Into Your Heart [I'll Beat Again]
Title: Into Your Heart [I'll Beat Again]
Pairing:Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Words: 4,840
Summary: Sam accomplished his mission. He got the Mark of Cain off of his brother but the price was high - higher than they'd dared to imagine. The Darkness wrecks havoc in ways they don't understand and the boys are swept up in their next nightmare. Finally - finally - they're back at the bunker to regroup and they get a precious moment to themselves. Dean may be free of the Mark, but Sam knows there's still more that he needs. Code to S11E02 Form and Void.
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Sam was still in relative disbelief that he managed to get the Mark off of his brother and, even more miraculously, that he - Sam - was still breathing. He meant it when he said he would save his brother or die trying. That being true, with that hurdle past, he hadn’t expected to hear himself utter the words aloud or have to put them out there again so soon. The fallout from his last ‘Save My Big Brother’ campaign was potentially the worst they’d ever seen, if for no other reason than they had nothing to go on; no lore, no books, not even the Angels or Demons seemed to know much about the Darkness except in fairy tale terms. It was definitely, inescapably bad.
When Sam prayed, he found he was surprisingly calm, maybe a little numb, despite the fact that the Darkness or something like it was thrumming through his veins, lifting them to the surface, staking an evil claim on his life, and that they were in this predicament at all. Dean wasn’t with him - again - which seemed to make everything feel worse, because if they weren’t together how was Sam supposed to protect him? So Sam did the only thing he could think of and asked the absent God for help, and mostly, for Dean. Sam would always be ready to die if it meant Dean would live - it would be all the meaning Sam could hope for from his life - but he wanted Dean to be safe. The prayer left him feeling raw though, baring himself like that, honest and desperate and so full of love for his brother that little else mattered.
In truth, he was determined but had felt bleak. The terrible vision that brought him to his knees, which he could only surmise to be a sneak peek at his time in Hell, had done little to answer any of his questions. He surprised himself with the Hail Mary of the holy oil and was even more shocked and awed that it worked. Still, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he was quick to do what he could to clean up the few folk left in that sad little town and get in touch with Dean.
Of course, things had not been going well on Dean’s end either, not that Sam was surprised. They were definitely on a roll and it was not the good kind. But when Dean picked him up from the hospital with tales of Father Crowley, the missing baby, and more casualties, he just tried not to be so transparently shaken up. For a while there, he didn’t think he’d ever see Dean again, and then there they were, back in the Impala like always, driving back to the bunker because where else would they go now, without any other leads and a mountain of research to start sifting through.
Dean had quirked an eyebrow at Sam early on during the drive, either at his silence or if there was something in Sam’s features that he didn’t intend, Sam didn’t know. Sam answered the look with one of his own that said first what? and then I’m fine. Dean didn’t push it but Sam knew his tells - his brother wasn’t buying it either. Sam was struggling to stay just on the right side of fragile all things considered, putting on a strong face for his brother and adamant not to worry him unnecessarily over his now cured infection. He appreciated the silence his brother allowed them. Sam had been high on his last minute rescue and it felt good to save people, like they used to, but sitting next to Dean now when he'd so recently thought- well, he was just breathing and taking in everything, savouring the familiar feel of the vinyl seat, the smells inside which were inextricably mixed with everything Dean, and, indeed, the reassuring presence of his brother within arms’ reach, hands on the wheel and eyes on the road (at least, when they weren’t glancing over at him).
By the time they walked into the bunker, they were discussing their situation like they would any other case, and it felt good to even imitate the familiar routine until they were interrupted by the ransacked appearance of their home. The sight of it made Sam a little sick to his stomach, thinking about what went on there, what was happening to his big brother when all their possessions and the wealth of Men of Letters’ knowledge was about to go up in flames. When Dean started to make an inappropriate joke about them needing a maid Sam’s heart swelled so quickly with fondness for his brother who could still be the same, after everything - and then there was Cas.
There was nothing they could do for him at that exact moment. They’d need research or a witch or both to lift the damn curse and Cas was beat up and exhausted from trying to fight its impulses. They tended to him and tied him down carefully as they could on a bed in the dungeon that they could lock from the outside, and backed out of the room quietly as their broken angel friend succumbed to what they hoped would be a restful sleep.
As the heavy metal door thunked into place and Dean turned the lock, he let out an exhausted sigh and his head fell to rest on his forearm. Sam swallowed thickly as he took in Dean’s form, saw the sagging set of his shoulders, all the fight gone out of him in their first moments alone, at home, and not in the face of unavoidably immediate danger. It was the first of these moments where Dean was just Dean, without the Mark, and Sam was exhausted and weak and wanted to sleep, but standing there listening to his brother breathe and looking at the line of his back, the way the sweat on his exposed neck caught the light in the dim hallway and seemed to glisten, illuminated… Sam trembled with what felt like an ancient desire to touch his brother. It’d been so long since they last- Sam could hardly bring himself to think on it. Dean had been painfully distant while still bearing the Mark, and any brief moments they had were cherished by Sam, but Dean had not been himself, not really, not like before. He was too worried, anxious about hurting Sam, clouded by more than the usual feelings of unworthiness, and wouldn’t let himself be present or give in. The Mark had interfered with them, they way they’d always been, the way Sam had thought - just maybe - that he was enough. The thought that maybe now, with time - if they ever got any - they could get back there…
All Sam wanted to do was take care of his big brother again, wanted Dean to let him, wanted him and Dean to just be. Sam wasn’t sure how long he stood there, lost in his thoughts and the sight of Dean leaning forward against the door in front of him, but as the moment drew on it occurred to him this was an invitation. Dean was, well, Dean, and he’d never been great with words or asking for what he needed. It broke through all Sam’s trepidation - would it be too soon? with the Mark gone did Dean even still want him? had he even missed them? - like water breaking through a dam and he was suddenly holding his breath. Dean was handing Sam the reigns, letting him take the wheel. He was begging him without words to do it, to reach out and touch him, to close the gap. In the absence of his own breathing he could hear Dean’s more clearly and it was short, a little broken. When Sam took in another breath, it was broken, too.
“Dean…” it was barely audible as it escaped his lips, and Sam’s arms came up on their own accord - no direction needed - to envelop Dean completely. Dean all but crumpled into him, holding himself up but melting his body to Sam’s as he turned into the embrace, burying his face in the sweat-sticky skin of Sam’s neck. Sam felt Dean struggle not to shake against him, his hands around Sam’s back and fisted tightly in his shirt, holding on to Sam for all he was worth. The force of it was overwhelming in the best way Sam knew, because if being everything Dean needed wasn’t exactly his element, then nothing was. It gave him strength, feeling Dean need him, and with that he stood up a little taller. One hand came up to cradle the back of Dean’s head and the other was snug around his waist, pulling him close, keeping him up. He tried to sound as strong as Dean made him feel but he knew his voice would betray him, raspy and cracking with exhaustion, want, love, and perhaps most dangerous of all, hope.
“Dean,” he started again, after a while, when Dean’s shuddering breaths had calmed, and he’d maybe had it out. He kissed at the edge of Dean’s ear that he could get to by bowing his head, lingering just a moment. “Come to bed.”
Dean took in a big breath and nodded into Sam’s neck.
“Yeah, Sam.” His brother’s voice was low and gravelly, so quiet. He kept his head down and he backed away, releasing his white-knuckle grip on Sam’s shirt and dropping his arms, only to let Sam take one of his hands in his own.
Sam led them through the bunker’s shadowed hallways to Dean’s room, because Sam had kept it the way Dean would have after he took off, just so it would be ready to welcome him home when he eventually came back. Dean allowed himself to be guided there, following mutely behind Sam, though his free hand came up to grip lightly at his little brother’s hip. Sam brought him to the foot of the bed and sat him down, his heart breaking at how pliable Dean was, just letting Sam move him, because he knew how much it meant Dean needed him, how far gone he was, how much he was hurting. Sam knew Dean all too well to be able to imagine what was going on in his brother’s head, and Sam was going to do everything he could to make it all stop. Sam took off his plaid shirt, never taking his eyes off Dean who sat limply on the bed with his head in his hands. Sam's hands shook a little as he got through the buttons, and he quickly fumbled with the tee shirt underneath, leaving him barechested. As the air passed over his exposed skin he felt a chill go through him, goosebumps rising on his arms and his nipples going stiff. He swallowed hard and reached for his brother.
“Look at me, baby,” he whispered as his fingers found Dean’s chin, gentling tilting his head up. He could see Dean’s body react to the term of endearment, one they only used in these moments, and finally Dean looked up at him with glistening eyes through dark lashes, his perfect pink lips parted ever so slightly. Sam stepped forward into the vee of his brother’s legs and hugged his brother to his stomach to feel the stubble of his beautiful face rub on his skin. Sam’s hands moved through Dean’s hair, nails gently scraping and sending shivers through him, and Dean’s hands came to rest on Sam’s hips. Dean nuzzled into the solid flat of his brother’s tummy, pleased with the closeness, just wanting to drink it all in, and he started mouthing at the smooth skin, laying kisses wherever he could reach, lapping up the taste of him with tiny licks of his tongue. They exchanged tender, gentle touches and soon Sam was sucking in his breath, feeling light headed and achingly hard just from the hot, wet tease of Dean’s mouth. Dean’s hands moved from his hips to his belt to start working at his buckle and Sam eased back just a little to watch, because the sight of his brother undressing him always did things to him, messed up things that made it that much hotter so he’d stopped fighting it ages ago, making him think of all the times Dean dressed and undressed him as a child, always taking care of him, still taking care of him.
Dean started to slide his pants and boxers down his legs and Sam took a full step back to undress completely, his cock hanging hot and heavy between his legs now, flushed and shiny at the tip. Dean made a small sound at the back of his throat at the sight, and Sam gestured for him to back up on the bed. Dean obliged, toeing off his boots and then scrambling away from him as Sam came forward, dropping to the bed on his hands and knees to follow Dean up, finally settling in the space between his legs, sitting back on his heels so he could reach forward and start to strip his brother. Dean’s eyes stayed on Sam’s the whole time, getting lost in the slim rings of hazel while he let his brother slip his arms out of his shirts and pull them up over his head. He was propped up on his elbows as Sam moved to his jeans, keeping their eyes locked even as he lifted his hips to let Sam pull them down. Sam lifted himself out of the way, straddling Dean a moment just to get the pants all the way off.
Dean lay there looking up at him, naked and exposed, vulnerable like he could only be with Sam, and panted a little as he subtly continued to open his knees, making space and begging Sam to him. Sam was desperate to get in there, throw himself at his brother and give him everything - take everything - and desperate for this to be just right, everything Dean needed, but the sight of Dean spread out and trusting cut right through him, made him breathless and he was frozen looking at it, etching it into his mind to hold on to a while longer.
“Sammy, please,” Dean’s voice, ragged, snapped him out of it, and Sam didn’t miss how his brother’s dick twitched as he said his name. Sam went for Dean’s mouth with as much grace as he could muster given the way his want was washing over him like tidal waves and he was more or less drowning in it. Their lips met already open, and Sam’s tongue danced into his brother’s mouth like it belonged there - because it did - and Dean’s met it in the same way. Dean was arching up into him, trying to keep their bodies flush, pressing their cocks together in the most agonizing way, the mostly dry friction too much and not enough all at once. His hands flew up into Sam’s hair, his fingers twining into it and tugging Sam’s head whichever way he wanted to get better access to his mouth, so Dean could lap at him and drink him down however he needed. Sam moaned a little with each tug and the deliciously deep way Dean was fucking into him with his tongue. It threatened to make him mindless, everything Dean was doing to him, but Sam had so many plans, and it was hard enough to decide what to do first - or at all - and he would not be dissuaded.
Gasping, Sam broke their kiss, Dean still bucking up into him, his own hips circling to meet his brother’s, and Dean’s grip in his hair tightened as he dipped down to place sucking kisses along Dean’s neck. Groaning, his brother’s head went back into the pillow, exposing his throat, and Sam lovingly licked and nipped at it, occasionally letting his face rub along the edge of Dean’s chin, heady from the gentle scratch of his stubble. Finally he moved lower, planting his lips chastely across Dean’s chest, his brother’s hands still fisted in his hair, tugging but letting Sam do as he pleased, roam anywhere over the perfect landscape of his skin. He kissed and licked at Dean’s nipples, one by one, loving the whines and whimpers that it earned him, each immaculate sound making him drip onto the bed beneath him. He carefully avoided Dean’s dick, which was bouncing excitedly against his stomach, leaving kisses of precome that drew strings between the skin there and the tip with each bump against his belly. Dean arched into him again as his mouth sucked at his hip bones, easy and not bruising. The boys had always had a tendency to be rough, always liked to mark each other up, but tonight wasn’t about that. Sam was going to take his brother apart, piece by piece, and he was going to do with all the love and tenderness that Dean would never, ever afford himself.
“God, Sammy…” Dean was writhing a little underneath him, squirming into his touch and pushing against his mouth wherever it fell. Sam moved lower still, kissing at the crease of Dean’s legs and nosing at his balls, moving them with his tongue to get underneath, teasing at the sensitive skin there. His hands came up to pull at Dean’s cheeks, to open him up even more, and his thumbs rubbed reverently at the meaty flesh, caressing. Dean keened at the movement, knowing what was coming, his dick dripping to think of Sam’s eyes taking all of him in, which he was. Then Sam’s mouth was on his hole, pressing almost demurely against the ring of muscle and Dean drew in a sharp breath, bearing down against his lips as his grip on Sam’s hair tightened. Sam had to close his eyes and could only moan at the feel of it, loving the pull from his brother’s hands and the intoxicating musky-secret taste that was all Dean in a way that belonged only to him. He placed a few more delicate kisses before starting to lap at the flexing opening that seemed desperate to pull him in, alternating broad swipes of his tongue and little kitten licks, teasing and getting his brother good and wet. Dean’s hands were still moving frantically through his hair as he shifted to get as close to Sam’s face as he could, and when Sam first breached him with the tip of his tongue he let loose these beautiful, broken sounds that went straight to Sam’s dick, setting off sparks the whole way down. Dean’s sounds devolved into panted, breathy iterations of Sam’s name peppered with ohs and ahs and God and other curses, and all it did was serve to feed the fire in Sam’s belly, the same one that had him mindlessly rolling his hips against Dean’s cherished memory foam and letting his own sounds loose to mingle with all the others.
By the time Dean was wantonly moaning Sam’s name, completely desperate for more, wrung out by the way Sam’s tongue would move inside him and press at his prostate, Sam knew it wasn’t going to be long for either of them. He pressed one last kiss to his brother’s hole and, pulling back, only took a moment to indulge the sight of it, shiny and perfectly pink and fluttering open for him. He had to tighten his fingers in a makeshift ring at the base of his cock just looking at it.
“Jesus, Dean…” Sam met his brother’s gaze, almost completely blacked out with want for him, a sliver of still startlingly bright green around the edges. Dean was flushed all over, his body all shades of pink, glistening with sweat in the low light from the single desk lamp, dick rock hard and brilliantly dark with blood that burned so hot, lips puffy and red from his having been biting and sucking them in, and the look he gave Sam was the one he’d been looking for: Dean was open, his eyes were wet and pleading and his chest heaving, his breath catching, his system overloaded as Sam had planned, not just with pleasure but with love. Dean’s eyes told Sam everything he needed to know as he sat between his brother’s knees and surveyed his beautiful face; Dean was letting it go, he’d given in to the moment, to what they were doing, and most importantly to Sam.
“Sam- Sammy, need- need you, please,” Dean choked out between gasps, and Sam leaned down and over his brother to kiss him, one arm reaching out to grab the lube from the bedside table. Dean practically whined at the taste of himself on Sam’s lips, his tongue pushing in to seek it out, and Sam was all too happy to let him, once again at the mercy of his brother’s hands buried in his hair. One-handed he flipped open the cap on the bottle and made a bit of a mess squeezing some out and discarding the bottle, slicking himself up slowly because the cool wetness of his own touch was near overwhelming. He panted into Dean’s mouth, couldn’t help himself from smiling against his brother's lips as he whimpered into their kiss, canting his hips up, desperately searching for friction, for Sam.
“C’mon Sammy, please I- I need you, you gotta fill me up,” Dean was babbling, frantic, pulling at Sam’s lips with his own, sucking them into his mouth around broken words, and he pulled at Sam’s hair with one hand as he moaned, the other having relinquished its hold to instead scrabble all over Sam’s back and hips and ass, tugging and trying to guide him. Sam lined up the swollen tip of his cock to his brother’s entrance and at the contact they both sucked in a breath, Dean's hole loose and giving way easily, closing around Sam like a kiss. Sam locked eyes on his brother as he pushed in, fighting the impulse to let the feeling draw his own eyes closed just so he could watch the blissed out expression on Dean’s face as he oh-so-slowly slid inside. Dean’s mouth parted and his eyes squeezed shut against the stretch, and Sam wanted to kiss those beautiful crinkles that deepened at the corners of his eyes. So he did. He left delicate kisses there as he bottomed out, finally remembering to breathe despite the way Dean’s body was hot and tight and making it a miracle he could remember his own name much less anything else (not that he could ever really forget it, the way it kept spilling from Dean's mouth). He hovered above his brother, watching, waiting for the sign to move, letting Dean adjust and make a space for him, take him home.
Dean blinked his eyes open and started to nod - Sam could practically see him searching for something to say and coming up empty - his hand on Sam’s hip coaxing and his head tilting back to ask for Sam’s lips.
“Sam, baby, baby boy, yeah, Sammy, ah,” Dean’s brain finally supplied him with sounds resembling words and he muttered them into their kisses, all lips and teeth and tongues, sloppy and open as Sam started to move. He thrust into Dean hard, but not fast, pushing in then pulling out slow, feeling the tug and grip of Dean’s body as it tried to keep him. Dean circled his hips to meet Sam's the best he could but all their rhythm was shot, both of them much too close to move so in sync. Sam shifted his knees to change the angle and Dean cried out, Sam having found what he was looking for. Only a few more snaps of his hips and Dean was coming between them without a hand on him, shooting warm and ropey all their chests. He made a near unrecognizable sound as he did, his whole body seizing and clenching around Sam, and all of it went through him like a strike of lightning; Sam lit up entirely, his whole body sizzling as he joined his brother over the edge, hips stuttering, filling Dean with his come which was already dripping out around the base of him, the wet, squelching sounds of him fucking into it making him shiver all the more. Dean still shuddered beneath him, the last waves receding, and Sam let Dean’s body milk the last of it from him where he was still buried so deep. As his orgasm finally released him, Sam shook with the effort to keep himself up and Dean squeezed his hip, letting him know that it was okay, he could lie down. Sam tried not to crush him all at once, but he dropped onto his brother with a quiet oof and burrowed his face into Dean’s neck. Dean’s hands, rough and weathered, moved lightly over his back, tracing nonsense shapes like when they were kids and he was calming Sam down from a nightmare. It made Sam smile and hum happily into the hollow where his face was tucked, and as his breathing came back to normal, Sam languidly lapped at the salty skin that he could reach without moving, loving that he could feel the ripples it sent through his brother’s body.
They lay like that for some time, lazy and drifting, until Sam finally moved to roll off his brother, slipping out of him and making them both groan at the loss. Dean shifted his legs now that he could and Sam reached blindly for the first shirt he could get his hands on and cleaned them both up, taking his time with Dean. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him as he wiped up the mess, stooping down occasionally to lick at it first, kiss at it after. Dean’s dick twitched with interest at the touches but his gaze was soft, like the glowing coals of a dying fire, warm and low. As he tossed away the shirt, Sam kissed his way back up his brother’s body, Dean’s hands playing in his hair and moving to cup his face, stroke at his jaw. Sam let his lips meet Dean’s again, and then pulled back just enough, still sharing the air between them.
“I love you,” it was a whisper even though they were alone, meant just for Dean, like a secret only they knew. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to say it, to share the words, the right moments eluding them, hiding from them behind black eyes or the Mark. Saying them now was like bringing them back to life, some long lost treasure that had finally been found. He even dared to look at Dean as he said it. The corners of his brother’s mouth turned up in an easy, genuine smile, one Sam couldn’t remember seeing in just as long, because it one meant just for him.
“Yeah, Sammy. I love you, too,” he kissed Sam then, gently. Sam breathed in the kiss and Dean’s words, feeling more whole than he had since he lost Dean to Metatron over a year ago. It was suddenly too much - it was everything - and he didn’t trust himself to keep it together so he moved off of his brother instead, breaking their kiss but nudging him onto his side, pulling the blanket out from under them and then curling up behind him, their legs tangled up, his arms around Dean’s waist, his face at Dean’s neck, just so he could kiss at it whenever he wanted to. He took a few shaky breaths and knew that Dean knew, but Dean had had his moment, too. They could never have been able to say how much they needed this, but that didn’t matter because they both understood, and generally as a rule they avoid the ‘saying’ part if they could. All Sam knew now was that no matter what had happened or what was going to, in this moment, he had everything he wanted right there in his arms. Dean had let him in, had let it all go, and Sam could put back the pieces of himself with everything Dean gave him.
Dean’s arm covered Sam’s and threaded their fingers together on his stomach, his thumb rubbing at Sam’s hand, still soothing him. Sam had set out to take care of his big brother but Dean was always doing the same.
“Go to sleep, Sam,” Dean murmured, and just like that Sam was Dean’s little brother, the way he always was, and Dean was taking care of him. They were taking care of each other. The thought crossed Sam’s mind and made his heart feel light, unjustifiably so considering everything they still had to deal with. But this was how they were supposed to be; this was how they were at their best. This was how they would get better: together. It felt like home.
Pairing:Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Words: 4,840
Summary: Sam accomplished his mission. He got the Mark of Cain off of his brother but the price was high - higher than they'd dared to imagine. The Darkness wrecks havoc in ways they don't understand and the boys are swept up in their next nightmare. Finally - finally - they're back at the bunker to regroup and they get a precious moment to themselves. Dean may be free of the Mark, but Sam knows there's still more that he needs. Code to S11E02 Form and Void.
Read on AO3
Sam was still in relative disbelief that he managed to get the Mark off of his brother and, even more miraculously, that he - Sam - was still breathing. He meant it when he said he would save his brother or die trying. That being true, with that hurdle past, he hadn’t expected to hear himself utter the words aloud or have to put them out there again so soon. The fallout from his last ‘Save My Big Brother’ campaign was potentially the worst they’d ever seen, if for no other reason than they had nothing to go on; no lore, no books, not even the Angels or Demons seemed to know much about the Darkness except in fairy tale terms. It was definitely, inescapably bad.
When Sam prayed, he found he was surprisingly calm, maybe a little numb, despite the fact that the Darkness or something like it was thrumming through his veins, lifting them to the surface, staking an evil claim on his life, and that they were in this predicament at all. Dean wasn’t with him - again - which seemed to make everything feel worse, because if they weren’t together how was Sam supposed to protect him? So Sam did the only thing he could think of and asked the absent God for help, and mostly, for Dean. Sam would always be ready to die if it meant Dean would live - it would be all the meaning Sam could hope for from his life - but he wanted Dean to be safe. The prayer left him feeling raw though, baring himself like that, honest and desperate and so full of love for his brother that little else mattered.
In truth, he was determined but had felt bleak. The terrible vision that brought him to his knees, which he could only surmise to be a sneak peek at his time in Hell, had done little to answer any of his questions. He surprised himself with the Hail Mary of the holy oil and was even more shocked and awed that it worked. Still, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he was quick to do what he could to clean up the few folk left in that sad little town and get in touch with Dean.
Of course, things had not been going well on Dean’s end either, not that Sam was surprised. They were definitely on a roll and it was not the good kind. But when Dean picked him up from the hospital with tales of Father Crowley, the missing baby, and more casualties, he just tried not to be so transparently shaken up. For a while there, he didn’t think he’d ever see Dean again, and then there they were, back in the Impala like always, driving back to the bunker because where else would they go now, without any other leads and a mountain of research to start sifting through.
Dean had quirked an eyebrow at Sam early on during the drive, either at his silence or if there was something in Sam’s features that he didn’t intend, Sam didn’t know. Sam answered the look with one of his own that said first what? and then I’m fine. Dean didn’t push it but Sam knew his tells - his brother wasn’t buying it either. Sam was struggling to stay just on the right side of fragile all things considered, putting on a strong face for his brother and adamant not to worry him unnecessarily over his now cured infection. He appreciated the silence his brother allowed them. Sam had been high on his last minute rescue and it felt good to save people, like they used to, but sitting next to Dean now when he'd so recently thought- well, he was just breathing and taking in everything, savouring the familiar feel of the vinyl seat, the smells inside which were inextricably mixed with everything Dean, and, indeed, the reassuring presence of his brother within arms’ reach, hands on the wheel and eyes on the road (at least, when they weren’t glancing over at him).
By the time they walked into the bunker, they were discussing their situation like they would any other case, and it felt good to even imitate the familiar routine until they were interrupted by the ransacked appearance of their home. The sight of it made Sam a little sick to his stomach, thinking about what went on there, what was happening to his big brother when all their possessions and the wealth of Men of Letters’ knowledge was about to go up in flames. When Dean started to make an inappropriate joke about them needing a maid Sam’s heart swelled so quickly with fondness for his brother who could still be the same, after everything - and then there was Cas.
There was nothing they could do for him at that exact moment. They’d need research or a witch or both to lift the damn curse and Cas was beat up and exhausted from trying to fight its impulses. They tended to him and tied him down carefully as they could on a bed in the dungeon that they could lock from the outside, and backed out of the room quietly as their broken angel friend succumbed to what they hoped would be a restful sleep.
As the heavy metal door thunked into place and Dean turned the lock, he let out an exhausted sigh and his head fell to rest on his forearm. Sam swallowed thickly as he took in Dean’s form, saw the sagging set of his shoulders, all the fight gone out of him in their first moments alone, at home, and not in the face of unavoidably immediate danger. It was the first of these moments where Dean was just Dean, without the Mark, and Sam was exhausted and weak and wanted to sleep, but standing there listening to his brother breathe and looking at the line of his back, the way the sweat on his exposed neck caught the light in the dim hallway and seemed to glisten, illuminated… Sam trembled with what felt like an ancient desire to touch his brother. It’d been so long since they last- Sam could hardly bring himself to think on it. Dean had been painfully distant while still bearing the Mark, and any brief moments they had were cherished by Sam, but Dean had not been himself, not really, not like before. He was too worried, anxious about hurting Sam, clouded by more than the usual feelings of unworthiness, and wouldn’t let himself be present or give in. The Mark had interfered with them, they way they’d always been, the way Sam had thought - just maybe - that he was enough. The thought that maybe now, with time - if they ever got any - they could get back there…
All Sam wanted to do was take care of his big brother again, wanted Dean to let him, wanted him and Dean to just be. Sam wasn’t sure how long he stood there, lost in his thoughts and the sight of Dean leaning forward against the door in front of him, but as the moment drew on it occurred to him this was an invitation. Dean was, well, Dean, and he’d never been great with words or asking for what he needed. It broke through all Sam’s trepidation - would it be too soon? with the Mark gone did Dean even still want him? had he even missed them? - like water breaking through a dam and he was suddenly holding his breath. Dean was handing Sam the reigns, letting him take the wheel. He was begging him without words to do it, to reach out and touch him, to close the gap. In the absence of his own breathing he could hear Dean’s more clearly and it was short, a little broken. When Sam took in another breath, it was broken, too.
“Dean…” it was barely audible as it escaped his lips, and Sam’s arms came up on their own accord - no direction needed - to envelop Dean completely. Dean all but crumpled into him, holding himself up but melting his body to Sam’s as he turned into the embrace, burying his face in the sweat-sticky skin of Sam’s neck. Sam felt Dean struggle not to shake against him, his hands around Sam’s back and fisted tightly in his shirt, holding on to Sam for all he was worth. The force of it was overwhelming in the best way Sam knew, because if being everything Dean needed wasn’t exactly his element, then nothing was. It gave him strength, feeling Dean need him, and with that he stood up a little taller. One hand came up to cradle the back of Dean’s head and the other was snug around his waist, pulling him close, keeping him up. He tried to sound as strong as Dean made him feel but he knew his voice would betray him, raspy and cracking with exhaustion, want, love, and perhaps most dangerous of all, hope.
“Dean,” he started again, after a while, when Dean’s shuddering breaths had calmed, and he’d maybe had it out. He kissed at the edge of Dean’s ear that he could get to by bowing his head, lingering just a moment. “Come to bed.”
Dean took in a big breath and nodded into Sam’s neck.
“Yeah, Sam.” His brother’s voice was low and gravelly, so quiet. He kept his head down and he backed away, releasing his white-knuckle grip on Sam’s shirt and dropping his arms, only to let Sam take one of his hands in his own.
Sam led them through the bunker’s shadowed hallways to Dean’s room, because Sam had kept it the way Dean would have after he took off, just so it would be ready to welcome him home when he eventually came back. Dean allowed himself to be guided there, following mutely behind Sam, though his free hand came up to grip lightly at his little brother’s hip. Sam brought him to the foot of the bed and sat him down, his heart breaking at how pliable Dean was, just letting Sam move him, because he knew how much it meant Dean needed him, how far gone he was, how much he was hurting. Sam knew Dean all too well to be able to imagine what was going on in his brother’s head, and Sam was going to do everything he could to make it all stop. Sam took off his plaid shirt, never taking his eyes off Dean who sat limply on the bed with his head in his hands. Sam's hands shook a little as he got through the buttons, and he quickly fumbled with the tee shirt underneath, leaving him barechested. As the air passed over his exposed skin he felt a chill go through him, goosebumps rising on his arms and his nipples going stiff. He swallowed hard and reached for his brother.
“Look at me, baby,” he whispered as his fingers found Dean’s chin, gentling tilting his head up. He could see Dean’s body react to the term of endearment, one they only used in these moments, and finally Dean looked up at him with glistening eyes through dark lashes, his perfect pink lips parted ever so slightly. Sam stepped forward into the vee of his brother’s legs and hugged his brother to his stomach to feel the stubble of his beautiful face rub on his skin. Sam’s hands moved through Dean’s hair, nails gently scraping and sending shivers through him, and Dean’s hands came to rest on Sam’s hips. Dean nuzzled into the solid flat of his brother’s tummy, pleased with the closeness, just wanting to drink it all in, and he started mouthing at the smooth skin, laying kisses wherever he could reach, lapping up the taste of him with tiny licks of his tongue. They exchanged tender, gentle touches and soon Sam was sucking in his breath, feeling light headed and achingly hard just from the hot, wet tease of Dean’s mouth. Dean’s hands moved from his hips to his belt to start working at his buckle and Sam eased back just a little to watch, because the sight of his brother undressing him always did things to him, messed up things that made it that much hotter so he’d stopped fighting it ages ago, making him think of all the times Dean dressed and undressed him as a child, always taking care of him, still taking care of him.
Dean started to slide his pants and boxers down his legs and Sam took a full step back to undress completely, his cock hanging hot and heavy between his legs now, flushed and shiny at the tip. Dean made a small sound at the back of his throat at the sight, and Sam gestured for him to back up on the bed. Dean obliged, toeing off his boots and then scrambling away from him as Sam came forward, dropping to the bed on his hands and knees to follow Dean up, finally settling in the space between his legs, sitting back on his heels so he could reach forward and start to strip his brother. Dean’s eyes stayed on Sam’s the whole time, getting lost in the slim rings of hazel while he let his brother slip his arms out of his shirts and pull them up over his head. He was propped up on his elbows as Sam moved to his jeans, keeping their eyes locked even as he lifted his hips to let Sam pull them down. Sam lifted himself out of the way, straddling Dean a moment just to get the pants all the way off.
Dean lay there looking up at him, naked and exposed, vulnerable like he could only be with Sam, and panted a little as he subtly continued to open his knees, making space and begging Sam to him. Sam was desperate to get in there, throw himself at his brother and give him everything - take everything - and desperate for this to be just right, everything Dean needed, but the sight of Dean spread out and trusting cut right through him, made him breathless and he was frozen looking at it, etching it into his mind to hold on to a while longer.
“Sammy, please,” Dean’s voice, ragged, snapped him out of it, and Sam didn’t miss how his brother’s dick twitched as he said his name. Sam went for Dean’s mouth with as much grace as he could muster given the way his want was washing over him like tidal waves and he was more or less drowning in it. Their lips met already open, and Sam’s tongue danced into his brother’s mouth like it belonged there - because it did - and Dean’s met it in the same way. Dean was arching up into him, trying to keep their bodies flush, pressing their cocks together in the most agonizing way, the mostly dry friction too much and not enough all at once. His hands flew up into Sam’s hair, his fingers twining into it and tugging Sam’s head whichever way he wanted to get better access to his mouth, so Dean could lap at him and drink him down however he needed. Sam moaned a little with each tug and the deliciously deep way Dean was fucking into him with his tongue. It threatened to make him mindless, everything Dean was doing to him, but Sam had so many plans, and it was hard enough to decide what to do first - or at all - and he would not be dissuaded.
Gasping, Sam broke their kiss, Dean still bucking up into him, his own hips circling to meet his brother’s, and Dean’s grip in his hair tightened as he dipped down to place sucking kisses along Dean’s neck. Groaning, his brother’s head went back into the pillow, exposing his throat, and Sam lovingly licked and nipped at it, occasionally letting his face rub along the edge of Dean’s chin, heady from the gentle scratch of his stubble. Finally he moved lower, planting his lips chastely across Dean’s chest, his brother’s hands still fisted in his hair, tugging but letting Sam do as he pleased, roam anywhere over the perfect landscape of his skin. He kissed and licked at Dean’s nipples, one by one, loving the whines and whimpers that it earned him, each immaculate sound making him drip onto the bed beneath him. He carefully avoided Dean’s dick, which was bouncing excitedly against his stomach, leaving kisses of precome that drew strings between the skin there and the tip with each bump against his belly. Dean arched into him again as his mouth sucked at his hip bones, easy and not bruising. The boys had always had a tendency to be rough, always liked to mark each other up, but tonight wasn’t about that. Sam was going to take his brother apart, piece by piece, and he was going to do with all the love and tenderness that Dean would never, ever afford himself.
“God, Sammy…” Dean was writhing a little underneath him, squirming into his touch and pushing against his mouth wherever it fell. Sam moved lower still, kissing at the crease of Dean’s legs and nosing at his balls, moving them with his tongue to get underneath, teasing at the sensitive skin there. His hands came up to pull at Dean’s cheeks, to open him up even more, and his thumbs rubbed reverently at the meaty flesh, caressing. Dean keened at the movement, knowing what was coming, his dick dripping to think of Sam’s eyes taking all of him in, which he was. Then Sam’s mouth was on his hole, pressing almost demurely against the ring of muscle and Dean drew in a sharp breath, bearing down against his lips as his grip on Sam’s hair tightened. Sam had to close his eyes and could only moan at the feel of it, loving the pull from his brother’s hands and the intoxicating musky-secret taste that was all Dean in a way that belonged only to him. He placed a few more delicate kisses before starting to lap at the flexing opening that seemed desperate to pull him in, alternating broad swipes of his tongue and little kitten licks, teasing and getting his brother good and wet. Dean’s hands were still moving frantically through his hair as he shifted to get as close to Sam’s face as he could, and when Sam first breached him with the tip of his tongue he let loose these beautiful, broken sounds that went straight to Sam’s dick, setting off sparks the whole way down. Dean’s sounds devolved into panted, breathy iterations of Sam’s name peppered with ohs and ahs and God and other curses, and all it did was serve to feed the fire in Sam’s belly, the same one that had him mindlessly rolling his hips against Dean’s cherished memory foam and letting his own sounds loose to mingle with all the others.
By the time Dean was wantonly moaning Sam’s name, completely desperate for more, wrung out by the way Sam’s tongue would move inside him and press at his prostate, Sam knew it wasn’t going to be long for either of them. He pressed one last kiss to his brother’s hole and, pulling back, only took a moment to indulge the sight of it, shiny and perfectly pink and fluttering open for him. He had to tighten his fingers in a makeshift ring at the base of his cock just looking at it.
“Jesus, Dean…” Sam met his brother’s gaze, almost completely blacked out with want for him, a sliver of still startlingly bright green around the edges. Dean was flushed all over, his body all shades of pink, glistening with sweat in the low light from the single desk lamp, dick rock hard and brilliantly dark with blood that burned so hot, lips puffy and red from his having been biting and sucking them in, and the look he gave Sam was the one he’d been looking for: Dean was open, his eyes were wet and pleading and his chest heaving, his breath catching, his system overloaded as Sam had planned, not just with pleasure but with love. Dean’s eyes told Sam everything he needed to know as he sat between his brother’s knees and surveyed his beautiful face; Dean was letting it go, he’d given in to the moment, to what they were doing, and most importantly to Sam.
“Sam- Sammy, need- need you, please,” Dean choked out between gasps, and Sam leaned down and over his brother to kiss him, one arm reaching out to grab the lube from the bedside table. Dean practically whined at the taste of himself on Sam’s lips, his tongue pushing in to seek it out, and Sam was all too happy to let him, once again at the mercy of his brother’s hands buried in his hair. One-handed he flipped open the cap on the bottle and made a bit of a mess squeezing some out and discarding the bottle, slicking himself up slowly because the cool wetness of his own touch was near overwhelming. He panted into Dean’s mouth, couldn’t help himself from smiling against his brother's lips as he whimpered into their kiss, canting his hips up, desperately searching for friction, for Sam.
“C’mon Sammy, please I- I need you, you gotta fill me up,” Dean was babbling, frantic, pulling at Sam’s lips with his own, sucking them into his mouth around broken words, and he pulled at Sam’s hair with one hand as he moaned, the other having relinquished its hold to instead scrabble all over Sam’s back and hips and ass, tugging and trying to guide him. Sam lined up the swollen tip of his cock to his brother’s entrance and at the contact they both sucked in a breath, Dean's hole loose and giving way easily, closing around Sam like a kiss. Sam locked eyes on his brother as he pushed in, fighting the impulse to let the feeling draw his own eyes closed just so he could watch the blissed out expression on Dean’s face as he oh-so-slowly slid inside. Dean’s mouth parted and his eyes squeezed shut against the stretch, and Sam wanted to kiss those beautiful crinkles that deepened at the corners of his eyes. So he did. He left delicate kisses there as he bottomed out, finally remembering to breathe despite the way Dean’s body was hot and tight and making it a miracle he could remember his own name much less anything else (not that he could ever really forget it, the way it kept spilling from Dean's mouth). He hovered above his brother, watching, waiting for the sign to move, letting Dean adjust and make a space for him, take him home.
Dean blinked his eyes open and started to nod - Sam could practically see him searching for something to say and coming up empty - his hand on Sam’s hip coaxing and his head tilting back to ask for Sam’s lips.
“Sam, baby, baby boy, yeah, Sammy, ah,” Dean’s brain finally supplied him with sounds resembling words and he muttered them into their kisses, all lips and teeth and tongues, sloppy and open as Sam started to move. He thrust into Dean hard, but not fast, pushing in then pulling out slow, feeling the tug and grip of Dean’s body as it tried to keep him. Dean circled his hips to meet Sam's the best he could but all their rhythm was shot, both of them much too close to move so in sync. Sam shifted his knees to change the angle and Dean cried out, Sam having found what he was looking for. Only a few more snaps of his hips and Dean was coming between them without a hand on him, shooting warm and ropey all their chests. He made a near unrecognizable sound as he did, his whole body seizing and clenching around Sam, and all of it went through him like a strike of lightning; Sam lit up entirely, his whole body sizzling as he joined his brother over the edge, hips stuttering, filling Dean with his come which was already dripping out around the base of him, the wet, squelching sounds of him fucking into it making him shiver all the more. Dean still shuddered beneath him, the last waves receding, and Sam let Dean’s body milk the last of it from him where he was still buried so deep. As his orgasm finally released him, Sam shook with the effort to keep himself up and Dean squeezed his hip, letting him know that it was okay, he could lie down. Sam tried not to crush him all at once, but he dropped onto his brother with a quiet oof and burrowed his face into Dean’s neck. Dean’s hands, rough and weathered, moved lightly over his back, tracing nonsense shapes like when they were kids and he was calming Sam down from a nightmare. It made Sam smile and hum happily into the hollow where his face was tucked, and as his breathing came back to normal, Sam languidly lapped at the salty skin that he could reach without moving, loving that he could feel the ripples it sent through his brother’s body.
They lay like that for some time, lazy and drifting, until Sam finally moved to roll off his brother, slipping out of him and making them both groan at the loss. Dean shifted his legs now that he could and Sam reached blindly for the first shirt he could get his hands on and cleaned them both up, taking his time with Dean. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him as he wiped up the mess, stooping down occasionally to lick at it first, kiss at it after. Dean’s dick twitched with interest at the touches but his gaze was soft, like the glowing coals of a dying fire, warm and low. As he tossed away the shirt, Sam kissed his way back up his brother’s body, Dean’s hands playing in his hair and moving to cup his face, stroke at his jaw. Sam let his lips meet Dean’s again, and then pulled back just enough, still sharing the air between them.
“I love you,” it was a whisper even though they were alone, meant just for Dean, like a secret only they knew. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to say it, to share the words, the right moments eluding them, hiding from them behind black eyes or the Mark. Saying them now was like bringing them back to life, some long lost treasure that had finally been found. He even dared to look at Dean as he said it. The corners of his brother’s mouth turned up in an easy, genuine smile, one Sam couldn’t remember seeing in just as long, because it one meant just for him.
“Yeah, Sammy. I love you, too,” he kissed Sam then, gently. Sam breathed in the kiss and Dean’s words, feeling more whole than he had since he lost Dean to Metatron over a year ago. It was suddenly too much - it was everything - and he didn’t trust himself to keep it together so he moved off of his brother instead, breaking their kiss but nudging him onto his side, pulling the blanket out from under them and then curling up behind him, their legs tangled up, his arms around Dean’s waist, his face at Dean’s neck, just so he could kiss at it whenever he wanted to. He took a few shaky breaths and knew that Dean knew, but Dean had had his moment, too. They could never have been able to say how much they needed this, but that didn’t matter because they both understood, and generally as a rule they avoid the ‘saying’ part if they could. All Sam knew now was that no matter what had happened or what was going to, in this moment, he had everything he wanted right there in his arms. Dean had let him in, had let it all go, and Sam could put back the pieces of himself with everything Dean gave him.
Dean’s arm covered Sam’s and threaded their fingers together on his stomach, his thumb rubbing at Sam’s hand, still soothing him. Sam had set out to take care of his big brother but Dean was always doing the same.
“Go to sleep, Sam,” Dean murmured, and just like that Sam was Dean’s little brother, the way he always was, and Dean was taking care of him. They were taking care of each other. The thought crossed Sam’s mind and made his heart feel light, unjustifiably so considering everything they still had to deal with. But this was how they were supposed to be; this was how they were at their best. This was how they would get better: together. It felt like home.