“This is one of the best breakfast burritos I’ve ever had,” Sam says when Dean finally braves the rest of the motel room.
“Yeah, they were really good, got them off of a food truck down by the gun shop.”
“You stock us up on ammo? I noticed we’re running low,” Sam says, asking without asking about where Dean had bought the patch in question.
“Yeah, I did, we’re restocked and ready to go,” Dean says, hesitates for a long beat where he vacillates between saying anything more or not. “That’s where I found that patch.”
“Figured,” Sam says, going an interesting shade of red, because he’s probably just confessed to some horribly kinky thing in the bathroom, and now he doesn’t know whether Dean even heard him or not.
Dean instantly feels bad that Sam’s unsure about this, he ought to rub it in, any good big brother would. But Sam’s so raw about anything personal still and he’d just tried to share something with him. “I didn’t…uh, didn’t listen when you were talking in there. I’ll be honest, I chickened out,” Dean says.
“Chickened out?” Sam asks, slow and confused.
“I mean, I wanted to hear what you had to say, but I was…wasn’t sure what it would be,” Dean says, not really saying what his main concern was. That Sam would be confessing to some kink that wasn’t wanting to fuck his own brother. Or that it was—either way, Dean wasn’t sure how he’d react.
“Do you want me to say it again?” Sam finally asks, in a low hesitant voice.
Dean looks over at his brother, curling over the remains of his breakfast, making himself small and he can’t have that, doesn’t want that, Sam needs to be himself, take up the space in the world he deserves and more. “Yeah, I do.”
Sam looks up at him with an almost hidden surprise, but then he smiles, the I’ve-got-a-secret smile that Dean has always loved. “I was just telling you that the new patch is more accurate than you probably have ever guessed about me.”
“And…?” Dean asks when Sam pauses for too long with that secret smile for him to take.
“And, it’s because of precisely how I’m kinky,” Sam says, finally looking at him straight across the space between them, nothing hidden in his face now. Dean grabs at the bedspread underneath him to steady himself when he sees what’s on Sam’s face. It’s unbridled lust, desire and something even more, like some look of pure love out of a fucking rom-com. And he doesn’t know what to do with this, with what Sam’s sharing with him, with how it makes him feel: on the surface: holy shit no no no and on the deep inside: fucking finally mine mine mine.
Sam sees that—oh god, he sees. And he also sees the war Dean’s having internally. He waits for Dean’s response, patient and already forgiving.
And Dean can’t say it, can’t put it into words, how much he wants Sam right back, how he always has and always will. He wants to…more than anything he wants to give it right back to Sam. But he just—can’t.
So he doesn’t say anything.
Instead he runs.
He’s about twenty miles out of town, and he’s turned off his cell because the text messages and voice mails keep pouring in one after the other. And he’s just going to delete them all anyway. How could he have done this to his brother? How could he have ruined them? Fucking predictable is what this is. Screwing everything up while trying to keep things on an even keel between them.
Tears are about to come and he won’t give in to them, he’s not doing that again to himself. Four solid years of crying was enough, thanks. He shakes his head and the road comes back into focus, he’s lost sight of the fact that he is probably doing eighty on a two lane road. And that’s unfortunate because now there’s a pickup truck crossing both lanes, making a left to go back towards town. And he’s braking hard, veering off the road, into the gravel and then bouncing up and out of the drainage ditch back onto the blacktop, spinning several times and finally coming to a stop.
The car’s still running, apparently he didn’t hit the truck, because it’s long gone down the road. And now he’s pointed back that way too, back towards Sam. The expected thing for him to do would be to u-turn it and keep going. To keep running. And today is not that day. Not after that sweet peek he was just gifted with, that all too short view into what Sam’s been keeping hidden too.
Freaks together forever, it’s their family-of-two motto, right?
Dean steps on the accelerator, the car leaps forward, he quickly catches up to and passes the slow-moving pickup truck, ignores the shaking fist and middle finger of the truck driver and eventually fishtails his way back into the motel parking lot. Sam’s right where he left him, still in the chair at the small table. The breakfast burrito wrapper is balled up and next to the wastebasket across the room.
The only thing that’s different that he cares about in this room is Sam’s face, that look, the one that had made Dean run isn’t there anymore. It’s been replaced with this bland accepting look that makes him want to scream. Sam shouldn’t have to put up with this, take this, from anyone, especially not from him.
“I shouldn’t have left like that, it was a dick move, and I’m sorry,” Dean says, shutting the heat and light out with the door closing.
Sam doesn’t say anything, the bland accepting look doesn’t change, even when he blinks slowly like he’s trying to keep things unfocused.
“Sammy, c’mon, look at me,” Dean says, stepping closer to his brother, the toes of their shoes almost touching. He struggles to pull down all the barriers and walls and let his brother see inside of him again. It’s harder than it should be, because everything is on the line here, the only thing he’s ever wanted is for Sam to be happy. And the chance that his brother bravely took earlier is enough proof, it’s got to be.
Sam’s eyes travel up from the unfocused middle distance, up Dean’s torso, past his hands clenching together holding back from reaching out between them, up to the flush and red that he can feel on his chest, his neck his face and Sam is finally seeing it for real this time. It’s like the sun dawning again across his brother’s beautiful face. Seeing the same thing reflected back is what it takes to blow that bland accepting look off Sam’s face hopefully for good. Dean doesn’t ever want to see that again.
“Really?” Sam asks in this little-boy wondering voice that winds its way down into Dean’s core, it goes down inside him, shockingly deep. That one word cracking him open, wide open, and Dean answers with a smile. One that Dean hasn’t ever shown another living person. Never had a reason to.
Sam has his answer and he reaches up with those long arms of his and pulls Dean down to straddle his lap. They’re hugging and touching and Sam’s mouth is everywhere, his lips trailing traces of small kisses along Dean’s neck, the side of his face. Dean’s doing it too, his heartbeat gone wild with joy at the exhilaration of this truth finally being sung out loud.
Their lips finally find their way to each other and Dean’s never felt anything like this. It’s not like kissing himself, or anything weird like that he’d imagined in his feverish teenage dreams, no it’s like kissing the part of himself he’s always been missing. It feels like welcome home, stay forever and never leave.
Sam’s standing up, somehow lifting him as he stands, a hot flush runs through Dean at the very idea, this feeling of being manhandled like he weighs nothing is so new and exhilarating. He can see why chicks dig it and nope, he’s not swooning or so he tells himself. But he is being laid out on the bed, and kissed within an inch of his life like one of those chicks in the rom-com movies he’s not-so-secretly addicted to watching.
He shivers with the recognition of this feeling, of having one hundred percent of Sam Winchester’s attention, it’s been a while and it sure as hell was never like this. But…maybe it was now that he thinks about it.
“How long?” Dean manages to gasp as Sam’s working at getting Dean’s belt buckle undone.
Sam doesn’t pause, continues with removing Dean’s jeans and boxers. “Since I was eleven,” Sam says, leaning down to set his mouth to the point of Dean’s hipbone. Dean groans as Sam sucks and bites at the skin, feeling the beginnings of a spectacular hickey being pulled to the surface as evidence of his desire.
“Wait, hold on a second, eleven? Sammy, stop for a sec,” Dean says, desperate to shut his own mouth and let Sam do whatever wonderful thing he was planning to do with his mouth next but damn, this isn’t—it can’t just be this easy, right? It’s too important to assume they’re on the same page here.
“In all the scenarios I dreamed up for this situation, you wanting to talk it all out first never figured into a single one of them. Are you serious right now?” Sam asks, sitting back on his heels, hair in a beautiful disarray, his hands never leaving contact with Dean’s hipbones.
“So I surprised you for once, get over it already,” Dean says, covering Sam’s hands with his own.
“How about you then, how long?” Sam asks, lifting his chin a little like it’s a normal challenge between two normal brothers instead of the two freaks they truly are.
“When I first started driving, so…uh fourteen I guess,” Dean admits, lifting his own chin a little in response to Sam’s challenge.
Sam smirks down at him for a long moment and then his chin comes down, the challenge now over. “I’m not going to ask why you never said anything, probably the same reason I never did. Instead, I’ll ask, how did you know?”
Dean looks up at him, his little brother, this grown man he loves more than should be possible, how can he even start to explain it? He grounds himself by squeezing Sam’s hands that are still on his hips. “It was the way I felt, when I would be driving back to you, back to whatever dive we were calling home. That everything would be right again when you’d wrap your arms around my waist and bury your head in my chest.”
Sam looks down at him with eyes brimming over not with sad, salty tears but instead with hot scalding tears of love and joy, they spill over, roll down his cheeks and soak into Dean’s naked skin. He feels baptized in this union they are about to begin. Already joined by blood, both shared and spilled, wiped up, spat out and stitched back together. Now the tears wash that residue of violence away, clearing away the doubt Dean had before about being this honest. Sam’s not only on the same page, he’s been here waiting for Dean to catch up for a long time.
“How about you?” Dean asks after they’re done kissing the tears from each other’s faces clean. “How did you know back then?”
Sam puts his hand on Dean’s chest, over their shared tattoo, over his heart still beating double time in the excitement of this moment. “It started with figuring out my jealousy issue, I used to get so upset about anyone else having your attention, your focus, you know?”
“Oh yeah, I remember,” Dean chuckles, recalling a tiny angry Sam pummeling him with accusations when he’d spend too much time talking to girls after school, how it had gotten exponentially worse when he’d started dating them.
“Well, I tried to not be jealous, and I couldn’t. I asked Bobby about it one time, he helped me figure it out,” Sam says.
Dean starts to sit up, alarmed at the idea of Bobby knowing.
“I don’t think he knew I was talking about you. I mean, maybe he did, but he didn’t seem to care. He said to fill my time with something else, something besides the person I was obsessing about. So I concentrated on school,” Sam says, pressing Dean back into the bed.
Dean lets himself be subdued, for the moment. “And look where that got you, a full-ride to Stanford,” Dean says proudly, finally feeling like he’d had a hand in his brother’s success.
“Wait, are you just realizing this? I mean, you had to know,” Sam says.
“No, too busy lying to myself, trying to play the part I was supposed to,” Dean says.
“What about now?” Sam says.
“Right now, I’m playing the part I want to,” Dean says.
“And what part is that?” Sam asks.
Dean growls a little at Sam’s little brother presumption, always putting the hard task on him. Fine—whatever, he’ll do it. He’s got to be the leader in this relationship shit too, it can be Sam’s turn next time. “Freak Brother,” Dean says.
“Me too,” Sam says. “Now can I get back to where I was? I mean, if you’re done investigating the origins of our freakishness.”
Dean rolls his eyes and pushes Sam back into place. Sam’s first order of business is to bite and suck his other hipbone until he’s got a matching mark. The whole time he’s keeping his eyes locked with Dean’s, and Dean feels like a snake that’s had its own scales charmed right off. He’s mesmerized by this version of Sam that he’s never seen. The teasing licks and bites all around his groin but never on his cock make it jump and strain towards Sam’s mouth. Dean feels himself flush with embarrassment at how needy he is for this. He’s trying not to beg, but sees that look on Sam’s face again and knows it’s pointless to resist.
“Please, Sammy,” Dean says, voice strained to breaking on the name he’d never thought he’d use in this scenario.
Sam shivers with some reaction to Dean’s words, maybe it’s hearing Dean beg, maybe it’s hearing his name said like that, Dean doesn’t know or care now because Sam is stretching his mouth wide and engulfing him, taking him inside, deep and hot and wet, one of his big hands gripping him tightly and jacking him in time with the bobs of his head.
It’s all too much, and Dean hasn’t had head as good as this…ever, and that’s saying something, and it’s probably because it’s Sam doing it to him, and oh god, just thinking that thought, ‘Sam, his Sammy,' puts him over the edge, and he’s coming down Sam’s throat before he can even warn him. Sam struggles to take it all, swallows most of it, but some strands leak out both sides of his mouth. It’s the hottest fucking thing Dean’s ever seen.
He reaches a shaky hand out to gently wipe it away and Sam chases the hand, licking the come off his fingers, teasing the pads with the point of his tongue. Dean groans at the feeling, it seems like it’s Sam licking his cock all over again, like his fingers are hooked up somehow. Sam licks his lips and smiles this smug satisfied grin that Dean wants to taste.
He pulls Sam back up even with him, and kisses the taste of himself clean out of Sam’s mouth. The hardness he feels digging into his belly is Sam, who hasn’t come yet…that’s what he wants. He flips Sam over in one of the judo moves that Sam’s recently taught him. The surprise on Sam’s face quickly turns into desire, as Dean looms over him.
“Want to taste you too, Sammy,” Dean says, kissing his way down Sam’s chest, he lingers over the hard planes of Sam’s stomach, all the muscles chiseled and tight with anticipation. He sucks and bites his own mark over the point of one of Sam’s hip bones. The way Sam wriggles and writhes under him makes him think he’s going to come untouched.
“You gonna come just like this?” Dean asks in a purr just above the head of Sam’s cock.
Sam’s hands land on the top of his head pressing him down that last little bit and then he’s kissing the tip of Sam’s beautiful cock, the softness of the skin is amazing, there’s nothing else like it, even softer than Sam’s lips. He suckles and licks gently and Sam’s hips start thrusting up and he’s got most of Sam’s cock in his mouth, he hasn’t even gotten to start sucking when Sam comes. Dean jerks back in surprise and most of it lands on his lips, a bit on his cheek. He licks his lips, eyes never leaving Sam’s, and savors the flavor of his brother’s come. It’s different from his own, he loves the combination of the taste of both of them that he has in his mouth.
“We taste so good together,” Dean says, crawling back up Sam to show him, to give it to him. Sam arches up, still quaking with the last of his release and Dean feels the wetness between them, their cocks rubbing through the mess. He licks across Sam’s lips and then kisses him deeply, sharing their mingled flavors, savoring the groans that Sam fills his mouth with.
Dean feels the post-orgasm wall of sleep coming at him fast, so he wipes them clean with Sam’s t-shirt and rolls off Sam to the side. He falls asleep with his head over Sam’s heart, the slowing beat calming with its familiarity.
He’s in the bathroom cleaning up, Sam is asleep in their bed with a satisfied smile on his face, when Dean takes time to look at himself in the mirror. The person looking back at him is nearly unrecognizable. Happy, sated, all those things. That small phrase he had just used in his mind, their bed, makes him smile at himself. He’s so immersed in this new feeling of happiness he doesn’t hear the footsteps until the last second when hands and then arms are wrapping him up from behind.
Sam buries his face in the back of Dean’s neck and breathes him in, then gently nips at the skin below his hairline. “You in here making eyes at yourself?”
“Gotta practice my bedroom eyes routine,” Dean says, leaning back into Sam’s warm body, closing his eyes halfway. He gasps when he sees how hot they look together in the mirror like this.
Sam’s hands tighten at the sound of his gasp and he looks up, meeting Dean’s eyes in the mirror. “What is it? You okay?”
Dean grins slow and sultry, “Just fucking look at us, Sammy.” He watches Sam’s eyes take them in, the full picture, his chest and neck covered in mouth-shaped bruises, his lips full and red, body relaxed against Sam.
A low whistle in his ear is the answer Sam gives him.
“What, no I told you so’s?” Dean asks with a chuckle.
“Nope, not from me, it took real courage for you to come back, to do this, don’t you think I’ll ever forget it,” Sam says, look gone from sultry to serious in a heartbeat.
Dean nods, acknowledging Sam’s gratefulness. “And to think it all started with that Freak in the Sheets patch.”
“When I put it on there, I just thought it was funny, sure didn’t plan for all this to happen.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what the deal was with the patches in the first place?” Dean asks, curiosity finally getting the better of him. Maybe he’ll get an answer now that everything’s changed. He watches the amusement flicker across his brother’s face in his reflection.
“At first I just wanted a way to remember the journey, make it more real,” Sam says. “And then I kept doing it once I noticed you’d noticed, I was curious what you would do.”
“Such a little brother thing to do,” Dean says, turning around in Sam’s arms.
“Well, I still am one, you know,” Sam says, standing up extra-extra-tall so Dean has to go on tiptoes to reach his lips.
“You’re a freaking Sasquatch is what you are,” Dean says with a growl, doing the tiptoe thing because he needs that feeling of Sam’s lips on his again.
Sam holds him up, cupping him under his ass, tight against his body. Dean takes a chance and wraps his legs around Sam’s hips. Sam staggers under his weight for a second but then hoists him up a bit. They settle together and Dean is suddenly no longer caring that Sam is the biggest little brother maybe in the continental USA.