So... This is kind of what you asked for. I suck at wincest these days, I'm sorry!
It's not easy. It should have been, he thinks but it's not.
Ignoring Sam's pleas, the way he begs Dean to let him help, the way he cries sometimes, quietly when he thinks Dean's not there. Pretending he doesn't see Sam as he passes him by, that he doesn't hear him when Sam calls his name. Pretending he's not hungry when Sam offers him a burger.
There's a whole lot of shit that Dean doesn't care about, anymore. The entire world can basically go fuck itself for all he cares – and surprisingly little of that is down to Dean's shiny new demon blood – but if there's one thing he can't get out from under his skin, one feeling he can't shake, it's this twisted, messed up, deep, abiding love he has for his little brother.
It's not easy to know that Sam is sleeping one room over, less easy to keep himself from going to him.
Sam's hurting, Dean can see that, he can feel it. It's Dean's fault and once upon a time that would have broken his heart. Now, the feeling twists and curls inside him, wraps around his heart and his belly and makes him warm. Satisfied. Sam is hurting and Dean did it and Dean likes it.
He wants to hurt Sam some more, hurt him in other ways, physical ways. Sexual ways. He wants Sam to cry louder at night, cry when Dean's right there beside him because fuck if his brother isn't one pretty son of a bitch, especially when he's all emo and shit. Especially when he's beaten all to Hell.
It's not easy to keep that part of himself secret, to make like he doesn't want to punch Sam until he's bruised and bloody and then fuck him hard in the mess. It's not easy to pretend he doesn't give a shit, to pretend that being a demon means he has no feelings at all, but he has to.
He has to hate Sam, because if he loved Sam like he wants to, Sam would hate him.
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It's not easy. It should have been, he thinks but it's not.
Ignoring Sam's pleas, the way he begs Dean to let him help, the way he cries sometimes, quietly when he thinks Dean's not there. Pretending he doesn't see Sam as he passes him by, that he doesn't hear him when Sam calls his name. Pretending he's not hungry when Sam offers him a burger.
There's a whole lot of shit that Dean doesn't care about, anymore. The entire world can basically go fuck itself for all he cares – and surprisingly little of that is down to Dean's shiny new demon blood – but if there's one thing he can't get out from under his skin, one feeling he can't shake, it's this twisted, messed up, deep, abiding love he has for his little brother.
It's not easy to know that Sam is sleeping one room over, less easy to keep himself from going to him.
Sam's hurting, Dean can see that, he can feel it. It's Dean's fault and once upon a time that would have broken his heart. Now, the feeling twists and curls inside him, wraps around his heart and his belly and makes him warm. Satisfied. Sam is hurting and Dean did it and Dean likes it.
He wants to hurt Sam some more, hurt him in other ways, physical ways. Sexual ways. He wants Sam to cry louder at night, cry when Dean's right there beside him because fuck if his brother isn't one pretty son of a bitch, especially when he's all emo and shit. Especially when he's beaten all to Hell.
It's not easy to keep that part of himself secret, to make like he doesn't want to punch Sam until he's bruised and bloody and then fuck him hard in the mess. It's not easy to pretend he doesn't give a shit, to pretend that being a demon means he has no feelings at all, but he has to.
He has to hate Sam, because if he loved Sam like he wants to, Sam would hate him.