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For Warnings and Summary, see Master Post
Chapter Three
Dean followed Sam into the cabin. The silence Sam’d maintained on the walk back was grating on his nerves, but just as he opened his mouth to say something, Sam moved into the bathroom and slammed the door. Dean followed but paused with one hand on the doorknob and the other against the doorframe, suddenly unsure what to do. It’d been a long time since Sam had given off the vibe that he didn’t really want Dean around.
The water turned on, and he could hear Sam moving around inside. “Sammy?” Dean said quietly, pitching his voice just loud enough to be heard through the door. There was no answer, and Dean rested his head against the cool wood, bumping his forehead lightly against it.
The pulse of the water changed; Sam was in the stall. His desire to make sure Sam really was uninjured suddenly spiking, Dean's hand on the knob tightened. He stopped himself short of turning it. Maybe Sam was finally at a place where he needed some space. If he was, Dean needed to respect that. It would be a good sign, probably, even though Dean didn’t really want the space for himself. Sam had always been more independent… before.
Something had happened in the woods that had left Sam edgy and unsettled, though, so maybe Dean should… His hands were shaking under the weight of indecision. He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, didn’t know how to help his brother get over his issues. ‘Bury it and move on’ was the only thing he knew.
Sam didn’t seem to know how to do that… to be fair, maybe it wasn’t working for Dean so well this time, either.
He turned his back to the door, leaned against it and slid down, listening to the sound of the water hitting Sam’s skin. Dean focused until he could separate the thrum of water against skin from the soft thumps as it ricocheted off his brother’s body and splattered against the shower walls. The noise was soothing, smoothing out his thoughts and spinning them into white noise. It felt good, calming.
He really didn’t want to think anymore.
A loud thud pulled him out of his safe space and sent him flying up to pull uselessly at the door knob. Sam had freaking locked it which was… he shook the thought away, yelling, “Sam?” as he slammed the weight of his body against the door.
Pain spilled down his shoulder, and he clutched at himself, moaning slightly. He only indulged himself for a second before throwing himself against the door once more. He thought he heard a sharp cracking sound, but the door remained solidly closed, and… what the hell? Why the hell had the cabin builders used a fucking solid door for a bathroom?
He slammed his fist against it one more time, completing the line of fire down his entire right side and highlighting the fact that panic was making him act like a complete idiot; he knew the correct way to break down a door, and it wasn't with your shoulder. “Sam? Damn it!” Dean inhaled deeply one more time, bracing himself, before sending a solid kick towards the door, to just below the knob, only to have it simply open at the last possible moment.
Too late to stop his forward momentum, Dean swung his foot down as he spun around to the side. He narrowly avoided landing the kick on his unsuspecting brother. Instead, he ended up slamming into Sam so hard with the side of his shoulder that he drove the air from Sam in a startled whoosh. They nearly went down in a tangle of limbs, but Sam grabbed hold hard enough to bruise, and they managed to stay upright.
Dean flushed, feeling a little lame for overreacting. Lock picks probably would have been the better way to go, more effective and less obvious. Sam must think he was an idiot.
He pushed away from his brother, an embarrassed, “Sorry,” slipping from his lips before he realized that he’d been feeling tremors rippling beneath Sam’s skin, which was still warm and steaming from the shower. Sam’s gaze was fixed downward, his breaths coming out in jagged gasps. He looked young, vulnerable... The sight tore at Dean’s heart.
“Hey,” Dean whispered, slipping mostly steady fingers across the harsh stubble on Sam’s chin. He pushed his hand up to curl into the wet strands of Sam’s hair and tugged softly in a gentle attempt to capture his brother’s attention. The muscles all along the back of Sam’s neck tensed, and Sam flinched back at Dean’s touch.
Dean immediately started to pull back, but suddenly Sam was pushing him back to slam against the opposite wall of the bathroom. Sam crowded into his space, biting over his lips with a fierce, hungry, unequivocable claim. Dean yielded to Sam’s demanding tongue, not sure what to make of the sudden shift, but far preferring needy possessiveness over the fear that never seemed to stay far out of reach. He opened under the assault with a moan as Sam’s tongue slid along his own, slipped over the top and swirled around underneath. Sam grasped Dean’s head on either side to pull him in closer and suck his tongue down deeper, scraping teeth over Dean’s tongue and lips with a pressure just on the edge of painful.
Sam’s lips began a slow seductive journey down Dean’s face, licking and sucking over the edge of his chin and working back along his jaw. Stopping just below Dean’s ear, Sam bit against the skin, worrying it between his teeth before sucking it in forcefully. The sharp pain shot straight to Dean’s dick. He arched his head back, exposing his neck to Sam’s explorations, and Sam let out a low growl. The vibration of sound tickled over Dean’s skin, and Dean writhed up against Sam’s body. Dean needed contact, needed Sam’s touch so bad he was ready to tackle his brother down to the ground if he didn’t get it soon.
Sam dragged Dean’s shirt up, and Dean eagerly threw up his hands to let Sam tear the offending clothing up and off of his body. His brother maneuvered him around, pushing him backwards and steering him out of the bathroom towards the bed. Dean kicked his shoes off as they moved together. Their hands and mouths clashed in frenzied movements, desperately seeking the needed touch and taste of every inch of each other’s skin. Sam had never even grabbed a towel, and, between the wet of Sam’s skin and the chill of the main room, shivers vibrated through Dean’s body forming a delicious contrast to the heat Sam was raising under his skin. Sam yanked Dean’s pants down and stepped on them as he nudged Dean to step back out of them. With one, final, hard shove, Dean landed with a huff on his back, splayed out and completely exposed, with his legs draped over the edge of the bed.
Sam fell to the floor between Dean’s knees and nudged them further apart to make room. Strong hands smoothed over the flesh of Dean’s inner thighs, rubbing delicate, playful circles into the skin. Each pass drifted tantalizingly close to Dean’s balls only to skitter away at the last second. In no time at all, Dean was arching up, desperately searching for contact. His hands strained against the blankets, bunching the material together in clenched fists; his jaw clamped tight in an effort not to speak, but it was a hopeless battle.
“Sam, please,” ripped from Dean’s throat. The wet warmth of Sam’s tongue caressing over the underside of his dick made Dean moan and tremble with need. Sam played along the underside of the ridge before sweeping up to lap at the moisture beading over the tip. Dean throbbed under the attention. He wasn’t going to last long this time.
Sam stilled over him. Several seconds slipped by with Dean gasping for breath, craving and waiting and trying to make sense of the change, before Dean realized that Sam hadn’t just paused, he’d stopped. Sudden uneasiness slammed the lid down on his lust. He lifted his head from the bed and looked down. “Sam?”
Sam’s face was completely inscrutable, his gaze locked on Dean’s dick. His breaths were coming out hard and fast, his muscles rigid and holding him locked in a hover over Dean’s body. Sam didn’t respond to Dean’s question, so Dean asked it again, a little louder this time. “Sammy, you okay?”
A flash of anger crossed Sam’s face before he blanked his features out again. After a slight pause, Sam replied, “Yeah, Dean. ‘M fine.” His voice was husky and soft.
Sam’s hands were resting on Dean’s knees, and he tickled over the light dusting of hair above them with his fingers as if he found it suddenly fascinating, which.... Dean sat up cautiously, an action that Sam echoed, sitting back on his heels and reluctantly dropping his hands into his lap. Sam’s dick was still hard, but the mood was completely wrong now.
Slowly tracking his gaze up Dean’s body, he finally met Dean’s eyes. Sam’s don’t-argue-with-me expression crept over his features and his body braced for a fight. Dean couldn’t quite figure out how they’d moved from all-consuming lust to awkward and angry in sixty seconds flat. “I want…” Sam stopped and cleared his throat, his neck muscles popping with tension. Finally, he choked out, “I want you to… fuck me this time.”
A sudden blaze of panic flowed over Dean. Sam wasn’t ready for... fuck that. Dean wasn’t ready for Sam to freak out like that again. “No.”
“Dean…”
Dean lurched up off the bed and backed away until his ass hit the dresser. His hands dropped back and gripped the edge of the wood. The solidness made him feel slightly better; he didn’t stop to analyze why. “No,” he repeated again, his tone not allowing any room for argument because this was a ridiculous conversation to be having in the first place. What the hell was his brother even thinking?
Sam stood up and moved toward Dean. His muscles flexed gracefully over his tall frame, but Dean could see the underlying tension rippling beneath his skin. Sam pressed his body against Dean in an unbroken line and dipped down to stroke his tongue wetly over Dean’s lips. Dean kept his mouth shut tight, his jaw clenched, determined not to give in. Sam’s teeth scrapped against Dean’s bottom lip nibbling gently, and then Sam pulled back slightly, his breath close enough to caress over Dean’s mouth. “Please, Dean. I need this. I need you to do this for me.”
Dean didn’t trust himself to speak, simply shook his head once, sharply.
Moving back just enough to meet Dean’s gaze, Sam added, “Please, don’t make me beg.” His eyes were pooling with pain and vulnerability, his face clouding with that look that only their father had ever been successful in denying.
“Shit, what the hell?” Dean forced himself to ask. “Why now? Why tonight?”
“I just… I need to take back my control, Dean. I need to erase what that bastard did to me. I need to know it doesn’t have to hurt.” Sam’s voice was husky with unvoiced pain.
Dean opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again, at a loss. He tried again, “You aren’t…”
What? Okay? Sane? Strong enough? He couldn’t say any of that to his brother. “The last time we tried this you freaked out.”
“And we haven’t tried it since!” Sam replied petulantly. “I’m better than I was then. It’s been a couple of months, for God’s sake.” Dean opened his mouth to say no again, but Sam cut him off with a whispered, almost hopeless sounding, “Please…”
“Fuck,” Dean bit out, his resolve crumbling. “Yeah. Okay… okay…”
A brief flicker of relief passed over Sam’s features, followed by a flash of anger, which Sam covered up with lust so fast Dean thought maybe he’d imagined it. Sam dropped his lips to Dean’s. A strangled, almost whimper issued from deep in his throat, his tongue pushing into Dean’s mouth with a passion laced with desperation. The intensity of the kiss short-circuited Dean’s brain for a moment. The sharp demanding covetousness Sam was displaying stirred something primal in him – a need to be claimed, owned by his brother that left him breathless.
Sam took advantage, not letting their mouths part as he backed them both up to the bed. The forceful press of teeth scraping against the inside of his mouth was harsh enough to draw a little blood and tinge the taste of their kisses with copper. Dean moaned into it, allowing himself to surrender to his need.
Sam relaxed his grip enough to lick up the side of Dean’s face, his tongue flickering over sweat-salted skin. His breath was labored and warm by the time he reached Dean’s temple. He hovered there for a moment, and Dean moaned and leaned in, seeking more. Sam ignored Dean’s wordless plea, and instead turned Dean’s head forward to press light kisses over Dean’s eyelids.
Without warning, Sam turned around and crawled onto the bed, face first. Dean’s dick hardened with a painful pulse as he took in the sight of the long length of Sam’s back and ass, etched deeply with the play of muscle under skin. Dean had given up months ago on trying to deny that the barely contained power in Sam’s body left him aching.
Dean kneeled on the bed between Sam’s sprawled legs, and Sam moaned out, “Please… hurry, need you so bad…” Dean placed a kiss against Sam’s ass, licking over the muscle that twitched in reaction, before climbing all the way up Sam’s body and relaxing down to let their bodies press together while he fumbled in the drawer for the lube.
It took two tries to get his shaking hands around the stupid tube of KY, and when he got it on his fingers in a messy glob, he froze, his wits deserting him. He desperately didn‘t want to hurt Sam, and the prickling awareness that he didn’t understand where this sudden urgency was coming from was leaving Dean feeling unsure and off-balance.
“Here,” Dean murmured as soothingly as he could, throwing the tube down on the bed and pushing against the back of Sam’s knee. “You need to tuck your knees underneath you. It’s easier that way.” Sam buried his face in his hands and obediently tucked his legs up, letting Dean slide his ankles apart so his ass was opened up and exposed. Dean leaned forward and pressed feather light kisses against Sam’s back while he pressed the skin warmed lube against Sam’s hole.
The sharp exhalation of air from Sam startled Dean and he pulled back in alarm, but Sam only whispered, “Don’t stop,” and Dean cautiously moved forward once more. He rested his fingers against Sam’s entrance, letting them tickle over the skin as he reached around to grasp Sam’s partially hardened dick with his other hand.
Dean pumped his fist up and down on Sam’s cock several times until he felt it start to stiffen. Sam whimpered into the pillow, pulsing his ass back in search of more contact. Dean had kept his finger pressed firmly against Sam, and it pushed inside up to the first knuckle when Sam surged. Sam froze, little tremors jerking through the muscles of his back and a harsh gasp escaping his throat.
Dean leaned forward, brushing his lips softly against the back of Sam’s neck in a gentle caress. “You okay?” he whispered, every muscle screaming at him to get the fuck off of his brother. He couldn’t shake the rising panic that this wasn’t really what Sam wanted – that there was something more going on here.
“Fuck,” Sam spit out harshly, and abruptly pushed back, driving Dean’s finger all the way inside. Sam moved forward and then pushed backwards once more, thrusting onto Dean’s finger, and he breathed out, “More, Dean. I need…I need…”
Dean closed his eyes and whispered, “Fuck... Me…” The hot inner walls of Sam’s passage were squeezing tightly around Dean’s finger, and his dick was suddenly throbbing painfully in anticipation. His fear fled in the face of Sam’s demanding movements; he grabbed the lube, added more and slipped a second finger inside. He matched Sam’s rhythm, pushing in and out of Sam’s body with rapid movements, barely managing to keep enough of his senses together to stretch Sam thoroughly.
The minutes passed as they moved together, until Sam finally yelled out, “Goddamn it, Dean, quit dicking around. I need you inside of me. Now!”
Anger, impatience, fear, lust and love warred for dominance in Dean’s mind, his turbulent emotions making it hard to think, but he managed to grit out, “Not gonna hurt you…” He squeezed more lube onto his hand and grabbed Sam’s hip to slow their movements so he could carefully add a third finger.
Sam put his head down and pressed it against his arms; his breaths came out fast and harsh, little sounds of needy pain escaping with every other exhalation. His whole body trembled and fought to move. Sam’s back was covered in sweat, the hair on the back of his neck plastered to his skin. Dean bent forward and ran his tongue across it, licking and kissing and whispering nonsense across Sam’s skin. “I’m here, Sam, right here. It’s just me. Relax, baby, I’m right here...”
Dean continued working his fingers in and out of Sam’s clenched hole, fighting to get the muscles to relax. His brother was still really tight, or, at least, Dean thought so, but he didn’t actually know for sure, and he quietly cursed his own inexperience.
“Damn it, just do it… please,” Sam moaned out, and the quiet, desperate need of Sam’s tone went straight to Dean’s dick.
“Yeah, okay…” he whispered, pulling his hand free and lining up his cock against Sam. Sam froze once more, holding his breath as Dean pushed forward slightly. Nothing happened at first, and Dean had to grab Sam’s hips to hold them steady as Dean increased the pressure. “You okay, Sammy?” Dean couldn’t help himself from whispering once more.
“Fuck, Dean,” Sam gasped out, “just fucking do it already!”
Dean pushed forward with a powerful thrust, and his dick popped past the tight clench of muscle, sinking in more than an inch.
“Shit,” Sam and Dean gasped out at the same time, on the same breath.
It felt… amazing. Tighter and dirtier than any girl he’d ever been with. He’d expected it to be a little different, but he was kind of stunned at how much better, how much hotter, how much more turned on by it he was. Helplessly, he pushed deeper into Sam, needing more contact, needing more…
He slid his dick in bit by bit with ever deepening thrusts. It seemed to take forever until, finally, his balls made contact with the skin of Sam’s ass. Sam was still shaking under him, and he pressed kisses along Sam’s spine in a desperate attempt to relax him. Dean forced himself to still, letting Sam adjust to his presence, but it took every ounce of will power he had to do it.
Sam’s harsh intake of air was all the warning he got before Sam pulled away and then surged back, encouraging Dean to thrust. Fireworks went off in Dean’s groin and went straight to his head. He started thrusting in and out of Sam’s body, luxuriating in it at first and then gradually picking up speed. He could feel his balls drawing up and didn’t think he was going to last long. With one forceful plunge down he paused again, breathing harshly in and out, trying to calm the needy pulsing in his balls.
“Dean?” Sam questioned, breathy and unsure.
“Give me a second, Sam, or I’m gonna come too soon.”
Dean tried to reach around to Sam’s cock, but Sam suddenly pulsed down under him, gasping out, “It’s okay, Dean… please… come.” A tiny moan that almost sounded more like a sob followed the words. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Sam pushed back, clenching around Dean’s dick and causing his brain to short circuit once more.
Dean stuttered into motion, unable to stop the movement in the face of Sam’s encouragement, and, seconds later, his orgasm crashed over him, buffeting through him in endless waves until he collapsed over Sam, completely spent.
Sam’s was breathing was stuttering out in deep, fierce gasps, his muscles twitching under Dean’s weight. “Sammy?” Dean panted out against Sam’s sweaty skin. “Did… did you…” Dean tried to reach around Sam’s body once more, and the sick certainty of something wrong crawled over his skin when Sam jerked away from his touch and sat up, facing away from him.
“Sam?” Dean said, mirroring Sam’s motion in alarm.
His brother shook his head, kept himself turned away. His body was stilling, but his muscles stayed hard and tense. “I’m fine. Just gonna go clean up,” Sam rasped out. He stood up abruptly and strode into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly before Dean could figure out how to react. The lock clicked into place with an air of finality, snapping Dean out of his post-orgasmic stupor.
Dean climbed off the bed and moved hesitantly toward the bathroom door, trying to figure out what Sam needed as he moved. “Sam?” he called when he reached the door, knocking softly. He put his ear to the wood but heard only silence. Panic and anger clouded his mind, overriding his instinctive caution, and he pounded on the wood. “Open the damn door, Sammy!” he yelled, continuing to pound, undeterred by the ever increasing pain in his fist.
“Back the hell off, Dean!” Sam finally yelled back. “I just… I need a few minutes, okay? Go back to bed.” Sam’s voice was muffled by the thick door, and Dean couldn’t tell much from Sam’s tone beyond the obvious irritation that his words conveyed.
Dean took several deep breaths, forcing down the panic, and then loudly said, “Fine. I’m moving back to the bed, but I’m not going to sleep, so don’t stay in there all night. We need to talk.”
He was greeted with silence, so he added an impatient, “Okay?”
When he still got nothing, he moved warily back to the bed and perched on the edge.
Not taking his eyes off the door, he waited.
~o0O0o~
Sam stared at his reflection in the mirror. The cold fury that had stolen through his mind as soon as Dean had entered him made his eyes look stony and flat. He took a deep breath and held it, then let it out slowly, trying to force his feelings back down. He wasn’t even sure what he was mad about; Dean had done exactly what Sam had begged him for. He looked down at his angrily swollen dick with disgust. He couldn’t bring himself to touch it – the thought of coming made his stomach twist and heave.
The air in the bathroom was rank and stifling. He reached out, opened the small window and pressed his face against the screen to suck in deep lungfuls of clean air, but his stomach refused to settle. He could feel the slow, cold path of semen trickling down the back of his leg, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch it, and, whenever he thought about it, his stomach heaved, dry and unproductive and painful. It’s Dean, just Dean, it’s okay, it’s Dean… he thought to himself, trying desperately to stay calm. He gripped the windowsill firmly, needing something tangible to hold on to, while he pressed his forehead harder against the screen, craving the comforting smell of freedom. Suddenly the screen popped out from the pressure, clattering to the ground below.
He jerked back from the noise but forced himself to lean forward once more, until his face was poking slightly out of the window. Somehow, the absence of the flimsy barrier made his heartbeat spike. Dean would have a field day if he knew how irrational Sam was being… except… it wasn’t safe here, but then… it wasn’t really safe anywhere.
A soft noise outside in the trees sent Sam spinning down into a defensive crouch. Operating more on instinct than logic, he kept his eyes locked on the open window and reached an unsteady hand into his duffle to pull out the emergency knife he stored there.
Once the comforting weight of the knife was resting solidly in his hand, he moved backwards and pressed himself against the safety of the wall. He kept the knife at the ready, waiting. This time, he wouldn’t go down without a fight.
Shifting winds, the cacophony of cricket song, falling twigs, and the loud, cracking sound of early morning dew dripping from countless tree limbs and leaves filled his senses and made it hard to hear anything specific. Sweat beaded on his skin to trickle down the side of his face in an itchy trail that coated the handle of his blade, making the grip less secure. His fingers clenched around it, but he fought to keep his grip loose and easy – he’d be no good in a fight like this. He sat on the floor, willing his panic to fade away. Little by little, the anger crept back, leaving his emotions a confusing mess churning in his stomach. This wasn’t him. Sam Winchester didn’t fucking panic.
His dick throbbed, and he dropped the knife to press his hand against himself. Goddamn it! Why the hell was he still hard? His stomach heaved again and he ripped his hand away to fumble clumsily for his knife. His hand was shaking so badly that he could barely pick it up, and he dropped it twice before he got a firm grip and managed to point it the right way. His gaze locked on the window once more; something could have come through, and he never would have fucking noticed. The crickets were still singing. He couldn’t hear crap over them, and he felt the sting of hopelessness creeping through his head.
His finger throbbed; he hadn’t even noticed that he’d cut it. He glanced down as he uncurled his fingers from around the grip, and his gaze caught on the clean cut. He stared at it, suddenly fascinated by the ruby trickle against the whiteness of his skin.
The throbbing in his finger was echoing the throbbing in his dick, shifting his attention back down.
Samuel…
The name reverberated around the small room, cold and sibilant, and Sam knew what was coming next. No… He cradled the knife against his chest, pressing it against his skin, frantic for a distraction. His brain was playing tricks on him again. “Please, you aren’t real. You’re dead!” he forced out, his voice barely audible.
Soft laughter filled the room, taunting him, covering him, bathing his body in filth. He was naked and exposed and helpless, just like he always was. This was never going to end – he would never be free. He closed his eyes, a slowly building litany of, “No,” slipping past his lips in stubborn protest. The hands moved over his skin anyway, one wrapping around his stomach, holding him close, as the other circled over his dick. Sam’s body took on a life of its own, writhing under the invasive touch, a pathetic keening noise drowning everything out.
Its hand jerked over his dick, pulling tightly, and Sam felt the building orgasm that he couldn’t control, couldn’t stop, could never stop. The first painful pulse ripped a scream from his throat, his head slamming back against the wall. His fury left him in a rush as his dick emptied rope after rope of white, cloudy betrayal that ended right as the door to the bathroom slammed open next to him.
“Sammy? Jesus Christ…” The words filtered through the roaring in his ears, but he couldn’t make sense of them.
Rough hands grabbed his shoulders, and he jerked away, moving against the bathtub and bringing up the knife even though he didn’t really trust it to keep him safe. Faster than he could process, the knife was pulled from his grasp, leaving his fingers tingling, and then the hands were back at his shoulders.
“Get off me!” he yelled, fury making the words grate through his throat. The grasping hands pulled back immediately, and as the haze started to slip from his vision, his brother’s features, etched with concern and tension, swam into focus.
“Dean?” His words were back to sounding weak and pitiful. “Please… just go... Don’t want you to see me like this…”
“Like hell I will,” Dean grated out, and Sam flinched back instinctively from the anger laced tone. Sam tried to move away, but he was shaking so badly that he couldn’t avoid Dean’s strong arms circling around him. He felt the last remains of his rage slipping away as Dean’s hands closed the circle. The last vestiges of his strength drained away along with the anger, and a helpless sob escaped him as he sank into Dean’s calming presence.
“You’re okay, you’re okay…” Dean was murmuring against Sam’s ear over and over, and Sam could feel Dean’s body shaking against his own. It didn’t… that didn’t make sense. Dean wasn’t a pathetic mess like Sam was… Sam tried to pull back to look at Dean, but his brother’s arms tightened, keeping Sam close with their vice-like grip.
Sam moved up onto one knee in an attempt to get more leverage, but he slipped against the floor. It was wet, which… he didn’t remember turning on the water… “Dean?” Sam breathed out, the name a question.
Dean took in a sobbing, aching breath against Sam’s neck and breathed out, “I don’t know how to help you, Sammy. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
The confusion and despair coloring Dean’s voice caused Sam’s heart to clench painfully in his chest, and he jerked back helplessly in Dean’s immovable grip. “I don’t… I need…” He couldn’t make sense of the jumble in his head.
Dean’s arms suddenly released Sam; Dean was pushing him back, his body unstable on the slick floor, and Sam looked down. The floor was a mess of red smears.
Dean’s hands were moving over Sam’s chest, which abruptly flared with pain. When Sam looked down, he discovered his skin was crisscrossed with shallow, and not-so-shallow, cuts and his right hand was dripping with blood.
Sam felt slow and thick, his head pulsing in time with the pain from the cuts, and he couldn’t do anything but stare stupidly down at himself.
Dean grabbed Sam’s hand, looked closely at his fingers and muttered, “This is gonna need stitches.” He pressed a washcloth into Sam’s hand and ordered, “Hold this tight. We’ve got to move you so that I have more room to work.”
It was getting more and more difficult to focus on Dean’s words. Sam’s eyelids blinked closed, and that simple action filled him with a wash of pleasure. He let the tension bleed out of his body as he slowly collapsed in on himself. Awareness of everything around him darkened, and, desperate for the relief of oblivion, he couldn’t make himself fight it.
Even his brother’s anxious call wasn’t enough to pull him back.
Chapter Two | Chapter Four
Chapter Three
Dean followed Sam into the cabin. The silence Sam’d maintained on the walk back was grating on his nerves, but just as he opened his mouth to say something, Sam moved into the bathroom and slammed the door. Dean followed but paused with one hand on the doorknob and the other against the doorframe, suddenly unsure what to do. It’d been a long time since Sam had given off the vibe that he didn’t really want Dean around.
The water turned on, and he could hear Sam moving around inside. “Sammy?” Dean said quietly, pitching his voice just loud enough to be heard through the door. There was no answer, and Dean rested his head against the cool wood, bumping his forehead lightly against it.
The pulse of the water changed; Sam was in the stall. His desire to make sure Sam really was uninjured suddenly spiking, Dean's hand on the knob tightened. He stopped himself short of turning it. Maybe Sam was finally at a place where he needed some space. If he was, Dean needed to respect that. It would be a good sign, probably, even though Dean didn’t really want the space for himself. Sam had always been more independent… before.
Something had happened in the woods that had left Sam edgy and unsettled, though, so maybe Dean should… His hands were shaking under the weight of indecision. He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, didn’t know how to help his brother get over his issues. ‘Bury it and move on’ was the only thing he knew.
Sam didn’t seem to know how to do that… to be fair, maybe it wasn’t working for Dean so well this time, either.
He turned his back to the door, leaned against it and slid down, listening to the sound of the water hitting Sam’s skin. Dean focused until he could separate the thrum of water against skin from the soft thumps as it ricocheted off his brother’s body and splattered against the shower walls. The noise was soothing, smoothing out his thoughts and spinning them into white noise. It felt good, calming.
He really didn’t want to think anymore.
A loud thud pulled him out of his safe space and sent him flying up to pull uselessly at the door knob. Sam had freaking locked it which was… he shook the thought away, yelling, “Sam?” as he slammed the weight of his body against the door.
Pain spilled down his shoulder, and he clutched at himself, moaning slightly. He only indulged himself for a second before throwing himself against the door once more. He thought he heard a sharp cracking sound, but the door remained solidly closed, and… what the hell? Why the hell had the cabin builders used a fucking solid door for a bathroom?
He slammed his fist against it one more time, completing the line of fire down his entire right side and highlighting the fact that panic was making him act like a complete idiot; he knew the correct way to break down a door, and it wasn't with your shoulder. “Sam? Damn it!” Dean inhaled deeply one more time, bracing himself, before sending a solid kick towards the door, to just below the knob, only to have it simply open at the last possible moment.
Too late to stop his forward momentum, Dean swung his foot down as he spun around to the side. He narrowly avoided landing the kick on his unsuspecting brother. Instead, he ended up slamming into Sam so hard with the side of his shoulder that he drove the air from Sam in a startled whoosh. They nearly went down in a tangle of limbs, but Sam grabbed hold hard enough to bruise, and they managed to stay upright.
Dean flushed, feeling a little lame for overreacting. Lock picks probably would have been the better way to go, more effective and less obvious. Sam must think he was an idiot.
He pushed away from his brother, an embarrassed, “Sorry,” slipping from his lips before he realized that he’d been feeling tremors rippling beneath Sam’s skin, which was still warm and steaming from the shower. Sam’s gaze was fixed downward, his breaths coming out in jagged gasps. He looked young, vulnerable... The sight tore at Dean’s heart.
“Hey,” Dean whispered, slipping mostly steady fingers across the harsh stubble on Sam’s chin. He pushed his hand up to curl into the wet strands of Sam’s hair and tugged softly in a gentle attempt to capture his brother’s attention. The muscles all along the back of Sam’s neck tensed, and Sam flinched back at Dean’s touch.
Dean immediately started to pull back, but suddenly Sam was pushing him back to slam against the opposite wall of the bathroom. Sam crowded into his space, biting over his lips with a fierce, hungry, unequivocable claim. Dean yielded to Sam’s demanding tongue, not sure what to make of the sudden shift, but far preferring needy possessiveness over the fear that never seemed to stay far out of reach. He opened under the assault with a moan as Sam’s tongue slid along his own, slipped over the top and swirled around underneath. Sam grasped Dean’s head on either side to pull him in closer and suck his tongue down deeper, scraping teeth over Dean’s tongue and lips with a pressure just on the edge of painful.
Sam’s lips began a slow seductive journey down Dean’s face, licking and sucking over the edge of his chin and working back along his jaw. Stopping just below Dean’s ear, Sam bit against the skin, worrying it between his teeth before sucking it in forcefully. The sharp pain shot straight to Dean’s dick. He arched his head back, exposing his neck to Sam’s explorations, and Sam let out a low growl. The vibration of sound tickled over Dean’s skin, and Dean writhed up against Sam’s body. Dean needed contact, needed Sam’s touch so bad he was ready to tackle his brother down to the ground if he didn’t get it soon.
Sam dragged Dean’s shirt up, and Dean eagerly threw up his hands to let Sam tear the offending clothing up and off of his body. His brother maneuvered him around, pushing him backwards and steering him out of the bathroom towards the bed. Dean kicked his shoes off as they moved together. Their hands and mouths clashed in frenzied movements, desperately seeking the needed touch and taste of every inch of each other’s skin. Sam had never even grabbed a towel, and, between the wet of Sam’s skin and the chill of the main room, shivers vibrated through Dean’s body forming a delicious contrast to the heat Sam was raising under his skin. Sam yanked Dean’s pants down and stepped on them as he nudged Dean to step back out of them. With one, final, hard shove, Dean landed with a huff on his back, splayed out and completely exposed, with his legs draped over the edge of the bed.
Sam fell to the floor between Dean’s knees and nudged them further apart to make room. Strong hands smoothed over the flesh of Dean’s inner thighs, rubbing delicate, playful circles into the skin. Each pass drifted tantalizingly close to Dean’s balls only to skitter away at the last second. In no time at all, Dean was arching up, desperately searching for contact. His hands strained against the blankets, bunching the material together in clenched fists; his jaw clamped tight in an effort not to speak, but it was a hopeless battle.
“Sam, please,” ripped from Dean’s throat. The wet warmth of Sam’s tongue caressing over the underside of his dick made Dean moan and tremble with need. Sam played along the underside of the ridge before sweeping up to lap at the moisture beading over the tip. Dean throbbed under the attention. He wasn’t going to last long this time.
Sam stilled over him. Several seconds slipped by with Dean gasping for breath, craving and waiting and trying to make sense of the change, before Dean realized that Sam hadn’t just paused, he’d stopped. Sudden uneasiness slammed the lid down on his lust. He lifted his head from the bed and looked down. “Sam?”
Sam’s face was completely inscrutable, his gaze locked on Dean’s dick. His breaths were coming out hard and fast, his muscles rigid and holding him locked in a hover over Dean’s body. Sam didn’t respond to Dean’s question, so Dean asked it again, a little louder this time. “Sammy, you okay?”
A flash of anger crossed Sam’s face before he blanked his features out again. After a slight pause, Sam replied, “Yeah, Dean. ‘M fine.” His voice was husky and soft.
Sam’s hands were resting on Dean’s knees, and he tickled over the light dusting of hair above them with his fingers as if he found it suddenly fascinating, which.... Dean sat up cautiously, an action that Sam echoed, sitting back on his heels and reluctantly dropping his hands into his lap. Sam’s dick was still hard, but the mood was completely wrong now.
Slowly tracking his gaze up Dean’s body, he finally met Dean’s eyes. Sam’s don’t-argue-with-me expression crept over his features and his body braced for a fight. Dean couldn’t quite figure out how they’d moved from all-consuming lust to awkward and angry in sixty seconds flat. “I want…” Sam stopped and cleared his throat, his neck muscles popping with tension. Finally, he choked out, “I want you to… fuck me this time.”
A sudden blaze of panic flowed over Dean. Sam wasn’t ready for... fuck that. Dean wasn’t ready for Sam to freak out like that again. “No.”
“Dean…”
Dean lurched up off the bed and backed away until his ass hit the dresser. His hands dropped back and gripped the edge of the wood. The solidness made him feel slightly better; he didn’t stop to analyze why. “No,” he repeated again, his tone not allowing any room for argument because this was a ridiculous conversation to be having in the first place. What the hell was his brother even thinking?
Sam stood up and moved toward Dean. His muscles flexed gracefully over his tall frame, but Dean could see the underlying tension rippling beneath his skin. Sam pressed his body against Dean in an unbroken line and dipped down to stroke his tongue wetly over Dean’s lips. Dean kept his mouth shut tight, his jaw clenched, determined not to give in. Sam’s teeth scrapped against Dean’s bottom lip nibbling gently, and then Sam pulled back slightly, his breath close enough to caress over Dean’s mouth. “Please, Dean. I need this. I need you to do this for me.”
Dean didn’t trust himself to speak, simply shook his head once, sharply.
Moving back just enough to meet Dean’s gaze, Sam added, “Please, don’t make me beg.” His eyes were pooling with pain and vulnerability, his face clouding with that look that only their father had ever been successful in denying.
“Shit, what the hell?” Dean forced himself to ask. “Why now? Why tonight?”
“I just… I need to take back my control, Dean. I need to erase what that bastard did to me. I need to know it doesn’t have to hurt.” Sam’s voice was husky with unvoiced pain.
Dean opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again, at a loss. He tried again, “You aren’t…”
What? Okay? Sane? Strong enough? He couldn’t say any of that to his brother. “The last time we tried this you freaked out.”
“And we haven’t tried it since!” Sam replied petulantly. “I’m better than I was then. It’s been a couple of months, for God’s sake.” Dean opened his mouth to say no again, but Sam cut him off with a whispered, almost hopeless sounding, “Please…”
“Fuck,” Dean bit out, his resolve crumbling. “Yeah. Okay… okay…”
A brief flicker of relief passed over Sam’s features, followed by a flash of anger, which Sam covered up with lust so fast Dean thought maybe he’d imagined it. Sam dropped his lips to Dean’s. A strangled, almost whimper issued from deep in his throat, his tongue pushing into Dean’s mouth with a passion laced with desperation. The intensity of the kiss short-circuited Dean’s brain for a moment. The sharp demanding covetousness Sam was displaying stirred something primal in him – a need to be claimed, owned by his brother that left him breathless.
Sam took advantage, not letting their mouths part as he backed them both up to the bed. The forceful press of teeth scraping against the inside of his mouth was harsh enough to draw a little blood and tinge the taste of their kisses with copper. Dean moaned into it, allowing himself to surrender to his need.
Sam relaxed his grip enough to lick up the side of Dean’s face, his tongue flickering over sweat-salted skin. His breath was labored and warm by the time he reached Dean’s temple. He hovered there for a moment, and Dean moaned and leaned in, seeking more. Sam ignored Dean’s wordless plea, and instead turned Dean’s head forward to press light kisses over Dean’s eyelids.
Without warning, Sam turned around and crawled onto the bed, face first. Dean’s dick hardened with a painful pulse as he took in the sight of the long length of Sam’s back and ass, etched deeply with the play of muscle under skin. Dean had given up months ago on trying to deny that the barely contained power in Sam’s body left him aching.
Dean kneeled on the bed between Sam’s sprawled legs, and Sam moaned out, “Please… hurry, need you so bad…” Dean placed a kiss against Sam’s ass, licking over the muscle that twitched in reaction, before climbing all the way up Sam’s body and relaxing down to let their bodies press together while he fumbled in the drawer for the lube.
It took two tries to get his shaking hands around the stupid tube of KY, and when he got it on his fingers in a messy glob, he froze, his wits deserting him. He desperately didn‘t want to hurt Sam, and the prickling awareness that he didn’t understand where this sudden urgency was coming from was leaving Dean feeling unsure and off-balance.
“Here,” Dean murmured as soothingly as he could, throwing the tube down on the bed and pushing against the back of Sam’s knee. “You need to tuck your knees underneath you. It’s easier that way.” Sam buried his face in his hands and obediently tucked his legs up, letting Dean slide his ankles apart so his ass was opened up and exposed. Dean leaned forward and pressed feather light kisses against Sam’s back while he pressed the skin warmed lube against Sam’s hole.
The sharp exhalation of air from Sam startled Dean and he pulled back in alarm, but Sam only whispered, “Don’t stop,” and Dean cautiously moved forward once more. He rested his fingers against Sam’s entrance, letting them tickle over the skin as he reached around to grasp Sam’s partially hardened dick with his other hand.
Dean pumped his fist up and down on Sam’s cock several times until he felt it start to stiffen. Sam whimpered into the pillow, pulsing his ass back in search of more contact. Dean had kept his finger pressed firmly against Sam, and it pushed inside up to the first knuckle when Sam surged. Sam froze, little tremors jerking through the muscles of his back and a harsh gasp escaping his throat.
Dean leaned forward, brushing his lips softly against the back of Sam’s neck in a gentle caress. “You okay?” he whispered, every muscle screaming at him to get the fuck off of his brother. He couldn’t shake the rising panic that this wasn’t really what Sam wanted – that there was something more going on here.
“Fuck,” Sam spit out harshly, and abruptly pushed back, driving Dean’s finger all the way inside. Sam moved forward and then pushed backwards once more, thrusting onto Dean’s finger, and he breathed out, “More, Dean. I need…I need…”
Dean closed his eyes and whispered, “Fuck... Me…” The hot inner walls of Sam’s passage were squeezing tightly around Dean’s finger, and his dick was suddenly throbbing painfully in anticipation. His fear fled in the face of Sam’s demanding movements; he grabbed the lube, added more and slipped a second finger inside. He matched Sam’s rhythm, pushing in and out of Sam’s body with rapid movements, barely managing to keep enough of his senses together to stretch Sam thoroughly.
The minutes passed as they moved together, until Sam finally yelled out, “Goddamn it, Dean, quit dicking around. I need you inside of me. Now!”
Anger, impatience, fear, lust and love warred for dominance in Dean’s mind, his turbulent emotions making it hard to think, but he managed to grit out, “Not gonna hurt you…” He squeezed more lube onto his hand and grabbed Sam’s hip to slow their movements so he could carefully add a third finger.
Sam put his head down and pressed it against his arms; his breaths came out fast and harsh, little sounds of needy pain escaping with every other exhalation. His whole body trembled and fought to move. Sam’s back was covered in sweat, the hair on the back of his neck plastered to his skin. Dean bent forward and ran his tongue across it, licking and kissing and whispering nonsense across Sam’s skin. “I’m here, Sam, right here. It’s just me. Relax, baby, I’m right here...”
Dean continued working his fingers in and out of Sam’s clenched hole, fighting to get the muscles to relax. His brother was still really tight, or, at least, Dean thought so, but he didn’t actually know for sure, and he quietly cursed his own inexperience.
“Damn it, just do it… please,” Sam moaned out, and the quiet, desperate need of Sam’s tone went straight to Dean’s dick.
“Yeah, okay…” he whispered, pulling his hand free and lining up his cock against Sam. Sam froze once more, holding his breath as Dean pushed forward slightly. Nothing happened at first, and Dean had to grab Sam’s hips to hold them steady as Dean increased the pressure. “You okay, Sammy?” Dean couldn’t help himself from whispering once more.
“Fuck, Dean,” Sam gasped out, “just fucking do it already!”
Dean pushed forward with a powerful thrust, and his dick popped past the tight clench of muscle, sinking in more than an inch.
“Shit,” Sam and Dean gasped out at the same time, on the same breath.
It felt… amazing. Tighter and dirtier than any girl he’d ever been with. He’d expected it to be a little different, but he was kind of stunned at how much better, how much hotter, how much more turned on by it he was. Helplessly, he pushed deeper into Sam, needing more contact, needing more…
He slid his dick in bit by bit with ever deepening thrusts. It seemed to take forever until, finally, his balls made contact with the skin of Sam’s ass. Sam was still shaking under him, and he pressed kisses along Sam’s spine in a desperate attempt to relax him. Dean forced himself to still, letting Sam adjust to his presence, but it took every ounce of will power he had to do it.
Sam’s harsh intake of air was all the warning he got before Sam pulled away and then surged back, encouraging Dean to thrust. Fireworks went off in Dean’s groin and went straight to his head. He started thrusting in and out of Sam’s body, luxuriating in it at first and then gradually picking up speed. He could feel his balls drawing up and didn’t think he was going to last long. With one forceful plunge down he paused again, breathing harshly in and out, trying to calm the needy pulsing in his balls.
“Dean?” Sam questioned, breathy and unsure.
“Give me a second, Sam, or I’m gonna come too soon.”
Dean tried to reach around to Sam’s cock, but Sam suddenly pulsed down under him, gasping out, “It’s okay, Dean… please… come.” A tiny moan that almost sounded more like a sob followed the words. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Sam pushed back, clenching around Dean’s dick and causing his brain to short circuit once more.
Dean stuttered into motion, unable to stop the movement in the face of Sam’s encouragement, and, seconds later, his orgasm crashed over him, buffeting through him in endless waves until he collapsed over Sam, completely spent.
Sam’s was breathing was stuttering out in deep, fierce gasps, his muscles twitching under Dean’s weight. “Sammy?” Dean panted out against Sam’s sweaty skin. “Did… did you…” Dean tried to reach around Sam’s body once more, and the sick certainty of something wrong crawled over his skin when Sam jerked away from his touch and sat up, facing away from him.
“Sam?” Dean said, mirroring Sam’s motion in alarm.
His brother shook his head, kept himself turned away. His body was stilling, but his muscles stayed hard and tense. “I’m fine. Just gonna go clean up,” Sam rasped out. He stood up abruptly and strode into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly before Dean could figure out how to react. The lock clicked into place with an air of finality, snapping Dean out of his post-orgasmic stupor.
Dean climbed off the bed and moved hesitantly toward the bathroom door, trying to figure out what Sam needed as he moved. “Sam?” he called when he reached the door, knocking softly. He put his ear to the wood but heard only silence. Panic and anger clouded his mind, overriding his instinctive caution, and he pounded on the wood. “Open the damn door, Sammy!” he yelled, continuing to pound, undeterred by the ever increasing pain in his fist.
“Back the hell off, Dean!” Sam finally yelled back. “I just… I need a few minutes, okay? Go back to bed.” Sam’s voice was muffled by the thick door, and Dean couldn’t tell much from Sam’s tone beyond the obvious irritation that his words conveyed.
Dean took several deep breaths, forcing down the panic, and then loudly said, “Fine. I’m moving back to the bed, but I’m not going to sleep, so don’t stay in there all night. We need to talk.”
He was greeted with silence, so he added an impatient, “Okay?”
When he still got nothing, he moved warily back to the bed and perched on the edge.
Not taking his eyes off the door, he waited.
~o0O0o~
Sam stared at his reflection in the mirror. The cold fury that had stolen through his mind as soon as Dean had entered him made his eyes look stony and flat. He took a deep breath and held it, then let it out slowly, trying to force his feelings back down. He wasn’t even sure what he was mad about; Dean had done exactly what Sam had begged him for. He looked down at his angrily swollen dick with disgust. He couldn’t bring himself to touch it – the thought of coming made his stomach twist and heave.
The air in the bathroom was rank and stifling. He reached out, opened the small window and pressed his face against the screen to suck in deep lungfuls of clean air, but his stomach refused to settle. He could feel the slow, cold path of semen trickling down the back of his leg, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch it, and, whenever he thought about it, his stomach heaved, dry and unproductive and painful. It’s Dean, just Dean, it’s okay, it’s Dean… he thought to himself, trying desperately to stay calm. He gripped the windowsill firmly, needing something tangible to hold on to, while he pressed his forehead harder against the screen, craving the comforting smell of freedom. Suddenly the screen popped out from the pressure, clattering to the ground below.
He jerked back from the noise but forced himself to lean forward once more, until his face was poking slightly out of the window. Somehow, the absence of the flimsy barrier made his heartbeat spike. Dean would have a field day if he knew how irrational Sam was being… except… it wasn’t safe here, but then… it wasn’t really safe anywhere.
A soft noise outside in the trees sent Sam spinning down into a defensive crouch. Operating more on instinct than logic, he kept his eyes locked on the open window and reached an unsteady hand into his duffle to pull out the emergency knife he stored there.
Once the comforting weight of the knife was resting solidly in his hand, he moved backwards and pressed himself against the safety of the wall. He kept the knife at the ready, waiting. This time, he wouldn’t go down without a fight.
Shifting winds, the cacophony of cricket song, falling twigs, and the loud, cracking sound of early morning dew dripping from countless tree limbs and leaves filled his senses and made it hard to hear anything specific. Sweat beaded on his skin to trickle down the side of his face in an itchy trail that coated the handle of his blade, making the grip less secure. His fingers clenched around it, but he fought to keep his grip loose and easy – he’d be no good in a fight like this. He sat on the floor, willing his panic to fade away. Little by little, the anger crept back, leaving his emotions a confusing mess churning in his stomach. This wasn’t him. Sam Winchester didn’t fucking panic.
His dick throbbed, and he dropped the knife to press his hand against himself. Goddamn it! Why the hell was he still hard? His stomach heaved again and he ripped his hand away to fumble clumsily for his knife. His hand was shaking so badly that he could barely pick it up, and he dropped it twice before he got a firm grip and managed to point it the right way. His gaze locked on the window once more; something could have come through, and he never would have fucking noticed. The crickets were still singing. He couldn’t hear crap over them, and he felt the sting of hopelessness creeping through his head.
His finger throbbed; he hadn’t even noticed that he’d cut it. He glanced down as he uncurled his fingers from around the grip, and his gaze caught on the clean cut. He stared at it, suddenly fascinated by the ruby trickle against the whiteness of his skin.
The throbbing in his finger was echoing the throbbing in his dick, shifting his attention back down.
Samuel…
The name reverberated around the small room, cold and sibilant, and Sam knew what was coming next. No… He cradled the knife against his chest, pressing it against his skin, frantic for a distraction. His brain was playing tricks on him again. “Please, you aren’t real. You’re dead!” he forced out, his voice barely audible.
Soft laughter filled the room, taunting him, covering him, bathing his body in filth. He was naked and exposed and helpless, just like he always was. This was never going to end – he would never be free. He closed his eyes, a slowly building litany of, “No,” slipping past his lips in stubborn protest. The hands moved over his skin anyway, one wrapping around his stomach, holding him close, as the other circled over his dick. Sam’s body took on a life of its own, writhing under the invasive touch, a pathetic keening noise drowning everything out.
Its hand jerked over his dick, pulling tightly, and Sam felt the building orgasm that he couldn’t control, couldn’t stop, could never stop. The first painful pulse ripped a scream from his throat, his head slamming back against the wall. His fury left him in a rush as his dick emptied rope after rope of white, cloudy betrayal that ended right as the door to the bathroom slammed open next to him.
“Sammy? Jesus Christ…” The words filtered through the roaring in his ears, but he couldn’t make sense of them.
Rough hands grabbed his shoulders, and he jerked away, moving against the bathtub and bringing up the knife even though he didn’t really trust it to keep him safe. Faster than he could process, the knife was pulled from his grasp, leaving his fingers tingling, and then the hands were back at his shoulders.
“Get off me!” he yelled, fury making the words grate through his throat. The grasping hands pulled back immediately, and as the haze started to slip from his vision, his brother’s features, etched with concern and tension, swam into focus.
“Dean?” His words were back to sounding weak and pitiful. “Please… just go... Don’t want you to see me like this…”
“Like hell I will,” Dean grated out, and Sam flinched back instinctively from the anger laced tone. Sam tried to move away, but he was shaking so badly that he couldn’t avoid Dean’s strong arms circling around him. He felt the last remains of his rage slipping away as Dean’s hands closed the circle. The last vestiges of his strength drained away along with the anger, and a helpless sob escaped him as he sank into Dean’s calming presence.
“You’re okay, you’re okay…” Dean was murmuring against Sam’s ear over and over, and Sam could feel Dean’s body shaking against his own. It didn’t… that didn’t make sense. Dean wasn’t a pathetic mess like Sam was… Sam tried to pull back to look at Dean, but his brother’s arms tightened, keeping Sam close with their vice-like grip.
Sam moved up onto one knee in an attempt to get more leverage, but he slipped against the floor. It was wet, which… he didn’t remember turning on the water… “Dean?” Sam breathed out, the name a question.
Dean took in a sobbing, aching breath against Sam’s neck and breathed out, “I don’t know how to help you, Sammy. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
The confusion and despair coloring Dean’s voice caused Sam’s heart to clench painfully in his chest, and he jerked back helplessly in Dean’s immovable grip. “I don’t… I need…” He couldn’t make sense of the jumble in his head.
Dean’s arms suddenly released Sam; Dean was pushing him back, his body unstable on the slick floor, and Sam looked down. The floor was a mess of red smears.
Dean’s hands were moving over Sam’s chest, which abruptly flared with pain. When Sam looked down, he discovered his skin was crisscrossed with shallow, and not-so-shallow, cuts and his right hand was dripping with blood.
Sam felt slow and thick, his head pulsing in time with the pain from the cuts, and he couldn’t do anything but stare stupidly down at himself.
Dean grabbed Sam’s hand, looked closely at his fingers and muttered, “This is gonna need stitches.” He pressed a washcloth into Sam’s hand and ordered, “Hold this tight. We’ve got to move you so that I have more room to work.”
It was getting more and more difficult to focus on Dean’s words. Sam’s eyelids blinked closed, and that simple action filled him with a wash of pleasure. He let the tension bleed out of his body as he slowly collapsed in on himself. Awareness of everything around him darkened, and, desperate for the relief of oblivion, he couldn’t make himself fight it.
Even his brother’s anxious call wasn’t enough to pull him back.
Chapter Two | Chapter Four
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This technique you’re using of going from hot sex to horrible destruction, all threaded through with madness, is a fantastic emotional upheaval!
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