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Dean did not know what had woke him at first but then he felt the warm naked body pressed against his and butterfly kisses being trailed down his neck. Soft feathery touches of sensitive fingers sent shivers down his spine, ghosting over his chest and stomach, hesitating at the waistband of his boxer briefs.


"Don't," he whispered, voice thick with sleep and uncertainty, into the sweet-smelling hair that was tickling his nose. Dean placed a hand on the wrist to stop those exploring fingers but then hair was replaced with soft full lips brushing lightly on his parted mouth.


"Please," the heartbroken plea was spoken into his mouth, the tongue moistening his lips leading to a tentative kiss. Dean's breath caught, his pulse quickened, his hand slipped allowing those fingers to breech his briefs and continue their journey. The kiss was soft at first then more demanding as those fingers found what they were searching for. Dean arched his back slightly as his body responded to the touches, fingers fondling his balls then grasping his hard erection he was determined not to have. There was need, desire, and hope with every stroke, a wish to be granted.


"Yes," Dean breathed, his own voice husky with desire. His briefs were pushed down as he rolled on top between the open legs. He lead a long passionate kiss on that hungry mouth and thrust slowly in. A moan issued from both, pain mixed with pleasure, pure and desperate. Long legs wrapped around Dean to assist in their movements, awkward at first but quickly they found that perfect rhythm.


Sweat slicked their bodies as they moved in pleasure. His mouth caught frenzied kisses, fighting for dominance, teeth catching his lip, biting till he bled. Hands that were once soft, now held Dean in a frantic grip, fingernails scraping long, bleeding scratches down his back and buttocks. One of Dean's hands held on so tight as to leave bruises and his other snaked up into that long silky hair. Tangling it in his fingers Dean grabbed a handful and pulled back causing that long neck to be exposed. A cry of pain and yearning came from that beautifully bruised mouth. Devouring the supple skin with kisses and bites, Dean began to move faster. Their desire demanding release, passion fueling their fire, until at last they came in a perfectly timed abatement.


He moved from between the long legs, rolling onto his abused back, spent and despairing. Knowing it would not last and he just would end up alone again, Dean clung to this coveted time with an ache that tore at his soul. Lying boneless he had not even bothered to pull up his briefs bunched on his thighs, listening as the breathing next to him even out then felt movement that left him alone on the bed. Hearing the shower, Dean wanted to drift off into a dreamless sleep, to distance himself from the future, but too soon the shower stopped and he heard the rustling of towels and clothes. Closing his eyes, he pretended to sleep though he should have not even tried because this one always knew when he was faking. He felt his briefs being pulled off and a warm washcloth bathing his body.


“Don’t,” Dean begged, not wanting the intimate touches to connect them. He wanted distance and time to mend his walls that he let crumble.


“Please,” replied a husky voice filled with an unconsolable sadness. Fingers, feathery again, explored his body seeking injuries.


“Yes,” dejected he acquiesced, tears filling his eyes and emotion shook his voice. He allowed himself to be nursed and cleaned, comforted by those gentle hands. He hissed when they tended the scratches and bit back a forlorn cry when they left. He remained on his stomach breathing in their scent, remembering. The sweat soaked bed sheets held onto the stench of sex and desperation, reminding him that what they did was wrong.


He should have never given in, never have let himself he pulled into this cycle of pleasure and pain. Everyone else he could hold at arms’ length, not letting them in, always on the outside. Dean was the perpetual one night stand, satisfying the bodily urges, giving and taking pleasure. He remained untouched by emotion, closed off and selfish. But this one got under his skin, corrupting his defenses, destroying his resolve. With this one Dean opened up and fell apart, letting it all in and giving it all back: joy, comfort, love. No matter what he did he could not deny, always giving into that wish. It was a wish that had him fooled into thinking he was needed just as much as he needed.


Rolling over onto his hurt back Dean suppressed a groan, the muscles were sore and the scratches stung. It would be worse in the morning but he required the pain to remind him that pain was all he would be left with. It helped him push his defenses back into place, solid up his resolve, and repair his walls.


When he thought he was ready he spoke into the darkness, “Wake me at 9:00 if you are up. I want to be on the road by ten.” Dean’s tone was dry, devoid of any emotions. His hurt was again locked away with all his other ambitions.


“Dean,” Sam began startling his older brother by his proximity. He was standing over Dean’s bed looking at him. Dean closed his eyes trying to ignore the silent apology Sam’s eyes were projecting, ‘Forgive me.’


“Go to bed, Sam,” gruffly Dean said, his voice laced with his own thoughts, ‘Forget it.’ He did not want to have this conversation, he never did, why did Sam always try?


“Dean,” softly the reply drew out the name. Sam would not give up easily, he never did, sitting on the bed he placed his hand on Dean’s face, gently turning it to him emoting, ‘I’m sorry.’


“Damn it Sam, go to sleep. We have a long trip tomorrow and we need the rest,” Dean pushed his younger brother away, both physically and mentally, ‘Stop it, please.’ He rolled over to his side, facing away from Sam, wanting for all the world to say, ‘There is nothing to forgive. I love you.’


“Night Dean,” Sam said in a far away voice, hurt. Dean could hear the swish of fabric as Sam got into bed. A sigh and a cough later and Sam was drifting off, soon the motel room was filled with soft snores.


“Night Sam,” Dean whispered, nearly choking on the sorrow that crept up on him, ‘Don’t leave me.’ He had reset his resolve, rebuilt his walls, and re-enforced his defenses, but Sam knew how to pick the locks.


When Sam wished, Dean granted.



Chapter Text


Sam woke with a start, abruptly sitting up in the bed his heart pounding, pulse racing. “Nightmare,” he whispered into the dark as he attempted to regulate his frantic breathing. He blinked, focusing in the ambient light and with a sigh of relief he saw that his older brother was still asleep. Glancing at the clock, 2:37 am, he fell back on his lumpy motel pillow and tried not to remember. But no matter what he thought of to distract himself the nightmare crept back leaving him trembling and sweating in fear.


He was alone in a nondescript motel room sitting on one of the beds, not unlike many other nights, though this one had a strange feel to it. Sam stood and called out “Dean?” when he heard the door open, only to have Jess walk in. He rushed to embrace her, she was alive and warm in his arms. She kissed him then broke his hold stepping back to look into his eyes, smiling that smile she reserved only for him, she asked, “Why Sam?” Frowning Sam saw her expression turn to one of hurt and betrayal right before she burst into flames. “No!” Sam screamed, deceived, frightened, sorrowful. She was gone in a flash and he was left alone with nothing but the smell of smoke.

He spun around searching trying to find her, he had to get her back, then stood shock still. “Mom?” he tentatively spoke as the woman he had seen in Lawrence reached up to touch him on the face. He leaned into her hand comforted by the soft caress of the mother he never knew. With sad eyes Mary asked, “Sam?” Removing her hand from his face she, too, burst into flames. Sam shielded his eyes from the intense light and heat, again yelling, “No!”

When the light was gone and he lowed his hands from his eyes he saw that John was standing before him.

“Sam, we have got to end this. We agree on what has to be done,” John spoke to him in earnest. Sam felt his father’s rough hands on his shoulders, fingers digging in to emphasize each statement. “This is our fight and we have to win no matter what. Nothing can stand in our way,” John’s face was hard with this declaration.

“Yes, sir,” he answered as something caught his eye. Distracted from the tirade, Sam was surprised to see Dean standing in the corner with his back to them. His eyes snapped back to his Dad when he was shook.

“No matter what the cost, no matter what we have to give up, no matter who we have to sacrifice, we have to destroy it,” the fierceness of his father’s words startled him. His eyes flicked over to his brother and noticed that he was cowering as if trying to hide. “Nothing can stand in our way!” John commanded causing Sam to look into his fiery eyes. John dropped his hands turning to look at Dean, “Do you understand me?” his voice was low and haunting. Sam looked at Dean as well, his face hardened, his eyes cold, finally understanding his father.

With a voice that was his but not his he replied, “Yes, sir.”

In flash of light, Dean screamed, "Sammy!" pinned to the ceiling, bleeding from a belly wound and then burst into flames.


‘What have I done? What will I do?’ his thoughts tried to sort though all the information that his nightmare brought to him. He had tortured himself over not warning Jess and was sad his Mom lost her life for him. But Sam’s heart ached at thinking he would so willingly give up Dean as a means to an end. Feeling hollow and alone, he untangled his legs from the damp sheets then stripped off his sweat soaked t-shirt and briefs. Tormented by the images and feelings that nightmare had evoked, he shivered more from his emptiness of his soul than from the cool night air. He felt as though he were flying to pieces, his dreams not his own, his life not his own, he was out of control. Looking at Dean's slumbering form Sam envied Dean, wishing he could just close himself off like his big brother, lock all the bad feelings away, but he was not that strong. 'Mom died for me and I let Jess die. I am a freak the demon has plans for,' his mind berated. Everything got in and ate away at him like a maggot devouring dead flesh. His resolve was crumbling, ‘I can’t do this by myself,’ he thought as longed for his brother. ‘Dean, help me,’ he wished creeping into his brother’s bed.

He carefully slipped under the covers lying down on his back beside Dean. Sam could feel the heat coming off he brother making his shivers stop and his skin tingle. ‘I just need to be next to him, know he is still here,’ he thought as he rolled over on his side to watch Dean breathe, his fear fading. Without realizing it, a trembling Sam moved his brother’s arm and snuggled in needing to be close. Sam started kissing Dean’s ear then trailed kisses down his neck. His fingers danced over the warm chest and stomach feeling the well defined muscles underneath causing his tremors to cease. Upon reaching the waistband of Dean’s boxer briefs he hesitated wondering if he should stop. He toyed with the material thinking, ‘If I could just talk to Dean, tell him that I'm scared, that I dreamed... ’ Sam kissed the hollow just above the collar bone, enjoying the taste of his big brother's skin, smelling his musk.

“Don’t,” he heard Dean’s sleepy, uncertain voice and feeling a calloused hand stop his. Tears sprung to Sam’s eyes as he lifted his head and brushed his lips against Dean’s, “Please,” his heartbroken plea begged, ‘Don’t shut me out, I need you.’ Licking those pouty lips, Sam softly kissed Dean wanting this to be right. Dean’s hand slipped off and Sam reached into his brother’s briefs finding what he was hoping for. Sam’s kiss became hungry and insatiable, desire overriding thought. Feeling Dean respond to his touches, Sam started to stroke the hard erection. ‘It is right, I need you,’ his body pleaded with Dean’s, wishing for more.

Sam nearly cried out in desperate joy when he heard the husky “Yes” from his brother. He rolled over on his back eagerly awaiting Dean to mount him. He let Dean lead a long passionate kiss as he thrust slowly inside. Sam moaned in unison with his brother as the pain of penetration lead to the pleasure of sex. He wrapped his long legs around Dean as desire fueled his motions. After a moment their movements synced up and they were in that perfect rhythm they had achieved from years of practice.

Dean knew exactly when and where to move to give the most sensational jolts of pleasure for Sam. Sweat soon slicked both their bodies as their combined heat steamed up the room. Sam kissed Dean with a frenzy that one would have thought he was trying to devour him whole. He was attempting to melt that cold core he called a soul, a feeling he could not shake on his own. ‘I will never do that to you,’ his thoughts tripped back to his nightmare, ‘never sacrifice you.’ He bit Dean’s lip making bleed to taste his life’s blood. He cut ragged scratches up and down Dean’s back to feel the blood on his hands. Dean was alive and with him and Sam wanted to revel in it. Sam grabbed Dean’s buttocks and dug in trying to shove him deeper inside himself, trying to connect physically in a way they could not connect verbally or emotionally. Sam wished he could make Dean understand he was loved just as much as he loved.

Sam could feel Dean’s passion, taste his vitality, and smell the heady scent of his desire; it was intoxicating. When Dean started to move faster Sam matched him thrust for thrust until their desperate fervor could not hold out any longer, Sam came as the same time as Dean. It was like an electric shock that shot through Sam, thrilling with the fire that coursed through his body. He held onto Dean for as long as he would let him until Dean rolled off of him, leaving him empty again.

Sam lay there listening to Dean’s breathing even out along with his. ‘This is wrong, I should not have done this,’ he thought as he could almost hear Dean’s walls slam back up. With a sigh he got up and went to the bathroom; turning on the light he looked at himself and despaired. He knew that he would do anything to get that demon, he just hoped he remembered the ache he felt now when the time came. Stepping into the shower he washed off all the evidence of their sin, his sin. Sam got dressed and took a warm, wet washcloth out to Dean, knowing he had to tend to the wounds he inflicted on his older brother.

'Please don't hate me,' Sam's mind pleaded seeing Dean pretend to be asleep, tears filled his eyes knowing his brother was trying to distance himself further. In spite of this Sam pulled off Dean’s soiled briefs and started to clean his body. “Don’t,” was the anguished plea from a broken man.

Sam'a feathery hands implored, ‘Please don’t shut me out,’ and continued to administer aid to his older brother. With his voice full of inconsolable sadness Sam softly requested, “Please,” wanting to atone for what he had done. ‘I can’t seem to make you understand, can I Dean?’ Sam’s thoughts journeyed back through the years as his fingers tenderly journeyed over Dean’s body.

Sounding desolate, Dean replied, “Yes,” allowing Sam to turn him and tend to the scratches. None were as deep as he feared but they bled and would hurt for days and there was the risk of infection. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said over and over in his mind and with his actions. After treating the scratches with peroxide, Sam left to clean the washcloth, he would deal with the sheets in the morning. One of their most important rules was never leave blood anywhere, if at all possible.

Sam stared at himself in the mirror after he had gotten rid of as much blood evidence he could, remembering the first time he tasted Dean’s body, remembering the rush like a drug addict. Sam saw that drug in Dean’s eyes and yearned for it: want, need, comfort, joy, desire, love. But he had no right to ask of Dean what he did. All Sam ever got was what he wanted, all his wishes granted to the best of Dean’s abilities. Sam never wanted to take advantage of it, but some days he knew that all he had to do was hint and Dean would drop everything for him. 'I am a selfish bastard,' Sam thought as he remembered the time he had called Dean up all lonely and sad after two years of college. Dean did not delay in meeting him at that run down motel just outside of Palo Alto where they fucked for two days. Afterward Sam said he would call more and maybe go on a hunting trip if Dean was in the neighborhood, but then he met Jessica.

Since Dean came and got him, Sam has been trying to make up for all the times he had used his big brother over the years, tried to let him know how much he needed him, loved him. But Dean would not let Sam tell him how he felt, though he let Sam show him. At least Sam hoped that was what Dean believed he was doing. Sam just wished Dean understood why he did what he did.

Sam stood over Dean and watched as the open doors slammed shut and locked tight. He marveled at how his older brother was able to take something horrible and shove it away. ‘Why can't I be more like you, able to crush my own feelings to dust,’ Sam longed for that type of control. ‘Nothing gets to you, you are my anchor,’ Sam’s thoughts bombarded him with how weak he really was. ‘You steady me, keep me grounded. Do you even need me?’ Sam nearly cried at that thought.

Sam was startled by Dean’s emotionless words, “Wake me at 9:00 if you are up. I want to be on the road by ten.”

“Dean,” Sam began stopping when he saw Dean flinch. He wanted to tell Dean all of it but was cut off. Silenced verbally, Sam's eyes projected his apology, ‘Forgive me’ straight into Dean's.

“Go to bed, Sam,” was Dean’s gruff reply, Sam heard the silent answer to his expression of regret, ‘Forget it.' Dean always forgave Sam and he did not understand why, 'Damn it Dean, I don't deserve it.'

“Dean,” Sam softly drew out the name wanting to try to get Dean to talk. He sat on the bed and placed his hand on Dean’s face, he gently turning it to him emoting, ‘I’m sorry.’ He needed to talk, words were his defense, his security, his comfort.

“Damn it Sam, go to sleep. We have a long trip tomorrow and we need the rest,” Dean said brushing the hand off his face, communicating the intent to Sam, ‘Stop it.’ Dean rolled over on his side, facing away from him. Sam was hurt by the actions and knew they were justified, he deserved to be snubbed. Feeling weak and reprimanded, Sam slipped off Dean’s bed and moved to his.

“Night Dean,” Sam said in a far away voice, trying to keep the hurt out. Shrugging into the now dry sheets Sam glanced at the clock, 4:04 am, sighed, coughed then was drifting off thinking, ‘You're is still alive and still here, I have time, I will make it up to you. I’m sorry, Dean.’ Sam stoked up his resolve to not be so weak, not to need Dean as much as he did, but he knew he could not be that strong, he would need Dean again.

Dean granted when Sam wished.