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Rougher Than Before	By : Druffine Category: Supernatural > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3442 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural and make no money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
ONE

He
looks rougher than ever before, Sam thinks before he taps on the broad
shoulder.
�Hey Dean.�
Dean
spins around on the bar stool and looks at Sam. His eyes drift down Sam�s chest
shortly before his gaze fixes on his eyes. He winks and gives that
come-fuck-me-smile he normally reserves for the younger waitresses. Sam�s seen
it a thousand times but it was never directed at him.
�Since
you�re in advance, knowing m� name �n� all, care to tell me yours, pretty?�
Sam
tries to not look like he�s choking on the small sip of beer he�s just taken
from the bottle in his hand. Surprise and laughter slip into his voice when he
answers: �That�s definitely a new one. You nearly had
me, Dean.� Still chuckling, he claps Dean on the back, his palm greeting the
familiar leather of their dad�s jacket.
�Haven�t
had you before, have I?� Dean asks a little stiffly but not unfriendly. Sam�s
irritation must show on his face anyway because Dean relents: �Hey, come on.
I�m sorry.�
�Damn,
man, you can�t just do that. That wasn�t funny, Dean.� Sam sits down on the bar
stool next to his brother. �So, how come you�re here?� Sam smiles, waits for
Dean�s answer. God, they haven�t seen each other in ages, but it�s good to know
Dean is alright.
�Erm, you know, moving around. Same old,
same old.� Dean tries and puts the extra glitter in his eyes, touches
his tongue against his lower lip. �Wanna take this
elsewhere?� He pulls up his eyebrow suggestively while he practically leers at
Sam.
�Whoa!�
Sam stills and stares at his brother. What
the hell�s wrong with Dean? Is he hitting on him? �Are you hitting
on me?� He splutters and stands up. �You really don�t know me?� Sam�s world
tilts and he forgets how to breathe. I�m
supposed to be the most precious to you and you don�t remember me?
�Dude, you alright?� Dean gets up, too, worried lines marring his face,
and he grabs Sam�s arm. �Let�s go outside, dude, get
some fresh air or something.� Dean puts an arm around him for support and Sam's
confusion grows because this is something Dean�s done for him a thousand times.
This is how he remembers his older brother.
Sam�s
shoved outside by Dean, pushed up against the side of the building, slightly
out of sight of the people entering and leaving the bar, but with a good view
of the parking lot.
�Where�s
the car?� Sam squeaks, panicked when he can�t see the Impala nearby.
�What?�
Dean asks, confused, his voice coming muffled from Sam�s waist height.
�What
are you doing? Dean?� Sam tries to weasel away but Dean has his hands on the
front of his jeans, he pops the button and pulls the zipper down. �What? Hey!�
Sam shoves at Dean. This can�t be
happening.
�Gonna make you feel better, man.� Dean says and engulfs
Sam�s still flaccid cock in his mouth.
�Oh god!� Sam�s brain shorts out, goes blank and refuses to
analyze what�s going on. His other brain, the one just under the waistline,
doesn�t seem to have any problems, though, and Sam�s cock grows rapidly,
surrounded by spit-wet warmth. Dean works his tongue along his member, sucks
slowly until it reaches full length.
There�s
a flutter of nowrongno
in Sam�s upstairs brain and he tries to hold onto it: �Stop! Dean! Stop right
now. Oh my god! You can�t-� But Sam loses the ability
to form thought or talk the moment, he�s deep throated by Dean, his brother�s
nose buried in his pubic hair. He grabs helplessly for Dean�s hair. It�s too
short. He can�t get a grip. When he finally manages to hold onto some strands,
his hand is just following the movement of Dean�s head, back and forth along
his cock.
Shocked
by his own participation, he shoves Dean away, his hand�s heel against Dean�s
forehead. �Stop! I said stop, Dean.�
To
Sam�s relief, Dean halts his movements and looks up at him. �What�s wrong with
you, man? Just shut up and relax.�
Sam
stares at Dean, lips pouty and wet with spit and probably precome, and Sam�s somewhere
between shame and lust. �My name�s Sam...� His breath hitches and Dean takes
that as an invitation to continue, sucks Sam down greedily again. �My name�s
Sam and I�m your brother!� Sam yells and bites back a
desperate moan.
Dean
looks up at that, directly into Sam�s eyes, while he licks along the slit,
tasting precome. �Whatever you
want, little brother.
Just let me make you feel better, Sammy,� Dean says, and his voice is rough
from the work his throat has already done, constricting around Sam�s prick.
Glassy-eyed,
Sam can only stare down at his brother when he takes his cock again, hungrily,
as if he�s enjoying it. There�s whimpering that comes from Sam and grunts and
slick sounding sucking noises Dean makes. Sam can�t help it, not anymore, and
he holds onto Dean�s head and urges him on. With both of his hands in Dean�s
hair now, he begs Dean�s mouth nearer, faster, harder
with every push and pull. Sam feels the trembling start that signals the
quickly approaching orgasm, and Dean seems to know it, too, because his hands
slide around Sam�s hips, they hold onto the clenched halves of his ass. Sam
feels Dean moan around his shaft again, and that�s what it takes to tip him
off. He groans Dean�s name, draws it out while his hips snap forward, again and
again, pumping hotly down his brother�s throat.
Done,
he slides down the wall. His knees won�t hold him anymore, they tremble. His
fingers are still holding onto Dean�s head, thick strands of hair clenched
painfully tight. He looks at Dean with wonder; he can�t really understand what
just happened.
He
sees Dean fumble with his wallet. �What now?� He�s incredulous. �Are you
robbing me?�
Dean
looks at him warmly, smiling that Sammy�s-not-getting-it-yet-smile, and pulls
some notes from Sam�s wallet. �Man�s gotta live off
of something, right. Made you a good price, pretty, don�t worry.� He shoves the
wallet in Sam�s direction who takes it, shocked by the revelation, on reflex.
Dean
stands up, sorting his clothes, dragging the back of his hand along his mouth,
obscenely checking for errant fluids, but he�s swallowed it all. He grins,
obviously satisfied with the result, and that�s when it hits Sam. �You�re a- a prostitute, Dean?�
�Sure.�
He shrugs. �What were you
thinking?� Dean looks honestly confused at Sam, who�s sitting on the pavement,
mop of hair standing in all directions, his limp dick hanging out of his jeans.
�My brother! I thought... Dean, you are my brother,� he squeaks, and Dean gives him that
you-lost-your-marbles-look.
�Oh
come on, man, that�s sick. Why�d I want to blow you if you were my brother?
Sammy, I don�t know you. Sorry, okay? You�ve got me confused with somebody else
or something, you know.� Dean shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders
apologizing. �I gotta go.�
Sam
gapes after his brother, who just turns and goes, leaves. Sam gets on his feet, stumbles, falls on one knee.
His dick is pressed painful against one side of the zipper; he fumbles with it
while calling out after Dean, who ignores him and gets inside a rusty old Ford
covered with dirt. His Dean wouldn�t have been caught dead inside something
like that car. But obviously this Dean is not the Dean Sam knew. The Ford
clanks and shudders when Dean starts it, and it
screeches when his brother drives away from him without even a backward glance.
The plate�s barely hanging onto the car, but Sam manages to catch some of the
letters and numbers on it.
He�s
got to find his brother. He�s got to find Dean hunting something somewhere with
Dad. Find him safe.
He
has to find out that he really got this guy confused with Dean. For his own sake, dammit. He needs to find out that Dean
is not selling himself for
money.
He�s
got to find out that this guy who has just given him the best orgasm in his
life is not his brother Dean Winchester.

TWO

�Bobby,
hey, it�s Sam. Long time no call, haha.�
He hates how fake his own chuckle sounds. �Listen, I�m looking for Dean, you�ve
seen him around maybe?� I think I let him
blow me while he forgot he�s my brother.
�Hey Sam. �M looking for Dean, myself.
He�s been outta touch a tad too long. His girl gets
impatient.�
�He
� he left a girl at your place?� Sam�s voice squeaks again on the
"girl" in the phrase.
�Talking
�bout his car. The Impala�s here.� Sam can practically feel Bobby roll his
eyes.
�Thank
God.� It�s not dead, the Impala�s still there. But why did Dean leave it at
Bobby�s? What was he up to that he couldn�t take the Impala with him? And,
shit: if Dean�s not with the Impala, he might be with the Ford and could be the
hustler Sam just met.
�Sam,
what�s going on with you boys?�
�How
long since he�s been at your place, Bobby?�
�Hm, he was here, let me think, five and a half months ago.
Yeah, I think, that�s about right.�
How
many cocks can you blow in months?
�Thanks,
Bobby, I gotta go. Call me if you hear from Dean.�
Sam presses the disconnect button.
Damn! If the real Dean isn�t with the Impala,
chances are the real Dean is man-whore!Dean.
I can�t believe I just called him that
even in my head. Pictures of Dean on his knees before him, lips
swollen and glistening with precome, assault Sam and flood his cock with blood. Fuck. He had to stop thinking about
Dean that way. No, he's not thinking about his brother Dean, he's thinking
about the other Dean who is a whore and just can't be his Dean. No. Impossible.
So it isn�t that taboo to think about the other Dean- oh fuck, who is he kidding, really?
Sam
stares at his cell a while longer before hurriedly skimming through the menu
until he finds what he was looking for. Connecting to John, the display shows,
animated lines blinking from one animated cell to another. Sam�s heart pounds
in his chest. He hasn�t talked to Dad since he left for Stanford, more than three
years ago.
�This
is John Winchester...� Fuck, mailbox.
Sam waits impatiently for the message to be over. It pisses him off, that he
can�t reach his Dad, but he has always been unavailable
for Sam anyway. �I�m looking for Dean, Dad. Call me if you�ve seen him.� Short
but clear and not giving away where he is or in what condition. Just like he has been taught all his life.
�Sam?
Are you home?� Despite all the worry, Sam smiles upon hearing Jess call out for
him. He doesn�t feel guilty for leaving Dad or Dean. No. He's not responsible if Dean turns
into a hooker and forgets about his brother. No.
The hardon in his jeans is just a normal physical reaction to
an outstanding sexual encounter. Maybe it�s the guy thing: used to the
equipment and all. It�s definitely not the brother-thing. No.
Jess
comes into the room, smiling brightly at him. Sam has the right to want and
have a normal future, a future with Jess, glowing like the sun. He deserves it.
He does.
�Look
who�s happy to see me.� Jess whispers in his ear, biting his earlobe gently
while she presses the heel of her hand to Sam�s erection.
�Hey
baby.� He moans, pressing harder against her hand and bowing down to capture
her mouth with his.
So
what? He�s hard from a
memory of being blow by some stranger in an alley. Most men fantasize about
being jumped and deepthroated by some stranger �
gender aside � at least once in their lives and he lived it. He�s lucky. He shouldn�t worry too much and just
use the energy.
Sam
pushes his tongue inside, touches it to hers. His fingers find the zipper on
her back and follow it down her vertebra � clickclickclick
- before traveling up again and shoving the thin
straps of her dress off her shoulders. The dress falls to the ground, leaving
her only in panties. Jess� breasts feel hot against him, nipples tight even
through his shirt when he pulls her against his chest. She mewls; she enjoys
the way he takes control.
Sam
guides her down onto the bed, one arm beneath her shoulders, his other hand
under her knee, helping her lift her leg and spreading her thighs so he can lie
between them. He rubs against her roughly, his denim-covered hardness shoving
against her panties hard and she bucks, wanting more. He licks his way down her
neck and bites where it meets her shoulder while his hands are busy opening his
jeans and getting out his swollen cock. He doesn�t bother with her panties,
just pulls them out of the way. He finds her hot and wet � so wet � for him already, asking to be
filled.
He
threads his fingers through her hair until he�s got a big strand of locks and
he pulls it, makes her arch up the bed and bare her
throat before he shoves into her rougher than ever before.
Jess
cries out and digs her nails in his tight biceps. Her eyes fly shut with the
next hard shove of his cock deep inside her and she bites her lower lip
whenever she's not moaning. �Yeah, Sam, yeah. Just
like that, just- yeah...�
And
suddenly Sam can�t trust himself to close his eyes anymore -- he keeps seeing
Dean kneeling in front of him whenever he does -- so he keeps his gaze fixed on
Jess� face. It�s contorted in pleasure, and her mouth is gasping and her lips
are moving, asking for more. Her breasts are jumping in rhythm with his thrusts
and he twists one nipple now, between his fingers.
Jess,
you�re beautiful, you�re gorgeous like this, he wants to say, but he doesn�t trust himself to
speak, doesn�t trust himself not to ask for a pleasure he denies himself with
this shiny new Jess-future, not to ask for a whore looking like his brother,
not to ask for his brother. And he comes then, feeling the contractions of
Jess� orgasm around his bursting cock and spills himself inside her deeply.
Eyes
closed now, Sam�s waiting to hear that voice again: Dean�s voice, rough from
swallowing Sam�s cock, asking for money for an invaluable service, for a deed
one paid in Hell for.
�Wow,�
is what Jess says after a while. She lies cuddled against him, in the safety of
his arm with his chin resting on her head. She listens to his heart and it�s
strong but beating too fast. She swallows and then, skimming her fingers over
the skin on his belly, hard muscles clenched under her touch, she asks what it
is that has him on edge this way.
�I
miss my brother,� he says and it sounds � voice strained � as if he�s going to
fall to pieces right in front of her and never be put together again.
�I
didn�t know you have a brother,� Jess says, and he can see the thousand
questions in her eyes. Questions he won�t � can�t
� answer without destroying the normal he�d built for himself from scratch.
An
eternity goes by before he speaks again. �He doesn�t know it either,� Sam says
and gets up, unable to share more with her yet, maybe never.
Under
the spray of the shower he feels dizzy and disconnected; there�s salty wetness
mingling with the water and he�s stunned by the tears. He remembers the last
time he cried. Almost four years ago he�d cried for a lost brother, too.

THREE

145 Zeppelin Street. It's approximately 9.00 a.m. when Sam's standing on a
pretty dirty floor, in front of the gray door of a pretty run-down apartment
building. He's knocked twice already, and there is no reaction from inside.
Last
night he tossed and turned, while Jess slept through most of it. At 3 a. m. he
got up and went to the police station furthest away from his apartment. Black
suit, gelled hair and his impatient Tom Hanson impersonation got him on one of
their PCs to check out Dean�s license plate. Turns out, Dean Yames registered October 17 last year and lives at 145 Zeppelin Street.
Back
from the small rerun of his old life, Jess had been awake, waiting for him. At
least, she let him finish his shower, before she cuddled up to him, and asked
questions he already expected. He has a brother, yes, and he seperated from him
and dad - they�re his whole family, yes,
all he had before she came into his life � and he gave them up when he left for
Stanford or they have, he isn�t really sure, and no, he hasn't heard from them since. Jess stopped asking
questions, probably sensing his growing impatience with the topic but he could
see the lingering curiosity in her eyes.
He's
getting impatient now, in front of Dean Yames� door,
and he starts fumbling with the lock pick in his pocket when there finally is
some movement inside, a grunt and some shuffling. Sam's heart is beating fast
again, he still hopes against all hope that the guy inside is not his brother,
is just someone with an unbelievable resemblance to Dean.
The
door cracks open, just the few inches the chain allows, and half of his
brother's face, one tired but clear green eye stares at him. Dean sighs
exasperatedly, and presses the door closed again without even a word.
�Hey,
hey- wait.� Sam shoots forward and tries to keep the door open, presses against
it with his full weight, pounding with his other hand against the fake wood. He can tear the door down, can fucking kick it in
if...
�Could
you just calm down,� Dean growls at him. He has opened
the door again and he's annoyed, but his eyes glitter a little bit curious,
too. �Know how door chains work? You need to shut the door to pull it off?�
Dean says, rolls his eyes and turns, disappears through a door on the left.
Sam
feels foolish for his panicked reaction, but he was afraid Dean would shut him
out like he always did. He huffs out a breath and goes inside the apartment,
closes the door behind him. He can see a tiny kitchen and a bigger room with a
TV and a black couch in front of it. The couch is used as a bed if the blankets
and pillows on it are any indication.
�Dean?�
He calls out and opens the door Dean went through, just to find him pissing,
dick in hand in front of his toilet.
Sam
blushes so hard he gets dizzy and he apologizes and knocks his elbow against
the door frame in the rush to get out again. He's got to get himself in
control: he�s behaving like the first man to walk the earth. Fuck.
He
goes to the kitchen, suddenly feeling uncomfortable, left alone in an unknown
apartment. What if this Dean really is
some stranger and he doesn't belong here at all? Not that he belongs in the
kitchen of his brother who's paying for it by whoring himself out to men.
However, he belongs to Dean and- well, that's a strange thought.
Curious,
Sam takes a closer look at his surroundings. The kitchen is mostly clean. There
are a few used cups and plates on the counter and some Chinese take-out
containers, maybe left from yesterday�s dinner. He opens some of the cabinets
and finds only rudimentary kitchen equipment. How long has Dean been living here?
He
hovers on the entry to the other room for a while; it feels too intimate for
him to enter it. He�s allowed to look, though. This is where Dean spends most of his time? A ratty couch
that he uses as bed too, old TV set and a cupboard that misses one door holds
some clothes.
Sam
decides to rather wait in the kitchen than on Dean�s bed. He sits down on the
only stool in the kitchen. A board, fixed on the wall, is used as a table. Sam
looks around; the walls are painted in a color just a
bit shy of yellow, and the lack of personality in the whole room � no pin board
with notes on, no pictures, no flowers, no nothing �
is striking. Who are you, Dean Yames? Are you my brother? He tries to sort the
mess of questions in his head and assign the right reaction to each of the
possible answers Dean might give him, but his head feels like it'll explode
from information overload.
It's
probably less than twenty minutes later when Dean wanders in the kitchen, the only towel slung around his neck, both
his hands gripping on one edge of it, pulling and giving in turns to dry neck
and shoulder. Long muscles move under planes of wet skin, and Dean's dick
swings wildly with the motions. Flustered, Sam looks down on the table top.
It's
not that they haven't seen each other naked, living in close quarters the way
they were raised, but it has never been like this. Dean hadn't made a show out
of his body to embarrass Sam. Well,
a tiny voice inside Sam's head speaks up, he wasn�t after your money for sexual favors then.
�Thought
you'd be here for another go, yeah, Ted?�
�Sam.�
The wrong name feels like a punch in the gut. Maybe this guy really isn't Dean.
He looks up, relieved that Dean's not completely naked anymore. Dean has the
towel now wrapped around his hips. �My name is Sam, Sam Winchester.� He holds
Dean's gaze for a moment before he holds out a photo of them for Dean to take.
�You look like my brother, you've got his name, Dean, and you're a lot like him
and I- I just need to find out if you're him.�
�Whoa.�
Dean stares at the photo, throws it back on the table in front of Sam,
dismissing it, before he grins wickedly at him. �So, you really thought I was
your brother when I blew you? That must've been awkward. Or well not so much,
considering how fast you lost it.� He laughs, watching Sam's reddening face
closely. �Hey, Sammy, you're a virgin?�
�What?�
Sam's head shoots up despite his embarrassment. Dean is idly playing with a
silver stud that goes through his left nipple. How long has that been there? He�s sure Dean didn�t have
this when he left four years ago. Sam feels a rush of excitement and curiosity
before shame crashes in. �Don't you get it? I thought you were my brother!
Brother! And my brother doesn't turn tricks and, and he's not gay.�
This
Dean looks exactly the same as his brother Dean when he's pissed off. �So you
aren't either? Big brother, my hero, my idol, my Yoda?�
�Look
� you don't know what you're talking about. You don't know- fuck, I don't know
what I'm doing here at all. I closed this part of my life. I'm at Stanford now,
going to be a lawyer. And you can't be my brother. My brother is... whatever.
I'm sorry. I was wrong. I'll go and leave you to whatever life you lead.�
�That's
very kind of you. I'm sure you'll find your way out alone.� Dean turns to go
out of the kitchen.
Sam�s
eyes catch something familiar on Dean�s back. �Wait!� Sam calls out suddenly
and can�t help shaking from the feelings of awe and fear laced together. Before
Dean can turn around, Sam is behind him, refrains him from moving with one hand
on Dean�s shoulder.
�You've
got a scar...� Sam dabs at a triangular scar under Dean�s left shoulder blade
gently with his fingertips which results in goose bumps rising on Dean�s skin.
�It's
a triangle. I- I sewed this. I was eleven. We stayed at Bobby's. Dad was away
and we were going through combat training. I pushed you against a pile of cars,
a piece of metal from one car�s door stood out and you- you hurt your back.
Your eyes... I was terrified out of my mind. You tore your favorite
shirt and took a deep gash; I sewed it because you didn't want Bobby or Dad to
find out, they wouldn't let us train alone anymore and you'd wanted to show me
moves Dad thought I was still too small for, but which would work to protect
myself anyway and...� Sam drifts off but keeps tracing that knotted skin with
his finger. �You really are my brother, Dean. I found you.�
�Sam.
Sammy.� Dean turns around and meets Sam's gaze. �I'm sorry. I'm not your
brother. I got this scar from falling onto a broken bottle neck. My aunt
brought me to the ER, they sewed it there. Some assistant doc
with shaking hands from lack of sleep. It hurt like a bitch for days.�
�NO.
That can't be. It's too much of a coincidence. You're my brother.�
�I
am NOT your brother. Why don�t you get it, Sam? I'm sorry, really I am, but I
am not who you think I am.�
Dean
doesn't flinch away when Sam's holds onto Dean's shoulders just short from
shaking him. �Prove it, Dean. I don't know what they did to you. Brainwashed
you, a spell or something or maybe you're just playing dumb. But you ARE my
brother and-�
Sam
is effectively shut up as Dean�s lips crash against his. Dean's tongue dives
inside his mouth deeply at first chance. Sam moans in surprise and tightens his
grip on Dean's shoulders. His tongue slides against Dean's - hot, wet and forbidden. Hunger and lust
pulse through him harder, faster than Sam's ever felt before, hunger and lust
for Dean � brother or not - and it frightens him in its intensity.
He
yanks away, shoves Dean away from him.
�You're
my brother.� Sam gasps out. He can still feel Dean's lips on his, burning like
a taste of Hell.
�I'm
not your brother. I don't want
to be your brother, Sam,� Dean answers, pointing to the towel around his hips
which is tented obviously. �You either accept that or you get out and don't
come back.�
Sam
stares at Dean, whose eyes are serious and vulnerable, something his brother
had learned to hide well, but he'd never been this intimate with his Dean, so
he doesn't know if Dean's different when he's got romantic interest in someone.
Romantic interest � pffft
� anger suddenly boils inside Sam's gut � can
you talk romance with a prostitute?
He
needs to get out of here, needs to get away from this man who refuses to be his
brother and Sam doesn't know how or where to find his real brother, and this
man-whore here is all he's got left, and he's just another customer. He feels cheated, and he wants his
Dean back and wants him back like he was when Sam was still little and Dean was
all he needed to feel safe.
�I'm
sorry.� Sam says quietly and he leaves, carefully avoiding touching Dean, even
looking at him. He pulls the door shut behind him.

FOUR

It�s
a lazy Thursday afternoon and Sam and Jess enjoy it on the couch. Sam�s pretty
content with how his life is going, how normal it is. Two days since he�s last
seen the guy he thought to be Dean. He�s
not counting, no. He hasn�t heard from Bobby or his Dad, but he
thinks they�d tell him if there really was someone missing. He�s lived with the
little gnawing voice that tells him to check on his family, to check on Dean,
for more than three years now, and he�s pretty good at ignoring it.
Jess
is watching a stupid chick flick; he only opens his eyes when Julia Roberts
wears those high heels. She�s really hot.
He thinks Richard Gere is an idiot. Sam�s way too
possessive, and the thought alone that Jess might let any other man touch her
body makes him blind with rage. It has
nothing to do with Dean, no. Sam couldn�t be with Jess if he knew
that she was giving herself to someone else at the same time and in the same
way that she was giving herself to him. After being raised with nothing but a
knife and a shotgun to call his own, he, for once, wants something only to
himself. He�s not a sharing kind of guy at all.
His
thoughts drift to Dean again -- and how he got in the situation to have to suck
off guys for a living -- before he remembers that the guy is not his Dean and Sam�s not responsible for
him. Not-Dean had been pretty ready to kiss him the first chance he got; chick
flicks are fake and romantic exaggerations of real life. Jess looks at him
curiously when he makes that statement. Why
did he talk out loud again?
�You
know, there�s always something real to a movie, and I think that prostitutes
need a way to express love, something they don�t sell,� she says and waits for
his answer, smart blue eyes fixed on his.
He�s
got to give her that: movies often have a real background. Horror
movies, not these pseudo-romantic tearjerkers. But he won�t tell her
that. Hunting is not a part of his normal life. Hunting can never be a part of any normal life. �It�s just a matter of
the price the customer�s willing to pay,� he says offhandedly.
�Why
would you think that? Do you think everybody is buyable?� She frowns at him
with disapproval.
Sam
knows, he won�t win this, can�t even get out of this without fighting with her.
In his experience, people aren�t what they say they are and he�s never found
motivation in saving people
like Dean did. Why should anybody deserve
a normal, undisturbed life if he didn�t, if his family didn�t? What�s the
point? �All I�m saying is that there is something everybody can be
corrupted with.�
�Money. You�re saying for the right price everybody would do
anything?�
Sam
thinks about how he risks his normal life for �saving� Not-Dean. �Yeah, probably.�
�So
you think, for the right amount of money, I�d do anything.�
He hesitates a tad too long. �Jess...� He tries to relent but
he can see on her face that it�s too late anyway. It�s not about money � everybody does what has to be done to save what
is important to them. Money, love, family, revenge...
�And
you, you wouldn�t?�
�Probably
not, no.� Because
there isn�t much I can lose. Oh god, why isn�t she, why isn�t my normal life
not as important anymore as eight days ago?
She�s
pissed off, nil to 180 mph in two seconds, standing up and ranting in front of
him with her pointy finger jabbing in his direction mercilessly. �I hate that
you think everybody is corrupt but you! I hate that you�re always doing the
right thing, that you�re always politically correct and that you glide around
like a slime worm fitting in everywhere.�
�Jess,
I�m not... a slime worm.� He
frowns, irritated, two seconds away from chuckling.
She
grimaces. �So, where�s all your knowledge from? Have you ever been to a
prostitute?�
Sam
hesitates one moment too long again � Dean
on his knees, Sam's dick sucked deeply in his mouth flashes through
his brain, distracts him � and Jess� face falls before her lips curl with that
wicked grin, curiosity ruling out anger.
�When?
Why? What did she look like?�
Like
my brother, he thinks standing
up. �Not gonna talk about it.�
�Oh
come on � it�s... exciting?�
She offers, her cheeks reddening slightly.
�Exciting
how?� He stares at her. Jess has to be normal. He needs her to be normal in all
ways possible. He doesn�t want her to be stained or tainted. He wants her as
holy as the memory of his mother: shiny, blond, pure. She probably wouldn�t think it was exciting if she
knew it was eight days ago.
�Oh
come on, Sam. Isn�t it a bit... kinky to go to a whore? What for anyway? I
don�t think you�d ever need to pay someone for regular sex. So what were you so
desperately after that you couldn�t have with normal people?�
And
there it is again, that word that complicated his whole life: normal. The easiest way to lie, Dean
taught him, is to keep close to the truth and just shut up about the rest.
�Tell
me, please?� She asks and sits down on the couch again, one leg up under her
ass.
Sam
can hear the accusation in her question. The you-never-tell-me-anything-about-your-past
tone that keeps getting on his nerves. Fuck.
He sighs; if he doesn�t tell her something, anything, she�ll bitch for days and
ask a thousand questions. He just lacks the energy to go through the whole
hassle right now, so close to the finals.
�Look,
I was drunk.� He sits up and turns to her, takes her hand in his and adores the
elegance of her fingers against his palms. �I was curious and I... and I saw
this guy, I knew him from before, from school.�
�A guy?� Jess is confused. It's not what she
expected to hear.
�I
didn�t understand it, didn�t know what he was offering until he�d... he blew
me, okay? And he asked for money and I decided I liked breast better.� Sam
tries a smile; it�s as fake as the whole story.
�Oh,�
Jess says and he sees her mulling the facts over in her head. �Did you kiss?�
�No,
we didn�t...� Not that time.
�So,
to get back to the point: Prostitutes don�t kiss. They reserve that for special
people. For people they have... romantic interest in,� Jess says and crosses
her arms in front of her chest. �Your own experience proves it.�
�I
didn�t ask him to. I didn�t even know he was a prostitute until after he asked
for money!� Sam thinks about the kiss he didn�t ask for, he didn�t pay for.
�If
a kiss wouldn�t be something special to him, he�d have kissed you,� Jess
insists. �Your lips are just too kissable to ignore.� She smiles brilliantly
and leans in, intends to kiss him but only manages to press her lips to his
cheeks when he turns away. He doesn�t pay her any attention when she pouts.
He
stands up, the urge to get to some place alone, where he can think,
indomitable.
�I�ve
got to study. Could be long,� Sam says and grabs his rucksack, leaves, tries
not to feel guilty about disappointing her again.
Sam wonders if maybe normal isn�t what he�s made for.

FIVE

His
cell rings at 3.30 a.m. the same night - no caller-ID - and he takes the call
barely after the first ring. Who else but
family would call at this time? �Hello?�
�Is
that Sam Winchester?� The voice sounds familar to
Sam. Dean? Sam gets out of
the bed silently; Jess turns but sleeps on. He goes into the bathroom and
closes the door behind him.
�Who�s
there?� He sounds gruff; he tries to pretend to be woken up when really he had
been lying awake thinking about him all night. Again.
�Are
you Sam or not?�
�I�m
Sam. Who are you?� Is that you, Dean? Or
is it Not-Dean? Are you both?
�Dean
� maybe you remember me? The guy you
chose to be your brother?� Not-Dean.
In his chest, Sam�s heart starts to pound unexpectedly.
�I
didn�t choose you! You�re the one denying to-� Sam
starts but Dean cuts him off, voice urgent and matter-of-fact.
�Look
� I don�t have time. I need a favor. Come and get
me?�
�What?�
�Come and get me?� What does that mean?
�Look
� I�m in something like... a situation here. I need someone to get me out...
you want to become a lawyer, right? This will give you an interesting inside
view...� Dean drifts off.
But
Sam connects the dots: �Are you in prison?�
�Erm... yes? Got arrested for, you know...� Sam can see Dean grin sheepishly.
�So,
why should I bail you out?� I won�t.
�You�re
my brother?�
Oh
come on! �That�s weak,
really, even for you. You didn�t want to be my brother as far as I remember!�
Sam huffs.
�I...�
Dean starts, but fumbles for the right words. �I don�t have anybody else,
okay?� He says in a rush. Sam mulls that over in his head, adds it to the facts
he�s collecting about this Dean.
�Sam?�
�Okay,
yeah, right. I�ll get you. Where are you and how much is the bail?�
When
Dean tells him the location, Sam groans. Of course Dean's got to be held in the
police station he broke in to just a few days ago. But Sam doesn�t care what it
costs, he knows his Dean is terrified of being locked up and this one seems to
feel just the same about prison.
�I�ll
pay you back, I swear. I�ve got the money, got some stashed away at my
apartment, okay?� Dean really sounds desparate to
Sam.
�Whatever.
It�ll take me some time to get to you � don�t have a car.�
�I�m
not gonna go anywhere.� Dean says smirking but he
sounds freaked.
�I�ll
be quick, Dean.� I promise. I�ve got you.
�Sammy?�
�It�s
Sam-�
�Thank
you.� And for once, Not-Dean sounds honest.

Sam
doesn�t make any noise while he's searching for clothes to pack in the darkness
of their bedroom. �What�s going on, Sam?� Jess slurs sleepily when he presses a
kiss to her forehead.
�I�ve...�
He pauses, thinking about what to tell her. �An old family friend called, he
needs help with... something. I�ve got to go.�
�But...�
Jess sits up, touches the lamp on the bedside table for light. �It�s the middle
of the night and you�ve got that interview on Monday!�
�I�ll
be back by then. I promise,� Sam says and kisses her good-bye before leaving
with his old duffel bag in his hand.
He
takes a combination of buses, a short stop at an ATM, and then he�s in front of
the police station that holds Dean. He thanks whoever looks out for him that
the officer who bought his fake Tom Hanson persona and let him use the PC
system seems to have the night off.

SIX

It�s
still dark outside when they finally leave the police station. Dean�s face is
bruised badly, supposedly from cracking it against a wall or the floor when
they caught him. He has dark circles under his eyes, looks tired and worn down.
At first he hesitates, but then follows Sam back to the bus station.
It�s
eerily silent and a little cold. Sam can see Dean shivering. The tight shirt
doesn't look like it has any other function than to show off Dean's pecs and abs. Sam�s uncomfortable with Dean�s quietness,
and he can�t stop thinking about the way they parted last time. He�s got a
plan; he just doesn�t know how to make Dean follow with it.
�Look-� Dean starts, but is interrupted by Sam: �Why did you kiss
me?�
�Huh?�
Dean says and looks thrown for real.
�You
kissed me... in your apartment. Remember?�
�Course,
I do.� Dean bites on his lower lip as if physically reliving the experience.
�Why
did you do it?�
�What?
Kissed you?�
�Yes.�
�Because I wanted to?�
�You
kiss everyone you... you know?�
�Dude
� what�s this? You�re having your Pretty-Woman moment?� Dean chuckles and Sam�s
face flames up red. �Oh god � you�re not... Oh, come on!�
Sam
watches Dean�s hand seeking the seam of his jeans and fumble with it. Dean�d do that everytime he got
uncomfortable, often when talking about feelings.
�So,
it�s true?� Sam looks into Dean�s eyes hesitantly.
�It�s
not kisses they pay for,� Dean deflects with words and his body.
�I
would.� Sam doesn�t know where that came from, finds his own brain gasping at
him when he searches for an answer. But it made Dean turn around again and look
at him with curiosity and a wicked smile.
�So
you�re offering me a way to work off the bail?�
It
couldn�t be so easy, couldn�t it?
�No- yes. God.
Dean, look, dude, I want you to come with me, a few days. Visit a friend, make sure you�re really not my brother, okay?�
Dean
doesn't really seem to contemplate the idea; maybe he lied about the stashed
away money. �Alright. When do we start?�
Sam
smiles, nervousness fluttering in his belly. �Right away.
We can take your car, can�t we?�

SEVEN

Sam
catches the car keys easily when Dean throws them in his direction.
Not
Dean. Dean wouldn�t have let me drive. Dean because it�s not really Dean�s car,
not the Impala. Dean because after half the night in prison, he�d be too
exhausted to drive anywhere.
Sam
puts their bags into the trunk, which only holds half a bottle of blue
windshield washer fluid and some tools. Sam checked for a hidden arsenal. Not Dean.
Dean
slides in shotgun. He pulls his jacket collar up and puts on his sunglasses.
"Wake me when we get there,� he says and turns slightly in his seat to put
the side of his face against the headrest.
It�s
a two-day drive to Bobby�s, Sam thinks but spares Not-Dean that
knowledge. Dean would have known.
Not-Dean
fakes sleep until Stockton,
and then he finally falls asleep for real.
Sam
steers the crappy Ford mostly along the back roads, houses and people getting
scarcer the further they come inland. He's surprised how well the car runs
after a while, even the screeching stops when he presses his foot hard on the
gas and goes above the speed limit. The faster he goes, the quicker the needle
of the fuel falls, but Sam doesn't care. He's kept an emergency fake credit
card up to date for, well, for cases like this one.
Dean
agreed readily enough to go with him. Sam wonders why he's so trusting or if he
just doesn't care whatever happens to him. The thought -- that a Dean who
hasn't anyone at all anymore to care for, has no worth for his own life -- is
terrifying on a level that makes Sam's heart stumble and hammer in his chest.
Dean has no reason at all to trust Sam. He doesn't know him. If Sam had been in
Dean's position, if he'd to chosen to go with a stranger, who behaves like a
total nut case, without even knowing where to, exactly, and all that after
seeing the guy two times, he'd never have done it.
Well,
maybe Dean just wants him to let it go for good, and to prove that, he agreed
to come with him. Or maybe it's really just about the money. Or maybe Dean
thinks that there is a chance that he is
Sam's brother...
Sam
steals glances of Dean sleeping while he drives. There's a whole new set of
emotions developing inside Sam. Emotions he doesn't want to give a name to, not
even in his thoughts. But he knows he�s got to get his own head straight soon.
He's got to deal with these sensations drifting around in his head, making his
belly flip-flop, better sooner than later. When Dean's back, he needs to be the
brother Dean knows and things will be awkward enough for Dean. Who knew how
long he'd been on his own with no one to turn to, how long he'd had to live on
the streets, had to earn money on his knees or on his back or...
Rage
and possessiveness overcome Sam, thinking that countless people nursed their
desires on his brother and Dean had- He's
my brother! Sam thinks, and the urge to touch Dean, to reassure
himself Dean's not a figment of his imagination is overwhelming. He never
wondered before how Dean's skin would feel beneath his fingertips or if he'd
like to feel Dean's hand touching his own. He'd never noticed before how much
he'd like to spread his fingers out over Dean's muscled thigh. And maybe, maybe
this Dean is not his Dean and he can have that, can touch and kiss and have all
he wants with this guy who looks like his brother but isn't.
Of
course, he'd never want to have that with his brother, at all.
Jess
flashes through his thoughts and his stomach drops. He remembers the ring he
had bought and which is stored in his bag now, remembers the future he dreamed
of before he met his brother again, and it all seems too pale compared to the
concept that is "Dean".
After
more than 400 miles with a sleeping Dean sitting shotgun, Sam�s convinced
himself that everything is okay and that he�s not going to worry again until
they�ve arrived at Bobby�s. He tells himself it�s his brother Dean in the
passenger seat and everything else was just an attempt at humor
gone wrong. This way he has no weird feelings about men to deal with and he�ll
just forget that he�d had the best orgasm of his life down his brother�s
throat.
Dean,
Sam decides, is the prank war king for the rest of their lives if he�d just
wake up and be Sam�s brother again. Until then, he�s gonna
behave as if there is nothing wrong.
When
they drive by the sign that says �Lovelock, NV,� Dean can�t
stifle the laughter and gives away that he isn�t sleeping anymore � not that
Sam hadn�t known he was awake for the last fifteen-something miles.
�Oh
come on, what are you, twelve?� Sam grins. �We�ve seen weirder names than
that.�
�We
have?�
�Sure,
we�ve been driving around the country all our lives with Dad, saving people,
hunting things-�
�That�s
why you left?�
And
of course, Dean cuts down to the bone. Sam stays silent for a long time, the
Ford shudders and offers nothing of the comforting murmur the Impala�s motor
had.
�And
what exactly were we doing �hunting things�?� Dean asks, grimacing, and Sam
turns to stare at him, the knowledge that this isn�t his brother beside him,
that at least it isn�t the brother who can remember being Sam�s brother, slams
into him again as if it was the first time.
A
horn blares and Dean flinches, grabs the dashboard. �Look at the street, dammit!�
Sam
rips at the steering wheel. Screeching, the Ford turns away from the opposite
lane just to buck and skid on theirs. Sam�s used to the Impala�s weight and center of gravity, and he holds onto the wheel
white-knuckled and shocked by what this damn
car is doing, behaving like a bull in the arena. He stomps on the brake pedal,
lets it loose again to steer and gets a blinking ABS lamp for his effort.
Finally, they come to a stop on the shoulder of their road, gravel spitting
against the underside of the car. Sam has barely avoided running them off the
street.
�Okay,
I�m driving. You just got disqualified,� Dean says matter-of-factly, and Sam
barks out laughter of relief. We�re not
dead. That�s got to count for something. He�s out of the car the
next second, shaking his long limbs. Adrenaline still pumps through his system
and his body trembles with unused energy and he yearns for a fight.
He
remembers something about muscle memory, something he heard about in his basic
psych classes. Even when the brain forgets, the body still remembers. Before he
can take time to think it over, he opens the passenger door and grabs Dean�s
arm. He pulls hard and propels Dean out of the car. Ungracefully, Dean stumbles
and goes down on one knee.
�What
the fuck�s gotten into you now?� Dean yells angrily.
Sam
grins at him, feels like a maniac, when he aims a kick to Dean�s head. He�s
ready to pull it if necessary, but the next second he lands on his belly, a
sharp pain racing up his leg.
�I
knew it!� Sam manages to grind out before he feels Dean�s hand on his head,
wrenching it up by his hair. Sam laughs, struggles and kicks Dean�s legs out from
under him while he turns on his back. Dean collapses just in time, falling onto
Sam, his underarm squarely over Sam�s throat, cutting
off Sam�s air supply.
�What
the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell are you attacking me in the middle of
boon fucking nowhere?�
It's
noon, the sun is glaring down on them, but it's nothing compared to Dean. His
eyes are a blazing green, his cheeks flushed with anger and Dean's breathing
hard; he�s using his weight just right to hold Sam down.
Sam
gurgles trying to answer. Realizing he�s still strangling Sam, Dean pulls back
with caution, just enough so Sam can speak.
�Muscle memory!� Sam says and Dean frowns uncomprehendingly. �My
brother and I, we used to fight and you blocked the kick with just the move he
taught me a thousand times over. You relied on muscle memory!�
�Dude, that was no muscle memory, that was just instinct for not getting the shit kicked out of me!�
Dean yells, then huffs. �I can�t believe I�m with stupid! I lived on the
streets � of course I can fight! Doesn�t prove a thing.
I�m still not your brother.�
They
hold each other�s eyes in a challenge, neither Sam nor Dean back down. Limits
Sam thought already established have to be set anew with this guy who's so much
like his brother, but isn't at the same time.
Still,
this Dean is so much easier to deal with, Sam comprehends; this is not soldier!Dean with his unlimited
adoration for their father and his savior-complex and
his no-chick-flick-moments-walls. This is a pure version of Dean, one where he has
to take care of only himself, where he doesn't feel the need to look out for
Sammy, where he isn't killing himself trying to prove his worth to their heroic
father who doesn't even notice it. Yeah,
because killing himself hustling in the streets is so much
better. There's nothing of their usual baggage getting in between
them. Sam could use this, could find out things about Dean he'd never have a
chance to learn otherwise.
There�s
a smirk growing on Dean�s face, his eyes growing darker when he bows down to
whisper into Sam�s ear. �Did you get hard fighting with your brother before?� Dean leans into him, grinds
his crotch against Sam who realizes � suddenly � he�s so hard it�s almost, just
almost, painful to press back into Dean. A low moan escapes his lips and he
feels helpless against the offer of pleasure.
�No.
Dean, please.� Sam begs but opens his legs and Dean slides
between them, creating even more, even more intense friction.
Not
Dean. Not Dean. Not Dean.
Dean
smiles against his cheek, he can feel the corner of Dean�s mouth turning up. �Come
on, Sammy. Don�t worry. I�ll take care of you.�
Dean�s
hand finds Sam�s hipbone, his thumb pressing on naked flesh; layers of clothes
have slid up during their fight. Dean�s fingers encourage him to lift his ass,
to work for more of the friction he needs, so desperately needs right now. And
Sam feels Dean hard against him, too, gasps desperately because Dean �- no, not Dean, Not-Dean �- wants him,
just as much. He won�t take long now to go over the edge.
�Dean.�
Sam doesn�t know what to ask for. More? Stop? It's all the same.
He
bucks up, rubs himself frantically against Dean�s body, against Dean's
answering hardness �- Dean, Dean, Dean --
and cries out, nearly sobs when he comes, creaming the inside of his pants like
he hasn�t done in years.
Fuck.
He
wants to hold onto Dean but he feels boneless, weak in the aftermath of his
orgasm. He doesn't hinder Dean from standing up and closes his eyes against the
reality of this. He feels like a worthless, unmoral freak, lying on the hot
sand with his come drying in his pants.
Sam
gets his elbows underneath him, stares up at Dean who's looking everywhere but
directly at Sam. "Don't you- l could-" What's he going to offer?
Looking at Dean and thinking: Hey, do you
want me to return the favor? is the most ridiculous moment in his life.
He
sees his brother standing there, pale and shaky, and
still hard, obvious even under the tight denim. He can see the change, the
tension in his shoulders and the strain in his jaw, seconds before Dean turns and looks at him, eyes neutral, closed off.
"Just
add it to the repay sheaf - who knows, maybe I'll even get out of this with a
plus?"
Sam
receives a smirk that feels like a punch in his face. Wrath fills him and he
understands how people can indulge in it. Maybe he should try to cover as many
sins as possible so his inevitable trip to hell is really worth it. His
fingernails have grown too long again; they bore painfully in the insides of
his hands which he had clenched in fists.
Sam's
been patient, really, had lots of understanding for this guy, but it's enough.
He feels betrayed and ugly and naked in front of this smirking copy of Dean,
who'd never hurt him like this, who'd never messed around with him like this -
whatever way he interprets this.
Slowly
Sam gets up, gets his feet under him and concentrates on overcoming the rage.
He finds the cold calmness inside, quickly, that feels like all his bones, his
spine, are made from steel. Unbreakable and potent.
"Make
sure you don't make such a mess next time," Whore. "get in the fucking
car and shut up," Sam hisses and Dean straightens in surprise, doesn't
react.
"What-"
Sam
is in front of Dean suddenly -- his huge hand wrapped around Dean's throat, the
other at Dean�s shoulder -- and slams him against the Ford. There are a
thousand things Sam wants to scream, yell, hiss at this Dean, but there�s
unadulterated fear in his brother�s green eyes. Sam�s never seen Dean so
obviously afraid, not in the face of monsters, not in the middle of a bar
brawl, not even at the receiving end of Dad�s drunken rage. He�s never seen Dean in fear. Careful, worried, yes, but never afraid. To have Dean
looking up at him, panicked, scared of him, of Sammy, makes all the words stick in his throat.
Slowly
he loosens his grip, one finger by one, from around his brother�s throat and
lets his hand slide up, cup Dean�s head, his thumb
stroking Dean�s cheek. �I�m sorry,� Sam whispers, tentatively as if dealing
with a nervous animal. �I�m sorry. I didn�t mean to scare you.� There�s relief
in Dean�s eyes, the fear slowly drawing back in hidden depth of his character.
�It�s just, my brother and I, we�re close. No, not that way,� he answers the question in Dean�s eyes.
�There�s nothing we wouldn�t do for each other. And it hurts me to see him, to
see you, selling yourself cheap, selling cheap what we are to each other.�
Sam
needs to look away from the intensity Dean�s green eyes burn with. I don�t know what you expect from me is
written in block letters all over Dean�s features. He seems unable to deal with
this situation: half-scared and dependent � no way out that
doesn�t hurt one way or the other.
He�s
seen that look from his brother Dean, has seen him look that way at Dad, hoping
for praise, for love maybe, but arming himself for the disappointment, the hurt
at the same time when it wouldn�t come. Sam wonders when Dean lost this look.
When he stopped hoping for love and accepted that he couldn�t be a good son,
could only be a good soldier for his dad. Sam hates that this Dean now looks at
him the same way, waiting to be crushed and kicked by him for wanting, for
wanting what exactly?
�I�m
sorry.� Dean says, barely audible, with a sadness in his voice that makes Sam
look down, meeting his brother�s gaze again. The want in Dean�s expression is
so strong it makes Sam�s heart jump and his innards clench. He doesn�t want to
be the one crushing this
Dean. He could... it would only be until they�re at Bobby�s and after that Dean�d be himself again, remember what it means to be Sam�s
brother, Sam�s savior, and these two days won�t
matter in two lifetimes of saving each others lives...
NO. No � he can�t do this to Dean. He can�t
take advantage of this vulnerable version of Dean. Dean wouldn�t ever want him,
touch him, love him like this, and if Sam�s just went beyond that border of
fucked-up � well, he�s got to deal with that. He can�t drag an unknowing Dean
in and make him feel guilty for trusting Sam to do the right thing, to show the
right way. No.
�It�s
just another day. Tomorrow night we�ll know for sure if you�re my brother.� Sam
sighs and backs up slowly, pats Dean down and straightens Dean�s clothes while
he avoids his green eyes. The temptation is too big, to just grab this Dean and
make him see how much worth he holds for Sam, how much he means. It feels wrong
though, to worship this Dean if he isn�t his brother and it�s also wrong to
worship him that way if he is
his brother.
�And
if I�m not?� Dean asks and sounds small for all the cockiness he displayed
before.
�Whoever you are � we deal with it then. Alright?� Sam says and still can�t look into Dean�s eyes
directly. He can feel the weight of a promise made but doesn�t even know if he
can go through with it. He just can�t imagine how he�s gonna
feel if there really are two Deans in his world.

EIGHT

They
stop in Winnemucca because Sam feels fucking disgusting. Before they drove on,
he cleaned up a bit with paper tissues, just enough so there wouldn�t be any
stains on his jeans, but he needs to get out of the sticky underwear. Dean�s
hungry but he doesn�t seem to want to say anything about it. He hasn�t said
anything at all since they got back in the car, actually; he hasn�t even asked
to drive.
�Let�s
have lunch � you must be starving,� Sam says and feels weirdly like the big
brother. He can�t drag up any memory of Dean needing to be coerced into eating.
He goes to the back of the car where he finds some fresh boxers in his duffel
and stuffs them in his pocket; he�s got to clean up before he can go anywhere
inside.
He
gets a twenty out of his wallet. �Order whatever you want, I�ll be there in a
few.�
When
he comes inside the diner he finds Dean, as presumed, at a table in the middle
between the back exit and the front door where he can see all the new customers
enter, where he�s got two opportunities to run should there happen something
out of the ordinary. It�s exactly the place his brother Dean would have chosen.
When
he sits down, Dean is grinning at him, ketchup on his chin, fries halfway
inside his mouth and halfway out. Dean�s bowed deeply over the plate and saws
off a way too big piece from his steak but stuffs it in after the fries anyway,
fat running out of the edge of his mouth. It�s disgusting and adorable and sad
that Dean�s this hungry.
There�s nothing on the table for Sam, no coffee, coke or food and he�s
irritated for a second.
�Didn�t
know what to order for you,� Dean says and gives Sam a nice view of the mess in
his mouth. It's such a Dean thing to do, such a big brother thing to do -
otherwise there are many people with bad table manners. Speaking with a full mouth does not indicate if a
guy's your brother or not. Sam grimaces anyway and waves for the
waitress. He orders a couple of vegetarian sandwiches and steals some fries
from Dean's plate just because he can.
"Why
don't you order fries if you want to eat them?" Dean asks and stuffs as
many fries in his mouth as he can manage. "These are my fries. Keep you
hands off."
"Actually
they're mine - I paid for them."
The
mood on the table changes instantly.
"So,"
Dean starts and Sam knows it's going to be a fucking
punch to the gut even before he hears the phrase out. "I'm yours too
because you paid for me?"
Sam
holds Dean's gaze, he'll keep the green eyes pinned until they open up and show
him what he needs to see. Sam's always been able to read people this way. He
just looks into their eyes until he finds what makes up the core of their
being. It�s just an intense feeling, maybe instinct, to know how to approach
someone the best way. But it's not something that worked with Dean; Dean's been
too good at evading the heart-to-heart-moments. This Dean though is a
completely different story, and predictably falls for the fake-challenge of a
staring contest.
It's
a shame the waitress gets her boobs between them when she bows down to bring
Sam's sandwiches and to refill both their coffee cups. Sam thinks the topic is
dropped and it surprises him when Dean speaks up again: "You don't own me
- you just bought some of my time. You have no ownership of me and if you think
you can order me around, this trip stops right here."
"Whoa!
Look - you're the one making a big thing out of it - I only want you to come
with me to Bobby and if we find out you're my brother Dean you're mine
anyway-"
"You've
got one fucked up relationship with your brother," Dean throws in, voice
so loud people stare at them. Sam is oblivious and still tries to deal with the
realization that he sees Dean as his.
It�s strange this thought. He always felt like he was Dean�s possession.
"It's
not..." Sam tries to explain but Dean shoots in again.
"I
don't care what it is - it's fucking egoistic, is what it is. Your brother is
his own person and got his own wishes. Fuck, I guess it's not his life plan to
look after emo-Sammy all the time."
"Shut
up! You don't know fuck about my brother." Emo-Sammy?
"Oh
come on, at least I know he's one hot piece of meat." Dean wriggles his
eyebrows at Sam, who never could hold onto his anger when Dean evaded by
flirting like this. Sam tries to glare at Dean but ends
up grinning. He takes a big bite from his sandwich to hide it. Wait � Dean evaded before all this by flirting with
him?
Dean
sucks grease of his thumb while he watches Sam chew on his veggie-sandwich
until Sam asks, irritated, "What?"
Dean
shrugs. "Do you have, like, weight problems or something?"
"Noo!?" Sam scrunches up his face.
"Then
why do you eat that
stuff?" Dean�s face looks honestly puzzled.
"Meat
once a day's enough - don't think we should produce so much meat, kill so many
animals if it's not necessary."
"You're
kidding me? You said you and your brother - hunting that's what you do, family
business. No wonder they kicked you out."
"They
didn't kick me out - I left."
"Because
you felt for the deer - man,
you're totally screwed-"
"We're
not hunting deer - we're hunting things that go..." Shit.
"Things that go?" And
there's the you-lost-your-marbles look again in Dean's
face. Great.
Sam
contemplates the outs he has; he doesn't want to ruin this guy�s life with too
much information. If it is Dean, the memory of hunting will come back with
everything else. And he can't risk losing more of this Dean's trust already in
the first quarter of the trip. "Just leave it - okay?" he says
finally. "It's none of your business and it won't matter if you're not my
brother. Alright?"
Sam
can see the urge to protest in Dean's eyes but he shuts it down and blanks his
face. "Back to business, I can do that, no problem," Dean says but
somehow Sam doesn't think it sounds convinced. He hurries to finish his
sandwiches and Dean puts Sam's money on the table with a grimace. They're out
of the diner and back on the road seconds later. Sam drives and Dean fakes sleep - back to
step one.

NINE

In Twin Falls, Dean asks to
stop to take a leak and get more coffee. Sam realizes just then that he has to
gas up the car anyway. It�s weird: if anything, Dean had a sixth sense for the
fuel level � he was always aware of it, and what distance in what speed they
could still drive until they needed to refill. It was a life-saving necessity.
Sam
buys himself a latte and brings simple black coffee back for Dean, who�s
already waiting shotgun again.
The
silence between them grew comfortable a couple of hours ago, the fight in the
diner seemingly forgotten. The short break to stretch their legs, to get some
fresh air and now the delicious smell of coffee in the car helps.
Or
maybe Dean is just bored when he asks: �So, you�re not gay?� Sam starts to turn his head to stare at
Not-Dean. �Hey buddy, you just watch the street. I can hear you talking just
fine while you look ahead.�
Sam
rolls his eyes but embarrassment from their little involuntary trip to the
road�s shoulder colors his cheeks anyway. �I�m not
gay.�
�So,
why do you jump me any chance you get?� Dean asks, and he�s so enjoying it; Sam
can feel Dean�s grin down to his bones. �Or is it that I�m just that
irresistible?�
Sam�s
silent for a long time. He tries to figure out an answer for himself, tries to
find one for Not-Dean and at the same time, one that would be okay with his
Dean when he remembers this later. �I�m confused?� he offers weakly.
�I
don�t believe you,� Not-Dean singsongs.
Selfish prying son of a bitch. �Look, I�ve never, really, never thought about my brother in any sexual way before he blew me. YOU, I mean, before you blew me,� Sam
breathes, tries to get his calm back. �See, confused!
I�m just confused!� He doesn�t succeed.
�Thought
about guys or thought about your brother in any sexual way?�
�Everybody
has his gay fantasies, don�t they?� Sam reflects, stubborn.
�Oh, sure. Some people just have more of them as others, no big
thing, I guess. Don�t need to end up like me and make a living out of it, just
because you�re gay, you know.�
�I
didn�t say I wasn�t gay! Didn�t say I was gay either!�
Sam is angrier by Dean�s admittance that he �ended up� as a prostitute. He
promises himself that he�d do something for this guy -� and if I teach him the basics of credit card fraud
-- so he doesn�t need to sell himself on the streets anymore.
�Denial
is a river in...�
God
� how old is this Dean? Sam feels reminiscent of the days where he was a lanky
pre-teen and Dean mocked him about it. �Just shut up, Dean. I don�t know. Maybe
I like both. Why would you care?�
��Cause you�re my baby-brother!� Dean winks at Sam but stops when Sam
gives him a warning look. �Or because you�re my sugar-daddy?� This time Dean leers at him and Sam turns away, fixes his gaze back on the
asphalt.
I
miss Dean, my Dean.

It�s
dark when they arrive at West Yellowstone.
It�s not a problem to find a hotel; Sam Miller pays for a room with two queens.
Dean leers at the girl behind the counter and she gives them a disdainful
fake-smile with a raised eyebrow. Sam wants to spit in her face for looking at
Dean like he�s less than her.
The
room smells stale, but looks clean enough. Blue floral print
on greyish walls. Two beds with dark blue blankets, a desk and a chair,
a TV on a cranky looking drawer. They get their stuff and go for a shower.
Routinely, Sam calls first dibs and Dean laughs at him for it. Weird how fast
Sam gets back into their old rhythm even if Not-Dean doesn�t really fill his
part.
In
the shower, Sam tries to not think about Dean stretched out on the bed, shirt
rising up to expose skin that shouldn�t be so pale. He remembers Dean laughing
at that Peter Andr� guy making the news because he collapsed from his daily
five hundred sit-ups to keep the eight-pack. �Looks fucking
unnatural if you ask me! These are muscles from hard work.� Dean rubbed
his own belly, and Sam thought then in the heights of his puberty: I�ll never look as good as he does. Sam
knows now that really, he�ll never look as good as Dean. He doesn�t think
anybody male can look better than Dean.
When
it�s Dean�s turn to shower, Sam tortures himself with images of how Dean�ll look when he comes out again. Wet
hair, cheeks flushed and green eyes sparkling. He�s seen Dean come out of the shower a myriad of times, but everything
feels new now: exciting, exotic, exaggerated.
Sam
is sure he won�t be able to sleep in the next couple of hours. Driving hasn�t
tired him too much and he feels like he could use a couple of beers. He doesn�t
want to leave Dean alone, has to hope that he�ll come with him or maybe he gets
a six-pack... no, bad idea. Really, really bad idea. Drinking with
Not-Dean alone in a hotel room. Not gonna
happen. Sam doesn�t trust himself enough to not take advantage of Dean. Ridiculous.
Dean
comes out of the shower in jeans only, top button undone. Water still glistens
on his skin and the silver stud through Dean�s nipple works like a beacon. Sam
has to look away. Any
moment now. The wet towel smacks him in the face.
�Wanna go for a drink, Sammy?�
The
familiarity hurts and helps to stops the thoughts in Sam�s head he�s not
supposed to have.
�It�s
Sam!�
�Whatever.
Beer?� Dean plasters the fake-winning smile on his
face.
�Yeah,
fine.� Sam busies himself with getting his jacket and checking his wallet while
Dean throws on a way too tight white shirt. He leaves the top and the last
button undone. The shadow of short black hair that Sam can see just over his
belt-buckle is sinful enticement.

TEN

They
drive down the street until they find a bar. They should have walked, it isn�t
that far away. It�s comfortable to just sit at the bar with Dean and drink. For
once he has shut up. They both look around the bar, share looks and small
comments on people there. Dean�s gaze is stuck more often than not on some guys
at the counter. And then, after their second beer, Dean says he has to
take a leak and goes for the bathroom.
Dean�s
gone too long, Sam thinks
while he continues watching the people in the bar. There are men, college
types, whispering at the pool table before they break into loud laughter. One
starts to make his way to the restroom and the others cheer him on, which is kinda weird. The guy
doesn�t look like he needs cheering to take a piss -- that�s the
moment Sam puts two and two together, but he can�t figure out the result
through all the red haze that suddenly fills his head.
He�s
at the door to the restroom even before that other guy, and he throws it open
with so much force he hears the handle splinter against the wall. He finds Dean
around a corner in front of the stalls on his knees, pumping another man�s cock
with his fist.
�You
got to wait for your turn, buddy,� Dean says, eyes challenging, the moment
Sam�s shadow falls onto him, and then moans like the fucking whore he is, when
that other guy rams his ugly cock down his throat again.
�I
don�t think so,� Sam answers; the next moment, the �John� is on his knees,
gasping for air because Sam has punched him effectively just under the chin on
his windpipe.
�Hey...
what the hell did you do that for?� Dean starts, when the man who had needed
encouragement from his buddies over at the pool table comes through the door.
�What�s
going on here?� For a second
it looks like he wants to kneel down to see after his friend on the floor but
Sam gives him a look that makes the guy turn and run... and he comes back with all the other four from the
pool table.
�I�m
not your fucking kept boy!� Dean yells, but grins. Bastard. Gonna teach you!
Sam
sees one of the guys bring a pool cue. Fuck.
He stands in front of Dean to protect him the moment pain explodes where the
cue met his left shoulder. Sam�s way too angry to answer so lets his fists fly;
they speak for him.
Way too long since he�d been in a bar brawl.
No
thoughts - just fight. Get everything out of your system.
�
Sam
loses some time, 15 minutes maybe.
They�re
in the car, motor not running, and he looks down at his knuckles, most of them
swollen; over some of them the skin is broken and blood is still wet all over
his hands. Dean holds his right hand to the side of his face, works his jaw
before he spits blood out of the car�s window. There are bruises like a
bracelet around Dean�s left underarm, shaped like Sam�s fingers. Upon looking
out of the windshield, Sam realizes they�re not in front of the bar, but
already parked in front of the motel.
Sam
raises his hand to check on Dean, but he shrinks away and Sam�s stomach drops. Fuck. What did he do?
Very
slowly now, trying to not make Dean even more uncomfortable, Sam gets out of
the car.
�Would
you fucking stop! FUCK. SAM. STOP.�
Dean yelled and tried to tear him off of one of the guys. All of them were on
the floor already, more or less unmoving. Sam tried to shrug Dean off, turned,
unluckily, hit Dean�s face with his elbow. Dean kicked him and Sam grabbed for
him, draged him out of the bathroom, uncaring.
�I�m
sorry. I shouldn�t- I just didn�t want them using you- I didn�t mean to hurt
you, Dean.� Sam toes dirt, standing in front of the passenger door.
He
opens the car door, gets out. �Fucking hypocrite,� Dean spits like venom. Sam�s
taken aback by Dean�s stormy green eyes showing his rampant anger. Dean makes
his way to their hotel door, leaves Sam standing there.
�So
that�s what you want. Should I have gotten in line with the others and let you
blow me?� Dean turns around, teeth gritted. �That�s
what you wanted, Dean?� Angry, Sam takes a step toward Dean.
�Didn�t
need your knight-in-shining-armor shit either!�
Despite Dean going backwards, Sam feels like he�s attacked full force. Why the fuck does Dean make an abject joke out of
everything that has to do with feelings?
�I
didn�t save you.� Sam snorts. If he wants
it like this, Dean gets it. �Not from them anyway.
I just put them in their places. You�re on my
money and as long as you are, you do what I
say.� Sam crowds Dean against the hotel door.
�Oh,
we�re back to that discussion. Sure. Fuck
me.� Dean steps forward and continues dangerously low key: �Every guy on this earth would use my
time better than you!�
Sam
shoves him against the hotel door, one hand on the side of Dean�s face, thumb
under his jaw and the other fisted in Dean�s shirt. �So that�s what you want?
Can�t find your place without a cock to blow or a prick up your ass?� Sam
breathes hard before continuing. �How fucking needy are you?�
Dean
stares, wide-eyed, tries to come up with some kind of comeback; Sam can
practically see the gears turning frantically. His hands are on Sam�s pecs, trying to hold him off.
�Really,
I don�t want to know about how much you hate yourself or think you�re
disgusting or whatever.� Sam�s eyes flicker down to Dean�s lips. �Fuck, Dean. I
can�t let you do this to yourself. You�re better than this.�
Dean
stops pushing at Sam and lets his hands drop, lets them rest on Sam�s hips.
He�s looking everywhere else but in Sam�s eyes.
�I
don�t wanna do this to you. I don�t wanna be that kind of guy,� Sam says, breathless, and moves
forward at the same time. They�re so close now, their bodies touch, hip and
shoulder. �Can I...� Sam stumbles over the words,
unsure, but he needs to ask, he needs to hear the answer, the allowance even
more. �Can I kiss you?�
There�s
wonder in Dean�s eyes � suddenly - and uncertainty, then he shakes his head,
looks away again. �Not up for sale.� His voice is rough, broken.
Unhappy,
Sam adjusts his hand so Dean�s chin is between his thumb and forefinger. He
makes Dean look up at him, gets even closer to him. �I want you, Dean. I don�t want to buy you.�
Dean
closes his eyes, Sam watches Dean�s tongue dart out to wet his lips.
�Give
me this one thing because you
want it, Dean.�
Dean
shivers under Sam�s hands and Sam almost misses the small nod of Dean�s head.
�Okay?� Sam whispers, close enough that he feels the warmth of Dean�s lips
against his mouth, that he breathes the same air as- Please, don�t be my brother.
�Sammy,�
Dean says, it�s more movement against Sam�s lips than a word he can hear, but
Sam gets the please in it
anyway and he doesn�t hold back when he dives in to kiss Dean.
Dean
tastes like blood and come and it should be disgusting but it only drives Sam
to lick deeper and suck it all out of Dean�s mouth. He needs to have more �
needs to have everything � needs to fucking own
Dean.
They
kiss, harsh and biting. They press and shove against each other in search of
friction for their cocks. �Inside,� Dean hisses before
he goes for Sam�s mouth again, clinks their teeth together accidently. Sam
grabs Dean�s belt, holds him close while he gets out the key for the door.
Before
it bangs shut again behind them, Dean�s already stripped out of his jacket and
shirt and helps Sam to lose his own clothes. Halfway naked they�re even
hungrier for another, Dean cries out when Sam bites his unpierced
nipple. Sam hesitates only a second before he closes his lips around the silver
stud and sucks on Dean�s other nipple.
Please
don�t be my brother. I want you like this forever.
Dean
undoes Sam�s belt and rips his jeans buttons open, touches and squeezes his
ass. He shoves at Sam until he sits on the edge of one of the beds. Dean is
already kneeling between Sam�s legs and drags the boots, then jeans and socks
of him while he slurps on Sam�s cockhead, spit running everywhere.
Sam
can�t withstand this kind of exquisite pleasure too long, so he has to push
Dean away, stop him or he�ll make a mess.
�Fuck.
Stop. Come here. Come on,� Sam says between breaths and pulls on Dean�s upper
arms to get him to stand up. It seems like magic that Dean�s already shed all
of his clothes, too, and Sam finds himself eye-to-eye with another man�s cock
for the first time in his life. Tentatively, Sam bows forward and puts his lips
against the tip and when he draws back, precome
sticks to his lower lip.
Dean�s
eyes are as big as saucers when Sam meets them just before he lets his tongue
peek out and lick Dean�s fluids away. He savors the
taste of Dean sceptically, then smiles and goes back for more. Dean�s breath hitches, a high sound, when Sam takes all of Dean�s
cockhead inside his mouth and swirls his tongue around it.
Sam
lets his hands wander, let them roam and touch naked skin but he has a goal and
he�s zeroing in quickly. He lets his palms slide up Dean�s legs on his ass and
his fingertips seem to just accidently
touch puckered skin...
It�s
a fucking blessing that Dean�s a pro and takes over the second Sam starts to fumble. So he�s hasn�t done this before, whatever, he
hasn�t done a thousand other things. He�s not afraid. Dean doesn�t
guide him, doesn�t talk him through. Dean just does what has to be done,
prepares himself, and then turns away from Sam, gets on his hands and knees.
�Hey,
wait, no. I want- I want to look at you. At your face.�
Sam says and Dean�s eyes flick down to Sam�s engorged dick.
He
shakes his head. �Not gonna happen.�
�Please?�
Puppy eyes.
Dean
rolls his eyes. �Manipulative bastard,� he says but crawls toward Sam anyway.
He stuffs most of the bedding behind Sam�s back. �Lean
against it.�
A
heartbeat later, Dean is on him, holds both their dicks together with a sure hand
and pumps them with his still lube slicked hand. Sam gasps in pleasure. They
move in sync easily, it just clicked between them, and Sam thinks, this has nothing to do with the fact that maybe we
could be brothers.
�Where
did you hide that?� Sam asks, stunned, when Dean produces a condom out of thin
air. Dean winks at him and expertly rolls the condom down Sam�s cock without
ever losing the rhythm they�ve got going. Sam forgets any question he had, the
moment Dean scoots up and then sinks oh
so slowly down onto his lap until Sam�s completely sheathed inside
him.
Sam�s
so surprised by the feeling of hot velvet all around his cock, he forgets to
breath and doesn�t dare to move. He just stares up at Dean who has thrown his
head back, eyes closed but mouth open, breathing rapidly.
Sam
waits � frozen � until Dean meets his eyes again. Dean grins wickedly, puts his
hands on Sam�s shoulders and starts lifting himself
up. Sam groans and then slides his hands up Dean�s thighs offering support.
Dean�s so hot around him and now Dean is moving, the pleasure is nearly
unbearable.
�Fuck
yeah!� Dean moans through clenched teeth and sets a faster, harder rhythm. Sam
helps him, pushes Dean�s weight up with every lift. The strain makes his upper
arms burn and sweat build on his pecs. It feels fucking fantastic.
�Not
gonna last,� Sam whispers not two minutes later.
Sam
sees Dean gripping his own cock with his right hand and squeeze. �Can�t say I�m
so far behind,� Dean grounds out and obviously struggles to hold his orgasm back.
�Let
me see you come. Come first. For me,� Sam pants and is rewarded instantly by
Dean shooting hot come all over Sam�s rippling six pack. Sam pumps his hips up,
once, twice and then comes up inside Dean, shuddering.
For
a few moments, they stay connected like this, their panting and heart beats
slowing.
Halfheatedly, Dean cleans Sam�s belly with the edge of the
comforter and then collapses onto him. Sam withdraws, pulls the condom off and
knots it with one hand, lets it fall over the edge of the bed.
He
searches for Dean�s mouth and kisses him deeply, intimately. Sam wants to say
something, wants to let Dean know what he feels but �Best sex ever� or �Thank
you� are really childish things to say, so he just strokes his thumb against
Dean�s cheek and presses another small kiss against Dean�s lips.
Dean turns away, mumbling protest about
cuddling and then fakes sleep. Sam drifts off, holding onto Dean and listening
to him breathe.

ELEVEN

Sam
hasn�t felt this... accomplished
ever before. It�s like all holidays, Christmas and Easter and whatnot on one
day. This guy at his side, the road ahead, a secret to find out, like a hunt �
he has everything he ever wanted. All parts of him busy: head, heart, soul and
sex.
For
a second, Sam�s thoughts drift to Jess. It�s not something he wants to deal
right now, so he pulls back quickly. He glances over at Dean.
Dean
stares out of the window, unmoving. Like a dark cloud on an otherwise sunny
day, Sam feels Dean�s tension. He seems ready for flight rather than fight.
�What�s
going on?� Sam finally asks, sighing internally. Who�s the one brooding now?
Dean
takes a deep breath before he answers, still not
looking at Sam. �This just doesn�t feel right. I know I am not your brother � you know that I�m not really
your brother, deep down, you know that or the whole incest-gig had thrown you,
too. I have an excuse � you�re very tasty
man meat � you haven�t. I don�t remember you, but you totally
remember me.�
Dean
definitely has a point. Sam
shouldn�t have been able to throw all inhibitions of sex with his own brother
out of the window.
He�s
not my brother.
Sam
holds onto that thought. He doesn�t want to think about any other alternative.
Doesn�t really want to think about Dean being the Dean he left for college. Bitter, cold, disappointed.
�Do
you really want me to be your brother?�
Dean asks and sounds ten years too young.
Sam
stays silent. Every other mile he considers just turning the car around and
driving off to wherever. Leave everything behind but Dean. This Dean with him,
he could forget about hunting, could forget about school, could just live a
life somewhere, simple but happy. Tempting.
�I
don�t know.� Too late, Sam lies. �Look, we figure it
out. Somehow.� Sam puts his hand on Dean�s thigh and
squeezes. Dean stares at his fingers like they�re alien. �If you�re not my
brother, we�ll figure it out. If you�re my brother � there is nothing to figure
out.� Sam smiles encouragingly.
Dean
shrugs uncomfortable, still staring at Sam�s hand on his leg.
The
whole rest of the drive, Sam doesn�t feel Dean relax under his grip but he
refuses to let go.
TWELVE

�Hey,
Bobby,� Sam greets.
�Sam
� Dean.� Bobby nods at each of them.
�I�m
not Dean.�
�Sure
you are.� Bobby grins, pets Dean�s shoulder.
�Nope.� Dean shrugs.
�He�s
lost his memories.�
�No,
I haven�t � I�m just not his or your Dean for that matter. You�re not my
father, are you?� Dean grimaces. Shocked, Bobby steps back.
Sam
groans.
�Where
is Dean?� Bobby asks, now wary.
�He is Dean!�
�Could
be one of these things...�
Bobby squeezes his eyes almost shut.
�Oh,
we�re back to the hunting topic?� Dean grins.
�No!�
�What do you know?� Sam and
Bobby say at the same time.
�I
have no idea. You�re racist, self-righteous angry
white men for all I know... or serial killers... or both?� Dean
shrugs.
�Sam!?� Bobby�s face is aghast. �Who... what is he? Why did you bring him here?�
�I�m
Dean. Just not your
Dean. I�m a whore on the streets of sunny San Fran and he paid me to come here,
visit you.� In shock, Sam sees Dean winking at Bobby and, like an afterthought,
Dean adds his tongue, darting out to wet his lower lip: �Special services included.�
Bobby
chokes. He presses his fist against his mouth. Sam didn�t know Bobby could turn
so pale. All the monsters and serious
first aid in their shared past, Bobby never looked this revolted. Sam feels kinda sorry that he has to drag Bobby into this, but if
Bobby can�t help them, there are slim chances anyone else can.
�Bobby.
I really need your help,� Sam begs, suddenly afraid to be shot down.
�Sure,
you do.� Bobby rolls his eyes, scratches his neck. �Get inside � and don�t let
him out of your sight, Sam.�
As
if! Sam thinks and
nudges Dean with his shoulder to go into the house. Several protection
and revealing charms and spells edged, drawn, burned inside the framework of
Bobby�s front door don�t seem to do anything to Dean. Sam catches Bobby�s skeptical gaze and shrugs.
�Awesome!�
Sam envies Bobby when the old friend hands Dean a beer and gets a real smile
for it. They all sit down at the kitchen table and Sam tells Bobby of their
chance meeting in the bar - of course leaving out all the dirty details - and
how they drove straight up here to find a way to make Dean Dean again.
�And
if he�s right? If he�s not your brother?� Bobby says
after mulling over all the facts.
Sam
stares back at Bobby, torn. If Dean is Dean he gets his brother back, baggage
included. If Dean�s not Dean� well, things would totally go xxx-rated. Fuck.
Doubtful
of Sam�s intentions, Bobby frowns but keeps waiting for an answer.
�I
just� I need to know, Bobby.�
Sam pleads with puppy dog eyes, and next to him, he can see Dean rolling his
eyes.
Bobby
nods, slowly, still obviously questioning what�s going on inside Sam�s head.
Sometimes Bobby just is too perceptive to be comfortable to be around. Maybe
it�s just the guilt balling up tight now in Sam�s belly.
�Look,
why don�t you go out in the garage. Impala�s there. See if you can tickle out
some memories with familiar stuff or something.� Bobby looks meaningfully at
Sam. Translation: Get out while I make some calls and go through some books. No
civilians are to be involved further than necessary.
�Great idea!� Over-enthusiastic, Sam jumps to his feet. He needs to
get out from under Bobby�s speculating eyes and busy himself with something
else rather than thinking about how Dean felt lava-hot around his cock last
night. Will I ever have that again?
�Impala? Like in Chevy Impala?� Dean
perks up.
�Hmhm.� Bobby nods slowly.
�Sweeeet.� Dean stands up, clearly interested in
the car, and he follows Sam outside. The moment the door closes behind them,
Sam feels Dean pinch his ass.
�Hey!�
Sam complains and tries to slap Dean�s hand away. Dean grins at him openly,
green eyes sparkling with mischief.
�Ashamed,
you�ve been in the sack with me?�
�What?! Ssssh!� Sam looks around for listeners. Paranoid.
�No!�
�Then
what, still hanging onto the brother theory?� Dean winks at Sam.
�You
saw Bobby�s reaction. He greeted you as Dean. He didn�t believe you weren�t
Dean when you said so.�
�If you say so.� Dean shrugs and waits for Sam to open the garage
door. �Is the Impala as roomy as they say it is?�
�Pretty much.� Sam shoves at the door with his shoulder; it refuses
to open.
�Roomy
enough for both of us big
guys� doing, you know��
Horrified,
Sam stares at Dean. �You�re not serious! Bobby could come to find us any
minute.�
�We
better be quick then.� Sam gasps when Dean�s body
slams into his from behind, Dean�s palms hit the metal door hard and it gives.
They tumble into the garage, together, barely avoiding landing in a heap in the
dirt. Way too much body contact!
Sam shrieks silently.
�That�s
it?� Sam nods at Dean when he asks, pointing to the tarp-covered car shape.
Quickly,
they strip the Impala of the tarp. Bobby must have put some hours of cleaning
and polishing into it; it shines like it was brand-new. Its chrome parts
sparkle like the piercing in Dean�s nipple. Fuck.
Think of something else.
Dean
slides behind the wheel with his usual grace. It gives Sam a stitch inside. He�s my brother. Sam closes his eyes,
concentrates on breathing.
�Get
in here, lazy ass.� Sam hears Dean calling, so he follows. What else is there
to do?
He
settles in shotgun, watches Dean fingering everything from the window crank
over the dashboard to the gear-shift.
�Look
at this, Sammy.� Sam rolls his eyes when Dean grins at him wickedly and pumps
his fist around the lever as if it was a cock. My cock.
He twitches and is about to break down and follow Dean�s suggestion when Dean�s
interest is piqued by something tied to the rear view mirror. �What�s this?�
Dean asks and makes a grab for it.
Sam
watches Dean�s fingers close around the pendant; Sam gave that to him one
Christmas a million years ago. Dean hadn�t taken it off since. Weird, Sam thinks, I didn�t notice it was missing on this Dean but it
hurts to know now, that Dean left it behind.
Sam
smiles ruefully and looks back into Dean�s face.
Dean�s
pale and his eyes are wide. Horrified. Revolted.
He knows.

He�s my brother.
He remembers everything.

THIRTEEN

Sam
watches Dean stumble out of the car, follows him out of the garage out into the
night. They�re in the middle of car wrecks and it�s
fitting.
Sam�s
overjoyed with relief that Dean�s back. At the same time, he�s terrified of
Dean�s reaction, if the panic right now is any indication. Dean�s been a whore. That takes some
time to get used to.
�Welcome
back, Dean,� Sam says and smiles his trust-me-calm-down-smile.
Dean
just stares at him as if he was the one who lost it.
�Welcome
back?!� Dean croaks. �That�s all you have to say?�
Confused,
Sam takes a step toward where Dean stands, bowed over, hands
on his knees, breathing hard. �Do you remember...?�
�I
fucking remember! I remember everything!!�
�That�s
good, Dean. That�s good for... working through it.� Sam pats Dean�s back.
�Don�t fucking touch me!� Dean hisses and shrugs Sam off.
�It�s
okay if you don�t want to be touched right now. After what you�ve been
through...�
�After what I have been through?!?� Dean yells, disbelieve in wide eyes. �After what you put me through!�
�I...
I just wanted to help you!�
�Are
you fucking kidding me?�
�When
I found you... I just couldn�t leave you there. It wasn�t right. I needed to
make sure you were you, or not you. Either way, I had to know.� Sam�s irritated
now.
�And
you waited to find out after�� Dean breaks off, unable
to even say it.
�I
didn�t know!� Even to Sam�s own ears it now sounds ridiculous.
�Sam � not funny. You used me. You know � fuck � I�d have never agreed
to something like that!�
Dean�s face is torn with disgust, with regret. �I�m your brother, Sammy, your big brother. You
should know that I�d never ever touch you like that. I was always there to
protect you and I � I�d never used your rely on me for something so -wrong.�
�But
you wanted...�
�It�s
not about what I want � what I wanted. Brothers
don�t fuck each other. They just don�t. I�m not into incest, I�m not even sure
if I�m so much into guys, actually! There�s definitely nothing beyond brotherly
feelings here.� Dean points at his heart, breathes. �You fucked up, Sam. I
didn�t know it was wrong � you did and you still went through with it all. How
am I supposed to trust you? Next time I�m unable to give my consent you try it
again?�
�Dean,
I�d never...�
�But
SAMMY you have!�
�I
didn�t know you were my brother...�
�Oh
come on, how are the chances there are two of me? Sam, you know me all your
life because I am your
brother and we lived in each others pockets. There�s no way in hell you weren�t
sure. You just didn�t want me
to be.�
�That�s
not true � I-�
�Tell
me you don�t want this to continue?�
Sam�s
face flames red.
�How
can I live with this, Sammy? Knowing you want to jump my bones despite me being
your big brother, despite your knowledge that I�d never do that to you because you are my little brother?�
Dean turns away. �I can�t deal with this shit. And fucking stop
the crying � that doesn�t change anything at all.�
�I�m
so sorry, Dean...�
�Sorry
doesn�t change anything either.� Dean slams his fist against the wall.
�Dean-�
�No
Sam � we�re done. I�ll get the car ready and you get your things, tell Bobby
good-bye � I take you back to Stanford and you shut the fuck up and live your
normal life.�
�And
you?�
�Oh
let�s see... hunting or whoring in your neighborhood
� well, it�s really hard to
decide.�
�Dean.�
�NO, SAM, THERE IS NOTHING IN STANFORD I�LL EVER WANT TO
GO BACK TO.�

FOURTEEN

Sam
feels five years old because he�s barely able to hold in the tears. The Impala
hums with aggressive power and Dean drives too fast,
too hard. Other than saying good-bye to a speechless Bobby, Dean hasn�t said a
word, hasn�t put on music, hasn�t even looked at Sam.
This
is worse than the first time he left for Stanford � Dean was unhappy, Sam
thinks, a little bit betrayed, but he had understood Sam�s wish for a normal
life. The drive to the bus station then had been tense � they didn�t know what
to say to each other � but it didn�t feel as much as a goodbye-forever as this
one.
Eight
hours in, after Dean stopped at the shoulder of the road for a quick piss and
then continued driving, Sam tries. �I�m-� is all he gets
out before Dean says in a collected, deadly voice: �You shut your trap or you
can hitchhike your way back.� Sam does shut up.
It
takes them another eight hours and they�re in front of Sam and Jess� apartment.
There�s only a tick in Dean�s jaw when Sam looks at his brother before opening
his door.
�Dean-�
�Good-bye,
Sam,� Dean says and Sam feels tears bubbling forth again.
�Dean...�
Dean�s
cell rings and he puts it to his ear, intent on the speaker�s voice, and waves
Sam off. For a couple of seconds, Sam just stands there � uncomprehending in
the cold indifference Dean shows him before he slowly pushes the door closed.
He retreats with a feeling of loss so deep that he wants to throw up. He�s
barely taken his hand off the Impala before Dean speeds
off, tires screeching on asphalt, spitting stones at Sam.
Sam
stares after the red taillights of the Impala, long after the car has turned
corners.
Funny
how everything he ever wanted doesn�t feel enough
anymore without his brother in it. He turns and looks at his apartment; Jess
will be waiting, and he really shouldn�t fuck that up as well. The interview is
tomorrow and he�s got to clear his head for that.
There�s
no choice anymore � Stanford is the only way left.
Slowly
he makes his way inside and up the stairs. The door�s not locked but inside
everything is dark. He wonders for a second why Jess didn�t lock the door when
she�d obviously gone out, but decides to not be paranoid about it. This is
normal life with normal people.
There
are cookies waiting for him, and he smiles because he loves Jess. He loves Jess. He�s been distracted,
sure, Dean had to be saved from a life of whoring � it got complicated, but
it�s over now in more way than just one
- but he�s back to before, to his normal life. He can
make it work again.
He
lets himself fall back on the bed, enjoys the taste of Jess-baked chocolate
cookies on his tongue and decides to wait for Jess to appear. Everything smells
of her and he misses her suddenly, wants to bury himself inside of her to feel
connected, cared for, loved. He can have this � her and a normal life, a lawyer
career and 2.5 kids, a house behind a picket fence and a dog to bark at the
postman. He�ll make it work. He won�t mess that up. No, he won�t.
Something wet lands on his forehead.
Again.
Drops?
Feels
like warm liquid between his fingers and he opens his eyes to look at his hand,
stares into Jess� pained eyes instead.
A tear opening her belly and blood pouring forth,
raining down on him.
More
and more blood and roaring fire, female screams, burning heat.
The smell of burned flesh melts both his
lives together and there�s nothing left for him to fight for, to hold onto.
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Rougher Than Before

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THIRTEEN

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