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I'd Better Get A Rolex For This

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“Dean,” Sam called through the door, “come out of the bathroom.”

“No!” came the petulant response.

“It isn’t that bad,” Sam tried reasoning.


“I’ve got bacon cheeseburgers,” Sam sing-songed as he rattled the paper to-go bag.

“Not hungry!”

Beside him, Cas inhaled sharply. “This is bad,” he intoned.

Sam gave the angel his best, ‘no shit Sherlock’ look. Cas should’ve gotten that memo when he tried zapping into the Winchester’s bathroom only to find that Dean had angel proofed it. “I’ve got a Rolex,” Sam offered.

“Probably isn’t real,” Dean sniffled.

“I stole it off a rich guy myself,” Sam argued.

There was a shuffling sound inside the bathroom, and Sam was very patient as the door cracked open and Dean poked his head out. His eyes were puffy and red. His nose was running. He looked horrible in ways that getting beaten up had never made him.

“Gimme,” he demanded.

“No,” Sam said firmly. “You have to come out here first.”

Dean scowled at him, features twisting from pathetic to terrifying. “GIVE!” he demanded.

“Nope,” Sam retorted as he took a step backwards. “You want the shiny gold? You have to come get it.”

Dean narrowed his eyes to virtual slits before ripping the door open and pouncing.


“Sorry,” Dean sheepishly said when Sam woke up an hour later. Dean was chained to one of the walls and was still looking miserable. As least Cas had provided him with an air mattress and a pile of shiny objects to play with.

“What’d Cas say?” Sam asked.

Dean scowled. “Nothing he can do. Just like I told you.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Sam assured him.

“That is highly unlikely,” Cas told him. “Your brother’s condition is quite entrenched.”

“Not helping, Cas,” Dean barked.

“I’m sorry, is this where I am supposed to lie and tell you that things will be okay?” Cas asked.

“Given that you had a freaking, freaking angel eyeball probe thingy that we saved you from – yeah,” Dean snapped back.

“You’ve been turned into some form of dragon, Dean. That is a bit different.”

“Hey,” Sam interrupted, “why don’t we just focus on the positive right now. Gates of Hell closed, Cas not being an angel sleeper agent…”

“Stop being positive, Sammy!” Dean roared. “Every single time you’re positive about our life, things go to shit.”

They stare at each other for a moment before Dean broke his gaze. “Can I have the penny in your right pocket?”


“You should shoot me,” Dean advised Sam after his chosen supper of cheesesteaks, milkshakes and curly fries.

“That wouldn’t solve anything,” Sam told him.

“Stab me then. With the sword remnant.”

“I’m not going to kill you, Dean.”

“Cas is like, ninety-percent sure that I’ll still go heavenward. Not that I’m looking forward to the great beyond, but…”

“Dean, I’m not going to kill you. You aren’t doing anything worth killing you over except being annoying.”

“I’m a monster! We hunt and kill monsters.”

“Yeah, I got that family motto,” Sam told him. “You being all… emotional and collecting random stuff isn’t exactly monster material.”

“I HAVE A DRAGON DICK!” Dean cried into his pile of shiny coins.

“Umm, yeah, you showed it to me, remember? Right before you started crying about never being able to have sex again because your penis is all gigantic and funny? And how your new dragon penis was going to kill your dream of having kids?”

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean huffed as he started to sort through his coins. “You don’t understand.”

Sam shook his head and blew out a slow breath. The dragon blood that Dean had gotten dosed with in Purgatory had saved Sam’s life when it came down to the final trial. If he just held onto the fact, he could survive Dean going through his… dragon puberty or whatever was making him so emotional.


“You are very, very pretty,” Dean purred as he buried his nose in Sam’s hair. Sam had given up on chaining him once it was clear that Dean had no intention of permanently leaving his ‘lair.’ While Sam didn’t understand Dean’s new compulsion to collect mountains of stuff, a lot of it was new lore books or weapons that were actually useful.

Piles of misbegotten goods were easier to deal with than a whining, moping Dean. Sam had years of experience with Dean scamming people out of money and purloining things. He could live with a few shoplifted knickknacks from Ikea being added.

Dean nuzzled his nose deeper into Sam’s hair and whuffed. Sam ignored him and kept flipping the pages of the book he was reading. “I thought you were reorganizing the weapons room to make it more aesthetically pleasing.”

“Done now,” Dean replied simply. “You smell awesome.”

“I’m glad you like my shampoo.”

“Pretty virgin,” Dean cooed.

“Dude, I think we both know that isn’t true.”

“True where it counts,” Dean growled.

Sam’s eyebrows rose, and he bolted out of his chair. “That’s not true,” he stammered.

“Sammy, don’t lie to your big brother. It’s hurtful,” Dean said as he batted his eyes and stalked closer. “I can smell it, you know?”

“Right,” Sam said tensely as he watched Dean’s approach. His fingers ghosted over the bottle of chloroform in his pocket. He hoped Dean was in a forgiving mood when he woke up.


“I don’t know why this shocks you,” Cas said after Sam explained the situation. “Surely you noticed he was nesting.”

“Well, yeah, but I thought he was just, you know, settling in.”

“Well, he wasn’t.”

“I get that,” Sam told him. “What do we do about it?”

“Find him another virgin to fixate on?” Cas suggested. “There isn’t a text I can give you for this. Dean is a righteous man who was infected with dragon blood in Purgatory. The whole scenario is dubious.”

“Just… let me know if you find anything?” Sam asked. His answer was the ever annoying rustling of wings.


“We should do something about your room,” Dean said as he dragged an entire box full of ammunition down the stairs. “It’s so barren in there.”

“What were you doing in my room?” Sam asked as calmly as possible.

“…nothing,” Dean answered.


“Stealing your pillow?” Dean mumbled.

“Why would you… Dean, come on man.”

“Well you try catching whiffs of you all day and not being allowed to inhale! See how you like it!” Dean yelled as he stomped off, leaving his latest cache of bullets behind him.

Sam went back to his latest pile of books hoping that one of them would give him insight into a cure for his brother before Dean annoyed him to death. Failing a cure, he’d settle for magical Librium.


“Hey Dean,” Sam called out as he simultaneously knocked at and opened his brother’s bedroom door, “have you seen that…. HOLY CRAP!”

Dean’s mouth was moving, but no sound was coming out. His hand was on his larger-than-it-used-to-be cock with its seriously leaking mushroomed head, strange, bumpy ridge running down its underside and…

“Your dick is fucking vibrating,” Sam said.

Dean just looked back at him like he couldn’t decide what he was supposed to be saying.

“I… you’ve got a living sex toy attached to your crotch,” Sam clarified as if they both didn’t already know that. “This is so much worse than when you… I’m just going to go now. Umm, come see me when you’re done.”


Dean didn’t lecture him on privacy. He did start wearing jeans that Sam just knew were a size too small. Dragon genes had not done anything for his already inflated sexual ego.

“You realize that showing off your package isn’t suddenly going to make me hungry for dragon dick, right?” Sam asked as Dean wandered into the room wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and a tee.

Dean waggled his eyebrows at him. “Who is showing off? You’ve got a dirty mind, Sammy.”


Dean tried to bite a girl in Albuquerque when she tried to hit on Sam in a bar. He refused to apologize for it, and kept insisting for the entire hunt that she was evil. Sam refused to believe him. Dean accused him of dragon discrimination.

The whole thing was fucking ridiculous.

“I was right,” Dean crowed as he drove the Impala carefully down the pothole ridden dirt road. “Say I was right.”

Sam glowered and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’re a bad chick magnet, Sammy. Face it.”

“You didn’t know she was an alkonost,” Sam argued. “You just thought she was trying to take off with what was ‘yours.’”

“I didn’t know what she was,” Dean corrected, “but she smelled like trouble.”

“Oh, so you can smell trouble along with ass virginity now?”

Dean flushed, but his lips pulled into a decidedly naughty grin. “Yeah, I have monster and sex radar. It’s kind of cool.”

“Whatever,” Sam said. “You’re a possessive, greedy jerk. Just because you can’t go out and get laid…”

“You were never out getting laid in the first place,” Dean interrupted him. “And you’ve had shit taste in women for years now.”

Sam ignored him and chose to look out the window and brood.


“Call Garth,” Sam instructed his brother sternly.

“But, Sammy, ZOMBIES,” Dead pleaded with big, wide eyes that were just a few shades greener than they used to be.

“On a college campus? No.”

“Come on, it’s college. What is the likelihood of virgins being there? Statistics are against it.” Dean wheedled.

“Still higher than normal,” Sam pointed out, “and that’s before your obsession with ‘ass virginity.’”

“Hey, I’m discriminating on my asses,” Dean argued. “Only fine ones need to be noticed.”

Sam let his eyebrows rise.

Dean bit his lip. “I just made things awkward, didn’t I?”

Sam nodded slowly.

“I’ll just go call Garth,” Dean said as he nervously jerked his thumb towards the other room.

“You go do that.”


“Happy birthday, Sammy!” Dean announced as he dropped five very garishly wrapped packages down on the table.

Sam looked up from the book he was painstakingly transcribing for future generations. “It isn’t my birthday.”

“I know that, but bad stuff always happens on your birthday. So I figure we can celebrate it now instead!” Dean enthused like it was the greatest idea ever.

“Plus it gave you an excuse to buy the pretty, shiny wrapping paper?” Sam guessed.

“You say buy. I prefer liberated,” Dean corrected.

“You stole wrapping paper?”

“It’s over priced! What, I was supposed to give out my pretty green dollars for it?”

“Right,” Sam muttered, looking back down at his work.

Dean shoved the smallest parcel under his nose. “Open!” he ordered.

Sam snatched the parcel away and tore through the paper to open the box. “Pencils.”

“Colored pencils!” Dean announced proudly, shoving another box at him.

“And a new money clip,” Sam said after he tore the paper away.

“One without your initials,” Dean noted as he pushed a slightly larger box over.

“And an iPad?” Sam shot Dean a suspicious look. “Dean…”

“Open, open,” his brother ignored him, shoving the other two presents at him.

“A watch and… a bottle of lube?” Sam shook the bottle back and forth.

Dean smiled nervously at him, ducking his chin so that he could peer through his lashes at Sam.

“You are not flirting with me,” Sam denied instantly.

“Don’t be stupid,” Dean scoffed, “it’s called wooing, Sam. Read a book.”


“Contrary to popular knowledge,” Sam said as he eyed the extravagant dinner laid out before him. “The way to a man’s heart is not through his stomach.”


“Look, I appreciate the gesture. I do. But poetry isn’t your strong suit.”


“Where are you even finding these cards?”


“Dean, lingerie is so inappropriate.”


“No, Dean. Not even when you wear it. Especially not when you wear it.”


“Dude. That is disgusting. Why are you eating a cucumber like that?”


Sam was trying to make sense of an ancient Greek text when it was ripped from his hands by an irate looking Dean.

“Look, I resent that you’re making me do this,” Dean started in before Sam could voice his complaint. “But we need to talk about us.”

“There is…”

“Yeah, I know. Because you’re being an idiot,” Dean interrupted him. “Because you’re hell bent on following our typical pattern of denial and fighting and eventual separation that leads to something horrible happening that leads us back to clinging to each other. It’s a cycle. You need an intervention.”

“I need and intervention? You’re the one who…”

“My magically vibrating dick is not intervention worthy,” Dean said. “Your denial of our situation is. Now I’ve tried being nice and patient about it because I’ve been there with the, the denial and the emo crap. But I think that maybe, now that the world isn’t going to end within the next three months or so, it is time to focus on some of our latent issues.”

“Latent issues? Really?”

“You don’t think we have latent issues?”

“I do, just not the ones you think we do.”

“Isn’t that what talking is for?” Dean challenged.

“I’m not sure talking about you wanting to shove your ‘magically vibrating’ dragon dick up my ass is going to solve anything.”

Dean scowled at him. “I cannot believe that I am in less denial than you are about us.”

“I’m not in deni…”

“Soulmates, Sammy. Soulmates.”

“That doesn’t mean what you think it means,” Sam told him.

“Oh? So someday I’m going to suddenly meet somebody that will mean more to me than you do?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “We’ve both loved other people. This is just your hormones talking.”

“I have never loved anybody like I do you. Now I’m not saying it’s right. I’m not saying it’s healthy. But it is. Okay? There is nobody in this world or beyond it that I would do more for. And there is nobody that can hurt me worse than you. Now look at my face and tell me that deep down, the same isn’t true back.”

“Fuck you,” Sam spat as he pushed his chair away from the table. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”



The vase of two dozen red roses crashed satisfyingly in the hallway when Sam lobbed it out his bedroom door.

When he opened it the next morning, the glass and water had been cleared away, but the rose petals had been plucked from their stems and spread to create a path to the kitchen where Dean had broiled grapefruit, bacon and Belgian waffles with fresh whipped cream and strawberries waiting for him.

“Coffee?” Dean offered like he didn’t have the Men of Letters’ best china set out on the table.

“I thought I told you to stop,” Sam grumped even as he grabbed one of the grapefruit for himself and let Dean pour him a cup of hot brew.

“No, you told me you weren’t going to talk about it,” Dean corrected.

“So you made me breakfast?”

Dean squirmed. “I made myself breakfast. The grapefruit was for you though.”

“I didn’t even know you knew how to make this,” Sam admitted.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Grapefruit, brown sugar and butter isn’t exactly rocket science.”

“No, I know. Just… I didn’t think you knew that it existed.”

“Lot of things that you don’t remember about me,” Dean said softly. “Lot of things we forget about each other.”

Sam didn’t say anything to that.


“I love you. I love you in ways you don’t even know that I love you, and I love you more because of it.” Dean said as he clutched his original 1967 Chevrolet Impala owner’s manual to his chest.

Sam shifted on his feet awkwardly. “It’s nothing.”

Dean ignored him in favor of stroking his fingers over the vintage paper. “It’s a treasure,” he whispered as he gazed at it tenderly.

“I just thought you might like it is all,” Sam continued. It was a lie. He had bought it because he was feeling bad for having a fucked up relationship with his brother.

“I’m gonna go put this someplace safe,” Dean blurted out as he hurried away.

Sam wasn’t surprised to find an organic fruit basket waiting for him in his room when he finally went to bed.


“I can’t BELIEVE you!” Sam roared as he threw his coffee mug at his brother. Dean stumbled trying to catch it, but managed to get his finger in the handle to keep it from crashing to the floor.

“Hey, this is a new set. You want to wreck all my nice stuff now?” Dean demanded as he carefully placed the mug down on the nearest table.

“You went out on a hunt without me,” Sam growled.

“You were busy. It was easy. Well it was supposed to be easy. Either way, I’m fine. I spent years hunting without you when you ran off to Stanford,” Dean pointed out.

Sam took a deep, cleansing breath. “You were human then.”

“You mean I wasn’t a monster that you had to keep an eye on then,” Dean corrected. “How is it again that you can trust any creature that looks at you dewy eyed unless I’m involved?”

“That’s not true,” Sam denied.

“No, you’re right, it’s a lack of tits thing, isn’t it? Can only trust the monsters with boobs Huh, Sammy? Still intent on proving yourself to be the straightest straight boy who ever straighted.”

“That doesn’t even make sense! And you’re no better.”

“Wasn’t any better,” Dean said. “But then I got my fun times curtailed.”

“That isn’t my fault,” Sam pointed out.

“No, it isn’t,” Dean agreed. “I just wish that you’d get a clue before your junk starts vibrating too.”


In retrospect, getting drunk was not an awesome idea. For one thing, it was very difficult to find a seedy cab driver that didn’t balk at dropping Sam off on a road in the middle of nowhere. For another thing, sober Sam Winchesters did not crawl into their brother’s bed and start talking to his cock.

Dean swore that Sam was dosed with something other than alcohol. As Sam legitimately thought Dean’s cock was talking back to him? He could concede that Dean had a point about that.

In any case, Sam woke up on Dean’s memory foam mattress the next morning. He felt like death, and Dean only allowed him to shower before he herded him back to bed, Dean’s bed.

“I have my own room,” Sam halfheartedly protested.

“The feng shui is terrible in there,” Dean grumbled.

“Feng shui?”

“Shut up,” Dean ordered. “The whole dragon business was confusing. I needed guidance, and I didn’t have the patience for Martha Stewart.”

“Wait – you were reading interior design tips while I was searching for a cure?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Dean told him as he tugged the blankets up higher and fluffed Sam’s pillow. “I started reading them when it became hopeless to cure me, and you went into complete denial. I had to do something with the near constant urge to collect, organize and collect again. Though, I have to say, the super quick heat speed on my hands? Awesome for cooking.”

“I hope you wash them first,” Sam commented.

“Such a princess,” Dean lamented.

“That would make you the big, bad dragon keeping me in a tower,” Sam pointed out.

Dean turned his head away, but he wasn’t quick enough to keep Sam from seeing his smile.



“Not that I don’t like the fact that I wasn’t strangled to death, but maybe if you’re going to light corpses on fire with your hands, you should start carrying an extra change of clothes,” Sam suggested. “Or start buying some more reliable lighters.”

“I know,” Dean said. “Man, I liked those boots too.”


“Look, we’re both adults, right?” Sam blurted out one morning.

Dean quirked both eyebrows at him and took a long sip of coffee.

“We’re mature, reasoning individuals.”

Dean let one eyebrow drop and frowned a little.

“I’m just saying that if one of us is wrong about something, that doesn’t mean he has to feel bad or anything,” Sam clarified.

“Is this you admitting that I’m always right?” Dean finally asked.

“No. Don’t be ridiculous. This is me saying that I’m tired of… you know. So I think we should do something about it.”

Dean’s eyebrows crunched down in confusion. “Sometimes I wonder how you made it through college with that kind of clear and precise wording. Then I remember you were studying to be a lawyer.”

“Ha. Ha. I’m just saying that we’ve got this big, gay…” Sam waved his hand in the air between them.

“Dragon dick?” Dean offered.

Sam rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe that you’re the oldest.”

“Is that technically true anymore? With all the dying and the torture and the time warps?”

“I’m counting topside, human years only,” Sam clarified. “So yeah.”

“Huh. Okay. So you were talking about my big, gay dragon dick and your virgin asshole,” Dean reminded him.

“I think that we should just settle it,” Sam confirmed with a nod.

“Fine. How?”

“A kiss. You’ll see that it just feels wrong, and we can start working on some other possible avenues for your... frustrations.”

“Wait, what if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not wrong, but you’re my brother. And I know you’re too stubborn to give up without proof. So kiss me,” Sam declared.

“What, now?”

“Yes. Now. Right now.”

“Coffee breath and all?” Dean sounded skeptical.

“You think mouthwash is going to help?” Sam countered.

“I’m an awesome kisser who doesn’t need help. Just thought you might want a little help first,” Dean said as he moved closer. “Pucker up, pretty boy.”

The next few moments were a little blurry. What Sam did remember was that one of Dean’s beloved new coffee mugs ended up crashing on the floor as they started dry humping on the table. Instead of getting all upset at the ruination of one of his ‘treasures,’ Dean yanked Sam’s fly open, pulled his own dick out, and jerked them off together.

“Four minutes?” Sam gasped as he checked his watch.

“Been a while,” Dean dismissed as he started rubbing his come into Sam’s stomach instead of wiping it off.

“Seriously?” Sam asked.

“What? You want me to say that we both have shit stamina?”

“Not that, you idiot,” Sam grunted.

“Mmmm, you smell good with me on you,” Dean purred as he wriggled off the table. He hadn’t bothered to tuck his cock back in his underwear, just stood there half-hard, surveying the mess he’d made of Sam’s stomach. His cock twitched as it started to fill back up instead of shrink farther down.

“Seriously?” Sam asked again.

Dean’s answering grin was downright filthy.

“You are not sticking that thing up my ass,” Sam put his foot down as he squirmed off the table.

“Not right now, no,” Dean replied, “I have more important things to do.”


“The Mating Habits of Dragons: An Introspective Look at The World’s Most Mysterious Monsters?” Dean asked as he climbed into bed.

Sam sighed and closed his book. “Thought you were staying in your room tonight.”

“Got lonely,” Dean told him as he snuggled up close. “Where’d you get the book?”

“Kevin mailed it to me. Found it on his backpacking trip through Europe,” Sam answered. “Whoever wrote it was a moron. It doesn’t mention a damn thing about obsessive jizz marking.”

“I’m not obsessive, just thorough,” Dean argued.

“I think I have more of your spunk on my skin than you have in your body,” Sam pointed out.

“Maybe it isn’t a dragon thing. Maybe I’m just kinky.”

“Please. You’re so preciously vanilla it hurts.”

“Who here hasn’t had a threesome? Who here hasn’t done it with a yoga instructor? Who here hasn’t worn women’s underwear?” Dean shot back.

“How do you know I haven’t had a threesome? And putting on lingerie to seduce me doesn’t count.”

“I can smell that too, and I wasn’t talking about that. I have layers, Sammy. Layers.”


Alarm bells should have gone off in Sam’s mind when he just woke up one day craving a good hard fucking. They really should have. Even Dean looked a little skeptical about Sam’s sudden desire to have Dean’s cock up his ass, but a little persuasion had gotten him thinking with the right head soon enough.

“Yeah, that’s good,” Sam cooed as he stroked over his brother’s erection. “I know you want to do something better with this than just shoot all over my skin, huh?”

“Sam,” Dean groaned.

“Just lay back and let me do the work,” Sam whispered as he straddled his brother’s hips, lined the head of his cock up with his hole and started sinking down. It hurt a little, of course it did. Sam knew that he hadn’t spent enough time prepping for it not to hurt.

But he didn’t care. All he cared about was riding Dean’s hot, hard prick. He cared about feeling it get as far up inside of him as possible, feeling it vibrate and twitch and pulse. He craved the feeling of hot, slick come shooting inside of him.

After that? All he cared about was kissing Dean, writhing against him as his spunk slowly dripped out of Sam’s ass. He whispered filthy, filthy things in Dean’s ear. Words about making sure Sam was marked up from the inside so nobody would ever think he was anything but Dean’s.

His efforts got him flipped over on his hands and knees. Dean fucking pounded him, and Sam loved every minute.

Round three was less athletic simply because both of them were tired. But slow, spooning sex was an okay alternative, especially when it meant that Dean was too tired to pull out afterwards. Falling asleep with Dean’s slowly softening cock buried deep inside of him made Sam feel fantastic.


“Sam,” Dean called through the door, “come out of the bathroom.”


“It isn’t that bad,” Dean tried reasoning.

“It is too!” Sam called back.

“Just come out here, and let Cas take a look.”

“Cas doesn’t need to take a look. Nobody but me needs to take a look.”

“Sammy, come on. I’m sorry I got you knocked up.”

“I’m not knocked up!” Sam hoped he didn’t sound as hysterical as he thought he did.

“I don’t believe you are correct in that assertion,” Cas intoned from behind him.

“How did you get in here?” Sam asked as he whirled around to face the angel.

“Your sigils are smudged. In the future I would suggest protecting warding symbols be placed in areas not constantly subjected to steam,” Cas explained.

“I’m knocked up,” Sam admitted softly, hand resting on the unnatural curve of his stomach.

“Yes. You are. I do not want to say that I told you so, but I did inform you that your brother was nesting.”

Sam dropped his hand and clenched it by his side, reminding himself that hitting Cas wouldn’t help anything. “You didn’t mention that this might happen.”

“Yes, well. Most angels like to avoid interfering with soulmates. They’re… tricky. And also very annoying. In addition to this, you and your brother have issues when it comes to destiny.”

Sam glared at his friend. “I was ‘destined’ to get knocked up by my big brother?”

“No. You were destined to cause the end of the world,” Cas corrected. “Unfortunately, with the change of plans, your genetic code reverted to what it knew.”

“Which was what? Make more baby Winchesters?” Sam scoffed.

“Essentially, yes. Your family lines are meant to be resilient. Like cockroaches. Add to that the facts that Dean was infected by a dragon; you are not quite human yourself and both of you are meant to be together always? The recipe is quite clear.”

“And you didn’t mention any of this to us. Your friends.”

“You can both be very difficult. Also, you would have ended up doing this anyway, only with more angst, drinking and mayhem. It seemed prudent to let nature take its course.”

“Great. Thanks, Cas.”

“You are welcome,” Cas said as he fluttered off.

“I’ve got soda crackers,” Dean sing-songed from the other side of the door.

Sam rolled his eyes and yanked open the door. “I’d better get more than a fucking Rolex for this.”