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.




“Fuck!” Sam screams, ducks his head and tightens up his face as Dean shoves his dislocated shoulder back into place. “Fucking ghouls.”

Dean’s face remains impassive, the thin line of his lips constant and unmoving as he feels around Sam’s shoulder and down his arm with the insistent tips of his fingers. Sam winces every once in a while, tries not to jerk too badly and lets Dean examine him, make sure nothing besides his shoulder and already bandaged up ribs are broken or sprained or out of place.

Dean’s hands work down his bicep and take some time over his elbow. It hurts like a bitch but that’s normal when something just about wrenched your arm off and then used the dangling limb to throw you into a wall. When Dean gets to his wrist the kneading fingers hurt less and eventually Dean lets him go, satisfied.

“Looks okay,” Dean tells him, and then all of a sudden Dean deflates, lets out a huge breath and slumps forward, head in his hands. “Jesus Christ, Sam, I thought…”

“I’m okay, Dean,” Sam tells him softly, puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder and slowly moves it up so that it’s cupping Dean’s cheek. Dean lets him, doesn’t pull away until Sam turns his face up so that they’re looking straight at each other.

“You almost weren’t,” Dean says, gets up off the bed and paces the room impatiently. “You almost… Fuck, Sam you almost died! You just about got your damn fool self killed because of me!”

That’s completely true. Sam had seen Dean pinned to the wall by two of the fuckers with a third on his knees in front of Dean about to take vicious bite out of Dean’s tasty tummy. So Sam had busted in and started swinging. Without thinking first and sure that was a stupid-ass move, but it was Dean he didn’t have fucking time to think.

And yes, it got him hurt, got his ass handed to him, complete with dislocated shoulder, broken rib, a stomach full of bruises and a mild concussion, but fuck. Sam would do it again and Dean would have done the same for him. Lovers or not.

Dean stops walking and stares at Sam, looks at him like he expects Sam to apologise for saving Dean’s life. Which is so not going to happen. Sam just takes a steadying breath, stands up and moves to the other side of the room to stand in front of Dean, so close he can feel Dean’s breath across his neck.

“We’re fine,” he says quietly, voice pitched low and soothing. “We’re fine, Dean.”

Dean pulls in a shaky breath and puts a hand on the back of Sam’s neck, tilts it down so he can rest their foreheads together.

“No we’re not,” Dean tells him on a pained exhale. “We’re not even close.”



Sam’s working his way up to a pretty good drunk.

Dean’s halfway to smashed too and they’re both exhausted and stressed out after two gruelling weeks of chasing a mothman across Nevada. They’re taking the night off, drinking whisky straight from the bottle that they’re passing back and forth while they lounge against the headboard of Sam’s bed and watch Critters 3 on cable.

Dean hasn’t had sex in two months, at least not that Sam’s seen and for Sam it’s been almost twice that long. Dean’s been on edge, Sam can tell. He’s not ignoring Sam anymore, which is good, but he’s short with him, snapping for no reason and he puts a little too much force into mundane actions like starting up the car or packing up his bag.

Sam knows his brother, knows the signs, and Dean needs to get laid. Bad.

Which is probably the only reason he doesn’t punch Sam in the mouth when Sam sinks to his knees on the floor next to the bed and pulls Dean to the edge, spreads his legs wide and settles between them to opens his pants.

Dean tenses at first, his body jerks when Sam’s knuckles brush over his dick as he lowers his zipper, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to stop Sam. Sam can feel him hold his breath as Sam pulls out his flaccid cock and then he feels Dean relax all over when Sam’s lips close around him, teasing him to hardness with his tongue.

It takes a while for Dean to get hard – Sam beats him there by a good two minutes – but as soon as he is Sam makes it as quick as he can. This is about release, about relieving some pent up sexual energy. Dean’s not ready for it to be more, not yet, and Sam’s not going to force him into something he’ll regret later.

As it is, Sam’s not sure how Dean’s going to take this once the edge is off and they start to sober up.

He works a hand down his own pants, brushes his palm over his dick a few times, comes at the same time Dean shoots down his throat. God, he’s missed this. Not sucking cock, no (because while he doesn’t quite have the same distaste for it that Dean does, it’s not really on his top five list), but touching Dean, bringing them both pleasure, being close. He’s missed it and it feels good.

He lets Dean slide out of his mouth slowly and sits back on his heels, looks up hesitantly to see Dean’s fingers still gripping the whisky bottle loosely in one hand while he rests the other on the bed to keep his balance.

Sam doesn’t say or do anything, waits for Dean to because Sam’s suddenly so scared that this was too much, that Dean’s going to leave, shout at him, hit him. That he’ll stop talking to Sam completely, start sleeping in a separate room again because clearly Sam’s an impatient, thoughtless douche who takes advantage of his half-drunk brother to get off.

But Dean just laughs a slightly broken laugh and tucks himself back in, puts the bottle down on the table and rubs a hand over his face.

“Fuck, I love blowjobs,” he says, and Sam barks a laugh as well, stands up and strips out of his dirty pants and underwear and grabs a clean pair from his bag.

Dean hasn’t moved from his place on the bed when Sam turns back around. He’s staring at a spot on the carpet and he’s not smiling anymore and the only sounds in the room are coming from some screaming girl on the television and the hum of the refrigerator in the corner.

“Dean,” Sam starts as he crosses to the bed to sit down again. He’s not quite sure what he wants to say but he knows he has to say something, stop Dean from getting maudlin and shutting him out.

“No, Sam,” Dean says before he can figure out what he wants to say, what he can say to make this all okay.

Dean gets up as soon as Sam’s thighs touch the mattress, grabs the bottle and sits back down on his own bed.

Fuck.

“Just… leave it alone, okay?”

Only Sam can’t.

He bites his tongue for about another hour, while they finish off the booze and the movie, but by time the credits roll and the bottle is empty Sam’s drunk enough and needy enough to press.

“So when are you gonna tell me?” he asks, the words coming out sloppy and slurred as his head lists slightly to the side. He’s way too drunk to have this conversation, he knows that but he just can’t keep his mouth shut. They’ve been good lately. Not back, but good and he just swallowed down a load of his brother’s jizz and came all over the inside of his pants while doing it.

Dean obviously still wants him, obviously still cares about him and it’s just about fucking enough already. Sam needs to know what the hell went wrong in the first place between them and he needs to make sure it never happens again. He needs Dean back. Really back.

“Tell you what?” Dean asks, which is actually more than Sam had been counting on. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d just ignored him and rolled over, fallen asleep without acknowledging the question.

“What went wrong,” Sam says, and looks over at Dean. “Between us.”

“You fucked someone else,” Dean tells him and there’s absolutely no inflection in his voice whatsoever. The words are flat and matter of fact, and Sam doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“Before that, Dean,” Sam says, shaking his head. “There was something wrong before that and you know it. You were distant. I tried to talk to you. I tried but you just kept pushing me away and I fucking… I missed you. I needed you and you were being an asshole and Cas was around all the fucking time and then I ask you about it and… And you tell me you wouldn’t go near me because of him and so. So what, Dean? What the fuck?”

Dean sits up straight then and his eyes turn hard. His jaw ticks and his lips purse. He suddenly looks much too sober.

“So what?” he asks. “I don’t want to fuck you on every available surface so you find someone who does? I slow things down for a while so you go find somewhere else to stick it? That was my punishment for putting the brakes on a little?”

Sam feels a little sick because shit no, that’s not even close to what it was and he sits up too, wobbles slightly as he tries to focus on Dean. At least he’s got the chance now to explain. Dean’s listening, finally listening, and he can try to explain.

“No,” he says, as soon as he’s sure he’s not going to fall over. Fuck, he shouldn’t have drunk so much. “Shit, no, Dean. It wasn’t a punishment. No.”

“You should have said something, man,” Dean tells him as the brief flash of anger leaves him and his face softens, his eyes crinkle as his face twists in all too familiar pain. God, Sam wants to just cross to the other bed and hug him until they both pass out. “If you wanted out, you should have just ended it instead of…”

“No!” Sam shouts, can’t let Dean even think something like that. “No, Dean I didn’t, I don’t want to end us. You were the one pulling away. I thought… I don’t even…”

“The thing is?” Dean continues, like he doesn’t even hear him. “If you’d just told me, Sam. If you’d just said ‘Hey Dean. I wanna fuck other people’ then I could have… I don’t even fuckin’ know, man. I could have prepared I guess? Could have gone back to what we had before, I could have known it was coming and not felt like such a complete fucking idiot.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“No. I never wanted anyone else. I swear, Dean.” And he never did, really. Except for that one crucial split second when he made the decision, drunk and angry and lonely. Biggest mistake of his fucking life. “I fucked up. I was stupid and drunk and I thought you were fucking Cas, and I just… I’m sorry, Dean. Please.”

He’s crying now, which is just fucking terrific, really. His eyes are starting to turn red and his nose is puffing up. Pretty soon he’s going to start snotting all over the place if he doesn’t get himself under control.

“I let you in, Sam. I let you in, and I let myself… And it was so fucking stupid.”

“Dean, please. Please don’t think that. Please don’t think that loving me was stupid. We can make this better.”

“No, it’s cool,” Dean tells him and rolls his shoulders. “I’m not gonna make that mistake again. Go to sleep, Sam.”

Dean shuts off the television and turns so that his back is to Sam. His breathing is even but even after twenty minutes Sam knows he’s not sleeping. Sam chokes back a broken sob as he bunches his pillow up under his head, can’t keep the sound back entirely because it’s too much. He broke Dean’s heart. As much as Dean broke his first, he broke Dean’s heart and he’s going to have to live with that for the rest of his life.

“I love you, Dean,” he says quietly.

Dean doesn’t look back at him, doesn’t move at all, not even a twitch and Sam isn’t sure if Dean even heard him. He almost hopes not.



“Cas knew.”

They’re the first words Dean has spoken to him in three days and when Dean finally speaks them they’re rough and gritty, throat hoarse from lack of use.

Dean was gone when Sam woke up the morning after the drunken blow job and ill-fated heart to heart and he hadn’t come back until the following evening. Since then they’ve been doing their best to avoid each other while they checked out the internet and national papers for something to hunt.

It’s well past supper now, the leftover pizza cooling on the table and Dean closes his laptop and looks over at Sam.

“What?” Sam asks, feeling warm and cold at once because Dean’s talking to him again but he has no idea where this is going.

“About us,” Dean says, clearing his throat while Sam pushes his own computer out of the way. “Cas knew. That’s what he was talking to me about, that first night he came to us for help. Told me he saw us. Doing… you know…” Dean waved a hand around and Sam cringed a little. Not because he was embarrassed, not exactly, but clearly Dean was. “And then he just fucking stared at me, like he could see right through me and I freaked out.”

Sam stares at him for a few seconds, but when Dean doesn’t continue he blinks and thinks really? That can’t be it.

“So that’s what that was about? You pulling away from me? Because Cas is a voyeuristic perv?” Sam sort of can’t believe it. He thought they’d been stronger than that. “You couldn’t have just told him to knock first?”

“That’s not…” Dean sighs in frustration and pokes at a cold slice of pizza. “It wasn’t about him catching a peep show, Sam.”

“Then what?” Sam tries to sound calm, tries to ground himself and not scream and curse Castiel’s name and tell Dean to stop being such a fucking pussy just because his angel boyfriend gets jealous.

“He… He didn’t approve. God, and I don’t blame him. This thing between us is fucked up, Sam. It’s wrong, you gotta know that. And Cas knew and just… fuck. Every time I went near you after he told me that I just kept thinking about him, what he’d say, what he’d think.”

Dean’s voice is so quiet when he says it, low and almost shy, like they’ve really got something to feel bad about and he owes Castiel an apology for fucking his brother on a regular basis.

Hell, maybe they do, and maybe Dean does. Yeah, Sam knows it’s wrong. At least it’s supposed to be. Doesn’t feel wrong though. Nothing has ever felt so right before as being with Dean. Not since he’s finally gotten over himself and let himself be happy. If only Dean could do the same.

“Because we’re brothers?” Sam asks. It really doesn’t matter why, in the end. Sam still sort of wants to know.

“No,” Dean says, pained. “Yes. Shit, probably, but… But look, it doesn’t matter, okay? The point is, he was right. You and me, we’re fucked up, and we’re better off not… fucking each other. Fuck, Sam. It’s incest!”

“Dean, that is such bullshit. What did he tell you?”

“Sam, do we have to…”

“Yes!” Sam shouts, slams his fist down next to his laptop and Dean flinches just slightly. “Yes, Dean, we do,” he continues with a forced calm. “If this is what took away the best thing that’s ever happened to me, then yes, I’d like to hear it.”

“He didn’t tell me anything I don’t already know, Sam.”

“Dean, just… what?”

Dean rolls his eyes and pushes back in his chair, looks at a spot on the wall over Sam’s shoulder.

“He told me to be careful, that I’d get hurt. That I always put you first, that I’m… I’m blinded by my feelings for you and you and me being together is just gonna bite me in the ass. Told me you’d leave. Again. And I’d feel like shit in the end.”

“And you…” Sam swallows back a wave of tears. “You believed him?”

“Like I said,” Dean says with a nonchalant shrug. “He didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. You’re everything to me, Sam. But I know you don’t feel the same way.”

“You’re a fucking idiot!” Sam says, exploding out of his chair and slapping his hands down on the table in front of Dean. “God, I can’t believe this is all because of your fucking insecurity and your stupid need to impress Castiel by proving him wrong and leaving me first!”

Dean stands up then too, eyes narrowed as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Let’s not go forgetting that he actually turned out to be right. You decided that sticking your dick in some guy whose name you didn’t even know was worth throwing away everything we had.”

Sam wants to shout at him but the thing is, Dean’s not even entirely wrong.

He’s not entirely right either, but he’s got enough of a point to deflate Sam a little, get him to drop it for now. His shoulders slump and he pushes off the table, walks aimlessly toward the bathroom but stops before he gets there.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he says for about the tenth time since Dean caught him with someone else.

Dean just looks at him for a moment before he flips open his laptop again and starts reading.

“Me too, Sam,” he says after a while, so quiet that Sam almost thinks he imagined it. “I’m sorry, too.”



The next day everything’s normal.

Too normal.

Dean touches him again, shoves and elbows him, insults him once in a while and points out a particularly voluptuous hooker on the street corner. He replaces the Maxim Sam was reading with a copy of Vanity Fair and makes fun of the salad Sam has for lunch.

It’s like Dean’s trying too hard to force them back into being just brothers again when it’s crystal clear to them both that they don’t really belong there. Not anymore. They’re more than that now, have been for a while and they probably can’t ever really go back, no matter how bad they want it.

It’s sucks in a way, because if everything else really is done between them that means Sam’s lost his brother too, the most important person in his entire universe. Sam needs him. Any way he can get him Sam needs him, because Dean was so fucking wrong when he said that Sam doesn’t feel the same.

Sam manages to hold it together, just barely, while Dean flirts with their dinner waitress and manages not to hit something when Dean leaves with her after her shift, winking at Sam and giving him a stupid fucking thumbs-up as he goes.



“Castiel you stupid son of a bitch!” Sam screams at the top of his lungs when he gets back to their motel room, alone. It’s the first chance he’s had to call on him since Dean told him what had actually been going on. “Get down here!”

There’s a few seconds of nothing, just Sam’s rapid breathing after his three block sprint and the sound of his blood pumping in his ears.

“Cas!”

Still nothing, shock of shocks.

Castiel doesn’t answer Sam on a good day, he’s sure as shit not gonna show up when he hates Sam for breaking Dean’s precious little heart and Sam hates him right back for starting all this bullshit in the first place. God, the most important relationship of his entire life, and now every aspect of it has gone completely to shit and all because Castiel can’t mind his own fucking business.

He sighs and grabs his computer, boots it up and places it on his lap as he settles on the bed. There’s got to be something to kill around here.



“It’s not fair, you know?” Dean says, and he sounds raw and broken as he pushes open the door to their room and kicks it shut behind him. He’s holding a bottle of vodka and some of the clear liquid sloshes out over the top as he trips over his own feet and tries to stand up straight.

It hasn’t even been two hours since Dean took off with the girl, but he’s back already and clearly shitfaced.

“What’s not fair?” Sam asks as he turns on the bed to face Dean where he sways by the door. He’s almost afraid to hear the answer.

“You fucked up, Sam.”

“I know,” he says weakly, because he fucking knows, God, why can’t Dean just let it go already?

“You fucked up and I’m the one that has to suffer,” he slurs, as if Sam’s not suffering. Fucking selfish prick. Yeah, Sam monumentally fucked up, but if Dean doesn’t think this is killing Sam too, he’s stupider than Sam thought.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, and he’s getting sick and fucking tired of saying it but it’s still just as true as it always is. “I’ve told you I’m sorry, Dean. Over and over. I meant it then, I mean it now. And I will do whatever it takes to make this work, but… But man, you’ve got to make a choice. If you think you can give me another chance, then give it to me. I promise I will give it 100%. But if you can’t, then you gotta let me go. Stop fucking punishing me for one lousy mistake.”

Dean just blinks at him, puts the bottle down on the table and opens and closes his mouth a couple of times like he’s not entirely sure how to respond to that. Good. Maybe he’ll get his head out of his ass a little.

“I mean… How many chances have I given you?”

“That’s not quite the same thing,” Dean says, and no, it’s not. Dean has never betrayed Sam quite like this (ogling strippers and forgetting their anniversary aren’t exactly in the same league as cheating) but he’s fucked up in this relationship more than his fair share. For months Sam was nothing but patient and understanding while Dean pushed him away and Dean can’t even… Fuck.

“Maybe we should split up,” Sam suggests. Even though it kills him to even think it, it might be for the best. If Sam doesn’t have to see Dean every day and not have him, maybe he can start to breath again. “Hunt separately for a while, until I can get over this.”

Yeah, like Sam would ever just ‘get over this’.

“Oh, so those are my choices?” Dean snarls, works his coat off in jerky movements and throws it down on one of the chairs. “Take back my cheating whore of a boyfriend or lose my little brother? Fucking… that’s fucking awesome, Sam.”

“Dean,” Sam nearly sobs, sucking in a sloppy breath and he can see Dean’s face change abruptly with regret.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean breathes out. “I’m sorry, man. Shit, I didn’t… You’re not a whore. I didn’t mean that. God, I’m sorry. I’m just feeling kind of crazy here. And…” He breaks off for a beat to laugh self-deprecatingly. “And drunk. Really fucking drunk.”

Sam gets that. He’s been feeling nothing but crazy for months now.

“Do you love me?” he asks, and the question surprises even him. And then he keeps going, which surprises him even more. “I don’t mean as a brother, I mean… Do you love me?”

“No,” Dean answers, and Sam does let a tear fall then. But before it can even slide over his chin Dean is crossing the room and he’s right there in front of him, wiping it away with his thumb and kissing Sam. It’s closed-mouthed, soft and it makes his chest hurt. Sam’s lips open and he lets out a hitched sob when Dean’s tongue licks gently over his and it feels like the first time Sam’s heart really, finally beats since Dean broke up with him.

Because maybe… Yeah, maybe.

“No,” Dean says again when he pulls back and Sam chases his lips briefly before he lets out a breath.

Dean’s not looking at Sam, his eyes are on the floor as he takes two steps back. “I can’t let myself.”

And then he’s disappearing into the bathroom, the sound of the shower spray breaking the silence in the room.



Sam’s gone by the time Dean gets out.

It’s a dick move, taking off while Dean’s not looking, but if he’d stayed around to tell Dean to his face that he had to leave, he never would have been able to follow through.

He leaves a note though. A stupid, pussy note telling Dean he’s sorry and he needs some time.

He does need time, he thinks as he drives a stolen ’92 Dodge Shadow north down two-lane blacktop. He loves Dean, more than he’s ever loved anyone or anything, but he can’t keep breaking himself on his brother and winding up frustrated and heartbroken because Dean’s too stubborn to realise just how much Sam loves him.

He needs this, this distance, this separation. Needs to get his head on straight, needs to learn to get by again without Dean for a while, if that’s even possible at this point. And maybe when he learns how to breathe on his own again, maybe when he doesn’t want to put his hand through a wall (or Dean’s face) when Dean ignores him in favour of a busty waitress or a particularly flaky piece of apple pie and tells Sam he ‘just can’t right now’, maybe then Sam can go back. But he’s not counting on it.

Damn Dean, kissing him like that, taking Sam’s breath away with those fucking lips of his, touching him with those fingers and getting his hopes up. Ripping Sam’s heart out again and again and jerking him around like a friggin’ yo-yo because he can’t just let it go.

Sam had obviously been delusional if he’d thought for a second that Dean would actually let him live this shit down, if he’d thought they could be together again. And it’s been looking more and more like Dean won’t even ever let them be family.

Family.

The one thing Dean has always claimed was more important than anything else, and Dean throws it out the fucking window over too much tequila and a split second of poor judgement.

Well, fuck that.

It sucks. This whole thing fucking sucks ass start to finish and damnit, Sam just can’t deal with Dean anymore. He’s sick of being the bad guy when all his attempts at apology and redemption are ignored.

He dumps the car at a gas station in the middle of Dallas and takes a bus to a motel just east of the city. He pays cash in advance for three nights because it’s all he can afford until he hustles some pool or steals something. He doesn’t want to use the credit card he’s got. Dean knows the name.

He’s still got his cell phone, knows Dean can track him if he wants to. He keeps it, but he shuts it off for now. Buys another one at a convenience store and starts using that instead.



He hunts. It’s pretty much all he does. Hunts, eats, sleeps.

He wins enough money in an underground poker game to last him a while and he skips town in a Greyhound to avoid having his kneecaps blown off by a mobster.

He picks up a local paper when he checks into a motel two days later and he starts hunting again.

Twelve days into his self imposed exile, he gets a visitor.

He doesn’t want one, not really, but he’ll take it, because at the moment it’s better than nothing. Better than hustling pool by himself and drinking too much and nearly shooting an innocent man through the heart because Sam had been distracted and made a mistake identifying the werewolf he’d been hunting.

It’s better than another night alone, trying to fall asleep through the haze of alcohol and the Dean-shaped hole in his chest.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t punch you in your stupid fucking face right now,” Sam says, pushing his legs over the side of the bed and putting the half finished bottle of Jack down on the table as he stands up.

He wobbles a little, so maybe he’s drunker than he thought, but he manages to stand up straight and focus without too much trouble.

Castiel’s eyes narrow and he cocks his head, like the guy is actually trying to come up with a good reason. That clueless shit is really starting to grate.

“A broken hand will be a hindrance,” Castiel answers, so fucking matter of fact that Sam wants to hit him even more. “I know you’re angry with me, but violence will have little effect.”

And yeah, okay. Sam knows that, or would if he was thinking clearly. Dean’s told him what happened when he tried to punch Cas and Sam is in no hurry to slam his knuckles into solid steel. But fuck, Sam is so pissed off.

“What are you even doing here anyway?” Sam asks, snarling slightly. “Come to brag that you finally did it? Finally made sure Dean and I are over?” He’s called Cas a few times over the past couple of weeks, but he’s never gotten an answer. Not until now.

Castiel’s eyes narrow briefly before his face evens out.

“You did that, Sam.”

“Fuck that! You’re the one that told him…” Sam takes a breath and closes his eyes. Opens them again. “You told him that… that we’re wrong. That what we had was wrong and you made him…”

“What you had was wrong, Sam. But my telling him that wasn’t what made him leave you.”

“How can you…” Sam starts, shaking his head as his face screws up into something he’s sure is entirely unpleasant. He can’t see himself, but he can see Castiel’s reaction, see his anger and his pity. “How can you fucking say that? How can you say we were wrong?”

“If the two of you needed to fornicate, you could have found more appropriate outlets,” Castiel doesn’t quite answer. His scowl is pretty damn epic though and Sam almost congratulates him.

“Fornicate?” Sam asks with a slightly hysterical edge. “You think that’s what we were doing?”

“I know that’s what you were doing,” Castiel tells him, his voice low and menacing, like he expects Sam to back down.

“Wow, you’re a moron,” Sam says. “Yeah, we were fucking, Cas,” he goes on and feels an irrational satisfaction when Castiel flinches at his choice of words. “But that’s not all it was. We loved each other. So much. We still do and if it wasn’t for you, sticking your Goddamn nose where it doesn’t belong I’d still have him!”

“Forgive me for being crass, but I believe Dean is no longer with you because it was you who stuck something where it didn’t belong.”

Sam snorts and balls his hands into fists at his sides to keep from taking a swing at Castiel.

“Wow,” he says. “Dean would be proud he’s rubbing off on you.” Castiel doesn’t say anything to that so Sam takes a breath and keeps talking.

“I’m in love with him,” he says helplessly. “We were happy and we weren’t hurting anyone.”

“Then why were you with another?” Castiel challenges and Sam opens his mouth to protest but Castiel cuts him off. “I saw it, Sam. I saw it before it happened and I saw Dean. Saw his pain.”

“Wait, did you…” Sam starts, sobering up a lot more in just the few seconds it takes to process that. “Is that what you told Dean? You told him I was going to cheat on him so he would end things before I got the chance? You dick!”

“I didn’t tell him that,” Castiel says. “I’d hoped he would never have to deal with the knowledge that his feelings were never truly returned. I hoped he’d leave you before that happened.”

“His feelings are returned, asshole,” Sam scowls. “And then some. What the fuck did you tell him?”

“I told him that letting you use him for sexual release was wrong, and that when you moved on he would regret it.”

“So… So him pushing me away was all because you put it in his head that I was using him for sex?! That I don’t really love him? What the fuck, man?” he continues, more to himself. “Dean knows better than that.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Sam,” Castiel tells him, eyes narrowing more now than they have since he showed up, and he takes a few slow steps towards Sam. Sam swallows, stands up straighter and makes a concerted effort not to step back, not to allow Castiel the advantage of intimidation.

It’s hard, but he does it. Castiel looks almost as pissed as Sam and he’s a hell of a lot tougher.

“You’re a smart boy,” he says, and Sam doesn’t bother to thank him for the compliment. He isn’t so sure that’s what it is, really. “But you can also be incredibly stupid. Especially where Dean’s concerned.”

“What are you getting at?” Sam demands, not in the mood for Castiel’s obtuse doubletalk. “Dean knows I love him. I tell him all the time!”

“Your brother is far more insecure than you give him credit for. He’s never felt that he’s good enough for you, in any respect. And historically speaking, you haven’t done much to dissuade him of those ideas.”

“Fuck you,” Sam snaps. “I never made Dean feel like he wasn’t good enough!”

Except hasn’t he? Castiel raises a disapproving eyebrow and Sam realises that yeah, he kind of has. Since Dean first asked him to… ‘go steady’ for lack a better term, Sam’s been expecting Dean to fuck up. And no, Dean’s never exactly been a great boyfriend, but he’s tried. For Sam he tried, which is more than he’s done for just about anyone else.

“Not only that,” Castiel says, interrupting Sam’s thoughts and Sam can’t help but think back further.

Really think, about growing up and about his relationship with Dean. Dean’s an asshole. Dean’s been picking on him for as long as he can remember. He’s an arrogant, bossy son of a bitch and he always thinks he knows best, has always expected Sam to just do what he says even when Sam knows that he’s right and Dean’s wrong.

But when Sam looks back now, he can see that Dean’s been pretty awesome too. More awesome than Sam’s really ever given him credit for.

Lucky Charms for supper and stolen Barbies for Christmas seemed pretty shitty when he was six or seven, but in retrospect he knows Dean did the best he could. And he knows that Dean still feels like a disappointment. Because Sam made him feel that way. Not that Dad didn’t help out.

“Dean’s problems are his own, Sam,” Castiel tells him, and Sam really wishes he would stop reading his mind. It’s creepy. “He doesn’t blame you. But everyone Dean has ever loved has left him.”

Castiel’s voice startles Sam and he blinks rapidly, shaking his head. Mom. Dad. Cassie, Lisa, Jo, Ellen… Even Castiel and Sam have left him at one point or another.

“Bobby hasn’t.” Which, yeah. A list of one is a pretty lame list and he should probably have just kept his mouth shut.

“You did.”

“What did you even come here for?” Sam asks, feeling like this entire confrontation has gotten away from him.

It takes Castiel a good thirty seconds to answer, his eyes on the floor next to Sam’s feet the whole time. Sam is just about to give up, yell, scream, tell Cas to get the fuck out of his room, but then Castiel quietly speaks.

“I was wrong,” he says.

“About?”

“You and Dean. It… It shouldn’t be right. But it is.”

“You’re not really making a lot of sense here, Cas.”

“Despite what I lead Dean to believe, incest is not a sin. It’s your society that condemns it, not my father. I was concerned for his well being because I believed you would betray him. As you did. My mistake was underestimating the overwhelming capacity for love and forgiveness between the two of you. My brothers and sisters… do not share that kind of bond.

“He’s not angry with you, Sam. He hasn’t been angry in a long time. He’s used what you did as an excuse because he believes you deserve better, because he thinks he can never make you truly happy.”

“He’s an idiot,” Sam says, kind of dazed. Wow, that’s… Yeah. He really hadn’t seen that coming. Maybe he should have.

Castiel smiles then, that crooked, half-smile and cocks his head slightly. “Yes,” he answers, then sobers again. “You are what he needs, Sam. You need each other, whether he realises that or not. Don’t give up on him.”

“He’s the one that gave up on me,” Sam protests, but it’s weak even to his own ears.

Castiel just stares at him for a beat, lets him know what he thinks of that statement. “He’s looking for you. If you truly love him, if you can withstand the doubt that he’ll always harbour within him despite your assurances, don’t hide.”

Castiel is gone before Sam can blink and he curses under his breath before picking up the bottle of whisky and downing three swallows before he falls back on the bed and drifts off into a dreamless sleep.



Two weeks.

It’s been two weeks since Castiel showed up in his motel room in Mississippi, and Sam’s been staying in the same room ever since. If Dean wants to find him, he’s made it pretty damn easy. He’s started to use the credit cards again, turned his cell phone on and if Dean cares enough he can just ask Castiel.

It’s good though, the time. Gives Sam a chance to think about what Castiel said. Think about all that Dean’s said, all he’s done, his friggin’ boatload of issues and whether or not Sam can actually live with them. Gives him time to think about how Dean was right all those months ago, up against the Impala in a diner parking lot, when he told Sam that it wasn’t all about him. These are Dean’s problems and Sam, essentially, has fuck all to do with them. All he can do is try to be supportive, try to be the best relationship Dean’s ever had and try not to get so caught up in his own problems that he turns to someone else for the comfort and companionship he should be getting from Dean.

He’s had two weeks, but the thinking was over and done inside of twenty-four hours and he’s been going slowly crazy for the past twelve days, waiting for Dean to show up. Hoping he hasn’t changed his mind.

He’s not an idiot. If Dean never really trusts him, never really feels like he’s good enough, their relationship is always going to have its problems. Sure, Sam could move on. Might even be able to find someone to settle down with one day, like Dean’s mentioned a couple of times. But Dean never, ever will.

No matter who he’s with, he’s never going to feel like he’s worthy. He’ll never be comfortable and happy and confident in a relationship. It’s just not who he is. But Sam’ll take him. Crazy insecurities and all. Because he loves Dean and he knows that Dean loves him and even if it’s hard, it’s better than not having each other. Even if he has to remind Dean every single day that he’s exactly where he wants to be.

Whatever bullshit they seem to be destined to forever put each other through, it’s all worth it. At least to Sam it is. And if Dean comes for him this time, he’s not taking no for an answer. He’s going to hold Dean down every morning for the rest of their lives and kiss him until he promises not to leave. If Sam has to be the one who holds them together, he’s okay with that.

So he waits, makes too many phone calls and pays his room bill under the name ‘Wedge Antilles’ and hopes that Castiel wasn’t wrong.

At two weeks and one day, Dean knocks on his door.

“You open the door without a gun in your hand?” Dean accuses, eyes slightly glazed as he looks Sam up and down. He’s drunk. Sam wonders if he’s been drunk this whole time. It would make Sam feel a little less pathetic over the amount of alcohol he’s consumed.

“I saw you pull up two hours ago,” Sam tells him. He’s also been watching out the window that entire two hours, saw Dean head into the bar on the corner and watched him come down the walk just now. “How’d you find me?”

Dean laughs at that, a short, sharp bark and shuffles inside the room as Sam steps back.

“You practically shot off a friggin’ flare, man.” Dean sighs and shuts the door behind him, rubs his hand over his face. He snickers as he picks up Sam’s half-full bottle of gin from the table and helps himself to a swig. Sam doesn’t protest.

“I’m sorry I made you leave, Sammy,” he says. “Sorry I made you feel like you had no other choice.”

“Dean…” He doesn’t know if he wants Dean to stop or go on. Just knows that he kind of wants Dean to finally say that he loves him and that he wants them to go back.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come after you right away. I should have. Shouldn’t have let you get this far, shouldn’t have made you wait. I just didn’t know…” He trails off and takes another swig of gin before he puts the bottle back down on the table.

“Didn’t know what?” Sam asks quietly.

Dean shakes his head and waves his hand, dismissing the question as he rests his ass against the table and crosses his arms over his chest. They only stay that way for a second before he opens them up again and they fall to his thighs, stutter and come to rest on either side of him on the table edge.

“See, here’s the thing,” Dean says, crossing his legs at the ankles and ducking his head. “You’re in me, Sam. You’re in me and I can’t fucking get you out. I hate you. Fuckin’ hate you so hard for what you did but…”

“But it’s not even really about that, about what I did. Is it?”

Dean snorts, an unpleasant sort of sound and doesn’t meet Sam’s eyes.

“No,” he answers. “No, not really. I mean, what you did sucked, but… But it was just kinda the nail in the coffin, you know?”

Dean stands up and takes a few wobbly steps in Sam’s direction, stumbles closer and falls on Sam when he moves to catch him, pressing Sam into the wall at his back. Dean’s chest is pressed tight against his own and Dean’s forehead is pressed against the wall by Sam’s neck, but Dean’s lower body is carefully angled away from Sam’s.

“Dean…”

“But I look at you, when you’re eating or reading or kicking some zombie ass and I just…”

Sam wants to talk but he’s afraid that if he does Dean will run. This here, this is precarious, delicate and Sam doesn’t want to shatter it. Dean’s finally fucking telling Sam what he wants to hear, sounds like maybe he might be one heartbeat away from telling Sam’s he’s forgiven and that Dean wants him again and Sam doesn’t want to do anything that might jeopardise that.

“What the fuck am I even…” Dean goes on, shakes his head and tilts it down so his chin rests on Sam’s shoulder. “I mean, shit Sam. Do you still want this? Me? Or am I just making a fucking fool out of myself here?”

“Dean, are you...? Really? Because, I mean…” Sam breaks off to let out a soft laugh and his hands come to rest on Dean’s hips. “Yes. Okay, yes. I want it, want everything.” God, does he ever. Even knowing it’ll never be perfect, he wants it.

Dean pulls back just enough that Sam can see his face, bites his lip, nods a jerky nod and leans closer again. His lips are less than an inch away from Sam’s when Sam’s hand on his chest stops him and Sam groans as Dean backs off, closes his eyes and bangs the back of his head against the wall.

Because he’s a damn idiot. Dean had been right there, so fucking close, everything Sam’s been wanting within arm’s reach, and now Dean’s several feet back, staring daggers at him.

But Dean’s done this before, Dean’s kissed him and held him and acted like maybe he wanted this only to change his mind after and Sam can’t really handle that again.

“This some kind of game to you?” Dean accuses, and Sam’s heart clenches. “Tell me you’re sorry, tell me you want me… and then just shut me down?”

“No. God, Dean, no. Of course not. I just… You’re drunk, man. Really drunk. And I don’t want to take advantage. I want you to be sure. I want you to mean this and… I guess I want to hear that you forgive me. I want you to say we can really be together again. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and have you resent me, or go back to ignoring me again until you get drunk enough and horny enough that we’re right back here.”

“Sam,” Dean says through a sharp breath, air getting caught in his throat and hitching as it passes into his lungs. “This is fucking hard, man.”

“I know.” God does he know. “Just, do me a favour. Please.” Dean doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t punch Sam out, or storm off in a huff, so Sam takes it as acceptance. “Sleep it off. Sober up and talk to me tomorrow. If you still feel the same way, I promise, I’ll give you anything you want.”

Dean nods, which at least is something, but the next thing he does is leave, shutting the door quietly behind him, so it’s probably not enough.

Sam looks at the table by the door and sees Dean’s car keys sitting there next to his wallet. At least he knows Dean won’t be driving.

He stares out the window most of the night and finally falls asleep when the sun is peeking up over the horizon and through the curtains, flooding the room in deep orange.



When the slam of the door wakes him up not even half an hour later Sam blinks his eyes open and can’t even manage to feel pissed off about the lack of sleep. The soft reddish light pours into the room over Dean’s shoulder and then mutes out when Dean moves, turns back to yellow and makes the room sort of glow.

It’s possible Sam’s hallucinating. Because Dean’s back. He’s here and he’s smiling and he’s looking kind of stupid and dopey like Sam’s the best thing he’s seen in days.

“So?” Dean asks, yanking out a chair by its back and sitting down in it, leaning forward slightly with his elbows resting on his thighs. “We gonna be sweeties again or what?”

“Dean…” Sam says, blinks and sits up in the bed. He rubs a hand over his face, stretches it out, tries to get the blood flowing enough to fully wake him up. The blanket falls around his waist, baring his chest. Dean looks tired, bags under his eyes dark and heavy, but he looks happy, eyes crinkling around the corners and Sam wants to kiss him. “Where the hell have you been?”

Dean ignores the question.

“I forgive you,” he says instead, and then Sam doesn’t care where Dean’s been, only that he’s okay, and that holy crap, Dean forgives him. “And I’m… I’m sorry. I know I was kind of a dick about the whole Cas thing. Know I should have just said something, instead of being… well, me.”

Yeah. Sure. Dean’s right, of course. Finally. He should have talked to Sam. But fuck, he should have talked to him a hell of a lot sooner and about something completely different. But if Dean needs to pretend that’s all this is about, pretend the wedge that was driven between them was all about Castiel and then later Sam’s cheating, Sam can pretend as well.

They’re Winchesters. Pretending is sort of their way. It’s unhealthy and dangerous and will probably only lead to more problems in the future, but as long as they’re together again Sam’s got time. He can make Dean believe he’s worthy of being loved, eventually. And even if he can’t, he’ll never give up trying.

“Dean, it’s fine. You don’t have to-”

“Sam, just shut up and let me say this, okay? Been practising this speech all fucking night. And just so you know,” he says, corners of his mouth turning up, “if you don’t take me back after this, the waitress at the twenty-four hour coffee shop down the road will.”

Sam smiles then and bites his bottom lip, waves a hand at Dean for him to continue.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I kind of keep things to myself.”

Sam laughs, because yeah, he’s noticed, but he keeps quiet otherwise.

“I know that’s not cool. I’m not much for sharing and caring, don’t know that I ever will be. So uh… Yeah, I’m probably not the best catch ever, and I’m going so off-script here it’s not even funny, but… But I want you to want me anyway. Even…” Dean gets quiet then and Sam has to stop breathing just so he can hear the next whispered words. “Even if I don’t deserve it. Even if you should have so much better.”

“I do,” Sam whispers. “God, Dean, I do. And there is no better than you. Not for me.”

“And even after you fucked around I should have just… I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. Yeah, you broke my heart, but I know you didn’t set out to hurt me. It was a stupid mistake, I get that, I do. God knows I’ve made plenty. But I just couldn’t get over myself enough to move past it.

“The thing is, before you, sex didn’t really mean much. But then you… and we… and it was…”

“Yeah,” Sam says, smiling and rescuing Dean from an incredibly awkward tangent that Dean’s not ready for. Sam can wait. “Yeah, I know. Me too.” Only not, because sex has hardly ever been meaningless for Sam. It’s not the sex that’s different with Dean, it’s everything else. It’s love, complete and absolute, honesty to a degree that’s been foreign to Sam if not to Dean. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Dean smiles back, just barely. A silent ‘thanks’ even though he knows Sam’s full of shit. The smile fades pretty quickly though, and Dean gets serious again.

“And then when I saw you, with that guy, it was… It was like it was all a lie, you know? Like I was right in the first place and I shouldn’t have let it mean so much. It fucked me up.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “But I was kind of a bitch about it. I know that. I didn’t think it would hit me that hard, didn’t think it would hurt like that. I was a douche and I should have just shrugged it off. No big deal.”

Sam shakes his head. “No, Dean. It was a big deal. I fucked up, broke your trust and I’m so fucking sorry.” There’s a part of Sam that can’t help but agree that Dean had pushed the moping and bitching a little past what was strictly necessary. He figures it’s best to just let it go though. It’s over. They’re back.

“I wish we could have had this conversation months ago, but that doesn’t matter now. Not if you really mean it. I love you. I want you. Please, can we just…”

The rest of what Sam wants to say is cut off by Dean’s lips pressed against his. His brother is up off his chair and across the room almost before Sam can blink, joining him on the bed and covering Sam’s body with his own. This time Sam doesn’t protest. If Dean’s not sure now, Sam doesn’t want to know.

He’s not letting go after this. Dean’s his, and he’s just going to have to get used to that.



After, when Dean’s still buried inside of him, face tucked into the crook of Sam’s neck with Sam’s come still warm and sticky between their bellies, Dean says “Hey Sammy?”

“Hmm?” Sam answers, fingers tracing lazy patterns over the soft skin of Dean’s back. This is one of the best moments he’s experienced in a damn long time. He kind of doesn’t want Dean to talk, because when Dean opens his mouth at times like these it’s pretty much for the sole purpose of ruining the mood.

“I love you too,” Dean tells him, quiet but sure, and his hands give Sam’s shoulders the tiniest of squeezes as he presses a kiss to the sensitive patch of skin below Sam’s earlobe.

Okay, so he was wrong.

Sam’s arms hold Dean tighter as he shifts over him and his ankles cross over Dean’s calves as Dean settles in. Sam can feel the smile against his neck and he returns it with a wide grin of his own.

Sam turns his head and nudges Dean’s nose with his, angles Dean’s face so that he can place a lingering kiss to his lips. It’s amazing. They’ve got work to do and it’s possible Dean will never be as happy and as sure about this as Sam is, but it’s so much more than worth it.

“Took you long enough.”

END