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 It all started with that damn jacket. That stupid brown heavy jacket Sam was always wearing, despite Dean's teasing, despite the fact that it looked like something a damn lumberjack would wear. That fucking jacket of Sam's, so much Essence of Sam in it that Dean associated anything similar with his brother the second he saw it. Well, no- if Dean was being entirely honest, it probably started with the damn werewolf that had managed to get his claws into Dean's chest, managed to rip through his shirt, managed to give him some deep scratches. And then Sam, of course, being so goddamn motherly and over-protective about it all. 

He'd ripped Dean's shirt off, after carefully pulling off Dean's leather jacket. He'd examined the scratches quickly, then huffed a relieved sort of laugh. 

"You're gonna be okay," he said, lifting Dean's body half-off the ground and pressing Dean into his chest. Dean shivered, forcing his thoughts to stay with the present as his head landed on Sam's pec. Sam pushed the remnants of his ruined shirt up against his bleeding skin hard enough that it stung. Dean stayed stoic. "You're good. I'll stitch you up at the hotel, okay? Gotta get you outta here before the cops come. 

"Think you can carry my ass all the way back to the car?" Dean asked, his head heavy enough to hear Sam's heartbeat through his skin. "'S pretty heavy."  That heartbeat- the one that meant more to him than any other on earth including his own- was strong and steady as Sam lifted him up and wrapped his jacket around Dean's shoulders. Dean's shivers slowed. He practically felt Sam's eyeroll against his head, even as he breathed in the soft glow of leather, and behind that, the scent of old books and mint and Sam's shampoo, along with something so primally Sam- Dean felt a rush of warmth go through him. He shrugged it off.

"Yes, asshole. I've carried you before."

"Not since y'got all soft at college," Dean murmured to himself. Sam seemed to jostle him on purpose, and Dean let out a quiet hiss no one aside from a hunter would have caught. Sam's arms grew tighter around him holding Dean up against his own body as if in apology. 

"Still harder than you."

"Weird thing to say to your brother, but okay, 'm sure you get pretty hard," Dean murmured, feeling warm and a little out of it. Sam snorted. 

"Shut up. Jerk. Hang in there. It's a quick drive." Dean groaned as Sam buckled him into the seat. 

"I coulda done that. I'm not a total cripple." This time he caught a glimpse of Sam's bitchface and couldn't help but grin in response. "What?"

"Don't say cripple, man. Not cool." Dean simply grinned until Sam got into the driver's seat and carefully turned Baby around. He looked over at Dean, grabbing Dean's left hand and pressing it up against Dean's chest, holding the t-shirt in place against his bare skin. "Keep pressure on that."

"Yessir," Dean said sarcastically. Sam's jaw went slack for a half second at that, and Dean tried, tried so goddamn hard it hurt, not to read too much into it. Instead he closed his eyes, focusing on the muted smell of Sam all around him, the feel of the jacket on his bare back, the soft hiss of pain from the wounds on his chest as he pressed the fabric into them. "You good?" he asked sleepily, his mind feeling a little bit fuzzy. Sam snorted beside him.

"Yes, idiot, I'm good. I'm not the one who got gored by the dying werewolf. You hanging in there? Not losing too much blood?"

"Nah," Dean said softly, tugging the upper part of the seatbelt away from his body as he lay down, unable to help himself, pressing the top of his head up against Sam's thigh. He sighed, his tense flesh relaxing at the contact. Sam's hand landed in his hair. Any other time, Dean would shove him off, make a comment about chick-flick moments, but here- well, he was the one who'd almost laid his head in his brother's lap. And, though he'd never admit it to Sam, the heavy warm hand in his hair felt damn good. 

"Still with me?" Sam asked, his voice dropping quieter than Dean's. Dean nodded, resisting the urge to get gruff, to assert that he was fine, to sit up and lean against the window instead of his brother, all the things he would normally do. Something was different this time. He felt warm. Good, despite the sharp pricks of pain. And he wasn't quite ready to pull the indifferent, carefree, chick-flick-less mask back around himself again. Not quite yet. 

"Always, Sammy," he said. Sam's fingers tightened in his hair.


They managed to get into the hotel room, Sam half-carrying Dean, and Dean let Sam balance him up against the mirror as he sat on the bathroom counter beside the sink, taking a few straight shots of whiskey before Sam's needle slipped into his skin, Sam's deft fingers quickly sewing him up. He locked his jaw into place and dealt with it. He'd had worse, he'd let Sam himself do worse. Sam tied off the stitches into a knot, scrutinizing his work closely. 

"I think it'll hold. A few weeks, and I'll pull em out." 

"Awesome. And until then I getta look like Sammy's little cross-stitch nightmare," Dean said with a crooked grin at Sam. Sam grinned back, pressing his palm against Dean's stitches hard enough that Dean felt his mouth pull into a grimace before he could stop it. Sam's eyes raked up and down Dean's face for a moment before his smile grew softer and his hand pulled away. Dean closed his eyes at the loss, rearranging his face into a careful indifferent grin as he blinked them open again. 

"Please, my stitches are great. Way better than yours. You can't even see where that colo colo got you," Sam said. And then Sam's fingers brushed across the light scar on his bare stomach, calloused edges catching on Dean's skin, warm and inviting. Dean shivered, unable to help himself as goosebumps broke out across his skin. Sam didn't move, didn't mention it. That was a best-case scenario, as far as Dean was concerned. 

"Yeah, guess you're decent. Thanks for fixing me up, doc." He was very, very aware of how close Sam stood, right between his spread legs. He loomed over Dean in a way that somehow made him feel safe and on edge all at once. And all around him was the smell of Sam, Sam's jacket still warm around his shoulders. And Sam himself stood there, dimples carving into his face, one of his hands still on Dean's stomach, the other landing on his shoulder. Dean felt electric fire burning out from where Sam's hands made contact with him. Baddirtywrongsick flashed across his mind, and he shivered again, gently pushing at Sam's chest. He stood. Sam stayed almost where he was, only inches away from Dean. 

"Looks good," Sam said softly. His gaze was fixed on Dean's chest. Dean couldn't look away from Sam's face, wanting nothing more than to lean forward, to close the distance, to feel Sam's lips on his own. He flushed. He was sick. He was fucked up. Why did he want this so bad? Why now, when he'd just gotten Sammy back? Why was he still so goddamn fucked up? He flushed with shame, swallowing the feelings down, forcing himself to put on the careless older brother face he'd perfected over the years. Sam's fingers reached up and brushed across this stitches. Dean twitched a little, and he couldn't have said whether it was in pain or pleasure.

"You did good," Dean said, his voice rough and uncertain. Sam's hand moved downward, landing on his waist, his thumb toying in front of Dean's jutting hip bone. Dean inhaled sharply. It wasn't what he wanted. It couldn't possibly be what he wanted- Jesus, he was sick to even think that. Sam just wanted to help him, just wanted to get him fixed up, and here he was, being a fucking freak about it. What the fuck was wrong with him? Deflect. "Sammy-" he murmured. "I look like a blushing bride that needs to be carried to bed to you?"

"Yeah, kinda, now that you mention it," Sam said. There was something dark in his eyes, something Dean didn't dare try to give a voice to, because his voice would be biased and perverted and try to drag Sam down to his own damned level. He shuddered and tried to pull away, but his back hit the counter and Sam stayed as close as before. "My jacket looks good on you."

"Well it looks better on me. I don't know that I'd say it looks good," Dean said, the fabric seeming to burn against his skin. It was too big for him- god, why did he love that? Sam's touch was hotter still, and he was close- far too close- close enough that Dean could feel him in the air, that he felt himself melting, despite all of his best intentions. He squinted his eyes shut, trying not to breathe too deeply. 

"Dean," Sam said. Dean opened his eyes automatically, seeking out whatever it was Sam needed, whatever was causing that uncertain, reedy note in his voice. Sam's eyes were mere inches from his. He swallowed hard. "Why do you always look like that when I touch you these days? Like it hurts."

"I- Sam, I'm sorry, it's not you, I-" Dean glanced at the ground, feeling himself flinch again before he could stop it. He pressed his palms against Sam's chest and pushed gently, expecting Sam to move away, to let it go, or at least pretend to for the night. Sam stayed right where he was, Sam's touch so hot against his skin it was practically burning against his chest, burning through the jacket against his shoulder. He couldn't meet Sam's eyes for long. His hands, the traitors, stayed right where they were.

"It's okay," Sam said, his gaze still unreadable. Sam didn't pull his hands away. God- why wasn't he pulling his hands away? Was it Dean's fault? Did he look too sick?

"I'm okay, Sammy, you can let go," he said, the last two words dramatically enunciated. Sam didn't move. Dean gulped, the heat from the jacket, from Sam himself, spreading. Sam took a half step closer and Dean's heart stopped. 

"I know you're okay," Sam said. For just a second, the self-assured, knowing mask slipped. He looked uncertain, vulnerable, and Dean would do anything to make him look okay again. Sam's eyes closed. When they opened, they were sure once more, almost predatory. "I know you're okay," he repeated. Then before Dean had a chance to say anything, before he had a chance to protest, pull away, deflect, Sam's lips crashed into his and he lost his damn mind. 

Sam kissed him hard, his lips demanding and sure as they moved effortlessly against Dean's. Dean couldn't do anything- couldn't stop, really, he couldn't do a goddamn thing. All he could do was kiss Sam back, melt against him, let Sam push him back up into the counter, the sharp edge digging into his back as he clung to his brother. He pulled away first, feeling his jaw drop, feeling his hands fall away, but not consciously aware of making either motion happen. Sam stared at him, looking almost as shocked as Dean felt. 

"Sammy-" he started, staring down at his lap. "It's Jess- you're confused. You're still grieving and- Jesus, Sammy-" 

He broke off, still breathless, too surprised to form any other words. Sam's hands closed around his, his fingers sliding between Dean's. Dean shivered, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, hard enough that he could remember just how fucked up he was, just what an absolutely terrible idea this was. And how fucked up he had to be to get Sam to do this. Because of course, it was his fault. 

"No," Sam said, full weight of his trademark stubbornness bleeding into his voice. "It's none of that- it's just that you look fucking hot in my jacket." Dean snorted. Sam echoed the sound, gripping Dean's hands tightly. "Look- we've had this- this thing for a damn long time. Since before I left." 

Dean flinched, hoping Sam didn't notice, thinking of the late nights rubbing against each other in their teenaged years, neither acknowledging that the other was awake. There hadn't been kissing then, though. And that- that had been accidental. They were hormonal teenagers sharing a bed- Dean shook himself. 

"And I told you I was sorry, I know I never should've-"

"It isn't just you, Dean.  It was never just you. I want you. God, I fucking want you- and you want me too. I'm sick of us just ignoring it," Sam said, gripping the collar of the jacket and pulling Dean up against him. Dean shivered, unable to move, to stop it, to help- He just stared up at Sam like he was a statue, so turned on he couldn't breathe. 

"Sammy," he managed to murmur. Then Sam's body was crushed against his again, and he lost his mind a little. Sam let go of his hands, tangling his fingers in Dean's hair and tugging his head back, making Dean look up at him. "Sam- It's my fault- I fucked you up- we can't-" 

Sam's lips crashed into his again before he could even finish his thought, taking the breath right out of his lungs. Dean kissed him back, his body betraying him, wanting more, wanting Sam the way he'd always fantasized about having him. Sam pulled back first this time, and Dean let out a strangled whimper of loss that he cut off quickly, staring up at Sam, breathless and wanting, unable to move. Sam's eyes were demon-black, all pupil.

"Dean. I've wanted to fuck you since I turned fourteen. I want you. So fucking bad it hurts. And I think you want me too."

"I can't-" 

"You kiss me like you want me," Sam said softly, running a hand down Dean's bare chest. "Look at me and tell me that you don't want this." Dean met his eyes, trying to force the words out for Sam's sake. But behind Sam's stubborn gaze, there was something wild, like desperation, fear, hurt. And he found he couldn't lie. He looked away instead, hating himself. Sam's huge hand cupped his face, thumb stroking the line of Dean's cheekbone. 

"After everything we've done, everything we've been through, is it really so terrible if we have this?" Sam asked. Dean shivered, leaning into the hand touching his face before he could stop himself. 

"Terrible if I do this to you," Dean murmured. "It's terrible that I even made you want to-" Sam's hand slid down to the back of Dean's neck, squeezing gently and tugging Dean's forehead to meet his. 

"I know listening isn't your strong suit, but I need you to hear this," Sam started. Dean wanted to tell him off (or flip him off), but he was paralyzed. "I'm in love with you. This isn't some stupid whim or you brainwashing me into coming on to you." He laughed a little and Dean felt his breath on his cheeks. He closed his eyes, focusing on breathing Sam in, his arms raising to cling to Sam's body. This was somehow more intimate than Sam's lips had been. He couldn't move away.

"Well, what is it then, Sammy? Sex pollen? Sudden Induced Incest Syndrome?" 

Sam huffed again, his hand warm in Dean's hair, so close Dean could almost feel the wind from his eyelashes. "You always think you're so funny. No. Jerk. It's like- it's inevitable. I love you, Dean. With every fucking part of me. And maybe I should feel guilty about that, but I don't. Not after Jess- not anymore. It doesn't feel wrong, wanting you like that. It doesn't feel wrong when I touch you. It didn't feel wrong when I kissed you. Honestly- you've been the rightest thing in my life all my life."

"No," Dean said, still unable to pull away from the comfort of Sam. He could lean into that as he did what he had to do and broke his own heart. "You were happy at Stanford-"

"I wasn't."

"Yes you were," Dean said certainly. "You had a whole life. Whether you admit it or not, Sam, you were happy. It's losing all that that has you-"

"No- listen. I wasn't me. I didn't feel alive. I didn't until I started hunting with you again." 

Dean smiled, unable to help himself. As long as his eyes stayed closed, it didn't count.

"I was so scared to ask you," he admitted in barely more than a whisper. "I was so scared you were gonna laugh in my face. Or pity me. And you didn't."

"See- things are always better when we're together."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean-" 

Sam tilted his face just a few inches, slowly, giving Dean time to pull away. He didn't. He couldn't. This time when Sam's lips met his it was softer, saying everything Dean wasn't ready to process in words. And Dean kissed him back, unable to help himself from responding, unable to keep the truth to himself any longer. Sam's face pressed against his, warm and familiar, the only constant thing through his childhood. Dean gripped him tighter, suddenly so terrified of losing him, of losing this, that he couldn't breathe. Sam's arms enveloped him as he pulled back just an inch. 

"Okay?" Sam asked, but Dean knew he already knew the answer. They knew each others' body language like they knew each others' faces. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak without turning the whole thing into even more of a chick-flick moment or bursting into tears or something horrible. Sam kissed him again, bringing their chests together. Sam was so warm against him, even through his shirt, and Dean could feel his heartbeat, sure and steady and a little fast. He tugged at Sam's shirt, their bodies too close together for him to get it off. Sam got the idea, though, pulling away from him just enough to take his shirt off. He reached for the jacket around Dean's shoulders, and Dean reluctantly helped shrug it off. 

"I like your jacket," he said, his voice hoarse. Sam's eyes gleamed, and he tugged Dean close again, kissing him hard for a minute before pushing him back. Dean hissed at the pressure on his stitches, and Sam's eyes seemed to dance at his expression. 

"You've always liked pain." 

"What?" Dean asked, affronted. His cheeks burned. Sam let go, hands reaching behind Dean to grope his ass. Dean groaned, tilting his head toward Sam's. Sam smiled. 

"We're going to play with that. But not tonight. Tonight I just want to be allowed to touch you."

"Yeah- okay," Dean muttered, trying not to give too much away. Sam didn't need to know his blood was buzzing, he didn't need to know that Dean felt alive, in the moment, in ways he never thought he'd feel. Sam got both of their pants off quickly, leaving their boxers in place. Before Dean had a chance to think his way out, Sam had him scooped into his freakishly strong arms, carrying him to the bed and setting him down so gently that Dean snorted. 

"I'm not some blushing virgin, Sammy." Sam's thumb and forefinger caught Dean's chin, forcing his gaze to meet Sam's. Dean's breath caught in his throat. 

"Oh, I know you're not," Sam said, grinning, the grin only Dean ever got to see, but somehow more predatory. "But we only get one first time together. And I'm not gonna fuck it up by- by bruising your tailbone or something." 

Dean groaned. "Ugh- seriously? God, only one first time so you wanna make it special? You're such a chick." Sam lunged forward, lithe and tall, pinning Dean to the bed by his wrists. Sam's crotch pressed into his, and Dean groaned, rocking his hips into Sam's bulge. 

"Chick, huh?" Sam asked, grinding his hips maddeningly slowly against Dean. Dean tried half-heartedly to pull his wrists away, trying to reach out and make Sam give him something already. Sam held him still. 

"Okay- I take it back," Dean said, waving his hands as much as he could beneath Sam's grasp in surrender. "C'mon- let me up. Let me see that monster. I wanna touch you." Sam rolled off of him and stood at the edge of the bed, dipping his thumbs beneath the waistband of his boxers teasingly. Dean watched, propping himself up against the pillows as he tried hard not to look too eager. When exactly had Sam gotten this hot? He was still wiry, but not bean-pole thin like he'd been before Stanford. Now his chest and stomach were lined with muscle that rippled with his movements, and his arms were huge and strong, probably almost strong enough to hold Dean down. He swallowed hard. 

"Tease," he murmured. Sam's eyes sparkled and he actually stuck his tongue out. Dean opened his mouth to say something else, but Sam's boxers finally moved, pulling slowly down, then falling, hitting the floor with a soft thrump that Dean didn't register. Because he was focused on his baby brother's monster cock, already hard, bigger than anything Dean had seen outside of porn. "Holy fucking hell, Sam. How the fuck you been hiding that all these years?"

"I feel like at some point, you should have noticed, D," Sam said, looking pleased with himself. 

"Come here," Dean whispered throatily. Sam slowly moved back onto the bed, crawling on top of Dean once more. Dean reached down to wrap a hand around it, cursing at the weight in his hand. "God, you're so big."

"Size queen," Sam muttered, biting at Dean's earlobe as he worked Dean's own boxers down. Dean groaned as Sam's fingers moved across his shaft, gripping him firmly. "Not so bad yourself," Sam breathed. 

Dean stroked him slowly, closing his eyes as he tried to soak in every sensation to commit them to memory; the soft wet warmth of Sam's breath on his cheek, the smell and feel of him all around, Sam's calloused hand on his cock, the hard press of Sam's dick in his own hand. If they stopped now, if the world ended and this was his last minute on the planet, he'd die happy, wrapped in Sam's arms, with everything he'd never dared even to think he wanted. Sam's lips met his again, and Dean kissed him back hard, warmth spreading from his chest to his stomach to his fingers. He let his hands wander, exploring every inch of Sam's skin, everything he'd never been allowed to touch, groaning as Sam did the same, finding his most sensitive areas and playing with him until he was shaking with want. 

"Sam- you got any lube? I want you-"

"My bag- front pocket," Sam murmured, moving off him. Dean rolled off the bed and fumbled with Sam's bag. It seemed to take him a century to find it, and a century longer to get back to his brother. Sam tugged him back onto the bed with a laugh, and Dean let himself get pinned again.

"You keep ending up on top of me," Dean said stupidly. Sam groaned. 

"Is that supposed to be a line?" 

Dean shrugged. "Only if it gets you inside me faster." 

Sam smirked, using his knees to force Dean's legs to spread. Dean gasped as Sam's finger slid inside of him slowly, and Sam stopped, studying him. 

"What?" he asked softly. 

"Well," Dean murmured, flexing around Sam's finger and gasping again. "I've got my brother's finger inside me and I fuckin' like it. So- any chance that I wasn't going to hell before today? Totally gone."

"Oh good, I thought I hurt you," Sam said, sliding another finger in beside the first before Dean could adjust. Sam slowly worked him open, occasionally brushing a finger or two against Dean's prostate and making Dean curse with the feeling of it. Soon, Dean's hips moved with Sam, trying to push him deeper, to get more, appease the warm stirring in his stomach. He ground against Sam's cock, the hot friction in combination with Sam's fingers inside him sending sparks up his spine. A low moan slipped past his lips as he chased the sensations, burying his face in Sam's neck and licking a stripe over Sam's skin. Sam's fingers left him, and he whined at the loss. 

"Will you fucking get inside me already?" he asked as gruffly as he could to cover it up. Sam laughed, shoving himself up. He ran his fingers down Dean's face. Dean closed his eyes at the touch. Sam flicked his nose hard. "Ow- dammit!"

"You're still so bossy," Sam complained, but the lube was back in his hands, then something hard pressed against Dean's hole and Sam's hand gripped the back of his neck. "Ready?" Sam asked, his voice breathy and a little unsure. 

Dean grabbed one of his hands, twining their fingers together beside his head. There were a hundred stupid chick-flick thoughts running through his head, a hundred things he wanted, for some stupid reason, to tell Sam. He managed to keep them all down, giving Sam the most reassuring big-brother smile he could. 

"Yeah, Sammy. C'mon, it's okay, I want to feel you. Do it." 

Sam squeezed his hand, and Dean gasped, pushing his face into Sam's chest as Sam slowly slid into him, filling him up better than anyone ever had. He breathed in the soft scent of Sam's skin until the sting faded, then nodded. Sam slowly pulled out, letting out a quiet groan. 

"Fuck- Dean, you feel- Jesus-" Sam murmured, sounding as strung-out as Dean felt. "Am I hurting you? Are you okay?"

"Like it," Dean said, his eyes rolling into his head as Sam pushed back into him with a strangled sort of gasp. "You can go faster," he managed to get out as Sam bottomed out inside of him again. 

"Sure?" Sam asked, his voice rough with restraint, his grip on Dean's hand painfully tight. 

"Yeah-" he said, his voice higher than usual, body thrumming with anticipation. "Fuck me." 

Dean didn't have to wait another second. Sam clung tightly to Dean as he began to thrust into him, harder now, his huge cock rubbing against Dean's prostate with every thrust. Dean's eyes squinted shut once more, and Sam's lips crashed into his, claiming him, taking everything Dean always wanted to give him. The stinging with each thrust faded quickly, leaving Dean with pure pleasure. He wrapped his legs around Sam, keeping him close, his hips jerking involuntarily toward Sam's thrusts. 

"Sammy- feel so good- so fucking big- don't stop," he gasped into Sam's neck, clinging to Sam's hand, other hand stroking down Sam's back, tracing the planes of his muscles. 

"Never thought we could have this," Sam said softly. Both of them groaned as Sam thrust in again, hard. "Never thought we would ever-"

"I know," Dean said softly, groaning as Sam kept fucking into him. Emotion mixed with the pleasure, and he felt his eyes fill unexpectedly. He pushed the tears back, focusing on just how good it felt to have Sam so close, inside of him, pushing him closer and closer to his peak. His cock brushed against Sam's stomach with every thrust, and it didn't take long for Dean to be right on the edge. 

"Fuck- I'm gonna come- you're- god, Sam," he murmured, clinging to every part of Sam that he could. 

"Me too, 'm close," Sam murmured, sucking a mark into Dean's neck. 

Dean arched his back, as close to Sam as he could be, his body overwhelmed with sensation. Sam moaned out his name, thrusts growing erratic and short, and Dean came hard, his body shaking as his mind went blank, pleasure overwhelming his senses. When his sense started to return, eyes still spinning with black spots, ears ringing, he half-expected to be struck with guilt or regret or at least shame. None of it was there. His mind was blissfully calm. He smiled into Sam's neck, finally letting go of his hand. They each stretched their fingers out, Dean letting out an exaggerated hiss of pain. 

"You used my fingers as a stressball," he accused. Sam laughed against his neck, then slowly pulled out of him, tugging another gasp from Dean. They rolled onto their sides, facing each other. Sam's smile was his old one, the open innocent grin of somebody who was genuinely happy. Dean reached out to touch his face, unable to keep a smile off his own. 

"So, uh-" Sam started, his grin widening. "That- we did that." 

"Yup, you can't unfuck your brother," Dean said. Sam rolled his eyes, arm falling around Dean's body. 

"Any regrets?"

"Nah," Dean murmured, stroking down Sam's jawline. "If you're crazy enough to want to try this, then fuck it, I don't want to fight it anymore."  Sam's dimples dug divets into his cheeks. "And stop looking so damn happy. This ain't a chick-flick moment," Dean said, not even convincing himself. Sam leaned forward, kissing Dean languid and slow, gently stroking his exhausted body. It felt so good to have Sam touching him like this. It felt so good not to feel a shred of guilt for touching Sam. He broke the kiss, meeting Sam's gaze as evenly as he could as he took a deep breath in.

"I love you, Sammy," he said simply. Sam's grip on him tightened. 

"I love you too," Sam said. They basked in the silence for a moment, unable to stop touching other. 

"So- what happens now?" Sam asked. Dean shrugged. 

"I'm thinkin' we get a twelve-pack, rent some porn, and take a couple days off."

"Romantic," Sam said, an amused glint in his eyes. 

"Hey- that's what you get. Brother-fucker." 



Sam pulled the blankets up around them and tugged Dean into his arms. Dean went with only a quick grumbled protest. Sam was warm. And, if he needed another rationalization for all of this, the closer he was to Sam, the easier it would be to keep him safe. He grinned to himself as he tugged on Sam's hair and made yeti jokes, as Sam poked his sides and rolled his eyes. The game faded. Sam's hand grew heavier in his hair. The blanket felt warmer. Dean's last conscious thought was that he was going to find some excuse to steal Sam's big lumberjack jacket. He fell asleep with Sam's lips on his forehead, his mind still guiltless and free.