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Invisible Promises

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Sam Winchester knew that one day he was going to die. Everybody dies at some point, either from natural causes or by death brought upon them intentionally. And since his life wasn’t “normal”, didn’t involve getting up early in the morning to go to work; since he lived on the edge and with Death constantly looming over him, Sam feeling its presence with every breath he took, he knew that his time would come sooner than later.

He was a hunter who had killed more monsters than he had fried burgers on a Sunday barbecue, separated more heads from bodies than lids from bottles. He had a price on his head in the monster world, both Heaven and Hell just itching to get their hands on him for several reasons. He had an invisible target painted on his back thanks to the unhealthy and ridiculously dangerous life he was leading, and no matter how many times he had been to the Other Side and back, it was bound to happen.

It was only a matter of time before he’d get stuck.

He and his brother were on an especially difficult hunt that day. Demons stole innocent souls, cruelly snatched them out of their human shells and forced them into tiny jars. They got the tip from another hunter who’s been working on the case, but when they got there, the hunter was already dead. Mauled and butchered, stretched over a tree and mounted like a prize, a clear sign warning them to stay away. But their warning had the opposite effect on them, feeling rage instead of fear as they made their way into the town supposedly full of soulless humans and putrid demons.

The population consisted mainly of confused or panicked humans—with their souls still intact—and rabid, psychotic ones, behaving aggressively or just staring at people with empty eyes if disturbed. And then there were the demons, hidden in plain sight, vanishing around the corner when they finally managed to catch a glimpse of one. The hunt turned into a cat and mice chase fairly quickly, with the rodents possessing the ability to appear and disappear at will. The demons toyed with them, leading Sam and Dean into dead ends or buildings previously booby-trapped. They were subjected to countless amounts of pranks, some lethal while others merely childish, the demons never joining in on the fun, content with just watching them from the safety of the shadows.

After a painstakingly slow process of tracking down the black eyed tricksters, Sam and Dean took out all their irritation and pent-up anger on them, leaving a literal bloodbath behind their wake, and a town traumatized by the demons’ game. The residents had their souls returned to them, though, so at least nobody was going to feel inclined to go on a murder spree anytime soon.

So they went back to the motel room they have booked in the neighboring town, which was bigger and more like a city, deciding to spend one more night. They were both exhausted and needed a shower. Sam went first because it was just his luck to receive a huge spray of arterial blood when his brother slashed one of the demons’ throat. Dean, of course, only had a few splatters of blood drying on his skin, unlike Sam, whose neck and some of his face was caked in the thing. And both of them knew that when he shoved Sam into the bathroom and ordered him to take a thorough shower, it wasn’t only because of the amount of blood, but more because of the host. Sam was clean, has been clean for years, that much was true; but demon blood was demon blood, and the faster Dean could convince his little brother to get rid of every single speck of it, the better.

Sam didn’t blame him. He didn’t feel offended by Dean’s behavior because he understood what it meant for him. And even though he wasn’t a junkie anymore, he still had to clench his jaw until his teeth hurt in order to stop himself from curiously poking his tongue out, from running it along the part of his lower lip dirtied by the crimson poison.

But in the end he cleaned himself with his hands and water, not his tongue. He dried his skin, pleased to see that the white towel didn’t gain any new dark smudges, then got dressed and left the bathroom for Dean. When his brother was done as well and entered the room, carrying the slight minty fragrance from his body wash with him, they had a short talk about the demons’ strange activities and what might have caused them. Unable to get a satisfying answer that night, as they were both too tired and fed up with this whole demon ordeal, they decided to sleep on it and look into things once back in the bunker.

That never happened, though.

Sam couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour when the pain shook him awake. His eyes flew open in shock and confusion, and he made the biggest mistake in his life as he tried to sit up, the knife only sinking further into his chest from the abrupt movement. He tried screaming, but the man clasped his palm over the frantic man’s mouth. He tried to grab the stranger, to kick him away, but Sam found himself unable to move, his limbs as if turning to stone, feeling heavy and refusing to listen to his desperate commands.

Recognizing the feeling of having his body bound by invisible chains, his heart sank when the stranger’s eyes flashed to pitch black and his lips twisted into a vicious sneer as he drove the blade deeper into Sam’s body, sliding it past bones and flesh until the hilt was persistently pressing into his bleeding skin. It hurt, just like he imagined getting stabbed would, the demon keeping the blade buried deep in Sam’s body while watching him with those dark and ruthless eyes. Sam’s own eyes, wide and panic-stricken, searched for his brother in the gloomy room, but Dean was still asleep, unaware of his little brother’s slowing heartbeat.

He felt powerless because that’s what he was, what he has been rendered under this demon’s merciless hold. He wanted, needed to do something, or else he was going to die. Blood was already filling his insides, his organs pierced by the sharp blade, which was the only thing keeping Sam from staining the sheets with his blood, from bleeding out. But that didn’t mean anything, as he was bleeding internally, either that or one of his punctured organs no doubt shutting him down if he didn’t do something quick. But held in place by the demon that was staring at him intently, patiently waiting for Sam to draw his last breath, he couldn’t do anything, no matter how hopelessly he wanted to. He felt rage toward himself for not noticing the intruder sooner, for letting himself be taken off guard and stabbed. He felt angry at the world for doing him like this, so cruelly, robbing him of his life while his own big brother lay a few feet from him, peaceful as ever. Then he felt sad, felt sorrow like never before, as the sudden chill ran down his spine and spread through his body, his breath coming out ragged through his nostrils, his eyelids getting heavy as he blinked lazily. Then he couldn’t blink anymore, unable to open his eyes as all strength gradually left his body, as his mind became hazy, all thoughts and emotions jumbled up until he couldn’t make out any of them.

The mattress under him felt softer, felt like it was swallowing him up, Sam drowning and falling, and then floating when his body turned into million tiny feathers. He was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, then was back at the motel for a moment as the demon swiftly withdrew the knife from him, before disappearing completely.

Time passed differently after that. After he was dead.

Sam roamed around in his own head, going through one memory after the other. He started with the happiest ones, then little by little, he ventured into the darker corners of his mind, uncovering crap that he spent so long to keep buried. And he discovered with surprise how nearly each and every one of them had something to do with his brother. The happier ones were him and Dean, drinking a beer on top of the Impala’s hood and just enjoying each other’s company, the times they exchanged hugs, the times they found the other after having to spend a considerable amount of time without hearing the other’s laugh or seeing his smile. Dean saving him, Dean staying with him through thick and thin, refusing to leave and sacrificing the world just so he could keep Sam, an act so selfish, but desperate and loving at the same time. It was all Dean, even the painful memories—the times he did leave him, shattering Sam’s heart and will to live with only one word, with one look, with the sound of his disappearing footsteps. His soulless years were part of the bad memories as well, but it took him by surprise how painful those years truly were, and not because of his missing humanity. A husband and a father, his brother turning into a family man and settling down; a fact that should not have hurt as much as it really did. His soulless self didn’t care, but now that he remembered seeing Dean with them, he felt the sorrow, the strange betrayal, and the sick joy when the man had to say his goodbyes to them, choosing Sam, always choosing him over the world.

His mind was filled with Dean; his brother smiling or crying, shouting or laughing. Sam’s whole life revolved around him, around the broken man wearing a stone mask. From the second he was born leading up to this very moment, it was all Dean, Sam unable to find the years he spent in Stanford. Those memories were too bleak and hollow, missing something, or more like someone. He enjoyed those years in a way, free of the burden hunting brought with itself, but he missed his big brother’s sarcasm, his witty remarks and stupid jokes, his sly grin or genuine smile.

The angels and demons told them, both Heaven and Hell warning them of their destiny. Both Zachariah and Crowley pointed it out, and Sam only now understood what the seraph’s words meant when he told Adam about them, about how unhealthy this connection they shared was.

No wonder they had one Heaven—they were each others’ Paradise.

Sam realized that as he went through his head and saw only Dean, his chest aching not from the memory of the knife, but from the way missing his brother hurt him, the pain clawing at every inch of his skin and soul; his heart.

And it might have been that, along with his refusal to let go just yet, knowing that without his brother he couldn’t find peace anyway, that when Death himself showed up in his head and offered guiding him to the other side, Sam turned him down and said no.

“You know what that would mean, Sam,” Death had told him, regarding him with curious eyes.

“Yeah, I do. But my answer stays the same.” Sam felt confident when he stared into the Horseman’s eyes, stood his ground despite the tight knot forming in his stomach when Death slowly closed the distance between them and stood before him.

“Very well,” was all he’d said, nodding thoughtfully before vanishing and taking the memory of the room they both appeared in with him.

And that’s how Sam found himself back at the bunker, materializing next to a shouting Dean Winchester.

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin, that is, if he’d have had one. He knew what happened, even though he did need a moment to gather his thoughts and recognize his surroundings. He glanced down at himself, and while he saw himself whole, as soon as he walked over to a nearby bookshelf, he felt the disappointment make his shoulders slouch when his hand passed through the wood.

He was a ghost, coming back to haunt his brother from beyond the grave.

“Look, he’s not, okay?!” Sam heard his brother yell angrily into the phone while pacing around the library, the scowl on his face so deep it threatened to get etched onto him and never leave.

Dean looked like he aged. Sam highly doubted that he’s been dead for that long, and since his brother seemed to be wearing the same clothes he had on before going to sleep, he assumed that only one or two days could have passed. Still, Dean looked like he gained wrinkles, his face hardening and posture turning tense, acting edgy and looking both furious and terrified at the same time. It was so obvious that he was hurting, his pain reaching Sam because he knew exactly how losing the other felt. When Dean got ripped apart by that Hellhound, Sam felt the same, and now, looking at his brother’s shaking fists, it was clear as daylight that he was suffering too.

And Sam wanted to tell him that it was fine, that he was right here; he wanted to touch his brother and fill him with warmth and happiness, wanted to erase the sorrow from the man’s expression… But he was dead and he could do none of that.

“I just need a demon, Cas!” Dean continued shouting, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the phone tighter, his fingers trembling slightly. “Yeah, that doesn’t matter. You know I don’t care about my wretched life, but damn it Cas, I need him back!”

Of course Dean was willing to change places with him. He was probably thinking of making a demon deal and bringing Sam back, without the slightest care for his own safety, like always; like what Sam would have done the moment it became evident that his brother was dead. That made him wonder where his body was, and he reluctantly left his exasperated brother behind to go look for the body that was once his, but was now nothing but an empty vessel, cold and lifeless.

He didn’t have to look for long, finding his dead body in his room, just where he thought it’d be. It was lying on the bed, unmoving, so peaceful it could have easily been mistaken for sleeping. That is, if it wouldn’t have been for the hole in his shirt and body, surrounded by a large discolored blood stain. His blood was dark and had dried on his clothes and skin, so he must have been right in assuming how much time had passed.

Sighing, he slowly made his way to the cold corpse on his bed and placed a hand on the breathless figure, then through it as his hand slipped past solid flesh and stiff muscles. It was so strange, gazing down at himself. He really did seem at peace like this, his face soft and missing the sharp edges, the heavy burden and expectations he always set for himself. Like a dog chasing after its own tail, Sam had always wanted to be more, to save more people, but he only took one step forward and two steps back, each time causing more damage, doing more harm than good. He only managed to find peace in death, or at least his body did, his soul still wandering and unable to rest until he could have the one and only thing he truly needed to live, though not quite literally anymore.

All he needed was his brother, but even that was being so sadistically denied from him.

He appeared back in the library, unable to keep looking at his own corpse, but the sight of Dean hunched over a table and glaring at his phone with a weak fire in his eyes was so much worse.

“Dean, stop looking so damn broken. I’m right here with you, right next to you…” Sam whispered, his words met by more silence as his voice faded in the air, never meeting his brother’s ears. He had not turned delusional and knew full well that Dean couldn’t hear him, not even if Sam was to shout right into his ear, but he needed to say it. He felt like if he didn’t, he might break sooner that his brother.

Then Dean raised his head and Sam felt a surge of hope sweep though his body, praying that miracles could still happen to them, but instead of looking right at him, his brother looked through him at the figure that appeared in the room without Sam even noticing it.

Castiel was wearing a brooding expression as he took a tentative step forward, furrowing his brow sadly. “Dean—”

“Don’t,” his brother snapped, narrowing his eyes at the angel and walking through Sam’s body. “I know what you wanna say, so don’t. And anyway, how many times have we died? How many times did we come back against all odds? So don’t you fucking tell me that I can’t bring him back, because there’s just no such thing as impossible!”

“You’re lashing out and I understand; I’m also unwilling to believe that there is truly nothing to be done here, but you heard Crowley.”

“Yeah, his bullshit ain’t gonna work on me. That sack of shit is first on my ‘Assholes to kill’ list, which is growing every second, and if you don’t want to end up there then I highly suggest you start helping me out!” Dean snarled, his hands shooting up from his sides and grabbing Castiel by his trench coat, giving him his most serious and deadly glare.

The angel raised his hands slowly, keeping them in the air as they hovered over the frenzied hunter’s own ones, then changed his mind and let them fall back to his sides.

“I’m so sorry…” Castiel sighed, keeping his eyes on the man threatening to shatter at any moment. “The demons have been ordered not to help you. They wouldn’t make a deal with you, no matter what you’d do, because they still fear their King more than you. And the angels, we cannot offer our help either. Don’t you think I would have already brought Sam back if I could? But I can’t find him; it’s as if he’s hidden from me, from us. As if something is deliberately making us run into walls.”

Dean shook his head, letting him go with a slight shove and turning around to hide his face twisted with emotions from the angel. “What the hell, man? What could make the angels so goddamn useless?”

“I…don’t know, Dean.”

“Whatever,” he growled, waving a hand dismissingly, and marched over to one of the many bookshelves. “If nobody’s willing to help me, I’ll just do it myself.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “On your own? If you need me, I will help. I want you to know that I’m here, that if you find something I will be right by your side and bring Sam back. But I also need you to understand that if I can’t get to him, then whatever spell or dangerous way you’ll find will have an even slimmer chance at reaching Sam.”

“Then what?!” Dean snapped, throwing the book he was holding in his hands to the floor. He reached his breaking point, finally couldn’t take it anymore and snapped. “What the fuck am I supposed to do if nothing works? If whatever I’ll try will just be time wasted? You say that you’ve got the highest chance at getting him back, but that’s a damn lie because even you can’t do it! It seems that nobody can, but even so, am I really just supposed to do nothing? Is that it? Am I just supposed to sit and wait, to forget ever seeing my brother again?”

“We could try something; I’m not saying that you should give up completely. I just want you to know that the possibility of whatever we find not working is still there, still highly probable,” he explained lowly, as if speaking to a cornered animal ready to jump at its keeper at any given moment.

“Yeah, I know that.” He grabbed a chair and pulled it out, before collapsing into it. “Doesn’t mean I accept it, but I know.”

Sam watched as his brother kept staring ahead with lost eyes, before burying his face in his hands and looking like he wanted nothing more than to let his head fall onto the table and never move again, to break down from the huge loss that was weighting down his chest without even giving two shits about Castiel’s concerned deep sky blue eyes on him. And seeing Dean hurting, hurt him that much more, Sam lacking a body but feeling the pain just as intensely, needing to clutch at his chest in a desperate attempt to make it all stop and go away, in vain. He tore his gaze from his defeated brother to glance at Castiel, searching for the angel’s eyes and hoping that, maybe, this celestial being of the Lord could someone sense him, see him even. But he got his hopes up for nothing, because Castiel didn’t even look his way, Sam left unnoticed even as he strode over to him and waved his hands in front of the other’s face, shouting at him to open his eyes and see.

“Sam…” If he would have had a heart, it would have skipped a beat when he heard Castiel’s voice murmuring his name. But again and again, his hope got crushed all over again when the angel still refused to acknowledge his presence, instead slowly moving over to Dean. “I’m sure he’s alright. You know him more than I do, but even I know that wherever he is right now, he’s fine. The two of you are the strongest, most headstrong men I know, capable of surviving Hell and high water, pushing on even after all that had happened to you. No sane man would keep on fighting, but your bravery isn’t stupidity, and your will to do good no matter what isn’t insanity. I genuinely believe that come what may, the Winchesters will seize it by the throat and tell it to…stick it where the sun doesn’t shine. So I’m also certain that whatever is happening to Sam right now, even if we’ll never get him back, your brother will be fine.”

“We ain’t that strong, Cas,” he said, his voice sounding just as weak as he looked, staring at his hands with dead eyes. “We may look like it, but we all break when bent too far, and Sammy’s been bending over for all the dark crap that this fucked up world had thrown at us for too long. It still hurts, you know?” Dean looked up at Castiel with pleading eyes, begging for an answer as to why Fate hated him so much, and then his features softened and Sam noted with surprise that his brother’s eyes were welling up with tears, shinnying brightly in the yellow light of the room.

“And yeah, maybe Sam is fine. Maybe he doesn’t need saving, maybe he’s good alone, but I ain’t. I’m everything but good without that idiot. He thinks he knows, but he doesn’t, damn it. He doesn’t know the first thing about what his absence does to me, how much he means to me, how much it fucking hurts each time I lose him. I keep hoping the pain lessens, the way my heart is folding in on itself not as painful as the last time, but no. It’s always the same, maybe even worse, the fear…no, the terror that one day I’ll lose him for real making it so hard to breathe, to keep on breathing. And then now it happened, Sam lying dead in his room, and I can’t do shit about it! Useless and wallowing in self-pity—that’s what I am. I know it and yet I’m not doing anything about it because I can’t. I just can’t, man. It’s pathetic, but I can’t even get myself to look at his body without feeling the need to cry my goddamn eyeballs out. Because I can’t lose him, Cas. I won’t survive. All these years I stayed ‘strong’ and whatever because of him, because of those stupid dimpled smiles, and now that it’s gone, now that it’s all gone… No, I can’t fucking do it. Not without him. Not without Sammy.”

“Dean…” Sam wanted to hug his brother until he’d stop looking so hurt, until all the despair would leave him, and it killed him all over again how he couldn’t do any of that. He never knew Dean felt that way. Sure, they both needed each other and they did have rare moments where they poured their hearts out to each other. They’ve established that Sam was Dean’s greatest weak point and Dean was Sam’s, that the world would use the love they had for each other against them every chance it got, but still, seeing his brother like this made him want to scream, to go back to his room and shake his corpse awake, to do something.

But what was he supposed to do, when he was already dead?

Castiel looked pained, standing next to the hunter and seeming at a loss for words, unable to pick up the pieces of the broken man’s shattered heart and put them back together. It wasn’t his job, but the only person who could ever hope to mend those wounds was gone, and the sheer amount of hopelessness hanging heavily in the air made it impossible for the angel to utter even one word. Sam could see it on his face, could see how Castiel understood just how useless he was in this situation and how much that hurt him, the poor angel probably not used to feeling so defeated.

He just stayed like that, unmoving and watching Dean for the longest moment, before letting his gaze fall to the floor. “I will do everything I can to help you, Dean. Call me on the mobile phone if you find something; I swear I will come as quickly as possible,” he said quietly, taking a step back while keeping his eyes on the man holding his forehead with a hand, elbows resting on the table.

Dean furrowed his brow into a small frown, then quickly blinked away any tears that built up during his surprisingly emotional speech, before glancing at Castiel’s direction. “Yeah, you do that. Don’t think I’ll be calling you anytime soon, though.”

The angel just nodded his understanding, taking one last look around the library and at his friend, before disappearing with a few flaps of his wings, the sound of beating wings followed by an eerie silence once Dean was left alone in the giant bunker.

Well, alone with Sam’s ghost.

Even his movements felt ghost-like as he wandered closer to his brother, gliding and slow, then raised a hand. But before he could have gotten past his hesitation and touch Dean, his brother was standing up and storming out of the library, a sudden shudder shaking Sam’s body as the man walked right through him again. It was the strangest feeling, sort of invasive, Sam able to feel his brother’s presence with his very soul, so fully and completely for that brief moment. It filled him like nothing ever before, but then it was gone, Dean walking to the dungeon with long, determined steps and leaving Sam to follow him curiously.

He wanted to say something, even though he knew his words would meet deaf ears. He wanted to comfort his brother, even though he knew his reassuring touches would be left unnoticed, less than a soft breeze to Dean’s skin. They were so close, yet so far away, and Sam had to wonder for a moment if he wasn’t actually in Hell, this some sort of new and sick, cruelly efficient way of torturing him. But no, the emotions on Dean’s face were too real, the desperate eyes drowning in suffering, the cuts and bruises on his knuckles from when he must have let his anger out on whatever was closest to him, the way his shoulders tensed with each move, his whole body too rigid and worn down to ever relax too damn real. Sam knew only reality could do this, no demons or nightmares capable of taking him apart so thoroughly, slowly cutting away at him, tiny piece after piece, until there would be nothing left of him, save for a memory of a man once happy. Then even that would be gone, Sam ceasing to exist and drifting through this realm between life and death until the end of Time.

He shook his head and gritted his teeth, forcing these thoughts out of his mind while he could. This was no time to get sucked into depression, no matter how much this sorry situation called for it. He had to stop feeling the way he did and follow his brother’s example. He needed to try to do something about the situation he had gotten himself into, instead of just watching Dean do all the work.

Yeah, that was a good idea. Enough with the self-pity and let the training begin. Sam smiled to himself—still not an even remotely happy smile, but a smile nonetheless—as he watched his brother going through the Men of Letters files in the dungeon, and he closed his eyes, focusing and clearing his mind.

It was time he learned Ghost 101.

 

Chapter Text

 

He didn’t have to start out as a complete rookie, having a bit of experience with ghost powers from that one time both he and his brother took a stroll in Ghost Town.

Which did not mean that it was simple child’s play, either.

“Goddamn it, move!” Sam glared at the glass on the table while trying to use his fancy ghost telekinesis on it. The glass, however, remained stubborn and refused to move, Sam convinced that it even turned heavier or something just to piss him off.

It’s been a week since he appeared in the bunker and began haunting it. Or at least that’s what he thought; that he was haunting something from the bunker, an old picture or some other object he held close to his heart. But after a few days, he had to realize that it wasn’t a what that he was haunting, but more like a who. He could never get too far away from Dean, and each time his brother walked from one room to another in the maze this bunker was, Sam found himself getting dragged along no matter how much he tried to hold on. It shouldn’t really have come as a surprise, Dean being what was keeping him in this realm, but he still found himself gaping in slight shock when he realized it. Ghosts were usually attached to objects, not humans, but it’s not like they were everyday people anyway, so Sam was getting used to it. Sending him to the Afterlife did pose a problem, though, because that would have meant setting fire to his brother.

And he’d rather stay a ghost forever than watch Dean burn.

But ghost life wasn’t all fun and laughs, especially with Dean getting drunk and being on the verge of either breaking down in tears or breaking the bunker half of the time. Even right now, he was emptying a bottle of whiskey that he had found at the bottom of the fridge. He brought a glass with himself, the one that Sam has been trying to work his magic on for the past twenty or so minutes, but then seemed to completely forget about it and was now chugging alcohol straight from the bottle instead. It was as if, ever since Sam died, his brother had taken upon himself to stay drunk, immediately grabbing a bottle and emptying it as soon as the first signs of soberness showed.

But Sam couldn’t blame him. He would have probably done the same if their positions were switched, Sam maybe going as far as drunk dialing his dead brother’s cellphone as he was a much worse drinker than Dean. His brother, he could still walk in a relatively straight line after two shots of mystery alcohol, while Sam would have most likely had problems even standing up from the chair without it, or him, toppling over.

And throughout this week, Sam has also realized just how much he missed his brother.

Sure, he saw him every second of every day, even watched him sleep—which was really just a quick nap lasting maximum five hours—but that wasn’t what he craved. He missed their talks, the two of them interacting. He hated being only a spectator in Dean’s life, unable to communicate even in the slightest of ways. It was especially painful at night, when he found Dean in his most vulnerable state, lying in bed and fighting tears that usually escaped despite his efforts. In the darkness of his room, where he thought nobody could see or hear him, Dean let it all out and cried for what he lost, wishing to join Sam, whispering his name along with promises of how they could even stop hunting if he wanted, could do whatever, just please come back.

And sometimes, Dean called out to him. Those were the worst, even worse than seeing his big brother rendered to a sobbing mess. When he called his name, asking if he was here, if he was watching him still, somehow turning into a ghost. Sam could never answer, though, no matter how much and how desperately he wanted, cursing and screaming when he tried to move an object to show Dean that yes, he was still here. And the look of disappointment in his brother’s eyes each time his pleas were left unanswered broke Sam’s heart all over again, despising himself for not being stronger, for not learning faster.

The thud of the bottle brought Sam back to the here and now, as Dean slammed it down on the table, and Sam let out a small whistle that his brother couldn’t hear as he noticed how more than half of the whiskey was gone. Dean looked more or less sober, or maybe Sam just got so used to seeing him constantly drunk that he couldn’t tell the difference anymore, and that just saddened him even more for some reason. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose even though he couldn’t get headaches or feel pain like this.

He couldn’t feel anything, really, at least nothing physical. Emotionally, he was already stuffed full of crap while he was alive, and it just got so much worse now that he was dead. Sometimes he couldn’t even believe that he died, it all seemed so unreal, but at those times he only needed to take one look at Dean and then his hope for all of this being a dream vanished in an instant. This was his life now and he couldn’t keep rejecting it forever, so instead, he used all the pain on the training.

But no books or stupid glasses even budged when he tried pushing them, his hands going cleanly through them each time he tried. It frustrated him to no end, many times making him quit and sulk like a kid in the corner, just watching Dean until he got bored or angry. He tried using that anger, but even that refused to work, making him wonder just what he was doing wrong. He knew it for a fact that strong emotions usually worked, and his rage was pretty damn strong. So was his sadness, but concentrating on it only made him weaker in a way. So, anger it was, but he couldn’t focus on that for too long either, in fear of turning into something he wasn’t and forcing Dean’s hands into doing something he shouldn’t.

Then one day, he finally got it.

It was already late in the afternoon, his brother taking a short break from going through the books and secret files in the library. He made an annoyed sound when he opened the fridge and found only a pizza that should have been behind a glass container with several warning signs stuck to it, instead of inside a fridge. Sam rolled his eyes at the face Dean pulled at the sight, before pulling out a bottle of beer and slamming the door shut. So Dean wasn’t going to eat dinner again, he thought, scowling in worry.

His brother has been losing weight, looking more and more like crap as the days passed. He looked sick, with huge dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, let his stubble grow and thicken on his slightly sunken face. Poor man looked like Death, but somehow, even in the horrible state he was in, Dean Winchester stayed charming. It was an odd charm now, that of a beaten warrior’s, but his brother was still handsome, there was no denying it. Even Sam knew; even he felt his non-existent heartbeat accelerate when his eyes stayed on Dean for just a bit too long, felt like getting swallowed by those eyes, melting in those emerald orbs.

And Sam noticed he was doing it now, too. He was watching his brother with a strange mix of adoration and concern, his eyes glued to Dean’s body as he leaned against the counter and rubbed his temples, blinking tiredly; Sam’s gaze intense as he stared at his brother’s strong yet so weak hands, as he raised the bottle to his full, soft-looking lips and closed his eyes while drinking, his Adam’s apple bobbing deliciously each time he swallowed some of the cold beverage. Sam swallowed with him, nervously and suddenly self-conscious of the way he was looking at Dean, the need to be noticed growing stronger than ever before as he slowly moved closer to him and reached out a tentative hand to his brother’s. He held his breath—not like he actually needed to breathe anyway—as he lightly placed his hand on Dean’s firm one gripping the bottle, feeling his love for the man coursing through his veins and hurting him while stretching his lips into a sad smile.

He nearly yelped and jumped back in surprise when Dean’s eyes flew open and he looked straight at him.

“Sam?” Dean’s eyes searched the room, quickly pushing himself away from the counter and grabbing his hand holding the bottle. Sam withdrew his own hand and backed away in shock, his eyes wide as he stared at his brother’s searching ones franticly roaming the kitchen.

So he still couldn’t see him, but felt him. Sam was sure of it, he wasn’t delusional; not this time. Dean felt his hand on his, and Sam couldn’t help but smile with hope, his smile widening with genuine feelings as he watched his brother’s confused expression.

“Are you here? Sam?” he asked desperately, putting the bottle he’s been gripping onto the counter but never letting go of the hand Sam had touched, which just made him smile some more. “You are, aren’t you? I felt it, I had to feel it. It had to be real…”

“It’s real,” Sam said, not that surprised that Dean couldn’t hear him yet, too happy right now because he touched him. Sam managed to make physical contact with his brother, and now, he knew what he needed for his ghost superpowers to work. It was the stupidest thing, but he supposed it was as good as any, making sense in a way.

He just had to use the power of love.

That made him chuckle at how weird it sounded. But he had to admit, no amount of rage or desperation, not even gut churning fear or sadness could compare to the love he felt toward his brother. Dean was his everything, meant the world to him, so of course he would need to use that to get in contact with him. Dean was blood, his brother and family, was apparently so damn important that he became the bond connecting Sam to this realm. That had to mean something, and he felt a bit like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

It took some time for Dean to calm down, but Sam didn’t miss the small smile that crept onto his face. “I hope I’m not going crazy…” he muttered under his breath and shook his head, before picking up the bottle and taking a large swig from it.

“Nah, I’m just really bad at being a ghost,” Sam said with a smirk, following Dean out of the kitchen with a new surge of hope and his resolve strengthened.

But it seemed like he just had a beginner’s luck, as that night, no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t even move Dean’s goddamn pillow. He threw himself on the foot end of the bed with a groan, ruffling his hair and poking his brother’s leg, but just as he thought, he gained no reaction from the sleeping figure whatsoever.

Sighing, he sat up and tried to remember what he did earlier that day. He just watched Dean and thought about how much he missed him, missed his hugs and the reassuring pats on his shoulder. He thought of those when he tried to turn the lights on and off in Dean’s room and when he tried to touch him again, but they didn’t work.

It was the same, so why wouldn’t they work?

“Why’s being a ghost so freaking irritating?” he said with a huff, then let out an annoyed growl as he turned on the bed and crawled over to his sleeping brother, hovering on top of him on his hands and knees.

He narrowed his eyes and stared at the sleeping face in front of him, because who knew, maybe looking at Dean did the trick or something. But the longer he stared, the more confused he got, scowling as his eyes studied his brother’s calm face. He lowered his gaze, looking at the rise and fall of the man’s chest, Sam feeling nervous all of a sudden as he looked back at Dean’s face, at those slightly pouted lips even in his sleep. Sam licked his suddenly dry lips, needing to take quicker and shorter breaths for some reason. He curled his finger into the sheets, his eyes widening and his body feeling like it has been set on fire. Raising a shaking hand, he slowly and cautiously ran his fingers along the man’s cheek, down his stubbled jaw, pausing at his lips. At this point, Sam didn’t even dare to breathe anymore, his pulse drumming in his ears as he slid his thumb across Dean’s bottom lip, then pressed down on the soft flesh, nearly gasping as the realization hit him that he was touching Dean without his hands passing through his body. That made him so damn happy all of a sudden and he had to bite down on his own lower lip to stop himself from laughing and waking the peacefully sleeping man. The happiness was quickly followed by something else, the same feeling that made his heart threaten to bail on him, make him experience physical feelings that Sam thought were impossible as a ghost.

He couldn’t tear his gaze from Dean, from his face, pulling away his thumb from the man’s lip and instead moving his hand to the blanket covering his brother. He furrowed his brow, concentrating, then smiled when he took a hold of the cold fabric and carefully pulled it down.

And then his relief, his joy of finally being able to move things, along with his smile, vanished in record time when he realized what he was doing.

His breath hitched and he felt his face heat up as he gazed down at Dean’s bare chest. He didn’t dare move for the longest moment, just staring wide-eyed at his brother sleeping under him, the realization of just how creepy he was acting right now sinking in. Sam clenched his jaw until his teeth hurt, but didn’t move. Somehow, he couldn’t move, mesmerized by the sight under him, plus his body was doing a great job ignoring the hell out of his brain’s commands and instead gaining a life of its own. Before he could have stopped himself, his hand was moving and lowering to Dean’s exposed chest, Sam’s exhale coming out shaky as he felt his brother’s warm skin under his burning fingers. His mind was a whirlpool of thoughts and emotions as he slowly caressed the skin, visibly making Dean shiver, and then he was moving, making a small sound and frowning, before opening his eyes.

Sam fell to the floor as he jumped out of the bed with an eighty years old cat’s grace.

“What?” He heard Dean’s confused voice from the bed, then the room was bathed in light as the man leaned over and switched on the lamp on the bedside table.

And for the first time since he turned into a ghost, Sam wished that Dean wouldn’t notice him.

He let out the longest sigh of relief when his brother, as he hoped, squinted around the room, but couldn’t see him sprawled on the floor, invisible to him. Dean blinked and rubbed out the sleep form his eyes, scratching his chest, then froze. Glancing down at himself, he finally realized that the blanket had been removed from his body, which just made him frown even more. He kept one hand on his chest while making sure the room was empty, glaring at every corner, looking but not really seeing, then moved the hand up to his lips and blushed.

Sam did nothing but gape, his whole being shutting down as he saw the flush on Dean’s freckled cheeks. The light in the room was dim, but he saw it, there was no doubt about it—his brother was freaking blushing.

He then cleared his throat, quickly scanned the room one last time, and then went back to sleep after turning off the light. Sam stayed on the floor for what seemed like hours before he finally scrambled to his feet and, without looking at his brother who he had just assaulted, marched out of the room.

He went as far as he could, as far as Dean’s presence would let him, and then leaned against the wall and let himself slide down until he was in a sitting position. Pulling up his knees and wrapping his arms around his legs to hug them closer to his body, Sam wondered what the fuck got into him. It felt like he was under a spell; he couldn’t control himself and remembered not even wanting to. His thoughts were still an incomprehensible mess and he forced himself to breathe, to calm down, and when he finally did, Sam buried his face in his knees.

Something was most definitively wrong with him. He knew he missed Dean; he missed him so much his heart hurt every time the man looked past him, oblivious to his presence. And so he understood why he felt so happy when he managed to touch his brother, to move the blanket, to finally feel human contact after such a long time. But he went too far. He nearly suffered from a heart attack—he was positive he would have if he’d have possessed a heart—when Dean woke up. Sam wasn’t sure if he saw him because he executed one of the most majestic barrel rolls in history as soon as his brother opened his eyes, but it seemed like he looked at him. Like, right at him, seeing him. Sure, he looked spooked and confused, but that could have been because Sam disappeared right after. Or maybe because he touched his brother in a rather inappropriate way.

Sam really hoped Dean wasn’t awake for that.

Then there was the whole deal with him blushing like a schoolgirl, and that memory did not make Sam feel a warm tingle in his groin, no. He loved his brother, but not that way; never that way. Having to remind himself of that was even worse. But then he recalled how the simple family love did nothing, had no effect on the objects Sam tried to move. Both times he touched or moved real things was when he felt this strange sort of love, the kind that he couldn’t quite put a name to, as it seemed way stronger than brotherly love.

Horrified, Sam wondered if he loved his brother.

He shook his head, jumping to his feet and immediately going into denial. Because no way, right? He had never thought of Dean like that, so he couldn’t have just fallen for him from one day to another. It was impossible. For that to happen, he should have had these feelings there from the beginning, buried deep down and hidden even from him, only showing themselves in the most desperate of times, like if he’d been extremely sad.

Or maybe while he was dead and yearning for anything related to Dean.

“Wow, okay. No,” he growled to himself, feeling like punching the wall behind him. He clenched a hand into a fist and tried doing just that, and then let out a shocked gasp when his fist connected with the brick wall.

He backed away with wide eyes and glanced down at his trembling knuckles.

“Holy crap…” he whispered. There was no denying it now. Not now that he realized what made this ghost power tick, what fuelled it and made it work after all these days of frustrated and useless attempts. He didn’t want to believe it, but the proof was right there in front of him, pulsing with pain he hadn’t felt in a while.

So it was true. So, he was even more fucked up than he thought. Somewhere along the years he had spent with Dean, he had developed a love much more profound, so strong it would even defy death, and while it scared him, made him loathe himself even more, he was relieved. Now he knew what he needed to get in contact with Dean, and since he managed to hide these feelings of love too wrong and forbidden for so long, even from himself, it shouldn’t be too hard to keep doing just that. Dean didn’t need to know about any of it, after all, and Sam was confident he could control his new but primal urges, wouldn’t just jump his brother out of the blue.

He was a man used to longing for things not meant for him, addicted to the most sinful things out there, but he had learned how to put a stop to them, knew how to say no. And he would be damned if he couldn’t keep his cool around his own big brother, because he was not going to ruin their relationship and make the only person he loved most—apparently more than he ever expected—hate him.

 

Chapter Text

 

The next day, Dean seemed more alert, more aware of his surroundings, which meant that he had definitively seen something last night. That worried Sam more than he would have liked to admit, feeling nervousness weighting him down like iron shackles, but since his brother didn’t appear to be in discomfort or edgy, he didn’t think Dean saw him. Or knew what he did.

That didn’t stop Dean from behaving like a melancholic drunk, though, because even if he did somehow notice something, Sam was still dead. His body wasn’t in his room anymore, as a rotting corpse wouldn’t have done for a good house freshener, Castiel visiting the man and convincing him to let the angel take care of the body. Sam wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but since Dean agreed fairly quickly, he didn’t think he wanted to know.

Dean was still working his ass off by searching for a way to bring him back, still drowning his sorrow in booze, and Sam watched him silently for as long as he could, before deciding that enough was enough. It was time for an intervention due to Dean’s alarmingly growing alcoholism, and what better way to talk his brother out of the whiskey and tequila, than by speaking to him face to face?

That being easier said than done, Sam only managed to take on a more or less solid form twice, and it took him quite a lot of time to get it right. Third time was supposed to be the charm, but for him, it just seemed way harder than necessary.

They were back at the library, Dean switching to beer after half-emptying the bottle of unknown beverage of his choice, thankfully not losing enough brain cells as to become suicidal and drink himself to unconsciousness. He stood in front of the table littered with papers full of black inked scribbles, with books opened at images portraying holy and unholy deities, Sam’s laptop sitting in a corner and the screen frozen on an article explaining the dark arts of necromancy.

He stepped closer to the table and placed a hand on a heavy-looking, leather bound book, closing his eyes and gradually starting to feel its uneven surface under his fingers. Smirking to himself, he stroked the cover of the large book, then glanced at Dean leaning with his hands on the table, a deep scowl etched onto his face as he tried to make words out of the letters in front of him. He was attempting to decipher one of the papers with the scribbles on it, blinking hard and rubbing his burning eyes, and looking like he would have loved nothing more than to just collapse on a bed.

Chewing on his lower lip as worry and anxiety let themselves be known, Sam wondered how to go about doing this. He didn’t want to scare the crap out of Dean, and somehow, he himself felt too frightened to show himself yet. He’s been dreaming, wishing for this moment, but now that it was here, Sam was suddenly doubting himself. It was foolish, he knew that well, but couldn’t help it. Still, the need to be seen was much more overpowering than the aggressive butterflies in his stomach, so after taking a deep breath and making sure he didn’t lose focus, he pushed the book off the table.

It hit the floor with a heavy thud, immediately getting Dean’s attention. He stared at the book, glancing from where it was lying mere seconds ago to its newfound home on the floor, then his eyes widened and he looked around the room.

“Sam?!” he yelled, Sam surprised to hear something akin to anger in his brother’s voice, under the hope and desperation. “It’s you, isn’t it? Has to be you…” He clenched his hands into fists. “If you’re really here then what are you waiting for? Is it fun, watching me suffer? Come on Sammy, show yourself damn it!”

And while he didn’t know how to make himself visible, he did know how to touch. So without wasting any time, Sam ignored the way his heart was pounding in his chest as he stepped forward and closer to his impatient brother, willing his hand to stop shaking as he brought it up to Dean’s face and touched him.

Dean gasped at the sudden feeling and backed into the table, his eyes even wider now, but a smile was already spreading across his face. “Where are you…?” he whispered as he gripped the edge of the table behind him.

“Right here,” Sam said in a low and soothing voice, closing the distance between him and Dean, then raised his hand back to his brother’s face and stroked his cheek. “Feel it?”

The man tensed and stopped breathing, his wide and searching eyes staring at where he thought Sam was. And then Sam could have pinpointed the moment he became visible, his brother’s face lighting up and breaking into a broad smile, unable to keep his hands to himself anymore.

“Sammy,” Dean laughed out his name, his eyes glowing in happiness as he took Sam’s face in his hands to make sure he was real, and then he couldn’t stop laughing, pulling Sam into a bone-crushing hug.

Sam couldn’t stop his own happy laugh from escaping him either, returning the hug as he wrapped his large arms around his suddenly trembling brother. He closed his eyes and stroked circles in Dean’s back, telling him how everything was going to be fine, how he was here now, never leaving again, Dean didn’t have to worry about a thing because he would never leave his side for the rest of his life. Sam felt him slowly relaxing from his comforting touches and quiet and calming words, his brother gradually stopping shaking and reducing the iron grip with which he was holding onto Sam.

“You’re really here,” he said, choking out the words as he eased away and looked up at Sam, cheeks wet from tears that Sam didn’t even notice. “I can’t believe it, I…”

“Thought it would be that easy getting rid of me?” Sam joked, smiling when his brother made a sound like a laugh, then curled a finger and wiped Dean’s tears away with the back of it.

His brother let him, sniffing and watching him intently, not minding the small touches. Actually, he seemed to be needing them, immediately grabbing Sam’s hand as soon as he pulled it away. He held it between his, staring at it and shaking his head, before smiling up at him.

“I thought I lost you, Sammy.” He lowered his gaze, his hold tightening on Sam’s hand, which was already burning wherever their skin touched, the fire in his ghost body spreading and reaching his eyes.

Sam wrapped his free hand around the nape of his brother’s neck and stepped even closer, making Dean look up at him questioningly, his body tensing as Sam pressed his chest flush against his. “Never, Dean. You’re never going to lose me. I won’t let that happen, not while I’m alive, not even when I’m dead,” he whispered, leaning dangerously close and setting off thousands of red alarms in his mind, because he was too damn close and the flames in his belly were moving lower, to a place Sam shouldn’t be feeling anything in a situation like this. But he could feel Dean’s pulse under his fingers, felt it quicken, saw those haunting emerald irises get swallowed by his dilating pupils as they breathed the same air, those tender lips only inches away.

Then Dean parted his lips, and when Sam looked from the inviting gesture back to his eyes, he stopped breathing. Because up until now he found his brother hot and rather adorable, but when he saw the hungry and dark look in his eyes, saw just how much it took for him not to do something very nasty to him, Sam realized that there was nothing adorable in Dean. His brother was a predator and Sam was trapped under the starving wolf’s gaze, playing the role of the perfect prey.

They stared at each other for what seemed like ages, before Dean shifted on his legs and licked his lips in a way that should not have been that sexy, accidentally rubbing his thigh against Sam’s bulge and drawing a pathetic little moan from him. That made him snap out of his lust induced daze right away, managing to slip out of Dean’s grasp just before they could have done something horribly wrong, then quickly disappeared.

Dean looked just as shocked as Sam felt at that moment, panting and running a hand through his hair, before holding the back of his head while his eyes shifted around the room, looking at everything but seeing nothing, his brother seeming quite frantic. Sam heard him mutter a low row of curses, then make a sound suspiciously close to a growl when he glanced down and noticed the tent in his pants.

Then he closed his eyes, kept them like that for a few seconds before opening them again, his face taking up a more apologetic, guilty look, the burning desire gone in an instant. “You still here…?”

Sam looked away from his brother’s pleading eyes as he sank his nails into his palms, forcing himself to shut up. He wanted to say yes, wanted to let him know that he was and would always be here, but after what just happened he couldn’t. It was so damn selfish and he knew it, already hating himself for his decision. However he broke the promise he made to himself. He just had to go and touch Dean, had to let his feelings get the better of him, had to let his body betray him. And while it was true that Dean’s reaction wasn’t normal, it couldn’t have been normal, Sam was too busy blaming himself to notice, coming up with excuses for his brother’s behalf.

“I can feel you, you know?” Dean’s voice caught him off guard, Sam hurting his neck from the speed he whipped his head toward his brother who, honestly, looked even worse than before. “Now that I saw you, I can somehow… I don’t know. Sense it, maybe. Anyway, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, so come back, okay?” he begged to thin air, sinking into a chair next to the table, his gaze lowering and Sam nearly missed the next few words, Dean’s voice was so feeble and quiet. “Please Sammy…come back to me…”

He wasn’t supposed to be the one apologizing. Dean wasn’t supposed to look even sadder than when he lost Sam, and that made him feel like he was the bad guy here, which was true, it was all his fault. So he should have been the one saying sorry, seeking his brother’s forgiveness with heartfelt apologies. It shouldn’t have been the other way around.

But Sam stayed silent because he knew that if he opened his mouth, if he took another look at his brother, he wouldn’t be able to shut it ever again, spilling his heart to Dean. And he wasn’t ready for that.

*

 

Sam was glad to note that his powers were growing with each day. Now moving objects came easier to him, as easy when he was a flesh and blood human; he had more control over when he turned visible or not, even able to mix it up a bit. For example, today he was sitting cross-legged in the dungeon, leaning against the solid wall behind him and enjoying the way the cold surface against his skin made him shiver. He missed feeling, really feeling, so when he found out he could touch and be touched by real objects without having to turn visible, he felt a great amount of relief for the first time in a long time.

He kept his eyes closed, listening to the faint rattling sounds coming from the small room hiding the dungeon from any curious eyes. He took a deep inhale, filling lungs that didn’t particularly need any air. Sam relaxed against the wall for a while longer before letting his eyes flutter open and gaze down at his invisible body. Invisible to everyone except for him, which just made it so much easier to believe that he wasn’t dead. He thought his body would look like fog, would shimmed in front of his eyes, just like a ghost’s would, but that wasn’t the case. He looked and felt as real as the ground beneath him and the brick pressing into his back, even when he chose to let go, to let his body take on the consistency of water and walk through walls with the ease of a knife sliding into butter.

As for the reason as to why he hadn’t made his body visible these past few days, well…that was rather simple. He enjoyed this newfound feeling of touching and feeling without being seen, and even though he knew that the joy would only increase if he stepped with both foot into the living world, he couldn’t quite bring himself to be seen by a certain pair of pine green eyes.

After the first and only time Dean saw him with his own eyes, he stopped looking through books and papers, instead taking up calling one hunter after the other and searching for a way to drag a spirit back to this world. Ever since that day, he met with Castiel twice, the two of them seemingly talking in riddles, Sam unable to understand what they were going on about. His brother told the angel that Sam had come back as a ghost, however did not mention anything about the little moment they shared, which was just as well—Sam wouldn’t have wanted Castiel to know about what even he had a hard time acknowledging. He did get most of what they were talking about, figuring out from the brief conversations that the angel had Sam’s body secured, probably somewhere in Heaven, in a way that would halt the decomposition process. So basically Castiel was preserving his corpse, and while that filled him with hope to some degree, it was also creeping him out a little bit.

When Dean wasn’t engaging in shady conversations with the angel, though, he was nose-deep in research and asking around, calling all the hunters they knew and that were still alive. He asked about ghosts and what they knew about them, skipping the basic and boring stuff and immediately getting to the subject and the main problem, which was how to stop a ghost from, well, being dead. Sam saw the notes his brother took while on the phone, the flimsy piece of paper decorated with familiar words, such as necromancy and reapers, and with some that Sam had never heard of before, like spirandi mortuis. If he knew his Latin, that was supposed to mean something along the lines of “breathing dead”, the ominous words making him uneasy. He really didn’t want Dean to end up having to perform some sort of ancient ritual for his sake, maybe sacrifice a lamb and coat his skin with its warm blood gushing from the open wound, the thought alone sending an anxious shudder through him.

And while his brother spent his days pacing around the bunker, relentlessly looking for another way of having Sam by his side again in his human form, he did stop from time to time. Every time he did, Sam felt a churning sensation in his stomach and a tightness in his chest, knowing that Dean knew. His brother knew that he was still there, still around even though he never showed himself, and that had some very visible effects on Dean.

Every day, Dean called out to him. Slumped in a chair and looking like a man who was ready to give in the towel at any moment, or lying in bed before going to sleep and praying to the only person worth praying to, his God bearing Sam’s name; Dean reached out. But never once did he get an answer, Sam’s own fears getting the better of him and crushing the man’s heart and hope again and again.

He couldn’t bring himself to answer. Not after what happened. He felt affection toward his brother, the kind he knew he wasn’t supposed to and, some nights when Sam accidentally walked in the bathroom too soon and saw Dean’s naked form, he also felt arousal growing in his groin. His mind wandered off with the speed of a bullet train, and before Sam could have stopped the onslaught of thoughts, he was already imagining how his lips would feel against the wet skin, how easily those strong hands could grab his hips and push him down, the gentle caress and rough press of Dean’s fingers making him forget even his own name. It usually took him longer than he would have liked to get those thoughts out of his head and stop panting and sweating like he just won a marathon.

The fact that Dean knew that Sam was watching only just made it a thousand times harder.

His brother usually kept his cool. He never mentioned what happened when begging Sam to show himself, sometimes making him worry that Dean decided to forget it completely. The thought of his brother burying the memory of those events should have made him happy; Sam should have felt glad and relieved, not disappointed and somewhat betrayed. But even though Dean kept acting as if nothing happened, as if their lips didn’t nearly end up without any distance between them that day, he had his moments. Moments when he would glance around the room and smile to himself, moments when he was fresh out of the shower, tiny water droplets snaking down his skin, and would look into the mirror with a strange spark in his eyes, drying himself so slowly it might have seemed he was doing it on purpose. It was as if, in those rare moments, Dean was teasing him; and not in a fun way, either.

Sam was really good at lying to himself and pretending that the truths were lies, but even he had to admit that this wasn’t normal. At first, he thought that only he possessed such a nasty and sick mind, only his body—ghost or not—reacted so strongly to Dean. And imagining his brother’s repelled face when touching him was one thing, but seeing the proof of the exact contrary with his own two eyes was completely another, forcing Sam to consider that maybe, he wasn’t the only twisted one. Dean did, after all, look excited instead of disgusted when they stood so close to each other, his eyes burning with a dark fire that had sent shivers down Sam’s spine. They weren’t eyes full of hatred, but those filled with pure lust, if not slight confusion. And like that, plus the way his brother sometimes behaved, knowing that Sam was there, watching…

There existed a point where one couldn’t continue doubting himself and fill his mind and heart with guilty denial anymore, and Sam was pretty sure that his brother’s discreet flirting was like miles beyond that point.

Still, what would happen if they saw each other again? Sam thought about the possibilities, both good and bad, as he sat in the dungeon and stared absentmindedly at the devil’s trap in the middle of the room, the white lines standing out in the dimness of the place. The chair and table have been removed from the trap, leaving the room empty, save for several shackles hanging from the walls, and Sam. He listened to the sound of his brother rummaging around in the room to Sam’s left, only a movable pair of bookshelves separating the two areas, then let out a small sigh and ran slender fingers through his smooth hair, getting to his feet.

His appearance never changed as a ghost. His clothes didn’t get dirty, he didn’t stink from not showering for weeks, and his hair didn’t get greasy, maybe even feeling somewhat fluffier and softer than before. It felt nice, not having to worry about hygiene like this, or even sleep, as he never got tired, however that meant he got bored easily, and very fast. Sam had discovered the bunker over and over again, studied each and every room in the huge maze the building was, but that only took one day, or maximum two if Dean refused to move from his chair and venture further into the bunker, lengthening Sam’s leash. Boredom usually made him into quite the cranky ghost, groaning and moaning like a sulking kid, sometimes even going as far as annoying Dean. Because, sure, he didn’t show his more or less physical form to the man, but Sam did mess with the objects around him from time to time.

And that’s exactly what he planned on doing as he half-walked, half-glided to the makeshift wall of shelves, passing through the solid material without any difficulty. Sam squinted as his eyes got used to the sudden brightness of the room, being dead not meaning he got to ignore some of his body’s reflexive functions.

Glancing around the small room, Sam didn’t expect such a huge mess.

Almost all of the shelves were emptied, their contents scattered across the floor, leaving little to no place for anyone to step in. Which didn’t seem to bother Dean too much, as he was sitting on the floor, in the middle of one especially messy stack of what once used to be a file filled with important research papers on different types of zombies. Sam looked around the room seemingly hit by a tornado, then felt his face twist into an interesting mix of surprise and worry, the nape of his neck feeling like it was being poked by thousands of tiny icy needles as he broke out in cold sweat.

Dean pushed some papers out of the way and placed a flat, wooden board on the empty space, Sam immediately recognizing it. Light brown in color, the middle of the board was covered with letters of a deeper shade of brown. Under the row of letters were numbers, under which the words “GOOD BYE” were written in the same way as the “YES” and “NO” on the two top corners of the board.

When Dean took out the planchette with the hole in its front, Sam wanted to fade further into nothingness, but instead carefully made his way closer to the man, hesitating only a second before sitting down opposite to his brother.

Dean’s eyes flicked around the room, an uncomfortable feeling letting itself be known to Sam as his brother’s gaze wandered over to where he was sitting, then thankfully lowered to the Ouija board. He put the planchette on it, holding it against the board with two fingers, then took one last look around him before taking a deep breath.

“Since you’re not willing to talk to me, this is the only way I can think of to somehow get in touch with you,” he said, sounding somewhat frustrated as he kept his eyes on the board. “So…are you here, Sam?”

He chewed on his lips nervously, waiting as long as he possibly could, but with the tension hanging in the air and breathing down his neck, and Dean’s miserably restless and hopeful figure, it wasn’t long before Sam leaned forward and placed one finger on the coarse wooden planchette, pulling it toward himself and stopping on a word.

“Yes,” Dean read it aloud, shutting his eyes as he let out a long exhale, his shoulders visibly relaxing. When he opened them, he glared right at the space in the air Sam was occupying, making him fidget under Dean’s intense stare. “You’ve been watching me all this time.”

Sam wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a question, but he made small circling motions with the planchette while keeping it on the word YES.

His brother’s fingers on the small wooden thing twitched, Sam nearly missing the way his features hardened as he clenched his jaw, before saying, “Why? If you’re always here, why can’t I see you? Why won’t you let me?”

He didn’t feel like answering that particular question, so he didn’t. He removed his finger from the wood and was about to walk away like the coward he was, but when he saw the effort it took Dean not to start yelling, he stopped himself. Remembering the nights when Dean got so drunk he could barely make a complete sentence, so very drunk he couldn’t stop the tears as he cried for his little brother, Sam felt like he owed him this. He couldn’t keep torturing his brother like this, no matter how telling the truth might hurt his dignity and destroy his morals.

“Because of last time,” he muttered lowly while showing that same sentence to Dean, letter by letter, and when he was done, Sam couldn’t meet the man’s surprised eyes.

“You’re pushing me away because of that?” Dean sounded irritated now, Sam feeling the sharp thorns of anger in his voice on his skin. It made him feel smaller and even though those fiery eyes couldn’t see him, it felt like his brother was gazing right at him, deep into his own slightly wide eyes.

He could have either answered with a simple yes or no, but the sudden change in Dean’s mood had Sam sliding the planchette around the board instead.

“Sorry?” Dean shook his head with an incredulous chuckle. “You really think that it’s an apology that I need from you right now? I don’t care how sorry you are, Sam! When are you gonna realize that I just want to see you?”

The low rumble that his brother’s voice has become made the hairs on Sam’s arms stand on end, Sam forgetting that he was a ghost as his skin prickled and the blood in his veins turned to molten lava, burning him from the inside out. Dean’s deep voice shouldn’t have frightened and aroused him so much, but it did, and it took everything he had to quickly push the planchette to the words that said “GOOD BYE”.

But before he could have jumped to his feet and calm his thundering heart, he felt a firm hand clasp around his wrist and keep him in place, Sam gasping at the sudden pain of it.

His eyes stretched comically wide from shock, apparently letting his feelings so out of control that they turned him visible to a pair of eyes that were in the middle of glaring daggers at him.

“Are you trying to run from me again, Sammy?” Dean’s fingers dug deeper into his skin, Sam’s breath hitching and his mind swimming with hundreds of different excuses, but his mouth wasn’t working. He couldn’t possibly just sit there, frozen with his mouth opening and closing like a dumb fish’s, so Sam quickly swallowed around the lump in his throat and shook his head.

“No, I… Sorry,” he said, his voice coming out weaker than he had hoped. He couldn’t escape, couldn’t even begin to concentrate on turning invisible, not with Dean’s strong grip on him. And the skin where his brother’s hand was wrapped around his wrist was already burning, Sam needing to breathe through his slightly parted lips, and oh man, this really wasn’t going to end well.

Sam hissed when his brother’s nails sank into his flesh as he pulled him closer, his brain only registering what was going on when he was mere inches away from Dean. He was kneeling on the forgotten Ouija board, the hard planchette digging into one of his knees, his hand that hadn’t been seized by his brother suddenly finding its way onto Dean’s thigh. The older man’s breath tickled the skin on his face as he watched Sam with eyes resembling that of a hawk’s, fervent and ready to pounce. Determined and unyielding fingers encircled his biceps, trapping him completely in place, and Sam peered at the unpredictable man through the few strands of hair that have fallen in front of his eyes, feeling like time had slowed to a halt.

“You look scared.” Dean’s voice was a hoarse rumble in his throat, low like a whisper and heavy with undeniable desire. “You looked scared the last time as well. Scared and horny, Sammy.”

Dean chuckled at the soft whimper Sam made. How on earth was he supposed to act cool and composed with his brother leering at him like that? There was really no use trying to hide it—he was attracted to Dean like an oversized magnet, and so was his brother. That specific knowledge just made his heart beat dangerously faster and skin tingle more violently, Sam pretty sure that the flush on his face had spread across his whole body.

“Dean, let go,” he managed to say without his voice breaking, but judging from the way his brother just smirked instead of doing as told, Sam didn’t sound that convincing. So he tried again. “I’m serious, stop it.”

Dean raised one eyebrow at him. “Why? It’s so obvious that you want this. Your body’s practically screaming for me to take it. Even your eyes are begging me,” he purred deeply, Sam forgetting to breathe and ignoring all thoughts of wrong and shouldn’t as his brother pulled him impossibly closer, until those plush lips were almost brushing against his. “Say you want this.”

Sam didn’t even hesitate. “Want…” he mumbled against his brother’s lips, his eyes widening then fluttering closed when he felt the soft flesh press against his.

Dean’s lips moved against his, parting to let his warm tongue slip past them and lick at Sam’s rosy bottom lip, before catching it between his teeth and nibbling at it. Sam quickly gave in to the teasing, opening his mouth the let the curious tongue inside and moaning when the wet flesh slid against his, Dean pressing closer and kissing him deeply. He returned the passionate kiss right away, lost in the moment and scurrying closer, feeling a pleasant shiver run down his spine as his brother’s hand holding his arm slid up to his neck, wrapping around the back of his neck and turning the kiss from hot to burning. Sam felt the growl traveling from Dean’s chest to his mouth, felt the vibration on his lips as demanding teeth nipped at his tongue and lips, and now it was his turn to move his hand. Giving his brother’s thigh a light squeeze before gliding a clammy hand to the small of Dean’s back, Sam pulled him closer while crawling into his lap. Dean let go of his wrist then, entangling his fingers in Sam’s hair instead as he sucked playfully on the moaning man’s tongue, Sam’s hands deciding to flip him off and live a life of their own, sneakily lowering to the hem of Dean’s shirt, before sliding under the useless article of clothing and caressing the hot and sweaty skin there.

The way his stroking motions made Dean buck into him and kiss him even more desperately, had Sam over the moon in no time, but then he had to pull away because unlike him, Dean was still a living and breathing human, needing oxygen to survive.

Their foreheads pressing together, Sam and Dean panted without the slightest hint of willing to move, Sam not really feeling like leaving his big brother’s warm embrace anytime soon. He opened his eyes, feeling his face heat up even more as he saw Dean’s equally red face, certain that he could have drowned in just those heated, sultry eyes devouring him so openly. He didn’t need to breathe but he was completely out of breath; his heart didn’t necessarily have to keep on beating, especially not at such an alarming speed, but sitting in Dean’s lap like this, Sam felt more alive than ever. And when his brother unwrapped his fingers from his messy, now nest-like hair, and cupped his cheek, adoringly caressing him with his thumb, the loving touches immediately ignited something deep within Sam, making him lean instinctively into the touch and let his eyelids slide over his eyes, feeling at peace.

He let out a contented sigh, humming in delight when Dean hugged him with his other hand and buried his face in the crook of Sam’s neck, inhaling his scent before placing a lingering kiss on his skin.

“How are you feeling?” he mumbled against his neck, then pulled away to look into Sam’s slightly dazed eyes, now open from the question.

“Uh…” Sam cleared his throat, pressing his lips into a thin line as he thought. “Fine? I guess I’m fine, yeah.”

“Just fine?” Dean’s lecherous grin sent a wave of electricity through his body, the hungry sparks of lust gathering in his groin and making it impossible for Sam to ignore his aching erection.

“Very fine,” he said, his voice barely a whisper as he flashed a rather coy smirk at Dean, then quickly stopped himself as his mind began to clear. Noticing his sudden unease, his brother tucked some stray strands of hair behind Sam’s ear, his gaze piercing as he looked into his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Dean’s prodding, bottle green eyes roamed his face, Sam suddenly hyperaware of every single muscle present there, his lips doing a nervous twitch as he tried smiling and failed miserably.

He shut his eyes briefly while letting out a sigh, then eased away from Dean, crawling out of his lap and trying real hard not to think of how much he already missed the warmth. “Why did you kiss me, Dean?” he asked, already more or less knowing the answer, but needing to hear it from the man’s mouth.

Dean frowned. “Well, what do you think?”

He was going to make Dean angry again, he just knew it. “’Coz you missed me,” he stated, to what his brother let out a small laugh.

“Okay, yeah, I won’t deny that. I did really fucking miss you,” Dean admitted with a genuine smile, the joy of having Sam in front of him reflecting on his face, which just made what he was about to do so much harder. “And I must say, I was pretty surprised myself how I was ready to jump you back then, but it’s obvious why I felt the way I did, the way I do even now.”

Sam nodded, placing his clenched hands on his knees as he sat on the floor in front of Dean. “I know. I also feel…” He trailed off; he had already decided what to do long ago, he just needed one last push and it’d be fine. “But this is wrong.”

Dean’s smile didn’t disappear just yet, his lips curling into a grin instead. “It is, but it doesn’t feel that way, does it? More like the opposite. Like nothing’s ever been more right than this, than us.”

“But it isn’t right, Dean.” Sam sighed, bracing himself. “How could it ever be? We’re brothers—family. It’s not normal.”

“Who cares if it isn’t? Sam, look around you. What, in our life, is normal? We’re hunting monsters, been to Heaven and Hell. We chop vampire heads while others hang out at parties! Hell, even right now, I’m actually talking to your ghost, Sammy!” He motioned with his hands at Sam’s body, the intent frown that had crept onto his face as he spoke making Sam feel like a child being scolded.

He forced himself to look into his brother’s blazing eyes, chewing on his lower lip nervously as he fought an inner battle. He promised himself he would control his urges, the primal instinct that pulled him closer to Dean, promised not to give in to the dangerous temptation, but his brother’s willingness to bring those urges to the surface and convince Sam to act on them was putting his plan in jeopardy. There was this thin line between what should and what shouldn’t, between what he wanted and what he could get his hands on, and Dean Winchester was on the other side of this line. Sam understood that, knew how great the consequences of taking whatever this was further would be; he saw them before his eyes like vivid nightmares that kept nudging at his subconscious, even though he couldn’t sleep or dream. He knew what it would mean, foresaw the amount of stress it would put on both of them, and the fact that he was already dead was just the bitter cherry on top of this disaster cake.

It was like torture, like his own heart enjoyed watching him struggle and suffer. But he wasn’t hurting himself on purpose. But it had to be done so that they could both evade a future filled with shame and agonizing emotional torments, and Sam had taken it upon himself to build a wall between them, even if that meant going against everything he desired and needed with all his heart and being.

It hurt, but the pain would be worth it, surely not as great as they’d feel if they continued down this path. He had to believe that.

So yes, it caused him physical pain when Sam gazed deep into his brother’s desirous, expressive eyes, when he saw nothing but love and fear, desperation in them. When he saw them widen, the previous fear suddenly prevailing over any other emotions and spreading through the man’s body, as Sam said with the most resolute voice he could muster, “I know. And I’m sorry, but it’s still not possible.”

“What do you mean?” Dean demanded, obviously trying to sound angry, but the hints of distress in his voice were clear to Sam’s ears. “Look, we’re going to fix this, okay? Don’t go and say anything rash, I know you’re…not quite alive at the moment, but you know us. We will make this work. Me and Cas, we already have an idea on how to get you back into your body, so don’t you tell me it’s not possible. Don’t tell me that this, what we have here, isn’t going to work out, because it will.” He paused, searching for any signs of acceptance in Sam’s eyes, his features softening as he tentatively crawled closer and took Sam’s clenched hands into his. “Don’t you dare bail on me, Sammy. Not after this. Not after I…”

Tears welled up in his eyes, and Sam cursed his weakness, his emotions. He wanted to melt into his brother’s touch, let those firm and protective hands take care of him, let them wash all his doubts away with every caress. Sam wanted nothing more than that, and as Dean leaned forward and placed an impossibly soft and light kiss on his cheek, that dam in him broke. A wretched sob escaped his body, Sam gasping and his breath hitching as the tears forced their way out of his eyes.

“No, no Dean. We…no,” Sam said, his strong and serious act shattering to pieces as Dean tightened his hold on Sam’s trembling hands. He was unable to meet his brother’s eyes, looking at any blurry shape that didn’t possess a pair of loving green eyes, inwardly screaming at his body to move back and not forward, to not lean into the warm and comforting hug when Dean wrapped his arms around him, around his own arms and body and soul.

“Shh, it’s okay Sammy,” Dean said soothingly, whispering into his hair and placing reassuring kisses on his head as Sam inhaled his brother’s relaxing scent. “I’ve got you, it’s alright; I’m here. Just promise to be always here with me, please. I need… You have no idea how much I need you, so just promise me that.”

He sniffed, shaking his head. “Can’t… I can’t always be here,” Sam mumbled, slowly raising his head and blinking away stubborn tears. “Dean, I’m dead.”

The word made his brother clench his jaw, a glint of hurt and something like nausea passing through Dean’s eyes and face. “But you’re still here and that’s all that matters. And if everything goes according to plan, you won’t have to stay a ghost for much longer, either.”

“But that’s not the only problem. Don’t you get it?” Sam dug his fingers in his brother’s shoulders and pushed him away, however not completely, as Dean’s grip on his waist was as unrelenting as always. He was feeling it now, the first sparks of anger. He knew it would show up, sooner or later. It always did in ghosts, though Sam hoped it would somehow skip him. Well, he was obviously wrong. “The problem doesn’t lie with just me being dead! How can you be this blind, Dean? Don’t you give a crap what this…what us would mean? What would happen if we went through with this? How do you think others will react; how do you think our enemies will react?”

Dean hissed as Sam’s fingertips pressed deeper into his flesh, Sam unable to control the slow build of his rage now. But it seemed that he wasn’t the only one going into Hulk mode, either. “No, I don’t give a crap about anyone else. That should have been pretty obvious from the beginning! Seriously, who gives a rat’s ass about what others think? Every fucker creeping in the night or broad daylight can go and try to use what we have against us; it wouldn’t mean that much of a change anyway, as we’ve always been important to each other. Damn it Sam, stop acting so hard to get!” Dean snapped, suddenly grabbing Sam’s groin. His erection had calmed down while they were talking, but his brother’s abrupt and rather violent action sent a wave of fiery electricity through his body.

“Dean…” he breathed, his anger mixing with lust not the best medicine to calm the liquid fire in his veins, Sam fighting himself not to arch his back and buck into the hot touch.

A mischievous smirk tugged at the corner of his brother’s lips, those furious orbs swallowed by darkness as his own lethal cocktail of rage and desire darkened his face, and Sam couldn’t help the chill that ran down his spine.

“Feel this, Sammy?” Dean growled, his deep voice sounding even deeper as he leaned in, his warm breath ghosting over Sam’s ear. “You can lie to me and to yourself as much as you want, but your body can’t. Your body’s nice and obedient, reacting to my every touch, and you know why. You know exactly why that is, but still, you’re trying to run away. Though running ain’t that easy”—he pressed down hard, palming Sam’s growing bulge and drawing a small moan out of him—“when you’re horny for your big brother, is it?”

Sam let out a miserable whimper when Dean slowly ran the tip of his tongue along the outer ridge of his ear, leaving a wet trail from the bottom to the top, before nibbling on the tip and turning Sam’s body to stone. Nearly every single muscle in his body tensed, then relaxed when Dean pulled away and licked his lips, a ragged exhale leaving him when the pressure was gone from his throbbing erection as well, Dean kneeling in front of him and wearing a sly look.

“Yep,” Dean stated, nodding to himself with a self-satisfied grin, “definitively hot and bothered for me.”

“Jerk…” Sam whispered, a blush spreading across his cheeks and coloring his face an interesting shade of red. The clothes around him felt too tight, uncomfortable against his sensitive skin, and he felt itchy all over his face and neck, skin prickling with sweat. He was doomed to fail in his mission, it seemed, but giving up wasn’t really his forte, and since he was doing it for the greater good, more or less, he didn’t let go of his plan completely.

Suppressing the urge to rip his clothes off and spread his legs for his big brother was really hard, though.

Dean chuckled in a way that was so sexy Sam was pretty sure it was a crime somewhere in the world, and then he felt the nervousness back in his stomach, making it do backflips for days, as his brother’s eyes began roaming his body hungrily, surely planning on eating him one way or another.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” he said flirtatiously and leaned back on his hands, revealing his own rather sizable bulge. That did not make the image of Dean’s naked form pop into Sam’s head, the gorgeous, smooth skin glistening with water under the fluorescent light of the bathroom. Nope, it definitively did not.

Then Dean reached over to the tent in his pants, keeping his bewitching eyes locked with Sam’s, and gave it a hard squeeze, groaning low in his throat.

It was at that moment, Sam realized he seriously was going to do something really dirty and illegal if he didn’t leave right then.

So that’s what he did, right after making an unmanly sound which resembled a high-pitched whine and scrambling away from the tempting sight that was sinking its invisible hooks into his bones, tugging at him teasingly. Sam closed his eyes, gritting his teeth together, and only opened them again when he heard the frustrated grunt his brother made upon releasing his grip on his bulge.

“Damn it, Sam,” he groaned in irritation, wild eyes scanning the room in search for a very relieved and invisible Sam sitting only a few feet away from a man that was the definition of sex on legs. He ruffled his hair, a scowl carved into his face as he glanced from around the room to the stubborn erection between his legs, before sighing. “Keep doing this to me, winding me up and leaving, and I swear next time I’ll hold you down and…” Dean finished his sentence with a threatening growl, kicking the Ouija board away and getting to his feet, then Sam was out of the room in a moment, his eyes blind to what his brother did next.

He leaned against the cool wall, his body back to being invisible but solid enough to feel, and shuddered as the tiles pressed against his sweaty skin and sent a pleasant chill across his body, goosebumps running up and down his arms and neck. Closing his eyes, Sam waited until his breathing returned to normal, until his heart wasn’t in a frenzy anymore, until he didn’t feel like his skin was trying to suffocate him.

This didn’t go as planned, not at all. He was supposed to convince Dean that what they did was a first and last, a one-time-only thing, but instead he just made his brother hornier. Sam was impressed, but also annoyed. Dean wasn’t taking his warning seriously, but the blame couldn’t be put on the man alone, as while he kept on teasing Sam, making it nearly impossible for him to be even the least bit serious, Sam should have been stronger. He should have resisted, damn it, not moan like some puppy in heat! The memory of his own voice, of the lustful sounds he made, heated up his face, and he opened his eyes to stare at the wall opposite of him, focusing on the white tiles instead. Now, he successfully made Dean believe that he was playing hard to get, when that wasn’t the case at all. He simply wanted them to go back to being brothers, nothing more, nothing less. He wanted that…but the growing need for something else was making his resolve waver, all the consequence their actions would bring suddenly not seeming that important anymore.

The next few days were going to be a real pain in the ass, he just knew it. And he wasn’t quite sure if he hoped for that to be a literal pain or not…

 

Chapter Text

 

Two days. Well, more like two and a half. Dean managed to take it for the impressive amount of two days and a half, before going guano.

For the first day after Sam vanished from before him, leaving him alone to grumble, Dean was more or less okay. He shouted for Sam to show himself from time to time, demanding him to stop joking and playing around, to grow some balls and let Dean see him. When it became evident that Sam planned to do no such thing, Dean tried silent treatment, giving Sam a taste of his own medicine.

The second day, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut anymore, and after a few threats and pleas, Dean turned sour. Being anxious and angry wasn’t doing wonders to his brother, Dean going back to the bottle, mumbling to himself and to Sam while downing some leftover alcohol. It was pretty obvious that he was doing it on purpose, to draw him out, Dean giving himself away by having his eyes hopefully scanning the room more often than keeping them on the booze.

It was on the third day that Dean snapped.

The realization that Sam really wasn’t coming back and had left him again, that he honestly planned on drawing a line in their relationship and refuse going further, even though it was so obvious he wanted to, was what did it for him. Dean lost it, hurling a glass still filled with whiskey against the library’s wall, having had enough of Sam’s bullshit. He was cranky and angry ever since the morning, impatient throughout the day, and now as the clock struck 6pm, it seemed as if some mental alarm in Dean had gone off, seething and red-hot rage overpowering any other emotion.

“For fuck’s sake, stop it!” Dean yelled to the air, his roars of fury bouncing off the walls and filling the room with their venomous rage. “Haven’t you had enough?! How long are you planning to keep this up, huh? Will you hide from me forever, is that it? It that how you wanna spend the rest of whatever pitiful state you’re in?!” He strode across the room, his footsteps thundering across the wooden floor as he picked up his jacket from a chair, heading straight toward the door.

Sam followed silently behind, feeling like he was going to throw up. Great, he did it. He turned his brother mad. It meant that his plan worked, this situation holding the possibility of Dean understanding that kissing would be as far as this thing between them would go, no matter how much he wished otherwise. It also meant that Dean was hurting, badly. Sam recognized that look, the strain in his voice. He was pissed off, probably seeing red from all the pent up rage in him right now, despair and exasperation just fuelling the fury that was a hungry beast in Dean, eager to lash out at anything. And as much as Sam felt a weight getting lifted from his shoulders, it felt like the fire in his heart was slowly burning out, rendering it nothing but ashes, thin and frail and easily destroyed by the tiniest gust of wind. He was hurting just as much as Dean, wondering if he had become a masochist or something, needing to remind himself just why exactly he was letting this go on, why he watched as his brother climbed the stairs with heavy thuds, before turning around and glaring into the bunker.

“You’re pathetic, but you know what? I don’t care. Not anymore. Congratulations Sam, you made me not give a single shit about you! ‘Coz it hurts, you’re fucking hurting me, and unlike you, I don’t enjoy suffering like a damsel in distress. So you can go on and keep playing the depressed, dramatic ghost, because I ain’t gonna be your savior!” he exclaimed, shouting from over the railing, Sam’s heart sinking from how dead and cold his brother’s eyes looked. And then Dean smiled a smile so empty it made Sam shudder. “You don’t wanna let me touch you, fine. I’ll just go and look for someone else who will.”

He turned on his heel, grabbed the door handle and ripped the door open, before storming out of the bunker. It would have been a good exit, one that would have left Sam gaping at the door, boiling in worry and panic, if he wouldn’t have been attached to Dean.

Apparently, his brother thought that Sam’s ghost was connected to something in the bunker, that he was haunting their home. He probably believed that he had left Sam there after he shut the door and began mumbling a row of curses under his breath, but no, Sam was still there and, while he wasn’t doing all the aforementioned gaping at the door stuff, he was panicking alright.

Yeah, he definitively made Dean snap.

He hoped that his brother was going to stay here. He really, really hoped he would just lean against the door and wait for a few minutes before going back in, but those hopes got crushed when Dean walked over to the Impala parked not far away from the lowered entrance of the bunker and got in behind the steering wheel.

Materializing in the passenger seat, Sam was torn between throwing himself at his brother and begging him to stay, showering him with apologies, and staying silent. He couldn’t deny that under all that worry and anguish, was curiosity. Would Dean really leave him like that? Would he…?

Images of his brother with strangers filled Sam’s head, making his chest tighten. It felt like an icy cold hand had its clawed fingers wrapped around his heart, squeezing it each time he looked over at Dean, and especially when he saw him turning on the engine and start driving.

He was mumbling something, his voice lost over the suddenly booming music of the radio, but then thankfully Dean was reaching out and lowering the volume, saving Sam’s eardrums in the process. The song was a low tune now, one of Dean’s favorites, but instead of rocking it out to the jam like he usually did, his brother stared right ahead with his jaw set in a straight line, his cold and harsh demeanor compressing the air around them, tension hanging heavy in the car. He drove like that for a while, Sam’s thoughts a chaotic jumble in his head as he thought of every possible scenario, his brain cruelly shoving the images in front of Sam, making him dizzy and sick.

Wondering if ghosts had the capability to throw up, but really not wishing to find out, Sam forced the torturous thoughts out of his mind and looked out of the window. Trees flashed before his eyes, along with a gray blur the road had become, the wilderness soon giving way to the outskirts of the woods their secret bunker was situated in, followed by the suburbs of the city said woods belonged to. He watched as building came and went, starting out small and worn-down, and gradually gaining more color and life, decorated with signs and several objects put on display before glass windows. They reached the part of the city filled with life, the light from the sun still high in the sky reflecting off the shining surface and windows of cars parked on the side of the road, but Sam knew that it wouldn’t be long before the ocean blue sky would fade, letting its clouds take on a more pinkish orange color; before the sun would step down and escape the day completely.

He missed the sky, be it day or night, missed feeling the cool breeze against his skin, his real flesh and bone body. He missed how he always had to tuck the wild strands of hair that always got caught by the gusts of air, and when he felt the car slow to a halt, Dean climbing out of the seat and shutting the door behind him, Sam was hit by a wave of nostalgia when he followed. Outside of the car, the air was beginning to get chilly, carrying the sound of idle chatter, of cheerful laughter, and the scent of fast-food trucks. Sam wasn’t a big fan of fast-food, but he did miss food in general, still finding it disturbing how no matter how much time has passed, he just couldn’t get hungry or even thirsty.

And even though Dean said he had a way of bringing him back, Sam couldn’t take his word for granted. Not in a world that was always out there to get them.

Sam noticed they stopped in front of a black brick building. There was one wooden door in the front, right next to a large window, and Sam only needed to take one glance at what was on the other side of the clear glass to know that Dean took them to a pub. There was a deep red awning above the window, stretching forward and casting a shadow over a black table with two chairs situated right in front of the window. The chairs were vacant, but there were two empty pint glasses and one dark brown bottle on the table, suggesting that place was as accessible to the bar’s costumers as its inside.

He would have gawked around at the outside of the building for a bit longer if not for Dean, who merely took one glance at the pub before stepping inside, Sam walking after him through the door. The interior of the place was just like he imagined it would look like—chairs and tables littered across the room, pool tables and dart boards gathered in one corner, the air heavy with cigarette smoke and from the presence of so many warm bodies producing heat in one room. The many lamps on the walls, surrounded by lampshades made of burgundy fabric, cast a warm glow around the room, stray ribbons of gray smoke snaking and dancing in their light. The constant buzz of ongoing conversations and an old-school song playing from somewhere reached Sam’s ears as he walked deeper into the room, passing through chairs with laughing men and women still sitting in them. After he was done surveying his surroundings, Sam’s eyes searched and then found his brother, Dean already taking a seat in one of the bar stools on the room’s left side, tapping the bar counter and motioning for the female bartender to pour him a drink.

There were some empty stools left next to his brother, but instead of taking a seat and risking finding himself merging with a random stranger when someone would decide to take a seat where his invisible form was occupying the elevated chair, Sam decided to lean against the large window not too far from the bar and watch. The noises in the room were loud, the mix of voices and sounds rendering it rather hard to make out what Dean was saying, but he found that if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear his brother’s low voice just fine.

“Already?” the attractive blonde asked with a thin smile, glancing at Dean’s empty glass. “Rough day, huh?”

Dean snorted. “Pretty much, yeah.”

She gave him a brisk nod and poured something that looked like whiskey and Jägermeister into his brother’s glass, not bothering to ask for any details from him. She was probably used to having people like Dean grumble and get drunk at the bar, hearing the same stories over and over again. Sam smiled to himself.

She didn’t know what kind of story she was missing out on.

Staring into the glass for the longest moment, Dean raised it to his lips and squeezed his eyes shut, gulping the whole thing down in an instant before slamming the glass back on the counter. Sam would have been impressed if he wouldn’t have known why his brother was trying to drown out his feelings and dull his emotions with alcohol. But since he did, since he knew that Dean’s increasing alcoholism was his fault, he couldn’t help but feel the unyielding tentacles of guilt wrapping around his being and making him feel sick. He was so sure he succeeded, finished what he started, made Dean understand that there could never be a them. And apparently he did, however he wasn’t taking the news too well. Sam guessed as much; he just never thought that his brother would go this far.

Drinking alcohol was like getting his daily dose of water, so that wasn’t what was bothering Sam. It was what he said, what he threatened to do.

And he hoped, for the love of God he did, that Dean was only throwing a tantrum, that he didn’t mean any of it, because the thought of him just not caring hurt more than anything before. But as Sam watched his brother go through drinks at an alarming pace, desperately seeking to numb the pain along with everything else, it was obvious that if he continued like this, Sam would have to be the witness of something very unpleasant and excruciating.

He wondered, for a brief moment, if he should just give up. Maybe he was doomed to fail. Maybe he should have just given in to his brother from the beginning, should have claimed those lush lips as his own and let Dean do the same with his body. Maybe watching him from afar and hoping for these obstinate and fervid feelings to fade was pointless, naïve even. Maybe the two of them were destined to end up together…

Letting out a long sigh filled with all his worries, Sam instinctively rubbed his temples as he pressed the back of his head against the glass. This would have been one of those moments he would get a headache from all the over-thinking and anxiety tugging at his insides, turning his limbs to jelly and forcing him to choose between sitting down and risk falling to his knees. As a ghost, he felt none of the more physical parts of these sensations, but that persistent stomach churning feeling just wouldn’t go away, only turning up a notch when Sam’s eyes suddenly caught a glimpse of the seductive movement a woman made toward Dean.

Swimming in the wild waters of his thoughts and lost in his mind for a moment, Sam didn’t notice the woman who had taken a seat next to Dean and was now in the process of openly flirting with him.

And if that wouldn’t have been bad enough, his brother didn’t seem to mind at all, either.

The woman had black, wavy locks that poured over shoulders belonging to a curvy body, wrapped in a tight navy blue dress. She shifted in her seat on the stool, putting one leg over her knee and leaning forward to rest an elbow on the counter, tucking a stray black curl behind her ear, all the while smiling charmingly at Dean. His brother had turned in his stool, facing the woman and wearing an alluring smirk that could have had anyone looking his way fall for him. Sam’s heart didn’t expand in love, though; it shattered because that smile wasn’t meant for him, but for a stranger, and it was killing him all over again.

“I’m telling you, it’s fine.” The woman’s honeyed voice sent a disgusted shudder through Sam’s body, sounding like nails raking across a chalkboard to his ears. Her hand which was resting in her lap until now slid slowly to Dean’s knee, black-painted nailed fingers stroking his leg through his jeans. “You don’t seem too well, and since you mentioned you’re not doing anything after this… I don’t see why we shouldn’t spend some quality time together, if you know what I mean.”

Dean’s blinking eyes lowered to where the woman’s hand was touching him, his smirk growing when he looked back at her. “Well, that sure does sound like a lot of fun,” he said, his voice already taking on a deeper, slightly rough tone; however while he still looked interested, a small frown crossed his face as he gently pulled away his leg from the hand’s caressing touches.

She laughed and ran her hand through her silken hair, before narrowing her eyes and flashing an enticing grin at him. To Sam’s eyes, it just looked like her face was twisting into a horrendous mask, fake layers of skin stretching and pulling across bones that were surely brittle, so easy to snap. His clenched fists were trembling; he could feel as they shook his shoulders, and he was sure that his teeth would have hurt if he wasn’t dead, he was clenching his jaw so tightly, so aggressively. A strange and violent feeling was slowly pulsing through his body, seething anger spreading and engulfing him, the white-hot and burning rage followed by something colder, something much harsher; unrefined.

“Oh don’t worry,” she purred, sounding more like a serpent than a cat as she leaned close to Dean, her lips inches away from his ear, “I know how to make men like you feel good.”

Leaning back with a predatory smirk, she winked at Dean and let out a coy laugh. Her breath swirled between the two of them as a gray mist, before disappearing, and then a sudden chill spread across the room, halting every conversation. The temperature dropped below zero in an instant, frost covering the window Sam was leaning against, the ice cracking and forming spider-webs along the glass. Cold fury got its hands wrapped around him, a blue fire blazing in his eyes as Sam felt a sudden and powerful bloodlust run through and fill his system, wanting nothing more than to feel that whore’s entrails slip and slide through his fingers. His mind completely bank aside from the extreme rage, Sam ignored the surprised gasps of the men and women around him as he strode over to the bar, the incredibly strong feelings of murder turning him visible.

Dean was the first to realize what was going on, as soon as the room took on the temperature of a freezer, immediately jumping off the stool and looking around the pub with wide, shocked eyes. Yeah, he didn’t think Sam would be here, would catch him in the fucking act. But he was here, he saw everything, and he was pissed in a way only vengeful ghosts could be. And not even Dean’s panicked and sad eyes when he saw him could calm him, not anymore.

“You bitch!” Sam growled low in his throat, not even surprised by the amount of hatred and hostility dripping from his voice. The woman turned in her seat to gape at him, before letting out a horrible shriek when Sam grabbed her hand that had dared touch Dean, his Dean, and broke each and every one of her fingers in a swift motion.

“Crap, Sam, stop!” his brother barked at him, his own voice filled with fear and another sort of anger, not even close to the one Sam was under the influence of.

He took a hold of Sam’s biceps and tried to pull him away from the sobbing woman and out of the building filled with terrified people, but no, Sam wouldn’t let him. He was too far gone, controlled solely by the pure rage coursing through his veins instead of blood, and he was enjoying it, too. Sam embraced it, welcoming any other sensation that wasn’t making him want to curl up in a ball in a corner, and this toxic wrath that rumbled across him, shook all his nerves awake, was the best feeling ever.

“Screw you, Dean!” he spat, knowing that he was snarling from the way he felt himself bare his teeth at his brother. Sam slapped his hand away from his arm with such force it made Dean wince, and that was nice, he liked when Dean was hurting. Maybe he’d break his bones, too, after he was done with the woman. “Thought you could run from me? Run and hide, like every time something isn’t going your way? Can’t run forever, big brother, especially not from the dead.”

He glared daggers at the frightened man, Dean taking a step back and gazing deep into Sam’s hollow—save for the black murderous anger that was also reflecting on his face—eyes. “Sam, damn it, please…” He tried, raising a tentative hand toward Sam, but the ghost growled at him and shoved him away, hard and brutally enough to send Dean staggering backwards before falling on his ass.

Looking away from Dean’s surprised eyes, he turned back to the woman who was conveniently frozen in place from terror. A sick smile spread across Sam’s face as he closed the distance between them and seized the gasping woman by the throat, squeezing and tightening his fingers around the soft flesh, his nails digging into the skin. He watched as her eyes bulged, as she kicked and clawed, and then he was laughing because he never thought strangling the life out of someone while making eye contact and watching as the light in their eyes went out would be so much fun.

But then his playtime was over way too soon, feeling as a bottle of cold liquid shattered across the back of his skull right before he could have crushed the squealing woman’s windpipe.

His lips twitched into a sneer as he turned around and saw Dean holding the remains of the bottle, his penetrating green orbs looking right at him. “Hurting innocents, is that your new motto now? Or have you forgotten about me?” he asked, tossing the neck of the beer bottle to the floor and spreading his arms in the air, as if inviting Sam into a hug. He raised an eyebrow, his eyes turning cold as he grinned and said, “I mean, I was the one who wanted to fuck the chick instead of you.”

If Sam wouldn’t have been high on rage, if he didn’t feel like a rabid dog thirsty for blood and revenge, he would have known that Dean was just messing with him, trying to stop him from taking an innocent life by shifting Sam’s anger toward himself. He had turned into too much of a beast to realize any of that, though, so when Dean ran out of the room, Sam followed him blindly like a hound that had caught a scent, refusing to let his prey escape.

Dean led him out of the pub and into the dark, chilly outside. The sky had darkened greatly since the last time it was laid bare above their heads, taking on a color that reminded Sam of warm blood. The streets were quieter than before, too, with few cars passing them by, which was probably why Dean didn’t seem to worry too much about crossing the road without looking around first. Or that might have been thanks to the fact that a ferocious ghost was chasing him, both were equally likely.

Sam ran after him in his solid and visible form. It would have been easier to fade, to turn to a light mist and let the wind carry him after Dean. He could have even been faster that way, but the thought didn’t even cross his mind, Sam too laser-focused on his brother’s back, the jacket flapping from the speed of Dean’s legs like a huge target sign to Sam. He couldn’t possibly have had an adrenaline rush while running after his brother, but it did feel like it, his heart rate going off the charts and this twisted thrill and chase of the hunt exciting him in a strange way. Feeling the cold air rush past his face and only seeing the buildings around them as a colorful blur in his peripheral vision, he slowly caught up with Dean, as while he didn’t tire at all, his brother was human and had to start getting exhausted at one point.

That certain point happened to be as Dean reached a more desolate area of the city, Sam seeing his chance to pounce when they ran past a dark alleyway. A wicked grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he pushed on, ducking his head and forcing his legs to go faster, before he reached out and gripped his brother by the back of his jacket collar, giving it a hard yank.

Cursing loudly, Dean shrugged out of his jacket, but not before Sam had already pulled him back toward the alley and shoved him inside. “You goddamn idiot, letting your emotions get the better of you,” Dean hissed, all real and faked fear gone from his eyes, replaced by irritation. He was glaring at Sam, taking one step back before stilling himself and staring down the pissed off ghost.

Sam took it slow, tossing the jacket to the ground before creeping closer and closer to Dean as another kind of anger pumped blood faster through his body. “My emotions? What about you, Dean? Weren’t you the one who stormed out of the bunker, ready to sleep with anyone just to prove a point?” he retorted with a snarl, the icy flames dancing in his eyes turning to red and hot as he stepped up close to his brother, keeping his gaze fixated on him.

Dean let out an incredulous chuckle, shaking his head. “And just what do you think made me wanna do that in the first place, huh? You know, you’re completely contradicting yourself. You say we can’t be together, refuse to even let me see you, but as soon as I try to drown out the pain you fucking cause me by forgetting and sleeping with someone else, you get all protective and angry, as if I was cheating. What you’re doing ain’t fair, Sammy, and you know that too. You just don’t get to act like this, not if…” His voice trailed off, Dean letting out a frustrated sigh and shaking his head again, before waving a hand dismissingly. “Whatever. I just don’t get what’s going on in your head anymore, but I’ve stopped trying.”

“Don’t you fucking ‘whatever’ me, Dean!” Sam exclaimed, surprising even himself as his hands suddenly shot out from his sides, grabbing his brother and pushing him into the nearest brick wall.

The light from the lampposts lining up on the street could hardly penetrate the darkness of the alley, merely able to cast a faint glow over the two of them as they stood in the sudden silence, only the distant sound of cars passing by breaking the eerie silence. And while the light was too dim and soft, it was more than enough for Sam to see the cavalcade of emotions fighting for dominance in Dean’s eyes, see the strain in his face and feel it against his chest pressed against Dean’s, the muscles tensing under him. Slowly, ever so slowly, the thundering storm cloud of fury cleared from his mind, Sam getting lost in his big brother’s mesmerizing, gleaming eyes as seconds trickled by with just the two of them pressed together and staring into each other’s eyes. He felt Dean’s heat emanating from his body, felt his hot breath burning and melting the skin on Sam’s face, making him swallow down the rest of his long forgotten anger. With his fingers wrapped tightly around his brother’s shoulders and keeping him pinned against the filthy wall, it was a miracle that he hadn’t pressed something else against Dean, something quickly filling with blood and screaming for attention.

But then Dean wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him impossibly closer, getting rid of whatever space was left between their bodies, and Sam was back to his normal self, feeling his face and probably whole goddamn body flush at how intimately close they were. He didn’t need or dare to breathe, but felt like he should, taking an unsteady inhale as he felt Dean’s arms tightening around him, and wondering if his brother’s aim was to crush him.

“You can’t be possessive over something you don’t own, Sammy,” Dean whispered lowly, narrowing his darkening eyes at him, the small shadow his long lashes cast over his eyes just making them look even more dangerous, more feral. He then rolled his hips tentatively, right against Sam’s bulge, Sam digging his fingertips in his brother’s shoulders and biting down on his bottom lip to stifle a moan. “You’ve gotta chose, right now,” he continued, his face softening, but only a bit. “Let me go…or let me kiss you.”

It was the hardest and, at the same time, the easiest decision he had to make in his entire life; and death. Sam hesitated only for a moment, something deep inside him snapping when he saw Dean’s wet tongue slip past those pouted lips and lick them. Then, it was like gravity was pulling him toward his brother, Sam completely giving in and claiming those lips, now moaning into Dean’s mouth when he let him and parted his lips for him. He dominated the kiss for about one second, before he felt the smooth flesh pressing hard against his, their lips moving against each other as Dean kissed him deeply and with such fire that Sam felt the strength slowly leaving his legs, making him want to fall to his knees and worship the ground his brother stood on. The deep groan that ripped through Dean’s chest, before escaping his throat and tingling Sam’s lips, made the suddenly really damn horny ghost slide his hands from his brother’s shoulders to his face, cupping his cheeks in his hands and desperately trying to deepen the already hot kiss. Dean, noticing Sam’s hopeless attempts to somehow merge their lips together, let out a deep and muffled chuckle, and then practically shoved his tongue into Sam’s mouth, taking everything and anything Sam could ever hope to offer, licking into the hot cavern.

Biting and teasing the hell out of his tongue with his teeth, nipping and nibbling on the soft flesh, before taking Sam’s lower lip in his mouth and making it go through the same kind of sweet torture, it was only a matter of seconds before Sam was digging his nails in Dean’s cheeks, making him growl, the animalistic sound just riling him up even more. He bucked into his brother, who in turn rolled his hips in time with Sam’s desperate thrusts, the friction so good but so not enough. He moaned and whined lightly, lapping at Dean’s swollen lips when they broke the kiss. They were panting against each other, their mouths hanging open as they kept rubbing their hard bulges together, Sam letting out a high-pitched whimper when his brother’s greedy hands lowered to his ass and groped him, sinking his fingertips in his cheeks possessively.

It was all too much, his clothes sticking to his sweaty skin and the hungry, roaring fire burning him from the inside while the growing need to feel Dean, to really feel him, was making him delirious, turning him into a pitiful little mewling mess.

“Sammy,” Dean groaned against his lips between fervent thrusts, catching his lower lip between his teeth and biting down hard, making Sam whimper, but he welcomed the pain. “Good, yeah, good boy.”

Getting praised like that from his big brother while they were rutting it out in a dark alley like horny teenagers shouldn’t have turned him on even more, it shouldn’t have been so damn hot, but it most undoubtedly was, drawing a long whine from Sam. His hands slipped and moved down from Dean’s cheeks, Sam burying his face in the crook of his brother’s neck—which quickly became his favorite spot—and snaking his weak arms around Dean’s neck, holding on for dear life. He nuzzled and nibbled on the soft and delicious skin there as their movements picked up pace, turning rough and desperate, Dean leaning his head back and moaning and groaning in satisfaction at the attention Sam was giving to his neck, then growled low in his throat when Sam bit down on the spot where his neck met his shoulder.

Then it was Sam’s turn to let out a sound, his a mix of a gasp and a moan, his previously closed eyes widening when he felt the amazing pressure of Dean’s hands disappear as he slid his hands back up and in Sam’s pants, slipping them into his underwear and massaging the naked skin there. A violent shiver tore through his body and he felt another wave of scorching heat, igniting his bones and melting his skin, feeling like all strength has left his body as his brother dipped and curled his fingers into his skin, groping him hard and surely leaving marks on his cheeks. Dean used his newfound grip to pull Sam’s hips into each and every thrust, every heated buck of his hips, and as electric arousal gathered in his stomach and rippled across his chest, Sam waved goodbye to whatever remained of his manliness and pushed back into Dean’s hands, whimpering and moaning loudly now.

“Dean! Oh my god Dean, oh please…!” he panted heavily, clinging onto his brother and feeling like he was going to start sobbing any moment, and as he felt the deep reverberation of Dean’s hoarse chuckle where he was pressed against his chest, the sickest and dirties fantasies appeared in his head, making him purr against his brother’s flesh.

Dean withdrew one of his incredible hands and grabbed a handful of Sam’s hair, crushing their lips together in a quick and savage kiss, before licking his lips eagerly, and the carnal and suggestive grin he flashed him had Sam wetting his own lips in anticipation.

God, he couldn’t wait to have some steamy sex with his own brother, and no matter how wrong that still sounded, he just couldn’t give a crap anymore.

“Dean, I think I’ve found—”

The deep voice that suddenly came from the entrance of the alleyway stopped abruptly and grew silent, the fire in Sam’s belly immediately freezing over and turning to thick, shimmering ice as he recognized the voice. His eyes went plate-size wide and he tore himself out of Dean’s embrace with a gasp, his head immediately whipping around and toward the sound and, just as he thought, Sam’s heart sank when he saw Castiel standing in the more illuminated area, looking painfully uncomfortable with his eyes gazing everywhere but the panting hunters. Sam was blushing madly, not quite sure what one was supposed to say in a situation such as this, and when he glanced over at his brother, it was obvious that Dean was feeling the same way. His brother’s own blush was rather apparent, even in the darkness of the moonlit alleyway, highlighting his freckles as he ducked his head and quickly picked up his dirty jacket from the ground. It there wouldn’t have been an angel standing several feet away from them, Sam would have taken a hold of Dean’s face and kissed his brother’s adorable freckles like there was no tomorrow, but since the situation they have found themselves in wasn’t something they could just ignore, Sam decided to look away from what he was sure was the human embodiment of sin instead.

He focused on dusting his clothes off, even though he really didn’t have to, then fixed his messy hair and cleared his throat, finally gathering the courage to look at the angel still just standing awkwardly on the sidewalk that led to the alley. That didn’t mean he knew what to say, though. He was completely out of ideas.

Thankfully, Dean couldn’t take the awkward silence with all sorts of tension hanging in the air any longer, and after making sure that the tent in his pants wasn’t too visible, he stepped forward.

“Hey—” Dean’s voice came out low and raspy, and he frowned, quickly clearing his throat and starting again. “Uh, hey Cas. What’s up?”

Castiel stopped staring at a smudge on the ground and raised his eyes to meet Dean’s, the angel’s jaw tense and his posture completely rigid. He opened his mouth, looking from Dean to Sam, then closed it and gave Sam a look as if he’d just seen a ghost.

Oh right.

“Cas, please stop freaking out. It’s starting to make me uneasy,” Dean complained, drawing the angel’s attention. Castiel nodded briefly before scratching the back of his head, which was such a human thing to do it made Sam wonder just how embarrassed Castiel could be feeling right now, even as an angel. He did catch them in the middle of some real indecent activities, after all.

“Sorry, I just…” he muttered, reminding Sam of an alarmingly constipated man, his confused baby blue eyes glancing from one brother to the other, before finally settling on Dean. “I found a way how to perform the spell you told me of.”

A glimmer of hope flashed in Dean’s eyes, seemingly forgetting about feeling embarrassed as a small smile tugged stubbornly at the corner of his lips. “The Latin one?” he asked, and when the angel nodded, Dean did give in to the smile and let it cross his face. “Seriously?”

Sam just stood there, looking between the two men like a kid stuck between two adult’s too complicated and grown-up conversation. He remembered there being some sort of Latin spell scribbled down on the paper Dean used to note down his ideas and the ones he got from other hunters. But aside from the fact that there existed something called “breathing dead” or whatever those uncanny words translated to, he knew nothing of the supposed spell. And he wasn’t getting any smarter, listening to his brother and celestial friend.

“Yes,” Castiel said with a small smile of his own. “I must admit it wasn’t easy, as false information is just as common as those speaking the truth, when looking into such ancient spells. So it took me a while, but I’m positive that I have found the correct one this time.”

Dean caught Sam watching him with a questioning look on his face, his own beaming as he took a step toward him. “We’ll be able to put you back into your body, Sam.”

“My body?” he asked with suspicion, raising his eyebrows at his brother. “You mean the body that has been dead for weeks now…?”

But instead of Dean, it was Castiel who decided to provide him with an answer. “I have your empty body right now, hidden safely in Heaven,” he explained, the previous awe from when he first looked at Sam gone, and his features softened, taking on a gentler and somewhat relieved look. “You don’t have to worry; your body hasn’t started decomposing. It is being kept in a special oil bath that’s helping preserve both the inside and outside of your temporary corpse.”

“That sounds…kind of disturbing, but alright. As long as you won’t try to stuff me into my own rotting body, I think I’m on board with whatever this shady spell of yours can do,” Sam said decisively, though still feeling a little uncertain. He would be happy if he could be a flesh and bone human again—hell, he would be overjoyed. But he didn’t know anything about the spell, or what it would cost, so he wasn’t ready to just naïvely believe that everything would go according to plan, would be a smooth sail. These sorts of things had a tendency of biting them in the ass, after all.

“When can we do it?” He heard Dean’s eager voice penetrate the sudden silence followed by Sam’s agreement, his brother staring at Castiel with intent eyes.

The angel furrowed his brow and thought for a moment before answering. “Tomorrow should work. I will need some time to prepare the ritual, and we still need to figure out what’s keeping Sam in this world.”

“Wait a second,” he blurted warily, “what ritual?”

Sam and Dean both looked at Castiel for an answer, the angel blinking a few times like some deer caught in a headlight. “Oh,” he said informatively, “I forgot to explain, sorry.”

“Well, we’re all ears, so right now’s as good a time as any,” Dean mentioned, crossing his arms in front of his chest and, while he did try to be discreet about it, when his brother moved closer to him, as if protectively, Sam couldn’t help but smile.

Nodding, Castiel cleared his throat. “The Spirandi Mortuis spell is very old, though fortunately not as complicated and intimidating as it sounds. It’s something that’ll allow the ghost, if the ritual is carried out correctly, to posses its own body. I’m not talking about the usual ghost possession; in this case, the spirit of the dead will be stuck inside the body forever just the way a soul would. In other words, it’ll feel completely normal, as if you’ve never have died at all.”

“Alright, sounds good so far,” Sam muttered, mainly to himself, and ruffled his hair absentmindedly. He then looked back at Castiel and asked about what has been bothering him the most, ever since the angel mentioned it. “Now, what about the ritual?”

“Ah, yes, the Ritual of Engagement.” That did not sound the least bit reassuring, but Sam decided to at least try and stay positive. He snuck a quick glance at his brother, who looked the same as Sam felt, so good, at least he wasn’t the only one experiencing a sudden dread toward ancient rituals. “It is the ceremony which will connect the ghost and whatever it is attached to forever, at least until it’s destroyed. While staying connected, the ghost will be stuck in this world and its body, the object serving as a sort of anchor keeping it here. It will become a part of the ghost, in a way,” he explained, before turning his attention completely to Sam. “You will have to carry out the ritual with your object. Do you already have any idea what it might be?”

Sam knew exactly what it was, or more like who, and he must have made some sort of sound as realization hit him, because suddenly Dean was moving even closer to him, wearing a worried frown on his face. “You okay?” he asked carefully, concern and slight confusion audible in his voice, then his frown disappeared when he noticed that Sam was blushing. He had to be blushing, he felt like his damn face had been shoved into an oven.

Staying silent forever wouldn’t have solved the problem, though, so Sam scratched his nose and did a great job at ignoring his brother, looking at Castiel instead. “Yeah, I know what it is,” he said, finding it somewhat hard to speak with Dean’s gaze burning a hole in his head. “It’s Dean.”

Silence obviously followed, but then it was over far too quickly as his brother began bombarding him with questions. “What? Me? How? Are you sure?”

He sighed, giving the angel a look that was begging for help, but unfortunately Castiel seemed just as surprised as Dean, so Sam had no other choice but to face his brother and say some things that he wouldn’t normally while their friend was watching. But hey, Cas had already seen them so horny that they were ready to do it against a dirty wall, so this should be nothing.

“Uh, I…” he began not so successfully, but it wasn’t his fault. Dean’s eyes were just too distracting. “Remember the ghost that was attached to a part of herself? You know, the one that gave her kidney to her sister?” Dean nodded, so he continued. “Well yeah, so you see ghosts can be attached to other stuff too, not just objects.”

“Yes, but that was a part of the ghost,” Dean said skeptically, but somewhere deep down, Sam could sense that under the doubt, there was hope.

“I know. And I wasn’t sure about it myself either, but as a ghost, I was always so drawn to you,” he said, knowing how that sounded, but pushing past the nervousness because he needed to explain himself. “Wherever you went, I went too. You dragged me with yourself, and that’s also why I’m here right now and not in the bunker.”

“Yeah, but…” Dean was beginning to struggle with words too, glancing from his body to Sam. “Maybe it’s something on me?”

He shook his head, and if he had any doubts that he was blushing like a total girl before, now they were all gone in an instant. “Same happened when there was nothing on you.”

Damn it, he hoped that Dean would at least try to look embarrassed, instead of flashing a knowing and more than a bit dirty grin at him. “So you were watching, after all,” he said lowly, the teasing glint in his eyes making Sam wonder if his brother had completely forgotten about the angel’s presence.

Swallowing thickly and licking his dry lips, he cursed himself and the persistent arousal that was mocking his self-control, his body betraying him as a pleasant warmth pooled low in his stomach, surging even lower as Dean’s grin widened. His eyes were locked on Sam’s lips, Sam suddenly forgetting how they worked, so he bit down on his lower lip to stop himself from doing anything. But apparently, that was a horrible idea, because now his brother was running his tongue along his own, slowly creeping closer and forcing Sam to back away. He averted his eyes, which would have loved to drown in Dean’s enchanting olive green ones, and cleared his throat loudly, glancing toward Castiel’s way and snapping his brother out of his lust filled daze.

The dark haze quickly lifted from Dean’s blinking eyes, his brother halting in his movements and cursing silently as he turned away from Sam, who let out a small sigh of relief. They really didn’t need to traumatize the poor angel even more than they already have.

Without wasting another moment, Sam walked out of the alley and over to Castiel who was yet again, thanks to them, looking like he wished to be somewhere else at the moment. “So is this Ritual of Engagement dangerous?” he asked, skillfully pretending that the previous two minutes never happened.

Castiel decided to follow his example after a short moment. He shook his head, his face back to more or less serious again. “No, but we might have to change a few things if Dean really is what’s tying you to Earth,” he said, a frown creasing his forehead. “There are several steps to be made in order to complete the ritual. First, both the ghost and the object must be present, in the same room as the body. In other words, I will bring your body to the bunker, after which you will have to draw your own blood and get a few drops on Dean. You will say some words, a part of the incantation I’ll also provide you with, and that’s how the first link will be made.”

“So the first step is to smear Sammy’s own version of dead man’s blood on me? Can’t wait to hear the rest,” Dean remarked when he joined them in the entrance of the alley, sarcasm dripping from his voice as an uneasy smirk appeared on his handsome face.

Castiel gave him a look, before continuing. “After that, you will use your blood to draw a sigil on Dean. You will need to say some more words from the incantation while doing so. Then for the second link, you’ll need to ingest a part of Dean,” the angel explained, raising a hand to calm them, as Sam wasn’t sure about Dean, but personally he was staring at Castiel with baffled eyes. “Not like that. You won’t have to eat a piece of him—it can be as simple as drinking his blood. And finally, you will finish the incantation while holding the object between your hands… So just keep your hands on Dean, and with that, the ritual should be complete.”

Sam felt like it would have been appropriate for him to say something, but all he could do was open his mouth, then press his lips together into a thing line instead. Before, he would have just shrugged, maybe make a witty comment like his brother always did, but after everything that had happened between the two of them, both physical and emotional changes, it somehow made the ritual seem intimate. After they would be done with it, after he was back in his actual body, Sam and Dean would be connected in a way like never before, bonded by a mysterious spell, and while that shouldn’t have frightened him so much, it did. He just got through his guilt and shame, had just left the bucket full of worries about loving his brother behind like ten or so minutes ago; he wasn’t prepared for a goddamn engagement! Okay, fine, it wouldn’t be a real one, they wouldn’t actually get married or anything, but it appeared that whatever this spell would do to them, in whichever way it would join them, it would be way stronger than any marriage could ever be. So it was all too fast, the nervousness creating a great big ball of black dread in the pit of his stomach and pushing, prodding at his nerves and demanding Sam’s undying attention, until he couldn’t take it anymore.

He let out a deep sigh, still refusing to look at his brother, clenching his fists for as long as it took for him to clear his mind. When he pushed all the angst and stress concerning the ritual and what that would mean for them to the very back of his mind, Sam locked eyes with the angel and asked, “And you’re sure that will work?”

Castiel thought for a moment, not too long but just enough to make Sam furrow his brow in apprehension, before answering. His clear eyes were honest and expressive, reflecting certainty with just a drop of doubt swimming in the sea of those sapphire blue irises. “It will. You have my word for it,” the angel assured him, then made sure to look at both of them as he continued. “I have witnessed the two of you overcoming greater problems than this, and I’m sure that this ritual will not be the one putting an end to your ability to cope and prevail. I will make sure that everything goes according to the spell, to what I have learned. After tomorrow, you will be back in your body, Sam. Trust me, you will.”

“Well, we’ll at least have someone to blame if it all goes to shit,” Dean said with a small chuckle, probably trying to lighten the mood a bit, however it was obvious that even he was feeling the pressure. Still, Castiel did flash him a tiny smile that was more rueful than happy, but it was something. “Okay, so tomorrow?” He cast a glance Sam’s way, then raised an eyebrow at the angel. “Give us a heads up before you barge in with Sammy’s corpse, will you?”

“How about we just set a time?” Sam suggested, having to agree with Dean. He would have liked to prepare himself mentally for the sight of his dead body, even if he’d seen it before already.

And thankfully, Castiel nodded. “Would around…maybe eight in the morning suffice?”

“Sure,” Dean answered with a carefree-looking shrug. “I doubt I’ll be able to get that much sleep, anyway. And Sam doesn’t even need to sleep, so yeah, we’re golden.”

The angel looked at Sam, who gave him a small smile that said he was fine with the time they have chosen as well, then let his eyes wander around the alleyway before quickly looking around and making sure that nobody was watching them. “Alright,” he said with a deep breath, mirroring Sam’s previous smile. “Then I’ll see the two of you tomorrow.”

It never ceased to amaze Sam how easily angels could appear and disappear at a moment’s notice, leaving no trace of their existence behind apart from the faint echo of flapping wings that always followed their departure. He stared at the empty space previously occupied by their angel friend until the very moment he just couldn’t take the unshakable feeling of Dean’s penetrating eyes on him. When he finally turned to meet his brother’s gaze, he was actually surprised by the lack of lust etched onto his face, the conversation they had with Castiel probably erasing Dean’s arousal. Which was a good thing, of course it was, Sam didn’t miss the way how his brother could turn into and resemble a famished animal, how he managed to send his heart into a frenzy with just one look.

And to prove it to himself, how much he didn’t desire feeling those firm hands on his skin, Sam turned around and began walking back to where he remembered the Impala being parked. “Come on, let’s go back to the bunker,” he told his brother as he looked back over his shoulder, and his heart did not skip a beat when Dean smiled at him.

“Sure.” He quickly caught up with Sam and walked close next to him all the way until they reached the car, maybe even too close. He slipped into his jacked while they walked, the air surely becoming chilly now that the moon took the sun’s place, sitting on its throne high in the black, starless sky.

The streets were filled with a new kind of life, the partygoers emerging from their homes and roaming the city, drunken laughter filling the air, along with the faint sounds of music and distant chirping of crickets and grasshoppers carried their way by the wind. They were both silent on the way, Sam staring right ahead, and when he did risk sneaking a glance at Dean from the corner of his eye, he usually saw him looking at him, the smirk that crossed his face whenever he caught Sam looking making him blush. Damn, he was acting like some virgin girl on her first date or something, but for the love of god, he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop feeling the way he did, and he had already given up on suppressing or bottling it up, especially now that he knew how good kissing his brother felt like.

Dean opened the door and got behind the steering wheel once they did finally get to the Impala still waiting obediently in front of the pub, while Sam just passed clean through the passenger side door, flashing a small smile at his brother when he gave him an amused look.

“You’re such a ghost,” he joked, shaking his head with a laugh when Sam’s smile widened, then started the engine and drove away from the pub, leaving all their confusions behind.

 

Chapter Text

 

Sam drummed his fingers on his lap to the beat of the song playing from the speakers, leaning his head against the headrest and watching as the scenery outside the window transformed in front of his eyes. It wasn’t long before he saw the sea of brown and gray barked trees of the woods, watched as their numbers grew and expanded all around them as they drove deeper into the forest, then turned his head and looked through the front window at the looming building as they approached it. The bunker emerged from the ground like a cement giant, the trees surrounding it withdrawing in fear of the building’s intimidating form—the same building that Sam had begun calling home.

Lou Gramm’s voice was cut off mid-sentence, his song ending abruptly as Dean stopped the car and shut off the engine, parking not far from the heavy front doors of the bunker. As the car was flooded with silence, Dean kept his hands on the steering wheel for a moment, before moving one of them to the door handle and casting a glance at Sam.

The mischievous grin that spread slowly across his face did nothing good to Sam’s heart.

He followed Dean out of the car, his brother’s mysterious silence starting to nag him and making him wonder just what was going on in Dean’s head. It seemed like he was planning something, the sly air around him rather discomforting, and when he stopped at the bottom of the stairs inside the bunker and turned around, Sam knew he was right to worry. Dean leaned one elbow against the railing, his flirtatious eyes shamelessly gliding up and down Sam’s body, roaming and taking in every single inch of the sight before him. Then as their eyes finally met, an alarmingly predatory smirk crossed his face, Sam finding it rather hard to breathe or function altogether as his brother licked his lips before taking his bottom lip in his mouth and biting down on it seductively. He swallowed nervously, his eyes unable to blink or look away from those luscious lips just begging, screaming to be kissed, and then Dean was talking and Sam felt like he was going to collapse on these damn stairs.

“Just lookin’ at you makes me feel so hot, Sammy,” his brother purred lowly, his deep, lust-filled voice sending shivers all over Sam’s body. “Everything you do… God, I can’t wait to take you apart, make you scream my name. Bet you’re a loud one, too.”

He chuckled, and that sweet but dark honey-like sound that followed those words promising all sorts of nasty things had Sam needing to brace his hands on the wall and railing next to him.

“T-Tomorrow…” Sam stuttered, not even capable of speaking normally at this point.

Dean shook his head, the smirk painting his lips widening and turning feral. “Nah, I don’t really feel like waiting until then.” He slid his hand up the railing as he began shortening the distance Sam was really needing between them. Willing his body to move and not just stand there like some statue nailed to the ground, Sam took one step back on the stairs, but then he felt Dean’s hand reaching his own in the middle of gripping the rail tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Dean took a hold of his hand and slowly lifted it up to his lips, Sam watching with mesmerized, wide eyes surely filled with desire as his brother pressed his soft lips against the back of his hand and placed a lingering kiss on the tingling skin there.

Dean’s eyes glowed with an intense hunger as he noticed that Sam’s hand was shaking, his brother looking back at him with a victorious grin, drawing one of those sorts of sounds out of him that only made Sam’s blush intensify and Dean’s grin widen.

His thoughts were a hazy cloud of incoherent words, and when Dean let out a fucking growl, Sam yelped and instantly turned invisible.

But his brother didn’t get angry, not this time. He simply laughed, rolling his eyes as he turned around and walked away, Sam fanning himself with his hands as he got dragged along. Damn, all this sexual tension wasn’t good for his heart. And yes, he knew that it would be so easy to resolve said tension, way too simple, but he wanted to wait until he was back in his human form before…well, before fucking his brother. No other way to say it—he really wanted Dean to make him his.

Getting riled up each and every time Dean so much as smiled at him wasn’t doing wonders to his self-control, though; more like feeding the fire that was his libido with generous amounts of coal.

But it was fine. He would only need to keep it in until tomorrow, and if everything would go well, then in a few hours, Sam would feel the pleasure of a whole new world that he was eager to discover.

While he was busy calming his body, Sam had ended up in Dean’s room, only noticing the change of surroundings when he heard the bed creak as his brother crawled on the mattress and sat down, stretching like a big cat before leaning against the headboard. He kicked his shoes off, placing a pillow behind his back and raising one of his knees a bit as he sat there, relaxing with his eyes closed for a long moment, before blinking them open, and the new look in Dean’s eyes as he glanced around the room made Sam doubt he would last until tomorrow…

“So…” Dean’s voice was low and teasing, his brother obviously aware of his presence in the bedroom and deciding to take advantage of it. “Ritual of Engagement. I wonder, would that mean we’d get engaged? ‘Coz you know,” he said slowly, drawling the last few words, “I really wouldn’t mind that.”

His brother ran a hand though his short sandy brown hair, sinking a bit lower in the bed as he bit down on the smirk creeping onto his face, then slid his hands to his pants and popped open the button on the dark blue denim.

No way.

Sam gaped at Dean, who was in the middle of unzipping and tugging off his pants, tossing them on the floor, before using one hand to grip the sheets while the other reached between his legs and took a hold of something else, something bulging under cotton fabric and growing harder by the second. Sam just blinked in shock at the sight in front of him, unable to believe that Dean was really doing this. But no, he wasn’t dreaming; his brother was seriously touching himself while he knew Sam was watching, judging by the way he was making some of the sexiest groans Sam had ever heard. Swallowing thickly and quickly licking his suddenly very dry lips, he simply couldn’t stop himself from stalking closer to the bed, taking short and quick breaths as he watched Dean. He watched as his brother stroked his clothed cock, squeezing and massaging it while humming and groaning in pleasure, sometimes moaning loudly just for Sam, just for his ears that were already burning hot, along with his face.

Dean leaned his head back, his mouth hanging open as he sucked in his bottom lip and chewed on it from time to time, quickly reaching full hardness while kneading his erection. “Fuck, Sammy…” he sighed, giving a good squeeze to his bulge and moaning. “Wanna feel your hands, baby. Wanna feel your lips wrapped around my cock, god, want to kiss you so bad.”

Sam’s hands clenched and unclenched, his fingers just itching to touch, his mouth watering and he was blushing madly at how hungry he felt for his own big brother’s cock. And then he slapped his hands over his mouth as his breath hitched quite audibly when Dean curled his fingers around the top of his underwear and pulled, freeing his erection and getting rid of the piece of clothing, it landing who knows where in the room. Sam was too busy burning a hole in Dean’s goddamn juicy cock standing proudly between his legs to care about a stupid underwear, sinking to his knees by the foot of the bed to get a better view, and gripping the wooden frame with trembling hands.

Dean spread his legs and began teasing himself, stroking and caressing his thigh with one hand, the other reaching behind him and grabbing the headboard tightly. Then he slowly moved the hand on his skin higher, trailing his fingertips along his thick length, up and down, over and over again, before wrapping his fingers around the base and squeezing. “Sammy, Sammy…Oh fuck, Sammy…” Dean repeated his name as he slid his hand up to the head of his cock, thumbing his slit before starting to move his hand, stroking then pumping his throbbing cock while making the lewdest groans and deepest, lustful growls.

Watching his brother taking a shower and kissing him was one thing. Sam could still more or less control himself after that. But watching as Dean jerked off with his name on his lips, now that was just too damn much. Screw waiting until tomorrow, Sam decided, even though he knew that Dean was doing all of this on purpose, touching himself like this to break him, and his brother could feel proud of himself because it was working. Sam couldn’t take it anymore, not with Dean groaning and moaning like that, and he was crawling onto the bed before his mind could even register what he was doing.

Dean opened his eyes when the mattress shifted with Sam’s weight on it, grinning smugly and chuckling when Sam turned visible and reached out, grasping the nape of his neck and pulling him into a hot kiss. He shuffled closer, grabbing his brother’s waist and leaning into the kiss, his feeble moan muffled as Dean licked into his mouth and deepened the kiss, turning it passionate and hotter than Hell. When they parted for air, Dean flashed him a look full of lust, starving flames dancing wildly in his eyes as sinful lips curled into a dirty grin. His hands finding Sam’s sides and caressing him fondly, Dean placed a soft kiss on his forehead when he whined, the sheer amount of love mixed with lust radiating from his brother giving Sam the urge to cling to the man forever and never let go.

“Finally,” Dean whispered, running his tongue across his swollen lips and making Sam shiver. “Thought you’d never give in.”

A small and rather bashful smile crossed his face as he pecked those gorgeous lips. “Yeah, there’s only so much I can take… I just couldn’t resist.”

Dean grinned. “Good,” he stated, before leaning forward and quickly shedding his shirt and, damn, that body was to die for. Dean’s toned chest and delicious abs, his broad shoulders and strong arms, the breathtaking, sun-kissed skin glistening in the satiny glow coming from the lamp on the bedside table…

Yep, his brother was drop-dead gorgeous; and Sam had to grin, because all of this, all of it… It was his now.

“Like it?” his brother asked, his voice teasing, and the chuckle Dean made when Sam nodded was more than music to his ears. “I thought as much, if only by the way you’re drooling over me. Are you that desperate, Sammy?” He shifted on the bed, getting on his knees, Sam’s eyes widening as Dean’s cock materialized inches away from his face. “Want me just as bad as I want you, don’t you? Come on, don’t be shy—tell me everything, spill all of your darkest fantasies.”

Sam whimpered, biting down on his bottom lip and gripping the sheets under him as he looked away from the raging boner, his eyes locking with Dean’s instead. “I…” he panted, excitement running through him in violent jolts, its roaring flames licking at his bones and threatening to suck all the strength from his limbs, leaving him defeated and loving it. “I want…to feel you everywhere. Kiss and lick you, Dean I want you so much, need you to take and to… God, I want you to fuck me, good and hard and until I can’t stop screaming your name.”

He couldn’t believe he just said that, surprised that he actually managed to get those words past his lips. And his face was burning in embarrassment that spread across his whole body, but judging from the satisfied and impossibly turned on look Dean gave him, it was worth it.

“Wow, Sammy.” He chuckled, then raked his fingers through Sam’s hair as his eyes changed from predatory to beast-like, his already deep voice dropping an octave, and it was all Sam could do not to just lie back and beg Dean to do him already. “Knew you’d be a sweet little slut for me. Don’t worry, I’m gonna give it to you nice and rough. Oh, I’m gonna fuck that tight hole of yours until you can’t walk straight anymore, baby, then keep poundin’ that ass even when you can’t take it anymore.”

Letting out a breathy gasp, Sam looked at his brother pleadingly, needing everything Dean just said so damn much. He whined softly, leaning forward and making his brother suck in a sharp breath through his teeth as he began lapping at the beads of pre-come gathered at the slit of that delicious cock, Sam affectionately nuzzling the hot flesh of the head. Then he was gasping again, however this time from surprise and slight pain, a burning ache shooting down from his scalp as Dean growled and yanked on a fistful of his hair, tugging him away and glaring down at him.

“Strip,” he ordered, and Sam didn’t need to be asked twice. He immediately unbuttoned his shirt, his fingers shaking too much so after a while, he decided to just pull it off over his head, then quickly moved to his pants and underwear, ripping them off as fast as humanely possible. “Holy… Damn, Sammy, you’re even more fucking gorgeous than I’ve imagined,” Dean said when Sam had shed all of his clothes, both of them naked on the bed, the anticipation freaking killing him and his aching cock.

He flushed at the compliment, then skillfully changed the subject. “Yeah, that’s…okay. Just fuck me already,” Sam muttered as he stood up on his knees and grabbed Dean’s head, kissing and licking along his jawline, before nipping at his brother’s bottom lip playfully and taking the smooth flesh into his mouth. Groaning in approval, Dean put his hands on Sam’s, stroking and pressing them closer to his own face, before moving them to Sam’s shoulders and swiftly changing their position.

Sam grunted as he was pushed harshly into the wall behind the bed, still on his knees, then the frown that formed on his face from the feel of the cold stone wall against his burning and sweaty skin quickly disappeared, Sam making a small sound when his brother pressed into him. With their chests flush together and Dean gripping his hips tightly, Sam felt like he was in Heaven, a way better one than the real thing, moaning and nuzzling his big brother’s cheek when he ground their hips together.

“Just can’t wait any longer, can you?” Dean teased him, rolling his hips at a painstakingly slow pace, unhurriedly rubbing their throbbing erections together as his fingertips dug into Sam’s skin with the obvious effort controlling himself caused him.

Letting out an annoyed groan, Sam grabbed Dean’s ass and yanked him closer, both men moaning at the rough slip and slide of their cocks pressing together. “Fuckin’ jerk…” he panted, making his brother hiss as he sank his sharp nails into Dean’s cheeks, then made some desperate thrusting movements like some damned dog in heat, before he felt strong hands wrapping around his wrists.

His arms stretched as Dean pinned his hands above his head. Removing one hand, his brother kept the other’s fingers wrapped tightly around Sam’s wrists, his grip unyielding and preventing the younger man from moving whatsoever. Dean manhandling him like that, dominating and taking control over his body, excited Sam even further, enjoying this strange helplessness way more than he should. And then he stopped thinking, because Dean’s free hand found its way to his erection, stroking it while sliding his own leaking cock alongside his. His brother’s mouth was rather busy as well, placing open mouthed kisses on his neck, licking and biting at his ear, marking the skin on both his shoulders with dark hickeys and slightly painful bite marks. All the touches, the wet feeling of Dean’s tongue across his blazing skin and his rough hand pulling and twisting, dragging and clutching his cock, had Sam throwing his head back and crying out in intense gratification, unable to keep his eyes open as wave after wave of unbelievable pleasure rushed through his body, which was shaking like a leaf under Dean’s talented hand and lips.

After what seemed like forever, Dean let go of his wrists and Sam didn’t waste a moment before wrapping his arms around his brother’s neck, quite literally falling into his embrace as his knees gave out on him. Dean laughed, encircling Sam’s sticky body and pulling him close, Sam’s heart pounding so hard and fast in his heaving chest that he thought it might self-destruct or something. Then he buried his face in his favorite spot as Dean lowered them and sat down, leaning on his hands which he moved behind him, and when Sam straddled his lap and gazed into those electric eyes hiding so much love and desire, his brother surprised him by kissing the tip of his nose.

“You’re so adorable…” Dean whispered with a smile that Sam just had to return, his one rather giddy and shy as he caressed his brother’s cheek with the back of his hand, feeling like his heart was going to swell and burst with happiness.

Unable to utter a word with the way he was, Sam decided to kiss the love of his life instead, cradling his face while tentatively rolling his hips. Dean leaned his head back and opened his mouth to let Sam’s tongue in, one pleased sound leaving his throat after the other before getting muffled by the greedy lips latched onto his. They kissed this way for a while, Sam spoiling the heck out of his brother just enjoying the attention, his eyes closed and lips moving steadily against Sam’s, while bucking his hips into the rocking movements above him from time to time.

Sam eased away from the kiss to taste the rest of his brother’s body, gently biting at Dean’s chin before sliding his lips down the God-like body, kissing and licking at the man’s chest, but just moments before he could have reached the hardness between Dean’s legs, he got nudged by his brother’s knees, then seized and relocated. He flopped onto his back where his brother was sitting mere moments ago, blinking up at Dean who had crawled between his legs and was hovering above him with his hands braced on each side of Sam’s head, careful not to get any of Sam’s floppy hair under his palms and accidentally pull on it. Inhaling a shaky breath, Sam slowly reached out and traced his fingertips down his brother’s chest, feeling him shiver at the touch. He smiled, then flashed a coy look at Dean before raising his knees and spreading his legs, then even licked his lips for good measure, and in a way he hoped was seductive.

Dean let out a breath he must have been holding in as he leaned down and captured Sam’s lips in a quick kiss, before pressing his forehead against the younger man’s. “I love you,” Dean mouthed against his lips, gazing deep into his eyes, his brother’s emerald orbs twinkling with pure adoration.

Sam felt his own eyes welling up with tears, but he wasn’t going to cry, damn it. “Me too…” he whispered weakly, his voice hoarse from the effort of holding back the tears of happiness, and then he smiled, couldn’t help but smile, and then laugh.

Dean did too, their joyous laughter bouncing off the walls as they finally said it, finally confessed their true feelings to each other, bliss enveloping both of them as they just stayed like that for a while, enjoying each other’s presence. Then Dean began showering him with small kisses, Sam sighing pleasantly and making encouraging sounds, arching his back when his brother moved down his body. He kissed every part of his skin, teasing his nipples with his tongue, teeth and fingers, licking along his ribs, then dipped the tip of his tongue in his bellybutton, which made Sam giggle and whine at the same time. Curling his fingers into the sheets above his head, Sam bit down on his lower lip before parting them and moaning loudly when he felt Dean’s hot, wet tongue on his inner thigh, teasing and nipping at the skin. His tongue was soon replaced by his hands, which immediately began caressing his thighs while the aforementioned tongue migrated to Sam’s balls, placing wet kisses on it, before using the flat of his tongue to lick from there, all the way up to the tip of Sam’s cock.

“Oh Jesus, Dean…!” Sam gasped, then did so again and again, the feeling of his brother’s lips and tongue on his cock overwhelming. He had to admit, he had fantasized about this before, but he never imagined it to be this intense, to feel so goddamn orgasmic, electric ecstasy shooting up from his groin and sending violent chills down his spine and across his whole body each time Dean lapped at the pulsing flesh.

He was pretty sure that he even saw some fireworks going off behind his eyelids as he squeezed his eyes shut.

He writhed and moaned as Dean slid his dick past his full lips, then felt like the air got punched out of his lungs and moaned louder when his brother sank all the way down his cock, swallowing him up without any difficulty whatsoever. Sam’s eyes flew open as he reached one trembling hand to Dean’s head, clawing and grasping at the short strands of hair, needing to feel him even more. And he did, the older hunter hollowing his cheeks as he began bobbing his head back and forth, licking and swallowing around his shaft, and sucking him off hard. The obscene slurping sounds he made drove Sam into a frenzy, and then he was bucking up and fucking into his brother’s mouth, Dean gagging quietly as the tip of his cock kept bumping against the back of his throat, but he didn’t seem to mind too much.

Then the wet heat from around his length was gone, Sam whimpering at the loss of his big brother’s mouth. He strained his neck and raised his head to look at what Dean was doing, what could possibly be more important than moaning around Sam’s cock, but when he saw him disappear between his legs and then a second later felt the wet flesh poking at his entrance, he was quick to forgive his brother. Dean’s tongue played him like it was born for the job, drew the most wanton sounds out of the younger hunter thrashing about on the bed. Praising and worshipping his brother, Sam’s back arched away from the mattress and he kept rocking his hips when Dean decided that it would have been a wonderful idea to simply shove his tongue up his ass, which for Sam, it most certainly was. It was the best feeling ever, better than Dean’s hands or mouth on his cock, better than the fervent kisses they’ve exchanged. This was making his legs tremble and his nails rip and claw at the sheets at the extreme feeling.

And when he felt a wet finger slide in alongside with Dean’s tongue, he felt like he was going to come right then and there.

“D-Dean…!” he whined, let out one pathetic sound after the other, but he didn’t care how goddamn needy and desperate he sounded, because his brother was fingering him and he loved it. He moved a hand to his neglected dick, giving it a few harsh strokes while Dean worked him open, then his breath hitched when he felt him bite the fingers he had wrapped around his shaft.

“Don’t touch,” Dean growled at him, nibbling and licking his fingers, and Sam caved in, the commanding tone in his brother’s voice doing it for him. He came with a choked-off moan, or at least would have, if his surely evil brother wouldn’t have pressed a thumb down on his slit, forbidding him of any release.

He made a pained whimper, wriggling his hips, but Dean’s hold was relentless. “Fuck, Dean, no… You—” Whatever he was about to say got cut off by his own gasp when two more fingers joined in on the fun going on in Sam’s ass, working together to stretch him open and, when Dean deliberately pressed down on his prostate, the tears escaped him and Sam freaking started crying.

It was all just too much, Dean’s fingers inside and on him, giving and withholding pleasure, and it didn’t take long for Sam to just snap and beg. “Please Dean! Please, please just lemme come, just fuck me! Wanna feel you, feel your cock deep inside, so deep! Dean!” he wailed, keened loudly when his brother did indeed withdraw some of his fingers, but only those teasing his ass.

He pressed down harder with his thumb and moved his lips back to Sam’s ear, placing a hot kiss behind it before whispering like the fucking tease he was, “How bad do you want it?”

Sam was sobbing, couldn’t believe that he was crying while having sex with his brother. “So bad, Dean,” he said with a whimper, raising shaking hands to Dean’s face and gazing deep into those dark, desirous eyes. “Want you so much, give it to me please. Please, Dean…”

“Yeah baby, such a good boy,” he purred huskily before licking into his ear with the tip of his tongue, and Sam mewled. “Sorry I kept you waitin’, but this is punishment for your stupid hard to get attitude. So don’t you even think about coming until I’m done with you.”

Then he lifted and pushed one of Sam’s knees so far up it was nearly touching his shoulders, Sam not having much time to get amazed by his own agility, as in the next moment, Dean lined up his cock with his hole—after he hurriedly slicked it with spit—and slid home. Sam threw his head back and made one of his lewdest, most high-pitched moans yet, the feeling of his big brother’s thick, long cock breaching his tight ring of muscle and sliding forward like pure ecstasy. He wanted to say something, maybe dirty talk Dean into moving already, but aside from needy and hopeless whines, nothing got past his lips. The burn and stretch of it was uncomfortable and rather painful, that much was true, but he sort of enjoyed the pain as well, because it was Dean, Dean’s dick, Dean inside of him. And then he was cursing him, because god damn it, he needed to come so much.

“God, Sammy, so damn tight around me,” his brother groaned in delight, lowering his fiery gaze and watching, as if mesmerized, the way his cock slid slowly in and out of Sam’s quivering hole, the sight surely amazing judging from the look on Dean’s face. “Should see this, Sammy. Your hole’s just swallowin’ me right up, so fucking greedy.”

And he wanted to; Sam wanted to watch, but he was too weak, and the way too slow thrusts of his brother were just driving him further and further into Desperation Land. He mewled out some incomprehensible words, wrapping his arms around Dean’s back and raking his fingers down the soft skin, enjoying the way his nails dragging down on the man’s back made him moan and hiss. Realizing that Sam was going to pass out or something if he didn’t start fucking him for real, Dean threw the younger hunter’s raised leg over his shoulder, keeping it in place with an iron grip, then began ramming into Sam’s tight ass while still not removing his thumb from the weeping slit.

Sam could see stars, saw the whole goddamn universe as Dean fucked him, first with long and hard thrusts, then shorter, faster, and even harder ones, his pace merciless as he slid balls deep inside of him each and every time, managing to hit that spot just right. It made him want to beg for more, for harder, for everything, but he didn’t have to. As if reading his mind, Dean let out a low growl and slammed into him wildly, roughly and like a savage, the wet sounds of his huge cock slipping in and out of Sam’s hole, of his balls and hips slapping against his ass with each heated thrust intoxicating and such a major turn on.

It was the best feeling ever and he didn’t want it to stop, Sam rocking back and moving his hips in time with Dean’s thrusts, and crying out in unbelievable pleasure whenever his prostate got hit dead-on. His leg suddenly fell from Dean’s shoulder and his body got seized by strong hands. Whining when the burning cock filling him up slipped out of him, Sam’s eyes fluttered open, watching as Dean changed their position. His brother sat back against the headboard and pulled him into his lap, the action needing both his hands, and when he removed his thumb from Sam’s slit, he nearly came untouched.

But unfortunately, Dean didn’t appear to be done with his punishment just yet. “Press down on it,” he growled out the order as he guided one of Sam’s hands to his leaking slit, then grinned wickedly when the younger man whimpered. “Come on baby, do it for me.”

He let his hair fall before his eyes as he glanced down, reluctantly doing as he was told and sniffing when he pushed his thumb against the slit.

“That’s it, that’s right, baby boy,” Dean purred after which he nuzzled Sam’s neck, making him melt. Then he nibbled and bit his shoulder, his brother’s hot breath against his already flaming skin making him shiver as he whispered, “Now, ride your big brother’s fat cock, Sammy.”

Hearing those nasty words from his own brother’s mouth reminded him of just how wrong what they were doing was, but he didn’t let that thought bother him or stop him from reaching back, taking a hold of the smooth, hot flesh of Dean’s cock, and burying it deep inside as he lowered himself on it. He keened softly, licking his lips eagerly as he felt the warmth fill him again, sitting in Dean’s lap and rolling his hips teasingly as a form of revenge for needing to keep his orgasm in. And a sly smirk crossed his face when his brother under him groaned, grabbing Sam by his hips and digging his fingers in his skin, visibly clenching his jaw and controlling himself not to buck up and into the man, to fuck him silly.

“Dean…” He relished in the feeling of having his brother’s cock up his ass for a bit, leaning forward to kiss and lick at Dean’s lips, moaning when he caught Sam’s tongue between his teeth and sucked on it. When their lips parted, he took a deep breath and raised himself until only the head of his brother’s thick length remained inside, before sinking back down, then repeated that again and again, riding Dean like his life depended on it, his head falling back and eyes closing as he moaned loudly.

“Yeah, fuck—” Dean groaned, his voice a deep growl as he tightened his hold on Sam, helping him by lifting, then pushing him back down on his cock. “Like that, Sammy? Like bouncing on my cock?”

Whining, Sam didn’t even blush when he nodded, his face and whole body already flushed and on fire. “Yes! God, love it Dean, love your cock! Love you,” he screamed, breathing the last words lowly in Dean’s ear as he leaned forward and wrapped his free arm around his neck. That earned him a small moan from his brother, who then showered him with kisses, before sliding his hands lower and grabbing his ass, forcefully spreading his cheeks, and then Sam was gasping and crying out because his brother suddenly turned even more aggressive.

Sam fell forward with the force Dean began thrusting up and into his ass, the cock in him easily sliding in and out with incredible speed, Sam’s eyes rolling back from the merciless fuck he was getting. He couldn’t move anymore, even though he tried impaling himself on his brother’s dick, Dean’s wild and brutal slams of his hips, as he snapped them up and rocked Sam’s body each and every time, turning his limbs to jelly and he just couldn’t anymore. And just when he thought he was going to faint from it all, he heard the man’s low command telling Sam to come for his big brother, and he did just that, immediately removing his hands from his dick and then screaming through the biggest and greatest orgasm that ever tore through his body.

Dean chuckled darkly, the sound quickly turning into moans and possessive growls as he pulled Sam’s slack body closer and bit at his shoulder, his thrusts soon becoming erratic and even more vicious, and it wasn’t long before Sam felt him filling his hole. Hot come shot up his ass in jerks, each time Dean snapped his hips up, then he whined when his brother just kept going, already spent and slow but still moving, gently grinding and rolling his hips as come oozed out of Sam’s abused and impossibly sore hole, sliding down Dean’s slick cock. He groped and massaged his ass, Sam mewling fondly and lapping at his big brother’s neck, still feeling high from the afterglow of such a mind-blowing sex, then let out a weak sound when Dean’s softening dick slipped out and he hugged him.

“That,” he panted, raising a hand to entangle his fingers in Sam’s hair, and nuzzling his head, “was most definitively the best fucking sex I’ve ever had.”

Sam’s shoulders shook as he laughed, nodding and kissing at his brother’s neck for a while, before pulling his lips away from the delicious flesh and smiling at Dean. “It was, yeah,” he said, glancing between their bodies, his cheeks heating up when he saw how both his and Dean’s chest was covered in come.

Following Sam’s flustered gaze, Dean licked his lips and ran a finger down his heaving chest, gathering some of the come cooling there, then raised it to his lips and licked it off. “Tasting pretty good, Sammy,” he purred, Sam staring at him with wide, embarrassed eyes, then his breath hitched when he got pulled into a kiss. Deliberately shoving his tongue inside his mouth, Dean forced the taste of his own come in Sam’s mouth, then flashed a wolfish grin at him when they pulled away. “How is it?”

Sam frowned, trying to seem annoyed, but judging by the look on his brother’s face, there was no hope in achieving looking pissed, not while his face had the shade of a damn tomato and his lips were curling into a smile. “You’re such a fucking perv’,” he said with a small laugh, then squirmed playfully and nudged Dean’s cheek with his nose.

“And you’re a tease,” his brother stated and nipped at his nose. “Hope you’ll never think of running and hiding from me ever again, Sammy. Especially not after such a hot fuck.”

Chuckling, Sam shook his head. “You kidding? Now way; I might have had my doubts before, but they’re all gone now. We did…confess to each other, after all,” he said, feeling rather sheepish all of a sudden, that feeling intensifying when he became aware of the fact that he was sitting naked in Dean’s equally naked lap, his cock resting against his brother’s abdomen and, oh god, what they just did was slowly sinking in.

“Hey, stop looking that terrified.” Dean’s voice was tender and soothing as he cupped Sam’s cheek and caressed his skin with the pad of his thumb, smirking at him. “Everything’s gonna be fine. I’m here and you’re mine—and that’s all you need. All I need.”

Smiling, he leaned into the gentle touch. “I know…S’just you’re so…naked. And every single synonym of the word gorgeous.”

Dean laughed. “Well, you ain’t that bad either. Most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, really,” he said, grinning and placing a quick kiss on the lip Sam was in the middle of chewing. “But I guess making love and then hugging like this could be kinda embarrassing.”

“Making love?” Sam raised an eyebrow, trying not to show how those words made him feel, made his heart skip a beat.

“Well, yep.” Dean’s grin widened, all genuine feelings reflecting from his green eyes, moving his hand as he began caressing Sam’s sides.”Isn’t that what we did?”

“It… Yeah, it is,” Sam admitted, shivering at the light touches and smiling, couldn’t stop the happy smile from spreading across his face, his eyes also twinkling with joy.

“See? Finally agreeing on something,” his brother said with a wink, then scooted down and pushed Sam down next to him, before encircling him with those strong arms and pulling him close, in a way that suspiciously looking like cuddling, but Dean didn’t seem to mind his unmanly action. He freed the blanked from beneath their sweaty bodies and pulled it over them, lying on his back and letting out a satisfied sigh when Sam snuggled closer to him.

“Shouldn’t we… I don’t know, maybe clean up a bit?” Sam suggested as he glanced up at his brother, trying not to react too visibly when he felt the come leaking from him, sliding out of his hole and trickling down his bare ass. The feeling made him shudder and stand the hair on his arms and back of his neck on end, however also turned him on a bit, in a way he refused to think of. Damn, he might have been an even bigger pervert than his brother, which should have seemed impossible, since come on, Dean watched porn shamelessly on Sam’s laptop every time he could. But, nope, because here he was, enjoying the way his own big brother’s come was seeping from his ass. Perfectly normal, really.

“Why, you want me to clean you that much?” Dean licked his lips suggestively, and Sam couldn’t believe it, his dick was getting hard again, just from that look and the thought of Dean cleaning him with his tongue.

And no matter how much he wanted to laugh and shake his head, to say that no, of course not, Sam found himself nodding and swallowing nervously when Dean shifted in the bed, crawling on top of him.

“You do, huh?” he drawled, hovering above him, and Dean shouldn’t have looked so hungry for what he was about to do, but he did, and it made Sam turn on his stomach and spread his legs for him voluntarily. The blanket vanished, pulled away to reveal Sam’s ass. He took a deep breath and let it out as a weak sigh, burying his face in the pillow he was gripping tightly, then closed his eyes when he felt Dean’s fingers trailing down his back, ghosting over his skin and dipping in his crevice once reaching his ass. He hummed and moaned as his brother placed a hand on the small of his back, slowly sliding it up and down while his other hand stroked his thigh, then stopped at his ass and splayed his hand, curling his thumb and circling Sam’s entrance.

Smearing the come sticking to his skin there, Dean leaned down and bit down on Sam’s ass, sending a shockwave of pleasure up his spine and to his neck, Sam trying to spread his legs wider. He felt Dean mumble against his cheek, licking and kissing at the mark he made, before groping him and moving his cheeks out of the way as he began cleaning Sam. And god, why did such a dirty thing have to feel so damn good?

Sam gasped; his eyes flew open and widened as Dean lapped up his own come, then sank his nails in Sam’s cheeks as he spread them even wider and sucked, the obscene sounds that made making the younger man whimper in embarrassment, but that didn’t stop him from raising his hips and silently keening for more. He heard and felt Dean’s low chuckle, the warm tongue doing wonders to him, his brother forcing the wet and twisting flesh as far in as possible to gather up his come, swallowing and sucking greedily, as if loving his own taste.

Which, judging from the pleased groans matching Sam’s own moans of delight, might just have been the case.

When Dean withdrew his tongue and laid back neck to Sam, the panting man needed a few seconds to calm down and look at his brother, who was grinning lecherously at him, making him roll his eyes.

“You enjoyed that way too much,” he said with a grin of his own, chuckling when he got pulled into the embrace of the strong arms that meant home and safe, love.

“You didn’t seem to be hatin’ it that much yourself,” Dean pointed out smugly, pressing a lingering kiss on his forehead before retrieving the blanket and yawning. “You gonna watch me sleep?”

“I think so…” He nodded, smiling fondly at his brother and drawing random patterns on his chest with his fingers, then leaned his head down, resting it on Dean’s broad shoulder. “If you don’t mind.”

He felt his brother’s laugh under his hand, the rumbling reverberations tickling his ear where it was pressed against Dean’s skin. “Not at all. And anyway, I’m pretty sure this wouldn’t be the first time. I remember waking up to the feeling of eyes watching me many times before,” he said, the smirk audible in his voice even though Sam couldn’t see his face, and he was about to bite him, when he felt Dean’s hand petting his head and lips kissing his forehead. “I like it.”

Smiling, he nibbled on his brother’s flesh anyway, before nuzzling him. “Good…” Sam mumbled against his skin, then listened to Dean’s breathing, as it gradually evened out, lying there for the rest of the night with his hand over his brother’s, his lover’s heart, feeling it beat for him.

 

Chapter Text

 

The next day, Sam stood nervously in front of the body laid out on one of the tables in the library, shuddering at the eerie feeling, as if looking into some freak show mirror.

That morning, Dean greeted him with a sleepy, happy smile, instead of a guilty one. Sam was up all night, obviously, what with him being a ghost and all, letting everything that had happened that day sink in. He knew that he regretted none of what he and Dean did, but he couldn’t have been sure about his brother. Yeah, he knew it was stupid getting so worked up over everything, but he needed to be sure, and his brother’s face that morning was exactly what he needed for any and all of his leftover worries to fly right out the window, Sam waving them goodbye more than gladly. He didn’t turn invisible once after that, still following Dean around like some overly attached puppy, but he seemed to be enjoying the constant attention. Then when Dean cornered him in the library, backing him into a wall and kissing him breathless, then starting to fumble with his pants, Castiel chose that exact moment to appear and deposit Sam’s corpse on the table not too far from them.

Talk about mood killers.

Dean quickly backed away and zipped his pants, trying and failing to pretend he wasn’t just about to fuck Sam against the wall, while the younger man was also having a hard time looking casual with the bulge straining against his pants. Did the angel have some sort of sixth sense telling him which the most inappropriate time would be for him to show up? Because it really seemed like it, though Castiel didn’t look too happy about it either.

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and just cleared his throat instead, looking uncomfortable as he motioned to Sam’s dead body just casually laid across their table. “I’m on time, so this situation isn’t my fault…”

Sam blinked, glancing at Dean who was looking at his watch and cursing, which must have meant that it was indeed their fault for getting too horny to notice it was eight o’clock already.

And that’s how he found himself now staring at his corpse, which looked way too fresh for a weeks old body. It was also completely naked and covered in oil that made his skin shine in the glow of the library’s lamps, but Castiel was quick to explain that he needed to remove Sam’s clothes because the oil—which was apparently Holy Oil—needed to get to every part of his body to preserve it safely. Sam accepted that, but still elbowed Dean and ordered him to cover at least the lower part of his body with his jacket. His brother had grinned and told him he didn’t mind the view, but after Sam shot him an icy, ghost glare, the older hunter gulped and was quick to drape his jacket over the body’s groin.

Sighing, Sam watched his body for a while longer, standing next to the wooden table and poking an oily, slick arm, and flinching at the odd feeling. He felt a hand on his shoulder, turning around to come face to face with his brother’s reassuring smile, and he instantly relaxed, though not completely.

“Here,” Castiel said as he stepped over to them and unfolded a paper, before pushing it into Sam’s hands. “This is the incantation. I have numbered each paragraph”—he tapped the numbers on the yellowing piece of paper in Sam’s hands—“so you’d know when to say what. And I have also drawn the sigil on the bottom of the page… Yes, there. So do you still remember the steps of the ritual or should I explain it again, just in case?”

He furrowed his brow in thought, waiting until the memories came flooding back. “Get some of my blood on Dean, draw the sigil, drink his blood and keep him close. And each time saying the corresponding part of the incantation. Right?”

When Castiel nodded, Sam felt a wave of pride wash over him, before turning around to look at Dean, but when he did, he immediately froze. “What are you doing…?” he asked slowly, but couldn’t stop the instinctive move of his tongue running across his lips as he saw Dean’s chest, the tanned skin laid bare before his eye as his brother discarded his shirt.

“Well, you’ve gotta draw some fancy sigil on me, right? I don’t wanna get any blood on my shirt,” Dean said with a shrug, then glanced from his chest to Sam, raising an eyebrow tauntingly. “Why? Something the matter?”

Realizing that he was blushing, and feeling really frustrated about how nearly everything his brother did was making his face heat up these days, Sam quickly shook his head and averted his eyes, just in case. “No, it’s nothing,” he gabbled, then picked up the angel blade lying on the table next to his corpse. Castiel really came prepared, just as promised.

He raised it to his body’s arm and pressed the tip of the silver blade against the skin, before nicking it. Feeling as Dean moved closer, Sam swallowed the nervous lump in his throat and wiped his index finger over the cut, before turning back to his brother and sliding the bloody finger down his chest. Dean shivered at the touch, goosebumps making the invisible, tiny hair on his chest stand on end, and Sam could sense his eyes on him, Dean’s gaze penetrating as he moved his finger back and forth from the cut to his skin, and painting his brother’s chest with enough blood for the sigil.

He then picked up the paper he put on the table and began reading the first few words. “Cruor fio cruor,” he read the words aloud, Dean hissing right after he was done, the dark blood on his skin beginning to sizzle. Immediately looking to Castiel for answers, Sam’s eyes widened and he asked, “Is this normal?!”

“Don’t worry, this is supposed to happen. Keep going,” the anger assured and urged him on, and when Sam looked back at Dean with concern written all over his face, his brother smirked.

“I’m fine, just burns a little. Nothing I didn’t experience before,” he said, sounding genuine enough, so Sam calmed himself and cast one more glance at the paper, before gliding his bloody finger on Dean’s chest and drawing the sigil.

“Sino is infragilis vinculum effingo…” He could feel the blood boiling under his finger, Dean wincing as it burned his skin, but he knew he had to keep going, no matter how much Sam wished to stop and soothe his brother’s pain.

He took a step back, marveling at the sight of the rather simple, but beautiful blood sigil on Dean’s chest. It was a circle with a dot in the middle, the dark red blood appearing somewhat elegant on the honey-like skin of his brother. But no matter how gorgeous it was, the sigil was also clearly hurting Dean, the man needing to grip the chair closest to him to stop himself from making a sound, his jaw set in a straight line as he visibly gritted his teeth, looking anywhere but Sam or the angel.

So Sam didn’t waste another moment before pressing the blade against his brother’s arm, wanting to get this over with as fast as possible, but before he could have made a small cut in Dean’s flesh, his head was suddenly grabbed. Sam’s gasp and any of his protests got muffled as his brother crushed their lips together, wondering what the hell got into Dean, kissing him at a time like this and especially in front of Castiel, but then the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and he immediately understood. Apparently Dean wanted to give his blood to him in a rather intimate way instead of a slice of the blade, which was fine; Sam sure as hell wasn’t going to complain. He closed his eyes, licking into his brother’s bleeding mouth until he found the wound Dean made with his teeth, then began sucking on it thirstily, making the pained but aroused man groan.

Pulling away from those lush lips was like torture, but Sam had to keep going. Also, he was making out with his brother in front of their friend, so yeah, maybe the kissing and touching could wait until later. He got rid of any remains of blood from his lips with his tongue, a bit surprised that he found the taste rather good. He then regulated his breathing, forcing himself to take deep, slow breaths instead of panting like he wanted to, and studied the paper in his hand, before moving his other hand to Dean’s, taking it and entwining their fingers together as he pronounced the words with his best Latin accent. “Una pro infinitio…”

Dean’s hand suddenly tightened around Sam’s, squeezing it hard as the blood on his chest began to glow and pulse with a radiant mix of red and purple, the colors changing and swimming in Sam’s blood, which was moving and sliding like a shimmering snake eating its own tail. He watched with slightly wide eyes as the colors merged and separated, Dean equally transfixed by what was going on, staring with a deep scowl at his chest, his suddenly sweaty hand trembling in Sam’s.

“Dean,” he said softly, couldn’t take watching his brother clenching his jaw in pain, and stepped closer to him, stroking his hand gripping the chair. “Dean, it’s fine, it’s—”

But then both his hands—the one holding Dean’s and the one with their fingers interlaced—were suddenly grasping at thin air, at nothing, as they passed through solid flesh and bones. He glanced down, blinking at his arms that were quickly turning transparent, and when he looked back up and saw Dean staring at him with a pair of apprehensive eyes, his features screwed up into a slight grimace, Sam was pretty sure that whatever was happening to his arms, was also happening to the rest of his body.

“You will now be absorbed by your body and get locked inside,” Castiel explained, presumably feeling the need to reassure them that Sam slowly disappearing was normal, as both Sam and Dean had some more than nervous expressions painted on their faces.

And indeed, Sam was kind of freaking out, his mind immediately thinking of the worst case scenarios without him being able to stop it, to stop the flow of doubts and questions. What if he mispronounced something? What if Castiel forgot a word, forgot a step, anything? What if he’d get crammed inside his body the wrong way, something going wrong and paralyzing him forever? But soon all those anxious thoughts dispersed from his mind like translucent clouds, fading approximately at the same time as his body did, and his vision of the bunker switched to complete and utter black.

At first he didn’t even have time to panic, it happened so suddenly, but when he realized he couldn’t see, when the shadows grew and surrounded him wherever he looked, now then he panicked. He gasped and his body jerked, and then he gasped again as realization hit him.

His body jerked.

Sam’s eyes flew open and he sat up with a start, feeling dizzy and nearly headbutting Dean in the process. He was panting, eyes wider than plates, staring at anything that caught his eyes, then raised his hands and spent a few moments staring at those. They were covered in oil, glistening and strange to the touch. His body was burning; Sam could feel as his heart pounded in his chest and sent blood coursing though his veins, felt the crimson life fill his limbs, firing his system back up. Patting his chest and placing a hand over his heart, he felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his racing heartbeat hammered against his hand.

He was in his body, which still sat naked and oily on the table, save for Dean’s jacket covering his lower regions, and Sam couldn’t have been happier.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one enjoying this moment, as suddenly he felt powerful arms wrapping around him and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. “Damn it Sammy, don’t do that ever again! You scared me so much,” Dean exclaimed, Sam’s ear ringing from where his brother growled into it, then when the man let go of him, he frowned at him.

“What do you mean? I didn’t…” Sam’s voice trailed off, only now noticing the slight changes. The chairs around the table were gone, all of them scattered and lying on the floor as if toppled over by an angry hurricane. Castiel was nowhere to be seen, along with his blade and the paper holding the incantation. And all the blood was gone from Dean’s chest, but the mark they left in their wake remained, his brother’s skin bearing a circular burn wound the spitting image of the sigil.

He stared at Dean’s chest with confused eyes, but what Dean said next explained everything. “Sam, you’ve been out for at least five minutes,” he said, grabbing his own hand to stop it from shaking. “I thought something went wrong because no matter what we did you just wouldn’t wake up. Cas said that you would, but I got angry and kicked him out… I really believed he…that he made me lose you forever.”

The sorrow in his brother’s voice made Sam’s heart ache, this time the feeling much more intense than when he was ghost. He threw his legs over the side of the suddenly cold table and pulled Dean back in his embrace, planting soft kisses along his shoulder.

“It’s fine, I’m here now. Won’t go anywhere ever again,” he mumbled against his skin, whispering reassuringly, then let out a contented sigh when he felt Dean returning the hug. Sam eased away after a few moments to look him in the eyes and smile, then lowered his gaze and studied the wound engraved in his brother’s skin, slowly raising his hand, before lightly and carefully trailing his fingertips along the mark. “Does it hurt?”

When their eyes met, Dean shook his head. “It did at first, but now it’s okay,” he said, then frowned and hissed when Sam pressed down on it. “Okay, fine. Maybe it still stings a bit.”

“Thought so.” Sam smiled, then leaned down to place a tender kiss on the sensitive skin and earning a pleased sigh from his brother.

“That’s nice,” he remarked, his own smile audible in his voice as he stroked Sam’s head. “You can keep doing it.”

Chuckling, he didn’t protest, and began slowly kissing along the wound, softly and caringly, sometimes sneaking in small kitten licks, and it wasn’t long before he had Dean panting under his lips and tongue. When he was done, he placed one quick kiss on the mark in the middle of the circle, and then moved back, sitting up straight and stroking his brother’s sides lovingly.

“You should apologize to Cas, you know. You must have shouted that poor angel’s head off for nothing,” he told him, smirking when Dean rolled his eyes and began playing with Sam’s legs, poking and massaging his knees.

“It wasn’t for nothing—I thought he screwed up and got you lost somewhere in ghost land,” his brother grumbled, then raised his eyes from Sam’s knees with the slightest smile crossing his face. “But yeah, I’ll apologize. I mean he was right, after all. I did finally get you back…and now we’re even connected by an engagement spell. How cool is that?”

Laughing, Sam leaned forward and kissed his brother’s chin, feeling his heart swell in happiness from the face Dean made at that. “Yeah, it is pretty cool. And we even got an engagement gift, courtesy of the spell,” he joked, nodding toward the smooth mark.

Dean snorted. “Stop it, you’re gonna end up turning into a girl from all this lovey-dovey crap,” he said, trying to act manly, but failing when his cheeks turned a faint red from the blush dusting them. He lowered his eyes to look at the mark, his lips curling into a small, happy smile when he touched it. “Though I don’t mind it left a wound. It’s kinda big and it feels weird having some sigil that looks like a freaking target sign scorched into my chest, but…it does serve as a constant reminder that we’re bonded now.”

“Look who’s a girl now,” Sam said teasingly, grinning when his brother shot him a glare. Then he shuffled closer, wrapping his slender legs around Dean’s waist and leaning so close their lips were nearly touching, but not quite, before whispering, “Until death do us part?”

“Death ain’t got shit on us,” he said, then lifted his hands to Sam’s head and kissed him. The younger man smiled into the kiss, opening his mouth and letting Dean’s tongue inside, moaning and loving the gentle kiss full of passion and adoration, and when they parted from it, Dean’s sly grin let a bucket of butterflies roam free in Sam’s stomach. “I will keep loving you even after I’m dead, find you wherever you are and never let you go. Be it Heaven or Hell, or whatever else this world got prepared for us, it doesn’t matter where we’ll end up in…I’ll hold you forever, and anyone who dares come between us can go and screw themselves.”

“Dean…” Sam wasn’t going to cry, he was an emotional man be he was not going to cry from happiness. He couldn’t stop his eyes from welling up with tears, which he was desperately trying to blink away as he showered Dean’s neck with kisses, hugged him tight and nuzzled the living hell out of him. “I love you.”

“Yep, I know,” Dean stated, grinning at him as he gently pushed Sam away, his grin widening with a dangerous glint in his eyes as he slid his hands down to the younger hunter’s hips, then continued moving one of his hands until reaching—

“Dean, you…oh,” Sam breathed, bracing one of his hands behind his back and holding onto his brother’s shoulder with the other as Dean removed his jacket from Sam’s groin and began stroking him, skipping any foreplay and immediately pumping the gasping man’s cock. The rough pulls, drawn-out drags and quick strokes had Sam moaning loudly in a matter of seconds, letting his head fall back as he bucked wildly and desperately into each and every strong caress, then he was suddenly whining and getting even lewder and louder as he felt Dean’s lips on his neck. He sucked and bit, planted harsh kisses all over his neck, littering Sam’s skin with some marks of his own, all the while jerking him off hard and at a merciless speed.

“Sammy,” he purred low in his throat, the hot breath ghosting over the skin beneath Sam’s ear, along with the voice deep with lust and undeniable desire, making his skin tingle and heart-rate go crazy. “I can’t wait to have you like this, make your body mine.”

That made him start mewling like a desperate kitten in heat, sinking his nails deep in Dean’s shoulder and enjoying the groan he earned from it. Then his brother was squeezing him even harder, twisting his hand this way and that and pumping his leaking cock so fast and good, and Sam couldn’t take it anymore. His other hand joined the one supporting him behind his back, and he threw his head back, his messy hair cascading down as he closed his eyes and came with a long, loud moan.

Panting heavily, he needed a moment before he could move again, but instead of sitting back up straight, Sam decided to just let his body collapse on the table, lying there in bliss. He felt his come on his thighs and abdomen, cooling and starting to feel uncomfortable, but when he opened his eyes and looked up at Dean licking his come coated fingers, Sam knew he wouldn’t have to worry about his come drying. And sure enough, soon after that, Dean was leaning down and licking it all up, then surprised Sam by trailing the tip of the tongue along the underside of the head of his cock, before taking it in his mouth and sucking generously, making him whine. He took him all the way in, then bobbed his head a few times, swallowing and swirling his tongue around Sam’s dick, before letting it slide out with a wet pop.

He grinned dirtily at Sam, grabbing his thighs and pulling him toward himself, then leaned over him and winked. “How does a shower sound?”

Sam licked his lips in anticipation, nodding eagerly as he forced his body to move and sat up. “Shower sounds perfect,” he said, kissing Dean’s cheek and returning his grin, which quickly turned into a loving smile when his brother kissed him back, but on his nose.

And as they held hands and headed to the bathroom, Sam wondered how on earth could he have thought that he’d ever regret falling for Dean, for the only person that managed to fill him to the brim with happiness and love. The kind of love, he realized, which was even stronger than death, and would last forever.

Then he stopped wondering, too busy with Dean’s lips on his own, and who would ever want anything else?