Another fic
AN: Somebody stop me, I've gone crazy with Wincest.
Back Again
It hadn’t happened very often. Only on occasion and only because they needed the touch. Sometimes, despite all of the barreling into people, the fighting and the fucking of perfect strangers, Dean was sure that he just never touched anyone.
It was a weird feeling. Kind of like a hollowness that needed to be filled.
When they had been younger they’d wrestled, hard, sinewy muscles struggling against each other and it made the feeling go away. It made Dean feel close to him. Close enough that he didn’t need to look somewhere else for someone to fill him up.
But then they grew up. Wrestling wasn’t as easy. It was more awkward without a good reason for it.
Accidentally bumping shoulders and random girls had to do. It wasn’t the same but it was enough.
After dad died though, that’s when things really changed.
It wasn’t like some pent up attraction burst free or anything. It wasn’t like it was just a convenience either.
What it had been was their way of comforting each other.
Weirdly enough it made more sense to Dean then most of what had happened since then.
Sam walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He remembered the feel of it now, the firm grip that had started it all.
Sitting on his bed, Dean had gazed up at him, fighting back all of the twisted thoughts in his head until
Sammy bent down and kissed him. It was on the forehead. Nothing serious, nothing sexual, but somehow they’d ended up horizontal on the bed, their arms clinging to each other desperately. The kisses followed and then the rest from there.
They didn’t really talk about it. It wasn’t some hot hookup. They both knew what it was. They just needed someone, and hell, they had each other.
From then on when things got bad they touched each other.
Somehow it made everything easier.
Dean knew that if he ever tried to explain that to anyone he would probably end up committed again, so he never said a word. He never mentioned it to anyone, not even Sam. Not when he was losing control of himself, not when he jumped into the cage, and not to anyone after that either.
When Sam came back from hell, albeit soullessly, all Dean could think about was his own return from the pit which had been so full of Sam and his silent, understanding, embrace that Dean had almost felt like he’d been living inside him for a time. Protected.
But Sam didn’t respond to him, didn’t seem interested in being comforted. It was in a way a relief when Dean found out about Sam’s MIA soul. It was a relief because Dean could hope his baby brother hadn’t really changed so much in a year and a half that he didn’t want Dean’s affection any more.
But now that he was sitting staring at Sam, his Sam, the real Sam, all of Dean’s memories were blurring together and making it incredibly hard to see. How had they done this before? How had they made this work?
Sam bit his lip, not breaking Dean’s gaze as he did. Tonight he’d remembered hell. Dean knew even though Sam wouldn’t tell him what he’d seen. He knew better than anyone that it was enough to break a person, especially Sam, and he was looking at him with those pleading eyes in a way that Dean understood clearly enough.
But what was he supposed to do? Get up and walk over to his brother and just…
Before it had been easy. It had never required thought it had just happened.
When one of them needed something they would end up inexplicably close to one another. There was no planning, it just happened.
Sam laughed softly. It was more like a release of breath than anything. He looked down.
“I was that bad, huh?”
He sounds defeated and frightened and is trying to hide it behind a veil of casualness and it makes Dean want to laugh and cry at the same time and pinch his cheeks and ruffle his too-long hair, he’s so glad to hear it. But he doesn’t know what to say except what he always says.
“It wasn’t you, Sammy.”
Sam shrugs.
“It kind of was though Dean.”
He looks up at Dean, his eyes wide and glassy.
“I was cold enough to kill people without a thought, I tried to kill Bobby, I couldn’t have been that great to you.”
Dean’s shaking his head,
“It wasn’t you. Even if you remember it, it wasn’t you.”
Sam shuts his eyes and lays back onto the bed, his feet still planted on the floor.
For a while Dean stares at him as he stares at the ceiling. From the short distance of his own bed barely a foot away Sam still seems ages from him.
He’s no longer the young boy that Dean has to protect, Dean has accepted this a long time ago, but he still feels the need inside himself. He didn’t think he could ever stop wanting to do what’s right for his baby brother. It wasn’t just a habit he’d learned, it was a part of himself. He didn’t know how to not do it. It had taken everything inside of him to let Sam make his own choice before, a choice that would destroy him, but now that Dean had him back he knew he would never let Sam make a decision like that again.
He was taking charge from now on. He’d told his brother as much and Sam had blessedly accepted the order. It occurred to Dean that he was probably doing just that right now.
He wasn’t making any moves or taking what Dean wanted to give him. He wasn’t asking for comfort of any kind, just letting Dean know that he was open for it with a very revealing gaze. Because it was Dean’s call.
Dean was floored momentarily by the realization that Sam had always been the one taking the initiative before. He was the sensitive one after all, always knowing when things needed to be said or done. Always knowing how to do it so that Dean wasn’t uncomfortable.
He found himself on his feet, standing over Sam, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest.
Sam watched him with open, unguarded eyes, but didn’t say anything until Dean was crawling into the bed next to him.
“Dean,” he whispered, pushing up, “you don’t have to do this.”
Dean pushed him back down flat, not moving his hand from his brother’s chest, feeling the thump-thump of his heart which was speeding and skipping while Dean just stared down at him.
“Are you kidding?” he asked.
He leaned in and Sam turned his face to him at once, lips opening for a desperate, hungry kiss. After so long,
Dean wanted to cry at the touch of his brother’s mouth, his soft lips, so familiar and so warm.
“I’ve wanted to do this since you got back,” he whispered. “But you didn’t seem like you wanted it.”
A strangled noise escaped Sam’s throat and his fingers dug into Dean’s arms desperately and for a moment Dean was sure Sammy was just going to cry against him. Instead he pressed his face into Dean’s neck, kissing the skin there.
“Maybe you’re right,” he whispered. “Maybe it wasn’t me.”
Despite himself, despite the new rule that Dean was in charge, he found himself caving under Sam’s hands and mouth, surrendering to his needs. By the time they were done he was under the impression that he had been swept powerlessly by a wave, flowing with what was happening rather than affecting it.
Sam was watching him closely in the dim light of the motel room, thanking him with his eyes. Usually when this happened one of them got up, took a shower or moved to their own bed. Dean supposed that he should be the one leaving tonight since his bed was the one unoccupied but Sam tightened his hold when Dean shifted.
“Stay,” he whispered, still watching him, and damn it Dean had never been able to say no to his brother’s pleading eyes.
He twisted in the tight grip until they were facing each other and slid his arms around Sam’s warm narrow waist.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
He pressed his lips against Sammy’s. Yet another thing that they normally never did. Before, when the act was over, it was over. But Sam kissed him back, sighing, and the sound, to dean, had a finality to it.
This was permanent, he realized. He couldn’t let Sam go again, not after everything that had happened, and hey, if this was just about comfort, then Dean was always going to need it.
The thought oddly wasn’t frightening, It was, of all things, soothing and he wanted with a sudden fierceness to put it into words, make it a reality that they were always going to have each other.
With his usual crassness all he could do was tighten his grip and say roughly into Sammy’s mouth, “you’re not going anywhere either.”
Sam squeezed him back silently and Dean realized that with his brother he didn’t need to put it into words more than that. Sam knew him. He knew him enough to understand even before Dean really did and the way he pressed against him, lips touching his shoulder as he fell asleep, that was his silent agreement to all that Dean asked.
End
Back Again
It hadn’t happened very often. Only on occasion and only because they needed the touch. Sometimes, despite all of the barreling into people, the fighting and the fucking of perfect strangers, Dean was sure that he just never touched anyone.
It was a weird feeling. Kind of like a hollowness that needed to be filled.
When they had been younger they’d wrestled, hard, sinewy muscles struggling against each other and it made the feeling go away. It made Dean feel close to him. Close enough that he didn’t need to look somewhere else for someone to fill him up.
But then they grew up. Wrestling wasn’t as easy. It was more awkward without a good reason for it.
Accidentally bumping shoulders and random girls had to do. It wasn’t the same but it was enough.
After dad died though, that’s when things really changed.
It wasn’t like some pent up attraction burst free or anything. It wasn’t like it was just a convenience either.
What it had been was their way of comforting each other.
Weirdly enough it made more sense to Dean then most of what had happened since then.
Sam walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He remembered the feel of it now, the firm grip that had started it all.
Sitting on his bed, Dean had gazed up at him, fighting back all of the twisted thoughts in his head until
Sammy bent down and kissed him. It was on the forehead. Nothing serious, nothing sexual, but somehow they’d ended up horizontal on the bed, their arms clinging to each other desperately. The kisses followed and then the rest from there.
They didn’t really talk about it. It wasn’t some hot hookup. They both knew what it was. They just needed someone, and hell, they had each other.
From then on when things got bad they touched each other.
Somehow it made everything easier.
Dean knew that if he ever tried to explain that to anyone he would probably end up committed again, so he never said a word. He never mentioned it to anyone, not even Sam. Not when he was losing control of himself, not when he jumped into the cage, and not to anyone after that either.
When Sam came back from hell, albeit soullessly, all Dean could think about was his own return from the pit which had been so full of Sam and his silent, understanding, embrace that Dean had almost felt like he’d been living inside him for a time. Protected.
But Sam didn’t respond to him, didn’t seem interested in being comforted. It was in a way a relief when Dean found out about Sam’s MIA soul. It was a relief because Dean could hope his baby brother hadn’t really changed so much in a year and a half that he didn’t want Dean’s affection any more.
But now that he was sitting staring at Sam, his Sam, the real Sam, all of Dean’s memories were blurring together and making it incredibly hard to see. How had they done this before? How had they made this work?
Sam bit his lip, not breaking Dean’s gaze as he did. Tonight he’d remembered hell. Dean knew even though Sam wouldn’t tell him what he’d seen. He knew better than anyone that it was enough to break a person, especially Sam, and he was looking at him with those pleading eyes in a way that Dean understood clearly enough.
But what was he supposed to do? Get up and walk over to his brother and just…
Before it had been easy. It had never required thought it had just happened.
When one of them needed something they would end up inexplicably close to one another. There was no planning, it just happened.
Sam laughed softly. It was more like a release of breath than anything. He looked down.
“I was that bad, huh?”
He sounds defeated and frightened and is trying to hide it behind a veil of casualness and it makes Dean want to laugh and cry at the same time and pinch his cheeks and ruffle his too-long hair, he’s so glad to hear it. But he doesn’t know what to say except what he always says.
“It wasn’t you, Sammy.”
Sam shrugs.
“It kind of was though Dean.”
He looks up at Dean, his eyes wide and glassy.
“I was cold enough to kill people without a thought, I tried to kill Bobby, I couldn’t have been that great to you.”
Dean’s shaking his head,
“It wasn’t you. Even if you remember it, it wasn’t you.”
Sam shuts his eyes and lays back onto the bed, his feet still planted on the floor.
For a while Dean stares at him as he stares at the ceiling. From the short distance of his own bed barely a foot away Sam still seems ages from him.
He’s no longer the young boy that Dean has to protect, Dean has accepted this a long time ago, but he still feels the need inside himself. He didn’t think he could ever stop wanting to do what’s right for his baby brother. It wasn’t just a habit he’d learned, it was a part of himself. He didn’t know how to not do it. It had taken everything inside of him to let Sam make his own choice before, a choice that would destroy him, but now that Dean had him back he knew he would never let Sam make a decision like that again.
He was taking charge from now on. He’d told his brother as much and Sam had blessedly accepted the order. It occurred to Dean that he was probably doing just that right now.
He wasn’t making any moves or taking what Dean wanted to give him. He wasn’t asking for comfort of any kind, just letting Dean know that he was open for it with a very revealing gaze. Because it was Dean’s call.
Dean was floored momentarily by the realization that Sam had always been the one taking the initiative before. He was the sensitive one after all, always knowing when things needed to be said or done. Always knowing how to do it so that Dean wasn’t uncomfortable.
He found himself on his feet, standing over Sam, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest.
Sam watched him with open, unguarded eyes, but didn’t say anything until Dean was crawling into the bed next to him.
“Dean,” he whispered, pushing up, “you don’t have to do this.”
Dean pushed him back down flat, not moving his hand from his brother’s chest, feeling the thump-thump of his heart which was speeding and skipping while Dean just stared down at him.
“Are you kidding?” he asked.
He leaned in and Sam turned his face to him at once, lips opening for a desperate, hungry kiss. After so long,
Dean wanted to cry at the touch of his brother’s mouth, his soft lips, so familiar and so warm.
“I’ve wanted to do this since you got back,” he whispered. “But you didn’t seem like you wanted it.”
A strangled noise escaped Sam’s throat and his fingers dug into Dean’s arms desperately and for a moment Dean was sure Sammy was just going to cry against him. Instead he pressed his face into Dean’s neck, kissing the skin there.
“Maybe you’re right,” he whispered. “Maybe it wasn’t me.”
Despite himself, despite the new rule that Dean was in charge, he found himself caving under Sam’s hands and mouth, surrendering to his needs. By the time they were done he was under the impression that he had been swept powerlessly by a wave, flowing with what was happening rather than affecting it.
Sam was watching him closely in the dim light of the motel room, thanking him with his eyes. Usually when this happened one of them got up, took a shower or moved to their own bed. Dean supposed that he should be the one leaving tonight since his bed was the one unoccupied but Sam tightened his hold when Dean shifted.
“Stay,” he whispered, still watching him, and damn it Dean had never been able to say no to his brother’s pleading eyes.
He twisted in the tight grip until they were facing each other and slid his arms around Sam’s warm narrow waist.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
He pressed his lips against Sammy’s. Yet another thing that they normally never did. Before, when the act was over, it was over. But Sam kissed him back, sighing, and the sound, to dean, had a finality to it.
This was permanent, he realized. He couldn’t let Sam go again, not after everything that had happened, and hey, if this was just about comfort, then Dean was always going to need it.
The thought oddly wasn’t frightening, It was, of all things, soothing and he wanted with a sudden fierceness to put it into words, make it a reality that they were always going to have each other.
With his usual crassness all he could do was tighten his grip and say roughly into Sammy’s mouth, “you’re not going anywhere either.”
Sam squeezed him back silently and Dean realized that with his brother he didn’t need to put it into words more than that. Sam knew him. He knew him enough to understand even before Dean really did and the way he pressed against him, lips touching his shoulder as he fell asleep, that was his silent agreement to all that Dean asked.
End