RockStarPeach

Title: Put You Down For a While
Rating: Adult
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Sam, vague Sam/Other, Dean/Others, some Cas and Bobby
Summary: Sam hasn’t always been in love with Dean. He is now though, and despite his initial reservations, his fears that Dean wouldn’t be able to commit and he’d end up breaking Sam’s heart, they’re together and they’re happy. Things are surprisingly good between them. Or they are until Dean suddenly starts to shut Sam out without explanation and Sam is driven to making a mistake that Dean might not be able to forgive.




Dean’s gone for two days before Sam snaps out of it enough that he figures he ought to do something besides sitting around feeling sorry for himself. He plans to head to Bobby’s place, because really he’s got nowhere else to go and he doesn’t think he can get in the game enough to wrap his head around a case right now.

Dean’s taken the car, as well as the only two credit cards they have that still work, and Sam’s flipping his phone around in his hand as he scans the parking lot for a car to steal. He hates doing that, they have enough heat on them as it is without committing crimes they should be able to avoid, plus Bobby hates it when they shit in his backyard. But Dean’s gone and Sam is stranded and it’s not like he has much choice.

Besides, Bobby is probably his best bet if he wants to find a Dean who doesn’t want to be found by Sam.

He settles on a piece of crap Toyota, painted a garish red and rusted out along the sides. The owner will probably be happy to report it stolen and collect the insurance. He looks down at his phone, opens his address book as he crosses the room to sit on the bed. He needs to call Dean, let him know where he’s going even if Dean doesn’t want to talk to him right now.

Because Sam needs to believe this will pass. That Dean will take whatever time he needs, punish Sam with his absence and then come back so they can talk about this. So Sam can apologise over and over and maybe Dean can finally tell him what the problem was in the first place and they can get over this and go back to normal.

It’s going to happen. Sam knows it is. But for now, he just has to try to get by.

His finger hovers over Dean’s name in his contact list but before he hit the call button the door to the room opens and Dean steps in, the thunk of the door closing again snapping Sam out of his reverie.

“Dean,” he breathes out, standing up quickly, fingers going slack so his phone tumbles to the floor.

“New hunt,” Dean says, voice gravelly as he chokes over the words like he hasn’t spoken in days and he doesn’t meet Sam’s eyes. “Vampire nest just outside –”

“Dean.” Sam can’t help cutting him off because he doesn’t give a fuck about vampires or witches or poltergeists or what the fuck ever Dean wants to go kill right now. “I’m sorry…”

“Save it. I don’t want to talk about that, Sam. We’ve got some evil ass to kick, so let’s just bury that shit and go kick it.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, nodding reluctantly because he knows he can only push Dean so far and unless he wants to send him running again, his best bet for now is to just go along with him. “Yeah, okay Dean.” He looks around the room, picks his phone up off the floor and grabs his toothbrush out of the bathroom, throws them both in his duffle and follows Dean out the door.



In two days Dean has barely spoken one word to him. Sam lets him get away with it, even when he shouldn’t, even when it’s dangerous, but they clean out the nest with only minimal injuries and it’s not until Sam’s stitching up a nasty gash across Dean’s shoulder blade that he even tries to talk to him again.

The hunt’s over, they’re safe for the time being. They’re tired and they need to regroup and Sam just needs Dean to listen to him say he’s sorry and forgive him.

He puts in the last stitch and then lets his fingers ghost up over the top of Dean’s shoulder, pads skimming the skin as he works them towards the side of Dean’s neck. Dean flinches slightly but doesn’t stop him yet, so he presses more firmly, slides his hand forward to cup Dean’s chin and coax his head around so he can look at his face.

“Can we talk?” he whispers, afraid to break the silence, the tentative truce. “Please, Dean.”

Dean just shakes his head once, jerking it sharply as he turns his back to Sam again and inches forward, away.

“Not about that,” he answers, his tone final. “We’ll find something else to kill in the morning and then we’ll have something to talk about.”

“Dean, I’m sorry,” Sam says, ignoring him, feeling his throat tighten around the words as he fights back tears. “I don’t have an excuse, because there isn’t one. But I need to talk about this with you.”

“Guess what, Sam. I don’t give a fuck what you need right now! I can’t… just.” He stands up and pulls his shirt down properly, wincing as it slides across the stitches. He rubs a hand over his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Not right now, okay?”

Dean obviously needs some more time, and Sam wants to respect that, really he does, but he feels like he’s about to fly apart at the seams, break out of his skin and scream for him and Dean to just be okay again. What he did… it feels far away. Like it happened to somebody else.

“Are we…” he starts, because he needs to know. He can give Dean all the time and space he wants as long as Sam knows that at the end of it Dean will forgive him. “Dean, it was a mistake and I’m sorry. Please. Tell me we can get over this. Tell me you’re not gonna leave me. Tell me…”

“You don’t get to ask me to do anything for you right now, Sam!” Dean snaps, and he chokes back a sob.

He nods dumbly and Dean takes a steadying breath. Sam’s at least a little relieved that Dean’s having a hard time with this too. The fact that he can’t just shut off his feelings like he wants to pretend gives Sam hope.

“I’ll stay,” Dean continues. “I’ll stay with you because we have a job to do, because you’re my brother, and I’m not gonna let anything take that away from me, not even… But that other stuff, you and me, that’s fucking done, got it? Done.”

“I never even knew his name,” Sam says helplessly, and this time he can’t stop the tears.

Dean laughs, a short bitter burst. “I think that actually makes it worse.”



Dean steers clear of him.

Doesn’t say anything to him at all that doesn’t have to do with a hunt and even then only when he can’t possibly avoid it. They don’t eat together, they don’t research together, Hell they haven’t slept one night in the same room since they cleared out that vampire nest and started after a zombie outside Boise.

The first time Dean had ordered two single rooms at the check-in desk Sam had tried to protest. Dean had simply ignored him except to pass him his key and a list of phone numbers.

“Set up interviews with these people,” he’d said, shouldering his bag and unlocking the door to the room next to Sam’s. “We’ll head out at ten.”



Sam tries. He’s careful not to push, because he knows that won’t get him anywhere, but he can’t just do nothing while Dean slips away from him.



He picks Dean up some chilli cheese fries one evening from the diner and when he knocks on Dean’s door with them Dean just grunts that he’s not hungry and closes the door in Sam’s face.



A few days later he offers to take Dean’s laundry since he’s already going to wash his own, but Dean tells him it’s cool, he did his last night.



He buys coffee for Dean every morning, has it waiting when they leave their rooms and get into the car. Sometimes Dean even drinks it and it’s stupid how happy those times make Sam.



It’s a quiet night. Warm and dark, with no streetlights on the highway and only the fluorescent glare of the vacancy sign lighting the walk outside their rooms. Sam watches Dean fiddle in his pocket for his key and Sam knows Dean’s still not ready but he doesn’t care.

Sam needs to talk, get things out in the open, get Dean to understand.

Dean needs to forgive him for this. He has to, because if he doesn’t Sam doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to do. Dean’s right there, sitting next to him every day for hours while they drive, he’s right there next to him while Sam knifes a demon in Pittsburgh and he’s there when they burn some bones in Newark.

He’s right there, all the time, but he might as well be on the other side of the world. It’s killing Sam. He’s known for a while that he’s completely fucking head over heels for Dean, but it’s only lately that he’s realised that Dean is pretty much his whole world. He can’t lose him, not over this.

“Dean, wait,” he says, as Dean pushes open the door to his room. He stops and looks back, face blank, expressionless. “Can we… Look, I need you to know that I’m sorry. Really fucking sorry. And I’ll do whatever it takes, Dean. Anything. So just… Just tell me. Please.”

“Sam, I can’t… Just drop it, okay?”

Sam opens his mouth to say more, but Dean slips into his room and the door shuts in Sam’s face. It’s the longest conversation they’ve had since Sam fucked up and the next day they’re right back to not speaking at all.



Cas shows up one day.

Hell, for all Sam knows Cas has been showing up in Dean’s room every day lately but it’s not like Sam would know that. The idea grates but he forcefully shoves down his irritation because he knows he did this to them in the first place.

He leaves his room on a Tuesday morning after he hears a short rap on his door. It’s Dean’s signal, means he’s ready to go and if Sam’s not in the car in the next two minutes Dean’s leaving without him.

He throws his bag in the trunk and gives Dean a look when he gets in the car. The same look he gives him every day, the one that says ‘Please, Dean. Stop being such a stubborn son of a bitch and just talk to me because I’m sorry and I love you’, and he carefully doesn’t say anything at all about the fact that Castiel is sitting in the back seat.

At least Sam’s still got shotgun.

There’s no reason for Castiel to be there. They don’t need him to tell them where the werewolf lives; they already know that. They don’t need him to point out that the way to kill the poor son of a bitch is to shoot him in the heart; they know that too.

They don’t need him to stand around and watch while they do all the work and they sure as fuck don’t need him riding back to the motel in the car with them after.

Dean pulls up in front of their rooms but he doesn’t shut off the engine. Sam turns to look at him curiously and he can only see the barest hint of a tick in his jaw as he studiously ignores Sam.

“Hey Cas,” Dean says, fingers tightening on the steering wheel.

Castiel looks up at Dean’s reflection in the mirror but Dean’s eyes remain forward facing.

“I could really use a drink, man. What do you say?”

Sam’s eyes widen and he glances back briefly at Castiel because as far as he knows, his brother and the angel don’t go out to shoot the shit over beer and wings. Castiel just narrows his eyes at Sam, mouth pulled tight before he looks back at Dean and nods his head. Not that Dean’s looking.

And what the fuck did Sam do to him anyway? Sure, Dean’s got plenty reason to be pissed off at the moment, but Cas? Sam’s sort of starting to feel like the loser in third grade that the other kids point and laugh at but he doesn’t know why.

“I think I have time,” Castiel answers softly and Sam notices Dean’s tense shoulders ease a little.

Dean does look at Sam then, turns his head just enough to direct a flat expression at him before giving himself away with an uncomfortable clearing of his throat. He looks almost nervous, apologetic, but he’s not. He can’t be.

“I’ll have something new in the morning,” he tells Sam, settling back into the seat and looking forward again. “See you then.”

It’s a clear dismissal and Sam doesn’t fight it, even if he wants to.

It sort of makes Sam want to scream, tell Dean no, he’s not allowed to go out and get shitfaced with Cas, not allowed to get all sloppy and talk too much and get Cas to half carry him home after because that’s Sam’s job. Funny, a few months ago it wouldn’t have bothered him at all. He’d probably have welcomed the night to himself.

He bites his tongue and gets out of the car, watches Dean and Cas drive off.

Really, he doesn’t have the right to do much else.

He finally falls asleep at three in the morning, curled up on his bed and facing the window, waiting for the shine of headlights and the roar of an engine that don’t come that night.



They’re digging up a grave north of Miami and Sam waits until Dean’s shovel hits the coffin, waits until they hop out of the hole and Dean tosses his lighter inside before he apologises again.

“Dean, I…” he starts, and his voice sounds hoarse. He doesn’t think he’s actually spoken in over a day. “You have to forgive me. I know what I did was wrong, but I can’t even… I’m so sorry.”

“Sam, seriously,” Dean says tiredly. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not angry, not anymore.”

Sam ignores him.

“Do you… do you want me to try to explain?”

Dean just stands there a minute, watches the flames engulf salt and bone and wood, turn a bright orange and flare up. It’s pretty, almost.

“Could you?” Dean asks, but something tells Sam he shouldn’t answer just yet. “I mean, could you really explain? How do you explain that?”

“I can try,” Sam answers, watching as a spark flies off the fire and lands at his feet. “If you let me, I can try.”

“I’m not sure I want you to. I don’t know if I want to hear it.”

“I know it’s cliché, and I know cheating assholes everywhere say it, but…” But Sam never in a million years thought he’d be one of them.

Dean sits down when Sam pauses, picks up a blade of grass and starts to carefully tear it down the middle.

Sam joins him.

“He meant nothing, Dean. You know that. I know you know that. It was a stupid, drunken mistake.”

Dean’s quiet for so long that Sam thinks maybe that’s the end of the conversation. Even if it is, Sam’s happy with it. It’s further than he’s gotten in weeks.

Only it’s not the end.

“A guy, Sam,” Dean says quietly a few minutes later, tossing the shredded blade of grass aside and picking up another. “I was gone for twenty-four hours and not only do you figure that’s your chance to loan your dick out, but… a fucking guy?”

“At least it wasn’t a girl.”

“That’s supposed to be better?”

“He was never a threat, there was no chance I’d ever even like him, let alone…”

“But see, that’s the thing. A girl I could understand. If you miss that… I get it. I do too, Sam, but I’m fucking dealing. Was dealing. Because you meant more to me. And I get that a chick can give you something I can’t. But… another guy? What could he do for you that I couldn’t? I got all the equipment, Sam, and I’m right fucking here!”

“No, you’re not,” Sam challenges, voice rising to Dean for the first time since he got caught with his pants down. Because really, that’s what started this. Yes, Sam cheated, but things were far from perfect before that happened. “That’s the thing, Dean. You’re not here, you haven’t been here in a while. Too busy cozying up to fucking Cas to even come near me lately. Since long before I messed up.”

Dean just looks at him, blinks, his jaw ticks slightly and he stands up and grabs his shovel, starts piling dirt onto the fading flames.

Well, shit. That was the wrong thing to say.

Whatever the fuck was wrong with Dean before they broke up is something that Sam wants to talk about ten times more than he wants to talk about his cheating, but clearly blaming his brother for the whole thing was the wrong move. Even if it was half his fault.

“Tell me what I can do, Dean,” he says, begs, as he watches the muscles along Dean’s back and arms bunch with his movements, burying the ashes in dirt. “Anything to make this better, anything you want. And I’ll do it. Please.”

Dean pauses for a moment, he turns his head around so that he’s almost, but not quite, looking at Sam.

“You can start by picking up a shovel.”



It takes Dean a while. Over a month.

Sam’s actually surprised. He’d expected it sooner rather than later.

Five weeks and Sam hasn’t seen Dean so much as glance in a woman’s direction but one night in Broken Bow when Sam’s looking out his window, he sees Dean usher a tall brunette into the room next door.

They’re loud.

Sam drinks too much and tries not to die inside.



Once Dean gets started it’s like he’s out for blood.

Oh, he never eases up on hunting, they’re constantly on the move, constantly pushing, never taking a break. But almost every single night, no matter where they are or what they’re doing, Sam sees different women coming and going from Dean’s room, hears them slamming each other into the walls, rocking up and down on the bed.

Sometimes it’s quiet, and Sam hates those times most of all, because maybe that means they’re talking. Maybe that means Dean’s being Dean and he’s being soft and considerate and he really likes them instead of just using them to get back at Sam.

After that starts up, Sam embraces Dean’s policy of silence for a while. He doesn’t want to know what Dean will say if Sam asks about his conquests.



Sam knocks on Dean’s door one morning after he knows Dean’s alone and tells him he’s going to get breakfast.

“You want anything?” he asks, trying not to look as shocked as he feels that Dean actually answered the door.

“Yeah,” Dean answers, cracking his neck and not looking at Sam, and Sam tries not to fall over. “Thanks. Bring me back some bacon and eggs. Then we can go over that shit tonne of newspaper articles we’ve got piled up.”

Sam nods and goes, tries not to be too hopeful, because the fact that Dean’s actually talking to him might just be a wacked out daydream.

When he gets back to Dean’s room though, Dean lets him in. They sit, they eat, they go over two weeks' worth of obituaries and they actually do it together. Dean talks to him, asks him questions, offers his own insight.

Sam can almost forget how wrong it all is, he can almost pretend that everything is fine again between them. Especially when Dean calls him a geek with a barely there smile and Sam is overcome with a crippling desire to kiss it off his face. God his brother is beautiful.

But then Dean turns his head, cranes his neck as he reaches across his bed to grab some of the papers that are scattered there and Sam catches sight of a deep purple bruise peeking out from beneath the collar of his shirt.

Ice shoots through Sam’s veins and his lust disappears in a flash, replaced by a wave of nausea. He has to put his computer down and go to the bathroom to splash some water on his face because if he just sits there staring at the cold hard evidence of what Dean’s been up to nearly every night, he doesn’t know whether he’s going to cry or throw up.

It’s not like he didn’t know. He’s heard him often enough and it’s killed him each and every time. Every thud against the wall, every squeak of the bed springs, every high-pitched laugh or scream of pleasure – all slowly eating away at him. But he’s dealt with it, put up with it and still tried to make things right with Dean, because he deserves it. Sam seriously fucked up here and if Dean needs to work out some of his anger and resentment by sleeping his way across the country then Sam can deal with that. For a while.

But God. Seeing that hickey just makes it too real and Sam’s scared. Really, honestly scared now that Dean’s not going to get over this. That Dean really has moved on and he doesn’t want him anymore.

It’s a full five minutes before he can bring himself to leave the bathroom and face Dean again and when he does, Dean’s got the collar of his shirt turned up, hiding the mark.

They take off an hour later for the county morgue and they’re two states over by midnight.



They’re driving down I-95 after a tip about a shapeshifter and a handful of dead-end phone calls. They’ve got nothing but night time and blacktop in front of them for hours and Sam leans forward and turns the music down. It might be a terrible idea but Dean’s been pretty cool today and Sam can’t think of a better time to try.

Sam opens his mouth to speak but Dean cuts him off.

“Don’t.”

It’s short and tight, final but Sam doesn’t agree.

“No, Dean. We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t,” Dean argues. He shakes his head once but doesn’t let his eyes leave the road. “We had a thing once. It was awesome but it’s done. Now we’re just brothers again. Hunting partners.”

“Which would be great if we were actually either of those things,” Sam says, even though he doesn’t believe it. Sam supposes he could manage to survive if all he had of Dean was a platonic partnership, but every single fibre of his being wants more. Wants what they had and Sam threw away in a moment of insecurity and drunken neediness.

“But we’re not. You’re not my partner. You’re not my brother. You’re acting like some stranger I ride in a car with and who happens to be there when we catch the bad guys.”

Dean laughs, almost.

“You seriously don’t see how what you did could make it hard for me to trust you? Might make me not feel like catchin’ a ball game or sharin’ some pie?”

“No,” Sam agrees. “No, I do. I totally do. Just… Look, I know what I did was fucked up, Dean, and I can’t even… I’m so fucking sorry. I know I can’t ask you to forgive me, because I don’t deserve it, but… But I need to know, man.”

“Need to know what?” Dean asks, casting a glance to his right.

Sam takes in a deep breath and barrels forward, because at this point there’s not much left to lose. It Dean gets defensive it’s not like Sam’ll be in a worse position than he already is.

“There was something wrong before what I did,” he says, not a question and not something he hasn’t already told Dean. It’s a safe place to start and he gives Dean a minute. He doesn’t pull the car over and tell Sam to get out, so Sam takes that as a sign that Dean’s willing to at least listen. Maybe to talk.

“You were acting weird, avoiding me. For so long you wouldn’t even come near me and when I tried to be with you, you… It was like you couldn’t understand why the fuck you would even want to. I just… I don’t get it. Why, Dean? Was it me? Did I… were you going to end things anyway? Even if I hadn’t cheated?”

It’s a good thing they’re on a long, straight road, because Dean looks over at him then, keeps his eyes on Sam for several long seconds.

“How can you even ask me that?”

It helps that Dean really can’t believe Sam would think that. Helps Sam pretend that everything can still be okay. Eventually.

“Then what?!” Sam feels like he’s going crazy. “What the hell was so wrong between us that you couldn’t even touch me in almost two months?”

Dean looks forward again and he doesn’t answer for so long that Sam thinks he won’t.

“Cas,” Dean finally says, quietly and through clenched teeth as he pulls off at the exit for Fayetteville. He checks Sam out but he pretends not to, pretends to check his blind spot even though the road is practically empty other than them, has been for hours.

He looks guilty and Sam sees red. This is it. This is when all his suspicions are confirmed and just no. No. Sam wants to take it back. Doesn’t want to know, just wants to go back to being in Dean’s bed again, to having Dean’s arms around him and being able to kiss Dean in the bathroom or blow him in the car.

But he can’t.

Because… Cas. Jesus, no. Please.

“What?” Sam asks. His voice is low, he knows. Dangerous, because he doesn’t know for sure what kind of a reason ‘Cas’ could possibly be, but he suspects. And the images his mind supplies of Dean and Cas and all the reasons Dean could have to keep Sam at arms length, they’re terrifying.

“Cas,” Dean says again, his voice disturbingly flat, not giving anything away.

“Yeah, I heard you, Dean,” Sam says calmly, trying not to freak out and demand to know everything, demand Dean tell Sam he loves him and only him. He can’t ask that. Doesn’t even know if it’s true. “What about Cas?”

Dean snorts, but it doesn’t sound warm or comforting, isn’t the sound of shared amusement. It’s ugly. Even Dean thinks it’s ugly, Sam can tell.

“Jealous,” Dean says, shaking his head. “That’s… that’s funny.”

Sam can’t really deny it, because yeah, he is jealous. He doesn’t want to be, knows it’s stupid considering he’s the one who stepped out on Dean, not the other way around, but… fuck. Yeah. He can’t help thinking that Dean wants Cas. That maybe he always has and maybe he’s always been fucking him on the side, while they secretly laugh at Sam.

Stupid, yes, but it’s not the first time he’s thought it and it won’t be the last. He still hates it.

“Do you seriously think I’m fucking Cas? Well let me tell you, Sam. Even if that was true, you have no fucking right to feel any Goddamn thing about it. Not after… Not after what you did.”

“Dean…”

“Hey, you know, maybe I should start,” Dean says, flippant and considering, like he’s talking to himself. He shrugs and purses his lips, tilts his head slightly. “I mean, he’s not a bad lookin’ dude, if I went for that sort of thing. A little scrawny maybe, but he’s strong and he has pretty cool hair. And I’ve never really thought about it before, but his eyes are pretty intense. I just bet…”

“Dean.”

“And I mean, he’d probably go for it. He gave up Heaven for me once, what’s giving up his ass, right?”

“Dean!”

Dean’s quiet then. They both are, until eventually Dean says, “We’re here,” even though they’ve been there, in some motel parking lot in the space next to a neon vacancy sign for the past five minutes.

Dean slips out of the car quietly and Sam does the same, watches as Dean goes into the office and comes back with two keys.

“Meet me outside in the morning,” he says, handing one to Sam. “We’ll go talk to Mrs. Hatfield. She’s gotta know something she isn’t saying about the way her husband died.”



Dean checks them into a motel in the outskirts of Omaha at around two in the morning. It’s raining outside and Sam watches the drops bounce off a puddle in the parking lot while Dean stands under the awning and works open his door.

They don’t have anything to hunt at the moment, just booked it out of Minneapolis as fast as they could after the local police chief had ended up on the wrong side of a demon possession and they were the ones left standing over the dead body. He knows Dean will probably start looking for something new as soon as he wakes up, maybe even before he goes to sleep tonight, but Sam really needs a day or two off and fuck if he doesn’t really need to spend them with Dean.

It’s been so long and he just wants to hear Dean laugh, to feel Dean’s fingers on his skin to know that his whole world isn’t falling apart.

“Dean, I…” he starts and Dean pauses, his shoulders tense but he slowly turns to face Sam. “I need a break. Do you want to maybe, I don’t know, just chill for a couple days? Watch a movie together or something, get a case of beer?”

“Sam, I’m not… I know this sucks for you, okay? It sucks for me too, but I’m not ready for that right now. And even after I am, we can’t ever go back to…” He lets the sentence trail off, but Sam knows exactly what it means.

It’s like a vice around his heart because even though Dean’s told him it’s over, even though Dean’s been fucking his way from town to town with unrivalled vigour, Sam’s been playing the waiting game. He’s been hoping that Dean will come around eventually, that they can go back to what they had, be together again, be lovers again as well as brothers, instead of just near strangers.

Sam nods and takes a deep breath.

“I miss you, Dean,” he tells him, earnest and tight. “I know I fucked up and I know I don’t get to make any demands here, but we can’t go on like this forever. If we’re going to get better we need to start getting better. But if you can’t forgive me, then please just put me out of my misery.”

Dean’s eyes meet his and he keeps them there for a beat or two before looking back at his door and pulling the key out.

“We’ll stay put for a day or two, rest up,” he says, looking out at the streetlights to avoid Sam’s gaze. “And I’m working on it, Sam. But what I’m working on is being your brother. I’m not even thinking about anything else. I mean it.”

Sam just nods again, his hand grips the doorknob to his own room so hard his knuckles go white and he can’t decide whether he wants to wrap his arms around Dean or deck him. Dean’s promising to be his brother again, or at least try to. And that’s everything to Sam, really it is, but he’s still lost the best relationship he’s ever had. Christ, it was one fucking mistake! Why can’t Dean see that?

“Let me know when you’re ready to hit the road,” Dean says, and Sam watches him disappear into his room.



He’s sitting at the table by the window finishing off his third beer, bag of microwave popcorn half empty next to his computer where he’s browsing for, of all things, local movie listings. Dean’s already out, Sam doesn’t know where but he left a couple hours ago and Sam’s been stuck in his room most of the day, alone and bored.

It’s past midnight but there’s a theatre a few miles down the road that runs all night and at this point Sam just needs get out, do something to take his mind off everything. There’s a 12:30 showing of some action flick that looks like Sam could just park his brain in neutral throughout and still have a pretty good time and Sam is just about to close his laptop and grab his wallet when he hears the Impala pull up outside and the engine shut off.

He goes to the window, can’t help it, and looks out. Dean gets out of the car and he’s not alone. Sam hadn’t expected him to be, but what really gets his attention is that the person getting out the passenger side is a man. Well, boy really, Sam thinks when he cranes his neck to get a better look. He can’t be more than about seventeen or eighteen years old by the looks of him.

He thinks maybe Dean’s picked up a new case, maybe this is a witness or a suspect and Sam stands to make his way to the door.

But then the boy sidles up to Dean, presses himself against Dean’s hip as Dean pulls his key out of his pocket, nuzzles Dean’s neck while he works it in the lock. Sam’s out the door and standing there on the pavement a few feet away from some kid trying to hump his brother’s leg in a parking lot before he even realises he’s moving.

“Dean,” he says, and the word comes out strained. He’s confused, he’s hurt and he’s angry.

Dean and the boy both look up and least Dean has the decency to look vaguely guilty. His eyes go wide and he takes a step away from the boy but then his face closes off and looks carefully blank. The boy just grins slyly at him and Sam feels cold.

“Sammy…” Dean says, but the kid doesn’t let him finish.

“Hey,” the kid says, leering as his hand snakes around Dean’s middle and drifts over his inner thigh. “You joining us?” He looks up at Dean again and his hand slides across Dean’s crotch blatantly. “‘Cause that’s extra.”

Sam blinks, takes an unconscious step backward and looks from the boy’s hand, palm grinding down against Dean’s dick, over Dean’s chest and up to his eyes.

“What…” he starts, but he’s not exactly sure how to finish that, because seriously? Dean’s picking up probably underage, definitely male hookers now? Despite Sam’s insistence that Dean is, in fact, bisexual, Dean has never shown any kind of interest in any man other than Sam.

Obviously that’s not true anymore and Sam’s head is kind of spinning. Yesterday Dean had been telling him how maybe one day they can be brothers again and now he’s paying to fuck some piece of jailbait with a cock? Fucking asshole!

Sam opens his mouth to tell Dean as much, but Dean cuts him off.

“No,” Dean growls, shooting a warning glare at Sam before pushing the kid into his room. “Just us tonight, kid.”

“Dean,” Sam says again, almost whispers as Dean starts to follow the boy, the whore, into his room.

“Tomorrow,” Dean snaps, ending the conversation and Sam flinches when the door slams in his face.



It’s been a long time coming. Sam knows he screwed himself over by picking up some nameless ass because he got huffy over Dean’s lack of attention. Screwed Dean over too, broke his trust and broke his heart.

But that doesn’t mean that he hasn’t been pissed off at Dean, hasn’t wanted to kill him for shutting Sam out when they could just fucking talk about it and move past it instead of bottling it all up inside and letting it eat away at them, rot their hearts and souls from the inside.

Sometimes he hates Dean for putting them both through all this. He knows it’s hard on Dean, he does. But it’s hard on Sam too, and fuck. He knows Dean. He can tell just how much this is killing him, can see when he looks at him just how much he misses what they had, how much he wants it back.

It’s bullshit. It’s bullshit and Sam is fucking pissed. Enough.

So when Sam looks out the window and sees the boy leaving Dean’s room just as the sun is coming up over a dirt road in Nebraska, he finally flips his shit enough to do what he’s been itching to do since Dean walked out on him after catching him with his dick hanging out and a naked man in his bed.

He hits him.

The kid leaves a good two hours before Dean does and Sam doesn’t want to think about what Dean’s doing in the room that takes so long. Showering the smell of sex off, probably, making himself all perfect and gorgeous so it drives Sam crazy.

Sam’s been ready to go for hours, hasn’t gotten any sleep at all. He’s poised and waiting on the bed watching the window with the curtains spread wide when he sees Dean’s door open next to his. Hears Dean rap twice on his door and then sees him toss his bag in the trunk, lean against the driver’s side with his hip resting by the door handle.

He’s waiting for Sam, waiting for him to get in the car so that Dean can start driving, pull them into some other town, some other hunt, where they won’t have to speak and Dean can go on avoiding him.

But Sam’s done with that. Fucking done. He’s angry and it’s about time Dean knows it and he can say he’s sorry all he likes but Dean’s not fucking listening and Sam can’t take it.

He’s out the door even before Dean even has time to lean in and honk the horn like he sometimes does, and before he even knows what he’s doing he’s giving Dean a taste of his formidable right hook. Dean’s head snaps back, sharp and fast and when he turns to look back at Sam there’s a split second of shock before his face hardens again and he shoulders Sam gently out of his personal space, blood pooling up in the corner of his mouth.

“Jerk!” Sam shouts, his face twisted up in anger and pain and Dean licks the small drops of blood away slowly with his tongue.

Dean doesn’t hit back, doesn’t tense up like he wants to, doesn’t even take on a defensive stance. Just lets out a breath and calmly turns his back to Sam, opens his door and gets in the car.

It takes a few seconds and a few deep breaths before Sam doesn’t actively want to kill him anymore, and when he gets in the passenger seat next to his brother it’s all Sam can do not to apologise.

Because really, that was all kinds of uncalled for. He punched his brother. He punched his fucking brother. And sure, Dean’s socked Sam a few times but Sam has never ever hit Dean first. Not unless he’s been possessed or something and he feels like absolute shit for it because he did it out of jealousy.

Dean can fuck whoever he wants. They’re not together anymore, not like that. And when that fact hits home yet again, Sam just barely manages to hold back his tears.



It’s about two hours down a long, boring stretch of road later when Dean finally breaks the crushing silence.

“I didn’t fuck him,” he says, eyes fixed firmly forward and his voice is eerily level. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Sam’s caught between relief and asking what they hell they did do all fucking night, but relief wins out and he keeps his mouth shut. At least for another fifty miles.

“He was in your room for six hours,” Sam says when Dean gets on the off-ramp into Grand Junction. “Did you just spend that whole time playing Scrabble, or what?”

Dean tenses, just the barest hint of stiffness in his shoulders but other than that he does a pretty damn good job of pretending Sam doesn’t exist. For a while.

“I tried.”

“Huh?”

“I tried,” Dean says again, more forceful this time. “I tried to fuck him. Couldn’t. Couldn’t even get hard.” He breaks off and laughs, a hysterically bitter sound. “Maybe all I can see is you. Hell, maybe I’m really not into guys. Who the fuck knows? Anyway, the kid cleaned out the mini bar and took a nap. I watched Casa Erotica, but I couldn’t even fuckin’ jerk off with him next to me.”

Sam stays silent and Dean laughs again, lighter now.

“Worst five hundred dollars I ever spent.”

Dean pulls into the parking lot of an abandoned steel mill around two in the afternoon and after he shuts off the engine he reaches into the back seat and throws a newspaper clipping at Sam.

“This is an easy one,” he says, giving Sam a few minutes to look the article over. “Ready?”



It is an easy one. They’re in and out in just a few hours. A spirit has attached itself to a cursed lathe on the fourth floor and they manage to melt it down enough that they’re pretty sure he won’t come back. They decide to stick around town until tomorrow anyway, just to make sure and Dean swings them by Denny’s afterwards to grab some supper.

They don’t really talk while they eat, but Dean orders Sam a beer and steals a couple fries off his plate and Sam can almost pretend things are normal for a while. Pretend they’re happy again.



That night they check into a motel room a few blocks over from the haunting site. Room. Just the one and Sam stands back with wide eyes and tries not to let his mouth gape. Tries not to run to Dean and wrap his arms around him, kiss him until Dean loves him again.

Dean hands the guy behind the counter a few bills and accepts the key and Sam follows his brother down the hall, awkwardly adjusting the bag over his shoulder while Dean fumbles the door open.

He watches Dean cross the threshold and drop his own belongings in the corner before he turns around and looks at Sam expectantly, nods at the open entryway. Sam shuffles uncertainly in the doorway, moving his weight from foot to foot as he slowly closes the door behind him.

“Dean…”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Dean growls, grabbing the remote control and pointing it at the television, jabbing the buttons to turn it on so hard Sam’s surprised he doesn’t break a finger. Dean can’t stand quiet these days. Not when Sam’s around anyway. “This doesn’t mean… We’re low on cash, that’s all.”

Yeah, of course they’re low on cash. Dean spent it all on a fucking hooker last night. The fact that Dean didn’t actually fuck the boy is of little comfort. He tried to, he wanted to, and he ended up letting the kid sleep in his bed. Something he hardly ever let Sam do, even before.

Sam doesn’t say any of that though, knows it will only drive the wedge deeper between them if Sam brings it up, points fingers. He contents himself with knowing that Dean’s letting him closer, he’s warming up and when Dean opens a bag of pretzel’s halfway through Poltergeist 3 on cable and offers Sam the first handful, Sam’s jealousy eases a little.

It’s progress. Dean will get over this. Sam will prove himself and Dean will let it go and they’ll go back. Sam knows it. All he has to do is give it time. Even he can tell it’s getting past cute and into lame that he still thinks that.



They’re ‘low on cash’ every night from then on.

Things don’t change after that though, not really, not all at once. Not that Sam had expected them to fall straight back into bed together, for Dean to kiss him and tell him everything’s fine and Sam is forgiven. It’s a good thing he didn’t expect it, because it doesn’t happen.

There are little things though, things that give him hope. Like when Dean smiles and tells Sam ‘thanks’ like he actually means it when Sam remembers the extra onions on his cheeseburger, or when they share a laugh over a ridiculous old Three Stooges movie, Sam’s beer spilling over the top as he shakes so hard he nearly falls over, and Dean snorts loudly on the opposite bed.

Or when Dean catches Sam in his arms after a ghost nearly pushes him out a window, and Dean holds on just a little too long, heart pounding and breathless, stares at his lips briefly before he remembers and gently pushes Sam away.

Most of all what does it is the way Dean stops sleeping with every girl who pushes her boobs in his face.

They’re eating supper one night in a burger joint in Prescott and Sam tries to bite back his roaring jealousy when the waitress is once again making moon eyes at Dean, and he’s responding in kind.

Dean surprises him though, when at the end of the meal she leaves him her number and he flat out tells her “Sorry, sweetheart, but I’ve uh… I’m kind of working tonight. I’ll call you, though.”

The waitress just raises an eyebrow and then smiles, tilts her head and looks at Dean like he’s the most precious thing she’s ever seen. Which he can’t really blame her for.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she says, still smiling as she starts to back away and onto the next table.

As soon as she’s gone Dean gets up and throws down a twenty, grabs the receipt with her phone number on the back. Sam follows him up and out of the restaurant and raises an eyebrow when Dean crumples up the piece of paper and throws it in the trash can by the door.

“Dean, what are you…” Sam starts when they get outside and he reaches out to catch Dean’s arm in his fist. “You just blew that girl off. Why?”

He knows this is risky, knows he’s bringing up something that Dean has told him over and over again not to. But this is all taking way too long and Sam needs it to just be over, one way or the other. Except for how he’s only willing to let this end one way.

Dean jerks out of Sam’s grip and stalks over to the car, puts his hand on the metal frame beside the front window and ducks his head. Sam takes advantage of his hesitancy, pushes because he’s got nothing to lose at this point and walks up behind Dean, touches him on the shoulder and squeezes his hand slightly, lets Dean know he’s there and he’s not going anywhere, not ever.

Dean spins around suddenly, clamps his hands down over Sam’s biceps and spins them, slams Sam against the side of the car and crowds in. Sam’s nearly hard by the time they’re halfway around and he’s ready to cut glass when Dean pushes him back hard enough to wind him and presses in so close that there are no secrets.

“I just…” Dean says and his voice is tight, almost a whisper but not nearly as weak and breathless as Sam feels.

Then Dean kisses him. Well, it’s sort of a kiss, might be more punishment because of how it stings and makes Sam’s lips swell and ends so quickly. God, Sam would take that kind of punishment forever and ever, it’s been so damn long.

But it doesn’t last. Dean breaks away after one, maybe two brutal seconds of sucking and biting, but Sam doesn’t let him go far.

“Dean, I…” he says, taking Dean’s hand and wrapping his fingers around Dean’s, slow and timid, twisting their arms up so he can press soft kisses to Dean’s knuckles. Dean doesn’t pull away, just sucks in a shaky breath so Sam counts that as a win. He leans forward again and brushes his nose against Dean’s jaw, kisses the corner of his mouth.

“Dean, I love you,” he whispers, afraid to say the words too loud.

“Sam,” Dean says, bristles and immediately steps back.

“No, Dean. I love you. How long are you gonna put me through this? I fucked up, okay. I know I did, and I’ve told you a million times I’m willing to do what you need. I can wait. I have waited, but Dean, man, you gotta tell me. What’s it going to take?”

“It’s not always all about you, you know.” Dean tells him sharply and gets into the car, looking pointedly at Sam to do the same.

Sam does and keeps his mouth shut, wants to keep on this, take advantage of every single crack in Dean’s armour he can, but thinks if he does he might just end up pushing Dean away for good. There’s no way in hell he can keep from flipping his shit if that happens so he keeps quiet, talks to Dean only when Dean talks first, tucks himself into bed six feet away from where he wants to be every single night and just lets himself be happy that they’re at least in the same room.

He convinces himself that it’s not the end of the world because he wakes up each morning to Dean sitting at the table with a cup of coffee for each of them while he scans the internet for something else to kill. Falls asleep each night to Dean flicking through the stations on the television and feels warm all over every time they walk somewhere and Dean puts his hand at the base of Sam’s spine to push him in the right direction.

They’re not where he wants them to be, but they’re getting there.

Part 3