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Six Months	By : Anonymous_Name Category: Supernatural > Slash - Male/Male > Dean/Sam Views: 3165 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: In no way do I claim ownership of, or make any money from, Supernatural or the characters within. I merely enjoy making them dance for me. Dance puppets!

Chapter List
- 1-Six Months
- 2-Chapter 2
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            The morning came, as it inevitably does, bringing painful shafts of light to stab into Sam’s unaccustomed eyes. Once he could open them fully the rude morning gleam also revealed the unconscious and drooling form of Dean slumped over the motel table. The bottle still grasped loosely in his hand was three quarters gone. Sam took in the sight dejectedly.
            Obviously, Dean was never supposed to know about his little arrangement with Azazel, but clearly this was what the fiend had been planning the entire time. He would do what the angels could not, and drive the Winchesters apart. Sam had hoped that when the time came he could simply tell Dean as little as possible and hope that his relief would outweigh his curiosity. Now it would be infinitely more complicated. Sam couldn’t imagine what it would be like to know what Dean was out doing every time he turned his back, if the roles were reversed, but of course that’s why Azazel manipulated events this way. He was banking on Dean’s torment over his brother’s deal being even more painful than the torments of the entirety Hell would have been. Six months of watching mystery wounds come and go on Sam’s body; six months of his imagination treating him to graphic images of the multitude of tortures his brother was undergoing, all to keep him on Earth.
            He’s worth it. Sam’s inner voice asserted for what was likely the millionth time. It was his mantra now. Dean would do the same for him, he knew. He had seen time and time again how much his big brother was willing to give if Sam asked for it. It had been that way since the beginning Sometimes Sam found himself breathless and humbled by Dean’s capacity for love and sacrifice. Castiel, Henry Winchester, Bobby, and Sam himself, Dean would die for any one of them. Sam envied him. There was only one person the younger Winchester had ever been able to love so completely and he was currently passed out cold on a rickety imitation-wood table.
            Dean woke to a migraine to make all regular old headaches bow down and pay tribute. He was also immediately aware of a pair of wary brown eyes tracking his progress from sleep to the waking world.
            “That look isn’t helping this headache, you know.” Was his gruff good morning.
            Without reply Sam rose from the bed and retrieved a bottle of generic ibuprofen from his duffel bag. It was the best he could do considering this was all his fault anyway. When he approached the table there was-barely-any hesitation when entering Dean’s strike zone. This wasn’t his first hungover-Dean rodeo, and a little caution couldn’t hurt given the conversation they’d had last night. Dean might just punch him out of sheer frustration.
            The clacking of the pill bottle on the table was like a dynamite explosion in Dean’s brain, but he resisted the flinch. He lifted the bottle and regarded it as if it were some rare and exotic poison rather that an over-the-counter painkiller. Shaking his head slightly, he set the bottle back down without taking any of the contents. There was a silence before it seemed that Dean had made his mind up about something.
            “So, what’s in the news today?” Sam pulled a face, the exact one Dean had been expecting, at his brother’s nonchalant tone.
            “Don’t you think we should, maybe, talk before we jump right into another hunt?”
            “No.”
            “But Dean-“
            “No, Sam!” The yell hurt Dean’s head, and apparently, Sam’s feelings; given the heartbroken look he was giving his older brother. It looked like for once he might leave well enough alone, but then that just wouldn’t have been Sam.
            “Look, Dean. We can’t exactly function as a team if you can’t even look me in the eye.” Just for spite Dean raised his intense gaze from the tabletop to meet Sam’s.
            “See, its fine. Now can we just find some evil mother-humper to waste, please?” When Sam opened his mouth to retort Dean just raised a hand. “Just stop. There’s nothing to talk about. Your not going to stop this sick deal, and I’m never going to be okay with it, so we can either find a hunt or just sit in this stupid room and stare at one another.” Thinking his point sufficiently made Dean made to rise and begin packing their meager belongings, only to be pushed back down in the chair by one of Sam’s giant meat mitts. The sudden change in his center of gravity did a number on his migraine-weakened stomach and did nothing to improve his mood.
            “Fine.” Sam growled at him.
            “Fine, what?” Dean barked back.
            “Let’s just sit here and stare at one another, then. Better than some scum-sucker ganking us both because they just happen to have better distraction-fodder than usual.” Resolutely, Sam plopped down into the only other chair and crossed his arms, as if he was prepared to wait forever.
            In his weakened state Dean could only muster a barely-threatening growl in response to Sam’s belligerence. His head hurt and he was too damn tired to argue about not arguing. With another grumble and no explanation he rose painfully from his chair and marched to the bathroom. He wondered to himself how long he could make a shower last without looking too suspicious.

            Not that he’d ever admit it, but Sam was relieved when his brother retreated to the bathroom. Shower time was, in large part, the only private time they ever got, and boy did they need a little space this morning. He could only imagine what a long drive to their next hunt would have been like had he not insisted that they stay. Not that that was the only reason. He’d meant it when he said they were more susceptible to attack in their state of turmoil, but there was another reason still that he refused to move on yet. In truth, Sam was terrified. Terrified that, if they left now, they would slowly begin to drift apart as had happened so many times in the past. Maybe if they stayed here, actually gave themselves the time to come to an understanding about Sam’s, arrangement, they could survive it. The younger Winchester couldn’t bear the thought of his beloved big brother, the only man he’d ever loved, being disgusted by him.
            Delusions. How is he supposed to look at you now? Now that you’re a demon’s whore? How can he even trust you on a hunt when you’re nothing but Azazel’s fuck-toy? He could never love something as corrupt as you. Overwhelmed by despair Sam hung his head in his hands.

            The hot water of the shower soothed Dean’s muscles, sore from the tension of the night before, not to mention his choice of sleeping location. He was using his moment of peace to think of anything but Sam, and failing miserably. All trains of thought eventually led back to his brother and how he’d put his Sammy into this fucked up situation. Some big brother he was. Too busy off drinking and whoring to notice that Sam had got himself in so deep, and he had no idea if or how he could ever get him out from under Azazel, literally.
            That was all it took, just the fraction of the memory of what he’d interrupted yesterday, and he felt a familiar stirring in his dick. He was disgusted with himself, and apparently his downstairs brain found that to be quite the turn-on. Cock now painfully hard, Dean tried to fight off the invading images of Sam’s mostly-naked writhing body, but the more he tried to block out the images the more vivid they became. His hand moved to his crotch unbidden and took firm hold of his shaft, so firm it almost hurt. His hand began to pump violently, working over his thick cock as it had done so many times in the past, and yet this time he wanted to be sick. It was also the most aroused he’d ever been.
            Sam’s chocolate brown eyes closed in concentration. Hands stretched and chained around the tree. Beautiful muscular body bent and ramrod tense as he took his abuse. A man thrusting into him. But then the face of the man behind Sam morphed from the yellow-eyed demon into Dean’s own visage, and as his mind recoiled from the image he came into his hand. He jerked and spasmed until the final waves of sickly sweet pleasure receded, and he was left with only the knowledge of how truly depraved he was.
            Though ashamed, Dean made an effort to act as normal as possible once drying off and returning to the living area where the beautiful and infinitely frustrating subject of his little session waited. The sight that greeted him was unexpected to say the least. Sam had the bottle of Jack turned up, draining what remained in the bottle in a single gulp. He slammed the bottle back on the table, and pulled a face at the burn.
            “Little early to be hittin’ the sauce there, isn’t it Sammy?” He asked, dressing slowly.
            “Not today.”
            “Come on now, there’s only room for one borderline alcoholic in this family.”
            “Just stop-look, just quit mothering me and have a fucking drink already.”
            “Man, this situation sure has sucked all the sense of humor out of you.”
            “Well maybe I’m just not as good at laughing everything off the way you seem to be. Sorry.” Sam was in a full on bitch mode, and despite himself Dean could feel his anger build. Sam had always known precisely how to push his buttons.
            In more ways than one. To this, Dean politely told his subconscious to fuck off. He had the distinct impression he was going to need more alcohol for this conversation, and retrieved a beer from one of the six-packs in the mini-fridge.
            “In case you hadn’t noticed. I aint laughing.”
            “Well that makes two of us then.” There was an awkward pause before Dean tried another tack.
            “Maybe we should call Bobby-“
            “What?!”
            “Maybe he can help us find a way to get you out of this thing.”
            “Did you forget the part where we’ve already been through every text he owns trying to get you out of your deal? There’s no cheating a demon, they kinda’ invented the concept.”
            “Well, we’ll just have to look again.” Sam gave his brother a tired look, but there was something else in his expression that Dean couldn’t quite place.
            “Do you remember your first hunt?” Dean was taken aback by the random topic shift, and it probably wasn’t helping that he was already finishing his second beer from the six-pack.
            “Umm, sure, yeah. Poltergeist in, Stillwater, I think.”
            “Tulsa, but yeah. You and dad just dropped me at Bobby’s and then you were gone. You didn’t say anything to me. Not when you’d be back, not where you’d be going, nothing.”
            “Aw, come on, Sam. We were only gone for four days, simple salt-and-burn and back on the road.”
            “You want to know what I remember from those four days? I remember not being able to sleep because every time I closed my eyes I saw you bleeding and screaming for help. I remember Bobby sending me to my room constantly because my pacing was “giving him the creeps”, but mostly I just remember the silence. Bobby was around, but he was always buried in his books or playing police chief or head-of-FBI for other hunters, he didn’t have time for an emotionally unstable twelve-year-old. I had never even been a night without you, and suddenly I have no one. It made me realize that my life, who I am, doesn’t mean anything without you.”
            “Four days?” Dean let out a dark chuckle. “Yeah, that four whole days must have been just awful for you. I guess I wouldn’t know anything about that considering I spent two years with nightmares of all the evil sons-of-bitches that could just waltz in and nab you like candy off the shelf at that fancy school of yours.”
            “That isn’t fair.”
            “Right, because this situation, shit, our whole lives have just reeked of what is good and just.”
            “I told you why I had to leave.”
            “Yeah I remember the taglines. Tyrant father, wife and kids, normal life, that about it?” The bitterness in Dean’s voice was palpable.
            “Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?”
            “At least for another six months.” The words weren’t meant for Sam, but he’d obviously heard as his mouth fell open.
            “What did you just say?” Sensing that he may have actually gone too far this time, and realizing that his alcohol intake was about to get him into more trouble than he could currently handle, he tried to backtrack.
            “Nothing, man. Maybe we should get out of here, huh? Go grab something to eat?” Sam ignored his attempt completely.
            “So that’s what you think? I’m just waiting around for all this to be over, and then, what? Go back to studying law? Go live in the apartment where Jess was killed? Pretend like the last two years didn’t happen?”
            “Wouldn’t you?” While Sam opened and closed his mouth like a trout, Dean continued. “It’s not like anyone would blame you. Sure, you might be sad for a while, you might even miss me, but in the end you could move on. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?” For once Dean hoped that his dense little brother would take the hint. He was giving Sam and out, but he couldn’t look him in the eye for fear Sam would see how much he didn’t want to.
            “Not anymore.”
            “So what do you want then?”
            “You, not to go to Hell, for one.”
            “That’s been established, and?”
            “Nothing, let’s just focus on the one for now.”
            “Your gonna’ start making pearls with all that clamming-up your doing.”
            “Maybe your right. I think we could both use a little air, let’s go get some lunch.” Dean could tell Sam was shaking under his calm veneer.
            “Sammy? What’s the matter?” Over-protective big brother Dean couldn’t help but make an appearance at Sam’s apparent distress.
            “I’m fine, its just, some things just aren’t for sharing.”
            “I know, that’s exactly what I thought when I found you in the woods yesterday.”
            Shit! Fucking booze!
            “What are you talking about?”
            Oh well, “In for a penny-“ and all.
            “I don’t want to have to share you with him.”
            “Dean, it’s not like we do a lot of talking or anything. Are you really worried about being replaced?”
            “That’s not what I mean.”
            “Then what?”
            “I don’t like him having his slimy hands on you, okay?!” Dean rose suddenly from the table and began pacing the narrow expanse of their motel room. “He chains you up; he, hurts you. I’m your big brother! I should be able to protect you, not push you into the starring role of Sleeping with the Enemy!”
            “You’re not going to be doing much protecting if you’re in the Pit.” Sam said gently.
            To his horror Dean felt a tear slide down his cheek. Goddamn alcohol. He felt so helpless. The one person in this entire dark ugly world that he loved, and he drove him into the arms of their mother’s murderer because he couldn’t just think things through. He should have made that crossroads demon take him on the spot, then all of this would be over. He finally stopped pacing in front of his bed and slumped down onto it, head hanging.
            “Christ, what have I done, Sammy?” In the space of a heartbeat the overwhelming presence of his baby brother was nestled in beside him. A large hand gently grabbed his chin, bringing their eyes together. Dean swore that he could feel literal sparks electrifying the space between them.
            “You saved me, Dean. Now I’m just returning the favor.” Then Dean saw the first smile he’d seen out of Sam in months, small as it was, and he felt the ragged strips of his self-control unraveling all at once. Throwing aside his fear and years of pent-up need Dean closed the distance between them, claiming Sam’s lips in a short but heated kiss.
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Six Months