer Sam before-and that makes Sam happy. Maybe, deep down, it really does make Dean happy, too. The first night they spend in the Men of Letters' bunker is one big party: they get so hammered they forget it's weird to make out for hours on end, they fuck on each of their new beds in both of their new rooms just because the beds are there to fuck on. Then they fuck on the giant map table just because it's awesome.
And they keep right on fucking, even when they could probably go out and get someone else. Even when they're not drunk or fighting; sure, the agreement is to stick to this because it's convenient, but Dean's plans don't usually work out as well as this one has.
Every night he goes to Sam or Sam comes to him, he says "close your eyes, Sammy," and takes Sam in his mouth, or hands, or all the way inside where Dean's wanted Sam so bad it could have killed him.
Sam takes him, too. Dean tangles his fingers in his brother's hair, and it's long and thick and when Sam's head jerks back, he makes the same pained sound Dean has always imagined when he jerked off to the thought of this. Sam gagging on his dick, working his mouth like he's into it, even if he's pretending it's not Dean.
Dean never closes his eyes. He bites his bottom lip so hard it bleeds some nights just trying to keep his brother's name in. He never pretends it's anyone else, but then that's not something Sam has to know.
Now Sam comes with a grunt inside of Dean, snapping his hips a few more times before he pulls out and rolls over. Dean hears the thunk of the used condom as it hits the bottom of Sam's near-empty trashcan, and Dean's sitting up, getting ready to go back to his room. Sam turns over again, strong fingers digging into the skin on Dean's bicep so hard it might bruise, just because Sam knows he can, because he knows Dean's his big brother to hurt and he can do any goddamn thing he wants.
Stupidly enough, that makes Dean feel a little smug. He's willing to bet his soul (which isn't worth much, Dean will admit, but it's gotta be worth something) that Sam's never touched anyone else like that. Dean's the only thing that belongs completely to Sam, and there's one thing Sam's never had to doubt.
"Stay," Sam tells him, pulling him back down. Down into Sam's arms, which is a dangerous place to go for Dean, because he has enough trouble not wanting to die without giving him a perfect place to do it.
He snorts and pushes Sam away, trying to get up, but Sam holds tight, just like when he was a baby and Dean tried to ply the extra blanket away. "I'm not your girlfriend," Dean jokes. "I really don't need to cuddle."
Sam lets go immediately, and Dean feels a stupid little drop of disappointment. Then Sam shoves him and Dean thinks his brother looks furious, but Sam turns his back, giving Dean a very literal cold shoulder.
He pauses in the doorway as he's walking to his room and says, "Good night, Sam," but Sam doesn't respond. Maybe he's already asleep.
_______________________________________________________________
Sam won't talk to him the next day, either. Every time he even tries, Sam gives him the glare he usually reserves for Dean's more successful pranks-cell phone in the toaster, leaving gay porn on his laptop when Sam's gonna be using it in public, all that good shit. He just stomps around with a face on like Dean peed in his cornflakes, which Dean didn't, mostly because they don't have cornflakes in the bunker just yet.
Dean makes a mental note to buy cornflakes.
One day of this treatment from Sam and his skin is crawling from a mix of boredom and anxiousness. Sam being mad at him is a thing he can handle, but he needs to know why Sam is mad first.
Dean knocks on Sam's door at the usual time, but there's nothing but more silence until he knocks again.
"Fuck off." His brother's voice is muffled by the door, but Dean knows the grumpy tone, can pinpoint the face Sam's making and whether it means he really wants Dean gone or if he's saying that for just the opposite reason.
Dean goes ahead and pushes the door open anyway. Sam sits up. "I said fuck off."
"I'm gonna fuck something," Dean jokes, sitting down on Sam's bed. He tries to lean in for a kiss, but Sam pushes him away.
"I can't," Sam says. "I can't do this."
Dean feels a chill through his blood as if he just heard a hellhound. "What do you mean you can't? We've been doing this for like a month now, don't you think you could have mentioned you didn't want to sooner?"
"I do want to," Sam says. He looks down at his hands. "You don't want to."
He laughs. "Sam, it was my idea."
Sam shakes his head and looks back up at Dean. "You want it, but you don't want me. You were pretending. You've been pretending this whole time."
"I thought that was the deal," Dean points out.
"It was." Sam laughs coolly. "It was, and I've been fooling myself this whole time because I wanted so goddamn desperately to believe you weren't pretending. But you were. Last night, I guess I finally accepted that. You don't want me. You just want to trap me. You know I won't leave when you…" Sam reaches out and touches Dean's face. He looks sad and disappointed and not at all unlike he looks when he hates Dean, which is an expression Dean knows better than he'd like to lately. "Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you."
"Sam, that's not what I want at all," he says. "Of course I want you."
"I know I'm sick," Sam continues, as if Dean hadn't said anything. "But this is sick, too. What you're doing is fucked, and you know it."
Dean swallows hard, nods just once. "You let me."
"You've known since I was a teenager how I felt about you. You don't get to use that against me. Don't you think I've spent long enough hating myself?"
Dean shakes his head. "You got over me. I never got over you."
"You never wanted me in the first place," Sam replies, which is so wrong it actually makes Dean laugh. Sam's eyes narrow. "You think it's funny? Do you have any idea what it did to me when I kissed you and you pushed me away? Told me I was sick, now you want to pretend-"
"I said you were sick but that we could find you help, Sam. I never said I wasn't. There just wasn't any help for me. Not then, not now."
Sam grabs him and shakes him. "You're lying. You never wanted me. Just admit it. I'm stuck, okay? I don't have anywhere else to go. You don't have to torture me to keep me, you idiot, I never wanted to leave you."
Dean pushes his hands away and stands up, pacing across the room before turning to look at Sam. "If that's how it is, why did you leave? Over and over. Or, better yet, why didn't you look for me?"
Sam laughs and falls back onto his pillow. "This again."
"Yeah, this again. Fuck, Sam. I'm not the one who left you to rot in Purgatory. How am I supposed to believe you ever wanted me around when you-?"
"Where would you like me to have looked?" Sam asks.
Dean blinks a few times at how stupid the question is, but Sam sits up and throws his arms out in frustration. "Go on, Dean. Just tell me what leads I should have chased. Bobby? Bobby's dead. Castiel? Castiel might as well have been dead. Frank? Dead. Rufus? Dead. Even Grandpa Campbell, for all he was an asshole, might have been some help. But guess what? Oh, right. He's dead. The libraries had all been burnt down and all our allies who weren't dead-I couldn't find anyone. Crowley had them, and he sure as hell wasn't talking. Everyone I knew or ever cared about was dead."
"Yeah," Dean says slowly. "I'm not upset you didn’t save me. I just would like to think you at least tried."
Sam stares at Dean for a few beats and then looks away. "You say that because you've never been alone."
"I've never been alone?" Dean asks, feeling his eyebrows draw together. He barks out a laugh laced with all the venom he's been trying to pretend he doesn't feel anymore. "How many times did you leave me alone?"
"You were never really alone. You had Dad. You had Bobby. Lisa-hell, I sent you to Lisa. I wanted you to have someone. I wanted you to live your life instead of worrying about me. I really did. I didn't just say it."
"I still looked. Even when-"
Sam looks up, spreading his hands out in an imploring gesture. "You don't understand, Dean. You were dead. Again. Everyone was dead. Everyone I ever went near was dead, and I didn't have anyone to trust or look to, not even Ruby this time. Fuck, I even missed Ruby. That was my first thought, you know. My only workable idea. That I could probably get you back if I drank enough." He lets out an empty laugh. "But I knew you would hate me if I did it, so I didn't. You hate me anyway."
Dean looks down at his hands. "I don't hate you."
But Sam's off in his own world now. He draws his knees up to his chin, like he used to on stormy nights, and even the part of Dean that hates that Sam didn't look for him feels guilty. "Do you know why I hit that dog, Dean?"
Dean rolls his eyes. "I don't care why you hit the dog."
Sam starts talking with a glazed expression, like he's somewhere far away and can't hear Dean's responses at all. "I was driving fast. And I wasn't looking at the road. I was looking…" He chokes on something he's trying to say and lifts his head, meeting Dean's eyes. "I was looking for a bridge to drive off. Does that make you hate me less for it? If you know I was gonna take the stupid car down with me, does that make you glad I stopped instead?"
Dean wipes a hand over his mouth and reaches out, pressing his hand to Sam's cheek. "I didn't know, Sammy. You don't have to talk about it."
"No," Sam says. "You wanted to know why I didn't look for you, right? Well, now you have to listen to it. I didn't want to live, Dean. What reason did I have to live anymore? I'd lost you-again-and you weren't coming back this time, and I didn't know how to even begin to try and save you. So, yeah, I wanted to be dead, too. And then I hit this dog. I killed another thing. It was like, of course I hit the dog, right? I kill everyone I come into contact with except my goddamn self."
"But you didn't kill the dog," Dean reminds him.
Sam gives him a weak smile. "That's the point. I didn't-she saved him, and she saved me, too. She proved that it wasn't just me, that I wasn't the one destroying everything. Because he didn't die. You're crazy if you think I didn't miss you, but I thought you'd rather I live and try to be happy with her than overturn your car in some ditch and die alone."
"Fuck, Sam. Of course I'd rather-"
"Really?" Sam asks. "Because you never seemed to care why I didn't look. You never asked if I had a choice. I didn't. I would have killed myself eventually if I hadn't found her. You would have come back to nothing."
"You didn't tell me."
Sam stretches his legs out again, looking less like an injured child and more like a really annoyed adult. "I guess I wanted to believe you'd trust my judgment. That you had lost me enough times to know how hard it is to deal with that, and you'd just be glad I did deal."
"I am glad," Dean replies. "Sam, I'm sorry I-"
"I never loved her more than you. It wasn't even really about her. I mean, she was great, but she could have been anyone who didn't die the moment I looked at them." Sam shrugs. "We both needed someone to keep going for. That's all it was."
"Then why do you want to go back so bad?"
Sam's eyes move quickly over Dean's face, and he smiles dimly. "I want to stop hunting. Even if it means leaving you, I want out. Because I can't watch you die again. Or go through every day worried it'll be another one I let you down and go to sleep alone. I'd rather be off living some normal life, missing you so much I can hardly breathe and worrying you're dead, than have to watch you die and know for sure. I can't anymore. Do you have any idea how many times I have? Because I sure don't. I stopped counting centuries ago, but I am never going to do it again. There won't be a dog before the bridge next time, and I do want to keep living."
Dean frowns, not sure what to say to that, so he leans in and presses his lips to Sam's instead. Sam's mouth opens on a sob, and Dean takes advantage of it, cupping his brother's face and deepening it. But then Sam turns his face away. "But tell me you want me, Dean. Make me believe it, and I won't have a choice. I'll stay. So please don't kiss me anymore if you're pretending I'm someone else."
"I mean it," Dean promises, kissing Sam again. "I haven't been thinking of anyone but you. I thought-I thought you only wanted her. I thought the best I could do was give you a way to pretend. I've wanted you since before you kissed me all those years ago, Sam. I didn't want to take advantage of you-I'm not gonna do it now."
"I want to live," Sam whispers. "And I want you. And I want you to want to live. More than anything, I need you to understand how important that is to me. If I'm gonna stay with you. If we're gonna keep hunting. You can't keep dragging yourself through jobs hoping something will go south and it'll be your last. I need to know you want to win. There has to be a chance for us to come out the other end, Dean. Promise me that and I won't ever think of quitting, but if you're going to keep trying to find some cause to go down for, I will leave even if you hate me for it. Because I am done burying people I love. It's all I've done since I was six months old."
"We have to finish this job," Dean says. "Shut down Hell. That's-we have to do that."
Sam nods. "I know. Kevin is counting on us, and I owe him big time."
"And then…" Dean shrugs.
"Then what?" Sam presses.
"Who knows?" Dean replies, looking around Sam's room, thinking there's no point in having a place of their own if they're not gonna spend any time in it. "Let's talk about it after. Can we just agree to talk about it after? We don't have to keep going forever. And I-I can find something better than hunting to live for." He leans in, kissing Sam again. Briefly this time, softly. Trying to figure out what that something else might feel like. "But I'm not ready to stop yet."
"It doesn't have to be either or," Sam answers. "I just want to know we're saving a world we aren't already as good as dead in. I need to be able to believe there's a reward for what we do, what we've been doing. Here, on Earth, not in Heaven. I want to rest eventually, and I don't mean in an early grave."
"Marcia, Marcia, Marcia," Dean replies, grinning as he pushes his brother down into the mattress. "What about my needs?"
Sam smiles warmly, his hands wrapping around Dean and digging into the meat of his ass. "I think I can figure out some ways to take care of those," he promises, lips pouring words low and dark with intent right against Dean's neck. "If you really want me to."
Yeah, Dean really does.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, background Sam/Amelia
Rating: R for some sexuality, mentions of past suicidal thoughts, past attempted underage (age not specified and it's only a kiss), and (canon, temporary) character death
Word Count: 3,839
Author’s Note: So this was supposed to be written for insmallpackages for the prompt: Fic - SPN, Sam/Dean - I CANNOT HANDLE THE S8 ANGST, AND I NEED SOMETHING TO FIX IT. But it doesn't have to be 10k+ and it shouldn't focus too much on Dean/Benny, Sam/Amelia. I just, I want conversation, I want explanation, and I want make up sex. Unfortunately I suck and missed the deadline, but I still wanted to post this before hiatus ended and lol, I suck even more. I doubt anyone is still even angsting about why Sam did or didn’t do what he did or didn't do over the summer, but whatever. At least I finished it in time to have a fic to post in April. Not beta'd. Spoilers for all aired episodes up to 8x14 with NO SPOILERS for any unaired episodes (and please don't spoil me in the comments).
Summary: Dean's got no illusions that Sam stayed for him. He knows that as soon as they've sealed Hell's gates Sam is gone. That's the thought that sends him to Sam's bed. He won't have Sam pretty soon, he can't keep Sam, he's gotta take every damn crumb he can get before Sam's gone.
It's not something Dean plans or even really thinks about. If he'd thought about it, he probably wouldn't have done it. Definitely wouldn't have done it. He's been thinking about it for most of his adult life. Figures it would happen by accident.
He's not drunk. Sam would have stopped it if he'd been drunk.
The lights are out, but there's more than enough moonlight shining in for Dean to find his way. He glances to his left and his brother's there, all cramped up in the tiny twin motel bed like always. Sam looks kinda stupid with his feet poking out like that, his hair, even shaggier than usual, spread out over the pillow. Maybe that's how she liked it. Dean tries not to think about it.
He stumbles over, feet moving like clockwork, and Dean can't stop them. Sam's not sleeping. Dean knows the sound of him when he's sleeping, just as well as he used to think he knew everything about Sam.
It makes his chest ache. A few hours ago, Dean didn't think Sam would be here right now. He could be sleeping pretty, wrapped in Amelia, free from the life and from Dean. He chose to stay.
Dean's got no illusions that Sam stayed for him. He knows that as soon as they've sealed Hell's gates Sam is gone. Maybe not back to Amelia, maybe Sam chose to let her go, but it wasn't for Dean and this isn't forever.
That's the thought that sends Dean across the room. He won't have Sam pretty soon, he can't keep Sam, he's gotta take every damn crumb he can get before Sam's gone. He's got this one damn job to convince Sam to stay and no fucking idea how to talk to him anymore. A part of Dean hopes they never stop Crowley.
"Dean?" Sam sits up when Dean crawls onto his mattress, his face worried and confused and instantly on guard. Like it wouldn't be if he'd left.
Dean grabs at that face, pulls it in with two hands and kisses Sam so hard it doesn't even feel good. It's just sloppy and forceful and desperate. Dean is so fucking desperate, so goddamn pathetic, and Sam knows. Sam's always known.
He pushes Dean away now. It doesn't hurt, Dean tells himself. Sam's been pushing him away for months, what's one more way to do it? "Go to bed, Dean."
Dean shakes his head, moves down and presses his lips to Sam's neck instead. Hides his face against Sam so Sam won't see him. Right, Dean. Great plan.
"I know," he says. He grabs onto the worn cotton of Sam's shirt and lets his nose skim over the sweat on Sam's neck. He smells like sharp bar soap and cheap aftershave and Dean wishes he could just drown in it already. "I know it's hard to live like this. You miss your girl. I get it. It's nice, having someone there. I get it, I do. I had Lisa once."
"Dean," Sam says, his voice quiet and weirdly detached. He hasn't moved an inch since breaking the kiss. "What are you doing?"
"I can't be her," he tells his brother. "I can't. But I can tide you over. We can-sometimes there's no time for finding someone, and you still wanna get off. It doesn't have to mean anything."
"Don't." Sam's voice is strong and pointed, but his hands come up, fingers getting lost in the hair on the back of Dean's head, and he presses Dean closer as Dean mouths at him again. Sam makes a wounded sound. "Dean, you know-you can't do this."
"Just pretend I'm her," Dean instructs, one hand moving down, cupping Sam's crotch through his boxers and feeling his brother start to get hard under his touch. "You don't have to go anywhere. You can stay right here and have whoever you goddamn want. Just close your eyes and I'll take care of you."
Dean slips his hand in under the elastic band, wraps his fingers firmly around his brother like he's been wishing he could do for decades. Sam gasps and gets harder, so fucking hard, his hips working up into Dean's palm.
"Dean," he groans.
"Shh," Dean says, almost laughing against Sam's skin because he's getting away with this. Sam is actually letting him get away with it. "Not me. Just pretend."
He kisses Sam, kisses the name right out of his mouth, even though he's been dying to hear Sam say his name like that for so many lifetimes he's lost count.
Sam's a fast fuck. He grinds into Dean, his breath hot and heavy, and comes on an upward twist of Dean's wrist. Dean rubs off on him, humping his brother's side as he touches Sam because that's all he's allowed. He's already crossing the one goddamn line he ever drew for himself.
He goes back to his bed with come on his hand and in his boxers and no motivation to clean himself off. He stares up at the even gray of the ceiling and listens as his brother's ragged breathing evens out.
Dean feels dirty, and he knows he's coming back for seconds as soon as the lights are out tomorrow. His fingers are salty, and he licks the taste clean off himself because it's Sam.
_______________________________________________________________
It's working out, Dean thinks. It's certainly working for him; he's getting parts of his brother that he'd told himself he wouldn't ever get. Sam is happy-happier at least. Dean doesn't doubt that he's still missing Amelia. But Dean's missing Benny, and they're both getting on. They've had some good times, tried to let go of the shit that's eating at them, even if Dean still looks at Sam while he's sitting with a book in his face and wonders how that's the same little brother that didn't care enough to come looking for him.
It doesn't matter now. They've got a home of sorts-that's something Dean couldn't offer Sam before-and that makes Sam happy. Maybe, deep down, it really does make Dean happy, too. The first night they spend in the Men of Letters' bunker is one big party: they get so hammered they forget it's weird to make out for hours on end, they fuck on each of their new beds in both of their new rooms just because the beds are there to fuck on. Then they fuck on the giant map table just because it's awesome.
And they keep right on fucking, even when they could probably go out and get someone else. Even when they're not drunk or fighting; sure, the agreement is to stick to this because it's convenient, but Dean's plans don't usually work out as well as this one has.
Every night he goes to Sam or Sam comes to him, he says "close your eyes, Sammy," and takes Sam in his mouth, or hands, or all the way inside where Dean's wanted Sam so bad it could have killed him.
Sam takes him, too. Dean tangles his fingers in his brother's hair, and it's long and thick and when Sam's head jerks back, he makes the same pained sound Dean has always imagined when he jerked off to the thought of this. Sam gagging on his dick, working his mouth like he's into it, even if he's pretending it's not Dean.
Dean never closes his eyes. He bites his bottom lip so hard it bleeds some nights just trying to keep his brother's name in. He never pretends it's anyone else, but then that's not something Sam has to know.
Now Sam comes with a grunt inside of Dean, snapping his hips a few more times before he pulls out and rolls over. Dean hears the thunk of the used condom as it hits the bottom of Sam's near-empty trashcan, and Dean's sitting up, getting ready to go back to his room. Sam turns over again, strong fingers digging into the skin on Dean's bicep so hard it might bruise, just because Sam knows he can, because he knows Dean's his big brother to hurt and he can do any goddamn thing he wants.
Stupidly enough, that makes Dean feel a little smug. He's willing to bet his soul (which isn't worth much, Dean will admit, but it's gotta be worth something) that Sam's never touched anyone else like that. Dean's the only thing that belongs completely to Sam, and there's one thing Sam's never had to doubt.
"Stay," Sam tells him, pulling him back down. Down into Sam's arms, which is a dangerous place to go for Dean, because he has enough trouble not wanting to die without giving him a perfect place to do it.
He snorts and pushes Sam away, trying to get up, but Sam holds tight, just like when he was a baby and Dean tried to ply the extra blanket away. "I'm not your girlfriend," Dean jokes. "I really don't need to cuddle."
Sam lets go immediately, and Dean feels a stupid little drop of disappointment. Then Sam shoves him and Dean thinks his brother looks furious, but Sam turns his back, giving Dean a very literal cold shoulder.
He pauses in the doorway as he's walking to his room and says, "Good night, Sam," but Sam doesn't respond. Maybe he's already asleep.
_______________________________________________________________
Sam won't talk to him the next day, either. Every time he even tries, Sam gives him the glare he usually reserves for Dean's more successful pranks-cell phone in the toaster, leaving gay porn on his laptop when Sam's gonna be using it in public, all that good shit. He just stomps around with a face on like Dean peed in his cornflakes, which Dean didn't, mostly because they don't have cornflakes in the bunker just yet.
Dean makes a mental note to buy cornflakes.
One day of this treatment from Sam and his skin is crawling from a mix of boredom and anxiousness. Sam being mad at him is a thing he can handle, but he needs to know why Sam is mad first.
Dean knocks on Sam's door at the usual time, but there's nothing but more silence until he knocks again.
"Fuck off." His brother's voice is muffled by the door, but Dean knows the grumpy tone, can pinpoint the face Sam's making and whether it means he really wants Dean gone or if he's saying that for just the opposite reason.
Dean goes ahead and pushes the door open anyway. Sam sits up. "I said fuck off."
"I'm gonna fuck something," Dean jokes, sitting down on Sam's bed. He tries to lean in for a kiss, but Sam pushes him away.
"I can't," Sam says. "I can't do this."
Dean feels a chill through his blood as if he just heard a hellhound. "What do you mean you can't? We've been doing this for like a month now, don't you think you could have mentioned you didn't want to sooner?"
"I do want to," Sam says. He looks down at his hands. "You don't want to."
He laughs. "Sam, it was my idea."
Sam shakes his head and looks back up at Dean. "You want it, but you don't want me. You were pretending. You've been pretending this whole time."
"I thought that was the deal," Dean points out.
"It was." Sam laughs coolly. "It was, and I've been fooling myself this whole time because I wanted so goddamn desperately to believe you weren't pretending. But you were. Last night, I guess I finally accepted that. You don't want me. You just want to trap me. You know I won't leave when you…" Sam reaches out and touches Dean's face. He looks sad and disappointed and not at all unlike he looks when he hates Dean, which is an expression Dean knows better than he'd like to lately. "Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you."
"Sam, that's not what I want at all," he says. "Of course I want you."
"I know I'm sick," Sam continues, as if Dean hadn't said anything. "But this is sick, too. What you're doing is fucked, and you know it."
Dean swallows hard, nods just once. "You let me."
"You've known since I was a teenager how I felt about you. You don't get to use that against me. Don't you think I've spent long enough hating myself?"
Dean shakes his head. "You got over me. I never got over you."
"You never wanted me in the first place," Sam replies, which is so wrong it actually makes Dean laugh. Sam's eyes narrow. "You think it's funny? Do you have any idea what it did to me when I kissed you and you pushed me away? Told me I was sick, now you want to pretend-"
"I said you were sick but that we could find you help, Sam. I never said I wasn't. There just wasn't any help for me. Not then, not now."
Sam grabs him and shakes him. "You're lying. You never wanted me. Just admit it. I'm stuck, okay? I don't have anywhere else to go. You don't have to torture me to keep me, you idiot, I never wanted to leave you."
Dean pushes his hands away and stands up, pacing across the room before turning to look at Sam. "If that's how it is, why did you leave? Over and over. Or, better yet, why didn't you look for me?"
Sam laughs and falls back onto his pillow. "This again."
"Yeah, this again. Fuck, Sam. I'm not the one who left you to rot in Purgatory. How am I supposed to believe you ever wanted me around when you-?"
"Where would you like me to have looked?" Sam asks.
Dean blinks a few times at how stupid the question is, but Sam sits up and throws his arms out in frustration. "Go on, Dean. Just tell me what leads I should have chased. Bobby? Bobby's dead. Castiel? Castiel might as well have been dead. Frank? Dead. Rufus? Dead. Even Grandpa Campbell, for all he was an asshole, might have been some help. But guess what? Oh, right. He's dead. The libraries had all been burnt down and all our allies who weren't dead-I couldn't find anyone. Crowley had them, and he sure as hell wasn't talking. Everyone I knew or ever cared about was dead."
"Yeah," Dean says slowly. "I'm not upset you didn’t save me. I just would like to think you at least tried."
Sam stares at Dean for a few beats and then looks away. "You say that because you've never been alone."
"I've never been alone?" Dean asks, feeling his eyebrows draw together. He barks out a laugh laced with all the venom he's been trying to pretend he doesn't feel anymore. "How many times did you leave me alone?"
"You were never really alone. You had Dad. You had Bobby. Lisa-hell, I sent you to Lisa. I wanted you to have someone. I wanted you to live your life instead of worrying about me. I really did. I didn't just say it."
"I still looked. Even when-"
Sam looks up, spreading his hands out in an imploring gesture. "You don't understand, Dean. You were dead. Again. Everyone was dead. Everyone I ever went near was dead, and I didn't have anyone to trust or look to, not even Ruby this time. Fuck, I even missed Ruby. That was my first thought, you know. My only workable idea. That I could probably get you back if I drank enough." He lets out an empty laugh. "But I knew you would hate me if I did it, so I didn't. You hate me anyway."
Dean looks down at his hands. "I don't hate you."
But Sam's off in his own world now. He draws his knees up to his chin, like he used to on stormy nights, and even the part of Dean that hates that Sam didn't look for him feels guilty. "Do you know why I hit that dog, Dean?"
Dean rolls his eyes. "I don't care why you hit the dog."
Sam starts talking with a glazed expression, like he's somewhere far away and can't hear Dean's responses at all. "I was driving fast. And I wasn't looking at the road. I was looking…" He chokes on something he's trying to say and lifts his head, meeting Dean's eyes. "I was looking for a bridge to drive off. Does that make you hate me less for it? If you know I was gonna take the stupid car down with me, does that make you glad I stopped instead?"
Dean wipes a hand over his mouth and reaches out, pressing his hand to Sam's cheek. "I didn't know, Sammy. You don't have to talk about it."
"No," Sam says. "You wanted to know why I didn't look for you, right? Well, now you have to listen to it. I didn't want to live, Dean. What reason did I have to live anymore? I'd lost you-again-and you weren't coming back this time, and I didn't know how to even begin to try and save you. So, yeah, I wanted to be dead, too. And then I hit this dog. I killed another thing. It was like, of course I hit the dog, right? I kill everyone I come into contact with except my goddamn self."
"But you didn't kill the dog," Dean reminds him.
Sam gives him a weak smile. "That's the point. I didn't-she saved him, and she saved me, too. She proved that it wasn't just me, that I wasn't the one destroying everything. Because he didn't die. You're crazy if you think I didn't miss you, but I thought you'd rather I live and try to be happy with her than overturn your car in some ditch and die alone."
"Fuck, Sam. Of course I'd rather-"
"Really?" Sam asks. "Because you never seemed to care why I didn't look. You never asked if I had a choice. I didn't. I would have killed myself eventually if I hadn't found her. You would have come back to nothing."
"You didn't tell me."
Sam stretches his legs out again, looking less like an injured child and more like a really annoyed adult. "I guess I wanted to believe you'd trust my judgment. That you had lost me enough times to know how hard it is to deal with that, and you'd just be glad I did deal."
"I am glad," Dean replies. "Sam, I'm sorry I-"
"I never loved her more than you. It wasn't even really about her. I mean, she was great, but she could have been anyone who didn't die the moment I looked at them." Sam shrugs. "We both needed someone to keep going for. That's all it was."
"Then why do you want to go back so bad?"
Sam's eyes move quickly over Dean's face, and he smiles dimly. "I want to stop hunting. Even if it means leaving you, I want out. Because I can't watch you die again. Or go through every day worried it'll be another one I let you down and go to sleep alone. I'd rather be off living some normal life, missing you so much I can hardly breathe and worrying you're dead, than have to watch you die and know for sure. I can't anymore. Do you have any idea how many times I have? Because I sure don't. I stopped counting centuries ago, but I am never going to do it again. There won't be a dog before the bridge next time, and I do want to keep living."
Dean frowns, not sure what to say to that, so he leans in and presses his lips to Sam's instead. Sam's mouth opens on a sob, and Dean takes advantage of it, cupping his brother's face and deepening it. But then Sam turns his face away. "But tell me you want me, Dean. Make me believe it, and I won't have a choice. I'll stay. So please don't kiss me anymore if you're pretending I'm someone else."
"I mean it," Dean promises, kissing Sam again. "I haven't been thinking of anyone but you. I thought-I thought you only wanted her. I thought the best I could do was give you a way to pretend. I've wanted you since before you kissed me all those years ago, Sam. I didn't want to take advantage of you-I'm not gonna do it now."
"I want to live," Sam whispers. "And I want you. And I want you to want to live. More than anything, I need you to understand how important that is to me. If I'm gonna stay with you. If we're gonna keep hunting. You can't keep dragging yourself through jobs hoping something will go south and it'll be your last. I need to know you want to win. There has to be a chance for us to come out the other end, Dean. Promise me that and I won't ever think of quitting, but if you're going to keep trying to find some cause to go down for, I will leave even if you hate me for it. Because I am done burying people I love. It's all I've done since I was six months old."
"We have to finish this job," Dean says. "Shut down Hell. That's-we have to do that."
Sam nods. "I know. Kevin is counting on us, and I owe him big time."
"And then…" Dean shrugs.
"Then what?" Sam presses.
"Who knows?" Dean replies, looking around Sam's room, thinking there's no point in having a place of their own if they're not gonna spend any time in it. "Let's talk about it after. Can we just agree to talk about it after? We don't have to keep going forever. And I-I can find something better than hunting to live for." He leans in, kissing Sam again. Briefly this time, softly. Trying to figure out what that something else might feel like. "But I'm not ready to stop yet."
"It doesn't have to be either or," Sam answers. "I just want to know we're saving a world we aren't already as good as dead in. I need to be able to believe there's a reward for what we do, what we've been doing. Here, on Earth, not in Heaven. I want to rest eventually, and I don't mean in an early grave."
"Marcia, Marcia, Marcia," Dean replies, grinning as he pushes his brother down into the mattress. "What about my needs?"
Sam smiles warmly, his hands wrapping around Dean and digging into the meat of his ass. "I think I can figure out some ways to take care of those," he promises, lips pouring words low and dark with intent right against Dean's neck. "If you really want me to."
Yeah, Dean really does.