Hold On Until Dawn Chapter 8

[jcrgirl]

Title: Hold On Until Dawn   Chapter 8
Author: Insertcode11 with jcrgirl and imogen_lily
Banner: imogen_lily
Pairing: Dean/Sam, OMC/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Beta: glimmerella
Word Count: ~5200
Warnings: Overall: Wincest, AU, bondage, non-con (not the boys), abuse, weecest (Sam is 16) in parts
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: AU after the events of Devil's Trap (1x22). The Winchesters have unfinished business in the town of Pike Creek, Delaware. Will Dean find, just as Sam did when he was sixteen, that the supernatural isn’t the only horrifying things that stir in the coldest hours just before the dawn.

A/N & WARNING: Now, back to the story. Another co-written chapter, but with a little more of my influence so the writing will be different from previous parts. Much love as always to my beautiful beta glimmerella and my partner in literary crime imogen_lily. As always comments are love.



“So the sheriff was investigating the deaths of Ms. Hill and Peter Blackman even though the cases had been officially closed?” Sam flipped through the pages on Peter Blackman’s police file.

“Looks like. The others were filed away, but those two were rubberbanded together in the top drawer of his desk.” Dean was reading through Sam’s notes from his interview with Josh. Two names were circled with arrows drawn off to the margin and a question mark. “This Megan and Greg? Those the two kids you were going to talk to about Peter’s death?”

“Yeah,” Sam propped his elbows on the table and knuckled his tired eyes. “The girlfriend and the teammate. I’ve got appointments set up with them tomorrow.” He pulled a pad of paper closer and tore the top sheet off. “I copied down the addresses for the high school victims. You think you could swing by there during your rounds, sheriff?”

“Yeah, no problem.” Dean leaned back, legs extending under the table and bracketing Sam’s. Sam startled, tucking his feet back under his chair, and Dean shot him a curious look.

Sam shuffled the police files, frowning. One, two, three, four, five. Spreading them out over the tabletop, he counted again. One, two, three, four, five. He crossed checked the names on the tabs with his list of victims. “Where’s the file on Sheriff Jones?”

“Deputy Dan has it,” Dean answered, face twisting into a sneer, “I’ve asked for it four times and he keeps conveniently forgetting to bring it to me.” The sneer morphed into a hard smirk. “I bet if you wore those tight jeans again and shook your ass, he’d hand it over after he finished creaming his pants.”

Lifting his mug of coffee to his lips, Sam murmured before taking a sip. “You know, that shade of jealous green clashes with your eyes.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam replied automatically, frowning at the list of victim names. “Hey, when you check in with dad tomorrow, ask him if he could scan or fax over his journal notes on the last time we were here.” At Dean’s raised eyebrows, he amended, “Ask if Ash can scan or fax them over.”

“Sure.” Dean leaned back in his chair and scrubbed a hand down his face, “You thinking we missed something?” That thought more than anything else had been bothering Dean since Cas showed up in their hotel room in Mississippi. His eyes raked over the manila files, names of the dead typed in small, uniform letters along the edge of each one. If they’d missed something all those years ago then the deaths of each of these people was their fault.

“I don’t know, Dean,” he looked at the column of names again this time taking in the cause of death, “but something’s not adding up.”

****

Dean turned off the overhead light and slid between the sheets, Sam’s long arms enveloping him before he had a chance to pull the comforter over them. The younger Winchester had been distant all night, skittish and unsure. The episode at the table had been only one of many flinches and withdrawals Dean had noticed. It was a complete turnaround from the insatiable sexual appetite Dean’d found himself the happy recipient of since their arrival. Now, Sam was pressed tightly against his side like he was trying to bury himself in Dean’s essence. Long fingers dug into his flesh as Sam held Dean in a desperate grip. The whole evening was oddly reminiscent of the weeks following Jessica’s death when Sam had been consumed by grief and guilt.

Dean wrapped strong arms around his little brother, running a soothing hand through brown curls. Remembering the conversation with Castiel two nights ago, he took a deep breath. “What’s wrong, Sammy?” He spoke the words into Sam’s hair. “You didn’t eat much, so I know something’s bothering you.”

Sam tensed in his arms and Dean felt a little guilty for pushing. The silence stretched until Dean was convinced that Sam wouldn’t answer. “I don’t like being here,” Sam whispered, quietly. At least it wasn’t a lie.

Dean waited for him to elaborate and after a few minutes his patience was rewarded.

“We never hit the same town twice. The only reason we would is because we left unfinished business behind. I don’t like the idea that because we screwed up those people, those kids, died.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but it was part of the problem.

Dean continued combing his fingers through Sam’s hair, playing with the ends when he reached them before making another pass. Sam’s words mirrored his own thoughts from earlier. “I know, Sammy.” He pressed a kiss to his brother’s forehead. “We’ll figure it out.”

Dean’s skin erupted in goose bumps as Sam’s resigned sigh ghosted across his chest at the placating words. He reached down and tilted the younger man’s chin up. Hooded hazel eyes regarded him with an unreadable look. Their lips met in a lazy slide of flesh, unhurried and tender. When they parted Dean dozed before waking up and kissing Sam again, reassuring himself that Sam was here and okay. Smiling sleepily, Sam petted across Dean’s chest comfortingly and burrowed his head into the crook of Dean’s neck.

“Love, S’my.” Dean murmured before falling into snores.

Sam gripped Dean harder, “Love you too, Dean.”

***

Dean’s second visit of the day was to Peter and Michael Blackman’s house. Mrs. Blackman answered the door, her face pale and drawn. Red-rimmed eyes, underscored by dark smudges, spoke of a woman grieving heavily over the deaths of her sons.

“I’m Dean Winchester, the new sheriff.”

She sniffed and nodded, dabbing her nose with the tissue clasped tightly in her right hand. “Yeah, I heard. Small town.” She tried to smile but Dean winced when it failed. “Tracy Blackman. Is there something I can do for you?”

Dean tried to put on a charming, innocent face. “I was going through the late sheriff’s files-things he was working on right before he passed-and your sons’ files were among them. I wanted to verify the findings on these cases to make sure that everything was completed properly before they were officially closed. I’d hate for something to fall through the cracks during the transition.”

She gave him a strange look, opening the door wider for him to enter. “Yeah, come in. Uhm, I don’t like going up there,” she whispered, pointing in the direction of the stairs, “but you’re welcome to look around. Peter was the second door on the right and Michael was across the hall.”

“Thank you. I’ll just take a look around and be out of here.”

Mrs. Blackman nodded and wandered away, her eyes vacant. Dean frowned worriedly before climbing the stairs.

Dean looked over Peter’s room, eyes tripping over the dark stain on the floor where carpet shampoo couldn’t remove the mortal sin. Pennants were pinned to the white walls interspersed with posters for popular rock bands and professional sports teams. A shelf over a small student desk was lined with medals and basketball trophies and his letterman jacket hung forlornly over the back of the arrowback chair. Typical teenager room. Three pictures were perched on the dresser. Dean recognized Peter from the pictures Sam had printed from the school’s website of the victims. In one he had his arms around a petite girl, her body leaning back against him, as they sat on the front steps of this house. The next was of him and Michael, arms slung companionably over each other’s shoulders. The last was a group shot of the basketball team and Dean smiled at the familiar face of Nathan Schneider in the back row next to Peter. He plucked the photos from the frames and slid them into the inner pocket of his jacket. He glanced around once more, running a perfunctory EMF scan and pocketing a few more items, before he crossed the hall to Michael’s room.

Michael’s room was a contrast to Peter’s, the décor displaying the brother’s varying tastes. Where Peter’s room was heavily sports themed, Michael’s was more academic. A poster of the Periodic Table spanned one wall while another of famous literary quotes was tacked on the adjoining wall. Layers of ribbons - math league, science club, debate team - hung above the head of the bed. Michael’s desk was set up similar to Peter’s, the shelf above laden with classic novels.

This is what Sam’s room might have looked like, if he’d ever had one.

Sliding his hand between the mattress and boxspring, his fingers ran across a smooth hardness. The book was bound in red leather with the initials MHB embossed in gold in the lower right corner. He thumbed through the pages, a neat cursive script filling each lined page from top to bottom. Stashing the journal in his pocket with his other treasures, he did a quick EMF check and scanned the area for missed clues then quietly exited.

The upstairs banister overlooked the foyer, the tiled floor glowing in the sunlight filtering in from the sidelights flanking the front door. He tilted his head up to the high-vaulted ceiling, examining the chandelier and thick-beamed rafters that ran wall to wall. His fingers tightened over the oak railing, brow furrowing at the odd texture. Looking down, he noticed scratches and scuffs marring the otherwise pristine wood. Castiel had thought the hanging death was paranormal, the height of the ceiling too great for a mortal suicide. Gauging the distance from where he stood, Dean had his doubts. He could see how a rope could easily be tossed over one of the rafters from this landing. He pulled his phone from his pocket and took a picture of the ceiling from the landing then one from the foyer.

He found Mrs. Blackman in the kitchen staring blankly out the window, a steaming mug cradled between her pale hands. He pulled the items he’d found in the boys’ rooms, excluding the journal, from his pocket and set them on the counter.

“Mrs. Blackman,” he spoke softly to alert her to his presence, “do you mind if I take these back to the station with me?”

She shrugged. “I, uh,” her forehead creased and she blinked hard, “I don’t care as long as we get them back. We will get them back, right?” Her finger traced the image of her sons in the picture from Peter’s room.

“Of course, ma’am.” Dean would make sure these things found their way back to this woman.

“Thank you.” Shaking herself Mrs. Blackman dug in the cabinet under the sink retrieving a tub of Lysol wipes. Tugging one from the container, she wiped down the already gleaming counter.

Gathering the items, Dean tucked them back in his jacket. “I think I have everything I need. I appreciate you letting me look around, Mrs. Blackman. Like I said, I just want to make sure every angle has been explored before the cases were closed.”

“It was nice meeting you, Sheriff Winchester.”

“You too, Mrs. Blackman,” he responded, seeing himself to the door.

Back in the cruiser, he dialed Sam’s number, extracting Peter and Michael’s things from his coat to lay them on the seat beside him. “Hey, Dean.” Sam’s voice was tight, distracted, and weary. Dean knew Sam hadn’t slept, that much was evident when he woke in the morning to dark bags under Sam’s eyes. However, Dean was going to give it another day or two before pressing Sam again.

“Hey, darlin’,” Dean drawled, lifting the picture of Peter with the girl for a closer look. “You get to talk to those kids?”

“Yeah.” Sam sighed. “Didn’t get much though. Just that Peter was closed off the weeks before his death. They said he kinda’ withdrew into himself - shied away from friends and was obsessed with his college applications. All he talked about was getting out of this town. Greg said that his playing even changed. He was always good, but according to Greg he started playing like a man possessed. Like he was angry at the world and wanted to punish something.”

“Possessed?” Dean leaned back letting the warm sun hit him through the windshield.

“I think he meant it more figuratively than literally, but I’m not ruling out the possibility.” Sam sighed again, the heavy one that usually meant his mind was troubled.  “You find anything, De?”

Dean perked up. “Yeah, actually. I mean, it’s not much, just a coupla’ things to look in. I didn’t get anything off the EMF though.”

“What about Ms. Hill’s place?”

“She lived alone in this tiny house. Same MO as the last time we were here, man. Body burned, house intact. Me and Dad drowned all those bricks, but there can’t be anything else that does that.”

“Maybe you missed one or someone found one in the lake?” Sam wrinkled his face, both were unlikely possibilities.

“Maybe,” Dean deliberated, voice as doubting as Sam felt. “It’s not like someone would have stumbled on them. We dumped them at the deepest part of that lake. You’d have to be looking for them to find them.

“Hey. I forgot to mention earlier. Did you check next door to Ms. Hill? Her sister used to live there.”

Dean frowned because he hadn’t considered next of kin for Ms. Hill yet. “No, didn’t know that. How did you know, Sam?”

Sam hesitated before answering. “She told me.”

That brought Dean up short. “When?”

“Last time we were here. I met with her a couple of times,” his voice softened. “I remember she talked about her sister a lot.”

“You knew her from last time?” Dean asked, surprised Sam hadn’t mentioned knowing one of the victims.

“Yeah.” Sam’s voice was careful, like he was afraid Dean would snap. “Standard career planning stuff like I’m doing with the students now.”

Anger immediately gripped Dean, he put the car in drive and headed back to the office a little faster than necessary. “Career planning? Like in college planning?”

“Dean-“

“You knew the vic,” Dean interrupted, “it might have been important to the hunt.” He paused. “And she knew about college? You told a practical stranger you wanted to apply to college but you couldn’t tell your own family, Sam?”

“It wasn’t like-“

“Whatever, Sam. I’ll see you after work.”

“Dean!”

Dean hung up on Sam’s cry and threw the phone into the passenger seat.

***

Sam got home before Dean which he found strange. The past couple of days Dean had tried his damnedest to sneak out of work anywhere from ten minutes to an hour early.

Looking for a distraction from the scratched record repeat of their phone conversation running through his head, Sam started picking up around the apartment. Dishes and laundry didn’t take nearly enough time and before long he found himself sitting in the oppressively quiet room, alone with his thoughts.

Sam wouldn’t apologize for Ms. Hill and her gentle goading at him to attend college. He agreed that he should have discussed the decision with Dean and John before he applied to college, or when he got his acceptance letter, but he’d been afraid. At the time, life was crazy - he was perpetually angry and fighting with dad more often than not. He should have manned up and sat down with them, but instead he chose to hide the admissions essays and applications. He chose to keep it from them, from Dean, and their hurt was his fault.

Sam hadn’t immediately told Dean about Ms. Hill for this reason. He knew that Stanford was a slow healing wound for Dean and Sam didn’t want to upset him. Dean never talked to Sam about why Stanford bothered him and Sam knew better than to press the issue.

Suddenly the door burst open, making Sam jump and Dean stumbled in, arms full of plastic bags.

“Hey, Sam!” Dean greeted cheerily enough but Sam didn’t miss how Dean didn’t look him in the eye. He geared himself up for the following hours of awkwardness, frustration, and heartache that he had no one but himself to blame for.

“Dean.” Sam moved to help Dean unload the groceries.

Dean was relieved when Sam didn’t immediately want to talk about their earlier phone conversation. He didn’t want to talk about it at all. Memories of that night left a bitter taste in Dean’s mouth. Finding out that Sam didn’t want them - didn’t want Dean - anymore, trying to convince a stoic Sam to come back, the week of unreturned phone calls afterwards.

When he was sure Sam wasn’t looking at him, Dean studied his little brother. He was dressed in a hoodie and sweats, both of which were so old and stretched out that somehow Sam’s six-foot-four looked small and swallowed up in the material. His face was drawn and a little pale, the dark rings under his eyes a little more pronounced than this morning and Dean was reminded violently of Mrs. Blackwell. It was the look of someone who’d lost everything they cared about.

Dean felt a twinge of guilt. Sam had made mistakes in the past and present, but Dean wasn’t blameless. He’d been a jerk on the phone. He stepped up to Sam, who was bent over a bag, and kissed him briefly on the temple, hoping to convey the message I’m not sorry but I’m a jerk and just give me some time. Sam looked up at him and smiled weakly, turning back to unloading the groceries.

They worked in silence, laying the food on the counter to be put away. Sam studied the stack of cellophane wrapped meat with a quizzical expression. “That’s a lot of meat.”

Dean closed his eyes and winced. He’d forgotten to tell Sam that Nathan was coming over for a cookout. “Yeah, um, forgot to tell you earlier. I invited Nathan Schneider over for dinner. He’s coming by around seven.” Sam’s silence made Dean look up. His little brother stared at him with wide, startled eyes, body tensed like Sam was ready to bolt. “Sam?”

“I, uhm.” Sam whispered and cleared his throat. “Don’t you think we need to concentrate on the hunt?”

Dean frowned. “We’re not going to do anything until tomorrow. What’s wrong, Sam?”

“N-nothing,” Sam stammered, shrugging to add emphasis to his weak words. “It was just a surprise. That’s all. Wish you’d said something earlier.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of that going around today.” Dean snapped and looked down before he could see Sam flinch.

“I…I don’t want-“ Sam was interrupted by a knock at the door. His heart dropped, the terror of the day before creeping up on him.

Dean frowned and looked at his watch. “Huh. He’s early.” Noticing Sam’s blank expression, he sighed. “Look, it’s not a big deal. He got us this place so we owe him one. I can’t turn him away now.” Dean turned and went to answer the door. Truthfully, with the way things were going with Sam today, Dean thought Nathan might provide a needed break from each other.

Dean opened the door to see Nathan grinning at him, laden down with a six-pack in each hand. Dean smiled at him and reached for one of the six-packs. “Hey, Nathan, man, you’re early,” Dean greeted as he moved to the side to allow Nathan to come in. “We haven’t even dragged out the grill yet!”

Sam stood at the counter, determined to keep something between him and Nathan. He was as tall and broad as Sam remembered, forcing Sam to feel small and skinny again, like the teenager he had once been. Seeing Nathan for the first time in eight years, his body and mind reverted to the defense mechanisms he’d developed back then with frightening ease. He went numb and dissociated - emotions secured behind a thin sheeting of plastic just like the meat piled by the stove. You could look, but you couldn’t touch.

“Hey, Sam. Damn, boy! You got tall!” Nathan set down the beer and held out his hand, pulling Sam in for a half-hug when the younger man shook it. Sam flinched hard, only brushing against Nathan’s body for a split second before pulling away. He self-consciously wiped the hand Nathan had held against his sweats.

“Nice to see you again, Nathan.” Sam murmured and mechanically returned to setting out the food, constantly aware of Nathan’s place in the room. “Thanks for getting us this apartment. It’s nice.”

Nathan shrugged. “Serves its purpose.”

Dean opened a beer and took a long pull. “Still, we owe ya, man.” He handed one over to Nathan then tipped another toward his brother in question. Sam shook his head and turned his attention back to putting the groceries away.

“Yes. I guess you do.” Nathan shot a dark look at Sam before chuckling. “The kids wearing you out at school, Sam? Looks like you’re about ready for bed.” Maybe it was Sam’s imagination, but he was fairly certain he heard Nathan emphasize the word bed.

Sam face remained neutrally blank. “Dean forgot to tell me you were coming over.” He saw Dean frown around his beer bottle in his peripheral. Seeing an opportunity to collect himself, Sam continued. “Why don’t you guys fill up the cooler and drag the grill out while I change? I’ll bring down the food.”

“I can come back up to help you.” Nathan offered as Dean filled the cooler with the beers, dumping in the bag of ice he’d picked up at the store.

“No.” Sam said emphatically. He tried to smile when Dean looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve got it. You guys get the grill fired up and by the time I get down there, you should be ready to go.”

They nodded and Sam slipped into the bedroom, leaning heavily against the closed door. He locked the knob and released a slow breath. All he needed to do was get dressed, keep his distance with Nathan and end this fucking nightmare by solving the hunt so that they could leave this hellish town. Straightening his shoulders, he pushed off the door.

****

Dean and Nathan were downstairs pulling out the grill and supplies from storage. “You boys really look good. It’s a shame John didn’t come out of that wreck like you two.”

Dean frowned concentrating on how to unfold the lawn chair. It shouldn’t be as complicated as it was, but he was a little hung up on Sam’s behavior. Something was wrong, something more than just their fight. Sam compartmentalized with the best of them, a flawless poker face was almost a requirement of their job, but that wasn’t Sam’s ‘pretend’ face Dean’d seen upstairs. No, the mask Sam’d forced on was detached and vacant, dead.

He shuddered at the word and sent a rueful smile to Nathan. “It’s kind of a miracle any of us came out of the wreck at all.”

“It really is,” Nathan agreed. “You two have grown a lot since I last saw you. Especially Sam.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, growing pains were a bitch.” Dean smiled at the memories of a more coltish Sam-wobbly and clumsy on his ever-growing limbs.

Nathan chuckled and took a pull of his beer as he sat and watched Dean light the grill. “I experienced a few of those.” His gaze was unreadable as he looked Dean over. “You boys are doing well for yourselves. You liking your job as sheriff?”

Dean shrugged. “It’s not as exciting as it sounds, but it’s cool. I think Sam has more of a challenge with the kids at the school.”

“Yeah, I hear that.” Nathan chortled but his face grew serious. “How’s the kid doing, really? Hasn’t been long since his girlfriend died.”

Dean froze and looked up at Nathan, stunned. How the hell did Nathan know that? At Nathan’s curious glance Dean cleared his throat. “A little over two years. Did…Dad tell you about it?”

Nathan frowned and gave Dean a puzzled look. “He mentioned it in passing. Said that Sam’s girlfriend died and he was taking a road trip with you. I hope I’m not overstepping my bounds, I was worried about him.”

Dean swallowed and busily finished setting up the grill. “It was rough for a while, but he’s doing better. Thanks for your concern.”

Nathan set his beer down on the small table and leaned back in his chair, hands folded on his stomach. “Sam was…is a good kid. We talked a lot while you were here. Boy had a lot of questions.”

Dean knew he shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t pry, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Yeah? What about?” He closed the cover on the grill and turned toward the ex-Marine.

Nathan studied Dean thoughtfully. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to say anything. I sorta’ hinted at some of it when you were here before.” He hesitated for a minute before continuing. “I guess first we should start out with the fact that I’m gay. Your dad has known since we were enlisted.” He stopped, eyeing Dean carefully. “Is that a problem with you?”

Dean shook his head and Nathan continued. “Well, you remember the talk we had back then about Sam’s sexual preferences?”

Dean stared blankly, his lip curling in a pained expression. “Yeah.”

“Hey Dean, man? Walk with me to my car, would you?” It was Nathan’s not so subtle way to talk to Dean alone. Dean
 shrugged and followed Nathan out, ten minutes later he wished he never had.

“Well, like I said Sam had questions. About gay sex and some things he’d seen online.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Sam asked you about shit like that? I would have thought he would have been too embarrassed.”

Nathan shrugged. “The kid was confused, curious. He didn’t really get hung up on the gay thing, more the BDSM thing. He didn’t understand that it’s okay to want these things, that it doesn’t make him less of a person, it’s just a way someone can feel loved and respected. He was confused that some people like the pain as much as the pleasure.”

Dean fidgeted, laying out the utensils on the side table. “But Sam isn’t into that.”

Nathan raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You sure you know what your brother’s bedroom activities are?” He joked and Dean flushed, looking away. “I warned you back then for his safety. Stuff like that just doesn’t go away.”

“I’ve always kept Sammy safe,” he snapped, scowling. He squatted down to check the propane tanks, giving his whirling mind a task. At least, he’d always tried to keep Sammy safe.

“What the fuck, Sam,” he husked out when Sam finally emerged from his room that evening for dinner.

Sam jumped, his eyes wide and confused.  “Uhm?”

He stormed over, tilting Sam’s head to the side to examine the bruised jaw and split lip. His little brother had been holed up in his room since Dean’d gotten home from the gas station and this was the first time he’d seen him. “I thought you said the things at school weren’t too bad?” he grilled, fingertips digging deep into the skin of the cheek that wasn’t bruised. He knew that some of the kids were giving Sam a hard time about quitting the basketball team, but Sam had promised that he was handling everything on his own.

“It’s nothing,” Sam dismissed, ducking out of Dean’s grip.

“Sam, did this happen at school?” Dean growled.

“No, it didn’t happen at school. I said I could handle it! This,” he said, reaching up and brushing his fingers lightly over the bruise. “This is from this guy…”

Anger rushed up Dean’s spine and he shoved Sam back, breaking off whatever feeble explanation his brother had spent the last few hours concocting in his room.

“What the hell,” Sam protested, backing up instinctively at what Dean could imagine was a thunderous look on his face.

“A guy, Sam? How old is he?”  Fuck, Nathan had warned him about this.

“I-I don’t know? Eighteen? Twenty? He didn’t mean to-“

Dean barked out a harsh laugh. “Didn’t mean to? You’re gonna stand up for him, Sammy?”

“Dean, what the hell-“

He shoved Sam again. “Stop lying, Sam! The gig is up! I know, okay? I know! Nathan told me!”

“You know what?” Sam screamed, frustrated. “Dean, this guy, he was beating up on Mac after school. I broke up the fight, pulled him off. He punched me before he ran away.”

“Shut up, Sam! I don’t want to hear anything unless it’s the truth.” He was on a roll, his face was wild, his breathing rapid and he looked terrifying.

“That is the truth. Ask Mac.” Sam’s eyes were wet and pleading.

His heart threatened to soften, but he refused to sit back while Sam allowed someone to… “Look, I’m just worried, okay? Sam, you can’t go out by yourself again-“

“Fuck you, Dean. I’ll do whatever the hell I want!”

He shoved Sam a third time, Sam stumbling backwards under the force. Sam cried out and pushed his whole body against him. They scuffled, each desperate for the upper hand, and for a minute it seemed like they’re going to lose balance and hit the ground. He was still stronger though and eventually was able to manhandle Sam, throwing him against the wall and holding him there with the thin collar of his t-shirt.

“What you want is sick, Sam,” he hissed. His eyes widened and he couldn’t believe he said that. He threw Sam harder against the wall and then let go, disgusted. “Stay in your damn room tonight, Sam,” he seethed before he stormed out.

“I had a partner into that stuff before.” Nathan broke into his thoughts. “He didn’t even trust most of his partners to tell them what he was into. A lot of people don’t understand it-they think someone is weak or sick for liking a little…more.”

Dean nodded numbly at the older man, thoughts spinning so fast in his head they sounded like static. He knew Sam wasn’t into that stuff. He would have told Dean if he was, right? What if Sam never said anything because he knew Dean didn’t go for that kind of thing? His mind drifted to the other day and Sam’s new love for a man in uniform. Was it Sam’s secret need to be dominated coming out as a cop kink?

Nathan leaned over and placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Listen, Dean. Don’t push him or tell him that you know. Just look out for him. Someone could take advantage of Sam and you need to make sure he doesn’t get hurt.”

Dean smiled weakly, a new fear springing forth. If Sam really was into this hardcore stuff, how long would it be before he started looking to get his needs satisfied by someone other than Dean? He loved Sam with everything he had. Dean would just have to get over his dislike of that form of bedroom play.

Dean would show Sam that he could be trusted.