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Thin Line Between Faith & The Road To The Devil	By : BosieJan Category: Supernatural > Slash - Male/Male > Dean/Sam Views: 1335 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Thin Line Between Faith & The Road To The Devil
- 1
Sam had only been gone long enough to grab the soda he'd said he was after, when Layla had come to the motel room to speak with Dean. He gave her a light, friendly hug in the hallway as she was leaving, watching her exit the motel through the emergency exit at the end of the hall. She was crying and Sam felt instant pity for her—knowing her condition—but he wasn't prepared for what sort of emotional turmoil Dean had cocooned himself in. Both sodas were set onto the table as he crossed the room to Dean, the elder hunter sitting at the edge of the bed with a pained expression on his face. His eyes were red and tears streaked his cheeks, a stuttered breath given as he looked up at his brother.

“Dean?”

A slow shake of the head was all Sam received until he attempted to get closer, finding Dean's hand fisted in the front of his shirt and an angry, tear-stained scowl looking up at him through damp lashes.

“Leave it, Sam. There's nothing to talk about.”

Sam swiped Dean's hand away from him and stood his ground, sick to death over Dean's self-righteous, self-sacrificing attitude. “You're wrong, Dean, there's plenty to talk about. You just don't feel like it, is that it? Don't feel like letting your hurt out like a normal human being?”

“Sammy, I said leave it,” came the threat, Dean's eyes on the other's face like a tiny challenge. “You don't wanna open up this can of worms. Worms are dead. Leave it closed.”

“The hell, I will.”

----------------------

Two days passed before Sam brought the subject of Dean's issues to light, though it went over only minutely better than he had hoped. Dean hadn't swung at him, but he did throw a bottle of water at Sam's head, catching the larger hunter in the shoulder instead. Well...Dean hadn't mastered water bottle shot-put in any reality he could remember.

“What don't you get about 'let it go', Sammy? Shit..you're like herpes. Just stop bothering me.”

“I told you I'd never leave you alone, Dean. When you were in the hospital, talking all that shit about me leaving without you, and taking good care of the car. Said you'd haunt my ass if I hurt her in any way, remember?”

Dean looked over from where he was perched on one of the solid-backed kitchen chairs in the odd farmhouse-feel motel. He was straddling the chair, using the back of it to support his chin as he'd been watching some mindless television, while they waited for information to come back from a call to Bobby.

“...yeah, I remember. You left me at the hospital long enough that I had to check myself out and come find you.”

“That's not what I mean. You were talking about checking out in a whole different way. Don't think I'm stupid enough to think different, either.”

“Hell yeah, I was gonna check out. Christ, Sammy. The doctor gave me what, a few weeks? If you hadn't taken me to that healer, I'd have...”

There it was. The admission that Sam was looking for. Despite the heartache Dean felt over Layla's condition and her eventual suffering, it was Sam's hurt that he wanted Dean to notice. Dean looked away again while staying silent, trying to pay attention to the television and not Sam's borderline creepy stare. Each subsequent glance had Sam still watching him from where he sat on the bed--his back against the headboard--and Dean sighed as he reached out to flick the set off and get out of the chair, padding his way barefoot to the side of the bed.

“That what you wanted? Thanks for taking me to the healer and nearly getting us all killed by crazy worshipers and a reaper?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Sam reached out and took Dean's closest hand in his own, his fingers finding the silver-toned band he wore. He traced it lightly with long, broad fingers, his head tilted back so it rested against the headboard. He was elegant in such a setting, despite its simplicity; comfortable cotton pants and a black tank top as his sleeping clothes, his hair still damp from a shower more than a half hour earlier. The thickness of Sam's hair was like a briar maze, as all consuming as the depth of his stare. Dean found it hard to look away, somewhat uncomfortable about the topic of conversation, but he was cowed by Sam's need to touch.

They'd had an unspoken bond for some years now, since their lives on the road had taken turn after turn for the worse, and Dean found his brother constantly nagging him about it, forcing Dean to either give in or outright shove him away. The giving in happened often enough, but the shoving away only happened during the worst of emotional stresses, and was usually limited to a thrown water bottle or swift punch in the jaw.

“Sammy...what're you doing?”

The smile that went along with the blistering gaze and smoking hot body—come on, anyone would be blind not to notice!--had Dean feeling a little sheepish. Of course Sam would want to be closer to him than usual. He'd nearly just died. Dean had been too eager to check out and Sam wanted some sort of consolation prize for making sure he didn't do just that. Sam tugged at Dean's arm to make him lean over the bed, the older hunter getting the idea with a roll of his eyes, sliding himself up onto the bed and straddling Sam's lap, Sam's thighs making a very comfortable, very warm seat.

Sam returned Dean's eye-roll with a roll of his hips, his hands secured on Dean's hips to keep him solidly against him. It was made easier by the fact that Sam was so much larger than Dean, so that meant his hands were larger, his lap was big enough for Dean to really stretch to sit comfortably and it gave rise to Dean's unmentioned size kink. A protector his whole life, when he was with men in a sexual setting, it was Dean who was protected—or seemingly so—when he chose men larger than himself. His relationship with Sam now his only source of same-sex romance, it was the perfect fit.

Dean slipped his hands up to hold onto the headboard, stretching his upper body for Sam to peruse. The broad palms slipped beneath Dean's t-shirt and he tilted his head back with a groan, the roughness of Sam's hands tickling his sides but Dean only twitched from the effort to stay still, not out of ticklishness. His mouth fell open and he panted out loud, his tongue tracing his bottom lip until he dipped his head back down to stare Sam in the face. The younger hunter's eyes were cast upwards and Dean immediately went in for a fast, filthy kiss that clashed their teeth together and pulled a moan out of Sam as loud as an exorcised demon.

Dean dropped a hand between them and boldly fetched Sam's cock from his pants, tugging the elastic waistband down and pressing his warm palm along the length, his fingers only circling it once Sam gave a thrust of his hips—a silent plea that Dean would be stupid to ignore. He squeezed the length and thumbed over the head, a smirk painted onto his face while he watched the subtle—and not so subtle—twitched of Sam's eyebrows. He pinched them together for a brief second and Dean felt one of the larger hunter's hands fall from his side and dig him out of his own pajama pants. His smile faded and he tossed his head back again, licking dry lips and sucking in a hitching breath when Sam squeezed just beyond his comfort level.

“Ahh, Sammy, that's...ahhh...”

Sam grinned and upped the ante, fisting his free hand in Dean's shirt and hauling him down for another kiss, Dean's bottom lip suckled at until he pulled away with a wet slurp, his mouth wet and his lip swollen enough that Sam had to grit his teeth. His cock throbbed in Dean's hand and Sam groaned again, his strokes in time with his brother's, both sets of hips jerking along with the swift movements. Dean gave a tiny flick of his wrist to each upward stroke and Sam gave it on the downward, earning huffs of hot air and nearly silent curses to pass between them.

“Fuck, Sammy, that's it. Just keep it up like that. Ahh, christ, that's good..”

“See Dean?” Sam asked, somewhat out of breath, and he hadn't even released yet. “This is real. This is you and me. How could you pass this up?”

Dean's eyebrows pulled together and he pressed the other hand against Sam's mouth to silence him, his hips jerking to meet Sam's strokes, so damn close that he could taste it. Sam licked Dean's palm and the saltiness of his skin—along with the leathery taste that he was sure came from the Impala's steering wheel—had Sam coming in ribbons, coating the black tank with obscene pearly stripes. Dean smiled and took his hand off of Sam's mouth to sit back, hefting his shirt up and releasing the spent member so he could bring the soiled hand to his mouth, still thrusting into Sam's tightened grip while he licked Sam's seed from his fingers.

“Oh my god, Dean...” Sam whispered, fatigued by his release but amazed by the sight of Dean licking up his come.

He'd never been a huge fan of it so he'd never reciprocate in such a way, but he stroked with a larger flick to his wrist and as Dean began rocking against him, both hands now on Sam's shoulders for balance, he panted and made it sound as if he were ready to come a second time, his mouth open and eyes blown nearly black. Dean didn't even see the ecstatic look on Sam's face as he watched his brother get closer, his eyes screwed shut and his head finally falling forward, the shirt up and out of the way so he didn't soil it, his mess catching his belly and groin, but mostly pooling on Sam's belly.

He tiredly hauled the shirt off of himself and tossed it aside, his hands resting in his lap and his chest heaving, a self-satisfied look on his face.

“See, now that I'd miss. Couldn't have done it with a weak heart, that's for sure.”

“Yeah.”

Dean sighed out loud and climbed off of Sam's lap, trying to bring a happier tone to Sam's sullen 'yeah'. He brought back a damp washcloth from the bathroom and tidied Sam up, returning after rinsing it out and sitting beside him on the bed, the TV remote in his hand and a brilliant smile on his face.

“Look at it this way, Sammy: I was dying and you brought me back because you loved me, right? Well...how the hell could I even check out if you were gonna drag me there anyway? Even if I were kicking and screaming?”

Sam snorted. “You couldn't have.”

“Exactly. Now shut up about it and maybe grab me a beer, huh? We heart attack victims need to rest pretty much all the time and I think I'd blow a gasket or something going all the way over there to grab myself one.”
- 1
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Thin Line Between Faith & The Road To The Devil